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12

My Life

c. 1890

Houghton Library

An extraordinary thing happened to me at a tender age,—as I now reflect upon it, a truly marvellous thing, though in my youthful heedlessness, I overlooked the wonder of it and just cried at the pickle. This occurred 1839 September 10. At that time I commenced life in the function of a baby belonging to Sarah Hunt (Mills) Peirce and Benjamin Peirce, professor of mathematics in Harvard College, beginning to be famous. We lived in a house in Mason Street. This house belonged to Mr. Hastings, who afterward built an ugly house between Longfellow’s and the Todd’s.

I remember nothing before I could talk. I remember starting out to drive in a carryall and trying to say something about a canarybird; I remember sitting on the nursery floor playing with blocks in an aimless way and getting cramps in my fingers; and I remember an old negro woman who came to do scrubbing. I remember her because she frightened me and I dreamed about her. I remember a gentleman who came to see my mother,—probably William Story, who drew a sketch of her.

At a later time, I remember well the Davis’s wedding which took place in the house, the minister in his black gown, and my getting my leg down in the register hole and being rescued by Uncle Henry Davis. I well remember Aunt Harty before she was married and my trying to mesmerize her, I think in imitation of Jem. I remember the dining room, which had formerly been a kitchen, and eating hasty pudding for breakfast there. I remember distinctly my first taste of coffee, given me surreptitiously by the kitchen girls. No mocha will ever again have that quality for me. I remember Professor Sylvester at table there. I also remember my Aunt Helen Huntington coming and being obliged to lie at once on the bed. She died shortly after, Ned Huntington, her youngest child, being, I suppose, 2 or 3 years younger than me. I remember many other things about the old house, and often dream about it. I remember the Isabella grapes over the piazza.

I forgot to mention that earlier (?) I remember Mrs. Harriet Gray Otis who lived next door and had a poodle dog; and I had a toy poodle. The Whittemores afterward moved into that house and Babby Whittemore,—a little girl a few months younger than me,—and I went together to Ma’am Sessions’s school in the Craigie House when I was 5 years old. I remember how angry people were when a furniture dealer cut down some elms to build a store. Cambridge was a lovely old place at that time and people went to Boston in an “hourly.” The fare was 16⅔ cents. The currency consisted of old worn Spanish pieces, valued at 6¼, 12½, 25 cts and $1; also bank bills of very doubtful value. Money was expressed in shillings and pence, 6 shillings to a dollar.

I well remember how Jem used to go to Dr. Jennison’s school in a very old house under the Washington elm; and later to Mr. Whitman at the Hopkins Academy. There I once went with him. I remember old Dr. Hedge who lived near by with two maiden daughters, and the Dixwells. I remember old Mrs. Lowell, and Miss Louisa Greenough who lived in a house facing the Common, and her bringing me a bottle of Stuart’s syrop. I remember going to see Mr. Whittemore’s factory. They either made or used curry combs there. Whittemore soon failed and was made postmaster. Later he was clerk in a drygoods shop. I remember being weighed in Deacon Brown’s store in a huge pair of scales.

I remember Dr. Gould coming to my father to take lessons, and he left college in 1844.

I remember driving with father to Dr. Bache’s camp at Blue Hill, in 1845. I well remember the Quincys who left Cambridge in 1845. I also remember a great deal about the building of the New House. I recollect the discussion of the plans before it was begun, and the building of it. Then it was not finished in time, and the Bartletts who were to take the old house moved in and we boarded with them, and John Bartlett made a wonderful trick cabinet of drawers out of cigar boxes. I remember eating my first meal in the new house of oysters, seated on the back stairs. I think we must have moved in 1845. I remember in that year Judge Story’s funeral, the Irish Famine, the Mexican War, and the retirement of Professor Treadwell. I soon after began going to Miss Ware’s school.

I remember early visits to my grandmother in Salem, to different houses. One time in the cars with Aunt Lizzie, Miss Margaret Fuller was with us, and had a book with pictures about an imp in a bottle. She impressed me a good deal. She moved to N.Y. in 1844 and in 1846 left this country and was drowned on the return voyage with her husband, the Marquis Ossoli, in 1850, which event of course I remember the talk about.