BLACKWELL FAMILY
ALICE STONE BLACKWELL

[*Kitty Barry*]

[*JAN.-MAY 1880*]Harrison Square, Boston, Mass.
Jan. 18, 1880

My dear Kitty:

I was rejoiced yesterday to
get a letter from you sooner than I had
expected one. I hope by this time the
state of distraction by the
new stove has passed over, + the season
of corn-bread has come. Did I send
you the recipe? I seem to have a vague
remembrance of doing so; but my
memory is exceedingly undependable.
Speaking of memory reminds me of
Psychology, + Psychology of Prof. Bowne
Last night — I should have said night
before last — the long talked of college
sociable came off, + was a success.
Pres. Warren + the Dean came, with Mrs.
Warren, + Mrs. Lindsay, I believe, the Dean's
daughter in law; + young Prof. Lindsay, +
Prof. Wells + his wife, + Prof. Kimpton,
who left early because his wife wasn't

[*will come to anything, + I'm not sure how it will
strike Mamma. But if she is willing, I think it would
be a nice thing to do when Spring weather settles*]well; & as I had hoped, Prof. & Mrs. Bowne
were there. Mrs. B. came into the Senior
class on Christian Evidences one day,
& I'm told that at sight of her Prof. B.
smiled all over his face, & that his dictation
for some sentences was slow & disjointed.
I've liked him the better since I
heard that. The way he does in class is
to talk a while first, "expounding", as he
calls it, & then give us the gist of it as
a dictation, which we take down in our
note books. I had expected Prof. Bowne
to come, for he had been making inquiries
as to whether there would be refreshments,
declaring that of course he took
"only a speculative interest" in the question;
still, he wanted to know. He spoke to
our class particularly, & I saw Mr. Pingree
standing before him & exploding into
chuckles as the prof. talked. I asked him
afterwards what it was about, & he said 
Prof. B. had been telling [how]about German

The glee Club hasn't been organized yet, though I've talked
to Julie Prosser about it, & tried to get her to name the

up first; perhaps Mr. Foster, whose family
live in the same house with the Bownes.
A funny thing happened as we were getting
ready to go home. Somebody came flying
into the dark dressing-room like a whirlwind.
From the style of the rush I guessed
it was Cadge, & when I saw her eyes
glittering I became sure of it. She leaned
against the wall, & finally confessed the
cause of her distraction. She had come up
into the ladies' parlor ejaculating audibly
"Professor Bowne's a brick!" — I can well
imagine the excited emphasis with which
she brought it out — & lo! there was
Mrs. Bowne close by her! Cadge fled, &
one of the girls, going up to say something
to Mrs. Bowne, found her laughing so
that she could hardly speak. I think Prof.
B & Cadge will be good friends. There were
alumni & alumnae present, as well as the
students — quite a large gathering, & I think
there was general enjoyment. As for me,
I chiefly wanted to talk to Prof. Bowne
& Mr. Goodridge, & didn't dare to, much;


[?] whom it would be best to invite to a conference
read to the family, eliciting the usual remarksso I watched them from afar with longing eyes.
There is a good deal of Bowne in this letter, but
he's one of my chief interests at present.
Grace is going on with her Latin &
music, under me. She is a good little scholar,
& works hard. Miss Andrews is better, but
it will be some little time before the
children can go back. Everything will have
to be fumigated. Did I tell you that Mr. 
G. seems gentler & more amiable this term? 
I think I trace the influence of the little
Fénelon; but perhaps it's only New Year's
good resolutions. Clara Barlow is carrying
on her green-house at North Adams, &
we often hear from her. She seems to be
doing well. Nelly & Fanny Hooper have
been acting as saleswomen in a large store;
Nelly is still there, (or was when she last
wrote; she didn't know how long they
would want her after the Xmas holidays);
Fanny had been made sick by
the late hours & long standing up. Lizzie

has a place as a sort of nondescript
assistant, — darner & mender, setter of tables
& fixer of curtains etc. The place seems to
fit her very well, only she does dislike exceedingly
to eat with the servants.
Uncle Sam & Papa are here today, Uncle
Sam on his way home. The necessity for
a book-keeper is over now that the press
of work is past. It is definitely decided to
keep on another year. Uncle S. sends word
to Aunt Elizabeth that he has received
her New Year's letter & is going to answer
it in a few days; also that he has seen
an article on a horticultural college for
women, reprinted in Littel's Living Age
from Macmillan. Papa sends word
that the only farm college he believes
in is an associated home. Grace sends
love to you & Aunt Elizabeth. Papa says
they have made about $1200. profit
on their beets this year, but that it
will take the profits of four or five

as to what "remarkably good letters" Kitty writes. I hope

you will succeed in taming that robin, & that he will
escape the jaws of the red-ribboned black cat. How doesyears to pay for their large investment in
machinery. They mean to work up three times
as many beets next year as they have this.
Grace and Uncle Same have stood back
to back before the glass to see which was
the taller. It seemed to be Grace, but we
suspected that her hair made the difference.
Grace felt the need of exercise the other
day, & attacked me, & we wrestled a lot.
I am the stronger, [*]but she is quite
vigorous, & her height  gives her an
advantage. It seemed funny, with
Grace before our eyes, to read Aunt
Elizabeth' s New Year's letter, in which
she speaks of the last Xmas card
being a fir branch from "little Grace."
It was "poor little Grace" as she wrote
it, but I suppressed the "poor" in reading
the letter aloud. Grace told me the other
day that she should rather like to see
a ghost because if she could see one once
she should know that people didn't

utterly perish at death. I told her she had
better talk to Miss Andrews about that; but
she said she didn't see how Miss A could
know, as she had "never been there." I said she
wanted to think so, but couldn't feel sure, or to
that effect. I told her it hadn't yet been proved
as well as I should like, but I thought it was
so for all that.  I asked Mamma afterwards if
she had been saying anything to Grace; for Uncle
Sam & Aunt Nettie are both firm in the faith, & I
didn't know how the idea had got into Grace's head.
It's in the air everywhere, though. But Mamma
said she had said nothing. The news of Bishop
Haven's death almost spoiled Papa's Sunday dinner,
a week or two ago. Such things make him
blue; he feels as if New England wouldn't be
the same without the Bishop. Mamma tried
to comfort him by telling him that it was a 
great law, which was beautiful; but he says
if he's on the edge of Niagara it doesn't comfort
him any to know that the plunge is inevitable.
Aunt Emily writes that her
small brood are now going to quite an
old private school on 22nd St., between
4th ave. & Broadway. She says it is so
near & the way so quiet that they can go
& come alone, which is a great relief; &

[*your medical practice come on? Good luck to thee, my*]
[*angel. I wish you could see Prof. & Mrs. Bowne.*]she is inclined to think they will learn
a good deal more than at the Quaker
School. She has taken to holding "certain
informal sociables, of which the only
stringent regulation is that no one shall
wear anything but their every day dress,
as they are to be attended by busy people
such as the young Drs., who are also
rather poor." They come off "every other
Saturday, with the aid of some of the young
women Drs. of the Infirmary & College. 
We held our first last Saturday evening. It
went off very well. Emma & George came
in from Orange." "I don't know what they
(the sociables) will amount to. If they
are slow we shall drop them." Isn't
that a nice plan? I wish I could have
my class out here oftener; the trouble is that it's
too big. Twenty-five people are a good many, &
I hate to give Mamma any extra bother. But I'm 
resolving a suggestion you once made about having
it understood that on Saturday afternoons
I shall be glad to see any of them who
will come. I should have to get Hattie & Julie
to agree to be here regularly Saturday afternoons,
to support me. I don't know whether the idea

[*Goodbye. Affy, Alice.*]

& Dutch views of America. When he went
over there, the children at the place where
he stayed peeped through the keyhole,
having a great curiosity to see an American; &
having caught sight of him they
cried in amazement. "Why, he's white!"
I spoke to him, & introduced several of
the girls of our class; but I didn't dare
to talk with him long, though I ached to.
I hovered round him like a moth round
a candle. Mrs. B. was only a little less
terrific, but I did manage to talk some
with her. I like her very much. She is
something like him in her way of
talking, & in the brightness of her eyes —
though it's rather a different kind of
brightness. She declares he is no such
cruel & hard-hearted individual as
he is said to be. I don't suppose he is,
to her. I think he rather enjoys his
terrible reputation. He jokes about his
power of taking scalps, & tried to frighten

[*ones whom it would be best to invite to a conference
on the subject. If I were sure the thing could be done,*]Cadge some time ago. They were in the Dean's
office, + he said sinister things to the Dean
to alarm her. But he also poked fun, +
gave her a rosebud, + she isn't afraid of
him. She's not given to being afraid, anyway.
We are to have our first quiz from him
tomorrow, + I think there is general dread.
I go to Miss Putnam when I can't understand
the lectures, + she explains to me; but I
havn't had  chance to consult her on the
last part as thoroughly as I need to, + if
he calls me up on that tomorrow — well,
there's no use in worrying. At the sociable,
Prof. Bowne got very hungry, + I heard him
speaking of it to the Dean; so I went + procured
him some cake, which he devoured.
He called the boys by their last names
without any handle, + he hinted dreadful
things as to the coming quiz, + his eyes
sparkled wickedly. Miss Sanford told him
she hoped he took the class alphabetically.
He said he generally began with the latter
end. She said in that case she should tell
Mr. Wallon to be prepared. Whereupon he
said he very seldom called upon the last
one. I'm curious to see whom he will call

[I would make a dive at it this term. Your last letter has been]

Harrison Square, Boston, Mass.
Feb. 1, 1880.

My dear Kitty:

Papa has moved his office +
sleeping place at Portland to the City
Hotel, which is nearer to business +
in various ways more satisfactory
than his former boarding place.
They are not sure whether they can
get as many beets as they want this
time. The farmers are not satisfied
with the price, which is as much
as the company can afford to pay.
Aunt Ellen writes to Mamma that
Brentano has paid her for 60 more
copies of Aunt Elizabeth's book, +
reports only 40 on hand. He is
selling about 50 a month. Mrs.
Williams at the Infirmary has disposed
of about 60. Brentano says
the notice in the Journal brought him

[Hattie [Zeirce?] also made her blue, she was so good. The three
of us came back to college + talked cosily for awhile in the]orders from Boston immediately, from
particularly nice people. He wants 
Aunt Ellen to be getting out a second
edition, & she thinks she had better put
the printer to work in a week or two.
Of the $242 which Aunt Emily advanced, 
all but $55, has been repaid 
her. Mrs. Ryland has succeeded
in obtaining a copy. She tried in 
vain for some time to get one-
applied to the leading book-sellers
in Cincinnati, & they wrote to
Boston & N. Y. & received word
that the book was not published. 
Aunt Ellen says "Evidently I must
do a little advertising. "Aunt Emily's 
sociables continue to go off nicely. 
They have tea, coffee & plain cake.
Aunt Emily is said to have some 

[*warm parlor at college. Miss P. told us something about
the lonely life they lead at Danvers, & the struggle they *]

thoughts of renting her house & 
going to Europe next summer
if she can get a tenant; but Aunt
Ellen doubts if it can be rented
for less than a year, & Aunt Emily
could not spare it so long. A
later letter speaks of various plans
for the summer, without any mention 
of the European one. Florence
has gone to stay with Emma awhile,
upon her cordial invitation. Aunt
Ellen says Emma was delighted to
get a bit of social life at Aunt Emily's
sociables, & that Uncle G., who came
with her made himself quite
pleasant. 
You may judge how
relieved I was to get one of our
boys to speak at the Annual Meeting.
I asked Mr. Odell first, but he

[*have had to get along since her father died. She told
us a little bit about her own ideas, too - said she 
had never known but*]excused himself on the ground of not 
being quite firm in the faith.  I had 
had more hope of him than of Mr. 
Holman, so it was with inward
 trepidation that I got hold of the latter, 
[reminded] told him that from something 
he once said I inferred that he believed 
in school suffrage & asked if he 
believed on in that, or in the whole
thing.  He said he believed most entirely 
in the whole thing.  Then I told 
him why I wanted to know, & asked 
him if he would speak for us. I 
think he was somewhat taken 
aback; but he inquired about time
 & place, & finding that Thursday 
evening (the only night of the week 
when he was disengaged) would do, 
he promised.  I flew up into the 
girls' quarters in a state of high

delight.  Cadge was eager to know 
what had happened, but I wouldn't
tell her.  My delight was enhanced by 
the anticipation of her intense disgust  
when she should find out; for 
she likes Mr. Holman.  Within a 
[fo] day or two she found out; Hattie 
Peirce told her.  Cadge came into chapel
that morning & ben[d]t upon me
a glance of lofty & speechless indignation.
I could see by her eyes that
she wasn't really very mad, though.
She told Mr. Holman she should
come to the meeting expressly to
kiss him. He cooly remarked that
there was a certain feathered biped
which could kiss, but was good
for very little else except to eat.
She actually did come to the meeting,
& stayed over night with Ella Abbott.
She & Ella & I [came] went together, &

[*about a dozen people in her life who seemed to have any
real belief in Christianity, & she liked such a meeting
as we had had that morning because it made it seem
otherwise. Then she went home & Cadge started for Ella's,*]coming a little late, had to stand for a 
good while. Mr. Holman was sitting in 
a conspicuous place among the speakers
on the platform; & just after we came 
in Mamma bent over & whispered to
him, + he took off his overcoat; & she
introduced him, & he made the 
first speech of the evening. Miss
Eastman + Mr. Higginson, the chief
speakers, had not arrived. Hattie
Peirce & the Krehbiel girls had come
to hear Mr. Holman, & I saw Mr.
Melden, & another student, name
unknown - a theologue, I think.
Mr. Holman's remarks were received
with applause; & Cadge turned round
& hissed twice, once to Ella & once to
me, but so very gently that I doubt 
if anyone else heard her. Then, as

ill luck would have it, Jennie Collins, 
affected by something he had
said, got up to speak, unasked & wholly
undesired. She is a good woman but 
not at all a good speaker; Cadge
said she had the manner of a perfect 
[virago]. Ella whispered to me, as
Jennie was speaking, that Cadge
would make material out of this 
to torment me for the next six
months; & I whispered back my 
supreme disdain of any teasing [of]
which Cadge had the power to 
inflict. I suppose Mr. Holman's
speech will be reported for the 
journal, so I shan't try to tell
you what he said. I've long been
in  a chronic state of doubt as to
whether I liked that boy or dis-

[*who had invited her to supper. Ella had invited me too,
but didn't want Cadge to know, so as to surprise her.*]

[*So I told Cadge I should expect to see her at the meeting; &
we parted; & very soon after she reached Ella's I rang that bell.liked him; but at present of course
I like him. And I'm glad this matter
hasn't lost him Cadge's friendship, for
they have been quite cronies. Only I
do disapprove of their whispering so
much in the History class. It isn't
respectful to the professor. Cadge
makes him (Mr. H) sharpen her lead pencils 
in class, & she has threatened to 
borrow those of her friends & have 
him sharpen them too. Oh! she is
an imp; but she's a dear not withstanding. 
I have lent her the New
Abolitionists, & am curious to hear
what she will say about it. I 
thought it might do her good.

Thursday last was the day of 
prayer for colleges, & we had holiday.
There were services in the chapel
in the morning, & several of the 
girls came in to attend - among

[*Ella received me in an ecstasy of silent glee, & brought me
in to Cadge; & we had a good laugh. After supper we went*]

them all the Junior girls. Cadge & I had 
an understanding that we should attend 
service in the morning , & in the afternoon 
go on a spree - [to] or, to put it more
mildly, on an exploring expedition.
The meeting in the Chapel was a good one;
Dr. Warren made the chief address, & 
there was singing & praying, & a lot of
short speeches from professors, theologues
(who made up the bulk of the audience),
& from some of our own college boys.
I was disappointed & disgusted because 
Prof. Bowne didn't speak. So was
Miss Putnam, who had attended
expressly to hear him. He sat by her, &
several times appeared to be on the point
of rising to speak. She reproached him
afterwards because he didn't. He spoke
on the same occasion last year, & spoke
well. After the exercises, some of us
tackled the Dean & remonstrated against
the arrangement of the Horarium, which

[*up together to hear Mr. Holman, as I told you.*]prevented us from attending prayer-meeting.
We thought the occasion propitious for such
an attack; & perhaps he will have it fixed.
Then Cadge & I found that Miss Putnam proposed
making her dinner off an apple; & we
thought that was unduly risking the health
of the head scholar of the college, so we went
out & got some crackers & oranges. When we
brought them to her, she pelted us out of the
room with a shower of the Beacon's exchanges,
which she was reviewing. However, she ate
some of the crackers; & after we came back
from our dinner, she went out exploring
with us. I firmly refused to go into slums;
but we explored a lot of queer streets & the
neighborhood of an old burying ground;
& Cadge picked up a baby's shoe which she
brought back to college & put on one of the
vases in the parlor. It excited the wonder
of the girls next day. I told them we 
had come across a baby in our wanderings
& devoured it all but the shoe, which we saved
as a trophy. Miss Putnam said it made her
feel blue to go through such parts of the city
& think how so many people lived. Cadge
said such things didn't make her blue at all;
what did make her blue was a good prayer-meeting
such as we had been at that morning.
[*Goodbye, sweetheart. Papa sends word to Aunt B. that Mrs. Stetson
of the old Semi-Colon in Cincinnati lately died at N.Y. Alice.*]

53 East 20th St. New York, N.Y.
Easter Sunday, March 28, 1880
My dear Kitty: Mother is no worse,
rather better. I came down here by boat, arriving
Tuesday morning. Papa had important
beat-meetings in Canada & could not
accompany me. It was thought that
I could take all necessary care of
Mother. Tuesday afternoon I went out
to Orange & spent that night & most
of the following day there. You know
I have never seen their house. It is
decidedly handsomer than I had expected,
with lofty ceilings & pretty
wall-paper; but it is only partly 
furnished, as you probably know;
& there is a sort of a chill about it.
They keep the temperature a good deal
[*No fear of my throwing cold water on Aunt Emily's plan
of going to Europe. I've highly approved from the first. The*]lower than I like it, or than most people
have it, because they think it is wholesome.
Aunt Ellen had drawn me a little
map so that I might be sure not
to lose my way between the station
& the house; but there was a delusive
lamp-post which was marked
Arlington Avenue on the side
A, & Main St. on the side M, while in
point of fact Arlington Ave ran vertically
(as it would be on this paper) & Main
St. horizontally. So naturally I went
with lamb-like confidence along the
wrong street, & got into various wrong
places; but by a judicious use of the
English language, with which I was
fortunately familiar, I finally got
myself directed to the right street. As
I walked along it I spied a gentleman
[*chief difficulty seems to be about the children. Mamma has proposed
to take charge of them for the summer, or rather to have*]

of familiar appearance coming toward
me, leading a small trotting figure.
Of course it turned out to be Uncle
George taking Howie out for a walk.
Uncle G. asking Howie whether he
would rather go back to the house
with me or walk on with him,
Howard chose to go on; so I bade
them farewell & went on myself to
the house. I had no trouble in finding
it, as I had been given to understand
that it was a palatial residence
standing alone on one side of the
street, with only a few insignificant 
huts on the other side. Emma
& Florence received me with
execrations for not coming sooner.
Emma looks well, Florence not very.
But the most interesting member of the
[*Aunt Ellen take charge of them at our house. But Flo says
that Aunts Emily & Ellen had rather a tiff yesterday, in*]family of course was "the b." as they
call the infant. He was proudly exhibited.
He is afflicted with a rash which
seriously impairs his beauty, but
doesn't seem to affect his temper.
He is a truly amiable little creature, &
smiles at one in a most cheerful &
jolly way. He is said to offset his
goodwill in the daytime by howling
nights - won't get well to sleep
till 10 P.M. The rash troubles him
a good deal, but he scratches &
smiles, & smiles & scratches. He likes
to be walked with, but Flo's strength
soon gives out. She said she thought
Emma considered her hard-hearted
for not carrying him longer at a 
time; but E. said she didn't consider
her hard-hearted, she only considered
[*the course of which Aunt Emily declared her intention of taking
Nannie & Neenie with her & leaving them in your care*]

her soft-boned. Emma has acquired
a sort of matronly air, I think; Uncle
G. is grayer, but seemed to me decidedly
improved - mellowed & mollified.
His sarcastic sneering way which I
used to dislike so is greatly softened, if
not gone. It is funny now, not hateful.
I think he & Emma are very happy together.
She has certainly done him good. Little 
Howie watched the baby taking his bath,
with something the same dreamy, gloating
expression with which Uncle G. at
times contemplates Emma. Their bow-window
is a large & handsome one of
rather an unusual shape, & it is full of
beautiful plants which are Uncle G.'s
particular care. Howard had a number 
of withered or partly withered calla
blossoms cut off & give him to play
with while I was there. They have had
[*while she was about. -This letter has been a little delayed
because I have been copying a copy of a long letter from*]one blossom which was nine inches across.
Emma took me over the upper part of the
house, & pointed out to me that they
could give a separate room to each of
their children even after the family
should have increased considerably.
She says the books to which their reading
is chiefly confined are the encyclopaedia,
dictionary & botany. They have some other 
books, however, & look forward to setting
up a bookcase at some time in the
remote future. They have a man to
work about the place, whose chief foible
appears to be to get drunk occasionally.
Lovinia greeted me shyly. I was warned
to say nothing in any way depreciatory
of Howard before her, as she is intensely
jealous lest the new baby should be preferred
to him. Howard is so very self-conscious
that Mamma thinks everyone
ought to take pains not to notice him much
[*Mrs. Butler describing the Liege meetings. It was very interesting*]

or make him feel as if he were the centre
of attention. So I didn't pay much attention
to him, but finally he came & began to
play with me, clawing my boots & petticoats
with shrieks. He is a funny little
specimen; holds down his head & opens
his mouth wide if he is looked at; &
acts so idiotically, in an agony of self-consciousness,
when the clerks in the
stores notice him, that Emma can
hardly take him shopping with her.
Emma & Uncle G. have given up their
pew at the church, they went so seldom.
They mean to get rid of their big house,
& move into a smaller one as soon as they
conveniently can. Emma is very good
about managing the children; always
speaking calmly & low, however naughty
Howard is. At least, while I was there;
& Florence gives the same account. Florence
sends execrations to you, & asserts that
[*but 100 pages long; & I begin now to realize what a
labour it must have been to multiply manuscripts by*]you have not answered her two last letters.
Speaking of letters - I took my last to you
into town & posted it, & came back to 
find one from you awaiting me at the
house, which made me feel rather
ashamed of the grumble I had sent 
you. Flo is in correspondence with Mr.
Washburne still, & let me read several
of his letters. Emma I believe reads
them regularly, & acts as confidante &
sage adviser. Emma & I both think
that is not likely to come to anything.
The letters don't sound like it, & Flo
herself says it is entirely fraternal. Just
at present she is vexed with him, & Emma
has advised her not to write to him
for a month. Flo seems to me rather
uncomfortable & aimless - partly due to
poor health, probably - & Emma wishes
she could find some congenial & settled
employment. E. is glad to have F. with
her, as she would otherwise lead a pretty
[*hand. However, I have to it copied. Aunt Emily seems very
well & bonny. Aunt Ellen is not so well, but is amiable &*]

solitary life. Flo is not strong enough to help 
much, but she takes care of herself, & gives
Emma a chance to go into N.Y. occasionally,
& helps with the baby. Flo is very fond
of the baby, & is quite homesick for it at present.
She came in Saturday, to spend her sick
week with Aunt Emily & be prescribed for.
But in holding forth about the Orange family
I have omitted to tell you how Mamma & I come
to be still here, over burdening Aunt Emily's
already burdened household, to our great
regret. We were going to start for Wilmington
Thursday, but a cold snap came on, so cold
that the milk froze & the water-pipe burst &
there was a time of it with plumbers, & it was
not safe for Mamma to travel. Then it moderated, 
& we were all packed up to start
off Saturday, but it rained. Mamma wanted
to go notwithstanding, & I start out with
Aunt Emily to order a carriage; but the air
was so damp & raw that Aunt E. sent
me back with decided advice to Mamma
not to venture it; & we are still waiting for
thermometer & barometer to permit our departure.
Monday, March 29, 1880. This A.M.
[*kindly. The brats are brats, all but Nannie. Goodbye,*]it was snowing. Now it is clearing up, & we
hope to go tomorrow. Aunt Elizabeth's postal
card of March 17 is received, & Mother sends
word to her that she is now quite well again.
I don't think this is strictly correct, but she
feels well & goes about the house some, & 
comes down to all her meals. Our letters
& papers have been going on to Wilmington
for some days past, & we expect to find an
accumulation when we get there.
Yesterday Aunt Ellen & I went to hear 
Robert Collyer preach; & [we] on the way back
Aunt Ellen began to speak of the inconsistency
& unreasonableness of an Easter
sermon for Unitarians, & said such things
about Unitarians in general as made
me exceedingly wrathy. She things
most of them don't believe either in the
immortality of the soul or in the personality 
of God, & generally held forth
to my great indignation. But I reflected
that it was Easter Sunday, & tried not to be
unduly explosive. I was, though, I'm afraid.
[*Affy Alice.*]
[*dear. This is a mixed-up letter, but excuse.*]

Heald's Hygeian Home, Wilmington, Del. 
April 4, 1880.
My dear Kitty:
Monday morning it was snowing,
& during the day it gloomed & shone
alternately. Mother went out with
Aunt Ellen & investigated a store near
by, but of course we could not start.
Tuesday was bright & beautiful, & at
last we got off. We saw friendly faces
looking after us, & felt on the whole
triumphant. Mother said she was
feeling perfectly well except in her
throat, though when she started to
go upstairs she found herself not so
strong as usual. She bore the journey
well, although the parlor cars on the
N. Y. & Pennsylvania road are less
comfortable than nice common cars.
When we reached this place, which is
about a mile from the depot, I believe,
we were taken with our belongings to
a small chamber, clean & sunny, but
warmed by a register & with no easy
chair. There are two beds in it, & it
makes rather close quarters for two people.
[*have had a letter from Cadge, full of concentrated essence of pure*]
[*cussedness; & one from Ella Abbott full of just the reverse.*]people. The people at the house, both proprietors
& guests, are very kind & friendly.
But the diet is hygienic, i.e. largely
Graham, & the hours of meals not what
we like - [dinner] breakfast at 8, dinner at 2,
no supper for the patients in general,
though they sent one up, without
extra charge, to anyone who wants
it. But Mother is hungry before
breakfast & dinner-time, & can't
relish a little bit of supper on a tray;
also she sighs for the fleshpots of
Egypt (meat only once a day here) &
finally she wants a larger room, as
her state of health keeps her in the
house, & her dislike to talk to people
disposes her to avoid the general
parlor, which is a big pleasant
sunny room. So she very soon decided 
to go elsewhere. We are here as yet,
though. The first day the fine sunshine
beguilded Mamma into staying
out too long (for the wind felt
bleak) & she got a sore throat. Next
[*Ella sends me the lessons, & with all her business finds time, in spite of*]
[*my earnest protests, to copy out for me the lectures in English*]

day was warmer, & she more careful,
& the throat got better. This A.M.
(April 5) she says it feels quite smooth.
She seems well & jolly; goes down
occasionally & sits on the sunny
piazza, & sometimes calls on the other
patients. She went down town with
me in the horsecars a day or two ago
to look for more satisfactory board.
But when she walks, her slow pace
& her breathing show how far from
strong she is. She has her own rosy
cheeks again, however, & says she
feels no pain or discomfort. We have
found a place downtown where we
shall probably go unless something
nicer turns up in the course of the
next 24 hours. Mr. & Mrs. Lea
Pusey (Papa knows Mr. L. P. in the
way of beet-sugar) are exerting
themselves to find something for us.
They are very nice friendly people,
who say "thee." I called on Mrs. P.
[*Literature. That girl will get a royal welcome when she walks into*]
[*heaven, if the folks there are anything like what we suppose them*]at Mother's desire, with some inward
trepidation; but she greeted me with
a kiss, called me "dear" repeatedly, & entered
so heartily into our plans that she
soon got me over my scare. Yesterday
(Sunday) they called on Mamma, & took
me along to church with them -- to a
mite of a Unitarian chapel, the only
one in Wilmington; & I'm told there
is no Congregational church either
here or in Baltimore. The great church
of the city (Grace Church) is Methodist 
Episcopal; but Presbyterians &
Baptists also abound. Our congregation
didn't amount to over 30 grown
people. There were a few children also.

When we reached this 
place, we found your card of March
17, also your interesting letter of March 
14, & Aunt Elizabeth's of the same date.
Am glad you have got a better tempered
girl in place of your sulky Jane;
& was tickled enough to read of her astonishment
at the keenness of your
nose. Did you ever read a pretty

to be. In German, the class is translating Emilia Galotti. I have


story by Rose Terry Cooke called "My
Wife's Nose?" If not, you must some
day. The unusual power of smell she
saved herself & husband from various
mishaps -- small-pox & a burglar among
them -- as well as gave rise to sundry
ludicrous incidents. You must be a
second "Nan." --We have frequent notes
& postal cards from Papa. He says
"We have a prospect of breaking down
for want of beets. I think this will
be the last year we shall make beet
sugar in Portland & if so there are
compensations -- I shall get back to
you & Alice. If I carry out my
present intention of giving you all my
property (this he has had in mind to do
lest he should have to pay the Company's
debts, I believe, for which he considers
himself not responsible morally)
we shall not be materially affected
in our income, $3500. in stock
being the loss, besides 3 years of arduous
& "unrequited toil." Assure Aunt
Elizabeth that Mother & I are both 
anxious to have him give it up. It

been reading ahead, & got so infuriated with that miserable princewould be in vain to try to make him drop 
it just at this moment; the season of active 
work will be over in a few weeks; - but 
if our persuasions avail he will certainly 
not attempt it another year.

Aunt Eliza has been to see Aunt 
Emily since we left; she seems older, we 
hear.  Speaking of age, my dear, don't 
protest against being called a girl, for 
you will always be a girl if you live 
to be a hundred.  The baby at Orange 
is said to be unwell with wind & indigestion.  
Flo was still at N.Y. at 
last accounts, & was not having a 
very hard time of it.  Of course, 
we are very glad of the victory of the 
Liberals in England.

Gladly will engage you for 
I have confidence in your cooking 
powers, & don't I wish I could taste 
of your handiwork!  The idea of those 
pies is "no end good".  What an unpleasant 
animal Kenyon must be. 
 I do hope Aunt B. will succeed in 
getting the Rogers girls & poor little Mrs. 
R. out from under his thumb.  Am glad 
Lillie is of age;  I had no idea she was so 
old, though.  Since we got here I 

that I dreamed the other night of making desperate but ineffectual

efforts to throw my inkstand at him.  In haste, Alice. 

Harrison Square, Boston, Mass.
My dear Kitty:    May 2, 1880.

No letter from you has come since 
that which enclosed your & Aunt B.'s 
"election documents".  So I suspect you 
have been in doubt where to direct, & 
am vexed with myself for not having 
sent you word to go on directing to H. 
Square.  That is safe in almost any case, 
as letters will be forwarded.

Yesterday was Papa's & Mamma's 
Silver Wedding. The day was kept quite 
privately.  Papa got home the night before,
bringing a beautiful great bunch of 
mayflowers.  We "celebrated" by getting  
out & reading a great roll of newspaper 
comments on their marriage, 
which Mrs. Wells (of Fowler & Wells) 
cut from different papers at the 
time, & sent to Mamma.  She didn't 
care to read them then, & the roll was 

if mother had died that time.  They were quite sure Mrs. 
Almy was better off; but Papa wouldn't have been sure at opened yesterday for the first time. The 
contents were truly funny. Most of
them seemed disposed to ridicule Mamma;
one or two took her part vigorously.
It is amusing now to read
the prophecies of the speedy dissolution
of the marriage by some, & of the
utter disappearance of Mamma from
public life by others; & the speculations
as to the name (surname) of the progeny, -
& the "seventeen sons & daughters"
of whom I am the sole & insignificant
representative. The oddest blunders
are made in the names of
bridegroom, minister, & place of wedding;
Bloomfield for Brookfield, Rigginson
for Higginson, & initials & home of bridegroom
variously given. Mother also
opened a paper containing flowers
which Col. Higginson had brought to the
wedding. They were sweet still. There
[*all, & I should have been perfectly sure. Mother however has quite a*]
[*strong notion that there will be some other life where she will*]

were also some execrable photographs of
Papa, & other relics. They said it was
much such a day when they were married;
& they agreed that they were glad
that they had done it. They recalled the
incidents of the day, & how Papa overslept
& Mamma had to go & pound on
his door to wake him. She says she
won't do that next time when she is
going to be married. They chaffed one
another about second spouses, in case
one should die; & were decidedly sentimental.
They recalled where they were
at such & such a time of day, twenty-
five years ago; & had an interesting time -
a little bit mournful, I suspect, especially
for Papa, because it made
him remember his age, which he
doesn't like to think about.
The summer plans are still
[*be able to take music lessons. I haven't sent change*]
[*& N. Y. news this time because I don't know any.*]settled. Mothers doesn't think she shall
go to England. I still hope she will,
but the prospect isn't very brilliant.
When a day came fit for her to go out
& she went in to the Journal Office,
Miss Wilde, our clerk, a sensible, strong-
minded woman with a great aversion
to "scenes" & "the water-cart business,"
hugged her, " then broke down & cried
hard, to her own wrath & humiliation.
She told me afterwards she had
made a fool of herself, to think how
near she had come never to see Mother
again. She is invaluable in the office, &
very kind, though not given to tears.
She likes Papa very much. His jokes 
& his conciseness of speech delight her.
Mr. Bush keeps her in suppressed
irritation by his "prattling."

College rubs along. I have buck-

I hav'n't heard from Florence since I got back; & Aunt Emily
was invited up to spend the wedding anniversary (no presents 

while I was away, & said they thought of
making Mr. Goodridge Uriah. She said she
thought his voice was oily enough, but
she doubted if he could squirm. Mr.
Bailey squirmed at the first rehearsal in
a manner which is not all that could 
be desired, yet which promises well.
The trouble is that he is remarkably
handsome, & so doesn't look his part.
However, a sandy wig & powdered mustaches
may work wonders; & he is an
excellent actor for an amateur. Mr. Corson
is going to do well, too. Those two solemn
youths can act more absurdly than
half the disorderly fellows, when they do
get going. Mr. Conn acts very naturally.
He is an uncommon boy, & his face shows
it. He didn't get those amazing marks
in physics & chemistry for nothing. And
he is as good & as cool as he is clever.

Speaking of Sophs -- some way back --
did I tell you about Miss Almy? She is an
only child, & her mother lately died. Mrs. A. is
said to have been a singularly sweet & delight-

exactly what to urge. He wants us to do the best thing, of course. -What
is maddening is that there is objection to leaving me without mother thisled down to work, & am not having a 
very hard time just now, though I fear 
there will have to be some hard cramming 
on that back work before examinations. 
The thought of losing those dear 
delightful girls of '80 is agonizing. However, 
it will make the final wrench 
of leaving ourselves less severe, to take 
it in installments this way. College 
will hardly seem like college without 
'80. I perceive that my rhetoric is 
"involved", but you pick out the 
sense, please, & never mind the rhetoric. 
I heard yesterday that Mallock 
is dead. Is that true? And if so, do 
you know anything about the 
circumstances?
By the way, you must know 
that your hair has grown visibly thicker. 
One gray thread appeared in it at Wilmington, 
and one gray one in Cadge's. That one 
accepted) but she didn't come. Papa thinks that he won't be 
well through with his beet sugar work till about June 1.Hattie sent me as a relic of Cadge. I 
do wish you knew the girls in my class. 
They are almost angels - or rather they are 
real, delightful, good human girls; which 
is perhaps quite as good in its way. The 
Freshwomen, too, are a very fine set of 
girls; and a good many of the Sophs. As for 
the young men, I watch them at a distance, 
and secretly hanker after their acquaintance, 
but have very little to do 
with them. You would be surprised to 
know how seldom I speak to one. There 
are some queer sticks, and some very nice 
fellows among them. Oh! there was one 
absurd thing happened in Roman Law 
the other day. Mr. Jordan was puzzled 
as to the meaning of obtaining a 
wife by "coemptio" (joint purchase). 
He said he didn't see why it should 
be called joint purchase unless the 

After that he doesn't expect to go up to Portland much till Sept. 
We have been discussing plans. Mother wants us to wait until next 

man was sold as well as the woman. 
This was very gravely said, but of course 
the class went into convulsions. Mr. 
J. is good. Pity his liver is out of order! 
It makes anybody feel so miserable.

The Beacon is late this month through 
the fault, not of the editors, but of the 
printers. I think they made pi of it 
after it was set up, or did some other 
evil thing.

We are going to 
give a little dramatic entertainment 
for the benefit of the reading room. 
I got home in time to have a part 
assigned me. The play is David Copperfield, 
very poorly dramatized, but 
quite funny. Ella Abbott is Betsey 
Trotwood, Lydia Dame Mrs. Micawber, 
Maria Dame Agnes, Mr. Corson 
Daniel Peggotty, A.S.B. Clara Peggoty,
Mr. Corin David, and Mr. Bailey Uriah. 
Miss Dame wrote me about the plan

year & then rent our house & all three go to Europe with Aunt 
Emily, & make a good long stay. Papa I think doesn't know

(Peg is spelt both ways as I don’t remember which is right; take your choice!)Harrison Square, Boston, Mass.
May 29, 1880.
My dear Kitty:
Will you have the goodness
to tell us in your next letter
whether George Eliot has married 
again, or not? First came 
a report that she had, & her
friends over here were shocked, & the
newspapers commented at great 
length. Then came a counter
report that it was not she but
the original Mrs. Lewes, Mr. L.'s 
first wife, who had just married.
This was caught up joyfully
& widely circulated; & now
again it is positively stated that 
it is George Eliot. We should
like to know the truth of the 
matter. Mother refuses to believe 
that it is George Eliot.
I have a letter from Florence,

[*subjects he is apt to keep on, & we were glad to have him. He
was gentle about it - & somebody says that the gentleness*] who is at home again. The
first part is devoted to a comical
description of the new Methodist
minister at Somerville, who she
says is a regular Methodist -- and
screams till he is purple & gesticulates
wildly." He also has a way of
squeezing the brethren & poking
his nose into their necks, but does
not wring the hands of the sisters.
I think Flo likes him, though.
She finds him jolly, fearless, energetic 
& good-natured -- very much
in earnest, & making all his
people "stand round." A young
lady whom Mr. Washburne much
admired at Dansville has been
at Somerville, & Flo says "I feel
it my duty to detest her, for after
all I do not approve of his flirting,
& Mrs. Colburn says the young
ladies at Dansville all were desperate
about him & tried their

[* of ferocious & terrific people is irresistible. But I can understand
now what Miss Putnam said about liking to see his mind work. *]

the healthiest souls I ever knew.

Cadge is president of the Philomathean
for next time & she says she
shall work me. Of course we stayed
& talked after the meeting; & there were
sad farewells to the members of 80. Poor
Miss Dame looked sorry enough, & I
groaned inwardly, both at the thought of
losing her & her classmates -- a magnificent
set of girls & several fine young
men -- & in anticipation of sharing her
fate next year. Mr. French & Mr. Pettengill 
were the two young men I
liked best in that class; Mr. Melden
& Mr. Hunter were also nice, & Mr. Odell
interesting, though I don't wholly approve
of him. I had some talk with both
Mr. F. & Mr. P., particularly the latter.
He looked pale & very tired -- which is
especially pathetic in a big fellow with
strong features. He had missed his
examinations at the time his mother
died in the spring, & so had to make
them up now; & hard study [in] of Theism,
together with the hot weather, seemed

[* which leads you to think there is danger of her not getting
over this? I wish doctors would tell one the whole truth, & *]to have almost wilted him; so I fanned
him, & we talked. Just think, he says
the Harvard boys pass their entrance examinations
by proxy. There are several hundred 
of the, & the professors don't
know them, so it is easy enough to
have someone assume their name
& go in & take the examinations. Mr.
P. says he knows of one man who
was offered $300. to do that for some
fellow. Then Mr. Hascall of '80 told
about some boys who had two mathematicians 
in the cellar, & passed
papers up & down through the cracks
in the floor. I said I wished I had
been there with a kettle of hot water
to pour down the cracks. Though the
boys would really deserve scalding
more than the mathematicians.
I had some talk with Mr. Bailey
Mr. Holman, too. Mr. Bailey says
Mr. G. has got a place in the city
for the summer to take care of
some building -- just be there to

[* not keep one in suspense & worry for fear of distressing one. If Aunt Emily comes here this summer I'll [pi] ask her some *]

take messages etc., so far as I
can make out. Said to be easy
but rather confining. He has to be
there every day & all day, which
I'm afraid will rather interfere
with the pleasant plans I have
been making for him & Lulie &
me. But perhaps we can get
round it in some way. Mr. French
of '80 is going to give me one of
his class photographs, & when I
have mine taken I am to requite
him. I shall be glad to have
it, for I like him. But oh dear,
how we shall miss '80!

After the examination
in Logic I asked Prof. Bowne
if he could spare time to tell
me about something he had
said in the Logic lectures, at
the very end, which we didn't
understand. He asserted that
"to save us from pessimism we
must assume that the end of
[* point-blank questions, & have an answer or know the
reason why. Goodbye, dear -- I've been scribbling in haste *]
things is in accordance with our
highest aspirations." Which
may be useful to cast up at him
next year when he comes to argue
for everlasting damnation.

However, the point I wanted explained
was [whether] why we must
be either optimists or pessimists --
why this must be the worst
possible universe if it wasn't
the best possible. Of course, psycologically
you are every apt to go
to one extreme, but logically are
you compelled to? He allowed
that you were not, & talked on
for half an hour. Cadge came
to listen, & we stayed half an
hour, & were much interested
in what he said. You see we (C&P) argue
on our own hook a good
deal. The class had gone, but
when he gets going on his pet

[* because I have some locals etc. to fix for the Beacon. Affy
thine, Alice S. Blackwell.  P.S. You never
need to direct to me Care of anyone. It comes just as safely & well without. *]

[?]fortable. Well, what was [de] Papa's
dismay to find that Uncle Sam during
all the time he was travelling about
with that large salary, only succeeded
in engaging five acres of beets! Now
the company might reasonably be
indignant at paying $300. for five
acres of beets. Of course Uncle Sam
did his best; but Papa thinks that
when he found he had such poor
success he ought to have told them,
& they would of course have stopped 
him. That is one thing; & another
is that Papa has put his property
or a good deal of it, out of his
hands -- given it over to Mamma,
that it may not be liable for any
of the beet sugar Co's debts. The
gift had to be made through a third
person, & he wanted me to be the
third person; but I really didn't
like to, because I didn't feel sure
about the morality of the transaction.
Mamma said it was all
right; that it would merely prevent

[* [by photos] hypothesis; but was a perfectly good one a necessary
hypothesis? And he said he thought it was to my delight *]this place from being disposed of 
at a forced sale for less than its
value; that [s]he must pay whatever
was right notwithstanding, & that
she could make him. But if I
understand it, this would render
it impossible for the law to make
him; & if Mother were to die meanwhile,
I am not at all sure that
I could make him. You see Papa
feels that though legally responsible, 
along with the rest he is not morally so at all.
He says, & with some appearance
of reason, that Mr. Ames in
all justice ought to make up any
deficit, he being so very rich, &
Papa having put in so much
hard work. That may be, but yet
I am not quite sure. It's very hard
to see that things are a little crooked
when your interest wants to make
out that they are straight. Mind
you, I don't in the least mean to
imply that Papa would do what he

[* I said I should be willing to dig any number of terms if he could
show me that. And he held forth, to Cadge's & my edification, *]

[he] thought wrong, but only that his
views [w] & mine might not correspond.
So I wouldn't do it, & they got someone
else who did just as well. My ideas
of business are so mixed that I may
have given you a wrong idea of this
transaction; & I think likely enough
it is all right. Judge Sewall thought
it was. Only as I wasn't sure, I 
wouldn't take part. I am rather
sorry I have said anything about
it. Don't you say anything to
Aunt B., please.

We have been having a
spell of untimely & distressing hot
weather, the thermometer standing
at every so much in the shade, &
everybody drenched in perspiration.
In the Logic quiz, the professor sat
& mopped his face with his
handkerchief, while the class
found themselves with books,
pieces of paper or whatever came
to hand, & gasped like fish out of

[* for some time. I like Prof. Bowne. I am troubled because
Mamma's strength doesn't seem to come back. Her face is tired, *]water; the prof. let us out early. That
was Wednesday. Today we have a fire on
the hearth, & I am shivering [under] in two
undershirts. The last meeting of the Philonathean
for the year came off Friday,
& Mrs. Smith[s] (mother of that poor girl
with a crooked back, you know) came in
to see the place where her daughter had passed
such happy  months. "Ellen said she
should never regret having come to B.U.
even if it killed her," her mother said.
She had enjoyed so much, & "learned so
much about this beautiful world."
It was hard for the poor mother, whose
strong, sensible face quivered painfully
when she said goodbye. She gave me
one of her daughter's photographs, & said
I ought to have heard Ellen dictate that
letter to me. She would dictate a little,
& then say-- "No, Frankie, that isn't
quite right; wait a minute;" & lie &
think till she got the sentence arranged
to her liking. She said she wasn't
afraid to die, but there was so much
to live for -- so much to do, "and I wanted
to stay & help do." That girl had one of

[* & her voice is tired, & little things worry her which wouldn't if she
were well. Has Aunt Emily written anything to you or Aunt B. *]

best to spoil him. Therefore I was
extra polite to Miss Merril & she was
extra polite to me, & we eyed each
other when the other was not looking
& wondered what he saw so
attractive, & I felt myself rapidly
falling from grace; and did not
the wretch have the audacity to
kiss me when she left; for his
sake, I suppose.  Bob!!" She
says she misses the baby very
much. "There was a pathetic
parting when I left East Orange.
You see the B. is an angel & 
Emma is a saint, & I suppose
the people in the horsecars
thought I must have just come
from the funeral of my last
friend. -- I must stop this & hunt
up pieces for a Sunday-school
performance. Everyone comes
to me for pieces; they seem to
think I have an endless supply;
& I have to do one myself."

[* He is as keen as some double-edged tool. A good deal of what he
says is most inspiringly clear-cut; & I like the sound of *]You & Aunt B. will both be glad
to hear that Papa has contracted for
his last acre of beets, & expects to spend
most of his time at home after this,
going up for an occasional day to
Portland. He looks to me much
better & jollier; I suppose it is the relief. Now here is something quite
private. Don't say anything to Aunt
B. about it, please, but it has worried
me some, I so want to tell 
you. There are one or two little things
that I am afraid will not look
well for Papa, about this beet sugar
business, which is in all probability
not to be a success. Papa
was anxious to help Uncle Sam
in some way; you know how
scarce money is with them, & how
plenty children are. So he got Uncle
S. to come up & travel about to get
agents + make contracts for beets,
at $100. per mouth. Mr. Hunt 
didn't like it very well, & Papa knew it & it made him uncom

[*his voice. Naturally optimism & pessimism brought us
on to the subject of God, + I said a God was a necessary*]