Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary. Daniel Dulany Addison
to the pinnacle of a nation’s glory for ninepence, we are not in the habit of considering this its sole productive principle, unless gratitude and patriotism are omitted.”
Miss Larcom remained at Monticello Seminary until her graduation in June, 1852. Miss Fobes says: “When she left the institution, with her diploma, and the benediction of her Alma Mater, we felt sure that, with her noble equipment for service, the result should be success in whatever field she should find her work.” Her improvement had been so great that it was noticeable to the members of the family, who referred to her as “our learned sister.”
TO MRS. ABBY O. HASKELL.
Monticello Seminary, May 14th, 1850.
… But pray don’t call me your “learned sister” any more; for if I deserved the title, it would make me feel like a something on a pedestal, and not plain Lucy Larcom: the sister of some half-dozen worthy matrons.
I think it must be a mistake about my having improved so very much; though I should be sorry to have lived all these years and made no advancement. Folks tell me that I am dignified, sometimes, but I don’t know what it means. I have never tried to be, and I seem just as natural to myself as anything.
I don’t know how I could ever get along with all your cares. I should like tending the babies well enough, but when it came to washing, baking, brewing, and mending, my patience would take “French leave.” Still I don’t believe that any married woman’s trials are much worse than a “schoolma’am’s.” …
There was an event in her life in the West to be touched on. It relates to her one serious love affair. A deep attachment sprang up between Lucy and a young man who had accompanied her sister’s family to Illinois, and for a time lived with them during their log-cabin experiences, but afterwards went to California. When he left, though they could hardly be called engaged, there was an understanding between them that, when he returned during the last days of her school life, they were to decide the matter finally. After three years of separation, they were no nearer a conclusion. Some years after this, it became clear to Miss Larcom that their marriage would not be for the best interests of either.
In 1852, her thoughts turned again to her native town of Beverly. Equipped with her Monticello education, she felt prepared to support herself by teaching in her congenial home in the East. The memories of her childhood drew her back in thought to her old home. She wrote to her brother Benjamin in March, “The almanac says I am twenty-eight years old, but really, Ben, I do believe it fibs, for I don’t feel half so old. It seems only the other day that Lydia and I were sitting by the big kitchen fireplace, down the lane, and you opposite us, puffing cigar-smoke into our hair, and singing, ‘My name is Apollyon.’ ”
To her sister Lydia, whose birthday was on the same day of the month as her own, she sent some verses recalling her childhood.
“In childhood we looked gayly out,
To see this blustering dawn begin
And hailed the wind whose noisy shout
Our mutual birthday ushered in.
“For cakes, beneath our pillow rolled,
We laughing searched, and wondered, too,
How mother had so well foretold
What fairy people meant to do.”
CHAPTER III.
LIFE AT NORTON.
1853–1859.
In the autumn of 1853, Miss Larcom, having returned to Beverly, lived for a year with her sister, Mrs. Baker, in the pretty old-fashioned house on Cabot Street. Securing a few rooms in an unoccupied house not far away, she fitted them up as schoolroom and studio. Here she taught a little school with ten scholars. Most of these young girls were as far advanced as the second class at Monticello, and having already been instructed in the fundamental studies, they were not so difficult to teach as her untrained pupils in the West. The impression she made upon each of these young lives was strong, for, as a little family, she not only taught them the lessons, but gave them generously from her enthusiasm and faith. She imparted to them her love for all things true and beautiful. When the school year closed, she asked each girl to choose her favorite flower, upon which she wrote a few lines of verse—on the hyacinth, signifying jealousy—on the lily of the valley, meaning innocence.
“The fragrance Sarah would inhale
Is the lily of the vale:
‘Humility,’ it whispers low;
Ah! let that gentle breathing flow
Deep within, and then will you
Be a lily of the valley too.”
One of these pupils wrote to her years after: “Among the teachers of my girlhood, you are the one who stands out as my model of womanhood.”
While teaching, she still considered herself a scholar. Nor did she ever in after life overcome this feeling, for she was always eager to learn. When she was imparting her best instruction, and writing her most noteworthy books, she studied with great fidelity. At this time she took lessons in French and drawing; her love for color and form was always great. Often she had attempted in crude ways to preserve the spirit of a landscape, and so reproduce the color of the green ferns and variegated flowers; but now she set about the task in earnest. She had no special talent for painting, so she did nothing worthy of special notice, but some water-color sketches of autumn leaves, the golden-rod’s “rooted sunshine,” woodland violets, and the coral of the barberry, and apple-blossoms, “flakes of fragrance drifting everywhere,” are very pretty. This study of painting, however, trained her observation, and prepared her to appreciate works of art by giving her some knowledge of the use of the palette. This early attempt at artist’s work strengthened her love for pictures; and it was a special treat to her to visit the different galleries in Boston, where she was sure to be one of the first to see a celebrated painting.
It was a pleasure to her to be once more with her family, for the members of which she had the deepest affection. Writing to Miss Fobes, she expressed herself thus: “I am glad I came home, for I never realized before what a treasure my family circle was, nor how much I loved them. Then why do I not wish to stay? Simply because it does not seem to me that I can here develop the utmost that is in me. Ought I to be contented while that feeling remains?”
The feeling that she must develop “the utmost that is in me,” impelled her through life, as a duty that she must regard. She was not without opportunities for cultivation in Beverly. There were the two weekly Lyceum lectures, with good speakers—Miss Lucy Stone had advocated woman’s rights so ably that “even in this conservative town many became converts.” However, she longed for a larger work, and was ready to accept the call to be a teacher in Wheaton Seminary, Norton, Massachusetts.
In the early winter of 1854, she began her work at Wheaton Seminary, the large school for girls, founded through the generosity of Judge Wheaton, in memory of his daughter. The subjects given her to teach were history, moral philosophy, literature, and rhetoric, including the duty of overlooking the greater part of the compositions.
Her spirit on entering upon this new work, is indicated by this letter:—
TO MISS P. FOBES.
Wheaton Seminary, Norton, Mass.,
January 10, 1855.
Dear Miss Fobes:—When I look back upon my life I think I see it divided into epochs similar to geological ages, when, by slow or sudden upheavings, I have found myself the wondering possessor of a new life in a new world. My years at Monticello formed such an epoch, and it is no flattery to say that to you I owe much of the richness and beauty of the landscape over which I now exult. For your teaching gave me intellectually a broader scope and firmer footing than I ever had ventured upon.
I