Chapter IV

A PROPOSAL AND GRADUATION

In September, 1886, at about the time of the equinoctial storms, I took the train for Northfield and Carleton, ready to begin my Senior year. The school had grown much since my Freshman year and our class had acquired a new member, Mr. Alden Southworth Bliss. Trouble had arisen in Ripon College and he decided to leave there. We met all new students, of course. I promptly forgot him, but before Thanksgiving he had called and paid me considerable attention. But I did not then listen to his proposal of marriage.

Our work was perhaps not as strenuous as the Junior year had been, but there were many outside things. There were “magic lantern” views, very harmful to the eyes because of much trembling and jerking. But illustrated lectures on London, Paris and Berlin were not to be despised and we students always attended. Eventually I promised Mr. Bliss to become his wife. After that the time went faster, though I think I never neglected my studies to go for a boat ride or other entertainment.

Alden went with me for a visit with my father and mother over the week end. I had made a pink lawn dress for myself and I felt pleased when Miss Evans, describing the famous Aurora by Guidi Reni which she had seen in Europe the summer before, said one of the maidens had a dress the color of Miss Hills’.

The time was nearing for our graduation. Those who wished could present a “part” before receiving the diploma. Some of us asked to be excused. We were rather weary at the end of the year and also the public had complained of the long programs, so our requests were readily granted. Mr. Bliss wished to present a “part,” I presume particularly because it was his first and final year. I recall that he close for his subject, “The New South.”

At length the program was finished and we were presented with our diplomas. Then came congratulations of friends and relatives. It seems to me that the sentiment, “The end is but the beginning,” was on the programs. At this great distance I cannot give a vivid picture, but our class of ’87 was the largest class that had graduated. We numbered twenty-four. Our valedictorian was a Mr. Lewis, who was so fine a student in the classical course that students liked to call him Solon. There was another Mr. Lewis in the class of ’87, Ora, who died not many years after graduation. He had become a minister. I know nothing of the whereabouts of the valedictorian. Miss Nellie Wells was salutatorian. She was one of the youngest in the class. There was that day, the prayer of dedication and much music, but is was soon a thing of memory — beautiful flowers, the songs, the classmates, father and mother, many endearing thoughts of Carleton and our instructors! It is truly a wonderful institution, grown greatly since then.

As a worker with yarn finds some ends to gather up, so I find I must tie up some strands. Among the guests for the week was my little niece and namesake, Blanche Irene Howard, who had accompanied her mother.

While speaking of the personnel of the class I should have mentioned Pierce Butler, a fine student and rugged young man, now Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. I once felt quite hurt when I heard him speak of Carleton as a “fresh-water college.” Another member was Lowell Jepson, later to be a successful business man in Minneapolis and a state senator.

But everything comes to an end. At length all guests had departed, the diploma bearers had started homeward and the buzzing of a lonely fly gave lonely thoughts.

But I had a home to go to and parents with a welcome for my summer vacation. It was a happy one too. There had been one vacant place at Commencement — my brother, Edward, was unable to attend, but he would visit us at the new home, and we enjoyed him there.

Again the summer with my mother was a happy one. I was elected to a position in the Faribault public school, the first year of high school — called ninth grade at that time. What with visiting and working among the flowers and reading, our summer was soon gone and time neared for the beginning of school. I had been offered a teaching post in Northfield also, but I could be with my parents in Faribault.

Prince, the colt who climbed the wood pile, was as glad to follow father’s more usual commands and trudged to the school building each morning. There were interesting pupils as well as trying ones. One was said to belong to a band of boys who had broken into buildings.

Days went by like the turning of leaves of a book. Our principal, Wm. W. West, afterward of the State University, was keen and exacting, but helpful, and I liked him. We had pleasant neighbors and had joined the Congregational Church. I enjoyed work there, taught a Sunday school class and sang in the choir. Carleton students came to visit. I remember a Mr. Cook who liked to come. Cora Clark from Northfield was a frequent visitor.

The year passed as all good things do and there were plans being made for my marriage. My former pupils were fond of me as I was of them. Some of them came to call and to say goodbye when they learned I was to leave the city. At last all things were ready and the bridegroom came. Only the relatives and few close friends were bidden. My dear Professor Arthur Pearson was asked to perform the ceremony, which he did impressively, at noon, June 18, 1888. I had helped in preparation of the banquet somewhat, but my dear patient mother had done the greater part. It was delightful too. Presents decorated the table. The party finally broke up and I was compelled to bid good-by to those not taking the train with us. It hurt me most, of course, to say good-by to father and mother, the latter particularly.

AN ONLY BROTHER DROWNED IN THE MISSISSIPPI

As Alden and I were about to settle in the new home in Rice Lake, Wisconsin, a telegram was received. It was from father telling of the drowning of my brother, Edward, at St. Paul Park, below St. Paul, in the Mississippi River. My poor mother! The telegram said not to come unless we felt it an imperative duty. I went to see her later. She had had the comfort of the others at the time. “You have come to a sad house,” were her words.

Alden was a lumber sorter with small salary, but we were young and could face it bravely. People in Rice Lake were friendly and we had many callers. Mr. and Mrs. Ulrich were true and helpful. The former was Mr. Bliss’ employer and his wife was like a sister to me. We always found the little church where we could be useful. What if the little organ was a bit wheezy! We were trying to carry on.

Before we could realize it, winter was upon us, but it had no dread for me who as a child had tunneled through great snow banks and built castles. I ran on the crusty snow banks once, barefooted, at a dare from my father. Mother thought it foolish, but no harm came from it. So this cold, snowy, northern town was to my liking. The cold softened and there were many hints that spring was not far behind.

April 12^th came and with it the greatest, happiest event of my life so far. I was twenty-eight. Dr. Howison was called and I went down through the valley of the shadow, but love is stronger than physical pain and a precious little boy was put into my arms an instant, that the mother love might be gratified — then in a little time another boy, just as precious and sacred. Looking into my face, they seemed to say, “We’ll always be chums, mothers.” Oh, the blessedness of it! This was shortly before Easter and when our minister’s wife came Easter forenoon to see me, she said, “Just think of it, Mrs. Bliss, the mother of two lovely boys!” I can hear her voice now.

People came and commented and, like Mary of old, I kept all these sayings and pondered them in my heart. I imagine that father thought more than he spoke. The little pair waxed strong. The first was named Romney Amos and the second Paul Southworth. Romney is from Mrs. Browning’s book, “Romney and Aurora Lee.” The Romney was a fine character, a missionary’ the Amos from my father. Paul was primarily from the great apostle, Paul. Also I had read a fine story of a mother taking her Paul to call on an old friend. The two women chatted and Paul took the cord fastening the pet lamb. The lamb running to the summit of the hill led Paul with him by the red cord. The lamb and the cord of red form a symbol familiar to us all. This made me doubly glad to have one of the twins bear the name Paul.