II

At three years Clara Barton was taken a mile and one-half to school on the shoulders of her brother Stephen; at eleven years she ceased growing, then but five feet three inches.The Author.

When I found myself on a strange horse, in a trooper’s saddle, flying for life or liberty in front of pursuit, I blessed the baby lessons of the wild gallops among the beautiful colts.

Clara Barton.

Clara Barton—The memories of her childhood belong to our little town, and are our most precious heritage.

Mrs. Allen L. Joslyn, Oxford, Mass.

Remember that you were once a child, full of childish thoughts and actions.Clara Barton.

Sweetly wildWere the scenes that charmed me when a child.Lydia H. Sigourney.

Sweetly wild

Were the scenes that charmed me when a child.

Lydia H. Sigourney.

The sports of children satisfy the child.Goldsmith.

Children’s plays are not sports, and should be regarded as their most serious actions.Montague.

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child.I Corinthians.

A sweet child is the sweetest thing in nature.C. Lamb.

Sweet childish days, that were as longAs twenty days are now.S. Wordsworth.

Sweet childish days, that were as long

As twenty days are now.

S. Wordsworth.

The scenes of childhood are memories of future years.

J. O. Choules.

I do not like to beat my children—the world will beat them.

Elihu Burritt.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhoodWhen fond recollections present them to view.S. Wordsworth.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood

When fond recollections present them to view.

S. Wordsworth.

Deep meaning often lies in childish plays.Schiller.

Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight!Make me a child again, just for to-night.Elizabeth A. Allen.

Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight!

Make me a child again, just for to-night.

Elizabeth A. Allen.

Toil without recompense, tears all in vain;Take them, and give me my childhood again!E. A. Allen.

Toil without recompense, tears all in vain;

Take them, and give me my childhood again!

E. A. Allen.

The Baker homestead (Bow, N. H.)—Around the memory thereof cluster the golden days of my childhood.

Mary Baker Eddy.

A long way seems the dear old New England home—its sheltering groves and quiet hills; amid the clustering memories my tears are falling thick and silently like the autumn leaves in forest dells.

Clara Barton.

Children have more need of models than of critics.

Joseph Joubert.

Children think not of what is past nor of what is to come but enjoy the present time, which few of us do.

La Bruyere.

Women are only children of a larger growth.

Chesterfield—Letter to his son.

The only fun is to do things.Clara Barton.

I pledged myself to strive only for the courage of the right and for the blessedness of true womanhood.Clara Barton.

What woman has not said “I remember when I was a girl....” Clara Barton at eighty-six years said, inthe story of her childhood, I remember ..., I remember riding wild colts when I was five years of age. I remember how frightened I was, but acquired assurance when my brother used to tell me to “cling fast to the mane.” To this day (at eighty-six years of age) my seat in the saddle, or on the bare back of a horse, is as secure and tireless as in a rocking chair. I remember I thought the President might be as large as the meeting house and the Vice President perhaps the size of the school house. I remember telling my teacher that I did not spell such little words as “cat” and “dog,” but I spell in artichoke, artichoke being the first word in the column of three syllables.

I remember writing verses, many of which for years were preserved—some of these verses by others recited to amuse people—some verses to tease me. I remember, in school, making a mistake in pronouncing ‘Ptolmy,’ when the children laughed at me, and I burst out crying and left the room.

I remember that my father taught me politics; and that, as an old soldier,[1]he amused the other children and myself by giving us practical lessons in military life. We used improvised material, such as children are accustomed to use in “playing soldier,”—paper caps, plumes, banners, kettle for the kettle drum, tin swords, sticks for guns and bayonets—all of which were perfectly satisfactory to us.

1. A Clara Barton paternal ancestor immigrated to America from Lancashire, England, about twelve years after the landing ofThe Mayflower. Since that date a direct descendant of his has participated in every war, by this country.

Our muskets were of cedar woodWith ramrods bright and new;

Our muskets were of cedar wood

With ramrods bright and new;

With bayonets forever set,And painted barrels, too.We shouldered arms, we carried arms,We charged the bayonet;And woe unto the mullen stalkThat in our course we met!

With bayonets forever set,And painted barrels, too.

With bayonets forever set,

And painted barrels, too.

We shouldered arms, we carried arms,We charged the bayonet;And woe unto the mullen stalkThat in our course we met!

We shouldered arms, we carried arms,

We charged the bayonet;

And woe unto the mullen stalk

That in our course we met!

The armies played havoc with each other, had fearful encounters and, what seemed to our young minds then, suffered disastrous results. Camps, regiments, brigades, military terms, she said, thus became familiar to her as the most ordinary matters of home.

Is it warm in that green valley,Vale of childhood, where you dwell?Is it calm in that green valley,Round whose bowers such great hills swell?Are there giants in the valley—Giants leaving footprints yet?Are there angels in the valley?Tell me—I forget.

Is it warm in that green valley,

Vale of childhood, where you dwell?

Is it calm in that green valley,

Round whose bowers such great hills swell?

Are there giants in the valley—

Giants leaving footprints yet?

Are there angels in the valley?

Tell me—I forget.

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