a new england girlhood-第24节
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She watched over us； gave us needed reproof and commendation； rarely cosseted us； but rather made us laugh at what many would have considered the hardships of our lot。 She taught us not only to accept the circumstances in which we found ourselves； but to win from them courage and strength。 When we came in shivering from our work； through a snowstorm； complaining of numb hands and feet； she would say cheerily； 〃But it doesn't make you any warmer to say you are cold；〃 and this was typical of the way she took life generally； and tried to have us take it。 She was constantly denying herself for our sakes； without making us feel that she was doing so。 But she did not let us get into the bad habit of pitying ourselves because we were not as 〃well off〃 as many other children。 And indeed we considered ourselves pleasantly situated； but the best of it all was that we had her。
Her theories for herself； and her practice； too； were rather severe； but we tried to follow them； according to our weaker abilities。 Her custom was； for instance； to take a full cold bath every morning before she went to her work； even though the water was chiefly broken ice； and we did the same whenever we could be resolute enough。 It required both nerve and will to do this at five o'clock on a zero morning； in a room without a fire； but it helped us to harden ourselves； while we formed a good habit。 The working…day in winter began at the very earliest daylight； and ended at half…past seven in the evening。
Another habit of hers was to keep always beside her at her daily work something to study or to think about。 At first it was 〃Watts on the Improvement of the Mind；〃 arranged as a textbook； with questions and answers； by the minister of Beverly who had made the thought of the millennium such a reality to his people。 She quite wore this book out； carrying it about with her in her working…dress pocket。 After that； 〃Locke on the Understanding〃 was used in the same way。 She must have known both books through and through by heart。 Then she read Combe and Abercrombie； and discussed their physics and metaphysics with our girl boarders； some of whom had remarkably acute and well…balanced minds。 Her own seemed to have turned from its early bent toward the romantic； her taste being now for serious and practical； though sometimes abstruse； themes。 I remember that Young and Pollock were her favorite poets。
I could not keep up with her in her studies and readings； for many of the books she liked seemed to me very dry。 I did not easily take to the argumentative or moralizing method； which I came to regard as a proof of the weakness of my own intellect in comparison with hers。 I would gladly have kept pace with her if I could。 Anything under the heading of 〃Didactick；〃 like some of the pieces in the old 〃English Reader；〃 used by school…children in the generation just before ours； always repelled me。 But I though it necessary to discipline myself by reading such pieces； and my first attempt at prose composition； 〃On Friendship；〃 was stiffly modeled after a certain 〃Didactick Essay〃 in that same English Reader。
My sister； however； cared more to watch the natural development of our minds than to make us follow the direction of hers。 She was really our teacher； although she never assumed that position。 Certainly I learned more from her about my own capabilities； and how I might put them to use； than I could have done at any school we knew of； had it been possible for me to attend one。
I think she was determined that we should not be mentally defrauded by the circumstances which had made it necessary for us to begin so early to win our daily bread。 This remark applies especially to me； as my older sisters （only two or three of them had come to Lowell） soon drifted away from us into their own new homes or occupations； and she and I were left together amid the whir of spindles and wheels。
One thing she planned for us； her younger housemates；a dozen or so of cousins； friends； and sisters； some attending school； and some at work in the mill；was a little fortnightly paper； to be filled with our original contributions； she herself acting as editor。
I do not know where she got the idea； unless it was from Mrs。 Lydia Maria Child's 〃Juvenile Miscellany；〃 which had found its way to us some years before；a most delightful guest； and； I think； the first magazine prepared for American children； who have had so many since then。（I have always been glad that I knew that sweet woman with the child's heart and the poet's soul； in her later years； and could tell her how happy she had helped to make my childhood。） Our little sheet was called 〃The Diving Bell；〃 probably from the sea…associations of the name。 We kept our secrets of authorship very close from everybody except the editor； who had to decipher the handwriting and copy the pieces。 It was； indeed； an important part of the fun to guess who wrote particular pieces。 After a little while； however； our mannerisms betrayed us。 One of my cousins was known to be the chief story… teller； and I was recognized as the leading rhymer among the younger contributors； the editor…sister excelling in her versifying； as she did in almost everything。
It was a cluster of very conscious…looking little girls that assembled one evening in the attic room； chosen on account of its remoteness from intruders （for we did not admit even the family as a public； the writers themselves were the only audience）； to listen to the reading of our first paper。 We took Saturday evening； because that was longer than the other workday evenings； the mills being closed earlier。 Such guessing and wondering and admiring as we had！ But nobody would acknowledge her own work； for that would have spoiled the pleasure。 Only there were certain wise hints and maxims that we knew never came from any juvenile head among us； and those we set down as 〃editorials。〃
Some of the stories contained rather remarkable incidents。 One； written to illustrate a little girl's habit of carelessness about her own special belongings； told of her rising one morning； and after hunting around for her shoes half an hour or so； finding them in the book…case； where she had accidentally locked them up the night before！
To convince myself that I could write something besides rhymes； I had attempted an essay of half a column on a very extensive subject； 〃MIND。〃 It began loftily：…
〃What a noble and beautiful thing is mind！〃 and it went on in the same high…flown strain to no particular end。 But the editor praised it； after having declined the verdict of the audience that she was its author； and I felt sufficiently flattered by both judgments。
I wrote more rhymes than anything else； because they came more easily。 But I always felt that the ability to write good prose was far more desirable； and it seems so to me still。 I will give my little girl readers a single specimen of my twelve…year…old 〃Diving Bell〃 verses； though I feel as if I ought to apologize even for that。 It is on a common subject； 〃Life like a Rose〃：
〃Childhood's like a tender bud That's scarce been formed an hour； But which erelong will doubtless be A bright and lovely flower。
〃And youth is like a full…blown rose Which has not known decay； But which must soon； alas！ too soon！ Wither and fade away。
〃And age is like a withered rose； That bends beneath the blast； But though its beauty all is gone； Its fragrance yet may last。〃
This； and other verses that I wrote then； serve to illustrate the child's usual inclination to look forward meditatively； rather than to think and write of the simple things that belong to children。
Our small venture set some of us imagining what larger possibilities might be before us in the far future。 We talked over the things we should like to do when we should be women out in the active world； and the author of the shoe…story horrified us by declaring that she meant to be distinguished when she grew up for something； even if it was for something bad！ She did go so far in a bad way as to plagiarize a long poem in a subsequent number of the 〃Diving Bell〃 but the editor found her out； and we all thought that a reproof from Emilie was sufficent punishment。
I do not know whether it was fortunate or unfortunate for me that I had not； by nature； what is called literary ambition。 I knew that I had a knack at rhyming； and I knew that I enjoyed nothing better than to try to put thoughts and words together； in any way。 But I did it for the pleasure of rhyming and writing； indifferent as to what might come of it。 For any one who could take hold of every…day； practical work； and carry it on successfully； I had a profound respect。 To be what is called 〃capable〃 seemed to me better worth while than merely to have a taste or for writing； perhaps because I was conscious of my deficiencies in the former respect。 But certainly the world needs deeds more than it needs words。 I should never have been willing to be only a writer； without using my hands to some good purpose besides。
My sister； however； told me that here was a talent which I had no right to neglect； and which I ought to make the most of。 I believed in her； I thought she understood me better than I understood myself； and it was a comfort to be assur
