Part 17

MY DEAR MRS. HALL,—I want to tell you how much I enjoyed hearing about your dear Father, and all the brave, generous things he did for the Greeks, and for all who were poor and unhappy. I think the children who read _Wide Awake_ must have been greatly interested in your story, but they cannot love Dr. Howe as we little blind girls do. Teacher says, she would not have known how to teach me if your Father had not taught Laura Bridgman first, and that is why I feel so grateful to him. How dreadful it would have been if I could not have learned like other boys and girls! I am sure I should have been very sorrowful with no one to talk to me, and so would Edith and many others, but it is too sad to think about, is it not? When you come to Boston I hope you will tell me more about your Father, and what you did when you were a little girl. Mr. Anagnos is going to show me Byron’s helmet some day. Teacher sends her kind regards to you.

Lovingly your little friend,

HELEN A. KELLER.

In these years Edwin Booth spent the summer at his pretty red-roofed villa, “Boothden,” on Indian Avenue. It was then a quiet and retired part of the island of Rhode Island, yet within easy reach of Newport. The house was placed so near the rocky shore that the ocean breezes might have been too boisterous had not awnings screened the wide piazzas. A large and pleasant boat-house equipped with a sitting- or lounging-room stood on the shore.

“Boothden” was only four miles from “Oak Glen,” so that we were country neighbors of Mr. Booth and his charming daughter. We had the pleasure of seeing them from time to time. When we were invited to take luncheon at their villa, to meet Joseph Jefferson, his wife and daughter, and William Warren, the veteran comedian of the Boston Museum, it seemed too wonderful to be true.

Miss Edwina Booth (whom I remembered as Baby Booth) received us with a grace and charm that vividly recalled her lovely young mother, dead many years before. The resemblance to Mrs. Booth was almost startling. It seemed as if the beloved wife, young and fair as of old, had returned to this earth. We saw the same slender figure, the same movements, as I fancied. What a strange thing is the inheritance of gesture! There could have been no conscious imitation, for Miss Booth could not have remembered her mother.

The three distinguished actors had rashly gone for a sail in Mr. Booth’s yacht. It is always rash to go out in a sail-boat if you expect to return at any particular hour.

When they finally arrived their entrance was like a scene upon the stage. Their behavior was not at all theatrical, but they were mariners returning from a stormy trip. A good stiff breeze had blown them all about, the waves had given them a good wetting, while Mr. Jefferson had lost his hat overboard.

They took all these small mishaps in the best possible humor, as a part of life’s comedy. Joe Jefferson had substituted a red bandanna handkerchief for the lost hat and treated the whole affair as a delightful joke. Presently we all sat down to a luncheon elegant and elaborate, after the fashion of the time, the table being faultless in its service and appointments.

Joseph Jefferson was brilliant and delightful, evidently enjoying the conversation. The geniality and cheeriness of his stage characters were but a reflection of his own sunny disposition. If he had stood in the shoes of Rip Van Winkle, Caleb Plummer, or Bob Acres, he would have taken life as cheerfully as they did. After seeing him in private life I understood better the spirit of his acting. The Jefferson of the parlor was the Jefferson of the stage, save that the man himself was more brilliant, more original than the men of a simple type whom he habitually portrayed. He possessed that highest form of art which conceals itself. At the Booth luncheon he talked of many things—of art, his pictures, the proper light for the stage, his children, his farm in Florida, his delight in roaming through the woods with his fishing-rod.

We enjoyed hearing many theatrical anecdotes which gave us peeps behind the scenes. Mr. Jefferson told us of a mistake he once made in “Lend Me Five Shillings.” Forgetting that he had already delivered certain lines, he repeated them—no applause followed! Just as he was wondering what the matter was, the actress with whom he was playing whispered, “You have repeated your lines.” William Warren confessed that he had had a somewhat similar experience in “Our American Cousin,” when he struck a match by the right end, lighting it, to his horror and surprise. According to the play, he should have struck the wrong end—and the mistake drove his part out of his head for a moment, when a fellow-actor gave him his lines, in a stage whisper! William Warren, “the Boston favorite,” was a relative of Joseph Jefferson or of Mrs. Jefferson. They called him “Uncle William,” and all treated him with the most affectionate respect. He was the eldest of the three actors, and already in failing health. Hence he was grave and quiet in manner when we saw him in private life, although inimitably funny on the stage. It seldom happens that so excellent an actor is content to remain all his life a member of a stock company, performing in a single city—but this was Warren’s choice. The strong affection in which he was held was doubtless a compensation to this inimitable actor for the loss of a wider fame. He died not long after this time.

We found our hospitable and kindly host, Edwin Booth, little changed from the old days when we had so devoutly admired him. There were the same charm and simplicity of manner, the same sense of humor. His eyes still had the old fire, while the cheerful serenity of middle life replaced the buoyant happiness of his younger days. He spoke very simply of the time when he was a young man. I did not like to think that Edwin Booth ever could grow old. He was still in the prime of life, handsome and vigorous.

Of his profession, of the stage and of Shakespeare, he liked to talk, and we liked only too well to listen. He had recently brought home from Germany some of the tokens of intense admiration that were showered upon him there—wreaths of silver, and perhaps of gold, also.

What to do with these he did not know. Mantel lambrequins then afflicted the world. I fear it was I who suggested that the classic garlands might be sewn on these with decorative effect!

Edwin Booth was too reserved and too kind-hearted to play the habitual mimic, yet he could, upon occasion, imitate to the life the person described. Once, when telling us of an experience in the far West while he was traveling with his father, he suddenly became a knock-kneed, shambling man. In a moment he was again Edwin Booth, grave and dignified.

XVIII

OUR CHILDREN AT HOME, SCHOOL AND COLLEGE

_An Attic Fairy.—Our Child Artist Grinds Her Own Paints.—Scholarships and Athletics at Harvard University.—Our Youngest Wins an “H.”—American Girls’ Club in Paris.—Caroline’s Pictures Exhibited in the New Salon._

OUR children received their early education at home and at the house of our good friend, Mrs. Sykes. When the boys were well started in their lessons we sent them to the neighboring public school. Here their proficiency in reading was resented by their contemporaries. An aristocracy of learning is quite as offensive to boy nature as any other form of superiority. The school was coeducational, but in spite of this some of the boys were pretty rough. It was a good thing for our sons, however, to learn young to take their own part and to rub elbows with all sorts and conditions of children. The public-school system of America is an indispensable feature of our democracy.

All our sons were prepared for college at Mr. Leal’s excellent private school in Plainfield. A schoolmate declared that when Mr. Leal called Sam up to recite he would open the Greek book, lay it affectionately upon the boy’s knee, pat it, and tell the latter to begin. Thereupon Sam proceeded to reel off page after page of the text, as if he had been a species of classic hand-organ. He was now too big, however, to have his head punched for his proficiency. I was glad to help my children with their home studies, thus reviving my acquaintance with Messrs. Virgil, Cæsar and Company. But assisting them with their arithmetic and algebra was very hard work. To present a mathematical idea so that a child will clearly understand it is not easy. Perhaps that is the reason why teachers so often leave this task to the luckless parents. This is all wrong.

My second son, Harry, was a natural leader and had his little coterie of friends and followers. When these were promoted to a higher room in the public school it was proposed to promote their teacher, also; she declined the honor!

The boy had a natural wit which he occasionally used to torment his instructors at Mr. Leal’s school. Harry had various clashes with the younger teachers, who were all men. They did not make sufficient allowance for the high spirits and the desire for independence of the growing boy. “Poppy Leal,” the principal, as the boys affectionately called him, was wiser. He spoke of them all as men, thus winning their hearts. But one day even Mr. Leal grew out of patience with Harry. Sending for the boy’s parents, he told us that there seemed to be a difference of opinion between Harry and himself as to who should run the school. He, however, had always done so in the past and did not propose to abdicate now. History repeats itself, and this same Harry was called upon, not long ago, to curb the same spirit in his eldest daughter, little Julia Ward Howe Hall. The teacher unknowingly used the same words that had been applied to Harry in his youth!

He was a daring boy, yet possessed of a certain caution. We had bought for his elder brother one of those immense bicycles which enjoyed a brief day of popularity. It proved too big for the older boy, but Master Harry managed to ride it, though his legs were so short that he could only reach the pedals as they came up. On this he descended such a dangerous incline that the boys kindly gathered at the foot of the hill to see him fall off. “Come see Hally riding to hell!” one boy called to the others.

Our only daughter studied at home and at private schools, going to Paris for her education in painting.

She was less than five years old, when she made her own brushes by taking stiff chicken feathers and shaving them off till only a small tuft was left at the end. From pieces of brick and other materials found about the place, she ground her own colors. When we found the child making pictures with these primitive paints, we at once supplied her with colors. In addition to the power of invention, perhaps because of it, Caroline possessed the happy faculty of making the most of small things, enjoying whatever little pleasures fell to her lot. Thus, wishing very much to have a room entirely to herself, she asked for one in the attic. When a mouse visited her bower in the evening, instead of screaming she played softly on the harmonica, in the hope that the music would lead him to return to his home. We called her the Attic Fairy.

In 1889, our eldest son, Samuel Prescott Hall, entered Harvard University, having passed his examinations with honors. I went up to Cambridge with the trembling Freshman, who had just passed his seventeenth birthday. A certain indifference, not to say coldness, on the part of the authorities soon showed me that the event of Sam’s entrance into academic fields did not move them so deeply as it did me. The bursar I found especially unsympathetic. My son had not drawn a room in the college buildings, and that was an end of it. Mr. —— had no suggestions to offer. I was assured later that this gentleman was a very kind man. He certainly concealed the fact very successfully. I had dealings with him from time to time during the period of fourteen years while my sons were at Cambridge. But I do not remember his ever displaying one sign of human weakness.

My brother had suggested our trying to procure for Sam the position of president’s Freshman. The duties of this functionary consisted in running errands for the head of the university, for which he was paid a small honorarium. When I inquired about the president’s Freshman, I was met by a pitying smile. The young man in charge had evidently never heard of such a person.

When we looked about for rooms, dreadful tales of young collegians who had been found dead from opium-smoking greeted our affrighted ears. Fortunately, we found a pleasant lodgment at the house of an old acquaintance.

This attitude of serene indifference toward the class of young men most in need of advice and help has now passed away. The erection of a stately row of buildings, intended especially for the accommodation of Freshmen, shows that Alma Mater has waked up to a fact which was clear long ago to the ordinary mothers of men. The entering class, the new blood, is the hope of the future. As they are the youngest students and are totally inexperienced in the ways of the university, many of them coming from remote parts of the country, they should be made welcome.

Our sons thoroughly enjoyed their college life. They were much interested in athletics and also liked to have a good time. It was fully borne in upon them, however, that study must be the principal aim of their college course. We could not afford to send them to Harvard simply for amusement. Sam, being a student by nature, was always on the rank list, taking special second-year honors, also graduating “_cum laude_” with honors in Greek and Latin. In Charles Eliot Norton’s famous class, “Fine Arts Four,” he was greatly interested. It was said that the very large membership of Professor Norton’s classes was due to their being “snap” courses. Some of the boys, having reported themselves present, would depart by the fire-escape; others would read newspapers, to the vexation of Professor Norton.

No. 241 Beacon Street was a second home to my mother’s five grandsons, all of whom graduated from Harvard. Of Sam she was especially fond. His tastes, like hers, were those of a scholar, and there was a close bond of intellectual sympathy between her and her eldest grandson.

Football gave him so much pleasure that he continued to play with amateur associations after leaving college. Those were the days of the deadly flying tackle. One morning a short, powerful-looking young man called at our house for Sam’s football clothes. This same young man had accidentally killed another in a recent game. My feelings, on thus learning that my son was to play with him, can be imagined. Sam passed through these dreadful combats without lasting injury. He did, to be sure, bruise one of his legs so that it was black and blue from hip to ankle and the doctor looked serious. Fortunately youth and health pulled him through so that no amputation was necessary.

Harry took his athletics less violently. Through persistent exercise he became one of the strongest ten men in college. His mother felt much anxiety lest he should thus become muscle-bound, but my fears would appear to have been groundless. Tennis proved to be his forte, as various trophies testify.

In 1893 we moved into our new house in Plainfield. As often happens, however, our children began to leave home soon after we had established ourselves permanently, as we hoped. Caroline was suddenly invited to go to Paris with Mrs. George Richmond Fearing, there to study painting and French.

Mrs. Fearing took great pleasure in giving young girls the advantages of study in the French capital. She employed actresses from the Théâtre Français and the Odéon—the government theaters—to give lessons in diction. Caroline’s decidedly American accent changed, in the seven years of her foreign residence, into something closely resembling the French of the natives.

“Baby Hall,” as she was affectionately called, was the youngest girl at the Délécluse studio. Thaulow, the great Norwegian artist, criticized the work of the art students in the Bois de Boulogne. He was a very large man and wore a bottle-green coat. He viewed with alarm the idea of seating himself on one of the tiny folding camp-chairs of their kit, so they procured one warranted to support many kilos.

In due course of time Caroline’s pictures were exhibited and “hung on the line” at the new Salon in Paris. She was also invited to exhibit her landscapes in the French provinces, receiving letters beginning “_Cher maître_.”

For some years she lived at the American Girls’ Club, No. 4 rue de Chevreuse, a pleasant establishment where the charges were very moderate, Mrs. Whitelaw Reid contributing to its support.

When our youngest son, John Howe Hall, went to Harvard, it was necessary for him to assist materially in his own support. As he was the least robust of the three brothers, this was not so easy. He possessed, however, grit, executive ability, and a capacity for hard work. He won several scholarships, and also tutored in the courses he had himself thoroughly mastered.

To “coach” for examinations boys who have neglected their studies involves severe and exhausting mental labor for teacher and pupil alike. Jack did the best he could for his pupils, who usually passed. Although of slighter build than any of the other four grandsons, he determined to achieve the coveted “H.” He accordingly entered the track team and became a long-distance runner. The flutterings of the mother heart were now great. I was glad to have the boy distinguish himself, but two miles seemed a long-distance for one so slender to run. The perusal of a story by Wilkie Collins, representing the hero, a college runner, as a very brutal man, did not reassure me. At first the boy was indignant at his parent’s timidity and, as he thought, lack of sympathy. After I had attended, in company with his brothers, several races, where we showed great enthusiasm and cheered loudly, he understood my feelings better.

It was indeed a proud moment at Franklin Field, Philadelphia, when Sam called out to me, “Here comes your youngest, at the head of the bunch.” He was so handsome and so graceful, in that wonderful stride of the trained runner, that mother was made very happy. He gained, not long afterward, the coveted “H”—the only one of the grandsons who did so.

XIX

THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS

_Enthusiasm of the Pioneer Clubwomen.—Early Conventions of the General Federation of Women’s Clubs.—Work as President of the New Jersey Woman Suffrage Association.—We Visit the Legislature.—Campaign for School Suffrage.—Formation of New Leagues.—Lucy Stone and Her Baby’s Cradle.—Rev. Samuel Smith, Author of “America.”_

THE rapidity with which, in the latter part of the nineteenth century, women’s clubs sprang up all over the face of this broad land of ours was miraculous. We may say that this agency and that person helped in the development of the great movement, but there must have been a cause underlying it. The women of America had outgrown the old, narrow, often selfish life of utter absorption in the affairs of the individual home. They now longed for wider culture, for the broadening of their ideas by association with other women, for opportunities to improve not only their own, but all homes. For the club movement is only a part of the great, splendid world movement whereby the women of the race have advanced to take their place beside the men. In the beginning intellectual culture was the principal object of the clubs. Yet we felt deep interest in the conduct of meetings and in the administration of affairs. Why were the women so delighted with parliamentary law? Because, all unconsciously, we were attending a school of citizenship and learning that order which is a part of the divine law.

The tremendous vitality of the club movement was shown by the almost magical growth of the General Federation of Women’s Clubs. To Sorosis, and especially to Mrs. J. C. Croly (Jennie June), belongs the honor of founding this splendid and powerful organization. Sorosis has shown a wonderful power of vision, for it founded also the “Association for the Advancement of Women,” a pioneer body which did very important work.

Yet the administration of both organizations soon passed into other hands. This was, as I think, because Sorosis had not cultivated the executive powers of its members. Hence when it came to questions of administration, other more active clubs assumed the leadership for which they had been trained. Thus the New England Woman’s Club, full of good works and activity in civic movements, furnished the president, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, who for many years guided the movements of “A. A. W.”

We must note a feature in the constitution of this national union of clubs which, helpful in the beginning, later proved a serious defect. The individual societies were directly affiliated with the General Federation, every club president being also a vice-president of the national body. Under the devoted leadership of Mrs. Charlotte Emerson Brown of East Orange, whose soul was fairly absorbed in her work, this grew and prospered.

The “fault” in the method of formation became more and more evident as time went on. The number of clubs increased to such an extent as to make the national conventions unwieldy. It has been proposed at various times to limit the representation to the state federations, but the individual clubs, who have greatly enjoyed their membership in the national body, are very unwilling to give it up.

Will the initial fault in construction end by destroying this splendid body? No one can now say. Even should it perish, however, it will have fulfilled an important mission. We should look at the General Federation as a part of the great movement by which our sex has been prepared for the new duties which women are now so splendidly fulfilling. Viewed in this light, the stimulus which it gave to the formation of new clubs and the opportunities it afforded to the women of all parts of our country for meeting together have more than compensated for the defect in organization. Had we waited to form first state federations, and out of those a national body, we should have lost the glow and enthusiasm of those wonderful early conventions of the G. F. W. C. We might have failed, also, in fulfilling the larger mission.

The conservative women often opposed us, but we of the liberal party prevailed in the end. Gradually club and Federation broadened their programs. At the first biennial convention of the General Federation, held in Chicago, we devoted our attention principally to questions relating to clubs and their management. Should they be large or small? Should we have club-houses? Should we engage in philanthropic work? It seems strange now to remember the great enthusiasm with which we labored over these minor matters. But they were doubtless necessary steps in our progress.

The General Federation now has departments of art, civics, legislation, public health, and many others. Last and best of all, at the convention of 1914, the General Federation endorsed suffrage for women. It was a moment of great excitement and enthusiasm. Veteran suffrage leaders wept with joy and embraced one another, while the strains of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” sounded through the hall.