Beverly Farms, My dear Miss Baker: I get such pleasant letters from you that I quite love you, though I dare say I should not know you if I met you in my porridge dish being such a short sighted old party. And liking you, when you joined those other despots and lie awake o' nights, thinking how you can pile up more work and make life a burden to school ma'ams, means a good deal!! Here is Miss Fanny Morse, now, whom I have always considered a Christian and a philanthropist, commissioning me to count and destroy belts of caterpillars' eggs for which the children are to have prizes! The children indeed! The prizes are at the wrong end! Miss Wilkins and I come home nights—"meeching" along—our arms full of the twigs—from which the nasty worms are beginning to crawl! And now come you, asking for a tree! Yes, yes, dear body, we will do our possible, only if you hear of my raiding somebody's barn yard for the necessary nourishment of said Now as to Mr. Dow, I must write his part seriously, I suppose, as he is a grave old Scotchman. He says he will use a part of the money—after proper consultation with the selectmen, etc. And he suggests that a part of the money be used to take care of the triangle and the trees already planted. He will write you when he has decided where to put additional trees. And if I live through the week I will write you whether we got a '92 tree in anywhere. Yours very much, Miss Baker was Secretary of the Beverly Improvement Society; these letters refer to her work.—(Editor.) Beverly Farms, March 21, 1899 I want very much to go to Mrs. Gidding's high tea but I do not get out of school till 3.30 and the train leaves at 3.34. But after I am graduated from a school, for good and all, I mean to go to some of the rest of these "feasts of reason and flow of soul." We are making fine progress with the wurrums and Miss Wilkins is prospering with her enterprise in Wenham. Yours truly P.S. My regards to your father. I am sorry he has been ill. I told my sub-committee that I thought, if Mr. Baker had been present when my resignation was accepted, they would have sent me some little pleasant message to remember. It seemed to me that after teaching about a century in the town they might have at least told me to go to the d——, or something of that sort. M.L.D. "Beverly Farms-by-the-Depot" 1918. Dearly Beloved G.P.: "Pink" has just brought me this little squigley piece of paper, so that my letter to you may be of the same size as hers—some people are so fussy. You sent me nine or ten bushels of love, and I have used them all up, and am hungry for more, for that kind of diet my appetite is always unappeased. How I do wish we had you within touching distance as well as within loving distance; I have always had a great desire to see more of you since first my eyes fell upon you. I do just hate to get so old that perhaps I shall never see you again in the flesh. But I'll be sure to look for you, and now and then, when you get a particularly good piece of good luck,—I shall have had something to do with it. That does not mean that the undertaker has been called and to hear James and Sarah Elizabeth talk, you would suppose that nothing could kill me—I only mean that 84 years is serious; but, for the life of me, I never do get very serious for long at a time. Jimmy and I have been out to Northfield The country was so sweet and beautiful, the spirit of the place was like the New Jerusalem come down again. We slept in the dormitory in the little iron beds side by side, "Each in his narrow bed forever laid", only we did not stay forever. We meant to come home by way of the Monadnock region, and we had a few drives along the Contacook River, but we ran into a Northeaster, and came ingloriously home. Have not you been in lovely places, and in great good fortune in your vacation? I am glad of it. I love you—so does Jimmy—and Sambo, and so would Billy, the neighbors' dog, who hangs about me for rice and kidneys, if he knew you. As to Pink, she flourishes like a green bay horse, teaches French and is in good spirits. Molly goes away on a vacation tomorrow. Poor Jim! With us for cooks! Remember him in your prayers. Thine, thine,Molly Polly. Beverly Farms. My Dear Mrs. Goddard: I didn't know till the other day, when I accidentally met Mr. Hakanson, that you had had an anxious and worried time this winter, with Mr. Goddard in the hospital. I am glad to know that he is able to be at home now. Tell him with my love, that our old neighbor, Mrs. Goodwin, once broke her leg, and she told me that though she expected to be always lame, that in a year she could not remember which leg was broken. I hope you and the boys have been well, in this winter of worries. As to ice, I am scared to death of it, nothing else ever keeps me in the house. My old assistant at school, declares that one winter she dragged me up and down Everett St., every school day! Nothing like the quietness of this winter at Beverly Farms was ever seen. I think I must suggest to the Beacon St. people to come down. We have And then I quote to "Jim" Emerson's lines: "Oh! tenderly the haughty day Fills his blue urn with fire." And he likes that about as well as he likes the stars in the middle of the night! By the way, we are thinking of going to Colorado and Florida next month for a few weeks. We have got the bits in our teeth, though we may have to go to the City Home when we get back. We mean to try the month of March in warmer climes. We haven't anything to wear—but that does not matter. Miss Miller comes down now and then, always serene, though what she finds in the inlook or the outlook is difficult to see. Serenity in her case, does not depend on outward circumstances. God bless you all, and we shall be glad to see our kind sensible neighbors back. Affectionately, My Dear Mrs. Goddard: I told the nice young person at your door, that I hoped I should some day soon see your dear face, and so I do hope. But I understand all your busy moments, and you understand my limitations, my having been born so many years ago; and we both know what fine women we both be, and that's all about it! Then there never was such a salad as we had for our fourth of July dinner. And I did have a little real oil, too good for any hawked about stuff. I put it right on to those dear little onions, and that happy looking lettuce! And that isn't all about that, for there are still carrots—gentle and sweet—for our tomorrow's lunch. I told "Jim" they were good for the disposition and he said he didn't need carrots for his! Men are awfully conceited. And I am so pleased to see Mr. Goddard a'walking right off, without a limp to his name. James and Miss Miller send love, and so do I, while the beautiful hill holds you and always. Mary Larcom Dow. Monday, July 7, 1919. Mrs. Dow wrote to a California friend, Mrs. Gertrude Payne Bridgeford, a short time before her death: "I'd give my chance of a satin gown to see you, and I hope I shall live to do that, but if I don't, remember that I love you always, here or there, and I quote here my favorite verse from Weir Mitchell, 'Yes, I have had dear Lord, the day, When, at thy call, I have the night, Brief be the twilight as I pass From light to dark, from dark to light.'" Her prayer was answered for the twilight was brief. Dear Elsie: As soon as Mary said "E. Sill"—I found the Fool's Prayer directly. It was in my mind and would not stay out. How well it expresses that our sins are often not so bad as our blunders! A splendid prayer for an untactful person. Perhaps I should not go so far as to say that want of tact is as bad as want of virtue—but it is pretty bad! From that defect, you will go scot free! But I often blunder. Your TAT is here, I am keeping it as a hostage. Thine, Friday, April 9, 1920. |