Memories and Anecdotes | Page 2

over the banister to an
assembled family downstairs, "Muzzer, Muzzer, I dess I dot a fezer," or
"Muzzer, come up, I'se dot a headache in my stomach." I certainly can
recall my intense admiration for Professor Ira Young, our next door
neighbour, and his snowy pow, which I called "pity wite fedders."
As years rolled on, I fear I was pert and audacious. I once touched at
supper a blazing hot teapot, which almost blistered my fingers, and I
screamed with surprise and pain. Father exclaimed, "Stop that noise,
Caty." I replied, "Put your fingers on that teapot--and don't kitikize."
And one evening about seven, my usual bedtime, I announced, "I'm
going to sit up till eight tonight, and don't you 'spute." I know of many
children who have the same habit of questions and sharp retorts. One of
my pets, after plying her mother with about forty questions, wound up
with, "Mother, how does the devil's darning needle sleep? Does he lie
down on a twig or hang, or how?" "I don't know, dear." "Why, mother,
it is surprising when you have lived so many years, that you know so
little!"
Mr. Higginson told an absurd story of an inquisitive child and wearied
mother in the cars passing the various Newtons, near Boston. At last
the limit. "Ma, why do they call this West Newton?" "Oh, I suppose for
fun." Silence for a few minutes, then, "Ma, what was the fun in calling
it West Newton?"
I began Latin at eight years--my first book a yellow paper primer.
I was always interested in chickens, and dosed all the indisposed as:
Dandy Dick Was very sick, I gave him red pepper And soon he was
better.
In spring, I remember the humming of our bees around the sawdust,
and my craze for flower seeds and a garden of my own.
Father had a phenomenal memory; he could recite in his classroom
pages of Scott's novels, which he had not read since early youth. He

had no intention of allowing my memory to grow flabby from lack of
use. I often repeat a verse he asked me to commit to memory:
In reading authors, when you find Bright passages that strike your mind,
And which perhaps you may have reason To think on at another season;
Be not contented with the sight, But jot them down in black and white;
Such respect is wisely shown As makes another's thought your own.
Every day at the supper table I had to repeat some poetry or prose and
on Sunday a hymn, some of which were rather depressing to a young
person, as:
Life is but a winter's day; A journey to the tomb.
And the vivid description of "Dies Irae":
When shrivelling like a parched scroll The flaming heavens together
roll And louder yet and yet more dread Swells the high Trump that
wakes the dead.
Great attention was given to my lessons in elocution from the best
instructors then known, and I had the privilege of studying with
William Russell, one of the first exponents of that art. I can still hear
his advice: "Full on the vowels; dwell on the consonants, especially at
the close of sentences; keep voice strong for the close of an important
sentence or paragraph." Next, I took lessons from Professor Mark
Bailey of Yale College; and then in Boston in the classes of Professor
Lewis B. Monroe,--a most interesting, practical teacher of distinctness,
expression, and the way to direct one's voice to this or that part of a hall.
I was given the opportunity also of hearing an occasional lecture by
Graham Bell. Later, I used to read aloud to father for four or five hours
daily--grand practice--such important books as Lecky's Rationalism,
Buckle's Averages, Sir William Hamilton's Metaphysics (not one word
of which could I understand), Huxley, Tyndall, Darwin, and Spencer,
till my head was almost too full of that day's "New Thought."
Judge Salmon P. Chase once warned me, when going downstairs to a
dinner party at Edgewood, "For God's sake, Kate, don't quote the

Atlantic Monthly tonight!" I realized then what a bore I had been.
What a treat to listen to William M. Evarts chatting with Judge Chase!
One evening he affected deep depression. "I have just been beaten
twice at 'High Low Jack' by Ben the learned pig. I always wondered
why two pipes in liquid measure were called a hogshead; now I know;
it was on account of their great capacity." He also told of the donkey's
loneliness in his absence, as reported by his little daughter.
I gave my first series of talks at Tilden Seminary at West Lebanon,
New Hampshire, only a few miles from Hanover. President Asa D.
Smith of Dartmouth came to hear two of them, and