Autobiography and Letters of Orville Dewey, D.D.: Edited by His DaughterDewey, Orville
Religion
Autobiography and Letters of Orville Dewey, D.D.: Edited by His Daughter
Dewey, Orville
Dewey, Orville, 1794-1882
Everyone tries, I suppose, to penetrate as far back as he can into
his childhood, back towards his infancy, towards that mysterious and
shadowy line behind which lies his unremembered existence. Besides
the usual life of a child in the country,--running foot-races with my
brother Chandler, building brick ovens to bake apples in the side-hill
opposite the house, and the steeds of willow sticks cut there, and
beyond the unvarying gentleness of my mother and the peremptory
decision and playfulness at the same time of my father,--his slightest
word was enough to hush the wildest tumult among us children, and yet
he was usually gay and humorous in his family,--besides and beyond
this, I remember nothing till the first event in my early childhood,
and that was acting in a play. It was performed in the church, as
part of a school exhibition. The stage was laid upon the pews, and
the audience seated in the gallery. I must have been about five years
old then, and I acted the part of a little son. I remember feeling,
then and afterwards, very queer and shamefaced about my histrionic
papa and mamma. It is striking to observe, not only how early, but
how powerfully, imagination [13] is developed in our childhood. For
some time after, I regarded those imaginary parents as sustaining a
peculiar relation, not only to me, but to one another; I thought they
were in love, if not to be married. But they never were married, nor
ever thought of it, I suppose. All that drama was wrought out in the
bosom of a child. It is worth noticing, too, the freedom with sacred
things, of those days, approaching to the old fetes and mysteries in
the church. We are apt to think of the Puritan times as all rigor and
strictness. And yet here, nearly sixty years ago, was a play acted in
the meeting-house: the church turned into a theatre. And I remember my
mother's telling me that when she was a girl her father carried her on
a pillion to the raising of a church in Pittsfield; and the occasion
was celebrated by a ball in the evening. Now, all dancing is proscribed
by the church there as a sinful amusement.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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