قراءة كتاب Cyrus W. Field; his Life and Work
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Stockbridge in April lies bare and brown in the valley of the Housatonic, and the tops of the mountains that are near are at that season often still white with snow, and his heart was in harmony with the scene as he looked back for the last sight of his beloved mother’s face. His first letter is dated
“New York, May 12, 1835.
“Dear Father,—I received yours, Henry’s, and Mary’s kind letters of the 7th on the 9th by Jonathan, and I assure you that it did me good to hear from sweet home.
“I stopped at Mr. Moore’s, in Hudson, and they had not seen mother’s handkerchief.
“Your account of the Field family I was glad to receive, but I wish to know also from whom we are descended on my mother’s side.
“Tell Stephen, Henry, and Mary that I intended to write them all a long letter, but as I have not been very well for the last two days, and have a good deal to do to-day, it is impossible.
“The purse which Mary mentioned in her letter Jonathan says that he did not bring.
“I have seen R. Maclaughlin, and he sends his love to Henry. Tell George Whitney that the store boy sends his love to him. I do the same, and also to Edwin Williams, Mr. Fay, S. and A. Hawkings, and all the good people of old Stockbridge.
“Uncle Beales and his daughter arrived here last night.
“Mr. Mark Hopkins came from Stockbridge this morning. No letters.
“Take good care of mother, and tell her she must not get overdone.
“All send their love. Love to all.
“From your affectionate son,
“Cyrus.”
He does not speak of his loneliness, although we know that it was great, for his mother’s last words to another son, who was going to New York a few weeks later, were, “Bring Cyrus home if he is still so homesick.”
It was on one of his first Sundays in New York that, after he had been to church, and gone to his brother David’s for dinner, his unhappiness was apparent to the family and also to Dr. Mark Hopkins, their guest, whose sympathy was never forgotten, nor his words, “I would not give much for a boy if he were not homesick on leaving home.” He has said that many of the evenings during the long summer that followed his coming to New York were passed on the banks of the Hudson watching the boats as they sailed northward, and as he lay by the riverside he pictured himself as on board of one of the vessels, and the welcome that he would receive on reaching Stockbridge.
Towards the end of his life Mr. Field began the preparation of his autobiography. From so much of this as serves the purpose of this narrative, extracts will be made from time to time without express credit.
In 1835 it took twenty-four hours to go from Stockbridge to New York, and first there was a drive of fifty miles to Hudson on the river, and then a long sail by boat.
Almost immediately on reaching the city he entered as an errand-boy the store of A. T. Stewart, which had already a more commanding reputation than any mercantile establishment possesses or perhaps can attain at present.
His home was in a boarding-house in Murray Street near Greenwich, where he had board and lodging for two dollars a week, a fact which is in itself eloquent of the difference between life now in New York and life sixty years ago. Stewart’s was then at 257 Broadway, between Murray and Warren streets. There the young clerk received for his services the first year $50, and the second the sum was doubled. Even so, and with what would now be the incredible frugality of his living, it is plain that he could not have supported himself by his earnings. Of his life at that time he said in after-years, “My oldest brother lent me money, which, just as soon as I was able, and before I was twenty-one, I returned to him with interest.” The letter that follows tells how his first money was spent:
