Memories grave and gay

by Florence Howe Hall

My mother, always generous in such matters, asked to have the book sent to certain people who had not hitherto been subscribers, although they were descendants of a good old family. Her request was not granted, probably because it was suspected that the husband had engaged in some financial transaction not altogether in accordance with the Puritan notions of uprightness.

The young people of the ’Sixties owed a debt of gratitude, which they did not fully recognize, to Mrs. Jared Sparks, the wife of the historian. The unique form of her entertainments disturbed the conventionality of the youthful mind. The good lady’s motive was doubtless to prevent boredom by carrying out conceptions of striking originality. As we did not live in Cambridge, we were not invited to the pencil party, nor to that where, all the chairs being removed, the guests sat on the floor. But I did go to the famous thé dansant which Boston discussed long and vigorously.

Mrs. Sparks thought it would be a pleasant thing to give a party early in the evening, where the young people could dance till midnight and then go home. So she asked us to a thé dansant at Papanti’s Hall to which we went, and had a very good time. Chocolate and cake were quite sufficient for the dancers, but Mrs. Sparks had not calculated the probable feelings of the dowagers. They found it hungry work to sit and watch other people dance and highly disapproved of the simple repast. As time went by, low and deep were the murmurings. Even the quality of the cake was unkindly called in question. Mrs. Sparks’s friends sent a sample, it was said, to a lady of the opposite faction, so that the latter might see for herself the excellent quality of the butter and eggs. But she declared it was now so stale (for the controversy lasted for days or even weeks) she could tell nothing about the ingredients!

Mrs. Sparks’s original turn of mind also showed itself in the dealings with her children. One of the daughters had a will of her own and it was sometimes necessary to discipline her. This was done by taking a tuck in her dress, thus doubly punishing her; she had the mortification of appearing in childish array at an age when every girl desires to seem grown up, and she was obliged also to betray to all friends and acquaintances the fact that she had been naughty. You had only to look at her skirts to know what her behavior had been.

The historian himself sometimes came to dances. From the expression of his countenance, I am sure he did not enjoy them. The top of his head was bald, yet the curly hair at the sides stood out in a way to show that it had once been thick. If you had any doubt of it, you had only to look at the tremendous crop of curly hair belonging to his son.

His harassed air made it evident that he had come in a spirit of parental resignation, not in one of joy. A legend of that time described Mr. and Mrs. Sparks driving together on a hot summer’s day. As the horse showed signs of fatigue, Mr. Sparks suggested stopping. “Drive on, Mr. Sparks,” replied the lady, majestically. After two or three similar stoppages the horse fell down dead!

Most of our dancing partners were Harvard students, with a sprinkling of older men and returned soldiers. Two of these, Col. Francis Palfrey and Capt. William Horton, had been wounded in the arm, so that the latter was held in a sling. This did not prevent their dancing, however.

One of our amusements was going on board warships, not only those of our own navy, but on Swedish and Russian vessels as well.

The visit of the latter to American waters was one of the political and social events of the day. Among the hostesses who gave dances for the officers were Mrs. Storer of Cambridge, our aunt, Mrs. Joseph N. Howe, and our mother. We were also invited to dances on board the Russian ships and to services of the Orthodox Church held there.

Uniforms are always attractive to young women. When worn by handsome young foreigners the charm is doubled. My special partner, being in the engineering department, wore silver instead of gold decorations. He was nicknamed “Cranberry Cheeks” by the family. As neither of us could speak the language of the other, our conversation was carried on entirely in French. Now my education in this language at school had not dwelt especially on the sentimental side, so that the explanation of words was occasionally necessary. However, I always succeeded in grasping the idea.