III

July 16.

My school-days are over! I have come off with flying colors, and mother is pleased at my success. I said to her today that I should now have time to draw and practice to my heart’s content.

"You will not find your heart content with either," she said.

"Why, mother!" I cried, "I thought you liked to see me happy!"

"And so I do," she said, quietly. "But there is something better to get out of life than you have yet found."

"I am sure I hope so," I returned. "On the whole, I haven’t got much so far."

Amelia is now on such terms with Jenny Underhill that I can hardly see one without seeing the other After the way in which I have loved her, this seems rather hard. Sometimes I am angry about it, and sometimes grieved. However, I find Jenny quite nice. She buys all the new books and lends them to me. I wish I liked more solid reading; but I don’t. And I wish I were not so fond of novels; but I am. If it were not for mother I should read nothing else. And I am sure I often feel quite stirred up by a really good novel, and admire and want to imitate every high-minded, noble character it describes.

Jenny has a miniature of her brother "Charley" in a locket, which she always wears, and often shows me. According to her, he is exactly like the heroes I most admire in books. She says she knows he would like me if we should meet. But that is not probable. Very few like me. Amelia says it is because I say just what I think.

Wednesday.-Mother pointed out to me this evening two lines from a book she was reading, with a significant smile that said they described me:

"A frank, unchastened, generous creature, Whose faults and virtues stand in bold relief."

"Dear me!" I said, "so then I have some virtues after all!"

And I really think I must have, for Jenny’s brother, who has come here for the sake of being near her, seems to like me very much. Nobody ever liked me so much before, not even Amelia. But how foolish to write that down!

Thursday.-Jenny’s brother has been here all evening. He has the most perfect manners I ever saw. I am sure that mother, who thinks so much of such things, would be charmed with him but she happened to be out, Mrs. Jones having sent for her to see about her baby. He gave me an account of his mother’s death, and how he and Jenny nursed her day and night. He has a great deal of feeling. I was going to tell him about my father’s death, sorrow seems to bring people together so, but I could not. Oh, if he had only had a sickness that needed our tender nursing, instead of being snatched from us in that sudden way!

Sunday, Aug. 5.-Jenny’s brother has been at our church all day. He walked home with me this afternoon. Mother, after being up all night with Mrs. Jones and her baby, was not able to go out.

Dr Cabot preaches as if we had all got to die pretty soon, or else have something almost as bad happen to us. How can old people always try to make young people feel uncomfortable, and as if things couldn’t last?

Aug. 25.-Jenny says her brother is perfectly fascinated with me, and that I must try to like him in return. I suppose mother would say my head was turned by my good fortune, but it is not. I am getting quite sober and serious. It is a great thing to be—to be—well—liked. I have seen some verses of his composition to-day that show that he is all heart and soul, and would make any sacrifice for one he loved. I could not like a man who did not possess such sentiments as his.

Perhaps mother would think I ought not to put such things into my journal.

Jenny has thought of such a splendid plan! What a dear little thing she is! She and her brother are so much alike! The plan is for us three girls, Jenny, Amelia and myself, to form ourselves into a little class to read and to study together. She says "Charley" will direct our readings and help us with our studies. It is perfectly delightful.

September 1.-Somehow I forgot to tell mother that Mr. Underhill was to be our teacher. So when it came my turn to have the class meet here, she was not quite pleased. I told her she could stay and watch us, and then she would see for herself that we all behaved ourselves.

Sept. 19.-The class met at Amelia’s to-night. Mother insisted on sending for me, though Mr. Underhill had proposed to see me home himself. So he stayed after I left. It was not quite the thing in him, for he must see that Amelia is absolutely crazy about him.

Sept. 28-We met at Jenny’s this evening. Amelia had a bad headache and could not come. Jenny idled over her lessons, and at last took a book and began to read. I studied awhile with Mr. Underhill. At last he said, scribbling something on a bit of paper:

"Here is a sentence I hope you can translate."

I took it, and read these words:

"You are the brightest, prettiest, most warm-hearted little thing in the world. And I love you more than tongue can tell. You must love me in the same way."

I felt hot and then cold, and then glad and then sorry. But I pretended to laugh, and said I could not translate Greek. I shall have to tell mother, and what will she say?

Sept. 29.-This morning mother began thus:

"Kate, I do not like these lessons of yours. At your age, with your judgment quite unformed, it is not proper that you should spend so much time with a young man.

"Jenny is always there, and Amelia," I replied.

"That makes no difference. I wish the whole thing stopped. I do not know what I have been thinking of to let it go on so long. Mrs. Gordon says—"

"Mrs. Gordon! Ha!" I burst out, "I knew Amelia was at the bottom of it! Amelia is in love with him up to her very ears, and because he does not entirely neglect me, she has put her mother up to coming here, meddling and making—"

"If what you say of Amelia is true, it is most ungenerous in you to tell of it. But I do not believe it. Amelia Gordon has too much good sense to be carried away by a handsome face and agreeable manners."

I began to cry.

"He likes me," I got out, "he likes me ever so much. Nobody ever was so kind to me before. Nobody ever said such nice things to me. And I don’t want such horrid things said about him."

"Has it really come this!" said mother, quite shocked. "Oh, my poor child, how my selfish sorrow has made me neglect you."

I kept on crying.

"Is it possible," she went on, "that with your good sense, and the education you have had, you are captivated by this mere boy?"

"He is not a boy," I said. "He is a man. He is twenty years old; or at least he will be on the fifteenth of next October."

"The child actually keeps his birthdays!" cried mother. "Oh, my wicked, shameful carelessness."

"It’s done now," I said, desperately. "It is too late to help it now."

"You don’t mean that he has dared to say anything without consulting me?" asked mother. "And you have allowed it! Oh, Katherine!"

This time my mouth shut itself up, and no mortal force could open it. I stopped crying, and sat with folded arms. Mother said what she had to say, and then I came to you, my dear old Journal.

Yes, he likes me and I like him. Come now, let’s out with it once for all. He loves me and I love him. You are just a little bit too late, mother.

Oct 1.-I never can write down all the things that have happened. The very day after I wrote that mother had forbidden my going to the class, Charley came to see her, and they had a regular fight together. He has told me about it since. Then, as he could not prevail, his uncle wrote, told her it would be the making of Charley to be settled down on one young lady instead of hovering from flower to flower, as he was doing now. Then Jenny came with her pretty ways, and cried, and told mother what a darling brother Charley was. She made a good deal, too, out of his having lost both father and mother, and needing my affection so much. Mother shut herself up, and I have no doubt prayed over it. I really believe she prays over every new dress she buys. Then she sent for me and talked beautifully, and I behaved abominably.

At last she said she would put us on one year’s probation. Charley might spend one evening here every two weeks, when she should always be present. We were never to be seen together in public, nor would she allow us to correspond. If, at the end of the year, we were both as eager for it as we are now, she would consent to our engagement. Of course we shall be, so I consider myself as good as engaged now. Dear me! how funny it seems.

Oct 2.-Charley is not at all pleased with mother’s terms, but no one would guess it from his manner to her. His coming is always the signal for her trotting down stairs; he goes to meet her and offers her a chair, as if he was delighted to see her. We go on with the lessons, as this gives us a chance to sit pretty close together, and when I am writing my exercises and he corrects them, I rather think a few little things get on to the paper that sound nicely to us, but would not strike mother very agreeably. For instance, last night Charley wrote:

"Is your mother never sick? A nice little headache or two would be so convenient to us!"

And I wrote back.

"You dear old horrid thing How can you be so selfish?"

Jan. 15, 1833.-I have been trying to think whether I am any happier today than I was at this time a year ago. If I am not, I suppose it is the tantalizing way in which I am placed in regard to Charley. We have so much to say to each other that we can’t say before mother, and that we cannot say in writing, because a correspondence is one of the forbidden things. He says he entered into no contract not to write, and keeps slipping little notes into my hand; but I don’t think that quite right. Mother hears us arguing and disputing about it, though she does not know the subject under discussion, and to-day she said to me:

"I would not argue with him, if I were you. He never will yield."

"But it is a case of conscience," I said, "and he ought to yield."

"There is no obstinacy like that of a f---," she and stopped short.

"Oh, you may as well finish it!" I cried. "I know you think him a fool."

Then mother burst out,

"Oh, my child," she said, "before it is too late, do be persuaded by me to give up this whole thing. I shrink from paining or offending you, but it is my duty, as your mother, to warn you against a marriage that will make shipwreck of your happiness."’

"Marriage!" I fairly shrieked out. That is the last thing I have ever thought of. I felt a chill creep over me. All I had wanted was to have Charley come here every day, take me out now and then, and care for nobody else.

"Yes, marriage!" mother repeated. "For what is the meaning of an engagement if marriage is not to follow? How can you fail to see, what I see, oh! so plainly, that Charley Underhill can never, never meet the requirements of your soul. You are captivated by what girls of your age call beauty, regular features, a fair complexion and soft eyes. His flatteries delude, and his professions of affection gratify you. You do not see that he is shallow, and conceited, and selfish and-"

"Oh mother! How can you be so unjust? His whole study seems to be to please others."

"Seems to be—that is true," she replied. "His ruling passion is love of admiration; the little pleasing acts that attract you are so many traps set to catch the attention and the favorable opinion of those about him. He has not one honest desire to please because it is right to be pleasing. Oh, my precious child, what a fatal mistake you are making in relying on your own judgment in this, the most important of earthly decisions!"

I felt very angry.

"I thought the Bible forbade back-biting," I said.

Mother made no reply, except by a look which said about a hundred and forty different things. And then I came up here and wrote some poetry, which was very good (for me), though I don’t suppose she would think so.

Oct. 1.-The year of probation is over, and I have nothing to do now but to be happy. But being engaged is not half so nice as I expected it would be. I suppose it is owing to my being obliged to defy mother’s judgment in order to gratify my own. People say she has great insight into character, and sees, at a glance, what others only learn after much study.

Oct. 10.-I have taken a dreadful cold. It is too bad. I dare say I shall be coughing all winter, and instead of going out with Charley, be shut up at home.

Oct. 12.-Charley says he did not know that I was subject to a cough, and that he hopes I am not consumptive, because his father and mother died of consumption, and it makes him nervous to hear people cough. I nearly strangled myself all the evening trying not to annoy him with mine.