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1849 AD (search for this): chapter 10
der than yourself, was Isaac T. Hopper, whose remarkable life she afterwards wrote. Whittier calls this one of the most readable biographies in English literature. During her stay in New York, which continued, contrary to all expectation, until 1849 or 1850, she wrote a series of letters to the Boston Courier, edited by Joseph Buckingham, which were published later in book form, as Letters from New York, First and Second Part. She began also her great work, The Progress of Religious Ideas through Successive Ages. This was published in 1855. About this time James Russell Lowell admirably portrayed Mrs. Child in his Fable for Critics. He evidently admired her greatly. In 1849 she left New York and joined her husband in West Newton, but soon after they went to Wayland to live with Mrs. Child's father, the aged David Francis. In this house they spent the rest of their lives, with an occasional winter in Medford with their friends, the Misses Osgood, or in Boston, either boarding
1836 AD (search for this): chapter 10
that I am passing through. When I approach the setting sun And feel my journey well-nigh done, May earth be veiled in genial light And her last smile to me seem bright. Help me till then to kindly view The world that I am passing through. In 1836 Mrs. Child published Philothea, a Greek romance in the time of Phidias, Plato, Anaxagoras, Pericles, Alcibiades, and Aspasia. It was pronounced the crowning achievement of her intellectual efforts, and was received with something of the enthusiass in the application of Greek names and phrases my excuse must be an entire want of knowledge in the classic languages. But, like the ignoramus in the old drama, I can boast though I speak no Greek, I love the sound on't. Between Philothea in 1836 and the Letters from New York in 1843 and 1845, there were several publications of less importance, besides numberless contributions to the Anti-Slavery cause in newspapers and magazines. Meantime, Mr. Child visited England and France, whence he
October (search for this): chapter 10
's Book; A Romance of the Republic; Looking toward Sunset; and, only two years before her death, Aspirations of the World. Her death occurred quite unexpectedly on the morning of the twentieth of October, 1880. She had been as well as usual, and had been making plans for the winter, when suddenly she complained of a severe pain, and before help could be summoned, passed gently away, in the seventy-ninth year of her age. A few friends from Medford drove up to her funeral on the beautiful October day, and listened to the inspired words of Wendell Phillips, as he stood by his old friend, with his hand on her coffin, and told us, as only he could, of the struggles and the triumphs which had built the noble character he described. Then, led by the whitehaired undertaker, the small procession slowly walked to the burying-ground near by, and as we stood there, in reverent silence, a magnificent rainbow spanned the eastern sky. Inscription on the stone at Mrs. Child's Grave in Wayland
February 11th, 1802 AD (search for this): chapter 10
Her death occurred quite unexpectedly on the morning of the twentieth of October, 1880. She had been as well as usual, and had been making plans for the winter, when suddenly she complained of a severe pain, and before help could be summoned, passed gently away, in the seventy-ninth year of her age. A few friends from Medford drove up to her funeral on the beautiful October day, and listened to the inspired words of Wendell Phillips, as he stood by his old friend, with his hand on her coffin, and told us, as only he could, of the struggles and the triumphs which had built the noble character he described. Then, led by the whitehaired undertaker, the small procession slowly walked to the burying-ground near by, and as we stood there, in reverent silence, a magnificent rainbow spanned the eastern sky. Inscription on the stone at Mrs. Child's Grave in Wayland. Lydia Maria Child born Feb. 11, 1802 died Oct. 20, 1880 You call us dead We are not dead We are truly living now.
1859 AD (search for this): chapter 10
eprecated her giving so large an amount. Well, said she, I'll think it over. The next day she wrote, Wendell, make it $200! Another time she wrote him, I have $400 to my credit at my publishers, for my book Looking toward Sunset; please get it and give it to the freedmen. My personal acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. Child began a little before this, in the troubled times just before the Civil war, and just after what was called the John Brown raid. Mr. and Mrs. Child spent that winter of 1859 and 1860 in Medford, with their friend Miss Lucy Osgood, and we met them frequently. It was an anxious winter. Abolitionists were hated, ostracized, and mobbed. Wendell Phillips went to and from his lectures surrounded by a body-guard of young men, self appointed to protect him from the violence which was constantly threatened and sometimes attempted. Even sedate, conservative Medford shared in the disturbance. On one memorable occasion one of the few abolitionists in the town, warmly s
1860 AD (search for this): chapter 10
her giving so large an amount. Well, said she, I'll think it over. The next day she wrote, Wendell, make it $200! Another time she wrote him, I have $400 to my credit at my publishers, for my book Looking toward Sunset; please get it and give it to the freedmen. My personal acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. Child began a little before this, in the troubled times just before the Civil war, and just after what was called the John Brown raid. Mr. and Mrs. Child spent that winter of 1859 and 1860 in Medford, with their friend Miss Lucy Osgood, and we met them frequently. It was an anxious winter. Abolitionists were hated, ostracized, and mobbed. Wendell Phillips went to and from his lectures surrounded by a body-guard of young men, self appointed to protect him from the violence which was constantly threatened and sometimes attempted. Even sedate, conservative Medford shared in the disturbance. On one memorable occasion one of the few abolitionists in the town, warmly seconded b
1800 AD (search for this): chapter 10
years in the war of the Revolution, and afterwards resumed his trade, which was a good one, no cloth being imported at that time. His wife was Lydia Converse, an orphan, brought up by her uncle, Dr. Converse, of Woburn. Their home is supposed to have been in Menotomy, the old Indian name of West Cambridge, adjoining the estate of Peter C. Brooks in Medford. Their son, David, was born there, and remained there for several years after his marriage to Susannah Rand, of Charlestown. Then in 1800 they removed to Medford, to the brick house already mentioned. He was a baker by trade, known far and wide by his crackers and gingerbread. The crackers were stamped Medford, and were exported to England in large quantities. He retired from business at the age of fifty, with a fortune of $50,000, equal to a million now. His boyhood had been passed in the stern realities following the seven years war of the Revolution, and his wife, Susannah Rand, was one of a family who were driven from
1852 AD (search for this): chapter 10
anged everything for my comfort before you left; so much kindling wood cut up, and the bricks piled to protect my flowers. In such ways, their affection, never paraded, was always manifest. After Mr. Child's death, Mrs. Child said, in speaking of a future life: I believe it would be of small value to me, if I were not united to him. In this connection, let me quote a few lines from some reminiscences of her husband, found among her papers, and published in the preface to her Letters. In 1852 we made a humble home in Wayland, Mass., where we spent twenty-two pleasant years entirely alone, without any domestic, mutually serving each other, and dependent upon each other for intellectual companionship. I always depended on his richlystored mind, which was able and ready to furnish needed information on any subject. . . . But what I remember with the most tender gratitude is his uniform patience and forbearance with my faults. He never would see anything but the right side of my cha
1855 AD (search for this): chapter 10
markable life she afterwards wrote. Whittier calls this one of the most readable biographies in English literature. During her stay in New York, which continued, contrary to all expectation, until 1849 or 1850, she wrote a series of letters to the Boston Courier, edited by Joseph Buckingham, which were published later in book form, as Letters from New York, First and Second Part. She began also her great work, The Progress of Religious Ideas through Successive Ages. This was published in 1855. About this time James Russell Lowell admirably portrayed Mrs. Child in his Fable for Critics. He evidently admired her greatly. In 1849 she left New York and joined her husband in West Newton, but soon after they went to Wayland to live with Mrs. Child's father, the aged David Francis. In this house they spent the rest of their lives, with an occasional winter in Medford with their friends, the Misses Osgood, or in Boston, either boarding or visiting other friends. Those of us who wer
February 1st, 1802 AD (search for this): chapter 10
Lydia Maria Child. by Anna D. Hallowell. few reputations survive the almost universal mortality of a hundred years. Whenever, or wherever, this exception occurs our curiosity is challenged to inquire what elements of character triumphed over the limitations of time, what traits were a part of immortal life. Almost a century has elapsed since a little girl was born in the village of Medford, on Feb. 1, 1802, and duly christened by Dr. Osgood, minister over the First, and only, Church,—Lydia Maria Francis. The substantial brick house in which she opened her eyes was built and owned by her father, David Francis, and is now occupied by the Medford Historical Society. Richard Francis was the first of the name to come to America. He died in 1686 or 1687, aged eighty-six years, or thereabouts, according to his gravestone in West Cambridge, now Arlington. The next knowledge of the family is of Mrs. Child's grandfather, Richard Francis, a weaver by trade. He was an ardent Liberty
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