t result to me of that experience has been the
friendship of my pupils,--a happiness which must last as long as life
itself.

A book must end somewhere, and the natural boundary of this narrative
is drawn with my leaving New England for the West. I was to outline the
story of my youth for the young, though I think many a one among them
might tell a story far more interesting than mine. The most beautiful
lives seldom find their way into print. Perhaps the most beautiful part
of any life never does. I should like to flatter myself so.

I could not stay at the West. It was never really home to me there, and
my sojourn of six or seven years on the prairies only deepened my love
and longing for the dear old State of Massachusetts. I came back in the
summer of 1852, and the unwritten remainder of my sketch is chiefly
that of a teacher's and writer's experience; regarding which latter I
will add, for the gratification of those who have desired them, a few
personal particulars.

While a student and teacher at the West I was still writing, and much
that I wrote was published. A poem printed in "Sartain's Magazine,"
sent there at the suggestion of the editor of the "Lowell Offering" was
the first for which I received remuneration--five dollars. Several
poems written for the manuscript school journal at Monticello Seminary
are in the "Household" collection of my verses, among them those
entitled "Eureka," "Hand in Hand with Angels," and "Psyche at School."
These, and various others written soon after, were printed in the
"National Era," in return for which a copy of the paper was sent me.
Nothing further was asked or expected.

The little song "Hannah Binding Shoes"--written immediately after my
return from the West,--was a study from life--though not from any one
life--in my native town. It was brought into notice in a peculiar
way,--by my being accused of stealing it, by the editor of the magazine
to which I had sent it with a request for the usual remuneration, if
accepted. Accidentally or otherwise, this editor lost my note and
signature, and then denounced me by name in a newspaper as a "literary
thiefess;" having printed the verses with a nom de plume in his
magazine without my knowledge. It was awkward to have to come to my own
defense. But the curious incident gave the song a wide circulation.

I did not attempt writing for money until it became a necessity, when
my health failed at teaching, although I should long b