The Diaries of Henrietta Maria Schroeder Stout, Part V

By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

This is the fifth part of a series. Read Part I, Part II, Part III, and Part IV to catch up.

Today I return to the diary of 13-year-old Henrietta Schroeder, part of the Stout family papers here at the MHS. Henrietta has made a big impression on me, with her unfiltered, exuberant, and irreverent writing style. She seems so relatable, so much like a teenager today. I hope you’ve been enjoying getting to know her, too.

We pick up our story on September 11, 1889. After spending the summer in the U.K., Henrietta and her family visited the continent, first France and then Switzerland. They landed at Dieppe, where Henrietta wrote in her diary (her “Cher Confidante”), “Now, surrounded by French people gabbling off French I really feel as though I were abroad.” She made herself right at home, polishing off three glasses of claret at one dinner.

From Dieppe, the Schroeders went south to Rouen and Paris. They visited Rouen Cathedral, the burial place of Richard I’s “lion” heart and of “Henry the something of England,” as Henrietta put it. In Paris, they spent 5-6 days touring the famous Exposition Universelle, including the brand-new Eiffel Tower. Henrietta did ride the elevator to the top, but not until a few weeks later, so I’ll talk about that in a future post. She also saw Mont Blanc at Chamonix, France, which inspired her first original sketch in the diary.

Color photograph of a pencil sketch drawn on part of a manuscript page, labeled sideways in the left-hand margin “General view of Chamonix.” The sketch depicts a view of multiple mountain peaks with small buildings in the foreground.
“General view of Chamonix,” drawn by Henrietta Schroeder, September 29, 1889

But October 1889 was a relatively quiet month for the Schroeders, spent mostly at the Grand Hotel in Montreux, Switzerland. The hotel still exists today. It was there Henrietta spent her fourteenth birthday on October 9. Among her presents was a small ivory letter opener from her best friend Lina, which she cherished.

It was also on her birthday that the family toured Chillon Castle, where François Bonivard was imprisoned back in the sixteenth century. The castle seems to have genuinely spooked Henrietta. She wrote, “For the rest of the day I had the horrors. […] The Gallows were there, and a lot of other horrible things which I don’t want to write about.”

During this month-long pause at Montreux, Henrietta wrote in her diary a little more often and in a more introspective vein. Occasionally some of her fears and insecurities came through. While she was enjoying her European sojourn, she was also thinking about the future, which to her looked bleak.

Her older sister Lucy had “come out”—that is, debuted in society—the previous winter after her eighteenth birthday. Henrietta, five years younger, wondered what was in store for her. This passage made me want to give her a hug.

Oh! dear I feel so cross today – To think of my future! See what a lovely time Lucy had last winter! and see what is prepared for me! Lucy is pretty – I am an ape. Lucy has a splendid talent for music, and I have no talent what ever. I only long to paint, paint, paint – I never can be any kind of a belle in society – I can never do any thing – I have kept this feeling in for weeks & weeks, but have said but a few words about it, and Mamma instantly came down upon me and told me never, never to say it again, it was wicked etc. so I am not going to write about it any more.

Color photograph of two open pages of a thick manuscript volume. The text is written in pencil and smudged in several places, and the pages are numbered 118 and 119 in the upper left- and right-hand corners.
Pages from Henrietta Schroeder’s diary, October 29 to November 8, 1889

I hope you’ll join me for my next post in this series here at the Beehive.

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Commemorating the 250th Anniversary of Dr. Joseph Warren’s Funeral

By Rakashi Chand, Reading Room Supervisor

April 8, 2026, marks the 250th anniversary of the funeral of Dr. Joseph Warren, whose death at the Battle of Bunker Hill helped define the beginning of the American Revolution. After nine months in a shallow grave on the battleground on Breed’s Hill, his remains were recovered following the British evacuation of Boston and brought into the city for a ceremony that united Americans in renewed resolve.

Only thirty-four years old; a widower with four young children; newly engaged; admired for his intellect, courage, and striking presence; Warren was a leader of the colonists’ rebellion and embodied the promise of a rising nation. His death in battle quickly became a catalyst that spread revolutionary fervor throughout the colonies. Some historians have speculated that had he survived, Americans might today walk along “Warren Street” in every major city instead of “Washington Street.” News of his death raced through colonial newspapers, carrying shock and sorrow to communities that had never seen his face yet mourned him as one of their own.

Oil painting of man with white wig and dark coat
Joseph Warren, by Edward Savage, after portrait by John Singleton Copley

By the time his remains returned to Boston for burial in April 1776, Warren had become the Revolution’s first great martyr—a figure whose courage at Bunker Hill and choice to fight beside ordinary militiamen rather than take command captured the spirit the colonies were beginning to claim as their own.

No contemporary voice captures the meaning of that day better than Abigail Adams. In a letter dated 7-11 April 1776 she wrote to her husband, John Adams:

“Yesterday the Remains of our Worthy General Warren were dug up upon Bunker Hill and carried into Town and on monday are to be interred with all the Honours of War.”

Three days later, she described the funeral itself:

“The Dr. was Buried on monday the Masons walking in procession from the State House, with the Military in uniforms and a large concourse of people attending… The amiable and heroic virtues of the deceased… the noble cause to which he fell a Martyr… must give weight and energy to whatever could be delivered upon the occasion.”

Handwritten letter in ink
Excerpt of letter from Abigail Adams to John Adams, 7 – 11 April 1776

Her account evokes a city still bearing the scars of occupation, now gathered around Warren’s body “like that of Caesar’s before their Eyes” to confront the cost of liberty. The funeral procession made up of Masons in regalia, militia in uniform, and citizens in great number was one of the largest public gatherings Boston had seen since the outbreak of war.

Inside King’s Chapel, young attorney Perez Morton delivered an Eulogy that gave voice to the dead themselves. His most powerful passage urged the living to understand the depth of their betrayal and the justice of their cause:


“Ought we not to listen to the Voice of our slaughtered Brethren, who are now proclaiming aloud to their Country—

Go tell the King, and tell him from our Spirits,

That you and Britons can be Friends no more;

Tell him to you all Tyrants are the same:

Or if in Bonds, the never conquer’d Soul

Can feel a Pang, more keen than Slavery’s self,

‘Tis where the Chains that crush you into Dust,

Are forg’d by Hands, from which you hop’d for Freedom.”


Not merely a break with Britain, but the recognition that the oppression now suffered came from those once trusted to protect. For the mourners gathered around Warren’s coffin, this was not rhetoric, it was lived experience. For a city emerging from siege, the ceremony was both a memorial and a moment of political awakening.

Engraved scene of battle. In the foreground a crowd of soldiers gathers around a fallen man.
The Battle at Bunker’s Hill Near Boston. June 17, 1775, Engraving after painting by John Trumbull, 1786.
John Trumbull’s paintings of The Death of General Warren at the Battle of Bunker’s Hill visually framed Warren as a martyr whose sacrifice sanctified the cause of Revolution.

On this 250th anniversary, we remember that Warren’s funeral was not merely an act of mourning. It was a public reckoning with sacrifice, betrayal, and the moral necessity of separation. In honoring Warren, the city made its own symbolic declaration of independence, months before Congress put the sentiment into words.

Visit the Massachusetts Historical Society for an in-person look at the documents that declared independence in the current exhibition 1776: Declaring Independence.

Further Reading:

Letter from Abigail Adams to John Adams, 7 – 11 April 1776

MHS Collections Online: John Rowe diary 13, 8 April 1776, pages 2136-2138

Perez Morton’s 1776 eulogy for Joseph Warren

Early Forensic Odontology – The Dr. Samuel D. Harris National Museum of Dentistry The effort to recover Warren’s body led to the first documented use of forensic dentistry in America, when Paul Revere recognized the wire and dental work he had placed in Warren’s mouth identifying his remains.

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“Salted Cod, According to the Weather”

By Morgan S. Hardy, Mary B. Wright Environmental History Fellow (2025-2026)

It had been eleven years since loyalist Samuel Quincy left his hometown of Boston, Massachusetts. The Harvard-educated lawyer and friend of both John Adams and John Hancock fled Boston after the fighting at Lexington and Concord in 1775. Despite his self-exile, Samuel Quincy missed the comforts and staples of New England. In particular, he missed the taste of freshly salted Atlantic cod. In a letter dated March 4, 1786, Quincy wrote, “My Mouth has watered for their salt-Fish ever since your last letter.” Then, lamentingly, Quincy wrote, “I fear I never shall taste the Relish of the Quintal you say you bought for me.” Quincy never returned to Massachusetts after passing away in 1789.

Black and white illustration
Image of Cod fish
From George Brown Goode, The Fisheries and Fishery Industry of the United States, (Washington, D.C.: Washington Government Printing Office, 1884), plate 58A. Drawing by H. L. Todd.

Salted Atlantic cod was New England’s most profitable export in the eighteenth century. This export was made possible through “curing,” a commercial process designed to prevent decay and turn perishable fish into durable products. However, only about two-fifths of the cured fish qualified as “merchantable” and were shipped to Spain, Portugal, and Italy for substantial profit. The remaining three-fifths were labeled as “refuse” fish. These badly cured, oversalted, or sunburned fish, among others, were sent to feed chattel slavery on Caribbean plantations. Fishers, shoremen, fishmongers, and parliamentary lobbyists all knew that nature influenced how well a fish cured.

Various weather conditions and fierce storms were among the notorious factors affecting the daily fishing life in New England. Fishers had to be hardy persons who were “oblig’d to life at the Mercy of the Winds, and [who] are often expos’d to Storms.” Good weather was always preferred for fishing, but it was never guaranteed. In September 1775, a giant storm struck the North American coast from Virginia to Newfoundland. A storm surge, over thirty feet high, wrecked the coast and caused chaos among the Newfoundland fishing fleet. It’s estimated that 4,000 people, mostly fishers, lost their lives. Storms and unpredictable weather emphasize the vulnerability of eighteenth-century fishing communities, making it tough to find, secure, and process salted Atlantic cod.

Printed image showing a shore line and men doing multiple activities.
“A View of a Stage” depicting “the manner of Fishing for, Curing & Drying Cod.” This image is from a map by English cartographer Herman Moll published in 1718 based on a 1698 map by French cartographer Nicolas De Fer.
Library of Congress, Geography and Map Division.

Being exposed to the “inclemencies of the severest weather [and] the dangers of the turbulent Atlantic” meant that New England fishers had to read the signs of the weather. This was helpful not only to avoid disasters while fishing but also for locating baitfish. New England fishers caught large amounts of baitfish, including herring, alewives, capelin, and squid, to catch other species such as the prized Atlantic cod and mackerel. John Knox, a Scottish philanthropist aiming to expand England’s fishing industry, reported in 1785 that “young herring always come in a body some time in June [but] their stay depends on the wind and weather.” Knox also noted that “herring shoals are subjected to the “tides, currents, and bays.” New England fishers relied on their understanding of weather patterns and the ocean’s depths to efficiently find, catch, and process the fish that supported their livelihoods. This knowledge was gained through extensive time at sea.

Samuel Quincy’s home of Boston was supported by fishers who understood that the environment posed a challenge to curing cod effectively. A fisher’s work, toil, and knowledge of the sea proved invaluable in making cod a profitable export and a local favorite. Salted cod’s unique, briny flavor was still prevalent to Samuel Quincy after almost a decade of fleeing Boston. Perhaps the next time you find yourself in Boston, try the salted cod—and remember that nature has been undermining human schemes for centuries.

Further Reading:

Letter from Samuel Quincy written from Tortola, March 4, 1786, Quincy Family Letters, Massachusetts Historical Society. Please note that a quintal was about 112 pounds of salted cod.

For how fishers were exposed to the elements, see “The Importance and Management of the British Fishery Consider’d,” (London, 1720), Folger Shakespeare Library, Washington, DC.

Chuck Lyons, “The Independence Hurricane: Chuck Lyons Examines the Events Around a Massive Storm That Brought Destruction to Newfoundland, and Likely Helped to Determine the Outcome of the American Revolution,” History Magazine 14.4 (Toronto: 2013): 24–26.

For inclemencies and herring, see John Knox, “A View of the British Empire: More Especially Scotland: with some Proposals for the Improvement of that Country, the Extension of its Fisheries, and the Relief of the People,” Volume 1 (London, 1785), Massachusetts Historical Society.

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Caring for Constituents: A How-To by John Quincy Adams

By Gwen Fries, Adams Papers

John Quincy Adams was a public servant for more than fifty years. When we think of him, it’s easy to fall into a highlights reel of his life—partying with princes as a diplomat, advancing the cause of science education as president, and especially raging against the Gag Rule and the “slavocracy” in his congressional career. Sounds like he’s an absolute rock star. Where does the “servant” part come into it?

Recently I was reading a book by Tony Benn (1925-2014)—a British MP who, like Adams, was a politician for fifty years and kept a daily diary of how humdrum that seemingly glamorous life could really be. “Much of the casework,” he wrote, “fell into the same category as the palliative care offered by hospices. Support was needed whether or not you could actually solve the problem for a particular constituent. The people who wrote to me or queued up at my advice centers to tell me their problems wanted to be heard and wanted me to listen.”

I instantly thought of Adams.

Adams’s diary is full of his constituents. He truly did view himself as their servant, advocate, and protector, as is clear from the time he dedicated to each one. On 17 December 1836, for instance, the 69-year-old congressional representative listened to the Collector of Customs at New York complain about merchants skirting consular fees. He tucked that away in his brain to bring up with the Committee of Manufactures the next week. Next, he heard out a disgraced English ophthalmologist who wanted to complain about his lot in life. (Again, palliative care.) Then, the elderly statesman walked through the rain to the Department of War to deliver a letter from a Plymouth widow seeking her husband’s pension. He carefully notes her name in his diary: Bethiah Dyer. He languished in the waiting room as the office was “beset with visitors,” then wouldn’t leave until he had the Secretary’s word that he would follow up with him.

a few lines of handwritten text
A detail of Adams’s 17 Dec. 1836 diary entry mentioning Bethiah Dyer

This is one of about 17,000 days of JQA’s life that went that way. One of the most brilliant men of his age sitting in an unassuming room and just listening. Most people wanted something from him, but many came simply to gawp at him as a living curiosity. Anne Royall in her 1826 Sketches of History, Life, and Manners, in the United States wrote that JQA possessed “a calmness peculiar to him.” He was willing to sit silently and listen as long as you wanted to talk, giving you his undivided attention. “What most distinguishes his features, is his eye,” she wrote. “It is. . .one of such keenness that it pierces the beholder. He has the steadiest look I ever witnessed.”

The miracle of Adams’s devotion to his constituents is his further devotion to recording their dearest hopes and fears in his diary. Because of this, posterity has a window into the lives of thousands of ordinary Americans and their faith in the democratic process.

The Adams Papers editorial project at the Massachusetts Historical Society gratefully acknowledges the generous support of our sponsors. Major funding for the John Quincy Adams Digital Diary was provided by the Amelia Peabody Charitable Fund, with additional contributions by Harvard University Press and private donors. The Mellon Foundation in partnership with the National Historical Publications and Records Commission also supported the project through funding for the Society’s digital publishing collaborative, the Primary Source Cooperative.

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The Diaries of Henrietta Maria Schroeder Stout, Part IV

By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

This is the fourth part of a series. Read Part I, Part II, and Part III to catch up.

“Here I am in London, as big as life.”

These are the words 13-year-old Henrietta Schroeder wrote in her diary on August 15, 1889. She was on a European tour with her widowed mother and three siblings. The family had been traveling up and down the U.K. and would now spend three weeks in and around London before moving on to the continent.

Late Victorian London was a booming, bustling metropolis. The population of inner London alone was already over four million, quadruple what it had been at the start of the century. In 1889, it was the most populous city in the world, and Henrietta was very excited to be there.

As I’ve mentioned before, the Schroeders were indefatigable tourists, and in her diary Henrietta described the sights they saw and shared her unfiltered opinions. She thought Westminster Abbey was “lovely” and especially liked Poets’ Corner and the tomb of Queen Elizabeth. While there, unable to help herself, she had “leaned over, and touched the tomb of an old Saxon king, dated 616!!!” This was presumably King Saeberht of Essex.

The family also visited the Victoria & Albert Museum in South Kensington, took a trip up and down the Thames to see the West and East India Docks, oohed and aahed over the Queen’s golden jubilee presents on display at Windsor Castle, and of course spent some time at the massive Crystal Palace. Henrietta pasted several prints of the building into her diary.

Color photograph of two pages of an open volume, numbered 84 and 85, with two black and white prints pasted onto each page. The prints show a large glass building from multiple angles, some with fountains or people in the foreground. Underneath the prints are the following captions written in black ink: “The Crystal Palace,” “The Fountains,” “View from the South,” and “The Gardens.”
Prints of the Crystal Palace pasted into Henrietta Schroeder’s diary, 21 August 1889.

One attraction that didn’t overly impress Henrietta was Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum, but that was probably because her mother didn’t allow her into the Chamber of Horrors. The Chamber of Horrors was home to what promotional material at the time called “the most extraordinary relic in the world,” the blade of a guillotine from the French Revolution.

Screenshot of two paragraphs from a printed catalog, under the heading “Centre of Chamber of Horrors.” The two paragraphs are headed “327. Marat” and “328. The most extraordinary relic in the world.”
Excerpt from Madame Tussaud’s catalog of 1886

Like many teenagers then and now (and a lot of adults, let’s be honest), Henrietta was fascinated by the more macabre parts of history. Her diary is full of references to historical figures who’d been imprisoned or stabbed or beheaded or tortured. She’d been delightfully spooked by the dungeons at Carlisle Castle. Now, after touring the Tower of London, she breathlessly recounted how she

“walked over the site of the scaffold where lady Jane Gray, Anne Boleyn and others were beheaded. And by the way, I saw the scaffold itself, STAINED WITH BLOOD!!”

Later she wrote about Canterbury Cathedral.

“You know that Thomas â Becket was murdered there? well, there is a little place marked where Tommie stood when he was murdered, and I stood on it too.”

In late August, the Schroeder family visited with some distant relatives in the wonderfully named village of Stoke Poges. Henrietta had mentioned the Gilliats before, but it wasn’t until this diary entry that I had enough information to identify them. The Schroeders were apparently guests at Duffield House, the home of Algernon Gilliat. He had three twenty-something sons, the youngest of whom later became both a footballer and an Anglican minister. If my research is correct, Algernon’s aunt married Henrietta’s uncle’s half-brother.

The U.K. portion of Henrietta’s diary ends, I think poignantly, with a single wild poppy she pressed into the volume on September 9, 1889. She explained, “When I pressed it, it turned purple, but it was scarlet once upon a time. The fields are red with them.”

Color photograph of the top half of one page of a manuscript volume. A pink or light purple flower and stem are flattened and taped diagonally across the page next to the following caption written in black ink: “Wild poppy / A souvenir of Brighton / 9th September ’89” and a small sketch of the British flag. One petal of the flower is torn.
Poppy pressed into Henrietta Schroeder’s diary, September 9, 1889

Stay tuned for more about Henrietta in my next post.

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Henry and Lucy Knox’s Revolutionary Romance 

by Rakashi Chand, Reading Room Supervisor

In the aftermath of Valentine’s Day during the 250th anniversary of the American Revolution, we invite you to celebrate some of the most romantic figures of the Revolutionary era.  

The Couple  

In the turbulent years when a young America was struggling to define itself, two young people met in a bookstore. Her name was Lucy Flucker, just sixteen, the daughter of a wealthy Loyalist family whose father ranked as the third highest British official in Massachusetts. His name was Henry Knox, a Boston bookseller who devoured volumes, was outgoing, warm, endlessly curious, and remarkably intelligent. 

By every measure of class, politics, and expectation, she was not meant to fall in love with Henry Knox. Yet she did, and with the courage that would come to mirror the revolution reshaping the world around them. This silhouette at the Massachusetts Historical Society is the only known contemporary image of Lucy Flucker Knox. 

Lucy Flucker Knox, silhouette, circa 1790

The Marriage 

Their affection grew in the corners of a city on the brink of war and soon they married, defying her family and the life laid out for her. Although Lucy and Henry are well documented and significant figures in the formation of our nation, for a while there was considerable confusion about where and even when they were married.  

For a deeper look at the confusion surrounding their wedding, read these two posts from J. L. Bell’s Boston1775 blog: “When did Henry Knox and Lucy Flucker marry?” and “Where did Lucy Flucker and Henry Knox marry?” Bell notes that the couple married at King’s Chapel in Boston. Luckily, the MHS houses the Records of King’s Chapel, and a dive into the archives shows the recording of their marriage on June 23, 1774.  Lucy’s sister Hannah and half sister Sallie attended the wedding, but her parents were notably absent.

Register of marriages, 1718-1841, Vol 41 (XT), King’s Chapel (Boston, Mass.) Records

The War Begins

A year later the Battles of Lexington and Concord forced the young couple to slip out of Boston for their safety. Lucy took refuge in Worcester, Mass., never to see her family again, while Henry joined the militia besieging the city. He directed fortifications using knowledge he had gained from his books, and in his first surviving letter to Lucy, dated July 6, 1775, he described meeting George Washington, who was impressed by his engineering skill. 

Not long after, Henry embarked on his now famous feat, transporting 59 captured cannons from Fort Ticonderoga over 300 winter miles by ox drawn sled to Boston. Washington positioned the guns above Boston and forced the British to evacuate. Henry, only twenty-five, became commander of the Continental Army’s artillery and would rise to major general before the war’s end.  

As the American Revolution ignited, the nation and the newlyweds came of age together. Forced apart by battle lines and duty, Henry and Lucy kept their bond alive through letters that pulsed with longing, fear, devotion, and hope. With Henry often away, Lucy also grew into a woman forged by independence and responsibility, writing him on 23 August 1777 that “I hope you will not consider yourself as commander in chief of your own house.”

The Love Letters 

The wartime correspondence between Henry and Lucy Knox offers a vivid, intimate window into both the American Revolution and the emotional world of a couple separated by conflict. Over the course of the Revolution, they exchanged more than 150 letters. 

Below are a few excerpts that illustrate the tone and content of their letters to one another, demonstrating their commitment to each other during a remarkable time. 

This rich letter from Henry notes both the sadness of separation and the hardships encountered in transporting the artillery from Fort Ticonderoga, though is not without humor.

“My dearest Companion, It is now twelve days since I’ve had the least opportunity of writing to her who I value more than life itself. . . .Had I the power to transport myself to you, how eagerly rapid would be my flight. It makes me smile to think how I should look, like a tennis ball bow’ld down.”

Henry Knox to Lucy Flucker Knox, Ft. George, NY, 17 December 1775  

Their letters continue to gush with love and sadness at separation.

“My lovely & dearest friend, Those people who love, as you & I do, never ought to part. It is with the greatest anxiety that I am forc’d to date my letter at this distance from my love at a time too when I thought to have been happily in [your] Arms.” 

Henry Knox to Lucy Flucker Knox, Albany, NY, 5 January 1776

“I should long before this have indulged myself in the pleasure of writing to him who is allways in my thoughts, whose image is deeply imprinted on my heart and whom I love too much for my peace, but the fear that the language of a tender wife might appear ridiculous to an impartial reader (should it miscarry) has restrain’d me.

Lucy Flucker Knox to Henry Knox, Boston, MA, 29 or 30 April, 1776

Born in a bookstore, tested by war, and carried in ink, Henry and Lucy’s love came of age alongside a nation fighting to define itself. 

Further Reading:

The Henry Knox Papers, on microform at the MHS, owned by the Gilder Lehrman Institute, include the correspondence between Henry and Lucy Knox

Henry Knox Papers II collection

Henry Knox Papers III collection

Hamilton, Phillip. The Revolutionary War Lives and Letters of Lucy and Henry Knox. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2017. 

Stuart, Nancy Rubin. Defiant Brides: The Untold Story of Two Revolutionary Era Women and the Radical Men They Married. Boston: Beacon Press, 2013. 

Posted in From Our Collections

Calling All History Enthusiasts!

By Alexandra Moleski, Massachusetts History Day Program Coordinator

The 2026 Massachusetts History Day (MHD) season is in full swing and we would love to have you join us as a judge. Spend your day supporting history and civics education with other like-minded history buffs of all ages! All you need is a love of history–no experience or prior knowledge required.

Massachusetts History Day is a project-based learning program in which students grades 6-12 conduct research on a historical topic of their choice and present their work as a documentary, website, performance, paper, exhibit, or–for the first time ever–a podcast. Think science fair, but history! Through their research and the curation of their projects, students will explore the 2026 theme, Revolution, Reaction, Reform in History.

Judging is a great opportunity to learn from and celebrate our student historians and their hard work. You will:

  • Be assigned to a small judging team, as well as a specific age division and project category
  • Review student research projects and their project paperwork
  • Interview the students using sample questions provided to you
  • Work with your team to provide written feedback for each project
  • Receive a judging orientation and all the information you need beforehand
  • Enjoy breakfast, lunch, coffee, and sweet treats on us!

Visit https://www.masshist.org/masshistoryday/judges for more information on MHD contests, the judging experience, and how to register.

Are you an educator? Join us as an MHD judge and earn professional development points. Teachers who judge at a contest/showcase will receive 10 PDPs per event.

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The Diaries of Henrietta Maria Schroeder Stout, Part III

By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

This is the third part of a series. Read Part I and Part II to catch up.

I hope you’ve been enjoying the diaries of 13-year-old Henrietta Schroeder as much as I have. In early July 1889, she and her family were staying at Keswick, in England’s beautiful Lake District, part of their grand tour of Europe. After Keswick, they spent the summer traveling up and down Great Britain, hitting all the tourist hotspots.

As I mentioned in Part II, Henrietta described events a little out of order, frequently backtracking to catch up, so it’s sometimes difficult to pinpoint her location. I’ve done my best to trace her route from July to the middle of August on this map.

Color screenshot of Great Britain, with a red line tracing up the west coast of the island to Scotland and then down the east coast to London.
Map of Henrietta’s route

The cities and towns the Schroeders visited included Carlisle, Glasgow, Rothesay, Rowardennan, Stirling, Edinburgh, Melrose, Newcastle upon Tyne, York, Rowsley, Warwick, Stratford-upon-Avon, Oxford, and finally London. It’s no wonder she often fell behind in her diary!

I enjoy how Henrietta addressed her diary as if it were another person, calling it “my dear old Journal,” “my darling Journal,” “dearest Companion,” or “my dearest Confidante,” and apologizing when she neglected it. It feels like you, the reader, are having a conversation with her. But she also had another audience in mind: her best friend Caroline “Lina” Wetherill, who she mentioned frequently and missed terribly.

In fact, on July 6, when she received three letters from Lina, she was overjoyed, writing:

You see how she forgot herself entirely, and only thought of me and my well fare, she is the best girl that ever breathed the breath of life!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh! dear! I wish that I were worthy of her!! . . . God bless her she is so sweet. The dear old girl! I wonder what she is doing now, I dare say she is climbing some haystack or perhaps swimming about like a duck in the water. I wonder if she ever thinks of me. Oh! I love her so!!!!!

Close-up color photograph of one page of a manuscript volume. The text is written in black ink and contains underlining, exclamation points, and smudges.
Excerpt from Henrietta Schroeder’s diary, July 6, 1889

The Schroeders were energetic tourists. Here are some of the sights they saw during this period: the Castlerigg stone circle, Carlisle Cathedral, Carlisle Castle, Rothesay Castle, Dunoon Castle, Loch Eck, Loch Katrine, Edinburgh Castle, Holyrood Palace, Melrose Abbey, Abbotsford, Newcastle Cathedral, Durham Castle, Durham Cathedral, York Minster, Haddon Hall, Chatsworth House, Kenilworth Castle, Warwick Castle, St. Mary’s Church in Warwick, Trinity Church in Stratford-upon-Avon, William Shakespeare’s house, and Christ Church and Magdalen Chapel in Oxford.

What I like most about Henrietta is her combination of exuberance and irreverence. From making up songs to chipping off pieces of castles as keepsakes to complaining about her bedtime, she feels real. Her diary is also just plain funny. One entry mentions “that nasty old Cromwell,” like he was a schoolyard bully. And this dismissive aside made me laugh: “My window looks right down on the city, the Cathedral & a ruin of some abbey or something.”

But Henrietta was also growing up. I think we get a glimpse of this in the following passage, about a distant family relation the Schroeders happened to meet in Glasgow.

He has three awfully nice looking boys (they are young men though) and I am going to make a mark on one I know, for he stares at me so already. (Don’t say a word, we must make great friends with them, they are as rich as Croesus.[)]

I’ll pick up the next installment of Henrietta’s story in London.

Posted in From Our Collections Tagged

The Society to Encourage Studies at Home Teaches Me How to Get off My Phone

By Abba Connally, Library Resident

It is the season for many of us to begin making and implementing our 2026 New Year’s Resolutions. Considering the average person today spends 47 hours a week on their phone, I’m sure many others are also considering a resolution to spend less time on their mobile devices. As I look into going more “analog,” I’ve been searching the past to find enjoyable ways to pass the time. One of the examples that I have seen for this is self-paced learning. Some people online call this a “personal curriculum,” and they are meant to be a way to enjoy education for fulfillment rather than work.

As I work on my current project at the MHS, a subject guide on 19th-century intellectual culture in Beacon Hill, I was amazed to run into a self-guided program of study made for women that feels incredibly ahead of its time, not only in its audience, but in the method of instruction. The Society to Encourage Studies at Home, founded in 1873 by Anna Eliot Ticknor, was the first correspondence school in America and functioned as a network of women teaching other women by mail. The purpose was surprisingly conservative; the goal of providing secondary education was not to further women’s careers but to offer them more fulfillment from the home.

The MHS collection houses a variety of materials from the Society to Encourage Studies at Home, including its offered courses, lending library catalog, and a pamphlet entitled “Health,” which gives advice for a healthy and fulfilled life. Looking at these items has given me ideas as to some ways that I can spend my time learning and engaging in hobbies when I’m not at work.

a spread from a printed document with lists of courses and textbooks, including history, natural sciences, art, German literature, French literature, and English literature
Some of the courses offered by the Society

In “Health,” there is a section on how to achieve what may today be called a work-life balance. It discusses how women can balance sedentary work, manual work, exercise, and learning, and argues that all are necessary for balanced wellness.  Something that was particularly notable to me was how the author emphasized the importance of life-long education, stating that many women fall out of the habit and “sink into depression. . . . and may even become insane. They are mentally starved to death.” They also warn against learning too much and advise hobbies for those who are struggling to find balance.

Title page of pamphlet printed with title "Health"
Pamphlet titled “Health,” 1892

As someone who is both a full-time student and works a lot of library desk shifts, I find that I spend a lot of my time sitting. If, like me, this is what your workday looks like, this pamphlet advises that “for those whose work is sedentary, a study of botany or geology is excellent, as it calls them from their houses, and gives a pleasant interest to their walks” Although the weather is cold right now, I may try to get a head start and do some natural science reading for my spring walks.

Looking at the Society to Encourage Studies at Home has helped me build out more of my “personal curriculum” instead of scrolling on social media. I am always reminded of how amazing it is to have such a wealth of information and educational materials constantly within reach, but finding quiet structured time to build mindfulness and find balance is something I am excited to work on in the new year.  In addition to the advice found here, I’m linking items in our collection that relate to tech-free hobbies, and of course, botany and geology.

Resources
Henderson’s handbook of plants and general horticulture
Principles of Geology by Sir Charles Lyell
Treatise on the Art of Knitting by J.B. Aiken
Art of Brewing
The Prescott Family Cookbook
The Art of Penmanship

Further Reading
“The silent university” : the Society to Encourage Studies at Home, 1873-1897 / Harriet F. Bergmann.

Posted in From Our Collections

“If I could put in words my thoughts of you”: What Only Poetry Can Confess 

By Jolivette Shevitz, Library Assistant 

This is the first in a series I am calling “What Only Poetry Can Confess” that will pull out poetry used in diaries or personal letters from the collection and discuss how people have used poetry to express themselves. As an avid poetry writer and reader, I am drawn to exploring how people rely on poetry to say what they may struggle to fully articulate otherwise. Through these poems, whether they are famously well known or have only been seen by their author, we will get a small look into the lives of people in the collection here at the Massachusetts Historical Society.

For this first entry in the series I looked at the Samuel L. Barres papers. Samuel L. Barres has been written about on this blog before, once by Meg Szydlik in her series on disability in the archives and also by Susanna Sigler about Jewish American Soldiers in World War II. Samuel L. Barres trained and served in World War II until his injury during the lead-up to the Battle of the Bulge (Ardennes), losing both of his legs while serving with the 80th Infantry Division. He wrote and received many letters from his future wife Bernice while recovering until they got married in 1946. I want to highlight two poems out of the 10-15 poems that were sent between the two of them in these letters.

Poem "The Old Story" written in ink on paper with letterhead "Walter Reed General Hospital". Poem begins "I try to think of things to say - And yet I said them yesterday. For only yesterday I told you how in my heart I always hold you. Now, if I say the same again, my words would be the same as then."
Letter written by Samuel to Bernice with poem “The Old Story”

The first poem is from Samuel to Bernice, called “The Old Story”, (author unknown). It discusses how repetitive and insignificant all of these declarations of love and missing one another feel in comparison to how great these feelings are. This poem caught my heart as I also live far away from family and often feel the same way. The poem is a beautiful expression of the fact that even though Samuel might be repeating himself in many of his letters, he wants Bernice to know his feelings extend much more than what words exist to say.

Handwritten letter in ink, including a poem that begins "If I could put in words my thoughts of you And say with speech the sounds that mean your name If writing and the tongue could bring to view The thoughts that ever crowd my stubborn brain Then I'd declare in tone of purest gold The thoughts that slumber in my soul so deep..."
Letter written by Bernice to Samuel

The second poem is from Bernice to Samuel. It’s the only poem that she writes to him that echoes a similar message to poem “The Old Story”. This poem was written by a friend of Bernice, Beverly Rosenburg, who saw Bernice writing to Samuel and gave her the poem. Once again the poem seeks to attempt and fail at expressing the deepness of the love Bernice feels for Samuel. It’s very sweet how both of them seem to say the same thing to each other at different times, frustrated almost over their inability to find words for their love.

Black and white photo shows man wearing uniform sitting in a wheelchair and a woman in dark coat standing beside him with arm around shoulder. In the background is what appears to be a decorative fountain.
Samuel and Bernice in front of a fountain.

These poems are just a small piece of their writings to each other, and I encourage anyone to come visit the MHS and read through them all. Both of them have so much life in their letters and it truly was a joy to get a glimpse into their lives.

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