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ver could。）But we always managed to get a good look at the show in one way or another。
〃Old Election；〃 〃'Lection Day〃 we called it； a lost holiday now； was a general training day； and it came at our most delightful season； the last of May。 Lilacs and tulips were in bloom； then； and it was a picturesque fashion of the time for little girls whose parents had no flower…gardens to go around begging a bunch of lilacs； or a tulip or two。 My mother always made 〃'Lection cake〃 for us on that day。 It was nothing but a kind of sweetened bread with a shine of egg…and…molasses on top； but we thought it delicious。
The Fourth of July and Thanksgiving Day were the only other holidays that we made much account of； and the former was a far more well behaved festival than it is in modern times。 The bells rang without stint； and at morning and noon cannon were fired off。 But torpedoes and fire…crackers did not make the highways dangerous；perhaps they were thought too expensive an amusement。 Somebody delivered an oration； there was a good deal said about 〃this universal Yankee nation〃； some rockets went up from Salem in the evening； we watched them from the hill； and then went to bed； feeling that we had been good patriots。
There was always a Fast Day； which I am afraid most of us younger ones regarded merely as a day when we were to eat unlimited quantities of molasses…gingerbread； instead of sitting down to our regular meals。
When I read about Christmas in the English story…books； I wished we could have that beautiful holiday。 But our Puritan fathers shook their heads at Christmas。
Our Sabbath…school library books were nearly all English reprints； and many of the story…books were very interesting。 I think that most of my favorites were by Mrs。 Sherwood。 Some of them were about life in India；〃Little Henry and his Bearer；〃 and 〃Ayah and Lady。〃 Then there were 〃The Hedge of Thorns；〃 〃Theophilus and Sophia；〃 〃Anna Ross；〃 and a whole series of little English books that I took great delight in。
I had begun to be rather introspective and somewhat unhealthily self…critical； contrasting myself meanwhile with my sister Lida； just a little older； who was my usual playmate； and whom I admired very much for what I could not help seeing；her unusual sweetness of disposition。 I read Mrs。 Sherwood's 〃Infant's Progress；〃 and I made a personal application of it； picturing myself as the naughty； willful 〃Playful；〃 and my sister Lida as the saintly little 〃Peace。〃
This book gave me a morbid； unhappy feeling； while yet it had something of the fascination of the 〃Pilgrim's Progress；〃 of which it is an imitation。 I fancied myself followed about by a fiend…like boy who haunted its pages； called 〃Inbred…Sin；〃 and the story implied that there was no such thing as getting rid of him。 I began to dislike all boys on his account。 There was one who tormented my sister and mewe only knew him by nameby jumping out at us from behind doorways or fences on our way to school； making horrid faces at us。 〃Inbred…Sin；〃 I was certain； looked just like him； and the two； strangely blended in one hideous presence； were the worst nightmare of my dreams。 There was too much reality about that 〃Inbreed…Sin。〃 I felt that I was acquainted with him。 He was the hateful hero of the little allegory； as Satan is of 〃Paradise Lost。〃
I liked lessons that came to me through fables and fairy tales； although； in reading Aesop； I invariably skipped the 〃moral〃 pinned on at the end； and made one for myself； or else did without。
Mrs。 Lydia Maria Child's story of 〃The Immortal Fountain；〃 in the 〃Girl's Own Book；〃which it was the joy of my heart to read； although it preached a searching sermon to me；I applied in the same way that I did the 〃Infant's Progress。〃 I thought of Lida as the gentle； unselfish Rose； and myself as the ugly Marion。 She was patient and obliging； and I felt that I was the reverse。 She was considered pretty； and I knew that I was the reverse of that； too。 I wondered if Lida really had bathed in the Immortal Fountain； and oh； how I wished I could find the way there！ But I feared that trying to do so would be of no use； the fairies would cross their wands to keep me back； and their wings would darken at my approach。
The book that I loved first and best； and lived upon in my childhood； was 〃Pilgrim's Progress。〃 It was as a story that I cared for it； although I knew that it meant something more； something that was already going on in my own heart and life。 Oh； how I used to wish that I too could start off on a pilgrim… age！ It would be so much easier than the continual； discouraging struggle to be good！
The lot I most envied was that of the contented Shepherd Boy in the Valley of Humiliation； singing his cheerful songs； and wearing 〃the herb called Heart's Ease in his bosom〃； but all the glorious ups and downs of the 〃Progress〃 I would gladly have shared with Christiana and her children； never desiring to turn aside into any 〃By…Path Meadow〃 while Mr。 Great…Heart led the way； and the Shining Ones came down to meet us along the road。 It was one of the necessities of my nature； as a child； to have some one being； real or ideal； man or woman； before whom I inwardly bowed down and worshiped。 Mr。 Great…Heart was the perfect hero of my imagination。 Nobody； in books or out of them； compared with him。 I wondered if there were really any Mr。 Great… Hearts to be met with among living men。
I remember reading this beloved book once in a snow…storm； and looking up from it out among the white； wandering flakes； with a feeling that they had come down from heaven as its interpreters； that they were trying to tell me； in their airy up…and…down… flight； the story of innumerable souls。 I tried to fix my eye on one particular flake； and to follow its course until it touched the earth。 But I found that I could not。 A little breeze was stirring an the flake seemed to go and return； to descend and then ascend again； as if hastening homeward to the sky； losing itself at last in the airy； infinite throng； and leaving me filled with thoughts of that 〃great multitude； which no man could number； clothed with white robes；〃 crowding so gloriously into the closing pages of the Bible。
Oh； if I could only be sure that I should some time be one of that invisible company！ But the heavens were already beginning to look a great way off。 I hummed over one of my best loved hymns；
〃Who are these in bright array？〃
and that seemed to bring them nearer again。
The history of the early martyrs； the persecutions of the Waldenses and of the Scotch Covenanters； I read and re…read with longing emulation！ Why could not I be a martyr； too？ It would be so beautiful to die for the truth as they did； as Jesus did！ I did not understand then that He lived and died to show us what life really means； and to give us true life； like His；the life of love to God with all our hearts； of love to all His human children for His sake；and that to live this life faithfully is greater even than to die a martyr's death。
It puzzled me to know what some of the talk I heard about being a Christian could mean。 I saw that it was something which only men and women could comprehend。 And yet they taught me to say those dear words of the Master； 〃Suffer the little children to come unto Me！〃 Surely He meant what He said。 He did not tell the children that they must receive the kingdom of God like grown people； He said that everybody must enter into it 〃as a little child。〃
But our fathers were stalwart men； with many foes to encounter。 If anybody ever needed a grown…up religion； they surely did； and it became them well。
Most of our every…day reading also came to us over the sea。 Miss Edgworth's juvenile stories were in general circulation； and we knew 〃Harry and Lucy〃 and 〃Rosamond〃 almost as well as we did our own playmates。 But we did not think those English children had so good a time as we did； they had to be so prim and methodical。 It seemed to us that the little folks across the water never were allowed to romp and run wild； some of us may have held a vague idea that this freedom of ours was the natural inheritance of republican children only。
Primroses and cowslips and daisies bloomed in these pleasant story…books of ours； and we went a…Maying there； with our transatlantic playmates。 I think we sometimes started off with our baskets； expecting to find those English flowers in our own fields。 How should children be wiser than to look for every beautiful thing they have heard of； on home ground？
And； indeed； our commonest field…flowers were； many of them； importations from the mother…countryclover； and dandelions； and ox…eye daisies。 I was delighted when my mother told me one day that a yellow flower I brought her was a cowslip； for I thought she meant that it was the genuine English cowslip； which I had read about。 I was disappointed to learn that it was a native blossom； the marsh…marigold。
My sisters had some books that I appropriated to myself a great deal： 〃Paul and Virginia；〃 〃Elizabeth； or the Exiles of Siberia；〃 〃Nina： an Icelandic Tale；〃 with the 〃Vicar of Wakefield；〃 the 〃Tour to the Hebrides；〃 〃Gulliver's Travels；〃 the 〃Arabian Nights；〃 and some odd volumes of Sir Walter Scott's novels。
I read the 〃Sc