MISS 
 CURTIS 
 
 GKNNETT -WELLS
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 L
 
 53g tfje Same 
 
 ABOUT PEOPLK. 
 
 A Volume of Essays. 
 
 THE TRANSITION OF AMERICAN WOMEN, 
 CASTE IN AMERICAN SOCIETY, 
 LOYALTY AND LIBERTY, 
 
 PERSONAL INFLUENCE, 
 
 WHO 's WHO. 
 
 Earnest in purpose, sparkling in manner. Christian 
 Register. 
 
 An amount of good sense, honest thinking, and wide ex 
 perience which it will do everybody good to heed. Beacon. 
 
 Fresh, breezy, and piquant. Independent. 
 
 Full of thought, rich in suggestion, and abounding in the 
 practical ethics of life. Boston Advertiser. 
 
 Sold by booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price 
 (| i. 2 5), by the publishers, 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.
 
 MISS CURTIS
 
 MISS CURTIS 
 
 a 
 
 BY 
 
 KATE GANNETT WELLS 
 
 ACTHOB OF " ABOUT PEOPLE," " LESSONS HI ETHICS," " ODTimiS FOB, 
 CONVEBSATION AKB STTTDT," ETC. 
 
 BOSTON 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY 
 
 211 Crnnont Street 
 1888
 
 Copyright, 1887, 
 BY KATE GANNETT WELLS. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Sm&trjsttg tyrtsa: 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
 
 95 
 315% 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE FIRST CALL 9 
 
 II. BROTHER AND SISTER 15 
 
 III. CHRISTMAS 23 
 
 IV. REVENGE 35 
 
 V. QUITS 42 
 
 VI. OLIVE 49 
 
 VII. AN INTRUDER 58 
 
 VIII. THE DANCING-CLASS 69 
 
 IX. EQUALITY 78 
 
 X. THE CLUB 89 
 
 XI. EARNESTNESS 96 
 
 XII. MAKING FIRES 110 
 
 XIII. SNOBBISHNESS 119 
 
 XIV. CONVENTIONALITY 130 
 
 XV. A Box 140 
 
 XVI. PANSIES 149 
 
 XVII. FARMER NUTTING 161
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVIII. Miss Cmms's CLIENTS 169 
 
 XIX. THE BAPTISM 183 
 
 XX. THE CANDY-PULL 196 
 
 XXI. HIRED HELP 208 
 
 XXII. GOOD-BT 220 
 
 XXIII. AFTER-THOUGHTS . . . . . . 228 
 
 XXIV. LITTLE MAMMA 239 
 
 XXV. HOBBIES 251 
 
 XXVI. PURPOSE 262
 
 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE FIRST CALL. 
 
 Two quaint little figures were walking 
 np Beacon Street with that old-fashioned 
 air which belongs to immature responsi 
 bility, when there is something to be done 
 that is of greater importance to the doer 
 than to any one else. 
 
 " Do you suppose, Olive, that we 've got 
 to make grateful calls when you are a 
 teacher and I'm in college?" 
 
 " I rather go without things, Owen, than 
 have to take some things and have to 
 thank people for other things," was the 
 eager, vexed reply ; " but don't let us talk,
 
 10 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 I 'm 'fraid I shall forget. It is just like 
 learning your part in a play. First it is 
 i How do you do ; ' and, ' How do the fam 
 ily do ; ' and, How do I do. And then it 
 is weather ; and then it is how old you are, 
 and where you go to school ; and next it is 
 general news, and then it is advice, and last 
 it is good-by ; " and the little face looked 
 out from its mass of short brown curls as if 
 it saw in every passer-by a stage prompter, 
 who hissed at her the opening words of 
 each sentence. 
 
 " I wish I 'd read the newspaper," ob 
 served Owen, reflectively. " I can only 
 think of family news and funerals. Let 
 us hurry or you '11 forget, Olive.'* 
 
 The two children hastened their speed, 
 and went up the broad, curving, stone steps 
 of a mansion. Owen laid his hand on the 
 bell, but forbore to pull it till he was sure 
 by the motion of Olive's muttering lips 
 that she knew her part. They were ush 
 ered into the presence of a fine old lady,
 
 THE FIRST CALL. 11 
 
 who seemed to be evolved from the fleecy 
 cloud which she was knitting. She wel 
 comed the visitors with a benignity that 
 disturbed the order of Olive's mental ex 
 ercises, so that the girl could not recover 
 her composure sufficiently either to answer 
 Mrs. Preston's question or to ask the first 
 in her own planned series of inquiries, 
 but burst forth into a torrent of words that 
 grew in rapidity until it ended. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, thank you, the family is 
 pretty well, and I am pretty well, and it 
 is a real pleasant day, and I suppose I 
 ought to be grateful for it; but weather 
 and such things don't seem to make much 
 difference to me, now I 've got to grow up ; 
 and I am eleven years old, and I go to Miss 
 Flint's school, and I don't like it, because 
 she gives us flowers and says they are 
 virtues and that we must cultivate them ; 
 and I don't like being a garden and full of 
 weeds myself ; and there is no news, and I 
 try not to forget the advice they all give
 
 12 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 me, though it is n't true, and " She 
 paused, and turning to her brother whis 
 pered, "That's all, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes," said he, solemnly, and then added 
 aloud to the lady on his own account, 
 " Papa has finished his sermon and mam 
 ma 's got to the heel of her stocking, and 
 we 're going." , 
 
 The lady with the high curls enclosing 
 her forehead, and with her well-bred man 
 ner, looked at them with an amazement 
 which increased at each word. Suddenly 
 realizing it all, their stern, comical sense 
 of duty, their queer distress, their droll awk 
 wardness, and the feat of memory accom 
 plished, she dropped her knitting, drew 
 Olive down by her on the sofa, and kissed 
 her shining eyes with such a touch of 
 comprehension that the child felt instantly 
 freed from her burden of civility, and as 
 if she had received a high mark for a com 
 position. Impulsively she threw her arms 
 around Mrs. Preston, saying,
 
 THE FIRST CALL. 13 
 
 "Did you ever make calls when you 
 were growing up ? Was it easier in the 
 old times than it is now ? " 
 
 The lady looked wistfully at the trou 
 bled countenance that sought hers, with 
 its burden of self-imposed duty and self- 
 examination stamped on every feature ; 
 then slowly caressing the clustering curls, 
 she answered, 
 
 " I don't think I ever took life so con 
 scientiously as you do, dear ; but life does 
 grow easier as one grows older, for one 
 understands it better." 
 
 Olive looked puzzled ; yet she played with 
 Mrs. Preston's rings and twirled them round 
 on her own fingers, and wondered if dia 
 monds and sapphires atoned for being old. 
 
 Owen had withdrawn to the table of 
 carved ivory chessmen ; each pawn was two 
 inches high, and the castles were true for 
 tresses of defence. He was displeased. 
 Mrs. Preston had tried to take his hand, so 
 he had thrust one into his pocket and hud
 
 14 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 severely clenched his cap with the other. 
 She, in return, changed her tactics, and her 
 manner became so adroitly appreciative of 
 his sense of offended family honor, that his 
 silent wrath against his effusive sister was 
 appeased, and he condescended to allow 
 himself to be entertained. Inwardly he 
 vowed that he would have nothing, more to 
 do with girls ; they could not be trusted, 
 they were so emotional. 
 
 The minutes wore away, and the children 
 bade good-by in a much more natural man 
 ner than that in which they had given their 
 greeting. 
 
 " We 've got through it first-rate ; " ex 
 claimed Owen, forgetful of his previous 
 wrath, as they went down the hill. 
 
 " Yes," replied Olive, " only I forgot to 
 ask her first how she did; but then, you 
 told her about mamma's stocking-heel, so 
 that makes up. Did you see her rings, 
 Owen ? " and Olive drew a long sigh. 
 
 But all this happened long ago.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 OLIVE and Owen were brother and sister. 
 Their father, for aught they knew, had 
 always been a minister. Their mother did 
 not seem to them much older than they 
 two were, put together ; for she was not so 
 afraid that she might not do what was 
 proper as was Owen, and she was a great 
 deal prettier than Olive. 
 
 The home was one of principles, not of 
 rules. This was a great disturbance to 
 Owen, as it obliged him to settle matters 
 himself, when he much preferred to have 
 things settled for him. It also had the 
 disadvantage of making him feel as if the 
 fate of nations depended upon his own 
 rectitude much more than was at all prob-
 
 16 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 able. Mrs. Cadwallader's method of edu 
 cation in enabling the children to govern 
 themselves, rather than her insistance upon 
 any special code of regulations, kept Olive 
 in a state of constant effervescence. The 
 child explained herself by saying that she 
 never knew how far down she should settle, 
 and that when she got to the finality of any 
 thing there was little of it ; though it was 
 just like the sediment in any other process 
 of thinking, right for right's sake. 
 
 A lady parishioner, of the genus remon 
 strant, once asked Mrs. Cadwallader if she 
 were not running a risk in making her 
 children responsible beings too soon. 
 
 "No," replied she; " I want them to feel 
 the sense of universal relationships before 
 they can understand what those words 
 mean. If they can but dimly apprehend 
 that law, it will prevent them from be 
 coming conventional. There is nothing so 
 deadening for children as a perception of 
 conventionality."
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 17 
 
 The parishioner shrugged her shoulders 
 to such a degree that her chest expanded, 
 and asked, 
 
 "How did Philadelphia compare with 
 Boston when your husband was settled 
 there ? Since -the Revolution its ladies are 
 said to have grown very recherche." 
 
 "Oh," answered Mrs. Cadwallader, "one 
 can never move away from the neighbor 
 hood of conventionality in either city, but 
 one can at least keep its' spirit out of one's 
 own home. And as for the weight of 
 responsibility resting too heavily upon chil 
 dren, the gymnasium and athletics keep it 
 from pressing upon their bodies ; it only 
 floats over their minds." 
 
 " But in Philadelphia, my dear Mrs. 
 Cadwallader, each lady knows her own 
 place ; and it is not fashionable I mean, 
 no necessity exists there for reasoning." 
 
 " Intuitions are incomparably shorter 
 than logical processes," was the curt 
 reply.
 
 18 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 Thus slowly and apparently unevenly, 
 under the influences of free inquiry and of 
 a categorical imperative, Olive and Owen 
 grew up, loving their mother with an ardor 
 which perhaps would have lessened if they 
 had guessed how she guided them. She 
 trusted much to the arguing faculty em 
 bedded in every child, as a counter-irritant 
 against weak committal of silly deeds or 
 sillier thoughts, and she allowed her boy 
 and girl to work out their own solution of 
 moral problems. 
 
 For a long while "couldn't" and "would 
 n't" were mixed up in the children's 
 minds. Olive and Owen had debated the 
 subject, until each was on the other's 
 side. They were never quite sure when 
 "couldn't" was apology, or when "would 
 n't" implied obstinacy. 
 
 " You know," Owen stated, " I could n't 
 do the things I would ; I could n't run a 
 quarter-mile in fifty-two seconds, I could 
 not jump twenty-two feet, even if I would."
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 19 
 
 "But you know/' replied Olive, "that 
 you would n't be either a sneak or a ' snipe,' 
 if you could be. I tell you, Owen, you 
 just notice how it is ; with girls it is always 
 could n't, because we have not got so much 
 daring in us ; and with boys it is would n't, 
 because they are set in their ways." 
 
 Olive was such an honest-minded child 
 that she never learned the art of not telling 
 all she saw, heard, and thought. With her, 
 the truth seemed to mean its delivery at 
 the wrong time, so that she was constantly 
 readjusting herself to circumstances which 
 might never have occurred if she had not 
 said too much. She secretly nourished a 
 romantic ideal of her first and only love, 
 the hero of her future life, w r hose proto 
 type should guide her earliest years. Noth 
 ing made her more wretched than. a joke 
 which in any way reflected upon her single 
 ness of heart. All boys, except the vision 
 ary one of the future, were to her as so 
 many girls. To speak to her of any special
 
 20 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 one as her little beau would excite her 
 utmost indignation. 
 
 There was a tale in the family, that 
 when not more than eight years old she 
 had rung a neighbor's door-bell and asked 
 if Mrs. Manahan were at home. 
 
 "No, miss," replied the maid, who had 
 answered the summons. " Will you leave 
 your message ? " 
 
 "Yes," returned Olive, drawing up her 
 little figure with a determined air. " Yes ; 
 tell Mrs. Manahan that I am Olive Cad- 
 wallader, and that I came over here to tell 
 her there was no truth in that story about 
 me and John, the girls don't know any 
 thing about it. You tell her I 'm not in 
 love with John anyway; he is too little 
 for me, and he is n't very good-looking 
 either." 
 
 " Oh," observed the maid, half amused, 
 and half zealous for the reputation of the 
 family she served, "you are not so good- 
 looking yourself, with your freckles and
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 21 
 
 your coarse hair, that you need be so 
 particular." 
 
 " I know I 'm not," returned Olive, calm 
 ly; "but mamma says I shall be smart 
 some day." 
 
 Olive adored her brother, in spite of his 
 many futile efforts on behalf of her im 
 provement in conventional ways. She con 
 sidered the most heroic act of her life to 
 have been a compulsory visit away from 
 home without him, when she regularly 
 cried herself to sleep for want of Owen. 
 
 " Owen must go to school," reasoned her 
 mother, " so he could not come with us." 
 
 " Oh, mamma," she said, between her 
 sobs, " I don't care whether or not he is a 
 scholar, if he will only love me. I want 
 Owen, my brother ; I can't help loving my 
 fellow-creature, my Owen." 
 
 Her submission to him had once been 
 carried so far that it threatened to give her 
 a chronic cold. When Owen found that it 
 was incumbent on him to take charge of
 
 22 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 his sister out of doors, it became necessary 
 for him to invent plays in which she could 
 not interfere. One of the most successful 
 was that of station-master, to which pre 
 eminence she was daily elected. While he, 
 with other boys, could be seen careering 
 up and down the sidewalk on their veloci 
 pedes, as if they were driving engines, 
 Olive could be found ensconced in the cor 
 ner of a doorstep, her teeth chattering, her 
 nose, hands, and feet cold, in consequence 
 of her appointment, which compelled her 
 to remain quiet in one place. 
 
 Notwithstanding her affection for Owen, 
 there was one point on which she owed 
 him a grudge. He was much larger than 
 she, and as Mrs. Cadwallader was obliged 
 to be economical, she sometimes insisted 
 upon Olive's wearing the merino shirts 
 which Owen had outgrown. Olive rebelled, 
 alleging that to wear any part of a boy's 
 dress was one of the most painful, personal 
 experiences a little girl could undergo.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 MRS. CAD WALL ADER had great faith in 
 the many excellences derived from making 
 calls. She did not believe in the sudden 
 coming out of girls, now so much in fash 
 ion. She preferred that they should im 
 perceptibly slide into society, and that 
 there should never be any special age in 
 which children should feel themselves ex 
 empt from the duties either of entertaining 
 or being entertained. As Mr. Cadwallader 
 was a minister, the children had had many 
 experiences in this direction, when Owen 
 was called gentlemanly and Olive frank ; 
 both adjectives conveying a sense of disap 
 probation to their youthful minds, as was 
 indeed meant, especially when Olive either
 
 24 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 violently avoided or stolidly endured the 
 effusive greeting of personality conveyed 
 in a kiss. 
 
 Christmas had become a season of agony, 
 as each gift entailed a call, or worse still 
 a grateful note, which had to be correctly 
 spelled and neatly written. Many a time 
 had Owen declared that he would rather 
 be an illiterate hermit than have to write 
 his "Thank you." There was a sad 
 monotony and a just appreciation of the 
 giver's excellence in all the letters, which 
 would have made any one of them a type 
 of the others. 
 
 There had been one Christmas in his 
 life which for prearranged malice had ex 
 ceeded all the discomforts of other jubilees. 
 Owen and Olive were invited to a Christ 
 mas party with six other children. The 
 invitations said that each one was to choose 
 his own present. What could be more 
 delightful? Imagination had run riot from 
 bicycles, guns, and skates to dolls and
 
 CHRISTMAS. 25 
 
 jewelry. At the appointed hour the eight 
 children appeared at Miss Curtis' s. She 
 received them in an old-fashioned square 
 room, full of heavy mahogany furniture. 
 Tall candlesticks of blue wedgwood with 
 crystal pendants were ranged on the high 
 mantel-piece. After questioning them in 
 the inane, stereotyped manner in which 
 people ask about home and school, she 
 observed, 
 
 " Children, I like to study character, so 
 don't be frightened. Do just as you feel; 
 it is a big house. I'm going to take you 
 in to the presents by couples, and when you 
 have chosen, you can stay by yourselves in 
 twos until supper is ready, and then you 
 can go home;'" she gave a little groan, 
 adding, " I shall know your characters." 
 
 "What is that?" whispered the young 
 est of the group. 
 
 " It 's yourself," answered Miss Curtis, 
 solemnly, for she had overheard the re 
 mark. After that no one spoke.
 
 26 3/755 CURTIS. 
 
 Bob and Gracie went first. What hap 
 pened to them was never known, only that 
 Miss Curtis was gone a long time, and had 
 a strange expression on her face when she 
 again entered the parlor. At last came 
 Owen's turn, with Olive. They were 
 ushered into a room in the centre of 
 which stood a large table. On it there 
 was a pile of beautiful dolls of all sizes 
 and dressed in every fashion. Next to 
 them was a heap of big shells, then a 
 heap of little shells and chocolate creams. 
 Drums and trumpets lay close to spelling 
 and arithmetic books. Empty purses and 
 pyramids of coppers were contrasted ; a 
 coral pin and a bit of sponge coral ; a 
 jointed wooden snake and a snake with 
 a toad in its mouth, preserved in a bottle 
 of alcohol, were in juxtaposition. 
 
 Olive and Owen walked round and round 
 the table. Miss Curtis, perched on a whirl- 
 a-gig high-chair, watched every movement 
 and expression. The children were awed.
 
 CHRISTMAS. 27 
 
 Choice was more difficult than in the fa 
 mous selection of Portia's caskets. Five, 
 ten minutes passed. 
 
 " Time 's up. Choose, but don't touch. 
 Nothing is certain in life," announced Miss 
 Curtis. 
 
 Owen had begun to suspect foul play ; 
 he was determined to know his fate at 
 once, so he faced Miss Curtis squarely, put 
 one foot in front of the other, and in a 
 bravado tone demanded, 
 
 "Can I have what I want, or what I 
 don't want?" 
 
 " That depends," was the answer. 
 
 " "Well, how many things can I have ? " 
 asked Owen, rather impatiently this time. 
 
 " That depends still more." 
 
 He looked at her as a youthful offender 
 eyes the judge ; his sense of justice was 
 aroused. It was not April Fool's day ; the 
 written invitation had said they were to 
 choose their own presents. 
 
 " But you have not told me yet how
 
 28 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 many I can choose," said he, after re 
 flection. 
 
 " That too depends : manner is more 
 than words." 
 
 " Umph ! " muttered Owen, indignantly. 
 
 " Eh!" remarked Miss Curtis, maliciously. 
 
 " Umph ! " muttered Owen again; " if I 
 am in for it, I may as well be blamed for a 
 dozen as for one." 
 
 " Eh ! " observed Miss Curtis again, with 
 rising inflection. 
 
 Owen's courage rose. " Very well," be 
 gan he ; "I '11 take a drum and trumpet, as 
 they go together, the coppers, the snake 
 that has got the toad in its mouth, and " 
 he looked pityingly at the half-swallowed 
 captive, and dropped into a chair, fright 
 ened at his own temerity. 
 
 Miss Curtis's countenance had become 
 impenetrable. 
 
 " It 's your turn, child," she said to Olive. 
 
 The girl had been wondering if it would 
 be any use to pray upon the matter ; she
 
 CHRISTMAS. 29 
 
 did not want to bungle, as she usually did, 
 but she could not think of anything pleas 
 ant to say. The old formula of the grate 
 ful letters she had written came to her 
 mind, and she began and rattled it off in 
 the same way in which she had rehearsed 
 her part when she and her brother called 
 on Mrs. Preston. 
 
 " I think you are very kind to remember 
 me, and T am very much obliged to you, and 
 I hope you had a merry Christmas, and 
 will keep well all winter, and your presents 
 are very " she hesitated " remarkable," 
 she continued, " and just what I want." 
 
 She stopped short, and in spite of all her 
 self-control began to tremble. 
 
 Whether it were the words, or the sight 
 of the terror she had inspired, Miss Curtis' s 
 expression rapidly softened, though her 
 tone was as severe as ever as she asked, 
 
 " Well, which is it ? " 
 
 " This," said Olive, laying her hand on 
 a common conch-shell. " Thank you very
 
 30 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 much," but not knowing what she was say 
 ing .or touching. 
 
 "Take it!" shouted Miss Curtis"; and then 
 in a lower tone, " I would n't have believed 
 it, I wouldn't have believed it, and that 
 coral pin right there ! " 
 
 She rose and showed the children into 
 another room, Owen with nothing in his 
 hand and Olive with her shell. The door 
 was slammed to. Owen, grown preternatu- 
 rally old within the last fifteen minutes, 
 peaked through the key-hole and listened. 
 When he had convinced himself that no 
 one was outside, he strode up and down the 
 room, exclaiming: "It isn't fair! She's 
 the meanest old cat I ever saw ! She 's a 
 shirk, a regular fraud ! I '11 be even 
 with her, I will ! I '11 send her jelly-cake 
 stuffed with red pepper ! I '11 put castor-oil 
 into it ! I '11 burn up those hateful things, 
 and she sha' n't have any insurance ! " 
 
 " Stop, mercy's sake, stop ! " exclaimed 
 Olive. " Wait till we get home. Oh, dear !
 
 CHRISTMAS. 31 
 
 I shall cry. What do I want of this pesky 
 old shell ? I had n't the courage to take 
 anything, but I did n't exactly mean to 
 take this. I should have died right down 
 like Ananias and Sapphira if I had taken 
 the pin ; it was just lovely ! " 
 
 The brother and sister threw themselves 
 on a sofa, half laughing, half crying, and 
 talking. In a little while some one en 
 tered wearing a mask. Olive declared 
 afterward that it was a man ; but Owen 
 always asserted that it was a woman. The 
 form opened the door, saying, 
 " She wants you to come to supper." 
 In the dining-room they found the other 
 
 fe 
 
 children, who seemed to be joyless, yet still 
 anticipating. They had nothing in their 
 hands. The shell was in Olive's pocket. 
 It was a good supper; four helmeted sol 
 diers of pink, green, brown, and white ice 
 cream guarded the corners of the table ; 
 oysters, candies, jellies, lemonade, snappers, 
 but no one dared to snap. In the cen-
 
 32 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 tre of the table lay lengthwise a baby. Its 
 skin looked warm and soft. How could it 
 be so quiet ? It was neither a white baby 
 nor a negro baby; could it be an Indian 
 pappoose ? Where did it come from ? The 
 oysters were eaten ; it was time for the 
 ice-cream. How queer not to have cake 
 with it ! 
 
 "Children," began Miss Curtis, "peo 
 ple nowadays are getting too particular 
 about their food ; cooking-schools spoil 
 them, and make them expensive, so they 
 use olive oil when lard is good enough for 
 frying ; pork is all my mother ever had, 
 sweet pork from her own corn-fed pig ; so 
 I 've got a baby for you to eat. Give me 
 the knife, Michael ! " 
 
 She took it from the waiter and bran 
 dishing it aloft, asked, " Will you have a 
 leg or an arm ? " 
 
 No one spoke. Some were appalled, 
 others were puzzled, two were inclined to 
 take it as a huge joke. Owen was deter-
 
 CHRISTMAS. 33 
 
 mined not to bear any more trifling ; so 
 he answered, 
 
 " A piece of the liver, ma'am." 
 
 Plunge went the knife into the baby, 
 out came the red spurting stream ; a cry of 
 horror went up from the children. 
 
 " It 's cranberry ; it 's stuffed with cran 
 berry sauce ! " shouted Owen, who had 
 pushed up close to the table and put his 
 finger into the gushing jet, and then had 
 thrust his finger into his mouth and 
 smacked his lips. 
 
 Miss Curtis fairly glowered at him. The 
 company, once convinced that it was a 
 hideous joke, crowded about the table and 
 indulged in feeble fun. 
 
 " Let 's eat her up ! " " My ! ain't she fat, 
 though?" "She's real tender!" "Let's 
 play we are cannibals ! " " See who can 
 eat the most ! " 
 
 They did eat, so well and so fast that 
 legs, arms, head, sponge-cake outside 
 and cranberry sauce inside, soon disap- 
 
 3
 
 34 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 peared; and they all went home vowing 
 that they would never eat any more babies, 
 and that next time they would go some 
 where else to get their presents. Only 
 Owen remarked to his father, 
 
 "I shouldn't think your sermons could 
 have done as much good as might be ex 
 pected, papa ; but perhaps Miss Curtis 
 always went to sleep when you preached 
 about Christmas."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 REVENGE. 
 
 WHEX Olive had recovered from the dis 
 appointment of Miss Curtis's Christmas, she 
 recognized in it the designs of Providence 
 as hints to her concerning the study of 
 character, which she in turn intended to 
 apply to that lady. After due reflection, 
 she decided it was proper to make a party 
 call upon that curious woman ; but she 
 could induce Owen to accompany her only 
 as far as the door, where he said he would 
 wait to see if she came out alive ; though he 
 gave her his card to leave, in true manly 
 fashion. 
 
 "Well, what did you find," was his 
 question as she appeared, " fish, flesh, or 
 fowl?"
 
 36 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 "Neither," answered Olive. "It's wo 
 man ; she 's to be pitied." 
 
 " Are you going to take care of her ? " 
 
 " I 'm going to see what I can do about it. 
 Something 's got to be done. She 's going 
 to have another party, something like 
 the other, only no baby, to find out more 
 people's characters, and I 'm thinking how 
 we can stop her without killing her wholly. 
 It 's our duty, Owen." 
 
 " What did she say to you ? " 
 
 " Say ! Why, what do you think she 's 
 going to do ? She 's actually going to in 
 vite some poor children, and put money 
 and toys about and pretend not to watch, 
 and then see if they won't steal ! She says 
 people are always wicked, and you 've got 
 to find 'em out beforehand ; after that 
 you can learn all about 'em from the news 
 papers, how they go on and how they 
 don't go on." 
 
 " Leave her to me," said Owen ; " I '11 fix 
 her."
 
 REVENGE. 37 
 
 Olive looked at her brother and he 
 looked at her, without winking or smiling. 
 Both seemed satisfied, and began to talk 
 of something else. Just as they went into 
 the house he remarked, 
 
 " Say, Olive, when is she going to have 
 that circus?" 
 
 " Thursday," was the answer. Again 
 they looked at each other and again both 
 seemed satisfied. 
 
 Thursday came. Owen seemed pensive 
 throughout the day, Olive expectant. At 
 supper, in that inconsequent way which 
 wives have when they have been busy and 
 doubt whether their husbands have been 
 equally occupied, Mrs. Cadwallader asked 
 Mr. Cadwallader where he had been all day. 
 
 " Well, for one thing," he replied, " I 've 
 been to see Miss Curtis. She was to have 
 had a children's party this afternoon, but 
 she 's too sick." 
 
 Owen moved in his chair as if a crumb 
 choked him.
 
 38 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 "It appears," the father continued, "that 
 somebody sent her a box of cream-cakes ; 
 she ate one, but it tasted so hot that she 
 tried another, and that one made her sick." 
 
 "Is she going to die ?" inquired Owen, 
 thick of voice and pale in color. 
 
 " I don't think so ; but she sent for two 
 doctors, one for each cream-cake, she told 
 me," said Mr. Cadwallader carelessly, yet 
 looking out of his left eye at Olive and 
 out of his right eye at his son. No one 
 spoke again till the meal ended. 
 
 When the husband and wife were alone, 
 he began, 
 
 " My dear, do you suppose " 
 
 " My dear," she interrupted, " all comes 
 round to him who can wait." 
 
 Miss Curtis soon recovered. When 
 Owen beheld her at her parlor window, he 
 rang the door-bell and asked to see her. 
 As he was ushered into her presence his 
 courage almost forsook him. Not allowing 
 himself the hypocrisy of saying he was
 
 REVENGE. 39 
 
 glad to see her, or glad that she was better, 
 he put his cap under his arm, his hands in 
 his pockets, assumed the first position and 
 began, 
 
 " Miss Curtis, you know how I owed it 
 to you to be even with you ; so I got the 
 cream-cakes, and put red pepper into one 
 and castor oil into the other, and sent them 
 to you. But I thought you 'd smell it first, 
 I always do, and then you would n't 
 have been sick. I 'm real sorry I did it." 
 
 " You 're sorry, are you ? You did it, 
 did you ? " broke forth Miss Curtis ; " and 
 I should have brought an action against the 
 confectioner for poisoning, if I had n't seen 
 the box in which they came, and your 
 name half rubbed out on the under side. 
 I sent for your father to give me consola 
 tion, but he was very mixed up. It 's a wise 
 father who knows his own son ; it hurts 
 pulpit eloquence to have a bad son. Pews 
 are n't worth much as investments anyhow 
 nowadays, and when they go way down in
 
 40 M ISS CURTIS. 
 
 value, boys' papas don't have so much sal 
 ary. Being poor is real religious." 
 
 "Oh, ma'am," cried Owen, discouraged 
 at the prospect of his father's lessened 
 salary, for even as it was Owen did not 
 
 blame ; he knew nothing about it, nor 
 Olive neither. I did not tell any one, not 
 even Olive ; I only looked at her and " 
 he paused. 
 
 "Well?" asked the old lady in a high- 
 pitched voice, as if to penetrate into his 
 innermost wretchedness. 
 
 " And she looked at me, Miss Curtis, but 
 I can swear she never thought of my do 
 ing so; and ever since she heard you were 
 sick she 's been looking so responsible, 
 when I never talked to her the least thing 
 about it." 
 
 " Umph ! " replied Miss Curtis ; " looks 
 are as plain as words. You both better give 
 lessons in dramatic action. Now, swear, if 
 you know how, that your sister had noth-
 
 REVENGE. 41 
 
 ing to do with your plot to kill me, or 
 I'll " 
 
 " I do swear, ma'am, I do ! " said the poor 
 boy, piteously. 
 
 " Umph ! that 's all you know about 
 swearing, is it ? Well, go home now and 
 tell your father that I say for him not to 
 give you any more pocket-money." 
 
 He hurried out of the room without even 
 bidding good-by. To be so insulted, when 
 he was apologetic ; and she was n't killed, 
 only had learned a good lesson ! To add 
 to his indignity, his father withheld his 
 allowance for three months, just as Owen 
 intended to buy a new brown and yellow 
 flannel shirt in which to look invincible 
 through the summer. When in .college, 
 he was heard to say that he had never 
 eaten a cream-cake since he was a little 
 boy.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 QUITS. 
 
 THIS attempt at Miss Curtis' s reformation 
 increased Olive's sense of responsibility. 
 On her rested atonement ; but to what de 
 gree? Should she confess that she had 
 truly hoped that something not very bad 
 would happen to Miss Curtis, and that she 
 had really looked at her brother ? She had 
 just read the " Marble Faun." She thought 
 of Miriam's glance, of Donatello's act, of the 
 priest's death ; yet Miss Curtis had only 
 been wholesomely sick. Olive remembered, 
 by way of contrast, that Dante had been 
 helped by looking up to Beatrice ; yet he 
 had written about hell. So the girl had re 
 course to her journal, but could not write 
 out at length her reflections in the few lines
 
 QUITS. 43 
 
 belonging to each day's record. Not recov 
 ering her equanimity, she turned back to 
 the first page of her book and drew solace 
 from its dedication. It was so touching, it 
 might mean so much. She had written it 
 on one of her pessimistic days, when her 
 parents did not understand her and she 
 had felt lonely. The words ran, " To my 
 future husband, if ever he should care 
 to know what I was when I was a girl." 
 Strengthened by the motto, " Do all I don't 
 want to do," which she had later inscribed 
 below when her conscience chided her for 
 filial ingratitude and want of prbper ap 
 preciation of the value of daily trials, she 
 decided to go to Miss Curtis. 
 
 " Miss Curtis," began. Olive, " I know 
 you 've been sick, and I 'm real sorry for 
 you, but sorrier for myself. I did not know 
 anything about the cream-cakes, but I did 
 tell Owen that you must not have another 
 party, and we just looked at each other, and 
 I knew he 'd prevent it ; but I never thought
 
 44 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 how, and I Ve been miserable ever since it 
 happened." 
 
 " So you too wanted to kill me ? " asked 
 the lady. 
 
 " No, I did n't ; I onty wanted you not 
 to have another party. You never will, will 
 you ? " urged Olive. 
 
 " That 's none of your business, child. So 
 you just looked at Owen and he looked at 
 you, and then he tried to commit murder." 
 
 " Oh no, ma'am, we did n't ; he did n't ; " 
 and the black waters which closed over 
 Donatello's priest rose before her, and she 
 almost shrieked. " We did n't either of 
 us. I '11 never look at him again when 
 he is thinking and I am thinking; but 
 really, truly, all we saw in each other 
 was that you must not do it. I see 
 now, looks are as bad as words, even 
 if you don't know what you are going to 
 say. Oh dear ! I never knew responsibility 
 went into looks ; it gets into everything ! oh 
 dear, oh dear!" and Olive began to sob.
 
 QUITS. 45 
 
 " What are you crying for, child ? I ain't 
 killed." 
 
 " And you never shall be ! I 'm going 
 to come and cook for you and make up for 
 my look." 
 
 " Will you stay here to-night with me ? " 
 hissed Miss Curtis. 
 
 " Yes, always." 
 
 "Then go home and tell them you are 
 coming right back here." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 Olive turned and walked out of the house 
 before she had realized what she had done. 
 The cool air braced her nerves ; her self- 
 confidence and her desire to make atone 
 ment told her she could endure the test. 
 She met her mother's misgivings bravely, 
 and with a patronizing, compassionate 
 embrace of Owen, she returned to Miss 
 Curtis. 
 
 That lady had been watching her from 
 the window. When she saw her actually 
 coming, bag in hand and waving at her tri-
 
 46 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 umphantly, she rang the bell and ordered 
 cream-cakes. 
 
 Then she gave herself up to entertaining 
 Olive. She opened a basket of bonbons, 
 she unlocked a drawer of treasures for her 
 inspection, she told her stories of knights 
 and ladies, till Olive forgot all fear and 
 sat on the cushion at her feet twirling 
 an antique ring with the mediaeval motto, 
 "N'auray aultre." 
 
 " You are curious, child," said Miss Cur 
 tis, as Olive twisted round the ring on her 
 hostess's finger. " I suppose you think it 
 was given me. Well, it was n't ; I bought 
 it. People buy sentiment cheaper than 
 they can grow it." 
 
 The tea was served from wedgwood 
 dishes that matched the candlesticks in 
 their pale blue color and delicate white 
 tracery of mythological events, showing 
 that they must have been wrought under 
 the artistic criticism of the old Josiah 
 Wedgwood, whose descendants have de-
 
 QUITS. 47 
 
 viated into purplish blue colors and heavy 
 embossing. 
 
 The waiter handed Olive a plate of 
 cream-cakes. The girl colored ; she glanced 
 at Miss Curtis, who began to have that 
 strange expression which Olive so well re 
 membered since Christmas day. 
 
 " No, thank you," said Olive, declining 
 the attention. 
 
 " Take it !" ordered Miss Curtis, sternly. 
 
 Olive instantly made up her mind. 
 Right here in her life was to be the su 
 preme act of vicariousness, the utter abne 
 gation of self for the sake of her brother, 
 the life given for a life attempted. She 
 took and ate. She tasted pepper and oil, 
 but she ate it, while Miss Curtis, with 
 hands clasped round the wedgwood tea 
 pot, as if to hold it or herself firmly, 
 glowered at her in silence. 
 
 " Shall I die ? " thought Olive. " Good-by, 
 mamma, good-by, Owen;" and still she ate. 
 Her throat burned, but not a tear fell.
 
 48 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 With the last mouthful she looked up 
 gratefully, and took up the conversation at 
 the exact point where it had dropped. 
 Miss Curtis's hands relaxed, her voice was 
 a little tremulous. After supper the waiter 
 told the cook that Miss Cadwallader was a 
 match in spunk for their mistress's terrible- 
 ness when she got going. 
 
 The evening soon ended with more bon 
 bons and a game of checkers, in which the 
 old lady took visible pleasure in beating 
 her guest. Olive dreamed that her speech 
 was henceforth incarnated into her looks, 
 and that a monument had been erected to 
 her by a grateful brother. The next morn 
 ing she went home happy in her sense of 
 victory, but told no one of the cream-cakes, 
 not even her mother or Owen, though she 
 wrote it down hi her journal for the ben 
 efit of her husband, if ever she should meet 
 him.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OLIVE. 
 
 OLIVE had put the shell on her mantel 
 piece, and there it stayed as a day of judg 
 ment, of vision, and as a reminder of 
 weekly visits to Miss Curtis; for the old 
 lady had become very fond of her, and 
 Olive had learned to understand and guide 
 the kind of dynamite bitterness which 
 underlay the aged heart. She kept it 
 from bursting into action, and even its 
 explosive words seldom now poured forth 
 except in the safety-valve of her presence. 
 She soothed the lady's fears and restored 
 her confidence in girls and boys, though 
 Miss Curtis never learned to trust Owen. 
 The mere fact of his existence seemed to 
 
 her like a handwriting on the wall, and 
 4
 
 50 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 like Belshazzar she trembled, lest the boy 
 should again exercise judgment upon her. 
 
 Olive had grown, but had not altered 
 much, since the early days of her acquaint 
 ance with Miss Curtis. She was no longer 
 a child, she was not yet a young lady. 
 As she expressed it in imitation of mock 
 philosophy, she was a potentiality and a 
 conscious personality. Her journal she 
 had long ago laid aside with a sad laugh 
 for the way in which she had pitied her 
 self. She now had too many occupations to 
 write down how she felt. There was very 
 little in her life which was not known to 
 Miss Curtis, who comprehended the girl's 
 intense longing for usefulness and activity 
 better than did Olive herself. 
 
 "Mothers ought to die," reasoned Miss 
 Curtis, "in order to make room for their 
 girls. Young ladies who are needed at 
 home do not have to go around reforming 
 and legislating; but what on earth can 
 they do when their mothers keep about ?
 
 OLIVE. 51 
 
 As for reading English literature as a 
 balm to their minds, it 's nonsense, this 
 keeping company with books when you 
 are silent partner ! It is not Nature's 
 way. Give a girl action : let her father 
 be a widower with little ones ; let her 
 oldest brother marry when he hasn't a 
 cent, kill off his wife, bring home the 
 child, then the girl that 's got a mother 
 living has something to do. She can read 
 history and novels for composure, but keep 
 her from literature, it only makes her 
 supercilious ; or if it does n't, she 's always 
 saying what other people think, instead of 
 finding out what she herself thinks." 
 
 Under the scolding good sense of her 
 queer friend and the loving care of her 
 mother Olive was acquiring a sense of 
 responsibility, and a desire for action apart 
 from meditation, which might become op 
 pressive in its effect upon others, and 
 which also might injure her own longing 
 for graceful effects. . It was well that her
 
 52 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 tendency to impatience was curbed by the 
 far-reaching views of life her mother held. 
 
 Mrs. Cadwallader was one of those wo 
 men who never used parentheses in con 
 versation. The result of her constant 
 thought was always bubbling up in short, 
 crisp sentences, which, as they had become 
 a family joke, she tried to avoid or to 
 lengthen, but in vain. It is harder to 
 modify one's style in conversation than in 
 writing. Olive's favorite term of mingled 
 admiration, reproof, and confidence for 
 her mother was " my ejaculatory mamma," 
 shortened into " jac-mamrna." Perhaps if 
 Mrs. Cadwallader had not sought so 
 eagerly to justify existence in apology for 
 it, Olive would not have grown so philo 
 sophic, as a matter of necessity. 
 
 The girl was never unhappy, yet at 
 times her notion of accountability to every 
 body and everything was very wearing. 
 In spite of this, her absolute frankness 
 of manner, her real reserve in all that
 
 OLIVE. 53 
 
 regarded Jherself, and her perfect health 
 made her a very attractive maiden. She 
 knew she was not beautiful, but she ac 
 cepted the responsibility of plainness, and 
 paid much attention to her toilet and the 
 arrangement of her hair. She always con 
 trived to make other girls appear at their 
 best, never advising them wrongly concern 
 ing the colors which suited their complex 
 ions, or making them feel ill at ease. As 
 a natural consequence she was a general 
 confidante and favorite, the girls calling 
 her stylish and sweet, and the boys " a boss 
 trump." 
 
 Olive was a fair scholar, invariably detect 
 ing, by virtue of uncanny penetration rather 
 than of knowledge, any slight mistakes 
 which her teachers might make. This 
 peculiarity was very aggravating and un 
 necessary, but it was part of her frankness, 
 not of her ill-humor. 
 
 There was one point on which she always 
 came into contact with her instructors, the
 
 54 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 right to go to parties while yet at school. 
 She had even handed in a composition on 
 the subject, which had been returned as 
 immature, and she had been relegated to 
 the topic given out to the youngest class, 
 a prose version of " We are Seven." Not 
 even this belittling reprimand could change 
 her convictions. She asserted the inalien 
 able right of girls to go to the evening 
 dancing-classes, and she openly declared 
 her belief in the german as preferable, in 
 its effect upon the character, to the study of 
 mathematics or historical dates. Boys were 
 not dangerous, she argued, and there was 
 no harm in accidentally meeting them in 
 recess; they did not divert the mind from 
 lessons, but acted as stimuli. The teacher's 
 province was in the school-room ; education 
 was a term applied to the whole of life; 
 a life from which the society element was 
 excluded until one was out of school was 
 meagre, narrow, fearful, and made a girl 
 a regular stick, a social incubus. Take
 
 OLIVE. 55 
 
 boys and parties as one goes along, and 
 then one does not get excited, was her 
 maxim. The lady principal told her that 
 if she did not give her mind to her lessons, 
 her thoughts would dance with her feet. 
 
 " But they don't, and my averages show 
 that they don't," was her conclusive reply. 
 
 "You'll enjoy life better if you wait 
 till you are older and know more," was 
 rejoined. 
 
 "I don't care to know a great deal," 
 retorted Olive. "I rather know how to 
 make the most of a little. I want to be 
 happy instead of being ambitious. Aver 
 age girls have got to be average in every 
 thing but happiness, and I know lots of 
 educated people who are unhappy." 
 
 " German philosophy is the root of hap 
 piness," insisted Fraulein X., the first 
 assistant. 
 
 " French phrases make you sparkle and 
 use your pretty hands in conversing," 
 pleaded Madame, the Parisian teacher.
 
 56 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 "History makes you comprehensive," 
 stated Professor 0. 
 
 "All very true," replied Olive to each 
 in turn. "I know that Toorgenef and 
 Tolstoi are not Schopenhauer and Freytag ; 
 I can jabber enough French for a courier, 
 and I understand the causes of all the 
 decisive battles in the universal histories, 
 from the taking of Jericho to Irish evic 
 tions ; but I don't like doing guerilla war 
 fare in encyclopaedias just to know facts 
 and summaries. I like other things better 
 than study. I don't care for per cents ; I 
 would n't give a fig to be a college grad 
 uate and eat corn-starch ice-cream at alumni 
 reunions. Yet you all want me to study, 
 study ! " 
 
 What could be done with a girl who would 
 sleep if she were sleepy, eat when she was 
 hungry, dance, chatter, and make every 
 one, even teachers, happy ; never miss in her 
 lessons, yet never be a brilliant scholar ? 
 
 Olive revenged herself for the advice she
 
 OLIVE. 57 
 
 did not need by being full of theories as to 
 the way in which she ought to have been 
 brought up, and as to the .way in which she 
 would bring up her children. To keep a 
 fashionable boarding-school, and show peo 
 ple that fashionable girls had more sense 
 than the ordinary kind of good girls, was 
 the height of her ambition. Fashion was 
 maligned ; she must justify it. Nobody 
 understood girls; it was a great shame. 
 So she went on studying, dancing, sewing, 
 cooking, sweeping, dusting, rowing on the 
 pond, riding on horseback, walking with a 
 pedometer, having innumerable friends but 
 no chums (as fashionable, frank girls 
 don't), laying much stress on sitting 
 straight, walking erect, and dressing well. 
 But she kept her best thought to herself, 
 with the fixed purpose of thus acquiring 
 Greek harmony of mind and body, of justi 
 fying her own ideal, and of being a Vittoria 
 Colonna for her future Michael Angelo, if 
 ever she should meet him.
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 AN INTRUDER. 
 
 "On, Miss Curtis," said Olive one day, 
 " it seems as if I should go wild ! I can't 
 make myself what I want to be. I can't 
 make mamma into my ideal self, because 
 she and papa are a close corporation and 
 make their own by-laws ; if I only just 
 had some one to be my other self ! Owen 
 used to fancy, when he was a little fellow, 
 that he had a son. If mamma wanted him 
 to do something, he could n't, as he had an 
 engagement with his son ; and if she gave 
 him sweetmeats, he always saved half for 
 his son, till his table drawer broke down, 
 it was so full of dried goodies. We had to 
 take him to places where he said his son 
 was, to show him that he was n't there ;
 
 AN INTRUDER. 59 
 
 but as it almost broke his heart not to find 
 him, we let him and his son alone after a 
 time. Now, I don't want a son, only my 
 other self, all that I can't be." 
 
 " What is your other self going to be ? " 
 asked Miss Curtis. 
 
 " Oh," replied Olive with a gasp, " she 's 
 going to be happy because it is natural; 
 she is n't going to have oughts in her life, 
 but wants ; and she is to be free to satisfy 
 all her wants, and " 
 
 " Free to do as she pleases, like American 
 girls in Europe," interposed Miss Curtis. 
 
 " No, aunt," for thus Olive often called 
 her. " I can't explain it, but free to do 
 right because she is n't bound by any 
 wanting to do wrong. She is to be neither 
 single-minded nor duplex, but complex; 
 so she will have the unity of variety or the 
 variety of unity, I am not sure which 
 would be the rarer. I want her to have 
 the freedom of necessarily doing as she 
 ought to do. Aunt Curtis, I wish mothers
 
 60 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 would see that it is necessary to leave 
 their daughters free. ' Kein mensch musz 
 mussen,' " added she in a half whisper. 
 
 "German fiddlesticks!" muttered Miss 
 Curtis, " safer, though, than English liter 
 ature. Philosophizing over life is n't finical 
 like criticism on books ; that 's like prickly 
 pears, mind and mouth get puckered. 
 As to mothers, most women have n't any 
 right to be mothers, except to babies ; 
 they don't know when their children have 
 grown up." 
 
 Just then Owen's whistle was heard out 
 side the window, and Olive obeyed its sum 
 mons. " What 's the matter ? " she asked. 
 
 " Nothing much," was the reply ; " it is 
 too bad to have called you away. It is only 
 a personal matter ; but as I was going to 
 lead the german this evening, it is just my 
 luck to have my fun spoiled by that Western 
 fellow coming to-night. I shall have to be 
 round introducing him all the time, and 
 can't go off on my own devices."
 
 AN INTRUDER. 61 
 
 " Has he come already ? " inquired Olive. 
 
 " No, but he 's telegraphed ; those ranch 
 fellows are as easy with telegrams as I am 
 with postals." 
 
 " I don't see what harm he is going to 
 do ; any kind of a boy is better than some 
 kind of girls," remarked Olive, soothingly. 
 
 " If it were a flabby girl, you 'd feel as 
 badly as I do with a cow-boy on my hands." 
 
 Olive winced. Both knew the awkward 
 ness of dealing with people who were use 
 ful but dull. 
 
 " He '11 be the kind that drops flat as a 
 pancake after he 's been introduced, though 
 he 's hot when you dip him. I took the 
 last one round to seven girls, and he got 
 through with them all in three sentences 
 apiece," moaned Owen. 
 
 " Poor boy ! " said Olive. " Leave him to 
 me to-night ; I have n't any partner." 
 
 " That's uncommon good in you. I '11 
 give you a lift now and then." 
 
 Great was Olive's amazement, an hour
 
 62 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 later, to find that the cow-boy was a full- 
 grown young man, a cross between a min 
 ister and a ranch-man. He was neither a 
 Sam Jones Baptist nor a St. Matthew's Guild 
 churchman. He looked more like a Toyn- 
 bee Hall man, as if he could live in a 
 bad condition of things and yet be patient. 
 He might be taken to a Washington diplo 
 matic ball or to a Tremont Temple tem 
 perance meeting (as extremes meet), but 
 not to the middle ground, in age and social 
 capacity, of a dancing class. 
 
 "What should she do ? Her father had a 
 funeral call to make that evening, a never- 
 to-be-procrastinated duty ; and mamma, 
 she ought not to be depended upon because 
 she was papa's wife. The visitor must be 
 taken care of. Olive somehow felt herself 
 accountable for his having a good time. 
 
 She held a private consultation with 
 Owen on the subject, who understood the 
 genus to which the stranger belonged bet 
 ter than did Olive.
 
 AN INTRUDER. 63 
 
 " My dear," said he, loftily, "Mr. Kimen 
 is a fellow who had views and was ambi 
 tious, but was too dreamy to work for 
 college honors, so he took to ranching 
 and moral purposes. He is polite to cow 
 boys, calls by name his cattle on a thou 
 sand hills, but doesn't know enough to 
 give them salt. Ranching failed, and he 
 has come back to live on his ancestors ; 
 but they are a mighty poor lot, for they 
 never were in society. If you don't 
 mind having him sit by you to-night, it 
 would do his soul good ; he 's longing to 
 see life." 
 
 " How do you know anything about him, 
 Owen ? Perhaps he is only a Greenbacker, 
 or a Prohibitionist, or an eight-hour labor 
 reformer. A fellow has to be just your 
 style or he won't do." 
 
 " I know him," chuckled Owen, " by his 
 shuffling walk, that weak mildness of his 
 eye, and his respectful manners. Why, he 
 called you ma'am ! He is an incipient theo-
 
 64 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 logical student, with not backbone enough 
 to be a minister." 
 
 " Owen, I know he is sublime ; you sha' n't 
 make fun of him." 
 
 " Oh yes, he could dance cotillons and 
 swing you in the Virginia reel, but he can't 
 comprehend the mazy, mystical german ; 
 he '11 go with you fast enough." 
 
 Olive shuddered. She had a horror of 
 countrified nobility. She knew she ought 
 to like it, but she could not make herself 
 want to like it. Now she could do penance. 
 As she was not engaged for that evening, 
 she had decided not to run the risk of get 
 ting a partner when in the hall, but to 
 wear her hat and sit on the narrow-cush 
 ioned settee in front of the draughty win 
 dows, where the fellows could come and 
 talk to her if they would; and if they 
 did n't, she could chat with any damsel 
 who happened to be forsaken. So she be 
 came a heroine, drew on her perfectly fit 
 ting yellow kids, which she felt Mr. Kimen
 
 AN INTRUDER. 65 
 
 appreciate, and went down with him in the 
 horse-car to the hall. 
 
 The dancing-school was, as far as society 
 was concerned, the only one in a large city 
 of four hundred thousand inhabitants. Not 
 that only two or three hundred persons 
 danced, but that all the rest of the peo 
 ple were out of society. Its master was a 
 thorough gentleman, one who well knew 
 the peculiarities of the city, but who never 
 betrayed his knowledge, except in his divi 
 sion of the week into public and private 
 afternoons and evenings. No one knew 
 better than he just where each person 
 was supposed to belong ; and no one more 
 quietly ignored this microscopic informa 
 tion concerning human pedigree than did 
 he, giving his cordial personal esteem to 
 those who deserved it. The noble order of 
 matrons preserved him from the social pen 
 alties of liking whom he would, for on them 
 rested the assignment of rank. 
 
 To be in one matron's class was no 
 
 5
 
 66 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 guarantee that a pupil could be admitted 
 into another ; it depended entirely upon 
 who was the matron. To be on the list 
 did indeed render promotion probable ; but 
 woe to those matrons who dared admit 
 some one a shade off color, how quickly 
 it was known ! and bliss to those who 
 at last attained the goal of their wishes 
 for their children ! Parents who would 
 have scorned the ascent of the social 
 ladder for themselves, clung convulsively 
 to its lowest rounds for the sake of their 
 daughters, and would gladly have counted 
 down their plebeian dollars to have gained 
 admission for them. To the honor of the 
 retail trade be it said, the nearest approach 
 to a bribe ever made was when some com 
 mission merchant (not dealer), or some pro 
 fessional man, remarked to his wife, who 
 was matron, " My dear, I know that girl's 
 father in a business way ; he told me his 
 wife was to apply to you." 
 
 The inheritor of established social cus-
 
 AN INTRUDER. 67 
 
 torn, but with a keen financial comprehen 
 sion of the alliance between trade and 
 fashion, eyed her husband, and admitted 
 the daughter of the dealer in small wares, 
 who did not go to the same day school 
 with her own child, and who sat in the 
 opposite aisle at church. 
 
 The true inwardness of admission could 
 not be borne in upon the nerves until one 
 was admitted. To be the child of a min 
 ister, lawyer, or banker did not of itself 
 insure cordiality; it depended upon who 
 was who. Then it was seen that only 
 those mothers who knew the matrons well 
 elsewhere, conversed freely with them in 
 the hall; the rest exchanged the formal 
 ities of the season, and rehearsed among 
 themselves the number of years, and of 
 afternoons in a year, during which they had 
 sat in the same seat while their daughters 
 danced, and had never spoken to a certain 
 neighbor on the same settee. 
 
 Oh, the exclusiveness resting not on
 
 68 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 birth nor yet on dress, abiding not on 
 money nor on fame, but on intangible- 
 ness ; the most delicate aroma of gratified 
 self-perceptions intermingling in a pot 
 pourri of carefully-nourished self-conscious 
 nesses !
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE DANCING-CLASS. 
 
 THE first evening the class opened, the 
 social lines were grazed by the light breath 
 of greeting. The matrons sat on the upper 
 side of the hall. They were arrayed in 
 that severe simplicity which betokened 
 that this was a class, not a ball. Clusters 
 of maidens and boys hovered round the 
 separate doors of the ante-rooms. At last 
 the procession began in squads or couplets ; 
 the girls with a shuffling step moved for 
 ward, shaking their draperies into place. 
 The matrons watched the girls as they ad 
 vanced. One came up cheerily; the ma 
 trons knew her and shook hands with her 
 calmly. Another came, whose name could
 
 70 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 not be recalled ; the matrons coldly bowed, 
 and questioned one another's memory. 
 
 " Who admitted her ? She was not on 
 my list." 
 
 The girl felt it, the next comer heard it, 
 soon all were aware that the father of that 
 special girl was an excellent man, who 
 once had had dealings with the patrician 
 husband of a matron ; that she was a good 
 girl, and that her mother was a quiet wo 
 man whom no one knew. Then came 
 another damsel, with that assurance of 
 birth which makes its own welcome. She 
 was received as an intimate friend, and told 
 to bid her mother come and sit by the 
 matrons. All the other ladies saw the per 
 son thus noticed cross the hall and take the 
 proffered seat, and all bore it meekly. So 
 the line filed on. 
 
 The opportunities of matrons ! In them 
 was vested the power to guide the artificial 
 or natural growth of these dancers into true 
 womanhood. By their welcomes, by their
 
 THE DANCING-CLASS. 71 
 
 very smiles, they could make that hall into 
 an arena of baffling feminine convention 
 alities, or of noble heart impulses and grace 
 ful courtesies. 
 
 Then came the shambling boys, each 
 advancing on to the elbow of the other, 
 some bowing at a distance of four yards, 
 turning round, and disappearing into the 
 dressing-room ; others boldly approaching 
 the seat of the dignitaries and bending 
 forward with sophomoric elegance. Then 
 there was a final rush of boys toward girls, 
 which was intrepidly met by serried rows 
 of smiling, waiting maidens. Each girl, 
 hanging her left hand over the biceps of 
 the boy's right shoulder, his right hand, 
 with the handkerchief protector, touching 
 with its finger-tips the middle of her back, 
 the right and left hands of both meeting 
 in outstretched diagonal lines, with the 
 space of a foot between them, was hurried 
 off in a frenzy called a glide, to the other 
 end of the hall and back. The matrons
 
 72 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 looked somewhat after the unpartnered 
 girls, though rather by intimations to the 
 gentlemanly instructor than by any direct 
 introductions of their own, which might 
 be compromising to themselves or embar 
 rassing to the boys. 
 
 The class had met for several weeks. It 
 was now Lent; some were absent from 
 principle, apparently to the advantage of 
 the others, for those who were away were 
 the belles. As boys seldom have to con 
 form to Church regulations, the numerical 
 relation between the youth and the maids 
 was not as disproportioned as usual. 
 
 Mr. Kimen had accepted Olive's invita 
 tion with secret pleasure, though he was 
 not quite sure whether a dancing-class were 
 a Baden-Baden or a Carlsbad-Waters kind 
 of place. It was not Western. He had a 
 fancy for watching faces. It was a pretty 
 scene, the simply tapestried hall, the pol 
 ished floor, the brilliant lights, the soft 
 dresses, and the youthful figures.
 
 THE DANCING-CLASS. 73 
 
 " Is it a Quaker or a Shaker dance first, 
 that the boys and girls are standing in 
 separate herds ? " asked he. 
 
 "Ranch-like idea," thought Olive, se 
 cretly ; but outwardly she explained that it 
 was due to propriety or to timidity. Then 
 when the rush for the glide began, she 
 waited for another simile. None came ; he 
 was too much amused with the incongruous 
 politeness of the scene to venture any com 
 ment. The recurrent integrations and dis 
 integrations of the german were to him 
 involutions of disorder. He felt a divine 
 compassion for the girls to whom the mas 
 ter dragged unwilling partners by constant 
 shoves and hitches, and for those other 
 girls who sat patiently while the popular 
 ones were taken and they were left ; and 
 he recollected the words about the destruc 
 tion of Jerusalem. 
 
 "They are used to it," said Olive ; "most 
 of us learn to be wall-flowers, only some 
 are quiet parasites of the chairs, while
 
 74 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 others restlessly seek a partner with eyes 
 or fan." 
 
 " How is the class made up ? " inquired 
 Mr. Kimen. 
 
 " ' Made up !' " returned Olive, rather in 
 dignantly ; " we don't make up classes, 
 they grow. This is a private class ; the 
 matrons invite whom they choose to join 
 it. It is just as private as if it were their 
 own party in their own house, only those 
 whom they invite are not yet out." 
 
 " ' Out ! ' Miss Cadwallader ; are they 
 vexed ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " replied she, merrily, " you 
 thought I meant put out ! I mean, we 
 don't come out till next winter ; we are 
 buds, and it would not do for us to come 
 here without matrons. They are very par 
 ticular, for we are under their charge, and 
 they must know all about a girl before 
 they admit her. It is generally their 
 friends' children who come ; but sometimes 
 some one applies whom they don't know,
 
 THE DANCING-CLASS. 75 
 
 and then, if they find out she 's a nice girl, 
 they take her in. It is the character of 
 the girl which decides it, they say ; but 
 you know that 's an adjustable word." 
 
 Evidently Olive retained her childish 
 way of exhausting a subject before she 
 stopped speaking. 
 
 " I suppose all your friends belong to it," 
 observed Mr. Kimen. 
 
 "No, indeed. Some of them grumble, 
 but it is very shoddy in them to do so. 
 The matrons are always kind, and get us 
 partners sometimes, and give us little hints 
 when we glide too fast, or don't stand up 
 straight enough in the waltz ; and we girls 
 feel protected, for they would not let any 
 thing happen. If our mothers can't come, 
 we can go to the matrons ; they treat us all 
 alike, only they are kindest to the wall-flow 
 ers, which makes them feel like orphans." 
 
 Olive had grown so eager in her defence 
 of abused matrons, that she had been over 
 heard by her neighbor, who muttered,
 
 76 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 " It is all very well to talk so when you 
 are on the list, but when you are n't, a 
 matron is a sphinx; you can't learn why 
 you are rejected. It is always the other 
 matron who did it." 
 
 " What is it makes a belle ? " was an 
 other of Mr. Kimen's leading questions. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Olive. " Some 
 say it is figure, or good dancing, or know 
 ing how to talk, or being pretty, but it 
 is n't that last. Mamma says it is the 
 power of circumscribed adaptation; she 
 means a girl adapts herself to small people, 
 not to causes." 
 
 There was not a girl in the hall who did 
 not know that Olive was having a better 
 time than if she were dancing. In the 
 dressing-room they crowded round her and 
 plied her with questions. All she knew, 
 was, that her companion was or had been 
 a ranch-man and was a friend of papa's, 
 through the parish somehow. In her 
 secret heart she wondered if Mr. Kimen
 
 THE DANCING-CLASS. 77 
 
 were going to be another Phillips Brooks, 
 or a leader of a Chautauqua Assembly. 
 
 Owen came home in ecstasy. He had 
 led the german, and led it with the ac 
 knowledged belle of the winter, who had 
 been taken out all the time, so that he had 
 had opportunity to flit from girl to girl, 
 lighting on the vacant chairs as if he were 
 an exhausted yet self-perpetuating sacri 
 fice, fanning briefly the occupants of the 
 seats, examining their cards interroga 
 tively (he rarely committed himself), and 
 then leaving with benignity.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 EQUALITY. 
 
 AT breakfast the next morning Mr. 
 Cadwallader observed, 
 
 " Olive, Mr. Kimen is not a believer in 
 some of your theories ; he has n't much 
 faith in ambition and embroidery, and he 
 even doubts about philanthropy." 
 
 Owen bestowed upon his father that 
 patronizing smile with which quick-witted 
 youth greet the attempts of their seniors to 
 be jocose ; he winked one eye at his sister, 
 the eye the visitor could not see, as 
 much as to say, " Humbug ! " and asked 
 Mr. Kimen if he were an evolutionist. 
 
 " Oh," interposed Olive, whose kindness of 
 heart always made her sensitive to the em 
 barrassment of leading questions, and who
 
 EQUALITY. 79 
 
 recognized too well the difficulty of starting 
 general conversation to be willing to lose 
 any point of commencement for it, "let 
 us take him to the l Shelter and Exercise 
 Yard for Cats/ to cure his doubt." 
 
 " And to the public schools, to show 
 him the futility of ambition," added Owen, 
 penitently. 
 
 " What is it about cats ? " inquired Mr. 
 Kimen. 
 
 "It is a Befriending Committee, and 
 they give cats and dogs the same soup that 
 the French peasants eat, but it works like 
 the Southern alligators, Northern market 
 stocked with purses and shoes of those 
 creatures ; few of them living round New 
 Orleans wharves in consequence, so rats 
 rejoice and combine, and levees are under 
 mined." 
 
 "But cats! " said Mr. Kimen; "I don't 
 see the connection." 
 
 "Why, boys with bean-blowers have lost 
 their occupation; the price of traps has
 
 80 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 risen as cats have disappeared and mice 
 increased." 
 
 The guest looked thoughtful, and in 
 quired meekly, "Is there the same cor 
 respondence between the schools and 
 ambition ? " 
 
 " Public schools, yes," replied Owen, 
 with scornful emphasis on the word public. 
 " They have destroyed simplicity ; I was 
 brought up in them, and know. We al 
 ways perorated on Washington, and wrote 
 on the advantages of one term, so as to 
 give the spoils all round, as each graduate 
 has got to be President ; that is what com 
 mon schools are for, to protest against 
 Civil Service Reform. Education is no 
 longer for inward, private uses, but to 
 make us get up and get on. Every girl 
 is going to be a professor ; no one will 
 be left to be taught. It is a ' first-class 
 circus.' ' 
 
 " Your slang stands in contrast to your 
 sense," remarked his mother.
 
 EQUALITY. 81 
 
 " Oh, one is premature and the other is 
 a boy's vernacular, eh, Mr. Kimen ? " 
 
 " I shall leave the cats to themselves," 
 replied he, rather offended with Owen's ease, 
 and anxious to guide the conversation for 
 his own information ; " but there must be 
 chance for some noble work in the schools, 
 wrong ideas to correct, uses of moral 
 education to instil ! Are the private schools 
 as bad ? " His voice grew emphatic ; Owen 
 stared, but his self-confidence was never at 
 a loss for reply, satisfactory to himself 
 at least. 
 
 " Oh, all the society fellows go to them, 
 and no kind of a girl goes to a public school. 
 It is n't right, though. It makes feeling, 
 and starts us as snobs. In colleges it is dif 
 ferent. The Beck Hall fellows have not 
 any feeling against the grinds. Schools are 
 not managed right yet." 
 
 " ( He who wants a horse without a 
 fault, may go afoot,' " observed Jac-mamma, 
 quietly.
 
 82 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 " But, Madam," expostulated the guest, 
 " ' every fox has to take care of its own 
 tail.' " 
 
 Owen's respect for the visitor instantly 
 increased. He had retorted on his moth 
 er's argument with her own weapon. With 
 a deprecatory look at Olive, Mr. Kimen 
 inquired of her whether the mania for em 
 broidery were weakening womankind. If 
 Mr. Kimen had gained with Owen, he in 
 stantly lost with Olive. She replied se 
 verely that aprons, breads, pickles, and 
 jellies were taking its place at women's ex 
 changes, but that in decorative art rooms 
 its value was estimated by architects. 
 
 " Are not both depots for products ? " he 
 asked in note-book manner. 
 
 Olive was in despair. Only one who had 
 been on a ranch could so confuse an institu 
 tion to help woman with a society for im 
 personal artistic development. How could 
 she explain the difference to one who did not 
 feel it?
 
 EQUALITY. 83 
 
 Mr. Kimen became confused in his turn. 
 Having lived some time in the West, his 
 earnestness had grown at the expense of 
 his subtlety. He had become convinced 
 that life itself was noble and grand, only 
 its emphases had been wrongly placed. As 
 Owen had shrewdly guessed, he had aban 
 doned ranching as not enabling him to do 
 his part in solving social problems, and had 
 returned to bring his fresh thought to the 
 effete East. Olive meant something by her 
 words. "Was it reproof ? 
 
 Owen was an enigma also, for the slang 
 in his colloquialism did not hide the lurk 
 ing conventionalism of his spirit. Yet this 
 was a minister's house, where he had ex 
 pected to find that life was conducted on a 
 real basis ! He made one more attempt to 
 understand the difference between woman 
 and art. 
 
 " Does n't womankind I mean working- 
 girls, don't they need to be helped ? " he 
 asked.
 
 84 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 " No more than manhood working-men, 
 and cattle-dealers need to be helped," was 
 the quick reply. 
 
 " Olive ! " spoke her father, warningly. 
 
 She paid no heed to him ; her indigna 
 tion roused, she continued eagerly, 
 
 " It is just like you men to think women 
 are different from men, and that working- 
 girls are different from women. You are 
 always classifying by names, but have not 
 the articles ready for your labels. It is like 
 all the public-school talk about being equal. 
 That is what spoils the exchanges. We 
 are not all equal, and we don't want to be. 
 It is demoralizing to be equal. What we 
 want is to be recognized for just what we 
 are, you as shop-girl, I as young lady. 
 Shop-girls don't want things done for them ; 
 they know how to be their own presidents 
 and secretaries, and can manage their com 
 mittees without our benevolence. We are 
 always following out our own ideas in help 
 ing them, and thinking they ought to wear
 
 EQUALITY. 85 
 
 our old hair-ribbons, when they prefer to 
 buy long horn hairpins with a glass ball 
 at the end. I think we might just try to 
 make them happy, instead of bothering 
 them by trying to improve them." 
 
 " Olive, dear, that is just what you 
 do with your cash-girls," said her mother, 
 soothingly. 
 
 " I know, mamma. It is because you let 
 me have them in my own room ; if we had 
 to meet at a charity bureau or a vestry, we 
 should have an improvement committee 
 after us. All I mean is, that if Mr. Kimen 
 has come here to do good, he had best find 
 out first what is being done in things 
 which don't get into reports ; and that 
 shop-girls don't need peculiar treatment 
 any more than he does himself." 
 
 " Olive ! " said her father, this time sternly. 
 
 Owen patted her shoulder approvingly. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," returned Olive, 
 turning to Mr. Kimen as she left the 
 table.
 
 86 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 The young man rose and bowed with 
 true humility before her avenging spirit. 
 She held out her hand, and as he clasped 
 it like a cattle-dealer he felt his own 
 earnestness tempered by her girlish grace. 
 The little pantomime brought peace. Mrs. 
 Cadwallader never apologized for her chil 
 dren nor explained them to others. She 
 had too much regard for their personality 
 to do either one or the other. 
 
 Mr. Kimen found enough opportunity, 
 as self-elected inspector, to examine more 
 charities than he had ever dreamed of as 
 existing in one city. Private funds had 
 been left for every kind of philanthropic 
 device, all tied up in a way which created 
 a perpetual embargo upon the future, and 
 taxed legal ingenuity to devise it. In 
 charitable and educational movements he 
 beheld an inordinate ambition. No one 
 seemed to be doing anything for the sake 
 of happiness, even in efforts at industrial 
 education. Children were not taught for
 
 EQUALITY. 87 
 
 the sake of present or future enjoyment, 
 but that they could become contractors or 
 " bosses." It was power, reputation, more 
 than money, for which each one strove. 
 
 In the women's meetings he attended 
 he heard exhortations to make the most of 
 one's self; to make one's influence recog 
 nized ; to become a type of the new woman. 
 To be sure, it was to be and do all this 
 for the sake of influencing men, but not on 
 the old ground of pleasing them ; the new 
 " kingdom come " was to improve them. 
 
 He heard of the elevation of the poor 
 in their homes, and pondered on elevated 
 railroads. Registration was another hobby 
 or necessity. Records of births, deaths, in 
 comes, number of children, occupations, 
 presents received and given, big and little 
 virtues, all were kept in volumes. Every 
 thing was on the composite photograph 
 plan ; the individual had given place to 
 the race. His own life had been haunted 
 by infinite compassion for the last man,
 
 88 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 when the elements should melt with fer 
 vent heat ; now he saw that the individual 
 was already ingulfed, and that the whole 
 race was painlessly becoming an abstrac 
 tion in tabular statement. If this w r ere not 
 wholly true, it was true that a great ought 
 stood imprinted on the face of all those 
 who were trying to help mankind. Kant's 
 categorical imperative was embodied in its 
 most authoritative form. He hoped to be 
 urged by it to greater effort, but he became 
 inert and enjoyed his daily meals. With 
 out being aware of it, he was relieved 
 when no one tried to be brilliant or instruc 
 tive, but all were natural and contented. 
 
 Innocent jokes, stale puns, and chirping 
 humor are less fatiguing than lofty plati 
 tudes or a sense of conscious effort. Hav 
 ing lost happiness by morbid design, we 
 must now cultivate it as an art, and seek 
 health as its appendage.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE CLUB. 
 
 OXE evening as Mr. Kimen sat in his 
 room he heard such bubbles of laughter 
 as young girlhood alone emits. 
 
 " Olive and her cash-girls," explained 
 Owen. "If you choose, you can stand 
 athwart the entry, look obliquely into the 
 transom, and see all that goes on. Ten 
 cents a show ! I 've let it out to the boys 
 and made lots." 
 
 By the aid of his own ears, Owen's illus 
 trations, and one fleeting glance, Mr. Ki 
 men obtained a rather clear idea of the 
 affair. The Game Club was composed of 
 eight or nine little thin cash girls and boys. 
 The rules of admission for girls applied 
 to hair; those who used <' fluffy Fedoras"
 
 90 A/755 CURTIS. 
 
 could not enter. It met every week, and 
 had two hours of games interspersed with 
 such literary exercises as " consequences " 
 and "shouting cities," with quiet intervals of 
 progressive checkers and jackstraws. Once 
 a month each one read or spoke a piece of 
 poetry ; quite often it was original, and gave 
 glimpses of an inner life ; as follows : 
 
 " The sun art an angel of God, 
 
 The moon art an angel of God, 
 
 The stars art an angel of God, 
 And all those who dwell in the house of God, 
 And all those who dwell in the sight of God, 
 
 Dwell in the soul of God : 
 And all those who dwell in the soul of God 
 Are the children, the men, and the angels of God." 
 
 It was in simple ways that Olive made 
 the children happy. When asked why 
 she succeeded, she answered, 
 
 "It is boys, co-education in fun. We 
 are not wishing for boys when we have 
 them ; and then they go home with the 
 girls." 
 
 She had a little lending library for them,
 
 THE CLUB. 91 
 
 from which stories about poor girls be 
 coming remarkable women were carefully 
 excluded. Earlier, Olive had made herself 
 wretched by trying to be what she could 
 not be ; and she was determined that these 
 girls should not be exposed to biographical 
 temptation. Books about the American 
 Revolution and about girls and boys who 
 lived on farms and grew up and married 
 each* other and located permanently, Miss 
 Martineau's ever-fresh tales of political 
 economy, " Alice in "Wonderland," " Liliput 
 Levee," and "Liliput Lectures" wer im 
 portant favorites. From her love of the 
 last two Olive dated her own liking for 
 poetry and her interest in the happiness of 
 the masses, as she laughingly called all 
 those whom she wanted to become like her 
 other self, her ideal, which haunted her with 
 its dim possibilities of beauty and power. 
 
 The Club was learning to deal with many 
 a social problem by discussing proverbs, 
 such as " Paddle your own canoe ; " " He
 
 92 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 who holds the ladder is as bad as the bur 
 glar ; " "If you let them lay the calf on 
 your back, they '11 soon slap on the cow." 
 They applied these mottoes to their own cir 
 cumstances and to newspaper occurrences. 
 More than once had Owen and his comrades, 
 outside the transom, unconsciously stopped 
 to think of the confused condition of things 
 in which the concerns of one is neither ex 
 clusively the affair of himself alone^ nor 
 necessarily the affair of all. 
 
 Olive's personal labors were chiefly de 
 voted to the child who poetized on the 
 saints and the angels. She thought he was 
 not sufficiently healthy-minded, for he was 
 constantly in fear of doing what was wrong. 
 In spite of her praise, his own self-estimate 
 was so despairing that once, when they 
 were alone together, she ventured to re 
 mind him of the beatitude about " the 
 poor in spirit." He started, exclaiming, 
 " It is all wrong, Miss Olive, you don't 
 know nothing about it ; being lowly and
 
 THE CLUB. 93 
 
 humble-minded is just being in hell. I 
 wish I could be conceited, then I should 
 be happier." 
 
 The room in which the meetings were 
 held gave indications of its owner. Her 
 bureau had a clear space on one side of the 
 enormous pincushion, where she laid her 
 German grammar or her geometry that 
 she might study while dressing. On the 
 be-ribboned structure were stuck all kinds 
 of pins, scarf-pins of an old English 
 watch-cock and an Indian arrow-head, of 
 a bird's claw and a silver wing; bonnet- 
 pins of a moonstone and a rhinestone, of 
 an enamelled pansy and a jewelled butter 
 fly. A blue wedgwood spike, one of Miss 
 Curtis' s gifts from her family estate, was 
 laden with bracelets of diminishing width, 
 bangles of hooks and eyes, of spiral springs, 
 of jingling oxidized medallions, which told 
 the story of the " house that Jack built." 
 Her looking-glass was wreathed with pho 
 tographs of her friends. On her table
 
 94 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 stood upright sheets of Japanese-silk-cov 
 ered pasteboard, with circles, oblongs, and 
 squares cut into it, which framed the faces 
 of those for whom she cared little. Her 
 work-basket was very small, with some 
 fine cambric in it for her father's cravats ; 
 it looked like a previous bonbonniere. 
 
 Her desk was large and antique, full of 
 cubby-holes filled with paper and envel 
 opes of every kind, from the stylish, heavy, 
 plain sort, with her address stamped in 
 straight red letters, to the ragged-edged 
 parchment with its spreading monogram. 
 Over her mantel-piece was the photograph 
 of Miiller's Madonna, the ideal she wished 
 to help some one else to realize, as it was 
 beyond her personal reach. 
 
 If Olive had been less healthy or less 
 brave, her longings for her ideal might 
 have made her morbid or sentimental ; as 
 it was, she lived in a home where action 
 bore an equal part in life with thought. 
 She had learned to have patience and trust,
 
 THE CLUB. 95 
 
 and to wait for old age or immortality to 
 assure the daily strivings of her girlish 
 heart. 
 
 Her abounding faith in immortality as 
 the outgrowth of necessity, as the perfect 
 flower of freedom, was the most beautiful 
 part of the girl's life. She was so sure of 
 it. It gave her infinite comfort. It made 
 her triumphantly happy. It enabled her 
 to make others contented ; not that she 
 talked of it, but that they caught its in 
 spiration from her bright voice, her spring 
 ing step, the pretty toss of her head. All 
 was life, forever life, with her. Even her 
 brother's conventionality, that now warped 
 him, mellowed in her thought into the arch- 
 angelic grace of heaven, which would make 
 him tender to the little boys dying in the 
 public schools.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 EARNESTNESS. 
 
 MR. KIMEN and Olive could not agree. 
 He was always earnest ; life was a serious 
 thing with him. 
 
 "Will you go to the theatre with me ? " 
 he begged of her; for he acknowledged that 
 the stage had a moral mission of its own to 
 fulfil. 
 
 " What to see ? " inquired Olive, eva 
 sively. 
 
 " Would it not be a good plan to see 
 ' Uncle Tom's Cabin/ that we- might real 
 ize what were the horrors of slavery, and 
 feel the grandeur of those men who fought 
 against it ? " 
 
 " No," replied she, " I won't. I don't go 
 to the theatre as 'a good plan,' but for fun. 
 Will you go to 'lolanthe ' ? "
 
 EARNESTNESS. 97 
 
 " Pardon me ; but except for the pleasure 
 of being with you, could not the time be 
 spent in some better way ? Have you a 
 headache ? " he added as he saw her put 
 her hand over her forehead. 
 
 " Do you always take things so in earn 
 est ? " asked Olive, merrily. " I just 
 wanted to keep my waves in place, the 
 wind blows so, and I used up my last bit 
 of lace." 
 
 " ' Waves ' ? " exclaimed Mr. Kimen, 
 looking in every direction. 
 
 " Oh, you never were a girl, you never 
 had a sister," she returned almost contemp 
 tuously ; but changing into the tone of mock 
 solemnity she often adopted with him, she 
 added, " yes, waves, water-waves of my 
 hair." 
 
 He supposed he had made a mistake, but 
 how was it possible when life was so real ! 
 Yet he had begun to recognize that it was 
 very difficult to keep his mind on institu 
 tions when Olive was also in his thoughts. 
 7
 
 98 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 Unconsciously she was showing him the 
 futility of his deductions. Neither of them 
 went to the theatre. Each was annoyed at 
 the other's dramatic preference. 
 
 In Mrs. Cadwallader's presence Mr. Ki- 
 men felt soothed. He was the son of an 
 old friend of hers. His mother had been 
 one of those women who are always put 
 ting off their sons to a convenient tune be 
 cause of housework. When honors were 
 not added to his college degree, she felt de 
 frauded of her right to his distinction as 
 her son. He had passed his four years 
 trusting that at their end he should know 
 what he wanted to do ; believing that 
 meanwhile, by not having a fixed purpose, 
 his view of education would be broadened. 
 After his graduation he hovered in choice 
 between the ministry and the pursuit of 
 sociology. He much preferred being a 
 civic missionary to any perils of foreign 
 cannibalism ; but he also considered that 
 the religion of the future embraced the
 
 EA RNES TNESS. 99 
 
 propagation of political economy. He must 
 study humanity before divinity. 
 
 His father became impatient with his 
 sincere indecision, and sent him off on a 
 ranch, hoping that in out-of-door life his 
 spasmodic enthusiasms would become prac 
 tical. Established there, he had spent 
 more time arguing with cow-boys on the 
 perversity of the will and the power of kind 
 ness over cattle, than was profitable for his 
 business. The snowy peaks of the Sierras, 
 the inaccessible gorges, and the nestling 
 clouds had wrought upon his dreamy pur 
 poses, until he longed to go back to the 
 cities and bring the people up to visions 
 of human loveliness, if not of mountain 
 grandeur. 
 
 The power of language was borne in 
 upon him ; he stumbled in its utterance, 
 for his thought was less clear than his 
 general intentions. He had not physical 
 strength to win the triumphs of a plat 
 form orator. He relied on unseen spiritual
 
 100 JlflSS CURTIS. 
 
 forces to rouse the consciences of a parish. 
 He had become that uncomfortable product 
 of himself, a dead-in-earnest man. 
 
 When away from Olive, he was very anx 
 ious that she should develop properly 
 (he had no idea what he meant, but the 
 phrase strengthened his desire). When 
 with her, he was conscious of his own out- 
 ward defects, and that she never had time 
 to become aware of his inward purposes. 
 Once in the pulpit, however, he might 
 be able to help her ; which he ventured 
 to intimate one Sunday morning as they 
 walked to church. 
 
 If he had expressed this hope in the early 
 days of their acquaintance, Olive could not 
 have understood him. For a long time 
 she had seen him, at first daily and then 
 weekly, for he had gone to a neighboring 
 Divinity School; now she had begun to 
 comprehend the moral earnestness of the 
 man, so comically like her own, so differ 
 ent in its want of vivacity. Therefore she
 
 EARNESTNESS. 101 
 
 answered quietly, trying to suppress her 
 amused indignation: 
 
 " You think sermons reach us girls ! It 
 is partly so, but it is more the ' extempore 
 listening' we do, as Mr. Fordher calls it. 
 Some sentence hits us and off we go on our 
 own thoughts, which are like small shot in 
 the way they take the conceit out of us. 
 The ministers start it, but we do the rest." 
 
 " According to you, you could easily get 
 along without us ! Of what use are we ? " 
 asked Mr. Kimen, despairingly. 
 
 Olive almost stopped on the muddy 
 street-crossing. It was so vexing to talk 
 to a man who gave a personal bearing to 
 things by his tones if not by his words. 
 
 " ' Use? ' " she exclaimed. " Why, a real 
 minister, who is better than we are, who 
 is elegant and powerful in his manners, 
 and who has got the soul of the world in 
 him, and can bear the burden of the na 
 tions, and take it away like the paschal 
 lamb from wearing out the rest of us,
 
 102 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 why, he is like Browning and the Bible 
 put together, and we grow better every 
 minute, and " 
 
 She paused, for they were near the 
 church door. When would she ever learn 
 to express herself properly and not say too 
 much, she thought as she took her seat in 
 the pew. Mr. Kimen felt encouraged ; he 
 had read " Rabbi Ben Ezra " to her the other 
 evening, and she had embroidered all the 
 time. 
 
 Mr. Kimen had become a great favorite 
 with Miss Curtis, or rather he was a favor 
 ite study of hers. She perhaps felt a 
 tenderness toward him. He was genu 
 inely good, and it refreshed her. She gave 
 him a great deal of crisp advice, which hurt 
 his feelings but ought to benefit him. 
 
 Miss Curtis seldom went to church since 
 exchanges had gone out of fashion. In 
 the first years of Mr. Cadwallader's settle 
 ment she had been a regular attendant ; 
 but having learned the general trend of
 
 EARNESTNESS. 103 
 
 his ideas, the novelty of hearing him wore 
 away. Every Sunday morning he sent her 
 his text, upon which she meditated from 
 the point of view she assumed he would 
 take, and from her own. In the after 
 noon she sewed for poor children. It had 
 become a custom for Olive to break the 
 silence and monotony of Miss Curtis' s Sab 
 bath by lunching with her; Mr. Cadwal- 
 lader was thus enabled to take a long 
 spiritual nap, while his wife enjoyed the 
 two hours of absolute freedom it gave her ; 
 in which, with curtains drawn and door 
 locked, she fondly pored over her bureau 
 drawers. 
 
 They lived directly opposite to Miss Cur 
 tis. In the earlier years of their residence 
 they were under the constant constraint of 
 that lady's inspection. Life moves in 
 grooves everywhere, and Miss Curtis had 
 grown to know what ought to happen at 
 each hour, even if it did n't, so that her vigi 
 lance was relaxed. When she perceived that
 
 104 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 Mr. Kimen's presence at the Cadwalladers' 
 was likely to become as regular as the Sab 
 batical recurrence of baked beans and brown 
 bread, she decided that it was best for him 
 to lunch with her on that day, but at a 
 different hour from Olive's visit to her. 
 This arrangement was full of peculiar sat 
 isfaction to her, for it gave her more to 
 do and hear, and also the pleasure of feel 
 ing that it annoyed Mr. Kimen, who 
 hoped each week to meet Olive there and 
 every time was disappointed. She enjoyed 
 watching him wander through the long 
 rooms and entries, his expectant look 
 when the doors creaked, and the change on 
 his face when the waitress entered. Under 
 Olive's influence she had given up all 
 malignancy to such an extent that this 
 harmless chance to revert to her old way 
 of planning disappointment for people was 
 clutched by her, much to Olive's delight 
 in this case. 
 
 Miss Curtis also enjoyed contrasting her-
 
 EARNESTNESS. 105 
 
 self as she was with Olive, with what she 
 was with Mr. Kimen. It was like holding 
 a reception with herself. With him, she 
 was aphoristic and advisory; with the 
 girl, she was confidential and submissive. 
 She always had some feminine delicacy for 
 Olive which she denied him. At one of 
 their favorite repasts of Scotch marmalade 
 and Irish moss blanc-mange, the conver 
 sation strayed back to the former days of 
 their neighborhood acquaintance. 
 
 " Do you remember," said Olive, " your 
 first call on mamma, when you asked her 
 why so many young ladies came to the 
 house Wednesdays, and so many old ladies 
 Tuesday afternoons? She explained to 
 you that they were papa's Bible classes. 
 Then in that funny, questioning way of 
 yours of stating a fact when you really 
 don't know anything about it, you told 
 her papa's fees must be considerable, as so 
 many missionary-looking men and women 
 came to be married on Thursdays. Mamma
 
 106 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 said they were sewing-circle people, don't 
 you remember ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, child. I recollect it well 
 enough. Do you know what next I asked?" 
 
 Olive shook her head. 
 
 " "Well, I remarked to your mother that 
 she did a good deal of sewing for one with 
 a weak back. She apologized by saying 
 she had a machine. It really was n't any 
 excuse, for she ought to have done less if 
 she had a machine ; but some women are 
 such females ! " Miss Curtis's foot tapped 
 the floor vexatiously. " I did n't like her 
 answer, and thought she had best know in 
 the beginning how I felt ; so I just went on 
 and told her that it was a good thing, it 
 saved salary, making her husband's shirts, 
 but that she ought n't to stop at the bosoms ; 
 that I had noticed, that is, I had seen 
 through the windows, that she bought 
 them all stitched. Do you know, I got a 
 new pair of glasses just to find that out. 
 Did n't your mother tell you ? "
 
 EARNESTNESS. 107 
 
 Again Olive shook her head. 
 
 " I suppose," returned Miss Curtis, " that 
 she did not think it ladylike in me to do 
 it, nor in her to tell of it. Are you going 
 to be ladylike and lose your identity ? 
 Ladies always have to give it up." 
 
 " Never," said Olive with a shudder. 
 
 " Salaried people have to be ladylike. 
 Marry an income, Olive, not a salary, then 
 you can do as you choose in manners. I 
 always did advise your mother, but it is all 
 along of a piece with my telling her, when 
 she was going to have her first convention 
 to tea, that she 'd find lobster salad went 
 further than chicken salad, 'cause most 
 people did n't eat it ; and she went and 
 had salmon salad ! I make up for it now, 
 when I " 
 
 "Is it you," said Olive, as a flash of 
 illumination darted through her mind, 
 "you always made us think it was some 
 one else, but is it you who send us a big 
 dinner every Anniversary week?"
 
 108 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 Miss Curtis nodded and snapped her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Yes, it 's I ; for when I saw that your 
 father didn't invite cathedral preachers 
 only, but took the country ones, who are 
 sent to the Legislature and who know a 
 potato from a sermon, and that he fed 
 them on veal, which is particularly de 
 pressing meat, I was afraid his salary could 
 not afford cheerful food ; so I told the 
 butcher to send him salmon, a sirloin, 
 asparagus, and strawberries, enough for a 
 collation, the last Friday of every May." 
 
 "What would you have done, aunt, if 
 you'd been a woman minister and had a 
 salary?" 
 
 " I 'd only have been one when I 'd had 
 a fixed income from telephone stock. A 
 salary from people's liking you, eked out 
 by wedding fees from grooms who don't 
 know the minister, but whose brides go to 
 Bible classes, and by appreciative funeral 
 fees from the family because the deceased
 
 EARNESTNESS. 109 
 
 liked you, is the miserablest kind of inde 
 pendence. Olive, there is Mr. Kimen 
 crossing the street; he has been to your 
 father's in nap-time, and he is coming here 
 ten minutes before his hour. He has seen 
 you at the window ; now just go out and 
 home the back way as fast as you can. 
 He '11 be out of sorts ; but I can't have my 
 house a providential propinquity for you 
 two." 
 
 " Aunt Curtis, he 's dreadful, he is so 
 good. He makes me feel like a sermon. 
 Jac-mamma calls him an over-fatigued 
 conscience."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MAKING FIRES. 
 
 Miss CURTIS' s days were full. She rose 
 early and made her matinal cup of broma 
 herself, in an old-fashioned aetna, for she 
 abominated the modern kerosene toilet 
 cooking-stoves, or lamps. Then she busied 
 herself with her immense correspondence. 
 Her writing-table was not cumbered with 
 that useless bric-a-brac which indicates 
 society letter-writing. Her father's ink- 
 horn, a bunch of quill pens, a sharp heavy 
 penknife, and a piece of cloth for a pen 
 wiper were its accessories. On the table 
 rested two plain walnut cases of shelves 
 for letters and papers, labelled, " Beggars," 
 " Pedlers," " Townspeople," " Strangers," 
 "Friends," "Business," which showed the 
 variety of her work.
 
 MAKING FIRES. Ill 
 
 Beggars were people who asked for 
 money without regard to the propriety of 
 the request. Pedlers were those who 
 offered some feeble exchange, like a triple 
 mortgage on a run-out farm, or a third of 
 the proceeds of some patent concerning 
 which there was already a lawsuit, for the 
 bounty which it was assumed she would 
 bestow. The alternative of choice was not 
 vouchsafed her. 
 
 She made her own investments, and only 
 had recourse to brokers as a necessity be 
 tween her and exchange of stocks. She 
 relied upon her own knowledge, justified 
 by newspaper reading; and certainly she 
 was as well informed as many of those who 
 purchase a seat at the brokers' board. 
 
 She never worked in any organization. 
 She called committees bags of wind, time- 
 wasting contrivances, and was too afraid 
 of her temper to expose herself to the 
 trying personal experiences which work 
 with others necessitates. People were too
 
 112 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 afraid of her peculiarities to ask her to be 
 president of anything ; but there was not a 
 society in town which had not desired her 
 name as vice-president. 
 
 " They want me to leave them some 
 thing," she said to Olive. " If it were n't 
 for the annual subscriptions, I 'd join them 
 all and leave them nothing. They would 
 cure their disappointment by holding fairs." 
 
 Miss Curtis's aid was given to individuals 
 on grounds of personal knowledge. If occa 
 sionally deceived, her examination of the 
 next petitioner was severer. It was her 
 favorite declaration that she had never 
 helped a girl to get an education who was 
 limber in mind or body and threatened to 
 break down. 
 
 " Mathematics and clear-starching," she 
 asserted, " don't go together any more than 
 light housework and schools of oratory. It 
 is all folly, working your passage when 
 you are getting an education. Girls in 
 my day were educated to be missionaries or
 
 MAKING FIRES. 113 
 
 mothers ; now they are taught to take in 
 dramatic expression and write parlor lec 
 tures, when encyclopaedias are as common 
 as Bibles." 
 
 At ten o'clock Miss Curtis was ready 
 to receive calls from beneficiaries ; after 
 lunch she walked, read, and slept ; in the 
 evening she visited the families of those 
 whom she helped. She could judge better 
 of human nature in the dishabille of home 
 life than in the dress uniform of shop or 
 factory existence. Besides, men, if there 
 were any, were then likely to be about ; 
 and she never thought she knew a woman 
 until she had observed her ways with a 
 man. She frequently took little journeys 
 to compare the results of her own investi 
 gations with the letters she received peti 
 tioning for her kindness. She would have 
 made an invaluable State Visitor on the 
 Commission of Lunacy and Charity; for 
 she had been known to ride all night that 
 she might arrive at some village as the 
 
 8
 
 114 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 sun was rising, and surprise a beneficiary 
 farmer doing his chores as he ought, or 
 else find him unpunctual for the lowing 
 cows. 
 
 One morning Olive found her unusually 
 annoyed. " What is the matter, aunt ? " 
 she questioned. 
 
 "Because people can't see when they 
 should get out of a scrape. As if, after 
 forty years of studying character, I am 
 going to give in ! It all comes from that 
 philandering Jane. She knew my terms, 
 and she ought to have laid them down to 
 him herself ; but she told her man to come 
 and see me. I sha' n't budge one inch ; he 
 has got to do it, or they '11 have none of 
 my money." 
 
 At that moment the door opened and a 
 well-dressed mechanic entered, rather sleek 
 in appearance, as if just out of the barber's 
 hands. 
 
 Miss Curtis became stern. 
 
 "The top of the morning to you this
 
 MAKING FIRES. 115 
 
 swate day ; and it is mesel that hopes I am 
 not intruding," said he. 
 
 "It is time some folks were at work, 
 sir," returned Miss Curtis. 
 
 " An' shure it 's my boss is swearing for 
 me now ; but as we wants to be married to 
 night, I just made bold to call on your lady 
 ship now, by your swate lave." 
 
 " What prevents you?" asked Miss 
 Curtis, grimly. 
 
 " An' shure, my lady," continued he, 
 blandly, "an' shure 't is to yersel we were 
 looking for the rint of the little house and the 
 pigsty ; an' shure it 's Jane will be bringing 
 you such swate milk ; an' shure " 
 
 " I want none of your goings on," inter 
 rupted Miss Curtis. " She told you," said 
 the lady, pointing to Jane, who stood sheep 
 ishly in the doorway, " that if you look 
 to me for the rent, you 've got to follow 
 my rules and make the fire every morning, 
 winter and summer, before you go to your 
 work. None of my girls can marry a man
 
 116 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 who won't promise that ; for if the laziness 
 is in him, this will take it out." 
 
 " An' shure, ma'am, if you '11 let me 
 swear it by your lovely sel', I '11 make it 
 every morning ; but if you make me swear 
 by all the holy saints, it 's mesel as 
 would n't like to take such liberties. And 
 thin, Miss Curtis, my old 'ooman, as is one 
 of the blessed saints now, was partickerly 
 cross about the lengths of wood ; and Jane 
 here might want her wood two fit long 
 'stead of three fit length." 
 
 " I don't see what wood two or three foot 
 long has to do with the matter ; all -you 
 have got to do is to put it in the stove and 
 make it burn," said Miss Curtis. 
 
 "An' shure, ma'am, it 's yer quick sel' 
 that 's got jist to the pint o' ower peck of 
 trouble. Shure as you are alive, ma'am, I 
 done all my part like a true widower that 
 I be, an' got in a nice set o' mortgagee 
 furniture, an' they bees all coming to-night 
 to greet her ; and when shes gets the
 
 MAKING FIRES. 117 
 
 cooking-stove, it 's Saint Patrick himsel' '11 
 show her to make the fire." 
 
 " Mortgaged furniture ! " almost screamed 
 Miss Curtis. 
 
 " An' shure, ma'am, it 's our mootool 
 wages as '11 pay for it. We jist axes you 
 to pay the rint, and thin we '11 settle about 
 the wood and the fire our two sel's." 
 
 "I told you, Pat Riley, that I ain't a 
 going to buy that stove. I spent all I set 
 out to, and cheerful like too, and that 's an 
 end on 't ! " exclaimed Jane. 
 
 " My fax ! if yees going to be that cross 
 ower a kitchen fire, I wouldn't marry yer, 
 letting alone the pig." 
 
 " Are you going to make the kitchen 
 fire, or not ? " demanded Miss Curtis. 
 
 " An* faith, ma'am, you pit a poor fellow 
 on his marriage night in a tight place. It 's 
 mesel as would do that, an' more, for the 
 sake of an old lady like yersel ; but when 
 it comes to doing it reg'lar for the sakes 
 o' a creeter you 've been so good as to
 
 118 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 marry, be jabbers ! I don't want to swear 
 to it." 
 
 " Go along wid yer. I '11 send for my 
 flour and things to-night ; you sha 'n't have 
 me nor them. I 'm no better than a creeter ! 
 Go 'long, I tell yer ! " screamed Jane. 
 
 The man bounced out of the room. 
 Jane sat down, threw her apron over her 
 head, and rocked herself back and forth, 
 crying, 
 
 " Oh the mean, nasty thing ! oh the 
 canting Irishman ! oh the deceitful sweet 
 heart ! oh, my ! oh, land ! oh, Jerusalem 
 salem em ! " 
 
 Miss Curtis walked up to her, pulled 
 down the apron, and jerked up her head, 
 saying, 
 
 " Jane, you are a fool now. You would 
 have been a squaw if you had married him. 
 Go home and send for your flour."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SNOBBISHNESS. 
 
 OLIVE was not faultless, and in spite of 
 her compassion for Miss Curtis, and her 
 appreciation of the blue depths of the sap 
 phire ring which that lady had given her, 
 there were times when she inwardly re 
 belled at the exercise of her friend's guar 
 dianship. It seemed as if her judgment 
 was being tested, and her actions weighed, 
 with a view to future results, instead of 
 letting each trifling event be its own jus 
 tification. Perhaps it was because Miss 
 Curtis was very lonely, notwithstanding 
 her beneficence, that she longed to expose 
 her threescore years and more to the con 
 tagion of youth. 
 
 In her mother's presence Olive was at
 
 120 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 ease. With her she could differ, argue, 
 plead, or be silent. They two were never 
 afraid of being on the brink of a conflict, 
 the fear that disintegrates friendship. Yet 
 both of them recognized that their mu 
 tual relations were undergoing that subtile 
 change by which alone grown-up children 
 and parents can live together freely. 
 
 Now that Olive was partially released 
 from fixed hours of school life, she found 
 her mother's interpretation of being "out 
 in society " meant having time to do for 
 other people. Olive thought it should also 
 include having time for one's self, and for 
 the amenities of life. There were many 
 little unaesthetic appointments of the house 
 and the table which the daughter, as she 
 was almost " out," wanted changed, and 
 which the mother wished should remain 
 as they were, in virtue of her husband's 
 limited income. 
 
 " Maggie ought to wait on table better," 
 said Olive. " It is part of the contract."
 
 SNOBBISHNESS. 121 
 
 "She hasn't time to do everything," 
 replied Mrs. Cadwallader. 
 
 " Well, this ought to be done, anyway. 
 I can see why she does not want to classify 
 herself with a white cap, but I don't see 
 why she can't hand the plates, instead of 
 our helping ourselves across the breakfast- 
 table. I could get more out of her than 
 you do, if you would only let me try," 
 reasoned Olive. 
 
 " Because you must have occupation, 
 must I lose it?" asked her mother. 
 
 " Oh, Jac-mamma ! " exclaimed the girl, 
 throwing her arms around her mother's 
 neck, " I don't want to turn you out ; but 
 I care for pretty effects, and you care for 
 philosophic, long views. You have brought 
 me up on them ; now let me educate you 
 on pleasing trifles." 
 
 " Agreed, if you leave Maggie time 
 enough for the laundry-work of your broth 
 er's wardrobe ; he, too, makes modern de 
 mands upon his home."
 
 122 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 " That 's like you, mamma ; you always 
 accept the inevitable. Owen and I are 
 modern, you are antique simplicity ; mod 
 ern life is so complex that we must arrange 
 for division of forces." 
 
 "A mother's puzzle is to make her 
 daughter greater without being less herself. 
 Neither your self-respect nor mine must 
 increase by either of us losing respect for 
 the other." 
 
 " Never fear, mamma ! A daughter can 
 only grace what you dignify." 
 
 It was thus that conflict between the two 
 was often parried. 
 
 The aspect of the home did change in 
 sensibly. The tall haircloth rocking-chair 
 became covered with plush, though it stood 
 in the way just as much as ever. An 
 occasional water-color replaced the scrip 
 tural engravings which made the house so 
 suggestive of its owner's calling. The little 
 reception-room lost its prim, committee 
 look, and glowed with the color of Madras
 
 SNOBBISHNESS. 123 
 
 curtains held back by a wealth of ribbon. 
 The dining-room regulations grew more 
 leisurely, and the menu acquired a less semi- 
 weekly character. 
 
 " Mrs. Cadwallader seems to have grown 
 as young-looking as her daughter," said 
 the sewing-circle. No one could add that 
 the child had grown as old as her parent. 
 
 Neither mother nor daughter ever 
 planned to enjoy the companionship of 
 sewing, the rock on which so much domes 
 tic happiness founders. That little phrase, 
 "Bring your sewing into my room and 
 let 's talk," has been more productive of 
 being rubbed the wrong way than of any 
 pleased domestic purring. If there were 
 sewing to be done, it was often done with 
 each other, but it was never resorted to 
 as an expedient for enjoying each other's 
 society. 
 
 The best hours of the intercourse between 
 Olive and her mother were the after-talks, 
 when "a little company" was over, or
 
 124 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 the girl had returned from dancing. Olive 
 learned from these chats that the most 
 high-bred tact is the same as keen sympa 
 thy, and that to manage people is the art 
 of managing one's self ; and more than all, 
 she saw that the old proverb, " With time 
 and patience the mulberry-leaf becomes 
 satin," teaches the gift of social adjustment. 
 
 As a matter of course Olive danced well 
 and enjoyed the glide polka as if she were 
 wheeling through chaos into the millen 
 nium; yet she had never forgotten her child 
 ish agonies of disappointment at her own 
 limitations. They made her now on the 
 lookout for others who were perched on the 
 fence of self-consciousness, and endeavor to 
 bring them within the field of contentment 
 and self-forgetfulness. 
 
 Next to making a forlorn girl happy, she 
 enjoyed snubbing a presumptuous youth. 
 
 It was the last evening of the subscrip 
 tion parties. She had teased the dress 
 maker until her dress fitted without a
 
 SNOBBISHNESS. 125 
 
 wrinkle, and, starting from the copse of 
 her bustle, fell in long, willowy lines 
 around her feet. She wished she were to 
 have some one else than Rob Royce for a 
 partner. He was one of those unfortunate 
 fellows to whom girls will not engage 
 themselves beforehand, but whom they will 
 accept at the last moment if they can get 
 no one else. In a spurt of generosity Olive 
 had some weeks ago promised herself to 
 him for this evening. That he might 
 prove to all beholders that this had been a 
 prearranged concession on her part, he sent 
 her three dozen Jacqueminot roses at fifty 
 cents apiece. She put them on the tea- 
 table as a centre ornament, and left them, 
 there. 
 
 The german had begun, when Olive's 
 quick eye perceived a stranger sitting alone 
 most of the time, while her partner indus 
 triously took out the pretty girls. The 
 new-comer "was economically overdressed. 
 Her attire at once excited sympathy and
 
 126 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 told the story of scant means and maternal 
 love, and the endeavor to make the nar 
 row breadths of her mother's yellowish- 
 white wedding gown into the full draperies 
 of the present day. The waist was so tight 
 that it looked crabbed ; the skirts were so 
 tight that they resembled a Quaker pin 
 cushion. Out of the dress rose a quiet, 
 demure little face, which spoke of simple 
 pleasures and honest gratitude. 
 
 "Who is that girl?" asked Olive of her 
 partner. 
 
 " It is a Miss Spark ; she is not in our 
 set, you know." 
 
 " How did she come here, then ? Do you 
 know her ? " 
 
 " Hardly ; I just met her once. She is n't 
 in society." 
 
 " She is here," claimed Olive. 
 
 " Oh, it is some one Mrs. Tory has taken 
 up, as she is always doing. Society is so 
 mixed, you know ; such girls can't expect 
 to have anything but a quiet time, even if
 
 SNOBBISHNESS. 127 
 
 Mrs. Tory gets them partners. She is the 
 matron, and is such a * swell' herself she 
 can afford to invite any one." 
 
 " That is an advantage most of us lack," 
 was the quick response. " We '11 take her 
 out hi the naming figure, and that will give 
 you a chance to introduce me." 
 
 Koyce looked at her amazed, but the 
 faint twinkle in her eye reminded him 
 that it was only through her intercession 
 that he, living in Charlestown, had been 
 put on the manager's list. Besides, she had 
 not carried his flowers. She might have 
 told the girls about them, and then they 
 would laugh at him; he knew it was not 
 good taste to have sent so many, only he 
 had wanted to show that if he set out 
 to do a thing he could carry it through. 
 Ought he to mention the flowers, and say 
 in a careless tone that perhaps she pre 
 ferred Marechal Neil roses ? What did 
 fellows do who were not brought up to 
 that kind of thing? On the whole, he
 
 128 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 concluded it was wiser not to allude to 
 them, and not to object to anything Miss 
 Cadwallader wished. 
 
 All this reasoning had lasted no longer 
 than the gleam in her eye, when he bowed 
 silently and led her up to Miss Spark, 
 introducing her. 
 
 " Let us take you out," said Olive in her 
 easy manner. " You know Mr. Royce must 
 take us both up to another gentleman. 
 "Which will you be, oranges or lemons ? " 
 
 " Oranges," answered Miss Spark, spring 
 ing up in delight. 
 
 Royce carried them to Pat Green, who 
 chose lemons and whirled off Olive. Royce 
 took a short turn round the hall with Miss 
 Spark, and conducted her to her seat with 
 gravity. 
 
 Soon after Olive took a second young 
 man up to Miss Spark. When the little 
 world of society saw that the one of un 
 known antecedents had met with recog 
 nition, all the rest gladly gave it ; soon
 
 SNOBBISHNESS. 129 
 
 it was discovered that Miss Spark's an 
 cestors had fought at Bunker Hill. 
 
 Olive told Miss Curtis about the incident. 
 That lady indexed it in her note-book 
 under the heading, " Snobs," as a guide for 
 her judgment in case Mr. Royce should 
 ever become a petitioner for her alms 
 giving, or she should read about him in 
 the newspapers.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 CONVENTIONALITY. 
 
 BREAKFAST was late the next morning, 
 or rather the meal was punctual but the 
 family were irregular. When Owen jerk- 
 ingly shoved himself into the room, by 
 going first to the right and then to the left 
 until he reached his seat, he found his 
 mother opening Olive's egg for her, one 
 of the little maternal pretences by which 
 Mrs. Cadwallader tried to realize that her 
 daughter had not grown up. The folly of 
 such a delusion irritated the boy, and fur 
 nished a pretext for the advice which he 
 had been slowly accumulating to hurl at 
 his sister's recklessness. Helping himself 
 to an egg, he began,
 
 CONVENTIONALITY. 131 
 
 "I should think girls who weren't old 
 enough to open their own eggs, need not 
 try to set the fashion for their elders ! " 
 
 Neither Olive's look of amused serenity 
 nor his mother's air of indifference was 
 encouraging ; yet as her brother it was his 
 duty to warn her. 
 
 "You'll get yourself disliked, Olive, if 
 you go on in this way." 
 
 He gave his egg too hard a crack with 
 his knife, and the yolk fell on the table 
 cloth. He wiped off the yellow stain with 
 his napkin, rubbed his fingers with it, 
 crumpled it up, and putting it with a slap 
 on the table, continued, 
 
 " "Why can't you let girls alone, and not 
 turn a party into an asylum for incurables ? " 
 
 " Because no girl ever ought to be con 
 sidered a chronic case of wall-flower. There 
 is always something in her, if you '11 take 
 the trouble to find it out ; and as for Miss 
 Stark, she dances beautifully," answered 
 Olive.
 
 132 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 " I see you know what I mean," replied 
 Owen in lordly manner. " I did n't get 
 there till the german was nearly over, so 
 I can't judge of her dancing; but one of 
 the fellows told me of your conduct, and 
 asked if you were trying to reform the 
 world. I hate to have my sister spoken 
 of in that public way." 
 
 "Is not that rather a strong word?" 
 asked Mrs. Cadwallader. 
 
 " Not at all. It is all very well for girls 
 to be charitable and work fellows' initials 
 on red silk handkerchiefs to be made into 
 bedquilts, but I do hate to have them so 
 reformatory as Olive is." 
 
 " She told me of the incident about the 
 introduction last night, if that is what 
 you mean, and I can see nothing in it 
 but the courage to be kindly," said his 
 mother. 
 
 " I don't doubt that 's all Olive meant," 
 replied Owen ; " but she is always doing 
 unexpected things and taking up such un-
 
 CONVENTIONALITY. 133 
 
 expected people ; and yet she dislikes free- 
 and-easy ways as much as any one." 
 
 " Elegant cordiality is my motto," re 
 turned his sister ; " you would be such a 
 nice jolly fellow, Owen, if you were not so 
 conventional." 
 
 " That 's what you are always saying," 
 he retorted. "I tell you, one can't get 
 on without it; one would perpetually be 
 offending people if one were not con 
 ventional." 
 
 "And I should constantly be offending 
 myself if I were," said Olive. 
 
 "And I think you might have some 
 regard for my feelings, if I am going about 
 with you," declared the brother. 
 
 "Owen, you spoil yourself by being so 
 afraid that you are not acting according to 
 rule. The rules you take are founded on 
 fancied necessities, not on real ones." 
 
 "And yours are founded on doing as 
 you please," was the reply. 
 
 " On doing not as I please, but as will
 
 134 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 please some one else ; and if it is going to 
 hurt some one's feelings for me to be un 
 conventional with them, I won't be, as far 
 as that person is concerned. But if con 
 ventionality is going to prevent me from 
 being kind to somebody else, why then I 
 shall be unconventional," Olive answered. 
 
 " The danger for you, Owen," said his 
 mother, " is, that in your desire to be well- 
 bred you are forgetting that being high 
 bred means being sympathetic. You take 
 the conventions of society, which are, I 
 grant you, bulwarks of defence, and shelter 
 yourself behind them. You never do things 
 which you ought not to do. But to guide 
 your actions by non-committal of yourself, 
 instead of by perception of the subtile 
 threads which relate every little act to 
 some great principle of intuitive morals 
 or eternal realities, is being befogged. 
 Every now and then the fog lifts, and you 
 see the headlands, where you could steer 
 and give a greeting ; yet while you are
 
 CONVENTIONALITY. 135 
 
 drifting that way the fog envelops both 
 you and the point for which you were 
 making. You may be safe, but you have 
 done nothing." 
 
 " Oh, Jac-mamma, it is the white smother 
 of conventionality. It creeps all over you, 
 you are penetrated with it before you know 
 it ; yet it is so pretty ! " interrupted the 
 girl. 
 
 " Yes, Olive ; but you, on the other hand, 
 must be careful to remember that though 
 the misuse of conventionality may lead to 
 snobbishness, and though in itself it is a 
 question of the expedient, and so differs 
 in character according to localities, uncon- 
 ventionality can become repulsive. Doing 
 what one thinks is right, without regard 
 to the form in which it is done, injures a 
 good act. Unless you can beautify it with 
 grace, it has the strength and none of the 
 tenderness of freedom, which longs to make 
 others as itself is." 
 
 Mr. Kimen had entered unobserved by
 
 136 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 Mrs. Cadwallader, but not by Owen, who, 
 as usual in Mr. Kimen's presence, felt him 
 self judged by the mere force of contrast 
 between them. He therefore bowed to him 
 with as severe a dignity as his youthful 
 years could command, and with a nod of 
 commiseration for his mother, hastened 
 from the room. Olive, too, contrived to 
 leave it without shaking hands with the 
 visitor, who in his turn was rather con 
 fused at finding himself in the position of 
 sole respondent to Mrs. Cadwallader. In 
 his distress he uttered the very thought 
 which was often in his mind, but which he 
 considered unworthy of a future minister 
 of the gospel, who should be welcome at 
 all times and seasons, "I am afraid I am 
 in the way." 
 
 " Oh, no," she replied. " One is always 
 thankful to a friend who interrupts a long 
 sentence. The uses of conventionality are so 
 much more apparent than its insidiousness, 
 that I often find myself erring by talking
 
 CONVENTIONALITY. 137 
 
 too emphatically about its evil ; with which, 
 after all, one may never be infected." 
 
 " Does being in earnest about things pre 
 vent the danger?" asked Mr. Kimen. 
 
 The lady busied herself with her teacups 
 to hide her expression. She felt as indig 
 nant with him for his overweening earn 
 estness, as she did with her son for his 
 belittling conventionality. Recovering her 
 composure, she answered, 
 
 " Only as one danger is avoided by in 
 curring another. The unseasoned earnest 
 ness of youth has its own perils." 
 
 Mr. Kimen looked troubled. Was he 
 young? Did she. mean to suggest to him 
 a change in heart, or in manner ? He could 
 not be frivolous in either ; he might never 
 accomplish anything, but at least he must 
 believe in his own earnestness. 
 
 Olive had followed her brother into the 
 hall. With no consideration of his feelings, 
 she asked him to leave a package for her 
 as he went down town. The bundle, as she
 
 138 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 held it up, looked like a charity offering. 
 He hesitated. He always wished they had 
 a man to do errands, as had other people. 
 
 " I could roll it up tight; it might go into 
 your bag," suggested Olive, demurely. 
 
 " Then why could you not have said so 
 in the first place? It would have saved 
 time/' said he, his countenance lighting. 
 
 " Bring home some fellow to dinner with 
 you, won't you?" urged his sister as she 
 squeezed the bundle into his new morocco 
 bag ; " you know such nice fellows." 
 
 " The kind I like don't suit you," was 
 the gruff answer. "You want the home 
 less sort, though they may not be to your 
 taste. You are always trying to suit both 
 conscience and taste. If you would be con 
 tent to be true to the latter, you could let 
 alone the leadings of the first." 
 
 Olive colored a little. Owen often saw 
 through her weaknesses, though he failed 
 to comprehend her strength. He felt his 
 advantage and followed it up.
 
 CONVENTIONALITY. 139 
 
 " Girls are humbugs, any way. They are 
 forever asking one his opinion of fellows, 
 as if the morality of the universe depended 
 on them." 
 
 " It does, Owen, but you won't see it," 
 replied Olive, almost tearfully. " We ask 
 you about a boy or a man, and you say he 
 is a good fellow, and we feel he is n't. You 
 might own it, merely enough to justify us or 
 to put us on our guard. You call it honor 
 not to say anything against a fellow, even 
 if it is true ; that is what makes society so 
 dreadful. We girls would not be such fools 
 if you boys were truer about each other; 
 and as you are not, we can't always tell 
 the hay-fever kind from the other kind." 
 
 " Olive, you are a dear good little sister, 
 but I have seen more of the world than you 
 have. I know men, and you had better 
 learn to endure the conventions of societ}' 
 than go round separating the chaff from the 
 wheat, and deciding upon who has got 
 hay fever and who has been on a lark."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A BOX. 
 
 OWEN'S perpetual fear of committing 
 himself often deprived him of pleasure, 
 though it kept him from folly. A summer 
 at Narragansett Pier had greatly enlarged 
 his knowledge of girls. There he had met 
 Dolly Slater, in whom he became absorbed 
 as far as it was prudent. Pathetic he cer 
 tainly was, for he spent whole mornings in 
 his room meditating upon her. Yet when 
 winter came and she was in her father's 
 house, he delayed calling upon her, fearing 
 that the old man would speak of him as 
 one of my "girl's beaux." 
 
 Dolly, a damsel of rising fame, had often 
 blushed for the parental homeliness of 
 phrase, but she could not afford to be
 
 A BOX. 141 
 
 taken up and put down again by a mere 
 minister's son. To acknowledge herself 
 neglected would involve the failure of her 
 vast social schemes. She prepared ven 
 geance. She began by bowing to him for 
 mally; she spoke of him to others as a 
 summer acquaintance, as an amiable boy 
 useful in bringing the water at picnics. 
 Her remarks reached his ears. 
 
 When this had been effected, she gave a 
 small german on purpose not to invite him. 
 Her mother did not yet dare to engage a 
 hall for this purpose. That would come 
 a year or two later, when there were more 
 calls to return. Meanwhile an informal 
 few friends just in their own parlor; the 
 furniture pushed back carelessly; an im 
 promptu little supper of birds and ices, with 
 menus all engraved, would be recherche. 
 The affair was to be so very small that it 
 got talked about, and many watched for 
 invitations who did not receive them. The 
 success of the party was thereby insured.
 
 142 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 Owen regretted his caution, especially as 
 his use of propriety equally forbade him 
 to say anything against a young lady or 
 against himself. If he could only prove to 
 her that his summer fancy for her had arisen 
 from his gregarious habit of mind, from his 
 general inclination for any pretty girl, and 
 not from a little passion for herself, except 
 so far as she represented her sex, he could 
 save the honor of his set from being tar 
 nished through his slight acquaintance 
 with her. It must be done by manners, not 
 by words, which would commit him. He 
 laid his plans. The next Sunday, after 
 church, when all the world walked down 
 the avenue, would furnish a conspicuous 
 occasion for his polite indifference. 
 
 On the morning of that day he sat 
 far back in church, that he might be 
 sure to meet Lura Jenkins, who was all 
 the fashion, as she came down the aisle. 
 He asked permission to escort her home. 
 This accomplished, they soon met Miss
 
 A BOX. 143 
 
 Slater coming in an opposite direction. 
 Owen saw her afar, and became absorbed 
 in Miss Jenkins, stooping forward to listen 
 to her in eager fashion. Then, as if blinded 
 by an interfering cloud, he threw back his 
 head, beheld Dolly, who had almost passed 
 him, quickly turned half round, pulled off 
 his hat as if he would not on any account 
 have failed to observe her, and re-swung 
 himself toward Miss Jenkins's muff, with 
 its knot of wild roses. 
 
 He had proved to his own satisfaction 
 that he knew how to be a gentleman. 
 Miss Slater's annoyance was plainly visible 
 to the line of girls whom she immediately 
 met. Olive, who had seen it all, was with 
 them. Indignant at the expedients to 
 which social pique could resort, yet with 
 supreme pity for any girl who was 
 snubbed, she left her companions and 
 joined Dolly Slater. A little later Miss 
 Slater parted with her at her own door, 
 vowing eternal friendship to Olive for
 
 144 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 thus effectually softening the poignancy 
 of the studied sarcastic bow bestowed 
 upon her. Certainly the brother must 
 have been invited to the party, if his 
 sister walked with Dolly, reasoned the 
 spectators. 
 
 Owen came home wrathy; he did not 
 dare again to reflect on his sister's conduct, 
 for he felt himself immeasurably little, and 
 he could not afford to betray his mortifi 
 cation. He went to his room and upset 
 things generally, which is always an effica 
 cious means of restoring one's own balance. 
 Wishing still further to compose his per 
 turbed spirit, he bethought him of clearing 
 out his closet. Caressingly he smoothed 
 his dress-coat, and tried to efface the half 
 inch of glistening surface on each side of 
 the back seams. In replacing it on the 
 shelf (for having to be economical, he al 
 ways folded his suits), he stumbled over a 
 box and uttered an exclamation of vexation. 
 To find that his coat was growing shiny
 
 A BOX. 145 
 
 before the season was over, and then to 
 stub his toe, was humiliating. 
 
 " It is that fellow Kimen's box," he said to 
 himself. " I don't see why father need take 
 such interest in these half-fledged minis 
 ters. Kimen will never make any mark 
 in the world. Because I have an attic 
 room, the box is stowed away up here to 
 be handy to the skylight in case a fire 
 breaks out. I don't believe there is any 
 thing in it but his good resolutions and his 
 hopes of eternity. There ! I won't keep it 
 here any longer ; " and he pushed it out 
 of the closet. 
 
 Unfortunately the closet door opened 
 close on to the chamber door, and that 
 was opposite the head of the stairs, there be 
 ing but a narrow entry between the door and 
 the staircase. His vigorous thrust sent 
 the box out of the closet door, out of his 
 room door, down the stairs, where its 
 farther descent was barred by Mr. Kimen's 
 
 ascent. 
 
 10
 
 146 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 Owen, who had rejoiced in his impersonal 
 but objective punishment of Mr. Kimen, 
 was now shocked to find that that gentle 
 man was aware of it. The boy stood con 
 fused and muttering at the top of the flight ; 
 Mr. Kimen stood midway, one foot poised 
 against his property, his grief and surprise 
 showing plainly. The noise brought up 
 the whole family. Olive at once compre 
 hended the train of reasoning in her broth 
 er's mind and burst into peals of laughter, 
 which so greatly annoyed Mr. Kimen that 
 he meekly observed that he didn't see any 
 fun in the occurrence. 
 
 " I did n't mean to touch the pesky 
 thing; it was all an accident," apologized 
 Owen. " I was just thinking, and it hap 
 pened to be in the way, that was all." 
 
 " It seems my box is as much in the way 
 as I am myself," replied Mr. Kimen. 
 
 " Not at all, either of you ; it is a pastoral 
 hotel, any way," urged Owen, trying to be 
 funny.
 
 A BOX. 147 
 
 Mr. Kimen grew tired of acting as prop 
 to the box, and changed his position. This 
 sent it rumbling down to the lower entry, 
 where Olive effectually stopped it by sitting 
 down upon it. 
 
 " Take it as a joke," said she. " It is not 
 a serious matter ; it has n't any moral bear 
 ings ; you and your box are not the same." 
 
 " ' Love me, love my dog/ " returned Mr. 
 Kimen, gravely. 
 
 The girl's eye flashed. 
 
 " Personalities are more in the way than 
 boxes, Mr. Kimen," she answered, rising 
 with vexation. 
 
 Owen's better nature came to relieve the 
 growing tragedy. He met Mr. Kimen, who 
 still stood in the middle of the stairs, and 
 held out his hand, saying. 
 
 "I honestly beg the box's pardon, and 
 yours. It has never been in my way until 
 five minutes ago ; then I happened to hit 
 it, and I was so cross with something else, 
 which occurred as I was walking home
 
 148 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 from church, that I vented my vexation 
 on the first object which annoyed me. It 
 is a huge joke on me, as Olive says. I r ll 
 have the box back in a trice." 
 
 Before Mr. Kimen had time to answer, 
 or to consider what to reply, Owen had 
 passed him and shouldered the box and 
 borne it back to his closet. Olive dis 
 appeared, and Mr. Kiinen walked slowly 
 down to the library, pondering upon his 
 wisest course of action concerning the 
 affair, and upon Olive's laughter, which 
 was regardless of the dignity of human 
 nature. 
 
 The circumstance was soon forgotten, 
 save as it was now and then referred to 
 in the annals of family anecdotes.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 PANSIES. 
 
 OF course Olive told the incident of 
 Owen's mishap to Miss Curtis, who said : 
 
 " I cannot make out Mr. Kimen. I 
 cannot tell whether he is veneered with 
 earnestness, or whether he is a tough pine- 
 knot which will make a blaze in the world 
 by and by." 
 
 "I wish my friends did not so often 
 strike me as possibilities," answered Olive, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Child, you could not endure most of 
 them if you did not look at them in that 
 light." 
 
 " It is my old, childish puzzle, aunt ; I 
 have given up wanting to be somebody 
 else, and just take myself piecemeal, day
 
 150 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 by day; but I have not yet learned how 
 to make my friends over into what they 
 might be." 
 
 " Most of us can't generate our own oil, 
 Olive ; we have to be thankful to shine by 
 reflected light. If the angels are radiant 
 with it, we humans must be content to be 
 known as we might be. Blessed are the 
 child-makers for some of us." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked the girl 
 in an almost frightened tone, for she never 
 before had found Miss Curtis pathetic. 
 
 "Nothing, child, nothing; people grow 
 either sentimental or crabbed in their old 
 age. I have tried one way so long that 
 I thought I 'd try the other, and see if I 
 could fit myself to a halo against the time 
 I might need it." 
 
 "With evident effort the old lady turned 
 the conversation into its usual half-sar 
 castic, half-gossipy vein, and Olive had 
 sufficient tact to follow her lead. From 
 Miss Curtis' s crisp way of thinking, Olive
 
 PANSIES. 151 
 
 was learning the reality that inheres in 
 everything. This knowledge, added to 
 her mother's opinions, based on long views 
 and the relation of little to big, was giving 
 her a very comprehensive heart and mind. 
 Still, she could not free herself from the 
 notion that Miss Curtis was shaping her 
 with intent, for what, she could not divine. 
 But even the sense of being wrought upon 
 for the benefit of an unknown quantity could 
 not destroy the happiness which was always 
 welling up in her like laughing-gas, as 
 Owen termed it. 
 
 Miss Curtis and Olive were sitting by 
 their usual seat in the window, but Miss 
 Curtis was not observing her neighbors. 
 Since she had known Olive, her curiosity 
 about other people had lessened. She still 
 indulged herself in extraordinary actions, 
 and maintained a strict censorship of pri 
 vate judgment over the feminine and ex 
 plosive communications of the "Transcript." 
 She sent imaginary items about imaginary
 
 152 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 persons to the Sunday paper, which the 
 editor innocently published. However, 
 after her sponge-cake-baby party of years 
 ago she had ceased to mystify children. 
 
 "My dear," said she once in answer to 
 the entreaties of Olive against some fresh 
 oddity of hers, " I must keep up my char 
 acter for being a little crazy, or I shall lose 
 my freedom. I must have occupation." 
 
 But this morning she was strangely 
 silent. She had grown old within a day 
 or two. It troubled Olive. The girl wished 
 her father were not a minister, that he 
 might have time to call on Miss Curtis. 
 Was her friend getting ready to die ? Oh, 
 if she would only tell why she had never 
 married ! 
 
 Olive knew little about the lady's early 
 life, except that she had not lived in the city, 
 and that when her father died he had left 
 a large sum of money. This was to be ex 
 pended either in building a college for boys 
 in his scattered township, way down by
 
 PANSIES. 153 
 
 the seashore, or its income was to be used by 
 his daughter in helping women to get mar 
 ried, provided she could find a sufficient 
 number of them who wished to be, and at 
 her death she was to dispose of the prin 
 cipal as she chose. 
 
 Miss Curtis had taken six months to con 
 sider the matter, and then had announced 
 that women needed marriage more than 
 men needed education. A town-meeting 
 had been called to remonstrate against her 
 decision. She had received its written com 
 munication with contempt, had torn it in 
 little pieces and returned it to the com 
 mittee who had waited upon her. Then 
 the village lawyer had been employed to 
 find a flaw in the will. He had a spinster 
 daughter whom he wanted to see married 
 before he left her alone ; therefore he de 
 cided to let personal interest outweigh 
 public good. He would neither find what 
 did not exist, nor swear away the old man's 
 sanity. The town was indignant. It had
 
 154 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 dreamed of a red brick building with veran 
 das and porticos ; of an influx of summer 
 boarders and consequent rise in the price of 
 butter and chickens. It refused to extend 
 protracted condolences to Miss Curtis ; the 
 church held a series of prayer-meetings to 
 alter her decision : all was in vain. The 
 will had been properly drawn, executed, and 
 admitted to probate. No bonds had been 
 required of her as sole executrix ; no trus 
 tees had been appointed for her ; to no one 
 was she compelled to account for disposal 
 of income or principal. She rented her 
 house and farm, and left the town amid 
 the execrations of her neighbors. 
 
 All this Olive knew, but the life prior to 
 this departure and a few years after it were 
 a blank, of which she knew nothing and 
 had never dared to ask. Miss Curtis had 
 finally settled in Boston, and had lived in 
 the same house for over thirty years. 
 
 Her way of living had at first attracted 
 little social attention. Bric-a-brac dealers
 
 PANSIES. 155 
 
 seemed unaware of her existence. Grad 
 ually philanthropists and stock-brokers 
 spread the impression of her wealth and 
 eccentricities among their wives, who re 
 tailed it as facts which their husbands 
 had heard at the club. It was found im 
 possible to direct the channels of her benefi 
 cence, or to persuade her to take any one 
 into her esteem who was not personally 
 agreeable to her. Into her confidence she 
 received no one. 
 
 Miss Curtis had an intense horror of 
 early marriages, which she considered as 
 whirlpools and quicksands from which a 
 safe return to normal happiness was impos 
 sible. She despised the clerk or mechanic 
 who married on the instalment plan and 
 brought his bride home to hired furni 
 ture. It was tempting Providence, whose 
 designs for the future were inscrutable, 
 but which, interpreted by future poverty 
 and the necessities of a large and growing 
 family, indicated disapproval. On the other
 
 156 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 hand, Miss Curtis respected the man who 
 invested his earnings in mortgages. She 
 advised him freely and showed him how to 
 watch the pecuniary decadence of a street 
 from the door-plates of private residences to 
 those of physician's signs ; to dental, hygi 
 enic, and physical advertisements ; to paste 
 boards hanging in front windows, with 
 " Rooms to let " inscribed upon them in 
 large letters ; and the final transformation 
 of the street into shops, with studios to rent 
 above them, where should gather the maiden 
 artists of society. 
 
 Miss Curtis spent her income in various 
 ways, or allowed it to accumulate, according 
 to the needs of marriageable women. Oc 
 casionally some of the principal had gone 
 for a worthy couple whose ideas in regard 
 to economy and a small family she ap 
 proved. Sometimes it was merely the 
 trousseau she provided for the bride, or 
 the three rooms she furnished for the sim 
 ple home. Oftener than any other way it
 
 PANSIES. 157 
 
 was the gift of a sum of money to the 
 woman, but in trust ; of which Miss Curtis 
 paid over the income regularly, the principal 
 going to the wife at the time of Miss Cur- 
 tis's death. Again it was a loan, of which, 
 when it was all repaid, Miss Curtis would 
 give back a part outright. Her clients, as 
 she called them, were scattered far and wide. 
 For a few years after she left her coun 
 try home her bitterness toward it extended 
 to all in its neighborhood. When at last 
 she heard of a young man who was dying, 
 whom one of the village girls wished to 
 marry, that her tenderness might befriend 
 him, Miss Curtis suddenly sent him a 
 check, on condition that he died. The 
 gift was accepted, with the guarantee of the 
 sick man that he would comply with its 
 terms. Either joy at being the helpless 
 instrument by which his wife would become 
 a widow of means, or else her loving care, 
 made him recover. The money was re 
 turned to the donor. Miss Curtis, aston-
 
 158 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 ished at such honesty, placed him in charge 
 of her own farm, supplied him with cod- 
 liver oil and pork jackets in case of 
 relapse, and afterward boarded with him 
 and his wife for many a summer, watch 
 ing his health and his early vegetables. 
 Gradually her rancor at her townsmen 
 was appeased. Whenever she discovered 
 a damsel whose heart was as true as 
 her physique was strong, and a man 
 who loved the soil and oxen, she started 
 them in domesticity. 
 
 In consequence of these judicious wed 
 dings and a railroad, the town had grown. 
 Miss Curtis often determined to take Olive 
 there, but she dreaded to let even the girl 
 be aware of her simple enjoyment in farm 
 life and country pleasures ; of her delight 
 in cutting the flowers from her own garden, 
 for which she owed no one a " thank you." 
 In the city, one always has to remember 
 when bouquets are sent, that in due time 
 the compliment may be returned. She
 
 PANSIES. 159 
 
 loved to put the yellow nasturtiums in 
 the brown Moravian jar which had stood 
 on her father's high mantel-piece ever since 
 she was a girl. She gathered the bachelor 
 buttons into the blue Delft pitcher. Over 
 her pansies she lingered long. They were 
 laid far apart from each other in the saucer 
 with its dainty sprigs of enamel. Each 
 heart's-ease looked at her with the eyes 
 of friends now resting under the spreading 
 myrtle. She gazed down into their velvety 
 softness, into their gay impertinences of 
 laughing colors, and recalled the by-gone 
 fancies and the wan hopes of her girlhood. 
 Tenderly her withered fingers hovered over 
 the dark blue purple petals. Did a tear fall 
 on the green pistil ? Did the angel of the 
 flowers send up its perfumed message, that 
 love liveth ever ? 
 
 Could she let Olive see her wind the 
 delicate tracery of the bridal wreath over 
 a clump of white dahlias, in a distant field, 
 the opened wealth of fluted petals bending
 
 160 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 under the light weight of grace thrown over 
 them ? Could she permit the girl to follow 
 her as she hid her feet under the glowing 
 bunch-berries, or wove j^ards of " love-tape " 
 from the little trinities of pine needles, or 
 pulled the crinkled lichen and the coral 
 moss, the fairies' tea-set, and played 
 housekeeping with her memories of the 
 past? Did the wee red cups remind her 
 of her father's tea-table, and of some one 
 who sat there with her? 
 
 She knew the girl would be merciful, but 
 one wants no resurrection of the buried 
 past through sympathy. Yet Olive must 
 go and realize the life that might soon be 
 before her.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FARMER NUTTING. 
 
 IT was rumored in Ludben that Miss 
 Curtis was coming to her old home and 
 was to bring with her the daughter of a 
 dear friend. The young men began to 
 clean their rusty harnesses preparatory to 
 picnics; the country girls rejected "Harp 
 er's Bazar " and waited to borrow patterns 
 from the young lady from the city; the 
 whole village put on an air of senile youth. 
 The babies remained the only natural in 
 habitants of the place. Every one else 
 was intent on appearances. The minister 
 shoved aside his sermon on the beauty of 
 early death, and began another on the 
 
 advantages of old age. The gray-headed 
 11
 
 162 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 farmers, as they talked down street from 
 the rough uncovered seats of their rick 
 ety wagons, or as they clustered round the 
 village tavern and called for ginger pop, 
 told stories of the olden time. 
 
 " Waal, naow, I reckon," said Farmer 
 Hastings, " we 're a mighty sight better off, 
 taken as a hull, than if that 'ere 'cademy 
 had been built, with the porto-rico on the 
 front, and the pizarro on the rear. It would 
 have cost a heap o' cash, an' they du tell 
 that the old man had n't sech a pile as he 'd 
 orter 'cumulate, sence he was never a drink 
 ing man." 
 
 "Waal, naow, I kinder rather see the 
 urchins a-bobbing about over their fathers' 
 graves than a solitary-looking town sech 
 as is prevalent out to Dakoty. If the 
 old man's daughter had n't been a woman, 
 she 'd never have set such a sight by 
 marrying," chimed in Farmer Nutting. 
 
 " You have scotched it, Brother Nutting. 
 Wimmen-folks is long-headed in virtoo of
 
 FARMER NUTTING. 163 
 
 their heart. She see'd that marrying is 
 the beginning and end on't things, a raal 
 primary chaos, with a tower of Babel at 
 't other end. There are nigh unto forty 
 couple who 's rooted here in this 'ere town 
 ship, seeing as how she 'd set 'em up, who 
 'd 'a* gone out to Dakoty and left the choir 
 if she had n't conditioned her gift on their 
 staying put." 
 
 " It all comes," rejoined the first speaker, 
 "from Miss Curtis being a clear-headed, 
 non-suffraging woman, who knows the 
 wuth of fat and lean to a pig, and uses 
 phosphate to her land 'cause the Lord's 
 sparing of his rain in these latter days. 
 It 's a sight better for us than a brick 
 college, and scraggly students a-scenting 
 themselves with pennyroyal." 
 
 Farmer Hastings pulled up his reins and 
 tried to balance himself on the narrow seat 
 so that he could urge his spare horse to a 
 slow trot and yet keep his ear toward the 
 talkers. Remembering that he had not
 
 164 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 had the last word, he dropped the reins and 
 faced clear round, saying, 
 
 " B'ys, Farmer Nutting 's got the core o' 
 the thing. It 's a sight better making 
 these stubbly lands bloom like the Jordan, 
 than it is to spread book eddication. Ma 
 chinery and populous trees is what a grow 
 ing taown like ours needs. We 've got the 
 finest land in all the State, and when her 
 father died it was all run out ; naow it 's a 
 first-class ra'al thriving taown, with mod 
 ern improvements. Our county fairs and 
 prizes for bedquilts and cheeses bring in 
 more cash to the wimmen-folks than all 
 the students' washing could have done. 
 Our young 'uns, they improve on their dads, 
 and get up fancy farming and mechanical 
 dairies. Won't we give her a funeral and 
 an ovation when she gits ready ! " and 
 Hastings again took up the leather reins, 
 mended here and there with weak string, 
 and prepared to start. 
 
 " Waal, now," resumed Nutting, " don't
 
 FARMER NUTTING. 165 
 
 you be in a stew to get off. Natur don't 
 grow with 'lacrity, like a green cowcumber 
 vine. Let 's consider on that funeral ; " 
 and he looked crosswise at the columns 
 of smoke he blew to the right from his 
 mouth as he sat on top of a barrel out 
 side the door. " I 'm one of them kind 
 that likes to eulogize folks and write epi 
 taphs on 'em when they are living. We 
 might give her a toast and a bummer when 
 she comes along." 
 
 " She don't hanker arter that kind o' 
 celeebrity," was the answer. " She 's get 
 ting on in life, an' she likes to mouse round 
 in her own fashion an' see if tater-bugs 
 has crawled up here ; when they du, I 
 reckon the child' en will have to fetch her 
 baskets full 'fore she marries 'em. 'Long 
 of marrying, did you ever happen ter 
 reflect on why she ain't a been yoked 
 herself?" 
 
 " She ain't the circumwenting, wheedling 
 kind that gits a man asy; but if you's
 
 166 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 knowing on to any partikler reason, let 's 
 hear on to it." 
 
 " Waal now," answered Hastings, slowly, 
 "I du recall a likely chap as was round 
 here when she was a young 'ooman ; but I 
 allers sort o' reckoned that he did n't hitch 
 on to morals and new-fangled ways o' 
 doing a man's dooty. Ef I knows anything 
 rightly, it 's that she 's mighty sorry. Eh, 
 b'ys?" 
 
 The old men looked up, for several other 
 teams had come along and were standing 
 diagonally to the wooden sidewalk, while 
 their owners were lounging about. Hast- 
 ings's memory strengthened when he saw 
 his audience, and having disposed of the 
 quid of tobacco in the hollow of his cheek, 
 he continued his recollections : 
 
 "Waal, as she an' I are nigh on to the 
 end o' things, 't ain't no harm in guessing, 
 and I 'm kinder weary with the heaviness 
 of silence this forty year an' more. Why, 
 you see, 'fore she left here for good, when
 
 FARMER NUTTING. 1G7 
 
 we were so riled up on account of her pa's 
 will, I saw her an' him I mean her chap 
 adown by the brook that runs through my 
 fields, an' they were a-skipping stones along 
 the water ; but they could n't throw any 
 distance to speak of, seein' as how he had 
 his arm round her rigger. You mind how, 
 if you go up the stream to the left an' 
 turn in at the bars, you come to a kind of 
 a churchyard, only thar been't no tomb 
 stones to sit on. Waal, now, that used to 
 be her pa's flower-garden, and her ma's 
 bones ar' resting thar ; poor lady ! she 
 trotted after her husband all her days. 
 Them two her chap and herself used 
 to play in among them flowers and in the 
 woods like two lambs a-friskin'. 'T wur n't 
 no sense in it, but I wished I could fix 
 her so pretty as he did with berries and 
 flowers a-sticking into her hair. In them 
 days I was taown sheriff, an' it war my 
 dooty to go round peeking. Waal, now, 
 ever sence that time, when she gits here,
 
 168 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 she goes down to that brook all alone and 
 skips stones, mighty feeble like ; and then 
 she turns in to her ma's grave, an' thar 
 she's sot. I reg'lar go up to the attic 
 window an' spy on her. It 's lonesome 
 for her, an' I likes to keep her company. 
 They du say that love's powerful long- 
 lived ; but I never had a widder, an' 't ain't 
 likely naow as I ever shall. That's all, 
 b'ys." 
 
 The air was thick with smoke as the 
 farmers knocked out the ashes from their 
 clay pipes and thrust them into their pock 
 ets. Each man clambered up to his wagon- 
 seat and drove off silently.
 
 CHAPTER XVIH. 
 
 MISS CURTIS'S CLIENTS. 
 
 OLIVE, Miss Curtis, a great box of canned 
 goods, an assortment of Bent's crackers, 
 and sundry trunks, arrived at the same 
 time in Ludben. The station was a mod 
 ern structure of two baronial waiting-rooms 
 designated in universal terms "For Men," 
 "For Women," rather than labelled in the 
 language of society, which seeks to mol 
 lify feminine existence by calling women 
 " ladies." The high, deep, red brick fireplaces 
 were filled with wilted branches. Canary- 
 bird cages, flower-pots, a rocking-chair, a mus 
 lin tripod work-basket, and a box of marsh 
 mallows, with its floury dust scattered over 
 the telegraph blanks, beautified the corner 
 of the dreary place called the telegraph-
 
 170 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 operator's room; where, protected by a 
 high and open balustrade, which separated 
 this nook from the rest of the space, an 
 immature and frizzled damsel worked the 
 instrument. 
 
 Miss Curtis abominated these attempts 
 to adorn a professional life, and always sent 
 her messages down to the next station, 
 where a man in homespun, with a spittoon 
 and a pipe, smoked away the hours in the 
 interim of despatches. To-day the station 
 and baggage masters, the telegraphic fe 
 male clerk, the freight hands, the men who 
 had nothing to do, the gossips, and a few 
 "help " from the village tavern, with belts 
 drawn tightly round the waists of their 
 striped dresses, gathered about the plat 
 form of the station. Farmer Nutting took 
 it upon himself to be the interpreter of the 
 village greetings. 
 
 " Waal, Miss Curtis, you got along 'fore 
 the tater-bugs, this time ! Had any sick 
 spells sence we seed you ? You hold your
 
 MISS CURTIS' S CLIENTS. 171 
 
 age surprisin' ! Be she your 'dopted dar 
 ter?" he asked, pointing to Olive. 
 
 " I don't interfere with Nature ; she has 
 her own parents, but she has come down 
 here to learn farming," answered Miss 
 Curtis. 
 
 " Waal, now, grafting ain't no sech bad 
 thing for folks any more than 't is for trees ; 
 the parent stock gits run out. Waal, the 
 long and short on 't is, we are a heap glad 
 to see you. Bisness is thriving." And 
 Nutting unwillingly retreated, to let others 
 approach and shake hands with the new 
 arrivals. 
 
 " The parson an' the teacher '11 call round 
 to-morrer to enquire after your health," 
 called the farmer, as the ladies mounted 
 into a high, black, three-seated vehicle 
 called " the Express." 
 
 " Come up yourself, Mr. Nutting," said 
 Miss Curtis. 
 
 "Waal, now, seeing as you asked me, 
 maybe I will. I'd kinder like to tell you
 
 172 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 how the 'lections went. It broke up s'ciety 
 here toler'ble bad. They du say as how folks 
 can't come together agin ; sech words as 
 has been used made a judgment day : dim- 
 mycrats and 'publicans war reg'lar sheep 
 an' goats. I want to advise yer 'gainst 
 giving any of yer old clothes to 'em 
 long-winded, speechifying, 'publican wim- 
 men-folks, who ar' klu-kluxing respect 
 able townsmen. Naow, Miss Curtis, don't 
 yer." 
 
 The lady smiled, and told the driver to 
 start up his horses. 
 
 " Don't yer, naow," urged the farmer. 
 "I'll take it as a personal favor to my 
 family if yer don't." 
 
 Miss Curtis's words were lost between the 
 flapping canvas sides of "the Express" and 
 the voices of the little boys who shouted 
 their "hoorays." 
 
 "The Express" stopped at an old-fash 
 ioned farm-house with the attachments of 
 a modern barn and a cobble-stone pathway
 
 MISS CURTIS' S CLIENTS. 173 
 
 bordered with brilliant widths of gay flow 
 ers. Miss Curtis received a welcome from 
 the man and his wife, which was a compos 
 ite of gladness at seeing her, of deference 
 to her as owner, of gratitude to her for 
 past and future favors, and also of that 
 cumbersome sense of equality between her 
 and them which is never forgotten in 
 America, since at any time a farmer may 
 be called from his hereditary fields to his 
 State legislature. 
 
 The supper was soon served. It was 
 less heterogeneous in its aspect than is 
 usual in the country, and was shared by all 
 alike ; for on the same principle by which 
 she made evening calls upon her clients, 
 Miss Curtis considered a meal a revealer of 
 family moods. She lost no opportunity for 
 strengthening her preconceived impressions 
 of people by watching them at unexpected 
 moments. 
 
 Several friends dropped in after tea. 
 For all, Miss Curtis had some characteristic
 
 174 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 word of welcome. Olive's wonder kept her 
 silent. She had never seen her old friend 
 in her baronial style, which softened her 
 to such a degree that the girl's curiosity 
 and fear were alike aroused. 
 
 " Child," said Miss Curtis to her as they 
 parted at the chamber doors, " I 've got 
 home, that 's all it is. Don't grudge me 
 the little love I've earned. Most people 
 bask in what comes to them by grace. I 've 
 been years making a welcome for myself j 
 let me sun myself in it for a while." 
 
 " Why, aunt, it is only that you seem so 
 happy ! " 
 
 "And so I seemed unnatural!" answered 
 Miss Curtis, sadly. " Well, you have cured 
 my forgetfulness ; " and the bitter look 
 came back into her face. 
 
 " Oh, aunt, I did n't mean to. Do be 
 happy ! " 
 
 The old lady turned her candle full upon 
 the girl's countenance, saying with a quick 
 transition of manner to sternness, " I have
 
 MISS CURTIS'S CLIENTS. 175 
 
 faith in you because you construe life by 
 'to be' instead of 'to have/ May you 
 always be able to take yourself as you are, 
 and not have to make yourself into what 
 you should be. Olive, I ain very tired of 
 striving. Good-night." And Miss Curtis 
 opened her door so quickly that the sudden 
 draught blew out the candle. 
 
 The door was slammed to on the inside. 
 Olive, remembering that she had seen her 
 aunt place some matches in the broad tin 
 basin of the candlestick, forbore to knock 
 and offer to relight the candle. Betrayal 
 of sudden emotion reacts in concealment 
 of it, and Olive respected this universal 
 law. 
 
 The days soon settled into grooves. At 
 sunset Miss Curtis wandered away by her 
 self and no one asked where, for she then 
 assumed her let-me-alone manner. In the 
 afternoons and evenings Olive was either 
 left to herself, or Miss Curtis provided some 
 entertainment for her. All the young peo-
 
 176 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 pie called, and Olive soon found herself 
 deep in a list of engagements for walks 
 and croquet (tennis had not yet taken pos 
 session of the town), for tea-parties and 
 dances. In the mornings Miss Curtis took 
 her on tours of inspection. Sometimes they 
 were gone all day. Olive was perpetually 
 amazed at the knowledge of farm life 
 which her aunt evinced. The men talked 
 with her about the land, the crops, the hay, 
 and their stock, as if she were an old 
 settler. There was nothing that escaped 
 her vigilant eye, from the merest speck of 
 red sorrel in the field to the corns on the 
 horses' hoofs. 
 
 She not only knew the names of her 
 clients' children, but she kept the records 
 of their dentition and their vaccination. 
 She had provided her families with red 
 flags, which were to be hung out in cases 
 of scarlet fever. She knew how much pork 
 they had salted, and how much soft soap 
 the women had made. She was perpetu-
 
 MISS CURTIS' S CLIENTS. 177 
 
 ally carrying a bundle of rags to some 
 one er other, to be woven into rugs rep 
 resenting Rebecca at the Well, or ante 
 diluvian animals. 
 
 There was an air of prosperity in all the 
 homes, for which, as it might be said, Miss 
 Curtis had given the plant. There was 
 a general effect of cool sitting-rooms ; of 
 Brussels tapestry carpets with designs of 
 moss roses ; of shining kitchen tins and 
 sanded floors. Each house had its chest of 
 accumulating bedquilts of myriad patterns, 
 the favorite design being an olive-green 
 patchwork basket holding yellow-olive 
 calico oranges. Woe to the unhappy house 
 wife whose pieces were not exactly matched, 
 or where a corner of the cotton triangle 
 butted against the base of another trian 
 gular scrap, thus narrowing or widening 
 the dimensions of the third three-cornered 
 bit ! Even if Miss Curtis's visits reminded 
 Olive of the census collector, it was evident 
 
 that no one dreaded her coming; yet she 
 12
 
 178 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 bestowed advice freely, and gifts sparingly, 
 usefully, and unexpectedly. 
 
 Miss Curtis had a day-book and ledger 
 way of putting down the points of each 
 family, as they varied from summer to 
 summer. Olive was obliged to transfer 
 Miss Curtis's deeds and her reflections 
 upon her people from one account to the 
 other. 
 
 Said Miss Curtis one day, on their return 
 home : " Write down, child, under Ross, 
 < Found the woman spent her time in mak 
 ing calla-lily tidies of white silk and green 
 worsted. Misplaced sentiment. See that 
 she has a tonic. Carry her over to next 
 year for improvement.' ' 
 
 Of another person Olive wrote : " If her 
 husband has not a hired girl by next Sat 
 urday, sell out the lease." 
 
 "It is hopeless," Miss Curtis explained 
 to Olive, "to do for a family, where the 
 man sublets his wife as cook for the house 
 hold, especially in haying-time. Women's
 
 MISS CURTIS'S CLIENTS. 179 
 
 souls are worth more than hay. Scrub 
 bing acts on the intellect, and is biblical; 
 but baking pies is idiocy." 
 
 Farmer Nutting came up early one morn 
 ing to call. 
 
 " I say, Miss Curtis, I kinder wish you 'd 
 hitch up and go 'cross the river to see 
 Nancy. She 's more 'n riled than common. 
 She says you hain't been to see her sence 
 you come round. She says her stomach 's 
 not sot right; that it goes to vegetation. 
 I dunno rightly what she means, but it 
 sounds as if some harb medicine might 
 work a 'tarnal cure on her." 
 
 "It's no use, Mr. Nutting. I haven't 
 been, on purpose. She is more aggravating 
 than I am myself. She is just like black 
 flies to me," said Miss Curtis. 
 
 " Waal, now, that 's curus. If she war n't 
 my sister, I should be uncommon obleeged 
 to her ; but seeing as she is, I calklate to 
 git her married off my hands afore long. 
 Thar 's a Methody round that 's all struck
 
 180 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 up with her economy. I should have 
 starved if it war n't for your baccy, Miss 
 Curtis. It's mighty filling when you are 
 all hollow." 
 
 "She isn't to marry," insisted Miss 
 Curtis. " She 'd blight his life worse than 
 a spell of bad weather on cornstalks." 
 
 "Waal, now, last night I was kinder 
 hopeful, an' I put for the minister 'cross 
 lots ; he 'd gone off on an exchange, 'cause 
 he 'd used up his brains, gin the Sabbath 
 come ; an' by the time he gits back, the 
 Methody '11 get gone. Yer see he 's on 
 a circuit, an' he'd take her with him 
 cruisin' round on parishes, an' they would 
 n't find her out 'fore he 'd git another lo 
 cation. She 's got a lien on the farm, to 
 be sure ; but I 'd work it chirpy as a grass 
 hopper while she 's off. Miss Curtis, thar 
 ain't no other way of gittin rid of her." 
 
 " Does she still iron out her paper bags 
 and take them back to the grocery ? " 
 asked the lady.
 
 MISS CURTIS' S CLIENTS. 181 
 
 " Yes, by Jerusalem ! she does ; an' she 's 
 been usin' our ma's old blue crockery 
 set, 'cause she said it did n't show grease 
 like the white kind ; an' she 's taught that 
 Methody how to keep one edge o' his plate 
 clean for the pie, alongside the taters an' 
 the stew, so she won't have to git down 
 another plate. Them 's more val'able qual 
 ities in a wife than in a sister, eh, Miss 
 Curtis?" 
 
 " Farmer Nutting, I won't have anything 
 to do with her. She has been tempting 
 Providence these last ten years to get her 
 married, by dyeing her hair and by asking 
 other people if their teeth were natural, as 
 much as to say that hers are so. I 'm not 
 going to be its agent now." 
 
 " Don't fire up so, Miss Curtis. I only 
 thought as how if you 'd send him a V, an* 
 give her one of your old black silks, it 
 might hurry up matters. My life 's a sight 
 miserabler than yourn." 
 
 "I'm sorry for you, Mr. Nutting; but
 
 182 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 you can't give up a natural trust like a 
 sister, so don't you be so cantankerous as 
 to lead that Methody man to invest in a 
 wife when he can't get any income out of 
 her except that she'll economize him to 
 shreds."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE BAPTISM. 
 
 Miss CURTIS followed her own ideas, re 
 gardless of others' whims, and gave her 
 money as she chose, especially hi affairs of 
 religion. The townspeople were not al 
 ways satisfied with her wide creed and deed. 
 They had already two churches, and now 
 another kind of sectarian philanthropist 
 wanted to build a third meeting-house. It 
 was considered a favorable opening for lib 
 eral ideas, that people were hungering and 
 thirsting for the faith which they knew in 
 spirit but had never heard with their ears 
 nor seen vested in an organization. A 
 middle-aged, good, contemplative man had 
 been preaching every Sunday in the town- 
 hall. The hearers consisted of three or four
 
 184 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 intelligent, prosperous persons, several tired 
 wives, a few lank men of disjointed mind, 
 and sundry girls and boys who strolled into 
 the hall for want of something else to 
 do. 
 
 The audience, it was said, could not 
 grow amid the week-day associations of 
 the place. A certain amount, it was hoped, 
 would be given from missionary funds, if a 
 sufficient quota could be raised on the spot. 
 The Rev. Mr. Crane solicited Miss Curtis's 
 aid. His request awoke her direst anger. 
 
 For thirty years she had been trying to 
 weld the town into unity. Two small par 
 ishes had faded out of existence with the 
 death of their elders. It was her ardent 
 hope to live to see one or the other of the 
 present churches dematerialize ; she cared 
 little whether it were the Methodists or 
 Baptists who remained. She herself would 
 have been called a liberal, but she detested 
 the name because it was so often coupled 
 with illiberal interference ; yet she dreamed
 
 THE BAPTISM. 185 
 
 of a elmrch so broad that it could be joined 
 by all who were reverent and truthful. 
 
 The clerical gentleman urged his claim, 
 and appealed to her supposed denomina 
 tional loyalty. 
 
 "I haven't any," replied Miss Curtis, 
 " just as I have n't any patriotism. I 
 don't like geographical limitation of affec 
 tion any better than I like protection in 
 religion." 
 
 " Free trade, then, ought to allow me to 
 establish our own faith," urged Mr. Crane. 
 
 " Free trade," sniffed Miss Curtis , " does 
 n't coop itself up in churches ; it does n't 
 try to hatch thought by using ministers as 
 incubators. Those who say they believe in 
 doctrines are so doubtful about their opin 
 ions that they protect them by church fairs 
 and by selling ministerial photographs." 
 
 " Still, don't you think a sermon or two 
 might be useful ? " asked the parson. 
 
 "I think a life or two might be more 
 useful. If you and your wife will come
 
 186 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 here and live, and show people by your liv 
 ing how your ' faith makes you faithful/ 
 I'll pay you a salary for doing things 
 which ministers have not got time to do. 
 Sermons are killing parsons ; they have not 
 leisure to be either examples or friends." 
 
 " But the church," suggested Mr. Crane, 
 timidly. 
 
 " Let the church go ; just live and do 
 your duty, and " 
 
 She was interrupted by Olive, who added, 
 " And be happy in doing it ; " for she had 
 been listening to the conversation, though 
 apparently tabulating her aunt's impres 
 sions of the day for future reference. 
 
 Miss Curtis looked gratefully at her, 
 saying, 
 
 " She has said it for me. Come and do 
 that, and your children will see the town 
 alive with character and worship, though 
 its phraseology may be very different from 
 yours." 
 
 " If you think I could undermine their
 
 THE BAPTISM. 187 
 
 present beliefs, I might," still pleaded the 
 preacher. 
 
 " It is not undermining," replied she, " it 
 is the doctrine of equivalents give and 
 get, Nature's way that is wanted. Hold 
 your own belief so strongly that you can 
 wait for others to grow up into it. Don't 
 thrust it on to them like a prickly burr, to 
 worry them." 
 
 Miss Curtis had risen as she spoke, and 
 was standing by the window. Uncon 
 sciously she ran her hand up and down 
 the lemon verbena that was in the flower- 
 stand. Gathering its fragrance in her palm, 
 and holding it up to her face, she seemed to 
 breathe in its spicy aroma. 
 
 " Your faith should be a sweet-smelling 
 savor unto the Lord, like this flower, 
 against which men can rub their lives and 
 come away scented with the strength of its 
 sweetness." 
 
 She spoke slowly and sank down wearily, 
 tired by her unwonted feeling. Olive laid
 
 188 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 aside her work and rose, as if waiting for 
 a vision. The minister was too narrow 
 to forget himself, and made one more en 
 deavor to enlist her co-operation in his 
 limitations. 
 
 " I follow your meaning, madam, com 
 paratively; but as we all want to bear 
 witness to our own beliefs, I should take it 
 as a personal favor to our denomination if 
 you expressed your disapprobation of the 
 corning baptism down by the shore." 
 
 " The benefit of immersion," replied 
 Miss Curtis, " is, that you know when you 
 Ve got beyond your own depth." 
 
 The minister stared ; her manner, if not 
 her words, signified dismissal of himself 
 and his subject. He took up his soft hat, 
 brushed it with his coat-sleeve, never no 
 ticing that it caved in under the sweeping 
 strokes of his arm, and departed, grieved. 
 
 " That man makes me think of the old 
 saying, i You can't see a town because of 
 the houses ; ' he can't see that there is a
 
 THE BAPTISM. 189 
 
 church universal because of his own sect," 
 was all that Miss Curtis vouchsafed as her 
 opinion of him. 
 
 The next day was Sunday. The silvery 
 sky of the early morning had deepened 
 into the leaden gray of the afternoon, when 
 Miss Curtis and Olive took their way to the 
 little Baptist meeting-house on the out 
 skirts of the town. It was a barn-like 
 structure, with its pulpit ornaments lacking 
 in one tassel for the. Bible cushion, and in 
 one arm of the beaded, perforated card 
 board cross which hung limply over the 
 pulpit from the middle portion of the 
 Scriptures. The seats were very narrow 
 and hard ; the window-panes were darkened 
 by layers of sacred dust; the wind tore 
 down the chimney and creaked through 
 the broken stove-pipe out into the pews; 
 the mildew frescoed the plastered walls. 
 
 An old man, with unstarched cotton 
 collar to his shirt, a red silk handkerchief 
 twisted around his neck, and heavy warts
 
 190 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 on his cheeks, was praying the Lord to 
 guide his people through the rising waters 
 of Jordan, the river of life which was 
 swallowing all present up into glory. As 
 his voice rose and fell with the imaginary 
 waves, his little grandchild clambered down 
 from the seat ; clutching hold of the old 
 man's wide trousers, he pulled himself 
 round in front of his grandfather's face 
 and lifted his arms, as if in deprecation of 
 his grandsire's watery earnestness. The 
 cane on which the aged form was leaning 
 dropped from the hand as it sought the 
 boy's ringers and clasped them, while the 
 other hand was laid on the child's head, as 
 the prayer continued and the hearers called 
 out the old-time responses. Olive had 
 never been to a nautical prayer-meeting, 
 and the shipwrecks of existence impressed 
 even her sunny nature with dread. She 
 thought she was out to windward, and that 
 the pleasures of the world were breakers 
 ahead. If she could only reach the lee
 
 THE BAPTISM. 191 
 
 shore and cast anchor in the port of heaven ! 
 Secretly she fancied that a pious person, 
 who had not been to sea, might be mixed 
 in his comparison of religious and marine 
 life. 
 
 After a short address, more ejaculating 
 prayer, and hymns whose theology ill 
 suited their tunes, the people rose and wan 
 dered by twos from the church door, down 
 the steep road, up over the stony hill, along 
 the gullied paths, to the cove, where the 
 fresh water of the river poured over the 
 barnacled rocks and drew its strength from 
 the dripping seaweed. Miss Curtis and 
 Olive rode after the procession and offered 
 their spare seat to an aged woman, whom 
 they overtook hobbling along at slow step 
 after the others. She looked in terror at 
 Olive's Panama hat with its cluster of 
 apple-blossoms, exclaiming, "The Queen o' 
 Sheby 's come to judgment, an' thar ain't 
 no Solomon fur her. Go meet him in the 
 waters." She raised her cane in warning,
 
 192 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 as she retreated to the gully, where she 
 sought safety from horse and hat. Olive 
 shrank back, as if measured and proved 
 unworthy the company of the baptized. 
 
 At the shore all gathered, those who 
 came on foot and those who had driven 
 in their wagons. The tall, gray cliffs on 
 either side shut in the beach; beyond 
 lay the horizon broken by headlands, a 
 wild dreary landscape, with the human 
 figures in the foreground increasing its 
 penitential aspect. 
 
 Those who were to make a public pro 
 fession of their belief, stood near to the 
 water's edge. The minister was clad in a 
 close-fitting garment, with tall rubber boots. 
 The girls were dressed in black alpaca, 
 with broad cotton lace collars. Many of 
 them wore their hair so tightly crinkled 
 that Olive regretted the wetting it must 
 receive. Some of them had rubber circu 
 lars with wide sleeves, through which the 
 water could pour as down two spouts.
 
 THE BAPTISM. 193 
 
 Others appparently were to borrow these 
 garments from those who went in first. 
 
 The minister began by leading down a girl 
 so young that it seemed as if she could 
 hardly recognize the force of her profession. 
 Very slowly he bent her backward into 
 the water, supporting her with his hand ; 
 very loudly he repeated the baptismal 
 words, which the people on the shore 
 caught up with answering cry that re 
 echoed amid the purple hills. Dripping, 
 sanctified, she waded ashore and was re 
 ceived into her mother's arms with a "May 
 the Lord now bless his own child." From 
 her, like a blushing bride, she passed from 
 one to another, who each in turn folded her 
 to their hearts, men and women, young and 
 old. Then she slipped off her outer dress, 
 and, shrouded in vapor, the cold wind blow 
 ing around her, she waited till the church 
 brothers and sisters were alike renewed 
 by the chilly baptism of faith. The men 
 
 wore yellow oil-skin coats, and seemed 
 13
 
 194 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 more shivering or less exalted than the 
 girls. 
 
 The elder of the church sought Miss 
 Curtis. Tucking her elbow inside his 
 brawny palm, he took her to the neophytes. 
 Olive could not hear her words, but she 
 saw her aunt bend forward, and she knew 
 the weary lines of her face were giving 
 place to greeting smiles as she shook hands 
 with the boys and lingered with the girls. 
 Was she the prophetess blessing her chil 
 dren? "What cared she for the way they 
 took by which to make known their fixed 
 ness of purpose! Standing by the minister's 
 side, as Hannah may have stood by Eli 
 when she vowed her child unto the Lord, 
 Miss Curtis's gaze wandered from one to 
 another of the newly baptized, who formed 
 a circle around the two, the relatives 
 ranging themselves outside, and the friends 
 and the unchurched again making an outer 
 ring. The three circles swaying back and 
 forth, each reversing the other's pace and
 
 THE BAPTISM. 195 
 
 direction, sung unto the Lord Most High, 
 until, dizzy with the mazes of turning and 
 emotion, they sank on their knees amid 
 a multitudinous Amen. 
 
 From the little row-boats stretched along 
 the shore, filled with curious believers of 
 another creed, rose a sweep of answering 
 chords. As Miss Curtis heard the refrain, 
 she too bent her knees, stiff with disuse, 
 while tears crawled down her cheeks. The 
 minister helped her rise, saying, 
 
 " Sister, the Lord causeth even the aged 
 bones to bless, and softeneth the rheumatiz 
 accordin'." 
 
 Olive, in her distant nook up among the 
 cliffs, to which she had clambered, repeated 
 to herself, 
 
 " From age to age it groweth, 
 
 That radiant Faith so high, 
 And its crowning day is coming, by and by ! "
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE CANDY-PULL. 
 
 " OLIVE," said Miss Curtis the next day, 
 " of what are you thinking ? " 
 
 The girl folded one knee across the 
 other, and her hands around the upper 
 knee. 
 
 " I was wondering, aunt, if people ever 
 take cold when they are baptized, and 
 thinking what Mr. Kimen would say." 
 
 " Those of little faith pretend that bap 
 tism makes consumption," was the answer. 
 "Don't believe it, child; you never take 
 cold when you have emotions. As for 
 Mr. Kimen, he is too cold-blooded ; baptism 
 wouldn't suit him. He would want to 
 show people a better way when they were 
 n't ready for it. He is coming here."
 
 THE CANDY-PULL. 197 
 
 "Aunt, you ought to have told me. 
 I am going home ! " 
 
 Miss Curtis eyed her curiously, saying : 
 
 " You are not going to run away when 
 you have n't been caught. I thought you 
 knew how to trump a knave." 
 
 " He is n't a knave, and I neither want 
 to trump him nor to lose the trick ; I 
 simply don't want to begin any game with 
 him." 
 
 " Why not ? " asked her aunt. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Then it is time you did." 
 
 "No, not yet," answered Olive again. 
 " First place, I am not a cause ; that saves 
 both him and me. He thinks he likes me, 
 but it is only as I embody some principle. 
 Then he can't make me out, and that 
 provokes him. He does n't know enough 
 of the world to take me simply, just as I 
 am; he knows too little of himself, and 
 fancies I could make him what he wants 
 to be."
 
 198 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 " Who can, child, if you can't ? " 
 
 " No person can. It is only a cause that 
 can grapple him. When he settles down 
 on one, he will emancipate himself; but 
 I don't think he will ever make people 
 happy," added the girl, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Why not ? " again asked Miss Curtis. 
 
 "I don't know," again answered Olive. 
 " Perhaps because he himself is always his 
 own centre ; he can never get out of him 
 self in order to see all around. It is the 
 cause as it affects him that he consid 
 ers. He is constantly looking to see what 
 he can do, and not what the Lord will 
 do." 
 
 "Why, Olive, you used to feel respon 
 sible, and you were wont to ask yourself 
 what you could do," said her aunt. 
 
 " I know it," was the reply. " I used to 
 feel the whole world on my shoulders, and 
 it weighed me down. I was always strug 
 gling against happiness for the sake of duty. 
 Now I let myself alone, or rather I am
 
 THE CANDY-PULL. 199 
 
 saturated with the beauty of life. It is 
 all a summer day in a sunset land, with 
 promise beyond." 
 
 "Are you growing lazy?" asked Miss 
 Curtis. 
 
 "No, I am growing old," was the laugh 
 ing reply. " It was Owen's convention 
 ality which cured me of thinking I could 
 straighten out things by merely being in 
 earnest. I was so dead in earnest when I 
 was young, a little girl, I mean, that 
 I couldn't see the fun in things, and I 
 thought that conventional people were dead 
 weights, and I think so still; but now I 
 see it is their nature. They see things in a 
 small way, and when one is in earnest to 
 make them free and easy they close up; 
 but if one can 'make them happy, they for 
 get themselves and get out into the sun 
 shine. So now I just look for crannies 
 where I can put in a little tact and make 
 others feel comfortable." 
 
 " You are very particular, or conventional,
 
 200 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 about the fit of your dresses, even if you 
 are wise enough not to overpower people 
 with too much earnestness," observed Miss 
 Curtis. 
 
 " Of course I am," said Olive. " In the 
 first place, I feel at ease when my waist 
 does n't wrinkle and my sleeves don't bulge. 
 Secondly, I am a more agreeable feature in 
 the landscape, and so others feel pleased. 
 I don't disturb their aesthetic sense if I dress 
 well, and I don't prejudice other people 
 against me by their first impressions of 
 me. Mr. Kimen!" exclaimed Olive, rising 
 hastily, with more disappointment than 
 surprise in her tone, as she beheld that gen 
 tleman at the door. 
 
 "Mr. Kimen! Well!" ejaculated Miss 
 Curtis, captiously. 
 
 " I hope I don't intrude," answered he, 
 awkwardly. " You got my letter by the 
 morning's mail ? I thought it might be 
 an advantage to me to compare your vil 
 lage life with our ranch existence."
 
 THE CANDY-PULL. 201 
 
 " Yes, you wrote me you were coming 
 for an object," remarked the elder lady. 
 
 " Life is so short, Miss Curtis ; that must 
 be my excuse for always wanting to im 
 prove it." 
 
 " Why don't you leave something to be 
 done in eternity," she answered. " You will 
 advance morality ahead of chemistry ; the 
 world will be perfect long before it is de 
 stroyed. Better let the sciences keep pace 
 with each other." 
 
 Olive, who had left the room, soon came 
 back in a rowing-suit, which admirably 
 set off her lithe figure and her happy face. 
 Mr. Kimen hopped up, expectant. With 
 entire disregard of him, she turned to her 
 aunt, saying, " You know I promised to go 
 with the crowd on the river ; then we are 
 to land at Mrs. Patch's and have a candy- 
 pull in her kitchen." 
 
 " Miss Cadwallader, I beg you, don't go 
 on the river in such company j let me take 
 you," entreated the young man.
 
 202 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 " Oh," replied she, with her mock grav 
 ity, " the crowd is our gang of girls, 
 the set I go with here." To her aunt she 
 added, " I am going to stop for the little 
 village schoolma'ain. She has not had an 
 outing this summer ; we persuaded her 
 to go." 
 
 " May I escort you to her house ? " in 
 quired Mr. Kimen. 
 
 " Oh, thank you awfully, but there is no 
 need of it ; she is our next-door or our 
 next-yard neighbor." 
 
 " Then I will remain with Miss Curtis, 
 unless she sends me to the hotel," was the 
 offended reply. 
 
 And Mr Kimen sat himself down and 
 made an ellipse of his forefinger and thumb, 
 at which he gazed for several moments. 
 
 Olive went off in vague perplexity, but 
 soon forgot both it and its cause. The row 
 up the river restored her consciousness of 
 strength. When they reached Mrs. Patch's 
 kitchen it was redolent with the smell of
 
 THE CANDY-PULL. 203 
 
 West India molasses. This already had been 
 put on to boil, for the woman was very par 
 ticular about the length of time needed for 
 it to come to a boil, and never allowed any 
 interference with her methods. It was soon 
 turned out into greased platters, and when 
 it was somewhat cool, the fun of pulling 
 began. 
 
 The girls wore sensible white aprons, yet 
 with a bit of ribbon tucked somewhere ; for 
 what maiden can forego the coquetry of a 
 bow ? A few of the boys consented to have 
 dish-towels pinned around them. There 
 was much finessing over the removal of 
 rings. One declared that her fingers had 
 grown so plump that she could not get off 
 the amethyst bearing her initials set in 
 cheap pearls. Another said her hands had 
 grown so thin that her topaz, made strong in 
 color by its yellow mountings, was always 
 slipping off. The boys held out their little 
 fingers, that the girls might twist off their 
 flat seal rings and make many apologies
 
 204 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 for hurting them so much. No one had 
 any which fitted comfortably. Olive had 
 taken off her alexandrite and put it into 
 her pocket, unobserved as she hoped. But 
 she overheard Polly telling Sukey that she 
 supposed Miss Cadwallader felt badly with 
 nothing but just that bilious-looking stone. 
 They all paired off at their voluntary 
 work of pulling. Some looked like em 
 ployees in a rope-walk, as they walked up 
 and down the dim woodshed, which opened 
 out of the kitchen. They rolled the thick, 
 sticky chunks over and over in their buttered 
 hands, then stretched them out into long yel 
 low filaments. These they doubled up in 
 the middle and again drew them out. As 
 the molasses cords grew stronger by the al 
 ternate process of lengthening and shorten 
 ing, the brilliant sunflower color faded into 
 a creamy white. The various couples who 
 were weaving the separate strands yielded 
 to those who were deftest. Three of the 
 cords were woven into one close, heavy
 
 THE CANDY-PULL. 205 
 
 braid, an inch wide, an inch thick, and two 
 feet long. 
 
 Olive had not caught the secret of greas 
 ing her palms with neither too much nor 
 too little butter ; therefore she had con 
 stant recourse to scraping them with a 
 knife, or else she dipped them into cold 
 water to remove the molasses which covered 
 them, so that she might begin again, until 
 she gave up the task as hopeless. Shelling 
 peanuts was much easier, and was also a 
 necessary part of the business. So she and 
 the one boy who wore a blazer which he had 
 just imported from the city, devoted them 
 selves to preparing the nuts for the surplus 
 molasses. 
 
 The girls best known for their culinary 
 skill pushed up their sleeves to their 
 dimpled elbows and manufactured pop 
 corn molasses-balls, which every one ad 
 mired but no one ate. Stale jokes were 
 cracked, such as, "Candy-pulls make dentists' 
 harvests ; " " Use plenty of elbow grease ; "
 
 206 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 " Hope you are not like your candy, no 
 stick in you." 
 
 Then the great pot and the numerous 
 pans and plates were laid aside, tables and 
 chairs pushed back, and such dancing began 
 as Olive had never tried. The creaking 
 violin and the jerky accordeon caused the 
 steps of each one to be spontaneous. Olive 
 joined in it all with zest. The Portland 
 Fancy was the serenest performance ; the 
 Swedish dance made the rafters ring with 
 the chorus, " There is one wide river to 
 cross." They all got wound up and then 
 unwound themselves. If some one stum 
 bled over a molasses drop on the floor, she 
 was pulled up before she was down. 
 
 They ended with a genuine blindfolded 
 Ruth-and- Jacob frolic, in which each girl, 
 always evading, still spurred on her part 
 ner to fresh search for her. Olive was too 
 light-footed to be easily caught ; yet as she 
 called out to her Jacob, " Here I am," and 
 then was at the other end of the room
 
 THE CANDY-PULL. 207 
 
 before his outstretched arms had touched 
 her, she felt as if she were playing the 
 game of life with Mr. Kim en. Historical 
 reminiscences of marriage by capture, and 
 brides with dishevelled hair, gave piquancy 
 and fleetness to her motions, which made 
 her the despair of the boys and the envy of 
 the girls. When at last Jacob caught her, 
 Kimen's name and a shudder escaped her, 
 just enough to make her pursuer give a 
 low whistle and mutter, " Spooks, I ain't 
 that fellow!" 
 
 " But I am your Ruth," pleaded Olive, in 
 such beseeching tones that he whispered to 
 her confidingly, as he tied the handkerchief 
 over her eyes, 
 
 " Say, now, I won't tell any of them that 
 you 've got a beau, but I 'm your Jacob all 
 the same to-night." 
 
 Olive shuddered.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 HIEED HELP. 
 
 MR. KIMEN devoted himself to Miss 
 Curtis, endeavoring to treat Olive as if 
 she were a child. The old lady seemed 
 wearied with his painstaking attentions ; 
 he failed to rouse her by his contradictions. 
 Olive grew merry under his negligence, and 
 bewildered him with her sweetness. He, 
 on the other hand, suffered ; for there was 
 little exterior life in the town to under 
 stand, and he knew not how to reach the 
 interior of human existence. He was so 
 good, he was so unsympathetic. He re 
 sembled an outline map ; his mind was full 
 of leading directions, yet each part of it 
 lacked color.
 
 HIRED HELP. 209 
 
 He had a little travelling bookcase which, 
 inverted and padlocked, became a trunk. 
 This he carried with him wherever he 
 went, for it enabled him to offer the use of 
 good books to his fellowmen, and also to 
 improve himself. It never occurred to him 
 to profit by the thought and knowledge 
 which lay about in other volumes on peo 
 ple's centre-tables and which lurked in 
 gossip. 
 
 As the hot days increased, Miss Curtis 
 had stayed at home and had sent Olive on 
 her investigating tours among her families. 
 Upon the girl's return the two consulted 
 together concerning the condition of the 
 crops and the new implements for making 
 farming easy, of which Olive knew noth 
 ing ; and also about the peculiarities of the 
 people and the best ways of helping them 
 help themselves. 
 
 Mr. Kimen was often present at these 
 reviews of character and agricultural pros 
 pects, and became depressed. His logical 
 
 14
 
 210 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 mind could not follow the intuitive pro 
 cesses by which the ladies arrived at right 
 conclusions. He felt self-reproached by the 
 energy with which Miss Curtis blamed wo- 
 
 O*/ 
 
 men for being sickly and patient, when he 
 had supposed that such tendencies were a 
 necessary part of woman's existence and of 
 her proper fulfilment of duty. 
 
 But Miss Curtis had an invincible dislike 
 of illness. She neither knew how to en 
 dure it herself, nor how to tolerate it in 
 others. She considered sickness a foregone 
 conclusion of the neglect of the laws of 
 health. People had no business to be ill ; 
 it was their own fault, though she acknowl 
 edged it was necessary to reform one's grand 
 mother in order to be perfectly healthy. 
 
 Mr. Kimen had moved from the hotel 
 and was boarding in the family of a weak 
 woman, a Mrs. Jones, who did all the 
 work of the household. Her submission 
 to the obligations of life so appealed to 
 his own sense of fatigue that he decided
 
 HIRED HELP. 211 
 
 it would be best to approach Miss Curtis 
 upon the subject, and at least draw some 
 deductions from her views concerning it. 
 
 "Does she do her own work?" asked 
 that lady. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And her husband's, and her children's, 
 and the farm hands', and the boarders' ? " 
 
 "Why, she works for them all; it is 
 not exactly their work she does." 
 
 " And brings the water from the well a 
 hundred yards off, and does a little hay- 
 raking when times are lively in August ? " 
 still further inquired Miss Curtis. 
 
 " Of course, she must keep things go 
 ing," was the man's reply. 
 
 "And makes butter to sell, and looks 
 after the hens and chickens, and milks the 
 cows ? " continued the lady. 
 
 " I don't know that she performs the last 
 item. She wants to earn a little herself, 
 and " 
 
 " Fiddlesticks ! " interrupted Miss Curtis.
 
 212 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 " Is n't her husband's money hers, without 
 going to work on her own account ? You 
 want me to help such a woman ! The 
 sooner she has her life-long vacation the 
 better. The next world would n't amount 
 to much if husbands were allowed there ! 
 I might subscribe for a woman's paper for 
 her ; she could get some sympathy out of 
 it. They are full of labor-saving stories 
 about marriage, and how to make one's 
 husband come to terms. Never subscribe 
 for them if you are ever married and want 
 peace. It is only old maids who should 
 read them ; yet it does not do them much 
 good, after all, for they always take the 
 part of the brothers, and think how their 
 sisters-in-law ought to keep at it all the 
 time. You know sisters-in-law are not wo 
 men, unless you happen to be one yourself. 
 Olive, you had better go and see Mrs. 
 Jones ; " and she stopped, tired by her in 
 dignant words. 
 
 " Perhaps I might be of use in showing
 
 HIRED HELP. 213 
 
 you the way," said Mr. Kimen, reflectively. 
 " Shall we go now ? " 
 
 His late disregard of Olive had put her 
 off her guard, and she carelessly consented. 
 
 "I am pleased to find I can be of ser 
 vice to you," remarked Mr. Kiinen as they 
 went down the road. 
 
 His grateful tone aroused Olive's inde 
 pendence. She could not tolerate his sub 
 serviency even in so slight a matter. 
 
 " Seems to me, Mr. Kiraen, you are al 
 ways thinking whether you can be of use, 
 instead of whether people like you." 
 
 Her retort angered him, and he answered, 
 " Their liking depends on themselves more 
 than it does upon me." 
 
 It was now the girl's turn to flush. 
 
 " Oh, you are not such a fixed quantity ! 
 Some days you are unbearable, you are so 
 bent on improving the world." 
 
 "I thought you liked to help people," 
 he replied, with a slight emphasis on the 
 pronoun "you."
 
 214 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 "I do," she answered; "but I want to 
 make them happy in their way, and you 
 want to improve them in your way. Every 
 body has solitary days and gets tired of 
 being lonely. What people want is sym 
 pathy and love. By and by they may like 
 books and ideas; but you try to make 
 them care for their minds more than for 
 their hearts." 
 
 " The mind widens the heart," he replied 
 soberly. 
 
 "You make me think of a friend," said 
 Olive, " who had a bad father and an anxious 
 mother. They sent their daughter away 
 from home to the Art Museum. She was 
 not artistic, but they thought the influences 
 of art were elevating. She went there daily 
 and tried to get sublime ; but the purer the 
 art was, the lonelier she felt. She just 
 wanted to go and do something, and she be 
 came an Associated Charities Visitor and 
 grew happy ; and her happiness rested her 
 mother and reformed her father."
 
 HIRED HELP. 215 
 
 Fortunately they had reached the house, 
 for Kimen was too adrift to reply. Then 
 Olive bethought herself whether she should 
 ask for fresh butter or for old furni 
 ture ; but with the feeble pretence of being 
 thirsty and liking well-water (there was 
 no other kind in the village), she drew the 
 woman into a conversation. 
 
 " Don't I get tired ? " said Mrs. Jones, on 
 being questioned. " Of course I do, but 
 there ain't no help for it when you 've 
 started in. It 's more than most women 
 can do to keep agoing ; but I ain't one o' 
 the city kind, that takes naps." 
 
 " Can't you go to bed early ? " asked 
 Olive. 
 
 " Oh, I generally contrive to sleep a bit 
 when I 'm mending. I gits used to the 
 rents in the shirts and putting new seats, 
 into the pants. Socks, I just let go till I 
 refoot 'em, and that I do 'long 't is dark." 
 
 " Your children help you some ? " asked 
 Olive.
 
 216 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 "Off and on consider' bl' ; but we've all 
 got a mother's feelings, and I don't like 
 to see my girls a-slaving round. I like 
 to look at 'em as pretty picters, and dress 
 'em up." 
 
 Olive's interest suddenly became intense 
 when she discovered the tenderness of Mrs. 
 Jones's nature. 
 
 " Still, you must not do too much your 
 self unless you have help," she argued. 
 
 "Hired help, you mean. No; my hus 
 band thinks that 's wasteful. "When he 
 married me, he didn't calklate on gitting 
 a girl to wait on me." 
 
 " I should think you 'd want house-help 
 just as he has farm-help." 
 
 "I suppose I might, if I had been brought 
 up differently. You can't get hired help 
 that 's spry ; they all rather go to the hotel 
 and earn more wages than I can give 'em. 
 Then, I don't git on well with 'em. It riles 
 me to see help sitting down when there 's 
 a heap of work to be done."
 
 HIRED HELP. 217 
 
 " Each one wants some time to herself," 
 interposed Olive, on behalf of all female 
 employees. 
 
 " Well, it ain't accordin' to natur'. 
 When I 'm drove with work, I want every 
 one to git out of my way or else stir round 
 fast as I do ; and since help 's got so mighty 
 contracting all you can git in the country 
 is widders, or worse, with their babies. 
 They are all peaked or down in the mouth ; 
 there 's no power of work in 'em and no 
 staying put." 
 
 "Yet you are all worn out yourself," 
 urged Olive. 
 
 " Well, I am nigh 'most killed with work, 
 that 's a fact ; but that ain't no reason why 
 I don't want to kill others. I don't want 
 my daughters, though, to lead my kind o' 
 life. I rather they 'd marry some of them 
 city drummers and travel round with 'em 
 and their boxes." 
 
 Olive could not quite comprehend, any 
 better than Mr. Kimen, this maternal fond-
 
 218 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 ness and this stolid endurance of conditions, 
 which energy differently applied could 
 change. As the two walked back home, 
 after having drunk the well-water, he 
 turned to his companion, saying, 
 
 " There is a case where opening the 
 mind would make the affections of more 
 worth." 
 
 " Yes," replied Olive; and then, as if she 
 were an ancient dame, she added slowly : 
 " I Ve often noticed how animal-like is a 
 mother's fondness. She keeps her daugh 
 ters as she would her lap-dogs ; she never 
 seems to think that her girls have got to 
 be fitted to take care of themselves. I shall 
 tell Miss Curtis that she could send the 
 woman tonics to keep her going. Don't 
 you really think, though, that it is the 
 way women start with their husbands 
 in the beginning that makes the differ 
 ence ? " and Olive looked up in the young 
 man's face as simply as if he were an 
 octogenarian.
 
 HIRED HELP. 219 
 
 " Really, now, Miss Cadwallader, I have 
 never had any experience. If I might be 
 permitted to hope that you would teach 
 me, I " 
 
 Before he had time to finish his sentence, 
 Olive saw into what a dilemma she had 
 betrayed herself. Too wise to escape, or 
 to show her suddenly-aroused conscious 
 ness, she quietly entered the gate, which 
 they had reached, saying, 
 
 "I have told you before, Mr. Kimen, 
 that your habit of indulging in personalities 
 checked friendship." 
 
 She closed the latch upon him, leaving 
 him on the outside, and with an indifferent 
 nod walked up the cobble-stone path.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 GOOD-BT. 
 
 THE next day brought Mr. and Mrs. Cad- 
 wallader and their son. Miss Curtis had 
 sent for them and lodged them at the hotel, 
 still keeping Olive with her. 
 
 " Oh, Jac-mamma ! " said the girl, seat 
 ing herself on the broad arm of the rocking- 
 chair in which her mother was resting, 
 and pulling out the few gray hairs which 
 showed themselves on Mrs. Cadwallader's 
 forehead, " don't you want to matronize 
 me ? Miss Curtis treats me as if I were a 
 responsible being, and asks my advice, and 
 Mr. Kimen doesn't want me to be frivo 
 lous ; and I am tired ! " 
 
 "Is he going to succeed?" asked her 
 mother.
 
 GOOD-BY. 221 
 
 " Never ; and I am tired of telling him 
 so, and I don't know what 's the matter with 
 me, and I want to cry." 
 
 " Had an offer, Olive ? " said Owen, com 
 ing out from the deep window-seat, which 
 had so hidden him from view that his sis 
 ter had forgotten he was present. 
 
 " Only half an one," answered she, 
 saucily. 
 
 "That's honest, anyhow," replied her 
 brother. " I wish more girls could see the 
 difference between attentions and intentions. 
 "We fellows can afford to be very free with 
 the first, but it takes capital to be serious. 
 What is there to do here, any pretty 
 girls, or trout-fishing?" 
 
 " You '11 find yourself caught before you 
 catch, if you try any society dodges," said 
 his sister. 
 
 " Don't lecture, Olive. I have improved. 
 I 'm not going to be a snob and snub any 
 one. I 'm going to rusticate here awhile, 
 and save up money enough to go off and
 
 222 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 have a good time. It 's the bother of an 
 allowance, that parents don't permit them 
 selves any little pecuniary gifts to help a 
 fellow out ; they are stern, and make you 
 live within the limits, or go without." 
 
 Owen measured with his eye the distance 
 between the low balcony and the ground, 
 vaulted over, and was out of sight round the 
 corner. Somehow his sister felt relieved. 
 His free speech or his want of earnestness 
 jarred upon her. For weeks she had been 
 identifying herself with Miss Curtis's in 
 terests, and the interposition of another 
 set of claims was too sudden to be wel 
 come. 
 
 As she and her mother strolled over the 
 fields, she told Mrs. Cadwallader of her un 
 defined anxieties, which shaped themselves 
 chiefly into a fear that Miss Curtis was 
 growing very old. Olive parted with her 
 mother at that lady's door, and continued 
 her solitary walk along the river-bank. She 
 turned into a by-path she had never before
 
 GOOD-BY. 223 
 
 noticed, drawn onward by the fragrance of 
 the hay-mounds. Looking up, she found 
 her way barred by a honeysuckle hedge 
 enclosing a little clearing, where grew huge 
 clusters of white dahlias and beds of pan- 
 sies and myrtles. The pine woods beyond, 
 carpeted with bunch-berries, rustled with 
 the soughing winds of death. She was sure 
 Miss Curtis called her ; but it was the voice 
 of Mr. Kimen, who, unseen, had come from 
 the other end of the woods. She at once 
 felt protected by his presence, and he saw 
 that at last he was welcome. 
 
 " Who lies there ? " she asked, pointing 
 to the shining mounds. 
 
 "Miss Curtis's father and mother; an 
 old man told me so whom I met in the 
 woods yesterday," he answered. 
 
 The girl crossed her arms and drew in 
 her shoulders, thus shrinking away from the 
 host of dim memories which, invoked by 
 those woods, surrounded her. Then, as if 
 she would send the touch of human love
 
 224 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 into their graves, she plucked a pansy and 
 fastened it in her dress. Moved by sub 
 tile sympathy she bent again, gathered 
 another, and handed it to Mr. Kimen. 
 Silently they turned back into the sunlit 
 pathway. 
 
 "Miss Cadwallader, you have faith in 
 me ? " said he, after several minutes. 
 
 "Entire," was the brief answer. 
 
 "But you do not put your trust in me ? " 
 
 " No," she answered as briefly. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because you are not yet grown." 
 
 "Yet you have faith?" 
 
 "Yes; for I know you will do what you 
 think right, though your idea of right may 
 not be mine. If we agreed, it would be 
 trust; faith applies to character, trust to 
 person." 
 
 " Shall I ever convince you ? " 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Will you ever convince me ? " 
 
 "Yes."
 
 GOOD-BY. 225 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 " That life is beautiful, that love is free 
 dom, that truth is sympathy, that hap 
 piness is the fulfilment of growth," she 
 answered impetuously. 
 
 " Miss Olive, life is hard ; love is 
 bondage ; truth is weary search ; happiness 
 cannot be reached here." 
 
 " Mr. Kimen, dear Mr. Kimen ! " the 
 man started, but her intensity was too im 
 personal for him to be misled by it, " you 
 are all wrong; you are great, noble, but 
 you want to hold the solution of every 
 mystery in your open palm, and let us read 
 it as in a book. We want to sing as we go 
 along, or else lie cradled in reverent trust. 
 You would explain, improve ; we would 
 wait and watch. You have taken the 
 world into your keeping; we have asked 
 God to let us help Him. Mr. Kimen," 
 and she held out her hand. 
 
 He took it and looked upon it, perhaps 
 reading the future in its lines. He folded 
 
 15
 
 226 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 his left hand over it, as if he would cherish 
 it forever, and said, " Olive ! " 
 
 " Good-by, dear Mr. Kimen." 
 
 " Good-by, dear Olive." 
 
 He lifted her hand as if he would kiss it, 
 but stopped and placed his own upon her 
 head. She gazed up into his eyes trust 
 ingly. He stooped and took the pansy 
 from her button-hole, methodically drew 
 out his pocket-book, and placed the flower 
 inside. He shut it and put it back in his 
 pocket very slowly, Olive still gazing at 
 him. 
 
 " Forever, Olive ? " he asked in question 
 ing tone. 
 
 "Forever," she answered solemnly. 
 
 He stepped backwards, backwards, for 
 he could not lose her from his sight, while 
 she stood with folded hands and bowed 
 head, waiting. The path turned and he 
 was hid from her sight. Still she stood 
 there. Did he mean that he would keep 
 her pansy forever, or did he mean that he
 
 GOOD-BY. 227 
 
 had bid her good-by forever? What had 
 she meant ? She knew not how to answer 
 her own questions, and a rush of sorrow or 
 compassion swept over her. 
 
 The moon was rising when Olive re 
 turned home. She found her father and 
 mother still talking with Miss Curtis, and 
 by the way in which her father drew her 
 to his side she knew they had been talking 
 of her. She rested again in the safest love 
 a girl ever knows, her father's.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AFTEE-THOUGHTS. 
 
 IT took Mr. Kimen a long while to re 
 adjust his equanimity. Olive had shown 
 her disapproval of him ; he had been 
 roused out of his own notion of duty, but 
 had had no facts given him to tabulate. 
 He had not been playing any game, yet he 
 had a vague sense of loss ; that he had 
 missed opportunity. Opportunity for what ? 
 He and Olive had not quarrelled ; friends 
 often say good-by when they are to meet 
 the next day. He was a great deal older 
 than she ; it ought to have been a privilege 
 for her to be associated with a man like 
 himself, devoted to high pursuits. Yet 
 she had found him tiresome. He tried to 
 find fault with her to himself, but he could
 
 AFTER-THOUGHTS. 229 
 
 not. He had seen too much of her daily 
 home-life not to recognize that she was 
 perpetually making other people happy, 
 doing the little chores of friendship which 
 take off the burden of petty cares from 
 others. That she did all this without any 
 sense of self-sacrifice or self-justification 
 was a real, personal grievance to him. 
 
 He had seldom seen her read or percepti 
 bly improve her mind, yet she was always 
 able to relate events to causes, and could 
 penetrate the inner consciousness of an 
 author without believing that his charac 
 ters and incidents were necessarily drawn 
 from real life. 
 
 It provoked him that she was happy. 
 He felt a ghoulish pleasure in thinking that 
 she would see things differently whenever 
 she was brought face to face with the death 
 of a dear friend. It angered him still more, 
 that he knew she felt he was lacking in 
 grace of mind and character, and that she 
 did not consider that his earnestness atoned
 
 230 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 for his being tiresome. He knew, too, that 
 she saw he was always making himself up ; 
 that he was always prying out some unre 
 cognized factor which was to benefit man 
 kind. He felt that she, young as she was, 
 had already attained results in rectifying 
 other people's lives which he, with all his 
 serious consideration of their affairs, had 
 not reached. 
 
 Over all his mortification and sense of 
 failure was the feeling of loss. He had 
 met a human soul which could have shone 
 into his life, and he had been too preoccupied 
 to make room for it. Now he was lonely. 
 He had dreamed for months of being her 
 guide, had held her hand, had touched her 
 hair ! What did it avail ? She ought to 
 need him; she only cared for him imper 
 sonally. He would have taken her as a 
 holy cause and battled for her ; but he had 
 missed the power of her sweet brightness, 
 and she had missed the power of his pur 
 pose, a purpose so set that it would hurt
 
 AFTER-THOUGHTS. 231 
 
 its own friend rather than not hew out the 
 accomplishment of its truth. He knew, 
 too, that their purposes were alike ; both 
 lived for others, only their ways were so 
 different that the likeness in purpose was 
 hidden. 
 
 He knew that never again could the 
 sense of failure press upon him so heavily ; 
 that never again could the abnegation of 
 personal love raise him to such a height 
 of renunciation as to leave her whom he 
 needed, rather than to insist upon appro 
 priating her. He remembered how she 
 had stood before him, radiant in her grace 
 ful earnestness. He tried to classify his 
 impressions for the future benefit of others. 
 It was impossible ; nothing came clearly 
 before him but his lonely, working life, 
 and the longing to make her work with 
 him. 
 
 He lingered in the village two or three 
 days, not even attempting to see her. He 
 wished to do nothing in a hurry, yet knew
 
 232 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 he had nothing to do. A sense of decent 
 gratitude and civility made him mindful of 
 his obligation to Miss Curtis. He went to 
 pay his farewell respects to her. 
 
 His presence during his summer visit 
 had acted like a nettle-rash upon her, and 
 stung her with a constant desire to aggra 
 vate him. Whatever elderly fondness she 
 had cherished for him had dwindled into a 
 wish to think kindly of him at a distance. 
 
 " I 'm going to see my mother," said he 
 to Miss Curtis, when he called. 
 
 "It is high time you cultivated her 
 affections," she answered. 
 
 " I have never neglected her. I have 
 tried to do my duty. I am her son," he 
 replied. 
 
 "Mothers don't value forced affections. 
 It is mortifying to have to be loved on ac 
 count of relationship. How long shall you 
 be gone ? " 
 
 " I may not come back again. Just now 
 in my studies there is a phase of life
 
 AFTER-THOUGHTS. 233 
 
 which I think it might be useful for me to 
 study, the community side, and I pro 
 pose to make an examination of it." 
 
 " Lots of failures have been buried in 
 communities," remarked Miss Curtis. 
 
 " I agree with you ; and I want to study 
 them so that I can better comprehend the 
 life of the individual, and be able to aid the 
 world." 
 
 " Is he an idiot ? " thought Miss Curtis 
 as she shook hands with him, half sorry 
 to lose from her own circle such a constant 
 spur to her mental reflections upon the use- 
 lessness of philanthropic desire without cor 
 responding executive ability. 
 
 It was evident to Olive that Miss Curtis 
 was glad Mr. Kimen had gone, though she 
 wondered why her aunt was relieved. That 
 lady, however, did not feel wholly at ease. 
 Olive had somehow eluded her comprehen 
 sion. She had rejoiced in the girl's power 
 of reserve, but she did not wish it exer 
 cised upon herself. Her plans were made.
 
 234 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 There had been hours, and latterly mo 
 ments, when she thought they might be 
 put into action. 
 
 At twilight for she had been too feeble 
 through the week to take her usual sunset 
 walk she called Olive to her side. 
 
 " Child, what is this new notion of Ki- 
 men's about going into a community ? " 
 
 Olive looked surprised. 
 
 "Don't you know about it?" asked her 
 aunt. 
 
 " No," answered the girl ; " I supposed 
 he was still going to study." 
 
 " He 's going to try life in the aggre 
 gate ; but he won't resolve it any better," 
 said Miss Curtis. 
 
 " Poor Mr. Kimen," replied Olive ; " I am 
 so sorry for him, and so sorry for myself." 
 
 " What 's the trouble, child ? " 
 
 " Nothing ; only he is n't agreeable to 
 me, and yet I like him so much. He won't 
 take my advice, he won't keep his beard 
 short, and yet when it is trimmed, he looks
 
 AFTER-THOUGHTS. 235 
 
 like an apotheosized apostle in a revela 
 tion ; " and she sighed. 
 
 " Why didn't you tell him to cut it ? " 
 
 " That 's just it, aunt. There is no way 
 of making him do frivolous things. He 
 lifts you up on the heights, because it seems 
 grand to live for ideas and wish to benefit 
 mankind ; but then you collapse and want 
 to wear pretty gowns, and he can't follow 
 you, and you can't have sympathy with dic 
 tionaries all the time ; he is always explain 
 ing what things mean, and never listening. 
 If he went sailing, he would do all the work ; 
 he 'd never lie over the bow and look down 
 into the water and do nothing." 
 
 " He is very good," said Miss Curtis, 
 apologetically. 
 
 "Yes, very good," assented Olive, "and 
 not conceited ; but there is neither poetry 
 nor ability in him yet. If he had one or 
 the other, I would n't mind. He is the 
 kind that could have a sunstroke and not 
 know it was the sun which hurt him."
 
 236 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 " Philanthropists who don't do any good 
 are generally impervious," answered Miss 
 Curtis. " But it is n't their fault ; they are 
 born weather-beaten." 
 
 " I should n't think he could be any com 
 fort to his mother," said Olive, reflectively. 
 " Yet, aunt, I was so sorry for him that 
 I almost loved him. I never liked him. I 
 wanted him to be happy ; but he never 
 could see the stars were shining, for there 
 were so many clouds in his way. I wish I 
 could feel as sublime as he did ; it must 
 be splendid." 
 
 It was Miss Curtis who sighed. 
 
 "It might have been better for you 
 two if you could have got on together," she 
 said. 
 
 Olive thought of the white dahlias, and 
 of the two who lay beneath the myrtle 
 mounds ; of her own father and mother ; 
 of Mr. Kimen's hand upon her head, and 
 wondered if love meant getting on together. 
 Aloud she answered,
 
 AFTER-THOUGHTS. 237 
 
 " We could n't, as things are now. "We 
 did n't agree about anything. He wished 
 to be in a state of perpetual consciousness 
 that he had a great subject in his mind, 
 and so he would forget to brush his coat. 
 And I want my dress to fit well ; and then 
 it is fun to surprise people by making them 
 happy. There are so many little ways 
 of doing it, that it keeps me jumping up 
 all the time. Aunt Curtis " And Olive 
 pushed the crochet-needle into the afghan 
 which she always carried with her to work 
 upon at twilight, and on which she made no 
 perceptible progress. 
 
 " Well," said Miss Curtis, with a pleased 
 accent. 
 
 " I 've got to see him again," spoke Olive. 
 
 " When ? " asked her aunt, with a sudden, 
 anxious change of voice. 
 
 " When he is younger and I am older. 
 I want to see if he changes." 
 
 " And if he does not ? " questioned the 
 elder lady.
 
 238 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 "Then I would rather go down with 
 the sun alone ; " and Olive pointed to the 
 golden streaks which necked the sky as the 
 upper edge of the great amber ball sank 
 below the western hills. 
 
 " He will never change," said Miss Curtis 
 to herself.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 LITTLE MAMMA. 
 
 ANOTHER week had gone in an unusual 
 round of picnics, furnished with pretty 
 girls, Wisteria wood-plates, Japanese nap 
 kins, transparent sandwiches, and coffee in 
 tumblers, which had satisfied even Owen's 
 sense of nineteenth-century civilization. 
 He, however, considered country dances as 
 too unconventional, and requiring a great 
 deal of labor from a young man. He much 
 preferred his Boston slide, which left all the 
 work to his partner. Olive, having once 
 introduced him, was scarcely surprised to 
 find how soon he knew the girls and their 
 points better than she herself. She, how 
 ever, found it pleasanter to stay with her 
 mother or her aunt than to be on the alert
 
 240 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 for a joke or a repartee, as is expected 
 at social festivals, or else one is accused 
 of being out of sorts. 
 
 As Miss Curtis had not come down to 
 fea one evening, Olive had carried up to 
 her the thin slices of bread-and-butter, the 
 Scotch marmalade, and the tete-a-tete set of 
 her aunt's childhood. Miss Curtis tried to 
 care for what was set before her, for Olive's 
 sake ; but she wearily pushed back the 
 waiter, and the girl curled herself up on an 
 ottoman at her aunt's feet, ready for a talk. 
 The two were silent for a long while. Sud 
 denly the quiet was broken by the sharp 
 sound of Miss Curtis' s voice. 
 
 "After all, child, you had better marry 
 before either of your parents die, or things 
 get mixed. It is lonely, when you come 
 to your end, not to know that some one 
 person cares more than all the rest of the 
 world. Besides, it is an advantage to have 
 your life run in a rut and know what your 
 duty is."
 
 LITTLE MAMMA. 241 
 
 " Is n't there duty outside of marriage as 
 well as inside ? " asked Olive. 
 
 " Yes ; but when it is outside, it is like 
 picking berries in scattered spots. Half of 
 life is knowing just what to do, not floun 
 dering about." 
 
 " It is strange," answered the girl, " that 
 the easier half, the energy to do, comes 
 when you are young, before you know 
 what to do." 
 
 " Mistaken duty, child, is forgetting that 
 the Devil keeps the account against the 
 Almighty," replied Miss Curtis. 
 
 " Jac-mamma says that the Almighty 
 never gives us complex fractions for sums, 
 if we did but know it." 
 
 "He doesn't, child, he doesn't. He 
 gave me a simple sum, but I could not 
 do it. I counted by hobbies, and the Al 
 mighty by purpose." 
 
 The shadows deepened, as Olive pon 
 dered on these words. Was Mr. Kimen 
 incarnate purpose, and herself a will-o'- 
 
 16
 
 242 3/755 CURTIS. 
 
 the-wisp riding hobbies? At last Miss 
 Curtis spoke, as if she were thinking aloud : 
 "Hobbies are only pretences for having 
 your own way ; purpose is the Almighty's 
 education." 
 
 She paused ; but as if spurred by some 
 sudden emotion, she spoke again in sharper 
 voice. 
 
 "Co-education, female colleges, and all 
 the new devices for getting into the king 
 dom of heaven are hobbies : the age is pre 
 destined to them; they will be its ruin. 
 They are devil's claws, they are mirages, 
 they tear out your heart, they lead you 
 astray. Be womanly, child ! Be frivolous, 
 be frivolous ! " 
 
 " I would rather be happy, aunt, because 
 some one needs me," answered Olive, 
 cheerily. 
 
 Miss Curtis did not seem to notice her, 
 and continued : " If you are astride a 
 hobby, child, you are in too great a hurry 
 in reaching your own special end to know
 
 LITTLE MAMMA. 243 
 
 when some one needs you. Being cared 
 for because you have money, or because 
 some one is grateful for what has been 
 done for him, makes one very lonely. It 
 is a blessing, Olive, to be loved for 
 yourself alone. Gratitude is nothing but 
 mortgages." 
 
 Was Miss Curtis sad, or sardonic, this 
 evening ? Olive could not tell. Again the 
 hush fell between the two. Miss Curtis's 
 voice was very gloomy when she next 
 spoke. 
 
 " It is very lonely, child, when memory 
 pays the debt which one owes to love. 
 Better put your investments in live-stock 
 at once, than trust to memory for an 
 income." 
 
 Miss Curtis clasped and unclasped the 
 silver mountings of the dark-blue velvet 
 bag which she always wore at her waist. 
 Olive laid her hand upon the nervous 
 fingers and held them, saying, 
 
 " Aunt, tell me what it is ? "
 
 244 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 Such a look of weariness deepened on 
 the dear old face that Olive wished she 
 had not asked her, and she buried her 
 sunny head in the lady's lap as if bowed 
 with the glimpse before her of aged grief 
 and bitterness. Slowly Miss Curtis with 
 drew her hands, and laying them on the 
 girl's head, lifted it. 
 
 " Look at this, child," and she drew out 
 a letter from her bag. " When I die, put 
 this under my cheek, the right cheek, 
 and bury it with me." 
 
 "Yes, aunt." 
 
 "Do you know you have never kissed 
 me there ? " said Miss Curtis, touching her 
 own cheek. 
 
 "Yes, aunt." 
 
 "Well, child, forty-five years ago he 
 touched it, and here is his letter. He is 
 waiting for me now. I shall see him 
 before it is morning." 
 
 Olive started. 
 
 " Where ? " she exclaimed.
 
 LITTLE MAMMA. 245 
 
 " Hush, hush, child! " bade the old lady ; 
 " you disturb him. It is very quiet ; it is 
 dark." 
 
 " When did you get it, aunt to- 
 day?" 
 
 " The letter is yellow, child, but the en 
 velope is white and clean." 
 
 " Yes, aunt ; but it is not post-marked ! " 
 
 " His envelope is inside this one," an 
 swered Miss Curtis, smiling tenderly. 
 
 " Yes," said Olive ; " but the outside one 
 says, if not delivered within ten days to 
 return it to you." 
 
 " It is not a joke," replied Miss Curtis, 
 grimly. "I took my business envelope 
 and stamped it, that if I lost it I might 
 find it again. When did I get it? Oh, 
 ten, twenty, twenty-six years ago the 
 26th of August." 
 
 Olive trembled. 
 
 " It seemed longer ago last fall," added 
 Miss Curtis, " than it does now. It will 
 soon be over."
 
 246 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 " Was he your husband I mean, were 
 you engaged to him ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Did you both love each other ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Tell me of it, aunt." 
 
 " I 've got to go back to before I was 
 born. Olive, thank the Lord that the past 
 is largely accountable for me ; all my sins 
 are not wholly of my own causing. But I 
 owe nothing to the future ; my faults can't 
 be transmitted. Heredity is the great title- 
 holder. Folks are just beginning to see 
 the advantages of being born without en 
 cumbrances of bad inheritance." 
 
 " ' The sins of the fathers shall be vis 
 ited upon the children unto the third 
 and fourth generation/ " repeated Olive, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " Calvinism," answered Miss Curtis, " be 
 lieved that of the masses, and laid it all on 
 to Adam. It is only as we have taken the 
 Bible as an allegory, as a picture-book, as
 
 LITTLE MAMMA. 247 
 
 poetry, that we know its truth fits each 
 person. Pull up the curtain, child, it is 
 getting darker. I want to see when I talk. 
 It is a long story." 
 
 Olive did as she was bid, came back 
 to her seat, and timidly touched the bag 
 to which Miss Curtis had restored the 
 letter. 
 
 " Olive Cadwallader," she began, " I 
 never was a girl ; I never had any girlhood ; 
 I don't know what it means. It is no mat 
 ter now. I was born a woman. No one 
 ever told me that I was good-looking. 
 People never said they were glad to see me. 
 I was always in the way ; I ran on errands 
 all the time. I was sent to school and wore 
 old-fashioned dresses, which made the girls 
 avoid me. I never got on in my lessons, I 
 was so frightened." 
 
 " Didn't you have a mother?" asked 
 Olive, gently. 
 
 " Yes, people always do ; but my mother 
 was a wife. She married unto the Lord,
 
 248 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 and she minded her husband. She died 
 when I was a little girl." 
 
 " Don't you remember her ? " 
 
 Miss Curtis shuddered. 
 
 " Yes, I remember her well. One mem 
 ory has been my curse, because I used to 
 wish she were pretty, like other girls' moth 
 ers. It crazes me to think of it. She was 
 very thin, and she never wore any pretty 
 clothes, and her wrists were brown and 
 bony. She seemed all lines, and her hair 
 that was beautiful. She twisted it so 
 hard that it never came down, for she 
 had no time to put it up ; her life was 
 all work. Only when father went away, 
 then we loved each other ! I sat in her 
 lap whole days, just resting ; and we 'd 
 go to bed early, just to put our arms 
 round each other, and she would hold me 
 close, and I 'd take down her hair and braid 
 it into mine; and we 'd lay awake all night, 
 and she would never be tired ; and she 'd 
 call me her baby, her darling, and she was
 
 LITTLE MAMMA. 249 
 
 my little mamma. She taught me hymns 
 and crooned me melodies. When father 
 came home, he was always round ; and she 
 did not dare to love me, and we'd shell 
 peas for dinner without speaking. 
 
 " Sometimes I could find a flower she 
 liked, a pansy ; but she 'd hide it inside 
 her dress so father could n't even smell it. 
 Well she died. I heard them say, one 
 day, she was going, and that it was a pity 
 father was away, and that they must keep 
 me out of the room. But I went round on 
 the shed and got in at the window and lay 
 down by her, and hid inside the sheets and 
 pretended to be asleep. She put her hand 
 into mine, and I heard them say, 6 Come in 
 and look at her.' They came in, and said 
 that she was sleeping quietly, and they 
 guessed she might live a spell longer, 
 though 't was a pity ; and that they would 
 stay in the next room and come in once in 
 a while. We didn 't move till they were 
 gone, and then she pulled me up close to
 
 250 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 her and whispered, l Be good, little girl, 
 no matter what comes.' And I told her 
 I 'd help her die, so it would n't hurt ; and 
 she crawled down a little and put her head 
 on my shoulder, and I put both my arms 
 round her and held her tight." 
 
 " And then," said Olive, faintly. 
 
 " They took me from her in the morning ; 
 and there was a funeral, and father had 
 a great deal to do."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 HOBBIES. 
 
 THE hush had lasted until Olive became 
 alarmed. She was only a girl, and she did 
 not know how long the aged can sit in 
 silence. 
 
 "Aunt Curtis, are you asleep?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Mamma, little mamma ! " murmured the 
 lady. 
 
 " Aunt Curtis, dear Aunt Curtis ! " ex 
 claimed Olive, starting up and bending 
 over her just in time to catch the smile 
 which had made the elderly face as trust 
 ing as a child's. 
 
 Miss Curtis opened her eyes and looked 
 round expectantly. No one was there but 
 Olive and herself. Slowly she seemed to 
 remember where she was.
 
 252 AfISS CURTIS. 
 
 " Are you tired, aunt ? Don't you want 
 to lie down ? " 
 
 " No, child ; what was I telling you ? " 
 
 " You grew up to be a big girl, aunt ; you 
 and your father lived together?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I lived with him. We are 
 set in families when we begin. I don't 
 remember much, except that it was doing 
 duty all the time. It was restraint, sacri 
 fice. I was taken care of somehow. I 
 believe we had a housekeeper. She was. 
 active like father, and I was always afraid 
 to cry lest they would hear me. At last 
 I could n't bear it longer. It was in 
 mother's chamber ; there was one of those 
 Goliaths in the room." 
 
 " < Goliaths ' ! " repeated Olive. 
 
 " That is what we called those chests in 
 two parts ; two sets of narrow drawers on 
 top, and three or four long drawers, the 
 width of the chest, below. It was divided 
 when a family broke up or sold out. That 
 is half of it now," said Miss Curtis, pointing
 
 HOBBIES. 253 
 
 to a piece of rich mahogany with brass or 
 naments. " I put my hand on it, right in 
 the middle where it separated, and talked 
 to father, I in my petty spite at life and 
 him, and he in his sternness and might of 
 self-denial ! I told him that he had no 
 right to give me birth and then take all 
 the pleasure out of life ; that it was duty 
 from morning to night ; that he gave away 
 all the good things on the farm, and that 
 we lived on Indian meal till I was crushed; 
 that there was not a pretty thing in the 
 house, because the money had gone to help 
 some widow; that there was no time, be 
 cause it was all spent for others ; that 
 there was no love, because something al 
 ways had to be done. I had no idea of 
 running away, for there was nowhere to go ; 
 but I told him that I hated him. Olive, 
 I have been undoing those words fifty-six 
 years ; they '11 be undone soon." 
 
 The girl shivered. 
 
 " Are you cold ? " asked Miss Curtis, with
 
 254 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 a contempt in her tone which was meant 
 for herself more than for Olive. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Nor sleepy?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " It is n't a pleasant story." 
 
 " Aunt, I can't bear it ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, you can ! It is n't you who 
 said it. It is I to my own father. There 
 he stood, thin, weak, old; his forehead 
 seemed to denounce me ; his eyes under 
 neath it burned me. He had given all his 
 life to others ; it had killed my mother, 
 that was no matter ; the world was to be 
 helped, and he had helped east and west, 
 north and south. He had been missionary 
 and teacher, a wanderer and a farmer; and 
 in all, the burden of the Lord had been 
 upon him. I, his child, could comprehend 
 neither his personal devotion, nor his ab 
 sorption in causes, nor his interest in the 
 conversion of others. His father had left 
 him property, and he had added to it ; for
 
 HOBBIES. 255 
 
 with all his zeal he knew how to make 
 money. But for every dollar he made he 
 labored to save a soul ; he cared for wealth 
 only as means. There were no poor sin 
 ners for miles around whom he did not 
 support, that it might give him a claim on 
 them to send them tracts; and I com 
 plained because I had not been petted, 
 when the world needed to be helped ! Oh, 
 Lord ! " and Miss Curtis trembled. 
 
 "Your father ? " asked Olive. 
 
 "I don't remember. Now I can see that 
 he did not understand me any more than 
 I did him. You can't tell any kind of a 
 person, especially a man, that his life is a 
 failure, without surprising him. I wish I 
 had never told him." 
 
 She paused as if very tired, and then 
 continued, 
 
 "I had a little camphor trunk, brass- 
 nailed, some animal's skin on the top ; it 
 was my mother's. In it were her treasures 
 when she was a girl : her wedding waist,
 
 256 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 she had a small waist, some dried flowers, 
 a few letters and some missionary relics, 
 and her journal, left for me, which I was 
 to read when I could n't bear life any longer. 
 I had always known it was waiting for me, 
 but I had put off reading it, hoping that 
 each day would be a little easier for me. 
 I did n't want to go to my own funeral. I 
 read it that night. Poor little mamma ! 
 She loved my father when she married 
 him, and she thought it was grand to 
 carry the burden of the Lord, and that 
 she would go with him into the desert- 
 places and make them bloom. But my 
 father never showed her the vision, only 
 the pain, the duty. She was weak in body ; 
 and when I was born, my father told her 
 to bring me up to be strong and respon 
 sible. That weighed upon her. He did n't 
 believe in rocking babies, and he gave her 
 the Psalms to read when I was crying in 
 the dark from terror. She tried to grow 
 up to him and not mind things, and have
 
 HOBBIES. 257 
 
 great thoughts ; but little mamma needed 
 a God whom she could see. She blamed 
 herself for everything. It never occurred 
 to her that father was wrong. She wanted 
 me to ignore myself and to carry the bur 
 den for others." 
 
 Olive thought of Mr. Kirnen and moved 
 uneasily. Miss Curtis continued in the 
 monotone into which she had fallen. 
 
 " Then I saw how cruel and selfish I had 
 been, and I vowed by my mother's journal 
 that I would be his companion and outdo 
 him in the burden. So I starved and 
 worked, and nursed the sick and drunken, 
 and improved the character of the town, and 
 took up every new invention of reform, 
 anything that meant self-sacrifice. As I 
 carried on the Lord's burden, my father 
 laid it down ; it was killing him, as it had 
 killed my mother. He saw the crucifixion, 
 but never the crown. We had got along 
 better in these latter years ; he had begun 
 to respect me, and though he could n't love 
 
 17
 
 258 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 me, he depended on me and helped me in 
 turn. I was not twenty when there came 
 to our town Henry Norris. I met him first 
 at a funeral." Miss Curtis half smiled. 
 " He came off and on to see us ; I got used 
 to him, and I loved him/' 
 
 " Aunt Curtis," exclaimed Olive in high 
 excitement, " you don't mean mamma's 
 brother ! " 
 
 " Yes. I 've snubbed your mother, and 
 badgered your father about his salary, and 
 loved you, because of him ; and now it is 
 all over." 
 
 " Does mamma know ? " 
 
 " She never told me she did n't, and she 
 never gave me any reason to think she did ; 
 your mother is inscrutable. It comes from 
 having a parish round all the time. But 
 don't set me to wandering to-night. He 
 saw how I was driven by hobbies ; that 
 they jostled against each other ; that there 
 was n't any abidingness in me, only to be 
 doing ; that I was in a perpetual worry ;
 
 HOBBIES. 259 
 
 that with all my efforts I always came out 
 wrong and made things worse than before, 
 because I wanted to reform the whole of 
 people's lives at once, and was not contented 
 to work in bits and by degrees. Well, I 
 was obstinate ; and when he asked me 
 to marry him, I told him that he must 
 promise to take up the work of the Lord 
 in my way and ride my hobbies ; and he 
 wouldn't promise and I wouldn't yield. 
 We 'd go off skipping stones, and he 'd talk 
 of the ' faith that made faithful.' But I 
 could never see large. Because he would 
 not weigh out the mint and the anise, I let 
 him go. It is a long while ago, child, and 
 I have been weighing out mint and worm 
 wood ever since. It has tasted bitter, but 1 
 could not give up hobbies." 
 
 A look of grim amusement passed over 
 her face as Olive smiled reluctantly. 
 
 " Give me a shawl, child. It is very 
 cold." 
 
 Olive wound the soft camel's-hair around
 
 260 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 her aunt and stroked her hair. After a 
 while she asked, 
 
 " Did you never see him again ? " 
 
 " Don't hurry me, Olive. Father died in 
 a year or two, and left me his money and 
 his example. I guess he did n't know he 
 had so much of either to leave. I have told 
 you about his will before. I suppose he 
 wanted other women to marry, as his atone 
 ment to mother. After all was decently 
 over, and I was carrying out his example, 
 Mr. Norris asked me again to marry him ; 
 but I had grown hobbier than ever after 
 father's death, and I could n't forget what 
 I had said to him when I stood up by the 
 Goliath. I must pay for it. I had not 
 grown old enough to see that there was a 
 better payment than by renouncing. Never 
 go into self-sacrifice, Olive, until you are 
 sure it is necessary. I went by jerks." 
 
 " How could you do so ? " asked Olive. 
 
 " Because I did not know it was right to 
 be happy."
 
 HOBBIES. 261 
 
 " And uncle's letter ? " ventured Olive. 
 
 " Henry's letter?" said Miss Curtis, wea 
 rily. " Oh, it is in this bag ; it has always 
 been in it since he sent it to me, twenty-six 
 years ago, just before he died. You re 
 member what I told you, child. Ring the 
 bell for the lights, and leave me. It has 
 grown very dark." 
 
 The candles came, and Olive left her 
 alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 PURPOSE. 
 
 Miss CURTIS died that night. When they 
 went to wake her in the morning, they 
 found the yellow letter under the with 
 ered cheek. Reverently Olive fulfilled her 
 promise. If the first death we know is 
 wrapped in tenderness, then it is loneliness, 
 not bitterness, against which we struggle. 
 
 Olive was very lonely ; but out of her 
 loneliness purpose was deepening. She 
 saw that Miss Curtis had missed the be 
 neficence of happiness, because she had 
 counted an unwilling martyrdom as ser 
 vice, and had always been in rebellion 
 against the forces of her life, alike those 
 which she had inherited and those which 
 she had created.
 
 PURPOSE. 263 
 
 Miss Curtis's will was a surprise to all. 
 The bulk of her property was left to Olive 
 on condition that she should carry out the 
 plans which Miss Curtis ha4 already de 
 vised, and which were in progress for the 
 benefit of her clients and townspeople. 
 It was not to pass into her entire control 
 for two years, that she might have time to 
 prepare herself for her future work, though 
 even then she would not be at liberty to 
 touch the principal until she was thirty-five. 
 If Olive quailed before the task, the trustees 
 were to expend the principal in establishing 
 a home for single women. A certain por 
 tion of the income was to be yearly appro 
 priated to the increase of her father's salary, 
 that he might have more time for sermons 
 and less for economies. 
 
 The consternation of Olive was only 
 equalled by the amazement of her brother. 
 
 " Now a fellow can live decently," ex 
 claimed Owen, " and can spread at Beck Hall 
 when he graduates. Olive will become a
 
 264 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 universal match-maker. What a descent 
 from single motives ! " 
 
 "Oh, "sighed she, " if I could have a 
 universal woe, an ache, and so bear others' 
 burdens ! " 
 
 " Don't be vicarious ! " said the boy. " I 
 hope the papers won't get hold of it. The 
 house will be a regular Gretna Green, chap 
 lain provided, job done at the lowest price. 
 All the girls will want you to give them a 
 dowry, as did Miss Curtis." 
 
 " Don't, Owen ! It is an awful responsi 
 bility," besought his sister. 
 
 " Now, Olive, just stop a minute," he 
 replied. "I know something of girls. I 
 can 'size' them pretty well. I 've been 
 1 sizing ' you lately. You are a ' daisy,' but 
 you have made me miserable by looking 
 at me in a responsible light ; and you have 
 not made as much out of yourself for 
 others as you might have done, that 's 
 your hobby, you know, because you have 
 been taking yourself responsibly. Why,
 
 PURPOSE. 265 
 
 we fellows never could get through col 
 lege if we put ourselves under serious 
 consideration." 
 
 " Oh, Owen, I wish you would ! " inter 
 rupted the girl, pathetically. 
 
 " Olive, let ine alone, and don't spoil my 
 sequences. I 've forgotten where I was. 
 But this is what I mean. Miss Curtis 
 has been a trump. It 's going to help fa 
 ther lots. I tell you, Olive, I 've given up 
 no end of good times, and subscribing to 
 college things, because of those accounts of 
 his, which have to be squared before he can 
 get at his sermon. Now, I 'm out again ! 
 Oh, I know what I was going to say ! 
 Don't take this will-business hard; don't 
 look at it as a responsibility. Of course 
 it 's an awful one, trust funds, and all 
 that ; but it 's a first-class privilege to have 
 money, and to help fellows. Don't bother 
 as to whether you are worthy of it or not. 
 Have a good time about it. Be jolly. You 
 help people a great deal more when you
 
 266 3/755 CURTIS. 
 
 are not solemn. I '11 stand by yon and 
 pull you through." 
 
 Olive looked at him half provoked, half 
 amused. He had good sense, but he was 
 so patronizing. She did not dare to an 
 swer him, for whatever she should say 
 about herself might be untrue, at least 
 partial, as she did not yet comprehend her 
 feelings. After a second she said in hum 
 ble tone, " Thank you," and left the room 
 before her brother could reply. Owen 
 whistled. 
 
 Olive stayed much by herself for several 
 days. A day seems like a week to a young 
 girl. Her mother, just because she was 
 her mother, did not intrude upon the work 
 ings of her child's mind. In all this time 
 Olive hardly thought, much less reasoned ; 
 she simply gave herself up to the varying 
 moods which poured themselves over her 
 physically and mentally. She never was 
 in despair, she hardly felt adrift ; only she 
 knew not where to land. She was aware
 
 PURPOSE. 2G7 
 
 that her childish sense of responsibleness 
 had overcome her for a while ; but she was 
 sure that she had outgrown the notion 
 that there was any more work for her to 
 do in the world than she could do. 
 
 She planted pansies on the fresh mound ; 
 she lay dreaming in the sunshine ; she 
 climbed the cliff from which she had seen 
 Miss Curtis kneeling among her people. 
 Late one afternoon she pushed off her 
 boat from the river-bank and rowed far up 
 into the sunset. Her oars played back and 
 forth against the phosphorescent beads of 
 water ; the clouds lay above as plumes of 
 gold, as layers of opal against a pale blue 
 sky. Great sweeps of roseate hue, feathery 
 specks of brilliancy, were transformed into 
 the clearness of amber light. The moods, 
 the doubt, the sense of responsibility, which 
 had so burdened her, passed into the glow 
 ing clouds, into the shadowy earth, into 
 the sparkling water. Olive, freed from the 
 unreal burdens which Nature had taken
 
 268 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 unto herself, reached the shore with a few 
 vigorous strokes born of her release from 
 fear. She pulled in her boat and threw 
 back her head against the sky, with a light 
 in her eyes that made human expression 
 more than sunset glory. 
 
 That night the mother and daughter 
 talked together like two friends. 
 
 " It seems odd that I should be hesitat 
 ing about accepting a trust instead of an 
 offer," said Olive with a half smile, as if 
 almost ashamed to compare the two. 
 
 " To accept marriage," said Jac-mamma, 
 " is to assume a so much greater trust, that 
 I am thankful this one of work has come 
 to you first." 
 
 "I can do this," answered Olive, thought 
 fully. "I don't know what I want in re 
 gard to the other." 
 
 " Nor whom ? " asked her mother. 
 
 "No," said Olive, in such a sure tone 
 that her mother was assured. " I suppose, 
 now," the girl continued, "that Aunt Curtis
 
 PURPOSE. 269 
 
 must have been purposely educating me to 
 help others in practical ways. If I did 
 laugh a little to myself at her character 
 book-keeping, it proved her insight into 
 people and her executive ability in man 
 aging them. Did you and father talk me 
 over with her ? " 
 
 " Yes ; that was the reason she sent for 
 us. "We could not refuse her, and the two 
 years she has permitted you for prepara 
 tion gives you time to make mistakes in 
 plans and to correct them in action." 
 
 " Oh, you wise, funny mamma ! Well, I 
 know one thing already. I am going to ap 
 ply philosophy to my study of my people." 
 Her use of the possessive pronoun showed 
 that she had already unconsciously adopted 
 Miss Curtis's clients. " There are causes 
 for all the bothers ; just helping individual 
 cases don't help the next generation so 
 much as finding out what makes the misery 
 of the present time. And there is another 
 thing I'm not going to do. I 'm not going
 
 270 MISS CURTIS. 
 
 to tell poor people, or any one else, that 
 morality is its own justification ; but I 'm 
 going to tell them there is a heaven as 
 sure as there is a sunset, and that things 
 will be made all right there." 
 
 Her mother smiled at the girl's enthu 
 siasm, adding calmly, " It is the force of 
 personality that makes us need philosophy 
 to correct our intensity ; it is the truth of 
 personality which makes us demand God 
 and his heaven ; and it is the personality 
 of God which gives us prayer." 
 
 " One of Jac-mamma's life-sermons," 
 said Olive, touching her mother's hands. 
 
 Just then the door opened with that 
 breezy effect which precedes the appearance 
 of a boy, and Owen entered. 
 
 " Monologue or dialogue, which is it ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Neither, now," answered Olive, trying 
 at once to hide her deeper feeling from his 
 healthy want of sentiment; yet knowing 
 that she could not wholly succeed, she sud-
 
 PURPOSE. 271 
 
 denly thought it best to admit him to a 
 limited partnership in her emotion. In a 
 half-saucy, half-timid manner, she asked : 
 
 " Do you remember our first call, hand in 
 hand, and how we congratulated ourselves 
 upon getting through our part ? " 
 
 " It was all gammon," declared Owen. 
 
 " No, it was n't," asserted Olive. " We 
 thought out beforehand what we ought to 
 do, and so we got through with it." 
 
 " Don't moralize, Olive ; leave that to 
 Jac-mamma. She must settle for us the 
 proportions of life, between purpose and 
 hobbies, conventions and freedom." 
 
 University Press : John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.
 
 BENJAMIN H. TICKNOR. THOMAS B. TICKNOR. GEORGE F. GODFXKY 
 
 A LIST OF BOOKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY, 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
 Full-faced type indicates books published since January, 1886. 
 
 *** For Forthcoming and Latest Books, see Page 23. 
 
 AMERICAN-ACTOR SERIES (THE). Edited by LAU 
 RENCE HOTTON. A series of 12mo volumes by the best writers, embracing 
 the lives of the most famous and popular American Actors. Illustrated. 
 Six volumes in three. Sold only in sets. Per set, $5.00. 
 Vol. I. Edwin Forrest. By LAWRENCE BAEEETT. The Jeffersoni. By 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER. 
 Vol. II. The Elder and the Younger Booth. By Mrs. ASIA BOOTH CLAM*. 
 
 Charlotte Cushman. By CLARA ERSKINE CLEMENT. 
 Vol. HI. Mrs. Duff. By JOSEPH N. IRELAND. Fechter. By KATE FIELD. 
 Also a limited edition on large paper, especially adapted to the use of 
 collectors and bibliophiles, for extending, etc. 6 vols. Per vol., $6.00. 
 
 AMERICAN ARCHITECT. See back cover page. 
 AMERICAN WHIST. See WHIST. 
 
 ARNOLD'S (EDWIN) The Light of Asia. Beautiful illus 
 trated edition. 8vo. $6.00. In antique morocco, or tree-calf, $10.00. 
 
 (GEORGE) Poems. Edited, with a Biographi 
 cal Sketch of the Poet, by WILLIAM WINTER. With Portrait 16mo. i 1.60. 
 Half-calf, $3.00. Morocco antique or tree-calf, 84.00. 
 
 AUSTIN'S (JANE G.) A Nameless Nobleman. A Novel. 
 
 1vol. 16mo. Eighteenth edition. $1.00. In Ticknor's Paper Series, 50 cent*. 
 
 The Desmond Hundred. ^ A Novel. 16mo. 
 
 $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents.
 
 A List of Books Published by 
 
 AUSTIN'S (JANE G.) Nantucket Scraps; Being Experi 
 ences of an Off-Islander, in Season and out of Season, among a Passing 
 People. 16mo. $1.50. 
 
 BACON'S (HENRY) Parisian Art and Artists. 8vo. Pro 
 fusely illustrated. $3.00. 
 
 BALLOU'S (MATURIN M.) Due North. 1 vol. 12rao. 
 
 $1.50. 
 
 Genius in Sunshine and Shadow. 1 vol. 
 
 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Edge-Tools of Speech. 1 vol. 8vo. |3.50. 
 
 Sheep, $5.00. Half-calf or half-morocco, $6.50. 
 
 BABTLETTS (TRUMAN H.) The Art-Life of William 
 
 Rimmer. With Illustrations after his Paintings, Drawings, and Sculptures. 
 4to. Full gilt. $10.00. 
 
 BATES' S (ARLO) Patty's Perversities. A Novel. 1vol. 
 
 16mo. $1.00. In Tieknor's Paper Series, 50 cents. 
 
 BELLAMY'S (EDWARD) Miss Ludington's Sister. $1.25. 
 
 In Tieknor's Paper Series, 50 cents. 
 
 BENJAMIN'S (S. G. W.) Persia and the Persians. 
 
 1 TOl. 8vo. With Portrait and many Illustrations. Beautifully bound. 
 $5.00. Half-calf, $9.00. 
 
 (MRS. S. G. W.) The Sunny Side of 
 
 Shadow : Reveries of a Convalescent. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 BENT'S (SAMUEL ARTHUR) Familiar Short Sayings of 
 
 Great Men. 8vo. $3.00. Half-calf, $6.50. 
 
 New and cheaper edition. Fifth edition, revised and aug 
 mented. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF THE WORLD, A. See page 14. 
 BOIT'S (ROBERT APTHORP) Eustis. 12mo. $1.50. 
 BOSTON, Memorial History of. See page 30. 
 BOWD01N COLLEGE. See CLEAVELAND. 
 BROOKS' S (HENRY M.) The Olden-Time Series. Each 
 
 vol. 16mo. 50 cents. The six volumes, in a neat box, $3.00. 
 
 I. Curiosities of the Old Lottery. 
 
 II. Days of The Spinning- Wheel in New England. 
 
 III. New-England Sunday. 
 
 IV. Quaint and Curious Advertisements. 
 
 V. Some Strange and Curious Punishments. 
 VL Literary Curiosities. 
 
 BROWN'S (FRANCES CLIFFORD) A Stroll with Keats. 
 
 1 vol. Square 16mo. Richly illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 (HELEN DAWES) Two College Girls. 12mo. 
 
 $1.50. 
 
 (SUSAN ANNA) The Invalid's Tea-Tray. IDu- 
 
 initiated boards. 50 cents.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 3 
 
 BROWN 1 S (SusAN ANNA) How the Ends Met. 12mo. 
 
 60 cents. 
 
 In Bridget's Vacation. Leaflets to hang up. 
 
 50 cents. On gilt bar and rings. 75 cents. 
 
 BROWNING'S (MRS. ELIZABETH BARRETT) Sonnets 
 
 from the Portuguese. Illustrated by Ludvig Sandoe Ipsen. 1 TO!. 
 Oblong folio. Beautifully bound. Gilt top. $15.00. In full tree-calf, 930.00. 
 The unrivalled gift-book of the year. 
 
 BUDDHIST RECORDS OF THE WESTERN WORLD. 
 
 Translated from the original Chinese, with Introduction, Index, etc. By 
 SAMUEL BEAL, Trinity College, Cambridge. 2 vols. 12m o. $ 7.00. 
 
 BUDGE'S (ERNEST A.) The History of Esarhaddon (Son 
 
 of Sennacherib), King of Assyria, B.C. 681-668. From Cuneiform Inscrip 
 tions. 8yo. Gilt top. $4.00. 
 
 BUNNER'S (H. C.) A Woman of Honor. 16mo. S1.25. 
 BURNHAM'S (CLARA LOUISE) Next Door. 12mo. fl.50. 
 BUSH'S (JAMES S.) The Evidence of Faith. 12mo. $2.00. 
 BYNNER'S (EowiN LASSETTER) Agnes Surriage. A 
 
 Romance of Colonial Massachusetts. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Penelope's Suitors. 1 vol. 24mo. Quaintly 
 
 bound. 50 cents. 
 
 Damen's Ghost. A Novel. 1 vol. 16mo. 
 
 $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 BYRON'S (LORD) Childe Harold. A sumptuous new illus 
 trated edition. In box. $6.00. In antique morocco, padded calf, or tree- 
 calf, $10.00. In crushed Levant, with silk linings, $25.00. 
 
 . Childe Harold. Tremont Edition. 1vol. 16mo. 
 
 Beautifully illustrated. With red lines and gilt edges. $2.60. Half-calf, 
 $4.00. Antique morocco, tree-calf, flexible calf, or seal, $5.00. 
 
 Childe Harold. Pocket Edition. 1vol. Little- 
 
 Classic size. Many Illustrations. Elegantly bound. Sl.OO. Half-calf, 
 $2 25. Antique morocco, flexible calf, or seal, $3.00. Tree-calf or padded 
 calf, $3.50. 
 
 Childe Harold. Students' Edition. Edited, with 
 
 Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. 12mo. Illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 CARLYLE (THOMAS) and RALPH WALDO EMER- 
 
 SON, The Correspondence of. Edited by CHARLES ELIOT NORTOX. 2 TO!S. 
 12mo. Gilt tops and rough edges. With new Portraits. $4.00. Half- 
 calf, $8.00. Half-morocco, gilt top, uncut edges, $8.00. New Library 
 Edition, $3.00 ; in half-calf, $6.00. 
 New revised edition with 100 pages of newly-found letter*. 
 
 Supplementary Volume, including the newly- 
 found letters. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 CAROLINO'S (PEDRO) New Guide of the Conversation 
 
 in Portuguese and English. First American edition. With an Introduc 
 tion by MARK TWAIN. 16mo. $1.00. Paper, 50 cents.
 
 A List of Books Published by 
 
 CARPENTER'S (HENRY BERNARD) Liber Amoris; 
 
 Being the Book of Love of Brother Aureliua. A Metrical Romaunt of the 
 Middle Ages. 16mo. Gilt top and rough edges. $1.75. 
 
 CARRYL'S (CHARLES E.) Davy and the Goblin. 1 vol. 
 
 8vo. Fully illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 CESNOLA'S (GEN. L. P. DI) The Cesnola Collection of 
 
 Cyprus Antiquities. A Descriptive and Pictorial Atlas. Large folio. 600 
 Plates. Sold by subscription only. Send for Prospectus. 
 
 CHAMBERLAIN'S (BASIL HALL) The Classical Poetry 
 
 of the Japanese. 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 CHAMPNEY'S (MRS. L. W.) Rosemary and Rue. A 
 
 Novel. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 CHASE'S (Miss E. B.) Over the Border. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 Illustrated with Heliotype Engravings from Original Drawings of Scenery 
 in Nova Scotia. With Map. 12mo. Third edition. $1.50. 
 
 CHENOWETH'S (MRS. C. VAN D.) Stories of the Saints. 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 CLARK'S (T. M.) Building Superintendence. 8vo. With 
 
 Plans, etc. $3.00. 
 
 CLARKE'S (REV. JAMES FREEMAN) Every-Day Religion. 
 
 IvoL 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - Events and Epochs in Religious History. 
 
 Crown 8vo. Illustrated. $3 00. .Half-calf, $5.50. 
 New and cheaper edition. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 The Ideas of the Apostle Paul. 12mo. $1.50. 
 Self-Culture. Thirteenth edition. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Half-calf, $3.00. 
 
 CLEAVELAND'S (NEHEMIAH) and PACKARD'S (AL- 
 
 PHEUS SPBING) History of Bowdoin College. With. Biographical Sketches 
 of its Graduates, from 1806 to 1879, inclusive. With many full-page Por 
 traits, and other Illustrations. 8vo. $5.00. 
 
 CLEMENT'S (CLARA ERSKINE) and CONWATS 
 
 (KATHERIXE E.) Christian Symbols and Stories of the Saints. 
 
 1 vol. Large 12mo. With many full-page Illustrations. $2.50. Half-calf, 
 
 $5.00. 
 Stories of Art and Artists. 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 Profusely Illustrated. $4.00. Half white vellum cloth, $4.50. 
 
 and BUTTON'S (LAURENCE) Artists of the 
 
 Nineteenth Century. 12mo. Fully revised up to 1885. $3.00. Half- 
 calf, $5.00. Tree-calf, $7.00. 
 
 A Handbook of Legendary and Mythological 
 
 Art. Eighteenth edition. 12mo. $3.00. Half-calf, $5.00. Tree-calf, $7.00. 
 
 Painters, Sculptors, Architects, Engravers, and 
 
 their Works. Illustrated profusely. Ninth edition. 12mo. $3.00. Half- 
 calf, $5.00. Tree-calf, $7.00.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 
 
 CLEMENTS (CLARA ERSKINE) Eleanor Maitland. A 
 
 Novel. 16mo. $1.25. In Ticknor's Paper Series, 50 cent*. 
 
 CLEMMER'S (MARY) Poems of Life and Nature. $1.50. 
 - Men, Women, and Things. Revised and 
 
 Augmented. 12mo. $1.60. 
 
 - His Two Wives. 12rao. $1.50. 
 
 ^ Memorial Biography. An American Wo 
 man's Life and Work. By EDMUND HUDSON. 1vol. 12mo. With 
 Portrait. 81.50. 
 
 COLLIER'S (ROBERT LAIRD) English Home Life. 16mo. 
 
 Gilt top. $1.00. 
 
 COLLING'S (J. K.) Art Foliage. Entirely new plates 
 
 from the latest enlarged London edition. Folio. $10.00. 
 
 CON WA TS (M. D.) Emerson at Home and Abroad. $1.50. 
 COOKERS (GEORGE WILLIS) George Eliot ; A Critical 
 
 Study of her Life, Writings, and Philosophy. 12mo. With Portrait. $2.00. 
 Half-calf, $4.00. 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson ; His Life, Writings, and 
 
 Philosophy. 12mo. With Portrait. $2.00. Half-calf, $4.00. 
 
 Poets and Problems. Tennyson, Ruskin, Brown 
 
 ing. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 (JOHN ESTEN) Fanchette. A Novel. 1 vol. 
 
 IGmo. $1.00. In paper covers, 60 cents. 
 
 (MRS. LAURA S. H.) Dimple Dopp. Small 
 
 4to. Illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 (MRS. ROSE TERRY) Happy Dodd. 12ino. $1.50. 
 
 Somebody's Neighbors. 12mo. Fourth edition. 
 
 $1.50. Half-calf, S3.00. 
 
 The Sphinx's Children. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 CRADDOCICS (CHARLES EGBERT) Where the Battle 
 
 Was Fought. A Noyel. 12mo. Fourth edition. $1.50. 
 
 CROWNINSHIELD'S (FREDERIC) Mural Painting. 
 
 1 vol. Square 8vo. With numerous full-page Illustrations. $3.00. 
 
 CUNNINGHAM'S (FRANK H.) Familiar Sketches of the 
 
 Phillips Exeter Academy and Surroundings. Illustrated. $2.50. 
 
 DAHLGREN*S (MRS. MADELEINE VINTON) A Washington 
 
 Winter. 12mo. $1.50. 
 Lights and Shadows of a Life. A 
 
 Novel 1vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 The Lost Name. A Novelette. 1 vol. 
 
 16mo. $1.00. . , . , 
 
 Memoir of John A. Dahlgren, Rear- Admiral 
 
 U. S. Navy. 8vo. With Portrait and Illustration*. $3.00.
 
 A List of Books Published by 
 
 DAHLGREN'S (Mns. MADELEINE VINTON) South- Sea 
 
 Sketches. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 South-Mountain Magic. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 DANENHOWER'S (LIEUT. J. W.) Narrative of the 
 
 Jeannette. Paper covers. 25 cents. 
 
 DOBSON'S (AUSTIN) Thomas Bewick and his Pupils. 
 
 With numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo. $3.50. Limited large-paper 
 edition. $10.00. 
 
 DODGE'S (THEODORE AYRAULT, U.S.A.) A Bird's-Eye 
 
 View of our Civil War. 1 vol. 8vo. With Maps and Illustrations. $3.00. 
 
 - The Campaign of Chancellorsville. Svo. $3.00. 
 EASTWICK'S (EDWARD B., F.R.S.,M.R.A.S.) The Gulis- 
 
 tan ; or, Kose Garden of Shekh Mushlin'ddin Sadi. Svo. $3.50. 
 
 EATON'S (D. CADY) Handbook of Greek and Roman 
 
 Sculpture. Second edition, revised and enlarged. 12mo. $2.00. 
 Pocket edition, for travellers. 16mo. 415 pages. $1.00. 
 
 EDMUNDSON'S (GEORGE) Milton and Vondel. A Curi 
 osity of Literature. 1 vol. Crown 8vo. $2.60. 
 
 EMERSON, The Genius and Character of. A Series of 
 
 Lectures delivered at the Concord School of Philosophy, by eminent 
 authors and critics. Edited by F. B. SANBORN. Illustrated. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 EMERSON-CARLYLE CORRESPONDENCE (THE). 
 
 See CAKLYLE. 
 
 EMERSON'S (MRS. ELLEN RUSSELL) Myths of the In 
 dians ; or, Legends, Traditions, and Symbols of the Aborigines of America. 
 Svo. Gilt top. With numerous Plates and Diagrams. $5.00. 
 
 FAVORITE-AUTHORS SERIES. Favorite Authors, 
 
 Household Friends, Good Company. Three volumes in one. Illustrated. 
 Svo. Full gilt. $3.50. 
 
 FAWCETT'S (EDGAR) The Confessions of Claud. 
 
 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 The House at High Bridge. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 In Ticknor's Paper Series, 50 cents. 
 
 - Social Silhouettes. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - The Adventures of a Widow. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - Tinkling Cymbals. A Novel. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - Song and Story. A Volume of Poems. $1.50. 
 Romance and Revery. A Volume of 
 
 Poems. 12mo. Fine laid paper. Rough edges. $1.50. 
 
 FEATHERMAN'S (A.) The Aramaeans; Social History 
 
 of the Kaces of Mankind. 8vo. Uncut edges, gilt top. $5.00. 
 
 The Nigritians. Division One of the 
 
 Social History of the Races of Mankind. 1 vol. Svo. 
 
 The Melanesians. Division Two of 
 
 the Social History of the Races of Mankind. 1 vol. Svo. $6.00.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 
 
 FENOLLOSA'S (ERNEST F.) Review of the Chapter on 
 
 Painting in Gonse's " L'Art Japonais." 12mo. Paper coven. 25 cenU. 
 
 FIELD'S (EUGENE) Culture's Garland: Being Memoranda 
 
 of the Gradual Rise of Literature, Art, Music, and Society in Chicago and 
 other Western Ganglia. 12mo. Cloth. $1.00. In Ticknor's Paper 
 Series, 50 cents. 
 
 FOOTE'S (MRS. MARY HALLOCK) The Led- Horse Claim. 
 
 A Novel Illustrated by the Author. 16mo. 81.25. 
 
 John Bodewin's Testimony. A Novel. 12mo. 
 
 *1.50. 
 FRITH* S (I.) The Life and Works of Giordano Bruno. 
 
 8vo. With Portrait. $4.50. 
 
 FROMENTIN (EUGENE): Painter and Writer. From the 
 
 French of Louis Gonse, by Mrs. MART C. RonBrxs. 8vo. Illustrated. $3.00. 
 
 FROMENTIN'S (EUGENE) The Old Masters of Belgium 
 
 and Holland. 8vo. With eight full-page Heliotypes. Translated by MM. 
 MART C. ROBBINS. $3.00. 
 
 FULLER'S (ALBERT W.) Artistic Homes in City and 
 
 Country. Fourth edition. Oblong folio. 76 full-page Illustrations. 
 $4.50. 
 
 GARDNER'S (E. C.) Homes and all about them. 3 vols. 
 
 in 1. Profusely illustrated. 12mo. $2.60. 
 
 GARFIELD (PRESIDENT JAMES ABRAM) The Works of. 
 
 Edited by BURKE A. HINSDALB. 2 vols. 8vo. With new Steel Portrait*. 
 $6.00. Sheep, S8.50. Half-morocco or half-calf, $10.00. 
 Edition de luxe. 2 vols. 8vo. $25.00. Sold by subscription only. 
 
 GAYARRE'S (CHARLES) Aubert Dubayet. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 GERALDINE: A Souvenir of the St. Lawrence. A Poeti 
 cal Romance. 16mo. Ninth edition. $1.25. Half-calf, $3.00. In Tick- 
 nor's Paper Series, 50 cents. 
 
 GOETHE, The Life and Genius of. Concord Lectures for 
 1885. Edited by F. B. SANBORN and W. T. HARRIS. With Portrait*. $2.00. 
 
 GOETHE'S Faust. Translated by A. Hayward. $1.25. 
 GRANTS (ROBERT) An Average Man. 12mo. $1.50. 
 The Confessions of a Frivolous Girl. $1.25. In 
 
 Ticknor's Paper Series, 60 cents. 
 
 The Knave of Hearts. $1.25. 
 
 A Romantic Young Lady. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 GREENOUGITS (HORATIO) Letters to his Brother, 
 
 Henry Greenough. With biographical sketches and some contem 
 porary correspondence. Edited by FRANCES Boon GREENOCOH. 1 rol. 
 12mo. With portrait. $1.25. 
 
 (MRS. RICHARD) Mary Magdalene ; a 
 
 Poem. 12mo. $1.50.
 
 A List of Books Published by 
 
 GREENOUGH'S (MRS. RICHARD) Mary Magdalene, and 
 Other Poems. With photograph of Greenough's statue of Mary 
 Magdalene on the cover. 50 cents. 
 
 GRlZVILLE'S (HENRY) Cleopatra. A Russian Romance. 
 
 1 rol. 16mo. With portrait of the author. $1.25. 
 
 Dosia's Daughter. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 -. Count Xavier. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 BALE'S (LUCRETIA P.) The Peterkin Papers. New and 
 
 copiously illustrated Holiday Edition of 1886. 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 HAMILTON'S (KATE W.) Rachel's Share of the Road. 
 
 1 vol. IGiuo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 HAMLIN'S (AUGUSTUS C.) Leisure Hours among the 
 
 Gems. Illustrated. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 HAMMOND'S (MRS. E. M.) The Georgians. 1 vol. 16mo. 
 
 $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 HARRIS'S (JOEL CHANDLER) Mingo, and other Sketches 
 
 in Black and White. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 Nights with Uncle Remus. Illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 In paper covers, 60 cents. 
 
 HARTJNG'S (JAMES EDMUND, F.L.S., F.Z.S.) British 
 
 Animals Extinct within Historic Times. With some Account of British 
 Wild White Cattle. Illustrated. 8vo. Gilt top. $4.50. 
 
 HARTT'S (PROFESSOR C. F.) Geology and Physical Geog 
 raphy of Brazil. In preparation. 
 
 HASSARD'S (J. R. G.) A Pickwickian Pilgrimage. $1.00. 
 
 HA TTON'S (JOSEPH) Henry Irving's Impressions of Amer 
 ica. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 HAWTHORNE'S (JULIAN) Nathaniel Hawthorne and 
 
 his Wife. A Biography. With New Portraits on Steel, and Etched 
 Vignettes. 2 vols. 12mo. $5.00. Half-morocco or half-calf, $9.00. 
 Edition de luxe. $15.00. New Library Edition, $3.00 ; in half-calf, $6.00. 
 
 Confessions and Criticisms. A Volume 
 
 of Essays and Reminiscences. 12mo. With Portrait. $1.25. 
 
 Love or a Name. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Beatrix Randolph. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Fortune's Fool. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 (NATHANIEL) Dr. Grimshawe's Secret. 
 
 12mo. $1.50. Library edition. Gilt top. $2.00. 
 
 HAYES'S (HENRY) The Story of Margaret Kent. $1.50. 
 
 In Ticknor's Paper Series, 50 cents. 
 
 Sons and Daughters. 12mo. $1.50.
 
 TicJcnor and Company. 
 
 HAYWARD'S (ALMIRA L.) The Illustrated Birthday 
 
 Book of American Poets. Revised and enlarged edition, with index for 
 names, and portraits of thirteen great American poets. 1 ToL 18mo. $1.00. 
 Half-calf, $2.25. Flexible morocco, seal, or calf, $2.50. 
 
 HAZEWS (GEN: W. B.) A Narrative of Military Service. 
 
 8vo. With Maps, Plans, and Illustrations. $8.00. 
 
 HEARN'S (LAFCADIO) Stray Leaves from Strange Litera 
 ture. Storiea reconstructed from the Anyari-Soheili, Baittl-Pachisl, Ma- 
 habharata, Qulistan,etc. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.60. 
 
 HENDERSON'S (Is A AC) The Prelate. A Novel. 1 vol. 
 
 12mo. $1.50. In Ticknor's Paper Series, 50 cents. 
 
 HINSDALE'S (BURKE A.) President Garfield and Educa 
 tion. Portraits of Gen. Garfield, Mrs. Garfield, etc. 12mo. $1.50. Half- 
 calf, $3.00. Morocco antique, $4.00. 
 
 Schools and Studies. 16mo. $1.50. 
 
 HOME-BOOK OF ART (THE). Heliotype Plates after 
 
 One Hundred Classical and Popular Pictures by the most famous Artiita of 
 the World. With descriptions. Twenty-flye parts at one dollar each. Or 
 all bound in 1 ToL Cloth, $28.00. Half-morocco, $31.00. Full morocco, 
 $33.00. By subscription only. 
 
 HOME SANITATION. A Manual for Housekeepers. 
 
 1 yol. 16mo. 60 cents. 
 
 HOSMER'S (G. W.) The People and Politics. 8vo. $3.00. 
 HOWARD'S (BLANCHE W.) Aulnay Tower. 12mo. $1.50. 
 Aunt Serena. A Novel. 16mo. Sixteenth 
 
 edition. $1.25. 
 
 Guenn. 12mo. Twenty-third edition. 81.50. 
 
 In Ticknor's Paper Series, 60 cents. 
 
 HOWE'S (E. W.) The Mystery of the Locks. 12mo. $1.50. 
 The Story of a Country Town. 12mo. Seventh 
 
 edition. $1.50. In Ticknor's Paper Series, 60 cents. 
 
 A Moonlight Boy. 1 vol. 12mo. With Portrait 
 
 of the author. $1.60. 
 
 HOWELLS'S(W. D.) The Minister's Charge. 12mo.$1.50. 
 - Tuscan Cities. With many fine Illustrations 
 
 by Joseph Pennell. Richly bound, full gilt edges, In box, $5.00. In 
 tree-calf, or antique morocco, $10.00. 
 
 Indian Summer. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 The Rise of Silas Lapham. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 A Fearful Responsibility. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 A Modern Instance. 12mo. $1.50. In 
 
 Ticknor's Paper Series, 60 cents.
 
 10 A List of Books Published by 
 
 HO WELLS' S (W. D.) A Woman's Reason. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - Dr. Breen's Practice. 12mo. 1.50. In 
 
 Ticknor's Paper Series, 50 cents. 
 
 - The Elevator. 32mo. 50 cents. 
 
 - The Sleeping-Car. 32mo. 50 cents. 
 
 - The Parlor Car. 32mo. 50 cents. 
 The Register. 32mo. 50 cents. 
 
 - Three Villages. Little-Classic size. $1.25. 
 Poems. New revised edition. 1 vol. 
 
 12mo. In box. Printed on fine hand-made paper. Parchment covers. 
 S2.00. 
 
 A Counterfeit Presentment. A Comedy. 
 
 Little-Classic size. $1.25. 
 
 - Out of the Question. A Comedy. Little- 
 Classic size. $1.25. 
 
 A Little Girl among the Old Masters. Being 
 
 her own Compositions and Inventions in Sacred and Legendary Art. With 
 Introduction and Commentary by W. D. HOWELLS. Oblong. Fifty-four 
 Illustrations. 82.00. 
 
 Choice Autobiographies. A collection of the 
 
 most entertaining autobiographies, carefully edited, and with preliminary 
 
 Critical and Biographical Essays. Little-Classic size. 8 vols. Each, $1.00. 
 
 L, n. Memoirs of Frederica Sophia Wilhelmina, Margravine 
 
 of Baireuth. 
 
 ITT. Lord Herbert of Cherbury, and Thomas Ellwood. 
 IV. Tittorio Alfieri. 
 V. Carlo Goldoni. 
 VI. Edward Gibbon. 
 VTJ., Vin. Francois Marmontel. 
 
 HOYTS (WILLIAM E.) Household Sanitation. 16mo. 
 
 30 cents. Paper covers, 15 cents. 
 
 HUBBARD'S (Lucius L.) Woods and Lakes of Maine. 
 
 A Trip from Moosehead Lake to New Brunswick in a Birch-Bark Canoe. 
 With Indian place-names and their meanings. 1 vol. 8vo. With Illustra 
 tions, and a large map. $3.00. Half-calf, $5.50. Tree-calf, or antique 
 morocco, 8.00. 
 
 HUDSON (EDMUXD). See CLEMMER. 
 
 HUNNEWELL'S (JAMES F.) The Imperial Island: Eng 
 land's Chronicle in Stone. 1 vol. 8vo. Copiously illustrated. S4.00. 
 
 The Historical Monuments of France. 
 
 1 vol. 8vo. Illustrated. 3.60. 
 
 Bibliography of Charles.town, Mass., and 
 
 Bunker Hill. 1 vol. 8vo. Illustrated. 2.00. 
 
 HUTCHINSOXTS (ELLEN M.) Songs and Lyrics. 16mo. 
 
 With Frontispiece. $1.25.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 11 
 
 BUTTON'S (LAURENCE) Literary Landmarks of London. 
 
 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 IRVING (HENUY). See HATTON. 
 
 JAMES (HENRY, SR.), The Literary Remains of. Ed 
 ited by WIIXIAM JAMES. 1 yol. 12mo. With Portrait. $2.00. 
 
 JAMES'S (HENRY) The Author of Beltraffio ; Pandora ; 
 
 Georgiua's Reasons ; The Path of Duty ; Four Meetings. 12mo. $ 1.60. 
 
 The Siege of London ; The Pension Beaurepas ; 
 
 and The Point of View. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Tales of Three Cities (The Impressions of a 
 
 Cousin ; Lady Barberina ; A New-England Whiter). 12mo. f 1.60. In 
 Ticknor's Paper Series, 50 cents. 
 
 - A Little Tour in France. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 - Portraits of Places. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 . Daisy Miller : A Comedy. 12mo. $1.50, 
 
 JOHNSON'S (Rossn-ER) Idler and Poet. 16mo. $1.25. 
 (VIRGINIA W.) The House of the Musi 
 
 cian. 1 vol. 16mo. In cloth. $1.00. In Ticknor's Paper Series, 60 
 cents. 
 
 JOHNSTON'S (ELIZABETH BRYANT) Original Portraits 
 
 of Washington. Sixty Portraits, from paintings, sculptures, etc. With 
 descriptive text. 1 vol. 4to. $15.00. Half-morocco, 820.00. By tub- 
 scription only. 
 
 KEA TS. See BROWN (F. C.). 
 
 KEENE'S (CHARLES) Our People. Four Hundred Pict 
 ures from Punch. 4to. $5.00. 
 
 KENDRICK'S (PROFESSOR A. C.) Our Poetical Favorites. 
 
 Three volumes in one. Illustrated. 8vo. Full gilt. $3.60. 
 
 KING'S (CLARENCE) Mountaineering in the Sierra Nevada. 
 
 12mo. With Maps. Eighth edition. $2.00. 
 
 - (EDWARD) The Golden Spike. 12mo. $1.50. 
 The Gentle Savage. 12mo. $2.00. 
 KIRK'S (MRS. ELLEN OLNEY) A Midsummer Madness. 
 
 A Novel. 1vol. 16mo. SI .25. 
 
 A Lesson in Love. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. In 
 
 paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 LEOPARD!' S (G.) Essays and Dialogues. 8vo. $3.00. 
 LIEBER, The Life and Letters of Francis. Edited by 
 
 THOMAS SERGEANT PERRY. 8vo. With Portrait. $3.00. Half-calf, $6.60. 
 LIGHT ON THE HIDDEN WAY. With Introduction 
 by JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.
 
 12 A List of Books Published by 
 
 LINCOLN'S (MRS. JEANIE GOULD) Her Washington 
 
 Season. A Novel. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 LONGFELLOW'S (SAMUEL) Life of Henry Wadsworth 
 
 Longfellow. With extracts from his Journals and Correspondence. 
 Crown 8vo. 2 Tols. With Steel Portraits, Engravings on wood, fac-similes, 
 etc. $6.00 ; half-calf, with marbled edges, $11.00 ; half-morocco, with gilt 
 top and rough edges, $11.00. 
 
 Final Memorials of Henry Wads- 
 
 . worth. Longfellow. 1 vol. 8vo. Uniform with the " Life." With 
 two new steel plates, and other illustrations, $300. Half-calf or half- 
 morocco, $5.50. Limited large-paper edition, numbered copies, $7.50. 
 
 LOWELL'S (PERCIVAL) Chosbn: The Land of the Morn 
 ing Calm. A Sketch of Korea. 1 vol. 8vo. Illustrated. $5.00. In half- 
 calf, $9.00. In tree-calf, $12.00. 
 
 MACHIAVELL1 (Niccc-Lo), The Historical, Political, 
 
 and Diplomatic Works of. Translated by CHRISTIAN E. DETMOLB. 4 vols. 
 8vo, with Steel Frontispieces, in a box. $15.00. Half-calf, $30.00. 
 
 MADAME LUCAS. Vol. VIII. of the Round-Robin Se 
 ries of novels. 16mo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 MADDENS (F. W.) The Coins of the Jews. 4to. $12.00. 
 MA TTHE WS. See SHERIDAN. 
 
 MEREDITH'S (OWEN) Lucile, Illustrated. Holiday Edi 
 tion. With 160 new Illustrations. Elegantly bound, with full gilt edges, 
 in box, $6.00. Tree-calf, flexible calf, or antique morocco, $10.00. Spanish 
 calf, $11.00. Crushed levant, silk linings, $25.00. 
 
 Lucile. Tremont Edition. 1 vol. 16mo. 
 
 Beautifully illustrated. With red lines and gilt edges, $2.50. Half-calf, 
 $4.00. Antique morocco, tree-calf, flexible calf, or flexible seal, $5.00. 
 
 - Lucile. Pocket Edition. 1 vol. Little- 
 Classic size. Thirty Illustrations. Elegantly bound, $1.00. Half-calf, $2.25. 
 Antique morocco, flexible calf, or seal, $3.00. Tree-calf or padded calf, $3.50. 
 
 MONOGRAPHS OF AMERICAN ARCHITECTURE, 
 
 No. 1. Harvard Law School. H. H. Richardson, architect. 18 Plates 
 (Gelatine, from nature), 13 X 16. In portfolio. $5.00. 
 
 No. 2. The State Capitol, at Hartford, Conn. Richard M. 
 Upjohn, architect. 22 Plates (Gelatine, from nature), 13 X 16. $6.00. 
 
 No. 3. The Ames Memorial Buildings at North Easton, 
 Mass. H. H. Richardson, architect. 22 Gelatine Plates (from nature), 
 13x16 inches. Also two Lithographs. In portfolio. $6.00. 
 
 No. 4. The Memorial Hall at Harvard University. 
 Ware & Van Brunt, architects. 13 Gelatine Plates (from nature), 13x16 
 inches. Also one Photo-lithograph. In portfolio. $5.00. 
 
 MONTAUBAN'S (G. DE) The Cruise of a Woman 
 
 Hater. 16mo. Cloth. $1.00. In Ticknor's Paper Series, 50 cents. 
 
 MONTI'S (Luioi) Leone. A Novel. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 In paper covers, 50 cents.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 13 
 
 MORRILUS (Hox. JUSTIN S.) Self-Consciousness of 
 Noted Persons. 8vo. 81.60. 
 
 MORSE'S (EDWARD S., Pn.D.) Japanese Homes and their 
 
 Surroundings. 8vo. With 300 Illustrations. 85.00 ; half-calf, 9.00. 
 
 NEKRASOV'S (N. A.) Red-Nosed Frost. Translated in 
 
 the original metres from the Russian. With the Russian Text 1 TO! 
 16mo. With Portrait. $1.50. 
 
 NELSON'S (HENRY L.) John Rantoul. 12mo. f 1.50. 
 
 NORTON 1 S (GEN. C. B.) American Inventions in Breech- 
 loading Small Arms, Heavy Ordnance, etc. 4to. 250 Engravings. $ 10.00. 
 
 OLDEN-TIME SERIES. See BROOKS. 
 
 OPERETTA IN PROFILE, AN. By CZEIKA. 1 vol. 
 16mo. 51.00. 
 
 OSGOOD'S GUIDE-BOOKS. See TICKNOR. 
 
 OWEN'S (WILLIAM MILLER) In Camp and Battle with the 
 
 Washington Artillery of New Orleans. Illustrated with Maps and Engrav 
 ings. 1vol. 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 PALFREY'S (JOHN GORHAM) A Compendious History 
 
 of New England. 4 vols. 12mo. With new Index. In a box. $6.00. 
 Half-calf, 12.00. 
 
 PEIRCE'S (MRS. MELUSINA FAY) Co-operative House 
 keeping. Square 16mo. 60 cents. 
 
 PENINSULAR CAMPAIGN (THE) of General McClel- 
 
 lan in 1862. (Vol. L, Papers of the Military Historical Society of Massa 
 chusetts.) 8vo. With Maps. $3.00. 
 
 PEPPERMINT PERKINS, The Familiar Letters of. 
 
 Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00. ID paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 PERRY'S (NORA) For a Woman. 16mo. $1.00. 
 - A Book of Love Stories. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 The Tragedy of the Unexpected. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 New Songs and BaUads. 12mo. SI. 50. 
 
 After the Ball, Her Lover's Friend, and other 
 
 Poems. Two volumes in one. $1.75. 
 
 (THOMAS SERGEANT) The Evolution of the 
 
 Snob- 16mo. $1.00. 
 From Opitz to Lessing. 1 vol. 16mo. f 1.25. 
 
 PHILIPS'S (MELVILLE) The Devil's Hat. A Novel. 
 
 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 PICTURESQUE SKETCHES. Statues, Monuments, 
 
 Fountains, Cathedrals, Tower*, etc. 1 voL Oblong folio. 1.60.
 
 14 A List of Books Published by 
 
 PLYMPTOWS (Miss A. G.) The Glad Year Round. 
 
 Square 8vo. $2.50. 
 
 POETS AND ETCHERS. Twenty full-page etchings, by 
 
 James D. Smillie, Samuel Colman, A. F. Bellows, H. Farrer, R. Swain Gif- 
 ford, illustrating poems by Longfellow. Whittier, Bryant. Aldrich. etc. 
 4to. $10.00. 
 
 POOLE'S (W. F., LL.D.) An Index to Periodical Litera 
 ture. 1 vol. Royal 8vo. $15.00. Sheep, $17.00. Half-morocco, $18.00. 
 Half-morocco, extra, gilt top, uncut edges, $19.00. 
 
 PORTER'S (ROBERT P.) Protection and Free Trade To- 
 
 Day : At Home and Abroad. 16mo. Paper covers. 10 cents. 
 
 PEEBLES (ADMIRAL GEORGE H.) History of the Flag 
 
 of the United States of America, etc. Third Revised Edition. 240 Illus 
 trations, many of them in colors. 1 vol. Royal quarto. $7.50. 
 
 PRESTON'S (MissH. W.) The Georgics of Vergil. 18mo. $1. 
 - The Georgics of Vergil. Holiday Edition. 
 
 Four full-page Illustrations. 1 vol. Small 4to. Full gilt. $2.00. 
 
 PUTNAM 1 S (J. PICKERING) The Open Fire-Place in all 
 
 Ages. With 300 Illustrations, 53 full-page. 12mo. 4.00. 
 
 - Lectures on the Principles of House Drainage. 
 
 With Plates and Diagrams. 16mo. 75 cents. 
 
 QUINCY'S (EDMUND) The Haunted Adjutant ; and other 
 
 Stories. Edited by his son, EDMUND QCINCT. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Wensley ; and other Stories. Edited by his 
 
 son," EDMUND Qurxcr. 1vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 RECLUS'S (ONESIME) A Bird's-Eye View of the 'World. 
 
 A popular scientific description of the great natural divisions of the 
 globe, their lakes, rivers, mountains, and other physical features, and their 
 political divisions; and of the peoples that inhabit them, their growth, 
 distinctive characteristics, languages, and religions ; with descriptions and 
 populations of all the principal cities. In one beautiful royal octavo volume 
 of 936 pages. With 400 illustrations. Sold by subscription only. Send 
 for prospectus. 
 
 REVEREND IDOL (A). A Novel. 12mo. Twelfth 
 
 edition. $1.50. In Ticknor's Paper Series, 50 cents. 
 
 RICHARDSON'S (ABBY SAGE) Abelard and Heloise. 
 
 1 voL Little-Classic size. $1.00. 
 
 Old Love-Letters ; or, Letters of Senti 
 ment. Written by persons eminent in English Literature and History. 
 1 vol. Little-Classic size. $1.25. 
 
 ROBINSON'S (EDITH) Forced Acquaintances. A Novel. 
 
 12mo. 81.50. 
 
 ROCHE'S (JAMES JEFFREY) Songs and Satires. $1.00.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 15 
 
 ROCKHILL'S (W. WOODVILLE) The Life of the Buddha, 
 
 and the Early History of his Order. 1 ToL 12mo. Gilt top. fS.OO. 
 
 ROLFE'S (W. J.) Students' Series of Standard Poetry, 
 
 Edited, with Notes and Introductions, by W. J. ROLFS. Each in 1 ToL 
 
 12mo. Beautifully Illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 Byron's Childe Harold. Young People's Tennyson. 
 Scott's Munition. Select Poems of Tennyson. 
 
 Scott's The Lady of the Lake. The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
 Tennyson's The Princess. Enoch Arclcn, and Other Poems. 
 
 ROUND-ROBIN SERIES (THE). A series of original 
 
 novels by the best writers. Each is complete in 1 rol. 16mo. 81.00. 
 Also, new popular edition, in paper covers, each, 50 cents. 
 A Nameless Nobleman. A Tallahassee Girl. 
 
 A Lesson in Love. Dorothea. 
 
 The Georgians. The Desmond Hundred. 
 
 Patty's Perversities. Leone. 
 
 Homoselle. Doctor Ben. 
 
 Damon's Ghost. . Rachel's Share of the Road. 
 
 Rosemary and Rue. Fanchette. 
 
 Madame Lucas. His Second Campaign. 
 
 The Strike in the B Mill. 
 
 SADPS GULISTAN. See EASTWICK. 
 
 SANBORN'S (KATE) A Year of Sunshine. Comprising 
 
 cheerful selections for every day in the year. 1 ToL 16mo. f 1.00. 
 
 Grandma's Garden. Leaflets, with illumi 
 nated covers. SI. 25. 
 
 Purple and Gold. Choice Poems. Leaflets, 
 
 with illuminated covers by ROSEXA EMMET. 91.25. 
 
 Round-Table Series of Literature Lessons. 
 
 Printed separately on sheets. Twenty-five authors. Price for each author, 
 enclosed in envelope, 25 cents. 
 
 (F. B.). See EMERSON, also GOETHE. 
 
 SANGSTER'S (MARGARET E.) Poems of the Household. 
 
 1 rol. 16mo. 81.50. 
 
 SCHIEFNER'S (PROFESSOR) Tibetan Tales. Translated 
 
 by W. R. S. RALSTON, M.A. $5.00. 
 
 SCHOPENHA UER'S (ARTHUR) The 'World as Will and 
 
 Idea. Translated from the German by R. B. UALDASE, M.A., and JOBS 
 KEMP, M.A. 3 vols. 8vo. $5.00 a vol. 
 
 SCOTT'S (SiR WALTER) The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
 
 Holiday Edition of 1886-87. 1 vol. 8vo. In neat box. With over 100 
 new Illustrations by famous artists. Full gilt edges. Elegant binding. 
 $6.00. Flexible or tree calf, or antique morocco, $10.00. Crushed levant, 
 with silk linings, $25.00. 
 
 The Lay of the Last Minstrel. Tremont 
 
 Edition. 1 vol. 16mo. Beautifully illustrated. With red lines, bevelled 
 boards and gilt edzes, $2.50. Half-calf. $4.00. Tree-calf, antique morocco, 
 flexible calf, or seal, $5.00.
 
 16 A List of Books Published by 
 
 SCOTT'S (SiR WALTER) The Lay of the Last MinstreL 
 
 Pocket Edition. 1 vol. Little-Classic size. With thirty illustrations. 
 Elegantly bound, $1.00. Half-calf, $2.25. Antique morocco, flexible calf, 
 or seal, $3.00. Tree-calf, or padded calf, $3.50. 
 
 - The Lay of the Last MinstreL Students' 
 
 Edition. Edited, with Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. 12mo. 
 Illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 Marmion. Holiday Edition. Over 100 new 
 
 Illustrations by famous artists. Elegantly bound. Full gilt edges. In 
 box, $6.00. Tree-calf, flexible calf, or antique morocco, $10.00. Crushed 
 levant, with silk linings, $25.00. 
 
 Marmion. Tremont Edition. 1 vol. 16mo. 
 
 Beautifully illustrated. With red lines, bevelled boards, and gilt edges, 
 $2.60. Half-calf, $4.00. Antique morocco, flexible calf, flexible seal, or 
 tree-calf, $5.00. 
 
 - Marmion. Pocket Edition. 1 vol. Little-Classic 
 
 size. With thirty Illustrations. Elegantly bound, $1.00. Half-calf, 
 $2.25. Antique morocco, flexible calf, or seal, $3.00. Tree-calf, or padded 
 calf, $3.50. 
 
 - Marmion. Students' Edition. Edited, with 
 
 Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFK. 12mo. Illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake. Holiday Edition. 1vol. 
 
 8vo. Inbox. 120 Illustrations. $6.00. Tree-calf, flexible calf, or antique 
 morocco, $10.00. Crushed levant, with silk linings, $25.00. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake. Tremont Edition. 16mo. 
 
 Beautifully illustrated. Red lines. $2.50. Half-calf, $4.00. Tree-calf, 
 antique morocco, flexible calf, or flexible seal, $5.00. 
 
 - The Lady of the Lake. Pocket Edition. 1 vol. 
 
 Little-Classic size. 30 Illustrations. $1.00. Half-calf, $2.25. Antique 
 morocco, flexible calf, or seal, $3.00. Tree-calf, or padded calf, $3.50. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake. Students' Edition. 
 
 Edited, with Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 Beautifully illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 SENSIER'S (ALFRED) Jean-Fra^ois Millet: Peasant and 
 
 Painter. Translated by HELENA DE KAY. With Illustrations. $3.00. 
 
 SEALER'S (PROFESSOR N. S.) and Z>4F/S'S(WiLLiAMM.) 
 
 Illustrations of the Earth's Surface. Part I. Glaciers. Copiously illus 
 trated. Large folio. $10.00. 
 
 SHEDD'S (MRS. JULIA A.) Famous Painters and Paint 
 ings. Revised edition. With 13 Heliotypes. 1vol. 12mo. $3.00. Half- 
 calf, $5.00. Tree-calf, $7.00. 
 
 Famous Sculptors and Sculpture. With thirteen 
 
 Heliotype Engravings. 12mo. $3.00. Half-calf, $5.00. Tree-calf, $7.00. 
 
 Raphael : His Madonnas and Holy Families. 
 
 Illustrated with 22 full-page Heliotypes. 1vol. 4to. Full gilt. $7.50. 
 
 SHERIDAN'S (RICHARD BRINSLEY) Comedies : The 
 
 Rivals, and the School for Scandal. Edited, with Biography and Notes and 
 Introduction, by BRANDER MATTHEWS. Illustrated. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.00.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 17 
 
 SHERRATT'S (R. J.) The Elements of Hand-Railing. 
 
 33 Plates. Small folio. $2.00. 
 
 SIKES'S (WiRT) British Goblins. Welsh Folk-Lore, Fairy 
 
 Mythology, and Traditions. Illustrated. 8vo. Gilt top. 84.00. 
 
 SNIDER'S (DENTON J.) Agamemnon's Daughter. A 
 
 Poem. 1 vol. Square 16mo. Fine laid paper. 91.60. 
 
 A Walk in Hellas. 1 vol. 8vo. 12.50. 
 
 An Epigrammatic Voyage. A Poem. 1 vol. 
 
 Square IGmo. $1.00. 
 
 Goethe's Faust: A 'Commentary. 2 vols. 
 
 12mo. 3.50. 
 
 SPOONER'S (SAMUEL) and CLEMENTS (MRS. CLARA E.) 
 
 A Biographical History of the Fine Arts. In preparation. 
 
 STANWOOD'S (EDWARD) A History of Presidential Elec 
 tions. 1vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 STERNBERG'S (GEOKGE M., M.D.) Photo-Micrographs, 
 
 and How to Make them. Illustrated by 47 Photographs of Microscopic 
 Objects, reproduced by the Heliotype process. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 STEVENSON'S (ALEXANDER F.) The Battle of Stone 
 
 River, near Murfreesboro', Tenn., December 30, 1862, to January 8, 1868. 
 1 vol. 8vo. With Maps. 3.00. 
 
 STILLMAN'S (DR. J. D. B.) The Horse in Motion, as 
 
 Shown in a Series of Views by Instantaneous Photography, and Anatomical 
 Illustrations in Chromo, after Drawings by WILLIAM HABN. With a Preface 
 by LELAND STANFORD. 1 vol. Royal quarto. Fully illustrated. 810.00. 
 
 STIRLING'S (A.) At Daybreak. A Novel. 16mo. $1.25. 
 STOCKTON'S (LouiSE) Dorothea. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 STODDARD'S (Jonx L ) Red-Letter Days Abroad. 8vo. 
 
 With 130 fine Illustrations. Richly bound, full gilt edges, in box. *5.00. 
 la tree-calf or antique morocco. $10.00. In mosaic inlaid, calf, $12.50. 
 
 STONE'S (CHARLES J.,F.R.S.L.,F.R.HistC.) Christianity 
 
 before Christ ; or, Prototypes of our Faith and Culture. Crown 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 STRIKE IN THE B MILL (The). A Novel. 16mo. 
 $1,00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 SWEETSER'S (M. F.) Artist- Biographies. With twelve 
 
 Heliotypes in each volume. 6 vols. 16mo. Cloth. Each, $1.50. 
 
 Vol. I. Raphael, Leonardo, Angelo. 
 
 Vol. II. Titian, Guide, Claude. 
 
 Vol. III. Reynolds, Turner, Landseer. 
 
 Vol. IV. Diirer, Rembrandt, Van Dyck. 
 
 Vol. V. Angelico, Murillo, Allston. 
 
 The set, in box, 5 vols. S7.50. Half-calf, |*15.00. Tree-calf, $25.00. 
 Flexible calf, elegant leather case, $28.00. 
 
 SYLVESTER'S (HERBERT M.) Prose Pastorals. 1vol. 
 
 12mo. Gilt top. $1.50.
 
 18 A List of Books Published by 
 
 TENNYSON'S (LORD) A Dream of Fair Women. Forty 
 
 Illustrations. 4to. $5.00. In morocco antique or tree-calf, $9.00. 
 
 The Princess. Holiday Edition. 120 II- 
 
 lustrations. Rich binding. 
 
 flexible calf, or tree-calf, $10.00. Crushed levant, with silk linings, 25.00. 
 
 The Princess. Tremont Edition. 1 vol. 
 
 ICmo. Beautifully illustrated. With red lines, bevelled boards, and gilt 
 edges, $2.50. Half-calf, $4.00. Antique morocco, flexible calf, flexible seal, 
 or tree-calf, $5.00. 
 
 The Princess. Pocket Edition. 1 vol. 
 
 Little-Classic size. With 30 Illustrations. Elegantly bound, Sl.OO. Half- 
 calf, $2.25. Antique morocco, flexible calf, or seal, $3.00. Tree-calf, or 
 padded calf, $3.50. 
 
 - The Princess. Students' Edition. Edited 
 
 with Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. 12mo. Illustrated. 75 
 cents. 
 
 Enoch Arden and Other Poems. Tre 
 
 mont Edition. 1 vol. 16mo. Beautifully illustrated. With red lines, 
 bevelled boards and gilt edges, $2.50. Half-calf, $4.00. Tree-calf, antique 
 morocco, flexible calf, or seal, 5.00. 
 
 Enoch Arden and Other Poems. Pocket 
 
 Edition. 1 vol. Little-Classic size. With thirty illustrations. Elegantly 
 bound, $1.00. Half-calf, 2.25. Antique morocco, flexible calf, or seal, 
 $3.00. Tree-calf, or padded calf, $3.50. 
 
 Enoch Arden and Other Poems. Stu 
 dents' Edition. Edited, with Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. 
 Illustrated. 1 vol. 12mo. 75 cents. 
 
 TENNYSON, Select Poems of. Students' Edition. Edited, 
 
 with Notes and Introduction, by W. J. ROLFE. Beautifully illustrated. 
 1 voL 12mo. 75 cents. > 
 
 Young People's. Edited, with Notes and 
 
 Introduction, by W. J. ROUE. Beautifully Illustrated. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 75 cents. 
 
 THA CKERA Y (WILLIAM M.), The Ballads of. Complete 
 
 illustrated edition. Small quarto. Handsomely bound. $1.50. 
 
 THOMAS A KEMPIS'S The Imitation of Christ. 16mo. 
 
 Red edges. 300 cuts. $1.50. Flexible calf or morocco, $4.00. 
 
 Pocket edition. Round corners. 1.00. Flexible calf, $3.00. 
 
 Edition de luxe. 8vo. Many full-page etchings, red ruling, etc. Full 
 leather binding, $9.00. In parchment covers, $5.00. 
 
 THOMPSON'S (MAURICE) Songs of Fair Weather. $1.50. 
 A Tallahassee Girl. A Novel. 1 vol. 16mo. 
 
 $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 His Second Campaign. A Novel. 1 vol. 
 
 ICmo. $1.00. In paper coven, 50 cents.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 19 
 
 TICKNOR'S AMERICAN GUIDE-BOOKS: Newly re- 
 
 vised and Augmented Editions. 
 
 New England. With nineteen Maps and Plans. Tenth edition. 16mo 
 
 $1.50. 
 
 The Maritime Provinces. With ten Maps and Plans. Sixth 
 edition. 16mo. $1.50. 
 
 The White Mountains. With six Maps and six Panoramas. 
 Seventh edition. 16mo. 1.60. 
 
 The Middle States. With twenty-two Maps and Plans. 16mo. Seventh 
 Edition in preparation. 
 
 TICKNOR'S PAPER SERIES of Choice Copyright 
 
 Reading. A series of handsome and attractive books for leisure-hour and 
 railroad reading, made up of some of the choicest and most successful 
 novels of late years, with several entirely new novels by well-known and 
 popular writers. The following are the titles of the first numbers : 
 
 1. The Story of Margaret Kent. By HENRT HATES. 
 
 2. Guenn. By BLANCHE W. HOWARD, Author of " One Summer." 
 
 3. The Cruise of a Woman Hater. By Q. DK MONTAUBAN. 
 
 4. A Reverend Idol. A Massachusetts Coast Romance. 
 6. A Nameless Nobleman. By JANE G. AUSTIN. 
 
 6. The Prelate. A Roman Story. By ISAAC HENDERSON. 
 
 7. Eleanor Maitland. By CLARA ERSKINE CLEMENT. 
 
 8. The House of the Musician. By VIRGINIA W. JOHNSOX, 
 author of " Neptune's Vase," etc. 
 
 9. Geraldine. A metrical romance of the St. Lawrence. 
 
 10. The Duchess Emilia. By BAERETT WENDELL. 
 
 11. Dr. Breen's Practice. By W. D. HOWELLS. 
 
 12. Tales of Three Cities. By HENRT JAMES. 
 
 13. The House at High Bridge. By EDGAR FAWCETT. 
 
 14. The Story of a Country Town. By E. W. HOWE. 
 
 15. The Confessions of a Frivolous Girl. By ROBERT GRANT. 
 
 16. Culture's Garland. By EUGENE FIELD. 
 
 17. Patty's Perversities. By ARLO BATES. 
 
 18. A Modern Instance. By WM. D. HOWKLLS. 
 
 Issued semi-monthly. Price per number, fifty cents. Subscription price, 
 postage-paid, $12.00 per annum, 24 numbers. 
 
 TIERNAN'S (MRS. MARY F.) Homoselle. A Novel. 1 vol. 
 
 16mo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 TOWLE'S (GEORGE MAKEPEACE) England and Russia in 
 
 Central Asia. No. 1, Timely-Topics Series. 1 vol. 16mo. With Maps. 
 50 cents. 
 
 - England in Egypt. No. 2, Timely-Topics Series. 
 
 1 vol. 16mo. With Maps. 50 cents. 
 
 TOWN SEND' S (MARY ASHLEY) Down the Bayou. A 
 
 volume of Poems. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 (S. NUGENT) Our Indian Summer in the 
 
 Far West. With full-page Photographs of Scenes in Kansas, Colorado, 
 New Mexico, Texas; etc. 4to. $20.00. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. A Novel. 12mo. 
 
 $1.60.
 
 20 A List of Books Published by 
 
 UNDERWOOD'S (FRANCIS H.) John Greenleaf Whittier. 
 
 A Biography. 1 yol. 12mo. Illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 12mo. 
 
 Ulustrated. $1.50. 
 
 James Russell Lowell. A Biographical 
 
 Sketch. 1 vol. Small quarto. 6 Heliotypes. $1.50. 
 
 VENTURA'S (L. D.) and S. SHEVITCH'S Misfits and 
 
 Remnants. A volume of short stories. 1 TO!. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 VIOLLET-LE-DUC'S (E. E.) Discourses on Architecture. 
 
 With many Steel Plates and Chromos, and hundreds of Woodcuts. 2 yols. 
 8vo. $15 00. 
 
 VIRGINIA CAMPAIGN (THE) OP GEN. POPE IN 
 
 1862. Being Vol. II. of Papers read before the Military Historical Society 
 of Massachusetts. With Maps and Plans. 1 tol. 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 WALLA CE'S (MRS. LEW.) The Storied Sea. 1 vol. Little- 
 
 Classic size. $1.00. 
 
 WARE'S (PROFESSOR WILLIAM R.) Modern Perspective. 
 
 A Treatise upon the Principles and Practice of Plane and Cylindrical Per 
 spective. Ivol. 12mo. With Portfolio of 27 Plates. $5.00. 
 
 WARING 1 S (CoL. GEORGE E., JR.) Whip and Spur. 
 
 Little-Classic size. $1.25. Large Paper Edition, $4.00. 
 
 Village Improvements and Farm Villages. 
 
 Little-Classic size. Illustrated. 75 cents. 
 
 The Bride of the Rhine. Two Hundred Miles 
 
 in a Mosel Row-Boat. To which is added a paper on the Latin poet 
 Ausonius and his poem " Mosella," by Rev. CHARLES T. BROOKS. 1 vol. 
 Square 16mo. Fully illustrated. 1.50. Large Paper Edition, $4.00. 
 
 Vix. No. 1 of Waring's Horse- Stories. 10 cents. 
 
 Ruby. No. 2 of Waring's Horse- Stories. 10 cents. 
 
 WARNER'S (CHARLES DUDLEY) The American News 
 paper. 32mo. 25 cents. 
 WARREN'S (JOSEPH H., M.D.) A Plea for the Cure of 
 
 Rupture. 12mo. In cloth, $1.25. In parchment paper covers, 1.00. 
 
 . A Practical Treatise on Hernia. 8vo. $5.00. 
 
 In sheep, 
 
 WEDGWOOD'S (HEXSLEIGH) Contested Etymologies in 
 
 the Dictionary of the Rev. W. W. SKEAT. 1 vol. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 WEEKS' S (LYMAX H.) Among the Azores. 1 vol. Square 
 
 16mo. With Map and 25 Illustrations. $1.50. 
 
 WELLS' S (KATE GANNETT) About People. A volume of 
 
 Essays. Little-Classic size. $1.25. 
 
 WENDELL'S (BARRETT) Rankell's Remains. An Ameri 
 can Novel. $1.00. 
 The Duchess Emilia. $1.00. In Ticknor's 
 
 Paper Series, 50 cents.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 21 
 
 WERTHEIMBER'S (Louis) A Muramasa Blade. A 
 
 Story of Feudalism in Old Japan. Beautifully illustrated by Japanese 
 artiste. 8vo. Gilt top and rough edges. $3.00. Bound in red Kioto silk 
 brocade, $5.00. 
 
 WHEELER'S (CHARLES GARDNER) The Course of Em 
 
 pire ; Being Outlines of the Chief Political Changes in the History of the 
 World. 1 vol. 8vo. With 25 colored Maps. 83.00. Ualf-calf, $5.60. 
 New and cheaper edition. 12mo. 82.00. 
 
 - (WILLIAM A. and CHARLES G.) Familiar 
 
 Allusions : A Handbook of Miscellaneous Information. 12mo. $3.00. 
 Half-calf, $5.50. 
 New and cheaper edition. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 WHIPPLE'S (EDWIN PERCY) American Literature and 
 Other Papers. With an Introduction by JOHN GKEENLEAF WHITTIER, 
 to whom the volume is dedicated. 1 vol. 12mo. Gilt top. $1.60. Half- 
 calf, 3.00. 
 
 - Recollections of Eminent Men. (Sumner, 
 
 Motley, Agassiz, Choate, etc.) With Portrait, and Dr. Baxtol's Memorial 
 Address. $1.60 ; in half-calf, $3.00. 
 
 WHIST, American or Standard. By G. W. P. Seventh 
 
 edition. Revised and enlarged. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 WHIST, Universal. An Analysis of the Game, improved 
 
 by the Introduction of American Leads. By G. W. P., author of "Ameri 
 can Whist." 1 vol. Gilt top. $1.25. 
 
 WHITING'S (CHARLES GOODRICH) The Saunterer. 
 
 Essays on Nature. Illustrated. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 WILLIAMS' S (ALFRED M.) The Poets and Poetry of Ire 
 
 land. With Critical Essays and Notes. 1 vol. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 WINCKELMANWS (JOHN) The History of Ancient Art. 
 
 Translated by Dr. G. H. LODGE. With 78 copperplate Engravings. 2 vola. 
 8vo. $9.00. Half-calf, $18.00. Morocco antique or tree-calf, $26.00. 
 
 WINTER'S (WILLIAM) English Rambles, and other Fugi 
 
 tive Pieces in Prose and Verse. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 _ Poems. New revised edition. 1 vol. 16mo. 
 
 Cloth, $1.50. Half-calf, $3.00. Morocco antique or tree-calf, $4.00. 
 
 . - The Trip to England. With Illustrations by 
 
 JOSEPH JEFFERSON. 16mo. $2.00. Half-calf, $4.00. Morocco antique or 
 tree-calf, $5.00. 
 
 - Shakespeare's England. 1 vol. 24mo. 50 cents. 
 
 WITHERSPOON'S (REV. ORLANDO) Doctor Ben. A 
 
 Novel. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents. 
 
 WOODS' S (REV. LEONARD) History of the Andover Theo 
 logical Seminary. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.60.
 
 22 A List of Books Published by 
 
 TICKNOR'S PAPER SERIES 
 
 OF 
 
 CHOICE COPYRIGHT NOVELS. 
 
 A series of handsome and attractive books for leisure-hour 
 reading, made up of some of the choicest and most successful 
 novels of late years, with several entirely new novels by well- 
 known and popular writers. 
 
 No. 1. The Story of Margaret Kent. By HENRY HAYES. 
 
 No. 2. Guenn. By BLANCHE \V. HOWARD, author of " One Summer." 
 
 No. 3. The Cruise of a Woman-Hater. By G. DE MONTAUBAN. 
 
 No. 4. A Reverend Idol. A Romance of the Massachusetts Coast. 
 
 No. 5. A Nameless Nobleman. By JANE G. AUSTIN. 
 
 No. 6. The Prelate. By ISAAC HENDERSON. A Roman Story. 
 
 No. 7. Eleanor Maitland. By CLARA ERSKINE CLEMENT. 
 
 No. 8. The House of the Musician. By VIRGINIA W. JOHNSON. 
 
 No. 9. Geraldine. A metrical romance of the St. Lawrence. 
 
 No. 10. The Duchess Emilia. By BARRETT WENDELL. 
 
 No. 11. Dr. Breen's Practice. By W. D. HOWELLS. 
 
 No. 12. Tales of Three Cities. By HENRY JAMES. 
 
 No. 13. The House at High Bridge. By EDGAR FAWCETT. 
 
 No. 14. The Story of a Country Town. By E. W. HOWE. 
 
 No. 15. The Confessions of a Frivolous Girl. By ROBERT GRANT, 
 author of "Face to Face," " A Romantic Young Lady," etc. 
 
 No. 16. Culture's Garland : Being Memoranda of the Gradual Rise of 
 Literature, Art, Music, and Society in Chicago and other West 
 ern Ganglia. By EUGENE FIELD. 
 
 No. 17. Patty's Perversities. By ARLO BATES, author of " The Pa 
 gans," " A Wheel of Fire," etc. 
 
 No. 18. A Modern Instance. By W. D. HOWELLS, author of " The 
 Rise of 'Silas Lapham," etc. The career of Bartley Hubbard, 
 a Boston journalist, and a study of conjugal life in modern 
 America. 
 
 Price per number, 50 cents. Annual Subscriptions for 24 
 Numbers, $12.00. Issued Semi-monthly. 
 
 Entered at the Post-Office Boston, as Second-Class Matter.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 23 
 
 NEW BOOKS 
 
 TO BE PUBLISHED DURING- THE AUTUMN OF 
 
 1887. 
 
 The Prices named below are subject to Revision on Publication. 
 
 Uniform with " Lucile," " The Lady of the Lake," &c. 
 
 SCOTT'S THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.) Tremont 
 TENNYSON'S ENOCH ARDEN, Etc. I edition. 
 
 Eaoh in 1 vol. 16mo. Beautifully illustrated. With red lines, 
 bevelled boards, and gilt edges, $2.50; half-calf, 84.00; tree-calf, 
 antique morocco, or flexible calf or seal, $5.00. 
 
 SCOTT'S THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.) Pocket 
 TENNYSON'S ENOCH ARDEN, Etc. I edition. 
 
 Each in 1 vol. Little-Classic size. With thirty illustrations. 
 Elegantly bound, $1.00; half-calf, $2.25; Antique morocco, or flexible 
 calf or seal, $3.00 ; tree-calf, padded calf, $3.50. 
 
 These new and beautiful editions of these perennially popular poems are 
 made from entirely new electrotype-plates, in large and easily legible 
 type, with more than thirty exquisite illustrations. As these are the newest, 
 handsomest, and cheapest, they cannot fall to become the best-selling 
 editions in the market. 
 
 THE LONGFELLOW PROSE BIRTHDAY BOOK; OR, LONG 
 FELLOW'S DAYS. Being extracts from his journals and letters, 
 edited by MRS. LAURA. WINTHROP JOHNSON. 1 vol. Beautifully 
 illustrated and bound. 1vol. ISmo. Cloth, $1.00; flexible calf or 
 seal, $2.50. 
 
 Mrs. Johnson has capitally worked out the charming notion of selecting 
 
 from Longfellow's letters and journals, sentiments and appropriate thoughts, 
 
 many of them written for the very day, and constructing for the year a 
 
 new birthday book, prose only in form, BO full it is of the spirit of poetry. 
 
 AN OPERETTA IN PROFILE. By CZKIKA. 1vol. 16mo. 51.00. 
 
 Some years since, the author was one of the most popular magazine 
 writers ; but long residence abroad and other circumstances compelled him, 
 for a time, to abandon writing. He now comes forward with this remark, 
 able production, which is sure to command wide attention. It is forcible, 
 terse, satirical. It deals with social follies, is bright and fascinating. It 
 will at once impress the reader as the work of a writer of great Intellectual 
 power. 
 
 THREE GOOD GIANTS. From the French of Francois Rabelais. 
 By JOHN DIMITRY. 1 vol. Square 12mo. With 175 illustrations by 
 Gustavo DorO and A. Kobida. $1.50. 
 
 The peculiarities that have hitherto rendered Rabelais a sealed book for 
 the young have been wholly eliminated in this work, but with so much 
 skill as not to impair the continuity of the story. It will take its place at 
 once beside the Arabian Nights and Gulliver's Travels which both require 
 similar eliting and will serve a good purpose in disarming much unrea 
 soning prejudice against Rabelais, while opening to the delighted eyes of 
 the young the true stories of Qrandgousier, Gargantua, and Pantagruel, 
 the quaintest and most original of giants, and of Panurge, the funniest of 
 jokers. The illustrations by Dore and Robida are a delight and wonder in 
 themselves.
 
 24 A List of Books Published by 
 
 BEAUTIFUL HOLIDAY BOOKS. 
 
 CERALDINE. A tale of the St. Lawrence. 1 vol. 8vo. Beautifully 
 illustrated, full gilt, $3.50; in antique morocco, tree or flexible calf, 
 
 $7. DO. 
 
 The extraordinary popularity of Geraldine, the extreme interest and 
 delicacy of the lore .story it enshrines, and the vivid and accurate pictures 
 of scenery of the Great Lakes, the Thousand Islands, the St. Lawrence and 
 Saguenay Rivers, etc., have indicated the book as especially appropriate for 
 illustration. The scenes depicted in the poem hare been drawn from 
 nature by a special artist, who visited them for that purpose, and followed 
 the routes of Trent and his friends. The other illustrations are by the best 
 American artists, and the whole in beautiful and appropriate binding forms 
 one of the best and most popular and attractive gifts or keepsakes for the 
 holiday season, or for any other. 
 
 THE POETICAL WORKS OP SIR WALTER SCOTT. Revised, 
 corrected, and edited, with notes and commentaries, by WILLIAM J. 
 ROLFE, editor of the " Students' Series of Classic Poems," " Students' 
 Shakespeare," etc. 1 vol. 8vo. With 350 illustrations. Bevelled 
 boards. Full gilt, $10.00; half-calf, $13.00; tree-calf, or antique 
 morocco, $10.00. 
 
 ALL ixisTHfG EDITIONS of Sir Walter Scott's poetry or single poems, ex 
 cept those issued by Ticknor & Co. , are disfigured and rendered untrust 
 worthy throughout by gross and numerous errors and misprints. Mr. 
 W. J. Rolfe, the accomplished editor of the "Students' Series of Poetry " 
 and of Shakespeare, has undertaken the herculean task of editing and 
 restoring the correct and original text, and of producing in one volume 
 the first and only correct edition in England or America of Scott's 
 Poems. The edition will contain full notes and appendices with preface and 
 comments by Mr. Rolfe. It also contains all the original illustrations made 
 for the separate poems at a cost of upwards of twenty-five thousand 
 dollars, besides many others especially added for this work, nearly three 
 hundred and fifty in all. The popularity of Scott's poetry, the unique 
 position of this edition for scholarship and accuracy, and" the number, 
 variety, and excellence of the illustrations combine to assure for this book 
 immediate popularity and a permanent standing. 
 
 Two Beautiful and Popular Books. 
 
 MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME. THE SWANEE RIVER. 
 
 By STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER. Beautifully illustrated. Each in 
 one volume. 4to. Full gilt. Cloth, ivory finish, imitation -wood 
 or monkey grain, $1.50; seal, $2.50; flexible calf, extra, or tree-calf, 
 $5.00. 
 
 No one like Stephen Foster has ever had the power to reach and touch 
 every heart. He united to simple words, usually in dialect, music of a 
 peculiar pathos and tenderness that appealed to all men, which has won for 
 him a unique and special place not granted to the work of other composers. 
 Millions of these, his best songs, have been circulated ; but never before 
 has the artist's pencil been enlisted to adorn the ballads that have pleased 
 and softened so many hearts. The drawings have been made and engraved 
 by the best artists with the utmost care, and will be found apt and 
 worthy illustrations of these tender and beautiful songs.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 25 
 
 THE STORY OF AN ENTHUSIAST. Told by Himself. A 
 
 Novel, by MRS. C. V. JAMISON, author of "Woven of Many 
 Threads," " A Crown from the Spear," etc. 1 vol. 12mo, f 1.50. 
 
 A new novel by the distinguished author of " Woven of Many Threads " 
 (known through her former books as Mas. HAMILTON) is sure to be warmly 
 welcomed. "The Story of an Enthusiast" is a finely written and harmo 
 nious work, and is replete with interest. 
 
 THE NEW ASTRONOMY. By S. P. LANGLEY. 1vol. 8vo. Illus 
 trated, $6.00. 
 
 A most fascinating as well as instructive volume, giving the latest discov 
 eries and theories in Astronomical Science, with many elaborate and beauti 
 ful illustrations. 
 
 THE PILGRIM REPUBLIC. A Historical Review of the Colony of 
 New Plymouth, with sketches of the rise of other New England 
 settlements, the History of Congregationalism, and the creeds of the 
 period. By JOHN A. GOODWIN. 1 vol. 8vo. Maps and plans, $4.00. 
 
 A careful and thorough history of the founding and growth of the 
 Plymouth Colony, the result of many years' labor by the late author, 
 which will be found indispensable to all libraries, public and private, 
 and to all readers who desire to study the history of their own country. 
 
 A MAN STORY. A new novel by E. W. HOWE, author of "The 
 Story of a Country Town," "A Moonlight Boy," etc., $1.50. 
 
 A HISTORY OF THE SECESSION WAR. By ROSSITEB JOHN 
 SON. 1 vol. With Maps and Diagrams. 
 
 A compact and careful account of the war and the causes that led to it. 
 The principal portion of this work was published serially and received with 
 the greatest approval. It has now been revised and enlarged, and forms a 
 complete and compact as well as accurate and entertaining history of the 
 Rebellion. 
 
 MUSIC IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. Collected and edited 
 by HENRY M. BROOKS, editor of the " Olden-Time Series," with an 
 introduction by EDWARD S. MORSE. 1 vol. 12mo. Illustrated 
 81.00. 
 
 The editor of the popular " Olden-Tune Series" has here collected in a 
 larger volume many rare and curious anecdotes, ana, etc., about music and 
 musicians, of interest to all, and especially to music lovers. 
 
 LOVE AND THEOLOGY. A Novel, by CELIA PABKEB WOOLLEY. 
 1 voL 12mo, $1.50. 
 
 A novel and brilliant story by a new and talented writer. It is not only 
 entertaining as a story, but engrosses interest from the highest ethical stand 
 point. ... It is most decidedly a book to awn, and not merely to read 
 for amusement only and then throw aside." 
 
 THE BHACAVAD-CITA; OR, THE LORD'S LAY. With Com 
 mentary and notes, as well as references to the Christian Scriptures, 
 Translated from the Sanskrit for the benefit of those in search of 
 spiritual light, by MOHINI M. CHATTERJI, M. A. 1 vol. 8vo. Gilt 
 top, $2.00.
 
 26 A List of Books Published ly 
 
 NEW AND CHEAPER EDITIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 POPULAR, STANDARD, AND ILLUSTRATED BOOKS. 
 
 POETS AND ETCHERS. A volume of full-page etchings, by JAMES 
 D. SMILLIE, SAMUEL COLMAN, A. F. BELLOWS, H. FABREK, and 
 R. SWAIN GIFFORD, Illustrating poems by Longfellow, Whittier, 
 Bryant, Aldrich, etc. 4to. A new edition in new binding. Full gilt, 
 $5.00. 
 
 THE TICKNOR SERIES OF OCTAVO POETS. 
 
 LIBRARY EDITION. 
 "LUCILE," by OWEN MEREDITH. 
 
 "THE LADY OF THE LAKE," by SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 "THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL," by SIR WALTER 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
 "MARMION," by SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 "THE PRINCESS," by ALFRED LORD TENNYSON. 
 "CHILDE HAROLD," by LORD BYRON. 
 
 Six volumes, elegantly and uniformly bound, with all the original 
 illustrations, bevelled boards and full gilt in cloth. Each, $3.50; in 
 tree-calf or flexible calf, extra, $7.60. 
 
 These are the most famous and popular editions in existence of these 
 great poems. In their original shape, they have had enormous sales, and in 
 their cheaper form, with all their original illustrations, complete and 
 unworn, they will have renewed popularity. 
 
 Also uniform with the above, in style and price, the beautifully illustrated 
 TUSCAN CITIES. By W. D. HOWELLS. 
 RED-LETTER DAYS ABROAD. By JOHN L. STODDAKD. 
 
 SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE. By ELIZABETH BAR 
 RETT BROWNING. Illustrated by Ludvig Sandoe Ipsen. 1 vol. 
 Oblong quarto, beautifully bound, full gilt, $8.00. 
 
 This magnificent work was a labor of love for years with the artist, who 
 
 has made a series of designs, the equals of which as a mere treasury of 
 
 decoration and invention, apart from their significance in illustrating the 
 
 immortal verse of Mrs. Browning, have never been issued in America. 
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE AND HIS WIFE. 
 
 New and cheaper editions, each in two volumes. 12mo. With 
 portraits and other illustrations. Per set, $3.00. 
 
 JAPANESE HOMES. By PROF. EDWARD S. MORSE. 
 
 CHOSON : THE LAND OF THE MORNING CALM. B 
 
 PERCIVAL LOWELL. 
 Each In 1 vol. Large 8vo. Illustrated. Per vol., $3.00.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 27 
 
 FOOLS OF NATURE. A Novel. 1 voL 12mo. S1.50. 
 
 A strong and original work. It Is anti-spiritualistic in fact, while yet 
 showing how some trusting natures honestly follow such beliefs. There are 
 many finely drawn scenes and figures in the book, a great deal of careful 
 analysis of character and motive, much both of pathos and passion, the 
 whole life-like and well drawn. 
 
 A SEA CHANCE; OR, LOVE'S STOWAWAY. A comic opera. 
 By WILLIAM D. HOWELLS. 1 vol. 16mo. Little-Classic size, $1.00. 
 
 SOBRIQUETS AND NICKNAMES. By ALBERT R. FRET. 1vol. 
 
 Crown 8vo, half morocco, gilt top, library style, $3.60. 
 
 Some years ago, the author, while engaged upon a dictionary of Pseudo 
 nyms (since incorporated in Mr. Cushing's work), found so many nicknames, 
 etc., that he began to collect them. The result is the present volume, con 
 taining over five thousand subjtcts, and is invaluable to all libraries, 
 editors, students, and to all who find such books as Wheeler's, Brewer's, 
 or Cushing's useful in their reading, study, or work. 
 
 A FLOCK OF GIRLS. A book for girls. By NORA PEERY, author of 
 " After the Ball," etc. 1 vol. 12mo, $1.60. 
 
 Miss Perry is one of the most popular writers for girls, and her stories 
 for them are eagerly sought by all the best editors. This volume contains 
 her best and latest stories, and is sure of a warm reception. 
 
 JUAN AND JUANITA. By FRANCES CODRTENAY BAYLOR, author 
 of " On Both Sides," etc. 1 vol. Square 4to. With many illustra 
 tions, by HENRY SANDHAM, $1.50. 
 
 Miss Baylor's charming and " ower true " tale has formed the chief 
 attraction of the "St. Nicholas" for a year, and in complete form, and 
 with considerable additions, will be heartily welcomed, most of all by those 
 who have already learned to love its little hero and heroine, and eagerly 
 look for the full story of their adventures. 
 
 UNDER PINE AND PALM. Poems by MRS. FRANCES L. MACE, 
 author of "Legends, Lyrics and Sonnets," "Isratil," "Only 
 Waiting," etc. 1 vol. 12mo, $1.75. 
 
 " Only Waiting " was written by Mrs. Mace at the age of about sixteen, 
 and attracted wide attention. Her more recent poems have been published 
 in the leading magazines, and are acknowledged to be among the finest gems 
 of American poetry. The beauty of her verse is unquestioned, and it i 
 safe to predict that " Under Pine and Palm " will be widely read. 
 
 NEW WACCINCS OF OLD TALES. By Two Wags. 1 voL Illus 
 trated. 
 
 A volume of burlesque novelettes, etc., by a combination of wits, sure 
 to be found amusing and popular. 
 
 ACATHA PACE. A new novel by ISAAC HENDERSON, author of 
 " The Prelate." 1 vol. 12mo, $1 50. 
 
 A new story by the author of " The Prelate " is sure to be promptly and 
 permanently popular. 
 
 A NEW VOLUME OF ESSAYS. From the papers of EDWIN PERCY 
 WHIFFLE, author of " Recollections of Eminent Men," "American 
 Literature," etc. 1 vol. 12mo. Gilt top, $1.50. 
 
 STEADFAST. A Novel, by ROSE TERRY COOKE, author of "Some 
 body's Neighbors," etc. 12mo, $1.60.
 
 28 A List of Books Published by 
 
 STORIES AND SKETCHES. By JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY, editor 
 of the Pilot, author of " Moondyne," " Songs, Legends, Ballads," 
 etc. 1 vol. 12mo, $1.50. 
 
 The great popularity of the author, and the intrinsic merit and interest 
 of his writings, will insure a warm reception to this collection of his latest 
 and best works. 
 
 A NOVEL. By ED-WARD BELLAMY, author of " Miss Ludington's Sis 
 ter." 1 vol. 12mo, $1.50. 
 
 A NOVEL,. By Miss L. G. NOBLE, author of "A Reverend Idol." 
 1 vol. 12mo, $1.50. 
 
 SAFE BUILDING. By Louis DE COPPET BERG. 1vol. Square 8vo, 
 
 These papers are the work of a practising architect, and not that of a 
 mere book-maker or theorist. Mr. Berg, aiming to make his work of 
 the greatest value to the largest number, has confined himself in his 
 mathematical demonstrations to the use of arithmetic, algebra, and plane 
 geometry. In short, these papers are in the highest sense practical and 
 valuable. 
 
 A NEW AND ENLARGED CONCORDANCE TO THE HOLY 
 SCRIPTURES. By REV. J. B. R. WALKER. 
 
 This monumental work of patient industry and iron diligence is in 
 dispensable to all students of the Bible, to which it is the key and intro 
 duction. Many errors and omissions in the plans of the older Concordances 
 have been avoided in this one ; which also bears reference to the Revised 
 Bible, as well as to the King James version. 
 
 THE OLDEN-TIME SERIES. Edited by HENRY M. BROOKS, with 
 many illustrations and fac-similes. Six volumes In two, $2.50. 
 
 A new, compact edition of these popular collections of anecdote and 
 incident. 
 
 THE LATEST PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 CULTURE'S GARLAND: Being Memoranda of the Gradual Rise of 
 Literature, Art, Music, and Society in Chicago and other Western 
 Ganglia. By EUGENE FIELD. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 PENELOPE'S SUITORS. By EDWIN LASSETTER BYNNER. 1 vol. 
 32mo. Quaintly bound in antique paper boards, with strings. 50 cts. 
 This captivating story of the old Colony days in Massachusetts was origi 
 nally published serially, when it aroused wide attention and great admira 
 tion. In deference to a public demand, it is now brought out in a quaint 
 and dainty little volume, making one of the prettiest and most bijou-like 
 books of the year. The Boston " Daily Advertiser " pronounces it : "A 
 subtly-clever, original, and remarkably well-told story. The way in which 
 the Governor steals the heart of ' the young gentlewoman,' just at a time 
 when she is about to become engaged to a young friend of his, is sketched 
 with exquisite grace and charm."
 
 Ticknor and Company. 29 
 
 PROSE PASTORALS. By HERBERT M. SYLVESTER. 1 vol 12mo. 
 Gilt top. 81.50. 
 
 A series of very charming chapters on Nature and the manifold attrac 
 tions of rural life, and rambling in the forests and meadows. No better 
 companion can be found for a summer day in the country. It is an entirely 
 new work, the result and crystallization of years of communion with 
 Nature. 
 
 HOME SANITATION. A Manual for Housekeepers. By the Sanitary 
 Science Club of the Association of Collegiate Alumnse. Cloth. 60 
 cents. 
 
 The object of this manual is to arouse the interest of housekeepers in the 
 sanitary conditions of their homes, and to indicate the points requiring 
 investigation, the methods of examination, and the practical remedies. 
 The subjects treated are the situation of the house, care of the cellar, 
 plumbing and drainage, ventilation, heating, lighting, furnishing, clothing, 
 food and drink. Each topic is introduced by an explanatory statement, 
 which is followed by a series of questions so framed that an affirmative 
 answer implies a satisfactory arrangement ; and they also suggest a remedy 
 if the answer is negative. 
 
 FINAL MEMORIALS OF HENRY WADSWORTH LONG 
 FELLOW. By SAMUEL LONGFELLOW, author of "Life of Henry 
 Wadsworth Longfellow," etc. 1 vol. 8vo. Uniform with the " Life." 
 "With two new steel plates, and other illustrations. Cloth, $3.00 ; half 
 calf, with marbled edges, $5.50; half morocco, with gilt top and rough 
 edges, $5.50. 
 
 The volume contains the journals and letters of the last twelve years of 
 the poet's life, which were omitted from the Biography through fear of mak 
 ing it unduly large, their places being there supplied by a summary narra 
 tive. Many letters are also given of the earlier periods, from Mr Longfellow 
 and his correspondents, such as Mr. T. (>. Appleton, Mr. J. L. Motley, Dean 
 Stanley, etc. There is a chapter of " table talk" and some pieces of un 
 published verse ; the tributes of Prof. C. C. Everett, Dr. O. W. Holmes, 
 and Prof. C. E. Norton are given, and extracts from the reminiscences of 
 Mr. William Winter and others An Appendix contains genealogical and 
 bibliographical matter. The work contains impressions of two engraved 
 portraits and a vignette, prepared expressly for this edition. There are 
 also full-page wood-engravings of several " Longfellow '' houses, and curious 
 fac-similes of drawings and sketches, and pencil portraits of Mr. Longfellow 
 hitherto unknown. 
 
 THE DEVIL'S HAT. By MELVILLE PHILIPS. 1vol. 12mo. $1.00. 
 
 A novel of intense and absorbing interest, whose scenes are laid in the 
 oil regions of Pennsylvania, a sufficiently novel and attractive field for 
 romance. As a vigorous critic has written, " Much of the real worth of the 
 book lies in the accurate picture of life in the oil regions. This part of the 
 work is very finely done. The various incidents of such a life are all real 
 istically written, while the scenery of the tale is sketched with an artistic 
 hand." 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A LIFE. By MADELEINE VINTON 
 DAIILGREN (Mrs. Admiral Dahlgren), author of " A Washington 
 Winter," "South-Sea Sketches," "South-Mountain Magic," "Me 
 moirs of Admiral Dahlgren," etc. 1 vol. 12mo. 81.50. 
 
 The novel, a Southern tale, is written in the same powerful and fascinat 
 ing manner that has won for Mrs. Dahlgren's published works such remark 
 able popularity and success, and is pronounced the best work yet written by 
 this distinguished lady. The picture of Southern home life, the unveiling 
 of the secrets of a heart, the coming and going of the lights and shadows 
 in the heroine's life, are portrayed in Mrs. Dahlgren's most perfect manner, 
 and form but small parts of one of the most successful and delightful novels 
 of the season.
 
 30 A List of Books Published by 
 
 THE SUNNY SIDE OF SHADOW Reveries of a Convalescent. 
 By Mrs. S. G. W. BENJAMIN. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 LETTERS OF HORATIO CREENOUCH to his Brother, Henry 
 Greenough. With Biographical Sketches, and some Contemporary 
 Correspondence. Edited by FRANCES BOOTT GKEENODGH. 1 vol. 
 12mo. With Portrait. $1.25. 
 
 " Very welcome to readers of literary tastes and artistic sympathies. 
 They give one a portrait of a sensitive nature, keenly alive to whatever was 
 fine and true. The letters throw side-lights on the growth of art and artis 
 tic tastes in America, and have a distinct value on that account. There 
 are letters from Willis, Dana, the Greenoughs, et als. , with charming pic 
 tures of Boston fifty years ago." 
 
 NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS: Myths and Legends of the Old 
 Plantation. By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, Author of " Uncle Re 
 mus: his Songs and Sayings," "At Teague Poteet's," etc. 1 vol. 
 16mo. Illustrated. Paper covers. 60 cents. 
 
 This is the choicest of Harris's inimitable books of Southern life, legends, 
 and dialect, which have met with such extraordinarily large sales. In an 
 swer to the great popular demand, this new edition in paper covers has been 
 brought out. 
 
 THE NICRITIANS. Division One of the Social History of the Races of 
 Mankind. By A. FEATHERMAN. 1 vol. 8vo. $6.00. 
 
 TH E M ELAN ESI ANS. Division Two of the Social History of the Races 
 of Mankind. By A. FEATHERMAN. 1 vol. 8vo. $6.00. 
 
 REFERENCE BOOKS. 
 
 FAMILIAR SHORT SAYINGS OF GREAT MEN. By S. ARTHUR 
 BENT, A. M. Fifth edition. 12mo. Vellum, cloth. $2.00. 
 
 Indispensable to students, writers, and libraries. It gives a collection of 
 shore, sententious sayings of all times, such as are constantly referred to. 
 
 THE COURSE OF EMPIRE. Being Outlines of the Chief Political 
 Changes in the History of the World. Arranged by Centuries, by 
 C. G. WHEELER. With 25 maps. 1 vol. 12rno. $2.00. 
 
 FAMILIAR ALLUSIONS. A Handbook of Miscellaneous Information, 
 including the names of Celebrated Statues, Paintings, Palaces, 
 Country Seats, Ruins, Churches, Ships, Streets, Clubs, Natural Curi-, 
 osities, and the like. By WILLIAM A. WHEELER and CHARLES G.' 
 WHEELER. 1 vol. 12ino. $2.00. 
 
 EVENTS AND EPOCHS IN RELIGIOUS HISTORY. By JAMES 
 FREEMAN CLARKE, D.D. Illustrated. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 EDGE-TOOLS OF SPEECH. By MATURIN M. BALLOU. $3.50. An 
 encyclopaedia of quotations, the brightest sayings of the wise and 
 famous. Invaluable for debating societies, writers, and public 
 speakers. A treasure for libraries. 
 
 An almost inexhaustible mine of the choicest thoughts of the best writers 
 of all ages and countries, from Confucius down to Garfield and Gladstone, 
 a pot-pourri of all the spiciest ingredients of literature. There is a vacancy 
 on every student's desk and in every library which it alone can fill, and 
 soon will fill. The book deserves its popularity. The Northwestern.
 
 Ticknor and Company. 31 
 
 THE 
 
 MEMORIAL HISTORY OF BOSTON, 
 
 In Four Volumes. Quarto. 
 
 With more than 500 Illustrations by famous artists and engravers, all 
 made for this work. 
 
 Edited by JUSTIN WINSOR, LIBRARIAN OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY. 
 
 Among the contributors are : 
 
 GOT. JOHN D. Loxa, Dr. 0. W. HOLMES, 
 
 Hon. CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS, JOHN 0. WHITTIER, 
 
 Rev. PHILLIPS BROOKS, D.D., Rev. J. F. CLARKE, D.D., 
 
 Rev. E. E. HALE, D.D., Rev. A. P. PEABODT, D.D., 
 
 Hon. ROBERT C. WDCTHROP, CoL T. VV. HIGGBISON, 
 
 Hon. J. HAMMOND TEUMBULL, Professor ASA GRAT, 
 
 Admiral Q. H. PREBLE, Gen. F. W. PALFRKT, 
 HENRT CABOT LODGE. 
 
 VOLUME I. treats of the Geology, Fauna, and Flora ; the Voyages and Maps of 
 the Northmen, Italians, Captain John Smith, and the Plymouth Settlers ; 
 the Massachusetts Company, Puritanism, and the Aborigines ; the Lit 
 erature, Life, and Chief Families of the Colonial Period. 
 
 VOL. II. treats of the Royal Governors ; French and Indian Wars ; Witches 
 and Pirates ; The Religion, Literature, Customs, and Chief Families of the 
 Provincial Period. 
 
 VOL. III. treats of the Revolutionary Period and the Conflict around Boston ; 
 and the Statesmen, Sailors, and Soldiers, the Topography, Literature, and 
 Life of Boston during that time ; and also of the Last Hundred Years' 
 History, the War of 1812, Abolitionism, and the Press. 
 
 VOL. IV. treats of the Social Life, Topography, and Landmarks, Industrie* 
 Commerce, Railroads, and Financial History of this Century in Boston ; 
 with Monographic Chapters on Boston's Libraries, Women, Science, Art, 
 Music, Philosophy, Architecture, Charities, etc. 
 
 %* Sold by subscription only. Send for a Prospectus to the 
 Publishers, 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.
 
 32 A List of Books Published by Ticknor fy Co. 
 
 THE TICKNOR EDITIONS OF STANDARD 
 ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED OCTAVO EDITIONS. 
 
 These choicest editions of the great modern poems were drawn and en 
 graved under the care of A. V. S. ANTHONY. Each in one vol., 8vo, 
 elegantly bound, with full gilt edges, in a neat box. Each poem, 
 
 In cloth $6.00 
 
 In antique morocco, padded calf, or tree-calf 10.00 
 
 In crushed levant, extra, with silk linings 25.00 
 
 Scott's The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
 Tennyson's The Princess. Meredith's Lucile. 
 
 Scott's The Lady of the Lake. Scott's Marmion. 
 
 Byron's Childe Harold. 
 
 LIBRARY EDITIONS. 
 
 Lucile. Marmion. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake. Childe Harold." 
 
 The Princess. The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
 
 Each in one volume, 8vo, elegantly and uniformly bound, with all the origi 
 nal illustrations, bevelled boards, full gilt edges. In cloth . . 3.50 
 In tree-calf, or flexible calf, extra 750 
 
 TREMONT EDITIONS. 
 Lucile. Marmion. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake. Childe Harold. 
 
 The Princess. The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
 
 Enoch Arden, and Other Poems. 
 Each in one volume, 16mo, beautifully illustrated. With red lines, bevelled 
 
 boards, and gilt edges. In cloth $2.50 
 
 In half-calf 4.00 
 
 In antique morocco, flexible calf, seal or tree-calf 5.00 
 
 POCKET EDITIONS. 
 Lucile. Marmion. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake. Childe Harold. 
 
 The Princess. The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
 
 Enoch Arden, and Other Poems. 
 Each in one volume, Little-Classic size. Handsomely and appropriately 
 
 bound, with many tine illustrations. In cloth 1.00 
 
 In half-calf 2.25 
 
 In antique morocco, flexible calf, or seal 3.00 
 
 In tree-calf, or padded calf 3.50 
 
 THE STUDENTS' EDITIONS. 
 
 The Lay of the Last Minstrel. Marmion. 
 
 Young People's Tennyson. The Princess. 
 
 Select Poems of Tennyson. Childe Harold. 
 
 Enoch Arden, and Other Poems. The Lady of the Lake. 
 
 Each in one volume. 12mo. Edited, with introduction and copious notes, 
 by W. J. KOLFE. Beautifully illustrated. Red edges. Each 
 volume ... $.75
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 50m-7,'69 (N296s4) C-120
 
 o 9 Re8earch L 'b"T 
 
 PS3158 .W462m 
 
 -^ 
 
 009 617 779 5 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGI 
 
 lONAL LIBRARY FACILITY