by Jane Andrews
Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Melissa Er-Raqabi and PG DistributedProofreaders
THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERSWHO LIVE ON THE ROUND BALL THAT FLOATS IN THE AIR
BY
JANE ANDREWS
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY LOUISA PARSONS HOPKINS FORMERLY SUPERVISOR INBOSTON PUBLIC SCHOOLS
FOR
MY THREE LITTLE FRIENDS
Marnie, Bell, and Geordie
I HAVE WRITTEN THESE STORIES
CONTENTS.
MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWSTHE BALL ITSELFTHE LITTLE BROWN BABYAGOONACK, THE ESQUIMAU SISTERHOW AGOONACK LIVES THROUGH THE LONG SUMMERGEMILA, THE CHILD OF THE DESERTTHE LITTLE MOUNTAIN MAIDENTHE STORY OF PEN-SETHE LITTLE DARK GIRLLOUISE, THE CHILD OF THE BEAUTIFUL RIVER RHINELOUISE, THE CHILD OF THE WESTERN FORESTTHE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS
MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. [Born Dec. 1, 1833. Died July 15,1887.]
BY LOUISA PARSONS HOPKINS.
Perhaps the readers and lovers of this little book will be glad of afew pages, by way of introduction, which shall show them somewhat ofMiss Andrews herself, and of her way of writing and teaching, as anold friend and schoolmate may try to tell it; and, to begin with, aglimpse of the happy day when she called a few of her friends togetherto listen to the stories contained in this volume, before they wereoffered to a publisher.
Picture to yourselves a group of young ladies in one of the loveliestof old-fashioned parlors, looking out on a broad, elm-shaded streetin the old town of Newburyport. The room is long and large, with widemahogany seats in the four deep windows, ancient mahogany chairs, andgreat bookcases across one side of the room, with dark pier-tables andcentre-table, and large mirror,--all of ancestral New England solidityand rich simplicity; some saintly portraits on the wall, a moderneasel in the corner accounting for fine bits of coloring on canvas,crayon drawings about the room, and a gorgeous firescreen of autumntints; nasturtium vines in bloom glorifying the south window, andGerman ivy decorating the north corner; choice books here and there,not to look at only, but to be assimilated; with an air of quietrefinement and the very essence of cultured homeness pervadingall;--this is the meagre outline of a room, which, having once satwithin, you would wish never to see changed, in which many pure andnoble men and women have loved to commune with the lives which havebeen so blent with all its suggestions that it almost seems a part oftheir organic being.
But it was twenty-five years ago [This memorial was written in 1887.]that this circle of congenial and expectant young people were drawntogether in the room to listen to the first reading of the MSS. of"The Seven Little Sisters." I will not name them all; but one whoseyouthful fame and genius were the pride of all, Harriet Prescott (nowMrs. Spofford), was Jane's friend and neighbor for years, and heardmost of her books in MSS. They were all friends, and in a verysympathetic and eager attitude of mind, you may well believe; forin the midst, by the centre-table, sits Jane, who has called themtogether; and knowing that she has really written a book, each onefeels almost that she herself has written it in some unconscious way,because each feels identified with Jane's work, and is ready to be asproud of it, and as sure of it, as all the world is now of the successof Miss Jane Andrews's writings for the boys and girls in these littlestories of geography and history which bear her name.
I can see Jane sitting there, as I wish you could, with her MSS. onthe table at her side. She is very sweet and good and noble-looking,with soft, heavy braids of light-brown hair carefully arranged on herfine, shapely head; her forehead is full and broad; her eyes large,dark blue, and pleasantly commanding, but with very gentle and dreamyphases interrupting their placid decision of expression; her featuresare classic and firm in outline, with pronounced resolution in theclose of the full lips, or of hearty merriment in the open laugh,illuminated by a dazzle of well-set teeth; her complexion freshand pure, and the whole aspect of her face kind, courageous, andinspiring, as well as thoughtful and impressive. The poise of her headand rather strongly built figure is unusually good, and suggestiveof health, dignity, and leadership; yet her manners and voice are sogentle, and her whole demeanor so benevolent, that no one could beoffended at her taking naturally the direction of any work, or theplanning of any scheme, which she would also be foremost in executing.
But there she sits looking up at her friends, with her papers in hand,and the pretty businesslike air that so well became her, and bespeaksthe extreme criticism of her hearers upon what she shall read, becauseshe really wants to know how it affects them, and what mistakes orfaults can be detected; for she must do her work as well as possible,and is sure they are willing to help. "You see," says Jane, "I havededicated the book to the children I told the stories to first,when the plan was only partly in my mind, and they seemed to growby telling, till at last they finished themselves; and the childrenseemed to care so much for them, that I thought if they were put intoa book other children might care for them too, and they might possiblydo some good in the world."
Yes, those were the points that always indicated the essential aimand method of Jane's writing and teaching, the elements out of whichsprang all her work; viz., the relation of her mind to the actualindividual children she knew and loved, and the natural growth of herthought through their sympathy, and the accretion of all she read anddiscovered while the subject lay within her brooding brain, as wellas the single dominant purpose to do some good in the world. There wasdefiniteness as well as breadth in her way of working all through herlife.
I wish I could remember exactly what was said by that critical circle;for there were some quick and brilliant minds, and some pungent powersof appreciation, and some keen-witted young women in that group.Perhaps I might say they had all felt the moulding force of some veryoriginal and potential educators as they had been growing up intotheir young womanhood. Some of these were professional educators oflasting pre-eminence; others were not professed teachers, yet in thetruest and broadest sense teachers of very wide and wise and inspiringinfluence; and of these Thomas Wentworth Higginson had come moreintimately and effectually into formative relations with the minds andcharacters of those gathered in that sunny room than any other person.They certainly owed much of the loftiness and breadth of their aimin life, and their comprehension of the growth and work to beaccomplished in the world, to his kind and steady instigation. I wishI could remember what they said, and what Jane said; but all that haspassed away. I think somebody objected to the length of the title,which Jane admitted to be a fault, but said something of wishing toget the idea of the unity of the world into it as the main idea of thebook. I only recall the enthusiastic delight with which chapterafter chapter was greeted; we declared that it was a fairy tale ofgeography, and a work of genius in its whole conception, and in itsabsorbing interest of detail and individuality; and that any publisherwould demonstrate himself an idiot who did not want to publish it. Iremember Jane's quick tossing back of the head, and puzzled brow whichbroke into a laugh, as she said: "Well, girls, it can't be as good asyou say; there must be some faults in it." But we all exclaimed thatwe had done our prettiest at finding fault,--that there wasn't aghost of a fault in it. For the incarnate beauty and ideality andtruthfulness of her little stories had melted into our being, and leftus spellbound, till we were one with each other and her; one with theSeven Little Sisters, too, and they seemed like our very own littlesisters. So they have rested in our imagination and affection as wehave seen them grow into the imagination and affection of generationsof children since, and as they will continue to grow until theold limitations and barrenness of the study of geography sh
all betransfigured, and the earth seem to the children an Eden which lovehas girdled, when Gemila, Agoonack, and the others shall have won themto a knowledge of the brotherhood of man and the fatherhood of God.
I would like to bring before young people who have read her books somequalities of her mind and character which made her the rare woman,teacher, and writer that she was. I knew her from early girlhood. Wewent to the same schools, in more and more intimate companionship,from the time we were twelve until we were twenty years of age; andour lives and hearts were "grappled" to each other "with links ofsteel" ever after. She was a precocious child, early matured, andstrong in intellectual and emotional experiences. She had a remarkablyclear mind, orderly and logical in its processes, and loved to takeup hard problems. She studied all her life with great joy andearnestness, rarely, if ever, baffled in her persistent learningexcept by ill-health. She went on at a great pace in mathematics for ayoung girl; every step seemed easy to her. She took everythingsevere that she could get a chance at, in the course or out ofit,--surveying, navigation, mechanics, mathematical astronomy, andconic sections, as well as the ordinary course in mathematics; thecalculus she had worked through at sixteen under a very able and exactteacher, and took her diploma from W.H. Wells, a master who allowednothing to go slipshod. She was absorbed in studies of this kind, andtook no especial interest in composition or literature beyond what wasrequired, and what was the natural outcome of a literary atmosphereand inherited culture; that is, her mind was passively rather thanactively engaged in such directions, until later. At the normal schoolshe led a class which has had a proud intellectual record as teachersand workers. She was the easy victor in every contest; with aninclusive grasp, an incisive analysis, instant generalization, a verytenacious and ready memory, and unusual talent for every effort ofstudy, she took and held the first place as a matter of course untilshe graduated, when she gave the valedictory address. This valedictorywas a prophetic note in the line of her future expression; for itgave a graphic illustration of the art of teaching geography, to theconsideration of which she had been led by Miss Crocker's logical,suggestive, and masterly presentation of the subject in the schoolcourse. Her ability and steadiness of working power, as well assingleness of aim, attracted the attention of Horace Mann, who wasabout forming the nucleus of Antioch College; and he succeeded ingaining her as one of his promised New England recruits. She hadattended very little to Latin, and went to work at once to prepare forthe classical requirements of a college examination. This she did withsuch phenomenal rapidity that in six weeks she had fitted herselffor what was probably equivalent to a Harvard entrance examinationin Latin. She went to Antioch, and taught, as well as studied for awhile, until her health gave way entirely; and she was prostrate foryears with brain and spine disorders. Of course this put an end to hercollege career; and on her recovery she opened her little school inher own house, which she held together until her final illness, andto which she devoted her thoughts and energies, her endowments andattainments, as well as her prodigal devotion and love.
The success of "The Seven Little Sisters" was a great pleasure toher, partly because her dear mother and friends were so thoroughlysatisfied with it. Her mother always wished that Jane would giveher time more exclusively to writing, especially as new outlines ofliterary work were constantly aroused in her active brain. She wroteseveral stories which were careful studies in natural science, andwhich appeared in some of the magazines. I am sure they would be wellworth collecting. She had her plan of "Each and All" long in her mindbefore elaborating, and it crystallized by actual contact with theneeds and the intellectual instincts of her little classes. In factall her books grew, like a plant, from within outwards; they were bornin the nursery of the schoolroom, and nurtured by the suggestions ofthe children's interest, thus blooming in the garden of a true andnatural education. The last book she wrote, "Ten Boys Who Lived on theRoad from Long Ago to Now," she had had in her mind for years. Thislittle book she dedicated to a son of her sister Margaret. I am sureshe gave me an outline of the plan fully ten years before she wroteit out. The subject of her mental work lay in her mind, growing,gathering to itself nourishment, and organizing itself consciouslyor unconsciously by all the forces of her unresting brain and allthe channels of her study, until it sprung from her pen complete ata stroke. She wrote good English, of course, and would neversentimentalize, but went directly at the pith of the matter; and, ifshe had few thoughts on a subject, she made but few words. I don'tthink she did much by way of revising or recasting after her thoughtwas once committed to paper. I think she wrote it as she wouldhave said it, always with an imaginary child before her, to whoseintelligence and sympathy it was addressed. Her habit of mind was tocomplete a thought before any attempt to convey it to others. Thismade her a very helpful and clear teacher and leader. She seemedalways to have considered carefully anything she talked about, andgave her opinion with a deliberation and clear conviction whichaffected others as a verdict, and made her an oracle to a greatmany kinds of people. All her plans were thoroughly shaped beforeexecution; all her work was true, finished, and conscientious in everydepartment. She did a great deal of quiet, systematic thinking fromher early school days onward, and was never satisfied until shecompleted the act of thought by expression and manifestation in someway for the advantage of others. The last time I saw her, which wasfor less than five minutes accorded me by her nurse during her lastillness, she spoke of a new plan of literary work which she had inmind, and although she attempted no delineation of it, said she wasthinking it out whenever she felt that it was safe for her to think.Her active brain never ceased its plans for others, for working towardthe illumination of the mind, the purification of the soul, and theelevation and broadening of all the ideals of life. I remember hersitting, absorbed in reflection, at the setting of the sun everyevening while we were at the House Beautiful of the Peabodys [We spentnearly all our time at West Newton in a little cottage on the hill,where Miss Elizabeth Peabody, with her saintly mother and father, madea paradise of love and refinement and ideal culture for us, and wherewe often met the Hawthornes and Manns; and we shall never be able tomeasure the wealth of intangible mental and spiritual influence whichwe received therefrom.] at West Newton; or, when at home, gazingevery night, before retiring, from her own house-top, standing ather watchtower to commune with the starry heavens, and receive thatexaltation of spirit which is communicated when we yield ourselves tothe "essentially religious." (I use this phrase, because it delightedher so when I repeated it to her as the saying of a child in lookingat the stars.)
No one ever felt a twinge of jealousy in Jane's easy supremacy; shenever made a fuss about it, although I think she had no mockmodesty in the matter. She accepted the situation which her uniformcorrectness of judgment assured to her, while she always accordedgenerous praise and deference to those who excelled her in departmentswhere she made no pretence of superiority.
There were some occasions when her idea of duty differed from aconventional one, perhaps from that of some of her near friends; butno one ever doubted her strict dealing with herself, or her singlenessof motive. She did not feel the need of turning to any otherconscience than her own for support or enlightenment, and wasinflexible and unwavering in any course she deemed right. She neverapologized for herself in any way, or referred a matter of her ownexperience or sole responsibility to another for decision; neither didshe seem to feel the need of expressed sympathy in any private lossor trial. Her philosophy of life, her faith, or her temperament seemedequal to every exigency of disappointment or suffering. She generallykept her personal trials hidden within her own heart, and recoveredfrom every selfish pain by the elastic vigor of her power forunselfish devotion to the good of others. She said that happiness wasto have an unselfish work to do, and the power to do it.
It has been said that Jane's only fault was that she was too good.I think she carried her unselfishness too often to a short-sightedexcess, breaking down her health, and thus abridging her opport
unitiesfor more permanent advantage to those whom she would have died toserve; but it was solely on her own responsibility, and in consequenceof her accumulative energy of temperament, that made her unconsciousof the strain until too late.
Her brain was constitutionally sensitive and almost abnormally active;and she more than once overtaxed it by too continuous study, or by adisregard of its laws of health, or by a stupendous multiplicity ofcares, some of which it would have been wiser to leave to others. Shetook everybody's burdens to carry herself. She was absorbed in theaffairs of those she loved,--of her home circle, of her sisters'families, and of many a needy one whom she adopted into hersolicitude. She was thoroughly fond of children and of all that theysay and do, and would work her fingers off for them, or nurse them dayand night. Her sisters' children were as if they had been her own, andshe revelled in all their wonderful manifestations and development.Her friends' children she always cared deeply for, and was hungry fortheir wise and funny remarks, or any hint of their individuality. Manyof these things she remembered longer than the mothers themselves, andtook the most thorough satisfaction in recounting.
I have often visited her school, and it seemed like a home with amother in it. There we took sweet counsel together, as if we had cometo the house of God in company; for our methods were identical, anda day in her school was a day in mine. We invariably agreed as to theends of the work, and how to reach them; for we understood each otherperfectly in that field of art.
I wish I could show her life with all its constituent factors ofancestry, home, and surroundings; for they were so inherent in herthoughts and feelings that you could hardly separate her from them inyour consideration. But that is impossible. Disinterested benevolencewas the native air of the house into which she was born, and she wasan embodiment of that idea. To devote herself to some poor outcast, toreform a distorted soul, to give all she had to the most abject, to doall she could for the despised and rejected,--this was her craving andabsorbing desire. I remember some comical instances of the pursuanceof this self-abnegation, where the returns were, to say the least,disappointing; but she was never discouraged. It would be easy to namemany who received a lifelong stimulus and aid at her hands, eitherintellectual or moral. She had much to do with the development of someremarkable careers, as well as with the regeneration of many poor andabandoned souls.
She was in the lives of her dear ones, and they in hers, to a veryunusual degree; and her life-threads are twined inextricably in theirsforever. She was a complete woman,--brain, will, affections, all, tothe greatest extent, active and unselfish; her character was a harmonyof many strong and diverse elements; her conscience was a great rockupon which her whole nature rested; her hands were deft and cunning;her ingenious brain was like a master mechanic at expedients; andin executive and administrative power, as well as in device andcomprehension, she was a marvel. If she had faults, they areindistinguishable in the brightness and solidity of her wholecharacter. She was ready to move into her place in any sphere, andadjust herself to any work God should give her to do. She mustbe happy, and shedding happiness, wherever she is; for that is aninseparable quality and function of her identity.
She passed calmly out of this life, and lay at rest in her own home,in that dear room so full of memories of her presence, with flowersto deck her bed, and many of her dearest friends around her; while theverses which her beloved sister Caroline had selected seemed easily tospeak with Jane's own voice, as they read:--
Prepare the house, kind friends; drape it and deck it With leaves and blossoms fair: Throw open doors and windows, and call hither The sunshine and soft air.
Let all the house, from floor to ceiling, look Its noblest and its best; For it may chance that soon may come to me A most imperial guest.
A prouder visitor than ever yet Has crossed my threshold o'er, One wearing royal sceptre and a crown Shall enter at my door;
Shall deign, perchance, sit at my board an hour, And break with me my bread; Suffer, perchance, this night my honored roof Shelter his kingly head.
And if, ere comes the sun again, he bid me Arise without delay, And follow him a journey to his kingdom Unknown and far away;
And in the gray light of the dawning morn We pass from out my door, My guest and I, silent, without farewell, And to return no more,--
Weep not, kind friends, I pray; not with vain tears Let your glad eyes grow dim; Remember that my house was all prepared, And that I welcomed him.
THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS.
