Memories grave and gay

by Florence Howe Hall

My second son, Harry, was a natural leader and had his little coterie of friends and followers. When these were promoted to a higher room in the public school it was proposed to promote their teacher, also; she declined the honor!

The boy had a natural wit which he occasionally used to torment his instructors at Mr. Leal’s school. Harry had various clashes with the younger teachers, who were all men. They did not make sufficient allowance for the high spirits and the desire for independence of the growing boy. “Poppy Leal,” the principal, as the boys affectionately called him, was wiser. He spoke of them all as men, thus winning their hearts. But one day even Mr. Leal grew out of patience with Harry. Sending for the boy’s parents, he told us that there seemed to be a difference of opinion between Harry and himself as to who should run the school. He, however, had always done so in the past and did not propose to abdicate now. History repeats itself, and this same Harry was called upon, not long ago, to curb the same spirit in his eldest daughter, little Julia Ward Howe Hall. The teacher unknowingly used the same words that had been applied to Harry in his youth!

He was a daring boy, yet possessed of a certain caution. We had bought for his elder brother one of those immense bicycles which enjoyed a brief day of popularity. It proved too big for the older boy, but Master Harry managed to ride it, though his legs were so short that he could only reach the pedals as they came up. On this he descended such a dangerous incline that the boys kindly gathered at the foot of the hill to see him fall off. “Come see Hally riding to hell!” one boy called to the others.

Our only daughter studied at home and at private schools, going to Paris for her education in painting.

She was less than five years old, when she made her own brushes by taking stiff chicken feathers and shaving them off till only a small tuft was left at the end. From pieces of brick and other materials found about the place, she ground her own colors. When we found the child making pictures with these primitive paints, we at once supplied her with colors. In addition to the power of invention, perhaps because of it, Caroline possessed the happy faculty of making the most of small things, enjoying whatever little pleasures fell to her lot. Thus, wishing very much to have a room entirely to herself, she asked for one in the attic. When a mouse visited her bower in the evening, instead of screaming she played softly on the harmonica, in the hope that the music would lead him to return to his home. We called her the Attic Fairy.

In 1889, our eldest son, Samuel Prescott Hall, entered Harvard University, having passed his examinations with honors. I went up to Cambridge with the trembling Freshman, who had just passed his seventeenth birthday. A certain indifference, not to say coldness, on the part of the authorities soon showed me that the event of Sam’s entrance into academic fields did not move them so deeply as it did me. The bursar I found especially unsympathetic. My son had not drawn a room in the college buildings, and that was an end of it. Mr. —— had no suggestions to offer. I was assured later that this gentleman was a very kind man. He certainly concealed the fact very successfully. I had dealings with him from time to time during the period of fourteen years while my sons were at Cambridge. But I do not remember his ever displaying one sign of human weakness.

My brother had suggested our trying to procure for Sam the position of president’s Freshman. The duties of this functionary consisted in running errands for the head of the university, for which he was paid a small honorarium. When I inquired about the president’s Freshman, I was met by a pitying smile. The young man in charge had evidently never heard of such a person.

When we looked about for rooms, dreadful tales of young collegians who had been found dead from opium-smoking greeted our affrighted ears. Fortunately, we found a pleasant lodgment at the house of an old acquaintance.

This attitude of serene indifference toward the class of young men most in need of advice and help has now passed away. The erection of a stately row of buildings, intended especially for the accommodation of Freshmen, shows that Alma Mater has waked up to a fact which was clear long ago to the ordinary mothers of men. The entering class, the new blood, is the hope of the future. As they are the youngest students and are totally inexperienced in the ways of the university, many of them coming from remote parts of the country, they should be made welcome.

Our sons thoroughly enjoyed their college life. They were much interested in athletics and also liked to have a good time. It was fully borne in upon them, however, that study must be the principal aim of their college course. We could not afford to send them to Harvard simply for amusement. Sam, being a student by nature, was always on the rank list, taking special second-year honors, also graduating “cum laude” with honors in Greek and Latin. In Charles Eliot Norton’s famous class, “Fine Arts Four,” he was greatly interested. It was said that the very large membership of Professor Norton’s classes was due to their being “snap” courses. Some of the boys, having reported themselves present, would depart by the fire-escape; others would read newspapers, to the vexation of Professor Norton.