Memories and Anecdotes | Page 4

left utterly worn
out, "Some folks seem to get all their good things in this life," deterred
me from attempting it again.
Started a school a little later in the ell of our house for my friends
among the Hanover children--forty-five scholars in all. Kept it going
successfully for two years.
I dislike to tell a story so incredible and so against myself as this. One
evening father said, "I am going to my room early tonight, Katie; do
not forget to lock the back door." I sat reading until quite late, then
retired. About 2.30 A.M., I was startled to hear someone gently open
that back door, then take off boots and begin to softly ascend the stairs,
which stopped only the width of a narrow hall from my room. I have
been told that I said in trembling tones, "You're trying to keep pretty
quiet down there." Next moment I was at the head of the stairs; saw a
man whom I did not recognize on the last step but one. I struck a heavy
blow on his chest, saying, "Go down, sir," and down he tumbled all the
way, his boots clanking along by themselves. Then the door opened,
my burglar disappeared, and I went down and locked the back door as I
had promised father I would. I felt less proud of my physical prowess
and real courage when my attention was called to a full account of my
assault in the college papers of the day. The young man was not
rooming at our house, but coming into town quite late, planned to lodge
with a friend there. He threw gravel at this young man's window in the
third story to waken him, and failing thought at last he would try the
door, and if not locked he would creep up, and disturb no one. But
"Miss Sanborn knocked a man all the way downstairs" was duly
announced. I then realized my awful mistake, and didn't care to appear

on the street for some time except in recitation hours.
The second time I lectured in Burlington, I was delayed nearly half an
hour at that dreadful Junction, about which place Professor Edward J.
Phelps, afterwards Minister to England, wrote a fierce rhyme to relieve
his rage at being compelled to waste so much precious time there. I
recall only two revengeful lines:
"I hope in hell his soul may dwell, Who first invented Essex Junction."
Oh, yes, I do remember his idea that the cemetery near the station
contained the bodies of many weary ones who had died just before help
came and were shovelled over.
It happened that Mrs. Underwood, wife of the demented governor, who
had alluded so truthfully to my lecture, was in the audience, and being
gifted with genuine clairvoyant powers, she rose and begged the
audience not to disperse, as she could distinctly see me pacing
nervously up and down the platform at the Junction in a long sealskin
coat and hat trimmed with band of fur. I arrived at last with the sealskin
and the hat, proving her correct, and they cheered her as well as myself.
Our little village had its share of eccentric characters, as the old man
who was impelled by the edict of the Bible to cut off his right hand as it
had "offended him." But lacking surgical facilities, the effort left one
hand hanging limp and useless. His long white beard, how truly
patriarchal!
Poor insane Sally Duget--a sad story! Her epitaph in our cemetery is
pathetic. With all her woe she was quick at repartee. A man once asked
her, "Shall you ever marry, Sally?" "Well, yes, if you and I can make a
bargain."
Elder Bawker with his difficulties in locomotion.
Rogers, who carried the students' washing home to his wife on Sunday
afternoons for a preliminary soak. The minister seeing him thus
engaged, stopped him, and inquired:

"Where do you think you will go to if you so constantly desecrate the
Holy Sabbath?"
"Guess I'll go right on doing laundry work for the boys."
The aged janitor who, in a brief scare about smallpox, was asked if he
had ever had it: "No, but I've had chances."
An old sinner who, being converted, used to serve as a lay evangelist at
the district schoolhouse where in winter religious meetings were held.
Roguish lads to test him sprinkled red pepper, a lot of it, on the red hot
stove. He almost suffocated, but burst out with: "By God, there's
enemies to religion in this house! Hist the winders!"
The rubicund butcher of that period (we had no choice) was asked by a
long-time patron how he got such a red face. "Cider apple sass." The
same patron said, "You have served me pretty