Diary of Annie Adams Fields

Thursday Oct. 24 [sic]. Clear cool day. The bay dancing and sparkling in the sunshine. A schooner is being unladen of hard wood slabs at the wharf. I see but one man at work just now flinging out the wood, another has been sitting on the side of the vessel farthest from shore swinging his feet...

Friday. Weather becoming colder—my first thought on looking out was—the sky looks like snow. After Lissie came from her studio yesterday we lunched and made 7 calls. Found the old ladies, the Misses May—“Cousin Mary & Augusta” at home. Proper old ladies, fading out of life with...

Tuesday. A sudden household convulsion. Katy the cook thinks she must go with Ann and so both will depart tomorrow. I “flew around” yesterday and have a new cook coming.

Oct 31. Little beside housekeeping. Exquisite clear day, Lissie’s birthday, ran out for flowers before breakfast.

Nov. 7. The days slip away without my finding opportunity for record. The weather still wears a soft summer loveliness. This morning Mr Whittier breakfasted with us and looks better in health. Ristori brought letters to us and we shall endeavor to get up a recitation from her for the benefit of...

Friday. Weather warmer. Indian Summer; went down town early finding it difficult to study, too much Ristori alas! Mrs Stowe was in Mr Fields room full of stories for her new book wh. she intends calling “Old Times in Natick.” Uncle “Flyakim” who could always be found by standing still in...

Saturday. Morning at home. Went to see Ristori for the last time as Elizabeth, perhaps her finest characterization—Longfellow and Whittier had both promised to go with us but the courage of both failed at the last moment. The house was crowded. Mr Graw asked Mr Fields to go and speak with the...

Sunday. Walked with Jamie, in the afternoon wrote in my room.

Monday. Was not well yesterday as the above proves.

Tuesday. Looking for meteors—atmosphere resplendent, exquisite moon, Kate Field and her mother dined with us, proposed the question of Ristori’s reading for the freedpeople. I think we can manage it through Kate. She improves and really looked lovely with her beautiful head and eyes full of...

Nov. 15. Our happy wedding day. We were and are indeed happy. Lilian Aldrich sent us an exquisite bouquet—he, lovely verses. Jamie showered me with flowers and gifts.

Sunday Nov. 19 [sic]. Heard a remarkable sermon from Dr Putnam upon “dying words.” Nothing more tender, more manly, more elevating, more touching to the springs of inspiration was ever delivered; the man forgot himself and was half forgotten in the majesty of his theme as he rendered it. I...

Wednesday morning. Yesterday warm & muggy. Mr & Mrs J. Lorimer Graham Jr. dined here with Howells, wife & sister and Aldrichs. Graham recounted very vividly his former experience at sea (he sails tomorrow). Aldrich was witty as usual and there was a running fire of wit.

Thursday morning Mr Beecher came to breakfast. He was full of jollity. His hair is greyer and thinner and his very gayety leads me to see what a gulf of depression has opened before him. He gave an amusing description of his house having been entered of late (He began by speaking of the sad...

Thursday at home—Friday first concert of Harvard Musical Ass. Dresel played wonderfully I am apt to forget from time to time how superior he is to every other player I have ever heard. His fingers flutter over the notes like birds wings and the music received a spontaneousness from his...

Saturday. Lissie has been gone since Thursday morning; we miss her sadly. Jamie dines with Club today. Think I have a good little maid and am busy getting her in training. The weather grows cold. Have written almost nothing—and read little except scraps of Virgil which seems more beautiful...

Sunday walked in the morning. Aldrichs came to dinner—talked of Bishop King’s poem Exequy on the death of his wife with admiration. Howells’ poem Forlorn which clever men praise we can see nothing in, any of us.

Thanksgiving day. The time makes me remember among other things what a good home we have and what good people to take care of it, getting somewhat slowly into training it may be but still good painstaking and sweet tempered—beside there is room here for dear Lissie and time for real enjoyments...

Friday. Winwood Reade’s luggage is here, he is to pass a few days with us.

Saturday. W. Reade at breakfast—housekeeping—visit from mother and Miss Palfrey afterwards. The latter described their late fire which burned the barn, the house being saved by the exertions of the young divinity students and a garden engine, the other town engines being out of working...

Sunday a perfect day. Mr Bartol preached.

Monday. Again perfect weather. Reade went away; we passed the evening quietly at home writing letters. Made one or two fashionable calls which out of common decency in recognition of kindness I could not avoid. Met a Mrs Sears at one house, the ultra perfect lady who said to our hostess in a...

Tuesday mild and rainy; wonderful sky at night. That picture by Doré of Christ comes up in quiet pauses, to my memory, a deafness to the insults of the world because of preoccupation and hidden joy, hidden beneath present grief, is apparent through the misery of the scene.

Thursday—last evening stayed quietly at home & re-read Lowell’s wonderful ode, to Lissie. I could not do it without tears. Jamie was called down town and on his return met Dr E.H. Chapin who had been lecturing—he is a more modest man than Beecher J. said. He always turns the talk if it...