THE memoir, of which this volume is a reprint (with the omission of some letters and the addition of a few anecdotes and two or three letters not printed before), was originally written for the private use of my nieces and my daughters, and was dedicated to them. This alone justified the occasional address to "my dear girls," which I have not left out of this volume, as I found that one change would necessitate others.

One hundred copies were printed in 1876, and Rev. Dr. Edward E. Hale, who was a frequent guest in the old Northampton home, wrote: "It seems to me that such a sketch or view of the social life of New England should not be permitted to drift out of sight. This generation has a sort of right to know how it came into being; what it was born from, and who trained it. . . . If it were printed only for those who shared your father's and mother's hospitality for fifty years, that would be a large constituency." In accordance with my friend's suggestion two editions of the book have been issued as "printed, not published," Rev. James Freeman Clarke kindly furnishing the Introduction which is here reproduced. It is now for the first time published.

The photogravure portrait of my mother which forms the frontispiece of this edition is from a crayon (after an old daguerreotype) by Mr. D. O. Kimberly, and gives a true impression of her personality and presence. It is

a monument to Mr. Kimberly's patience and skill. The photogravure of my father in the sixth chapter is a reproduction of the fine portrait by Chester Harding. The other illustrations are my mother's early home at Brush Hill, the house at Northampton, and her last residence in Cambridge.

Should these records recall, to those who may own this volume, similar recollections of the many happy homes of an earlier time, this plain copy of the very handsome book presented by my brother to a large family circle and a few intimate friends in 1876 will be fully justified.

October, 1899.

S. I. L.

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WHEN Mrs. Lesley's memoir of her mother, Mrs. Anne Jean Lyman, was printed in 1876, it was not published, but distributed among the relatives and friends of the subject of the memoir. Those who were so fortunate as to receive a copy of this charming volume did not fail to see that, because it was not written for the public, but for friends, it had an interest of a special kind. With the general public in one's eye, a writer has a certain. reserve; but, when he writes for friends and old associates and companions, he has a freer touch, and is able to trust to their sympathy. Thus, those who read the volume felt themselves admitted at once into the bosom of a delightful household, and a large company of relatives and friends. In old times, I have visited families in Kentucky at Christmas, when the scattered members collected from far and near around the head of the house, and spent days together in reviving and renewing former intimacies. In Mrs. Lesley's narrative, we found ourselves admitted into a similar family gathering. The past lived again; friends, whom death had divided, took cach other's hands once more in renewed affection; again, as the curtain was lifted, the primitive manners and simple tastes of an elder day reappeared, and we were grateful to the writer, as a larger body of readers will now be grateful, for preserving from forgetfulness this picture of a former New England life. We felt like

repeating the touching lines of Goethe, in his Introduc

tion to Faust:

"Again, fair images, ye hover ncar,

As erst ye rose to meet the mourner's eye,
And may I hope that ye will linger here?
Will my heart beat, as in the days gone by?
Ye throng upon my view, divinely clear,

Like sunbeams vanquishing a cloudy sky.
Beneath your solemn march my spirit burns;
Magic is breathing, youth with joy returns.
"What forms rise beautiful of happy years?

What happy shadows flit before me fast?
Like an old song, still ringing in the ears,

Come the warm loves and friendships of the past.
Renewed each sorrow, and each joy appears,

Which marked Life's changing, labyrinthine waste,
And those return, who passed in youth away,
Cheated, alas! of half Life's little day."

The town of Northampton, where Judge Lyman and his wife spent so many years, was in those days a specimen of the best kind of New England villages. Not so large but that all its inhabitants might know each other, it was one of those genuine democracies which fulfil in reality the motto which is often only true as an aim,— "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity." There was a manly independence which pervaded every household, the independence born of Puritanism. Kindness was welcomed, but favors were out of the question. Those who were next door to want would hardly accept assistance. More diplomacy than might disentangle the intricate complications of States would be required to induce the poorest people in a New England town to accept a load of wood or a barrel of potatoes. All were equal on this plane of independence; but it was a genuine equality, which recognized willingly superiority of faculty in any



one, which accepted readily any mastership or culture or inbred ability. It was an equality which went hand in hand with mutual respect. And, above all, there was brotherhood. The fraternity for which we now struggle so ineffectually was, a hundred years ago, a part of the life of each New England town. All knew each other. There was no luxury or display to separate. Habits were simple, and economy universal. The prayer of Lemuel was fulfilled; for no one was in absolute poverty, and no one was so rich as to be above prudence and self-denial in expenditure.


Emerson wrote, after reading this memoir, “One wonders as he reads how much resource of event and character and happiness a genial mind and heart can find in one inland town. It makes me proud of my country."

In such a society, natural qualities have their due recognition. A man or woman of superior judgment, of practical talent, of large and generous nature, became at once an influence, and was looked up to as a natural leader. Thus, in this town of Northampton, Mrs. Lyman was the centre of a bright social activity. The people read books, and mostly the same books; and they were sufficiently educated to take an interest in good conversation. They did a large portion of their household work in the morning, and had leisure for a little social intercourse in the afternoon or evening. Society was not divided into "sets" or "circles," but the humblest might feel at ease in the company of the most distinguished. In such a community, Mrs. Lyman was at home, and in her true sphere. Her active intellect, her joyful disposition, her cheerful faith, made her a radiating point of light and warmth. Frank and sincere, she said just what she thought; did just what she believed right; was wholly unconventional; and yet all saw that she was

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