Anne Maria Hampton Brewster, The Atlantic Monthly (1866)
“ As I struck my front-door-bell, I heard Lucy still screaming out her assurance of a heavenly home; but the chanting had lost its irritating sound, and I listened to it, if not with pleasure, at least with patience: even the Skye, Ton-Ton was so improved in temper by the walk as to coil up its little silky gray body in the basket with perfect indifference to the domestic music. ”
Anne Maria Hampton Brewster, The Atlantic Monthly (1866)
“ LUCY'S LETTERS. On a cold January night I returned home after a holiday visit to town. Snow was just beginning to fall, and a desolate sort of feeling came over me as the omnibus drove up to my residence. A bright, cheerful light shone out of the library-windows, and Ernestina, a maid who had lived with me half a score of years before her marriage, was at the gate to receive me. "It is owing to her kind, capable hands that the house looks so comfortable," I said to myself, with a little sigh; "but what am I to do when, she returns to her own home?" ”
Anne Maria Hampton Brewster, The Atlantic Monthly (1866)
“ On Saturday afternoons Lucy would come into the library with a little piece of sewing in her hands, and, sitting on a stool by the dogs' baskets, repeat her proposed letter faster than I could write it. She related all the news of the two colored villages situated on either side of this town; the meetings they were holding,—the jubilees and quarterlies,—which last seemed to come every Sunday; the payment of the church debts; the births of children; the deaths of old people; the marriages and engagements of young ones; and even the hatching of chickens and killing of pigs. ”
