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and, to be plain, I would rather state my own woman, needing no help, and competent to go case, even at the risk of your thinking me a my way. And then I find I have troubled very singular young woman.

mama, and that hurts me, and then I relent, “I might answer that to be unusual is not and am like a weak child groping about for always to be unpleasant."

help. Are all women like that? I am stopped “ That is nicely put and kindly. May I go here, and turned aside there, and told to conon?

sult this one or that. It seems so hard to do “ I wish you would. I have heard something what is right.” of this trouble of yours."

“No one knows that better than I do," I “Oh, it is not my trouble. People —other replied. “It is not enough to want to do right. people— take the rough material of one's views, And now, as regards your mother, I am not plans, hopes, and manufacture trouble out of at all sure what to do or say. Like


I want them. But pardon me. I interrupted you. Do to do right, and do not find it easy. you really want me to go on?”

I felt that I did not wish to wound this Pray do.” She paused, looked up at me, gentle girl, with her honest longings, and her and then down at her lap, and at last set wide despair as to the meagerness of mere uppereyes on me for a moment and continued: class life-its failures to satisfy the large mind

“I hesitate because I do not know how and larger heart. After an awkward pause I much to say. Mrs. Vincent can tell you just said, “I should like to help you, and I desire what I am, the bad and the good. Oh, I see in so doing not to hurt you"; and, having so she has done it already.".

spoken, felt like a fool. “ Yes.”

“But you must not mind that. It is not “Well, I am twenty-four. I have more than not as if you had known me for years. Speak enough means. Also, I have active brains. A as you would to a stranger, a patient.” certain discontentment with this life of bits and “You have made it difficult.” shreds troubles me. I am told that I should “I? How?" amuse myself as others do — with music. I can “No matter. I will do as you say. But replay, but I have no real talent or love for it. member, I may be wrong, may have prejudices." Sketch! I can caricature hatefully well; I loathe “ Pray, go on.” it. And at last mama suggests fancy work, “ I think that every human being, man or and Aunt Selina says, “The poor, my dear.' woman, is entitled to any career he or she may If I were free as to the last suggestion, I please to desire. This is a mere human right.” might find in it a true career, but no young

“ Oh, thank you." unmarried woman could make of this a life- “Wait a little. Whether the public will use not mama's daughter, at least. What I need the person or not, is the business of the public. is connected work, something which offers an Should you ask if personally I believe that enlarging life. I do not mean for ambition, women make as good doctors as men of like but as a definite means of development. You education, I say no. Should you ask me if I are going to say there is science, study." think it desirable that in the interests of society

“I was," I answered. “You are dreadfully in general women should follow the same caapprehensive as to one's ideas."

reers as men, I say no.” « Oh, it was what others have suggested; “ And why ? " but mere acquirement of barren knowledge “That is a serious question, or rather several seems to me a poor use to make of life." questions, some of them not easily to be an

Yes; that is true. I am at one with you swered. I would rather not discuss them." there."

“ And is this all ?" “ I have thought it all over. I want to study “No; and you will smile at my sequel. I medicine, and practise it too. That is all. You never saw a woman who did not lose something can help me. Be on my side. I- I shall thank womanly in acquiring the education of the phyyou so much. And you will be my friend in sician. I hardly put it delicately enough: a this, will you not?” These last sentences were charm is lost." spoken with some excitement, and with a look Oh, but that is of no moment." of earnest anxiety. I knew as she talked that “You cannot think that. You would lose this was not a woman to turn aside from her the power to know you had lost something. purposes with ease. And what could I say? I, That is the real evil. Others would know it. too, hesitated. She went on again, and now Men, at least.” with a pretty girl-like timidity which touched “ Do you think this really important?”

“Yes, I do." "Perhaps I have said more than I should; Oh, there is mama, and I have not half I may have asked too much of you. Some- done.” times I seem to myself to be a strong, effective "Perhaps it is as well, Miss Leigh. You



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should ask some one who is not a doctor. “ I did not quite understand her," said Mrs. Every profession has its prejudices, and I am Leigh. “Do you think she could have meant constantly in fear of mine. But, in fact, as to to make fun of Alice, of us, of me?" these, the best of us are like people with cross “Oh, I knew of course you would see through pet dogs; we may be puzzled to know what her. I hope when Miss Leigh attends that to do with them, but we do not knock them hoary sinner Ashton, she will give him some on the head."

good old-fashioned dose. May I beg to be “Oh, but how a nice frank statement like called in consultation ? " that comforts one. You will not forget that I Miss Leigh smiled. Her hands unlocked. have as yet said no word in reply?'

“ Thank you,” she said. “And do let this mat“No. I shall want to hear - I shall very ter rest, mama.” much want to hear.”

Oh, of course. I wish other people would; As I spoke, Mrs. Leigh entered, large, rosy, but I could not expect Dr. North to agree enhandsome, and smiling. She was a little blown tirely with Mrs. Flint. She told me from the exertion of mounting the stairs.

“ Mama!” “ Good morning, Dr. North. I am glad to “I think Dr. North ought to know how she see you — very glad."

talks about him." * Let me take your cloak, mama,” said Miss “Ah, I knew she would justify my character Alice, as I returned the mother's welcome and of her. You have made me happy for the day. added that I was on the wing, and had more Good-by. Good-by, Miss Leigh.” than used up my time. Mrs. Leigh was profusely sorry, but rang the bell, and I left them.

XVIII. For some good or bad reason the servant was not in the hall, and as I went down I was St. Clair, a day later, was in what Vincent aware that I had left my hat in the drawing- called the indefinite mood. When in this state room. As I went up again to reclaim it, I he wandered, or rather drifted, whither the tide heard Mrs. Leigh's voice in quick, decisive, and of accidental encounter took him. These menrather high tones. I was seized at once with tal states were apt to be followed by days of a violent attack of what I may call the cough impassioned work with the pen or moldingsocial. The voice fell a little, and I went in, tool. But when idle, he would drop in upon saying, "I was careless enough to leave my Vincent or Clayborne, meander about among hat, and rash enough to come back after it.” books of law or history, complain with child

"I am glad you have come back," said Mrs. like disappointment if their owners could not Leigh. “Do give me five minutes; I have been go out with him, and at last slip away silently talking to my daughter."

to feast his eyes on the colors of the piled-up “I beg of you, mama

Dr. North has an fruit in the old market-sheds, or to walk for miles engagement; please not to—"

in the country, have what he termed a debauch " It is perfectly useless, Alice. Every one is of milk at a farm-house, and return home late talking about it. Mrs. Flint asked me if you at night. were going to be a homeopath or a regular." About eleven in the morning he found him“ Mama!”

self (for it was literally that) in Clayborne's “And old Mr. Ashton asked me if he might study. The historian looked around. “ Take send for you when he had the gout, and that fool, a pipe ? Cigars in the case; cigarettes in the his son, talked about "sweet girl graduates.' drawer; books on the table. I am busy."

I had to choose swiftly between retreat or The final remark was quite useless. “So am a declaration in favor of the mother or the I,” returned the poet. And this exasperated daughter, who stood white and still before us, Clayborne into attention. He shut a huge folio her hands clasped together in front of her. with such vigor as to disturb the gathered dust

“ Pardon me,” I interposed. “I have really of other lands, and said savagely: but a moment; and again a pardon, if I say “Busy! You don't know what it means." that this is not the best way to meet this ques- “My dear fellow," returned St. Clair, “ I am tion. You have flattered me by asking me to so happy to-day. Don't moralize. Be glad share your counsels. I must have time to think some fellow carries his Garden of Eden always about it. Miss Leigh has been most frank with with him. No; don't consider it affectation. me, and, my dear Mrs. Leigh, speaking for my- You are a misery-mill; I am a flower-press. self, were I Miss Leigh, nothing would harden And, really, grumble seems to be your normal me like the ridicule of such women as Mrs. diet. Just now you think you are unhappy beFlint. She is smart—that is the word - and ause some other man has said you make mismalicious, and so confident that she confuses takes or come to wrong conclusions. It is a people who do not know her combination of disguised joy. You are not truly unhappy. As ill humor and inexactness."

for me, I do not care a cent what any man the poet.



thinks of my statues or my verses. I simply — well, I want you to like them. I mean the live. That is joy. I am contented. Why not Leighs.” leave me to my happy follies? North says I “I do. Is n't that girl superb ? Come with have never achieved moral equilibrium, and me. If you don't, I will not go at all.” that 's very fine, I dare say."

It thus happened that the two found Mrs. “I suppose,” said Clayborne, after a mo- Leigh home and alone. ment's deliberation, “that moral equilibrium “I met Mr. St. Clair on the way to call on means serenity of mind.”

you," said Mrs. Vincent. “And how are you “Now is n't that a little feeble ? ” retorted all? And my dear Alice, is she visible ? "

“No; she is out—as my Ned says, gone to “ I rather think you are correct," said Clay- visit some of her social cripples.” borne, judicially. "I take it that serenity of St. Clair looked up. “What are social cripmind is acquired, and is a state of content ples ?” intellectually procured. Whereas you never “Oh-social cripples.” acquire anything -I mean through experi- “ I think I must be one,” said St. Clair. ence."

“And perhaps Mrs. Vincent could persuade “Quite true, and how nice that is! With you to consider my claims. I have some peoyou for knowledge, Vincent for a conscience, ple coming to afternoon tea at my studio." Mrs. Vincent for a confessor, and North — by “I fear that we are engaged," returned Mrs. George!” he cried, rising, “I wonder if he left Leigh. “Really—" a card for me. I asked him to. You ought to “But you do not know the date yet. How see that woman.”

can you be engaged ? " “You are like a book without an index," Oh, we shall be, I am sure.” said the host. “What are you after now? “Not for my tea," said Mrs. Vincent. “ This What woman?”

is mine, you know. I permit Mr. St. Clair to "Oh, her figure and serenity! You should lend me his studio. We will talk it over later. see her when her face is at rest, and then when I want your advice as to some of the arrangeit smiles. And her eyes! Come and take a ments. And now, about the children." After walk. It 's Miss Leigh I mean."

which there was talk between the two women, “ Oh, that girl, Mrs. Vincent's latest en- while St. Clair fell into a reverie, or with menthusiasm. My dear boy, take care. I think I tal disapproval considered the furniture, until, see you with Mrs. Leigh for a mother-in-law. at last, Mrs. Vincent rose, saying, “And now You will need no other censor. It would be Mr. St. Clair and I must go. I saw your carthe thing of all others for you."

riage at the door." “So says Mrs. Vincent. I have several peo- Good-by,” said St. Clair, to her amuseple who attend to my interests and doctor my ment and annoyance. She was afraid to leave morals. And you will not walk? Then I think him, but nevertheless he stayed, and, as they I shall and call on the Leighs. I should im- said a word or two, surveyed the pictures. Then, mensely like to model that hand."

being alone with Mrs. Leigh, who remained “Best tell Mrs. Leigh so," said Clayborne, standing for a moment, he said: with a grim smile.

“Don't you think pictures are very embar“I think I shall,” returned St. Clair, simply. rassing things? They are so like acquaintances “And now you may demolish that critic; my --so welcome at first, and then after a while one malediction on him. Good-by."

gets tired of them. Now here is this Corot with After this he went away, and on the street its ghosts of trees—" bought a lot of roses and went along smelling "I never care for Corot,” said the hostess; of them, until of a sudden he was aware of Mrs."and as for acquaintances, I -" Vincent, who said as they met, “I suppose “Oh,” he interrupted. “ Pardon me, you

” these flowers are for me.”

were going to say that an acquaintance is a “ If you like. I was going to call on Miss person with whom we are really not acquainted. Leigh."

Language is such a fraud. It ought all to be “ And Mrs. Leigh, I trust,” said Mrs. Vin- made over — and some other things, manners, cent, demurely.

for instance—" "And Mrs. Leigh," echoed he, with resigna- “I can imagine the need for that sometimes," tion. “The stem of the rose.” Then he added said Mrs. Leigh, severely. She felt as if some disconnectedly, “ Clayborne knows them. I bad boy had exploded a pack of fire-crackers don't like that woman. I did not know it until under her august petticoats. I got away the other night.”

“Oh, I feel it,” he went on, laughing. “And “Oh, she is really nice. Don't nurse preju- if one could arrange an exchange of manners, dices; when they get their growth they become it would illustrate the idea neatly. Now, if you difficulties and embarrassments. And you see and I could effect such an exchange.”

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“Good Heavens! I prefer to keep my own, Mrs. Leigh did not express regret, and he said she, shocked out of conventional propriety, left her, with what reflections I could well and amused despite herself.

imagine when St. Clair, in a mood of amused “ But why not? Then I know you would criticism, related this astonishing interview to be sure to say, 'Of course I shall come to your Mrs. Vincent and me. Mrs. Vincent shook tea. And you will come, I know”; and he her fan at him. “She will never come to your looked at her with a waiting, devoted expres- tea,” she said. “Never.” sion which had been but too often serviceable. “ Yes, she will. The Count was useful.” Even Mrs. Leigh relented a little. “We shall “No; you were never more mistaken. She see,” she said.

is not the least of a snob. There should be a "Oh, you will come,” he said. “And to think milder word.” of it, I once stood near you in Paris, and just “ I should fancy,” said I,“ that she must be as I asked to be presented you went away.” the very ideal of the unexpected. At least, if “ And where was that, pray ? "

all I hear be true.” “Oh, at the Comte St. Clair's, a far-away “ No and yes,” said Mrs. Vincent. “The kinsman of mine. You know — or do not know great world has been of use to her. It is a - that we were Irish, and came to France long valuable education to some natures. I often ago. My branch became Huguenots, more 's think what she might have been had she rethe pity.”

mained at home.” "Indeed. Why a pity ?"

“I think I see," said I. “But certainly she " It lacks picturesqueness. Once it had is as full of social surprises as it is possible for flavor of romance. It has none now. I ought a decently well-bred woman to be.” to have been a Catholic."

She is like a rocking-chair," cried the poet. " And what are you now, may I ask ? " “ A what ? ” we exclaimed, laughing. “I am nothing.”

“A rocking-chair. My hostess put one in “I am sorry to hear it.”

my bedroom last fall. I tried it once, and fell “Oh, it has its conveniences. I feel that over on my head. If I put a foot on it to lace constantly."

a boot, it hit me on the nose. It was always “ I trust so, indeed.”

doing queer things. If I hung clothes on it, As usual, he took little note of irrelevances, it fell over, and if the window was open, it but went on: “ I often like to fit people with the rocked as if a ghost were making itself comfortreligion for which they were plainly meant. able. Then it rocked on my toes, and mashed Really, as Clayborne says, or perhaps it was a sleeve-button, and —” Vincent, the outward forms of religion are “Don't,” cried Mrs. Vincent, quite helpless their manners. Some are stately, some com- with mirth. “I won't have my friends abused.” mon. But I have kept you. I must go.”

And we went away. (To be concluded in the next number.)

S. Weir Mitchell.






DIED APRIL 19, 1892. ERE where I, sitting in my place, In this first hour, while thought is blank, So oft have seen you at the door,

I dwell on all that made you dear; A lad comes with indifferent face

And for the gracious past I thank To tell me we shall meet no more.

Whatever now can feel or hear. The Old World pity of slow ships

The gentle mode, so subtly leagued Was kinder than this flashing speed; With moral power and mental health, The first short sigh on western lips

The courteous patience unfatigued, I hear it plainlier than I need.

The cordial wish to please by stealth ! The paper flutters to the ground.

That lifelong flame which rose and fell Cold wastes of ocean scarcely part

By purest purpose still was fanned;
Your voiceless mouth that makes no sound, That stringent will which planned so well —
And silence of my beating heart.

For others, not for self, it planned.
Vain, vain are words! I sit alone,

And helpless sorrow westward send.
Roar louder, London's central moan,

My world is poorer by a friend.
LONDON, April 20, 1892.

Edmund G.



NE who is bidden to write for lishers of the school-books of his uncle, Ros

the pages of The Century well C. Smith, in New York; then, having MAGAZINE some words in apparently satisfied himself that a little more memory of the man whose learning would not be a dangerous thing, he name stands above this article took up the English course in Brown Univermight well recall the often- sity, and after finishing that course began the

quoted inscription in St. Paul's study of law in the office of Thomas C. Perkins Cathedral, under the name of its architect : of Hartford, a most accomplished lawyer. It “ Si monumentum requiris, circumspice.” Other was about this time that his father, who had bememorials of his life, beautiul and enduring, come somewhat concerned on account of the can be pointed out; but it is in this magazine frequent changes in his plans of life, repeated that the fairest and most permanent results of to him one day the old adage about the rollhis work will abide. To have borne so large a ing stone. “Well

, father,"answered the youth, part in originating and establishing an agency “I don't know that I care to gather moss.” like this would be a sufficient distinction for any That was not what he was after when he turned man. It is difficult for those who have known his steps to what was then the distant West, something of the history of this magazine from and in the ambitious young town of Lafayette, its foundation to separate it, in their thought, Indiana, began the practice of his profession. from his vigorous personality. We may doubt, It was a capital school for the callow lawyer; indeed, whether this is possible. Roswell Smith his conceit was sure to be rudely chastised in gave his life to this magazine; we might almost that rough Western world; all his convensay that he gave his life for it; the vital force tionalities would be challenged; if he had that he imparted to it will not soon be spent. any convictions, he must fight for them. Ros

Roswell Smith was born March 30, 1829, well Smith always highly valued the experiin Lebanon, Connecticut, a small town in the ence which he gained in the West.“ Every northern part of New London County, of man,” he once wrote to one who was looking which the cyclopedia knows only that it “con- in that direction, “ought to go to the West tains several villages and has important man- and live there a few years of his life at the ufacturing interests." But Lebanon, though least. You will like the West, and will have a beneath the notice of the cyclopedist

, is not freedom and a growth you never experienced the least among the thousands of Yankee-land, before.” In the life of this community, passfor out of her came the great war governor of ing through its formative stages; in the conthe Revolution, Jonathan Trumbull, one of flict with the lawlessness of the frontier; in Washington's most trusted friends, and the the shaping of institutions to meet social eximan to whom, through Washington's familiar gencies; and in the rapid development of the appellative, we owe our national sobriquet industrial order, the young man learned much of “ Brother Jonathan.” This was no mean practical wisdom. He was always recurring family: one son of Jonathan, Joseph, was to this period of his life, and he thought that a member of the Continental Congress; a no man was well equipped for the competitions younger son, Jonathan, was United States of the great metropolis unless he knew by senator, and in his turn governor; and the actual contact something of the life beyond second Governor Jonathan's son John was the Alleghanies. the great historical painter. Other notable In 1852 Roswell Smith set up his home names besides the Trumbulls are found in the in Lafayette, bringing into it Annie, daughter annals of Lebanon; it has been the seed- of Henry L. Ellsworth, the first United States plot of theology as well as of statesmanship Commissioner of Patents, and granddaughter and art; but the patriotic traditions of this of the illustrious Oliver Ellsworth, Chief Jusone distinguished family must have taken tice of the United States Supreme Court. Sixstrong hold upon the mind of Roswell Smith: teen years of active life in Indiana, in the for the historic Trumbull mansion had come practice of law and in real-estate operations, into the possession of his father, and was the had brought to him a moderate competence; home of his boyhood.

and, disposing of his business in Lafayette, he From his fourteenth to his seventeenth year sailed with his wife and daughter for Europe, he served a brief apprenticeship with the pub- purposing on his return to devote himself to

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