Accept this pen from your mother and for her sake use it freely
& worthily that each day of this your fifteenth year may
testify to some good word or thought or work.
I know there will be born into your spirit new hopes, new gifts,
for God helps the loving, trusting heart that turns to Him. Lift
up your soul to meet the highest, for that alone will satisfy
your yearning, aspiring nature.
Your temperament is a peculiar one, & there are few who can
really help you. Set about the formation of character & believe
me you are capable of obtaining a noble one. Industry, patience,
love, creates, endures, gives all things, for these are the
attributes of the Almighty, & they make us mighty in all things.
May eternal love sustain you, infinite wisdom guide you, & the
peace which passeth understanding reward you, my daughter.
Mother.
Nov. 29th, 1846.
Deeds, not words, characterized Elizabeth Alcott, as readers of "Little
Women" will recall. She was about seven when she sent this letter, one
of the very few she wrote, to her mother:
May, Friday 29.
Dear Mother,
I thank you very much for your note. I will try to write better
than I have done. I have not always had a good pen. I hope I
shall improve in all my studies this summer. I hope I can read
German & French very well, and know a great deal about the
countries. I must write my journal now so I will bid you good
bye.
From your loving
Elizabeth.
Birthdays were always celebrated with much rejoicing in the Alcott
household, the gift made secondary to the spirit of the day. From the
time they were old enough to print, the Alcott children on the mother's
birthday made her some little gift, accompanying it with a note. Abba
May or May, as she was always called, at nine years old, began in prose
but lapsed into poetry:
Dear Mother,
I wish you a very happy birthday. I hope you will find my
present Useful, and when you wear it think of me. I have taken a
great-deal of Pleasure in making it for you. Please take this
Present mother on your 49 birthday
With the dearest Love and wishes of your little daughter A.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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