Diary of Mable Abney, 1898

Papa always said not to marry a man of books. They are sadly often too smart for their own good. Perhaps he is right in this assumption. When Mother finally agreed for Papa to let me sign up for a college class at Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, she said perhaps I find myself a learned man and at least marry. And Papa, being a learned man himself, was foursquare against it. He said that learned men are given to wild ideas. Not the sort of thing he wished for his youngest daughter to marry into.

But it was never my intent to marry at all. Ever since I was a small child I had loved school, and had it not been for my weak chest and frequent bouts of illness, I would have attended every day just like my brothers. I had so often been lonely, and books became my only companion. I someday wished to be a school teacher. Mother says too much reading is unladylike. I wonder what she will say when she finds I met my beau while working in the library.

It only seemed natural that I notice him. He had such a charming nature. I don't believe I've ever met such a friendly young man. I had been failing my courses because I had again fallen ill, and he offered to tutor me. Mother and Papa will never approve. They've often told me to be wary of the brash, obstinate nature of a Scottsman, no matter how well mannered, personable and kindly he may behave. But oh, how handsome he is! And how he makes my heart sing!

I never had any gentlemen callers before meeting Mr. John Thomas McFadden, and as my health is always failing. There does not seem a likelihood that I shall receive many other suitors so empathetic to my condition. He does not seem afraid that I'm so often ill. He told be he would defeat death itself for my smile. And he's asked me to be his bride. I would say yes if I only knew Papa would give his blessing. It sometimes feels as if Papa and Mother wish for me to become a some sort of lonely ghost of an old maid.

He'll be heading northbound in the spring, and I fear my heart shall break if he doesn't write. If it weren't the act of a terrible heathen, I would pray to God above that he should write me when he can.