TEXT. A FRESHMAN'S EXPERIENCE From

TEXT. A FRESHMAN'S EXPERIENCE From "Daddy Long-Legs" by Jean Webster
[29.03.2014 6:44:56] zakirov197: The book "Daddy Long-Legs" by an American writer Jean Webster (1876-1916) is a novel written in the form of letters. The author of these letters, a young girl, Judy by name, writes them to her guardian, a rich man whom she has never seen.
Judy was brought up in an orphan asylum where her life was hard. The children were wholly dependent on charity. They were badly fed and had to wear other people's cast-off clothes. Judy was a very bright girl and when she finished school, her guardian sent her to college.
Judy feels very happy about it. She hopes to become a writer and pay back the money spent on her education by her guardian. About the latter the girl knows almost nothing: she knows that he is a very tall man. That is why she jokingly calls him Daddy Long-Legs.
This text is one of her letters giving us a glimpse of her early college impressions.
October, 25th
Dear Daddy Long-Legs,
College gets nicer and nicer, I like the girls and the teachers and the classes and the campus and the things to eat. We have ice-cream twice a week and we never have corn-meal mush.
The trouble with college is that you are expected to know such a lot of things you've never learned. It's very embarrassing at times. I made an awful mistake the first day. Somebody mentioned Maurice Maeterlinck, and I asked if she was a freshman. The joke has gone all over college.
Did you ever hear of Michaelangelo? He was a famous artist who lived in Italy in the Middle Ages. Everybody in English Literature seemed to know about him, and the whole class laughed because I thought he was an archangel. He sounds like an archangel, doesn't he?
But now, when the girls talk about the things that I never heard of, I just keep still and look them up in the encyclopedia. And anyway, I'm just as bright in class as any of the others, and brighter than some of them!
And you know, Daddy, I have a new unbreakable rule: never to study at night, no matter how many written reviews are coming in the morning. Instead, I read just plain books — I have to, you know, because there are eighteen blank years behind me. You wouldn't believe what an abyss of ignorance my mind is; I am just realizing the depths myself.
I never read "David Copperfield", or "Cinderella", or "lvanhoe", or "Alice in Wonderland", or "Robinson Crusoe", or "Jane Eyre". I didn't know that Henry the Eighth was married more than once or that Shelley was a poet. I didn't know that people used to be monkeys, or that George Eliot was a lady. I had never seen a picture of the "Mona Lisa" and (it's true but you won't believe it) I had never heard of Sherlock Holmes.
Now I know all of these things and a lot of others besides, but you can see how much I need to catch up.
November, 15th
Your five gold pieces were a surprise! I'm not used to receiving Christmas presents. Do you want to know what I bought with the money?
1. A silver watch to wear on my wrist and get me to recitations in time.
2. Matthew Arnold's poems.
3. A hot-water bottle.
4. A dictionary of synonyms (to enlarge my vocabulary).
5. (I don't much like to confess this last item, but I will.) A pair of silk stockings.
And now, Daddy, never say I don't tell all!
It was a very low motive, if you must know it, that prompted the silk stockings. Julia Pendleton, a sophomore, comes into my room to do geometry, and she sits crosslegged on the couch and wears silk stockings every night. But just wait — as soon as she gets back from vacation, I shall go in and sit on her couch in my silk stockings. You see the miserable creature that I am — but at least I'm honest; and you knew already, from my asylum record, that I wasn't perfect, didn't you?
But, Daddy, if you'd been dressed in checked ginghams all your life, you'd understand how I feel. And when I started to the high shool, I entered upon another period even worse than the checked ginghams. The poor box.6
You can't know how I feared appearing in school in those miserable poor-box dresses. I was perfectly sure to be put down in class next to the girl who first owned my dress, and she would whisper and giggle and point it out to the others.
To recapitulate (that's the way the English instructor begins every other sentence), I am very much obliged for my presents.
I really believe I've finished. Daddy. I've been writing this letter off and on for two days, and I fear by now you are bored.
But I've been so excited about those new adventures that I must talk to somebody, and you are the only one I know. If my letters bore you, you can always toss them into the waste-basket.
Good-bye, Daddy, I hope that you are feeling as happy as I am.
Yours ever, Judy.