^T3 6^>{^f^ THE PASSING OF MOTHER'S PORTRAIT J/\MES Sv^AMU "Remember, Caroline, I am a\ that is left to you of her!" The Passing of Mother^s Portrait RoswELL Mcr^ Field With biographical introduction by J. Christian Bay 1 9 I Trovillion Private Press at the sign of the silver horse HERRIN, ILLINOIS ^r:^ BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION 6 Copy THE AUTHOR AND THE BOOK Three hundred years ago several natural- ists discovered that plants develop vigorously when grown in soil containing their own ashes. This interests us in connection with the study of plant nutrition. But in a sym- bolical way it compels meditation. Some man drops one piece of literary work after another on the broad acres of a lifetime. Like flowers this work inspires his generation with the sense of beauty and joy. Then he drops his pen, and a busy world, always alert for new things and young voices, gradually loses the memory of his presence and influence and e\'en forgets the fragrance of the flowers he raised. But the soil tenaciously retains its elements of precious fertility. Energy may be dissipated, but lif€ continues. A vivifying remembrance THE AUTHOR AND THE BOOK time and again may act like a mild rain and bring new life to the seed covered by the dust of time. Such is the fate of the little book we now reproduce for the grandchildren of those who first enjoyed it. This story literally arises out of almost a half century of latent life and brings back to a world of strong realism the vision of an ideal. Roswell Martin Field, in a happy moment, saw this ideal and left his dramatic unfolding of this vision as a flower in the literary garden of our Middle West. Did we since forget that the memory of Mother, and of all she implies, is a perennial without which no family garden would burst into bloom? Far from it, for in that case all social organization would have collapsed. But surely we have buried too much of our tradi- tion as we drifted into the present era of senseless impulse. This being indisputable, we reprint The Passing of Mother's Portrait in an effort to join those who would continue the miracle of viii THE AUTHOR AND THE BOOK life, the coherence and soUdarity of the family group, as our most precious personal and national tradition. The regional literature of the Middle West found its prophet in Hamlin Garland. His Crumbling Idols (1894) hailed a develop- ment of local talent: young writers who picked their themes, milieu and characters from native soil. This movement, however, began much earlier, in Ohio. It spread to Indiana, first by newspapers, later by mod- est but home-grown books, and Meredith Nicholson traced their value and influence with fidelity. James Whitcomb Riley and Eugene Field, Maurice Thompson and Ed- ward Eggleston rapidly were graduated out of intelligent newspaperdom into wider circles. Scores of minor writers brought inspiration of no mean quality to pioneers and their children. Mark Twain rose like a meteor. He who harks back fifty or more years will recollect with a smile the work of George ix THE AUTHOR AND THE BOOK Yenowine and George Ade, James Allison of Evansville and his brother, the famous "Picador" of near-by Louisville, — and later Walt Mason, William Allen White, Robert Kidson, S. E. Kiser, Wilbur Nesbit and count- less anonyms. Our old family scrapbooks verify their early favor, even amidst our elegant modernity. Mark Twain, Riley and Eugene Field raised the Mississippi Valley to a recognition for characteristic and original types as in- teresting as those of our East and South. The region widened when Roswell Martin Field added Kansas to the literary map with his stories of sunflower-land, shortly before the time when Garland became constructively clairvoyant. The two brothers Field were born in St. Louis, Eugene in 1850, Roswell in 1851. Their parents had emigrated from the East, the father being a successful lawyer. On the death of their mother when the children were five and six, respectively, they were placed in THE AUTHOR AND THE BOOK the care of an elder cousin, Mary Field French, in Amherst, Mass., "a lady of strong mind and much culture," for whom they ever after preserved great affection. Tem- peramentally almost opposites, the boys were mutually devoted, and this attachment re- mained undisturbed throughout their lives. Eugene had bucolic instincts, while Roswell was, and stayed, a pattern of New England balance of views and manners. Eugene in time proved indifferent to systematic college education, except that he, like R. L. S., ac- quired by predilection good scholarship in Latin. Roswell received an impulse toward a career in law as a student at Phillips Exeter Academy and then entered the University of Missouri at Columbia. A patrimony, sub- stantial for those days, gave the brothers a desirable freedom in the choice of a career, and both chose journalism. Strong bonds of sympathy and habit carried them westward. From St. Louis and St. Joe, Eugene went to Denver and there began his brilliant career, xi THE AUTHOR AND THE BOOK Roswell spent several years in editorial work in Kansas City and St. Louis and then went to Chicago where he conducted for a number of years a column, "Lights and Shadows," in the Evening Post. His preference for poetic form antedates that of Eugene. The spon- taneous joy and charm of the elder brother's creations was not Roswell's gift, but his poems rarely failed to bring out a good story or to create true idyl and drama. In 1891 the brothers joined hands in producing the now famous Horatian translations Echoes from a Sabine Farm, an event in American letters. A year later Roswell published In Sun- flower Land; Stories of God's Own Country. The publisher was F. G. Schulte, of Chicago, a man of excellent taste and discrimination, whose brief list of ventures included Garland's Prairie Folks and other midwestern classics later discovered and appreciated. In Sun- flower Land shares the fate of old amber: buried long years, the book deepened in color and charm and now has taken its deserved THE AUTHOR AND THE BOOK place as a classic in the literary records of pioneer life, the countryside idyl, the dignity of small-town life and of plain and unsophis- ticated women and men. In 1922 Chicago bookmen began searching for this gem of a book, deploring that a large part of the edi- tion had been consumed in the McClurg fire in 1894. After this burst of healthy realism Roswell Field, in collaboration with his wife Henrietta (Dexter), composed six dramatic sketches for children. They were issued by the magnetic book-lover Way and his associate Williams, who vied with Stone and Kimball in pro- ducing books of a comely and original pat- tern. The turn of the century found our friend very active. In 1902 we had The Romance of an Old Fool, a counterpart in a way to James Lane Allen's famous Kentucky Cardinal ro- mance. The Bondage of Ballinger followed the year after; it was the result of hard work and certainly Ros well's favorite book. Indeed the gentle Ballinger is a perennial figure in THE AUTHOR AND THE BOOK life, like the post-war colonel of the South, and the reader's heart melts with sad sym- pathy. A similar sentiment was invoked by Little Miss Dee ( 1904) . Both of these charm- ing little books went through several printings or editions. Madeline (1906) carried the ro- mantic strain still further, spicing it with esthetics and ideals that nowadays would be considered below the horizon of verisimili- tude, even though the world's great romancers still keep their charm, because we know that truth, even in literature, stands sky-high above reality. But Roswell Field steered his literary course straight into a morning breeze of pure realism when the Atlantic Monthly printed at the head of one of its numbers his powerful ex- hortation The Passing of Mother's Portrait (1901). The world then was prepared for many changes in personal and social life. Some of us elders still recollect the effects upon us by the first reading of that little story in the Atlantic, the topic of which was the THE AUTHOR AND THE BOOK solidarity of family life, the preservation of a sacred tradition embodied in the portrait of a devoted mother, and the fate of the portrait at the hands of her children. The story was reprinted in expanded form in 1901 by William S. Lord, of Evanston, a man well versed in the knowledge of books and a clear-headed businessman. This edition, small and choice, quickly was absorbed. But the message, the exhortation, lives on. It has been repeatedly advocated that Mother's Portrait might well be included in the current lists of required reading for students in high schools and colleges. This suggestion has lost none of its propriety when we consider the violence that has been done to many of our forms of life during an era when it was for- ever asserted that well-nigh all American efforts and prophecies hitherto considered sacred and safe, had become futile. The Passing of Mother's Portrait remains Roswell Field's masterpiece. It also exhausted his efforts toward a con- THE AUTHOR AND THE BOOK tinued literary production. He wrote a beau- tiful and sympathetic sketch of his brother Eugene, but withdrew gradually from active work and, after his wife's death, lived quietly in New York, a confirmed bibliophile growing old gracefully. In 1908 he unexpectedly in- herited a fortune and then retired to a man- sion in Morristown, N. J., seemingly satisfied with reading and philosophic meditation, the theater and his beloved Writers' Club. In December, 1918, the Spanish influenza, then rampant, prostrated him, and he passed away on January 10, 1919. Chicago then had centered its attention on other men, other interests, other things. Dofobs Club (d old fools over books) had ceased to exist, new faces and figures sur- rounded the veteran Opie Read at the Press Club. But the thoughtful and those historical- ly minded long remembered Roswell as the chevalier sans peur et sans reproche, an in- dulgent but serious companion of ardent THE AUTHOR AND THE BOOK youngsters, a master of rhyme and rhythm, clever at improvisation. We still for a while, as his voice is remem- bered, shall retain his memory. What is more important is that in American literature he sounded the healthful note of our prairie-land ideals. In his best work the puritan and the pioneer spirits blended with grace. J. Christian Bay, Librarian Emeritus of the John Crerar Library. THE PASSING OF MOTHER'S PORTRAIT T/ie Passing of Mother^s Portrait I DO not exactly remember when I came to understand that the little old lady sitting op- posite me in the studio was my model. Por- traits, you know, like children have their slow process of mental development, and I cannot say precisely when my period of infancy came to an end and was followed by unbroken con- sciousness. It seems to me that the artist was tinkering with a flesh tint on my right cheek when I first began to experience the joy of living and to take notice, with the liveliest curiosity, of the things around me. Certainly from that moment I grew greatly interested in the little old lady, and watched her with the keen delight that led me to suspect there was a bond of the most cordial sympathy be- tween us. I fancy that even the artist himself THE PASSING OF could not have been more solicitous for her physical condition or the requisites for a suc- cessful sitting. Instinctively, from time to time, I appeared to know when things were not going right, and often I have said to my- self — with that consciousness I was unable to explain — "This is our off day," or "We are not keyed up to it," or "We shall have to do this all over to-morrow." It is most extra- ordinary what a sympathetic understanding exists between a model and a picture. If artists only had a little of our sensitiveness, our perception of wrong conditions, how much time and fruitless labor might be saved ! The little old lady, as I now recall her with my added opportunities of observation in the world, was not beautiful, although she had a certain dignity and strength of bearing that greatly impressed me at the time. It was her habit to rally the artist on her plainness, at which I greatly wondered, and to ask him to deal gently with the wrinkles which showed so plainly in her face and withering hands, 2 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT for she was then about seventy years of age. I remember that she wore a funny old cap on her head, tied down under her chin with black strings; and that her gray hair was brushed rather severely down over her tem- ples. Her dress was of black silk — it may have been alpaca — and a bit of lace was around her throat, fastened with a cameo brooch which seemed to me then the most beautiful of all possible ornaments. I recollect with what a thrill I felt the artist painting in the lace around my throat and decorating me with the gorgeous cameo, and how I mar- veled at the skill with which such splendor could be accurately reproduced. Everything was new and joyous to me, and I had that feeling of intoxication which comes to every picture firmly persuaded it is a masterpiece. Notwithstanding the gentle dignity of the little old lady and her general air of reserve, there were times when she was loquacious, and then I became familiar with our family history and picked up many points which 3 THE PASSING OF were of extreme value to me at a later day. And as the work progressed, her daughter Caroline and her son-in-law George dropped in to make suggestions. And daughter Martha from the country, and a son from the West, and various other relations of near and remote degree, were summoned for consultation, and among them all I was subjected to many operations and alterations. My left eye was expunged and put in at least four times, and the expression of my mouth was changed to suit every individual taste. The artist bore with these suggestions with a patience that won my esteem and admiration, and I have never ceased to regard his profession with a feeling of the highest respect, coupled with the sincerest pity. But there is an end to all trials, even in a studio, and at last I was pro- nounced perfect and was borne triumphantly to my new home. George and Caroline lived, as I am now aware, in a pleasant but unfashionable quar- ter of the city, but in truth — for it was my 4 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT first experience with any habitation except the studio — the dwelling, humble as it was, impressed me as a veritable palace. And when, gorgeous in my gilt frame, I was assigned to the position of honor on the wall of the parlor just across from the upright piano, I was fairly swollen with my importance and puffed up with unreasoning pride. George, even in those days, was a young man of excellent business prospects, steady and industrious, fully able to support in comfort his wife, her mother, the little old lady, and the two young daughters, Elizabeth and Bertha. Positively, to my inexperienced eye and modest taste, there was nothing left on earth to be desired. Ah, those were happy days! The memory of them remains to cheer me now that my gilt is gone, my luster has vanished. When- ever a visitor would come to the house Caroline would march her up in front of me and say proudly: "Did you ever see a more perfect picture than this of mother?" And the little old lady, with almost a girlish blush, 5 THE PASSING OF would look up at me, and shake her head, and say depreciatingly: "Now, Caroline, if I were you, I wouldn't say anything about it." And I? Well, I was so pleased with the com- pliments, and with myself, that it was all I could do to keep from jumping right out of the canvas. Really you cannot blame us por- traits for putting on a few extra airs occa- sionally. We do hear so much at one time and another that it is no wonder that our heads are turned, or that we droop with chagrin and humiliation. George — he was a jovial fellow, was George — quite fastened himself on my affections, for he often passed through the parlor when he came down to breakfast, and called out to me: "Hello, grandma," just as cheerily as if I were the real article, which, of course, just then I was not. How I smiled back at him at those times ! I suppose things must have run on like this for about a year. One morning the little old lady did not join us as usual, and all that day and the next day, and through the week, 6 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT there was a great stillness in the house. And one night I heard the sound of weeping up- stairs, and very soon Caroline came down and threw herself on the sofa just under me, and gave way to her grief until George came in and very gently led her away. And two days later all the neighbors and friends assembled at the house, and when they left I heard the nurse tell the girl next door that they had taken the little old lady with them on her long journey. You see I did not know at that time what death was, and I thought it very kindly and beautiful to take such an interest in the journey of a friend. With the passing of the little old lady, the gravity of my new duties began to appeal to me more strongly. I may say that from this time I was awakened to a sense of obligation that I had not previously felt, and was drawn more closely to my family, whose tempera- ments and emotions I more clearly compre- hended. I noticed also, with some perplexity, that I had aged considerably in my feelings, 7 THE PASSING OF and that I seemed to be governed by a familiar spirit, and to possess an unaccount- able knowledge of the past, a phenomenon in psychology I am entirely unable to explain. This sense of responsibility was materially in- tensified when Caroline, in her first moments of loneliness and grief, would stand before me with clasped hands and say mournfully : "You are all that is left to me of her." At such moments I tried to comfort her, and I really believe that in a great measure I succeeded. We were all very happy together, and it was pleasant for me, after the children had gone to bed at night, to be in the little parlor with George and Caroline, and hear them discuss our brightening prospects. It was be- coming more and more evident that George was prospering in his business, for I noticed new furniture coming into the house, and I was much gratified to observe that when Caroline suggested improvements that ap- peared to me, with my old-fashioned ideas, outrageously expensive, George always cheer- 8 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT fully fell in with her plans, and good- naturedly humored her in every indulgence. The sight of so much domestic bliss was a perpetual pleasure, and often, after the family had retired at the close of a charming home evening, I confided to my little crewel friend and neighbor, God-Bless-Our-Home, my con- viction that a happier group of persons and pictures never existed in the world. I shall not attempt to dwell on the eight happy years I spent in the little parlor. It is true that from time to time I thought I saw a tendency on the part of the family to get away from the old traditions, but as Caroline used to say, "The world is growing, and we must grow with it," and the excursions doubt- less were not so serious as I feared. I fancied too that Caroline was away from home much more than formerly, and I gathered from the conversation of the ladies who called in the afternoon that she had become a woman of considerable importance in the neighborhood, though I freely confess that I did not under- 9 THE PASSING OF stand a word of their talk about clubs and papers and conventions and federations, and a hundred things that were never heard of when I was a girl. It was very hollow and profligate to me, and God-Bless-Our-Home quite agreed with me that mothers and wives could be much more profitably employed in their domestic duties. George, too, was more engrossed with his business, and presently I began to miss those cheerful evenings when we sat around in a cosy family circle, and talked shop or simple home pleasures. Eliza- beth was now a handsome girl, about eighteen years of age, and two or three evenings a week were surrendered to her and the young men who came with frequency and in great numbers. Their discourse was positively of the shallowest nature, and spoke of a vain and idle life utterly opposed to the ideas that pre- vailed when I first received attention. One night — I think it was the first evening in six since we were all together in the little parlor — George said to Caroline: "Well, my 10 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT dear, I closed the bargain to-day for the house on the avenue." Such a scene of congratula- tion! Caroline embraced George, and George kissed Caroline, and little Bertha clapped her hands, and Elizabeth said : "Thank heaven, I shan't be ashamed now to receive com- pany." I could not understand what the child meant, for to me nothing could be more beau- tiful than our parlor with its new furniture and spick-span rugs. I said as much to my neighbor on the left, "A Cloudy Morning on Lake George," but he rudely laughed at me. "Cloudy Morning" was a supercilious fellow, who had lived several years in various rooms of an art gallery, and affected a certain superior air and knowledge. However, to be perfectly candid, I was as pleased as the rest, for I argued that if we could all move into a more spacious house, such as had been de- scribed, we should be the more contented to remain at home, and I was compelled to admit that we were beginning to get just a little cramped. 11 THE PASSING OF But that period of moving! Shall I ever forget it? For twenty-four hours I was lost in a blinding dust, and then for three whole days I stood up against the baseboard of the dining-room with my face pressed against the wall, utterly unable to see a thing that was going on. What I suffered during this period of retirement only a woman can understand. The din was terrible, and the humiliation of feeling articles of family use pressing against my back wore on my nerves. I certainly needed all the composure and serenity of age to pass through that ordeal, and I fear that another day of torture would have led me to disgrace myself before the household effects. It had never occurred to me that I should not occupy my old position on the parlor wall of our new home, and I was therefore much surprised and startled when I heard Caroline say: "What shall we do with mother's pic- ture, George? Of course it will never do to hang it in the drawing-room." And Elizabeth exclaimed with more vehemence than seemed 12 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT perfectly respectful: "Well, I should say not!" I did not know then what they meant by the drawing-room, but the imputation that any place was too good for me was not to be passed over without resentment, and I was furiously indignant, as any self-respecting por- trait might well be. My son-in-law, George, acted as if he felt somewhat ashamed of taking part in such a disgraceful discussion, for he shrugged his shoulders petulantly, and replied: "O, don't bother me with these little matters. You women must attend to all such things." Little matters, indeed! It was lucky for him that my back was turned, and that he could not see the fire that flashed from my eyes. So it was finally decided that I should be hung back in the library, and, indeed, this was quite an agreeable compromise, for I found to my great pleasure that it was a most cheerful and inviting room, tastefully fur- nished, bright and cosy, and altogether re- lieved of that terrible primness and fashion- 13 THE PASSING OF able stiffness that characterized the parlor, or, as they called it, the drawing-room. "Now, this," I said to myself, "is something like. Undoubtedly this will be the family sitting- room, and here I shall be constantly with my dear ones, and removed from the presence of uncongenial visitors." For you must remem- ber that of late I had grown distrustful of Caroline's acquaintances, many of whom were women of the emptiest pretensions and the shallowest intellects. For a week or more I was quite happy and contented amid my new surroundings. Caro- line had seen to it that I was carefully dusted, and that my frame was rubbed and scrubbed. And once or twice I thought I saw the old lovelight come back into her eyes as she looked up at me smiling down on the library table, but I dare say I was mistaken, for I was optimistic and credulous in those days and disposed to believe the best of my relations. And I fancied that George gave me a good- natured nod now and then, although he never 14 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT said "Hello, grandma," as in the good old times. But one evening — George and Caroline had gone upstairs and I had composed myself for the night — who should follow Elizabeth into the library but young Mr. De Vivian. Now I never could abide De Vivian, who was one of these pert young gentlemen of fashion who assume that they adorn and honor every circle into which they are admitted, and who presume upon their insolence to swagger be- fore their betters. Why Elizabeth tolerated him I am sure I never could understand, for in my day he would have been laughed at for a fop and a dandy. Perhaps it was because he was descended from the De Vivians who had peddled their way to wealth a few genera- tions before, but he made it quite clear that he was much prouder of his money than of the honest and industrious manner in which his ancestors had acquired it. For this reason alone any grandchild of mine should have despised him. Young De Vivian lolled in an easy-chair before the grate, and I caught him 15 THE PASSING OF several times staring at me in the most im- pertinent and offensive manner. You may depend upon it that I returned his gaze with a haughtiness that would have rebuffed a fellow less presumptuous and less self-satisfied. After one of my most scornful looks he turned to Elizabeth and drawled: "I say, Elizabeth, who is the queer old party on the wall in the cap and sackcloth?" Never in my life was I so angry. Never was our family pride so outraged, and I do not know what prevented me from stepping out of my frame and buffeting him then and there. But I controlled myself, for I was sure that Elizabeth would rebuke him with the greatest manifestation of displeasure, even if she did not rise and command him to leave the house and not return. Conceive, then, my amazement, my discomfiture, when my own grandchild positively blushed, and, nervously fingering a paper-knife, stammered — for the words must have choked her: 16 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT "That? Why, yes; that, I believe, is one of mamma's distant relations." And this from my granddaughter, whom, when a little child, I brought through the croup after the doctors had given her up — the baby I had watched and petted, the girl I had loved and guided! I suppose I was an old fool, but, do you know, at that moment something seemed to swim before my eyes; the whole room was blurred, young De Vivian had vanished, and I was back in the nursery, crooning to a little babe and thanking God that so fair a child had been given to comfort us and make us happy. And I thought of the little old lady lying peacefully under the snow in the silent city, and I wondered if it is spared to her to know what is sometimes said of us after we are gone by those we have loved. You may believe that I did not close my eyes that night, and I know that the strain must have told on me, for when George came down to breakfast he remarked to Martha, the maid, that the old lady — meaning me — 17 THE PASSING OF looked as if she needed scouring. This may have been true, but I hold that it was not a gracious or considerate way of putting it, and I maintain that these little frivolities of speech, even from one's family connections, are much to be deplored and reproved. I had thought it all over during the night, and I had come to the conclusion that Elizabeth would be much ashamed of her conduct; so I was fully prepared to forgive her with all my heart at the first genuine manifestation of repentance. For I reasoned that she was young and thoughtless, and had been bullied into disre- gard of her own flesh and blood by young De Vivian, for whom my aversion was stronger than ever. "Her heart is all right," I argued, "and I must make allowance for a little foolish oversensitiveness." Elizabeth was in a frightful humor that morning, and I saw with many misgivings that the flippant remark of De Vivian had wounded her sorely. She looked at me vicious- 18 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT ly, by way of preparing me for the worst, and then she said to Caroline: "Mamma, why don't you take that awful daub out of the library?" I know very well what would have hap- pened fifty years before if I had presumed to address such a suggestion to my mother, and I waited for Caroline's reply with more anxiety for Elizabeth, notwithstanding her un- bearable conduct, than for myself. I could hardly believe it was my daughter speaking when she answered in a tone of apology: "I don't think I should call it a daub, Elizabeth, but I must confess that it is pretty bad, and I quite agree with you that we should get it somewhere upstairs. It is cer- tainly bad form, if not excessively vulgar, to flaunt one's family portraits continually be- fore one's friends." "Particularly when they are such mon- strosities as that," said Elizabeth. "It humili- ates me every time I invite anybody into the 19 THE PASSING OF library and have to endure the look of amuse- ment at the sight of that picture." Humiliated by the presence of her grand- mother's portrait! And it was only a few years since I had been thought worthy to hang in the parlor and to be admired by all the friends and neighbors! "I dare say you are right," said Caroline, "and we must have it moved right away, though it does go against my conscience" — she had a conscience, after all — "to seem to be lacking in respect to mother's memory. Perhaps it is more respectful to put it away where it will not excite derision. I think I'll have William hang it in my room. Family portraits are really much more in keeping in bedrooms." "Mrs. Benslow doesn't keep her mother's portrait in the bedroom," spoke up little Bertha. "She has it hanging right in the front hall where everybody can see it the first thing." I could have hugged the dear child for her brave words. 20 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT "Mrs. Benslow's mother was a Colonial Dame," said Elizabeth; "that's quite another thing." "I don't see what difference that makes," replied the stout little Bertha; "a grand- mother's a grandmother, isn't she?" "Yes, and a child's a child," said Elizabeth, angrily, "and when you have grown a little more you will appreciate a good many things you know nothing about now." "Well," went on little Bertha, defiantly, "I may grow a little more, but I hope I'll stop when I let fellows like Mr. De Vivian tell me how I shall hang my pictures in my own house." "There, there, children," said Caroline, "don't say anything more about it. You are both right in a way, but Elizabeth is the older and knows the world better than you do. Bertha. I think we shall all feel much more comfortable when this subject of discussion is removed." I fancy that Bertha saw the way I smiled 21 THE PASSING OF upon her, and I believe that somewhere near the spirit of a little old lady was hovering to guard her from knowing that sort of world that cherishes its ancestors merely from pride of place and pomp of condition. But after William had taken me down from the library wall and hung me upstairs over Caroline's bed, I felt my anger vanishing and I was easily persuaded that Caroline had reasoned well and that the atmosphere was much better and more wholesome. I found no trouble in convincing myself that at last I was where the old-fashioned grandmother should be, in the family circle and away from influences in which she could take no pleasure. And yet it was not long before I discovered that I was not wholly right in my conjectures, and that the bedroom of the fashionable present is not the old family gathering place of the past. I am compelled to admit that I was desperately lonesome, for Caroline used the room only to dress and sleep in, and as she was frequently away half the night, and was always tired and 22 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT indifferent in the morning, the room, so far as any pleasure from her society was con- cerned, might have been barred and sealed up. To add to my annoyance, the crayon por- trait of George's Uncle Ben grinned at me from the opposite wall. Ben Chisholm and I were children together, and we had quarreled from the very moment we met. Even the marriage of George and Caroline did not harmonize our differences, for he had gone from bad to worse, and from a quarrelsome and peevish young man had developed into a cynical and crusty old bachelor. In fact, he was so thoroughly ill-natured and unpleasant that it was useless to attempt to get along with him. Up to this time Ben had always occupied an inferior position in the family, and I presume in his crayon coloring and round black walnut frame he would not have been tolerated had he not left George quite a sum of money when he died. It gave me a terrible shock, after all these years, to see him 23 THE PASSING OF grinning and chuckling to himself, and I shall never forget our first conversation at the time of the unfortunate reunion. "Well," said Ben, after William had gone away, and leering most hideously, "you've come to it, have you?" "I don't know what you mean," said I, with just as much indifference as I could command. "I guessed it was only a question of time," went on Ben, ignoring my coolness and chuckling fiendishly. "Of course it was natural enough for you to suppose that the fate of an obstinate and disagreeable bachelor uncle could never overtake a nice, considerate, amiable mother, but I knew it was sure to come." And he laughed so uproariously that he jarred a Madonna and two Magdalenes off their level. "How dare you?" I exclaimed. I was be- ginning to lose my temper, for I understood very well what the fellow meant. "O, come now," said he, "don't put on this 24 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT haughty manner, for really you are in no position to affect superiority. I'll confess that for a number of years you could afford to assume the grand air, but now that you've come down, or rather up, to my station, it is much more becoming to accept your lot with dignity and composure — as I do, for in- stance." And he grinned so maliciously that it made me just a little faint. "I repeat," said I, but with less confidence than before, "that I do not know what you mean by this gibberish about 'fate' and 'time,' and you will oblige me by stopping that grin- ning and chuckling and by behaving like a reasonable being." "Then I shall have to explain," he con- tinued, with such a frightful leer that the two Magdalenes shivered and huddled together, and the Madonna humbly cast down her eyes. "It is hard, isn't it, for two respectable old ancestors to confess that they have been shoved out of the way because their family is ashamed of them?" 25 THE PASSING OF "I don't believe it." 'Tray don't, by all means, if it makes you feel more comfortable. I didn't believe it for a long time myself, though I had my sus- picions from the start. You see, my dear old friend, the unwelcome truth was fairly forced upon me, and I didn't begin with the parlor. Perhaps that is why it came easier to me. I started in the back sitting-room two months before the funeral, and went up on the second floor shortly after the will was read, notwith- standing my efforts to do what I could to help along the family. Isn't that amusing? You observe that I do not spare myself and run the risk of spoiling a joke." "It is very likely," said I, "that the family was anxious to put you out of the way, for anything that would remind anybody of you would be necessarily painful." I spoke with as much sarcasm as I could command, but it did not seem to have the slightest effect. Ben Chisholm always was exasperating in his imperturbable malice. 26 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT "Yes, I was somewhat trying, I dare say, but their disposition of me does not explain, so far as I can see, why dear mother should be shunted first into the library and then into an upstairs bedroom. That is what is worry- ing me, dear friend." "You don't mean to insinuate" — "I don't mean to insinuate anything. I mean to say with tolerable distinctness that our dear children have outgrown us. Jack, of course, fell down first, and Jill came tumbling after." And he laughed loudly at his coarse jest. Happily for me, the conversation, humili- ating as it was in the presence of the three strange ladies, was interrupted by the entrance of the maid, though I must say for the ladies that their sympathy was wholly with me, and that they have since acknowledged that for many weeks Ben Ghisholm had kept them in a condition of terror by his ungentlemanly conduct, his ribald jokes, his boisterous laugh- ter, his malicious remarks, and his perpetual 27 THE PASSING OF trifling with the most sensitive feelings. This incident gave me fresh occasion to wonder why people are so thoughtless in the arrange- ment of their pictures; why they will persist in associating portraits that are thoroughly uncongenial, thereby inviting strife and pro- moting unhappiness. I remember that "The Lost Lamb," who was my neighbor in the library, confided to me that for two years he had lived in unremitting agony because not ten feet away the art dealer, with whom he was living, had kept a pack of wolves. It is most extraordinary that the sensibilities of pictures are never taken into account, and that through ignorance we are forced to ex- perience such wretchedness. Now it would be useless to deny that the poison of Ben Chisholm's discourse had en- tered my system. Try as I might, I could not divest myself of the suspicion that there was much truth in what he had said, and that I had been put out of the way because I was no longer considered acceptable to a family 28 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT that had made such advancement in the busi- ness and social world. In vain I argued the baseness, the unreasonableness of such con- duct; in vain I brought up a thousand objec- tions to such an interpretation. Caroline barely noticed me, although I employed every artifice to attract her attention; she was so taken up with her worldly prospects, her clubs, her receptions, and her never-ending round of evening gayeties that I often wondered who was running the house down stairs, whether George had his breakfast on time, and if any- body was looking after the poor fellow's com- fort. I do not know what would have become of me in those hours of distress if it had not been for the sympathy and soothing words of the Madonna, who constantly stood between me and the odious fellow, Ben Chisholm, and sustained me with much comforting advice and loving cheer. The Madonna assured me that retribu- tion would certainly overtake Ben, and that prophecy was speedily fulfilled; for one day, 29 THE PASSING OF when the maid was dusting the room, the sustaining wire broke and the crayon fell to the floor with a great crash. Caroline came hastily in, and perceiving a large rent over Ben's eye, peevishly told the maid to take that old picture out of the room and keep it out. And when the maid very naturally inquired "Where?" she said impatiently, "Anywhere." At this very climax of his misfortunes, when even I felt a touch of pity, Ben's malevolence did not desert him, and his wound served only to accentuate the devilishness of his leer. As the maid bore him away I could not re- frain from looking at him — though more in pity than in satisfaction — and I heard him whisper: "You'll be next, my lady. It won't be long." I trembled so violently that I feared Caroline would perceive my agitation. The days immediately following were very comforting and delightful after my unhappy experience with Ben Chisholm, for I had many and long talks with the three ladies, and the Madonna never ceased to give me admir- 30 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT able counsel from her wonderful storehouse of knowledge. She spoke long and earnestly of the evils of wealth and fashion, of the temptations that beset the worldly rich, of the quickness with which a life of frivolity dries up the human heart. And she besought me to be prepared at all times for such changes in fortune, whether good or bad, as might be appointed. In truth I had learned to be quite ready for any emergency, for I saw that I had nothing to expect from Caroline but neglect, and as for others of the family they could not have avoided the room more faithfully had it been a pest-house. For these reasons I was tranquil, even cheerful, when Caroline, suddenly pointing to me one morning, said to the maid : "Mary, you may take that picture down to-day, and hang it in the sewing-room." And yet I own that I had curiosity to know why this change was so unexpectedly suggested, and in the few moments of grace I asked my friend, the Madonna, if she could venture any explana- 31 THE PASSING OF tion. The good woman looked at me with an expression of ineffable sweetness, and said very sympathetically: "I have told you, my dear sister, that when a woman is plunged into the vortex of fash- ionable life she quickly loses those finer sen- sibilities, those more wholesome emotions, which are the enduring charm of woman- hood. She becomes the slave to worldly con- ventions, the prey to unworthy shame, the victim of an unwomanly dread of idle gossip and the sneers of the frivolous. Let us talk no more of this matter, and let me beseech you to continue to bear with fortitude the trials that may still await you." I perceived that the Madonna forbore to speak further out of regard for my feelings, and, indeed, there was little need of explana- tion from that source, for I soon gathered from the conversation of the maids that Caro- line was preparing for a grand evening recep- tion, and that the room was to be given over to the women for the removal of their wraps 32 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT and the putting on of the final touches. It came over me all at once that I was banished not merely because in my sober garb I did not fit in with such splendor, but because Ben Chisholm was right, and my family was ashamed of the comments of these worldly fashionables. That was what the Madonna meant by "dread of idle gossip," and that was why she had refrained from further ex- planation, and had bidden me summon my fortitude. Time was when I might have wept for such unfilial conduct, but how would idle tears have availed? And so I bore myself bravely with just that old dead pain at the heart I have never quite succeeded in banish- ing. There was always something hopeful in my nature, and the more I looked at it the more I welcomed the change from the comparative loneliness of the bedroom to the cheery society of the sewing-room. At least some members of the family would be likely to be visible at any hour of the day, and the fact that the 33 THE PASSING OF telephone had been placed in that apartment was an assurance that I should keep up with all the proceedings of my dear ones — they were still dear to me in my calmer moments — and seem to have a part in their occupations and pleasures. For I may explain that the emotion of curiosity and active interest in affairs are not denied to us pictures; that we are sociable in disposition, and keenly alert to what is going on around us. I was vastly cheered, moreover, as Mary bore me to my new stopping place, to note, smiling at me from above the closet door, my little crewel friend, God-Bless-Our-Home, whom I had not seen for several years — in fact, since we were neighbors and cronies in the old- fashioned parlor. I had mourned her as dead, and here she was, a trifle weather-beaten per- haps, but otherwise as cheerful and stimulat- ing as ever. I greeted her with warmth, and when Mary had left the room I asked her to tell me how she had fared, and why we had never heard of each other. 34 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT "I know it is unbecoming to complain," said my little crewel friend with a sigh, "but, as you are aware, it is hard when one has presided over a parlor, and stood for as much as I represent, even on my face value, to be exiled without a word of apology or explana- tion to a back room upstairs. I made the mis- take of believing — possibly because I was young and brilliant, and confident of the strength of my sentiment — that I should at least outlive a generation and retain my supremacy. I did not take into account the fact that fashions change, that the world is growing more worldly, and that a principle that is appropriate enough for a modest family with religious leanings is hardly suited to the surroundings of persons of wealth and fashion." "Surely," I exclaimed, aghast at this decla- ration, "you do not mean to say that George and Caroline have repudiated you as an evi- dence of change of principle?" God-Bless-Our-Home smiled. "No, I do not 35 THE PASSING OF mean exactly that. I presume that if they were cornered by a direct question they would admit that they still respect the sentiment I endeavor to teach. But it is no longer custo- mary in polite circles to parade ostentatiously, and every day in the week, an appeal to Providence. At least not in my kind of garb. Ben Chisholm — do you remember Ben Chis- holm?" I replied rather shortly that I did, perfectly. "Ben Chisholm was here for a few days and he took a disagreeable and pessimistic view of it. He endeavored to convince me that such sentiments as I promulgate are all very well for the poorer classes who have plenty of time for religion, but are not even amusing to those who can hardly find hours enough in a day and night for what they con- sider more pressing duties. And he dwelt rather maliciously, I thought, on the fact that my old place in the parlor is now given up to a painting wholly unscriptural and, I fear, not altogether decorous. But I prefer to be- 36 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT lieve that the shift was not so much the resuh of a change of heart as of the recognition of things in their proper places." "And that is why you are over the closet door in a back room?" said I, with a touch of bitterness. "Wherever I am," answered God-Bless- Our-Home very sweetly, "it is enough for me to know that I am not responsible for any failure of my mission, and that it is not my fault that there are other things more beauti- ful and alluring to the world than myself." "I was ashamed of my outburst and begged my little friend to forgive my hasty words. And I asked her to tell me about the sewing- room; whether Caroline and the girls assem- bled there for family consultation, and worked and talked together as in the good old times when I was a girl just learning the domestic arts. Again God-Bless-Our-Home smiled, but, it seemed to me, a little more sadly. "Times have changed, my dear friend, since you were 37 THE PASSING OF young, and you forget that necessity for labor with the needle no longer exists in your family. It is true that I do see your daughter and the girls occasionally, for they come here to be fitted, and then the telephone is always a source of distraction. I must say that I have no special fondness for gossip, and yet I can- not help overhearing much that is said, both pleasant and unpleasant. You know that it is through the sewing-women, who work by the day or week, that our fashionable ladies pick up much if not all of their general informa- tion on personal matters, and in this way I have acquired a stock of knowledge surprising in its extent if not in its accuracy." And with this introduction God-Bless-Our- Home proceeded t o regale me with the choicest bits of family information. I heard how Caroline had become a woman of the most tremendous importance in club and fashionable life, and how she constantly be- rated George for his indifference to social affairs, and bewailed his indisposition to play 38 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT an active part in the gay world in which she moved. I learned that George had accumu- lated a vast fortune, which served only to make him more restless and dissatisfied than ever, and that while Caroline and the girls gave themselves up to their pleasures he be- came more engrossed with his business, find- ing in the pursuit of wealth the greatest happiness. That Elizabeth had given her troth to young Mr. De Vivian pained but did not surprise me, but that the wedding had been put off until the family moved into the new house gave me much disquietude. I dreaded the thought of the fate in store for me, and with trepidation I communicated my fears to my friend. "It is true," said God-Bless-Our-Home, "that our family feels that it has outgrown this house and its surroundings, and that it has made preparations to move into a more elegant home in a still more fashionable quar- ter of the city. I have heard Caroline say as much to her friends over the telephone, and 39 THE PASSING OF George has frequently come in at night to call the architect and contractors to hurry them along with the work. I do not know what will become of us, but I try not to think of unpleasant things." Much more from time to time God-Bless- Our-Home told me of the family doings, and often I picked up interesting matter from the gossip of the sewing-women and the frequent conversations over the telephone. For Eliza- beth was accustomed to spend many minutes, idly it seemed to me, in calHng up young Mr. De Vivian and speaking of things of a most frivolous and empty character, such as I was ashamed to hear discussed in the presence of my little friend. Thus several months went by without special incident, and we were beginning to think that possibly we were settled for the winter, when one morning Mary entered the room bringing our former companion, the Titian Magdalene. My pleasure at the sight of her was somewhat tempered by the dis- 40 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT covery that she was in unusual depression of spirits, and was laboring with the most pain- ful emotions. As often as I tried to ask the reason of her coming my courage failed; but I was not long kept in suspense, for, having partly recovered from her agitation, she spoke with great frankness. "Everything is in confusion," said the Mag- dalene. "The house is torn up; my sister, the Correggio, has been carried I know not where, and the Madonna is lying face downward on the bedroom floor. Strange men have entered the house, laying lawless hands on what they could reach, and it was through their care- lessness that I received this abrasion of the skin on my right arm. I know that a great upheaval has come into our lives and I shudder for the consequences to us all." "Let us not be discouraged," said God- Bless- Our-Home, with the utmost cheerful- ness, "but let us hope for the best even when we naturally fear the worst. Perhaps it will not be so bad as we think, and perhaps we 41 THE PASSING OF shall all come together in our new abode, for I see from what Magdalene tells us that another period of restlessness has come and that we must shortly go to another home." The time was even shorter than she thought, for hardly had the words escaped her when the strange men broke into the room, and laid violent hold on us, and tore us from the wall, and bore us away down stairs where lay the Madonna in the shameful con- dition described by Magdalene, with certain secular and low-class prints and engravings piled ignominiously on her frame. I shall not linger on the disgrace and confusion of those awful hours. Nor shall I dwell on the humili- ating manner in which we were all jumbled into a moving van, wholly regardless of pro- priety and dignity, and jostled about in a most agonizing journey. I remember that the Madonna, covered with dirt and hardly rec- ognizable in the accumulation of two days' dust on the littered floor, never lost her ad- mirable composure, but earnestly besought us 42 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT to be patient and to bear our misfortunes with humility. However, I could not refrain from crying out against the inhuman treat- ment to which family portraits and old and constant picture friends are so wantonly sub- jected. When we had come to our journey's end and had been carried roughly into the house, which was indeed a palace in beauty and extent, the Madonna warned us to prepare ourselves for any indignity. "For I perceive," said she, "that this dwelling is on a scale of grandeur far beyond our condition." A malig- nant chuckle greeted this remark, most hum- bly and piously uttered, and turning we saw for the first time that Ben Chisholm had been put down in our corner. Whereat we all shuddered. "You ought not to expect anything," said he coarsely, "you and those two women there, for you are only copies; but look at me. I'm an original. And yet I dare say that I have as little to hope for as any of you. But I don't 43 THE PASSING OF complain. Vm used to it and I know the people. You'll allow me to add that it's about time for you and dear mother to scrape up a fair knowledge of our precious family." And he grinned so diabolically that we turned away sick at heart. There is nothing so ter- rible in periods of wretchedness as a malicious philosopher. For thirty-six hours we lay on the floor, while one by one our companions were picked up and borne away. I was at the bottom of the heap w-ith my face resting — not inappro- priately, all things considered — on a scrubbing brush, and bearing many grevious burdens, of the nature of \vhich I knew nothing, on my back, when George contemptuously punched me with his foot and asked: "What are you going to do %vith all this truck?" Think of that! Mother's portrait, a Madonna, a Titian, and a Correggio — truck ! 'T really don't know," answered Caroline. "There is so much I wish we had destroyed 44 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT or thrown away before we left the old place. Most of it is fit only for the ash-barrel." "Here is grandmother's picture," said Bertha, vainly endeavoring to rescue me from the pile. "I recognize the frame. Certainly you don't mean to throw that into the ash- barrel." "No," replied Caroline, "I cannot throw it away, although I sometimes wish I could. It's an atrocious likeness, always was, positively too frightful to hang where anybody can see it." "I thought you used to like it," said Bertha, innocently. I believe I have said that Bertha was my favorite grandchild, and a girl of un- common penetration. "I never liked it, though I admit that I tolerated it before." "Before she became rich and fashionable," said I to myself, bitterly; "why doesn't she finish her sentence?" "So I think for the present," continued Caroline, "we'd better stow it away in a safe 45 THE PASSING OF place. William, suppose you carry this picture up to the top floor and put it in the trunk- room. And while you are about it you may as well dispose of the rest of these old traps." Indeed ! So hereafter I was to be regarded a part of the "truck" and "old traps," a pretty ending of my dream of a happy and honored old age ! As William took me out of the room I could not forbear calling out in my indig- nation: "Remember, Caroline, I am all that is left to you of her!" But if she heard me she gave no indication, and, in truth, I am inclined to think that my reproach would have carried little weight, so completely had her nature been changed by the vanities and pomp of her new life. Behold me then in the trunk-room, a good- sized but dark and poorly ventilated apart- ment just off the ball-room at the top of the house. The room was fairly filled with a great variety of household effects, which, I recall, were groaning and complaining loudly as William threw me somewhat contemptuously 46 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT and very roughly into a corner behind a large box. I lost through this treatment quite a section of gilt from the right of my frame. It was altogether too dark to recognize my neighbors, still I knew that the Madonna and the two Magdalenes and God-Bless- Our- Home were my companions in exile, and it was not many minutes before I discovered that Ben Chisholm was in a distant corner, mercifully held down by two dress-suit cases and a steamer- trunk. But nothing could re- press that fellow's malevolence of spirits. "And so we are all together once more," he piped up in his shrill, squeaky voice. "Well, if this isn't real pleasant and homelike! I'm sorry you ladies cannot get a better look at me — the lighting arrangements here are exe- crable! — for I think this new hole in my left arm would interest you. And just to think that after so many days and months of separa- tion we should be reunited. Wasn't it thought- ful of George and Caroline to arrange for this charming meeting? Do you suppose there 47 THE PASSING OF is any danger they will tear us apart again?" We were too much occupied with our own grief to answer, and after chuckling to him- self a few minutes he went on: "So this is the trunk-room and rubbish- closet. Isn't it cozy in here? A trifle warm in summer, perhaps, but think how comfortable we shall be in winter. I hope you ladies don't mind mice" — the Correggio gave a little scream — for I distinctly heard a mouse gnawing over by my right hand. Personally I don't bother about mice, but I have under- stood that women are afraid of them, and I deem it my duty to warn you in time. It seems rather strange that we should have everything possible up here except a mouse- trap. Perhaps if mother would speak about it to her thoughtful and loving daughter she would provide one." This sarcastic reference to my unfilial child gave me a more bitter sense of my misfortune and excited the indignation of my com- 48 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT panions, who violently reproached Ben for his ill-timed levity. "What's the use of pretending to so much virtue?" he grumbled. "You all know that we are in the last ditch and have nothing to look forward to except the ash-heap or the kindling-box. Let us make the best of it while it lasts. At the worst we are next to the ball- room, where we can hear the music, and at other times we shall have plenty of leisure for reflection over a giddy and more or less ex- citing past. I'm going to be philosophical, but I must confess that this steamer-trunk is un- commonly heavy." There was a good deal of sense in what Ben said, and while I do not wish to give him credit for anything useful or helpful, he did, however unwittingly, cheer us up. He was right, too, in his conjectures as to the music, for Caroline began straightway a series of lavish entertainments, and three or four eve- nings of every week the strains of the dance came plainly to us, and the chatter of voices 49 THE PASSING OF and the sound of laughter made us forget our isolation. At times I though I could detect Caroline's voice, and her tones invariably set me to thinking of the quiet evenings in the little front parlor when God-Bless-Our-Home was the ruling spirit and when life was the brightest and happiest and best of all possible conditions. At these times I think I should have wept had it been possible for me again to weep. But it must not be thought that we had seen the last of Caroline. I remember the first day she opened the door, and entering the room, began to peer around. My heart gave a great leap, and I thought to myself: "Per- haps she has come for me." In this I was mistaken, for after rummaging eagerly a few minutes — barely giving me a glance — she seized an old teapot of lacquered tin and bore it away triumphantly. Another day she came again, and this time she carried out an old- fashioned gilt mirror of the preceding century. To these succeeded a dingy pewter plate and 50 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT a rusty sword, which, I remember hearing, her great-great-grandfather wore in the Revolu- tionary War. Then we realized that Caroline had become infected with the craze for antiques, and great hope sprang up in the trunk-room, and there was much speculation as to our respective chances. Ben Chisholm, however, refused to be dazzled by the pros- pect. "Whatever happens, there's no show for you or me, old mother," he said gruffly. "We're neither one thing nor the other, and we'll be lucky if they let us stay on here. When we go out we go to the garbage-can." I was not to be discouraged by this dreary croaker. It came to me how, when I hung on the wall in the library, my neighbor — he was one of the old masters; I cannot remember which one — told me he had lain many years in a dismal attic, wholly forgotten and un- recognized. And one day a strange man, prowling about, picked him up and carried him to the light and detected his almost price- less value. In a few hours he was in a brilliant 51 THE PASSING OF room, eagerly stared at by hundreds of ad- miring connoisseurs of art. Whereupon I thought: "Why should not I have similar fortune? Why should I give way to dejection and hopelessness? It may be true that Caro- line is dead to me or I am dead to her, and that she and Elizabeth and Bertha, and their children, and their children's children, may pass away while I am lying forlorn and for- gotten and covered with dust in this dark corner. But may it not be that in generations to come I too shall have a part to play and shall begin a new life? May I not be recog- nized as a forebear of a distinguished house, a Daughter of the Civil War, a Dame Before the Empire, and be carried proudly to the drawing-room or the most illustrious chamber to be venerated by my descendants and ad- mired by their friends and kinsmen?" In this timid hope and expectation I am living. When the house is quiet, and grum- bling Ben has sulked off to sleep, and those of my companions who are left have found the 52 MOTHER'S PORTRAIT sweet oblivion which comes to us all alike, I try to picture the glory that awaits me and to content myself with the belief that I shall be great and famous and happy. But my heart keeps asking me, Will it pay? Is the flattery of future generations worth the few years of love that should now be mine? Will all the exultation I may feel in the ages to come atone for this bitter pang of knowing that those who are dearest to me rejected me? And constantly in these sad moments I am travel- ing back to the old-fashioned parlor, and I see the peaceful face of the little old lady as she looked that afternoon when they bore her away on her long journey. And my heart tells me that it would be far better to have gone with her, and passed beyond while love was strong and faith was unshattered. 53 This is the end of the story n^ nju nju THE PASSING OF MOTHER'S PORTRAIT Written by Roswell M. Field, with a biographical introduction by J. Christian Bay, frontispiece and end-papers by James Swann, and of which 989 copies were printed on Lineweave Text, set in 11- point Baskerville type for Violet & Hal W. Tro- villion in the spring of 1948, by Trovillion Private Press, at sign of silver horse, in Herrin, Illinois, and all copies signed and numbered. This is Copy No. ^ *^ V" SWA< LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 785 984 5