Hark, hark, hark, to hail the month of May, How the songsters warble on the spray, And we will be as blith as they, Then away to hail the merry merry May— Then away to hail the merry merry month of May.
I think this is a very pretty song and we sing it a good deal.
_Thursday, 12th._—After lessons I ironed. We all went to the barn and husked corn. It was good fun. We worked till eight o’clock and had lamps. Mr. Russell came. Mother and Lizzie are going to Boston. I shall be very lonely without dear little Betty, and no one will be as good to me as Mother. I read in Plutarch. I made a verse about sunset:—
“Softly doth the sun descend To his couch behind the hill, Then, oh, then, I love to sit On mossy banks beside the rill.”
Anna thought it was very fine; but I didn’t like it very well.
_Friday, Nov. 2nd._—Anna and I did the work. In the evening Mr. Lane asked us, “What is man?” These were our answers: A human being; an animal with a mind; a creature; a body; a soul and a mind. After a long talk we went to bed very tired.
(No wonder, after doing the work and worrying their little wits with such lessons.—L. M. A.)
A sample of the vegetarian wafers used at Fruitlands:—
Vegetable diet and sweet repose. Animal food and nightmare.
Pluck your body from the orchard; do not snatch it from the shamble.
Without flesh diet there could be no blood-shedding war.
Apollo eats no flesh and has no beard; his voice is melody itself.
Snuff is no less snuff though accepted from a gold box.
_Tuesday, 20th._—I rose at five, and after breakfast washed the dishes, and then helped mother work. Miss P. is gone, and Anna in Boston with Cousin Louisa. I took care of Abba (May) in the afternoon. In the evening I made some pretty things for my dolly. Father and Mr. L. had a talk, and father asked us if _we_ saw any reason for us to separate. Mother wanted to, she is so tired. I like it, but not the school part or Mr. L.
_Eleven years old. Thursday, 29th._—It was Father’s and my birthday. We had some nice presents. We played in the snow before school. Mother read “Rosamond” when we sewed. Father asked us in the eve what fault troubled us most. I said my bad temper.
I told mother I liked to have her write in my book. She said she would put in more, and she wrote this to help me:—