Abigail May, Mrs. A. Bronson Alcott.
From a daguerreotype.
Page 106.
Then follows the picture and the lines written by Louisa in her journal:
To Mother.
I hope that soon dear mother, you & I may be
In the quiet room my fancy has so often made for thee,
The pleasant sunny chamber, the cushioned easy chair,
The books laid for your reading, the vase of flowers fair.
The desk beside the window where the sun shines warm and bright,
And there in ease and quiet, the promised book you write,
While I sit close beside you, content at last to see,
That you can rest dear mother, & I can cherish thee.
Louisa lived to see her hope realized and the dream of many years a beautiful reality.
Like most writers, Louisa was moody, and in her hours of depression and despondency she looked upon her work as a failure and herself as a useless drag upon the family. At such times Marmee invariably came to the rescue and persuaded her discouraged daughter to use the pen she was ready to lay down. Even in Louisa's childhood, when her only promise of future literary achievement were her tragedies and melodramas of lurid style, little gifts show the mother's faith and pride in her daughter's work. So did her letters, of which this is an example:
Dear Louisa:
I sometimes stray about the house and take a peep into the journal. Your pages lately are blank. I am sure your life has many fine passages well worth recording, and to me they are always precious. Anything like intellectual progress in my children seems to compensate for much disappointment & perplexity in my own life. Do write a little each day, dear, if but a line, to show me how bravely you begin the battle, how patiently you wait for the rewards sure to come when the victory is nobly won.
Ever yrs.
Mother.