COMPOSITION
Life was given to the animals not to be destroyed by men, but to make them happy, and that they might enjoy life. But men are not satisfied with slaying the innocent creatures, but they eat them and so make their bodies of flesh meat. O how many happy lives have been destroyed and how many loving families have been separated to please an unclean appetite of men! Why were the fruits, berries and vegetables given us if it was intended that we should eat flesh? I am sure it was not. We enjoy the beautiful sights and thoughts God has given us in peace. Why not let them do the same? We have souls to feel and think with, and as they have not the same power of thinking, they should be allowed to live in peace and not made to labour so hard and be beaten so much. Then to eat them! eat what has had life and feeling to make the body of the innocent animals! If treated kindly, they would be kind and tame and love men, but as they now are abused and cruelly treated they do not feel the feeling of “love” towards men. Besides flesh is not clean food, and when there is beautiful juicy fruits who can be a flesh-eater?
In the evening I sang again as I did last night.
Friday, 9.
After breakfast, it being my day for dishes, I cleared up the table. At eleven I had my composition lesson. In the afternoon I sewed, read and played. I sewed in the evening and went to bed early.
Saturday, 10.
This morning father and Mr. Lane went to visit the Shakers in Harvard town. I did the chamber work and then worked and made some bread for dinner, and prepared things ready for it. In the afternoon I laid down, it being very warm out, and read in “Devereux” which pleased me very well. It rained hard and steadily for some time. Father and Mr. Lane returned late in the afternoon. They brought home sweet things they had purchased of the Shakers. We played out on the grounds a little while and then I read and went to bed early.
Sunday, 11.
I read until 10 o’clock when we had reading. In the afternoon I read, wrote and had my lessons with Christy. In the evening I received a note from mother accompanied by a roll containing some wafers and some note paper. It was as follows:—
Dear Anna:
I send you a little note paper and a few wafers. You have so much to do lately that I cannot expect you to write often to me, but you must not forget that this is a little duty of yours that gives me a great deal of happiness. This last word reminds me of one of father’s beautiful selections to-day.
“Happiness is like the bird
That broods above its nest
And feels beneath its folded wings
Life’s dearest and its best.”
I am sure I feel as if I could fold my arms around you all, and say from my heart, “Here is my world within my embrace.” Let us try, dear Anna, to make it a good and beautiful world,—that when we are called to leave it we may be fit to join the good and beautiful of another sphere.
All things proclaim
In the valley and plain
That God is near.
Hills, vales and brooks,
Sweet words and looks,
Cast out all fear.
Be the dove of our ark,
Dear Anna remark
You’re my eldest and best,
Now you know all the rest,
So farewell dear,
God is near,
No evil fear,
Be happy here.
Mother.
I love to receive letters from mother. She always writes me such dear kind notes.
Monday, 12.
This morning mother baked. I read. Mrs. Lovejoy and Mrs. Willard came here to see mother. In the afternoon I read and wrote, and took a walk with the girls into the woods. In the evening I played and had a shower bath, and then went to bed.
Tuesday, 13.
Mrs. Willard came here and helped mother wash to-day. I helped her some. In the morning I took care of Abba and wrote some. In the afternoon I played, studied, and worked. When Mrs. Willard went home Louisa and I walked with her to learn the way to the house where she lives, for as she took some sewing to do for mother, we wanted to know the way there. We saw some young women braiding straw hats. One of them did it very fast indeed. I think I should like to know how to make hats. Their mother asked us to come and see them (her name is Willard) and mother said we might go. We rode home with Mr. Wyman. When we got here we found two young ladies and a girl who came to see us. They soon went home. I ate my supper and soon after it went to my bed.
Wednesday, 14.
I ironed to-day with mother, and read some. I have not very much to say and so I will write a French fable. [Here a fable is written out in very good French.]
Thursday, 15.
This morning I felt quite unwell, so I laid down and saw Louisa keep school for Lizzie and Abba. I read in “Tales of a Traveller” most all the morning. In the afternoon I had a composition lesson, and then saw father and Abraham winnow some corn and some barley. I then rode to the mill with him and took Abba with us. I never saw a mill working before that I recollect. I sewed when I came home and in the evening talked.
Friday, 16.
Uncle Christy went to Boston this morning. As I was running to bid him good-bye my foot slipped and I fell down on my back. It hurt me a good deal and I had a pain in my side. In the afternoon I went to bed and read. When I got up I fainted. I went to my bed early.
Saturday, 24.
This was Lizzie’s birthday. I arose before five o’clock and went with mother, William, and Louisa to the woods where we fixed a little pine tree in the ground and hung up all the presents on it. I then made a wreath for all of us of oak leaves. After breakfast we all, except Abraham, marched to the wood. Mr. Lane took his fiddle with him and we sang first. Then father read a parable, and then this ode which he wrote himself. I will write it on the next page. Father then asked me what flower I should give Lizzie on her birthday. I said a rose, the emblem of Love and Purity. Father also chose a rose. Louisa said a Lily-of-the-Valley, or innocence,—Mother said she should give her a Forget-me-not, or remembrance. Christy said the trailing Arbutus, the emblem of perseverance. Mr. Lane gave her a piece of moss, or humility. Abba gave her a Wakerobin. I do not know what that means. We then sang. Lizzie looked at her presents and seemed much pleased. Mother gave her a silk thread balloon, I a fan, Louisa a pin-cushion, William a book, Abba a little pitcher. Mr. Lane wrote some lines of poetry which I will write in here:—
TO ELIZABETH
Of all the year the sunniest day
Appointed for thy birth
Is emblem of the longest stay
With us upon the earth.
Now dressed in flowers
The merry hours
Fill up the day and night.
May your whole life
Exempt from strife
Shine forth as calm and bright.
Fruitlands.
Here is father’s:—
BIRTHDAY ODE
I
Here in the grove
With those we love,
In the cool shade
Near mede and glade
With clover tints ore’laid—
A haunt which God ourselves have made—
The trees among
With leaves are hung.
On sylvan plat,
On forest mat,
Near meadow sweet
We take our seat,
While all around
Swells forth the sound
Our happy hearts repeat.
The wood and dell
Our joy to tell
The morning, and
Our peace to share,
Flows by his cool
A balmy school,
The Sun his fires
His kindled iris
Not yet inspires
In mid-noon blaze
His scorching rays,
But all is calm and fresh and clear
And all breathes peace around us here.
II
Wake, wake harmonious swell
Along this deep sequestered dell,
Along the grass and brake,
And where the cattle slake
Their thirst, when glides
Adown the sloping sides
In ceaseless frit
The wizard rivulet,
And let the spring maze
Join with violin note
In hymning forth our praise
From forth melodious throat
Our holy joy to tell.
III
Father’s here
And Mother dear
And sisters all,
The short and tall,
And Father’s friends
Whom Briton lends
To noblest human ends,
With younger arm
From Brooklet farm,
But absent now
At yonder plough
With shining, cleaving share
Upturning to the upper air
The obstinate soil,
The sober son of hardy toil.
IV
Here, here we all repair
Our hope and love to share,
To celebrate
In rustic state
Midst this refulgent whole
The joyful advent of an angel soul
That twice four years ago
Our mundane world to know
Descended from the upper skies
A presence to our veriest eyes
And now before us stands
And asketh at our bounteous hands
Some token of our zeal,
In her most holy weal
Before us stands arrayed
In garments of a maid.
Untainted and pure her soul
As when she left the whole
That doeth this marvelling scene
And day by day doth preach
The gospel meant for each
That on this solid sphere
For mortal’s ear.
V
Then take our tokens all
From great and small
And close that noblest treasure beat
That in your heart doth sleep.
Mind what the spirit saith
And plight therein thy faith,
My very dear Elizabeth,
Nor let the enemy wrest
The heavenly harvest from that field,
Nor tares permit to sow,
Nor hate, nor woe
In the pure soil God’s grace itself would sow;—
But bloom and open all the day
And be a flower that none shall pluck away,
A rose of Fruitland’s quiet dell,
A child intent on doing well
Devout secluded from all sin
Fragrance without and fair within
A plant matured in God’s device
An Amaranth in Paradise.
Monday, 17 July, 1843.
This morning, not feeling well, I did not join the singing class, but kept my bed till after breakfast. We had no lessons to-day and I sewed. I believe I will write a story called The May Morning.
A FABLE
The May Morning
Early one morning in May a father conducted his son Theodore into the garden of a rich man which the boy had never yet seen. The garden was situated at a distance from the city, and it was adorned with all sorts of shrubs and plants, beds of flowers and fruit trees, shady alleys and pleasant groves. Through the middle of the garden wandered a pellucid stream which fell from a rock and formed a large pool at its foot. In the cool dell the water turned a mill. In the most beautiful spot in the garden were seats entwined with roses and verdant bowers.
Theodore could not satiate his eyes with the charms of the place. He walked beside his father mostly in silent amaze, but sometimes he would exclaim: “O Father, how lovely and beautiful is this garden!”
When they had seen many things and were weary with their walk the father conducted the boy through the plantations to the fall of a stream and they sat down on the brow of a hill. Here they listened to the roaring of the water which tumbled foaming from the ledge of the rocks, and in the surrounding thickets were perched nightingales which mingled their strains with the hoarse murmur of the fall. And Theodore thought he never yet had heard nightingales sing so delightfully. While they thus sat and listened they heard the voice of a man and the voices of children. They were the children of the miller, a boy and a girl, and they were leading their old blind grandfather between them, and telling him about the beautiful shrubs and flowers by the wayside, and amusing the old man by their lively and simple prattle.
They conducted him to a seat in an arbor and kissed him, and ran about the garden to gather flowers and fruit for him. But the old man smiled, and when he was alone he uncovered his head and prayed with a cheerful countenance. Then the hearts of Theodore and his father overflowed, and they offered up prayer and praise with the old man, and Theodore was overcome by his feelings so that he could not repress his tears.
The children soon afterwards appeared, and they shouted from afar, and they brought sweet-smelling flowers and ripe fruit to their blind grandfather. But Theodore said to his father as they were returning home, “O what a delightful, what a happy morning!”
THE FOUNTAIN
“The little fountain flows
So noiseless through the wood
The wanderer tastes repose
And from its silent flood
Learns meekly to do good.”
It’s short, but I thought it was very pretty.
Tuesday, 18.
This morning after doing my work I had lessons. I wrote some in my journal and did some sums. In the afternoon I went blue-berrying with Lizzie and picked nearly, if not quite, a quart. I read in the evening.
Wednesday, 19.
We had a descriptive lesson this morning and each of us wrote a description of Fruitlands.
I wrote the following one:—