The following are excerpts from Laura E. Richards' autobiography, When I Was Your Age, written for children.
Several of the activities described not only provide glimpses of 19th-century children's activities but also mirror situations in fictional children's books. For example, Chapter 1 (pp. 16-20) includes an example of Laura's sister's juvenile writings, a melodramatic play not unlike some of those found in Louisa May Alcott's Little Women or Susan Coolidge's What Katy Did. Another parallel with the latter occurs in chapter II (pp. 35-36), with the account of Pistachio, the footstool regarded as a favored doll (similar to Pikery, the little chair which John tied to the bedpost at night and so disastrously treated with Aunt Izzie's medicine in Katy).
Dolls, doll clothes, and doll disasters (including a doll blinding -- a catastrophe also found in Sophie May's Flaxie's Kittyleen, though with a different motivation) figure in the last half of Chapter 2; dressing up -- another favorite activity of children in books -- in Chapter 10 (albeit with an unusual twist for the Howe children, who actually had Byron's helmet among their dress-up gear). The Howe children's creativity at spinning stories is ever-present in the excerpts, evidenced with Flossy's tales of Patty the fairy, Julia's play, and Laura's composition, "Lost and Found," (a sample of her childhood writings -- the latter in Chapter 9, pp. 185-86).
WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
BOSTON: ESTES AND LAURIAT
1894 [c1893]
[13]
CHAPTER I.
OURSELVES.
========================
[15]
Julia wrote stories herself, too,-very wonderful stories, we all thought, and, indeed, I think so still. She began when she was a little girl, not more than six or seven
years old. There lies beside me now on the
table a small book, about five inches square,
bound in faded pink and green, and filled
from cover to cover with writing in a
cramped, childish hand.. It is a book of
novels and plays, written by our Julia before she was ten years old; and I often
think that the beautiful and helpful things
she wrote in her later years were hardly
more remarkable than these queer little romances. They are very sentimental; no
child of eight, save perhaps Marjorie Flem-
[16]
ing, was ever so sentimental as Julia,-" Leonora Mayre; A Tale," " The Lost Suitor,"
" The Offers." I must quote a scene from
the last-named play.
SCENE I.
Parlor at MRS. EVANS'S. FLORENCE EVANS alone.
Enter ANNIE.
A. Well, Florence, Bruin is going to make an offer,
I suppose.
F. Why so ?
A. Here 's a pound of candy from him. He said
he had bought it for you, but on arriving he
was afraid it was too trifling a gift; but hoping you would not throw it away, he requested me to give it to that virtuous young
lady, as he calls you.
F. Well, I am young, but I did not know that I
was virtuous.
A. I think you are.
SCENE II.
Parlor. MR. BRUIN alone.
MR. B. Why doesn't she come? She doesn't
usually keep me waiting.
[17]
Enter FLORENCE.
F. How do you do? I am sorry to have kept
you waiting.
MR. B. I have not been here more than a few
minutes. Your parlor is so warm this cold
day that I could wait. [Laughs.
F. You sent me some candy the other day which
I liked very much.
MR. B. Well, you liked the candy; so I pleased
you. Now you can please me. I don't
care about presents; I had rather have something that can love me. You.
F. I do not love you. [Exit MR. BRUIN.
SCENE III.
FLORENCE alone. Enter MR. CAS.
F. How do you do?
MR. C. Very well.
F. It is a very pleasant day.
MR. C. Yes. It would be still pleasanter if you
will be my bride. I want a respectful refusal, but prefer a cordial acception.
F. You can have the former. [Exit MR. CAS.
SCENE IV.
FLORENCE with MR. EMERSON.
MR. E. I love you, Florence. You may not love
me, for I am inferior to you; but tell me
[18]
whether you do or not. If my hopes are
true, let me know it, and I shall not be
doubtful any longer. If they are not, tell
me, and I shall not expect any more.
F. They are. [Exit MR. EMERSON.
The fifth scene of this remarkable drama
is laid in the church, and is very thrilling.
The stage directions are brief, but it is evident from the text that as Mr. Emerson and
his taciturn bride advance to the altar.
Messrs. Cas and Bruin, " to gain some private ends," do the same. The Bishop is introduced without previous announcement.
SCENE V.
BISHOP. Are you ready?
MR. B. Yes.
BISHOP. Mr. Emerson, are you ready?
MR. C. Yes.
BISHOP. Mr. Emerson, I am waiting.
BRUIN and CAS [together]. So am I.
MR. E. I am ready. But what have these men
to do with our marriage?
MR. B. Florence, I charge you with a breach of
promise. You said you would be my bride.
F. I did not.
[19]
MR. C. You promised me.
F. When?
MR. C. A month ago. You said you would marry
me.
MR. B. A fortnight ago you promised me. You
said we would be married to-day.
MR. C. Bishop, what does this mean? Florence
Evans promised to marry me, and this very
day was fixed upon. And see how false
she has been ! She has, as you see, promised both of us, and now is going to wed
this man.
BISHOP. But Mr. Emerson and Miss Evans made
the arrangements with me; how is it that
neither of you said anything of it beforehand?
MR. C. I forgot.
MR. B. So did I. [F. weeps.
Enter ANNIE.
A. I thought I should be too late to be your
bridesmaid, but I find I am in time. But I
thought you were to be married at half-past
four, and it is five by the church clock.
MR. E. We should have been married by this
time, but these men say that Florence has
promised to marry them. Is it true,
Florence?
F. No. [BESSY, her younger sister, supports her.
[20]
A. It is n't true, for you know, Edward Bruin,
that you and I are engaged; and Mr. Cas
and Bessy have been for some time. And
both engagements have been out for more
than a week.
[BESSY looks reproachfully at CAS.
B. Why, Joseph Cas !
BISHOP. Come, Mr. Emerson! I see that Mr.
Cas and Mr. Bruin have been trying to
worry your bride. But their story can't be
true, for these other young ladies say that
they are engaged to them.
F. They each of them made me an offer, which I
refused. [The BISHOP marries them.
F. [After they are married.] I shall never again
be troubled with such offers [looks at CAS
and BRUIN] as yours !
I meant to give one scene, and I have
given the whole play, not knowing where to
stop. There was nothing funny about it to
Julia. The heroine, with her wonderful command of silence, was her ideal of maiden
reserve and dignity; the deep-dyed villany
of Bruin and Cas, the retiring manners of
the fortunate Emerson, the singular sprightliness of the Bishop, were all perfectly natural,
as her vivid mind saw them.
[21]
So she was bitterly grieved one day when
a dear friend of the family, to whom our
mother had read the play, rushed up to her,
and seizing her hand, cried, -
" 'Julia, will you have me?' 'No!' Exit
Mr. Bruin."
Deeply grieved the little maiden was ; and it
cannot have been very long after that time that
she gave the little book to her dearest aunt, who
has kept it carefully through all these years.
If Julia was like Milton's " Penseroso,"
Flossy was the " Allegro " in person, or like
Wordsworth's maiden, -
" A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay"
She was very small as a child. One day a
lady, not knowing that the little girl was
within hearing, said to her mother, " What a
pity Flossy is so small ! "
" I 'm big inside ! " cried a little angry voice
at her elbow; and there was Flossy, swelling
with rage, like an offended bantam. And
she was big inside! her lively, active spirit
seemed to break through the little body and
carry it along in spite of itself. Sometimes
[22]
it was an impish spirit; always it was an
enterprising one.
She it was who invented the dances which
seemed to us such wonderful performances.
We danced every evening in the great parlor,
our mother playing for us on the piano.
There was the " Macbeth " dance, in which
Flossy figured as Lady Macbeth. With a
dagger in her hand, she crept and rushed
and pounced and swooped about in a most
terrifying manner, always graceful as a fairy.
A sofa-pillow played the part of Duncan.,
and had a very hard time of it. The " Julius
Caesar " dance was no less tragic; we all
took part in it, and stabbed right and left
with sticks of kindling-wood. One got the
curling-stick and was happy, for it was the
next thing to the dagger, which no one
but Flossy could have. Then there was the
dance of the " Four Seasons," which had
four figures. In spring we sowed, in summer
we reaped; in autumn we hunted the deer,
and in winter there was much jingling of
bells. The hunting figure was most exciting. It was. performed with knives (kindling-
[23]
wood), as Flossy thought them more romantic
than guns; they were held close to the side,
with point projecting, and in this way we
moved with a quick chasse step, which,
coupled with a savage frown, was supposed
to be peculiarly deadly.
Flossy invented many other amusements,
too. There was the school-loan system.
We had school in the little parlor at that
time, and our desks had lids that lifted up.
In her desk Flossy kept a number of precious
things, which she lent to the younger children for so many pins an hour. The most
valuable thing was a set of three colored
worsted balls, red, green, and blue. You
could set them twirling, and they would keep
going for ever so long. It was a delightful
sport; but they were very expensive, costing,
I think, twenty pins an hour. It took a long
time to collect twenty pins, for of course it
was not fair to take them out of the pin-cushions.
Then there was a glass eye-cup without a
foot; that cost ten pins, and was a great
favorite with us. You stuck it in your eye,
[24]
and tried to hold it there while you winked
with the other. Of course all this was done
behind the raised desk-lid, and I have sometimes wondered what the teacher was doing
that she did not find us out sooner. She
was not very observant, and I am quite sure
she was afraid of Flossy. One sad day,
however, she caught Laura with the precious
glass in her eye, and it was taken away forever. It was a bitter thing to the child (I
know all about it. for I was Laura) to be
told that she could never have it again, even
after school. She had paid her ten pins, and
she could not see what right the teacher had
to take the glass away. But after that the
school-loan system was forbidden, and I
have never known what became of the three
worsted balls.
Flossy also told stories; or rather she
told one story which had no end, and of
which we never tired. Under the sea, she
told us, lived a fairy named Patty, who was
a most intimate friend of hers, and whom
she visited every night. This fairy dwelt in
a palace hollowed out of a single immense
[25]
pearl. The rooms in it were countless, and
were furnished in a singular and delightful
manner. In one room the chairs and sofas
were of chocolate; in another, of fresh strawberries; in another, of peaches,-and so on.
The floors were paved with squares of chocolate and cream candy; the windows were of
transparent barley-sugar, and when you broke
off the arm of a chair and ate it, or took a
square or two out of the pavement, they were
immediately replaced, so that there was no
trouble for any one. Patty had a ball every
evening, and Flossy never failed to go.
Sometimes, when we were good, she would
take us; but the singular thing about it was
that we never remembered what had happened. In the morning our infant minds
were a cheerful blank, till Flossy told us what
a glorious time we had had at Patty's the
night before, how we had danced with Willie
Winkle, and how much ice-cream we had
eaten. We listened to the recital with unalloyed delight, and believed every word of it,
till a sad day of awakening came. We were
always made to understand that we could not
[26]
bring away anything from Patty's, and were
content with this arrangement; but on this
occasion there was to be a ball of peculiar
magnificence, and Flossy, in a fit of generosity, told Harry that he was to receive a
pair of diamond trousers, which he would be
allowed to bring home. Harry was a child
with a taste for magnificence; and he went
to bed full of joy, seeing already in anticipation the glittering of the jewelled garment,
and the effects produced by it on the small
boys of his acquaintance. Bitter was the
disappointment when, on awakening in the
morning, the chair by his bedside bore only
the familiar brown knickerbockers, with a
patch of a lighter shade on one knee. Harry
wept, and would not be comforted ; and after
that, though we still liked to hear the Patty
stories, we felt that the magic of them was
gone, - that they were only stories, like
"Blue-beard" or "Jack and the Beanstalk."
[27]
CHAPTER II.
MORE ABOUT OURSELVES.
JULIA and Flossy did not content themselves
with writing plays and telling stories. They
aspired to making a language, - a real language, which should be all their own, and
should have grammars and dictionaries like
any other famous tongue. It was called
Patagonian, - whether with any idea of
future missionary work among the people
of that remote country, or merely because
it sounded well, I cannot say. It was a
singular language. I wish more of it had
survived; but I can give only a few of its
more familiar phrases.
MILLDAM - Yes.
PILLDAM - No.
MOUCHE-Mother.
BIS VON SNOUT?-Are you well?
[28]
BRUNK TU TOUCHY SNOUT -I am very well.
CHING CHU STICK STUMPS?-Will you have
some doughnuts?
These fragments will, I am sure, make
my readers regret deeply the loss of this
language, which has the merit of entire
originality.
As to Flossy's talent for making paper-dolls, it is a thing not to be described.
There were no such paper-dolls as those.
Their figures might not be exactly like the
human figure, but how infinitely more
graceful! Their waists were so small that
they sometimes broke in two when called
upon to courtesy to a partner or a queen:
that was the height of delicacy ! They had
ringlets invariably, and very large eyes with
amazing lashes ; they smiled with unchanging sweetness, filling our hearts with delight.
Many and wonderful were their dresses. The
crinoline of the day was magnified into a sort
of vast semi-circular cloud, adorned about
the skirt with strange patterns; one small
doll would sometimes wear a whole sheet of
foolscap in an evening dress! That was
[29]
extravagant, but our daughters must be in the
fashion. There was one yellow dress belonging to my doll Parthenia (a lovely creature
of Jewish aspect, whose waist was smaller
than her legs), which is not even now to be
remembered without emotion. We built
houses for the paper-dolls with books from
the parlor table, even borrowing some from
the bookcase when we wanted an extra suite
of rooms. I do not say it was good for the
books, but it was very convenient for the
dolls. I have reason to think that our mother
did not know of this practice. In the matter of their taking exercise, however, she
aided us materially, giving us sundry empty
trinket-boxes lined with satin, which made
the most charming carriages in the world.
The state coach was a silver-gilt portemonnaie
lined with red silk. It had seen better days,
and the clasp was broken; but that did not
make it less available as a coach. I wish
you could have seen Parthenia in it!
I do not think we cared so much for other
dolls, yet there were some that must be mentioned. Vashti Ann was named for a cook;
[30]
she belonged to Julia, and I have an idea
that she was of a very haughty and disagreeable temper, though I cannot remember her personal appearance. Still more
shadowy is my recollection of Eliza Viddipock, - a name to be spoken with bated
breath. What dark crime this wretched doll
had committed to merit her fearful fate, I do
not know; it was a thing not to be spoken
of to the younger children, apparently. But
I do know that she was hanged, with all
solemnity of judge and hangman. It seems
unjust that I should have forgotten the name
of Julia's good doll, who died, and had the
cover of the sugar-bowl buried with her, as
a tribute to her virtues.
Sally Bradford and Clara both belonged
to Laura. Sally was an india-rubber doll;
Clara, a doll with a china head of the old-fashioned kind, smooth, shining black hair,
brilliant rosy cheeks, and calm (very calm
blue eyes. I prefer this kind of doll to any
other. Clara's life was an uneventful one.
on the whole, and I remember only one remarkable thing in it. A little girl in the
[31]
neighborhood invited Laura to a dolls' party
on a certain day: she was to bring Clara by
special request. Great was the excitement,
for Laura was very small, and had never yet
gone to a party. A seamstress was in the
house making the summer dresses, and our
mother said that Clara should have a new
frock for the party. It seemed a very wonderful thing to have a real new white muslin
frock, made by a real seamstress, for one's
beloved doll. Clara had a beautiful white
neck, so the frock was made low and trimmed
with lace. When the afternoon came, Laura
brought some tiny yellow roses from the
greenhouse, and the seamstress sewed them
on down the front of the frock and round
the neck and hem. It is not probable that
any other doll ever looked so beautiful as
Clara when her toilet was complete.
Then Laura put on her own best frock,
which was not one half so fine, and tied on
her gray felt bonnet, trimmed with quillings
of pink and green satin ribbon, and started
off, the proudest and happiest child in the
whole world. She reached the house (it was
[32]
very near) and climbed up the long flight of
stone steps, and stood on tiptoe to ring the
bell, - then waited with a beating heart.
Would there be many other dolls ? Would
any of them be half so lovely as Clara ?
Would there - dreadful thought ! - would
there be big girls there ?
The door opened. If any little girls read
this they will now be very sorry for Laura.
There was no dolls' party! Rosy's mother
(the little girl's name was Rosy) had heard
nothing at all about it; Rosy had gone to
spend the afternoon with Sarah Crocker.
" Sorry, little girl ! What a pretty dolly !
Good-by, dear! " and then the door was shut
again.
Laura toddled down the long stone steps,
and went solemnly home. She did not cry,
because it would not be nice to cry in the
street; but she could not see very clearly,
She never went to visit Rosy again, and
never knew whether the dolls' party had
been forgotten, or why it was given up.
Before leaving the subject of dolls, I must
say a word about little Maud's first doll.
[33]
Maud was a child of rare beauty, as beautiful
as Julia, though very different. Her fair
hair was of such color and quality that our
mother used to call her Silk-and-silver, a
name which suited her well; her eyes were
like stars under their long black lashes. So
brilliant, so vivid was the child's coloring
that she seemed to flash with silver and rosy
light as she moved about. She was so much
younger than the others that in many of
their reminiscences she has no share; yet
she has her own stories, too. A friend of
our father's, being much impressed with this
starry beauty of the child, thought it would
be pleasant to give her the prettiest doll that
could be found; accordingly he appeared one
day bringing a wonderful creature, with hair
almost like Maud's own, and great blue eyes
that opened and shut, and cheeks whose
steadfast roses did not flash in and out, but
bloomed always. I think the doll was
dressed in blue and silver, but am not sure;
she was certainly very magnificent.
Maud was enchanted, of course, and
hugged her treasure, and went off with it.
[34]
It happened that she had been taken only
the day before to see the blind children at
the Institution near by, where our father
spent much of his time. It was the first
time she had talked with the little blind
girls, and they made a deep impression on
her baby mind, though she said little at the
time. As I said, she went off with her new
doll, and no one saw her for some time. At
length she returned, flushed and triumphant.
" My dolly is blind, now! " she cried; and
she displayed the doll, over whose eyes she
had tied a ribbon, in imitation of Laura
Bridgman. " She is blind Polly! ain't got
no eyes 't all ! "
Alas! it was even so. Maud had poked
the beautiful blue glass eyes till they fell
in, and only empty sockets were hidden by
the green ribbon. There was a great outcry, of course; but it did not disturb Maud
in the least. She wanted a blind doll, and
she had one; and no pet could be more
carefully tended than was poor blind Polly.
More precious than any doll could be,
rises in my memory the majestic form of
[35]
Pistachio. It was Flossy, ever fertile in
invention, who discovered the true worth of
Pistachio, and taught us to regard with awe
and reverence this object of her affection.
Pistachio was an oval mahogany footstool,
covered with green cloth of the color of the
nut whose name he bore. I have the impression that he had lost a leg, but am not
positive on this point. He was considered
an invalid, and every morning he was put
in the baby-carriage and taken in solemn
procession down to the brook for his morning bath. One child held a parasol over his
sacred head (only he had no head!), two
more propelled the carriage, while the other
two went before as outriders. No mirth was
allowed on this occasion, the solemnity of
which was deeply impressed on us. Arrived
at the brook, Pistachio was lifted from the
carriage by his chief officer, Flossy herself,
and set carefully down on the flat stone
beside the brook. His sacred legs were
dipped one by one into the clear water, and
dried with a towel. Happy was the child
who was allowed to perform this function!
[36]
After the bath, he was walked gently up
and down, and rubbed, to assist the circulation ; then he was put back in his carriage,
and the procession started for home again,
with the same gravity and decorum as before. The younger children felt sure there
was some mystery about Pistachio. I cannot feel sure, even now, that he was nothing more than an ordinary oval cricket;
but his secret, whatever it was, has perished
with him.
==========================
==========================
[182]
CHAPTER IX.
OUR FRIENDS.
WE had so many friends that I hardly know
where to begin. First of all, perhaps, I should
put the dear old Scotch lady whom we called
" D. D." She had another name, but that is
nobody's business but her own. D. D. was a
thousand years old. She always said so when
we asked her age, and she certainly ought to
have known. No one would have thought it
to look at her, for she had not a single gray
hair, and her eyes were as bright and black
as a young girl's. One of the pleasantest
things about her was the way she dressed, in
summer particularly. She wore a gown of
white dimity, always spotlessly clean, made
with a single plain skirt, and a jacket. The
jacket was a little open in front, showing a
handkerchief of white net fastened with a
brooch of hair in the shape of a harp.
[183]
Fashions made no difference to D. D.
People might wear green or yellow or purple, as they pleased, - she wore her white
dimity; and we children knew instinctively
that it was the prettiest and most becoming
dress that she could have chosen.
Another wonderful thing about D. D. was
her store-closet. There never was such a
closet as that! It was all full of glass jars,
and the jars were full of cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves and raisins, and all manner
of good things. Yes, and they were not
screwed down tight, as jars are likely to be
nowadays; but one could take off the top,
and see what was inside; and if it was cinnamon, one might take even a whole stick,
and D. D. would not mind. Sometimes a
friend of hers who lived at the South would
send her a barrel of oranges (she called it a
" bar'l of awnges," because she was Scotch,
and we thought it sounded a great deal prettier than the common way), and then we had
glorious times; for D. D. thought oranges
were very good for us, and we thought so
too. Then she had some very delightful and
[184]
interesting drawers, full of old daguerreotypes and pieces of coral, and all kinds of
alicurntweezies. Have I explained before
that " alicurntweezies " are nearly the same
as " picknickles " and " bucknickles " ?
D. D.'s son was a gallant young soldier,
and it was his hair that she wore in the
harp-shaped brooch. Many of the daguerreotypes were of him, and he certainly was
as handsome a fellow as any mother could
wish a son to be. When we went to take
tea with D. D„ which was quite often, we
always looked over her treasures, and asked
the same questions over and over, the dear
old lady never losing patience with us. And
such jam as we had for tea! D. D.'s jams
and jellies were famous, and she often made
our whole provision of sweet things for the
winter. Then we were sure of having the
best quince marmalade and the clearest jelly;
while as for the peach marmalade - no words
can describe it!
D. D. was a wonderful nurse; and when
we were ill she often came and helped our
mother in taking care of us. Then she
[185]
would sing us her song, - a song that no
one but D. D. and the fortunate children
who had her for a friend ever heard. It is
such a good song that I must write it down,
being very sure that D. D. would not care.
" There was an old man, and he was mad,
And he ran up the steeple ;
He took off his great big hat,
And waved it over the people."
To D. D. we owe the preservation of one
of Laura's first compositions, written when
she was ten years old. She gave it to the
good lady, who kept it for many years in her
treasure-drawer till Laura's own children
were old enough to read it. It is a story,
and is called-
LOST AND FOUND.
Marion Gray, a lovely girl of thirteen, one day
tied on her gypsy hat, and, singing a merry song,
bade good-by to her mother, and ran quickly
toward the forest. She was the youngest daughter of Sir Edward Gray, a celebrated nobleman in
great favor with the king, and consequently Marion
had everything she wished for. When she reached
[186]
the wood she set her basket down under a chest
nut-tree, and climbing up into the branches she
shook them till the ripe fruit came tumbling down.
She then jumped down, and having filled her basket was proceeding to another tree, when all of a
sudden a dark-looking man stepped out, who, when
she attempted to fly, struck her severely with a
stick, and she fell senseless to the ground.
Meanwhile all was in confusion at the manor-
house. Marion's faithful dog Carlo had seen the
man lurking in the thicket, and had tried to warn
his mistress of the danger. But seeing she did not
mind, the minute he saw the man prepare to spring
out he had run to the house. He made them understand that some one had stolen Marion. " Who,
Carlo, who?" exclaimed the agonized mother.
Carlo instantly picked up some A-B-C blocks
which lay on the floor, and putting together the
letters that form the word " Gypsies," looked up at
his master and wagged his tail. " The Gypsies !"
exclaimed Sir Edward; " alas! if the gypsies have
stolen our child, we shall never see her again,"
Nevertheless they searched and searched the wood,
but no trace of her was to be found.
" Hush! here she is ! Is n't she a beauty?"
" Yes! but what is her name? "
" Marion Gray. I picked her up in the wood.
[187]
A splendid addition to our train, for she can beg
charity and a night's lodging; and then the easiest
thing in the world is just to find out where they
keep the key, and let us in. Hush! hush ! she 's
coming to."
These words were spoken by a withered hag of
seventy and the man who had stolen her. Slowly
Marion opened her eyes, and what was her horror
to find herself in a gypsy camp !
I will skip over the five long years of pain and
suffering, and come to the end of my story. Five
years have passed, and the new king sits on his
royal throne, judging and condemning a band of
gypsies. They are all condemned but one young
girl, who stands with downcast eyes before him;
but when she hears her doom, she raises her dark
flashing eyes on the king. A piercing shriek is
heard, the crown and sceptre roll down the steps
of the throne, and Marion Gray is clasped in her
father's arms!
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CHAPTER X.
OUR GUESTS.
MANY interesting visitors came and went,
both at Green Peace and the Valley, -
many more than I can recollect. The visit
of Kossuth, the great Hungarian patriot,
made no impression upon me, as I was only
a year old when he came to this country;
but there was a great reception for him at
Green Peace, and many people assembled
to do honor to the brave man who had tried
so hard to free his country from the Austrian
yoke, and had so nearly succeeded. I remember a certain hat, which we younger
children firmly believed to have been his,
though I have since been informed that we
were mistaken. At all events, we used to
play with the hat (I wonder whose it was!)
under this impression, and it formed an
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important element in "dressing up," which
was one of our chief delights.
One child would put on Kossuth's hat,
another Lord Byron's helmet, - a superb affair of steel and gold, which had been given
to our father in Greece, after Byron's death
(we ought not to have been allowed to
touch so precious a relic, far less to dress
up in it!); while a third would appropriate
a charming little square Polish cap of fine
scarlet, which ought to have belonged to
Thaddeus of Warsaw, but did not, I fear.
What pleasant things we had to dress up
in! There was our father's wedding-coat,
bright blue, with brass buttons; and the
waistcoat he had worn with it, white satin
with raised velvet flowers, - such a fine
waistcoat! There were two embroidered
crape gowns which had been our grand-
mother's, with waists a few inches long, and
long, skimp skirts ; and the striped blue and
yellow moire, which our mother had worn
in some private theatricals, - that was beyond description! And the white gauze
with gold flounces - oh! and the peach-blossom silk with flowers all over it - ah !
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But this is a digression, and has nothing
whatever to do with our guests, who never
played "dressing up," that I can remember.
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