religious business could split open, you know, with you away so long. On Visiting Days, the Institution crawls with all manner of misguided proselytizers, and many of the most orthodox seem to be the most vested in Laura’s education, peppering us all with questions. I have never pretended to understand your choice of Miss Swift, an ardent Congregationalist with an even more ardent brother, as Laura’s chief teacher, and now that you are gone, I would feel remiss if I did not point it out to you yet again. She is a good teacher, but she is what she is and what she will be.
I miss you, sir, and look forward to the new family’s return. It is heavy here.
August 1844, Charles Sumner to Dr. Howe
As Longfellow and Mann have kindly kept you up on the travails of my recent illness, you know that I was too weak to write, even to you. I hope you have not suffered unduly. My delirium, however, afforded me a vision. Why was I spared? For me there is no future, either of usefulness or happiness. I mock myself, and will doubtless be mocked, as I should be, but there it is.
And as I have often requested, out of modesty or fear—you choose—BURN THIS.
August 1844, Laura to Dr. Howe
Oliver misses you very much and cries every night because you haven’t written. He asks me how God could let you leave us for such a long time. He does not understand about getting married, like I do. It is a shame that he is afraid of Julia. He says that her hands are colder and wetter than a fish.
Are you farther away from me now than God or closer? How far away is God?
September 1844, Miss Swift to Dr. Howe
I am sorry that I must inform you again that Laura’s anxiety about religion is not at all relieved by my constant evasions on the subject, as instructed. She is becoming more difficult to manage, often flying into inexplicable rages. Yesterday, she threw a book across the room, and when I told her to apologize, she said she would only if she could ask God to forgive her, but she didn’t know how. I told her, as I always tell her, that you will talk to her about God when you return. But she insists that if you are not here to forgive her when she does bad things—as she does frequently now—then the only other one who can possibly forgive and govern her is God. It’s a fine bit of blackmail is what it comes down to, Dr. Howe, but I can’t see my way clear of it.
I beg you to answer some of Laura’s questions. I know she has been sending many letters. I am holding out as you have asked, but at this point, I fear that damage is being done to the child, if not to her immortal soul, then at least to her happiness and further growth.
I know you love her dearly, and all the best for her rests in your hands and heart.
September 1844, Dr. Howe to Laura and Oliver
I trust you are both behaving well for your teachers, and that I will find the Institution still in one piece when I return. We are hobnobbing everywhere, and all of Europe knows your names. Rome is hotter than Boston on the worst day—you would hate all the sweating, Laura! Julia and I are eating too much macaroni; our hands might be too fat to even fit in yours by year-end.
Keep up with your studies, and mind everything that Swift and Jeannette tell you, and who knows what treats I may bring back for you. I blow my love to both of you over the Atlantic like a strong wind. Can you feel it warm on your cheeks?
September 1844, Horace Mann, Secretary of the Massachusetts State Board of Education, to Dr. Howe
The evangelical zealots are digging my grave, Howe. In the legislature, the press, and from the pulpits, they batter me to put religious education back into the schools. Sometimes it is almost impossible to believe that these Calvinists are our brothers in the Protestant faith; they often seem as far over the wall as the Catholics. We Unitarians still hold Harvard, of course, and most of the State House, but I am sicker with dread than you have ever seen me, friend. I cannot
I miss you, sir, and look forward to the new family’s return. It is heavy here.
August 1844, Charles Sumner to Dr. Howe
As Longfellow and Mann have kindly kept you up on the travails of my recent illness, you know that I was too weak to write, even to you. I hope you have not suffered unduly. My delirium, however, afforded me a vision. Why was I spared? For me there is no future, either of usefulness or happiness. I mock myself, and will doubtless be mocked, as I should be, but there it is.
And as I have often requested, out of modesty or fear—you choose—BURN THIS.
August 1844, Laura to Dr. Howe
Oliver misses you very much and cries every night because you haven’t written. He asks me how God could let you leave us for such a long time. He does not understand about getting married, like I do. It is a shame that he is afraid of Julia. He says that her hands are colder and wetter than a fish.
Are you farther away from me now than God or closer? How far away is God?
September 1844, Miss Swift to Dr. Howe
I am sorry that I must inform you again that Laura’s anxiety about religion is not at all relieved by my constant evasions on the subject, as instructed. She is becoming more difficult to manage, often flying into inexplicable rages. Yesterday, she threw a book across the room, and when I told her to apologize, she said she would only if she could ask God to forgive her, but she didn’t know how. I told her, as I always tell her, that you will talk to her about God when you return. But she insists that if you are not here to forgive her when she does bad things—as she does frequently now—then the only other one who can possibly forgive and govern her is God. It’s a fine bit of blackmail is what it comes down to, Dr. Howe, but I can’t see my way clear of it.
I beg you to answer some of Laura’s questions. I know she has been sending many letters. I am holding out as you have asked, but at this point, I fear that damage is being done to the child, if not to her immortal soul, then at least to her happiness and further growth.
I know you love her dearly, and all the best for her rests in your hands and heart.
September 1844, Dr. Howe to Laura and Oliver
I trust you are both behaving well for your teachers, and that I will find the Institution still in one piece when I return. We are hobnobbing everywhere, and all of Europe knows your names. Rome is hotter than Boston on the worst day—you would hate all the sweating, Laura! Julia and I are eating too much macaroni; our hands might be too fat to even fit in yours by year-end.
Keep up with your studies, and mind everything that Swift and Jeannette tell you, and who knows what treats I may bring back for you. I blow my love to both of you over the Atlantic like a strong wind. Can you feel it warm on your cheeks?
September 1844, Horace Mann, Secretary of the Massachusetts State Board of Education, to Dr. Howe
The evangelical zealots are digging my grave, Howe. In the legislature, the press, and from the pulpits, they batter me to put religious education back into the schools. Sometimes it is almost impossible to believe that these Calvinists are our brothers in the Protestant faith; they often seem as far over the wall as the Catholics. We Unitarians still hold Harvard, of course, and most of the State House, but I am sicker with dread than you have ever seen me, friend. I cannot
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