own participation in its doings
came only after my father's death, and after the two years' mourning
which, according to the usage of those days, followed it.

My father retained the Puritan feeling with regard to Saturday evening.
He would remark that it was not a proper evening for company, regarding
it as a time of preparation for the exercises of the day following, the
order of which was very strict. We were indeed indulged on Sunday
morning with coffee and muffins at breakfast, but, besides the morning
and afternoon services at church, we young folks were expected to attend
the two meetings of the Sunday-school. We were supposed to read only
Sunday books, and I must here acknowledge my indebtedness to Mrs.
Sherwood, an English writer now almost forgotten, whose religious
stories and romances were supposed to come under this head. In the
evening, we sang hymns, and sometimes received a quiet visitor.

My readers, if I have any, may ask whether this restricted routine
satisfied my mind, and whether I was at all sensible of the privileges
which I really enjoyed, or ought to have enjoyed. I must answer that,
after my school-days, I greatly coveted an enlargement of intercourse
with the world. I did not desire to be counted among "fashionables," but
I did aspire to much greater freedom of association than was allowed me.
I lived, indeed, much in my books, and my sphere of thought was a good
deal enlarged by the foreign literatures, German, French, and Italian,
with which I became familiar. Yet I seemed to myself like a young damsel
of olden time, shut up within an enchanted castle. And I must say that
my dear father, with all his noble generosity and overweening affection,
sometimes appeared to me as my jailer.

My brother's return from Europe and subsequent marriage opened the door
a little for me. It was through his intervention that Mr. Longfellow
first visited us, to become a valued and lasting friend. Through him in
turn we became acquainted with Professor Felton, Charles Sumner, and Dr.
Howe. My brother was very fond of music, of which he had heard the best
in Paris and in Germany. He often arranged musical parties at our house,
at which trios of Beethoven, Mozart, and Schubert were given. His wit,
social talent, and literary taste opened a new world to me, and enabled
me to share some of the best results of his long residence in Europe.

My father's jealous care of us was by no means the result of a
dispositi