Memories and Anecdotes

Kate Sanborn

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• Publié par: nufong
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 27
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Memories and Anecdotes, by Kate Sanborn
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Title: Memories and Anecdotes
Author: Kate Sanborn
Release Date: February 25, 2005 [EBook #15174]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMORIES AND ANECDOTES ***
Produced by Janet Kegg and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed
Proofreading TeamGREETINGS AND WELCOME TO EVERY READER
(KATE SANBORN)
MEMORIES AND
ANECDOTES
BY
KATE SANBORN
AUTHOR OF "ADOPTING AN ABANDONED FARM," "ABANDONING AN
ADOPTED FARM," "OLD-TIME WALL PAPERS," ETC.
WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1915
To
ALL MY FRIENDS EVERYWHEREESPECIALLY TO MY BELOVED
"NEW HAMPSHIRE DAUGHTERS" IN MASSACHUSETTS,
MY PUPILS IN SMITH COLLEGE,
ALSO AT PACKER INSTITUTE, BROOKLYN,
AND ALL THOSE WHO HAD THE PATIENCE TO LISTEN TO MY
LECTURES,
WITH GRATEFUL REGARDS TO THOSE DARTMOUTH GRADUATES
WHO, LIKING MY FATHER, WERE ALWAYS GIVING HIS
AMBITIOUS DAUGHTER A HELPING HAND
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
My Early Days—Odd Characters in our Village—
Distinguished Visitors to Dartmouth—Two Story-
Tellers of Hanover—A "Beacon Light" and a Master of
Synonyms—A Day with Bryant in his Country Home—
A Wedding Trip to the White Mountains in 1826 in "A
One-Hoss Shay"—A Great Career which Began in a
Country Store
CHAPTER II
A Friend at Andover, Mass.—Hezekiah Butterworth—
A Few of my Own Folks—Professor Putnam of
Dartmouth—One Year at Packer Institute, Brooklyn—
Beecher's Face in Prayer—The Poet Saxe as I Saw
him—Offered the Use of a Rare Library—Miss Edna
Dean Proctor—New Stories of Greeley—Experiences
at St. Louis
CHAPTER III
Happy Days with Mrs. Botta—My Busy Life in New
York—President Barnard of Columbia College—A
Surprise from Bierstadt—Professor Doremus, a
Universal Genius—Charles H. Webb, a truly funny
"Funny Man"—Mrs. Esther Herman, a Modest Giver
CHAPTER IV
Three Years at Smith College—Appreciation of Its
Founder—A Successful Lecture Tour—My Trip to
Alaska
CHAPTER V
Frances E. Willard—Walt Whitman—Lady Henry
Somerset—Mrs. Hannah Whitehall Smith—A
Teetotaler for Ten Minutes—Olive Thorn Miller—
Hearty Praise for Mrs. Lippincott (Grace Greenwood.)CHAPTER VI
In and near Boston—Edward Everett Hale—Thomas
Wentworth Higginson—Julia Ward Howe—Mary A.
Livermore—A Day at the Concord School—Harriet G.
Hosmer—"Dora Distria," our Illustrious Visitor
CHAPTER VII
Elected to be the First President of New Hampshire's
Daughters in Massachusetts. Now Honorary President
—Kind Words which I Highly Value—Three, but not "of
a Kind"—A Strictly Family Affair—Two Favorite Poems
—Breezy Meadows.
ILLUSTRATIONS
Greetings and Welcome to Every Reader
(Kate Sanborn) Frontispiece
The Street Fronting the Sanborn Home at
Hanover, N.H.
Mrs. Anne C. Lynch Botta
President Barnard of Columbia College
Professor R. Ogden Doremus
Sophia Smith
Peter MacQueen
Sam Walter Foss
Pines and Silver Birches
Paddling in Chicken Brook
The Island Which We Made
Taka's Tea House at Lily Pond
The Lookout
The Switch
How Vines Grow at Breezy Meadows
Grand Elm (over Two Hundred Years Old)
MEMORIES AND ANECDOTES
CHAPTER IMy Early Days—Odd Characters in our Village—Distinguished Visitors
to Dartmouth—Two Story Tellers of Hanover—A "Beacon Light" and a
Master of Synonyms—A Day with Bryant in his Country Home—A
Wedding Trip to the White Mountains in 1826 in "A One Hoss Shay"—
A Great Career which Began in a Country Store.
I make no excuse for publishing these memories. Realizing that I
have been so fortunate as to know an unusual number of
distinguished men and women, it gives me pleasure to share this
privilege with others.
One summer morning, "long, long ago," a newspaper was sent by
my grandmother, Mrs. Ezekiel Webster, to a sister at Concord, New
Hampshire, with this item of news pencilled on the margin:
"Born Thursday morning, July 11, 1839, 4.30 A.M., a fine little girl,
seven pounds."
I was born in my father's library, and first opened my eyes upon a
scenic wall-paper depicting the Bay of Naples; in fact I was born just
under Vesuvius—which may account for my occasional eruptions of
temper and life-long interest in "Old Time Wall-papers." Later our
house was expanded into a college dormitory and has been removed
to another site, but Vesuvius is still smoking placidly in the old library.
Mine was a shielded, happy childhood—an only child for six years
—and family letters show that I was "always and for ever talking,"
asking questions, making queer remarks, or allowing free play to a
vivid imagination, which my parents thought it wise to restrain. Father
felt called upon to write for a child's paper about Caty's Gold Fish,
which were only minnows from Mink Brook.
"Caty is sitting on the floor at my feet, chattering as usual, and
asking questions." I seem to remember my calling over the banister to
an assembled family downstairs, "Muzzer, Muzzer, I dess I dot a
fezer," or "Muzzer, come up, I'se dot a headache in my stomach." I
certainly can recall my intense admiration for Professor Ira Young,
our next door neighbour, and his snowy pow, which I called "pity wite
fedders."
As years rolled on, I fear I was pert and audacious. I once touched
at supper a blazing hot teapot, which almost blistered my fingers, and
I screamed with surprise and pain. Father exclaimed, "Stop that
noise, Caty." I replied, "Put your fingers on that teapot—and don't
kitikize." And one evening about seven, my usual bedtime, I
announced, "I'm going to sit up till eight tonight, and don't you 'spute."
I know of many children who have the same habit of questions and
sharp retorts. One of my pets, after plying her mother with about forty
questions, wound up with, "Mother, how does the devil's darning
needle sleep? Does he lie down on a twig or hang, or how?" "I don't
know, dear." "Why, mother, it is surprising when you have lived so
many years, that you know so little!"
Mr. Higginson told an absurd story of an inquisitive child and
wearied mother in the cars passing the various Newtons, near
Boston. At last the limit. "Ma, why do they call this West Newton?"
"Oh, I suppose for fun." Silence for a few minutes, then, "Ma, what
was the fun in calling it West Newton?"
I began Latin at eight years—my first book a yellow paper primer.I was always interested in chickens, and dosed all the indisposed
as:
Dandy Dick
Was very sick,
I gave him red pepper
And soon he was better.
In spring, I remember the humming of our bees around the
sawdust, and my craze for flower seeds and a garden of my own.
Father had a phenomenal memory; he could recite in his
classroom pages of Scott's novels, which he had not read since early
youth. He had no intention of allowing my memory to grow flabby
from lack of use. I often repeat a verse he asked me to commit to
memory:
In reading authors, when you find
Bright passages that strike your mind,
And which perhaps you may have reason
To think on at another season;
Be not contented with the sight,
But jot them down in black and white;
Such respect is wisely shown
As makes another's thought your own.
Every day at the supper table I had to repeat some poetry or prose
and on Sunday a hymn, some of which were rather depressing to a
young person, as:
Life is but a winter's day;
A journey to the tomb.
And the vivid description of "Dies Irae":
When shrivelling like a parched scroll
The flaming heavens together roll
And louder yet and yet more dread
Swells the high Trump that wakes the dead.
Great attention was given to my lessons in elocution from the best
instructors then known, and I had the privilege of studying with
William Russell, one of the first exponents of that art. I can still hear
his advice: "Full on the vowels; dwell on the consonants, especially
at the close of sentences; keep voice strong for the close of an
important sentence or paragraph." Next, I took lessons from Professor
Mark Bailey of Yale College; and then in Boston in the classes of
Professor Lewis B. Monroe,—a most interesting, practical teacher of
distinctness, expression, and the way to direct one's voice to this or
that part of a hall. I was given the opportunity also of hearing an
occasi