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222
A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
13
I
used
sometimes
to
feel
a
little
resentment
at
my
fate
in
not
having
been
born
at
the
old
Beverly
Farms
home-place,
as
my
father
and
uncles
and
aunts
and
some
of
my
cousins
had
been.
But
perhaps
I
had
more
of
the
romantic
and
legendary
charm
of
it
than
if
I
had
been
brought
up
there,
for
my
father,
in
his
communicative
moods,
never
wearied
of
telling
us
about
his
childhood;
and
we
felt
that
we
still
held
a
birthright
claim
upon
that
picturesque
spot
through
him.
Besides,
it
was
only
three
or
four
miles
away,
and
before
the
day
of
railroads,
that
was
thought
nothing
of
as
a
walk,
by
young
or
old.
But,
in
fact,
I
first
saw
the
light
in
the
very
middle
of
Beverly,
in
full
view
of
the
town
clock
and
the
Old
South
steeple.
(I
believe
there
is
an
"Old
South"
in
nearly
all
these
first-settled
cities
and
villages
of
Eastern
Massachusetts.)
The
town
wore
a
half-rustic
air
of
antiquity
then,
with
its
old-fashioned
people
and
weather-worn
houses;
for
I
was
born
while
my
mother-century
was
still
in
her
youth,
just
rounding
the
first
quarter
of
her
hundred
years.
Primitive
ways
of
doing
things
had
not
wholly
ceased
during
my
childhood;
they
were
kept
up
in
these
old
towns
longer
than
elsewhere.
We
used
tallow
candles
and
oil
lamps,
and
sat
by
open
fireplaces.
There
was
always
a
tinder-box
in
some
safe
corner
or
other,
and
fire
was
kindled
by
striking
flint
and
steel
upon
the
tinder.
What
magic
it
seemed
to
me,
when
I
was
first
allowed
to
strike
that
wonderful
spark,
and
light
the
kitchen
fire!
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