'W ^»^ x^^^ \^ .s o^; ' ,'-'''=^ %.^ .^V ,/ ^ -7-^. . .o< «■_ .^•' -^^ r-'V, - '^ -^ ^.. .x^^ .^^ .^;> 1 1 \ '^'''•"'f^^^.o^ .^^ .O '. „ '^z- .^^ -% w '^. '^/.Vs' V. ^ 0^^^ ^ - ^0 O. «.'^0. ,\y f .:\sr<.'omonl oiitca'd Into al I!;ll(iimia-. in llu- I'nitril Sl.ito of America, this Tliiixl il.u n- year ,.f imr I...r.l one thousanil L-if;lit Inindrcd and >iM>.<'it;hl. benvecii Gl:oKi:t Uoiin, llriiisli Sul the Man of Ross, and JxMts kn-i Kv Us. , Aniencin Cilizcn. ,i/i„s the Boston Whereas. sonie liouncc ha\!n;_; .iri^en h.,t\v^en tlte ahove men in referenc (Kdcstrianism and agility, they liaxe agreed lo settle* their dilTerences and prov lictter man. by moans of a «.alkini;-niaiJi for t«o hais a side and the ylory of ti\e countries ; and whereas they ai;re'C that the said match shall come oii, what,' weather, on the .Mill Dam rtad outside Hoston on .Saturday, the Twenty-ninth d. present month ; and wherc.xs they agree that the personal attendants on IheniseK the whole walk, and also the umpires and starters and declarers of victory in the :.,., ,. \k J.tMKS T. Frtii.ns of Boston, known in sporting circles is M.lssachusctts Jcntniy, . DicKKSs of Fal.staff's Gad's Hill. «ho>e surprising ix-rformanccs (without the least that truly national instrument, the -Vmerican Catarrh. ha\x* won' for hjm the well- of The Cad's Hill Gasper. iVow, tht^e are to be the articles of the m.atch : — 1. The men are to be started, on the d,ay apixiinted, by, Massachusetts Jemmy and The Gospe'r. 2. Jemmy and The Gasj>cr arc, on some pre\ious day, to walk out at the rate of not>less than four m by the GasjKr's u-atch, for one hour and a h.alf. At the cx}>iration of that one hour and a h,ilf, thev aiv ti note the pi.ice at which they halt. On the match's coming oft', they .are, to station themselves in the midt ro.ad. at tltat precise point, and the tuen (keei>ing clear of Iheni and of each other) are "to turn rounil t shoulder inward, and w.ilk hack to the starting-pi.int. The man declaa'il by them to jKLss the starling-|K to lx> the \ictor and the winner of the match. j. .\o jostling or fouling allowed. 4- .Ail cautions or orders issued to the men by the imipires. starters, and declarers of \ictory. to Ix* final and admitting of no appeal. THE SPO T H IC M 1-; N TiiK Boston Bantam {a/ias Bright Chanlicleeri is a yomig bird, though t.Hi old to be caught with chaff, of a thortuigh g.ame breed and h.ts a clear though modest crow. He pulls down the scale at ten stone and .add a ptop feather, their condition wo left nothing to be desired. But both might have h.id more daily practice in the poetry of motion. Thi were confined to an occasional Baltimore burst under the guidance of the G.asper. and to an amicable toddle themselves at Washington. THE COURSE, ■ SL\ miles and a half, good measure, from the first tree on the Mill Dam road, lies the little village (with ments ia it but five oranges and a botde of bl.icking) of Newton Centre. Here, M.Tssachus>^tts Jemmy and the had established the turning-point. The road comprehended every variety of inconvenience to test the nictlU men, and nearly the whole of it was covered with snow. T H E .S T A R T w.as eft'ected beaiiiifully. The men. taking their stand in e.xact line at the starting-post, the fitst tree aforesaid, from The Gasper the warning. "Are you ready?" and then the signal. "One. two. three. Go!" .They g e\,actK- together, and at a spinning speed, waited on by .Massachusetts Jemmy and The Gas|)er. AL WALKING-MATCH 1868. ted than in the articles of agreement subscribed by the parties. ES. ^»mmi^ narratnv of ,hc n,.itd. u< be «rilton bv The Ga.s,HT within one week afte (o bo duly prinM (at the expense of the .subscribers to these articles) on a broa.is.c.e ■ ne ^-.ki . franK'd and glazwl. and one copy of the sa.ne to be carefully preserved by each u( the, .subscribe' he men to -how on the e imilic; lid of the day of waiting, at six o'clock precisely, at the Parke faced bv icivc hen and where a dinner will be- given them by The Gasper. The Gasper ., ^.uuv o,e en-ur etts Jemnty. Ihe latter promptly and fonnally to invite, as soon as maj- be after the date of thes' ins Quests to hom.r the said dinner with their p.esence : that is to s.iv : - .\Iistr,..ss .Annie Field., Mr hot Norton a,.d M,^ Norton. I'rofessor James Russell Lowell and Mrs. Lowell and Miss Lowell Doctor ndell Holn.es and Mn.. Holmes. Mr. Howard Malcom Ticknor and Mrs. Ticknor, Mr. AWrich and Mrs Ir. hchles.nger. and .an ob.scutx; pe-n vvere side by side; and then ensued one of the best periods of the nice, the same- splitting .eld by both .hr,.ugh a heavy snow-wreatb and up a dragging hill. .At this point it was anybody's game Ko.ss,us -and two half^iollars on the member of the feathery tribe. When five miles were called, the 1.11 shoulde-r .0 shoulder. At alx.ut six miles, the Gas,x-r put on a tremendous spirt to leave the men esLibhsh hnriself .as the turnmg-poini at the entrance of the tillage. He afterwards dc-elared that he lental knockjowner. on taking his statu.n and facing about, to find Bright Chanticleer close in upon him steaming up like a L,K:omotive. The Bantam rounded first; Rt,ssius r.nmded wide: and from tha^ Bantam steadily shot ahead. Though both were breathed at the turn, tlie Bantam ouicklv got hLs obedient condition, and blew aw,ay like an orderly Blacksn,ith in full «ork. The forcing.pumps if Rcsius Cd themsclve-s lough and true, and warranted first-rate, but he fell off in pace ; whereas the Bantam pegged IS httle dnim-sticks. as if he saw his wives and a peck of broiev waiting for him at the famiK pi^rch punmg upon h.ra of Ross, Chanticleer gradually drrw ahrad wilhin ., ^.en' few yards of half •, mile finallv lole tlislance in two hours and forty^-ight minutes. Ross h.id re.xs«l to compe't'e. three miles short' of thi but bravely walked it out, and came in seven mmutes later. REMARKS. culties under which this plucky match was walked can only Ix.- appreciated by those who were on the the excessive rigour of the icy blast, and the depth and state of the snow, must be added the constant the latter into the air and into the eyes of the men, while he.ads of hair, beards, eyelashes, and eye- ■07.en into icicles. To breathe .at all, in such a rarefied and disturbed atmosphere, was not easy; but to the required mark was genuine, slogging, ding-dong, hard lalxir. That both competitots were game to doing what 'they did under such conditions, was evident to all ; but, to his gameness, the courageous une.x|)ected endurance, and (like the sailor's watch that did three hours to the cathedral clock's one) iwers of going when wound up. The knowing eye could not lail to detect considerable disparity between nhcleer being, as Mnjc Cratchit .said of Tiny Tim. " vm light to carr>-." and Rossius promising fair to .ndjty of (he .Anonymous Cove in the epigram: ".\nd when he wallcs the Mreets th« TJiN-iour* cry. ' Ctod bless you. sir ! ' .ind lay ibeir 1 CROWDING MEMORIES 105 fellow that day. After a pleasant chat in the library, Mr. Dickens turned to me saying, "Now I want to see the little maid. I have heard all about her." So I went on the quest; and soon the demure little Dutch picture walked in with her silver tray, de- canter, and wine-glass. Going up to Mr. Dickens she said, with her alluring lisp, "If you please, sir, will you take a glass of wine and a biscuit? " Mr. Dick- ens poured out his glass of wine, and with a courtly bow to us, and a lower one to the little maid, drank to our health and happiness ; and when the little maid departed put his head on the cushion of his chair and laughed and laughed. Then turning to me he said, "Now I want to see this wonderful house from top to bottom, from cellar to attic." We showed it to him with honest and possessive pride, and when his visit was over he said, in leaving, that nothing in our country had interested him more. We have wondered since if, in telling of his visit to others, he did not say that nothing in our country had amused him more. The next play on our happy stage of life was the "walking match" and the dinner Mr. Dickens gave to the victorious champion. Mr. Fields says, in his "Yesterdays with Au- thors," that it was in Baltimore that Mr. Dickens conceived his idea of a walking match between Mr. Osgood and Mr. Dolby, and that he went into this io6 CROWDING MEMORIES matter with as much earnest directness as If he were planning a new novel. The articles of this joyous joke were drawn up and sent to the house of Ticknor & Fields with as much circumstance and official dignity as if they were papers relating to the making of a new presi- dent. When this great international battle was over, and America had won, came the brilliant dinner at the Parker House. ^ Impressed on my memory for all time will be the picture of that night: a long table with its beautiful arrangement of flowers arranged by Mr. Dickens himself, and so designed that at the end of the feast they easily disintegrated, giv- ing each woman a lovely bouquet de corsage. The dinner place cards were an innovation new to Boston. Mine was a gay little colored picture of a table laid for two, and the bridegroom (for I am sure it was a bridal party) with uplifted glass drinking a bene- diction to his bride. There were no set speeches that night, as indeed there need not be with that company ; such wit and * "Distinguished Company. " Charles Dickens to preside and James T. Fields to be seated opposite. Mrs. Annie Fields, Charles Eliot Norton and Mrs. Norton, Prof. James Russell Lowell and Mrs. Lowell, Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes and Mrs. Holmes, Mr. Howard Malcolm Ticknor and Mrs. Ticknor, Mr. Aldrich and Mrs. Aldrich, Mr. Schlesinger, and an obscure poet named Longfellow (if discoverable) and Miss Long- fellow." CROWDING MEMORIES 107 laughter that made even the sparkle of the cham- pagne seem dull and lifeless. The host at the head of his table was the incarnation of joy on a cruise of pleasure. Every fibre of his body was unrestrained and alert with good-fellowship, so that even the youngest and shyest guest, who had nothing to con- tribute to such a company but her youth and appre- ciation, forgot to be self-conscious. A few weeks after the memorable visit of Mr. Dickens, the composite little Dutch picture appeared in the "boudoir" bringing with her a tiny silver tray on which lay a visiting card, " Mr. Henry W. Long- fellow." The lisping voice made haste to say, "I said the Master and Mistress was home, I askeded him into the dining-room and I told him to set down," Mr. Longfellow at this time had passed his six- tieth birthday. The awful chasm which, without the slightest warning, had opened at his feet in the tragedy of his wife's death had made him look much older than his years could count. Time never as- suaged the wound of that bereavement. He spoke or wrote of it only in the fewest words. Once in writing to Mr. Curtis he said, "I am utterly wretched and overwhelmed ; to the eyes of others outwardly calm, but inwardly bleeding to death." The spiritual beauty of Mr. Longfellow's expression, the dignity and gentleness of his manner, his smile of peculiar io8 CROWDING MEMORIES sweetness, all had great charm, and made him seem the ideal poet. The distinguished guest was soon placed in the easiest chair in the study, his hostess vainly endeav- oring to appear at ease, and to hide as much as pos- sible her sense of the high honor paid by this visit, which to her was much the same as it would be to the English subject should the King, without retinue or warning, depart from his palace to visit a simple gentry of his kingdom. After a half-hour's friendly chat of books and men, Mr. Longfellow said: " May I tell you how 1 am impressed with the atmosphere of home and cheer you have given to this little room? Its crimson walls, the flowers, the crowded shelves of books, all tell their story of the fortunate, the happy day, when a new household found its place among the innumerable homes of earth." Then, turn- ing to his hostess, he said: "I should so much like if you would show me all of this small house. Mr. Dickens told me of its charm." With shy pride we took our guest from room to room, and when we came to our bedroom with its blue chintz hangings Mr. Longfellow said that all the bluebirds printed on them should know it was a poet's home and sing to him their sweetest melodies both day and night. When the short tour of the house was over, linger- ing a moment at the dining-room door Mr. Long- fellow said: "Ah, Mr. Aldrich, it will not always be ^1 A^»-^ «\ .^'vfrfljrj'. lOivw^*^ V» . VtS^ijL , iAoAA/w^'NV . ^.,^^voc^5JU^, LONGFELLOW IN HIS STUDY CROWDING MEMORIES 109 the same round table for two. By and by it will extend itself, and about it will cluster little faces, royal guests, drumming on the table with their spoons. And then, as the years go by, one by one they will take flight to build nests of their own. The round table will again recede until it is set for two and you and Mrs. Aldrich will be alone. This is the story of life, the pathetic poem of the fireside. Make an idyl of it ; I give the idea to you." Mr. Aldrich did not use the motif, and Mr. Longfellow himself later wrote the poem "The Hanging of the Crane," for which poem Mr. Bonner paid him three thousand dollars for the right to publish it in his paper. Thus the little visit, which Mr. Longfellow in his kindness made, brought for him a dual reward — money and fame, and a larger asset, the pleasure and matronly pride it gave its young recipient. This visit was soon followed by an invitation to dine at Craigie House. As our carriage stopped at the gate our host appeared at the open door, and coming down the long walk with courtly grace gave his arm to his young guest. The picture of the scene is in- delible: the tender grace of the dying day; the lilacs just in bloom; the green of the grass; and a poet, bareheaded, with whitening hair, standing in the twilight. CHAPTER XI "The Summer comes and the Summer goes; Wild-flowers are fringing the dusty lanes, The swallows go darting through fragrant rains, Then, all of a sudden — it snows. "Dear Heart, our lives so happily flow, So lightly we heed the flying hours, We only know Winter is gone — by the flowers. We only know Winter is come — by the snow." FOR the first summers the fairyland of the idyllic days of the honeymoon of marriage was the "Old Town by the Sea," where Mr. Aldrich was bom and where his grandfather and mother still lived in the "Nutter House," which was then, and is still, a fine example of the simple, dignified home of a quiet New England town almost a century ago. It was in the summer of 1869 that Mr. Aldrich wrote the story that was told to him there — told to hini by the "Nutter House" itself. The happy days of his boyhood spoke to him from every timber of that old home. There was not an inch in the house or a spot in the garden that did not have its story to tell. " It all came to me out of the past, the light and life of the Nutter House when I was a boy at River- mouth." The house stands on a narrow street at the foot of CROWDING MEMORIES iii which is the Piscataqua River. But the "Nutter House" and its surroundings are described so de- lightfully in "The Story of a Bad Boy" that the next few paragraphs shall be given to the reader by Tom Bailey himself: " Few ships come to Rivermouth now. Commerce drifted into other ports. The phantom fleet sailed ofjt' one day and never came back again. The crazy old warehouses are empty; and barnacles and eel-grass cling to the piles of the crumbling wharves, where the sunshine lies lovingly, bringing out the faint spicy odor that haunts the place • — the ghost of the old dead West India trade. "The house abutted directly on the street; the granite doorstep was almost flush with the side- walk, and the huge old-fashioned brass knocker ex- tended itself in a kind of grim appeal to everybody. It seemed to possess strange fascinations for all sea- faring folk; and when there was a man-of-war in port, the rat-tat of that knocker would frequently startle the quiet neighborhood long after midnight. "Imagine a low-studded structure, with a wide hall running through the middle. At your right hand, as you enter, stands a tall mahogany clock, looking like an Egyptian mummy set up on end. On each side of the hall are doors opening into rooms wainscoted, with wood carvings about the mantel- pieces and cornices. 112 CROWDING MEMORIES "There are neither grates nor stoves in the quaint chambers, but splendid open chimney-places, with room enough for the corpulent back-log to turn over comfortably on the polished andirons. The door on the left as one enters is the best room. The walls are covered with pictured paper, representing land- scapes and sea- views — for example, this enlivening figure is repeated all over the room : A group of Eng- lish peasants wearing Italian hats are dancing on a lawn that abruptly resolves itself into a sea-beach, upon which stands a flabby fisherman (nationality unknown), quietly hauling in what appears to be a small whale, and totally regardless of the dread- ful naval combat going on just beyond the end of his fishing-rod. On the other side of the ships is the mainland again, with the same peasants dancing. " It is Sunday morning. I should premise by say- ing that the deep gloom which settled over every- thing set in like a heavy fog early on Saturday eve- ning. "Our parlor is by no means thrown open every day. It is open this June morning, and is pervaded by a strong smell of centre-table. The furniture of the room, and the little China ornaments on the mantelpiece, have a constrained, unfamiliar look. My grandfather sits in a mahogany chair, reading a large Bible covered with green baize. Miss Abigail occupies one end of the sofa, and has her hands HALL AND STAIRWAY IN THE "NUTTER HOUSE" CROWDING MEMORIES 113 crossed stiffly in her lap. I sit in the corner, crushed. Robinson Crusoe and Gil Bias are in close confine- ment. Baron Trenck, who managed to escape from the fortress of Glatz, can't for the life of him get out of our sitting-room closet. "The door at the right of the hall leads into the sitting-room. It was in this room where my grand- father sat in his armchair the greater part of the evening, reading the Rivermouth 'Barnacle,' the local newspaper. There was no gas in those days, and the Captain read by the aid of a small block- tin lamp which he held in one hand. I observed that he had a habit of dropping off into a doze every three or four minutes. Two or three times, to my vast amusement, he scorched the edges of the news- paper with the wick of the lamp ; and at about half- past eight o'clock I had the satisfaction — I am sorry to confess it was a satisfaction — of seeing the Rivermouth 'Barnacle' in flames. ''My grandfather leisurely extinguished the fire with his hands, and Miss Abigail, who sat near a low table, knitting by the light of an astral lamp, did not even look up. She was quite used to this catastrophe, "The monotonous 'click click' of Miss Abigail's needles made me nervous after a while, and finally drove me out of the sitting-room into the kitchen, where Kitty caused me to laugh by saying Miss 114 CROWDING MEMORIES Abigail thought that what I needed was * a good dose of hot-drops.' "Kitty Collins, or Mrs. Catherine, as she pre- ferred to be called, was descended in a direct line from an extensive family of kings who formerly ruled over Ireland. In consequence of various calam- ities, among which the failure of the potato crop may be mentioned, Miss Kitty Collins, in company with several hundred of her countrymen and coun- trywomen — also descended from kings — came over to America in an emigrant ship, in the year eighteen hundred and something. ** I don't know what freak of fortune caused the royal exile to turn up at Rivermouth; but turn up she did, a few months after arriving in this country, and was hired by my grandmother to do 'general housework' for the modest sum of four shillings and sixpence a week. In time she grew to be regarded less as a servant than as a friend in the home circle, sharing its joys and sorrows — a faithful nurse, a willing slave, a happy spirit." Of the dining-room Master Bailey had little to say, excepting the pen picture of Sunday morning in the "Nutter House": "Sunday morning. ... At seven o'clock my grand- father comes smilelessly downstairs. He is dressed in black, and looks as if he had lost all his friends during the night. Miss Abigail, also in black, looks CROWDING MEMORIES 115 as if she were prepared to bury them, and not indis- posed to enjoy the ceremony. Even Kitty Collins has caught the contagious gloom, as I perceive when she brings in the coffee-urn — a solemn and sculpturesque urn at any time, but monumental now — and sets it down in front of Miss Abigail. Miss Abigail gazes at the urn as if it held the ashes of her ancestors, instead of a generous quantity of fine old Java coffee." In the "Life of Thomas Bailey Aldrlch," writ- ing of the small hall bedroom in the "Nutter House," his biographer says: "Even in those days he was a reader, a little dreamer, and moved in a world peopled with the folk of the imagination. The passage in 'The Story of a Bad Boy' describing his little hall-room in the 'Nutter House,' the books he found there and the use he made of them, is of the first biographic im- portance. " * I had never before had a chamber all to myself, and this one, about twice the size of our stateroom on board the Typhoon, was a marvel of neatness and comfort. Pretty chintz curtains hung at the window, and a patch quilt of more colors than were in Joseph's coat covered the little bed. The pattern of the wall-paper left nothing to be desired in that line. On a gray background were small bunches of leaves, unlike any that ever grew in this world; and ii6 CROWDING MEMORIES on every other bunch perched a yellowblrd, pitted with crimson spots, as if it had just recovered from a severe attack of the smallpox. That no such bird ever existed did not detract from my admiration of each one. There were two hundred and sixty-eight of these birds in all, not counting those split in two where the paper was badly joined. I counted them once when 1 was laid up with a fine black eye, and, falling asleep, I immediately dreamed that the whole flock suddenly took wing and flew out of the window. From that time I was never able to regard them as merely inanimate objects. " * A washstand in the comer, a chest of mahogany drawers, a looking-glass in a filigreed frame, and a high-backed chair studded with brass nails like a coffin, constituted the furniture. Over the head of the bed were two oak shelves, holding perhaps a dozen books — among which were "Theodore; or, The Peruvians"; "Robinson Crusoe"; an odd vol- ume of "Tristram Shandy"; Baxter's "Saints' Rest," and a fine English edition of the "Arabian Nights," with six hundred woodcuts by Harvey. " 'Shall I ever forget the hour when I first over- hauled these books? I do not allude especially to Baxter's "Saints' Rest," which is far from being a lively work for the young, but to the "Arabian Nights," and particularly "Robinson Crusoe." The thrill that ran into my fingers' ends then has not CROWDING MEMORIES 117 run out yet. Many a time did I steal up to this nest of a room, and, taking the dog's-eared volume from its shelf, glide off into an enchanted realm, where there were no lessons to get, and no boys to smash my kite. " * In a lidless trunk in the garret I subsequently unearthed another motley collection of novels and romances, embracing the "Adventures of Baron Trenck," "Jack Sheppard," "Don Quixote," "Gil Bias," and " Charlotte Temple " — all of which I fed upon like a bookworm. I never come across a copy of any of those works without feeling a certain ten- derness for the yellow-haired little rascal who used to lean above the magic pages hour after hour, re- ligiously believing every word he read, and no more doubting the reality of Sinbad the Sailor or the Knight of the Sorrowful Countenance than he did the existence of his own grandfather.' " In the story of the "Nutter House" Mr. Aldrich does not speak of the garden ; but he has often told me of the inexhaustible territory of pleasure and play it was ; at times swarming with Indians in am- bush behind every bush and tree; then, presto, change ! — it was transformed into an English forest, through which rode Robin Hood and his men; again the pirates had it — Captain Kidd burying his treasure in the moonlight; Jeanne d'Arc proudly riding on her white steed with banners flying; and ii8 CROWDING MEMORIES here, many times, was solemnized the marriage of Pocahontas and Captain John Smith. "A happy childhood, ringed with fortunate stars! What dreams were his in this enchanted sphere, What intuitions of high destiny ! The honey-bees of Hybla touched his lips In that new world garden unawares." Of this summer Mr. Greenslet wrote in his bi- ography: "The summer of 1868 was spent as usual at Portsmouth, and throughout it Aldrich was giving all his spare moments to the writing of 'The Story of a Bad Boy.' He returned to Pinckney Street about the middle of September, and there on the evening of the sixteenth wrote the last words of the chronicle of Tom Bailey. On the seventeenth oc- curred one of the great happinesses of his life. A month before he had received from Mr. Howells a note, saying, * I have a fine boy ' ; on the eighteenth of September Aldrich replied : " ' My Dear Howells, — I have TWO fine boys, born yesterday morning! Everything seems to be well with my wife and with the little fellows, God bless the three of them ! and I am exceedingly happy. Your friend, T. B. Aldrich.'" «( ( / "Two things there are with Memory will abide — Whatever else befall — while life f^ows by: That soft cold hand-touch at the altar side; The thrill that shook you at your child's first cry." CHAPTER XII AFTER Mr. Aldrich's marriage several happy summers had been passed In Portsmouth before his Grandfather Bailey, or "Grandfather Nutter" as he was named in "The Story of a Bad Boy," died. Never again would the tall figure in black satin waistcoat and high satin stock, the kindly face, the beneficent smile, be seen in the familiar places. The life and cheer of the "Nutter House" had fled. For the next few years the summer home was in a fishing village, in a long, low house — " Rose Cot- tage," where the roses and rose-bugs ran riot — the sea and the mermaids the nearest neighbors. There was a tiny garden and a small green lawn, where almost every afternoon strawberries, and, in fact all berries in their season, would bloom and ripen with marvellous rapidity. Then if the mermaids were sitting on their rocks, or tuning their lyres, they would see two lithe jocund sprites going berrying. The shouts of joy with which each berry hidden in its green leaves was welcomed when found echo in my ears. Many were the schemes devised to lure the guileless reapers indoors while the boxes of fruit were emptied in the thick-growing grass. Ah, happy days! Birds singing — youth, happiness, love. 120 CROWDING MEMORIES How well remembered is the hour and day of this first summer in "Rose Cottage," wheaMr. Aldrich, laden with books and manuscripts, returned from the city of his editorial cares, and said, with per- plexed face and whimsical manner: "We are, nolens volens, to have a visitor, 'O'ermaster it as you may.* This morning Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe came to the office, and without preamble said, ' I should like to make you and Mrs. Aldrich a little visit; the per- sonality of your wife strongly attracts me.' " Then followed the startling intelligence that the distin- guished guest would arrive early the next day. For the chatelaine of the humble chateau there was little sleep that night. What would befall her in the next few hours when Mr. Aldrich was in town, and she alone with the distinguished guest — a guest who at the tender age of twelve years had chosen for her theme, "Can the Immortality of the Soul be proved by the Light of Nature?" Unfor- tunately, at "Rose Cottage" there were no books for research that would treat of such grave subjects, and even memory itself that night proved treacher- ous, refusing to recall "Questions and Answers," hidden in the blue-covered catechism of her girlhood. . The next morning Mr. Aldrich was adamant to ^ the prayer that he would forego all editorial duties for that day, but giving his promise to return from the city as early as possible, and to bring with him - THE "JOCUND SPRITES' CROWDING MEMORIES 121 a man rich in the lore of theology and kindred mat- ters,] he hurried to the train, leaving his laughing advice, if there seemed danger of being swept be- yond the depths, to call to the rescue the jocund sprites, with their trumpets and drums, their rat- tling wagons, their squeaking carts — the arma- ment with which they so frequently had silenced conversation in the small house. Mrs. Stowe was among the notable women we had met in our first days in Boston. From that time she held a large place in our interest, although we seldom saw her. The description she had written of herself to Mrs. FoUen in London, fifteen years be- fore, would apply equally well to her personality the first time we saw her. " I am a little bit of a woman, somewhat more than forty, about as thin and dry as a pinch of snuff; never very much to look at in my best days, and looking like a used-up article now." The story which had proved such an im- portant factor in the abolition of slavery was pub- lished in the same year as her letter to Mrs. FoUen. In the same letter she wrote of it: "Having been poor all my life, and expecting to be poor the rest of it, the idea of making money by a book which I wrote because I could not help it never occurred to me. On the day of publication of ' ' Uncle Tom's Cabin ' * three thousand copies of the book were sold, and 122 CROWDING MEMORIES within a year, one hundred and twenty editions, or over three hundred thousand copies, of the book were sold in this country. Eight power presses run- ning day and night were barely able to keep pace with the demand for it. In the life of Mrs. Stowe, written by her son, he says: "Almost in a day the poor professor's wife had become the most talked-of woman in the world ; her influence for good was spreading to its remotest corners, and henceforth she was to be a public char- acter, whose every movement would be watched with interest, and whose every word would be quoted." ; At dinner the night before the memorable visit Mr. Aldrich had suggested that as the next day would probably be warm, a claret cup, served with its clinking ice, its ruby color, and its bit of mint, would be a refreshment for body and soul. And with the suggestion the flattering remark that of all the accomplishments in the menage of the Mistress of the Manor none surpassed her brewing. Then, lift- ing his glass, with a gay little nod he hummed the words of Sir Harry's toast: "And here's to the housewife that's thrifty. Let the toast pass; Drink to the lass; I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass." It was with no joyous heart, however, that after Mr. Aldrich's departure the next morning, the Mis- CROWDING MEMORIES 123 tress of the Manor began the brewing of her cup; her troubled thought making discord as to how much measure of this and that would bring to har- mony the ingredients of her ruby mixture. Thought refused to concentrate on the work of her hands ; it wandered to other matters. "What does a personal- ity that attracts consist of ? " "Can the Immortality of the Soul be proved by the Light of Nature?" Was Mr. Aldrlch half in earnest when he advised her before meeting this visitor to familiarize her mind with an exhaustive study of all the concord- ances of Scripture she could borrow or find in order to cope with an Intellect that had, at the tender age of twelve, chosen this theme for her composition? The morning w^as half over before a carriage stopped at the door, and a reluctant hostess went forward to greet her distinguished guest. W^hat was a personality that attracts? Whatever it was it cer- tainly was not an unconscious personality, but a very conscious one, that waited at the door. The day was excessively warm, the train from the city overcrowded, making Mrs, Stov/e look worried and frail, like a last rose of summer. With the first look at the wilted flower, personality fled, and there was but one thought: what can be done for this guest's comfort? She was brought into the house, placed in the easiest chair, a fan put in her hand, her bonnet taken off. With her sigh of relief and gratitude for 124 CROWDING MEMORIES these ministrations came the request for something to drink that would quench her inordinate thirst. Almost before Mrs. Stowe had finished speaking, to her young hostess came the remembrance of the ruby cup cooling in the ice chest, and with the re- membrance a feeling of deep thankfulness that she had something so refreshing to offer. A little tray on which was a plate holding a biscuit and a glass pitcher filled with the delectable mixture was quickly brought. and placed on a stand by Mrs. Stowe's chair, and a hostess who had forgotten "person- ality" and embarrassment was leaning over it, laughingly saying: "And let me the canakin clink, clink; And let me the canakin clink. A soldier's a man; O, man's life 's but a span; Why, then, let a soldier drink." The soldier drank, and very shortly afterwards complained of the unsettled character of the room, which seemed to the visitor to be stationary at an angle of forty-five degrees. And the sea turn — everything is in a blue mist — did we often have such sudden fogs? She would lie down if the sofa had not such a momentum ; to her eye it was misbehav- ing as badly as her berth at sea. It was with penitent and contrite heart that the hapless sinner, whose want of concentration of her CROWDING MEMORIES 125 errant thoughts in the brewing of the cup had brought about this dire mischance, assisted her guest; and fervent was her prayer that the recum- bent position would prove recuperative and restore speedily the equilibrium that through her fault had gone so far astray. In the days of the sixties women still wore hoops or reeds in their skirts, and in lying on the sofa Mrs. Stowe's skirts, like Hamlet's words, "flew up," re- vealing very slender ankles and feet encased in pru- nella boots ; the elastic V at the sides no longer elas- tic, but worn and loose. The stockings were white, and the flowery ribbon of the garter knots was un- abashed by the sunlight. What was to be done? The hour of Mr. Aldrich's return was imminent. The perturbed and anxious sinner sat in watchful silence. On a distant chair lay a gossamer scarf which would drape the unconscious form. But if in the getting of it she wake the sleeper? Which was the kindest thing — to wait for " Na- ture's sweet restorer" or to drape the scarf and run the risk of waking her poor victim? If Mr. Aldrich was only coming alone, she could bar the door and banish him. But in this long, low house there was but one living-room, and what could be done with the stranger guest who was coming with him? For this reason the venture must be made. With stealthy steps the goal was won, and light as a butterfly's 126 CROWDING MEMORIES wing the gossamer scarf slowly descended, only to rise again with accelerated motion, for Mrs. Stowe at the first touch sat straight upright, and with dim, reproachful eyes asked: "Why did you do it? I am weak, weary and warm as I am — let me sleep." There was given a gentle hint that there was dra- pery to be rearranged, but the negative was firm, and the answer decisive: "I won't be any properer than I have a mind to be. Let me sleep." Fortunately, Mr. Aldrich was detained in town and did not arrive at "Rose Cottage" until a later hour than he had expected. Before he came Mrs. Stowe had had a strong cup of coffee, her skirts had resumed their normal shape, and she was herself again. At dinner the hapless sinner had the poignant pain of hearing the unconscious lamb telling the guest of the heat of the day and the motion of the train producing a strange dizziness which she had never experienced before. Until the writing of this page never has there been a confession made of this episode; in all the intervening years it has been as a fountain sealed. When the brief visit was over and the adieus being made, Mrs. Stowe said at parting: "I am always like a spider that is puzzled where to attach his threads for a web. You and Mrs. Aldrich unknow- ingly gave me a motif for a story." Then turning to Mr. Aldrich, she said: "There is so much positive CROWDING MEMORIES 127 character in this little lady that I could not resist the desire to put her in a book. But I had come to the end of the bridge, and there was need to meet my heroine again." Then, with the good-bye kiss to her hostess, added, "She is not you, just you, but a type of you." It was a surprised and disturbed heroine that closed the door on the departing guest, and asked of the jocund sprites, whose hands she held, if they thought it kind to put their mother in a story-book. And dear was their answer: "I love you, mamma, rny mamma, my dear little mamma!" And beyond that she never knew. It was in the autumn of this year that Mr. Al- drich first met Mr. Clemens, although a year previ- ous their epistolary acquaintance began, introduced by a very savage letter which Mark Twain had written to Mr. Aldrich, not as a comrade and fellow worker, but to the unscrupulous and unreliable edi- tor of "Every Saturday." Mr. Aldrich had copied from another periodical some rhymes credited to Mark Twain about a euchre game that was turned into poker, and evidently had commented upon them unfavorably, as being an imitation of Bret Harte's "Heathen Chinee." Mr. Clemens wrote to say the lines were not his, and he wished to have the misstatement corrected, which Mr. Aldrich, in a very complimentary paragraph, immediately did. 128 CROWDING MEMORIES The second letter to Mr. Aldrich begins: "Dear Mr. Aldrich, — "I hear a good deal about doing things on the ' spur of the moment ' — I invariably regret things I do on the spur of the moment. That disclaimer of mine was a case in point. I am ashamed every time I think of my bursting out before an unconcerned public with that bombastic pow-wow about burning publishers' letters and all that sort of imbecility, and about my not being an imitator, etc. Who would find out that I am a natural fool if I kept al- ways cool and never let nature come to the surface? Nobody." The last letter in this series was from Mr. Aldrich, ending in this wise: **When you come to Boston, if you do not make your presence manifest to me, I '11 put an item in 'Every Saturday,' to the effect that although you are generally known as * Mark Twain,' your favorite nom de plume is ' Barry Gray.' I flatter myself that will bring you." It was in the early dark of a winter's night a year after this belligerent correspondence that Mr. Al- drich came home bringing with him a most unusual guest, clothed in a coat of sealskin, the fur worn out- ward ; a sealskin cap well down over his ears ; the cap half revealing and half concealing the mass of red- dish hair underneath; the heavy mustache having the same red tint. The trousers came well below the SAMUEL L. CLEMENS CROWDING MEMORIES 129 coat, and were of a yellowish-brown color; stockings of the same tawny hue, which the low black shoe emphasized. May and December intermixed, pro- ducing strange confusion in one's preconceived ideas. Was it the dress for winter, or was it the dress for summer? Seemingly it all depended on the range of vision. If one looked up, winter; if one looked down, summer. But when the wearer spoke it was not difhcult for the listener to believe that he was not entirely accountable for the strange gear. It was but too evident that he had looked upon the cup when it was red, for seemingly it had both cheered and inebriated, as the gentleman showed marked inability to stand perpendicular, but swayed from side to side, and had also difhculty with his speech ; he did not stammer exactly, but after each word he placed a period. His sentences were whimsical, and host and guest laughed loudly, with and at each other. The hostess happened to be in the hall as Mr. Aldrich's key turned in the lock and host and guest entered . Obviously something very amusing was being said, interrupted for the moment by the words of introduction "My wife," and the gay laughter con- tinued, dying down for a minute, to start up again ; no intimation whatever given as to what name might be attached to this strange-looking personage. Winter disappeared with the removal of the guest's fur coat and cap, and summer, or at least I30 CROWDING MEMORIES early springtime, emerged in the violet tint of the carelessly tied neck-knot, and the light gray of under coat and waistcoat; but for the third one in the group a cold and repellent frost had steadily set in, stiffening and making rigid the face and figure of an inhospitable hostess, who cast reproachful glances at the blameless householder who had taken the un- authorized liberty of bringing home a guest to din- ner. At least in this unjust wise the glances were so interpreted, on account of an incident of a few eve- nings before, when Mr. Aldrich had brought to his fireside an unexpected friend — a friend who in dis- robing for the night must have been surprised to discover many a sundry black-and-blue spot on his white flesh, which the sharp boot-heels of his hostess had administered, when the host had helped himself too generously to a scanty dish of oysters or sweet- meats, which would have been ample for two, but was short rations for three. The dinner of the few days before had produced three surprises — the guest's astonishment at the boot-heels; the hostess's astonishment at the sudden and penetrating glances directed to her by the otherwise well-behaved stran- ger; and the host's surprise, when, in the sanctity of their bedroom, the Irate wife had demanded the reason why her gentle hints had not been acted on; and the mutual surprise and horror when it was dis- covered they had never been received. CROWDING MEMORIES 131 The cocoon of this new strange visitor being cast aside, the little party of three adjourned to the li- brary, where Mr. Aldrich vainly sought to dispel the frosty atmosphere by the genial warmth of the blazing fire; but in spite of his efforts the gay laugh- ter waned as the influence of the wet blanket be- came more perceptible, as the holder of it sat mute and unresponsive to laughter or jest; and cold was the negative that answered Mr. Aldrich 's anxious inquiries if she had a headache, or was ill. When the hands of the clock pointed to the usual dinner hour, no maid appeared with the announce- ment that dinner was served, nor was there any an- swering notice or fellow sympathy to the eye that looked to the mistress of the feast, and then back to the clock, whose hands slowly moved to quar- ter past — half past — quarter of — and then the strange guest arose and said he thought he would go. The adieus were made and accepted, by one with icy formality, which the other member of the fra- ternity tried to make atonement for by an exuber- ant cordiality as he escorted his guest to the door. On his return to the library with unwonted stern- ness he asked why the dinner was three quarters of an hour late, and why the guest had not been asked to stay; his answer was hysterical tears, and in his bewilderment he heard: "How could you have brought a man in that condition to your home, to 132 CROWDING MEMORIES sit at your table, and to meet your wife? Why, he was so intoxicated he could not stand straight; he stammered in his speech — " With these words the tangled knot was cut. Quickly the answer came: "Why, dear, did you not know who he was? What you thought wine was but his mannerisms and idio- syncrasies, characteristics of himself, and bom with Mark Twain." There was silence for the moment, and then louder grew the hysterical sobs, muffling and choking the voice: "Mark Twain! Was that Mark Twain! Oh, go after him, go after him; bring him back and tell him, tell him — O, what can you tell him ! " But it was not until years afterwards that he was told. CHAPTER XIII LOOKING backward over the halcyon days of the next few years are the vague memories of the coming of Bret Harte in his victorious journey from the Pacific to the Atlantic Coast. His poems and stories, especially "The Heathen Chinee," had made of him a celebrity so renowned that the newspapers heralded his progress from city to city in the manner befitting a prince of royal lineage, Mr. Harte was to be the guest of Mr. Howells on that first visit to Boston; Mr. Howells was then the assistant editor of the "Atlantic Monthly," Mr. James T. Fields being the editor-in-chief. Mr. How- ells's account of this visit is so interesting, and throws so much light upon Bret Harte's character, that I tell it as he has told it in his "Literary Friends and Acquaintance": "When the adventurous young editor who had proposed being his host for Boston, while Harte was still in San Francisco, and had not yet begun his princely progress eastward, read of the honors that attended his coming from point to point, his courage fell, as if he perhaps had committed himself in too great an enterprise. Who was he, indeed, that he should think of making this dear son of Memory, great heir of Fame, his guest, especially when he 134 CROWDING MEMORIES heard that in Chicago Harte failed of attending a banquet of honor because the givers of it had not sent a carriage to fetch him to it as the alleged use was in San Francisco? Whether true or not, and it was probably not true in just that form, it must have been this rumor which determined his host to drive into Boston for him with the handsomest hack which the livery of Cambridge afforded, and not trust to the horse cars and the express to get him and his baggage out, as he would have done with a less portentous guest. However it was, he instantly lost all fear when they met at the station, and Harte pressed forward with his cordial hand-clasp as if he was not even a fairy prince, and with that voice and laugh which was surely the most winning in the world. Before they came in sight of the editor's humble roof he had mocked himself to his guest at his trepidation, and Harte with burlesque mag- nanimity had consented to be for that occasion only something less formidable than he had loomed afar. He accepted with joy the theory of passing a week in the home of virtuous poverty, and the week began as delightfully as it went on. Cambridge be- gan very promptly to show him those hospitalities which he could value, and continued the fable of his fairy princellness in the curiosity of those humbler admirers who could not hope to be his hosts or fel- low guests at dinner or luncheon. CROWDING MEMORIES 135 ** It cannot harm him or any one now to own that Harte was nearly always late for those luncheons and dinners which he was always going out to, and it needed the anxieties and energies of both families to get him into his clothes and then into the car- riage, when a good deal of final buttoning must have been done, in order that he might not arrive so very late. He was the only one concerned who was quite unconcerned; his patience with his delays was in- exhaustible; he arrived smiling, serenely jovial, ra- diating a bland gaiety from his whole person, and ready to ignore any discomfort he might have occa- sioned." On Mr. Harte's first day in Boston he dined with the Saturday Club, where he met among others Louis Agassiz, Henry W. Longfellow, James Russell Lowell, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Ralph Waldo Emer- son, and Richard H. Dana, Jr. After a week's stay in Cambridge, Bret Harte returned to New York, and a few days afterwards accepted the offer of James R. Osgood & Company, then publishers of the "Atlantic," to pay him ten thousand dollars during the ensuing year for what- ever he might write in the twelve months, be it much or little. But in despite of the certainty of this income, Bret Harte had not been long in the East before he began to feel the pressure of money difiiculties, from which pressure he, and his father 136 CROWDING MEMORIES before him, was never free; nor would he have been with the wealth of the Indies at his command; for notwithstanding his Hebrew blood, he was a born spendthrift. "The fault's not mine, you understand: God shaped my palm so I can hold But little water in my hand, And not much gold." On a subsequent visit of Mr. Harte's to Boston, I well remember, late on a stormy December night as we were covering with ashes the too bright blaze of the cheerful logs of the living-room fire, the startling sound of the front doorbell, followed by the buoyant, confident tone of Bret Harte at the foot of the stairs, calling: "Are you home, Aldrich? I have come to make a night of it." And then the melodious voice as he ascended the stairs two at a time chanting, "Polly, put the kettle on, Polly put the kettle on, and we'll all have tea." He had been to a dinner and reception given in his honor, and coming gaily into the room he asked for the loan of our spare room for the night, saying that the hotel room was dreary, and that he was in a mood to be happy and gay. We joyfully loaned him the room and the lights — the pajamas and the brushes — and in return he loaned us through all the small hours, until the coming of the dawn, the aroma of his host's choicest cigars. The next morning, still ar- CROWDING MEMORIES 137 rayed in his evening clothes, he went unembarrassed and airily hotelwards. It may be that our house was for him a palladium that night; for a few evenings afterwards with untroubled charm he spoke to a great audience in Tremont Temple, while a sheriff sat behind a screen and waited. Hurried calls were sent to his publisher, who was dining out and difficult to find, so that the lecture had to be lengthened until the rescuer came, and the cue was given that the last word could now be safely spoken; the all- seeing eye had disappeared, and the chair behind the screen was vacant. Another evening is very vivid in my memory, when Mr. Harte came to dinner en famille, or, as he said a friend said to him in California, "En famille, with my family." There was never a more delightful guest or fascinating companion than he was on this night, when, sitting about the round table with the walnuts and the wine, he told in the intimate talk of the boy who at seventeen had decided after the death of his father to go West in search of adventure and fortune. How he had landed in San Francisco without profession or trade, money or prospects, and the life that had opened to him there in his first week. He made to our imagina- tion the picture so vivid that we walked with him along the city front, seeing the dim lines of ware- houses, the unsafe wharves on their rotten piles, 138 CROWDING MEMORIES the two or three ships still standing where a sudden storm had beached them a year or two before. The warehouses where the trunks and boxes of the early forty-niners were stored by the missing and dead owners. We went with him through the Spanish quarter, and saw the Mexican in his crimson sash and velvet jacket; the women in their lace mantillas and their rufifled skirts playing their guitars and danc- ing the chacuca and other dances of their nation. The gambling-saloons and the gaudily dressed and painted women who presided over them. The princi- pal gambling-houses were in the heart of the city and were open every hour of the day and night; the at- mosphere hazy with the scent of tobacco smoke and redolent of the fumes of brandy. The wild music and the jingling of gold and silver were almost the only sounds. Almost everybody played, and in fact the gambling-houses were as clubs for business and pro- fessional men. People staked and lost their last dol- lar, Mr. Harte laughingly said, with a calm solemnity and a resignation that was almost Christian. Every gambling-house, even the poorest on Long Wharf, had its music, and in its pause not a sound could be heard excepting the low murmur of voices and the chinking of the coins which the players shufHed back- ward and forward in their hands. Mr. Harte said that during the first weeks in the new and strange life that had opened up to the boy CROWDING MEMORIES 139 of seventeen, he had tried his luck at gold-finding, and shovelled and picked and worked with the rest of the comrades that worked at his side. Later he discarded the mining tools and was employed as a messenger by the Adams Express Company; drift- ing from that company into the composing-room of the "Golden Era," which at that time was a famous paper, and naturally he began to contribute to its pages. Mr. Harte said he had written "The Hea- then Chinee" at a sitting and thrown it aside. Later, for want of a better thing, it was put in print merely to fill up a space, and that no surprise could be so great as his at the success of the verses when they were copied by almost every newspaper in the United States. Mark Twain was also a fellow worker on the "Era," and became known through its columns. The "Golden Era" was said to be the cradle and the grave of many a high hope of budding genius. Boston possessed, in the winter of 1871-72, a lady of towering social ambition, who, unhappily for her- self, was not of the privileged order, and had never been able to force the gates that barred her from the reigning aristocracy of that city. But if she was lack- ing in grace, she was not in courage, her resourceful spirit proving it when it brought to her mind the sug- gestion that if this Western Lion could be lured to her lair, with what confidence cards of invitation 140 CROWDING MEMORIES could be sent to the doors that had hitherto been sealed to her hospitality. Fortune favored her quest, and the cards of invitation to meet Mr. Bret Harte on a certain evening, brought more acceptances than regrets, for the young author had received much adulation in his triumphal progress from the Pa- cific to the Atlantic, and even the "London News" had an editorial beginning, "America has a New Star." When the eventful night came, and exclusive Bos- ton blue blood had greeted with sufficient hauteur the hostess who had captured the Lion, the long and showy drawing-room was well filled with represent- ative men and women, who met perhaps for the first time socially at a house the chatelaine of which was without the stamp of Vere de Vere — that in- signia being the sine qua non of what was called our best society. Before the evening was half over, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe was asked by Mr. Harte if she would not give him the privilege of hearing from her lips "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Mrs. Howe had a beautiful and highly trained voice, and it was always a pleasure to listen to it. After "The Battle Hymn" Mrs. Howe sang an Italian song and ended with an English ballad, full of pathos. At the finish Mrs. Howe slowly rose from the piano, and the eloquent silence was broken by her hostess's voice at the CROWDING MEMORIES 141 extreme end of the room saying, "Oh, Mrs. Howe, do now sing something comic"! ! ! Among the new friends we were frequently meet- ing, we numbered Mrs. Howe, and many were the pleasant missives sent to our small house. "Ye Aldriches come to-night." And sometimes the mis- sives began, "Dear little flower." Mrs. Howe was not only a poet, but a patriot as well. "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" was sung during the Civil War as often as "America," or "The Star-Spangled Banner." On the happy eve- ning when you were bidden to her house you were sure of meeting a coterie of charming men and women, who sat at her feet with rapt attention while she talked of Goethe and Schiller, or of Kant's phi- losophy. Then suddenly forgetting the serious things of life, her buoyant spirit would overflow with mis- chievous merriment, as she challenged Mr. Aldrich to a battle of wits by propounding problems of arrant nonsense, as confusedly interwoven and tan- gled as are similar paragraphs locked in the pages of "Science and Health." From this evening there were few nights for Mr. Harte without engagements; his charming person- ality making him a most welcome guest. Mr. Harte was at this time in the height of his fame, everybody quoting "The Heathen Chinee," and "Truthful James." Harvard, among the many honors bestowed 142 CROWDING MEMORIES on him, Invited him to deliver the annual Phi Beta Kappa Poem. Mr. Harte accepted the invitation, but apparently did not recognize the dignity of the occasion. He made his appearance in gaudy raiment and wearing green gloves. His poem was as inap- propriate as his dress. Clothes and the man were equally disappointing to Harvard. The poet fully realized the situation, and fled in dismay. CHAPTER XIV LOOKING backward through the mist and dim- ness of the receding past, how happy are the memories of our first visit to Hartford ! I hear with startling clearness voices that have long been silent; through the darkling mist forms take shape; joyous shadows return again to earth, move, speak, and have their being. The invitation of Mr. and Mrs. Clemens for this visit included Mr. Howells and Mr. Osgood. The little party of four who met that bright day at the station were fortunate in possessing the best life gives — happiness, health, freedom from care. As our train moved slowly into the station at Springfield, we saw on the platform Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner, waiting to join their guests, and go with them the rest of the short journey. Mark Twain was then in his golden dawn; he had friends in crowds; he had married the woman he loved, and fame had become a tangible asset. With the same slow and lengthened utterance that had made the old man at his lecture ask, "Be them your natural tones of elo- quence?" — with his waving, undulating motion as he came towards us he said, "Well, I reckon I am pro- digiously glad to see you all. I got up this morning 144 CROWDING MEMORIES and put on a clean shirt, and feel powerful fine. Old Warner there did n't do it, and is darned sorry — said it was a lot of fuss to get himself constructed properly just to show off, and that that bit of a red silk handkerchief on the starboard side of the pocket of his gray coat would make up for it; and I allow it has done it." On the arrival at Hartford we were met by the same carriage and coachman that Mr. Clemens, after he had entered the enchanted land, described to Mr. Redpath, who was urging lecture engagements: '*! guess I am out of the field permanently. Have got a lovely wife, a lovely house, a lovely carriage and a coachman whose style and dignity are simply awe- inspiring — nothing less." Patrick McAleer was accompanied by "George," who was both butler and guardian spirit of the house. George had been the body servant of an army general, and was of the best style of the Southern negro of that day. With much formality we were presented to him by Mr. Clemens, who said: "George came one day to wash windows ; he will stay for his lifetime. His morals are defective; he is a gambler — will bet on anything. I have trained him so that now he is a proficient liar — you should see Mrs. Clemens's joy and pride when she hears him lying to the newspaper correspondent, or the visitor at the front door." We dined the evening of our arrival at the War- CROWDING MEMORIES 145 ners', in a room so vivid in memory that the scent of the flowers still lingers. The conservatory was on the same level as the dining-room and opened into it, and was as a midsummer out-of-door garden, with its tangle of vines and flowers. The plants were set in the ground, the vines climbed up and overhung the roof, and the fountain, with lilies at the base, made fairy music. Never again can there be such talk as scintillated about the table that night. Howells, Clemens, Al- drich, and Warner made a quartette that was in- comparable. To my remembrance comes the descrip- tion which years afterwards Mr. Clemens gave Mr. Stevenson of Mr. Aldrich and which only inade- quately conveys the brilliancy of his talk when he was in the vein. Mr. Clemens said: "Mr. Aldrich has never had his peer for prompt and pithy and witty and humorous sayings. None has equalled him, certainly none has surpassed him in the felic- ity of phrasing with which he clothes those children of his fancy. Aldrich is always brilliant ; he can't help it; he is a fire opal set round with rose diamonds; when he is not speaking, you know that his dainty fancies are twinkling and glimmering around in him ; when he speaks the diamonds flash. Yes, he is al- ways brilliant; he will be brilliant in hell, you will see." Stevenson, smiling a chuckly smile, said, "I hope not." "Well, you will, and he will dim even 146 CROWDING MEMORIES those ruddy fires and look like a transfigured Adonis backed against a pink sunset." When the guests returned to the Clemens house- hold, it was not until the small hours of the night that it was voted to adjourn and go to bed. But long before that, Mr. Howells, with eyes suffused with tears, had pleaded with Mrs. Aldrich to use her influence to make Mr. Aldrich abstain from any more provocative speech. Mr. Howells said he could not bear it longer, he was ill with laughter, and that for friendship's sake Aldrich must be muffled and checked. Let the others talk, but beg him to keep still. The next morning, as we were dressing and talk- ing of the pleasant plans of the day, there was a loud and rather authoritative knock at the bedroom door, and Mr. Clemens's voice was heard, saying, "Aldrich, come out, I want to speak to you." The other occupant of the room wrapped her kimono round her more closely, and crept to the door, for evidently something of serious import was happening, or about to happen. The words overheard were most disquieting. Twain's voice had its usual calmness and slowness of speech, but was lacking in the kindly, mellow quality of its accustomed tone, as he said: "In Heaven's name, Aldrich, what are you doing? Are you emulating the kangaroos, with hob-nails in your shoes, or trying the jumping-frog business? CROWDING MEMORIES 147 Our bedroom is directly under yours, and poor 'Livy and her headache — do try to move more quietly, though 'Livy would rather suffer than have you give up your game on her account." Then the sound of receding footsteps. Our consternation was as great as our surprise at the reprimand, for we had been unconscious of walking heavily, or of making unnecessary noise. The bedroom was luxurious in its appointments, the rugs soft on the floor; we could only surmise that the floor boards had some peculiar acoustic quality that emphasized sound. On tiptoe we finished our toilets, and spoke only in whispers, much disturbed in mind that we had troubled our hostess, and hoped she knew that we would not willingly have added to her headache even the weight of a hummingbird's wing. When the toilets were finished, slowly and softly we went down the stairs and into the breakfast room, where, behind the large silver coffee urn, sat Mrs. Clemens. With sorrowful solicitude we asked if her headache was better, and begged forgiveness for adding to her pain. To our amazement she an- swered, "I have no headache." In perplexed con- fusion we apologized for the noise we inadvert- ently made. ''Noise!" Mrs. Clemens replied. '*We have not heard a sound. If you had shouted we should not have known it, for our rooms are in another wing of the house." At the other end of 148 CROWDING MEMORIES the table Mark Twain sat, looking as guileless as a combination of cherubim and seraphim — never a word, excepting with lengthened drawl, more slow than usual, "Oh, do come to your breakfast, Aldrich, and don't talk all day." It was a joyous group that came together at the table that morning, and loud was the laughter, and rapid the talk, excepting Mrs. Clemens, who sat rather quiet, and with an expression of face as if she were waiting. Suddenly Mr. Clemens brought the laughter to a pause with his rap on the table, and then, with resonant and deep-toned voice, speak- ing even more slowly than usual, he asked God's blessing and help for the day. The words were ap- parently sincere, and spoken with reverent spirit, but we who listened were struck with the same sur- prised wonder as was the companion of his rougher days, Joe Goodman, who came East to visit them, and was dumbfounded to see Mark Twain ask a blessing and join in family worship. Nothing could have so clearly shown his adoration of Mrs. Clemens as this. He worshipped her as little less than a saint, and would have "hid her needle in his heart to save her little finger from a scratch." Mrs. Clemens, in these early days of their married life, was a woman of deep religious feeling, and Mr. Clemens at this time had no particular doctrines of his own, so that it did not require much persuasion CROWDING MEMORIES 149 on Mrs, Clemens's part for her husband to yield to her wishes. Later they both drifted very far from creeds and sects. In 1867, on the steamship Quaker City, Mr. Clemens had seen in young Mr. Charles Langdon's room a miniature of his sister, Olivia. At the first sight of the pictured face it possessed for Mr. Clemens the magnetism and influence that the lovely original was to have for him throughout his life. It drew and held him with insistent force, and often he went to young Langdon's room to again look upon the face that had grown so dear. Mr. Clemens said to me, that "from the day of his first sight of that delicate face to this, he could truly say, she had never been out of his mind." It was on this memorable transatlantic cruise that one of those "Marchaunt Adventurers" was to create a book, the fame of which would extend all over the world. Henry Ward Beecher, Lieutenant-General Sher- man, and General Banks were expected to be of the party, but for some reason did not materialize. This was Mr. Clemens's first year of literary recog- nition on the Atlantic Coast. He had published in the "Golden Era" "The Jumping Frog," and fol- lowed it by several notable papers written in his special vein. He had heard, while waiting in the shipping office of the Quaker City, a newspaper man I50 CROWDING MEMORIES ask what notables were going on the cruise, and had heard the answer of the clerk, given with evident pride, Lieutenant-General Sherman, Henry Ward Beecher, and Mark Twain. Mr. Clemens was at this time thirty-one or two years old ; a sparely built man of medium height ; a finely shaped, classical head, covered with thick, shaggy, red-colored hair; a mustache of the same tawny hue; eyes which glimmered, keen and twin- kling, under overhanging, bushy eyebrows, each hair of which ruffled itself, taking part with unwarrant- able intrusion in Mr. Clemens's moods, were they grave or gay. Once, in my remembrance, so belliger- ent and fierce was their aspect, that his listener, who had the temerity to differ with the views he was expressing, begged the privilege of brushing the eyebrows down, that she might have courage to continue with the argument. The years which Mr. Clemens had passed on the Mississippi, and the rough life of California, lacked greatly the refining influence of a different civili- zation. With that sharp schooling he had become too well acquainted with all the coarser types of human nature. He was bom with a marvellous gift of phrase, and his one-time friends could not resist the temptation of developing his profanity to an in- comparable perfection. He said to a friend who re- monstrated with him on the habit, "In certain try- CROWDING MEMORIES 151 ing circumstances, desperate circumstances, urgent circumstances, profanity furnishes a relief denied even to prayer." After the return from the Atlantic cruise, Mr. Clemens was invited by young Mr. Langdon to dine with his people at the St. Nicholas Hotel, in New York. The invitation was eagerly accepted, for it meant for him the realization of his dream. The delicate face of the miniature in young Langdon 's cabin had from the first day of seeing it been ever present in his thought. Olivia Langdon was twenty-two years old at the time of the first meeting. A slender, girlish figure, with the little touch of appeal in her smile which long confinement to a sick-room brings. She was un- doubtedly to Mr. Clemens a type of woman hitherto unknown. Mr. Anson Burlingame, a year before this meeting, had given Mr. Clemens the needed and convincing advice, to seek companionship among men of superior intellect and character; to refine himself ; his work ; always to climb ; never to affiliate with inferiors. From this advice the knowledge was bom that life meant something higher than he had yet known; but in despite of Mr. Clemens's desire for better things, he was still a man untrained and unpolished; the customs of the frontier still held him fast. Miss Langdon 's nature, in its gentleness, culture, 152 CROWDING MEMORIES spirituality, was the antithesis of his. Later, when this novel and unusual Westerner wooed and won this white and fragile flower (for so she always seemed), the men of her world said, "We did not dare to speak of love to her, she seemed as if she so lightly touched earth, belonging to another sphere." At sixteen years of age. Miss Langdon had fallen on the ice and seriously injured her spine. For the next two years she was confined to her bed, a pathetic invalid, unable to sit even when supported ; unable to lie in any position upon her back. Mr. Langdon felt his wealth was as sand to be scattered to the four winds, if by its use relief could be brought. Great physicians and surgeons were summoned to her bedside; but she failed steadily, until even hope was dead. Among the many mechanical devices for her relief in position was a pulley attached to the ceiling and to her bed, raising her so slowly, and almost imperceptibly, that it was an hour before she could be brought to a half-reclining position; even with that gentle movement she became un- conscious. The physician dared not attempt the venture again. After two years of helpless suffering, one day a half-sheet of paper was blown in at an open door, and fluttered to Mrs. Langdon's feet. It was a poorly printed advertisement of marvellous restoration to health by the laying on of hands ; the blind seeing; the lame walking; the deaf hearing. CROWDING MEMORIES 153 Mrs. Langdon read the soiled bit of paper with in- credulous mind; but notwithstanding her unbelief, the mother love grasped at the straw. Taking the sheet of paper to Mr. Langdon, she asked him to read it, and as he read she said: "The laying on of hands was a miracle in our Saviour's day; pray God to grant a miracle in this. Physicians, surgeons, edu- cation, science — all have failed us, all have proved futile; hope itself is vanished." An appointment was made with Dr. Newton for the next day. He came into the darkened room, and as he entered said, "Have light; throw up the cur- tains; open wide the windows." Approaching the bed, he bent over the pale face and the slight figure lying there, murmuring a short prayer; then in low voice he said: "Daughter, be of good comfort, ac- cording to your faith be it unto you. I put my arms about you and bid you sit up." Earnest was the dissent of the watchers at the bedside. They told the danger, the pain, the long unconsciousness that had followed the experiment ; the strict orders of the physicians that it must never be repeated. The low voice answered, "My arms are still about you; sit up." Slowly, and with vague eyes the slender form obeyed. The girl who had lain helpless on that bed for two years sat erect and still. A few moments of unbroken silence passed, and then in the sound- less room the voice was heard again. "My arm is 154 CROWDING MEMORIES still about you; He down." Naturally and quietly the body relaxed, the head sank to the white pil- lows. For a moment the strange Healer stood mo- tionless, then bending over the bed said, "Sleep well to-night; to-morrow I will come." And was gone before any there were sufficiently aroused from their astonishment to intercept him. The next day the Healer again came to the bed- side, and said to the sick girl, "Arise, put your foot to the floor and stand." The following day, at the farthest end of the room, he placed a chair, asking the invalid to go to it. When she was seated, the Healer said: "Health and strength will now abide with you. Sickness and pain are banished." Leaving the girl still sitting in the chair, the Healer went slowly from the room. Mr. Langdon, marvelling greatly, followed, saying: "What can I offer you that will induce you to stay and watch over my sick child?" The Healer, slowly turning, said: *"0 thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?' I want neither gold nor silver. My sick and suffering call me, and I must go to do the work that waits for me to do." After the meeting in New York of the Langdon family, an invitation was given to Mr. Clemens to visit the household at any time he found it con- venient. Many of Mr. Clemens's lecture engage- ments were in the State of New York, so that often CROWDING MEMORIES 155 he could avail himself of the privilege. There had been a gay and happy week spent in the Langdon home, and in that week Mr. Clemens more fully realized how irreclaimably all his hopes and dreams — his ambition and desire — were centred on the girl whose pictured face had so strongly drawn and held him. On the morning of the last day of the visit, Mr. Clemens said to young Langdon: "My week is up, and I must go. I ought to go. I am in love with your sister." There was a pause for a moment; then young Langdon, much distressed, said: "Don't wait. There is a train in half an hour. I will get you to it." But Mr. Clemens refused the offer, and young Langdon had to be content with the promise that Mr. Clemens would be prudent, watchful, and wary, and would go that night. But when night came, and the adieus were said, there was an accident to the wagon as it started from the door — young Langdon and his guest came down with force on the paved street. Neither of the pas- sengers was hurt, but an inspiration was bom to Mr. Clemens — the opportunity to prolong his visit ; and it was two weeks later before he "allowed " that he was quite strong enough to resume his lec- tures. When the lecturer set out again on his trav- els, there was a provisional engagement to Miss Langdon. When her father asked Mr. Clemens for the names 156 CROWDING MEMORIES of some of his San Francisco friends, that he might write to them for credentials, he gave among others the name of Mr. Joe Goodman, who was owner and editor-in-chief of "The Enterprise," one of the most remarkable frontier papers ever published. In giving the name of Mr. Goodman, Mr. Clemens added that "he had lied for Goodman a hundred times, and Goodman would lie for him if necessary, so his testimony would be of no value." At the time of this joyous visit in Hartford, Olivia Langdon had been married four years. She was no longer the inexperienced, retiring girl that had loved the shadow of life and found her happiness in its shade. The visit to Europe, the association with the brilliant men and women she met there, had greatly enlarged her vision, awakening her fully to the re- sponsibility she had assumed. She took with quiet and simple dignity her place, and guided with won- derful tact a nature so untrained and undisciplined, so filled with wild and savage impulses, that a less angelic and courageous soul would often have shrunk from the self-appointed task. But always to help and sustain her was the knowledge of his idolizing love for her. He soon learned to realize her rare literary perception, and always, as far as she was able, she encouraged him to give only his best to the world. In an early letter to Mr. Twichell, Mr. Clemens in a characteristic way speaks of this new influence. '?^ ■A CROWDING MEMORIES 157 "Originally I quit [smoking] on 'Livy's account. Not that I believe that there was the faintest reason in the matter, but just as I would deprive myself of sugar in my coffee If she wished it, or quit wearing socks if she thought them immoral." Out of those far-off days are two indelible pic- tures in my memories of the last morning and eve- ning of our happy visit: the assembling of the guests at the breakfast table, and while we waited the entrance of our hostess, Mr. Clemens, with sober face and his inimitable drawl, telling his night ex- perience, with the orders for the next day. The eve- ning before, Mrs. Clemens had been speaking of her consternation In finding she had misspelled a word in a formal note, and said it had always been a great mortification to her that she could not spell; that the sound of a word left her helpless as to the spell- ing of it, and that, for Mr. Clemens's sake, she should not be allowed to write even the simplest note unless he looked it over. While she was speak- ing there glimmered and twinkled in Mr. Clemens's eye a laughing imp that boded mischief. Mr. Clemens said, "I had just fallen into * the first sweet sleep of dawn,' when this murmur reached my ear: 'Mark, do tell me how to spell sardines.' I replied, "Livy, for God's sake, don't let them think down in the city that you are destitute of general in- formation in regard to spelling. How did you spell 158 CROWDING MEMORIES sardines?' And she told me. Then I got up and opened the window and picked up her poor little scrap of paper, which she had left on the ledge for the market-boy to take in the morning, on which she had written her wish for extra milk, and a small box of sardines. I brought the bit of paper to the bedside and said, 'Here, Love, is your pen and ink. Just put an " h " at the end of your sardines, then we can both lie down in peace to sleep, and in the morning when the market-man reads your paper, he will know you know how to spell the fish, al- though the "h" is always silent.' And God forever bless her! she wrote it. But if she ever discovers that in that spelling I was wrong, why, the china and I will fly." Mr. Howells, in his sketch of Mr. Clemens, says: "It was part of his joke to pretend a violence in that gentlest creature which the more amusingly realized the situation to their friends." The last evening of that visit in Hartford is as clear and vivid as if the men and women that clus- tered about the blazing fire in the long red-curtained room that night had not now passed into shadowy phantoms, but lived still sentient with life and hap- piness. It was voted at dinner that the company would not disband until the genial morn appeared, and that there should be at midnight a wassail brewed. CROWDING MEMORIES 159 The rosy apples roasted at the open fire, the wine and sugar added, and the ale — but at this point Mrs. Clemens said, "Youth, we have no ale." There was a rapid exit by Mr. Clemens, who reappeared in a moment in his historic sealskin coat and cap, but still wearing his low-cut evening shoes. He said he wanted a walk, and was going to the village for the ale and should shortly return with the ingredient. Deaf, absolutely deaf, to Mrs. Clemens's earnest voice, that he should at least wear overshoes that snowy night, he disappeared. In an incredibly short time he reappeared, excited and hilarious, with his rapid walk in the frosty air — very wet shoes, and no cap. To Mrs. Clemens's inquiry, "Youth, what have you done with your cap?" there was a hurried search in all his pockets, a blank and sur- prised look on his face, as he said: "Why, I am afraid I have thrown it away. I remember being very warm and taking it off, carrying it in my hand, and now I do remember, at such a turn in the road, my hand feeling a strain of position, opening it and throwing away in the darkness something in my hand that caused the sensation." Then, In real anxiety, "'Livy, do you think it could have been my cap?" Mr. Clemens was sent for George, with Mrs. Clemens's instruction that George should carefully retrace Mr. Clemens's footsteps in the quest for the i6o CROWDING MEMORIES mislaid cap, and also to see that Mr. Clemens put on dry shoes. When the culprit returned, the wet low- shoes had been exchanged for a pair of white cow- skin slippers, with the hair outside, and clothed in them, with most sober and smileless face, he twisted his angular body into all the strange contortions known to the dancing darkies of the South. In this wise the last day of the joyous, jubilant visit came to the close. Untroubled by the flight of time I still can hear a soft and gentle tone, "Youth, O Youth!" for so she always called him. CHAPTER XV IN the first years of Mr. Aldrich's marriage, many happy hours were passed in his "Castle in Spain " with European guide-books and itineraries much in evidence, but not until the autumn of 1874 did the plans take definite shape. "One dearest sight I have not seen, It almost seems a wrong; A dream I had when life was new. Alas, our dreams! they come not true: I thought to see fair Carcassonne — That lovely city — Carcassonne!" The ocean voyage and the journey in Europe in the seventies was a serious adventure, bringing to the traveller something of the same distinction as that which enshrines the Turkish pilgrim who makes the pilgrimage to Mecca, and by so doing earns the right to have a certain form of turban cut upon his tomb. In a drizzling rain-storm on the afternoon of the 24th of March, 1875, we went on board the Cunard steamer Abyssinia. "All for adventure in the great New Regions, All for Eldorado and to sail the world around." The hearts of the Adventurers were heavy on that sombre day on which they were outward bound, i62 CROWDING MEMORIES for the memory of two little faces and the pressure of warm Hps had its insistent pain. The letter of fare- well which the jocund sprites indited and sent to the steamer did not serve to lessen the heartache. ^ ■''^^^^"^'T-^^i^ -^ .^ you. ^<^^ Xy^ -^Xz^ t^ ^ •^-^^^c^^oieg Cottg ouj- At i» ocVocK The Abyssinia was one of the largest of the Royal Mail steamships, and although she was but one twelfth of the size of the present Olympic she seemed a Leviathan to our unaccustomed eyes. A small group of friends had come aboard to wish us . God-speed and bon voyage; of that group none are more distinct in memory than Mr. Bayard Taylor, CROWDING MEMORIES 163 who had sent us a box of **HeidsIeck," pronouncing it the best cure for mal de mer, and insisting that it must be rescued from the steward's care and placed where it would be close at hand. Very clear is the picture of Mr. Taylor, standing in the little cabin (which was much too small for his big body) and en- gineering with the skill of a general that precious package to a supposedly safe haven under the berth, where it remained unopened, but not unthought of, during its erratic excursions with the steamer trunks and bags, backwards and forwards, the length and breadth of our cabin through the terrible days and hours of that "Ocean Sea." At the sound of a gong, and the loud call through the ship, "All for the shore," Mr. Taylor hurried back to the cabin with this parting Injunction to the venturesome mariner he found there: "Before the ship makes a revolution, go into your berth and stay there for twenty-four hours. By taking a recumbent position the system adapts itself to the motion of the sea, and you will probably escape the disagree- able effect of an uneven keel." Mr. Taylor's reputation as a traveller was great ; there could be no hesitation in accepting the advice ; so although it was but two o'clock in the day, the straight and cofHn-like berth held its unwilling occu- pant, and when, soon afterwards, Mr. Aldrich hur- ried below, saying, "We have started; come up and .r..| ckowniNC MiiMokii'-S sec (licuccdiii)^ shoti'S," \\v loimd l(>iu liih^yrs, asliip- sli.iju' CI I (ill, i\i\{\ c\viy{\\'\\n\ vc:\{\y loi- I lie si(\i>(* Mrs. S(*>\vr luul loK'lold. " I )()ir( lr;i\i' so miicli .is (lu* un- locking of a l:i"niiU ((» lu- dont" .illn s.iiliiir,. In lliflrw pit'cions (ncnitiils when (lie jiliip sl.mds slill, IxIdk^ she \vci>;Iis .inclior, srl yoni' lionst-, lli.il is (o s.in' yonr st.ilcMnoin. .i,s ninch in okKm" as il > on wcic I'.oini', (o In- Ii.niiM'd; pl.icc <'\(M \ilnnr. in {\\r mos( coiiNciiicnl position (o |)(' sti. rd williont Ironhic .i( .1 moiiu-nl's iiotifr; lor lie stnr in Ii.\ll an honi .iKri sailinj;. ai\ in- linilc desperation will s(M/t' yon in which lh(> n.iss. hopptM'wiii he a hnrdrn. IT anything is in >(Mii 1 1 iink, il iiiir.hl almost as well l»r in tiie s«m, lor any pioh- aI>iiit>"ol > t>ni" i4(>t t iny, toil." The walls of this litlK< cabin in which we were" iinn\nn>d were .stained a sickiMiini; Inn- ol laded nnislard \cllow, wilh wa\>', /ijyaj; li^e^; ol li)dit(M* shad«' iiilciidcd lo ici>iesent the natnial r.iain ol the wood. Hnilt in the coiner ol tlu> room was ;i hi ackel on which reslitl a ho\ conlaininy; a small oil lamp en- cnsed in frosttMl v^lass. and y^i\iiu> ii^ the twocahins it was fiiipposed to illiimiiiale a tlim, u-liiMoiis lir.ht ; a wash-stand hrld a ewt-r and howl, det-oialcd wilh a i;(M>metric pattern (»r dinii>' hrown, and \\a?; il h>r econom\',s sak*- that all the china (»l the ship was idciil i«al wilh the ewer,'> .ind how Is ol I he ca him' Two poi I holes added lo I he r.ciui al idoom, I he w alei dash- iiu< avMiii;;! them and datkeiiinr the hllle lirlil lA CROWDING MEMORIES 165 day. But these ills were as nothing against the in- describable scent that took possession of the olfac- tory nerves and penetrated every fibre of wood in the pristine steamboats. Towels and napkins, cups and saucers, plates and curtains, all were inoculated with an odor so odious "that all the perfumes of Arabia will [could] not sweeten." Mr. Aldrich had looked forward eagerly to the days on shipboard. He had spent many hours on his uncle's yacht and had been a fair-weather sailor; keen was his disappointment that the chair by his side on deck for the first twenty-four hours would be vacant ; frequent were the visits and stirring the talcs brought to the cofhn-like berth in those first hours. The captain, the passengers, the smoking-room and the deck, the enormous size of the ship, and all the details of the environment; but when the voyager strayed into the dining-hall his imagination was made captive by the splendors of the confectionery art, the castles and turrets, the sweetmeats and cakes; a "bill of fare" had been secured and two earnest plotters conspired as to what viands should descend that evening to the small stateroom. But before the call for dinner was sounded, the occupant of the berth had rescinded her order for the "cakes and ale," substituting a request for tea and toast, and had also urged the stewardess to interview the ship's doctor, and beg the privilege of having the dim i66 CROWDING MEMORIES light in the corner continue, a glow-worm through the night, for the ship had begun to rock from side to side with a dizzy, continuous motion that was not at all reassuring. Long before the sumptuous repast in the dining- saloon was half finished, the tea and toast had been imperatively waved away; abject misery had set in; the only palliative would be Mr. Aldrich's presence, for had he not assured the sufferer that he was never sick at sea, and should she be so unfortunate as to be ill, his days and nights would be devoted to her service? After what seemed months of misery, a phantom bearing an outward semblance to Mr. Aldrich entered the room. The face had grown sharp and thin and deathlike in its pallor; the voice that uttered the words, " I have been so ill," was weak and languid; and then, "If I can live to climb into that upper berth — God pity us both and pity us all." With this, the heroic effort was made, and boots, overcoat, gloves, and hat vanished from sight, and only the creaking and groaning of the boards over her head told the sufferer that the other Adventurer still lived. For eleven days and nights the agony did not abate. Once in the night a child's voice rang out in the silence, "Oh, Mother, please won't you keep the boat still for just five minutes ! " I am sure that all who listened voiced that prayer; but the sea was CROWDING MEMORIES 167 obdurate; it had nearly solved the problem of per- petual motion. In these awful days the blithe and joyous spirit of Mr. Aldrich suffered a temporary eclipse, a sea change into something new and strange. His policy of life became like lago's: " Demand me nothing: From this time forth I never will speak word!" One sen- tence did for all his needs: "Don't let that steward speak to me. I want to be let alone. It is hellish!" And so the days and hours passed until at last we came into St. George's Channel, where the sea was beautifully smooth, and we had visions of green fields. Captain Hains sent that evening a peremptory order that the two seats at his table must no longer be vacant. The effort was made, and two wan spec- tres appeared at the entrance of the dinlng-saloon. I have a dim remembrance of a way being made for us through a crowd of people sitting on a red- cushioned bench that was built against the side of the ship the entire length of the saloon, the closed ports at regular distances above it. The cushioned bench served for a lounglng-place through the day when not occupied as seats at the dining-table. The other side of the table had the ordinary chairs turn- ing on pivots ; much more desirable were these chairs than the bench, where one must take the perilous journey over the red cushions, behind the backs of the persons seated thereon, to arrive at the allotted i68 CROWDING MEMORIES place. Sometimes the fellow passengers were con- siderate and moved ; sometimes they sat very tight, so that the traverser had to step over a spine or two before sliding down into the waiting place. There was much laughter and animated talk at the Captain's table that night, Mr. Aldrich having re- covered his spirits. I remember an inimitable, funny, whimsically fantastic, speech of his, against the sea, and the very evident disapproval of the English clergyman who sat erect and rigid opposite, and of his finally saying, with much solemnity, "Mr. Al- drich, God made the sea, the sea is His, He made it." ''Yes," said Mr. Aldrich, "but He did not like it very well, you will remember, when He was on it, for He got out and walked." A few hours later the Abyssinia's engines ceased to throb, — the voyage was over. Coming towards us was the little steam tender, the Otter, which the steward pronounced "the Hotter," and said it would soon take us "hoff." A short run up the Mersey River, and then adieu to ship and sea for half a year. There was an enjoyable supper at the North-West- ern Hotel, in Liverpool, and at midnight we took the train to Chester, the city of which Mr. Haw- thorne said, " I felt at last as if I had had a glimpse of Old England. I must go again and again to Ches- ter, for I suppose there is not a more curious place in the world." CROWDING MEMORIES 169 " It seems almost an Irish bull to say that one can be in London only once for the first time. In other places you may renew first impressions. A city on the Continent always remains a foreign city to you, no matter how often you visit it ; but that first time in London is an experience which can never be made to repeat itself." Mr. Aldrich has told so delightfully of those first days that I copy from his printed page: **In London there is a kind of hotel of which we have no counterpart in the United States. This hotel is usually located in some semi-aristocratic side street, and wears no badge of its servitude beyond a large, well-kept brass door-plate, bearing the legend 'Jones's Hotel' or 'Brown's Hotel,' as the case may be ; but be it Brown or Jones, he has been dead at least fifty years, and the establishment is conducted by Robinson. There Is no coffee-room or public dining-room, or even office, in this hotel ; your meals are served in your apartments; the furniture is solid and comfortable, the attendance admirable, the cuisine unexceptionable, and the bill abominable. But for ease, quietness, and a sort of 181 2 odor of respectability, this hotel has nothing to compare with it in the wide world. It is here, above all, that you will be brought in contact with Smith. "It was on our arrival in London, one April after- noon, that the door of what looked like a private 170 CROWDING MEMORIES mansion, in Dover Street, was thrown open to us by a boy broken out all over with buttons. Behind this boy stood Smith. I call him simply Smith for two reasons: in the first place, because it is convenient to do so, and in the second place, because that is what he called himself. I wish it were as facile a matter to explain how this seemingly unobtrusive person in- stantly took possession of us, bullied us with his use- fulness, and knocked us down with his urbanity. From the moment he stepped forward to relieve us of our hand-luggage, we were his — and remained his until that other moment, some weeks later, when he handed us our parcels again, and stood statu- esque on the doorstep, with one finger lifted to his forehead in decorous salute, as we drove away. "Smith is a man of about forty, but so unassum- ing that I do not think he would assume to be so old or so young as that. He is always in evening dress, and wears white cotton gloves, which set your teeth on edge, during dinner service. He is a person whose gravity of deportment is such as to lend seriousness to the coal-scuttle when he replenishes the parlor fire. Smith's respect for you, at least its outward manifestation, is accompanied by a deep, unexpressed respect for himself. He not only knows his own place, but he knows yours, and holds you to it. He can wrap up more pitying disapprobation in a scarcely perceptible curl of his nether lip than another man CROWDING MEMORIES 171 could express in a torrent of words. I have gone about London a whole forenoon with one of Smith's thin smiles clinging like a blister to my consciousness. "Our purpose in London was to see the sights, to visit all those historic buildings and monuments and galleries which were wrested from us by the war of 1776. We were struck, and then began to be appalled, by the accuracy, minuteness, and comprehensive- ness of Smith's knowledge of London. It was ency- clopaedic. He was a vitalized time-table of railroads and coaches and steamboats, a walking, breathing directory to all the shops, parks, churches, mu- seums, and theatres of the bewildering Babylon. He had, stamped on his brain, a map of all the tangled omnibus routes, he knew the best seats in every place of amusement, the exact moment the performance began in each, and could put his finger without hesitating a second on the very virtuoso's collection you wanted to examine. Before we discovered his almost wicked amplitude of information, we used to consult him touching intended pilgrimages, but shortly gave it up, finding that our provincial plans generally fell cold upon him. He was almost amused, one day, at our desire to ascertain the whereabouts of that insignificant house in Cheapside — it is No. 17, if I remember — in which Keats wrote his sonnet on Chapman's Homer. Our New World curios- ity as to certain localities which possess no interest 172 CROWDING MEMORIES whatever to the Londoner must often have struck Smith as puerile. His protest or his disapproval — I do not know how to name it — was always so eva- nescent and shadowy that he cannot be said to have expressed it; it was something in his manner, and not in his words — something as vague as a fleeting breath on a window-glass; but it dampened us. f "The earliest part of our acquaintanceship was fraught with mutual perplexities. It was the longest time before we discovered that ay ill meant Hay Hill Street, Smith making a single mouthful of it, thus — ayill. One morning he staggered us by asking if we would like 'a hapricot freeze' for dessert. We assented, and would have assented if he had proposed iced hippopotamus ; but the nature of the dish was a mystery to us, and perhaps never, \ since the world took shape out of chaos, was there a simple mould of apricot jelly looked forward to in such poignant suspense." \ \ CHAPTER XVI SOON after our arrival at Brown's, Smith found active use for his highly polished tray. Mr. Aldrich had a number of old and new friends living in London, and many were the notes, letters, and cards that found a temporary resting-place on its bright surface. Among the many notes that were laid there one foggy morning was one which brought to its recipients a throb of nervous excitement that the yellowing paper still retains. "Dear Mrs. Aldrich: " I was greatly disappointed in not finding you at home when I called yesterday. Will you, and Mr. Aldrich, give us the pleasure of your company at dinner, on Sunday next, at eight o'clock? I hope you have no other engagement for that evening. If you are free, and can come to us, we would like to ask Mr. Browning, Mr. Huxley, Mr. Hughes, and a few other friends to meet you. With eager anticipation of soon meeting, believe me, "Sincerely "Phcebe Garnant Smalley" An affirmative answer to the note was at once dispatched, and during the busy hours of the week 174 CROWDING MEMORIES many a tremulous thought was given to the ex- pectant meeting. When the eventful evening came, Smith was sharply catechized as to the exact time it would take a hansom to traverse the distance that lay between Brown's and the Smalleys' residence. There had been serious calculations as to which dress would be more becoming to the wearer — black satin, relieved with light blue, or white bro- cade, the two being the extent of evening gowns provided for the journey. After the merits of the two had been unduly weighed, the odds were in favor of the white. / Mr. George Washburn Smalley, since his choice of occupation as a newspaper correspondent, had revolutionized the work in his special line, and had become one of the world's leading men, and at this time was an international character, a confidant of diplomats and rulers. Mr. Smalley had made his reputation in our Civil War when his reports were often the first to convey to Washington the news of operations in the field; but it was not entirely as a newspaper correspondent that Mr. Smalley gained his reputation — he was a critic in art, music, and the drama, he had the entree of the highest circles of the social life of England, was the confidant of Gladstone and the intimate of many prominent men on the Continent. It was said in London, if one wished to find the American Embassy, it would CROWDING MEMORIES 175 be found at Mr. Smalley's house in Chester Square. A clock in the distance was striking eight, as Mr. Aldrich, with lighted taper, was endeavoring to de- cipher under which of the two bells at the right and left of the door would be inscribed, "Visitors"; his imagination had conjured up with appalling horror what the result might be if he should ring the one under which "Servants" was inscribed. When the "Visitors" bell was found, and rung, there was a long wait, and then suddenly a most impressive vision greeted our waiting eyes : a figure tall and imposing, red velvet waistcoat, flutter of lace, powdered wig, white silk stockings, and dia- mond buckles on his black shoes. With calm and lordly manner he allowed his eye to glance over the cowed and humble subjects who waited his invita- tion to enter — perhaps he had overheard the muf- fled whisper breathed into Mr. Aldrich's ear, " Is it, oh, is it, the King!!" A deft and pretty maid with practised art took wraps and scarfs, and then the lordly personage waved us towards the stairs. At the landing another royal personage, clothed in equally regal splendor, waved us forward, announcing in stentorian tones: "Mr. and Mrs. Aldrich." It was a large square room, or so it seemed; at the end was an open grate lighted by one piece of cannel coal which burnt with a flickering flame; in front of this flame stood our 176 CROWDING MEMORIES host and hostess, two lads In black Eton jackets and white collars (a new costume to our eyes) ; evidently some misdemeanor had been committed, and the case was under severe examination. The startled expression of Mr. and Mrs. Smalley when our names were called, and the sudden disappearance of the culprits, whose elimination from the scene was much more marvellous than the vanishing of the dis- appearing lady we had seen and wondered at in "England's Home of Mystery," at a maskelyne en- tertainment the night before. An inexpressible some- thing in the atmosphere made us conscious that in some way we had made a misstep, a social error. In our ignorance of London convention we had arrived too soon (why had we not asked Smith?) — not knowing that the hour given for dinner meant the hour of starting, and not the hour for arriving. As Mr. and Mrs. Smalley moved quickly towards us, one glance showed how true had been Mr. Aldrich's description of the charming personality. The same lithe, slender figure, the dark hair and eyes, the white skin, the black satin gown emphasizing its beauty. Her only ornaments were some red and yellow tulips worn at the breast, and which swayed and trembled at her breath, as a lover would. With frank and winning smile she spoke the words of welcome, and as Mr. Aldrich turned to Mr. Smalley, with caressing touch of hand she said, "I am so CROWDING MEMORIES 177 glad you wore white." The words in themselves were simple, but what mysterious and unexplained mean- ing did they have to the one who spoke them? There was time for a few moments' pleasant talk with host and hostess before the quiet was broken in upon by the stentorian voice at the door, announc- ing Lord and Lady , The Right Honorable Mrs. , Mr. and Mrs. , the names following hard upon each other, as the bearers made their formal entrance into the drawing-room. The rapid arrival of the guests gave an uninter- rupted moment to ask Mr. Aldrich what could be the unintelligible meaning of the words, "I am so glad you wore white." And also to say, "How lovely she is. How can you bear it?" There was a quick little pressure of the hand that lay near him, as he answered, ''By grinding my teeth, and thinking of the twins." For the moment all conversation was suspended by the call of Lady , and the breezy entrance of this lady of quality (one of the ladies- in-waiting of the Queen) . She wore a bright peacock- blue velvet dress. Her entrance was met by a chorus of voices, all with intonation of great sur- prise, "Why, Lady 1" She made a little rush for shelter towards her hostess, whose hand she grasped and held as she said : " I have a dreadful cold, and this gown was the only one I possess that was not very decollete, and I could not have come, 178 CROWDING MEMORIES anyway, if it had not been an American house." Then the hostess of the American house hghtly touched her cheek, as she said: "Your dress is of no consequence, dear, it is you, yourself, we want. We all thank you for coming." The next moment a voice at my ear said, "Mr. Browning begs the privilege of a few words with Mrs. Aldrich before we go to dinner." What para- lyzing, unnerving words. Mr. Browning had been the God of my girlish idolatry. Did I not know every word of his "Men and Women," and his "Dra- matis Personae," by heart? Had not these immortal books come a-wooing with my lover, and had we not weighed and pondered over their pages, seeking to pluck out the heart of the mystery — and thought we had, at least to our own satisfaction, if not to those to whom we endeavored to expound our inter- pretation? And had he asked to speak to me! I felt I should "fall at his feet, and adore." It must have been a death-like face that turned at the sound of his voice. But with the first glance the knees, that had involuntarily bent, stiffened, and my idol fell shattered to the floor. Rising from its place stood a man of medium height, rather robust, full beard, and the perfect air of savoir-faire that comes only to the man of society, the man of the world. Nothing in his appearance, excepting the white hair, proclaimed the poet. He was fault- ^ ^^CUU. A/^/t J>V^ C^ CROWDING MEMORIES 179 lessly dressed; the white waistcoat, the galloon on his trousers, all were of the dernier cri. The diamond studs at his breast sparkled and twinkled with mis- chievous irony, seeming to say: "Ah, simple one, where is your lost Leader now? 'Just for a handful of silver he left us, just for a ribbon to stick in his coat.' " But more disquieting even than the diamond studs was a crush hat, which Mr. Browning carried under his arm, and sat upon through the dinner. The words I had longed to say — all the things I had ached to say — vanished ; tears of disappoint- ment were in very slight ambush at the pretty nothings, the subtle flatteries of the poet's talk. Mr. Henry James has said of Mr. Browning: "It was not easy to meet him without some resort to the supposition that he had mastered the secret of dividing the personal consciousness into a pair of independent compartments. The man of the world walked abroad, showed himself, talked, and did his duty. The man of 'Dramatic Lyrics,* of 'Men and Women,' of 'The Ring and the Book,' of 'A Blot on the 'Scutcheon,* of 'Pippa Passes' — this inscru- table personage sat at home and knew, as well he might, in what quarters of that sphere to look for suitable company." The royal custodian of the door announced an- other name, and a vision in white, with swaying, undulating motion, came into view. The white robes i8o CROWDING MEMORIES enclosed a lady "neither fair nor young," but her diamonds flashed and burned with irradiate light. The lady wore at the waist a long girdle of these precious gems, to which was attached a slender ivory fan. Gently swinging the open fan as she passed Mr. Browning, he moved towards her, and with low obeisance said, "How lovely! Je vous en fats mon compliment y Slowly and softly as the murmur of the summer wind came her floating answer, ' ' Yes, I always mourn in white." " Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly, I have many curious things to show you when you are there." The fly could bear it no longer, and seeing her host near, made bold to ask, "Please tell me why the men and women here to-night speak so often of the clothes they wear?" Mr. Smalley kindly explained to his guest, who was so ignorant of the etiquette of polite society, that the Court was in mourning (why had not Smith told us?), and to the interrogation of the fly, as to what would have happened if by chance its dress had been blue or yellow, there was no answer other than this, " I see by Mrs. Smalley's eye she is waiting for me to lead the way to dinner " ; and as we were (or thought we were) the guests of honor, the simple fly made ready to take the ex- pected arm, but in place of it there was a slight bow and smile, as the arm was offered to the peacock- blue velvet dress. The next moment a tall, slender CROWDING MEMORIES i8i man, with refined, intellectual face, said, "Mrs. Aldrich, I am to have the pleasure of taking you in to dinner." And so halfway down a long lane of guests we descended the "winding stair." When we had found our places at the table, my escort, taking his place card, said, "Pray let this be my intro- duction." The name written on the card v/as, "Mr. Irving." "Hamlet" was being played at that time, and Mr. Booth had asked us to see and note well Mr. Irving's conception of the character, and how it differed from his own. Mr. Irving was a charming comrade, and the hour was one of unalloyed enjoyment, with the exception of one antipathy — a man who sat diagonally op- posite, and would talk to some other man or woman at the furthermost end of the long table. The man talked well, and all the table listened, excepting those who joined in the discussion — arguing, dis- puting, laughing. In the middle of a long monologue, the original speaker having the floor, a low voice at my side said, " Do you take violent dislikes to per- sons you do not know?" Then a pause. "I think you do." To that question, the only answer that could be made were the immortal lines : "I do not like thee, Dr. Fell." The low voice continued: "Perhaps you do not know the aliases of Dr. Fell. It is Whistler. You can always recognize him by the white feather — Ib2 CROWDING MEMORIES the little tuft of white in his black hair — the white plume of which Mr. Whistler is very proud." Of the enchanting hour with Mr. Irving, aside from its gaiety and charm, I have slight memory, with one exception ; but so definite and strong is that memory that a mushroom is the magic wand that robs "Sir Henry " of his later glories, and brings him back, a living presence, young and vibrant with dreams, aspirations, ambitions for his much-loved Art. The menu that night was carefully chosen. One of the delectable dishes was mushrooms, cooked in some peculiar manner — each separate mushroom stood proudly aloof in its own separate bit of toast. Mr. Irving played and toyed with his, until I declared he was a sybarite coquetting with his pleasure, and finely suggested the vegetable was much better warm than cold. Then Mr. Irving, with half-melan- choly voice, said: "I cannot eat it. I am an arrant coward. In other things of life I dare do all that may become a man. Liking mushrooms better than any other food, I can master and force my will to put the tempter into my mouth; then a panic forcibly takes possession of me, and I cannot swallow it. Having been placed in this embarrassing predica- ment many times, I no longer play with fate." After dinner, when the men returned from the "walnuts and wine," Mrs. Smalley pointed to an JAMES McNeill whistler CROWDING MEMORIES 183 empty chair near by, saying, " Mr. Whistler, I know you want to talk with Mrs. Aldrich." If Mr. Whistler did, it must have been subconscious, for outwardly he gave no sign of that desire. Indifferently he advanced, and after a cursory glance, said, "Mrs. Aldrich, won't you come over to the bay window where we will be more away from the world, and can talk? " The talk became at once a monologue, with Mr. Whistler and the women who desired his ac- quaintance the subject-matter of his discourse. There was one story that still lives in memory. A beauti- ful lady, who in meeting Mr. Whistler always said, "Ah, Mr. Whistler, won't you come and see me?" And then after frequent meetings the phraseology changed to " Mr. Whistler, why won't you come and see me?" On a certain Sunday Mr. Whistler was bidden to a tea given by a dear friend who lived at a certain number on a certain road. It was a lovely day, and for some unknown reason Mr. Whistler had an hour or two disengaged and thought he would utilize it by having a cup of tea with his dear friend and her dear friends. Strange to say, although his friend who gave the tea was his dear friend, he had never been to her house. On his arrival at the certain number and the certain street, he was shown by the lackey in waiting to the unoccupied drawing-room where there was no visible sign of tea or guests. Soon he heard i84 CROWDING MEMORIES the frou-frou of descending skirts, and saw the lady of the entreaties advancing towards him with out- stretched hands! She said, "Oh, Mr. Whistler, how good of you, how kind of you to come!" Turning to his listener, Mr. Whistler said, " Mrs. Aldrich, I did not have the heart to tell her that she was indebted for the call to my mistake in the number of a house." It is uncertain if the narrative finished here, or if there was a sequel, as at the moment Mr. Aldrich brought up Mr. Hughes, giving me the pleasure of seeing and talking with "Tom Brown of Rugby." At the appointed hour. Smith sent a "four- wheeler" for us, and with its arrival the memorable evening came to its close ; but in the privacy of our own apartment, when the world was shut out, and our world shut in, Mr. Aldrich was closely ques- tioned — if he was sure, quite, quite sure. CHAPTER XVII WITH unwearied interest day after day we sought all parts of the great city — the dream city of our youth. Mr. Henry James, in speaking of London to Mr. Aldrich, said, " It is the heart of the world, and I prefer to be the least whit in its whirl, than to live and own a territory in any other place." We had gone up and down the Thames on the ordi- nary river boats, with the incommensurate crowd of people, "who scarcely allow for standing room nor so much as a breath of unappropriated air." We had passed the Tower with its turrets and battle- ments, caught a glimpse of the arched entrance of the "Traitors' Gate," through which so many un- willing souls had passed on the way to heaven. Through the gray gloom of the English sky had seen that mighty bubble of Saint Paul's, rising out of the mass of innumerable roofs and steeples. Then " Whitef riars " of unsavory fame, the one-time sanctuary and refuge of profligates and sinners. Ad- joining Whitefriars we had seen the Temple Gar- dens, where the partisans of the Houses of York and Lancaster chose the red and the white rose and sent "... between the red rose and the white A thousand souls to death and deadly night." i86 CROWDING MEMORIES No roses are blossoming now In the Gardens, but It is still rich in shrubbery and chrysanthemums, the Temple's special flower. "At the temple one day, Sherlock taking a boat, The waterman asked him, 'Which way will you float?' 'Which way?' says the Doctor; 'Why fool, with the stream!' To Saint Paul's or to Lambeth was all one to him." And so like this Bishop of London we floated with the stream until we made our moorage at Richmond, and our haven at "The Star and Garter." This de- lightfully situated hotel overlooked the Thames, and had an almost unsurpassed view of the river. We dined that night in state; every table in the large dining-room has its party of pleasure. The laughter and the champagne, the sparkling ruby burgundy that glowed with the silver and glass, the gay dresses of the women, the soft light of the candles make a picture that lives still warm In memory. The dinner to our little party seemed most lavish In ex- penditure. It was our first experience of a table d'hote, and as dish after dish, cover after cover was pre- sented, gaily we enjoyed It all, until suddenly a gloom settled on the table, as Mr. Aldrich, with anxious expression, said, "I have only two pounds In my pocket, and I fear this dinner is much exceed- ing that amount"; and then asked of the other guest the amount of his exchequer. Unhappily the guest's treasury proved a bagatelle, a trifle of shil- CROWDING MEMORIES 187 lings and sixpences, absolutely inadequate for any material help towards this dinner of potentates and princes. With this condition of affairs what was to be done? Would any explanation satisfy the reigning monarch, this mattre dliotel, for our lack of shekels, he who so faithfully had hovered about our table with unremittent attention to our comfort, asking at each fresh course, " Est-ce que Monsieur et Madame sont bien servis?" " D6sirent-ils autre chose?" With proper pride for our country (for were we not Amer- icans) condescendingly we had bowed to the ques- tion and answered, ''Tout bien, merci!" And must we fall from this high estate ! The ruby color of the burgundy faded, the jewelled twinkle of the champagne lost its glitter to our eyes, as we discussed the ways and means of the embar- rassing situation. The suggestion of the guest that Mr. and Mrs. Aldrich would stay at the hotel for the night, while he would be the Mercury to bring the ducats and relief in the morning, met with scant favor. The decision was ultimately made that the situation should be explained, and that watches, brooches, rings could, if necessary, be left as security, although it was doubtful if their value would equal the cost of the royal repast of "The Star and Garter." Unanimously it was agreed, to "Let Care, the beg- gar, wait outside the gate," and with this agreement the twinkle again brightened in the champagne, and i88 CROWDING MEMORIES the color returned to the ruby wine, and the soft voice of the mattre d' hotel still asked, "Monsieur et Madame sont bien servis?" As a gay party of "Lords and Ladies" entered the room, the mattre d'hotel, followed by several of his pages, hurried to a round table, where a large silver epergne filled with rare fruit and flowers had been the cynosure of neighboring eyes. The merry party were soon seated, the attendant had bowed lowly, the iced wines in their silver coolers were being placed, when, to the great surprise of one of the insolvent debtors, Mr. Aldrich, rising hastily, ap- proached with outstretched hands and enthusiastic manner these merrymakers, and greeted with genial cordiality the apparent giver of the feast. The pro- cedure was so at variance with Mr. Aldrich's usual modesty and reluctance to intrude, that the one who knew him best sat in amazed silence. There were introductions and a few moments of friendly chat, and then Mr. Aldrich returned to the two, who with excited curiosity waited his coming. "Our mauvais quart d'heure is over," he said; "we are saved." The involuntary perspective resuscitator was that ad- venturous journalist, George Augustus Sala, the special correspondent of the London newspapers — the cosmopolitan, equally at home in all parts of the civilized world. Mr. Sala came to our country at the beginning of the Civil War. The London "Daily CROWDING MEMORIES 189 Telegraph" had offered him a thousand pounds for a six months' tour, in the course of which he was to write two letters a week for the "Daily Telegraph." Mr. Aldrich's acquaintance with Mr. Sala was slight. He had dined with him at Mr. Lorimer Gra- ham's, and also at Delmonico's, when Mr. Sala was the guest of Mr. Manton Marble, the edi- tor of the New York "World," and Mr. William Henry Hurlburt, the brilhant "leader writer" of that paper. At this meeting at "The Star and Garter" all confidence was on the part of Mr. Sala. Mr. Aldrich was as dumb to his monetary ajffairs, his financial em- barrassment, as if he were the Egyptian Sphinx, but he had now cast an anchor to the windward should his frail bark drift too near to coral reefs. Mr. Sala said he was in London incog., as it were; that from the time Doiia Isabella had abdicated in favor of her son, Don Alfonso, he had been in Spain as special correspondent for the "Illustrated London News," and that he had left his post for a couple of days only, and was returning to Spain that night. After this meeting with Mr. Sala, where Mr. Aldrich had made his first (and his last) appearance as a poli- tic person, the little dinner went gaily onward until the last dish was served, and the coffee and cigars brought, and with them the small note with its dis- turbing hieroglyphics, laid face downward by Mr. 190 CROWDING MEMORIES Aldrlch's plate. Not until the maitre d' hotel vanished was the paper turned ; it read : The Star & Garter Hotel Richmond, Surrey Dinners £14 Wine 15 Carried forward £1 4 15 Total £1.19 All the days in London were a new revelation, a fresh delight. We strolled through the thronged streets without any definite object but the inter- est and glow of the old names — Ludgate Hill, the Strand, Fleet Street, Temple Bar, Cheap- side. The roar of the city, the bustling spectacle of human life, had for us such fascination and at- traction that we felt as Hawthorne did about leav- ing England, "that it seems a cold and shivering thing to go anywhere else," but our destination was Rome, and summer would outspeed us unless we hastened. The short stay at Chester had increased our de- sire to visit other cathedral towns. The date of de- parture was set, and the plan made, when en route for Paris, to stop for the night at Canterbury. When the day of exile cam.e, "Smith with smileless face handed us our parcels again, and stood statuesque on the doorstep with one finger lifted to his fore- head in decorous salute," as he gave the order, "Vic- toria Station." Our desire was great to see the cathe- CROWDING MEMORIES 191 dral with the almost unequalled windows of the thir- teenth century, and the crypts, which were said to be the finest in England. It was at Canterbury that we made out first ac- quaintance with the English provincial inn, so im- maculate as seen from the outside, with the window- boxes of gay flowers and the shimmer of polished brass ; but when the wayfarer had crossed the thresh- old and inhaled the scent, the stuffy scent, of carpets and of drapery that has hung unwashed and un- disturbed for possible centuries, one wonders why anything even so remotely suggestive of water was chosen for the name of this Inn — ** The Fountains." The major-domo, who acts as master of the house, seemed, like Pooh Bah of "Mikado" fame, to be all men in one : head waiter, business manager, boots, and chambermaid. This composite official is always clothed in much-worn and shiny evening dress, marked with stains and spots of past ages. He holds in his hands his wand of office, a towel, which is neither unblemished nor pure. Its use is various; to wipe the knives and forks, the plates and glasses, as he hands them to you, or to dust the chairs or your boots. The multitudinous personage ushered us into a large bedroom on the second floor, filled with beau- tiful old mahogany chests of drawers, wardrobes, tables, chairs. After our first bird's-eye view of these 192 CROWDING MEMORIES splendors, our vision concentrated itself on the won- derfully carved high post bedstead, with its canopy, quilt, and curtains of cardinal red wool. The three steps that led up to its downy billows were also a new wonder to our eyes. The floor of the room was cov- ered with a thick carpet of undistinguishable color, of unsymmetrical design. Through the years that it had lain there undisturbed so many different liquids and solids had been allowed to flow over it, taking no definite form, that it was now impossible to tell if the involved pattern was the result of weave or the careless hand of man, so artfully had time blended them together — "and smelt so!" Our first walk in this ancient city was to the chem- ist, to procure all the disinfectants known to modern science, and with them we added one more design to the floor covering, which had more evidence for than against the belief that it was probably made by the Protestant exiles from Flanders and France, when in 1 561 Queen Elizabeth permitted them to set up their looms in the crypt of this cathedral. It was not until the small hours of the night that Morpheus enticed us to his arms. All the early hours were given to the difficult matter of covering the inner surface of the red wool curtains that draped the carven couch with towels, pocket handkerchiefs, bureau scarfs, and every white washable thing that came within our reach, in order that the dust of cen- CROWDING MEMORIES 193 turles should not stifle us before the morning dawned. The next day, unrefreshed from our perilous slum- ber, we took the train for Dover, had our first sight of the chalk hills, and our first practical knowledge, gained by experience, of the misbehaved and most mischievous Channel. All things come to an end, and although the pas- sage had been less than two hours, time had multi- plied itself in passing. At last the heavy throb of the engine ceased, and we were in Calais, and for the first time heard French (but not our French) spoken all about us. However, our French did well enough to procure us "deux demi-tasses et deux petits verres de cognac," and also we were able to say when we saw it in danger, "Ayez soin de mon carton k chapeaux!" A delightful car-ride through the beautiful coun- try, and then Paris, and the Hotel Meurice on the rue de Rivoli, where a perfect dinner and charming suite of rooms in the entresol looking on the Tuileries Gardens awaited our coming. Mr. Aldrich so aptly describes our environment in one of his papers "From Ponkapog to Pesth" that I copy it: "One raw April night, after a stormy passage from Dover to Calais and a cheerless railroad ride thence to Paris, when the wanderers arrived at the rue de Rivoli they found such exquisite preparation for their coming as seemed to have been made by well- 194 CROWTUNG MEMORIES known gentle hands reaching across the Atlantic. In a small salon adjoining the parlor assigned to the party, the wax candles threw a soft light over the glass and silver appointments of a table spread for their repast. A waiter arranging a dish of fruit at the buffet greeted them with a good-evening, as if he had been their servitor for years, instead of now lay- ing eyes upon them for the first time. In the open chimney-place of the parlor was a wood-fire blazing cheerfully on the backs of a couple of brass grififins who did not seem to mind it. On the mantelpiece was an antique clock, flanked by bronze candlesticks that would have taken your heart in a bric-a-brac shop. Beyond this were the sleeping apartments, in the centre of one of which stood the neatest of femmes de chambre, with the demurest of dark eyes, and the pinkest of ribbons on her cap. On a toilet- table under a draped mirror was a slender vase of Bohemian glass holding two or three fresh tea-roses. What beau of the old regime had slipped out of his sculptured tomb to pay madame that gallantry?" Paris is a paradise in the early spring; the young grass is like velvet and every imaginable shade of green lies before one's eyes. In the blossoming of trees and shrubs all nature seems alive — a flush, a glow, freshness and fulness of bloom. What a pano- rama of happy days unrolls to my vision! Memory becomes a pantograph bringing back again the sweet CROWDING MEMORIES 195 spring days, the blue skies, the warm and lovely sunshine, the great branches of lilacs and roses sold at every corner. The life of the streets is so gay and cheering that one must perforce catch the spirit of the flying sunbeams and the mood and tempera- ment of the people. Unfortunately for us, however, there was a slight cloud in our skies — the French language proved itself "the fly in the ointment," the vexatious thorn on the rose. Before coming to Paris Mr. Aldrich had taken the optimistic view that as he read French with the same fluency as he read English, there could be but little difficulty in both speaking and understanding that language, and was totally unprepared for his precipi- tous fall when he realized, when surrounded by French voices, that he was both deaf and mute to the speech about him. Mr. Aldrich was so irritated by his restriction of free speech that it was some time before he would consent to have any light thrown on his gloomy twi- light. Our ignorance of French as spoken by the na- tive was not only tiresome but expensive, as we found when we were an hour driving about Paris in our endeavor to locate the Hotel Bristol ; our mis- chance had named it "Bristol," insteadof "Bristall." Although Mr. Aldrich could always correctly write our desires and destination, it was often as difficult for the driver to decipher our English writing as to 196 CROWDING MEMORIES understand our Franco- American words. After suf- fering a few days in this Stygian darkness, Mr. Al- drich applied to Galignani for a teacher of French. In answer to the summons a spinster lady of uncer- tain summers found her way to our sitting-room in entresol, and with formal authority the lessons in French pronunciation began. This mistress of French brought with her a small book entitled : Le Petit Precepteur or First Step to Fremh Conversation by F. Grandineau Late French Master to Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria. Author of Conversations familieres & I' usage des jeunes demoiselles. With Her Most Gracious Majesty for a sponsor, we felt that there could be "no offence in it," and that perhaps **Le Petit Precepteur" might be the one book in the French tongue which the mothers of "des jeunes demoiselles'' could safely allow their daughters to read — a French lady having told us that it was the misfortune of their literature that there were no books by distinguished authors that would be permissible for the young girl to peruse. For a week or more the inane lines of "Le Petit Precepteur" were well spoken, "with good accent and good discretion," when unexpectedly out of a clear sky the revolt came. CROWDING MEMORIES 197 I have pinched my fingers. She has knocked her head. He has dirtied his coat. The eye is stopped up. I am so fond of monkeys. You have torn little Louise's pantalet. With these lines "Le Petit Precepteur" was closed with a sudden bang, and with the bang French pro- nunciation was consigned forever to Hades. Soon after our arrival in Paris, Mr. Aldrich had the pleasure of meeting Madame Therese de Solins Blanc, better known by her pen-name, "Th. Bent- zon." Madame Blanc had translated and published, in the "Revue des Deux Mondes," "Marjorie Daw," "Mademoiselle Olympe Zabriski," "Pere Antoine's Date Palm," and several others of Mr. Aldrich's short stories. Madame Blanc was a writer of distinction, and of rare personal charm. She was the stepdaughter of Comte d'Aure, who was equerry to Napoleon III. Comte d'Aure introduced the young writer to George Sand, and through this friendship Madame Blanc owed the position (which she held for many years) on the "Revue des Deux Mondes." Madame Blanc's novels, especially "Tony," "Con- stance," and "Un Remords," are far beyond the average, and were crowned by the French Academy, the highest honor to which a French writer can aspire. Madame Blanc brought, on her ceremonial first visit, a beautifully painted small porcelain in the / ipS CROWDING MEMORIES shape of a heart, which she presented to her hostess with the charming phrase and gracious manner of the old regime, asking that the quaintly carved gold necklace laid inside the box might sometimes be worn, and by wearing bring a remembrance of the giver, who saw now that "no trinket of jewel or gold could add to the grace and charm of the wearer." "The wisest of the wise Listen to pretty lies, And love to hear them told." Very delightful is the memory of an exquisite din- ner the Comtesse d'Aure gave in our honor, with its shadowy glimpse of what the social world, the Court society, must have meant in the days when an Em- peror and Empress ruled over France. CHAPTER XVIII WITH the dinner which had given us such a pleasing insight of the intimate interior and charm of a true French home, our stay in the beau- tiful city ended, for spring in the Campagna, with the larks and anemones, called and drew us with insidious claim. The route from Paris to Lyons led through the lovely valley of the Seine. The entire district through which we passed was for many miles covered with grapevines, the grass by the roadside was green and fresh, and the air full of pleasant earthy odors. Among the flowering shrubs the clematis and red poppy bloomed along the hedges, and over it all were the purple light and shadows that lie upon the distant hills. "We cannot dream too much of France." From Lyons our flight was through Marseilles to Nice, and then on to that Garden of Eden, Monaco, that petty principality which is set like a gem be- tween its snow-topped mountains, the rich green foliage, the blue sea, the blue sky, and the red rocks rising so abruptly. We had dejeuner at the Beau S6jour, noted for its fastidious cuisine, then followed the enchanting walk 200 CROWDING MEMORIES up the winding avenue, through the tropical gardens filled with palm, lemon, and every other kind of tree, the beds of heliotrope, roses, and violets making the air heavy with the delicious perfume of flowers. In this way we came to the doors of that sinful paradise, Monte Carlo. In the sumptuous apartments of the salles de jeu the six green tables were surrounded by men and women of all ages and estates, watching with vivid interest the turning of the roulette. Mr. Aldrich placed on one of the green tables a twenty- franc piece and played at " Rouge et Noir." With a joyous unconcern, and a gay little nod to the croupier as he staked his napoleon, he said, "Suc- cess to it. Vive le Roi." The adjuration was heard by the fickle goddess who watches over this alluring game, for when, after a few turns of the roulette, the napoleon returned to the hand that gave it, it brought with it many followers — gold enough to buy a string of lapis-lazuli beads and a cross of topaz. The next day (one of the party proudly clothed in these wages of sin) our flight continued over the Cornice Road to Genoa. From Genoa through the forty tunnels to Pisa. So frequent are these galleries and tunnels that it almost seemed as if this extra- ordinary rock roughness, in shaping of timber and stone, was the work of the sea and the storm. At Pisa we saw within its few acres the four build- CROWDING MEMORIES 201 ings, "so fortunate in their solitude and their so- ciety," the Cathedral, the Campo Santo, the Bap- tistry, and the Leaning Tower. The next day's journey brought us to Rome. We slept that night in the Hdtel de Russie, in the Piazza del Popolo. "Redde, Diana, diem." (Bring back, O Diana, the day.) For the next busy weeks "there were visits to the Catacombs and the Baths of Cara- calla, and excursions to the Campagna — at this time of year a vast red sea of poppies strewn with the wrecks of ancient tombs; we had breathed the musky air of Santa Maria Maggiore and the Ba- silica San Paolo ; we had burrowed under the Eternal City in crypt and dungeon, and gazed down upon it from the dizzy Lantern of Saint Peter's. The blight- ing summer was at hand; the phantasmal malaria was stalking the Campagna at night: it was time to go. There was nothing more to be done in Rome unless we paid a visit to a Certain Old Gentleman. Mr. Aldrich, in his papers "From Ponkapog to Pesth," has told the story so charmingly that I shall place it here and let it be a twice-told tale : "It was only after the gravest consideration that we decided to visit a Certain Old Gentleman. There were so many points to be considered. It was by no means certain that a Certain Old Gentleman wanted us to visit him. Though we knew him, in a vague way, to be sure — through friends of ours 202 CROWDING MEMORIES who were friends of his — he did not know us at all. Then he was, according to report, a very particular old gentleman, standing squarely on his dignity, and so hedged about by conventional ideas of social eti- quette, so difficult of approach, and so nearly impos- sible to become acquainted with when approached, that it was an audacious thing seriously to contem- plate dropping in on him familiarly. . . . "It comes back to me like the reminiscence of a dream, rather than as the memory of an actual ex- perience, that May afternoon when the purpose first unfolded itself to us. We were sitting in the fad- ing glow of the day on the last of the four marble steps which linked our parlor to the fairy-like garden of the Albergo di Russia in the Via Babuino. Our rooms were on the ground-floor, and this garden, shut in on three sides by the main building and the wings of the hotel, and closed at the rear by the Pin- cian Hill, up which the garden clambered halfway in three or four luxuriant terraces, seemed naturally to belong to our suite of apartments. All night we could hear the drip of the fountain among the cactus leaves, and catch at intervals the fragrance of orange-blooms, blown in at the one window we dared leave open. It was here we took the morning air a few minutes before breakfast; it was on these steps we smoked our cigar after the wonders of the day were done. We had the garden quite to ourselves, CROWDING MEMORIES 203 for the cautious tourist had long since taken wing from Rome, frightened by the early advance of sum- mer. The great caravansary was nearly empty. Aside from the lizards, I do not recollect seeing any living creature in that garden during our stay, ex- cept a little frowsy wad of a dog, which dashed into our premises one morning, and seizing on a large piece of sponge made off with it up the Pincian Hill. If that sponge fell to the lot of some time-encrusted Roman- ese, and Providence was merciful enough to inspire him with a conception of its proper use, it cannot be said of the little Skye terrier that he lived in vain. "This was our second sojourn in Rome, and we had spent two industrious weeks, picking up the threads of the Past, dropped temporarily in April in order to run down and explore Naples before Southern Italy became too hot to hold us. . . . There was nothing more to be done in Rome unless we did the Roman fever — nothing but that, indeed, if we were not inclined to pay a visit to a Certain Old Gentleman. This alternative appeared to have so many advantages over the Roman fever that it at once took the shape of an irresistible temptation. . . . "Though the discussion did not end here that May evening on the steps of the hotel-garden, it ends here in my record; it being sufficient for the reader to know that we then and there resolved to undertake the visit in question. The scribe of the party dis- 204 CROWDING MEMORIES patched a note to SIgnor V expressing a desire to pay our respects to his venerable friend before we left town, and begging that an early day, if any, be appointed for the Interview. SIgnor V was an Italian acquaintance of ours who carried a diplomatic key that fitted almost any lock. '*We breakfasted betimes, the next morning, and sat lingering over our coffee, awaiting SIgnor V 's reply to our note. The reply had so impressive an air of not coming, that we fell to planning an excursion to Tivoli, and had ordered a carriage to that end, when Stefano appeared, bearing an envelope on his silver-plated waiter. (I think Stefano was born with that waiter in his hand ; he never laid It down for a moment ; if any duty obliged him to use both hands, he clapped the waiter under his arm or between his knees; I used to fancy that it was attached to his body by some mysterious, invisible ligament, the severing of which would have caused his Instant dis- solution.) SIgnor V advised us that his venerable friend would be gracious enough to receive us that very day at one half-hour after noon. In a post- script the sIgnor intimated that the gentlemen would be expected to wear evening dress, minus gloves, and that it was imperative on the part of Madama to be costumed completely in black and to wear only a black veil on her hair. Such was one of the whims of a Certain Old Gentleman. CROWDING MEMORIES 205 "Here a dilemma arose. Among Madama's ward- robe there was no costume of this lugubrious de- scription. The nearest approach to it was a statu- esque black robe, elaborately looped and covered with agreeable arabesques of turquoise-blue silk. There was nothing to do but to rip off these celestial trimmings, and they were ripped off, though it went against the woman-heart. Poor, vain little silk dress, that had never been worn, what swift retribution overtook you for being nothing but artistic, and graceful, and lovely, and — Parisian, which includes all blessed adjectives! "From the bottom of a trunk in which they had lain since we left London, H and I exhumed our dress-coats. Though perfectly new (like their amiable sister, the black silk gown), they came out looking re- markably aged. They had inexplicable bulges in the back, as if they had been worn by somebody with six or eight shoulder-blades, and were covered all over in front with minute wrinkles, recalling the famous portrait of the late Mr. Parr in his hundred and fiftieth year. H and I got into our creased ele- gance with not more intemperate comment than might be pardoned, and repaired to the parlor, where we found Madama arranging a voluminous veil of inky crape over her hair, and regarding herself in a full-length mirror with gloomy satisfaction. The carriage was at the porte cocker e, and we departed, 2o6 CROWDING MEMORIES stealing silently through the deserted hotel corridor, and looking for all the world, I imagine, like a couple of rascally undertakers making off with a nun. . . . "Notwithstanding our deliberations over the mat- ter at the hotel, I think I had not fully realized that in proposing to visit a Certain Old Gentleman we were proposing to visit the Pope of Rome. The proposition had seemed all along like a piece of mild pleasantry, as if one should say, * I think I '11 drop round on Titus Flavius in the course of the fore- noon,' or ' I Ve half a mind to look in on Cicero and Pompey, and see how they feel this morning after their little dissipation last night at the villa of Lu- cullus.' The Pope of Rome — not the Pope regnant, but the Pope of Rome in the abstract — had up to that hour presented himself to my mental eye as an august spectacular figure-head, belonging to no particular period, who might turn out after all to be an ingenious historical fiction perpetrated by the same humorist that invented Pocahontas. The Pope of Rome ! — he had been as vague to me as Adam and as improbable as Noah. "But there stood Signor V at the carriage- step, waiting to conduct us into the Vatican, and there, on either side of the portals at the head of the massive staircase, lounged two of the papal guard in that jack-of-diamonds costume which Michael Angelo designed for them — in the way of a prac- CROWDING MEMORIES 207 tical joke, I fancy. They held halberds in their hands, these mediaeval gentlemen, and it was a mercy they did n't chop us to pieces as we passed between them. What an absurd uniform for a man- at-arms of the nineteenth century! These fellows, clad in rainbow, suggested a pair of harlequins out of a Christmas pantomime. Farther on we came to more stone staircase, and more stupid papal guard with melodramatic battle-axes, and were finally ushered into a vast, high-studded chamber at the end of a much-stuccoed corridor. "Coming as we did out of the blinding sunshine, this chamber seemed to us at first but a gloomy cavern. It was so poorly lighted by numerous large windows on the western side that several seconds elapsed before we could see anything distinctly. One or two additional windows would have made it quite dark. At the end of the apartment, near the door at which we had entered, was a dais with three tawdry rococo gilt armchairs, having for back- ground an enormous painting of the Virgin, but by what master I was unable to make out. The draper- ies of the room were of some heavy dark stuff, a green rep, if I remember, and the floor was covered with a thick carpet through which the solid stone flagging beneath repelled the pressure of your foot. There was a singular absence of color everywhere, of that mosaic work and Renaissance gilding with 2o8 CROWDING MEMORIES which the eyes soon become good friends in Italy. The frescoes of the ceihng, if there were any fres- coes, were in some shy neutral tint, and did not introduce themselves to us. On the right, at the other extremity of the room, was a double door, which led, as we were correct in supposing, to the private apartments of the Pope. "Presently our eyes grew reconciled to the semi- twilight, which seemed to have been transported hither with a faint spicy odor of incense from some ancient basilica — a proper enough light for an audience-chamber in the Vatican. Fixed against the wall on either side, and extending nearly the entire length of the room, was a broad settee, the greater part of which was already occupied when we entered. "A cynic has observed that all cats are gray in the twilight. He said cats, but meant women. I am convinced that all women are not alike in a black silk dress, very simply trimmed and with no color about it except a white rose at the corsage. There are women — perhaps not too many — whose beauty is heightened by an austere toilette. Such a one was the lady opposite me, with her veil twisted under her chin and falling negligently over the left shoul- der. The beauty of her face flashed out like a dia- mond from its sombre setting. She had the brightest of dark eyes, with such a thick, long fringe of dark eyelashes that her whole countenance turned into CROWDING MEMORIES 209 night when she drooped her eyeHds; when she lifted them, it was morning again. As if to show us what might be done in the matter of contrasts, nature had given this lady some newly coined Roman gold for hair. I think Eve was that way — both blonde and brunette. My vis-d-vis would have been gracious in any costume, but I am positive that nothing would have gone so well with her as the black silk dress, fitting closely to the pliant bust and not losing a single line or curve. As she sat, turned three quar- ters face, the window behind her threw the outlines of her slender figure into sharp relief. The lady her- self was perfectly well aware of it. "Next to this charming person was a substantial English matron, who wore her hair done up in a kind of turret, and looked like a lithograph of a distant view of Windsor Castle. She sat bolt up- right, and formed, if I may say so, the initial letter of a long line of fascinatingly ugly women. Imagine a row of Sphinxes in deep mourning. It would have been an unbroken line of feminine severity, but for a handsome young priest with a strikingly spiritual face, who came in, like a happy word in parenthesis, halfway down the row. I soon exhausted the re- sources of this part of the room; my eyes went back to the Italian lady so prettily framed in the em- brasure of the window, and would have lingered there had I not got interested in an old gentleman 2IO CROWDING MEMORIES seated on my left. When he came into the room, blinking his kindly blue eyes and rubbing his hands noiselessly together and beaming benevolently on everybody, just as if he were expected, I fell in love with him. His fragile, aristocratic hands appeared to have been done up by the same blanchisseuse who did his linen, which was as white and crisp as an Alpine snow-drift, as were also two wintry strands of hair artfully trained over either ear. Otherwise he was as bald and shiny as a glacier. He seated himself with an old-fashioned, courteous bow to the com- pany assembled, and a protesting wave of the hand, as if to say, * Good people, I pray you, do not disturb yourselves,' and made all that side of the room bright with his smiling. He looked so clean and sweet, just such a wholesome figure as one would like to have at one's fireside as grandfather, that I began formulating the wish that I might, thirty or forty years hence, be taken for his twin brother; when a neighbor of his created a disturbance. "This neighbor was a young Italian lady or gen- tleman — I cannot affirm which — of perhaps ten months' existence, who up to the present time had been asleep in the arms of its bonne. Awakening sud- denly, the bambino had given vent to the shrillest shrieks, impelled thereto by the strangeness of the surrounding features, or perhaps by some conscien- tious scruples about being in the Vatican. I picked CROWDING MEMORIES 211 out the mother at once by the worried expression that flew to the countenance of a lady near me, and in a gentleman who instantly assumed an air of having no connection whatever with the baleful in- fant, I detected the father. I do not remember to have seen a stronger instance of youthful depravity and duplicity than that lemon-colored child afforded. The moment the nurse walked with it, it sunk into the sweetest of slumber, and peace settled upon its little nose like a drowsy bee upon the petal of a flower; but the instant the bonne made a motion to sit down, it broke forth again. I do not know what ultimately befell the vocal goblin; possibly it was collared by the lieutenant of the guard outside, and thrown into the deepest dungeon of the palace; at all events it disappeared after the announcement that his Holiness would be with us shortly. What- ever virtues Pius IX possessed, punctuality was not one of them, for he had kept us waiting three quar- ters of an hour, and we had still another fifteen minutes to wait. "The monotonous hum of conversation hushed itself abruptly, the two sections of the wide door I have mentioned were thrown open, and the Pope, surrounded by his cardinals and a number of foreign princes, entered. The occupants of the two long settees rose, and then, as if they were automata worked by the same tyrannical wire, sunk simulta- 212 CRO\AT)rNrG MEMORIES neously into an attitude of devotion. For an Instant I was seized with a desperate desire not to kneel. There is something in an American knee, when it is rightly constructed, that makes it an awkward thing to kneel with before any man bom of woman. Per- haps, if the choice were left one, either to prostrate one's self before a certain person or be shot, one might make a point of it — and be shot. But that was not the alternative in the present case. And so I slid softly down with the rest of the miserable sinners. I was in the very act, when I was chilled to the marrow by catching a sidelong glimpse of my benign old gentleman placidly leaning back in his seat, with his hands folded over his well-filled waist- coat and that same benevolent smile petrified on his countenance. He was fast asleep. "Immediately a tall, cadaverous person in a scant, funereal garment emerged from somewhere, and touched the sleeper on the shoulder. The old gentleman unclosed his eyes slowly and with diffi- culty, and was so far from taking in the situation that he made a gesture as if to shake hands with the tall, cadaverous person. Then it all flashed upon the dear old boy, and he dropped to his knees with so comical and despairing an air of contrition that the presence of forty thousand popes would not have prevented me from laughing. "All eyes were now turned toward the Pope and CROWDING MEMORIES 213 his suite, and this trifling episode passed unnoticed save by two or three individuals in the immediate neighborhood, who succeeded in swallowing their smiles, but did not dare glance at each other aft- erwards. The Pope advanced to the centre of the upper end of the room, leaning heavily on his ivory- handled cane, the princes in black and the cardinals in scarlet standing behind him in picturesque groups, like the chorus in an opera. Indeed, it was all like a scene on the stage. There was something pre- meditated and spectacular about it, as if these per- sons had been engaged for the occasion. Several of the princes were Russian, with names quite well adapted to not being remembered. Among the Ital- ian gentlemen was Cardinal Nobli Vatteleschi — he was not a cardinal then, by the way — who died not long ago, "Within whispering distance of the Pope stood Cardinal Antonelli — a man who would not escape observation in any assembly of notable personages. If the Inquisition should be revived in its early genial form, and the reader should fall into its hands — as would very likely be the case, if a branch office were established in this country — he would feel scarcely comfortable if his chief inquisitor had so cold and subtle a countenance as Giacome Antonelli's. " It was a pleasure to turn from the impassible 214 CROWDING MEMORIES prime minister to the gentle and altogether inter- esting figure of his august master, with his small, sparkling eyes, remarkably piercing when he looked at you point-blank, and a smile none the less win- some that it lighted up a mouth denoting unusual force of will. His face was not at all the face of a man who had passed nearly half a century in ardu- ous diplomatic and ecclesiastical labors; it was cer- tainly the face of a man who had led a temperate, blameless private life, in noble contrast to many of his profligate predecessors, whom the world was only too glad to have snugly stowed away in their gorgeous porphyry coflins with a marble mistress carved atop. "After pausing a moment or two in the middle of the chamber, and taking a bird's-eye glance at his guests, the Pope began his rounds. Assigned to each group of five or ten persons was an official who pre- sented the visitors by name, indicating their nation- ality, station, etc. So far as the nationality was involved, that portion of the introduction was ob- viously superfluous, for the Pope singled out his countrymen at a glance, and at once addressed them in Italian, scarcely waiting for the master of cere- monies to perform his duties. To foreigners his Holiness spoke in French. After a few words of sal- utation he gave his hand to each person, who touched it with his lips or his forehead, or simply CROWDING MEMORIES 215 retained it an instant. It was a deathly cold hand, on the forefinger of which was a great seal ring bear- ing a mottled gray stone that seemed frozen. As the Pope moved slowly along, devotees caught at the hem of his robe and pressed it to their lips, and in most instances bowed down and kissed his feet. I suppose it was only by years of practice that his Holiness was able to avoid stepping on a nose here and there. " It came our turn at last. As he approached us he said, with a smile, 'Ah, I see you are Americans.' Signer V then presented us formally, and the Pope was kind enough to say to us what he had probably said to twenty thousand other Americans in the course of several hundred similar occasions. "His Holiness then addressed to his guests the neatest of farewells, delivered in enviable French, in which he wished a prosperous voyage to those pilgrims whose homes lay beyond the sea, and a happy return to all. When he touched, as he did briefly, on the misfortunes of the church, an ador- able fire came into his eyes ; fifty of his eighty- three winters slipped from him as if by enchantment, and for a few seconds he stood forth in the prime of life. He spoke some five or seven minutes, and nothing could have been more dignified and graceful than the matter and manner of his words. The benedic- tion was followed by a general rustle and movement 2i6 CROWDING MEMORIES among the princes and eminenze at the farther end of the room; the double door opened softly, and closed — and that was the last the Pope saw of us." There was still one more visit to be made before we set off upon our northern flight — to stand again by the tomb that held the heart of Shelley, to bend the knee at the grave of Keats. "Within the shadow of the Pyramid Of Caius Cestius was this daisy found, White as the soul of Keats in Paradise, The pansy — there were hundreds of them, hid In the thick grass that folded Shelley's mound, Guarding his ashes with most lovely eyes." This visit paid, with a homesick sinking of the heart we drank our last bottle of Lacrima Christi, loosened the cords that bound us to the Eternal City, and turned our faces eastwards as far as Vienna and Budapest; went along the Thone, and spent the summer in the cathedral towns of Eng- land until September, when we gladly embarked on the Cunard ship Scythia for home and the jocund sprites, whose letters of recall met us at Liverpool. "Dear Mama ** I will tell you what I learn in Sunday school this is a little I learn "a little sparrow cannot fall unnoticed lord by thee and though I CROWDING MEMORIES 217 am so young and small thou dost take care of me "I cannot write any longer good by from your Dear "Talbot." QJa^Q^ ^M^oytyut. vnll^ r^^c^ 'urUyc^ 9 2i8 CROWDING MEMORIES "Dear Papa "We are all well. Talbot is playing his fiddle I want a fiddle I will ex- pect a fiddle when you come home "from your loving "Charley F. Aldrich." -^ XXAjl 4^ -UmM ^r> CHAPTER XIX VICTOR HUGO'S famous line — " Depart with a tear, enter with a smile" — well expressed the tenor of our minds as we set sail from Queens- town, homeward-bound. The waiting hearts and the bright eyes of the jocund sprites were the beacon lights in our ocean highway, deadening the cruelties of the implacable seas that made the rolling ships of that day an abiding-place of misery. In answer to a note of welcome from Mr. Stedman soon after his arrival, Mr. Aldrich wrote : *'I have had a very rich six months. I am quite certain that whatever I do in future will bear the impress of that wider experience. I had to laugh over the cutting you enclosed from the Rev. Tal- mage's paper — the idea of my being, even in- directly, of any assistance to a 'Christian at work,' gave me a curious and novel sensation of unexpected usefulness!" Mark Twain's cordial letter of welcome ended, "God knows we are glad to have you back, but don't talk!" To Mr. Fields, Mr. Aldrich wrote, "We enjoyed keenly every moment, and I have come back chockful of mental intaglios and Venetian glass and literary bric-a-brac generally." 220 CROWDING MEMORIES The pomegranate seed of recollected travel which first bore flower was the lovely imaginative story of the "Bambino d'Ara Coeli." The summer afternoon passed in this ancient church is still so vivid that I almost hear again Mr. Aldrich's voice. As we sit under the golden ceiling, the faint perfume of in- cense about us, Mr. Aldrich with magic touch brings to my vision the world of people that crowded this vast and solemn space — the triumphal pro- cession of emperors and generals, senators and idlers, priests and monks, all took shape again, and from the Sacristy, on flights of prayer, the holy Bambino floated on celestial wings. "How it comes back, that hour in June When just to exist was joy enough. I can see the olives, silvery gray, The carven masonry, rich with stains, The gothic windows and lead-set panes, The flag-paved cortile, the convent gates." Leaving the church, we walked to the fountain of Trevi for a parting draught of this precious water, for the tradition is still believed that to partake of its glistening drops insures the traveller's return to Rome. There is scarcely a busier scene in Rome than the neighborhood of this fountain. As we stood for a moment and watched the wandering traffic, a sudden silence fell as old men, young men, women and children dropped to their knees as a procession of priests came in view, carrying on a raised dais CROWDING MEMORIES 221 the miraculous Bambino, to work its miracle at the bedside of the sick and dying. Devout peasants and others not so devout always kneel as the Blessed Infant passes, swathed in its white dress encrusted with diamonds and rubies, with which the brands plucked from the burning have endowed the little black figure of wood. The veneration and awe, the adoring love portrayed on the faces of those who knelt gave Mr. Aldrich the motij for the poem which he wrote soon after his return. THE LEGEND OF ARA CCELI Whoever will go to Rome may see In the Chapel of the Sacristy Of Ara Coeli, the Sainted Child — Garnished from throat to foot with rings And brooches and precious offerings. It has its minions to come and go, Its perfumed chamber, remote and still, Its silken couch and its jewelled throne, And a special carriage of its own To take the air in, when it will ; Often some princess, brown and tall, Comes, and unclasping from her arm The glittering bracelet, leaves it, warm With her throbbing pulse, at the Baby's feet. In a letter to Mr. Howells, Mr. Aldrich writes of this narrative poem: "The bare story I know is lov^ely and sufficient. Of the art I cannot judge now. 222 CROWDING MEMORIES I took the greatest pleasure in writing it, and my savage critic says she thinks it 'the best poem I have ever written — or will write.' I hope she is a good judge and no prophetess!" The two years following the home-coming were uneventful of incidents, Mr. Aldrich returning with fresh interest to his poems and sketches. The sum- mers were passed at Lynn Terrace, the winters di- vided between Boston and Ponkapog, with occa- sional visits to New York, that city still holding the old-time habit of its citizens condensing the formal and social calls of the coming year into the one day — "New Year's Day." The custom of paying visits was so universal that months beforehand, unless one chose to walk, carriages must be engaged, the price of which was often as high as fifty dollars for a few hours. The ladies in receiving wore their prettiest dresses and choicest smiles, all keeping notebooks in which the number of calls was marked, and serious was the rivalry between the houses of Montague and Capulet as to which, at the end of the day, could show the larger plurality of names. Banks and offices were closed, the day being given over to this social function. Each house had its table of generous viands, a punch was brewed, and for special guests champagne corks flew with generous prodigality. Mr. and Mrs. Stedman invited Mr. Aldrich to come to New York for this day and share in the pleasure ALDRICH AT LYNN TERRACE CROWDING MEMORIES 223 of meeting their mutual friends. Mrs. Stedman un- fortunately did not always rise to the heights on which her husband stood. She was, however, a most kind and loyal friend, who answered truly and with plain speaking that was the antithesis of Mr. Sted- man's tact. I remember well on this occasion the ruthful and perplexed expression of a caller's face as he said, in making his adieux, *' I am taking flight; I am out of my element, out of my place even in breathing the air among so many distinguished men as I have left in the other room." The reply must at least have been unexpected to the speaker: "Oh, you must not mind that, Mr. Blank, for we really do know many persons who are not distinguished ! ! ! " Another amusing memory of the day is of Mr. Edgar Fawcett, a young poet who was much in evidence, and who took himself very seriously, and the introduction to him of a typical New York banker, or bishop, perhaps, who said, "Ah, Mr. Fawcett, Mr. Edgar Fawcett? I remember seeing your name in the corners of newspapers, attached to poems, pretty little poems, too, I thought them." Said Mr. Fawcett, with becoming humility, "Oh, they are small flights, not worth speaking about." Thereupon the banker, or bishop, touched him encouragingly on the shoulder, saying, "Oh, well, never mind, you will likely do better next time." In a letter written to Mr. Stedman in 1878 Mr. 224 CROWDING MEMORIES Aldrich writes: " I have had a wholly delightful and nearly idle summer at Swampscott, and am now back again among the Blue Hills and hard at work. Am three chapters deep in a novel of different cast from any fiction I have attempted lately — tragedy this time — I am going to get my humor a set of sables." The end of the year was much saddened by the death of Mr. Taylor. In November, Mr. Aldrich had written Mr. Stedman, "I have a presentiment he will never return." On December 20, Mr. Aldrich writes again to Mr. Stedman: "I cannot speak or write about it. It gave me such a shock in the soli- tude here. It was at the supper-table last night. I was laughing as I unfolded 'The Tribune,' and then I read, ' Bayard Taylor dead.' I shall be in New York all day on the 7th of January. We sail on the 8th on the Abyssinia, and I want a quiet half-hour's talk with you somewhere, if it can be arranged." The lure of the glistering drops of the fountain of Trevi had worked their charm and proved the tradition true, that those who drink of its waters will return. Mr. Aldrich sailed for Europe the first week of the New Year,' 1879. And although "our bark was ready, the winds were not fair." The Abyssinia was obliged to anchor for the night, making until noon of the next day the meagre distance of thirty-seven miles. We arrived at Liverpool on the eleventh day from New York. The memory of the blazing wood fire that CROWDING MEMORIES 225 greeted us in the large hall of the North-Westera Hotel bums still in memory as brightly as on that unforgettable night when to be again on land was a foretaste of heaven. Spain was the objective point of the journey: "Behind me lie the idle life and vain, The task unfinished and the weary hours! The long wave softly bears me back to Spain And the Alhambra's towers." London was bitterly cold and cheerless with its fogs, Paris little better. We hurried on, making short stops at Orleans, Blois, Angers, Nantes, Bordeaux, Paris, Biarritz to Bayonne, where we saw the ad- vertisements hung up in the hotels of approaching bull-fights, and knew by this that the boundary line was all that separated us from the country of ro- mance, of troubadours, of feathery palms and tall cypresses, fountains, rich Moorish gateways and palaces, Moorish domes so light they seem but rest- ing clouds: "Place of forgotten kings, With fountains that never play, And gardens where day by day The lonely cicada sings. "Traces are everywhere Of the dusky race that came And passed like a sudden flame, Leaving their sighs in the air!" We entered Spain at Irun, the western extremity 226 CROWDING MEMORIES of the Pyrenees, arriving late in the evening at Burgos, and wasting most of the night in trying to persuade the proprietor of the Fonda del Norte to procure for our beds some fresh linen. There were no sheets or blankets. The covering of the beds con- sisted of huge cushions or beds, encased in a bag that once was white, but from age and usage had ceased to have any definite color and was a mixture of all combined. The old city of Burgos was founded in the ninth centur^^ as a protection against the Moors. It was the capital of Castile until Charles V made Madrid the metropolis. Madrid had for Mr. Aldrich a double pleasure — the treasures of the galleries and the re- newed friendship with JMr. Lowell, who had been appointed Minister to Spain the year before. In Mr. Greenslet's most interesting book, "James Rus- sell Lowell, His Life and Work," he quotes a let- ter UTitten to Thomas Hughes, which is so in the spirit of what Mr. Lowell said to Mr. Aldrich, that I copy it: "I had a hard row to hoe at first! All alone, with- out a human being I had ever seen before in my life, and with unaccustomed duties, feeling as if I were beset with snares on every hand, obliged to carry on the greater part of my business in a strange tongue — it was rather trying for a man with so sympathetic and sensitive a temperament as mine, and I don't CROWDING MEMORIES 227 much wonder the gout came upon me like an armed man." In memory I can see Mr. Lowell standing with his hand on a chair, and the mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes as he said: "Think of the ridiculous situation. I, who thought of myself as one fully pro- ficient and skilled in the Spanish language, knew so little of its colloquial form that when a man came into my office I did not know how to ask him to take a chair and sit down." Then with a deeper twinkle of the eye, he added — "I could have asked him in old Spanish, though, and had the advantage." Mr. Lowell was very amusing in speaking of his experi- ence with ex- President Grant. Mr. Lowell said that, when he was still baffied with his unaccustomed du- ties and hedged about with the rigidity of Spanish etiquette, word was sent to him that General Grant, accompanied by his wife and son, were to visit Ma- drid. The question as to what dignity or form in his reception should be conceded to General Grant had given most of the European Cabinets much tribula- tion. Spain averted the embarrassing situation by deciding that General Grant should be received as a great Commander. A large dinner was given to General Grant, but after the long lapse of years it es- capes my memory if the American Minister was the host of that evening, or the Spanish Government. But the twinkling eye does not escape my memory, 228 CROWDING MEMORIES as Mr. Lowell told of his amusement and great satis- faction in the perfect attitude of JNIrs. Grant, who was seated between two diplomats, a Frenchman and a Spaniard. ]\Ir. Lowell said JNIrs. Grant did not speak either French or Spanish, but there was not an inter- val during that dinner in which she was not listen- ing, apparently with rapt attention, or repljdng, with continuous conversation, to their uncomprehended remarks. INIr. Lowell said, "I don't know what she was saying, it may have been the Lord's Prayer, or Longfellow's poem 'Excelsior,' or the Declaration of Independence ; but to the guests at the table she gave the pleasant appearance of being delightfully entertained and entertaining." The two diplomats proved equal to the occasion, and the complaisant triangle of three diplomats moved smoothly on to the end of the dinner. In one of Mr. Aldrich's papers In "From Ponka- pog to Pesth," he writes of this year's journey: "A visit to Tangier was not down in my itinerary at all, but on reaching Gibraltar after prolonged wan- dering through the interior of Spain, Africa threw itself in my way, so to speak, and I have a rare ad- vantage over everybody who has ever visited that country and written about it. I remained there only one day — the standpoint from which I view the Dark Continent is thus unique. ..." Leaving Africa, "the spirit in our feet" led us to CROWDING MEMORIES 229 Malaga, Granada, Cartagena, Almeria, Alicante, Valencia, Tarragona, and Barcelona, where we left Spain for France and Carcassonne, the city Mr. Lowell had urged us to visit, considering it the finest specimen of a walled town. "They tell me every day is there Not more or less than Sunday gay; In shining robes and garments fair The people walk upon their way. One gazes there on castle walls As grand as those of Babylon, A bishop and two generals! What joy to be in Carcassonne ! Ah! might I but see Carcassonne!" Leaving Carcassonne, we made a "Little Tour" through France and Italy, drinking again the magic drops of the fountain of Trevi. From Rome we went to the Italian Lakes, and on to Paris, where Mr. Clemens awaited our coming. He had most comfort- ably ensconced his family at the Hotel Normandy, and was himself very busily engaged in wrestling with the French language, which he said was illit- erate, untenable, unscrupulous, for if the Frenchman knew how to spell he did not know how to pronounce — and if he knew how to pronounce he certainly did not know how to spell. How it all comes back and springs to memory — the wit, the chaff, the merry dinners in the rue de I'Eschelle, the gaiety and laughter! Mr. Clemens said, "When Aldrich speaks 230 CROWDING MEMORIES it seems to me he is the bright face of the moon, and I feel Hke the other side." A dinner which the Com- tesse d'Aure and Madame Blanc gave to Mr. Aldrich and Mr. Clemens is still, to the only survivor of that happy hour, most clear and vivid. For some forgot- ten reason Mrs. Clemens could not accept her invi- tation. Manifold were her requests and instructions to her dear "Youth," to hold indelibly in his mind the etiquette of a dinner in polite society in France — not to allow it to slip from his mind for a second that he was dining in "royal circles," and that men- tally he must nail himself to his chair, and resist all inclination to rise before the dinner was half over and take his usual promenade round and round the table. It was arranged that we should call for Mr. Clem- ens. Mrsi Clemens, in consigning her charge to my care, said, "If you see the slightest preparation on Mark's part to rise from his chair before the dinner is finished, pray stop him, for if left to himself he will forget he is not at dinner at home." It was a brilliant dinner. Everything went smoothly and well, until suddenly, without any premonitory symptoms whatever, Mr. Clemens, uprising from his chair and with perfect unconsciousness, began his rapid prom- enade round and round the table, holding his large white napkin in his hand and using it as an Admiral might his flag, were he making code signals to his squadron. Suddenly remembrance came — the fur- West House. /^M,. /7^Sfe CROWDING MEMORIES 231 tive and delinquent look to his chaperon — the quick descent to the vacant chair — are the white stones in that day's memory. Before we set sail for home, there was a short stay in London, in the pleasant May days: * "It's lilac time in London, it's lilac time in London." The short stay was made more delightful with the pleasant meeting of old and new friends. Memory gives back a summer afternoon, and the coming of Mr. Henry James, who had elected, as he said, "to be a unit in this great city," and although his share would be infinitesimal, he still could claim that he was part of this great heart of the world. Mr. James was most interesting with his experi- ences of the London life as it presented itself — he had become familiar with society and no longer re- sented going down to dinner the last of the long line and with the least attractive lady on his arm, but not a lady of quality ; he must content himself with plain " Mrs.," he said. Titles were for his betters. Mr. James told an amusing anecdote of taking tea with Mrs. Millais, and of Mr. Ruskin being one of the guests, Mrs. Millais asking Mr. Ruskin, with an adorable smile, "Do you take one or two lumps of sugar in your tea? I have forgotten." There was a delightful renewal of old friendship with Mr. George Boughton, Royal Academician 232 CROWDING MEMORIES and charming artist. Mr. Comyns Carr, in sketching Mr. Boughton, said, "He achieved in England a de- servedly high place among his comrades — he was a man of fine taste and delicate perception both in the region of art and in the broader field of litera- ture." Mr. and Mrs. Boughton, before they built their house upon Campden Hill, had begun to be known as accepted hosts by a large body of artis- tic society. In later days the big studio at Camp- den Hill became the scene of many joyous enter- tainments. Mr. Browning was a constant guest at the Boughtons' dinners, and the house became a meeting-place for nearly all who were interested In art. On our arrival In London, we were Invited to a fancy-dress ball, given by Mr. and Mrs. Boughton to inaugurate a new studio. At first the invitation was declined, we having no costumes and little time or inclination to procure them. Mr. Boughton was most insistent upon our coming, and as insistent that his "studio effects" could furnish every costume needed. Finally he took the ground of our excuse from under our feet by sending to our hotel a gown of yellow satin, brocaded with silver leaves and flowers, and all the appointments complete for a Lady of Quality of the Watteau period. A note ac- companied the Pandora box, which read something -in this wise, "A red rose in your powdered hair, a CROWDING MEMORIES 233 touch of rouge on your cheek, and I 'kneel at your feet and adore!' ' There was nothing to be done but to yield and send for a coiffeur. When the evening came, the red rose was put in the powdered, puffed, and ringleted hair, the cheeks were rouged, and the slight figure put into the brocaded gown. The coiffeur took his ducats and departure, and the Lady of Quality met with disaster. Mr. Aldrich did not like the "monu- mental pomp" of the white hair, and with much disappointment he so expressed himself. In the- atrical parlance there was a "quick change" — the powder was brushed from the blonde hair, the plain black silk dress, whose azure trimmings had been sacrificed in the visit to the Pope the year before, replaced the satin brocade, and with the added accessories of a tortoise-shell comb and fan it was hoped the wearer might be labelled in the passing crowd — "Spanish Lady." "Held by a silver dart, The mantilla's delicate lace Falls each side of her face And crossway over her heart — ThisisPepita— " who, Mr. Aldrich said, "looked much neater and completer." When we arrived at Mr. Boughton's we found the 234 CROWDING MEMORIES hall and stairway quite blocked by a figure in full armor on the stairs, a policeman and several knights and cavaliers vainly trying to move it. The armor was heavy and unwieldy, the man inside helpless, as the hinges in the armor over the knees had be- come rusty or caught in some way and would not bend. The unfortunate prisoner was Mr. William Black, whose portrait in this same armor was painted afterwards and now hangs in the Glas- gow Gallery. Mr. Macmillan, the London pub- lisher, took the Spanish Lady to supper, which was served at small tables. Mr. Macmillan had selected for his costume the simple one of a white linen coat, white apron, and cap of a chef. Unfortunately the make-up was so realistic that it came dangerously near to his undoing. Mr. Macmillan, having secured a small table and an unopened bottle of champagne, went in quest of sweetbreads and truffles. Almost instantly a man in the garb of a monk, with a slight bow to the lady in waiting, took the champagne to a table near by, where a party of four much enjoyed it. Mr. Mac- millan returned, with his sweetbreads and truffles, and went again in quest of champagne. The room was very crowded, and it was with difficulty that a guest could get near to the serving- table ; but by a strategic movement Mr. Macmillan was returning victorious, when a Troubadour barred his progress. WILLIAM BLACK PAINTED BY JOHN PETTIE, R.A. 1877 CROWDING MEMORIES 235 and with scant ceremony reached forth his hand and said, **I will take that bottle" — and took it, leaving Mr. Macmiilan in such a paralyzed state that before he recovered motion the Troubadour was lost in the crowd. The third attempt was successful, and the wine brought in triumph to the table where the sweetbreads and truffles had become quite cold. Mr. Macmiilan had poured a glass of the sparkling beverage for the Spanish Lady, and was about to pour one for himself, when two beings from opposite sides of the room, Faust and King Charles, by their dress, advanced quickly and said in one breath — "Give me that bottle." King Charles, begging par- don of Faust, said, "I have the first claim." Faust replied, ''I beg your pardon, I spoke first." There- upon a heated discussion was ushered in, until Mr. Macmiilan said, with firm determination in his tone, "Gentlemen, you will neither one of you have this bottle" — whereupon the battle became two against one, the Scholar and the King making com- mon cause. The surprise of the listeners was extreme when the King said: "How dare you speak to a gentleman in that tone? Go back to the kitchen where you belong. You must be drunk. I shall re- port you to Mr. Boughton." The cook's cap and apron were too realistic, and notwithstanding apol- ogies and explanations, Mr. Macmiilan was much depressed for the rest of the evening. 236 CROWDING MEMORIES BAYARD TAYLOR In other years — lost youth's enchanted years, Seen now, and evermore, through bHnding tears And empty longing for what may not be — The Desert gave him back to us; the Sea Yielded him up; the icy Norland strand Lured him not long, nor that soft German air He loved could keep him. Ever his own land Fettered his heart and brought him back again. What sounds are these of farewell and despair Borne on the winds across the wintry main ! What unknown way is this that he has gone, Our Bayard, in such silence and alone? What dark new quest has tempted him once more To leave us? Vainly, standing by the shore, We strain our eyes. But patience! WTien the soft Spring gales are blowing over Cedarcroft, Whitening the hawthorn; when the violets bloom Along the Brandywine, and overhead The sky is blue as Italy's, he will come . . . In the wind's whisper, in the swaying pine, In song of bird and blossoming of vine. And all fair things he loved ere he was dead ! CHAPTER XX WE had been much impressed, on a previous visit to Europe, in witnessing a foretaste of the formalities prescribed when Royalty descends from its heights to visit a subject of its kingdom. It was in the small village of Inverary, the Highland headquarters of the Duke of Argyll. Queen Victoria had signified her august intention of visiting there the Duke of Argyll. The Marquis of Lome had married Princess Louise, the fourth daughter of the Queen. The prestige of the Argyll family in their own land was well shown in the remark of a High- lander on hearing the news of that engagement: "Aye, the Queen '11 be a prood leddy the day! " The Castle stands in a wooded park noted for the beauty of its trees. On the smooth green lawn in front of the entrance gate were drawn up in militant form a large company of men clothed with great diversity of costume. Some were in Scottish kilts, some in blue cotton blouses, some with hats, and some without. Their armament was as peculiar as their dress, consisting of sticks that looked like broomsticks minus the brooms — but with their aid the crazy infantry "presented arms" and "grounded arms" with stoical exactness. We stood 238 CROWDING MEMORIES for a long time watching these incomprehensible manipulations, and vainly trying to bribe the Censor to allow us to pass nearer to the Castle gates. On our return to the "Argyll Arms," our host, with ex- ultant pride, told of the expected visit of the Queen, and that the "awkward squad " were the retainers of the Duke, in daily practice to receive Her Maj- esty with fitting honors. Two years after this Scottish episode, we read on the folded yellow leaf of paper laid at our places on the long table in the dining-saloon of a Cunard steamer: LIST OF SALOON PASSENGERS per R.M.S. "Scythia" May 24, for New York. [1879] His Grace the Duke of Argyll and man servant Lord Walter Campbell and man servant Lady Elizabeth Campbell Lady Mary Campbell and maid servant Great was our interest in this reading, and strong was our hope — but most doubtful were we of Its realization — that the distinguished party might come to the dining-saloon, and that we might gaze, even from afar, on their table. The weather on the voyage was most propitious — calm seas and blue skies. On the second day after leaving Queenstown, CROWDING MEMORIES 239 two adventurous mariners were pacing the deck when they were joined by Lord Walter Campbell, who, in introducing himself, said, "My father begs the honor of an introduction to Mrs. Aldrich "!!! It was with fear and trembling the lady waited until the Duke came up and was presented. His first remark was not flattering, but it put her quite at her ease, in showing that it was not herself that the honor of the introduction was asked for — but her hat, the yellow bird that alighted thereupon having so much interested the Duke that he was desirous of its name and further knowledge of its habits. The owners of the yellow bird expressed their true belief that outside the rue de la Paix there had never been such a bird on sea or land. When the laughter induced by the "origin of the species " had ceased, formality had blown itself skyward, and the remaining days at sea were days of delightful com- panionship. The Duke of Argyll was at this time fifty-eight years old, his whole appearance indicative of energy and vivacity. His face was a striking and intellectual one. " He was a bom leader of men, by virtue not only of an earldom dating back before the discovery of America, and by virtue of leadership of a clan eight centuries old, but also by great talents and natural force and breadth of intellect." In coming on deck in the morning, we were reason- 240 CROWDING MEMORIES ably sure of finding "His Grace," snugly ensconced in our wraps, and his book, in one of our steamer chairs. After the first salutation he would say, *'Pray, go and have your smoke, Mr. Aldrich, and leave your chair to me." And as the "Lady Nico- tine" had always been the only rival in Mr. Aldrich's time and affection, the release would be gladly accepted, and for the hour or two following there would be delightful talk of books and men, poets and authors, interspersed with glimpses of the crowded and varied London life. At first, for his listener, there were grave difficulties as to the proper place and kind of title to use in addressing the speaker. Several times in the interest and warmth of discussion, the Listener so far forgot the cere- monial rules of polite society as to say, ''Mr. Ar- gyll " !! With much humiliation, pardon was begged, and further instruction asked as to the form and titles that might be used. Bewildering, I think to both, was the Duke's answer. Well remem- bered is the leisurely way he reclined in the long chair, the gray fog shutting out the horizon, as slowly he enumerated, one by one, his many aliases, and laughingly offered the choice of one, or all: Sir George Douglas Campbell, K.T.P.C.; Mar- quis of Lome ; Duke, Marquis, and Earl, of Argyll ; Lord Hamilton in the peerage of England; Lord Lieutenant, Hereditary Sheriff of County Argyll; CROWDING MEMORIES 241 Earl of Campbell and Cowal; Viscount Lochen; Baron Sundridge of Corm ; Lord of Inverary ; Master of the Queen's Household and Keeper of the Red Seal of Scotland; Admiral of the Western Isles; Keeper of Dunoon Castle, etc., and ^'Mr. Argyll"!! There lingers delightfully in memory one feature of the voyage on this "Ocean Sea" — the shrill musical cry of the bagpipes at sundown and morn- ing, the picturesque figure of the piper in his tartan plaid and kilts. In fancy, I hear again a voice saying : " I could not explain, nor could you understand, the emotion, the passion, the sound of the pipes awakens. Love, family, life, ambition, joy, sorrow — all are epitomized in that mellifluent cry. I am taking the pipes to my son and my daughter in Canada; they will hear in its tones the spirit of Home." Mr. Aldrich, on coming down to his cabin a few days before the arrival in New York, saw Niobe all tears, sitting on the steamer trunk, the cause of the tears being that the great Duke had announced his pleasant wish of being invited to Ponkapog for a visit!! The wish was received with consternation and a hurried retreat to solitude, to devise what im- pediment could be laid in the pathway. In this one instance Niobe found no champion for her cause in Mr. Aldrich. With true, democratic, American inde- pendence, he refused to see the enormous contrast of the small brown house of Ponkapog Village and 242 CROWDING MEMORIES the vast masonry of Inverary Castle. Vainly was the practising infantry on the lawn marched before him — he refused to surrender or lower his colors. It was not until mention was made of the lord-in-waiting, the gentleman of the bedchamber, the man servant, that hospitality waned and a temporary truce was declared. When the voyage was nearing the end, the Scythia slowing up for the health officer to come aboard, one of the fellow passengers approached, with hat in hand, and bowing low to the Duke, said: ''Your Grace, the custom-house officers will soon be here; they will be in the dining-saloon at the head of the long table. If you will go at once and take your place, you will not have to wait so long in making your declaration." The fine courtesy with which the Duke thanked the stranger for this entirely super- fluous advice, and the satisfied smile of benefit con- ferred, with which the stranger turned, are not for- gettable. The Government had sent a special boat and the luggage was then being transferred. The news of the arrival of the ducal party had been much heralded. New York Harbor was gay with every variety of boats and sailing craft, flags flying, whistles blowing, in deafening welcome. A few of the Duke's friends, with many city officials, under the guidance of the Collector of the Port, steamed down in the custom-house boat. Mr. P. T. CROWDING MEMORIES 243 Barnum had asked the favor of being Included in the number, as he greatly desired to meet his wife, who was a passenger on the incoming steamer. The enterprising showman was the first on board and asked to have the Duke pointed out to him. The Duke was standing by the rail, talking with the owners of "the yellow bird," his back to the ap- proaching visitor. Suddenly he was conscious of a vigorous slap on the ducal shoulder, and a stentorian voice rang in his ear: "Well, how are you, Duke? Welcome, welcome, Duke, to our glorious country! " Then ensued a transformation scene more sudden and surprising than that of any moving picture that has ever been or will be. Mr. Cabot Lodge, in his most interesting book, "Early Memories," writing of the Duke of Argyll, says, " He had very light red hair, which seemed to be flaring up from his head, and I remember Mr. Story saying that he looked like a lucifer match just ignited." The blow on the shoulder was the lighting of the lucifer match. Its fire burnt and shrivelled to ashes the daring offender. It was a wordless battle. When it was over, the thread of the sentence, that had been dropped for the moment, was picked up again. Nothing was said of the encounter, but one could feel the white heat of the fray. In the informal days on shipboard the acquaint- ance had ripened into a warm friendship ; the invi- 244 CROWDING MEMORIES tation was given that the next time the sea was crossed, there should be a visit to the Castle, and this time there would be no need to bribe the Censor to open wide its gates. The sound of the chain as the anchor was lowered and the pulsation of the engine ceased brought to the three who listened a real re- gret that the pleasant hours of companionship had come to an end. The "extras" and evening papers of that day an- nounced: "The Scythia arrived at the dock between three and four o'clock. Taking a carriage soon after five o'clock, the Duke and his son drove down Fifth Avenue and Broadway to Brentano's, in Union Square. The Duke called for the American edition of his book, 'The Reign of Law,' and praised its appearance." The next morning's mail brought to Ponkapog the following letter: " New York, June 3, 1879 "Dear Mrs. Aldrich: " I have just had time to go to a bookseller whose shop was known to my son, and I at once found a copy of my book 'The Reign of Law,' with a photo of myself which I had not before seen. It is an Amer- ican edition, and the back is, I am sorry to say, a little shabby. But you must excuse this and kindly accept it in remembrance of the pleasant conversa- CROWDING MEMORIES 245 tions I had with you on the passage out. I am much struck with the handsomeness of New York. But I must proceed as fast as I can to Niagara. "I hope you found the twins quite well. "Yours, "Argyll." Mr. Greenslet, in his "Life of Thomas Bailey Aldrich," wrote: "With the beginning of 1881 came another event that marked an epoch in the smooth- flowing stream of Aldrich's life. Mr. Howells, who as assistant editor and editor, had wielded the tri- dent of the ruler of the ' Atlantic ' for fifteen years, wearied a little of the toil, and resigned his post. Immediately thereupon the natural thing happened, and our poet, who had long before won his editorial spurs, and who had been for a score of years one of the 'Atlantic's' most important contributors, was appointed to fill that distinguished 'seat of the scomer.' " Miss Francis, Aldrich's assistant for the nine years of his editorship, draws a pen portrait very true to life: "To work with him was usually a most agreeable experience, but as to accomplish- ment, it had its disadvantages. It was likely to re- mind him of something much more interesting — some bit of autobiography, oftenest an anecdote of his early life, which led to another and yet another. Ah, if it could be possible to put that desultory talk, 246 CROWDING MEMORIES vivid narration, scintillating humor, into cold type, it would leave any tale he ever told with pen and ink far behind." In the same year and month that Mr. Aldrich succeeded Mr. Howells in the editorial chair of the "Atlantic," Boston had a new sensation in the ar- rival of Mr. Oscar Wilde. In a note to Mr. Aldrich, Mr. Stedman said : ' ' This Philistine town [New York] is making a fool of itself over Oscar Wilde, who is lecturing on Art Subjects, appearing in public in an extraordinary dress — a loose shirt with a turn- down collar, a flowing tie of uncommon shade, vel- vet coat, knee-breeches — and often he is seen in public carrying a lily, or a sunflower, in his hand. He has brought hundreds of letters of introduc- tion." On Mr. Wilde's first night in Boston, "A number of Harvard students dressed up in a burlesque of the aesthetic costume. The masqueraders waited until Oscar Wilde had stepped upon the platform, and then trooped in, in single file, each assuming a de- meanor more absurd than that of the man who pre- ceded him. There were sixty youths in the proces- sion, and all were dressed in swallow-tail coats, knee-breeches, flowing wigs and green ties. They all wore large lilies in their buttonholes, and each man carried a huge sunflower as he limped along. Sixty front seats had been reserved for the Harvard con- CROWDING MEMORIES 247 tingent, and it was amidst shouts of laughter that they filed into their places." During the stay of Mr. Wilde in Boston, Mr. Aldrich lived in strict seclusion. No invitations to dinners, receptions, or lunches were accepted, on the chance that this prodigious poseur might also be a guest. It was not until the end of a year that we came upon Mr. Wilde, suddenly, and met face to face. We had been in Europe all summer, and some- thing of the aesthetic movement that was then agi- tating England might be observed in the costume of one of the returning pilgrims, whose dress con- sisted of a soft brown camel's-hair gown, long cir- cular cloak of the same peculiar shade, with smocked yoke, large beaver hat, Gainsborough in shape, with floating, drooping plumes. Among the innumerable souvenirs of travel that had been bought for the jocund sprites, were two bisque, slender, green- tinted vases. Each vase held a red and a pink China rose, which stood out from the receptacle in bold relief. The jocund sprites had taken these treasures from the box that enclosed them, and, in the hurry of getting to the train, each carried his vase in his hand. And as the sprites, in dress and features, could have stood for Millais's picture of ''The Young Princes in the Tower," the waiting group on the platform attracted more attention than was de- sirable. 248 CROWDING MEMORIES There were no empty seats on the incoming car excepting the lengthwise one at the door and one seat on the same side, facing it, on the half of which seat sat a man clothed in singular fashion. He was wearing a light-brown velvet coat, a waistcoat of yellowish silk, blue tie and stockings, low brown shoes, and lemon-colored gloves. The hat was large and of a different shade of brown, and from under it the straight hair reached almost to the shoulder. The wearer of this strange costume slowly moved a green morocco bag, which evidently had served as a retainer for the seat, and with a bow yielded to the one who waited her moiety or share. The sprites with their China roses in their hands, the pilgrim with her drooping plumes, and the stranger with the unusual dress, made a quartette so remarkable that it was not to be wondered that they became the attraction for all eyes, not only in that car, but of passengers in the other cars con- tinually walking through. The train was an accommodation one and stopped at many way stations. At each there seemed to be a crowd on the platform who, the moment the train slowed up, would spring onto the steps and gaze into the car. Mr. Aldrich was riding in the smoking- car and oblivious of this scenic effect. It was not until the train had made many miles that a sufferer arose, and, following the conductor, asked if he CROWDING MEMORIES 249 knew why the people behaved in this unpleasantly rude way. Surprisingly unexpected was his answer: "Oh, I suspect it is just curiosity to look at Oscar Wilde " ! ! ! What a gloomy, tingling sensation these words pro- duced, for all the curious gazers must have thought that Mr. Wilde was travelling en famille. If wishes could have dashed and shattered to atoms China red and pink roses, the jocund sprites would have arrived at their journey's end with empty hands — no bangs, and — long trousers ! The question is still unanswered, as to what Oscar Wilde's feelings may have been toward this Bunthorne group. Some years after this chance encounter, Mr. Aldrich met Mr. Wilde and his wife, on the stage of the Lyceum Theatre. Mr. Irving was giving a sup- per for apparently all the critics and distinguished men and women of his city. The notes of invitation had requested that the guests should remain in the stalls after the lowering of the final curtain. As the audience that were not invited to the feast filed out the atmosphere seemed filled with the electric- ity that was always an accompaniment of a "first night" at the Lyceum Theatre. In an incredibly short time the curtain was raised, disclosing what seemed to be a marble hall in a ducal palace. A long table ran the entire width of the stage, with wings at the sides extending almost to the footlights. Mr. 250 CROWDING MEMORIES Irving, in evening dress, and Miss Terry, in volu- minous robes of white, advanced to the red carpeted steps that temporarily made the uprising from the parquet to the stars an easy ascension. Mr. Bram Stoker introduced Mr. Wilde, who kindly acted as Herald as the different personages came in sight, fitting names and characters in concise and lucid ways. Mr. Wilde had dropped his masquerade, discarded his unwise and foolish attitude, and never assumed it again. He wore the conventional dress based on accepted rules, and in no outward ways differed from his fellow-men. Mrs. Wilde was pretty, and young. She wore a canary-colored gown, so modish that probably it was "created " on the other side of the Channel. At this time Mr. and Mrs. Wilde must have been almost bride and groom. They gave the impression of congenial companionship and happi- ness. Vividly to my memory comes another evening at the Lyceum. Mr. Irving had invited Mr. Aldrich to the play, and to supper afterwards at the Beefsteak Room, to meet Madame Bernhardt, who, when in London, was a frequent guest at these meetings on the historic ground of what had once been the old "Beefsteak Club Room." Mr. Irving's box at the theatre was on the stalls' level. It had a special door which was approached CROWDING MEMORIES 251 from the stage. In the intervening years that have passed since that happy night, the name of the play has sHpped beyond recall, but the unrivalled interest remains of the slight opening of the door, and Mr. Irving's tall figure, arrayed in all his stage grandeur, beckoning his guests to come out for a minute that he might speak to them. The rich costume, this un- familiar accoutrement of the stage, produced, in one of his surprised guests, a strange shyness. The in- stantaneous thought that flitted through her mind being, was it possible that she had once dared to tell this sumptuous splendor "to eat his mushrooms before they became quite cold"? At the fall of the final curtain, Mr. Stoker came to the box to conduct Mr. Aldrich on his winding way. We descended a red-carpeted staircase, crossed the stage, ascended a twisting stair, passed through an armory filled with such a variety of weapons that it might have been the Tower of London in min- iature, and were ushered into a large wainscoted apartment. A few logs were burning in an antique fireplace, and drawn near to the blaze was a high- backed settee, on which Madame Bernhardt was half sitting, half reclining. She wore a white satin, decollete dress, which hung loose from the shoulder, where it was held in place by heavily encrusted jewelled clasps. The waist was loosely defined by a flexible girdle, made of large squares of gold, that 252 CROWDING MEMORIES formed the massive setting of the precious stones that adorned it. The long ends of the girdle reached almost to her feet. Memories bring back to these later years the living picture of Sarah Bernhardt, as we first saw her in the Beefsteak Room of the Lyceum. The indefinable personality, the wondrous charm, the golden voice in which she greeted Mr. Aldrich — so perfect her acting and so kind her heart that it might be true or it might be false, "that his was a loved and fa- miliar name." There were many brilliant guests at supper that night. Extraordinarily vivid was Madame Bemhardt's description of a pantomime she had seen in London, and of the acting of Columbine and the peculiar manner her hair was worn, in small curls about her head. "It was like this," she said. With rapid fingers she separated the strands of her rather short hair and twisted it tight in innumerable spikes that stood out in bold relief all over her head, which after this realistic illustration she seemed to forget, as her coiffure remained dressed In this in- dividual fashion for the rest of the evening. It was delightful to see Madame Bernhardt and Miss Terry together, each so unlike, both equally fascinating. Madame Bernhardt had gone early in the evening to Miss Terry's dressing-room. Not finding her there, she had written on the white nap- kin of her toilet table, "Ellen Terry, my dearling," CROWDING MEMORIES 253 that being as near as her French tongue could sur- mount the spelling of "darling." Miss Terry said she had cut the dear message out and should have it framed. "Fussy," Mr. Irving's little dog, was much in evidence that night at the supper, dividing his attentions with impartiality between the two queens of the feast, traversing over the table the distance that separated him from the strawberry ice-cream of Madame Bernhardt's plate and the "tutti-frutti " of Miss Terry's. The friendship between Fussy and his master was very intense, the companionship in- separable. And although Fussy was content to re- ceive the adulation of the entire theatrical company, his true allegiance was solely to Mr. Irving himself. On the first visit of Mr. Irving and his company to America, in the change from the train to the steamer at Southampton, Fussy disappeared, to the inconsolable agitation of his master, who was with great difficulty persuaded to go on board the steamer. Telegrams were sent in all directions, offer- ing large rewards, but they brought no answers. Three weeks passed without sign that Fussy still lived. On a night at the end of the third week, the keeper of the stage entrance of the Lyceum heard a faint whine at the closed door, which at first he dis- regarded; but as the low, plaintive cry continued, it aroused his interest, and opening the door, a poor bedraggled mite of a creature dragged itself in, a 254 CROWDING MEMORIES wisp of a tail wagged, and the almost skeleton of what once had been a dog fell to the floor. The ex- pression of the eyes and the weak movement of the tail forced the recognition. It was Fussy. How had the poor little wasted being, thirsty and starved, the pampered darling of happy days, found its way on untravelled paths that lay between the stage door of London streets and the crowded pier of Southampton? It was of the same little dog that Mr. Irving, when he was told that the Star Theatre and all his effects were in danger of burning, asked first, "Is Fussy safe?" CHAPTER XXI TURN backward, O Time, in thy flight," and from the world of shadows bring again the group of men who played their part on the stage of Life that wintry day in 1887, when in the Boston Museum was held an "Authors' Reading," so called, the object of which was to raise money for a Long- fellow Memorial Fund. From the first inception of the idea it was hailed with zeal by the friends of Mr. Longfellow, the authors and poets, who for friendship's sake were glad to add their quota to- wards perpetuating his memory. Mr. Clemens had suggested that the price of the tickets should be five dollars. On the day of the "Reading" every seat in the Boston Museum was occupied, and in every available place the people stood wedged one against another, while the crowd still seeking ad- mission reached far out into the street. Before the rising of the curtain, when Mr. Aldrich, in much perturbation and genuine stage fright, ar- rived on the scene and saw the semicircle of chairs all of one pattern and one height, the mise en seine a reproduction of the stage as set for the perform- ance of Christy Minstrels with their darky jokes, songs and dances, he said to the assembled poets 256 CROWDING MEMORIES programme. Professor Charles Eliot Norton will PRESIDE. 1. Mr. Samuel L. Clemens. 2. Mrs. Julia Ward Howe. 3. Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes. 4. Mr. George William Curtis. 5. Mr. T. B. Aldrich. 6. Hon. James Russell Lowell. 7. Rev. Edward Everett Hale. 8. Mr. W. D. Howells. 9. Colonel T. W. Higginson. THE READINGS WILL BEGIN PRECISELY AT TWO O'CLOCK. and authors, he felt sure that In that environment the moment the curtain went up, involuntarily he should lean forward from his chair and address Hon. James Russell Lowell and Rev. Edward Hale in this wise: "Now, Breder Hale, when you prays, don't pray so much in general way; pray more perticler; if I prays de Lord to git me a turkey, dat ain't nothin' — I ain't agoin' to git dat turkey ; but when I prays de Lord to git me one of Massa John's CROWDING MEMORIES 257 turkeys I knows I 'se gwine to git dat turkey 'fore Sat'dy night!" Mr. Aldrich was so obsessed with this idea, his nerves so strained and out of tune (having an un- conquerable terror of speaking before an audience), that it was felt he might almost do it and that it would be wise to send a hurried call to the property man. The uniform chairs were hustled away, sofas and seats of different form brought in, and the precise semicircle made carelessly irregular and casual. In an old and yellowing letter bearing the date of that afternoon, the writer of it says: "We were in time to see the footlights turned on and the curtain go up. Sitting in an irregular semicircle on the stage, some on chairs others on sofas, were the ten noted men including [Mrs.] Julia Ward Howe and the chairman. A small reading-stand, a large bunch of flowers, and a pitcher of water with the accom- panying goblet, was the only ornament (excepting Aldrich) on the stage." On that memorable afternoon Mr. Clemens was the first speaker. Professor Charles Eliot Norton said, "I am but as the Herald who proclaims the names of the heroes as they enter the lists"; then introduced Mr. Clemens with that felicity of word and phrase of which he was a master. As Mr. Clem- ens rose and came forward, loud and long was the 258 CROWDING MEMORIES applause as he announced his subject, "English as She is Taught." Mr. Clemens was followed by Dr. Holmes. When he came forward the applause was most enthusiastic, unmistakably showing the affection with which he was regarded. Dr. Holmes read "The Chambered Nautilus," "Dorothy Q." — an English paper he said had spelled it "Cue," which would have been more appropriate if she had been a billiard player, or even an actress. Mrs. Julia Ward Howe was the next speaker ; she read "Her Orders" and "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." She wore a black velvet dress and a white cap, and as the martial music of her words fell on the listeners' ears she seemed like one inspired. Rev. Edward Everett Hale came next. My yellow- ing letter says: "His selection was good and appar- ently had been well practised. He is an odd-looking man and wears misfit clothes. His coat seemed to have more buttons than buttonholes, with some of the buttons doing double duty; his eyes are sunken and his hair grows in bunches, two of the bunches being over his eyes. Dr. Hale read ' The Great Har- vest Year.' Mr. George William Curtis read extracts from the 'Potiphar Papers.' " Mr. Norton said, in introducing Mr. Aldrich: '"There are two points,* says Mr. Browning, 'two points in the adventure of the diver: one when, as a CROWDING MEMORIES 259 beggar he prepares to plunge, one when, a prince, he rises with a pearl.' I imagine myself that diver, but I am certain of my pearl." I quote again from my yellowing letter: "Then came Thomas Bailey Aldrich. While the show was in progress, Aldrich and Howells sat close together at the back and chatted occasionally. Aldrich sat stiff and prim as though he had called for the first time to pay attention to Mrs. Howe, who sat at his right, and was naturally bashful and nervous, while Howells sat on his back, his feet a yard and a quar- ter apart out in front of him, his hands in gray trousers pockets, and his head on the back of his chair. Aldrich does n't look more than thirty and Howells would pass easily for forty. Aldrich, when standing before the footlights, did n't seem to know what to do with his feet, and throughout his reading, which was very poor from an elocutionary stand- point, he was nervous in the extreme. I imagine that Longfellow only, and no amount of money, could drag him out to read in public. At any rate, he did not seem to relish the task, not even a little bit." Candor and truth unhappily compel me to allow that this description of Mr. Aldrich is realistically true, as he appeared when he was confronted by an audience. Of all the men who gave their voices on that day for this dear son of memory, I can well be- lieve that if a gift to be real must be a sacrifice, 26o CROWDING MEMORIES Mr. Aldrich was the most generous giver. It was only the one who was nearest to him who could understand the heroism and warmth of friendship that brought and held him on that stage, or how erroneous would be the impression those, seeing him for the first time there, must form of a personality so unlike himself. In the everyday circumstances of life, Mr. William H. Rideing's pen portrait brings Mr. Aldrich to my love and memory in a way which no other written words have ever done; and it was thus he ever seemed to me: "It always seemed to me that Aldrich belonged to other times than our own, and that he had strayed like a traveller returned out of an earlier century. There was something of Herrick in him, something of Sir Philip Sidney, and something of Lovelace. At the latest he would have been at home in the age of Queen Anne, a sword and a cocked hat; ruffles of lace and a coat of lavender velvet, strapped with gold; a doublet of creamy satin, also frilled and embroidered; knee-breeches and silk hose would have become him better than the quiet clothes he always wore. Without swagger, he had the swing and gaiety of a Cavalier; a blithe heart and a habit of seeing things through the airy fancy and high re- solves of a still earlier gallantry, even the gallantry of a knight-errant riding through the forest of the CROWDING MEMORIES 261 world with songs on his lips and a wit as nimble as his sword. His weapon was raillery: it flashed in the air and pricked without venom and without leaving any rankling wound. He literally laughed away those who crossed swords with him, and left them laughing too. His conversation was even better than his writings and like them was crisp, pointed, and inimitably and impressively whimsicaL It seemed to be impossible for him to say a commonplace thing or to say anything that did not end in some unex- pected turn to evoke the smiles or laughter of the listener. "Confident and even aggressive among intimates, he was incurably shy among strangers, especially in public gatherings of all kinds, and had a strong aversion to speech-making. I remember a great gar- den party given by Governor Claflin to celebrate one of the many birthdays of Harriet Beecher Stowe. Mr. Aldrich was expected to be one of the chief celebrants of the occasion, but he shunned the crowd and moved about the edge of it, until at last we found ourselves out of sight and hearing of it. The master of the ceremonies pursued him and dis- covered him like a truant school-boy. * Here, Aldrich, you must keep your end up ! Come on ! ' Aldrich was inarticulate, and as soon as his pursuer disappeared, flew with me for the station. Soon afterward, and long before the ceremonies had ended, we were at 262 CROWDING MEMORIES his cottage on Lynn Terrace, not hearing speeches or making them, but Hstening to the breakers tum- bling against the rocks of that pleasant seaside retreat. I suspect that he realized his disgrace. It was not the consequence of any reluctance to do homage to Mrs. Stowe, but rather his unconquerable dislike of publicity." Colonel T. W. Higginson was the next speaker after Mr. Aldrich; he read delightfully his "Vaca- tion for Saints"; Mr. Howells read extracts from "Their Wedding Journey"; Mr. Lowell, Long- fellow's "Building of the Ship"; and in this wise ended one of the most notable entertainments ever given in Boston. CHAPTER XXII /"Now one by one the visions fly, \ ' And one by one the voices die." .■ IT was in the summer of 1885, on a cruise on the Oneida, Mr. E. C. Benedict's yacht, that the conception by Mr. Booth of a Club for Actors took shape and crystallized. Lying fallow in his mind for some years had been the desire to do something tangible and enduring for his profession, but it was not until in the intimate companionship of the yacht's party — Lawrence Barrett, Parke God- win, Laurence Hutton, William Bispham, and Mr. Aldrich — that the idea of an Actors' Club was seriously discussed. "Mr. Aldrich with happy inspiration suggested the name, 'The Players.* Curiously enough, the whole thing was based upon the name. If Mr. Aldrich had not thought of a name before it was thought of itself, 'The Players,' perhaps, would never have existed." A year or two before the memorable cruise Mr. Booth had bought the fine old house, 29 Chestnut Street, Boston. This happy conjunction of near neighborhood united still closer the old comradeship of Booth and Aldrich, and it was an unusual day in 264 CROWDING MEMORIES which the two friends did not meet. Many were the talks and plans and schemes, in front of the cosy fire in Mr. Booth's den, as to the ways and means of the Actors' Club that was to be, so that it was not surprising that when Mr. Booth's daughter married, Mr. Booth grew restless and impatient with desire that his plan should materialize. Shortly after the daughter's marriage, in a letter to Mr. Furness, Mr. Booth says: "At last my Boston house is empty, scrubbed, locked, the keys in the office of an agent who will sell the property for me, and I am here [Lynn] for a few days with Aldrich. "I coaxed him to take some buttermilk to-day, and he wryly remarked, ' It 's like kissing a baby ! ' Is n't that as good as Thackeray's remark about the American oyster?" On the last night of the year 1888 a scene of un- common beauty and significance was visible in a house in Gramercy Park. On that night, and just before the death of the old year, the members of The Players Club assembled for the first time and were formally installed in their home. It was nearly twelve o'clock when Mr. Booth, taking his place upon a dais in front of the hearthstone, formally addressed his associates, and in a brief speech, with gentle dignity and winning sweetness of manner, presented to them the title-deeds to their club- house, the building No. 16 Gramercy Park, which, CROWDING MEMORIES 265 with its unique furniture, works of art and fine decorations, was his personal gift to the Club. No speech was ever in better taste, nor was there ever a good deed done with more grace, humility, and sweetness. In giving the Club to the Actors, Mr. Booth had made a home for the homeless and ever- travelling profession. This great benevolence crowned a life that was as full of benevolence as it was of grief and triumph. A few weeks before the opening of the Club, Mr. Booth had written to Mr. Oliver I. Lay: "I have heard that some of my friends among the Players desire to compliment me by placing a portrait of myself on the wall of the Club reading-room. On some other occasion I could not decline such a manifestation of good feeling, but under present circumstances, while the house is still my own, to be presented by me to others, I shrink from the in- delicacy I should be guilty of were I to permit any conspicuous portrait of myself to be exhibited. My friends may consider me morbidly sensitive on the subject: I may be so; but 't is my nature, and no effort of mine can overcome my aversion to any suggestion of self-glorification which a prominent portrait of myself on such an occasion would evince. . . .*' Two years later the members of the Club com- missioned Mr. Sargent to paint for the Club a por- 266 CROWDING MEMORIES trait of their president. In a letter to his daughter Mr. Booth wrote: "Just as I packed my bag and was about starting for the station, Mr. Sargent called to say that he had word from the Art Com- mittee to paint my portrait for the Club. Of course, this is the only opportunity to have so distinguished an artist at me, consequently I yield to the annoy- ance of posing." In writing to a friend later, Mr. Booth said: / "When I told Aldrich, he advised me to buy at once a piece of sand-paper, and inside locked doors to sand-paper my soul, for I might be assured that in this presentment of myself, all secret sins, or thoughts, would be dragged squirming to the light, and were liable to take precedence over the virtues when this master-hand wielded the brush. This pre- diction would have been verified if, after the second sitting, I had not said to Aldrich, ' I am disappointed in the picture, for if it is a true portrayal of myself, why, then I don't feel as I look.' Aldrich's advice was urgent, that as the picture was for succeeding generations of the Club, it was only justice to the artist that he should be told. Upon this cue I spoke. Mr. Sargent, apparently unconscious of my words, painted on for a few minutes and then said, 'Look now, and see if you like it any better.' The face on the canvas was entirely painted out, and with ready alacrity a new picture was begun." CROWDING MEMORIES 267 Mr. Booth writes, in a letter to Mr. Bispham: " I think Sargent will make a great success with my portrait. It is unlike any I have seen of myself in regard to expression." SARGENT'S PORTRAIT OF EDWIN BOOTH AT THE PLAYERS That face which no man ever saw And from his memory banished quite, With eyes in which are Hamlet's awe And Cardinal Richelieu's subtle light, Looks from this frame. A master's hand Has set the master-player here, In the fair temple that he planned Not for himself. To us most dear This image of him! *' It was thus He looked; such pallor touched his cheek; With that same grace he greeted us — Nay, 't is the man, could it but speak! " Sad words that shall be said some day — Far fall the day ! O cruel Time, W^hose breath sweeps mortal things away, Spare long this image of his prime, That others, standing in the place Where, save as ghosts, we come no more, May know what sweet majestic face The gentle Prince of Players wore! Mr. Booth's professional life closed as it had be- gun, by chance. His last appearance was in Brook- lyn, in "Hamlet." As the curtain fell, the applause continued for a long time. The audience rose, and Booth was recalled again and again. On that night 268 CROWDING MEMORIES his theatrical life ended without any formal farewell to the stage. For some time the periods of his en- gagements had grown shorter and shorter; little by little he had relaxed his grasp upon the stage. The last few years of Mr. Booth's life were passed mostly at The Players Club, in the rooms on the third floor reserved for him — and there he died, in the sixtieth year of his age. Two years before his death he had a slight stroke of paralysis; from that time his health gradually failed ; he knew the end of his earthly life was near, but he did not brood over it, and he did not fear it. He had often said with Hamlet, ''The readiness is all," and he was prepared to answer the summons whenever it might come. Nothing in his life was more beautiful than the spirit of resignation in which he accepted declining health, with its gath- ering shadows. In April, 1893, Mr. Booth had a second stroke, and from that hour he lingered until the night of June 7, when, soon after midnight, the brave and patient spirit made the dark voyage into the great unknown. On the night Edwin Booth was bom there was a great shower of meteors. At the hour when he lay dying, all the electric lights in The Players Club grew dim and went out. "Good-night, sweet Prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." CROWDING MEMORIES 269 JUNE 7, 1893 In narrow space, with Booth, lie housed in death lago, Hamlet, Shylock, Lear, Macbeth. If still they seem to walk the painted scene 'T is but the ghosts of those that once have been. CHAPTER XXIII MR. GREENSLET writes that in the spring of 1890, after nine years in the editorial chair, Aldrich concluded that the time had come to enjoy a larger leisure. Resigning the post to Horace Scud- der, who had often occupied it during his summers in Europe, he sailed for the East, free of all ties; and manuscripts and "make-up" troubled him no more. The memorabilia of these years are few. The Aldriches were abroad in the summers of 1890, 1891, and 1892. In the summer of 1893 they built "The Crags" at Tenants Harbor on the Maine coast, a summer place that the poet came to be immensely fond of. In the winter of 1894-95 they went around the world. In the winter of 1898-99 they went again around the world; and they were in Europe in the summer of 1900. Despite this far-darting travel and the zest with which he enjoyed his leisure, Aldrich's pen was far from idle. He wrote numerous short stories, and though he was continually affirming that he had written his last poem, the impulse was as continually revisiting him. These years saw the composition of such poems as "Elmwood," ''Un- guarded Gates," "Santo Domingo," and the "Shaw Memorial Ode." They saw, too, the successful stage CROWDING MEMORIES 271 production of his drama "Mercedes" — his black little tragedy, as he always called it. Mr. Palmer, a New York manager, and an old friend, had often asked Mr. Aldrich to let him produce "Mercedes," but Mr. Aldrich, having the feelings of the poet about the play, invariably replied, "I wrote it, I love it, and I don't care to have it played." One day in Mr. Palmer's office he saw a photograph of a young actress, Julia Arthur, with a scarf thrown over her head. In the pictured face to his eye was visualized the Mercedes of his imagination. Mr. Aldrich asked who it was, and with Mr. Palmer's answer, "A young girl in our company," Mr. Aldrich said, "She could play Mercedes." Mr. Palmer with surprise asked, " Merely on the strength of that photograph would you be willing to have her?" Mr. Aldrich replied, "If you will cast her for the part you can produce the play." To Miss Arthur part and play opened new possi- bilities, and she could scarcely believe that she had been chosen to act the fiery Spanish peasant girl. She flung herself into the work, and when she had finally imagined and accomplished her disguise, even Mr. Palmer, in the darkened theatre where the rehearsal was about to begin, failed to recognize, in the brown, ear-ringed, lustrous-haired, and fiery- eyed Spanish girl, the Miss Arthur he had known in other parts. 272 CROWDING MEMORIES The following note from Miss Arthur brings back from distant years, with startling clearness, the evening of the first dress rehearsal of the little tragedy : "The rehearsal was called at eight, but by six o'clock I was at my make-up table hard at work. When I was ready I went out to find Mr. Palmer, for I wanted him to see my make-up. The theatre was dark, but at last I found him, leaning his elbows on the rail behind the orchestra. I went up to him and said, * Is this all right? ' I was in the simplest of peasant costumes with a big comb in my hair, and stood with my hands on my hips. He looked at me for a moment and then said, * I gave orders to have the theatre closed. There is a rehearsal going on.* I stared at him, for I did n't know what he meant. My knees knocked together with nervousness, but I said again, 'Why, I just wanted to know if you think this will do.' He looked at me quickly, and then exclaimed, 'Good Lord, child! Is it you?' He thought I was one of the Italian women who came in to clean. When he had looked me well over, he took me to a box where Mr. and Mrs. Aldrich were sitting, and I was introduced just as I was, costume, make-up, and all. I was in a panic, for I had heard of Mr. Aldrich always as a great poet, and I was only a young girl working hard over the part and loving the role. All the company had talked to me JULIA ARTHUR CROWDING MEMORIES 273 about the poet, and quoted his verses until I was so nervous at meeting him that I did n't know what to do. Mr. Aldrich took one look at me and then turned to his wife and said, *My Mercedes!'" The week preceding the first performance of the play had been unusually exacting with social and business engagements. All the time Mr. Aldrich felt he could give the New York visit would be to arrive late in the afternoon of the day, and leave on an early train the next morning. Mr. Palmer had re- served a box at the theatre for Mr. Aldrich, and a large contingent of his friends had signified their intention to be present at the first performance. The more intimate clientele had written they would call at the hotel soon after his arrival. The train was late. The sharer of the nervous hopes and fears hurriedly unpacked the small box containing the evening clothes, depositing Mr. Aldrich's share in his dressing-room, placing them with systematic care, that he might lose no time in enrobing, later in the day. As the last thing was taken from the box, the first visitor was announced. And when the last caller left, the time for dinner and to dress had been sadly encroached upon. That, added to the dis- covery that certain much-needed articles of fem- inine attire had been omitted by a careless maid in packing, threw something of gloom over the inter- mittent conversation that filtered through the half- 274 CROWDING MEMORIES open door of the dressing-room. At the most im- portant moment in the arrangement of a coiffure, words were overheard that in spite of the hot curl- ing iron in the hand, sent a chill to the hearer: — ' * Where are my trousers ! ! ! " With enforced calm the answer was given, "They are with the rest of the evening suit." There was silence for a moment, and then the voice said: " I have the pair on that was on the bed — but they drag on the floor a half of a yard, and for the want of several inches of cloth they won't meet at the waist. I think they must belong to the twins!!!" The hot iron grew cold in the holder's hand as she stood petrified, deprived even of thought. What could be done at that hour? A moment later the door of the dressing-room opened, and Mr. Aldrich came in dressed in the "pepper-and-salt" lounging suit he had worn on the train. Apparently all dis- appointment had slipped away and left only the desire that, for the one who cared most, the mis- fortune should be smoothed away and the enjoy- ment of the evening not spoiled by the unlucky accident. Mr. Aldrich was firm that he could not go to the theatre without evening dress; that it was disrespectful to his friends and his audience. At last the happy compromise was made, that he would go to the theatre with his pepper-and-salt trousers, the CROWDING MEMORIES 275 rest of his body arrayed in evening splendor; that he should sit in the back of the box, the wraps on a chair making a screen to hide the defection of the conventional evening make-up. When at the end of the play the curtain was rung down, it was raised again and again in answer to the applause that greeted the little company of actors who had crystallized its success. Then came loud calls for "Author!" "Author!" "Curtain!" "Cur- tain!" followed by a sharp knock at the box door and the hurried message, "Mr. Palmer says Mr. Aldrich must come in front of the curtain." The calls of "Author!" "Author!" "Curtain!" "Cur- tain!" grew louder and louder, and the messenger returned to the box with the imperative word, " Mr. Palmer says for Mr. Aldrich to come at once." In this unfortunate and awkward dilemma, Mr. Aldrich stood with the chair as a screen between him and his cruel audience, bowing to the right and the left ; but this did not satisfy his uncomprehend- ing friends, who called louder and louder, "Author!" "Author!" "Curtain!" "Curtain!" "Speech!" "Speech!" The next morning's newspapers, in criticism and editorials, said: "It was much to be regretted that Mr. Aldrich had not spontaneously yielded to the flattering request to come before the curtain, in- stead of coldly bowing, at the back of a stage box." 276 CROWDING MEMORIES But added, in extenuation of the misdemeanor, " Perhaps it is the cool conservatism of Boston that restrained him." From the blur of the closing years of the century a few incidents rise up from vague and indefinite memories, and stand out vivid and unconfused from the rest. Very clear is an evening at the country home of Mr. and Mrs. Whitelaw Reid. The "week- end" company numbered some twenty or thirty guests, among whom Mr. Aldrich and Mr. Chauncey M. Depew were conspicuous members. Mr. Depew had been known for years as a wit and a brilliant after-dinner speaker — and he brooked no rival near his throne. Unconsciously Mr. Aldrich had somewhat usurped his wonted place, and at dinner that night the charm of his conversation and his happy humor had centred the interest of the table talk upon himself. It was after the dinner was over and the company adjourned to the large hall for coffee and cigars that the "Lost Leader " boldly took the field, unmindful of the disasters that might follow. Mr. Greenslet says all his life long Mr. Aldrich had been uttering good things as copious and as unconcerned as the bubbles that rise in an effervescent spring. Now he was a little nearer the footlights, and his sayings began to be more widely repeated, and men began to tell of his whimsicalities at the clubs of New York CROWDING MEMORIES 277 and the dinner-tables at Washington. But unfor- tunately for Mr. Depew, he underestimated the weapon of his unconscious rival who had taken precedence. As soon as the coffee was served and the guests seated in a semicircle about the blazing logs in the large hall, Mr. Depew rose, and facing Mr. Aldrich, said, ''You are from Boston, I believe, Mr. Aldrich; and is this your favorite bit of verse? '"rm from good old Boston, The home of the bean and the cod, Where the Cabots speak only to Lowells, And the Lowells speak only to God.' " And then followed an after-dinner speech in Mr. Depew's most brilliant vein, but full of little thorns and pin-pricks directed to the blond young man who had taken from the elder his hitherto unques- tioned right of being first. When the end came, amid shouts of laughter, the apparent victor with triumphant smile relighted his cigar. Mr. Aldrich slowly walked to the high fireplace, flicked the ashes from his cigarette, and turning to- wards Mr. Depew began speaking, constantly in- terrupted by laughter that would cease for the moment, to break out again with renewed vigor. His weapon was raillery. It flashed in the air and pricked without venom. Dr. Holmes once said of Mr. Aldrich, "You have only to touch him — he 278 CROWDING MEMORIES goes off like a Roman candle." Mr. Depew had touched him, and to Mr. Depew's cost he went off. At the finish Mr. Aldrich bowed to Mr. Depew and sauntered back to his chair. For a moment there was silence, which was broken in upon by Mr. Reid's voice, saying, "Sneeze, Chauncey, your head is off." The next morning Mr. Depew returned to New York. After Mr. Aldrich relinquished the editorship of the "Atlantic Monthly," in writing to a friend he said, "I am so happy these days that I half sus- pect some calamity lurking round the corner." The calamity was not long to be deferred. It came in the death of the Honorable Henry L. Pierce, his closest friend for more than a quarter of a century. In a letter to Mr. Gilder, Mr. Aldrich writes: "I suppose that Woodberry has told you what a sad and anxious household we have here. Mr. Pierce came in from Milton a week ago last Thursday to pass three or four days with us, intending to go to New York on Tuesday. On Monday morning he had a stroke of paralysis, and has ever since been lying helpless in our house. His situation is very serious. For nearly twenty-five years he has been one of the most loved of guests at our fireside, and it takes all our fortitude to face the fact that that wise and gentle and noble heart has come to us for the last time. ..." The deep and unaffected friendship that existed THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH CROWDING MEMORIES 279 between Mr. Aldrich and Mr. Pierce was most un- usual. "Each by turns was guide to each." They shared the mutual interests of two very distinct lives, and the varied interests of one were vital to the other. For the quarter of a century in which they were together, it was exceptional (if they were in the same city) if a day passed in which they did not meet; and after Mr. Pierce's death the miser- able feeling of loneliness changed for a long time Mr. Aldrich's world. Mr. Pierce was a Member of Congress, twice Mayor of Boston, and although in later years de- clining public office, he still retained great influence in political matters. He was a citizen whom the people of his city delighted to honor. At his death the City Hall was closed during the hours of his funeral and the flag placed at half-mast. The Rever- end L. F. Munger gave at the service this brief and true summary of this most lovely nature: "I found in him what only a few have thoroughly known, an utmost delicacy of mind so deep within him. It showed itself in a feeling for nature, a sense of mystery under the sky at night, a reverence before things great, a tenderness and chivalry that was almost ideal. But these were not the obvious marks of his character — more marked was a general strength and positiveness that ran throughout his entire nature. He was in all ways a strong man. 28o CROWDING MEMORIES Strong in will even to obstinacy, strong in his sense of honor, strong in his love for his friends, strong in his sympathies, strong in his patriotism, strong in his likes and his dislikes. To those who knew him best there was a certain charming simplicity in his character due to the fact that it was the clear and direct product of his nature, unhelped by outside influences." The leading newspaper of the city in writing of his death said: "Ke was a citizen whom the people delighted to honor. His public and private life was stainless, and not in a long time has there been known such generous remembrances of public in- stitutions and charities as in the provisions of his will." Mr. Pierce left to Harvard the largest bequest that up to that time the College had ever received. The Museum of Fine Arts, the Institute of Tech- nology, the Massachusetts General Hospital, and the Homoeopathic Hospital, were also left like be- quests. "... Little did he crave Men's praises; modestly, with kindly mirth Not sad nor bitter, he accepted fate — Drank deep of life, knew books, and hearts of men, Cities and camps and war's immortal woe, Yet bore through all (such virtue in him sate His spirit is not whiter now than then) A simple, loyal nature pure as snow." CHAPTER XXIV OF these last years Mr. Greenslet writes: "The end of the century and of the happy post- meridianal decade of Aldrich's life came together. Fate, that seldom fails to balance a man's account, was preparing to collect heavy arrears of sorrow. On Christmas Day, 1900, the elder of the twin sons was married." This marriage brought to Mr. Aldrich anticipations of great happiness — antici- pations doomed to great disappointment. The ac- quaintance preceding the marriage was short, but the spirit in which Mr. Aldrich welcomed the en- gagement is well shown in the lines written under a photograph of the bride's little girl : She became our grand-daughter November 13, igoo. Black shadows should have tolled the bells on this wedding day. Mr. Greenslet has so graphically described the incidents of the next years that the following ex- tracts are from his pen : " In the early summer of 1901 the Aldriches sailed for England to spend some months on the Devon coast. On their return they were met at the wharf 282 CROWDING MEMORIES by a message telling them that their married son, whose letter received just as they were sailing from Liverpool, announced his intention to welcome them at the pier, had been smitten with a sudden hemor- rhage of the lungs and had been hurried to the Adirondacks. They hastened to his side, and for a time he seemed^ better. There amid the mountains for two years and a half the fight went on with alternate seasons of hope and sad certainty. Only Mr. Aldrich's intimates know how tragical was his grief in these cruel years. Before the world he con- trived for the most part to maintain a brave cheer- fulness, and through his correspondence runs a val- iant humor that touches with poignant pathos the hearts of those who know what lay behind. "The story of the earlier months at Saranac will best be told in his own words: *We are very pleas- antly settled, and like the quiet life here. We are on the edge of the village, with the mountains for our immediate neighbors. Our house, a new and spacious villa, stands on a plateau overlooking Saranac River. Two or three hundred yards away, at our feet, is the cottage in which Stevenson spent the winter of '87. The sunsets and the sunrises com- pensate one for the solitude which moreover has a charm of its own. ... It snows nearly all the time in a sort of unconscious way — every window frame a picture of bewildering and capricious loveliness. CROWDING MEMORIES 283 If our dear boy only continues to gather strength we shall have a happy winter in this little pocket Swit- zerland. He is very thin and white and feeble — at times I have to turn my eyes away, but my heart keeps looking at him.' "As the year of 1903 drew to an end the hope that had from time to time lighted our poet's heart grew fainter. Writing to Mr. E. L. Burlingame, who had made him a flattering offer for some articles to be written, he had said — 'If anything should hap- pen to my boy I 'd never again set pen to paper. If the task were begun it would be left unfinished.' It was never even begun ! The holidays came and went and the gentle life that was so dear to him flickered to its close. "On March 6, 1904, Charles Frost Aldrich died. By this death, which involved more elements of tragedy than the mere pathos of mortality, the settled happiness of Aldrich's life was shattered. His literary faculty was shrivelled by it as by a touch of evil magic, and though he regained in time, to the superficial eye, something of the old airy joyousness, his intimates understood the brooding sorrow that lay underneath. Even in cheerier hours among his friends the old whimsical flow of happy life was poisoned at its source. Now and again his genial glow would come briefly back, but never with the old unquenchable fire; and often in the full current 284 CROWDING MEMORIES of his talk he would fall suddenly silent and his face would be darkened by the shadow of his grief. "The summer after Mr. Aldrich's son's death was spent at York Harbor. The familiar places of Ponka- pog and ' The Crags * were too much crowded with ghosts and memories for readjustment from the old life to the new. Happily for Mr. Aldrich, he became interested in rewriting for Miss O'Neil his narrative poem of 'Judith and Holof ernes,' chang- ing it into the tragedy of 'Judith of Bethulia.' The play was produced with success at the Tremont Theatre. " The next summer was spent in cruising along the coast in his son's yacht, the Bethulia; and in the winter Mr. Aldrich went to Egypt, where in Cairo a great happiness came to him, in the engagement of his surviving son. 'She is young — just twenty,* Aldrich wrote; 'I shall have lovely days with her. The marriage took place in June. All the Virtues attendant upon her pealed the wedding bells.' " With this marriage the acute pain of the preced- ent years lessened somewhat — the broken square enclosed again. A daughter sat in the place of the absent son, with her youth and beauty giving back something of the cheer of happier days. With calm serenity the twisted cord of life was taken up — the summer drifted into winter, bringing with it its sudden blight of unutterable loss. CHARLES FROST ALDRICH IN THE UNIFORM OF THE FIRST CORPS OF CADETS, MASSACHUSETTS VOLUNTEER MILITIA CROWDING MEMORIES 285 "Yet, O stricken heart, remember, O remember, How of human days he lived the better part. April came to bloom and never dim December Breathed its killing chills upon his head or heart." Mr. Aldrich died on March 19. Fittingly, as the sun set, the end came. With a smile of ineffable sweetness he said to the one dearest to him, "I am going to sleep; put out the lights." And for her he loved, the light of life went out and darkness came. On the first day of spring, at the Arlington Street Church, were held impressive funeral services, "be- fitting a poet's passing." Mrs. Gardner asked "that his pall might be the violet mantle she brought, nothing black should shroud his airy spirit in its flight." " I wonder what day of the week, I wonder what month of the year; Will it be midnight or morning? And who will bend over my bier?" The friends he loved most "bent over his bier." And in the presence of many of his old comrades in the life of Letters he was buried in Mount Auburn Cemetery beside his boy, on whose grave, as if held by him, rested the blanket of flowers that waited to cover the displaced brown earth. On the recumbent stone of granite and slate, underneath the carven wreath, is inscribed a fragment of Mr. Aldrich 's own lines: 286 CROWDING MEMORIES "... How trivial now To him must earthly" laurel be Who wears the amaranth on his brow! How vain the voices of mortality! So take him, Earth, and this his mortal part With that shrewd alchemy thou hast, transmute To flower and leaf in thine unending Springs!" FINIS "That which in him was fair Still shall be ours; Yet, yet my heart lies there Under the flowers." INDEX INDEX Actors' Club, 263-67. Agassiz, Louis, 135. Aldrich, Charles Frost, marriage of, 281; illness and death of, 281-83. Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, as imag- ined and in the reality, 18, 19; at the Booths', 22 ; as visualized by Mr. Greenslet, 24; doing editorial work on the "lUus- / trated News," 29; his chap- eronage of Booth, 31-33; en- gagement to the future Mrs. Aldrich, 43, 44; early life, 45, 46; his association with N. P. Willis, 46-48; and Miss Gar- nault, 49-53; injured in riot, 54; among his artist friends, 55-57; introduced fiancee at Bryant's testimonial, 57-59; with Booth after the assassina- tion of Lincoln, 74, 75; in the year 1865, 84; offered editor- ship of "Every Saturday," 85 married, 85; sonnet of Bayard Taylor on marriage of, 86 intimacy with W. D. Howells 87, 88, 90; his inspiration, 88 and Dickens's readings, 99; and the "Nutter House," 1 10-18 and "The Story of a Bad Boy,' 111-18; birth of twins, 118 early epistolary acquaintance with Mark Twain, 127, 128 his wit, 145; on first days in London, 169-72; quoted on apartment at Paris, 193, 194; quoted on visit to the Pope, 201-16; on his return home, 219; "The Legend of Ara Coeli," 220-22 ; begins a new novel, 224; becomes editor of the " At- lantic," 245; from portrait of, by Miss Francis, 245; at the "Longfellow Memorial Fund" readings, 255-60; William H. Rideing's pen portrait of, 260- 62; suggests name "The Play- ers" for the Actors' Club, 263; resigns editorshipof "Atlantic," 270; doings of, in years im- mediately following resigna- tion from editorship of "At- lantic," 270; and "Mercedes," 271-76; bout with Chauncey M. Depew, 276-78; his friend- ship with Henry L. Pierce, 278, 279; marriage of his elder son, 281; and "Judith of Bethulia," 284; marriage of his second son, 284; death, 285; epitaph, 286. Aldrich, Mrs. T. B., sees Edwin Booth act, 1,2; premonition of, connected with Edwin Booth, 2; meets Edwin Booth and his wife in a New York apart- ment house, 2-5; engagement to Mr. Aldrich, 43, 44; at testimonial to W. C. Bryant at the Century Club, 57-59; at- tends review in Washington, 77, 78; marriage, 85; sonnet of Bayard Taylor on marriage, 86; and Mrs. Stowe, 122-27; meets Mr. Browning, 178; introduced /' 290 INDEX to Duke of Argyll, 239; con- '^versations of Duke of Argyll with, 239-41; Duke of Argyll presents his book to, 244; at supper given by Irving to Sarah • Bernhardt, 250-53. Aldriches, the, honeymoon months of, 86, 87; and Justin Winsor, 91-95; and their house, 84 Pinckney St., 96, 102; Dickens calls on, 102, 103; Dickens's in- terest in their Pinckney St. house, 104, 105; Longfellow calls on, 108; at Rose Cottage, 119, 120; Mark Twain calls on, 128-32, visit the Clemenses, 143-48, 157-60; start for Eu- rope, 161-64; on board the "Abyssinia," 164-68; dine at the Smalleys', 173-84; see the sights of London, 185,190; dine at "The Star and Garter," Richmond, 186-90; visit Can- terbury, 190-93; go to Paris, 193; at Paris, 193-98; go to Rome, 199-201 ; at Rome, 201 ; visit the Pope, 201-16; con- tinue their journey, 216; return to America, 216; sail on second voyage to Europe, 224; travel to Spain, 225; go to Africa, 228, 229; their travels in Spain, 229; their travels in France and Italy, 229; with Mr. and Mrs. Clemens in Paris, 229-31; in London, 231, 232; at Mr. and Mrs. Boughton's ball, 232; meet Oscar Wilde, 247-49; the doings of, in years immediately following resignation of Aldrich from editorship of "Atlantic," 270. Argyll, Duke of, the Queen visits, 237, 238; seeks introduction to Mrs. Aldrich, 239; his per- sonality, 239; form of address to, 240, 241; wishes invitation to Ponkapog, 241 ; and P. T. Barnum, 243; arrival in New York, 244; presents his book to Mrs. Aldrich, 244. Arthur, Julia, 271-76. Artists' receptions, 55-57. "Atlantic Monthly," 87, 88; Aldrich becomes editor of, 245. Aure, Comte and Comtesse d', 197, 198. Authors' Readings, 255-62. Badeau, Captain, 35, 37. Bagpipes, the music of, 241. Bailey, Grandfather, death, 119. Bancroft, George, 58. Barnum, P. T., and the Duke of Argyll, 243. Barrett, Lawrence, 263. Barstow, Major Wilson, 29. Beecher, Henry Ward, 64. Beefsteak Room of Lyceum Thea- tre, 250, 252. Bernhardt, Sarah, Irving gives supper to, at the Beefsteak Room of the Lyceum Theatre, 250-53- Bierstadt, Mr., 22, 23. Bingham, John A., 83. Bispham, William, 263. Black, William, 234. Blanc, Therese de Solins, 197, 230. Boker, George H., 59. Booth, Mrs., mother of Edwin Booth, 39, 72, 75, 76. Booth, Edwin, seen by Mr. Al- drich 's future wife, i, 2; as he appeared in an apartment house dining-room, 3-5; his presence, 6, 7; his daily habits, INDEX 291 7, 8; valued highly his wife's approval, 8; and social events, 9; and the question of Hamlet's insanity, 9; preparation of a new Hamlet costume for, 10, 1 1 ; accepts London engagement, 11; daughter born to, 12; re- turns to America, 12; break- fast in rooms of, 16-19; an evening at his rooms, 19-23; suppers with, 25 ; and his minia- ture, 26, 27; his tendency to drink, 25, 28, 30; engagement in Boston, 27; takes house near Boston, 28; comes to New York without Mrs. Booth, 29, 30; chaperonage of, by Aldrich and Thompson, 31-33; at the time of his wife's sickness and death, 34-38; quotations from letters on his wife's death, 40-42; remark on paintings, 57; after his wife's death, 60; becomes part proprietor of Winter Theatre, 60; and the part of "Hamlet," 61; engage- ment in Boston, 61 ; appearance at Boston Theatre on night of assassination of Lincoln, 65, 66, 70; on the morning after the assassination, 71; during the following days, 73-75; at trial of conspirators, 82, 83; and The Players Club, 263-67; portrait painted by Sargent, 265-67; lines on the portrait, 267; end of his professional career, 267, 268; last years and death, 268; lines on, 269. Booth, Mrs. Edwin, her appear- ance, 4-6; and Booth's Hamlet costume, 10, 11; and Booth's miniature, 26, 27; sickness and death, 34-38; poem of T. W. Parsons on, 39; funeral, 39; epi- taph on, 40. Booth, John Wilkes, 39; at the Stoddards', 34; and the assassi- nation of Lincoln, 69-72; letter to his mother, 72 ; the idol of his mother, 73; death of, 74-76. Booth, Junius Brutus, 32, 33. Boston in the sixties, 90. Boston Museum, 255. Boston Theatre, the, 65, 66. Boughton, Mr. and Mrs. George H., 231, 232. Browning, Robert, 178, 179, 232. Bryant, William Cullen, testi- monial to, 57-59. Burgos, 226. Burlingame, Anson, 151. Calais, 193. Campbell, Lord Walter, 238, 239. Canterbury, 190-93. Carcassonne, 229. Carr, Comyns, 232. Cary, Miss, quotations from let- ters of Booth to, 60, 61. Century Club, the, 15, 57-59- Chester, 168. Clarke, Mrs. J. S., 33, 75. Clemens, S. L. (Mark Twain), early epistolary acquaintance with Aldrich, 127, 128; calls on the Aldriches, 128-32; works on the "Era," 139; a visit to, 143-48, 157-60; his description of Aldrich's wit, 145, 146; anecdotes of, 146-48, 157-60; asks blessing, 148; his adora- tion for his wife, 148, 156, 157; and picture of Olivia Langdon, 149; description of, 150; pro- fanity of, 150, 151; meets Olivia Langdon, 151; becomes engaged to Miss Langdon, 155; 292 INDEX welcomes Aldrich home from Europe, 219; in Paris with the Aldriches, 229-31; on the French language, 229; at din- ner given by Comtesse d'Aure and Madame Blanc, 230, 231; reads at "Longfellow Memorial Fund" readings, 256, 257. Clemens, Mrs. S. L., 147, 156, I57> 159- See Langdon, Olivia. Conspirators, trial of, 80-83. "Crags, The," 270. Curtis, G. W., 107; reads at "Longfellow Memorial Fund" readings, 256, 258. Dana, Richard H., Jr., 135. D'Aure, Comtesse, 230. Depew, Chauncey M., and Al- drich, bout between, 276-78. Dickens, Charles, quotations from letters regarding his coming to America, 96-98; arrival in Boston, 98; sale of tickets for readings of, 99; and his read- ings, 99-101 ; letter to Professor Felton on "Christmas Carol," loi ; calls on the Aldriches, 102, 103; his interest in the Aldrich houseonPinckney St., 104, 105; and the "walking match," 105, 106; and the dinner following the "walking match," 106, 107. Dolby, Mr., 105. Dover, 193. Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 58, 135. "Every Saturday," 85. Europe, the Aldriches' first visit to, 161-218. Fawcett, Edgar, 223. Felton, Professor C. C, loi. Fields, James T., 87, 96, 104, 105, 133- Follen, Mrs., 121. Ford's Theatre, Washington, 66- 70; visit to, 80, 81, Francis, Miss Susan M., a pen portrait of Aldrich by, 245. French, speaking and studying, 195-97- Fussy, Irving's dog, 253, 254. Gardner, Mrs., 285. Garnault, Miss, 49-53. See Smalley, P. G. Garrick, David, 94. Genoa, 200. "George," 144. Godwin, Parke, 23, 263. Goodman, Joe, 148, 156. Grant, U. S., 65, 80; in Madrid, 227, 228. Grant, Mrs. U. S., her tact, 228. Greenslet, Ferris, quoted on meeting of Mr. Aldrich and Miss Woodman, i; quoted on Mr. Aldrich 's appearance and manner, 24; quoted on the year 1865, 84, 85; quoted on the Pinckney St. house, 96; quoted on the "Nutter House," 115; quoted on the birth of twins, 118; letter of Lowell quoted by, 226; on Mr. Aldrich 's appoint- ment to editorship of the "At- lantic," 245; cited, 270, 276; quoted on death of Mr. Al- drich's son, 281-84. Hale, E. E., reads at "Longfellow Memorial Fund " readings, 256, 258. Harte, Bret, visits Boston, 133; Howells's account of his visit, 133-35; dines with the Satur- INDEX 293 day Club, 135; accepts offer to contribute to the "Atlantic," 135; anecdotes of, 136, 137; his early life, 138, 139; his writing of "The Heathen Chinee," 139; at reception of social aspirant, 139, 140; gives Phi Beta Kappa Poem, 142. Hartford, 143. Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 168, 190. Hawthorne, Mrs., 102. Herold, Young, 81. Higginson, Colonel T. W., reads at "Longfellow Memorial Fund" readings, 256, 262. Holmes, O. W., 59; reads at "Longfellow Memorial Fund " readings, 256, 258. Howe, Julia Ward, 39, 59; sings "The Battle Hymn," 140; poet and patriot, 141; in battle of wits, 141; reads at "Longfellow Memorial Fund " readings, 256, 258. Howells, William Dean, assistant editor of "Atlantic Monthly," 87; intimacy with Aldrich, 87, 88; his manner of working, 88; difficulties in getting married, 88-90; and the Aldrich house on Pinckney St., 102; his ac- count of Bret Harte's visit to Boston, 133-35; at Mark Twain's, 143, 145, 146; from sketch of Mark Twain, 158; reads at ' ' Longfellow Memorial Fund" readings, 256-62; on Aldrich's wit, 277. Howells, Mrs. W. D., 89, 90. Hughes, Thomas, 184. Hutton, Laurence, 263. Inns, English, 191-93. Irving, Henry, and mushrooms. 181, 182; gives supper at the Lyceum Theatre, 249, 250; gives supper to Sarah Bern- hardt at the Beefsteak Room of the Lyceum Theatre, 250-53; and "Fussy," 253, 254. James, Henry, quoted on Brown- ing, 179; quoted on London, 185; in London, 231. Keats, John, 216. Langdon, Charles, 149, 151, 155, Langdon, Olivia, her picture, 149; meets Mark Twain, 151 ; injury and care of, 152-54; engage- ment of, 155. See Clemens, Mrs. Lee, Robert E., surrender of, 62. "Legend of Ara Coeli, The," 220- 22. Letters from the Aldrich children, 162, 216-18. Libraries, 94, 95. Lincoln, President, assassination, 64-70; his assassination part of a conspiracy, 80. Liverpool, 225. Lodge, Henry Cabot, 243. London, first days in, 169-72; Henry James quoted on, 185; sights of, 185, 190; another visit to, 231. Longfellow, Henry W., 107-09, 135- "Longfellow Memorial Fund" readings, 255-62. Lowell, James Russell, 59, 135; letter of, quoted, 226; on his knowledge of Spanish, 227; on reception to General Grant in Madrid, 227, 228; reads at 294 INDEX "Longfellow Memorial Fund" readings, 256, 262. Ludlow, Fitz Hugh, 18. Ludlow, Mrs. Fitz Hugh, 18, 22, 24. Lyceum Theatre, 249-53. Lynn Terrace, 222. Lyons, 199. Macmillan, Mr., 234, 235. Mark Twain. See Clemens, S. L. Marseilles, 199. McAleer, Patrick, 144. McAllister, Ward, 90. McEntee, Mrs. and Mrs. Jervis, 57- Mead, Miss. See Howells, Mrs. W. D. "Mercedes," 271-76. Millais, Mrs., 231. Monaco, 199. Monte Carlo, 200. New Year's calls, 222, 223. Newton, Dr., 153, 154. Nice, 199. Norton, C. E., presides at Au- thors' Readings, 256, 257, 258. "Nutter House," the, 85, 110-19. Osgood, James R., 105, 143. Palmer, Mr., 271-75. Paris, 193-98. Parsons, Thomas W., poem on Mary Booth, 38, 39; at Mary Booth's funeral, 39; epitaph on Mary Booth, 39, 40. Payne, Lewis, 82. Peck, Professor, quoted on N. P. Willis, 47. Phillips, Wendell, 49-53. Pierce, Henry L., 278-80. Pisa, 200, 201. Players Club, The, 263-67. Pope, the, visit to, 201-16. Portsmouth, 85, 1 10-19. Rathbone, Major Henry Reed, 68, 69. Reid, Mr. and Mrs. Whitelaw, 276, 278. Review of army at Washington, 77-80. Rhodes, James Ford, quoted on the surrender of Lee, 62, 63. Richmond, dinner at "The Star and Garter," 186-90. Rideing, William H., pen portrait of Aldrich, 260-62. Rome, 201. Rose Cottage, 119, 120. Ruskin, John, 231. Sala, George Augustus, 188, 189. Sand, George, 197. Sargent, John S., paints portrait of Booth, 265-67; lines on his portrait, 267. Scudder, Horace E., 270. Seward, William H., 80, 82. Shelley, P. B., 216. Smalley, George Washburn, 153, 174. Smalley, Phoebe Garnault, 173, 176. See Garnault, Miss. Smalleys', the, the Aldriches dine at, 173-84- Spain, 225. "Star and Garter, The," Rich- mond, 186-90. Stedman, Edmund Clarence, 17'^ on Oscar Wilde's visit to Bos- ton, 246. Stedman, Mrs. E. C, 17; her lack '' of tact, 223. Stedmans, the, receive on New„, Year's Day, 222, 223. INDEX 295 Sterling, Mrs., and her daughter Lizzie, 104, 105. Stoddard, Richard Henry, 12, 13, 17, 59- Stoddard, Mrs. Richard Henry, appearance, 13; fascination of, 14, 17, 18; her sal®n, 15; letter to Mrs. Booth at time of lat- ter's sickness, 35. Stoker, Bram, 251. "Story of a Bad Boy, The," quo- tations from, II1-17; finished, 118. Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 164; calls on the Aldriches, 120-27. Sumter, Fort, 64. Surratt, Mrs., 82. Swift, Miss, boarding-house of, H, 15- Taylor, Bayard, 59; picture of, 17; sonnet of, on marriage of Al- drich, 86; says good-bye to the Aldriches on the "Abyssinia," 162, 163; death, 224; poem on, 236. Taylor, Mrs. Bayard, 17. Terry, Miss Ellen, 250; and Sarah Bernhardt, 251-53. Thompson, Launt, 18, 22, 25; his chaperonage of Edwin Booth, 31; his studio, 56; and Edwin Booth's mother, 75, 76. Ticknor & Fields, 99, 106. Warner, Charles Dudley, 143, 144. Warren, William, 39. Whistler, James A. McNeill, 181, 183, 184. Whittier, John Greenleaf, 59. Wilde, Oscar, visits Boston, 246; received by Harvard student masqueraders, 246; the Al- driches meet, 247-49; drops his masquerade, 250. Wilde, Mrs. Oscar, 250. Willis, Imogene, 46. Willis, Nathaniel P., 46-48. Winsor, Justin, 91-95. Winter Theatre, Booth becomes part proprietor of, 60. Woodman, Lilian. See Aldrich, Mrs. T. B. CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A % ^' .* €, &^ as /%■ i> >0 o ■^oo^ .^^ -% % ^^ ^^A c^ .5 -71 cf-. V> ,A' ^ =.- - .^' V (<*-'' ,^' ^^^ "^.mK^^. ^^. v^^ C -r ' aX ,#\^ 'oo^ ^ .'^ ^^^ '% "-