Quakers -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
The entertainment began at half-past seven with a tea; that is, small
tables were scattered about, where one could sit down, and the ladies
handed around tea and cakes. My pleasure began at once, for we had
scarcely entered the hall, which, by the way, is _very_ large, when we
met Uncle Joseph’s old friend, Daniel K. I had seen him before, and he
told me how much I was like grandmother. So now, as soon as he saw us,
he tucked my hand under his arm and bore me across the room, where,
behind one of the tables sat a stout elderly woman, in a very queer
cap. I have seen pictures like it, and does thee remember Elizabeth
Jones, who did our laundry work one summer? She wore a similar one. It
was not thin like thine, but rather heavy in texture, with a wide frill
about the face. But the woman beneath it was very attractive. She had
such bright eyes and a most winning smile.
She spoke with Friend Daniel, and I did not catch his words, but
immediately she came around to us, stroked my hair and invited me
to pour tea. Then someone else came and called her by name, and who
does thee think it was? Lydia Maria Child. When I realized that I was
helping the writer of those beautiful stories, I had to turn and look
at her more closely and I could not help saying, “Did thee ever know
David and Jonathan?” We laughed together, and she seemed pleased that I
had read her works. For an hour or more we waited on the cake and tea,
and then Uncle Joseph took me over to the other side where articles
were exposed for sale. I bought a few trifles, which uncle insisted
upon paying for, but thee knows just about what Philadelphia fairs are,
so I will not repeat. One thing however I must speak of. I selected
a tiny package of visiting cards tied together with a bit of ribbon,
and each one was inscribed with the name of a prominent Abolishionist
written by himself. William Loyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips, Charles
Remond, Stephen Foster, and so on. I thought I should like to keep
them until I am old, and tell my children how I came to have them. I
also bought a pocket pincushion with alternate black and white pins.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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