Mrs. Harrison has made many close friends through her books. Once
she was with a party of friends in a Madrid gallery. Her name was
mentioned, and a Spanish lady came forward, and introduced herself, at
the same time expressing her admiration for her.
“She is now one of my dearest friends,” concluded Mrs. Harrison.
Just then, a colored man appeared in her library, bearing a tray,—for
afternoon tea,—so I arose, although she asked me to have a cup of tea,
fearing that I might be intruding, and expressed my wish that she
would soon be at her desk again.
“I suppose I shall,” she said, “for it is irksome being idle.”
Such is Mrs. Harrison’s disposition. Indeed, it is hard to imagine her
idle. Orders are pouring in upon her, which through her present weak
health, she is forced to decline.
But what is my impression about her? She is a gentle, forceful woman,
whose energy and painstaking have placed her in the front rank of
American writers. Without the latter attributes, her talent would have
fallen to the ground.