From Seven to Seventy: Memories of a Painter and a Yankee

by Edward Simmons

“The moss—of which he wrote!”

SARAH ALDEN (BRADFORD) RIPLEY
Grandmother of Edward Simmons
(From a pencil drawing by Edward Simmons)

Every jaw fell; their eyes rolled upward and in dead silence they marched to their carryall.

A little old woman with mitts and poke bonnet appeared at the Emerson house one day and begged for a piece of “your dear father’s clothing.”

“I am making a rag carpet of poets’ garments,” she said.

She was refused.

“Is that field yours?” she asked, pointing across the way. She was told it was.

“Do you mind if I trespass? You see, I am also making a collection of crickets from poets’ homes.”

I should like to have seen the crickets stuck up in a row on their pins, but I fancy the rag carpet would have been more amusing. Imagine walking on Mr. Longfellow’s red flannel shirt!