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Cincinnati (Ohio, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
er took lessons in Latin and Italian from Professor Bachi and in geometry from Professor Benjamin Peirce. I forget where this especial sister studied English, but she wrote for me all the passages that were found worth applauding in my commencement oration. Yet it is a curious fact that I owe indirectly to a single remark made by my mother all the opening of my eyes to the intellectual disadvantages of her sex. There came to Cambridge a very accomplished stranger, Mrs. Rufus King, of Cincinnati, Ohio, -afterward Mrs. Peter,--who established herself there about 1837, directing the college training of a younger brother, two sons, and two nephews. No woman in Cambridge was so highly educated; and once, as she was making some criticisms at our house upon the inequalities between the sexes, my mother exclaimed in her ardent way, But only think, Mrs. King, what an education you have obtained. Yes, was the reply, but how did I obtain it? Then followed a tale almost as pathetic as that t
Port Royal (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
Waves Dashed high, The outward bound, Love not, Fairy Bells, The evening Gun, and dozens of others, the slightest strain of which brings back to me, after sixty years, every thrill of her voice, every movement of her fine head. Strange power of music, strange gift to be bestowed on one who, when once away from the piano, was simply a hearty, good-natured woman, without a trace of inspiration! She was the sister of Lieutenant (afterwards Admiral) Davis, and his fine naval achievements at Port Royal and Memphis seemed only to put into squadron-strophes the magnificent triumphs of her song. I still recall the enchantment with which I heard, one moonlit summer night, the fine old glee To Greece we give our Shining blades, sung as a serenade under my sister's window, by a quartette consisting of Miss Davis and her brother, of Miss Harriet Mills, who afterwards became his wife, and of William Story. I had never before heard the song, and it made me feel, in Keats's phrase, as if I were
New England (United States) (search for this): chapter 3
d I only hope that I shall improve all my advantages. She was at this time in her thirtieth year, and in this sweet spirit laid down the utmost that the little New England capital could then afford of luxury and fashion. Another change came soon, when she and her flock were transferred, rather against her will, to Cambridge, anra,--then explaining to us its meaning, that through difficulties we must seek the stars. It is a mistake to suppose that we did not have, sixty years ago in New England, associations already historic. At home we had various family portraits of ancestors in tie-wigs or powdered hair. We knew the very treasures which Dr. Holmeszed at it with awe, as if it were a memorial of Bloody Mary — with a difference. Greatly to my bliss, I escaped almost absolutely all those rigors of the old New England theology which have darkened the lives of so many. I never heard of the Five Points of Calvinism until maturity; never was converted, never experienced religio
Salem, Columbiana County, Ohio (Ohio, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
lmes was born. My father's house — now occupied by Mrs. F. L. Batchelder--was begun in 1818, when the land was bought from Harvard College, whose official he had just become. Already the Scientific School and the Hemenway Gymnasium crowd upon it, and the university will doubtless, one of these days, engulf it once more. My father came of a line of Puritan clergymen, officials, militia officers, and latterly East India merchants, all dating back to the Rev. Francis Higginson, who landed at Salem in 1629, in charge of the first large party for the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and who made that historic farewell recorded by Cotton Mather, as his native shores faded away: We will not say, as the Separatists said, Farewell, Rome! Farewell, Babylon! But we will say, Farewell, dear England! Farewell, the Christian church in England, and all the Christian friends there! My father had been, like his father before him,--also named Stephen Higginson, and a member of the Continental Congres
Europe (search for this): chapter 3
inting of this last hero of Pope's lay, a picture sent anonymously to the house, during my father's life, with the inscription that it was for a man who so eminently Copys the Fair Original. Through inquiries very lately made at Ross in England, I found with surprise that no picture of the original Man of Ross remained in the village; and I was led to suspect that this might be one of the two portraits which were once there, but have disappeared. Mine is certainly not that engraved in the European magazine for 1786, but a far more attractive representation. My father retained warm friends in his adversity, who bought for him the land where the Cambridge house stood, and secured for him the position of steward of the college, the post now rechristened bursar, and one in which he did, as Dr. A. P. Peabody tells us, most of the duties of treasurer. In that capacity he planted, as I have always been told, a large part of the trees in the college yard,--nobody in Cambridge ever says ca
Rob Roy (Indiana, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
ace as hell, because their minister had never mentioned it. Even Sunday brought no actual terrors. I have the sweetest image of my mother sitting ready dressed for church, before my sisters had descended, and usually bearing a flower in her hand. In winter we commonly drove to the parish church in an open sleigh, and once had an epoch-making capsize into a snow-drift. As I was seized by the legs and drawn forth, I felt like the hero of one of the Waverley novels, and as if I had been in Rob Roy's cave. No doubt we observed the Sabbath after a mild fashion, for I once played a surreptitious game of ball with my brother behind the barn on that day, and it could not have made me so very happy had it not been, as Emerson says, drugged with the relish of fear and pain. Yet I now recall with pleasure that while my mother disapproved of all but sacred music on Sunday, she ruled that all good music was sacred; and that she let us play on Sunday evening a refreshing game of cards,geograp
Auburn, N. Y. (New York, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
n of a boy's life is perhaps his outdoor training, since to live out of doors is to be forever in some respects a boy. Who could be before me, though the palace of the Caesars crackt and split with emperors, while I, sitting in silence on a cliff of Rhodes, watcht the sun as he swang his golden censer athwart the heavens? Landor's hero was not happier than my playmate, Charles Parsons, and myself, as we lay under Lowell's willows at the causey's end, after a day at Mount Auburn,--then Sweet Auburn still,to sort out our butterflies in summer or divide our walnuts in autumn, while we chanted uproariously the Hunter's chorus: -- We roam through the forest and over the mountain; No joy of the court or banquet like this. We always made a pause after the word court, and supposed ourselves to be hurling defiance at monarchies. Every boy of active tastes — and mine were eminently such — must become the one thing or the other, either a sportsman or a naturalist; and I have never regrette
Puritan (Ohio, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
ch the provincial troops marched to the battle of Bunker Hill, after halting for prayer at the gambrel-roofed house where Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes was born. My father's house — now occupied by Mrs. F. L. Batchelder--was begun in 1818, when the land was bought from Harvard College, whose official he had just become. Already the Scientific School and the Hemenway Gymnasium crowd upon it, and the university will doubtless, one of these days, engulf it once more. My father came of a line of Puritan clergymen, officials, militia officers, and latterly East India merchants, all dating back to the Rev. Francis Higginson, who landed at Salem in 1629, in charge of the first large party for the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and who made that historic farewell recorded by Cotton Mather, as his native shores faded away: We will not say, as the Separatists said, Farewell, Rome! Farewell, Babylon! But we will say, Farewell, dear England! Farewell, the Christian church in England, and all the Chr
Nahant (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
d my depth, from one sedgy bank to another. Skating was learned on Craigie's Pond, now drained, and afterwards practiced on the beautiful black ice of Fresh Pond. We played baseball and football, and a modified cricket, and on Saturdays made our way to the tenpin alleys at Fresh Pond or Porter's Tavern. My father had an old white pony which patiently ambled under me, and I was occasionally allowed to borrow Dr. Webster's donkey, the only donkey I had ever seen. Sometimes we were taken to Nahant for a day by the seaside, and watched there the swallows actually building their nests in Swallows' Cave, whence they have long since vanished. Perhaps we drove down over the interminable beach, but we oftener went in the steamboat; and my very earliest definite recollection is that of being afraid to go down into the cabin for dinner because a black waiter — the first I ever saw — had just gone down, and I was afraid. Considering how deeply I was to cast in my lot with the black race in l
Mount Auburn (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
the heavens? Landor's hero was not happier than my playmate, Charles Parsons, and myself, as we lay under Lowell's willows at the causey's end, after a day at Mount Auburn,--then Sweet Auburn still,to sort out our butterflies in summer or divide our walnuts in autumn, while we chanted uproariously the Hunter's chorus: -- We ro actually carry me back so far in time. In the same way, our walks, when not directed toward certain localities for rare flowers or birds or insects,--as to Mount Auburn sands, now included in the cemetery of that name, or the extensive jungle north of Fresh Pond, where the herons of Longfellow's poem had their nests,--were mory the elder Papanti, and sometimes by a most graceful woman, Miss Margaret Davis, sister of the songstress I have described. We had Mayday parties, usually at Mount Auburn, and showed in the chilly May mornings that heroic courage which Lowell plaintively attributes to children on these occasions. But all this sporting with Amar
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