The composition on slavery (like the mention of the telescope) is in the nature of a prophecy, for our astronomer’s wife during her residence of thirty years in Washington was an unfailing friend of the negro. Many a Northerner, coming into actual contact with the black man, has learned to despise him more than Southerners do. Not so Angeline. The conviction of childhood, born of reading church literature on slavery and of hearing her step-father’s indignant words on the subject—for he was an ardent abolitionist—lasted through life.
In the fall of 1847 the ambitious school-girl had a stroke of good fortune. Her cousin Harriette Downs, graduate of a young ladies’ school in Pittsfield, Mass., took an interest in her, and paid her tuition for three terms at the Rodman Union Seminary. So Angeline worked for her board at her Aunt Clary Downs’, a mile and a half from the seminary, and walked to school every morning. A delightful walk in autumn; but when the deep snows came, it was a dreadful task to wade through the drifts. Her skirts would get wet, and she took a severe cold. She never forgot the hardships of that winter. The next winter she lived in Rodman village, close to the seminary, working for her board at a Mr. Wood’s, where on Monday mornings she did the family washing before school began. How thoroughly she enjoyed the modest curriculum of studies at the seminary none can tell save those who have worked for an education as hard as she did. That she was appreciated and beloved by her schoolmates may be inferred from the following extracts from a letter dated Henderson, Jefferson Co., N.Y., January 9, 1848:
Our folks say they believe you are perfect or I would not say so much about you. They would like to have you come out here & stay a wek, they say but not half as much as I would I dont believe, come come come.... Your letter I have read over & over again, ther seems to be such a smile. It seems just like you. I almost immagin I can see you & hear you talk while I am reading your letter.... Those verses were beautiful, they sounded just lik you.... Good Night for I am shure you will say you never saw such a boched up mess
I ever remain your sincere friend
E. A. Bulfinch.
No doubt as to the genuineness of this document! Angeline had indeed begun to write verses—and as a matter of interest rather than as an example of art, I venture to quote the following lines, written in October, 1847:
Farewell, a long farewell, to thee sweet grove,
To thy cool shade and grassy seat I love;
Farewell, for the autumnal breeze is sighing
Among thy boughs, and low thy leaves are lying.