circumstances. Of course the first few days of my new life were
excessively strange, and I passed through various stages of alarm and
mortification at my own hardihood in entering upon it. But after the
first week I settled down to my work with interest and composure, no
longer disturbed by a fear of detection. For so skilful was my disguise
that during that time I ran the gantlet of the glances both of Roger
Dale and the Honorable Ernest, without exciting the suspicions of
either. I am not sure that the former did not feel as if he had seen my
face before, for he stared at me wonderingly, as it seemed to me, and
for a moment I feared that all was over; but he turned carelessly away,
and observed to my employer, loud enough for his words to reach my
ears,--
"Nice looking girl that, Prime. If you don't look out, I'll offer her
double the salary across the street."
This observation directed all eyes to me, for there were several men in
the group, and among them my English admirer; but in his case, at least,
the adage regarding the blindness of Cupid was strikingly illustrated,
for though he examined me through his lorgnette with evident admiration,
he contented himself with echoing the sentiments of his financial guide,
only a little more euphemistically:--
"She's a daisy, Prime, a daisy. Reminds me too of some girl I've seen
somewhere. I've travelled so much, and seen so many girls, I'm always
noticing likenesses. Jolly expression that, 'She's a daisy.' Only heard
it yesterday; but I'm 'catching on' fast. How's Denver to-day?"
The Honorable Ernest seemed in truth to be "catching on" fast. From the
remarks that were let fall by persons in the office, I judged that he
must have made a great deal of money already under the tuition of Roger
Dale. The success of the latter was on every one's lips. He was coining
thousands daily, and was as shrewd as he was successful, according to
the verdict of those whose sayings I overheard. He was not very often in
our office, and I was glad to see that no intimacy existed between him
and Mr. Prime. Hints dropped in my presence by some of our less flighty
looking customers revealed to me the fact that there were those who
predicted for him a fall as rapid as had been his rise. But I could not
help feeling a little of my former jealousy return, as I noted how slack
and unprofitable our business was compared with his.
I tried my best to make myself of use; and my efforts were quickly
appreciated, for new and more important work was intrusted to me, under
the pressure of which I felt at first completely tired out at night, and
thankful to get to bed. As regards my domestic arrangements, I decided
finally not to change my lodgings, but by dint of explicit instructions
to my landlady and maid, I managed to have my presence in the house
concealed from those of my acquaintances who called. There are always a
certain number of people who do not hear one is in town until after one
has left. It was against such that I needed to take precautions; and
after the impression was duly established that I was really gone, I
breathed freely once more, and gave myself up to my business with little
concern as to the discovery of my innocent deceit. I had to frame such
replies to Aunt Helen's letters and questions as the sensitiveness of my
conscience would permit.
Mr. Prime, in his effort to build up his business, was evidently most
diligent and painstaking, and, as I had observed during my early
investigations, usually stayed at the office until late. Of course I
never left before him, and perhaps it was not unnatural that after a
time we got into the way of walking up-town together. One day he
happened to come back for something just as I was setting out, and he
walked along by my side. Our ways lay in the same direction, and it was
the habit of each of us to walk home for the sake of the exercise. It
seemed to me in no way dangerous or unfitting that I should be otherwise
than at ease in my conversation with Mr. Prime; indeed, I was soon
conscious of a desire to mystify him by giving him a glimpse of my
acquirements. I branched off from the current events of the day to
poetry and art, and to my gratification I found that I had touched a
sympathetic chord in my companion, which not even wonder could restrain
from responding. After this it became Mr. Prime's wont to wait for me
occasionally, and by the time I had been in his employ six weeks, this
became his daily practice. Our intimacy was a curious one, for of course
we avoided all personal and social topics,--I from necessity, and he
doubtless because of the difference in our positions which he supposed
to exist. But on this very account I got a truer impression of his real
self, for he did not feel the hamper of conventions in our talk, and
hence was not affected. He said freely what he thought and believed; and
underneath the tendency to regard everything in a mezzo-cynical,
mezzo-humorous light there cropped out from time to time evidences of
his earnestness and enthusiasm, which as our friendship strengthened
were less and less subordinated to raillery and chaff. Not a whit
inferior in cultivation to myself, he possessed besides a keen analytic
sense which I envied, especially as I felt that it did not steel him
against ideal considerations.
Meanwhile my usefulness at the office was constantly increasing; for my
employer now made me devote my time to various sorts of financial
matters, and I could see plainly that he was puzzled at my aptness. He
expressed the belief that I must have had experience elsewhere, for I
acted, he said, as if I had been accustomed to handle large sums all my
life. He offered presently to raise my salary, but I declared that what
I received was sufficient for my needs. Much of the time I could see
that Mr. Prime was worried, for business though active was in an
unsettled state, and I knew from the books that already his capital was
somewhat impaired. As I have mentioned, he was studiously devoted to his
work, and the only recreation he allowed himself was his daily walk with
me. I often heard Mr. Slayback, our book-keeper, into whose good graces
I managed to ingratiate myself at the end of a fortnight, sigh over the
unremitting industry of our employer, and declare that he would break
down in health before a twelve-month was past.
"He will succeed first, and then he can afford to be an invalid," I
answered; but acting on the old man's solicitude, I did all I could to
lighten the load.
One afternoon, as we were walking home, I noticed that Mr. Prime seemed
especially grave and moody, and I ventured to inquire if anything
serious had happened.
"Oh, no; a mere trifling loss, that is unimportant in itself, but serves
to impress upon me still more deeply how easy it is to imagine and
difficult to perform," he answered. "It seems the simplest thing in the
world to make a fortune honestly, until one attempts it."
"But why are you so anxious to make a fortune?" I asked after a silence.
"Anxious to make a fortune? Because it is my ambition; because I have
always had the desire to try and spend a fortune well. Money is the
greatest power in the world, and every man who is strong and vital seeks
to acquire it. Why did you ask?"
"I have sometimes thought that a large fortune would be an unwelcome
responsibility," I said, noticing how much his words resembled what my
father had said to me. "It would be so puzzling, I should think, to
spend it wisely."
"And for that reason, would you have men afraid to try? How else is the
world to progress? Those who have leisure to think, are those to set
mankind an example," he replied, with a fierceness that made his face
glow.
My own heart welled to my lips at my companion's fervor. He however,
ashamed as it were at the extravagance into which he had been betrayed,
turned the conversation with some careless jest, and for the rest of the
afternoon talked a badinage that did not deceive me.
"At least, let me say that I am very sorry you are worried," I added.
In the indulgence of his subsequent gayety, I noticed that Mr. Prime
seemed to play the dandy more consummately than usual, as though he were
reflecting that come what might he would go down as he had declared,
with a smile on his face and a flawless coat on his back. I had never
known him to be more amusing and nonchalant than in the half hour which
followed his previous outburst. When we reached a flower-stand at the
corner of the streets where our ways divided, he asked me to wait a
minute, and, selecting a boutoniere and a beautiful white rose, he
presented the latter to me.
"You have saved me from much weariness during the past two months, Miss
Bailey," he said. "This flower may brighten the dinginess of your
lodgings."
Alice Bailey was the name by which I was known to Mr. Prime. I was free
to take his words in any sense I chose, and believe that they had
reference to my work at the office or to my companionship, or to both.
In acknowledgment of his politeness I dropped a little curtsy, as I
might have done to any one of my real acquaintances on a similar
occasion; and as I did so, I noticed that he regarded me with a strange
look of admiration.
"You did that," said he, "as if you had never done anything else; and
yet, I dare say you were never in a ball-room in your life."
"Never," I answered with a smile.
"Adaptiveness, that is the word. Our people are so adaptive. But there
is something about you that puzzles me more every day, Miss Bailey.
Excuse my detaining you, but I am in a philosophical vein for the moment
and need an audience. I would walk home with you, but you have always
forbidden me that pleasure. Frankly, you have puzzled me; and that
curtsy caps the climax. There are certain things adaptiveness cannot
accomplish, and that is one of them."
"Have you no faith in the child of Nature?" I asked archly.
"I had none in that sense a few moments ago, but all my theories are
falling to the ground. Forbear though, Miss Bailey," he said with a
sudden air of sportive mystery, "you cannot afford to ruin your chances
of success for the sake of a merely ornamental gift. You play the
_grande dame_ so well, that you are sure to reap the penalty of it.
Forbear, I warn you, before it is too late. I know of what I speak. I
have been a gentleman for years, and I am acquainted with all the ins
and outs of the calling. It is a poor one; avoid it. But you will pardon
this somewhat lengthy monologue. I have kept you from your supper.
Good-night. Come, Ike."
As I tripped across the street, with all the grace and elegance at my
command, I could not resist the temptation to look once over my
shoulder. Mr. Prime stood watching me just where I had left him, and he
raised his hat as he caught my eye, with the style of a cavalier
saluting his mistress. A pretty way forsooth, thought I, for an
aristocratic banker to part from his hired clerk! But I felt sure that
my secret was safe.
Our relations were from this day on a different footing, or rather it
was apparent to me that Mr. Prime was very partial to my society. I
remember that he asked me to walk with him on the following Sunday, and
we spent the beautiful spring morning in sauntering about the Park. I
felt a little sorry for my companion that I should have to appear so
unfashionably attired, but I did not dare to do otherwise. He seemed
wholly indifferent to the circumstance, however, and I think the hours
flew by too quickly for us both. I ascribed my own sensations of
happiness to the loveliness of the weather.
So too it became of frequent occurrence for Mr. Prime to bring me
flowers or books, and our Sunday stroll was repeated again and again. As
the weather grew more balmy we substituted for it expeditions to the
various resorts in the environs of the city, where we could catch a
whiff of the ocean breeze, or refresh our eyes with a glimpse of the
green country. These days were so pleasant to me that I avoided thinking
what was to be the outcome of them. They could not last forever.
Already Aunt Helen's letters expressed an alarm at my long absence,
which I was only too well aware I should soon find it impossible to
allay. My salvation was the fact that she believed Mr. Ferroll to be
still in town: I had failed to tell her of his departure for the West
about ten days after she left. To my letters to her, which were
necessarily laconic, I appended as an invariable postscript, "Not yet,"
by which she would understand that he had not yet put the decisive
question; and sometimes when I feared lest her patience might be
exhausted, I would add, "but I have hopes," which was sure to reconcile
her for the time being to my staying away a little longer. To be sure I
was my own mistress, but I was well aware, notwithstanding, that Aunt
Helen was fully capable of coming on some fine day, with horse, foot,
and dragoons, and putting a summary end to my financial idyl.
I began also to put the question to myself, why I wished to remain in
New York. I had accomplished all that was possible, without revealing my
identity, in the way of supervising the affairs of Francis Prime and
Company. It was clearer to me than ever that a fortune could only be
made by slow degrees, and that years must elapse doubtless before my
protege would attain his ambition. The letters forwarded by Mr. Chelm,
and my own observations on the spot, told me that the affairs of the
firm were only moderately prosperous. Especially was I convinced of the
truth of this last statement, from the fact that my employer had of late
mixed himself up in certain speculations with Mr. Dale, from which he
had made profits sufficient to recoup his previous losses and still show
a balance in his favor. But I knew that he, as well as I, mistrusted the
soundness of the firm across the street, and felt that in yielding to
the temptation of following its lead he was running the risk of serious
losses. Mr. Prime confessed as much to me, and declared that after a
single venture to which he had already committed himself was terminated,
he intended to have no more transactions with Roger Dale.
It was indeed difficult to say why I still continued to remain in Mr.
Prime's employ. Although, as I have indicated, I put the question to
myself sometimes, I shrank from doing so, and felt disposed to let the
future take care of itself, provided I was permitted to enjoy the
present undisturbed. But this was beginning to be more and more
difficult. There were interests at home which could not be longer
neglected without my incurring blame. I belonged to societies and clubs
at which my presence was required. Then, too, it would not be many weeks
before the Honorable Ernest would return to pay his promised visit to
Aunt Agnes, and I felt far from sure that I should not make a mistake to
discourage his advances. There was a wide difference between the sphere
of an Alice Bailey and the Duchess of Clyde.
But still I delayed my return. How well I recall one Saturday afternoon
in June, when as by a common instinct business men seemed to close their
doors earlier than usual, and Mr. Prime and I set off to enjoy a half
holiday in our usual fashion. He was at the height of good spirits, for
the affair in which he was interested jointly with Roger Dale was doing
wonderfully well, and the profits promised to be enormous. Absorbed in
conversation, we failed to notice the close proximity of a rapidly
driven horse, from under the hoofs of which I escaped by a mere hair's
breadth. It was a trivial incident in itself, but the exclamation which
my companion made, and the eager impetuous way in which he expressed
himself regarding my safety, served to open my eyes to the real
condition of affairs between us. There was no use in my seeking longer
to conceal from myself the reason for my remaining in New York. It was
Mr. Prime's society that held me there, and decency bade me to put an
end to our relations at once, but on his account far more than on my
own; for while I flattered myself that my heart was untouched save by
the emotion of a warm friendship, I could not dismiss the conviction
that his feeling for me was rapidly approaching the point at which
friendship becomes an impossibility. I must go, and immediately. It was
foolish and culpable of me to have stayed so long. A girl in the first
blush of maidenhood might excuse herself on the score of not recognizing
the signs of a more than Platonic interest, but for me such an apology
could not be other than a subterfuge. Mr. Prime had worry enough
already, and why add to it the pain of an unrequited attachment? I would
go on Monday. To-morrow we were to walk once more, and I would frame
some excuse, which he would never suspect, for severing our connections.
But parallel with these reflections was a certain element of curiosity
in my mind as to whether Francis Prime would be ever so far carried
away by his liking for me as to ask me to become his wife,--me, Alice
Bailey, his poor, hired clerk! I wondered that I should be especially
interested in the matter, for its ludicrous side was at once apparent;
that is to say, the situations portrayed in cheap contemporaneous
fiction, of beautiful working-girls led to the altar by the sons of rich
bankers, immediately suggested themselves. But nevertheless the thought
haunted me, and I did not feel altogether the degree of contrition at
the idea of having captivated him that I perhaps should have done. If it
was not for myself alone that he loved me, what was his love worth? If
the lowliness of my position deterred him from asking me to marry him, I
was wasting sympathy upon him, and taking needless precautions. The idea
roused me strangely, and I found myself taking sides against myself in
an imaginary debate as to the probabilities of his conduct. It made
every vein in my body tingle, to think that birth or fortune might be
able to affect his decision; and it seemed to me, as I sought my pillow
that night, that I almost hated him.
In the morning I decided that I had probably overestimated his feelings
toward me, and that although I had better go home on the following day,
there was no reason why I should treat Mr. Prime other than as usual. He
was not in love with me; or if he were, he was not man enough to
acknowledge it. I should refuse him if he did; but I hated to feel that
I had been expending so much friendship on a man whose soul could not
soar beyond birth and fortune. Had he not told me that money was the
greatest power on earth? So, too, he had said to my face that a lady
could not be made, but was born. I was irrational, and I was conscious
of being irrational; but I did not care. I would make him wince at
least, and feel for a time the tortures of a love he did not dare to
express. Ah! but such a love was not worthy of the name, and it was I
who was become the fitting subject for the finger of derision, because I
had put my faith in him.
These were the thoughts that harassed me before I met Mr. Prime on
Sunday, and we turned our steps with tacit unanimity toward the Park. I
walked in silence, chafing inwardly; and he too, I fancy, was nervous
and self-absorbed, though I paid little heed to his emotions, so complex
were my own. We had not proceeded very far before he turned to me and
said simply,--
"What is the matter? Have I offended you in any way?"
"Do you think then, Mr. Prime, that my thoughts must always be of you?"
I answered.
"Alas! no. But something has happened. You cannot deceive me."
I was silent a moment. "Yes, something has happened. I am going to leave
New York."
"Going to leave New York!" he stopped abruptly, and looked at me with
amazement.
"Yes," I said quietly. "My aunt has sent for me, and it is imperative
that I should go. She is in trouble and needs me. It is a long story,
and one with which I will not weary you. It is not necessary that you
should be burdened with my private affairs; you have enough troubles of
your own. Let us change the subject, please. But you will have to let me
go to-morrow, Mr. Prime. I am very sorry to inconvenience you, but, as I
have already said, it is imperative."
My words were so cold that I could see he was puzzled, and my heart
softened toward him a little. At least he had been kind to me. He walked
on for a few moments without speaking. We entered the Park, and turned
into a path where we should be unobserved.
"I have no right to inquire into your private affairs, I well know," he
said presently, "but I wish you would let me help you."
"I am sure of your sympathy, Mr. Prime; and if you could be of any
service in the matter, I would call upon you."
"Where does your aunt live?"
"I had rather not answer that question."
He looked grave, and as I glanced at him a frown passed over his face.
"He is thinking doubtless," thought I, "that it is I who have done
something wrong, and am trying to mislead him; or he is reflecting how
wise he was not to offer himself to a woman with whose antecedents he is
unacquainted. He mistrusts me at the first hint of suspicion, and would
sacrifice his love on the altar of conventionality." Curiously enough, I
seemed to take it for granted that he was in love with me.
"And you must go to-morrow?" he asked.
"To-morrow, without fail."
"But you will return soon?"
"I do not expect to return at all."
"Impossible! You cannot go!" he said with a sudden outburst; but he
corrected himself in a restrained voice: "I do not mean, of course, that
you cannot go if you choose."
"I am quite aware, Mr. Prime, that this will cause you great annoyance,"
said I. "If it were possible for me to remain until you could find
another assistant without neglecting duties that are still more
important, I would do so."
He made a motion as though to wave that consideration aside. "No one can
take your place. But that is not all. Let us sit down, Miss Bailey; I
have something to say to you. I had meant to say it very soon, but it
must be said now or never. I love you!"
I trembled like a leaf at his avowal,--I did not even yet know why.
"I love you from the bottom of my soul," he said once more, and now his
words were poured out in a passionate flood, to which I listened with a
strange joy that thrilled me through and through.
"I have never loved before. You are the first, the very first woman in
the world who has ever touched my heart. I did not know what it was to
love until a few days ago, and I could not understand how friendship
should seem so sweet. But last night, when I saw you almost trampled
under foot and swept away forever from me, I knew that what I had begun
to guess, was the truth."
"It is impossible for you to love me. I am merely a poor friendless
girl, without fortune or position," I murmured.
"Yes, yes, you are; and that is the strange and wonderful part of it
all. I love and adore you, in spite of theory and principle and the
judgment of wise men. But I defy their laughter and their sneers, for I
can point to you and say, 'Show me her match among the daughters of the
proud and wealthy. She is the peer of any.' I disbelieved in the power
of Nature to imitate the excellence of woman, and I am punished for my
lack of faith. And how sweet and exquisite the punishment, if only,
Alice, you will tell me that my prayer is granted, and that you will be
my wife."
"Ah! but I should only be a burden to you. I can bring you nothing, not
even an untarnished name, for though you see me as I am, you do not know
what others whose blood is in my veins have done."
"What is that to me?" he cried fiercely; "it is you that I love!"
"But you are striving to become rich. It is your ambition. Have you not
told me so? Money is the greatest power on earth. You said that, too."
"And it was a lie. I had never loved. What is money to me now? But, no,
I am wrong. It _is_ my ambition, and without your sympathy and affection
I shall never attain it."
He gazed at me imploringly, and yet though my eyes were overflowing with
tears in the fulness of my new-found happiness, I still shook my head.
"Listen to me, Mr. Prime," I said quietly, after a short silence between
us. "I am very grateful to you--how could I be otherwise?--for what you
have said to me. Yours were the sweetest and most precious words to
which I ever listened. You have asked me to become your wife, because
you loved me for myself alone: that I can be sure of, since I have
nothing but myself to bring you. It makes me more happy than I dare
think of; but in spite of all you have said to me, I cannot accept your
sacrifice. I cannot consent to mar your hopes for the future with all I
lack. You think you love me now, and I believe you; but the time might
come when you would see that you had made a mistake, and that would kill
me. I am not of your opinion as to the power of Nature to imitate the
excellence of woman. You were right at first. Ladies are born, not made;
and were you to marry in the station of life in which you see me, the
scales would some day drop from your eyes, and you would know that you
had been deceived by love. No, Mr. Prime, I should not be worthy to
become your wife were I to accept your offer. The difference between us
is too great, and the banker and his hired female clerk will never be on
an equality to the end of the world. I am sorry--ah, so sorry!--to wound
you thus, but I cannot permit you to throw your life away."
"Then you do not love me?" he asked, with a piteous cry.
"Love you?" I gave a little joyous laugh before I said, "I shall never
love any one else in the world."
It would take too long to repeat the efforts Mr. Prime made to lead me
to reconsider my resolution. Meanwhile I was racking my brains to find a
way of letting matters rest without depriving him utterly of hope. As he
said, the knowledge that my heart was his only increased the bitterness
of his despair. Happy as I was, I felt bewildered and uncertain. I
shrank instinctively from revealing my identity at once. I wanted time
to think. I scarcely knew the character of my own emotions. At one
moment I blushed with a sense of the web of deceit that I had wound
about him, and at another with the joyful consciousness of our mutual
love. What would he say when the truth was made known to him? Ah! but he
loves me for myself alone, was the answering thought.
I had continued to shake my head as the sole response to his burning
petition; but at last I turned to him and said that if he were content
to wait, say a year, and let his passion have time to cool, I might be
less obdurate. But in the interim he was to make no effort to discover
my whereabouts, or to follow me. He must not even write to me (perhaps I
had a secret idea that too many letters strangle love), but pursue the
tenor of his way as though I had never existed. If at the end of that
time he still wished me to become his wife, it might be I should no
longer refuse. It was better for us both, I said, that we should part
for the present. He must consider himself free as air, and I should
think him sensible if on reflection he strove to banish me from his
thoughts.
"A year is a long time," he answered.
"Long enough, almost, to make a fortune in, as well as to become wise
and prudent."
By making him wait, I should let the banking-scheme develop itself a
little further.
When by dint of my refusal to yield further he was forced to consent to
these terms, we gave ourselves up to enjoyment of the few hours which we
could still pass together. I talked and laughed, over-bubbling with
happiness; but he would sigh ever and anon, as though he felt that I
were about to slip from his sight to return no more. Once in the gayety
of my mood I called Ike to me, and stooped to pat his pudgy sides. "Ike
the imperious, beautifully ugly Ike!" I cried with glee, and with a
daring that but for its very boldness might have disclosed all.
But my lover was in no mood to make deductions. "You seem so joyous,
Alice, one would suppose that you were glad to leave me."
"I am joyous,--yes, very joyous,--for I have been brave enough to save
the man I love from a _mesalliance_."
V.
The effect on a woman of the revelation that she loves him who has
proffered her his heart, is like the awakening of buds in spring, which
beneath the soft mysterious breath of an invisible power burst their
bonds with graceful reluctance, and shyly gladden Nature.
It seemed to me as if I had never lived before. Unlike the untutored
passion of my extreme youth, my happiness was calm and reflective, but
none the less satisfying. Under its sway I found it a comparatively easy
task to overcome the querulousness and revive the hopes of Aunt Helen on
my return home. It was my desire, of course, to avoid any further
deception, and I sought refuge in silence, beyond the statement that the
future Duke of Clyde had gone to the West without making any definite
proposal. But I assured her that he was certain to visit us within a few
months.
I took up the round of my avocations as if nothing had happened. We had
hired a cottage at Newport for the summer, and there I ensconced myself,
and strove by means of books and friends to keep the alternate
exuberance and depression of my spirits within bounds. But though I was
at times melancholy for a sight of my lover, joy was chiefly predominant
in my heart,--so much so that people commented on my cheerfulness, and
Aunt Helen dropped occasional hints which led me to believe she
cherished secretly the opinion that I was enamoured of her idol.
My visits to Mr. Chelm's office were of course renewed. I told him that
I had visited the street where the office of Francis Prime and Company
was situated, and had been pleased at getting a glimpse of it. In answer
to my questions as to what he thought of the progress of the firm he
said very little, except that all business was in an unsettled state,
owing to the speculative spirit that had followed the long period of
stagnation. As yet, my protege seemed to have been generally prudent,
but it needed the experience of a tried business man to resist the
temptations to make money by short cuts presented at the present time.
He judged from the last report sent him, that he had been lately making
one or two successful ventures in a doubtful class of securities, and
he should take it upon himself, with my permission, to give him advice
to avoid them for the future.
I felt an eager desire to say he had already promised that the
speculation in which he was now engaged should be the last; but that of
course was impossible, without disclosing my secret. How should I ever
have the face to make confession to Mr. Chelm when the time came, if it
ever did come?
As the months slipped away, I began to be haunted occasionally by the
thought that a year was a longer time than I had supposed, and it might
be that Francis Prime would take me at my word, and try to forget me. At
such moments my heart seemed to stand still, and a weary vista of
monotonous and never-ceasing maidenhood arose before me. It would be
preferable to die than to be deceived now. I would not doubt; and indeed
I did not doubt. But who can control the changing moods of the
imagination?
I think the consciousness that such a thing as his proving false was a
possibility affected my treatment of my maiden aunts, and made me more
gentle and considerate in regard to their foibles. The early lives of
both of them were sealed books to me, excepting the glimpse Aunt Helen
had given me of hers at the time of my own first sorrow. Who could tell
that there was not in their hearts some bit of cruel treachery or
misunderstanding still remembered though unmentioned, which had seared
and withered existence for them? It was this feeling among others, that
urged me to write to Aunt Agnes and ask permission to spend a day or two
with her before we finally returned to town. She never left the city,
preferring, as she declared, the stability of the bricks and mortar, to
being drowned at the sea-side or mangled by cattle in the country.
Rather to my surprise, she said in her answer that she had been on the
point of writing to me herself, but would now defer mentioning the
matter she had in mind until we met.
As I had divined, the subject that was engrossing her as regards me was
the coming visit of the Honorable Ernest Ferroll. She had heard from him
at San Francisco to the effect that he was on the point of starting for
the East, and that he took the liberty of forwarding to her his letters
of introduction as preliminary to paying his respects to her in person.
But on the particular evening of my arrival I found Aunt Agnes
oblivious to everything except a piece of information which, though far
from incredible to me, had evidently been to her like lightning from a
clear sky. The forbidding manner in which she received me led me to
fancy that I had displeased her; and remembering her previous discovery,
the awful suspicion that she had ferreted out my secret seized me for an
instant. But I was speedily reassured.
"I am glad you are here, Virginia, if only to read this. You were right,
child, after all; and I am an old fool, over whose eyes any one seems to
be able to pull the wool."
She spoke in her sternest tones, and held out to me a newspaper in which
was the announcement of the nuptials of Mr. Charles Liversage Spence and
Miss Lucretia Kingsley,--"no cards."
"Did you not know they were engaged?" I inquired.
"I know nothing but what you see there," replied my aunt; "and what is
more, I wish to know nothing further."
"They have acted for some time as if they were engaged. If they are in
love with each other it seems best that they should be married, after
all," I said, not caring to express my opinion as to the especial
fitness of the match with any greater emphasis.
"In love with each other! What right had she to fall in love with him, I
should like to know?" she exclaimed with indignation. "She a mere
disciple, a pupil, to fall in love with the master; aspire to be the
wife of a man as far superior to her as a planet to an ordinary star!
Bah! Fall in love with him! Tell _me_! It was bad enough when he fell in
love with you, Virginia; but this is fifty times worse, because she knew
better, and understood the value of celibacy to such a life. Her conduct
amounts to utter selfishness."
"I think Miss Kingsley has had designs on Mr. Spence for a long time.
That was why she was so bitter against me," I said.
"Would that you had married him, Virginia! I could have endured that.
But this is disgusting! I never wish to see either of them again,"
emphatically remarked Aunt Agnes.
It was useless to represent to her that Mrs. Spence was very much in
love with her husband, and that on that account would doubtless strive
to make him happy. It was the fact of their marriage that distressed
her; and, unlike me, she did not think of pitying Mr. Spence because of
any flaws in the disposition of his wife. I tried therefore to dismiss
the matter from the conversation as soon as possible; and before the end
of the evening her mood was so far mollified that she introduced the
subject of the Honorable Ernest's arrival.
"Yes, Virginia," she said, "it is forty-one years ago that I made the
ocean passage with that young man's father, and we have corresponded
ever since. That is what comes of being systematic in one's habits. Now,
don't go fancying that there was anything more in it than there really
was. We were friends simply, nothing else. But a friend means something
to me; and I mean to receive this young man into my house, and show him
every attention in my power. And you tell me that you have met him in
New York, and like him very much? I am not a match-maker, Virginia, like
your Aunt Helen; but it would doubtless be very agreeable to both the
families if you young people should happen to take a fancy to each
other. Stranger things have occurred; and since it is evident to me from
an intimate knowledge of your character that you are sure to marry some
day, I know of no one whom it would please me so much to intrust your
future happiness to, as the son of my old friend. His presumptive rank
would probably weigh for more with you than with me. Provided the young
man has high principles and a steadfast purpose, I shall be content."
I laughed gently in reply. I had made up my mind not to thwart the old
lady openly. It would be time enough for that later, if the Honorable
Britain ever should come to the point. It was such a novel coincidence
that my aunts should agree for once on anything, that the thought of
putting myself in antagonism with them did not occur to me seriously for
a moment. I felt the humor of the situation, and was also filled at once
with the desire to harmonize them forever by means of this common
interest.
"We will see, Aunt Agnes, what he thinks of me," I said; and all through
my visit of two days I dropped hints of the efforts Aunt Helen had made
in New York to prejudice Mr. Ferroll in my favor.
"She has spoiled all, I dare say, by showing her hand too openly,"
bristled Aunt Agnes, the first time I mentioned the subject.
"In that case, you will have to let him have a glimpse of the Harlan
pride," I answered. "I shall depend on you not to allow me to be forced
upon him, Aunt Agnes. I am sure, however, that Aunt Helen means well in
the matter. She may be a little indiscreet, but if you were to talk it
over with her I am sure you would come to a satisfactory agreement. Now,
it strikes me as an excellent idea for you to come and spend a few days
with us at Newport. It would give us both very great pleasure. Please do
think of it seriously."
"Newport? Do you take me for a fashionable do-nothing, child? Why, your
aunt wouldn't let me inside the door! I have only six dresses in the
world. Newport! Tell _me_!"
"What nonsense, Aunt Agnes! I promise you that you shall have the
warmest of welcomes if you will come, and you may, if you prefer, wear
the same dress all the time you are there."
I did not press the matter at the moment, but I recurred to it many
times afterwards; and as soon as I got home I told Aunt Helen of Aunt
Agnes' proposal to invite Mr. Ferroll to her own house, and of her
general enthusiasm in regard to his proposed visit.
"Bravo!" she responded, clapping her hands. "Your aunt shows her sense
for once in her life, though one would have to be blind as a mole not to
see that this is one chance in a thousand."
"What should you say to asking her down here for a few days?"
"Certainly, dear. She doesn't know any one, to be sure, and would
probably dress like an antediluvian. But people wouldn't think any thing
of that, if it was whispered around that she is literary and peculiar. I
think on the whole it would be a good plan to ask her. I can give her a
few ideas as to how a nobleman should be handled."
"Precisely," I answered.
Accordingly, Aunt Helen and I each wrote a most urgent letter of
invitation; and after some further correspondence, my efforts were
rewarded with the presence in my house of my father's sister. For the
first twenty-four hours, despite my cordial welcome, I feared every
moment lest she should announce her intention of going home again. Her
manner was so stiff, and Aunt Helen's so airy, that I was apprehensive
of a catastrophe. But at last by the display of tact, and by carefully
humoring their respective prejudices, I drew them gradually together;
and when at last I was taken apart by each of them successively one
evening, to be told that save for certain unfortunate peculiarities her
rival was an uncommonly sensible woman, I felt that I could safely
retire, and leave them to their day-dream of making me Duchess of Clyde.
"Duchess or no duchess, it would be an admirable connection," said Aunt
Agnes.
"And there is no shadow of a doubt that his wife will be a duchess,"
added Aunt Helen.
* * * * *
One day, shortly after we had returned to town, the news reached us that
the Honorable Ernest Ferroll was in New York, and as a consequence there
was great excitement among those who had been told of his projected
visit to our city. In her wish to make the young nobleman comfortable,
Aunt Agnes had yielded to the remonstrances of her former enemy as to
the necessity of renovating her house, and accordingly was absorbed by
plumbers, upholsterers, and decorators, who under the general
supervision of Aunt Helen undermined the customs of a lifetime, but
cemented this new friendship. The last touches were being put to
the improvements, and complete harmony reigned between the two
establishments. To think of Aunt Agnes dropping in on Aunt Helen, or
Aunt Helen drinking tea with Aunt Agnes!
It therefore happened that I was taken very little notice of by my two
relatives, and was free to indulge the sweet current of sentiment, of
which they were so blissfully unaware, to my heart's content. The power
of love, and the power of money! How when united did they each illumine
the other,--they, the two greatest forces of the world!
On the morning following the day on which we heard of Mr. Ferroll's
arrival in New York, I saw a statement in the daily paper which made me
start violently. It was the announcement of the failure of Roger Dale,
banker and broker, with liabilities of three millions and estimated
assets of less than one hundred thousand. I hastened to get ready to
call on Mr. Chelm, but before leaving the house I received a message
from him which read as follows: "Francis Prime is in town, and I have
made an appointment with him for twelve o'clock. You will please come to
the office at once, if possible."
"What has happened, Mr. Chelm?" I asked, as I entered the room where he
was sitting. I tried to seem calm and indifferent.
"Sit down, Miss Harlan. I am sorry to say that your friend Francis Prime
has got into difficulties. Roger Dale, a rather prominent banker, has
suspended payment, and Mr. Prime happens to be one of his largest
creditors."
"Has Mr. Prime failed also?"
"Not yet. But I see no escape for him on his own showing. The
circumstances are peculiar, and indicate deliberate fraud on the part of
Dale; but, as Prime says, he can't let his own customers suffer."
"This is all a riddle to me," I said, a little impatiently. "You forget
that I do not know the facts yet."
"The facts are simple enough; and the whole difficulty, it seems, is
indirectly the result of having anything to do with men who take
improper risks. As I told you the other day, young Prime has been egged
on by the large sums he has seen made in a few days by others, to go
joint account with this man Dale, who has had the reputation of being
very shrewd and successful, and who, by the way, comes from this city.
The speculations turned out very well, especially this last one, which
our friend tells me was to have been his last."
"Yes, I am sure it was," I answered excitedly.
Mr. Chelm looked at me with a blank sort of gaze. "Very likely," he
observed, with a dry smile. "Well, as I was saying, this like the others
was profitable, and Prime not only had enriched himself but some of his
customers who had taken the risk with him. The money was paid to him,
and he made reports of the same to his customers. But the same day Dale
came in and asked Prime to loan him over night the sum he had just paid
in, as a personal favor. Prime says he hesitated, not because he
suspected anything, but on grounds of common prudence. It seemed to him,
however, that it would be churlish and punctilious to refuse to
accommodate the man to whom he owed his good fortune, and so he lent the
money. Next day, Dale failed disgracefully. Of course Mr. Prime feels
bound in honor to pay his customers their profits, which happen to
exceed his capital. There is the whole story."
"I see. And what do you advise me to do?" I asked, after a pause.
"Do?" Mr. Chelm shrugged his shoulders. "I do not see that you can do
anything."
"I can pay his debts."
"You can pay his debts, and you can found a Home for unsuccessful
merchant-princes, if you choose, but not with my consent."
"He has behaved very honorably."
"Pooh! Any honest man would do the same."
"You say he will be here at twelve?"
"At twelve."
"Why did you ask him to come back?"
"You interrogate like a lawyer. I told him I would communicate with my
principal."
"Did he ask for help?"
"Not at all. He was ready to 'stand the racket,' he said. He merely
wished to state the facts. He blamed himself for lack of discretion, and
I could not contradict him. He was immaculate as ever in his personal
appearance, but he looked pale."
"Poor fellow!"
"Yes, it is unfortunate, I admit. But it will teach him a lesson. A man
who wishes to become a merchant-prince cannot afford to trust anybody."
"What a doctrine!"
"Business and sentiment are incompatible."
I was silent a moment. "Mr. Chelm, when he comes here at twelve, I want
you to tell him that he shall not fail, and that I will pay his debts."
"Miss Harlan, do not be so foolish, I beseech you!"
"But I will do this only on one condition, and that is,--that he will
marry me."
"What!"
I blushed before the lawyer's gaze and exclamation.
"Marry you?"
"Yes, Mr. Chelm. Do not be too much surprised. Trust me. I know what I
am doing, believe me. Have I not hitherto usually been moderately
sensible?"
"Up to this time I have regarded you as an uncommonly wise young woman;
but this is sheer madness."
"As you please. But you will comply with my request if I insist?"
"He will accept the offer."
"If he does, you are to give me away, you remember. But I am sure he
will not accept."
"You were sure he would make a fortune."
"But it was you who put the idea of marrying him into my head."
"I am to be made to bear the blame, of course. There is one hope,
however,--he thinks you sixty-five."
"Ah! but he must be undeceived. You must tell him I am young and very
beautiful."
"What madness is this, Virginia?"
"Trust me, Mr. Chelm, and do what I ask you."
"Very well."
"You will tell him?"
"If you insist."
"And I shall be in the other room and overhear it all. Stop, one thing
more. In case he refuses, make him promise to come to see me this
afternoon for a half hour. That at least he will not have the
discourtesy to deny me. But only if he refuses, mind."
"Do you really wish me to make this offer?" said Mr. Chelm, as a last
appeal.
"I was never more in earnest in my life," I replied.
A half hour later, Mr. Prime entered, followed as usual by Ike. I had
made Mr. Chelm promise that he would leave no argument unused to induce
Francis to accept my offer. He looked pale and worn, but there was
nothing despairing or otherwise than manly in his air.
"I have seen my principal, sir," said Mr. Chelm with abruptness. "She is
very sorry for you."
"I thank her with all my heart. And some day I hope to be able to
restore to her the money which I have lost through my credulity."
"It is of that I wish to speak. Please sit down. My client does not
wish you to fail. She will pay your debts."
"Impossible!"
"Please do not interrupt me. But she demands of you a favor in return."
"It is hers to command, whatever it is; but I will take no more money."
"Wait until you hear what I have to say. In consideration of what she
has done for you, and what she is ready to do for you, she asks you to
become her husband."
"Her husband?"
"Yes, that is the favor."
Francis Prime stood confounded, as if he were doubting either his sanity
or that of his companion.
"Her husband? Wishes me to become her husband?"
"Why not? She loves you."
"She is an old lady, you told me."
"Did I? I was trying to conceal from you then that she is young and
excessively beautiful. I will tell you more. She is worth four millions
in her own right."
"What is her name?"
"That I will tell you also,--Miss Virginia Harlan."
"I have heard of her. And she loves me?"
"Desperately. Come, sir, you hesitate, it seems to me. This is a chance
that does not come every day."
"Heavens and earth, what am I to say?"
"Say you accept. You asked my advice once, and now I give it to you
again."
"But I do not love her."
"A mere bagatelle. You would very soon."
"I am of another opinion. I could never love her, for the reason,"--he
paused an instant,--"for the reason that I love some one else."
"Ah! if you are married, that settles it."
"I am not married."
"Young man, you are a great fool then." The lawyer was really waxing
angry. "This young lady is the superior of any man I know. You are
throwing away a prize."
"That may be, sir. But if you recall a speech I made in this office some
six months ago, you will remember that I said I was a gentleman. If I
should accept the offer you make me, I should be one no longer. And I
prize my reputation in that respect more than I cherish anything in the
world."
"This sounds well, sir, but it is childishness. You are bound to make
my client amends for your folly. It is in your power to marry her, and
if you are a man you will make her that reparation."
"Excuse me, Mr. Chelm, it would be foolish for us to argue longer on
this point. I will call again to-morrow, when we are both less excited.
Do not think I wish time to reflect, for my decision is final. But I
should like your client to know that I am not wholly an ingrate.
To-morrow, if you say so, at the same hour."
"Stop one moment. I have one more request to make of you, which you can
hardly refuse, perverse as you seem to be. My client expressed the wish
that in case you should decide as you have done, you would call upon her
this evening at her own house."
Francis bit his lip. "I should be obliged to make the same answer."
"The subject, sir, will not be broached."
"Certainly, then, I will come."
It was with difficulty that I could restrain myself from rushing into
the room and falling at his feet; but when I knew that he was gone, I
went up to Mr. Chelm with the tears in my eyes.
"I did my best for you, Virginia. But the fellow is right. He is a
gentleman. I hated him for causing you such pain, but if he loves some
one else--well--one can scarcely blame him."
"I told you he would refuse me. Do not mind my tears; and promise me
that you will come to-night."
"What new mystery is this?"
"Never you mind; only promise that you will come."
* * * * *
How shall I describe that meeting? To begin with, I went home and broke
the news to Aunt Helen and Aunt Agnes that my husband to be was to pass
the evening with us, and for the moment did not break to them another
bit of news I had heard before leaving Mr. Chelm,--that the Honorable
Ernest Ferroll, having made a large fortune in the stock market through
the agency of Mr. Dale, had withdrawn it from his hands in time, so as
not to have it swallowed up by the failure, and had sailed for England.
It was money he wanted, not me.
But both my aunts, poor old ladies, fancied, I fear, that it was the
future Duke of Clyde who was to be the guest of the evening; and when
Francis Prime was ushered in, although he looked distinguished enough to
be a Prince, Aunt Helen, at least, suspected that there was something
wrong. As I afterwards learned, her air towards my lover was distant and
haughty; and as Aunt Agnes had begun of late to imitate her former
enemy, his reception was not cordial. But while he was looking from one
to another with some hesitation, Mr. Chelm, who was standing in one
corner of the room, by previous agreement pulled away the drapery that
covered the portrait of me painted by Paul Barr, which stood in the
middle of the room.
Francis gave a start, and flung up both his hands. "Who is that?" he
cried.
"That, sir, is my niece," replied Aunt Helen with haughtiness. "Are you
not acquainted with her?"
"Impossible! It is Alice Bailey."
"Yes, Francis," I said, coming into the room, "it is Alice Bailey; but
it is Virginia Harlan as well. The power of love and the power of money!
My own sweet husband, you are mine forever,--that is, if you will have
me. Ike the imperious, beautifully ugly Ike,"--for I had released the
dog from the vestibule to share our happiness,--"you are mine now, as
well as his."
It was thus that I gave expression to my happiness, clasped in the arms
of him I loved, and who loved me, while the others were too dazed to
speak. But when the time came for me to be given away, it was Mr. Chelm
who said the necessary words.
In adding that my aunts never quarrelled again, I have told of my
autobiography all that can possibly interest the public.
* * * * *
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The best companions of all who wish to get the largest possible amount
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each locality. Scores of maps and panoramas. Prices and locations of
hotels, summer resorts, and routes. Newly revised. 400 to 500 pages
each. $1.50 each.
"The Osgood Guide-books are much the best we have ever had in
this country, and they can challenge comparison with Baedeker's,
which is the best in Europe. The volume devoted to the White
Mountains is full, precise, compact, sensible, and
honest."--_New York Tribune._
NEW ENGLAND.
A guide to its cities and resorts, scenery and history. With 16 maps and
plans. $1.50.
"It is a faithful, painstaking piece of work, and condenses into
brief compass a vast amount of information, which all tourists
to the summer resorts of New England will gladly possess."--_New
York Evening Post._
THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
450 pages; 6 maps and 6 panoramas. $1.50.
"As perfect a thing of its kind as could well be produced. It is
simply indispensable to all who visit or sojourn among the White
Mountains."-_Congregationalist._
THE MARITIME PROVINCES.
Nova Scotia, Cape Breton, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island,
Newfoundland, and Labrador. With 8 maps and plans. $1.50.
"By its intrinsic value, copiousness of information, and
impartiality, it is likely to take the place of all other guides
to Canada which we know of."--_Quebec Chronicle._
* * * * *
THE SAUNTERER.
By CHARLES GOODRICH WHITING. Illustrated. $1.25.
"A book of unusual quality and charm. Mr. Whiting is a born
poet, whose prose is often as distinctly and delightfully poetic
as his verse. He is a born nature lover; few young literary men
know our New England weeds, pastures, hills, and rivers so
intimately, in all weathers and under all skies, or have written
of them so well."--_Hartford Courant._
THE STORIED SEA.
By MRS. GEN. LEW WALLACE. $1.00.
"This airily graceful little book carries within it something of
the salt sweetness of the sea, of the fantastic glow of the
Orient, and the cool beauty of classic shores."--_New York
Tribune._
NANTUCKET SCRAPS.
By MRS. JANE G. AUSTIN. $1.50.
OVER THE BORDER.
By MISS E. B. CHASE. With Nova Scotia Views and Map. $1.50.
=TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.=
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THE CHOICEST NOVELS.
The Story of Margaret Kent. By Henry Hayes $1.50
The Prelate. By Isaac Henderson 1.50
Next Door. By Clara Louise Burnham 1.50
Dr. Sevier. By George W. Cable 1.50
For a Woman. By Nora Perry 1.00
Eustis. By Robert Apthorp Boit 1.50
A Woman of Honor. By H. C. Bunner 1.25
Aubert Dubayet. By Chas. Gayarre 2.00
John Rantoul. By Henry Loomis Nelson 1.50
The Duchess Emilia. By Barrett Wendell 1.50
Daisy Miller. By Henry James 1.50
A Reverend Idol 1.50
Where the Battle was Fought. By Charles Egbert Craddock 1.50
The Led-Horse Claim. By Mary Hallock Foote 1.25
Miss Ludington's Sister. By Edward Bellamy 1.25
Eleanor Maitland. By Clara Erskine Clement 1.25
A Washington Winter. By Madeleine Vinton Dahlgren 1.50
Her Washington Season. By Jeanie Gould Lincoln 1.50
His Two Wives. By Mary Clemmer 1.50
Dr. Grimshawe's Secret. By Nathaniel Hawthorne 1.50
A Midsummer Madness. By Ellen Olney Kirk 1.25
The Lost Name. By Madeleine Vinton Dahlgren 1.00
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The Siege of London $1.50
The Author of Beltraffio 1.50
Tales of Three Cities 1.50
ROSE TERRY COOKE'S
The Sphinx's Children $1.50
Somebody's Neighbors 1.50
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The Rise of Silas Lapham 1.50
A Woman's Reason 1.50
A Modern Instance 1.50
Dr. Breen's Practice 1.50
A Fearful Responsibility 1.50
JULIAN HAWTHORNE'S
Love--or a Name $1.50
Fortune's Fool 1.50
Beatrix Randolph 1.50
EDGAR FAWCETT'S
Tinkling Cymbals $1.50
Adventures of a Widow 1.50
Social Silhouettes 1.50
ROBERT GRANT'S
Confessions of a Frivolous Girl $1.25
An Average Man 1.50
The Knave of Hearts 1.25
EDWARD KING'S
The Golden Spike $1.50
The Gentle Savage 2.00
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A Moonlight Boy $1.50
The Story of a Country Town 1.50
The Mystery of the Locks 1.50
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Guenn $1.50
Aulnay Tower 1.50
Aunt Serena 1.25
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Dosia's Daughter $1.25
Cleopatra 1.25
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THE FAMILIAR LETTERS
OF
_Peppermint Perkins_.
16mo, Illustrated.
$1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents.
"These letters have attracted much attention in many quarters,
and the orders for them have come in in large numbers from every
State in the Union. They are original, bright, and breezy, and
seem to strike a familiar chord everywhere."--_Boston Gazette._
"A series of papers touching pretty sharply (and very funnily
withal) upon fashion, society customs, personal frivolity, and
ridiculous pretensions generally. These are addressed to her
friend, 'Poesie Plympton' (who is abroad) in a spirit of most
charming abandon, revealing such a familiarity with the scenes
and subjects that she writes about that no one can doubt she has
been among them taking notes, while her style indicates her
femininity, though there are many who doubt it. There has
nothing more piquant, spicy, and unconventional ever been
published in Boston, and Peppermint 'takes the
cake.'"--_Hartford Post._
"These letters attracted not a little attention at the Hub for
their audacity in kicking over the classic styles and violating
all the established dogmas of dignity and lofty intellectuality.
They are a reaction from the strain and intensity of ordinary
Boston life, and thus supply a clearly defined want. This
explains their local popularity, and gives, also, a reason why
the outside world should turn the pages of the book as a sort of
mirror reflecting a phase of Boston culture. It purports to be
written by a woman, but there are indications that the character
is assumed."--_New York Home Journal._
"This bright series of amusing comments on characteristic
failings of the last decade ... are supposed to be the weekly
budgets of news written by a young girl in Boston to a dear
friend in Venice.... 'Emergency lectures,' fashionable religion,
amateur cooking, horse-car politeness, servants, summer hotels,
symphony concerts, and other Boston topics are wittily touched
upon, and the frailty of human nature, especially of feminine
human nature, is most mercilessly exposed in the various phases
which they suggest."--_The Commercial Bulletin._
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* * * * *
LIFE OF HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
Edited by REV. SAMUEL LONGFELLOW. 2 vols. 12mo. With 5 new
steel-engraved portraits and many wood engravings and fac-similes. In
cloth, $6.00; in half calf, with marble edges, $11.00; in half morocco,
with gilt top and rough edges, $11.00.
"Altogether the most fascinating book that has been published
for months. It is full of the most interesting and picturesque
and poetic things."--_Boston Record._
"One thinks of the gentle scholar as a man who can never have
made an enemy, or lost a friend; and we lay down his
autobiography (for such the book can fairly be called) with a
feeling that in these posthumous pages he has opened a view of
his own soul as beautiful as the creations of his fancy."--_New
York Tribune._
"It is an admirable piece of biographical work, and the story of
the poet's career gives a view of the growth of American
literature that is full of instruction and interest. It is a
book that is sure to become a classic both in this country and
England, and, indeed, in cultivated circles throughout the
world."--_Boston Budget._
"It is needless to add that the publication of these noble
volumes is the literary event of the day, that all continents
will greet it with delight, and that coming ages will quote it
affectionately in recalling that Longfellow was not only a pure
and great poet, which is much, but also a pure and great man,
which is more."--_The Beacon_ (Boston).
"These volumes tell the story of his life with exquisite taste;
they also unfold a panorama of the literary history of America,
and are among the rare and monumental books of the present
century."--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._
* * * * *
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE AND HIS WIFE.
By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. With portraits newly engraved on steel and
vignettes. Two vols. 12mo. In cloth, $5.00. Half morocco or half calf,
$9.00. Edition de luxe, numbered copies, $12.00.
The fullest and most charming accounts of Hawthorne's ancestry
and family; his boyhood and youth; his courtship and marriage;
his life at Salem, Lenox, and Concord; his travels and residence
in England and Italy; his later life in America; and his chief
works and their motives and origins.
"It increases my admiration for the character of Hawthorne and
my respect for his genius as an author."--_R. H. Stoddard, in
The Critic._
"The most charming biography of the year, pure and sweet from
the beginning to end."--_The Beacon_ (Boston).
"Colored with the very hues of life, and bearing the signature
of truth. The reader will close the book with a new admiration
for the pure-minded and honest gentleman who was the greatest
original writer our country has produced."--New _York Tribune._
"And so the inspiration left behind by this biography is that of
increase of happy faith in the power of high, disinterested love
to transmute the prose of daily life into poetry, to give beauty
for ashes, the garment of praise for the spirit of
heaviness."--_Boston Herald._
"Leaves on the mind of the reader a clear perception of
Hawthorne's moral and intellectual character, a vivid impression
of his personal traits, disposition, and habits, as manifested
in the alternations of work and play, in the study, in the
family, and in society, and a singularly distinct and life-like
image of his person."--_George William Curtis, in Harper's
Magazine._
=TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.=
* * * * *
JOHN BODEWIN'S TESTIMONY.
By MARY HALLOCK FOOTE, author of "Led-Horse Claim," etc. 1 vol. 12mo.
$1.50.
"Mrs. Foote is only to be compared with our best women
novelists. To make this comparison briefly, Miss Woolson
observes keenly, Mrs. Burnett writes charmingly, and Mrs. Foote
feels intensely."--_The Critic._
NEXT DOOR.
By CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM, author of "Dearly Bought," "No Gentlemen," etc.
$1.50.
"'Next Door' is a love story, pure and simple. The conversations
are vivacious, with an exceptional charm. The tone of the book
is refined and pure, and it will make itself an especial
favorite among the summer novels."--_Boston Traveller._
TWO COLLEGE GIRLS.
By HELEN DAWES BROWN. 12mo. $1.50.
"A really bright and fresh story.... The author has given happy
expression in a buoyant spirit to a bit of real life of
to-day."--_New York Commercial Advertiser._
"It will undoubtedly receive great attention, from the fact that
it has a value wholly aside from the usual literary value of
fiction. It marks an era in American literary art."--_Boston
Traveller._
THE SPHINX'S CHILDREN.
By ROSE TERRY COOKE. 12mo. $1.50.
Delightful stories of hill-country life in the quaintest and most
singular parts of New England, set forth with the sparkle and the
realism of a Parisian _feuilletonist_.
"In spite of a style which is carefully clear and elegant, in
spite of a tone that is wonderfully pure and healthy, what one
remembers longest in Mrs. Cooke's writings is these dialect
passages, forgetting for their sake her delectable descriptions
of quaint, old-fashioned gardens, pretty girls, odd old maids,
and odder old men, and even forgetting the bit of moral usually
concealed in each story."--_Boston Transcript._
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MR. HOWELLS'S LATEST NOVEL.
_Sixth Edition Now Ready._
INDIAN SUMMER.
1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.
The "Christian Register" says that it has more of sweetness than
all Howells's previous works, that its local color is exquisite,
and that "the situation could not be more attractive than it
is."
The London "Saturday Review" says: "Around and beneath it all is
the exquisite Italian atmosphere, in which no one knows better
than Mr. Howells how to steep his pictures."
The Chicago "Tribune" also finds this subtle characterization:
"The city to which Mr. Howells leads his readers is not the
revelling, brilliant Florence of Ouida. It is rather the
Florence of Hawthorne,--quaint and dreamful. The story reminds
one of a plant which grows in Old-World gardens,--so unobtrusive
it is, and yet so rich in suggestion, so subtle-scented."
The last "Lippincott's Magazine" says: "It will rank with the
most charming of the author's work.... It is almost his first
spiritual work. Not only has Mr. Howells thus risen above his
own standards in this latest work, but he has risen above the
standard of other novelists in one unique respect."
* * * * *
_Twelfth Thousand now ready._
THE RISE OF SILAS LAPHAM.
By W. D. HOWELLS. $1.50.
"'The Rise of Silas Lapham' invited more discussion than any
serial since 'Daniel Deronda.'"--_Publisher's Weekly._
"The dust of his writings is fine gold. Delightful in its
perfection."--_Philadelphia Record._
"The high-water mark of Mr. Howells's great and unique
photographic genius."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"A work of genius; a great and perfect work of its kind."--_New
York Star._
NEW EDITIONS OF MR. HOWELLS'S NOVELS. ($1.50 each.)
A MODERN INSTANCE.
DR. BREEN'S PRACTICE.
A WOMAN'S REASON.
A FEARFUL RESPONSIBILITY.
"There has been no more rigidly artistic writing done in America
since Hawthorne's time."--_The Critic._
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