Diary of Lucy Larcom, August 1, 1861

Yesterday I visited the residence of the late Hon. Daniel Webster, at Marshfield. There was much that was interesting to see in the great man's home; I think the two things that pleased me most were the portraits of his mother, and his black cook, or housekeeper. The latter was a fine painting, the face so full of intelligence, gratitude, and all good feelings; and there was an evidence of the true sympathy and home comfort between master and servant, if it is well to use those words, in the picture itself, the care with which it was painted, as well as the speaking face. The other was simply an old-fashioned cut profile, in black outline, and underneath it the words, "My excellent mother—D. Webster."

Out of doors, the wonderful old elm was the greatest attraction, with its branches sweeping the ground, and making an arbor and a cathedral at once, before the threshold. Webster himself but it is not well to call up anything but pleasant memories of the dead; and these do linger about the home he loved. What the nation thinks of him may be recorded elsewhere.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, pp. 96-7

Diary of Lucy Larcom, August 2, 1861

I visited Plymouth, placed my foot on the memorable "Plymouth Rock," of the Pilgrims (now so enclosed and covered as to leave scarcely space sufficient for my large foot to rest upon), looked at Mayflower curiosities in the hall, books, shoes, and fans of the olden time, and more especially pewter platters, which, judging from some ancient will I looked over in the Court House, were the most important personal property of the Puritans. John Alden's well-worn Bible was open at the date of publication, 1620, so he had it new for his westward voyage; I wondered whether it was the gift of some friend left behind, or his own purchase. Miles Standish's long rapier was scarcely more interesting to me than the big kettle labeled with his name, which might have supplied the colony with dinner, judging from its size. Some old documents relating to the Quakers caught my attention; one especially, wherein Winthrop demurred from signing his name to a report of Commissioners, wherein this troublesome sect were adjudged worthy to be put to death for their "cursed opinions and devilish tennets," Winthrop signed, leaving testimony beside his name, that it was "as a querry, not as an act." Coming back to George Fox's journal, which I had borrowed for vacation reading, I could not but smile at the difference a hundred or two years will make; I can admire both Puritan and Quaker for their sincerity, and only wish they could have understood each other better. There is no defense for the persecution of the "Fathers," except the imperfection of human nature, and there is only this for the misguided ways into which the Quakers were led, by mistaking their own fancies for the "inner light." Better death on both sides (for what each held to be truth) than indifference to truth. And, stepping among the bones of the Pilgrims, on Burying Hill, and looking away over the waves which brought them and freedom to New England, and so to the Union, I could not but contrast the struggle of that day with the present war for liberty against oppression. It is, in reality, the "Old Colony" against the "Old Dominion," or rather, the latter against the former, aristocracy against the republic. God will prosper us now as then; but perhaps we are to be brought as low before Him as they were, before our cause can be victorious.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, pp. 96-7

Diary of Lucy Larcom, August 3, 1861

Fishing on the "Indian Pond" in Pembroke half the day, catching sunfish and shiners, red perch and white; my first exploits of the kind. It is a pleasant day to remember, for the green trees and the blue waters, for lilies wide awake on the bosom of the waters in the morning sunshine, for fresh breezes, and for pleasant company.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, pp. 96-8

Diary of Lucy Larcom, August 11, 1861

At Amesbury,—with two of the dearest friends my life is blessed with,—dear quiet-loving Lizzie, and her poet brother. I love to sit with them in the still Quaker worship, and they love the free air and all the beautiful things as much as they do all the good and spiritual. The harebells nodding in shade and shine on the steep banks of the Merrimac, the sparkle of the waters, the blue of the sky, the balm of the air, and the atmosphere of grave sweet friendliness which I breathed for one calm "First-day" are never to be forgotten.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, pp. 98-9

Diary of Lucy Larcom, August 20, 1861

One of the stillest moonlight evenings, not a sound heard but the bleat of a lamb, and the murmur of the river; all the rest a cool, broad, friendly mountainous silence. Peace comes down with the soft clouds and mists that veil the hills; the Pemigewasset sings all night in the moonshine, and I lie and dream of the beauty of those hill-outlines around Winnipiseogee, that I looked upon with so satisfied a greeting from the car window on my way hither. The mountains do not know their own beauty anywhere but by a lakeside. So it is: beauty sets us longing for other beauty; the clouds moving above their summits suggest possibilities that earthly summits, at their grandest, can never attain. And no dream can suggest the possibilities of the beautiful that “shall be revealed."

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, p. 99

Diary of Lucy Larcom, August 24, 1861

"The eye is not satisfied with seeing, and the ear with hearing," and one can never tire of the vision of mountain landscapes, and the quiet song of summer rivers. Every day since I have been here in this beautiful village of Campton, I have driven through some new region; sometimes into the very heart of the hills, where nothing is to be seen but swelling slopes on every side, hills which have not quite attained mountainhood, but which would be mountains anywhere but in the "Granite State;" and sometimes out into the interval openings of the river; with new views of "Alps on Alps" on the northern horizon, the gate of the Franconia Notch opening dimly afar with its mountain haystacks piled beside it. It is rest to soul and body to be among these mountains; one thing only is lacking; the friends I had hoped to see here are not with me. But too much joy is not to be looked for; let me hope that they are among scenes more beautiful, and with dearer friends than I. Yet how delightful it would have been, to be with the best friends, among the most beautiful scenes.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, pp. 99-100

Diary of Lucy Larcom, August 25, 1861

I am enjoying the society of my old friend and former associate teacher. She is more gifted than I, in most ways, and it is pleasant to talk to some one who, you take it for granted, has a clearer understanding, and deeper insight, and more adequate expression than yourself.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, p. 100

Diary of Lucy Larcom, August 28, 1861

Yesterday a rare treat; a ride to Waterville (to the "end of the wood" as they speak of it here) in a three-seated open wagon. I wish they would have only open ones for mountain travel.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary, p. 100

Diary of Lucy Larcom, May 6, 1861

Through the dark and lurid atmosphere of war the light of "Nature's own exceeding peace" still softly falls on the earth. The violets have opened their blue eyes by the roadside; the saxifrage fringes the ledges with white; and the arbutus, the Pilgrim's mayflower, blossoms on the hills away from here; we have no hillsides for it to grow upon, but I had some on May-day, from the hills of Taunton. How strange the contrast between these delicate blossoms and the flaring red flower of war that has burst into bloom with the opening of spring!

Every day brings something to stir the deep places of the soul, and in the general awakening of life and liberty it may be that every heart feels its own peculiar sorrow and happiness more keenly. There is a deeper life in every breath I draw; and messages from distant friends seem more near and touching. One day, from one of the most beloved and honored, comes a kind word for my poor efforts at poetry; almost a prophecy of some blessed days of summer life among the mountains by and by, — and a holy benediction, "God bless thee, and keep thee!" that fell upon my heart like the first ray of some new and unknown morning. All life seemed green and glowing with a freshened trust.—God is, and goodness is; and true hearts are, forever! There is nothing to doubt, even in these dark days!

Then, the next day, a message from dear Esther (she could not write it herself) to say that she is dying, and wants to hear from me again. And to think that she had been drooping all these spring days, while I have been too full of occupation with the stir of the times to write! But she says my words have always been good for her, and surely few have blessed me by life and thought as she has. Heaven will have one bond for my heart, closer than any yet. I am glad that she can lie down in peace, before the horrible scenes of bloodshed, which only a miracle can now avert, shall be enacted.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” pp. 90-1

Diary of Lucy Larcom, May 9, 1861

I had set myself to reading Maury's "Physical Geography of the Sea," after a long deferring; but now that he has come out as a rank rebel against his country, I cannot feel any interest in his theories, ingenious as they are said to be. Like poor, wise, fallen Bacon, his ideas may prove something to the world, "after some years have passed over," but one is not fond of being taught by traitors.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” p. 91

Diary of Lucy Larcom, May 15, 1861

A glimpse into a heart which has always been closed, both to God and man, — what a chaos it discloses! Yet with all the elements of order there, it is like the promise of a new creation. Such a glimpse, such a half-unveiling, one has given me to-day, out of a soul-deep, long-repressed longing for "something to love!" Ah, that sorrowful need of every woman's heart, especially; yet more joyful than sorrowful, because the longing shows the fulfillment possible, — yes, certain. In the heavenly life, which such aspirations prophesy, there is love abounding, to give and to receive. And I am thankful for one more to love.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” pp. 91-2

Diary of Lucy Larcom, May 20, 1861

Esther dead! Gone home two days before I heard or dreamed of it! But since she has gone home, — since it is only a glorious release for her, — I will not let a thought of repining sully the gladness I ought to share with her. It is only that one who has always lived near the Holiest One is now called nearer still. I have known her only in Him, and there I know her and love her still.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” p. 92

Diary of Lucy Larcom, May 22, 1861

They write to me of her funeral, of the white flowers beside her head, and of her own lilies of the valley strewn over her in the grave by one who knew how she loved them. Everything that would have made her happy, had her eyes been open to see, and her ears to hear. They sang the hymns she loved, "Rock of Ages," and "I would not live alway," and "Thy will be done." And my dear friend is free!—her soul has blossomed into heavenly light! I told her once that this book was for only her to see; I do not like my thoughts when I think them for myself alone; and there is no other friend who would care as she cared. Will she read them now?

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” p. 92

Diary of Lucy Larcom, May 27, 1861

This is the gala week of spring. None of the early flowers have quite faded, and the apple trees are in full bloom, while elms and maples are just wearing their lightest drapery of green, so tardily put on. Soft breezes, sweet melody from many birds, clear sunshine, not yet too warm, all things are just in that state, when, if we could wish for a standstill in nature, we should.

And Esther has been one week in heaven! It seems to me, sometimes, as if some new charm was added to cloud and sunshine, and spring blossoms, since she went away; as if it were given me to see all things clearer for her clearer vision; she would speak to me, if she could.

Lectures these few days on historical women. Paula, Queen Elizabeth, and Madame de Maintenon, thus far. Paula, the friend of St. Jerome, and the woman whom the speaker made to illustrate friendship, pleased me most, as presenting a higher ideal than either of the others. Christianity gave woman the privilege of a pure friendship with man; before unknown, we are told. It is one of the noblest gifts of religion, and I wish people believed in it more thoroughly. But only a truly elevated and chastened nature can understand real friendship, not a Platonic ideal only, though that is elevated, let who will sneer at it: but a drawing of the noblest souls together, and to the Soul of souls, for the highest ends. This is Christian friendship; union in Christ for all beauty, all purity, all true and noble life, which He illustrated in His own glorious life and death, and of which He is now the inspiring power. "We are complete in Him."

Yes, I am sure that it is in drawing near to Him that I feel the loveliness of such beauty as that into which the world now blossoms; for is not He the Lord of nature, and also my Lord and Friend? And through His great love for us, I see the ideal of all true human love. "As I have loved you," He said, "so must we love each other, with tenderness, forbearance, generosity, and self-sacrifice."

Such friendship is possible, is eternal; and it is almost the most precious thing in the soul's inheritance.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” pp. 93-4

Diary of Lucy Larcom, June 12, 1861

I have been free for a few days, and have taken a journey, a flying tour among some of my friends. How it quieted me, to be with my peace-loving friends in these wild times of war!

There are some friends whose presence is encouragement in all that is good, whom to look upon is to grow stronger for the truth. There are homes, too, over which saintly memories hang, making all within and around them sacred, blending earth with heaven by holy sympathies. How blessed I am, to know such friends, to enter such homes as these! Sometimes I can truly say, "My cup runneth over!"

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” p. 94

Diary of Lucy Larcom, June 14, 1861

Still the same old weariness of study; "weariness of the flesh." Books are treasures, but one may work among treasures even, digging and delving, till there is little enjoyment in them. And the greater pain is, that, by becoming numb to the beautiful and true, in any form, one does not feel its power entirely, anywhere. So I felt this morning, which I stole from my books. I sat on a ledge in a distant field, all around me beautiful with June, and no sight or sound of human care in sight. I sat there like a prisoner, whose chains had dropped for the moment, but the weight and pain of them lingered still. Yet I began to feel what it is to be free, and how sweet and soothing nature always is, before I rose to return. I think it would not take me long to get accustomed to freedom, and to rejoice in it with exceeding joy.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” pp. 94-5

Diary of Lucy Larcom, June 23, 1861

Weary, weary, too weary to listen patiently to the heavy Sabbath bells; far too weary to sit in the church and listen to loud words and loud singing. And my brain is too tired to let my heart feel the beauty of this quiet day. I only know that the balm and beauty of June are around me, without realizing it much. But rest will come soon, up among the mountains with friends who love noise and confusion as little as I do. I shall be at peace. A blessing will come to us, among the hills.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” p. 95

Diary of Lucy Larcom, July 4, 1861

Crackers all around the house at night. Fire-crackers, torpedoes, pistols, and bell-ringing, are enough to make one sick of one's country, if this is the only way of showing one's patriotism. I am sure, as I lay last night, nervously wide awake, with every shot startling and paining me as if it had really gone through my brain, I felt more belligerently disposed toward the young patriots than toward the Southern rebels! But if there is no other way of nursing an interest in free institutions among these juvenile republicans, there's nothing to be done but to endure the "Fourth of July" once a year, for the general good.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” pp. 95-6

Diary of Lucy Larcom, January 20, 1861

I have run over the birth-histories of the nations of Europe, in their chaotic rise from barbarism; and have just completed a bird's-eye view of Italian mediæval history, with Koeppen's aid. The present history of Italy interests me greatly, and I would like to be able to link the present with the past. But what a debatable ground it has always been, and how unsparingly it has always been made mince-meat of, by all in authority there!

But all that history has revealed shows no more important epoch than the one in which we are living at this moment, in our unsettled and discordant Union. I hope it will come out plain and positive, as a question of right or wrong for every man to decide. It is so already, yet all will not see. So I hope that the demon of slavery, that "mystery of iniquity," will make his evil way evident, that we may return to no vile compact with sin.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” p. 83

Diary of Lucy Larcom, February 28, 1861

The bluebirds have come! and the meadow-lark has sung over in the fields behind the garden, these two or three mornings. I have dreamed of spring these many nights, and now it is coming—coming!

What a blessing dreams are! I have heard birds sing, in bluer skies than May could show; doves have alighted on my head; violets, such as cannot be matched in any meadows for perfect tints and fragrance, have blossomed at my feet; have wept for joy at the sublime beauty of Alps grander than any real Alps,—which I would yet fain see, though I shall not, with these eyes, all this in my winter dreams. Through dreams, we must always believe in a deeper and more perfect beauty than we know. The world is lovely, but there is a lovelier, else we could not see what we do in sleep. The glory of living is that life is glorious beyond all our possible imaginations, — the eternal life, the "glory that shall be revealed " in us.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” pp. 83-4