Now my confidante: February, 1876

Wednesday, February 2, 1876. It is still very cold. I think every day Lily, what a blessed pleasure our diaries will be to us. Do you love me still, my Lily?

Thursday, February 3, 1876. Eugie Switzer and I went out in the sleigh today and, just as we thought we had got in a very secluded street, we got behind on the sleds but in the midst of our rustic enjoyment, a whole sleigh full of boys all of whom we knew passed us and bowed most chivalrously. We felt cheap to say the least. 

Friday, February 4, 1876. I do not feel in the least happy today. I can scarcely explain my feelings but the tears will not leave my eyes and it seems now more than ever, I realize, that on this earth we must never expect peace or entire happiness. I feel I have left forever my childhood behind me.
 
Saturday, February 5, 1876. The sleighing is almost gone. Eugie, Henry [Ada’s brother, age 13 at the time of this writing] & a great many more, including myself, have just gotten in from a sleigh ride. Oh my Geraldini, I am still waiting for your letter and none has come. I have just finished St. Elmo, darling. Last night Cousin Sue, Henry, Mamie [Ada’s sister, age 11], Caly Cherbonnier (a beau of mine) and I all went to a Religious Revival. It was so slippery that I fairly had to stick on to C.C.
 
Sunday, February 6, 1876.  “Tell me not in mournful numbers / Life is but an empty dream / For the soul is dead that slumbers / And things are not what they seem.” To church as usual this morning and elicited that bow that will keep me happy for a week. “A thing of beauty is a boy (?) forever.”
 
Wednesday, February 9, 1876. “Castles in the air,” are they not gorgeous? But sometimes I ponder over them so much that I am unable to distinguish between realities and my own imaginings! Did I ever write you about an occurrence that took place this last memorable summer? Well, for a long time (two or more years, in fact) I have thought over something until I could not tell whether it had really happened or whether it was but part of an “air castle.” However I resolved to find out whether or not it was true or die in the attempt. A glorious opportunity presented itself. A brother of the hero of the occurrence which I promised myself to find out if it was true, came to Jersey to spend the summer with Rob (my cousin). So one moonlight night, my aunt intrusted this individual (Gregg O’Brien) to take me home (I had been spending the day there) and “now or never,” I thought, when I found myself alone on horseback with him. I questioned him very closely and he finally suspected what I was about, and to my chagrin & mortification, I found my occurrence (which merely consisted in bidding an exceedingly affectionate adieu to his brother) was true & by some hook or crook Gregg had heard about it. I fortunately held a bouquet in my hand which partially concealed my blushes & embarrassment, but surely never was mortal so sorry & yet so glad that she had ended her suspense.
 
Monday, February 14, 1876. Did you ever read “Resignment” [“Resignation”]—poetry by H. W. Longfellow? It is a favorite of mine, but in fact all his works are my favorites.
 

Tuesday, February 15, 1876. Just think how much longer school will be in session. It gives me the blues horribly to contemplate the dreary months more of school.
 

Friday, February 18, 1876. George Rignold [1838-1912, a well known actor of the day, left] is here. Going to play Monday, and then as long as they will uphold him [a practice of the day wherein performances ran open-ended, continuing only as long as tickets continued to sell], I expect. I should like to keep him here forever—he and his wife and seven children if need be, although I should prefer having him without wife or children. Upon my word I am in earnest.
 
Saturday, February 19, 1876. Today at two o’clock we, meaning Caly Cherbonnier, Cousin Sue, Henry & all, went to the park on horseback. C.C.’s horse threw him as we were halfway but he got on again unhurt. Of course my heart palpitated quite perceptibly during the accident. We had a grand time.             
 
Sunday, February 20, 1876. My cousin’s intended is going to meet her at church this morning. I did not go. I was too sore from the ride anyhow, I think. I can imagine my darling Dini walking demurely to church and then winking at the boys from behind her prayerbook—I envy the occupant of the seat beside her.
 
Monday, February 21, 1876. I have just finished a letter to M.C. and would write to my own Geraldine had I the time. She, I expect, little knows the pleasure it is for me to write to her. I have been very happy today. I do not know why unless it is because Rignold (the actor) is here and it seems like home.

Ada Semple Ames, 1876

Tuesday, February 22, 1876. Now my “confidante”—open your eyes wide & read what I am going to write, then pity my situation. I am a young silly thing & like the rest of the girls must have some beau or one desperate case of love—and to tell the truth I have none. There are three young men from whom I must select (they say) though I am confident I like noneof them well enough—but if I must have a beau (for appearance’s sake) I must choose I suppose & now—and I would very much rather have you choose for me. One is 19, tall, light hair, big startling blue eyes, regular features & altogether decidedly handsome & stunning. Another is 20, with very dark auburn hair that curls just enough, the sweetest softest mischief-full brown eyes, regular features —tall & graceful. The other is but 18—not so dreadfully tall—rather light hair—beautiful eyes that never have one particular color but twinkle so bewitchingly, a mouth “too sweet to live” and a smile—ah! How shall I describe that smile? Indeed, it scorns description. Suffice it to say, one would have no compunction in kissing those lips even if they belonged to the horridest old villain on earth—& one could live on that smile for a fortnight… You think probably darling, from my description that I am in love with them all, but how dreadfully awfully mistaken you are. Those three are about the only boys I would even condescend to think of in my list of admired & I know that my liking for them can never be misinterpreted for anything approaching love. Decide for me, Lily.
 
Monday, February 28, 1876.  I wonder if you love poetry as I do. Is this not beautiful? 

Would I had died in your lap, childhood sweet, / Leaving the future’s poor tasks incomplete; / I have so striven to weave a fair chain, / Woven & broken & woven in vain; / Caught at the sunshine and clasped in the gloom, / Faded fair flowrets, that mocked with their doom; / Striven for Heaven & being a clod, / Losing the blessing, came helpless to God.
                                                                                        ~ by Miss Avery

Tuesday, February 29, 1876. Sometimes I wonder how & when & where Lily will read all the “stuff” (for it deserves no other name) in my diary—my diary & hers.