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