“Don’t be foolish. Thee will; and thee must not waste thy remaining strength in rebellion.”
A compromise was made by her taking a pension of a hundred dollars a year, from a Quaker Home, in Philadelphia, and a few annual subscriptions—one from Mr. George W. Childs.
TO J. G. WHITTIER.
Hotel Byron, Berkeley St.,
Boston, Mass., February 4, 1887.My dear Friend,—I have been away two days, and on returning, find thy note and the enclosed check for one hundred dollars. A greater surprise could not have awaited me.
And, curiously enough, I had been amusing myself just before, with the thought of the great fortunes rolling about the world, without ever so much as touching me! And I had said to myself that the Great Disposer of all these things, who is also my Father, doubtless had a purpose in it,—perhaps that I was to prove to the very end that life could be very cheerful and comfortable without much money, and with unremitting effort to earn a moderate living, so long as my strength should hold out.
And I felt like acquiescing gratefully, happy in my restored health, in my interest in my work, and in doing and being all that it is in me to do and to be for others,—for life does look every day larger and deeper and more beautiful in its possibilities, even this one small life of mine, in this world of God’s. I think I was rather in danger of looking down on the millionaires, and pitying them for their heavier burdens of responsibility.
I always feel rich when I feel well, and I was not conscious of a present want, although I knew my purse was getting light, and I was not sure whether I could afford to stay in Boston through the winter, but now I see that I can, for I shall take your advice, and keep the check.
I suppose I should never have consented to have my name used, as one who needed assistance, but I have great confidence in your wisdom, and if you thought it right, I could not object. But you know that I have never suffered from want, and that I am able to work, although three-score.
The only wish I have ever had in connection with money, is for the freedom it might give me to choose my work, and the place where I should live. When I can do that, I don’t know that I shall have any further desire, for myself. And if I really need that, God will give it to me.
If Mr. Childs has really sent the money to me, I must thank him for it, and I will do so, if you will kindly send me his address. You see how ignorant I am about our good rich people, when I don’t know whether to address him as “Mr.” or “Esq.” or write with Quaker plainness! You said, “Philadelphia.” Is that enough, without street or number?
I thank thee sincerely for all the kind thoughts that this matter implies on thy part. And I feel more and more assured that the silver and the gold belong to God, and that He spends it where He will. If He puts it into Mr. Childs’ hand for me, I will not refuse it—not from any good man’s hand. Only please remember that thee must not let people think I am poor, when I am not. Shall we not see thee before long?
Gratefully yours,
Lucy Larcom.
One of Miss Larcom’s greatest pleasures was the visits she was able to make to her congenial friends. Not being tied by family cares, it was possible for her to accept some of the many invitations she constantly received from those who loved her. Her presence in a household was like a peaceful influence, for she had the delightful gift of being an agreeable guest. Always sympathetic, never intruding into the privacy of family matters, reticent about her troubles, and eager to impart her joys, with a fund of humor always at hand, she made a charming companion; and her visit was always remembered as an event in the year. There are many homes that have had the privilege of entertaining her, and receiving something from the close contact with her personality. One of her hostesses, Mrs. James Guild, of Roxbury, in whose house she used to enjoy hours of Plato study, and where the last few years of her life she found rest, says, “In passing the library, I often looked through the portières, to behold the presence in the room,—the white, peaceful face, that seemed to wear a halo. She would have three or four books at once on her knee, and look up smiling to ask, ‘Am I not greedy? I don’t know which of these to read first! I do love books, but not better than friends; when you are at leisure, I am ready to sit with you.’”
TO MRS. S. I. SPALDING.
Williamstown, Mass., October 10, 1887.
... I came here, through Lake George and Saratoga, last Friday. I am visiting at President Carter’s, my old friend, who has a charming family and home. The town itself is most beautiful, and I have been driving about among the Berkshire Hills, finding them no less enjoyable for what I have seen of the Adirondacks.
President Carter is at present away on business. A case of possible hazing is one of the most trying—the facts are so hard to get at. The spirit of this college is entirely opposed to such things. He is also a corporate member of the American Board. I do not sympathize with the turn affairs have taken. It looks to me like a long step backward. It cannot be that a disputed theological point is to settle the world’s salvation. And the inquisitorial spirit tends so entirely to bitterness and harsh judgment; it proves itself foreign to the spirit of Christ.
May God reveal himself to these benighted theologians!
TO J. G. WHITTIER.
Beverly, Mass., April 24, 1888.
My dear Friend,—Yesterday I returned to Beverly, having done something quite uncommon, for me,—taken a trip to the Jerseys. I went on urgent invitation from old pupils and school-friends at Wheaton Seminary, who gave a breakfast at Hotel Brunswick, New York.
I met a good many people I was glad to see, and made most of my visit at Mr. Ward’s, of the “Independent.” His sister, who keeps house for him, at Newark, is a former pupil of mine.
Then I had an invitation from a schoolmate at Monticello, Illinois, who lives at Orange, New Jersey, and I stayed there several days. I went over New York and Brooklyn by the bridge and the elevated railway, but scarcely touched the metropolis.
However, I saw my old friends, and a good many new people, and had a pleasant time.
And now, I am urgently invited to my old Illinois seminary, in June, when it has its semi-centennial anniversary. I am afraid I shall have to go, as my Minnesota sister seconds the motion, and she expects to move to California, another year.
What a moving world it is!...
The “New England Girlhood,” published in 1889, was at once a success. Few facts of Miss Larcom’s life had been generally known up to this time: there had been, however, interesting biographical sketches printed from time to time, notably Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney’s sketch, in “American Women of Note,” and her own article, in the “Atlantic Monthly,” with the title “Among Lowell Mill-Girls.” But in this book she took her friends into her confidence, and showed such genuineness of feeling, and love for her modest beginnings in the old town of Beverly, with its lanes, its woods, and its seacoast, that her description stirred up the memory of similar days in the thought of New England people, at home, and in distant parts of the country. This account of her youth contains the best elements of her thought and life, in a story, charming for its simplicity and truthful portraiture of New England homes before any of the modern changes had taken place,—those changes that introduced stoves and shut up the great fireplaces, that substituted for the stage-coach the horse and electric car, put clocks on the mantelpiece, and relegated to the junk-shops the “tin kitchens” and the three-legged “trivet.” Its homely incident and the sincerity of its religious sentiment render it an excellent book to put into the hands of young girls; by reading it they are brought into connection with the refined and vigorous girlhood of an actual life. One critic remarked, “If there could be more biography like this, there would be less call for fiction.” Miss Larcom received numerous letters of thanks for having written the book. A gentleman sent her a check, as an evidence of his satisfaction. An aged man wrote,—“If it was written for the young, it certainly was for the old. I am now eighty-five years old and never was more delighted.” Mr. Whittier sent his approval: “I am reading the book for the second time, with increased pleasure; I recall my first meeting with thee at Lowell, after thy return from the West.”
That she enjoyed these tokens of appreciation, this letter indicates.
TO MRS. S. I. SPALDING.
214 Columbus Avenue,
Saturday evening, December 28, 1889.My dear Friend,—I have just come in and read Mrs. S——’s letter, which I return. Her enthusiasm inspires me just as I like to be inspired. I felt in writing the book that I was just entering into my past life, and taking my friends with me. I did not feel that I was making a “literary effort,” but just taking a little journey backward.
I appreciate the readers who will simply go along with me, as Mrs. S—— does. I am glad to give myself to those who understand the gift, and I would like to find more in myself for them, if I could. It is just like taking hold of hands all round, these pleasant acknowledgments that come to me. It is our life that we are enjoying together....
Mr. Brooks sent one of his short, characteristic notes, thanking her for “A New England Girlhood.”