leasure of rhyming and writing, indifferent as to what might come of
it. For any one who could take hold of every-day, practical work, and
carry it on successfully, I had a profound respect. To be what is
called "capable" seemed to me better worth while than merely to have a
taste or for writing, perhaps because I was conscious of my
deficiencies in the former respect. But certainly the world needs deeds
more than it needs words. I should never have been willing to be only a
writer, without using my hands to some good purpose besides.

My sister, however, told me that here was a talent which I had no right
to neglect, and which I ought to make the most of. I believed in her; I
thought she understood me better than I understood myself; and it was a
comfort to be assured that my scribbling was not wholly a waste of
time. So I used pencil and paper in every spare minute I could find.
Our little home-journal went bravely on through twelve numbers. Its
yellow manuscript pages occasionally meet my eyes when I am rummaging
among my old papers, with the half-conscious look of a waif that knows
it has no right to its escape from the waters of oblivion.

While it was in progress my sister Emilie became acquainted with a
family of bright girls, near neighbors of ours, who proposed that we
should join with them, and form a little society for writing and
discussion, to meet fortnightly at their house. We met,--I think I was
the youngest of the group,--prepared a Constitution and By-Laws, and
named ourselves "The Improvement Circle." If I remember rightly, my
sister was our first president. The older ones talked and wrote on many
subjects quite above me. I was shrinkingly bashful, as half-grown girls
usually are, but I wrote my little essays and read them, and listened
to the rest, and enjoyed it all exceedingly. Out of this little
"Improvement Circle" grew the larger one whence issued the "Lowell
Offering," a year or two later.

At this time I had learned to do a spinner's work, and I obtained
permission to tend some frames that stood directly in front of the
river-windows, with only them and the wall behind me, extending half
the length of the mill,--and one young woman beside me, at the farther
end of the row. She was a sober, mature person, who scarcely thought it
worth her while to speak often to a child like me; and I was, when with
strangers, rather a reserved girl; so I kept myself occupied with the
river, my work, and my