for some childish fault, I said to my mother,
with perfect contentment, "Oh yes, I pardon you," and was surprised to
hear that in this way I had not made the _amende honorable_.

I encountered great difficulty in acquiring the _th_ sound, when my
mother tried to teach me to call her by that name. "Muzzer, muzzer," was
all that I could manage to say. But the dear parent presently said, "If
you cannot do better than that, you will have to go back and call me
mamma." The shame of going back moved me to one last effort, and,
summoning my utmost strength of tongue, I succeeded in saying "mother,"
an achievement from which I was never obliged to recede.

A journey up the Hudson River was undertaken, when I was very young, for
the bettering of my mother's health. An older sister of hers went with
us, as well as a favorite waiting-woman, and a young physician whose
care had saved my father's life a year or more before my own birth.
After reaching Albany, we traveled in my father's carriage; the grown
persons occupying the seats, and I sitting in my little chair at their
feet. A book of short tales and poems was often resorted to for my
amusement, and I still remember how the young doctor read to me, "Pity
the sorrows of a poor old man," and how my tears came, and could not be
hidden.

[Illustration: JULIA WARD AND HER BROTHERS, SAMUEL AND HENRY

_From a miniature by Anne Hall._]

The sight of Niagara caused me much surprise. Playing on the piazza of
the hotel, one day, with only the doctor for my companion, I ventured to
ask him, "Who made that great hole where the water comes down?" He
replied, "The great Maker of all." "Who is that?" I innocently inquired;
and he said, "Do you not know? Our Father who art in heaven." I felt
that I ought to have known, and went away somewhat abashed.

Another day my mother told me that we were going to visit Red Jacket, a
great Indian chief, and that I must be very polite to him. She gave me a
twist of tobacco tied with a blue ribbon, which I was to present to him,
and bade me observe the silver medal which I should see hung on his
neck, and which, she said, had been given to him by General Washington.
We drove to the Indian encampment, of which I dimly remember the extent
and the wigwams. A tall figure advanced to the carriage. As its door was
opened, I sprang forward, clasped my arms around the neck of the noble
savage, and was astonished at his cool reception of such a greeting. I
was