I saw Elizabeth Peabody, who is trying to interest people in the kindergarten methods of teaching young children, by playing and talking with them, rather than through books, and it certainly seems a most reasonable system.
It seems to me now as if I had seen Boston, for the people who were at the Fair were the very people I have heard about, and read about all my life—the people indeed, whom I supposed constituted Boston, and yet outside their own circle, few know or care whether they exist. I am wrong. They have been raised up for a holy purpose, and if, as it seems, the busy mart is deaf to their entreaties for universal liberty, unconditional emancipation, the sin will lie at its own door should bloodshed follow.
I am afraid this meeting with those in whom I am so much interested will rather spoil me for our everyday routine. It is pleasant enough, but it seems selfish to devote so large a share of time to one’s entertainment. I sometimes long for active work; but aunt says it spoils the domestics (servants is her word) to help them, and it spoils a “lady’s hands”! I never heard thee complain in that way, and there are no dearer or daintier hands than thine, which are ready for pot or pan, needle or butter mold. Perhaps it is a little Pharisaical to thank God we are “not like other men,” but I am thankful that I was sent into thy arms!
I have been tempted to say that I had a complete pleasure at the Anti-Slavery Fair, but as I was about to write it thus, a reminder came to me of one thing that I wanted and did not get, and that was a piece of temperance mince pie; for I heard it said that there were such in an adjoining room, and much as I like pies, I have steadfastly declined tasting those that looked so nice at uncle’s table, for I know full well they are made with a strong infusion of brandy.
We came out home by the horse railroad again, and I somehow could not help thinking about the poor tipsy boy and the tall young man, and strange enough, the latter got into our car! I did not lift my eyes once, on the whole route, for he sat directly opposite me, and I thought it would be discourteous not to acknowledge his presence, and to do so would trouble my uncle. So I was especially weary when we got out, and I thought the young man went on further, but just as we stopped he sprang up as though he had been asleep and in hurrying out he jostled me, and begged me to excuse it. He has a fair voice, manly, and direct, and—but what does thee think? after he had passed, there was a scrap of paper lying on my muff! Perhaps I ought to have thrown it away without reading, but I did want to know about the poor lad, and so I crumpled it up in my glove, until I got into my quiet chamber, and then I saw that it was a bit torn from a newspaper border, and beautifully written with a lead pencil. It said: “I took him home and have talked with him since about the wrong he has done. I think it will not happen again.”
Was it not kind in “Jack D.” to let me know in this way, without intruding upon me, or even signing his name?
I intended to bring home the little cushion I bought at the fair, but when I told Edward H. all about it, he said that he would like a memento to recall what I have told him about the sin of slavery, which I really believe he had never been taught to consider. So I gave him the pinball.
I must tell thee about my French lessons next time. Aunt speaks with a fine accent, they tell me; and she thinks I have been well taught.
I wish I could kiss thy dear cheek. Farewell,
Sallie.