ERKELEY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 

 By the Same Author 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL 
 
 American Bookmen (1898) 
 
 Phillips Brooks (in " Beacon Biographies," 1 899) 
 
 Life and Letters of George Bancroft (1908) 
 
 Life and Labors of Bishop Hare (1911) 
 
 Letters of Charles Eliot Norton (with Sara Norton, 
 
 George von Lengerke Meyer: His Life and Public 
 
 Services (1919) 
 Memoirs of the Harvard Dead (1920, 1921, ) 
 
 HISTORICAL 
 
 Boston, the Place and the People (1903) 
 
 Boston Common: Scenes from Four Centuries 
 
 (1910) 
 
 The Boston Symphony Orchestra (1914) 
 The Humane Society of the Commonwealth of 
 
 Massachusetts (1918) 
 The Atlantic Monthly and Its Makers (1919) 
 
 VERSE 
 
 Shadows (1897) 
 Harmonies (1909) 
 
 EDITED 
 
 The Beacon Biographies (31 volumes, 1899 - 1910) 
 
 The Memory of Lincoln (i 899) 
 
 Home Letters of General Sherman (1909) 
 
 Lines of Battle, by Henry Howard Brownell 
 
 (1912) 
 
 The Harvard Volunteers in Europe (1916) 
 A Scholar's Letters to a Young Lady (1920) 
 
MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF 
 EMINENT FRIENDSHIPS 
 
 DRAWN CHIEFLY FROM THE DIARIES OF 
 
 MRS. JAMES T. FIELDS 
 
 BY 
 
 M. A. DEWOLFE HOWE 
 
 "/ stay a little longer, as one stays 
 To cover up the embers that still burn 
 
 " ya >. t ' 
 
 ^g!]g^i^; 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS 
 BOSTON 
 
 l.o 
 
COPYRIGHT, IQ22, BY 
 M. A. DEWOLFE HOWB 
 
 First Impression, October, 1921 
 Second Impression, December, ig 
 
 PRINTED IN THE 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
F"_73 
 
 ,5 
 
 H2 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. PRELIMINARY ;.;.$ 
 
 II. THE HOUSE AND THE HOSTESS .... 6 
 
 III. DR. HOLMES, THE FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR. . 17 
 
 IV. CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE VISITORS ... 53 
 V. WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA . . . * . 135 
 
 VI. STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS . . . V . 196 
 
 VII. SARAH ORNE JEWETT . 281 
 
 879 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 MRS. FIELDS . , . . . . Frontispiece 
 
 From an early photograph 
 
 A NOTE OF ACCEPTANCE . . . . . . . 9 
 
 Autograph of Julia Ward Howe 
 
 THE OFFENDING DEDICATION . . . . . .15 
 
 From First Edition of Hawthorne's "Our Old Home" 
 
 AN EARLY PHOTOGRAPH OF DR. HOLMES . . . 18 
 
 REDUCED FACSIMILE OF DR. HOLMES'S 1863 ADDRESS TO 
 THE ALUMNI OF HARVARD 23 
 
 FROM THE PLAY-BILL OF THE NIGHT OF DR. HOLMES'S 
 "GREAT ROUND FAT TEAR" 24 
 
 (Shaw Theatre Collection, Harvard College Library) 
 
 FACSIMILE OF THE CONCLUSION OF ULTIMUS SMITH'S 
 DECLARATION . . . ..... .26 
 
 MRS. FIELDS . . . . . . . . .32 
 
 From a crayon portrait made by Rowse in 1863 
 
 FIELDS, THE MAN OF BOOKS AND FRIENDSHIPS . . 34 
 Louis AGASSIZ , . , . . . . " . . 48 
 HAWTHORNE IN 1857 . . ... . * * 54 
 
 FROM A LETTER OF HAWTHORNE'S AFTER A VISIT TO 
 CHARLES STREET . ... . . . . 61 
 
 EMERSON 86 
 
 From the Marble Statue by Daniel Chester French in the 
 Concord Public Library 
 
 A CORNER OF THE CHARLES STREET LIBRARY . . 98 
 FROM A NOTE OF EMERSON'S TO MRS. FIELDS . 100 
 
FACSIMILE OF AUTOGRAPH INSCRIPTION ON A PHOTO- 
 GRAPH OF ROWSE'S CRAYON PORTRAIT OF LOWELL 
 GIVEN TO FIELDS * . . 106 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 106 
 
 From the crayon portrait by Rowse in the Harvard Col- 
 lege Library 
 
 FACSIMILE OF LOWELL'S "BULLDOG AND TERRIER" 
 
 SONNET \ 4 V , V % * . , * . 121 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW . . . .124 
 
 From a photograph taken in middle life 
 
 FROM A NOTE OF "DEAR WHITTIER" TO MRS. FIELDS 130 
 
 PROPOSED DEDICATION OF WHITTIER'S "AMONG THE 
 HILLS" TO MRS. FIELDS . . . . . .132 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS . . . ... . . 136 
 
 From a portrait by Francis Alexander, for many years in 
 the Fields house, and now in the Boston Museum of Fine 
 Arts 
 
 "THE Two CHARLES'S," DICKENS AND FECHTER . 140 
 
 (Shaw Theatre Collection, Harvard College Library) 
 
 REDUCED FACSIMILE OF DICKENS'S DIRECTIONS, PRE- 
 SERVED AMONG THE FlELDS PAPERS, FOR THE BREWING 
 
 OF PLEASANT BEVERAGES . ' . . . . . 147 
 
 FACSIMILE PLAY-BILL OF "THE FROZEN DEEP," WITH 
 DICKENS AS ACTOR-MANAGER 188 
 
 (Shaw Theatre Collection, Harvard College Library) 
 
 FACSIMILE NOTE FROM DICKENS TO FIELDS . . . 192 
 JAMES T. FIELDS AT FIFTEEN . . . - 196 
 
 From a drawing by a French Painter 
 
 FACSIMILE NOTE FROM BOOTH TO MRS. FIELDS . . 201 
 BOOTH AS HAMLET . .... . . . 202 
 
 JEFFERSON IN THE BETROTHAL SCENE OF "Rip VAN 
 WINKLE" ... ' - ... .. .208 
 
 A NAST CARTOON OF DICKENS AND FECHTER . . 210 
 (Shaw Theatre Collection, Harvard College Library) 
 
JAMES E. MUBDOCK AND WILLIAM WARREN . . 218 
 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN : FROM A CRAYON PORTRAIT . 220 
 
 (Shaw Theatre Collection, Harvard College Library) 
 
 RISTORI AND FANNY KEMBLE 222 
 
 The photograph of Fanny Kemble was taken in Philadel- 
 phia in 1863 
 
 CHRISTINE NILSSON AS OPHELIA 226 
 
 FACSIMILE LETTER FROM WILLIAM MORRIS HUNT 
 
 TO FIELDS 231 
 
 FACSIMILE PAGE FROM AN EARLY LETTER OF BRET 
 HARTE'S . 235 
 
 BRET HARTE AND MARK TWAIN 242 
 
 From early photographs 
 
 FACSIMILE VERSES AND LETTER FROM MARK TWAIN 
 TO FIELDS 248-9 
 
 CHARLES SUMNER 258 
 
 FROM A LETTER OF EDWARD LEAR'S TO FIELDS . . 279 
 
 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 282 
 
 THE LIBRARY IN CHARLES STREET 284 
 
 Mrs. Fields at the window, Miss Jewett at the right 
 
 AN AUTOGRAPH COPY OF MRS. FIELDS'S " FLAMMANTIS 
 MCBNIA MUNDI " BEFORE ITS FINAL REVISION . . 287 
 
 MRS. FIELDS ON HER MANCHESTER PIAZZA . . . 288 
 MISTRAL, MASTER OF "BOUFFLO BEEL" . . . 294 
 REDUCED FACSIMILE FROM LETTER OF HENRY JAMES 
 
 (Most of the photographs reproduced are in the collections of 
 the Boston Athen&um and the Harvard College Library, to 
 which grateful acknowledgments are made.) 
 
MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 I 
 
 PRELIMINARY 
 
 IN the years immediately before the death of Mrs. 
 James T. Fields, on January 5, 1915, she spoke to me 
 more than once of her intention to place in my posses- 
 sion a cabinet of old papers journals of her own, let- 
 ters from a host of correspondents, odds and ends of 
 manuscript and print which stood in a dark corner 
 of a small reception-room near the front door of her 
 house in Charles Street, Boston. On her death this 
 intention was found to have been confirmed in writing. 
 It was also made clear that Mrs. Fields had no desire 
 that her own life should be made a subject of record 
 "unless," she wrote, "for some reason not altogether 
 connected with myself." Such a reason is abundantly 
 suggested in her records of the friends she was con- 
 stantly seeing through the years covered by the journals. 
 These friends were men and women whose books have 
 made them the friends of the English-speaking world, 
 and a better knowledge of them would justify any ampli- 
 fication of the records of their lives. In this process the 
 figure of their friend and hostess in Charles Street must 
 inevitably reveal itself not as the subject of a biog- 
 raphy, but as a central animating presence, a focus of 
 sympathy and understanding, which seemed to make 
 a single phenomenon out of a long series and wide vari- 
 ety of friendships and hospitalities. 
 
4 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 The "blue books" more than fifty in number 
 which Mrs. Fields used for the journals have already 
 yielded many pages of valuable record to her own 
 books, especially "James T. Fields : Biographical Notes 
 and Personal Sketches" (1881), and "Authors and 
 Friends" (1896); also even, here and there, to Mr. 
 Fields's "Yesterdays with Authors" (1871). Yet she 
 left unprinted much that is both picturesque and illumi- 
 nating : so many of the persons mentioned in the jour- 
 nal were still living or had but recently died when her 
 books were written. There are, besides, many passages 
 used in a fragmentary way, which may now with pro- 
 priety be given complete. 
 
 Into these manuscript journals, then, I propose to 
 dip afresh not with the purpose of passing in a mis- 
 cellaneous review all the friends who crossed the thresh- 
 old of the Charles Street house in a fixed period of 
 time, but rather in pursuit of what seems a more prom- 
 ising quest namely, to consider separate friends and 
 groups of friends in turn ; to assemble from the journals 
 passages that have to do with them; to supplement 
 these by drawing now and then upon the old cabinet 
 for a letter from this or that friend to Mr. or Mrs. 
 Fields, and thus to step back across the years into a 
 time and scene of refreshing remembrance. Many a 
 friend, many a friendship, must be left untouched. In 
 the processes of selection, figures of more than local 
 significance will receive the chief consideration. In pas- 
 sages relating to one person, allusions to many others, 
 sometimes treated separately in other passages, will 
 
PRELIMINARY 5 
 
 often be found, for the friendships with one and an- 
 other were constantly overlapping and interlocking. 
 Bits of record of no obviously great importance will be 
 included, not because they or the subjects of them are 
 taken with undue seriousness, but merely that a van- 
 ished society, interesting in itself to those who care for 
 the past and doubly interesting as material for a study 
 in contrasts with the present, may have again its "day 
 in court/* When Fields was publishing his reminis- 
 cences of Hawthorne, Lowell wrote to him : " Be sure 
 and don't leave anything out because it seems trifling, 
 for it is out of these trifles only that it is possible to 
 reconstruct character sometimes, if not always"; and 
 he commended especially the hitting of "the true chan- 
 nel between the Charybdis of reticence, and the Scylla 
 of gossip." Under sailing orders of this nature, self- 
 imposed, I hope to proceed. 
 
 "Another added to my cloud of witnesses," wrote 
 Mrs. Fields in her journal, on hearing, in 1867, that 
 Forceythe Willson had died. Nearly fifty years of life 
 then remained to the diarist, though she continued to 
 keep her diary with regularity for hardly ten. Before 
 her own death the cloud of witnesses was infinitely ex- 
 tended. Yet new friends constantly stood ready to fill, 
 as best they might, the gaps that were left by the old. 
 It is not the new who will appear in the following pages, 
 but those with whom Mrs. Fields herself must now be 
 numbered. 
 
II 
 
 THE HOUSE AND THE HOSTESS 
 
 THE fact that Henry James, in "The American 
 Scene," published in 1907, and again in an article which 
 appeared in the "Atlantic Monthly" and the "Cornhill 
 Magazine" in July, 1915, has set down in his own ulti- 
 mate words his memories of Mrs. Fields and her Boston 
 abode would be the despair of anyone attempting a 
 similar task were it not that quotation remains an 
 unprohibited practice. In "The American Scene" he 
 evokes from the past "the Charles Street ghosts," and 
 gives them their local habitation: "Here, behind the 
 effaced anonymous door" a more literal-minded 
 realist might have noted that a vestibule-door contrib- 
 uted the only effacement and anonymity "was the 
 little ark of the modern deluge, here still the long 
 drawing-room that looks over the water and towards 
 the sunset, with a seat for every visiting shade, from 
 far-away Thackeray down, and relics and tokens so thick 
 on its walls as to make it positively, in all the town, the 
 votive temple to memory." In his "Atlantic" and 
 "Cornhill" article he refers to the house, in a phrase at 
 which Mrs. Fields would have smiled, as "the waterside 
 museum of the Fieldses," and to them as "addicted to 
 every hospitality and every benevolence, addicted to 
 the cultivation of talk and wit and to the ingenious 
 multiplication of such ties as could link the upper half 
 
HOUSE AND HOSTESS 7 
 
 of the title-page with the lower"; he pays tribute to 
 "their vivacity, their curiosity, their mobility, the felic- 
 ity of their instinct for any manner of gathered relic, 
 remnant, or tribute"; and in Mrs. Fields herself, sur- 
 viving her husband for many years, he notes "the per- 
 sonal beauty of her younger years, long retained and not 
 even at the end of such a stretch of life quite lost ; the 
 exquisite native tone and mode of appeal, which an- 
 ciently we perhaps thought a little ' precious/ but from 
 which the distinctive and the preservative were in time 
 to be snatched, a greater extravagance supervening; 
 the signal sweetness of temper and lightness of tact." 
 
 There is one more of Henry James's remarks about 
 Mrs. Fields that must be quoted, "All her implica- 
 tions," he says, "were gay, since no one so finely senti- 
 mental could be noted as so humorous ; just as no femi- 
 nine humor was perhaps ever so unmistakingly directed, 
 and no state of amusement, amid quantities of reminis- 
 cence, perhaps ever so merciful." Mirth and mercy do 
 not always, like righteousness and peace, kiss each 
 other. In Mrs. Fields the capacity for incapacitating 
 laughter was such that I cannot help recalling one occa- 
 sion, near the end of her life, when an attempt to tell a 
 certain story of which I remember nothing but that 
 it had to do with a horse - involved her in such merri- 
 ment that after repeated efforts to reach its "point," she 
 was forced to abandon the endeavor. What I cannot 
 recall in a single instance, in the excellent telling of in- 
 numerable anecdotes, is unkindness, in word or sugges- 
 tion, toward the persons involved in them. Mr. James 
 
8 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 did well to include this item in his enumeration of Mrs. 
 Fields's qualities. 
 
 Through all his lenses of memory and phrase he 
 brought so vividly to one's own vision the Mrs. Fields 
 a younger generation had known that, on reading what 
 he had written, I wrote to him in England, then nearly 
 ending its first year in the war, and must have said that 
 his pages would help me, at some future day, to deal 
 with these of my own, now at last taking form. Thus, 
 in part, he replied : 
 
 July 2oM, 1915 
 
 Your appreciation reached me, alas, but through the 
 most muffling and deadening thickness of our unspeaka- 
 ble actuality here. It was to try and get out of that a 
 little that I wrote my paper in the most difficult and 
 defeating conditions, which seemed to me to make it, 
 with my heart so utterly elsewhere, a deplorably make- 
 believe attempt. Therefore if it had any virtue, there 
 must still be some in my poor old stump of a pen. Yes, 
 the pipe of peace is a thing one has, amid our storm and 
 stress, to listen very hard for when it twitters, from afar, 
 outside; and when you shall pipe it over your exhibi- 
 tion of dear Mrs. Fields's relics and documents I shall 
 respond to your doing so with whatever attention may 
 then be possible to me. We are not detached here, in 
 your enviable way but just exactly so must we there- 
 fore make some small effort to escape, even into what- 
 ever fatuity of illusion, to keep our heads above water at 
 all.. ^That in short is the history of my " Cornhill " scrap. 
 
HOUSE AND HOSTESS 9 
 
 The time into which Henry James escaped by "pip- 
 ing " of Mrs. Fields has now grown far more remote than 
 the added span of the last seven years, merely as years, 
 could have made it. Remote enough it seemed to him 
 
 yf 7V0te 0/ Acceptance 
 
 when, at the end of his reminiscences of the Fieldses, he 
 recalled a small "feast" in the Charles Street dining- 
 room at which Mrs. Julia Ward Howe it must have 
 been about 1906 rose and declaimed, "a little quaver- 
 ingly, but ever so gallantly, that ' Battle Hymn of the 
 Republic* which she caused to be chanted half a cen- 
 tury before and still could accompany with a real 
 breadth of gesture, her great clap of hands and indica- 
 tion of the complementary step, on the triumphant 
 
io MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 linp, 'Be swift my hands to welcome him, be jubilant 
 my feet!'" 
 
 Now it fell to my lot that night, as perhaps the young- 
 est of the party, to convoy Mrs. Howe across two wintry 
 bits of sidewalk into the carriage which bore her to and 
 from the memorable dinner-party, and to accompany 
 her on each of the little journeys. Quite as clear in my 
 memory as her recitation of the "Battle Hymn" was 
 the note of finality in her voice, quite free from unkind- 
 ness, as she settled down for the return drive to her 
 house in Beacon Street, far from a towering figure, and 
 announced in the darkness : "Annie Fields has shrunk." 
 The hostess we were leaving and the guest some fifteen 
 years her senior, and nearing ninety with what seemed 
 an immortally youthful spirit, appear, when those 
 words are recalled, as they must have been before either 
 was touched by the diminishing hand of age ; and the 
 house whose door had just closed upon us a house 
 more recently obliterated to make room for a monstrous 
 garage came back as the scene of many a gathering 
 of which the little feast described by Henry James was 
 but a type. 
 
 Early in January of 1915 this door, which through a 
 period of sixty years had opened upon extraordinary 
 hospitality, was finally closed. Since 1866 it had borne 
 the number 148. Ten years earlier, in 1856, when the 
 house was first occupied by James T. Fields, afterwards 
 identified with the publishing firms of Ticknor and 
 Fields, and Fields, Osgood and Company, it was num- 
 bered 37, Charles^ Street. This Boston man of books 
 
HOUSE AND HOSTESS n 
 
 and friendships, who before his death in 1881 was to 
 become widely known as publisher, editor, lecturer, and 
 writer, had married, in 1850, Eliza Josephine Willard, a 
 daughter of Simon Willard, Jr., of the name still honor- 
 ably associated with the even passage of time. She died 
 within a few months, and in November of 1854 ne mar- 
 ried her cousin, Annie Adams, not yet twenty years old, 
 the beautiful daughter of Dr. Zabdiel Boylston Adams. 
 For those who knew Mrs. Fields toward the end of her 
 four score and more years, it was far easier to see in her 
 charming face and presence the exquisite, eager young 
 woman of the mid-nineteenth century than to detect in 
 the Charles Street of 1915, of which she was the last in- 
 habitant of her own kind, any resemblance to the 
 delightful street of family dwellings, many of them look- 
 ing out over the then unfilled " Back Bay/ 1 to which she 
 had come about sixty years before. The Fieldses had 
 lived here but a few years when, in 1859, Dr. Oliver 
 Wendell Holmes with the " Autocrat " a year behind 
 him and the "Professor" a year ahead became their 
 neighbor at 21, subsequently 164, Charles Street. On 
 the other side of them, nearer Beacon Street, John A. 
 Andrew, the great war governor of Massachusetts, was 
 a friend and neighbor. Across the way, for a time, lived 
 Thomas Bailey Aldrich. In hillside streets near by dwelt 
 many persons of congenial tastes, whose work and char- 
 acter contributed greatly to making Boston what it was 
 through the second half of the last century. 
 
 The distinctive flavor of the neighborhood derived 
 nothing more from any of its households than from that 
 
12 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Fields. Their dining-room and drawing- 
 room 1 that green assembling-place of books, pictures, 
 music, persons, associations, all to be treasured were 
 the natural resort, not only of the whole notable local 
 company of writers whose publisher was also their true 
 and valued friend, but, besides, of many of the eminent 
 visitors to Boston, of the type represented most con- 
 spicuously by Charles Dickens. After the death of Mr. 
 Fields there was far more than a tradition carried on 
 in the Charles Street house. Not merely for what it 
 had meant, but for all that the gracious personality of 
 Mrs. Fields caused it to go on meaning, it continued 
 through her lifetime extending beyond that of Miss 
 Sarah Orne Jewett, for so many years of Mrs. Fields's 
 widowhood her delightful sister-hostess the resort of 
 older and younger friends, whose present thus drew a 
 constant enrichment from the past. 
 
 It was not till 1863, nearly ten years after her mar- 
 riage, that Mrs. Fields, who had kept a diary during a 
 visit to Europe in 1859-60 with her husband, and for 
 other brief periods, applied herself regularly to this 
 practice, maintained through 1876, and thereafter 
 renewed but intermittently. She wrote on the cover of 
 the first slender volume: "No. i. Journal of Literary 
 Events and Glimpses of Interesting People." A few 
 of its earliest pages, revealing its general purpose and 
 character, may well precede the passages relating, in 
 accordance with the plan already indicated, to individ- 
 
 1 A Shelf of Old Books, by Mrs. Fields (i 894), pictures many aspects of the 
 house and its contents. 
 
HOUSE AND HOSTESS 13 
 
 ual friends and groups of friends. In the first pages 
 of all, on which Mrs. Fields built a few sentences for 
 her "Biographical Notes," I find: 
 
 July 26, 1863. What a strange history this literary 
 life in America at the present day would make. An 
 editor and publisher at once, and at this date, stands 
 at a confluence of tides where all humanity seems to 
 surge up in little waves; some larger than the rest 
 (every seventh it may be) dashes up in music to which 
 the others love to listen ; or some springing to a great 
 height retire to tell the story of their flight to those who 
 stay below. 
 
 Mr. Longfellow is quietly at Nahant. His translation 
 of Dante is finished, but will not be completely pub- 
 lished until the year 1865, that being the 6ooth anniver- 
 sary since the death of the great Italian. Dr. Holmes 
 was never in healthier mood than at present. His ora- 
 tion delivered before a large audience upon the Fourth 
 of July this year places him high in the rank of native 
 orators. It is a little doubtful how soon he will feel like 
 writing again. He has contributed much during the 
 last two years to the "Atlantic" magazine. He may 
 well take a temporary rest. 
 
 Mr. Lowell is not well. He is now travelling. Mr. 
 Hawthorne is in Concord. He has just completed a 
 volume of English Sketches of which a few have been 
 printed in the "Atlantic Monthly." He will dedicate 
 the volume to Franklin Pierce, the Democrat a most 
 unpopular thing just now, but friendship of the purest 
 
i 4 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 stimulates him, and the ruin in prospect for his book 
 because of this resolve does not move him from his 
 purpose. Such adherence is indeed noble. Hawthorne 
 requires all that popularity can give him in a pecuniary 
 way for the support of his family. 
 
 The "Atlantic Monthly" is at present an interesting 
 feature of America. Purely literary, it has nevertheless 
 a subscription list, daily increasing, of 32,000. Of course 
 the editor's labors are not slight. We have been waiting 
 for Mr. Emerson to publish his new volume containing 
 his address upon Henry Thoreau ; but he is careful of 
 words and finds many to be considered again and again, 
 until it is almost impossible to extort a manuscript from 
 his hands. He has written but little, of late. 
 
 July 28. George William Curtis has done at least 
 one great good work. He has by a gentle but con- 
 tinuously brave pressure transformed the "Harper's 
 Weekly," which was semi-Secession, into an anti-slavery 
 and Republican journal. The last issue is covered with 
 pictures as well as words which tend to ameliorate the 
 condition of the colored race. Mr. Curtis's own house 
 at Staten Island has been threatened by the mob; 
 therefore his wife and children came last week to New 
 England. I fear the death of Colonel Shaw, her brother, 
 commanding the 54th Massachusetts (colored infantry), 
 will induce them_to return home. His death is one of our 
 severest strokes. 
 
 July 31, 1863. We have been in Concord this week, 
 making a short visit at the Hawthornes*. He has just 
 finished his volume of English Sketches, about to be 
 
HOUSE AND HOSTESS 15 
 
 dedicated to Franklin Pierce. It is a beautiful incident 
 in Hawthorne's life, the determination at all hazards 
 to dedicate this book to his friend. Mr. P.'s politics 
 at present shut him away from the faith of patriots, but 
 Hawthorne has loved him since college days and he will 
 not relent. 1 Mrs. Hawthorne is the stay of the house. 
 
 Td 
 FRANKLIN PIERCE, 
 
 AS A SLIGITT MEMORIAL OF A COLLEGE FRIENDSHIP, PROLONGED 
 
 THROUGH MANHOOD, AND RETAINING ALL ITS VITALITY 
 
 IN OUR AUTUMNAL TEARS, 
 
 fcfcts UioUme is finsctCfteft 
 
 BT NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 
 
 The Offending Dedication 
 
 The wood-work, the tables and chairs and pedestals, 
 are all ornamented by her artistic hand or what she has 
 prompted her children to do. Una is full of exquisite 
 maidenhood. Julian was away, but his beautiful illu- 
 minations lay upon the table. The one illustrating a por- 
 tion of King Arthur's address to Queen Guinevere 
 (Tennyson) was remarkably fine. 
 
 All this takes one back into a past sufficiently re- 
 mote. The 1859-60 diary of travel achieves the more 
 remarkable spectacle of Mrs. Fields in conversation 
 with Leigh Hunt less than two months before he died, 
 
 1 About two months later, Mrs. Fields wrote in her diary : " Emerson says 
 Hawthorne's book is 'pellucid but not deep.' He has cut out the dedication 
 and letter, as others have done." 
 
16 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 and reporting the very words of Shelley to this friend 
 of his. They may be found in the "Biographical 
 Notes" published by Mrs. Fields after her husband's 
 death. Shelley says, "Hunt, we write love-songs ; why 
 shouldn't we write hate-songs ?" And Hunt, recalling 
 the remark, adds, "He said he meant to some day, 
 poor fellow." Perhaps one of his subjects would have 
 been the second Mrs. Godwin, for, according to Hunt, 
 he disliked her particularly, believing her untrue, and 
 used to say that when he was obliged to dine with her 
 "he would lean back in his chair and languish into 
 hate." Then, wrote Mrs. Fields, "he said no one could 
 describe Shelley. He always was to him as if he came 
 from the planet Mercury, bearing a winged wand 
 tipped with flame." It is now an even century since 
 the death of Shelley, and here we find one of the older 
 generation of our own time talking, as it were, with 
 him at but a single remove. Almost the reader is 
 persuaded to ask of Mrs. Fields herself, "Ah, did you 
 once see Shelley plain ?" 
 
 Thus from the records of bygone years many re- 
 membered figures might be summoned; but the evo- 
 cations already made will suffice to indicate the point of 
 vantage at which Mrs. Fields stood as a diarist, and to 
 set the scene for the display of separate friendships 
 
Ill 
 
 DR. HOLMES, THE FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 1 
 
 IF any familiar face should appear at the front of the 
 procession that constantly crossed the threshold of 
 148, Charles Street, it should be that of Dr. Oliver 
 Wendell Holmes, for many years a near neighbor, and 
 to the end of his life a devoted visitor and friend. Here, 
 then, is an unpublished letter written from his summer 
 retreat while Fields was still actively associated with 
 the "Old Corner Bookstore" of Ticknor, Reed, and 
 Fields, and in the year before his marriage with Annie 
 Adams : 
 
 PITTS FIELD, Sept. 6th, 1853 
 MY DEAR MR. FIELDS : 
 
 Thank you for the four volumes, and the authors of 
 three of them through you. You did not remember 
 that I patronized you to the extent of Aleck before I 
 came up ; never mind, I can shove it round among the 
 young farmeresses and perhaps help to work off the 
 eleventh thousand of the most illustrious of all the 
 Smiths. 
 
 I shall write to Hillard soon. I have been reading 
 his book half the time today and with very great pleas- 
 ure. I am delighted with the plan of it practical in- 
 
 1 The greater part of this chapter appeared in the Yale Review for April, 
 1918. 
 
1 8 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 formation such as the traveller that is to be or that has 
 been wishes for, with poetical description enough to keep 
 the imagination alive, and sound American thought 
 to give it manly substance. It is anything but a flash 
 book, but I have not the slightest doubt that it will 
 have a permanent and very high place in travelling 
 literature. Many things have pleased me exceedingly, 
 when I have read a little more I shall try to tell him 
 what pleases me most, as I suppose like most authors 
 he likes as many points for his critical self-triangula- 
 tion as will come unasked for. 
 
 Hawthorne's book has been not devoured, but bolted 
 by my children. I have not yet had a chance at it, but 
 I don't doubt I shall read it with as much gusto as they, 
 when my turn comes. When you write tc him, thank 
 him if you please for me, for I suppose he will haidly 
 expect any formal acknowledgment. 
 
 I bloomed out into a large smile of calm delight on 
 opening the delicate little "Epistle Dedicatory" where- 
 in your name is embalmed. I cannot remember that 
 our friend has tried that pace before; he wrote some 
 pleasing lines I remember to Longfellow on the ship in 
 which he was to sail when he went to Europe some 
 years a good many ago. 
 
 Don't be too proud ! Wait until you get a prose dedi- 
 cation from a poet, if you have not got one already, 
 and then consider yourself immortal. 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 O. W. HOLMES 
 

 AN EARLY PHOTOGRAPH OF DR. HOLMES 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 19 
 
 This letter contains several provocations to curiosity. 
 "Aleck, . . . the most illustrious of all the Smiths," 
 was obviously Alexander Smith, the Scottish poet of 
 enormous but strictly contemporanecus vogue, in whom 
 the English reviewers of the time detected a kinship to 
 Tennyson, Keats, Shelley, and Shakespeare. George S. 
 Hillard's new book was "Six Months in Italy," and 
 Hawthorne's, "not devoured, but bolted" by the 
 Holmes children, was "Tanglewood Tales." The "deli- 
 cate little 'Epistle Dedicatory'" has been found elu- 
 sive. 
 
 From this early letter of Dr. Holmes a seven-league 
 step may be taken to a passage in a diary Mrs. Fields 
 was writing in 1860, the year following the removal 
 of the Holmes household from Montgomery Place to 
 Charles Street, before her long unbroken series of 
 journals began. The occasion described was one of 
 those frequent breakfasts in the Fields dining-room, 
 which bespoke, in the term of a later poet, the "wide 
 unhaste" of the period. Of the guests, N. P. Willis 
 was then at the top of his distinction as a New York 
 editor ; George T. Davis, a lawyer of Greenfield, Mass- 
 achusetts, afterwards of Portland, Maine, a classmate 
 of Dr. Holmes, was reputed one of the most charming 
 table-companions and wits of his day : the tributes to 
 his memory at a meeting of the Massachusetts Histor- 
 ical Society after his death in 1877 st i r one's envy of his 
 contemporaries ; George Washington Greene of Rhode 
 Island was perhaps equally known as the friend of 
 Longfellow and as the grandson and biographer of 
 
20 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 General Nathanael Greene ; Whipple was, of course, 
 Edwin P. Whipple, essayist and lecturer ; the household 
 of three was completed by Mrs. Fields's sister, Miss 
 Lizzie Adams. 
 
 Thursday, September 21, 1860. Equinoctial clear- 
 ing after a stormy night and morning. Willis came to 
 breakfast, and Holmes and George T. Davis, G. W. 
 Greene, Whipple, and our little household of three. 
 Holmes talked better than all, as usual. Willis played 
 the part of appreciative listener. G. T. Davis told won- 
 derful stories, and Mr. Whipple talked more than 
 usual. Holmes described the line of beauty which is 
 made by any two persons who talk together congenially 
 thus ^"X^^j whereas, when an adverse element comes 
 in, it proceeds thus /\ ; and by and by one which has 
 a frightful retrograde movement, thus / . Then blank 
 despair settles down upon the original talker. He said 
 people should dovetail together like properly built 
 mahogany furniture. Much of all this congeniality had 
 to do with the physical, he said. "Now there is big 
 
 Dr. ; he and I do very well together; I have just 
 
 two intellectual heart-beats to his one." Willis said he 
 thought there should be an essay written upon the 
 necessity that literary men should live on a more con- 
 centrated diet than is their custom. "Impossible," said 
 the Professor, " there is something behind the man which 
 drives him on to his fate ; he goes as the steam-engine 
 goes and one might as well say to the engine going at 
 the rate of sixty miles, 'you had better stop now/ and 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 21 
 
 so make it stop, as to say it to a man driven on by a vital 
 preordained energy for work." Each man has a phil- 
 osophical coat fitted to his shoulders, and he did not 
 expect to find it fitting anybody else. 
 
 At another breakfast, in 1861, we find, besides the 
 favorite humorist of the day, Dr. Holmes's son and 
 namesake, then a young officer in the Union army, now 
 Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. 
 
 Sunday, December 8, 1861. Yesterday morning 
 " Artemus Ward/* Mr. Browne, breakfasted with us, also 
 Dr. Holmes and the lieutenant, his son. We had a 
 merry time because Jamie was in grand humor and rep- 
 resented people and incidents in the most incomparable 
 manner. "Why," said Dr. Holmes to him afterward, 
 "you must excuse me that I did not talk, but the truth 
 is there is nothing I enjoy so much as your anecdotes, 
 and whenever I get a chance I can't help listening to 
 them." The Professor complimented Artemus upon his 
 great success and told him the pleasure he had received. 
 Artemus twinkled all over, but said little after the Pro- 
 fessor arrived. He was evidently immensely possessed 
 by him. The young lieutenant has mostly recovered 
 from his wound and speaks as if duty would recall him 
 soon to camp. He will go when the time comes, but 
 home evidently never looked half so pleasant before. 
 Poor fellows ! Heaven send us peace before long ! 
 
 The finely bound copy of Dr. Holmes's Fourth of 
 July Oration at the Boston City Celebration of 1863, 
 
22 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 to which the following passage refers, is one of the rari- 
 ties sought by American book-collectors. It was a prac- 
 tice of Dr. Holmes at this time to have his public 
 speeches set up in large, legible type for his own reading 
 at their delivery. One of these, an address to the alumni 
 of Harvard on July 16, 1863, with the inscription, 
 "Oliver Wendell Holmes to his friend James T. Fields, 
 One of six copies printed," is found among the Charles 
 Street papers, and contributes, like the passage that 
 follows, to the sense of pleasant intimacy between the 
 neighboring houses. 
 
 August 3, 1863. Dr. Holmes dropped in last night 
 about his oration which the City Council have had 
 printed and superbly bound. He has addressed it to 
 the "Common Council" instead of the "City Council," 
 and he is much disturbed. J. T. F. told him it made but 
 small consequence, and he went off comforted. One of 
 the members of the Council told Mr. F. it was amusing 
 to see "the Professor" while this address was passing 
 through the press. He was so afraid something would 
 be wrong that he would come in to see about it half a 
 dozen times a day, until it seemed as if he considered 
 this small oration of more consequence than the affairs 
 of the state. Yet laugh as they may about these little 
 peculiarities of "our Professor," he is a most wonderful 
 man. 
 
 In explanation of the ensuing bit, it need only be 
 said that in October of 1863 Senorita Isabella Cubas 
 
BROTHERS OF THE ASSOCIATION OF THE ALUMNI 
 
 IT is your misfortune and mine that you must accept 
 my services as your presiding officer in the place of your 
 honored President. I need hardly say how unwillingly it is 
 that for the second time I find myself in this trying position ; 
 called upon to fill as^I best may the place of one whose 
 presence and bearing,' whose courtesy, whose dignity, whose 
 scholarship, whose standing among the distinguished children 
 of the University, fit him alike to guide your- councils and 
 to grace your festivals. The name of Winthrop has been so 
 long associated with the State and with the College, that to 
 sit under his mild empire is like resting beneath one of these 
 wide-branching elms, the breadth oSf whoso shade is ouly a 
 measure of the hold its roots have taken in the soil. 
 
 In the midst of civil strife we, the children of this our 
 common mother, have come together in peace. And surely 
 there never, was a time when we more needed a brief respite 
 in some chosen place of refuge, some unviolated sanctuary, 
 from the cares and anxieties of our daily existence, than at 
 this very hour. Our life has grown haggard with excitement. 
 The rattle of drums, the march of regiments, the gallop of 
 squadrons, the roar of artillery, seem to have been coiitiu- 
 
 Reduced facsimile of first page of Dr. Holmes' s 1863 Address 
 to the Alumni of Harvard 
 
2 4 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 was appearing at the Boston Theatre in "The Wizard 
 Skiff, or the Massacre of Scio," and other pantomimes. 
 "The Wizard Skiff/' according to the "Advertiser," 
 was given on the fourteenth. On the sixteenth, a char- 
 acteristic announcement read: "At X past 8 Senorita 
 Cubas will dance La Madrilena." The tear of Dr. 
 Holmes at the spectacle may be remembered with the 
 "poetry and religion" anecdote of Emerson, Margaret 
 Fuller, and Fanny Ellsler. 
 
 October 16, 1863. Mr. F. went in two evenings since 
 to find Professor Holmes. His wife said he was out. " I 
 don't know where he is gone, I am sure, Mr. Fields," 
 she said in her eager way, "but he said he had finished 
 his work and asked if he might go, and I told him he 
 might, though he would not tell where he was going." 
 
 Yesterday the "where" transpired. "By the way," 
 said the Professor, "have you seen that little poem by 
 Mrs. Waterston upon the death of Colonel Shaw, 'To- 
 gether* ? It made me cry. However, I don't know how 
 much that means, for I went to see the 'beautiful 
 Cubas' in a pantomime the other night, and the first 
 thing I knew down came a great round fat tear and 
 went splosh on the ground. Wasn't I provoked!" 
 
 The next fragment is neither a letter nor a passage 
 from the diary, but a bit of excellent fooling, in Dr. 
 Holmes's handwriting, on a sheet of note paper. The 
 meteorological records of 1864 would probably show 
 that there were heavy rains in the course of the year. 
 
BOSTON THEATRE 
 
 STAGE MANAGER ...................................... M r ,T G. RAM FT 
 
 STAR UMMITCD! 
 
 ftK*OHlTt 1*4 BEL I, A 
 
 EC;* Another Character ! 
 
 KLT ADATTIB TO THIS 
 
 THI MBOE mODCCBD WITH 
 
 HEW SCENES, MUSIC AND STARTLING MECHAN- 
 ICAL EFFECTS! 
 
 WOLFO Mr W. H EDGAR 
 
 Wednesday Evening, October 14, 1863, 
 
 Will be performed the Legendary Pr.. in 3 aote. eatitled tbt 
 
 Or The Maooacre of Scio. 
 
 SEHOBTTA ISABELLA CUBAS 
 
 WOLFO ................................................. Mr W. H EDGAR 
 
 W. H Tfeor 
 
 . 
 CootUattM ............. W. H. WliBHej , MkbMl ................ W. H Tfeorcn 
 
 rnmt IWipnrf ......... W. H. Huiblin | AnMUmiM ................ F. O. 8v**i 
 
 TM Waadbdorf ............ W ScsUu I Frits ......................... Barrj 
 
 N. T.DftTenport | Plit ............. MIN Blmcb* Gry 
 
 Gwinb. Gnek Sailor* and Pirafe*. 
 
 ACT nXST-OKMKK PTRATBa 1 BXKDXBVOTTB. 
 ACT HKXMTD-THB WIZARD flJOFP. 
 
 Of Muiical Swlectlons. Leader, F. Suck. 
 
 FROM THE PLAY-BILL OF THE NIGHT OF 
 DR. HOLMES'S "GREAT ROUND FAT TEAR' 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 25 
 
 From Dr. Holmes's interest in the tracing of Dr. John- 
 son's footsteps an even century before his own, it is 
 easy to imagine his fancy playing about the rainfall of 
 the century ahead. I cannot find that this jeu d y esprit y 
 with its entirely characteristic flavor of the " Breakfast 
 Table," was ever printed by its author/ 
 
 Letter from the last man left by the Deluge of the year 1964 
 to the last woman left by the same 
 
 MY DEAR SOLE SURVIVORESS : 
 
 Love is natural to the human breast. ;The passion 
 has seized me, and you, fortunately, cannot doubt 'as 
 to its object. 
 
 Adored one, fairest, and indeed only individual .'of 
 your sex, can you, could you doubt that if the world 
 still possessed its full complement of inhabitants, 
 823,060,413 according to the most recent estimate, I 
 should hesitate in selecting you from the 411,530,206^ 
 females in existence previous to the late accident ? Be- 
 lieve it not ! Trust not the deceivers who but I for- 
 get the late melancholy occurrence for the moment. 
 
 It is still damp in our I beg your pardon in my 
 neighborhood. I hope you are careful of your precious 
 health so much depends upon it ! The dodo is ex- 
 tinct what if Man but pardon me. Let me recom- 
 mend long india-rubber boots they will excite no 
 remark, for reasons too obvious to mention. 
 
 May I hope for a favorable answer to my suit by the 
 bearer of this message, the carrier-goose, who was with 
 
pine? 
 
 26 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 me during the rainy season in the top of the gigantic 
 ne? 
 If any more favored suitor What am I saying ? If 
 
 -^ .^r 
 
 *?/ <Lc-t-^ <^*-<-*<z - c ~7t3e-es*&**t. &g G^OI ^*-" 
 
 <^-~ &>,<^ <^r<=s<L^z^~ ? C7/'&^2' 
 
 r 
 
 J 
 
 Facsimile of the Conclusion of Ultimus Smith's Declaration 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 27 
 
 any recollection of the past is to come between me and 
 happiness, break it gently to me, for my nerves have 
 been a good deal tried by the loss of the human species 
 (with the exception of ourselves) and there is something 
 painful in the thought of shedding tears in a world so 
 thoroughly saturated with liquid. 
 I am 
 
 (by the force of circumstances) 
 Your Only lover and admirer 
 
 ULTIMUS SMITH 
 0. W. H. Fixit. 
 
 A few brief items of May of 1864 bring back a time of 
 sadness for all the friends of Nathaniel Hawthorne. 
 
 May n, 1864. J. T. F. went to see Dr. Holmes 
 about Hawthorne's health. The latter came to town 
 looking very very ill. O. W. H. thinks the shark's tooth 
 is upon him, but would not have this known. Walked 
 and talked with him; then carried him to "Metcalf's 
 and treated him to simple medicine as we treat each 
 other to ice cream." 
 
 O. W. H. picked up a New York pamphlet full of 
 sneers against Boston "Mutual Admiration Society." 
 "These whipper-snappers of New York will do well to 
 take care," he says; "the noble race of men now so 
 famous here is passing down the valley then who will 
 take their places ! I am ashamed to know the names of 
 these blackguards. There is , a stick of sugar- 
 candy and , who is not even a gum-drop, 
 
 and plenty like them." 
 
28 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Sunday* May 14. Terrible days of war and 
 change. . . . 
 
 May 19. Hawthorne is dead. 
 
 Less than a year later came the record of another 
 death unique in that every survivor of the war-time 
 seems to have remembered the very moment and cir- 
 cumstances of learning the overwhelming fact. 
 
 April 15, 1865. Last night when I shut this book I 
 wondered a little what event or person would come next, 
 powerful enough to compel me to write a few words; 
 and before I was dressed this morning the news of the 
 assassination of the President became our only thought. 
 The President, Seward, and his son ! 
 
 Mrs. Andrew came in before nine o'clock to ask if 
 we thought it would be expected of her to receive "the 
 Club" on Monday. We decided "No," immediately, 
 which chimed with her desire. 
 
 The city is weighed down by sadness. But Dr. 
 Holmes expresses his philosophy for the consolation of 
 all. " It will unite the North," he says. " It is more than 
 likely that Lincoln was not the best man for the work 
 of re-construction," etc. His faith keeps him from the 
 shadows which surround many. 
 
 But it is a black day for us all. J. Wilkes Booth is in 
 custody. Poor Edwin is in Boston. 
 
 April 22. False report. Up to this date J. Wilkes 
 Booth has not been taken. A reward of nearly $200,000 
 is set upon his head, but we believe him to have fled 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 29 
 
 into Maryland or farther south, with some marauding 
 party. 
 
 Henry Howard Brownell, the author of "War Lyrics," 
 appears in the following extract, with Dr. Holmes, 
 whose high opinion of this singer of naval battle was 
 set forth in print of no uncertain tone. Of Forceythe 
 Willson, a poet, not yet thirty years old, of whom great 
 things were expected, Mrs. Fields wrote later in the 
 same volume of the journal : "He affects me like a wild 
 Tennyson. ... He is an indigenous growth of our 
 middle states. He was a pupil of Horace Mann, and 
 appreciated him." 
 
 April 29, 1865. Club dinner for J. T. F. Mr. 
 Brownell was present, author of "The Bay Fight," as 
 Dr. Holmes's guest. Dr. H. said privately to us, "Well, 
 't ain't much for some folks to do what I 'm doing for 
 this man, but it 's a good deal for me. I don't like that 
 kind of thing, you know. I find myself unawares in 
 something the position of a lion-hunter, which is un- 
 pleasant ! ! ! " He has lately discovered that Forceythe 
 Willson, the author of a noble poem called the " Color 
 Sergeant" ["The Old Sergeant"], has been living two 
 years in Cambridge. He wrote to him and told him how 
 much he liked his poem and said he would like to make 
 his acquaintance. "I will be at home," the young poet 
 replied to the elder, "at any time you may appoint to 
 call upon me." This was a little strange to O. W. H., 
 who rather expected, as the elder who was extending 
 
30 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 the right hand, to be called upon, I suppose, although 
 he did not say so. He found a fortress of a man, "shy 
 as Hawthorne/* and "one who had not learned that 
 the eagle's wings should sometimes be kept down, as we 
 people who live in the world must," said the Professor 
 to me afterward. "In State" by F. W. is a great poem. 
 
 More than a year later is found this characteristic 
 glimpse of Dr. Holmes in the elation of finishing one of 
 his books. 
 
 Wednesday, September 12, 1866. After an hour J. 
 went in to see Dr. Holmes. This was important. He had 
 promised a week ago to hear him read his new romance, 
 and he did not wish to show anything but the lively 
 interest he really feels. . . . 
 
 Jamie returned in two hours perfectly enchanted. 
 The novel exceeded his hopes. No diminishing of power 
 is to be seen; on the contrary it seems the perfect fruit 
 of a life. It is to be called "The Guardian Angel." 
 Four parts are already completed and large books of 
 notes stand ready for use and reference. Mrs. Holmes 
 came in to tell Mr. Fields she wished Wendell would not 
 publish anything more. He would only call down news- 
 paper criticism, and where was the use. "Well, Amelia, 
 I have written something now which the critics won't 
 complain of. You see it *s better than anything I have 
 ever done." "Oh, that 's what you always say, Wendell, 
 but I wish you'd let it alone!" "But don't you see, 
 Amelia, I shall make money by it, and that won't come 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 31 
 
 amiss." "No indeed, Mr. Fields, not in these times with 
 our family, you know." " But there 's one thing," said 
 the little Professor, suddenly looking up to Mr. Fields ; 
 "if anything should happen to me before I get the story 
 done, you would n't come down upon the widder for 
 the money, would you now ? " Then they had a grand 
 laugh all round. He is very nervous indeed about his 
 work and read it with great reluctance, yet desired to 
 do so. He had read it to no one as yet until Mr. Fields 
 should hear it. 
 
 Wendell, his son, had just returned from England, 
 bringing a young English Captain of Artillery home 
 with him for the night, the hotels being crowded. The 
 captain's luggage was in the entry. The Professor drew 
 J. aside to show him how the straps of the luggage 
 were arranged in order to slip in the address-card. 
 " D' ye see that good, ain't it ? I Ve made a drawing 
 of that and am going to have some made like it." 
 
 Near the end of 1 866, Mrs. Fields, after a few words 
 of realization that something lies beyond the age of 
 thirty, pictures "the Autocrat" at her own breakfast- 
 table, with General John Meredith Read, afterwards 
 minister to Greece, and already, before that age of 
 thirty which the diarist was just completing, an impor- 
 tant figure in the military and political life of New York. 
 A few sentences from the following passage are found 
 in Mrs. Fields's article on Dr. Holmes, which appeared 
 first in the "Century Magazine," and then in "Authors 
 and Friends." 
 
32 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 It comes over me to put down here and now the fact 
 that this year for the first time others perceived, as 
 well as myself, that I have passed the freshness and 
 lustre of youth but I do not feel the change as I 
 once thought I must life is even sweeter than ever 
 and richer though I can still remember the time when 
 thirty years seemed the desirable limit of life now it 
 opens before me full of uncompleted labor, full of riches 
 and plans the wealth of love, the plans of eternity. 
 
 Friday morning. Professor Holmes and Adjutant 
 General Read of New York (a young man despite his 
 title) breakfasted here at eight o'clock. They were both 
 here punctually at quarter past eight, which was early 
 for the season, especially as the General was late out, at 
 a ball, last night. He was only too glad of the chance, 
 however, to meet Dr. Holmes, and would have made a 
 far greater effort to accomplish it. The talk at one time 
 turned upon Dickens. Dr. Holmes said he thought 
 him a greater genius than Thackeray and was never 
 satisfied with admiring his wondrous powers of observa- 
 tion and fertility of reproduction ; his queer knack at 
 making scenes, too, was noticeable, but especially the 
 power of beginning from the smallest externals and 
 describing a man to the life though he might get no 
 farther than the shirt-button, for he always failed in 
 profound analysis. Hawthorne, beginning from within, 
 was his contrast and counterpart. But the two qualities 
 which Dickens possesses and which the world seems to 
 take small account of, but which mark his peculiar 
 greatness, are the minuteness of his observations and 
 
MRS. FIELDS 
 From a crayon portrait made by Rowse in 1863 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 33 
 
 his endless variety. Thackeray had sharp corners in 
 him, something which led you to see he could turn 
 round short upon you some day, although sadness was 
 an impressive element in his character perhaps a 
 sadness belonging to genius. Hawthorne's sadness was 
 a part of his genius tenderness and sadness. 
 
 On Monday, February 25, 1867, Mrs. Fields made 
 note of the Saturday Club dinner of two days before, at 
 which the guests were George William Curtis, "Petro- 
 leum V. Nasby," and Dr. Hayes of Arctic fame, of 
 whom Mrs. Fields had written a few days before: "He 
 wears a corrugated face, and his slender spirited figure 
 shows him the man for such resolves and expeditions. 
 We were carried away like the hearers of an Arabian 
 tale with his vivid pictures of Arctic life." But appar- 
 ently he was not the chief talker at the Saturday Club 
 meeting, for Mrs. Fields wrote of it: "Dr. Holmes was 
 in great mood for talk, but Lowell was critical and in- 
 terrupted him frequently. 'Now, James, let me talk 
 and don't interrupt me/ he once said, a little ruffled 
 by the continual strictures on his conversation." But 
 by the time that Longfellow's sixtieth birthday came 
 round on the following Wednesday, Dr. Holmes was 
 ready for it with the verses, "In gentle bosoms tried and 
 true," recorded in Longfellow's diary, and for another 
 encounter with Lowell, who also celebrated the day 
 with a poem, beginning "I need not praise the sweet- 
 ness of his song." Mrs. Fields's diary records her hus- 
 band's account of the evening : 
 
34 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 February 28, 1867. Thursday morning. Jamie 
 had a most brilliant evening at Longfellow's. A note 
 came in from O. W. H. towards night, saying he was full 
 of business and full of his story, but he must go to L.'s. 
 Lowell's poem in the morning had helped to stir him. J. 
 reached his door punctually at eight. There stood the 
 little wonder with hat and coat on and door ajar, his 
 wife beside him. "I would n't let him go with anybody 
 else," she said. "Mr. Fields, he ought not to go out 
 tonight; hear him, how he wheezes with the asthma. 
 Now, Wendell, when will you get home ?" "Oh," said 
 he, "I don't know. I put myself into Mr. Fields's 
 hands." "Well, Mr. Fields, how early can you get him 
 home?" "About twelve," was the answer. "Now 
 that's pretty well," said the Doctor. "Amelia, go in 
 and shut the door. Mr. Fields will take care of me." 
 So between fun and anxiety they chatted away until 
 they were fairly into the street and in the car. "I Ve 
 been doing too much lately between my lectures and my 
 story, and the fine dinners I have been to, and I ought 
 not to go out tonight. Why, it 's one of the greatest 
 compliments one man ever paid another, my going out 
 to Longfellow's tonight. By the way, Mr. Fields, do you 
 appreciate the position you hold in our time ? There 
 never was anything like it. Why, I was nothing but a 
 roaring kangaroo when you took me in hand, and I 
 thought it was the right thing to stand up on my hind 
 legs, but you combed me down and put me in proper 
 shape. Now I want you to promise me one thing. We 're 
 all growing old, I 'm near sixty myself; by and by the 
 
FIELDS, THE MAN OF BOOKS AND FRIENDSHIPS 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 35 
 
 brain will begin to soften. Now you must tell me when 
 the egg begins to look addled. People don't know of 
 themselves." 
 
 He had been to two large dinners lately, one at G. W. 
 Wales's, which he said was the finest dinner he had ever 
 seen, the most perfect in all its appointments, decorated 
 with the largest profusion of flowers, in as perfect taste 
 as he had ever seen. "Why, even the chair you sat in 
 was so delicately padded as to give pleasure to that 
 weak spot in the back which we all inherit from the fall 
 of Adam." The other was at Mrs. Charles Dorr's, where 
 there were sixteen at table and the room "for heat was 
 like the black hole at Calcutta," but the company was 
 very brilliant. Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop, Mrs. Parkman, 
 
 Dr. Hayes, etc. He sat next Mrs. ; says she is a 
 
 thorough-bred woman of society, the daughter of a 
 politician, the wife, first of a millionaire and now of a 
 man of society. "I like such a woman now and then; 
 
 she never makes a mistake." Mrs. was thoroughly 
 
 canvassed at the table, "picked clean as any duck for 
 the spit and then roasted over a slow fire," as O. W. H. 
 afterward remarked to Mrs. Parkman, who is a very 
 just woman and who weighed her well in the balances. 
 
 When they arrived at L.'s, my basket of flowers stood 
 surrounded by other gifts, and Longfellow himself sat 
 crowned with all the natural loveliness of his rare nature. 
 The day must have been a happy one for him. . . . 
 O. W. H. had three perfect verses of a little poem in 
 his hand which he read, and then Lowell talked, and 
 they had great merriment and delight together. 
 
36 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 The two following passages from the diary for 1868 
 seem to indicate that Dr. Holmes made a double use of 
 his poem, " Bill and Joe," written in this year, included 
 in his "Poems of the Class of '29," and according to the 
 entry of July 17, read at the Harvard Phi Beta Kappa 
 dinner of 1868: 
 
 January 16, 1868. We had just finished dinner 
 when Professor Holmes came in with his poem, one of 
 the annual he contributes to the class-supper of the 
 " Boys of '29." He read it through to us with feeling, 
 his voice growing tremulous and husky at times. It was 
 pleasant to see how he enjoyed our pleasure in it. The 
 talk turned naturally after a little upon the question of 
 Chief Justice, when he took occasion to run over in his 
 mind the character and qualifications of some of our 
 chief barristers. "As for Bigelow 1 (who has just gone" 
 out of office and it is his successor over whom they are 
 struggling), as for Bigelow, it is astonishing to see how 
 every bit of that man's talent has been brought into use ; 
 all he has is made the most of. Why, he 's like some 
 cooks, give 'em a horse and they will use every part of 
 him except the shoes." 
 
 Friday, July 17, 1868. Last evening Dr. Holmes 
 came in fresh from the Phi Beta dinner at Cambridge. 2 
 
 1 George Tyler Bigelow, of the Harvard Class of 1829. 
 
 2 Harvard festivals were frequently noted. After the great day on which 
 Lowell gave his Commemoration Ode, Mrs. Fields wrote (July 22, 1 865) : 
 " What an ever-memorable day, the one at Harvard ! The prayer of Phillips 
 Brooks, the ode of Lowell, the address of Dr. Putnam and the Governor, and 
 the heartfelt verses of Holmes, and the lovely music and the hymns. But 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 37 
 
 He said, "I can't stop and I only came to read you my 
 verses I read at the dinner, they made such a queer im- 
 pression. I did n't mean to go, but James Lowell was to 
 preside and sent me word that I really must be there, so 
 I just wrote these off, and here they are I don't know 
 that I should have brought them in to read to you, but 
 Hoar declares they are the best I have ever done." At 
 length, in the exquisite orange of sunset, he read those 
 delightful verses, full, full of feeling, "Bill and Joe/' 
 We did not wonder the Phi Beta boys liked them. I 
 shall be surprised if every boy, especially those who find 
 the almond blossoms in the hair, as W. says, does not 
 like them, and if they do not win for him a more uni- 
 versal reputation than he has yet won. . . . 
 
 I was impressed last night with the nervous energy of 
 O. W. H. His leg by a slight quiver kept time to the 
 reading of his verses, and his talk fell before and after 
 like swift rain. He does not go away from town but 
 sways between Boston and Cambridge all these perfect 
 summer days; receiving yesterday, the hottest day of 
 this or many years, Motley at dinner, and going per- 
 petually, and writing verses and letters not a few. His 
 activity is wonderful; think of writing letters these 
 warm delicious evenings by gaslight in a small front 
 study on the street ! It hurts him less than his wife, 
 partly because the intellectual vivacity and excitement 
 
 Lowell's Ode ! ! How it overtops the whole of what is preserved on paper 
 beside! Charles G. Loring presided. * Awkwardly enough done,' said 
 O. W. H. ; 'It is a delicate thing to introduce a poet, he should be delivered 
 to the table as a falconer delivers the falcon into the air, but Mr. Loring 
 puts you down hard on the table ca-chunk.'" 
 
38 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 keeps him up, partly because he is physically fitted to 
 bear almost everything but cold. How fortunate for the 
 world that while he lives he should continue his work so 
 faithfully. He will have no successor, at least for many 
 a long year, after we have all gone to sleep under our 
 green counterpanes and Nature has tucked us up well 
 in yearly violets. 
 
 Earlier in the year Dr. Holmes and Mrs. Stowe met 
 in Charles Street. 
 
 Wednesday morning, January 29, 1868. Last night 
 Professor Holmes, Mrs. Stowe, her daughter Georgie, 
 and the Howellses, took tea here. The Professor came 
 early and was in good talking trim presently in came 
 Mrs. Stowe, and they fell shortly into talk upon Home- 
 opathy and Allopathy. He grew very warm, declared 
 that cases cited of cures proved nothing, and we were all 
 "incompetent" to judge ! We could not but be amused 
 at his heat, for we were more or less believers in Home- 
 opathy against his one argument for Allopathy. In vain 
 Mrs. Stowe and I tried to turn and stem the fiery tide : 
 Georgie or Mrs. Howells would be sure to sweep us back 
 into it again. However, there were many brilliant things 
 said, and sweet and good and interesting things too. 
 The Professor told us one curious fact, that chemists had 
 in vain analyzed the poison of rattlesnakes and could 
 not discover the elements of destruction it undoubtedly 
 possesses. Also that, when Indians poison their arrows 
 with it, they hang up the liver of a white wolf and make 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 39 
 
 one snake after another bite it until the liver is entirely 
 impregnated; they then leave it to dry until disinte- 
 grated, when they moisten and apply round the necks of 
 the arrows not on the point. He had a long quiet 
 chat with Mrs. Stowe before the evening ended. They 
 compared their early Calvinistic education and the 
 effect produced upon their characters by such training. 
 Tuesday ', April 13, 1869. Dr. Holmes and his wife 
 and Mr. Whittier dined here. The talk was free, totally 
 free from all feeling of constraint, as it could not have 
 been had another person been present. Whittier says he 
 is afraid of strangers, and Dr. Holmes is never more de- 
 lightful than under just such auspices. Dr. Holmes 
 asked Whittier's undisguised opinion of Longfellow's 
 "New England Tragedies" "honest opinion now," 
 said he. "Well, I liked them," said Whittier, half 
 reluctantly evidently he had found much that was 
 beautiful and in keeping with the spirit of the times of 
 which Longfellow wrote, and their passionless character 
 did not trouble him as it had O. W. H. Presently, he 
 added that he was surprised to find how he had pre- 
 served almost literally the old text of the old books he 
 had lent Longfellow twelve years ago, and had meas- 
 ured it off into verse. "Ah," said O. W. H., "you 
 have said the severest thing after all ' measured off ' ; 
 that 's just what he has done. It is one of the easiest, 
 the very commonest tricks of the rhymster to be able to 
 do this. I am surprised to see the ease with which I 
 can do it myself." They spoke then of "Evangeline," 
 which both agreed in awarding unqualified praise. 
 
4 o MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 "Only/' said Whittier, "I always wondered there was 
 no terrible outburst of indignation over the outrage 
 done to that poor colony. The tide of the story runs 
 as smoothly as if nothing had occurred. I long thought 
 of working up that story myself, but I am glad I did 
 not, only I can't understand its being so calm." They 
 talked on religious questions of course, the Professor 
 holding that sin being finite, and of such a nature that 
 we could both outgrow it and root it up, Whittier 
 still returning to the ground that sin was a "very real 
 thing." 
 
 It is impossible to represent the clearness and swift- 
 ness of Dr. Holmes's talk. The purity of heart and 
 strength of endeavor evident in the two poets makes 
 their atmosphere a very elevating one and they evi- 
 dently naturally rejoiced in each other's society. 
 
 Mrs. Holmes had not been out to dine before this 
 winter. Jamie sent us a pot of strawberries growing, 
 which delighted everybody. 
 
 Before the following passage was written, in 1871, Dr. 
 Holmes had moved from Charles Street to Beacon 
 Street ; Mr. Fields, in impaired health, had retired from 
 active business as a publisher and was devoting himself 
 chiefly to writing and lecturing; and Mrs. Fields, al- 
 ready interested in the establishment of Coffee Houses 
 for the poor in the North End and elsewhere, had begun 
 the notable work in public charities to which her ener- 
 gies were so largely given for the remaining forty-four 
 years of her life. In the Cooperative Workrooms, still 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 41 
 
 rendering their beneficent services, and in the larger 
 organization of the Associated Charities, embodying a 
 principle now widely adopted throughout the land, the 
 labors of this generous spirit, never content to give all 
 it had to the gracious life within its own four walls, have 
 borne enduring fruits. 
 
 1871. Thursday afternoon last (June 22) went to 
 Cambridge for a few visits, and coming home stopped 
 at Dr. Holmes's, at his new house on Beacon St. Found 
 them both at home, sitting lonely in the oriel window 
 looking out upon a glorious sunset. They were think- 
 ing of the children who have flown out of their nest. 
 Dr. Holmes was very friendly and sweet. He talked 
 most affectionately with J., told him he no longer felt 
 a spur to write since he had gone out of business ; he 
 needed just the little touch of praise and encouragement 
 he used to administer to make him do it ; now he did not 
 think he should ever write any more worth mentioning. 
 He had been in to see the Coffee House and entertained 
 us much by saying he met President Eliot near the door 
 one day just as he was going in, but he was ashamed of 
 doing so until they had parted company. There was 
 something so childlike in this confession that we all 
 laughed heartily over it. However he got in at last, and 
 "tears as big as onions stood in my eyes when I saw 
 what had been accomplished." "You must be a very 
 happy woman," he went on to say. I told him of the 
 new one in Eliot Street about to be opened this coming 
 week. 
 
42 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 At the end of the summer of 1 871, when Mr. and Mrs. 
 Fields were beginning to learn the charms of the North 
 Shore town of Manchester, where they established the 
 "Gambrel Cottage" on "Thunderbolt Hill" which 
 gave a summer synonym to the hospitality of Charles 
 Street, they journeyed one day to Nahant for a mid- 
 day dinner with Longfellow. Here Mrs. Fields's sister, 
 Louisa, Mrs. James H. Real, was a neighbor of the poet. 
 Another neighbor was the late George Abbot James, 
 and in Longfellow's diary for September 4, 1871, is the 
 entry : " Call on Dr. Holmes at Mr. James's. Sumner 
 still there. We discuss the new poets." Mrs. Fields 
 reports a continuation of the talk with the same friends. 
 
 Wednesday , September 6, 1871. Dined with Mr. 
 Longfellow at Nahant. The day was warm with a soft 
 south wind blowing, and as we crossed the beach white 
 waves were curling up the sands. . . . The dear poet 
 saw us coming from afar and walked to his little gate to 
 meet us with such a sweet cordial welcome that it was 
 worth going many a mile to have that alone. The three 
 little ladies, his daughters, and Ernest's wife, were 
 within, but they came warmly forward to give us greet- 
 ing ; also Mr. Sam. Longfellow was of the party. A few 
 moments' chat in the little parlor, when Longfellow saw 
 Holmes coming in the distance (he had an opera-glass, 
 being short-sighted, and was sitting on the piazza with 
 J.). "Hullo!" said he, "here comes Holmes, and all 
 dressed up too, with flowers in his button-hole." Sure 
 enough, here was the Professor to have dinner with us 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 43 
 
 also. He was full of talk as ever and looking remark- 
 ably well. Longfellow asked with much interest about 
 Balaustion and Joaquin Miller, neither of which he had 
 read. Holmes criticized as if unbearable and beyond the 
 pale of decency Browning's cutting of words, " Flower o* 
 the pine," and such characteristic passages. Longfellow 
 spoke of a volume of poems he had received of late from 
 England in which "saw" was made to rhyme with 
 "more." Holmes said Keats often did that. "Not ex- 
 actly, I think," said L., "'dawn* and 'forlorn/ per- 
 haps." "Well," said H., "when I was in college" (I 
 think he said college, certainly while at Cambridge) 
 "and my first volume was about to appear, Mrs. Fol- 
 som saw the sheets and fortunately at the very last 
 moment for correction discovered I had made 'for- 
 lorn* rhyme with 'gone/ and out of her own head and 
 without having time to consult with me she substituted 
 'sad and wan/" * The Professor went on to say that he 
 must confess to a tender feeling of regret for his "so 
 forlorn" to this very day, but he supposed every writer 
 of poems must have his keen regrets for the numerous 
 verses he could recall where he had wrestled with the 
 English language and had lost something of his thought 
 in his struggle with the necessities of art. We shortly 
 after went to dinner, where the talk still continued to 
 turn on art and artists, chiefly musical, the divorcement 
 of music and thought ; a thinker or man of intellect 
 in listening to music comes to a comprehension of it, 
 
 1 This anecdote of the revision of The Last Leaf, written in 1831, is told 
 a little differently in the annotations of Holmes's Complete Works. 
 
44 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Holmes said, mediately, but a musician feels it directly 
 through some gift of which the thinker knows nothing. 
 Longfellow always recalls with intense delight hearing 
 Gounod sing his own music in Rome his voice was 
 hardly to be mentioned among the fine voices of the 
 world, indeed it was small, but his rendering was exquis- 
 ite. Canvassing T. B. Read's poems and speaking of 
 "Sheridan's Ride," which has been so highly praised, 
 "Yes," said Holmes, "but there are very poor lines in 
 it, but how often, to use Scripture phrase, there is a fly 
 in the ointment." The talk went bowling off to Pere 
 Hyacinthe. "He was very pleasant," said Holmes, "it 
 was most agreeable to meet him, but you could only 
 go a short distance. His desire was to be a good Catho- 
 lic, and ours is of course quite different. It was like 
 speaking through a knot-hole after all." 
 
 The dumb waiter bounced up.- "We cannot call that 
 a dumb waiter," said L., " but I had an odd dream the 
 other night. I thought Greene (G. W.) came bouncing up 
 on the waiter in that manner and stepped off in a most 
 dignified fashion with a crushed white hat on his head. 
 He said he had just been to drive with a Spanish lady !" 
 
 Sumner (Charles) came up to the piazza. He had 
 dined elsewhere and came over as soon as possible for a 
 little talk. Holmes talked on, although we all said, 
 "Mr. Sumner here is Mr. Sumner," without per- 
 ceiving that the noble Senator was sitting just outside 
 the cottage window waiting for us to rise, and began to 
 converse about him. Longfellow grew nervous and rose 
 to speak with Sumner still Holmes did not perceive, 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 45 
 
 and went on until Jamie relieved us from a tendency 
 to convulsions by voting that we should join the Sen- 
 ator. Then Sumner related the substance of an amusing 
 letter of Cicero's he had just been reading in which 
 Cicero gives an account to his friend of a visit he had 
 just received from the Emperor Julius Caesar. He had 
 invited Julius to pass a few days with him, but he came 
 quite unexpectedly with a thousand men ! Cicero, see- 
 ing them from afar, debated with another friend what 
 he should do with them, but at length managed to en- 
 camp them. To feed them was a less easy matter. The 
 emperor took everything quite easily, however, and 
 was very pleasant, "but," adds Cicero, "he is not the 
 man to whom I should say a second time, 'if you are 
 passing this way, give me a call.' " 
 
 Again, in 1873, Longfellow, Holmes, and Sumner are 
 found together at the dinner-table with Mrs. Fields, 
 this time in Charles Street. When she made use of her 
 diary at this point, for her article on Dr. Holmes which 
 appeared first in the "Century Magazine" (1895), it 
 was with many omissions. The passage is now given 
 almost entire. It should be said that the Misses Towne, 
 mentioned at the beginning of it, were friends and sum- 
 mer neighbors at Manchester. 
 
 Saturday, October n, 1873. Helen and Alice Towne 
 have come to pass Sunday with us. Charles Sumner, 
 Longfellow, Greene, Dr. Holmes came to dine. Mr. 
 Sumner seemed less strong than of late and I fancied he 
 
46 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 suffered somewhat while at table during the evening, 
 but he told me he was working at his desk or reading 
 during fourteen consecutive hours not infrequently at 
 present, as he was in the habit of doing when uninter- 
 rupted by friendly visits. He said he was very fond of 
 the passive exercise of reading; the active exercise of 
 composition was of course agreeable in certain moods, 
 but reading was a never-ending delight. He spoke of 
 Lord Brougham, and Mrs. Norton and her two beauti- 
 ful sisters. Both he and Mr. Longfellow recalled them 
 in their youthful loveliness, but Mr. Sumner said when 
 he was in England the last time he saw the Duchess of 
 Somerset, who was a most poetic looking creature in her 
 youth and (I believe) the youngest of the three sisters, 
 so changed he should never have guessed who it might 
 be. She was grown a huge red- faced woman. (Long- 
 fellow laughed, referring to her second marriage and 
 said, "Yes, she had turned a Somerset!") Dr. Holmes 
 sparkled and coruscated as I have seldom heard him 
 before. We are more than ever convinced that no one 
 since Sydney Smith was ever so brilliant, so witty, 
 spontaneous, naif, and unfailing as Dr. Holmes. He 
 talked much about his class in College: "There never 
 was such vigor in any class before, it seems to me 
 almost every member turns out sooner or later distin- 
 guished for something. We have had every grade of 
 moral status from a criminal to a Chief Justice, and we 
 never let any one of them drop. We keep hold of their 
 hands year after year and lift up the weak and failing 
 ones till they are at last redeemed. Ah, there was one 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 47 
 
 exception years ago we voted to cast a man out who 
 had been a defaulter or who had committed some of- 
 fense of that nature. The poor fellow sank down, and 
 before the next year, when we repented of this decision, 
 he had gone too far down and presently died. But we 
 have kept all the rest. Every fourth man in our class is 
 a poet. Sam. Smith belongs to our class, who wrote ' My 
 Country, 't is of Thee/ Sam. Smith will live when Long- 
 fellow, Whittier, and all the rest of us have gone into 
 oblivion and yet what is there in those verses to 
 make them live ? Do you remember the line ' Like that 
 above'? I asked Sam. what 'that* referred to he 
 said 'that rapture'!! (The expression of the rapid 
 talker's face of contempt as he said this was one of the 
 most amusing possible.) Even the odds and ends of 
 our class have turned out something. . . . Longfellow, 
 I wish I could make you talk about yourself." " But I 
 never do," said L. quietly. "I know you never do, but 
 you confessed to me once." "No, I don't think I ever 
 did," said L. laughing. 
 
 Greene was for the most part utterly speechless. He 
 attended with great assiduity to his dinner, which was a 
 good one, and Longfellow was watchful and kind enough 
 to send him little choice things to eat which he thought 
 he would enjoy. 
 
 Holmes was abstemious and never ceased talking 
 "Most men write too much. I would rather risk my 
 future fame upon one lyric than upon ten volumes. But 
 I have said Boston is the hub of the universe. I will rest 
 upon that." 
 
48 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 All this report is singularly dry compared with the wit 
 and humor which radiated about the table. We laughed 
 till the tears ran down our cheeks. Longfellow was in- 
 tensely amused. I have not seen him laugh so much for 
 many a long day. We ladies sat at the table long after 
 coffee and cigars in order to hear the talk. . . . 
 
 Sumner said he had been much displeased by a re- 
 mark Professor Henry Hunt made to him a few days 
 ago. He said Mr. Agassiz was an impediment in the path 
 of science. What did such men as Hunt and John Fiske 
 mean by underrating a man who has given such books 
 to the world as Agassiz has done, not to speak of his 
 untiring efforts in the other avenues of influence ! "It 
 means just this," said Holmes : "Agassiz will not listen 
 to the Darwinian theory ; his whole effort is on the other 
 side. Now Agassiz is no longer young, and I was reading 
 the other day in a book on the Sandwich Islands of 
 an old Fejee man who had been carried away among 
 strangers, but who prayed he might be carried home, 
 that his brains might be beaten out in peace by his son 
 according to the custom of those lands. It flashed over 
 me then that our sons beat out our brains in the same 
 way. They do not walk in our ruts of thoughts or begin 
 exactly where we leave off, but they have a new stand- 
 point of their own. At present the Darwinian theory 
 can be nothing but an hypothesis ; the important links 
 of proof are missing and cannot be supplied ; but in the 
 myriad ages there may be new developments." 
 
 I thought the young ladies looked a little tired sit- 
 ting, so about nine o'clock we left the table still the 
 
LOUIS AGASSIZ 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 49 
 
 talk went on for about four hours when they broke up. 
 
 With two letters from Dr. Holmes this rambling chron- 
 icle of his friendship with Mr. and Mrs. Fields must end. 
 The first of the communications is a mere fragment of 
 his everyday humor: 
 
 BEVERLY-FARMS-BY-THE-DEPOT 
 
 July i8/A, 1878 
 DEAR MR. FIELDS : 
 
 The Corner sends me a book directed to me here, 
 but on opening the outside wrapper I read "James T. 
 Fields, Esq., Jamaica Plain, Boston, Mass." The book, 
 which is sealed up (or stuck up, like many authors), 
 measures 7x5, nearly, and is presumably idiotic, like 
 most books which are sent us without being ordered. 
 Perhaps you have received a similar package which 
 on opening you found directed to O. W. Holmes, Esq., 
 Peak of Teneriffe, Boston. If so, when the weather 
 grows cool again and we can make up our minds to face 
 the title page of the dreaded volume, we will make an 
 exchange. 
 
 Always truly yours, 
 
 O. W. HOLMES 
 
 The second letter, written ten years after Dr. Holmes, 
 in moving from Charles to Beacon Street, had made the 
 last of his "justifiable domicides," strikes a more serious 
 note, revealing that quality of true sympathy so closely 
 joined in abundant natures with true humor. Mr. 
 Fields had died in April of 1881, and Mrs. Fields had 
 
50 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 applied herself at once to the preparation of her volume, 
 "James T. Fields: Biographical Notes and Personal 
 Sketches," drawing freely upon the diaries from which 
 many of the foregoing pages, then passed over, are now 
 taken. The performance of this loving labor must have 
 done much towards the first filling of a life so grievously 
 emptied. Already the intimate and beloved com- 
 panionship of Miss Jewett had come into it. 
 
 294 BEACON ST., November 16, 1881 
 
 MY DEAR MRS. FIELDS : 
 
 I feel sure there will be but one voice with regard to 
 your beautiful memorial volume. If I had any mis- 
 givings that you might find the delicate task too diffi- 
 cult that you might be discouraged between the 
 wish to draw a life-like picture and the fear of saying 
 more than the public had a right to, these misgivings 
 have all vanished, and I am sure your finished task 
 leaves nothing to be regretted. As he was in life, 
 he is in your loving but not overwrought story. I do 
 not see how a life so full of wholesome activity and 
 genuine human feeling could have been better pictured 
 than it is in your pages. Long before I had finished 
 reading your memoir in the proofs I had learned to 
 trust you entirely as to the whole management of the 
 work on which you had entered. All I feared was 
 that your feelings might be overtasked, and that the 
 dread of coming before the public when your whole 
 heart was in the pages opened to its calm judgment 
 might be more than you could bear. 
 
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 51 
 
 And now, my dear Mrs. Fields, there must come a 
 period of depression, almost of collapse, after the labor 
 and the solace of this tender, tearful, yet blessed occu- 
 pation. I think you need the kind thoughts and sooth- 
 ing words if words have any virtue in them of 
 those who love you more than while each day had its 
 busy hours in which the memory of so much that was 
 delightful to recall kept the ever-returning pangs of 
 grief a little while in abeyance. It must be so. But 
 before long, quietly, almost imperceptibly, there will, I 
 hope and trust, return to you the quieting sense of all 
 that you have done and all that you have been for that 
 life which for so many happy years you were privileged 
 to share. How few women have so perfectly fulfilled, not 
 only every duty, but every ideal that a husband could 
 think of as going to make a happy home ! This must 
 be and will be an ever-growing source of consolation. 
 
 Forgive me for saying what many others must have 
 said to you, but none more sincerely than myself. 
 
 I do not know how to express to you the feeling 
 with which Mrs. Holmes looks upon you in your be- 
 reavement. I should do it injustice if I attempted to 
 give it expression, for she lives so largely in her sym- 
 pathies and her endeavors to help others that she could 
 not but sorrow deeply with you in your affliction and 
 wish there were any word of consolation she could add 
 to the love she sends you. 
 
 Believe me, dear Mrs. Fields, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 O. W. HOLMES 
 
52 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 For thirteen years longer, till his death in 1 894 at the 
 age of eighty-five, Dr. Holmes was a prolific writer of 
 notes, more often than letters, to Mrs. Fields. The sym- 
 pathy of tried and ripened friendship runs through them 
 all. In the Charles Street house the younger friends 
 might see from time to time this oldest friend of their 
 hostess. When he came no more, it was well for those of 
 a later day that his memory was so securely held in the 
 retrospect and the record of Mrs. Fields. 
 
IV 
 
 CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE VISITORS 
 
 THE volumes in which Mrs. Fields brought to light 
 many passages from her journals stand as red and black 
 buoys marking the channel through which the navigator 
 of these pages must steer his course if he is to avoid the 
 rocks and shoals of the previously published. In her 
 books it was but natural that she should deal most freely 
 with those august figures in American letters who so 
 towered above their contemporaries as to attach the 
 longer and more portentous adjective "Augustan" to 
 the circle formed by the joining of their hands. If it has 
 become the fashion to look back upon the American 
 Augustans and the English Victorians with similarly 
 mingled feelings, in which tolerance stands in a growing 
 proportion to the admiration and respect which form- 
 erly ruled supreme, it is the unaltered fact that the fig- 
 ures of the American group dominated both the local 
 and the national scene of letters in their day, and that 
 their historic significance is undiminished. But it is 
 rather as human beings than as literary figures that 
 they reveal themselves in the sympathetic records of 
 Mrs. Fields human beings who typified and embod- 
 ied a state of thought and society so remote in its char- 
 acteristic qualities from the prevailing conditions of this 
 later day as to be approaching steadily that "equal date 
 
54 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 with Andes and with Ararat" of which one of them 
 wrote in words quite unmistakably his own. 
 
 Perhaps no single member of the group is represented 
 in Mrs. Fields's journals so often as Dr. Holmes by 
 illuminating pages which she herself left unprinted. For 
 this reason, and because Concord and Cambridge visi- 
 tors to Charles Street were in fact so much a "group/' 
 it has seemed wise to assemble in this place passages 
 that relate to one after another of the "Augustan" 
 friends in turn. Sometimes they appear as separate 
 subjects of record, sometimes in company with their 
 fellows. That majestic figure, Nathaniel Hawthorne, 
 whose death in 1864 made the earliest gap in the circle 
 of figures most memorable, shall be first to step forth, 
 like one of his own personages of the Province House, 
 from the shadows in which indeed he lived. 
 
 The long chapter on Hawthorne in "Yesterdays with 
 Authors," and that small volume about him which Mrs. 
 Fields contributed in 1899 to the " Beacon Biographies," 
 constitute the more finished portraits of the man as his 
 host and hostess in Charles Street saw him. His letters 
 to Fields are quoted at length in "Yesterdays with 
 Authors," and contribute an autobiographic element of 
 much importance to any study of Hawthorne. But 
 there are illuminating passages that were left unpub- 
 lished. In one of them, for example, Hawthorne, in a 
 letter of September 21,1 860, after lamenting the state of 
 his daughter's health, exclaimed : "I am continually re- 
 
HAWTHORNE IN 1857 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 55 
 
 minded, nowadays, of a response which I once heard 
 a drunken sailor make to a pious gentleman who asked 
 
 him how he felt: 'Pretty d d miserable, thank 
 
 God !' It very well expresses my thorough discomfort 
 and forced acquiescence." In another, of July 14, 
 
 1 86 1, after the calamity that befell Longfellow in the 
 tragic death of his wife through burning, Hawthorne 
 wrote to Fields : 
 
 "How does Longfellow bear this terrible misfor- 
 tune ? How are his own injuries ? Do write and tell 
 me all about him. I cannot at all reconcile this calamity 
 to my sense of fitness. One would think that there 
 ought to have been no deep sorrow in the life of a man 
 like him ; and now comes this blackest of shadows, 
 which no sunshine hereafter can ever penetrate! I 
 shall be afraid ever to meet him again ; he cannot again 
 be the man that I have known." 
 
 In the words, "I shall be afraid ever to meet him 
 again," the very accent of Hawthorne is clearly heard. 
 Still another manuscript letter, preserved in the Charles 
 Street cabinet, should now be printed to round out the 
 story of Hawthorne's reluctant omission from his 
 "Atlantic" article "Chiefly about War Matters" 
 that personal description of Abraham Lincoln which 
 Fields was unwilling to publish in his magazine in 
 
 1862, but afterwards included in his "Yesterdays with 
 Authors." 1 In that place, however, he used but a few 
 words from the following letter. 
 
 1 See Yesterdays with Authors, p. 98, and The Atlantic Monthly and Its 
 Makers, p. 46. 
 
56 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 CONCORD, May 23, '62 
 DEAR FIELDS : 
 
 I have looked over the article under the influence of 
 a cigar and through the medium (but don't whisper it) 
 of a glass of arrack and water ; and though I think you 
 are wrong, I am going to comply with your request. I 
 am the most good-natured man, and the most amenable 
 to good advice (or bad advice either, for that matter) 
 that you ever knew so have it your own way. The 
 whole description of the interview with Uncle Abe and 
 his personal appearance must be omitted, since I do 
 not find it possible to alter them, and in so doing, I 
 really think you omit the only part of the article really 
 worth publishing. Upon my honor, it seemed to me to 
 have a historical value but let it go. I have altered 
 and transferred one of the notes so as to indicate to the 
 unfortunate public that it here loses something very 
 nice. You must mark the omission with dashes, so 
 
 X X X X X X X. 
 
 I have likewise modified the other passage you al- 
 lude to; and I cannot now conceive of any objection 
 to it. 
 
 What a terrible thing it is to try to get off a little bit 
 of truth into this miserable humbug of a world ! If I 
 had sent you the article as I first conceived it, I should 
 not so much have wondered. 
 
 I want you to send me a proof sheet of the article in 
 its present state before making any alterations; for if 
 ever I collect these sketches into a volume, I shall insert 
 it in all its original beauty. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 57 
 
 With the best regards to Mrs. Fields, 
 Truly yours, 
 
 NATH L HAWTHORNE 
 
 P. S. I shall probably come to Boston next week, to 
 the Saturday Club. 
 
 If these unpublished letters add something to the 
 more formal portraits of Hawthorne drawn by Fields 
 and his wife, still other lines may be added by means of 
 the unconscious, fragmentary sketches on which the 
 portraits were based. In Mrs. Fields's diaries the fol- 
 lowing glimpses of Hawthorne in the final months of 
 his life are found. 
 
 December 4, 1863. Hawthorne and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Alden passed the night with us; he came to town to 
 attend the funeral of Mrs. Franklin Pierce. He seemed 
 ill and more nervous than usual. He brought the first 
 part of a story which he says he shall never finish. 1 
 J. T. F. says it is very fine, yet sad. Hawthorne says in 
 it, "pleasure is only pain greatly exaggerated," which 
 is queer to say the least, if not untrue. I think it must 
 be differently stated from this. He was as courteous 
 and as grand as ever, and as true. He does not lose 
 that all-saddening smile, either. 
 
 Sunday , December 6, 1863. Mr. Hawthorne re- 
 turned to us. He had found General Pierce overwhelmed 
 with sadness at the death of his wife and greatly needing 
 his companionship, therefore he accompanied him the 
 
 1 The Dolliver Romance. 
 
58 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 whole distance to Concord, N. H. He said he could not 
 generally look at such things, but he was obliged to look 
 at the body of Mrs. Pierce. It was like a carven image 
 laid in its richly embossed enclosure and there was a 
 remote expression about it as if it had nothing to do 
 with things present. Harriet Prescott was there. He had 
 some talk with her and liked her. He was more deeply 
 impressed than ever with the exquisite courtesy of his 
 friend. Even at the grave, while overwhelmed with 
 grief, Pierce drew up the collar of Hawthorne's coat to 
 keep him from the cold. 1 
 
 We went to walk in the morning and left Mr. Haw- 
 thorne to read in the library. He found a book called 
 "Dealings with the Dead," which he liked indeed he 
 said he liked no house to stay in better than this. He 
 thought the old edition of Boccaccio which belonged to 
 Leigh Hunt a poor translation. He has already written 
 the first chapter of a new romance, but he thought so 
 little of the work himself as to make it impossible for 
 him to continue until Mr. Fields had read it and ex- 
 pressed his sincere admiration for the work. This has 
 given him better heart to go on with it. He talked of the 
 magazine with Mr. F. ; told him he thought it was the 
 most ably edited magazine in the world, and was bound 
 to be a success, with this exception : he said, "I fear its 
 politics beware ! What will you do when in a year or 
 two the politics of the country change ? " "I will quietly 
 wait for that time to come," said J. T. F. ; " then I can 
 tell you." 
 
 1 Fields drew upon this paragraph for one in "Yesterdays with Authors, p. 112. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 59 
 
 As the sunset deepened Mr. Hawthorne talked of his 
 early life. His grandfather bought a township in Maine 
 and at the early age of eleven years he accompanied his 
 mother and sister down there to live upon the land. 
 From that moment the happiest period of his life began 
 and lasted until he was thirteen, when he was sent to 
 school in Salem. While in Maine he lived like a bird of 
 the air, so perfect was the freedom he enjoyed. During 
 the moonlight nights of winter he would skate until mid- 
 night alone upon the icy face of Sebago Lake, with all 
 its ineffable beauty stretched before him and the deep 
 shadows of the hills on either hand. When he was weary 
 he could take refuge sometimes in a log cabin (there 
 were several in this region), where half a tree would be 
 burning on the broad hearth and he could sit by that 
 and see the stars up through the chimney. All the long 
 summer days he roamed at will, gun in hand, through 
 the woods, and there he learned a nearness to Nature 
 and a love for free life which has never left him and made 
 all other existence in a measure insupportable. His 
 suffering began with that Salem school and his knowl- 
 edge of his relatives who were all distasteful to him. He 
 said, "How sad middle life looks to people of erratic 
 temperaments. Everything is beautiful in youth all 
 things are allowed to it." We gave him "Pet Marjorie" 
 to read in the evening a little story by John 
 Brown. He thought it so beautiful that he read it care- 
 fully twice until every word was grasped by his powerful 
 memory. . . . 
 
 Talking of England, Hawthorne said she was not a 
 
60 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 powerful empire. The extent over which her dominions 
 extended led her to fancy herself powerful. She is much 
 like a squash vine which rims over a whole garden, but 
 once cut at the root and it is gone at once. 
 
 We talked and laughed about Boswell, whom he 
 thinks one of the most remarkable men who ever lived, 
 and J. T. F. recalled that story of Johnson who, upon 
 being told of a man who had committed some mis- 
 demeanor and was upon the verge of committing sui- 
 cide in consequence, said, "Why does not the man go 
 somewhere where he is not known, instead of to the 
 devil where he is known ? " 
 
 Hawthorne was in the same class at college with Long- 
 fellow, whom he says he could not appreciate at that 
 time. He was always finely dressed and was a tremen- 
 dous student. Hawthorne was careless in dress and no 
 student, but always reading desultorily right and left. 
 Now they are deeply appreciative of each other. 1 
 
 Hawthorne says he wants the North to beat now; 
 't is the only way to save the country from destruction. 
 He has been strangely inert and remote upon the sub- 
 ject of the war ; partly from his deep hatred of every- 
 thing sad. He seemed to feel as if he could not live and 
 face it. 
 
 He was intensely witty, but his wit is of so ethereal a 
 texture that the fine essence has vanished and I can re- 
 member nothing now of his witty things ! 
 
 1 Only a month after making this entry, Mrs. Fields wrote in her journal : 
 "A note came from Longfellow saying he had received a sad note from Haw- 
 thorne. 'I wish we could have a little dinner for him,' he says, 'of two sad 
 authors and two jolly publishers nobody else.'" 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 61 
 
 It would be a pity to truncate the following passage 
 by confining the record of Fields's day in Concord to his 
 glimpse of Hawthorne, already recorded, with emenda- 
 tions, in the " Biographical Notes." 
 
 Saturday, January 9, 1864. J. T. F. passed yester- 
 day in Concord. He went first to see Hawthorne, who 
 was sitting alone gazing into the fire, his grey dressing- 
 
 From a letter of Hawthorne* s after a visit to Charles Street 
 
 gown, which became him like a Roman toga, wrapped 
 around his figure. He said he had done nothing for 
 three weeks. Yet we feel his romance must be maturing 
 in his mind. General Barlow and Mrs. Howe had sent 
 word they were coming to call, so Mrs. Hawthorne had 
 gone out to walk (been thrown out on picket-duty, Mrs. 
 Stowe said) and had left word at home that Mr. Haw- 
 thorne was ill and could see no one. After his visit 
 there, full of affectionate kindness, J. T. F. proceeded 
 to dinner with the Emersons. Here too the reception 
 was most hearty, but he fancied there were no servants 
 
 
62 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 to speak of at either house. Mrs. E. looked deadly pale, 
 but her wit coruscated marvellously; even Mr. Emer- 
 son grew silent to listen. She s^id a committee of three, 
 of which she was one, had been formed to pronounce 
 upon certain essays (unpublished) of Mr. Emerson, 
 which they thought should be printed now. She thought 
 some of them finer than any of his published essays. He 
 laughed a great deal at the fun she poked at the earlier 
 efforts. 
 
 From there J. T. F. proceeded to see the Thoreaus. 
 The mother and sister live well, but lonely it should 
 seem, there without Henry. They produced 32 volumes 
 of journal and a few letters. The idea was to print the 
 letters. We hope it may be done. Their house was like a 
 conservatory, it was so filled with plants in beautiful 
 condition. Henry liked to have the doors thrown open 
 that he might look at these during his illness. He 
 was an excellent son, and even when living in his retire- 
 ment at Walden Pond, would come home every day. He 
 supported himself too from a very early age. 
 
 Here follows a passage also used by Fields in "Yester- 
 days with Authors," but in a rendering so moderated 
 that the original entry in the journal is quite another 
 thing. 
 
 Monday, March 28. Mr. Hawthorne came down to 
 take this as his first station on his journey for health. 
 He shocked us by his invalid appearance. He has 
 become quite deaf, too. His limbs are shrunken but 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 63 
 
 his great eyes still burn with their lambent fire. He 
 said, "Why does Nature treat us so like children ! I 
 think we could bear it if we knew our fate. At least I 
 think it would not make much difference to me now 
 what became of me." He talked with something of his 
 old wit at times ; said, "Why has the good old custom 
 of coming together to get drunk gone out ? Think of the 
 delight of drinking in pleasant company and then lying 
 down to sleep a deep strong sleep." Poor man ! He 
 sleeps very little. We heard him walking in his room 
 during a long portion of the night, heavily moving, 
 moving as if indeed waiting, watching for his fate. 
 At breakfast he gave us a most singular account of an 
 interview with Mr. Alcott. He said: "Alcott was one 
 of the most excellent of men. He could never quarrel 
 with anyone." But the other day he came to make 
 Mr. H. a call, to ask him if there was any difficulty or 
 misunderstanding between the two families. Mr. Haw- 
 thorne said no, that would be impossible; "but I pro- 
 ceeded," he continued, "to tell him it was not possible 
 to live upon amicable terms with Mrs. Alcott. . . . 
 The old man acknowledged the truth of all that I said 
 (indeed who should know it better), but I comforted 
 him by saying in time of illness or necessity I did not 
 doubt we should be the best of helpers to each other. I 
 clothed all this in velvet phrases, that it might not seem 
 too hard for him to bear, but he took it all like a saint." 
 April y 1864. When Mr. Hawthorne returned after 
 watching at the death-bed of Mr. Ticknor, his mind was 
 in a healthier condition, we thought, than when he 
 
64 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 left, but the experience had been a terrible one. I can 
 never forget the look of pallid exhaustion he wore the 
 night he returned to us. He said he had scarcely eaten 
 or slept since he left. " Mr. Childs watched me so closely 
 after poor Ticknor died, as if I had lost my protector 
 and friend, and so I had ! But he stuck by as if he were 
 afraid to leave me alone. He stayed past the dinner 
 hour, and when I began to wonder if he never ate him- 
 self, he departed and sent another man to watch me till 
 he should return!" Nevertheless he liked Mr. Childs 
 and spoke repeatedly of his unwearying kindness. "I 
 never saw anything like it," he said ; yet when he was 
 abstractedly wondering where his slippers were, I over- 
 heard him say to himself, "Oh ! I remember, that cursed 
 Childs watched me so I forgot everything." 
 
 He spoke of the coldness of somebody and said, 
 "Well, I think he would have felt something if he had 
 been there !" He said he did not think death would be 
 so terrible if it were not for the undertakers. It was 
 dreadful to think of being handled by those men. 
 
 He was often wholly overcome by the ludicrous view 
 of something presented to him in the midst of his grief. 
 There was a black servant sleeping in the room that 
 last night, whose name was Peter. Once he snored 
 loudly, when the dying man raised himself with an ap- 
 preciation of fun still living in him and said, "Well 
 done, Peter!" 
 
 In every account of the last week of Hawthorne's 
 life, the shock he received through the illness and death 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 65 
 
 of his friend and traveling companion, Ticknor, in 
 Philadelphia, is an item of sombre moment. The two 
 men had left Boston together late in March Haw- 
 thorne, sick and broken, writing but once, in a tremulous 
 hand, to his wife during the ill-starred journey ; Ticknor, 
 giving himself unstintingly to the restoration of Haw- 
 thorne's health, and stricken unto death before a fort- 
 night was gone. The circumstances are suggested in the 
 entry that has just been quoted from Mrs. Fields's 
 journal. They stand still more clearly revealed in the 
 last letter written by Hawthorne to Fields, who refers 
 to it in "Yesterdays with Authors," and adds that the 
 news of Ticknor's death reached Boston on the very 
 day after this letter was written, all too evidently with 
 a feeble hold upon the pen. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, CONTINENTAL HOTEL 
 
 Saturday morning 
 
 DEAR FIELDS : 
 
 I am sorry to say that our friend Ticknor is suffering 
 under a severe billious attack since yesterday morning. 
 He had previously seemed uncomfortable, but not to an 
 alarming degree. He sent for a physician during the 
 night, and fell into the hands of an allopathist, who, of 
 course, belabored with pills and powders of various 
 kinds, and then proceeded to cup, and poultice, and blis- 
 ter, according to the ancient rule of that tribe of sav- 
 ages. The consequence is that poor Ticknor is already 
 very much reduced, while the disorder flourishes as lux- 
 uriantly as if that were the doctor's sole object. He calls 
 
66 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 it a billious colic (or bilious, I know not which) and says 
 it is one of the severest cases he ever knew. I think him 
 a man of skill and intelligence, in his way, and doubt 
 not that he will do everything that his views of scientific 
 medicine will permit. 
 
 Since I began writing the above, Mr. Bennett of Bos- 
 ton tells me the Doctor, after this morning's visit, re- 
 quested the proprietor of the Continental to telegraph 
 to Boston the state of the case. I am glad of it, because 
 it relieves me of the responsibility of either disclosing 
 bad intelligence or withholding it. I will only add that 
 Ticknor, under the influence of a blister and some pow- 
 ders, seems more comfortable than at any time since his 
 attack, and that Mr. Bennett (who is an apothecary, and 
 therefore conversant with these accursed matters) says 
 that he is in a good state. But I can see that it will be 
 not a very few days that will set him upon his legs again. 
 As regards nursing, he shall have the best that can be 
 obtained ; and my own room is next to his, so that I can 
 step in at any moment ; but that will be of almost as 
 much service as if a hippopotamus were to do him the 
 same kindness. Nevertheless, I have blistered, and pow- 
 dered, and pilled him and made my observation on 
 medical science and the sad and comic aspects of human 
 misery. 
 
 Excuse this illegible scrawl, for I am writing almost 
 in the dark. Remember me to Mrs. Fields. As regards 
 myself, I almost forgot to say that I am perfectly well. 
 If you could find time to write Mrs. Hawthorne and 
 tell her so, it would be doing me a great favor, for I 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 67 
 
 doubt whether I can find an opportunity just now to do 
 it myself. You would be surprised to see how stalwart 
 I have become in this little time. 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 N. H. 
 
 Barely more than a month later, Hawthorne, travel- 
 ing with another friend, Franklin Pierce, died in New 
 Hampshire. Through the years that followed, the 
 friendship of the Fieldses with his widow and children 
 afforded many occasions for brief affectionate record in 
 the chronicles of Charles Street. 1 
 
 The two entries that follow touch, respectively, upon 
 glimpses of Hawthorne's immediate family at Concord, 
 in the summer of 1865, and of his surviving sister in the 
 summer of 1866. 
 
 Sunday, July 9, 1865. Passed Friday in Concord. 
 Called at the Emersons, but were disappointed to find 
 them all in town, Jamie particularly, who wished to tell 
 him that his new essay on Character is not suited to the 
 magazine. Ordinary readers would not understand him 
 and would consider it blasphemous. He thinks it would 
 do more good if delivered simply to his own disciples 
 first, in a volume of new essays uniform with the others. 
 
 Dined with Sophia Hawthorne and the children, the 
 first real visit since that glorious presence has departed. 
 
 1 In 'Rose Hawthorne Lathrop's Memories of Hawthorne the relation 
 between the two households is indicated in a sentence containing the nick- 
 names of Mr. and Mrs. Fields : " My father also tasted the piquant flavors 
 of merriment and luxury in this exquisite domicile of Heart's-Ease and 
 Mrs. Meadows." 
 
68 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 What an altered household ! She feels very lonely and is 
 like a reed. I fear the children find small restraint from 
 her. Poor child ! How tired she is ! Will God spare her 
 further trial, I wonder, and take her to his rest ? . . . 
 Went to call on Sophia Thoreau. 1 . . . We saw a letter 
 from Froude, the historian, to H. T., as warmly appre- 
 ciative as it was possible for a letter to be; also "long 
 good histories," as his sister said, from his admirer 
 Cholmondely. His journal is in thirty-two volumes and 
 when J. T. F. spoke of wishing for an editor to condense 
 these, she said there was no hurry and she thought the 
 man would come. We spoke of Sanborn. She said, "He 
 knows a great deal, but I never associate him with my 
 brother." 
 
 She is a woman borne down with ill health. She 
 seemed to possess, as we saw her, something of the self- 
 sustaining power of her brother, the same repose and 
 confidence in her fate, as being always good. Dear S. H. 
 says she has this when she thinks of her brother, but 
 often loses it when the surface of her life becomes irri- 
 tated and she is disabled for work. Her aged mother, 
 learning we were there, got up and dressed herself and 
 came down, to her daughter's great surprise. She has 
 an immense care in that old lady evidently. 
 
 July 24, 1866. We left just before eleven for Ames- 
 bury, to see Mr. Whittier, driving over to Beverly in 
 an open wagon. It was one of the perfect days. As 
 Keats said once, the sky sat "upon our senses like a 
 sapphire crown." We turned away after a time from the 
 
 1 Thoreau's younger sister. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 69 
 
 high road into a wood path, picking our way somewhat 
 slowly to avoid the overhanging bushes and the rainy 
 pools left in the ruts. We soon found ourselves near a 
 place called Mt. Serat where we knew Miss Hawthorne 
 lived, the only surviving sister of Nathaniel, and Mr. 
 Fields determined at once to call upon her. To my sur- 
 prise, in spite of the fine weather and her woodland life 
 habitually, she was at home, and came down immedi- 
 ately as if she were sincerely glad to see us. She is a 
 small woman, with small fine features, round full face, 
 fresh-looking in spite of years, brilliant eyes, nervous 
 brow, which twists as she speaks, and very nervous 
 fingers. In one respect she differed from her brother 
 she was exquisitely neat (nor do I mean to convey the 
 idea by this that he was unneat, but he always gave you 
 a sense of disregarded trifles about his person and we fre- 
 quently recall his reply to me when I offered to brush his 
 coat one morning, "No, no, I never brush my coat, it 
 wears it out !"), and gave you a sense of being particu- 
 lar in little things. I seemed to see in her another dif- 
 ference a deterioration because of too great solitude 
 powers rusted a decaying beauty while with Haw- 
 thorne solitude fed his genius, solitude and the pressure 
 of necessity. Utter solitude lames the native power of a 
 woman even more than that of a man, for her natural 
 growth is through her sympathies. She is a woman of no 
 common mould, however. Lucy Larcom calls her a 
 hamadryad, and says she belongs in the woods and 
 should be seen there. I wish to see her again upon her 
 own ground. She asked us almost immediately if we 
 
70 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 would not come with her to the woods, but our time 
 was too short. From thence we held our way, and soon 
 came by tram to Newburyport and Amesbury. Whittier 
 was at home, ready with an enthusiastic welcome. 
 
 To these memorials of Hawthorne must be added 
 yet another, copied from a pencilled sheet preserved by 
 Mrs. Fields in an envelope endorsed in her handwriting, 
 " The original of a precious and extraordinary letter 
 written by Mrs. Nathaniel Hawthorne while her husband 
 lay dead." Printed now, I believe for the first time, 
 nearly sixty years after it was written, it rings with a de- 
 votion and exaltation which time is powerless to touch : 
 
 I wish to speak to you, Annie. 
 
 A person of a more uniform majesty never wore 
 mortal form. 
 
 In the most retired privacy it was the same as in 
 the presence of men. 
 
 The sacred veil of his eyelids he scarcely lifted to 
 himself such an un violated sanctuary as was his 
 nature, I, his inmost wife, never conceived nor knew. 
 
 So absolute a modesty was not before joined to so 
 lofty a self-respect. 
 
 But what must have been that self-respect that he 
 never in the smallest particular dishonored ! 
 
 A conscience more void of offense never bore witness 
 to GOD within. 
 
 It was the innocence of a baby and the grand com- 
 prehension of a sage. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 71 
 
 To me himself even to me who was himself in 
 unity he was to the last the holy of holies behind 
 the cherubim. 
 
 So unerring a judgment that a word from him would 
 settle with me a chaos of doubts and questions that 
 seemed perplexing to ordinary apprehension. 
 
 So equal a justice that I often wondered if he were 
 human in this for this seemed to partake of omnis- 
 cience both of love and insight. 
 
 An impartiality of regard that solved all men and 
 subjects in one alembick. 
 
 Truth and right alone he deigned to regard. Far 
 below him was every other consideration. 
 
 A tenderness so infinite so embracing that 
 GOD'S alone could surpass it. It folded the loathsome 
 leper in as soft a caress as the child of his home affec- 
 tions was not that divine ! 
 
 Was it not Christianity in one action ! What a be- 
 quest to his children what a new revelation of Christ 
 to the world was that ! And for him whom the sight 
 and touch of unseemliness and uncleanness caused to 
 shudder as an Eolian string shudders in the tempest. 
 
 Annie 1 to the last action in this house he was as 
 lofty, as majestic, as imperial and as gentle as in 
 the strength of his prime, as on the day he rose upon 
 my eye and soul a King among men by divine right ! 
 
 When he awoke that early dawn and found himself 
 unawares standing among the "Shining Ones" do you 
 think they did not suppose he had been always with 
 them one of themselves ? Oh, blessed be GOD for 
 
72 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 so soft a translation as an infant wakes on its 
 mother's breast so he woke on the bosom of GOD and 
 can never be weary any more, nor see nor touch an 
 unclean thing. A demand for beauty and perfection 
 that was inexorable. Yet though a flaw or a crack 
 gave him so fine agony, no one, no one was ever so 
 tolerant as he ! 
 
 Hawthorne's allusion to Alcott brings the figure of that 
 Concord personage on the scene. The picture of him in 
 Charles Street is so sharpened in outline by certain 
 remarks upon him by the elder Henry James, a some- 
 what more frequent visitor, that the passages relating 
 to the two men are here joined together. The first 
 recorded glimpses of James occurred in the course of a 
 visit to Newport. 
 
 September 23, 1863. Received a visit at Newport 
 from Henry James. His son was badly wounded in two 
 places at Gettysburg. He spoke of the reviews of his 
 work among other topics. "Who wrote the review in the 
 Examiner?" asked Mr. F. "Oh! that was merely 
 Freeman Clarke," he replied ; "he is a smuggler in theol- 
 ogy and feels towards me much as a contraband towards 
 an exciseman ?" Speaking of fashion, he said, "there was 
 good in it," although it appears to be a drawback to the 
 residents here while it lasts. He anticipates a change in 
 European affairs ; the age of ignorance is to pass away 
 and strong democratic tendencies will soon pervade 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 73 
 
 Europe. The march of civilization will work its revenge 
 against aristocratic England, he believes. 
 
 Mr. James considers that people make a mistake to 
 expect reason from Carlyle. "He is an artist, a wilful 
 artist, and no reasoner. He has only genius." 
 
 October 16, 1863. Mr. Alcott breakfasted with us. 
 He said all vivid new life was well described by his 
 daughter Louisa. She was happier now that she had 
 made a success. "She was formerly not content to wait, 
 but so soon as she became content, then good fortune 
 came, as she always does." I told him we enjoyed 
 deeply reading his MSS. of "The Rhapsodist" (Emer- 
 son) last night. He said he thought it was finally 
 brought into presentable shape ! "When in a more im- 
 perfect condition," he continued, "I read it to Mr. 
 Emerson. The modest man could only keep silent at 
 such a time, but he conveyed to me the idea that he 
 should prefer the paper should not be printed in the 
 ' Commonwealth/ Later I again read it, when he said, 
 'If I were dead/ I have reason to believe that in its 
 present shape he would not object to its presentation." 1 
 He talked of his own valuable library and asked what 
 he should do with it by and by. J. T. F. suggested it 
 should go to the Union Club, which pleased him much. 
 "That is the place," said he. "If it were known this 
 was my intention, might I not also be entitled to con- 
 sideration at the Club?" 
 
 1 In 1 865 Alcott printed privately and anonymously the essay, Emerson, 
 which appeared later in his acknowledged volume, Ralph Waldo Emerson, 
 an Estimate of his Character and Genius (Boston, 1882). This was evi- 
 dently The Rhapsodist. 
 
74 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Among his books is a copy of Milton's "World of 
 Words," owned by Sir Ferdinand Gorges, who early 
 colonized the state of Maine. 
 
 He talked of Thoreau. "There will be seven or eight 
 volumes of his works. Next should come the letters, 
 with the commendatory poems prefixed. Come up to 
 Concord and we will talk it over. If you go to see Miss 
 Thoreau, arrange to talk with her in the absence of the 
 mother, who would interrupt and speak again of the 
 whole matter. Make Helen l feel that Henry will receive 
 as much for his books as if he had made his own bar- 
 gain, for he was good at a bargain and they are a little 
 hard that is, they do not understand all the bearings 
 of many subjects." 
 
 The good old man has come to Boston, being asked 
 to perform funeral ceremonies over the bodies of two 
 children. He asked for my Vaughan. "A beautiful 
 poem which is not known is much at such a time," he 
 observed inquiringly. To which I heartily responded. 
 
 Mr. Emerson came in to see Mr. Fields today. "I 
 shall reconsider my reluctance to have Mr. Alcott's 
 article published provided he will obtain consideration 
 by it," was his generous speech. He said he had begun 
 to prepare a new volume of poems, "but I must go 
 down the harbor before I can finish a little poem about 
 the islands. I took steamboat yesterday and went down, 
 but a mist came up and my visit was to no purpose." 
 
 February 19, 1864. This morning early called upon 
 Mrs. Mott of Pennsylvania. Found Mr. James with 
 
 1 Thoreau's older sister. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 75 
 
 her. He observed that circumstances had placed him 
 above want, and inheritance had given him a position 
 in the world which precluded his having any knowledge 
 of the temptations which beset many men. His virtues 
 were the result of his position rather than of character 
 an affair of temperament. He said society was to 
 blame for much of the crime in it, and as for that poor 
 young man who committed the murder at Maiden, it 
 was a mere fact of temperament or inheritance. He 
 soon broke off his talk, saying it was "pretty well to be 
 caught in the middle of such weighty topics in the pres- 
 ence of two ladies at 10 o'clock in the morning." Then 
 we talked of* houses. He wishes a furnished house for a 
 year in Boston until his departure. 
 
 July 28. Still hot, with a russet sun. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Henry James called in the evening. He talked of "Ster- 
 ling." "He was not stereotyped, but living, his eye 
 burned ; he was very vivacious, although he saw Death 
 approaching. He was one of the choicest of friends." 
 Afterward he talked of Alcott's visit to Carlyle. Car- 
 lyle told Mr. James he found him a terrible old bore. 
 It was almost impossible to be rid of him, and impossible 
 also to keep him, for he would not eat what was set 
 before him. Carlyle had potatoes for breakfast and 
 sent for strawberries for Mr. Alcott, who, when they 
 arrived, took them with the potatoes upon the same 
 plate, where the two juices ran together and fraternized. 
 This shocked Carlyle, who would eat nothing himself, 
 but stormed up and down the room instead. "Mrs. 
 Carlyle is a naughty woman," said Mr. J., "she wishes 
 
76 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 to make a sensation and does not mind sometimes fol- 
 lowing and imitating her husband's way." Mr. J. said 
 Alcott once made him a visit in New York and when 
 he found he could not go to Brooklyn to attend Mr. 
 A.'s "conversation/* the latter said, "Very well; he 
 would talk over the heads with him then before it was 
 time to go." They got into a great battle about the 
 premises, during which Mr. Alcott talked of the Divine 
 paternity as relating to himself, when Mr. James broke 
 in with, "My dear sir, you have not found your mater- 
 nity yet. You are an egg half hatched. The shells are 
 yet sticking about your head." To this Mr. A. replied, 
 "Mr. James, you are damaged goods and will come up 
 damaged goods in eternity" 
 
 We laughed much before they left at a story about a 
 man who called to ask money of John Jacob Astor. 
 The gentleman was ushered into a twilight library, 
 where he fancied himself alone until he heard a grunt 
 from a deep chair, the high back of which was turned 
 towards him ; then the gentleman advanced, found Mr. 
 Astor there and saluted him. He opened the business 
 of the subscription to him, and was about to unfold 
 the paper when Mr. Astor suddenly cried out, "Oo 
 oo oo ooooooo !" "What is the matter, my dear 
 sir," said he, "are you ill ? [growing alarmed] Where is 
 the bell ? Let me ring the bell." Then running to the 
 door, he shouted, "Madame, madame." Then to Mr. 
 Astor, "Pray, sir, what is the matter ?" "Oo oo oo." 
 "Have you a pain in your side!!" In a moment the 
 household came running thither, and as the housekeeper 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 77 
 
 bent over him, he cried, "Oo oo these horrid 
 wretches sending to me for money ! ! " As may be be- 
 lieved, our friend of the subscription paper beat a hasty 
 retreat and here ended also our evening. 
 
 A few days later there was an evening with Sumner 
 and others, who talked of affairs in Washington. Mr. 
 and Mrs. James were of the company. "These men," 
 wrote Mrs. Fields, "despond with regard to the civil 
 government. They have more faith that our military 
 affairs are doing well. Chiefly they look to Sherman as 
 the great ma. Mr. James was silent ; he believes in 
 Lincoln." And there is the final note: "We must not 
 forget Mr. James's youth, who was 'aninted with isle 
 of Patmos.'" 
 
 July 10, 1866. Forceythe Willson came and talked 
 purely, lovingly, and like the pure character he aspires 
 to be. He said Mr. Alcott talked with him of tempera- 
 ments lately, with much wisdom. He said the blonde 
 was nearest to perfection, that was the heavenly type. 
 "You are not a blonde/' said the seer calmly, and, said 
 Willson to me, "I was much amused and pleased too; 
 for when I regarded the old man more closely I dis- 
 covered he himself was a blonde." 
 
 October 6, 1867. Mr. Henry James and his daughter 
 
 came to call. We chanced to ask him about Dr. G of 
 
 New York, a physician of wide reputation in the diag- 
 nosis of disease. He is an old man now, but with so 
 large a practice that he will see no new patients. Mr. 
 
78 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 James says, however, that he is a humbug, that is, as I 
 understood. He is a man of discernment which he turns 
 to the best account, but not a man of deep insight or 
 unwonted development. Suddenly J. remembered that 
 
 there was once a Dr. of New York who was also 
 
 famous. The moment his name was mentioned Mr. 
 James became quite a new man. His enthusiasm flamed. 
 
 Dr. died at the early age of 38, and, according to 
 
 the saying of the world, insane. "Yet he was no more 
 insane than I am at this moment as far as the action of 
 his mind was concerned, which was always perfectly 
 clear. Several years before his death he was pursued by 
 spirits which often kept him awake all night. His wife 
 was a heavenly woman and a Swedenborgian. The 
 spirits did not come to her, but she was persuaded that 
 they did come to him. They so disturbed his life that 
 he used to say he was ready to die, in order to pursue 
 his tormentors and ferret out the occasion of his trouble. 
 At one time they told him that in every age a man had 
 been selected to do the bidding of the Lord God, to be 
 the Lord Christ of the time, and he must fit himself 
 to be that man. They prescribed for him therefore cer- 
 tain fasts and austerities which he religiously fulfilled, 
 only asking in return an interview in which some sign 
 should be given him. They promised faithfully, but 
 when the time arrived it was postponed; and this oc- 
 curred repeatedly, until he felt sure of the deceit of the 
 parties concerned." 
 
 Through the medium of these spirits Dr. be- 
 came at length estranged from his wife. He went West 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 79 
 
 to obtain a divorce, and while on this strange errand 
 occurred a breach between himself and Mr. James. The 
 latter wrote him a letter urging him away from the dead, 
 which the doctor took as interference. The poor man 
 returned to New York and at length shot himself. His 
 wife never harbored the least animosity against him for 
 his undeserved treatment. (Mr. J. looked like an invalid, 
 but was full of spirit and kindness. He not infrequently 
 speaks severely of men and things. Analysis is his 
 second nature.) 
 
 March 5, 1869. Jamie had an unusually turbulent 
 and exciting day, and was thoroughly weary when night 
 came. Henry James came first, and had gone so far as 
 to abuse Emerson pretty well when the latter came in. 
 "How do you do, Emer-son," he said, with his peculiar 
 intonation and voice, as if he had expected him on the 
 heels of what had gone before. Mr. James calls his new 
 book, "The Secret of Swedenborg." Jamie thinks his 
 article on Carlyle too abusive, especially as he stayed in 
 his house, or was there long and familiarly. But his 
 love of country was bitterly stung by Carlyle in "Shoot- 
 ing Niagara and After." 
 
 Saturday, March 13, 1869. Mr. Emerson read in 
 the afternoon. The subject was Wordsworth in chief, 
 but the time was far too short to do justice to the notes 
 he had made. In the evening we went to Cambridge to 
 hear Mr. James read his paper on "Woman." We took 
 tea first with the family and afterward listened to the 
 lecture. He took the highest, the most natural, and the 
 most religious point of view from which I have heard 
 
8o MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 the subject discussed. He dealt metaphysically with it, 
 after his own fashion, showing the subtle inherent 
 counterparts of man to woman, showing to what ex- 
 tremes either would be led without the other. He spoke 
 with unmingled disgust of the idea of woman, except for 
 union in behalf of some charity for the time, forsaking 
 the sanctity and privacy of her home to battle and unsex 
 herself in the hot and dusty arena of the world. 
 
 (The members of the Woman's Club asked him to 
 write this lecture for them. He did not wish to spare 
 the time, but promised to do so if they would invite 
 him afterward to deliver it in public. They disliked 
 the lecture so much that, although they did send him a 
 public invitation, there were but twenty people present.) 
 
 Nothing could be holier or more inspiring than his 
 ideal of womanhood. She is the embodied social idea, 
 the genius of home, the light of life "ever desiring 
 novelty her life without man would be a long chase 
 from one field to another, accompanied by soft gospel 
 truth:' 
 
 He didn't fail to whip the "pusillanimous" clergy, 
 and as the room was overstocked with them, it was odd 
 to watch the effect. Mr. James is perfectly brave, 
 almost inapprehensive, of the storm of opinion he 
 raises, and he is quite right. Nothing could be mc^re 
 clearly his own and inherent, than his views in this 
 lecture, nothing which the times need more. He helps 
 to lay that dreadful phantom of yourself which appears 
 now and then conjured up by the right people, har- 
 anguing the crowd and endeavoring to be something for 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 81 
 
 which you were clearly never intended by Heaven. I 
 think I shall never forget a pretty little niece of Mrs. 
 Dale Owen, who was with her at the first Club meet- 
 ing in New York. Her face was full of softness and 
 Madonna-like beauty, but she was learning to con- 
 tract her brow over ideas and become " strong " in 
 her manner of expressing them. It was a kind of night- 
 mare. 
 
 Summer, 1871. Mr. Alcott, Mr. Howison, Mr. 
 Harris, the latter two lovers of philosophy, have been 
 here this week. Channing is still writing poems in 
 Concord, says Alcott. The latter smiles blandly at his 
 own former absurdities, but he does not eat meat, and 
 continues his ancient manner of living among books. 
 The old gentleman gave me this wild rose as he went 
 away. He quoted Vaughan, talked of a book of selec- 
 tions he would wish to see made, "a honey-pot into 
 which one might dip at leisure," also an almanac suit- 
 able for a lady, of the choicest things among the an- 
 cient writers. He was full of good sayings and most 
 witty and attractive. He is somewhat deaf, but he 
 bears this infirmity as he has borne all the ills of life 
 with a mild sweet heroism most marked and worthy of 
 love and to be copied. 
 
 Sunday , April 20, 1873. Last night Mr. and Mrs. 
 Henry James, Alice, and Mr. DeNormandie dined here. 
 Mr. James looked very venerable, but was at heart 
 very young and amused us much. He gave a description 
 of Mr. George Bradford being run over by the horse- 
 car, because of his own inadvertence in part, and of the 
 
82 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 good-natured crowd who insisted upon his having resti- 
 tution for what he considered, in part, at least, his own 
 fault. "Ain't you dead?" said one. "267 Highland 
 Ave. is the number, don't forget," said another; "you 
 can prosecute." "Where 's my hat ?" he asked meekly. 
 " Better ask if ye 're not dead, and not be looking for 
 your hat," said another. 
 
 He also told us of a visit of Elizabeth Peabody to the 
 Alcotts. He said : " In Mr. A. the moral sense was wholly 
 dead, and the aesthetic sense had never yet been born !" 
 
 It may well have been after a visit to the Fieldses at 
 the seashore town of Manchester that Henry James 
 wrote this undated characteristic note which embodies 
 the feeling of many another guest : 
 
 MY DEAR FIELDS : 
 
 Pride ever goes before a fall. I scorned my wife's solic- 
 itude about her umbrella as unworthy of an immortal 
 mind, and now I am reduced to pleading with you to 
 preserve my lost implement in that line, and when you 
 next come to town to bring it with you and leave it for 
 me at Williams' book store, corner of School Street, 
 where I will reclaim it. 
 
 Alas ! The difference between now and then ! Such 
 an atmosphere as we are having this morning ! And yet 
 we did not need the contrast to impress us with a lively 
 sense of the lovely house, the lovely scenes, and the 
 lovely people we had left. We came home fragrant 
 with the sweetest memories, and the way we have been 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 83 
 
 making the house resound with the fame of our enjoy- 
 ment would amuse you. Alice and her aunt came home 
 just after us, and we have done nothing but talk since 
 we arrived. Good bye ; give my love to that angelic 
 woman, whom I shall remember in my last visions, 
 and believe me, faithfully, 
 
 Yours also, 
 
 H.J. 
 
 Henry James's letters to Mr. and Mrs. Fields, of which 
 a number are preserved by the present generation of 
 the James family, abound in characteristic felicities. In 
 one of them they are nearly all undated he regrets 
 his inability to read a lecture of his own at Mrs. Fields's 
 invitation, on the ground that his unpublished writings 
 are "all too grave and serious, not for you individually 
 indeed, but for those 'slumberers in Zion' who are apt, 
 you know, to constitute the bulk of a parlour audience." 
 In another he is evidently declining an invitation to hear 
 a reading of Emerson's in Charles Street : 
 
 SWAMPSCOTT, May 1 1 
 MY DEAR MRS. FIELDS : 
 
 My wife who has just received your kind note in 
 rapid route to the Dedham Profane Asylum, or some- 
 thing of that sort begs leave to say, through me as a 
 willing and sensitive medium, that you are one of those 
 arva beata, renowned in poetry, which, visit "them never 
 so often, one is always glad to revisit, which are attrac- 
 tive in all seasons by their own absolute light, and with- 
 
84 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 out any Emersonian pansies and buttercups to make 
 them so. This enthusiastic Dedhamite says further, in 
 effect, that while one is deeply grateful for your courte- 
 ous offer of a seat upon your sofa to hear the Concord 
 sage, she yet prefers the material banquet you summon 
 us to in your dining-room, since there we should be out 
 of the mist and able to discern between nature and 
 cookery, between what eats and what is eaten at all 
 events, and feel a thankful mind that we were in solid 
 comfortable Charles Street, instead of the vague, wide, 
 weltering galaxy, and should be sure to deem Annie and 
 Jamie (7 am sure of Annie, I think my wife feels equally 
 sure of Jamie) lovelier fireflies than ever sparkled in the 
 cold empyrean. But alas, who shall control his destiny ? 
 Not my wife, whom multitudinous cares enthrall ; nor 
 yet myself, whom a couple of months' enforced illness 
 now constrains to a preternatural activity, lest the world 
 fail of salvation. . . . 
 
 P. S. Who did contrive the comical title for his lec- 
 ture "Philosophy of the People" ? I suspect it was 
 a joke of J. T. F. It would be no less absurd for Emer- 
 son himself to think of philosophizing than it would be 
 for the rose to think of botanizing. Emerson is the Di- 
 vinely pompous rose of the philosophic garden, gorgeous 
 with colour and fragrance. What a sad lookout there 
 would be for tulip and violet and lily and the humble 
 grape, if the rose should turn out philosophic gardener 
 as well ! Philosophy of the people, too ! But that was 
 Fields, or else it was only R. W. E. after dining with F. 
 at the Union Club and becoming demoralized. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 85 
 
 The final paragraph of a single other note suggests 
 in sum the relation between James and his Charles 
 Street friends : 
 
 Speaking of Mr. Fields always reminds me of various 
 things so richly endowed in the creature in all good 
 gifts ; but the dominant consideration in my mind asso- 
 ciated with him is his beautiful home and there chiefly 
 that atmosphere and faultless womanly worth and dig- 
 nity which fills it with light and warmth and makes it 
 a real blessing to one's heart every time he falls within 
 its precincts. Please felicitate the wretch for me, and 
 believe me, my dear Mrs. Fields, 
 
 Your true friend and servant, 
 July 8. H. J. 
 
 Though not related either to Alcott or to Henry 
 James, the following entry, on October 16, 1863, should 
 be preserved and as well in this place as in another. 
 It refers to the second of the three Josiah Quincys who 
 were mayors of Boston in the course of the nineteenth 
 century. 
 
 Mr. Josiah Quincy dropped in to see J. T. F." He had 
 lately been traveling in the West, he said. People com- 
 plimented him upon his youthful appearance and his 
 last letter to the President. "I am glad you liked the 
 letter," he said, "but my father wrote it." At the next 
 town people pressed his hand and thanked him for 
 his staunch adherence to the Anti-slavery cause as 
 
86 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 expressed in the "Liberator." "Oh/* his reply was, "that 
 was my brother Edmund Quincy" ; a little farther on a 
 friend complimented his brilliant story in the last "At- 
 lantic" magazine. "That was by my son J. P. Quincy," 
 he was obliged to answer. Finally, when his exploits in 
 the late wars at the head of the 2oth Regiment were 
 recounted, he grew impatient, said it was his son 
 Colonel Quincy, but he thought it high time he came 
 home, instead of travelling about to receive the com- 
 pliments of others. 
 
 In giving the title, "Glimpses of Emerson," to one 
 of the chapters in her "Authors and Friends," Mrs. 
 Fields described accurately the use she made of her 
 records and remembrances of that serene Olympian 
 who glided in and out of Boston to the awe and 
 delight of those with whom he came into personal con- 
 tact. "Olympian" must be the word, since "Augus- 
 tan" connotes something quite too mundane to suggest 
 the effect produced by Emerson upon his sympathetic 
 contemporaries. Did they realize, I wonder, how fit- 
 ting it was that this prophet of the harmonies of life 
 should live in a place the name of which is spoken by all 
 but New Englanders as if it signified not a despairing 
 Vce victis y but the very bond of peace ? All the adjec- 
 tives of benignity have been bestowed upon Emerson. 
 Mrs. Fields's "Glimpses" of him suggest that atmos- 
 phere, as of mountain solitudes, in which he moved ; 
 that air of the heights which those who moved beside 
 
EMERSON 
 From the marble statue by Daniel Cheater French in the Concord Public Library 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 87 
 
 him were fain to breathe. His " Conversations " in pub- 
 lic and private places, a form of intellectual refresh- 
 ment suggested by Mrs. Fields and conducted, to 
 Emerson's large material advantage, by her husband, 
 appear to-day as highly characteristic of their time, 
 the sixties and seventies, and the light thrown upon 
 them by her journal illuminates not only him and her, 
 but the whole society of "superior persons" in which 
 Emerson was so dominating a figure. By no means all 
 of that light escaped from her manuscript journals to 
 the printed page of "Authors and Friends." In the 
 hitherto unprinted passages now given there are fur- 
 ther shafts of it, sometimes slender in themselves, but 
 joining to show the very Emerson that came and went 
 in Charles Street. 
 
 There was a furtive humor in Emerson, which ex- 
 pressed itself more accurately in his own words than in 
 anything written about him. A pleasant trace of it is 
 found in a note to Fields addressed, "My dear Editor," 
 dated "Concord, October 5, 1866," and containing these 
 words : " I have the more delight in your marked over- 
 estimate of my poem, that I had been vexed with a 
 belief that what skill I had in whistling was nearly or 
 quite gone, and that I must henceforth content myself 
 with guttural consonants or dissonants, and not attempt 
 warbling." 
 
 There is a clear application of the Emersonian phil- 
 osophy to domestic matters in a letter written by Mrs. 
 Emerson to Mrs. Fields, a week after the fire which 
 drove the poet's family from his house at Concord, in 
 
88 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 the summer of 1872. Mrs. Fields as if in fulfillment 
 of Emerson's words on the proffer of some previous 
 hospitality: "Indeed we think that your house should 
 have that name inscribed upon it 'Hospitality'" 
 had invited the dislodged Emersons to take refuge 
 under her roof. Mrs. Emerson, replying, wrote : 
 
 We are most happily settled in the "Old Manse," 
 where our cousin, Miss Ripley, assures us we can be 
 accommodated to her satisfaction as well as our 
 own until our house is rebuilt. Only the upper half 
 is destroyed and we shall, I trust, so well restore it that 
 you will not know when we shall have the pleasure 
 of welcoming you there except for its fresh appear- 
 ance, that anything has happened. I should not use 
 such a word as "calamity," for truly the whole event is 
 a blessing rather than a misfortune. We have received 
 such warm expressions of kindness from our friends, and 
 have witnessed such disinterested action and brave 
 daring in our town's people, that we feel in addition 
 to our happiness in the sympathy of friends in other 
 places as if Concord was a large family of personal 
 friends and well-wishers. They command not only our 
 gratitude but our deep respect, for their loving and 
 personal self-forge tfulness. 
 
 Mr. Emerson and Ellen join me in affectionate and 
 grateful acknowledgments to yourself and to Mr. Fields. 
 Ever your friend, 
 
 LILIAN EMERSON 
 CONCORD, July 31, 1872. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 89 
 
 It is in the atmosphere of the mutual relation revealed 
 in many letters from Emerson and his household to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Fields that the following reports of en- 
 counters with him a few out of many similar pas- 
 sages in her journals should be read. 
 
 December 3, 1863. Last Tuesday Mr. Emerson lec- 
 tured in town. Mrs. E. and Edith came to tea. She was 
 troubled because she was a little late. She is a woman of 
 proud integrity and real sweetness. She has an awe of 
 words. They mean so much to her that her lips do not 
 unlock save for truth or kindliness or beauty or wisdom. 
 The lecture was for today there was much of Carlyle, 
 chastisement, and soul. After the lecture they came 
 home with us and about 20 friends. Wendell Phillips 
 was in his sweetest mood. He spoke of Beecher and 
 Luther and of the vigorous, healthy hearts of these men 
 who swayed this world. He said Hallam speaks dis- 
 paragingly of Luther. I could not but think of Sydney 
 Smith's friend who spoke "disparagingly of the Equa- 
 tor." Alden too came in wearied after his lecture. Sena- 
 tor Boutwell spoke in praise of life in Washington, the 
 first man. Sunshiny Edith passed the night with us. 
 
 January 5, 1 864. Mr. Emerson came today to see 
 J. T. F. He says Mr. Blake, who holds the letters of 
 Thoreau in his hands, is a terribly conscientious man, 
 "a man who would even return a borrowed umbrella." 
 He became acquainted with Blake when he was con- 
 nected with theological matters, "and he believed 
 
90 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 wholly in me at that time, but one day he met Thoreau 
 and he never came to my house afterwards. His con- 
 scientiousness is equalled perhaps by that of George 
 Bradford, who accompanied us once to hear Mr. Web- 
 ster speak. There was an immense crowd, Mr. Brad- 
 ford became separated from the party, and was swept 
 into a capital place within the lines. When he found 
 himself well ensconced in front of the speaker, he turned 
 about and saw us, and with a look of great concern said : 
 'I have no ticket for this place and I can't stay.' We 
 besought him not to be so foolish as to give up the place, 
 but nothing would tempt him to keep it." 
 He was in fine mood. 
 
 Wednesday, September 6. Mr. Emerson went to see 
 Mr. Fields. "There are fine lines in Lowell's Ode," he 
 said. "Yes," answered J. T. F., "it is a fine poem." "I 
 have found fine lines in it," replied the seer. "I told 
 Lowell once," he continued, " that his humorous poems 
 gave me great pleasure ; they were worth all his serious 
 poetry. He did not take it very well, but muttered, 'The 
 Washers of the Shroud,' and walked away." 
 
 J. T. F. found Emerson sitting by the window in his 
 new office, highly delighted with it. 
 
 September 30, 1865. Jamie went to dine with the 
 Saturday Club. Professor Nichol was his guest. Sam. 
 Ward (Julia's brother) was Longfellow's. Lowell, 
 Holmes, Hoar, Emerson and a few others only were 
 present. Judge Hoar related an amusing anecdote of 
 having sent a beautiful basket of pears to the Concord 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 91 
 
 exhibition this year. He said Mr. Emerson was one of 
 the judges, and he thought he would be pleased with the 
 pears because a few years ago he was in the garden one 
 day and, observing that very tree, which was not then 
 very flourishing, had told Judge Hoar that more iron 
 and more animal matter were needed in the soil. " Forth- 
 with," said the Judge, "I planted all my old iron kettles 
 and a cat and a dog at the foot of the tree and these 
 pears were the result. I have kept two favorite terriers 
 ready to plant if necessary beside, but the fruit for the 
 present seems well enough without them." 
 
 Judge Hoar said also that he knew a man once with a 
 prodigious memory ; before dinner he could recall Gen- 
 eral Washington, after dinner he remembered Chris- 
 topher Columbus ! 
 
 Saturday , October 7 > 1865. Tuesday, 3, Edith Emer- 
 son was married to William Forbes. The old house 
 threw wide its hospitable doors and the stairway and 
 rooms were covered with leaves and flowers and the 
 whole place was as beautiful as earthly radiance and joy 
 can make a home. Poor Mrs. Hawthorne, laden with 
 her many sorrows, threw off her black robe for that day 
 that she might rejoice with others. Edith made her own 
 marriage wreath, and even Mr. Emerson wore white 
 gloves. Old Mrs. Ripley and many aged and many 
 beautiful persons were there. 
 
 In 1 866 Emerson, long exiled from the good graces of 
 his Alma Mater, was restored to them by the bestowal of 
 an honorary degree. In 1867 the restoration was com- 
 
92 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 pletedl>y his election as an Overseer of Harvard College 
 and his appearance, after an interval of thirty years, as 
 the Phi Beta Kappa orator. In this capacity he read his 
 address 'on the "Progress of Culture" on July 18, 1867. 
 Of the manner in which he did it, and of the effect he 
 produced on his hearers, Lowell wrote immediately to 
 Norton, in a letter often quoted, "He boggled, he lost 
 his place, he had to put on his glasses ; but it was as if a 
 creature from some fairer world had lost his way in our 
 fogs, and it was our fault, not his." "Phi Beta Day " was 
 still a local festival of much brilliance, which was thus 
 reflected in 1867 on the pages of Mrs. Fields's journal. 
 
 Thursday ', July 18, 1867. Arose at five and worked 
 in my garden until breakfast. Then it was time to dress 
 for Phi Beta at Cambridge. We drove out, leaving 
 home at nine o'clock. We expected Professor Andrew D. 
 White to go with us, but he called still earlier to say he 
 had been summoned to a business meeting by President 
 Hill. The day was soft and pleasant with a clouded sky. 
 We were among the first on the ground, but we had the 
 pleasure of waiting a few moments to see our friends 
 arrive before we were admitted to the church. Only 
 ladies went in. I went with Mrs. Quincy, the poet's 1 
 wife (poet for the day, for he is apt to disclaim this 
 title usually), and we found good places in the gallery ; 
 by and by, however, Mrs. Dana beckoned to me to come 
 and sit with them, so I changed my seat to a place on 
 the lower floor. It was an impressive sight to see those 
 
 1 Josiah Phillips Quincy. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 93 
 
 men come in (though they kept us waiting until twelve 
 o'clock) Lowell, Emerson, Dana, Hale, and all the 
 good brave men we have with few exceptions. First 
 came Quincy's poem, then Mr. Emerson's address 
 both excellent after the manner of the men. Poor Mr. 
 E/s MSS. was in inextricable confusion, and in spite of 
 the chivalry of E. E. Hale, who hunted up a cushion that 
 he might see better, the whole matter seemed at first 
 out of joint in the reader's eyes. However that may have 
 been, it was far from out of joint in our eyes, being noble 
 in aim and influence, magnetic, imaginative. I felt 
 grateful that I had lived till that moment and as if I 
 might come home to live and work better. Thank 
 Heaven for such a master ! He was evidently put out 
 and angry with himself for his disorder and, taking Mr. 
 Fields's arm as he came from the assembly, had to be 
 somewhat reassured that it was not an utter failure. 
 
 Mrs. Dana tried to carry me to lunch, most kindly. 
 I could not make up my mind to go anywhere after 
 what I had heard, but for a moment to see if the good 
 Jameses were well, and thence homeward. It seemed, 
 if I could ever work, it must be then. 
 
 At half-past six Jamie returned from the dinner, 
 where J. R. Lowell presided in the most elegant and bril- 
 liant manner. In calling out Agassiz he told the story 
 of the sailor who was swallowed by a whale and finding 
 time rather heavy on his hands thought he would in- 
 scribe his name on the bridge of bone above his head ; 
 but looking for a place, jack-knife in hand, he found 
 that Jonah was before him so he said Agassiz, etc. 
 
94 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 And of Holmes he said that the Professor and himself 
 were like two buckets in a well : when one of them pre- 
 sided at a dinner, the other made it a point to bring a 
 poem; when one bucket came up full, the other went 
 down empty. And so on through all. Phillips Brooks, 
 the distinguished preacher of Philadelphia, was there, 
 and many other men of note. 
 
 Out of the many notes relating to Emerson's lectures, 
 a few passages may be taken as typical. Perhaps the 
 best unpublished pages are those on which the philos- 
 opher is seen, with his wife and daughter, against the 
 social background of the time and place. 
 
 October 19, 1868. The weeks spin away so fast I 
 have no time for records, and yet last Sunday and Mon- 
 day we had two pleasant parties, especially Monday, 
 after Mr. Emerson's first lecture. We were 14 at supper. 
 Mrs. Putnam and Miss Oakey among the guests, but 
 the Emersons, who are always pleased and always full 
 of kindliness, enjoyment, and Christianity, I believe give 
 more pleasure than they receive wherever they are 
 entertained. Edward is full of his grape-culture in 
 Milton, Ellen full of good works, Mrs. Emerson very 
 hot against her brother's opponents, Morton and those 
 who take sides with him now that Morton himself is in 
 the earth-mould first. 1 Mr. Emerson, alive and alert on 
 all topics, talked openly of the untruthfulness of the 
 
 1 An allusion to the controversy over the claims of Dr. Jackson and 
 Dr. Morton to the discovery of ether. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 95 
 
 Peabodys, of the beauty of " Charles Auchester," of Mr. 
 Alcott's school, of Dana's politics as superior perhaps 
 to Butler and yet not altogether sound and worthy, con- 
 servatism being so deep in his blood. 
 
 Thursday we drove our friends to Milton Blue Hill 
 after the Emersons had gone, returned to dine and 
 Selwyn's theatre in the evening. Herman Merivale was 
 of the party son of Thackeray's friend. The 
 Stephens went on Wednesday. Thursday we dined in 
 Milton with Mrs. Silsbee; it was a wet nasty day. 
 Friday, Saturday and Sunday we were quietly enough 
 here, Jamie with a fearful cold. Surely all this is unim- 
 portant enough as regards ourselves; but I like to re- 
 member when Mr. Emerson came and what he said and 
 how he looked, for it is a pure benediction to see him 
 and I honor and love him. 
 
 February 20, 1869. Heard Emerson again, and 
 Laura was with me ; we drank up every word eagerly. 
 He read Donne, Daniel, and especially Herbert; also 
 vers de societe; the facility of these old divines giving 
 them a power akin to what has produced these familiar 
 rhymes. 
 
 He said Herbert was full of holy quips ; fond of using 
 a kind of irony towards God, and quoted appropriately. 
 Beautiful things of Herrick, too, he read, but treated 
 Vaughan rather unjustly, we thought. 
 
 Lowell sat just behind ; I could imagine his running 
 commentary on many of Mr. Emerson's remarks, which 
 were often more Emersonian than universal, or true. 
 The facility of the old poets seemed to impress him with 
 
96 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 almost undue reverence. He is extremely natural and 
 easy in manner and speech during these readings. He 
 bent his brows and shut his eyes, endeavoring to recall 
 a passage from Ben Jonson as if we were at his own 
 dinner-table, and at last when he gave it up said, "It 
 is all the more provoking as I do not doubt many a 
 friend here might help me out with it." 
 
 His respect for literature, often in these degenerate 
 days smiled upon from some imaginary hills by sur- 
 rounding multitudes, is absolute and regnant. It is 
 religion and life, and he reiterating them in every 
 form. 
 
 The first and second of the "Conversations" arranged 
 for Emerson by Fields are duly described in the journal. 
 In the evening that followed the second, Emerson and 
 his daughter dined at Charles Street, in company with 
 Longfellow and his daughter Alice, William Morris 
 Hunt and his wife, Dr. Holmes, and the Fieldses. The 
 scene and talk were recorded by the hostess. 
 
 . . . Coming home, Ellen's trunk had not arrived, 
 so she came, like a good child, most difficult in a woman 
 grown, to dinner in her travelling dress. Alice Long- 
 fellow looked very pretty in a polonaise of lovely olive 
 brown over black ; a little feather of the same color in 
 her hair. Rooshue [Mrs. Hunt] and her husband came 
 in their everydays too. I wore a lilac polonaise with 
 a yellow rose I speak of the latter because it seemed 
 to please W. M. Hunt to see the dash of color. . . . 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 97 
 
 Hunt convulsed us with a story of seeing a man run 
 through by an iron bolt, when a distinguished physi- 
 cian is called in; the physician asks if he can sleep 
 well, and a thousand and one questions of like rele- 
 vancy, to all of which the patient only replies by gasps 
 of agony. Hunt acted the whole scene famously. The 
 sunset too delighted him as it gilded the old sheds back 
 of the house and made them "like Solomon's temple." 
 Longfellow has written to Miss Rossetti, the author of 
 the "Shadow of Dante," to thank her for her pleasant 
 book. He asks her the difficult question why Dante 
 puts Venus nearest the sun. Also he points out her 
 fault of saying the spirits of the blest inhabited the 
 planets, whereas Dante clearly states that they all 
 lived in one heaven but visited the planets. 
 
 The truth of Hawthorne's tale of the minister with 
 the black veil was hunted up. His name was Moody 
 and he was one of the Emerson family. It seems the 
 poor man in his youth shot a boy by accident, and as 
 he grew older a morbid temper settled upon him and he 
 did not think himself fit to preach; so he withdrew 
 from the ministry but taught a smajl school, always 
 wore a black veil, literally a handkerchief. Ellen said 
 her aunt was taught by him and she appeared anxious 
 to set the matter right. Rose Hawthorne and her hus- 
 band have been to see Mr. Emerson, and he likes them 
 both well ; thinks Rose looks happy and the young man 
 promising, which is much. There is hope of Una's 
 recovery and return. 
 
 After dinner, we ladies looked over manuscripts for 
 
98 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 a time until Longfellow went when Mrs. Hunt went 
 to the piano and played and sang. Finally he came, and 
 they sang their little duets together and afterward she 
 sang a song with words by Channing about a pine tree, 
 set to a scrap of a sonata by Helen Bell, and after that a 
 touching German song with English words then she 
 read Celia's [Mrs. Thaxter's] new poem to Mr. Emerson, 
 called "The Tryst." She read it only pretty well, which 
 disgusted her ; and she said it reminded her of William's 
 reading, which was the worst she ever knew; he could 
 literally stop in the middle of a sentence because it 
 happened to be the bottom of a page, and ask her what 
 it meant. At that he took Celia's poem and read it 
 through word for word like a school-boy, looking up at 
 her to see if he was right and should go on. She laughed 
 immoderately, and as for Mr. Emerson, J. said his eyes 
 left their wonted sockets and went to laugh far back in 
 his brain. 
 
 Putting down his book, Hunt launched off into his 
 own life as a painter. His lonely position here without 
 anyone to look up to in his art his idea of art being 
 entirely misunderstood, his determination not to -paint 
 cloth and cheeks, but to paint the glory of age and the 
 light of truth. He became almost too excited to find 
 words, but when he did grasp a phrase, it was such a 
 fine one that it went a great way. His wife sat by mak- 
 ing running comments, but when he said, "If any man 
 who was talking could not be heard, he would naturally 
 try to talk so that he could be heard," we tried to urge 
 him to stand firm and to assure him that his efforts were 
 
A CORNER OF THE CHARLES STREET LIBRARY 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 99 
 
 neither lost nor in vain. " If the books you wrote were 
 left all dusty and untouched upon the shelves, don't 
 you think you would try to write so that people should 
 want them ? I am sure you would." His wife tried to 
 say he must stand in the way he knew was right as 
 did we all but he seemed to think it too hard, too 
 Sisyphus-like a labor. The portrait of little Paul is 
 still unsold. After keeping the carriage waiting one hour 
 and a half, they went a most interesting pair. 
 
 Tuesday, April 23. Shakespeare's birthday. Emer- 
 son and his daughter passed the night with us and 
 Edith Davidson, Ellen's "daughter," came to break- 
 fast. We talked over again the pleasure of the night 
 before. Emerson had never heard Hunt talk before and 
 had seldom found Longfellow so expansive. Holmes 
 met J. in the course of the day, and told him he had 
 a real good time, though he did have a thumping head- 
 ache he was much pleased with Alice Longfellow. 
 
 Tuesday, May 21. Call from Mr. Emerson, Mrs. E. 
 and Ellen. They came in a body to thank me, which 
 Mrs. Emerson did in a little set speech after her own 
 fashion, at which we all laughed heartily especially 
 at the "profit" clause. Indeed we had a very merry 
 time altogether. Mr. Emerson gave "Queenie" per- 
 mission to look all about the room, "for indeed there 
 was not such another in all Boston no indeed [half 
 soliloquizing], not such another." Then he looked about 
 and told them the wrong names of the painters, and 
 would have been entirely satisfied if he had not referred 
 to me, when I was obliged to tell the truth and so from 
 
ioo MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 that time he made me speaker. He said he should do 
 his very best for the university class for women for next 
 December to make up for having served them so badly 
 this winter. He said I had very gently reminded him of 
 
 C^ J/&^&~7 , 
 
 From a note of Emerson's to Mrs. Fields 
 
 his entire forgetfulness to fulfil an engagement or half- 
 engagement to come to speak to them this winter. 
 "Queenie" told me she was one of the few persons who 
 had read Miss Mitford's poems, "Blanche" and all the 
 rest, and liked them very much. So the various por- 
 traits of the old lady interested her much. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 101 
 
 They came down to Boston, Mrs. E. said, on purpose 
 to make this call. I had just returned home from along 
 drive about town on business, so it was the best possible 
 moment for me. 
 
 Our first thought this morning (J's. and mine) was, 
 how could Mr. Emerson finish his course of " Conversa- 
 tions," which had been so brilliant until the last, in so 
 unsatisfactory a manner. His matter was for the most 
 part old, and he finished with reading well-known hymns 
 of Dr. Watts and Mrs. Barbauld. I fear we were all 
 disappointed. Some of the lectures (especially the one 
 on "Love") have been so fine that we were bitterly 
 disappointed. 
 
 . 
 
 A later reference to Emerson shows him in Philadel- 
 phia, and through the eyes of a qualified observer there. \o' 
 The passage was written at Manchester-by-the-Sea, to 
 which Mr. and Mrs. Fields had begun to pay summer 
 visits even before 1872, and where they soon acquired 
 that cottage of their own on "Thunderbolt Hill," which 
 belied its name in serving as the most peaceful of retreats 
 for Mrs. Fields and the friends she was constantly sum- 
 moning to her side through all the remainder of her life. 
 
 Tuesday ', August 25, 1872. Miss A. Whitney came 
 Saturday and remained until Monday morning. Sun- 
 day evening we passed at Mrs. Towne's. Mrs. Annis 
 Wister 1 of Pennsylvania had just arrived, a dramatic 
 
 1 Daughter of the Rev. William Henry Furness, of Philadelphia, and trans- 
 lator of German novels. 
 
102 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 creature, who tells and tells again at request, with as 
 much amiability as talent, her wonderful story of 
 Father Donne, the Irish priest, who performed the 
 marriage ceremony for one of her servants. Mrs. Wis- 
 ter, in spite of a lisp, has a thoroughly clear enuncia- 
 tion. She never leaves a sentence unfinished nor suffers 
 the imagination to complete any corner of her picture. 
 She is exceedingly lively and witty, and Miss Whitney, 
 whose mind is quite different and altogether introverted, 
 busied over her artistic, conceptions, could not help a 
 feeling of envy. The gift of narration, so rare in this 
 country, has been carefully cultivated by Mrs. Wister, 
 and poor Miss Whitney could only wonder and admire. 
 I could see her fine large eyes glow with pleasure and 
 desire as she listened to her. Mrs. Wister told me an odd 
 thing, which shows her as an individual. She asked me 
 how the testimonial to Mr. Emerson was progressing, as 
 her father was much interested and thought nothing he 
 possessed too good to be given at once to Mr. Emerson, 
 nor indeed worthy of his acceptance, and she would like 
 to write him. I told her I believed the sum had reached 
 $ 10,000, and had already been presented. This led her 
 to say the friendship of her father for Mr. Emerson, 
 and indeed their mutual friendship, as she then believed 
 it to be, dated back to their youth, when Mr. Emerson 
 was first writing his poems and delighting over the 
 illustrations her father would make for them. As she 
 grew up, she became dissatisfied at the relation be- 
 tween them. She thought Mr. Furness, her father, 
 gave much more to Mr. Emerson in the way of friend- 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 103 
 
 ship than Mr. Emerson ever appreciated. This went 
 on until she became about eighteen years of age, when 
 Mr. Emerson chanced to be visiting them in Pennsyl- 
 vania. One day she was standing upon the stairs near 
 the front door, and Mr. Emerson was ready to go out 
 and waiting there for her father, who had withdrawn 
 for a moment. Her heart was full, and suddenly she 
 turned upon Mr. Emerson, and said, " Mr. Emerson, I 
 think you cannot know what a treasure you have in 
 this friendship of my father. He loves you dearly and 
 I fear you cannot appreciate what it is to have the love 
 of such a man as my father." She says to this day she 
 grows "pank," as the Scotchman said, all over at such 
 presumption, but she could not help it. 
 
 I asked what Mr. Emerson replied. He looked sur- 
 prised, she said, and cast his eyes down, and then said 
 earnestly that he knew and felt deeply how unworthy 
 he was to enjoy the riches of such a friendship. 
 
 This incident presented Mrs. Wister as well as Mr. 
 Emerson under a keen light. They could never under- 
 stand each other. 
 
 From October, 1872, until the following May, Emer- 
 son and his daughter Ellen were traveling abroad. On 
 their return Mrs. Fields wrote in her journal : 
 
 Thursday, May 27, 1873. The Nortons came home 
 with the Emersons day before yesterday. Emerson 
 came to pass an hour with J. T. F. before going to Con- 
 cord. His son Edward had come down to meet him and 
 
io 4 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 was full of excitement over the reception his father was 
 to receive and of which he was altogether ignorant. He 
 was overjoyed to be on the old ground again and comes 
 back to value the old friends even more than ever. He 
 must have been much pleased by the joy testified in 
 Concord, but we have only the newspaper account of 
 that. He has been feted more than ever in England, and 
 Ellen was rather worn out by the ovations; but her 
 general health is much improved. The Nortons, who 
 returned in the same steamer, tell me Miss Emerson 
 was feted for her own sake and was his rival! Her 
 "American manners" became all the rage in that world 
 of novelty. One night a gentleman sitting next her at 
 dinner introduced the word "aesthetic." She said she 
 did not understand what he meant by that word ! 
 
 On the voyage Emerson was devoted to his daughter 
 and full of fun in all his talk with her. He would tuck 
 her up in blanket shawls and go up and down, hither 
 and yon, to make her comfortable then he would 
 laugh at her for being such an exacting young lady and 
 would be very ironical about the manner in which she 
 would allow him to wait on her. "And yet," he said, 
 turning to the Nortons, "Ellen is the torch of religion 
 at home." 
 
 Throughout the journals Mrs. Fields's references to 
 meetings of the Saturday Club, and the records of con- 
 versations reported by her husband after these lively 
 gatherings, are frequent. In one brief entry Parkman, 
 Lowell, and Emerson appear in a conjunction that could 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 105 
 
 hardly have been happy at the moment, but the con- 
 cluding words of the passage may well stand, for their 
 appreciation of Emerson, at the end of these pages con- 
 cerned chiefly with him. 
 
 August 26, 1874. Parkman said to Lowell, 
 and a more strange evidence of lapse of tacrcould hardly 
 be discovered, "Lowell, what did you mean by 'the land 
 of broken promise'?" Emerson, catching at this last, 
 said, "What is this about the land of broken promise ?" 
 clearly showing he had never read Lowell's Ode upon the 
 death of Agassiz whereat Lowell answered not at all, 
 but dropped his eyes and silence succeeded, although 
 Parkman made some kind of futile attempt to struggle 
 out of it. Emerson said, "We have met two great losses 
 in our Club since you were last here Agassiz and 
 Sumner." "Yes," said Lowell, "but a greater than 
 either was that of a man I could never make you believe 
 in as I did Hawthorne." This ungracious speech 
 silenced even Emerson, whose warm hospitality to the 
 thought and speech of others is usually unending. 
 
 In "Authors and Friends" Mrs. Fields concerned 
 herself with Longfellow and Whittier at even greater 
 length than with Holmes and Emerson. The Whit- 
 tier paper, besides, was printed as a small separate vol- 
 ume; and in Samuel T. Pickard's "Life of Whittier," 
 as in Samuel Longfellow's biography of his brother, 
 the letters from Whittier, as from Longfellow, to Mrs. 
 Fields, and to her husband, bear witness to valued 
 
io6 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 intimacies. Neither to Whittier nor to Longfellow, 
 therefore, does it seem desirable to devote a special 
 section of these papers ; nor yet to Lowell, who never 
 became the subject of published reminiscences by Mrs. 
 Fields, perhaps for the very reason that he figures 
 
 %rrA 
 
 Facsimile of autograph Inscription on a photograph of Rowse's 
 crayon portrait of Lowell given to Fields 
 
 somewhat less frequently than the others in her jour- 
 nal. Yet there are many allusions to him, and in addi- 
 tion to the letters to Fields which Norton selected for 
 his "Letters of James Russell Lowell," and Scudder 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 From the crayon portrait by Rowse in the Harvard College Library 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 107 
 
 for his biography of Lowell, a surprising number 
 of unprinted, characteristic communications, both to 
 Fields and to his wife, testify to their friendship. The 
 remainder of this chapter cannot be more profitably 
 employed than by drawing from Mrs. Fields's journal 
 passages relating to these and other local guests of 
 the Charles Street house, and supplementing the diary 
 especially with a few of Lowell's sprightly letters to 
 his successor in the editorship of the "Atlantic 
 Monthly." It may be remarked, as fairly indicative 
 of the relations between Lowell and the Fieldses 
 through many years, that when they visited England 
 in 1869 their traveling companion was Lowell's daugh- 
 ter Mabel. 
 
 Here, to begin with, is a note written to accom- 
 pany one of Lowell's most familiar poems, "After the 
 Burial," when he sent the manuscript to the editor of 
 the "Atlantic." Lowell's practice of shunning capitals 
 at the beginning of his letters, except for the first 
 personal pronoun, is observed in the quotations that 
 follow : 
 
 ELMWOOD, ^th March, 1868 
 MY DEAR FIELDS : 
 
 when I am in a financial crisis, which is on an average 
 once in six weeks, I look first to my portfolio and then 
 to you. The verses I send you are most of them more 
 than of age, but Professors don't write poems, and I 
 even begin to doubt if poets do always. But I sup- 
 pose you will pay me for my name as you do others, and 
 
io8 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 so I send the verses hoping you may also find something 
 in them that is worth praise if not coin. Consolation 
 and commonplace are twin sisters and I doubt not one 
 sat at each ear of Eve after Cain's misunderstanding 
 with his brother. In some folks they cause resentment, 
 and this little burst relieved mine under some desper- 
 ate solacings after the death of our first child, twenty- 
 one years ago. I trust there is nothing too immediately 
 personal to myself in the poem to make the publishing 
 of it a breach of that confidence which a man should 
 keep sacred with himself. 
 
 With kind regards to Mrs. Fields, I remain always 
 yours, 
 
 J. R. LOWELL 
 
 Another typical letter, dated "Elm wood, I2th July, 
 1868, y to 9 AM wind W. by N. Therm 88," be- 
 gins : 
 
 MY DEAR FIELDS : 
 
 as I swelter here, it is some consolation for me that 
 you are roasting in that Yankee-baker which we call 
 the W te M tt . That repercussion of the sun's heat from 
 so many angles at once (the focus being the tourist) al- 
 ways struck me as one of the sublimest examples of the 
 unvarying operation of natural laws. I wish you and 
 Mrs. Fields might be made exceptions, but it can hardly 
 be hoped. 
 
 Before the end of the month Fields had escaped the 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 109 
 
 perils of New Hampshire heat, and paid a visit to Elm- 
 wood, thus chronicled by Mrs. Fields : 
 
 July 25, 1868. J. went out to see Lowell last night. 
 As he passed Longfellow's door, "Trap," the dog, was 
 half-asleep apparently on the lawn, but hearing a foot- 
 step he leaped up and, seeing who it was, became over- 
 joyed, leaped upon him and covered his hands with 
 caresses. He stayed some time playing with him. Low- 
 ell was alone in his library, looking into an empty fire- 
 place and smoking a pipe. He has been in Newport for 
 a week, but was delighted to return to find his "own 
 sponge hanging on its nail" and to his books. He had 
 become quite morbid because, while J. was away, a 
 smaller sum than usual was sent him for his last poem. 
 He thought it a delicate way of saying they wished to 
 drop him. He was annoyed at the thought of having 
 left out of his article on Dryden one of the finest points, 
 he thought, that was making Dryden to appear the 
 "Rubens" of literature, which he appears to him to be. 
 
 Lowell is a man deeply pervaded with fine discontents. 
 I do not believe the most favorable circumstances would 
 improve him. Success, of which he has a very small 
 share considering his deserts (for his books have a nar- 
 row circulation), would make him gayer and happier; 
 whether so wise a man, I cannot but doubt. 
 
 He wears a chivalric, tender manner to his wife. 
 
 In the following autumn, Bayard Taylor and his 
 wife were paying a visit in Charles Street, and Lowell 
 
i io MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 appears in Mrs. Fields's journal as one of the friends 
 summoned in their honor. 
 
 Thursday morning, November 19, 1868. Mr. Parton 
 came to breakfast and Dr. Holmes came in before we 
 had quite done. O. W. H. was delighted to see Mr. P., 
 because of his papers on "Smoking and Drinking." He 
 believes smoking paralyzes the will. Taylor, on the con- 
 trary, feels himself better for smoking ; it subdues his 
 physical energy so he can write ; otherwise he is nervous 
 to be up and away and his mind will not work. 
 
 At dinner we had Lowell, Parton, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Taylor, Mr. and Mrs. Scott-Siddons and, later, Aldrich. 
 Lowell talked most interestingly, head and shoulders 
 beyond everybody else. The Siddonses left early, the 
 gentlemen all smitten by her beauty and loveliness. A 
 kind of childish grace pervaded her and she was beau- 
 tiful as a picture. I could not wonder at their delight. 
 Lowell's talk after their departure was of literature, of 
 course. He has been reading Calderon for the last six 
 months, in the original. He finds him inexhaustible 
 almost. Speaking of novels, he said Fielding was the 
 master, although he considers there are but two perfect 
 creations of individual character in all literature ; these 
 are Falstaff and Don Quixote ; all the rest fell infinitely 
 below are imperfect and unworthy to stand by their 
 side. Tom Jones he thought might come in, in the 
 second rank, with many others, but far below. He said 
 he could not tell his boys at Cambridge to read Tom 
 Jones, for it might do them harm ; but Fielding painted 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE in 
 
 his own experience and the result was unrivalled. 
 Thackeray and the rest were pleasant reading, very 
 pleasant, and yet how could he tell his class that he read 
 Tom Jones once a year ! 1 He scouted the idea of Pick- 
 wick or anybody else approaching his two great char- 
 acters. They stood alone for all time. Rip Van Winkle 
 was suggested, but he said in the first place that was not 
 original. Few persons knew the story perhaps in the old 
 Latin (he gave the name, but unhappily I have for- 
 gotten it) but it was only a remade dish after all. 
 
 Friday. Bayard Taylor and his wife left for New 
 York. Mr. Parton dined out and we had a quiet eve- 
 ning at home and went to bed early. (Parton thinks it 
 would be possible to make the "Atlantic Monthly" far 
 more popular. He suggests a writer named Mark Twain 
 be engaged, and more articles connected with life than 
 with literature.) 
 
 It is easy to believe that Lowell's talk must have 
 sounded much like his letters, which so often x sound like 
 talk. Witness the following sentences from a letter of 
 December 21, 1868, in reply, apparently, to an appeal for 
 a new essay for the "Atlantic" : 
 
 1 One of Lowell's reminiscences at the Saturday Club, recorded two years 
 earlier by Mrs. Fields, suggests his essential youthfulness of spirit. Apropos 
 of a story told by Dr. Holmes, "Lowell said that reminded him of experi- 
 ments the boys at his school used to make on flies, to see how much weight 
 they could carry. One day he attached a thread, which he pulled out of his 
 silk handkerchief, to a fly's leg, and to the other end a bit of paper with * the 
 master is a fool' written on it in small distinct letters. The fly flew away and 
 lighted on the master's nose ; but he, regardless of all but the lessons, brushed 
 him off, and the fly rose with his burden to the ceiling." 
 
ii2 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Well, well, I am always astonished at the good nature 
 of folks, and how much boring they will stand from au- 
 thors. As I told Howells once, the day will come when 
 a wiser generation will drive all its literary men into a 
 corner and make a battue of the whole lot. However, 
 "after me, the deluge," as Nero said, and I suppose 
 they '11 stand another essay or two yet, if I can divine, 
 or rather if I have absorbed enough of the general feel- 
 ing about something to put a point on it. 
 
 It 's a mercy I 'm not conceited ! I should like to be, 
 and try to be, and have fizzes of it now and then, but 
 they soon go out and leave zfogo behind them I don't 
 like. But if I only were for a continuance I should be 
 as grand a bore as ever lived as grand as Wordsworth, 
 by Jove ! I would come into town once a week to read 
 you over one of my old poems (selecting the longest, of 
 course), and point out its beauties to you. You would 
 flee to Tierra del Fuego (ominous name !) to escape me. 
 You would give up publishing. You would write an epic 
 and read a book just to me every time I came. But no, it 
 is too bright a dream. Let me [be] satisfied with my class, 
 who have to hear me once a week, and with just enough 
 conceit to read my lectures as if I had not stolen 'em, 
 as I am apt to do now. Look out for an essay that shall 
 [make] Montaigne and Bacon cross as the devil 
 when they come to read it ! It will come ere you think. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 FABIUS C. LOWELL 
 
 A few weeks later Lowell was writing again to Fields, 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 113 
 
 on January 12, 1869, about a fiftieth birthday party at 
 Elmwood : 
 
 I am going to celebrate my golden wedding with Life, 
 on the 22nd of next month, by a dinner or a supper or 
 something of the kind, and I want you to jine. I shall 
 get together a dozen or so of old friends, and it will be a 
 great satisfaction for you and me to see how much grayer 
 the rest of 'em are than we. I shall fit my invitations to 
 this end, and the bald and hoary will have the chance 
 of the lame, the halt, and the blind in the parable. If 
 it should be a dinner, it won't matter, but if a supper, be 
 sure and forget your night-key and then you won't have 
 any anxiety, nor Mrs. Fields either. Of course, I shall 
 have an account of the affair in the papers with a list of 
 the gifts (especially in money) and the names of all who 
 donate. You will understand by what I have said that it 
 is to be one of those delightful things they call a "sur- 
 prise party," and I expect to live on it for a year one 
 friend for every month. 
 
 A week later, in the course of a letter accepting the 
 invitation of Mr. and Mrs. Fields for Lowell's daughter 
 to accompany them to Europe, he wrote: "Do you see 
 that is to commence his autobiography in 'Put- 
 nam's Magazine' ? At least, I take it for granted from 
 the title The Ass in Life and Literature ? If sincerely 
 done, it will be interesting." 
 
 For all the transcendentalism of the circle to which 
 Mrs. Fields bore so intimate a relation, there emanated 
 
1 1 4 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 from Lowell and others an atmosphere of sincerity which 
 helped to preserve the equilibrium of the more easily 
 swayed. Mrs. Fields herself was not immune to the 
 appeal of some of the "isms" of the time and place, but 
 an entry in her journal for January 18, 1870, shows her 
 in no great peril of being swept away by them : 
 
 Attended yesterday a meeting of what is called the 
 Radical Club. Mr. Channing spoke, Mr. Higginson, 
 Wendell Phillips, Mrs. Howe, Mrs. Lucy Stone, Mr. 
 Bartol, Wasson, J. F. Clarke, Edna Cheney. Mr. Whit- 
 tier was present and a room full of "come-outers." Mr. 
 Channing and Mr. Phillips were reverent, though I 
 think Mr. Phillips more definite, and perhaps conse- 
 quently more conservative, in what he said. Certainly 
 Mr. Phillips's speech was highly satisfactory. On the 
 whole there was much vague talk and restless expression 
 of self without any high end being furthered. I thought 
 much of Mr. Higginson's talk and Mr. Wasson's irrev- 
 erent answer were untrue. Perhaps I am wrong in say- 
 ing no good end is attained by such a meeting. Perhaps 
 a closer understanding of what we do believe is the re- 
 sult. But there is much unpleasant in the unnatural and 
 excited view of the inside ring. 1 
 
 There was, moreover, a constant corrective at hand 
 in the persons of the local wits, among whom Long- 
 
 1 After an evening of high discussion at Mrs. Howe's in an earlier year, 
 Mrs. Fields wrote in her journal (October 4, 1863) : "The talk grew deep, 
 and after it was over, she [Mrs. Howe] recalled the saying of Mrs. Bell, 
 after a like evening, when she called for 'a fat idiot.'" 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 115 
 
 fellow's brother-in-law, Thomas Gold ("Tom") Apple- 
 ton, was of the most clear-sighted. His definition of 
 Nahant as "cold roast Boston," and his prescription 
 for tempering the gales on a particularly windy Boston 
 corner by tethering a shorn lamb there, have secured 
 him something more than a local survival. He fre- 
 quently left his mark on the pages of Mrs. Fields's 
 diary once venturing seriously into prophecy on 
 the spiritual future of Boston, in terms which will seem, 
 at least, in partibus infidelium y to have received a cer- 
 tain confirmation at the hands of time. In the diary 
 the following entry is found : 
 
 Sunday , November 6, 1870. Appleton (Tom, as the 
 world calls him) came in soon after breakfast Sunday 
 morning. He talked very wisely and brilliantly upon 
 Art, its value and purpose to the state, the necessity 
 for the Museum. He said our people were far more lit- 
 erary than artistic. The sensuous side of their nature 
 was undeveloped. The richness of color, the glory of 
 form, was less to them than something which could set 
 the sharp edge of their intellect in motion. "Besides, 
 what is Boston going to do," he said, "when these fel- 
 lows die who give it its honor now, Longfellow, Holmes, 
 and the rest ? They can't live forever, and with them 
 its glory will depart without it is sustained by a founda- 
 tion for art in other directions. Harvard University will 
 do something to keep it up, but not much, and unless a 
 distinct effort be made now, Boston will lose its place 
 and go behind." He became much excited by the lack 
 
n6 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 of appreciation for William Story in Boston, and the 
 abuse of the Everett statue, which he considers good 
 in its way and as marking the highest point in Everett's 
 oratorical fame, that is, when he lifted his hand to 
 indicate the stars in his address at Albany, and set his 
 fame some points nearer the luminaries which inspired 
 him, by his fine eloquence. 
 
 He said a merchant told him one day that he did n't 
 like Story's portrait statues, but his ideal work he was 
 delighted with. "You lie !" I said to him. "The beauti- 
 ful Shepherd-Boy which I helped to buy and bring to 
 Boston you know nothing of you can't tell me now 
 in which corner of the Public Library it is hidden away. 
 I tell you, you lie ! " 
 
 He spoke of the Saturday Club, and said that, al- 
 though he sometimes smiled at Holmes's enthusiasm 
 over it, he believed in the main he was quite right, and 
 it would be remembered in future as Johnson's Club has 
 been, and recorded and talked of in the same way. 
 
 Unfortunately I don't see their Boswell. I wish I could 
 believe there was a single chiel amang them takin* notes. 1 
 
 On December 14, 1870, the diary recorded a dinner 
 at which Longfellow, Osgood, Aldrich, Holmes, Dana, 
 Ho wells, Lowell, and Bayard Taylor were the guests. 
 It celebrated the completion of Taylor's translation of 
 " Faust." Of the talk of Lowell and Longfellow, Mrs. 
 Fields wrote : 
 
 1 If Mrs. Fields had lived to see The Early Years of the Saturday Club 
 (Boston, 1918), she would have found that I drew from the notes in her own 
 diary a large portion of the memoir of James T. Fields which it contains. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 117 
 
 Before dinner I found opportunity for a short talk 
 with Lowell upon literature. He thinks the chief value 
 of Bret Harte is his local color and it would be a fatal 
 mistake for him to come East, in spite of Taylor's rep- 
 resentation of the aridity of intellectual life now in 
 California. Taylor finds the same reason for leaving his 
 native place. He regrets his large house, and frankly 
 says he is tired of living there, tired of living alone, there 
 being really no one in the vicinity with whom he can 
 associate as on equal grounds. There is no culture, not 
 even a love for it, in the neighborhood. 
 
 But I have not said half enough of Longfellow. He 
 scintillated all the evening, was filled with the spirit of 
 the time and the scene, sweetly reprimanded Taylor 
 for not having time to give him a visit also, darted his 
 jeuxd* esprit rapidly right and left, often setting the 
 table in a roar, a most unusual thing with him. Holmes 
 at the other end was talking about the natural philos- 
 ophers who "invented facts." Lowell took exception, 
 said it was an impossible juxtaposition of ideas and 
 words. Holmes defended himself by quoting (I think 
 the name was Carius; whoever it was, Lowell said at 
 once and rather warningly, he is a very distinguished 
 name) a series of created facts by which he said a 
 woman was not articulated or not as a man is (perhaps 
 I have not his exact ideas) ; whereat Longfellow at once 
 held up the inarticulate woman to the amusement of 
 the table. Then they began to talk of the singular per- 
 sons this world contains, "quite as strange as Dickens," 
 as they always say; and Taylor, who introduced the 
 
u8 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 subject, proceeded to relate an incident which happened 
 to him in a cheap coffee house in New York. It was 
 near a railway station, so he dropped in, finding it con- 
 venient so to do, at an hour not usually popular with 
 the frequenters of such establishments. It was empty 
 save for an extraordinary figure with long arms, short 
 legs and misshapen body, who, hearing a glass of ale 
 ordered, came forward and said if he pleased he would 
 like to have his ale at the same table for the sake of 
 company. There was nothing to do but to comply, 
 which Taylor of course did, whereupon the strange 
 creature, never asking who Taylor was, went on to 
 relate that he was the great man-monkey of the world 
 who could hang from a tree and eat nuts and make the 
 true noise in the throat better than any other ; he had 
 no competitor except one of the Ravel brothers, but 
 he (Ravel) was not the real thing; he himself alone 
 could make the noise perfectly. . . . 
 
 They all drank the exquisite Ehrbacher Rhine wine 
 from tall green German glasses of antique form, which 
 delighted them greatly. Jamie was much entertained by 
 Holmes's finding them "good conversational aperient, 
 but ugly. I should always have them on the table, but 
 they are not handsome." Longfellow was delighted with 
 my Venetian lace bodice ; it seemed to have a flavor of 
 Venice about it in his eyes. It was a real pleasure to 
 me to see his appreciation of a thing Jamie and I really 
 enjoy so much. 
 
 I have not reported all, by any means, but time fails 
 me now. A thought of Dickens was continually present, 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 119 
 
 as it must be forever at a company dinner-table. How 
 many beautiful feasts have I enjoyed by his side! 
 There is none like him, none. 
 
 Taylor wrote a friendly German inscription in his 
 book and presented me after dinner. 
 
 There were amusing traits of Elizabeth Peabody 
 given. Longfellow remembered that the first time he 
 met her was in a carriage. She was taken up in the 
 dark. Hearing his name mentioned, she leaned forward 
 and said, "Mr. Longfellow, can you tell me which is 
 the best Chinese Grammar ? " 
 
 A midsummer entry of the same year suggests the 
 part that an editor's wife may play in the successful 
 conduct of a magazine, if only through sharing the en- 
 thusiasm that attends the first reading of a manuscript 
 of distinguished merit. 
 
 Saturday, July 16, 1870. A perfect summer day. 
 Jamie did not go to town, but with a bag full of letters 
 and MSS. concluded to remain here. He fell first upon 
 a MS. by Henry James, Jr., a short story called "Com- 
 pagnons de Voyage," and after tasting of it in our room 
 and finding the quality good (though the handwriting 
 was execrable), I invited my dear boy to a favorite 
 nook in the pasture where we could hear the sea and 
 catch a distant gleam of its blue face while we were still 
 in shadow and fanned by oak leaves. It was one of 
 those delicious seasons which summer can bring to the 
 dullest heart, I believe and hope. We lay down with 
 
120 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 our feet plunged into the cool delicious grass, while I 
 read the pleasant tale of Italy to the close. I do not 
 know why success in work should affect us so power- 
 fully, but I could have wept as I finished reading, not 
 from the sweet low pathos of the tale, which was not 
 tearful, but from the knowledge of the writer's success. 
 It is so difficult to do anything well in this mysterious 
 world. 
 
 On the very next day Lowell wrote Fields a letter 
 which must have been read with delight by such friends 
 of Dickens as the Fieldses. The decorated sonnet which 
 filled its third sheet is reproduced herewith in facsimile : 
 the plainness of Lowell's script renders type superflu- 
 ous. The mere fact that the death of Dickens could 
 have called forth clerical expressions provoking Lowell 
 to such scorn is in itself a measure of the distance we 
 have travelled since 1870. The verses are not included 
 in Lowell's "Poetical Works," nor are they listed in the 
 " Bibliography of James Russell Lowell," compiled by 
 George Willis Cooke. With two slight changes they 
 may be found, however, over&Lowell's signature, in 
 "Every Saturday," for August 6, 1870. 
 
 ELMWOOD, ijth July, 1870 
 MY DEAR FIELDS : 
 
 I can stand it no longer ! If Dickens is to be banned, 
 the rest of us might as well fling up our hands. This 
 hot weather, too, gives a foretaste that raises well- 
 founded apprehension. It is a good primary school for 
 
flu*. 
 
 Lib, kfto 
 
 *>** 
 
 a* 
 
 
 
 
 Facsimile of Lowell's "Bulldog and Terrier" sonnet 
 
122 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 the Institution of which the Rev'ds Fulton and Dunn 
 seem to be ushers. Instead of going to Church today, 
 where I might have heard something not wholly to my 
 advantage, as the advertisements for lost people say, 
 I have written a sermon. It is not a proper sonnet, but 
 a cross between that and epigram a kind of bull-ter- 
 rier, in short, with the size of the one and the prick-ears 
 and docked tail of the other, nor without his special tal- 
 ent for rats. Is there any grip in his jaw or no ? He is 
 good-natured and scarce shows his teeth. 
 
 The thing is an improvisation and the weather aw- 
 fully hot ! 
 
 Sweltered your servant sits and sweats and swears : 
 (for alliteration only) but if you would like it for the 
 "Atlantic," why here it is on the next leaf. Or, if too 
 late, why not "Every Saturday"? I could not even 
 think of it sooner, for I have been wrestling with a bad 
 head and an article on Chaucer, and I fear they have 
 thrown me. I want rest, and a bath of poetry, but where 
 may the wicked hope for either ? My sonnet (if Leigh 
 Hunt would let me call it so) hit me like a stray shot 
 from nowhere that I could divine, and five minutes saw 
 it finished. So why may it not be good ? It came, any- 
 how, as a poem comes though it is n't just that. But 
 my dog is n't bad ? He is from the life at any rate. 
 
 I shall make use of my first leisure to get into Boston. 
 But I have got bedevilled with the text of Chaucer and 
 am working on it with my usual phrenzy thirteen 
 hours, for example, yesterday, collating texts and writ- 
 ing into margins. I comfort myself that my Chaucer 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 123 
 
 will bring a handsome price at my vandoo ! I shall be 
 easier in my coffin if it run up handsomely for Fanny 
 and Mabel. 
 
 Do you want an essay for your "Almanac" if one 
 should come, which is doubtful ? I need one or two 
 more to make a little volume, and I need a little volume 
 for nameless reasons. O, if I could sell my land ! I 
 would transmute that gold into poetry. Or if only 
 poems would come when you whistle for 'em ! 
 
 Give my kindest regards to Mrs Fields. 
 Yours always, 
 
 J. R. L. 
 
 From my study, this first day for three weeks without 
 a drowsy pain in my knowledge box, I really feel a little 
 lively, and wonder at myself. But don't be alarmed 
 it won't last, any more than money does, or principle 
 in a politician, or hair, or popular favor or paper. 
 
 Lowell and Longfellow continue to make their appear- 
 ances in Mrs. Fields's diary. 
 
 December 7, 1871. Last Sunday Charlotte Cush- 
 man dined here. Our guests asked to meet her were 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lowell and Mr. Longfellow; Miss Steb- 
 bins and Miss Chapman, her guests, also came. We 
 had a lovely social time, Lowell making himself espe- 
 cially interesting, as he always does when he can once 
 work himself up to the pitch of going out at all. He 
 talked a while with me about poetry and his own topics 
 after dinner. He said he was one of the few people who 
 
1 24 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 believed in absolute truth; that he always looked for 
 certain qualities in writers, which if he could not dis- 
 cover, they no longer interested him and he did not 
 care to read them. He discovered, for instance, in the 
 writers who had survived the centuries the same kin- 
 dred points, those points he studied until he discovered 
 what the adamant was and where it was founded ; then 
 he would look into the writers of our own age to see if 
 he could find the same stuff; there was little enough 
 of it unfortunately. He does not like Reynolds's por- 
 trait of Johnson, thought it untrue, far too handsome, 
 yet highly characteristic in the management of the 
 hands, which portray the man as he was when talking 
 better probably than anything ever did. Mrs. Lowell 
 appeared to enjoy herself. J. says L. is always more 
 himself if Mrs. L. is happy and talkative. They are 
 thinking of Europe. Mabel is to be married in April, 
 and afterward they probably go at once to Europe. 
 
 A small party of friends assembled in the evening. 
 Longfellow was the beloved and observed and wor- 
 shipped among all. 
 
 April n, 1872. Last night Jamie dined with Long- 
 fellow. John Field of Pennsylvania and Lowell were the 
 two other guests. J. was there twenty minutes before 
 the rest arrived, and Longfellow gave him an account of 
 
 the wedding of a school-mate of mine, , an 
 
 excellent generous-hearted, generously built woman, 
 with a little limping old clergyman who has already had 
 
 three wives and whose first name is . Longfellow 
 
 said, in memory of what had gone before, the organist, 
 

 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 From a photograph taken in middle life 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 125 
 
 as if driven by some evil spirit, played "Auld Lang 
 Syne/' as the wedding procession came in, consisting of 
 the bride and her brother, two very well-made large 
 persons and the elderly bridegroom limping on behind 
 all alone. The organist suddenly stopped at this point, 
 breaking off with a queer little quirk and shiver as if 
 he only then discovered what he was doing. Indeed 
 the whole wedding appeared to have points to affect 
 the risibles of the poet. He could hardly speak of it 
 without laughter. He said, moreover, that it was, he 
 thought, disgusting and outrageous for old men to get 
 married. 
 
 Tuesday , September 23, 1872. Longfellow came to 
 town to see Jamie, in one of his loveliest moods. The 
 day was so warm and fine, such a day of dreams, that he 
 proposed to him every kind of excursion. "Come," he 
 said, "let us go to the tea stores and smell the tea; the 
 warm atmosphere will bring out all the odors and we can 
 get samples!" And again, "Come, let us go to the 
 wharves and see the vessels just in from Italy or Spain. 
 It will be a lovely sight in this soft sky, and we can hear 
 the men speak in their native tongues." Unhappily all 
 these seductions were in vain, for Jamie was busy and 
 was to lecture in Grantville in the evening. L. said : 
 "At half-past eight I shall think of you doing thus and 
 thus" (sawing the air with his arms). L. continued: 
 "You know I have very strange people come to me a 
 man came a day or two ago by the name of Hyers, who 
 has just published a book describing his own career. 
 He believes that he is fed by the Lord ! 'How do you 
 
126 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 mean ? ' asked I, with the knowledge that we "were all 
 fed in the same way. 'Why/ said EL, 'He leaves pies 
 and peanuts on the sidewalks for me.'" Longfellow could 
 hardly contain himself but "after all," he said, "that 
 is very like Greene : when Greene comes to me, he always 
 takes his money to come and go, just like my own sons 
 and without so much as a thank you. But I like to have 
 Greene come because he enjoys it so much and it is so 
 strange. He amuses me. Then Appleton too, with his 
 odd fancies, it would be hard to find a stranger man than 
 he. He amused me immensely the other day by fancy- 
 ing an Indian, 'Great Fire/ or 'Hole in the Wall,' or 
 some such fellow, coming to Boston for the first time. 
 Passing a perruquier's, he sees the window filled with 
 masses of false hair ; taking them to be scalps and the 
 window to be an exhibition of these tokens of prowess, 
 he rushes in, embraces the little perruquier behind the 
 counter, treats him like a brother, and almost frightens 
 the small hairdresser out of his senses ! !" 
 
 L. likes Joaquin [Miller] much. Of course, he said, 
 there are some things about him not altogether agree- 
 able, such as flinging a quid of tobacco out of his mouth 
 under the table; "but I don't mind those things; per- 
 haps," he added, "perhaps I might have done the same 
 as a youth of 20 ! ! ! " 
 
 Thursday, June 12, 1873. Dined last night with the 
 Aldriches and Mr. Bugbee at Mr. Lowell's beautiful old 
 Elm wood. 1 It was a perfect night, cool, fresh, moon- 
 
 1 This was in the midst of Aldrich's occupancy of Elmwood, during Lowell's 
 two years' absence in Europe. 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 127 
 
 lighted, after a muggy day of heat. After dinner I went 
 into the fine old study with Aldrich, where he showed me 
 two or three little poems he has lately written. He was 
 all ready to talk on literary topics and much in earnest 
 about his own satisfaction over "Miss Mehitable's Son" 
 (which is indeed a very good story), and was full of dis- 
 gust over the " Nation's " cool dismissal of it. It was too 
 bad; but that Dennet of the "Nation" is beneath con- 
 tempt because of the slights he throws upon good liter- 
 ary work. Aldrich says he found "Asphodel" all worn 
 to pieces, read and reread in the upstairs study. He 
 finds Mr. Lowell's library in curious disorder with re- 
 spect to modern books. He is an easy lender and an 
 easy borrower. The result is, everything is at loose ends. 
 Only two volumes of Hawthorne can be found, for in- 
 stance. . . . 
 
 Such wonderful colors overspread our bay this eve- 
 ning, the wide heavens, and all that lay between, it 
 seemed an unreal and magic glory, and I recall dimly 
 Hawthorne's disgust when he endeavored to describe 
 a landscape. The Lord, he says, expressed himself in 
 this glory; how shall we therefore interpret into lan- 
 guage when he himself has taken this form of speech as 
 the only adequate expression to convey his meaning to 
 us ? Who does not feel this in looking at the glories of 
 Nature in this perfect season ? 
 
 And here is a final glimpse of Longfellow, at Man- 
 chester-by-the-Sea, shortly after Don Pedro of Brazil 
 had visited him in Cambridge : 
 
128 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Thursday y July 6, 1876. A fine rushing wind no 
 rain, but a wind that seemed to tear everything up by 
 the roots. I dared not venture out in the morning. To 
 our surprise and delight Mr. Longfellow came to dine. 
 He was pleased to find Anna here, and fell to talking of 
 Heidelberg in German with her and quoting the poets 
 most delightfully. We sat in the front hall and rejoiced 
 over his presence as he talked, for he was in a fine talk- 
 ing mood. He told us of the Emperor's visit and of his 
 soldierly though most simple bearing; how he came to 
 call upon him after his dinner, and when, as he rose to 
 go, Longfellow said, "Your Majesty, I thank you for 
 the honor you have done me." He said, "Ah ! no, Long- 
 fellow, none of your nonsense, let us be friends together. 
 I hope you will write to me. I will write you first and 
 you must promise to answer." As they walked down the 
 garden path together, Longfellow raised his hat and 
 stepped one side as he was about to get into his car- 
 riage. "No, no," he said laughingly, "there you are 
 at it again." In short, he has left a pleasant memory 
 behind. 
 
 Longfellow told us his maids broke everything he 
 possessed; at last they had broken a very beautiful 
 Japanese vase or bowl which Charley brought home 
 so he had made a Latin epitaph for the maid. Unhap- 
 pily I recall only the last line : 
 
 Nihil tetigit quod non Jregit. 
 
 He described Blumenbach very amusingly, whose 
 lectures on Natural History he attended as a youth in 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 129 
 
 Heidelberg. He descended from his desk one day and 
 came and rested his hand on the rail just before which L. 
 was seated. He had been speaking of Platonic love. 
 "Und die Platonische Liebe ist nach Amerika gegan- 
 gen," he said, looking at Longfellow. The whole stu- 
 dent audience roared and applauded. 
 
 He was in the loveliest spirits and manners. His 
 friendly ways to my three friendless girls were not only 
 such as to excite them profoundly, but there was sin- 
 cere feeling in his invitation to them to call upon him 
 and in his questions in their behalf. 
 
 The wind subsided as we sat together ; the two young 
 Bigelows sang "Maid of Athens" and one or two other 
 songs, and then he departed. How sorry we were as we 
 watched his retreating figure, as he and dear J. wound 
 down the hill in the little phaeton. 
 
 Mrs. Fields's gallery of friends would be incomplete 
 without a single sketch of Whit tier's familiar outline. 
 Out of many which the diaries contain, one may best 
 be taken, for it shows him in company with that other 
 friend, Celia Thaxter, whom also Mrs. Fields counted 
 among the few to whose memory she devoted special 
 chapters in her "Authors and Friends"; and it brings 
 the three together at Mrs. Thaxter's native Isles of 
 Shoals, so long a mecca of the "like-minded." 
 
 July 12, 1873. I shall not soon forget our talk one 
 afternoon in the parlor at "The Shoals." Whittier, as if 
 inspired by that spirit residing in us which is the very 
 
130 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 ground-work of the Quaker belief, began to speak of 
 Emerson's faith and of the pain it gave him to see the 
 name of Jesus placed in his writings as but one among 
 many. When he discoursed with Emerson of these 
 things, he could have no satisfaction. Celia, on the other 
 
 I 
 
 From a note of "Dear Whittier " to Mrs. Fields 
 
 hand, said she did not understand these things; she 
 never prayed. "I am sure thee does without knowing 
 it," said W. ; "else what do thy poems mean ? Thee has 
 not set prayer perhaps, but some kind of a prayer thee 
 must have. No human being can exist without it. But 
 what troubles me also in Emerson is that I can find no 
 real faith in immortality." Here I took up the question. 
 I had heard Mr. Emerson at Thoreau's grave, after- 
 ward speaking expressly on immortality, and in both 
 discourses I felt deeply his faith in our future progress 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 131 
 
 and enduring life. Whittier was inclined to think me 
 mistaken. I think too that his use of Jesus' name is to 
 prevent the worship of him instead of the One God. 
 Whittier asked Celia to read a discourse of Emerson's, 
 which she did aloud ; and again he spoke of the beauty 
 of childlike worship, the necessity for it in our natures, 
 and quoted some lovely hymns. His whole heart was 
 alive and poured out toward us as if he longed tenderly 
 like the prophet of old to breathe a new life into us. I 
 could seem to see that he reproached himself that so 
 many days had passed without his trying to speak more 
 seriously. He was not perfectly well after this a 
 headache overtook him before our talk was over and 
 did not leave him until he found himself in Amesbury 
 again. I trust it did so there. . . . 
 
 Whittier said one day, when we were talking of the 
 "Life of Charlotte Bronte" by Mrs. Gaskell, and I was 
 saying how sad it was she should have made the old man, 
 her father, suffer unto death, as she did, by telling the 
 tale of his bad son's life, and "still worse," I said, "she 
 came out in the Athenaeum and declared that her story 
 was false, when she knew it was true, hoping to comfort 
 the old man," "I don't know," said Whittier; "I 
 am inclined to think that was the best part of it, if her 
 lie would have done the old man any good ! " 
 
 After we had our long afternoon session of talk over 
 Emerson and future existence and the unknowable, 
 Celia stood up and stretched herself and said, "How 
 good it has been with the little song-sparrow putting in 
 his oar above it all ! " 
 
132 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 And what of Mrs. Fields herself, a woman of nearly 
 forty when this last passage was written ? For the most 
 part the diary reveals her but indirectly. Yet in the 
 midst of all her pictures of her friends, a fragment of 
 self-portraiture is occasionally found; and to one of 
 them the reader of these pages is entitled. 
 
 Proposed Dedication of Whittier's "Among the Hills" to Mrs. Fields. 
 
 In a letter to Mrs. Fields , Whittier wrote: " I would like thy judgment 
 
 about it. Would this do? " In altered form it appears in the book. 
 
 December 18, 1873. Have been looking over "Wil- 
 helm Meister"! I struck upon that marvellous pas- 
 sage, "I reverence the individual who understands dis- 
 tinctly what he wishes ; who unweariedly advances ; who 
 knows the means conducive to his object, and can seize 
 and use them. How far his object may be great or 
 little is the next consideration with me"; and much 
 
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 133 
 
 more quite as good to the same end. It prompts me 
 to say what I wish to do in life. 
 
 Aristotle writes : "Virtue is concerned with action, art 
 with production." The problem of life is how to harmon- 
 ize the two either career must become pro minent accord- 
 ing to the nature of the individual. I discern in myself: 
 ist, the desire to serve others unselfishly according to the 
 example of our dear Lord ; 2nd, the desire to cultivate 
 my powers in order to achieve the highest life possible 
 to me as an individual existence by stimulating thought 
 to its finest issues through reflection, observation, and by 
 profound and ceaseless study of the written thoughts of 
 the wisest in every age and every clime. 
 
 To fulfil these aims we must be able to answer the 
 simple question promptly to ourselves: "What then 
 shall I do tomorrow and today?" Then, the decision 
 being made, the thing alone must have all the earnest- 
 ness put into it of a creature who knows that the next 
 moment he may be called to his*account. 
 
 As a woman and a wife my first duty lies at home; 
 to make that beautiful ; to stimulate the lives of others 
 by exchange of ideas, and the repose of domestic life ; 
 to educate children and servants. 
 
 2nd, To be conversant with the very poor; to visit 
 their homes; to be keenly alive to their sufferings; 
 never allowing the thought of their necessities to sleep 
 in our hearts. 
 
 3rd, By day and night,- morning and evening, in 
 all times and seasons when strength is left to us, to 
 study, study, study. 
 
134 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Because I have put this last, it does not stand last 
 in importance ; but to put it first and write out the plan 
 for study which my mind naturally selects would be to 
 ignore that example of perfect life in which I humbly 
 believe, and to return to the lives of the ancients, so fine 
 in their results to the few, so costly to the many. But 
 in the removed periods of existence, when solitude may 
 be our blessed portion, what a joy to fly to communion 
 with the sages and live and love with them ! 
 
 I have written this out for the pleasure of seeing 
 if "I distinctly understand what I wish." It is a wide 
 plan, too wide, I fear, for much performance, but there- 
 fore perhaps more conducive to a constant faith. 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 1 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Fields wrote the "Personal Recollec- 
 tions" of Oliver Wendell Holmes which appear in her 
 "Authors and Friends," she quoted, with a few changes 
 prompted by modesty, this passage from a letter re- 
 ceived from him at Christmas, 1881 : "Except a few of 
 my immediate family connections, no friends have seen 
 me so often as a guest as did you and your husband. 
 Under your roof I have met more visitors to be remem- 
 bered than under any other. But for your hospitality 
 I should never have had the privilege of personal ac- 
 quaintance with famous writers and artists whom I 
 can now recall as I saw them, talked with them, heard 
 them in that pleasant library, that most lively and 
 agreeable dining-room. How could it be otherwise with 
 such guests as he entertained with his own unflagging 
 vivacity and his admirable social gifts ?" 
 
 One of the visitors thus encountered by Dr. Holmes 
 was Charles Dickens. Here was a guest after the host's 
 own heart and the hostess's. The host stood alone 
 among publishers as a friend of the authors with whom 
 it was his business to deal. Out of them all there was 
 none with whom he came to stand on terms of closer 
 sympathy and friendship than with Dickens. They had 
 
 1 The greater part of this chapter appeared in Harper's Magazine for May 
 and June, 1922. 
 
136 ^MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 first metTwhen Dickens came to America in 1842, and 
 Fields was by no means the conspicuous figure he was 
 to become. When he visited Europe in 1859-60, with 
 his young wife, whose personality was to contribute its 
 own beauty and charm to the hospitality of 148 Charles 
 Street for many years to come, they dined with Dickens 
 in London, visited him at Gad's Hill, and had much dis- 
 cussion of a plan, which Fields had been urging upon 
 him in correspondence, for Dickens to come to America 
 for a course of readings. As early as in one of the letters 
 of this time, Dickens wrote to Fields: "Here I forever 
 renounce ' Mr. ' as having anything whatever to do with 
 our communication, and as being a mere preposterous 
 interloper." From such beginnings grew the intimacy 
 which caused Dickens, when he drew up the humorous 
 terms of a walking-match between Dolby, his manager, 
 and Osgood, Fields 's partner, while the Boston readings 
 of 1868 were in progress, to define Fields as "Massa- 
 chusetts Jemmy" and himself as the "Gad's Hill 
 Gasper" by virtue of his "surprising performances 
 (without the least variation) on that true national in- 
 strument, the American catarrh." 
 
 The visits of Dickens to America, first in 1 842, then 
 in the winter of 1867-68, have been the subject of abun- 
 dant chronicle. For the first of them there is the direct 
 record of his "American Notes," besides those indirect 
 reflections in "Martin Chuzzlewit," which wrought an 
 effect described by Carlyle in the characteristic saying 
 that "all Yankee-doodledom blazed up like one uni- 
 versal soda bottle." Many memorials of the second 
 

 CHARLES DICKENS 
 
 From a portrait by Francis Alexander, for many years in the Fields house, and now in 
 the Boston Museum of Fine Arts 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 137 
 
 visit are preserved in Fields's "Yesterdays with 
 Authors," and in John Forster's "Life" both visits are 
 of course recorded. 
 
 There is, besides, one source of intimate record of 
 Dickens in America which hitherto has remained almost 
 untouched. 1 This is found in the diaries of Mrs. Fields, 
 filled, as the preceding pages have shown, not merely 
 with her own sympathetic observations, but with many 
 things reported to her by her husband. To him it was 
 largely due that Dickens crossed the Atlantic near the 
 end of 1867. Landing in Boston, and soon beginning 
 his extraordinarily popular readings, he found in the 
 Charles Street house of the Fieldses a second home. 
 "Steadily refusing all invitations to go out during the 
 weeks he was reading," wrote Fields in his "Yesterdays 
 with Authors," " he went only into one other house be- 
 sides the Parker, habitually, during his stay in Boston." 
 In that house Mrs. Fields wrote the diaries from which 
 the following passages are taken. There Dickens was 
 not merely a warmly welcomed friend and guest at 
 dinner, but for a time an inmate. Henry James, sum- 
 moning after Mrs. Fields's death his remembrances of 
 her and of her abode, found in it "certain fine vibra- 
 tions and dying echoes " of all the episode of Dickens's 
 second visit. "I liked to think of the house," he wrote, 
 "I couldn't do without thinking of it, as the great 
 man's safest harborage through the tremendous gale 
 
 1 A few passages from it, relating to Dickens, are included in James T. 
 Fields : Biographical Notes and Personal Sketches. When they are occa- 
 sionally repeated here, it is in their original form, and not as Mrs. Fields 
 edited them for publication. 
 
138 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 of those even more leave-taking appearances, as fate 
 was to appoint, than we then understood." 
 
 In Dickens's state of physical health while the 
 Fieldses were thus seeing him, lay the only token of an 
 end not far off. All else was gayety and delight. The 
 uncontrollable laughter where does one hear quite 
 parallel notes to-day ? the simplicities of game and 
 anecdote, the enthusiastic yielding of complete admira- 
 tion, the glimpses of august figures of an earlier time 
 all these serve equally to take one back over more 
 than half a century, into a state of society about which 
 an element of myth begins to form, and to bring out of 
 that past the living, human figure of Dickens himself. 
 
 For the most part these extracts from the diaries 
 call for no explanations. 
 
 Several months before the great visitor's arrival his 
 coming was heralded by his business agent, of whom 
 Mrs. Fields wrote : 
 
 August 14, 1867. Mr. Dolby arrived today from 
 England (Mr. Dickens's agent), a good, healthy, kindly 
 natured man of whom Dickens seems really fond, hav- 
 ing followed him to the steamer in Liverpool from Lon- 
 don to see that all things were comfortably arranged 
 for him. He says Dickens has lamed one of his feet 
 with too much walking of late. He is here to arrange for 
 ico nights, for which he hears he may receive $200,000 ; 
 the readings to begin the first of December and to be 
 chiefly given in New York City. 
 
 August 15, 1867. Our day was quiet enough, but 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 139 
 
 when J. came down, he held us quite spellbound and 
 magnetized all the evening with his account of Dickens, 
 which Mr. Dolby had given him. He says Dolby him- 
 self is a queer creature when he talks. He has a stutter 
 which leads him to become suddenly stately in the 
 middle of a homely phrase and to give a queer intona- 
 tion to his voice, so that he did not dare look at Osgood 
 (who was a listener also) lest they should both explode 
 with laughter. 
 
 Dickens now has five dogs; for these the cook pre- 
 pares daily five plates of dinner. One day the plates 
 were all ready when a small pup stole in and polished 
 off the five plates. He fainted away immediately, and in 
 this condition was discovered by the cook, who put 
 him under the pump and revived him ; but he had been 
 going about looking like the figure 8 ever since. 
 
 Dickens is a warm friend of Fechter. One day, return- 
 ing from a reading tour, his man met him at the sta- 
 tion saying, "The fifty-eight boxes have come, sir/' 
 "What?" said Mr. Dickens. "The fifty-eight boxes 
 have come, sir." "I know nothing of fifty-eight boxes," 
 said the other. "Well, sir," said the man, "they are 
 all piled up outside the gate and we shall soon see, sir." 
 They proved to be a Swiss chalet complete, handles, 
 blinds, not a bit wanting, which Fechter had sent him. 
 It is put up in a grove near the house, where it presents 
 a very picturesque effect. 
 
 Dickens allows nothing to escape his attention and 
 gives "one small corner of the white of one eye" to 
 his household concerns, though he seems not to observe. 
 
i 4 o MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 His daughter Mary has the governance of the servants, 
 Miss Hogarth of the cellar and provisions. There is a 
 system in everything with which he has to do. When 
 he gives a reading, he is present in the hall at half-past 
 six, although the reading does not begin until eight ; for 
 Dickens cannot go about as other people do, he must go 
 when the people do not press upon him. On reaching 
 the private room, his servant brings his evening dress, 
 reading desk, screen, lamps, when he arranges the hall, 
 examines the copper gas-tubes to see if in order, dresses 
 himself and is ready to begin. In Liverpool the other 
 night he had advertised to read "Sergeant Buzfuz," 
 instead of which by accident he read "Bleak House." 
 Mr. Dolby spoke to him as soon as he had finished, 
 telling him the mistake he had made. He at once re- 
 turned to the desk, and said, "My friends, it is half- 
 past ten o'clock and you see how tired I am, but I will 
 still read Sergeant Buzfuz's speech if you expect it." 
 "No, no," the crowd shouted; "you're tired. No, no, 
 this ought to do for tonight." One tall man raised himself 
 up in the gallery and said, "Look here, we came to hear 
 Pickwick and we ought to hef it." "Very well, my friend," 
 replied Dickens, immediately, "I will read Sergeant 
 Buzfuz for your accommodation solely" ; and thereat he 
 did read it to a breathless and delighted audience. 
 
 At length came Dickens himself, and the diary takes 
 up the tale : 
 
 November 18, 1867. Today the steamer is tele- 
 
"THE TWO CHARLES'S" (CHARLES DICKENS AND CHARLES FECHTER). 
 
 From a H^wtm, DrttnHg t, ALF.ED BHVAN. 1879. 
 
 DICKENS AND FECHTER 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 141 
 
 graphed with Dickens on board, and the tickets for his 
 readings have been sold. Such a rush! A long queue 
 of people have been standing all day in the street a 
 good-humored crowd, but a weary one. 1 The weather is 
 clear but really cold, with winter's pinch in it. 
 
 November 19. ... Yesterday I adorned Mr. 
 Dickens's room with flowers, which seemed to please 
 him. He was in the best of good spirits with every- 
 thing. 
 
 Thursday, November 21. Mr. Dickens dined here. 
 Agassiz, Emerson, Judge Hoar, Professor Holmes, Nor- 
 ton, Greene, dear Longfellow, last not least, came to 
 welcome. Dickens sat on my right, Agassiz at my left. 
 I never saw Agassiz so full of fun. . . . 
 
 Dickens bubbled over with fun, and I could not help 
 fancying that Holmes bored him a little by talking at 
 him. I was sorry for this, because Holmes is so simple 
 and lovely, but Dickens is sensitive, very. He is fond 
 of Carlyle, seems to love nobody better, and gave the 
 most irresistible imitation of him. His queer turns of 
 expression often convulsed us with laughter, and yet 
 it is difficult to catch them, as when, in speaking ot 
 the writer of books, always putting himself, his real 
 self, in, "which is always the case," he said; "but 
 you must be careful of not taking him for his next-door 
 neighbor." 
 
 1 On this very day Lowell wrote in the course of a letter to Fields : "James 
 tells me you had a tremendous queue this morning. Don't fail to get me 
 tickets, and for the first night. I should like to see his reception. It will 
 leave a picture on the brain. And why should I not be there to welcome him, 
 as well as Tom, Dick, or Harry ?" 
 
i 4 2 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 He spoke of the fineness of his Parisian audience 
 "the most delicately appreciative of all audiences." 
 He also gave a most ludicrous account of a seasick 
 curate trying to read the service on board ship last 
 Sunday. He tells us Browning is really about to marry 
 Miss Ingelow, and of Carlyle, that he is deeply sad- 
 dened, irretrievably, by the death of his wife. Just as 
 we were in a tempest of laughter over some witticism 
 of his, he jumped up, seized me by the hand, and said 
 good-night. He neither smoked nor drank. "I never 
 do either from the time my readings 'set in/" he said, 
 as if it were a rainy season. . . . 
 
 Among other interesting personal facts Dickens told 
 us that he had last year burned all his private letters. 
 An appeal from the daughter of Sydney Smith for some 
 of his letters set him thinking on the subject, and one 
 day when there was a big fire [sentence unfinished]. 
 
 Mr. Dickens left the table just as we were in a tem- 
 pest of laughter. Dr. Holmes . . . was telling how inap- 
 preciative he had found some country audiences one 
 he remembered in especial when his landlady accom- 
 panied him to the lecture and her face, he observed, was 
 the only one which relaxed its grimness! "Probably 
 because she saw money enough in the house to cover 
 your expenses," rejoined Dickens. That was enough; 
 the laughter was prodigious. . . . 
 
 Wednesday, November 27. What a pity that these 
 days have flown while I have been unable to make any 
 record of them. J. has been to walk each day with 
 Dickens, and has come home full of wonderful things he 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 143 
 
 has said. 1 His variety is so inexhaustible that one can 
 only listen in wonder. 
 
 Thursday, 28. Thanksgiving Day. J. took Dick- 
 ens to see the Aldriches' house. He was very much 
 amused by what he saw there and has written out a full 
 account to his daughter, Mrs. Collins. . . . 
 
 I have made no record of our supper party of Wed- 
 nesday evening. We had Alfred to wait, and a pretty 
 supper and more important by far (tho' the first a con- 
 sequent of the last) a pretty company. There were Mr. 
 Dickens and Mr. Dolby, Helen Bell and Mrs. Silsbee, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bigelow, Mr. Hillard and Louisa and Mr. 
 Beal. Mrs. Bell sang a little before supper (" Douglas " 
 for one) very gracefully with real feeling. At nine o'clock 
 oysters and fun began ; finally Mr. Dickens told several 
 ghost stories, but none of them more interesting than 
 a little bit of clairvoyance or what-you-will, which he 
 let drop concerning himself. He said a story was sent to 
 him for "All the Year Round," which he liked and ac- 
 cepted ; just after the matter had been put in type, he 
 received a letter from another person altogether from 
 the one who had forwarded it in the first place, saying 
 that he and not the first man was the author, and in 
 proof of his position he supplied a date which was want- 
 ing in the first paper. Curiously enough, Mr. Dickens, 
 seeing the story hinged upon a date and the date being 
 
 1 Even after Dickens's return to England, his sayings found their way into 
 Mrs. Fields's journal ; as, for example : 
 
 "J u ty 4 1868. J. made me laugh this morning (it was far too hot to 
 laugh) by telling me that Dickens said of Gray, the poet, 'No man ever 
 walked down to posterity with so small a book under his arm ! '" 
 
144 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 but a blank in the MS., had supplied one, as it were by 
 chance, and, behold ! it was the same date which the new 
 man had sent. 
 
 Sunday. Dined with Mr. Dickens at six o'clock. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bigelow, Mr. Dolby and ourselves were 
 the only guests. 
 
 After dinner we played two or three games which I 
 will set down lest they should be forgotten. 
 
 Descriptions of "Buzz," "Russian Scandal," and 
 another wholly innocent amusement may be omitted. 
 
 Monday night , December 2, 1867. The first great 
 reading! How we listened till we seemed turned into 
 one eyeball ! How we all loved him ! How we longed to 
 tell him all kinds of confidences ! How Jamie and he did 
 hug in the anteroom afterward! What a teacher he 
 seemed to us of humanity as he read out his own words 
 which have enchanted us from childhood ! And what a 
 house it was ! Longfellow, Dana, Norton (Mrs. Dana, 
 Jr., and the three little Andrews went with us), and a 
 world of lovely faces and ardent admirers. 
 
 Tuesday came Miss Dodge and Mrs. Hawthorne, 
 Julian, and Rose. The reading was quite as remarkable, 
 tho* more quiet than that of the night before. As usual, 
 we went to speak to him at his request after it was over. 
 Found him in the best of spirits, but very tired. " You 
 can't think," he said, "what resolution it requires to 
 dress again after it is over !" 
 
 Monday ', December 9. Left home at 8 A.M. for 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 145 
 
 New York. The day was clear and cold, the journey 
 somewhat long, but on the whole extremely agreeable. 
 We only had each other to plague or amuse, as the case 
 might be, and we had the new Christmas story of Dick- 
 ens and Wilkie Collins (called "No Thoroughfare") to 
 read, and so by sufficient attention to the peculiarities 
 or follies or troubles of our neighbors and some forge t- 
 fulness of our own, we came to the Westminster Hotel 
 at night, in capital spirits but rather frozen physically. 
 We had scant time to dress and dine and to go to the 
 Dickens reading. We accomplished it, nevertheless. 
 Saw the rapturous enthusiasm, heard the "Carol" far 
 better read than in Boston, because the applause was 
 more ready and he felt stimulated by it. Afterward Mr. 
 D. sent for us to come to his room. He was fatigued, of 
 course, but we sat at table with him and after a while he 
 began to feel warmer as vigor returned. He brought out 
 his jewels for us to see a pearl Count D'Orsay once 
 wore, set with diamonds, etc. laughed and talked 
 about the way we dress and other bits of nonsense sug- 
 gested by the time, all turned towards the fine light of 
 Charles Dickens's lovely soul and returning with a fresh 
 gleam of beauty. We left early lest we should overfatigue 
 him. 
 
 Wednesday, December 1 1 . At four Dickens came to 
 dinner in our room with Eythinge and Anthony, his 
 American designer and engraver. Afterward we went 
 to the "Black Crook" together, and then home to the 
 hotel, where we sat talking until one o'clock. There is 
 nothing I should like so much to do as to set down every 
 
146 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 word he said in that time, but much must go down to 
 oblivion. . . . 
 
 He talked of actors and acting said if a man's 
 Hamlet was a sustained conception, it was not to be 
 quarrelled with ; the only question was, what a man of 
 melancholy temperament would do under such circum- 
 stances. Talked of Charles Reade and the greatness of 
 "Griffith Gaunt," and the pity of it that he did not 
 stand on his own bottom instead of getting in with Dion 
 Boucicault, etc., etc. But after dinner he unbent, and 
 while we were in the box at the theatre showed how true 
 his sympathies were with the actors, was especially care- 
 ful to make no sound which could hurt their feelings by 
 apparent want of attention. The play was very dull, so 
 we sat and talked. He told me that no ballet dancer 
 could have pretty feet, and one dreadful thing was they 
 could never wash them, as water renders the feet ten- 
 der and they must become horny. He asked about 
 Longfellow's sorrow again and expressed the deepest 
 sympathy, but said he was like a man purified by suffer- 
 ing. 
 
 We had punch in our room after the play, when he 
 laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks over Bob 
 Sawyer's party and the remembrance of the laughter he 
 had seen depicted on the faces of people the night be- 
 fore. Jack Hopkins was such a favorite with J. that D. 
 made up the face again and went over the necklace story 
 until we roared aloud. At length he began to talk of 
 Fechter and to describe the sensitive character of the 
 man. He saw him first quite by accident in Paris, hav- 
 
Reduced facsimile of Dickens's directions, preserved among the 
 Fields papers, for the brewing of pleasant beverages 
 
148 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 ing strolled into a little theatre there one night. He was 
 making love to a woman, and so elevated her as well as 
 himself by the sentiment in which he enveloped her that 
 they trod into purer ether and in another sphere quite 
 lifted out of the present. " ' By heavens ! ' I said, ' a man 
 who can do this can do anything ! ' I never saw two 
 people more purely and instantly elevated by the power 
 of love. The manner in which he presses the hem of the 
 dress of Lucy in the 'Bride of Lammermoor' is some- 
 thing surpassing speech and simply wonderful. The man 
 has a thread of genius in him which is unmistakable, yet 
 I should not call him a man of genius exactly, either." 
 Mr. Dickens described him as a man full of plans for 
 plays, one who had lost much money as a manager, too. 
 He was apt to come down to Gad's Hill with his head 
 full of plans about a play which he wished Mr. Dickens 
 to write out and which Fechter would act in the writing- 
 room, using Mr. Dickens's small pillow for a baby in a 
 manner to make the latter feel, if Fechter were but a 
 writer, how marvellous his powers of representation 
 would be. "I, who for so many years have been study- 
 ing the best way of putting things, felt utterly amazed 
 and distanced by this man." 
 
 Before the end of our talk Mr. Dickens became pene- 
 trated by the memory of his friend and brought him 
 before us in all the warmth of ardent sympathy. 
 Fechter is sure to come to this country : we are sure to 
 have the happiness of knowing him (if we all live), and 
 in that event I shall consider last night as the begin- 
 ning of a new friendship. 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 149 
 
 Sunday , December 22. Another week has gone. 
 We are again at home in our dear little nook by the 
 Charles, and tonight the lover of Christmas comes to 
 have dinner with us. We had a merry time last Sunday, 
 and after we had separated the hotel must needs take 
 fire to be sure, I had been packing and was in my 
 first sleep and knew nothing distinctly of it ; but it was 
 an escape all the same and Mr. Dickens rushed out to 
 help, as he always seems to do. ... 
 
 At night came Mr. Dickens and Mr. Dolby, Mr. 
 Lowell and Mabel, Mr. and Mrs. Dorr, to dinner. It 
 was really a beautiful Christmas festival, as we intended 
 it should be for the love of this new apostle of Christmas. 
 Mr. Dickens talked all the time, as he always will do, 
 generously, when the moment comes that he sees it is 
 expected, of Sir Sam. Baker, of Froude, of Fechter again, 
 this time as if he did not know the man, but spoke crit- 
 ically as if he were a stranger, seeing Lowell's face when 
 his name was mentioned, which inclined itself sneeringly. 
 
 We played games at table afterward, which turned 
 out so queerly that we had storms of laughter. 
 
 What a shame it is to write down anything respecting 
 one's contact with Charles Dickens and have it so slight 
 as my accounts are ; but the subtle turns of conversa- 
 tion are so difficult to render the way in which he 
 represents the woman who will not on any account be 
 induced to look at him while he is reading, and at whom 
 he looks steadily, endeavoring to compel the eyes to 
 move all these queer turns are too delicate to be set 
 down. I thought I should have had a convulsion of 
 
150 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 laughter when Mrs. Dorr said Miss Laura Howe sat 
 down in her (Mrs. D.'s) room and wrote out a charade 
 in such an unparalleled and brilliant manner that no- 
 body could have outshone her not even the present 
 company. " In the same given time, I trust ? " said Dick- 
 ens. "No, no," said the lady, persistently. 
 
 December 31. The year goes out clear and cold. 
 The moon was marvellously bright last night, and every 
 time I woke there she was with her attendant star look- 
 ing freshly in upon us sleeping mortals in her eternal, 
 unwearied way. We received a letter from Charles 
 Dickens yesterday, saying he was coming to stay with 
 us when he returns. What a pleasure this will be to us ! 
 We anticipate his coming with continual delight! To 
 have him as much as we can, at morning, noon, and 
 night. 
 
 This letter, long preserved in an American copy of 
 "A Christmas Carol" on the shelves of the Charles 
 Street library, throws a light of its own on the physical 
 handicaps with which Dickens was struggling through 
 all this time. 
 
 WESTMINSTER HOTEL, NEW YORK 
 Sunday, Twenty-Ninth December, 1867 
 
 MY DEAR FIELDS: 
 
 When I come to Boston for the two readings of the 
 6th and 7th I shall be alone, as Dolby must be selling 
 elsewhere. If you and Mrs. Fields should have no other 
 visitor, I shall be very glad indeed on this occasion to 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 151 
 
 come to you. It is very likely that you may have some 
 one with you. Of course you will tell me so if you have, 
 and I will then reembellish the Parker House. 
 
 Since I left Boston last, I have been so miserable 
 that I have been obliged to call in a Dr. Dr. Fordyce 
 Barker, a very agreeable fellow. He was strongly in- 
 clined to stop the Readings altogether for some few 
 days, but I pointed out to him how we stood committed, 
 and how I must go on if it could be done. My great ter- 
 ror was yesterday's Matinee, but it went off splendidly. 
 (A very heavy cold indeed, an irritated condition of the 
 uvula, and a restlessly low state of the nervous system, 
 were your friend's maladies. If I had not avoided vis- 
 iting, I think I should have been disabled for a week 
 or so.) 
 
 I hear from London that the general question in so- 
 ciety is, what will be blown up next by the Fenians. 
 
 With love to Mrs. Fields, Believe me, 
 
 Ever affectionately yours, 
 
 And hers, 
 CHARLES DICKENS 
 
 Saturday night, January 4. All in readiness. Mr. 
 Dickens arrived punctually with Mr. Osgood at half- 
 past nine. Hot supper was soon in order and we put 
 ourselves at it. The dear "chief" was in the best of 
 good humor in spite of a cold which hangs about him 
 and stuffs up head and throat, only leaving him for two 
 hours at night when he reads. 'T is something to be in 
 first-rate mood with such a cold. 
 
MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 The Readings have been so successful in New York 
 he cannot fail to be pleased, and he does not fail to show 
 it. Kate Field, New Year's Eve, placed a basket of 
 flowers on his table; he had seen her bright eyes and 
 sensitive face, he said. I was glad for Kate, because he 
 wrote her a little note, which pleased her, of course. 
 
 Wednesday , January 8, 12 A.M. I take up the 
 pen again, having bade our guest a most unwilling 
 farewell. Last night he read " Copperfield " and the 
 Trial from "Pickwick." It was an enormous house, 
 packed in every extremity, receipts in gold about five 
 hundred and ten pounds ! ! He was pleased, naturally, 
 and read marvellously well even for him. He was some- 
 what excited and a good deal tired when he returned, 
 and in spite of a light supper and stiff glass of punch, 
 which usually contains soporific qualities, he could not 
 sleep until near morning. He has been in the best of 
 spirits during this visit when he came downstairs 
 last night to take a. cup of coffee before leaving, he 
 turned to J., saying, "The hour has almost come when I 
 to sulphurous and tormenting gas must render up my- 
 self!" He has been afflicted with catarrh, which comes 
 and goes and distracts him with a buzzing in his head. 
 It usually leaves him for the two reading hours. This 
 is convenient, but it probably returns with worse force. 
 
 Sunday night dinner went off brilliantly. Longfellow, 
 Appleton, Mr. and Mrs. Thaxter came to meet "the 
 chief" and ourselves. Unfortunately there was one 
 empty seat which Rowse, the artist, had promised to 
 fill, but was ill at the last and could not curiously 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 153 
 
 enough we had asked Osgood, Miss Putnam, and Mr. 
 Gay besides, all kept away by accident when they would 
 have given their eyes to come. In the course of the day 
 he had been to see (with O. W. H.) the ground of the 
 Parkman murder which has lately been so clearly de- 
 scribed by Sir Emerson Tennent in "All the Year 
 Round"; in the evening the talk turned naturally 
 enough that way, when, after much surmise with regard 
 to the previous life of the man, Mr. Longfellow looked 
 up and with an assured, clear tone, said : "Now I have 
 a story to tell ! A year or two before this event took 
 place Dr. Webster invited a party of gentlemen to a 
 dinner at this house, I believe to meet some foreigner 
 who was interested in science. The doctor himself was 
 a chemist, and after dinner he had a large bowl placed 
 in the centre of the table with some chemical mixture in 
 it which he set on fire after turning the lamp low. A 
 lurid light came from the bowl which caused a livid 
 look upon the faces of those who sat round the table, 
 and while all were observing the ghastly effect, Dr. 
 Webster rose and, pulling a bit of rope from somewhere 
 about his person, put it around his neck, reached his 
 head over the bowl to heighten the effect, hung it on 
 one side, and lolled his tongue out to give the appear- 
 ance of a man who had been hanged ! ! ! The whole 
 scene was terrible and ghastly in the extreme, and, 
 remembered in the light of what followed, had a pre- 
 science frightful to contemplate." * 
 
 1 See Forster's Life, III, 368, for the same story told by Dickens in a letter 
 to Lord Lytton, without naming Longfellow as the narrator. 
 
154 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Appleton did not talk as much as usual, and we were 
 rather glad ; but Mrs. Thaxter's story took strong hold 
 on Dickens's fancy, and he told me afterward that 
 when he awaked in the night he thought of her. I 
 have seldom sat at dinner with a gentleman more care- 
 ful and fine in his choice and taste of food and drink 
 than C. D. The idea of his ever passing the bounds of 
 temperance is an absurdity not to be thought of for a 
 moment. In this respect he is quite unlike Mr. Thack- 
 eray, who at times both ate and drank inordinately, 
 and without doubt shortened his life by his careless- 
 ness in these particulars. John Forster, C. D/s old 
 friend, is quite ill with gout and some other ails, so 
 C. D. writes him long letters full of his experiences. 
 We breakfast at half-past nine punctually, he on a 
 rasher of bacon and an egg and a cup of tea, always 
 preferring this same thing Afterward we talk or play 
 with the sewing-machine or anything else new and odd 
 to him. Then he sits down to write until one o'clock, 
 when he likes a glass of wine and biscuit, and afterward 
 goes to walk until nearly four, when we dine. After 
 dinner, reading days, he will take a cup of strong coffee, 
 a tiny glass of brandy, and a cigar, and likes to lie 
 down for a short time to get his voice in order. His man 
 then takes a portmanteau of clothes to the reading hall, 
 where he dresses for the evening. Upon our return we 
 always have supper and he brews a marvellous punch, 
 which usually makes us all sleep like tops after the 
 excitement. The perfect kindliness and sympathy which 
 radiates from the man is, after all, the secret never to 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 155 
 
 be told, but always to be studied and to thank God for. 
 His rapid eyes, which nothing can escape, eyes which, 
 when he first appears upon the stage, seem to interro- 
 gate the lamps and all things above and below (like 
 exclamation points, Aldrich says), are unlike anything 
 before in our experience. There are no living eyes like 
 them, swift and kind, possessing none of the bliss of 
 ignorance, but the different bliss of one who sees what 
 the Lord has done and what, or something of what, he 
 intends. Such charity ! Poor man ! He must have 
 learned great need for that. . . . He is a man who has 
 suffered, evidently. Georgina Hogarth he always 
 speaks of in the most affectionate terms, such as "she 
 has been a mother to my children," "she keeps the list 
 of the wine cellar, and every few days examines to see 
 what we are now in want of." 
 
 I hardly know anything more amusing than when he 
 begs not to be "set a-going" on one of his .readings by a 
 quotation or otherwise, and [it is] odd enough to hear 
 him go on, having been so touched off. He has been a 
 great student of Shakespeare, which appears often in 
 his talk. His love of the theatre is something which 
 never pales, he says, and the people who go upon the 
 stage, however poor their pay or hard their lot, love it, 
 he thinks, too well ever to adopt another vocation of 
 their free will. One of the oddest sights a green room 
 presents, he says, is when they are collecting children 
 for a pantomime. For this purpose the prompter calls 
 together all the women in the ballet and begins giving 
 put their names in order, while they press about him, 
 
156 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 eager for the chance of increasing their poor pay by the 
 extra pittance their children will receive. "Mrs. John- 
 son, how many ?" "Two, sir." "What years ?" "Seven 
 and ten." "Mrs. B." and so on until the requisite 
 number is made up. He says, where one member of a 
 family obtains regular employment at the theatre, others 
 are sure to come in after a time ; the mother will be in 
 the wardrobe, children in pantomime, elder sisters in 
 the ballet, etc. 
 
 When we asked him to return to us, he said he must 
 be loyal to "the show," and, having three or four men 
 with him, ought to be at an hotel where he could attend 
 properly to the business. He never forgets the needs of 
 those who are dependent upon him, is liberal to his 
 servants (and to ours also), and liberal in his heart to 
 all sorts and conditions of* men. 
 
 I have one deeply seated hope, that he will read for 
 the Freed people before he leaves the country; and I 
 cannot help thinking he will. . . . 
 
 For more than a month from the time of this entry 
 Dickens was carrying the triumph of his readings into 
 other cities than Boston. There he had left a faithful 
 champion in the person of Mrs. Fields, who wrote in 
 her diary on January 26, 1868 : "It is odd how preju- 
 diced people have allowed themselves to become about 
 Dickens. I seldom make a call where his name is intro- 
 duced that I do not feel the injustice done to him per- 
 sonally, as if mankind resented the fact that he had 
 excited more love than most men." As his return to 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 157 
 
 Boston drew near, she wrote, February i8th: "We are 
 anticipating and doorkeeping for the arrival of our 
 friend. Whatever unpleasant is said of Charles Dickens 
 I take almost as if said against myself. It is so hard to 
 help this when you love a friend/' On February 2ist 
 there is the entry: "We go to Providence tonight to 
 hear 'Dr. Marigold.' I have been full of plans for next 
 week, which is to be a busy season with us of company." 
 
 Saturday , February 22. We have heard "Mari- 
 gold " ! To be sure, the audience was sadly stupid and 
 unresponsive, but we were penetrated by it. ... 
 What a night we had in Providence! Our beds were 
 comfortable enough, for which we were deeply thankful ; 
 but none of the party slept, I believe, except Mr. Dolby, 
 and his rest was inevitably cut short in the morning by 
 business. I believe I lay awake from pure pleasure after 
 such a treat. Hearing "Marigold" and having supper 
 afterward with the dear great man. We played a game 
 at cards which was most curious indeed, something 
 more so much more that I have forgotten to be 
 afraid of him. 
 
 In writing the chapter, "Glimpses of Emerson," in 
 "Authors and Friends," Mrs. Fields drew freely upon 
 the entry that here follows in its fullness. 
 
 Tuesday morning, February 25. Somewhat fa- 
 tigued. The "Marigold "went off brilliantly. He never 
 read better nor was more universally applauded. Mr. 
 
158 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Emerson came down to go, and passed the night here ; 
 of course we sat talking until late, he being much sur- 
 prised at the artistic perfection of the performance. It 
 was queer enough to sit by his side, for when his stoicism 
 did at length break down, he laughed as if he must 
 crumble to pieces at such unusual bodily agitation, and 
 with a face on as if it hurt him dreadfully to look at 
 him was too much for me, already full of laughter my- 
 self. Afterward we all went in to shake hands for a 
 moment. 
 
 When we came back home Mr. Emerson asked me a 
 great many questions about C. D. and pondered much. 
 Finally he said, "I am afraid he has too much talent for 
 his genius; it is a fearful locomotive to which he is 
 bound and can never be free from it nor set at rest. You 
 see him quite wrong, evidently; and would persuade 
 me that he is a genial creature, full of sweetness and 
 amenities and superior to his talents, but I fear he is 
 harnessed to them. He is too consummate an artist to 
 have a thread of nature left. He daunts me ! I have not 
 the key." 
 
 When Mr. Fields came in he repeated, "Mrs. Fields 
 would persuade me he is a man easy to communicate 
 with, sympathetic and accessible to his friends ; but her 
 eyes do not see clearly in this matter, I am sure." "Look 
 for yourself, dear Mr. Emerson," I answered, laughing, 
 "and then report to me afterward." 
 
 While we were enjoying ourselves in this way, a great 
 change has come to the country. The telegram arrived 
 during the Reading bringing the news of the President's 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 159 
 
 impeachment, 126 against 47. Since Johnson is to be 
 thrust out, and since another revolution is upon us 
 (Heaven help us that it be a peaceful one), we can only 
 be thankful that the majority is so large. Mr. Dickens's 
 account of the ability of Johnson, of his apparent in- 
 tegrity and of his present temperance, as contrasted with 
 the present (reported) failures of Grant in this respect, 
 have made me shudder, for I presume Grant is inevit- 
 ably the next man. Mrs. Agassiz was evidently pleased 
 with the appearance of General Grant and his wife. 
 She liked their repose of manner and ease ; but I think 
 this rather a shallow judgment because poise and ease 
 of manner belong to the coarsest natures and to the 
 finest ; in the latter it is conquest ; and this is why these 
 qualities have so high a place in the esteem of man ; but 
 it is likewise the gift of society people who neither feel 
 nor understand the varied natures with whom they come 
 in contact. 
 
 Longfellow is at work on a tragedy, of which no words 
 are spoken at present. Today Mr. Dickens does not go 
 out ; he is writing letters home. Yesterday he and J. 
 walked seven miles, which is about their average gen- 
 erally. . . . 
 
 February 27. Longfellow's birthday. Last night 
 Dickens went to a supper at Lowell's and J. passed the 
 evening with Longfellow. L.'s tragedy comes on apace. 
 He looks to Fechter to help him. Dickens has doubtless 
 done much to quicken him to write. He has two nearly 
 finished in blank verse, both begun since this month 
 came in. J. returned at half-past eleven, bringing an 
 
160 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 unread newspaper in his pocket which L. had lent him, 
 telling him to read something to me about Dickens 
 and return. Ah me ! We could have cried as we 
 read ! It was the saddest of sad letters, written at the 
 time the separation from his wife took place. The gen- 
 tleman to whom he wrote it has died and the letter 
 has stolen into print. I only hope the poor man may 
 never see it. 
 
 Tonight he reads "Carol" and "Boots" and sups 
 here with Longfellow afterward. 
 
 An entry in Mrs. Fields's diary about two years later 
 indicates with some clearness that she overestimated 
 the sympathy between Longfellow and Dickens. After 
 a visit from Longfellow, she wrote, May 24, 1870 : 
 
 When Mr. L. talks so much and so pleasantly, I am 
 curiously reminded of Dickens's saying to Forster, who 
 lamented that he did not see Longfellow upon his return 
 to London, "It was not a great loss this time, Forster; 
 he had not a word to say for himself he was the most 
 embarrassing man in all England !" It is a difference of 
 temperament which will never let those two men come 
 together. They have no handle by which to take hold of 
 each other. Longfellow told a gentleman at his table 
 when J. was present that Dickens saved himself for his 
 books, there was nothing to be learned in private he 
 never talked!! 
 
 To return to Dickens in Boston : 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 161 
 
 Sunday , March i . What a week we have had ! I 
 feel utterly weary this morning, although I did start up 
 with exceeding bravery and walked four miles just after 
 breakfast, in order to see that the flowers were right at 
 church and to ask some people to dinner today who 
 could not, however, come. The air was very keen and 
 exciting and I did not know I was tired until I came 
 back and collapsed. Our supper came off Thursday, 
 but without Dickens. His cold had increased upon him 
 seriously and he was really ill after his long, difficult 
 reading. But Longfellow was perfectly lovely, so easily 
 pleased and so deeply pleased with my little efforts to 
 make this day a festival time. Dickens and Whittier 
 both sent affectionate and graceful notes when they 
 found they really could not come. Our company stayed 
 until two A.M., Emerson never more talkative and good. 
 He is a noble purifier of the social atmosphere, always 
 keeping the talk simple as possible but up to the highest 
 pitch of thought and feeling. 
 
 Friday, the Dana girls, Sallie and Charlotte, passed 
 the night with us and went to the reading and shook 
 hands with Mr. Dickens afterward. They were per- 
 fectly happy when they went away yesterday. . . . 
 
 [The walking match between Dolby and Osgood to 
 which the following paragraph refers has already been 
 mentioned. The elaborately humorous conditions of the 
 contest, drawn up by Dickens, are printed in "Yester- 
 days with Authors." "We have had such a funny paper 
 from Dickens today," Mrs. Fields had written in her 
 diary, on February 5th, "that it can only describe it- 
 
162 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 self Articles drawn up arranging for a walk and din- 
 ner upon his return here, as if it were some fierce legal 
 document."] 
 
 I had barely time yesterday, after the girls left, to 
 dress and prepare some flowers and some lunch and 
 make my way in a carriage, first to the Parker House at 
 Mr. Dickens's kind request, to see if all the table ar- 
 rangements were perfect for the dinner. I found he had 
 done everything he could think of to make the feast go 
 off well and had really left nothing for me to suggest, so 
 I turned about and drove over the mill-dam, following 
 Messrs. Dickens, Dolby, Osgood, and Fields, who had 
 left just an hour before on a walking match of six miles 
 out and six in. This agreement was made and articles 
 drawn up several weeks ago, signed and sealed in form 
 by all the parties, to come off without regard to the 
 weather. The wind was blowing strong from the north- 
 west, very cold, and the snow blowing, too. They had 
 turned and were coming back when I came up with 
 them. Osgood was far ahead and, after saluting them 
 all and giving a cheer for America, discovering too that 
 they had refreshed on the way, I drove back to Mr. 
 Osgood, keeping near him and administering brandy all 
 the way in town. The walk was accomplished in pre- 
 cisely two hours forty-eight minutes. Of course Mr. 
 Dickens stayed by his man, who was beaten out and 
 out. They were all exhausted, for the snow made the 
 walking extremely difficult, and they all jumped into 
 carriages and drove home with great speed to bathe and 
 sleep before dinner. 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 163 
 
 At six o'clock we were assembled, eighteen of us, for 
 dinner, looking our very best (I hope) at least we all 
 tried for that, I am sure and sat punctually down to 
 our elegant dinner. I have never seen a dinner more 
 beautiful. Two English crowns of violets were at the 
 opposite ends of the table and flowers everywhere ar- 
 ranged in perfect taste. I sat at Mr. Dickens's right 
 hand and next Mr. Lowell. Mrs. Norton sat the other 
 side of our host, and he divided his attention loyally 
 between us. He talked with me about Spiritualism as 
 it is called, the humbug of which excites his deepest ire, 
 although no one could believe more entirely than he in 
 magnetism and the unfathomed ties between man and 
 man. He told me many curious things about the traps 
 which had been laid by well-meaning friends to bring 
 him into "spiritual" circles. But he said, "If I go to a 
 friend's house for the purpose of exposing a fraud in 
 which she believes, I am doing a very disagreeable thing 
 and not what she invited me for. Forster and I were in- 
 vited to Lord Dufferin's to a little dinner with Home. 
 I refused, but Forster went, saying beforehand to Lord 
 Dufferin that Home would have no spirits about if he 
 came. Lord Dufferin said, * Nonsense/ and the dinner 
 came off; but they were hardly seated at table when 
 Home announced that there was an adverse influence 
 present and the spirits would not appear. 'Ah/ said 
 Forster, 'my spirits in this case were clearer than yours, 
 for they told me before I came that there would be no 
 manifestations tonight. ' ' 
 
 Speaking of dreams, he said he was convinced that no 
 
164 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 man (judging from his own experience, which could not 
 be altogether singular, but must be a type of the experi- 
 ence of others), he believed no writer, neither Shake- 
 speare nor Scott nor any other who had ever invented a 
 character, had ever been known to dream about the 
 creature of his imagination. It would be like a man's 
 dreaming of meeting himself, which was clearly an im- 
 possibility. Things exterior to oneself must always be 
 the basis of our dreams. This talk about characters led 
 him to say how mysterious and beautiful the action of 
 the mind was around any given subject. "Suppose/* he 
 said, " this wine-glass were a character, fancy it a man, 
 endue it with certain qualities, and soon fine filmy webs 
 of thoughts almost impalpable coming from every direc- 
 tion, and yet we know not from where, spin and weave 
 around it until it assumes form and beauty and becomes 
 instinct with life. ..." 
 
 Mr. Lowell asked him some question in a low voice 
 about the country, when I heard him say presently that 
 it was very much grown up, indeed he should not know 
 oftentimes that he was not in England, things went on 
 so much the same and with very few exceptions (hardly 
 worth mentioning) he was let alone precisely as he would 
 have been there. 
 
 He loves to talk of Gad's Hill and stopped joyfully 
 from other talk to tell me how his daughter Mary ar- 
 ranged his table with flowers. He speaks continually of 
 her great taste in combining flowers. "Sometimes she 
 will have nothing but water-lilies," he said, as if the 
 memory were a fragrance. 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 165 
 
 Some one has said, "We cannot love and be wise." 
 I will gladly give away the inconsistent wisdom, for 
 Jamie and I are truly penetrated with grateful love to 
 C.D. 
 
 Wednesday , March 3. Mr. Dickens came over 
 last night with Messrs. Osgood and Dolby, to pass the 
 evening and have a little punch and supper and a merry 
 game with us. . . . 
 
 They left punctually before eleven, having promised 
 the driver they would not keep him waiting in the cold. 
 Jamie has every day long walks with him. He has told 
 him much regarding the forms and habits of his life. 
 He is fond of "Gad's Hill," and his "dear daughters" 
 and their aunt, Miss Hogarth, make his home circle. 
 What a dear one it is to him can be seen whenever his 
 thought turns that way ; and if his letters do not come 
 punctually, he is in low spirits. He is a great actor and 
 artist, but above all a great and loving and well-beloved 
 man. (This I cling to in memory of Mr. Emerson's 
 dictum.) 
 
 I am deep in Carlyle's history and every little thing I 
 hear chimes in with that. After the dinner (at the 
 Parker) the other night, Mr. Dickens thought he would 
 take a warm bath; but, the water being drawn, he 
 began playing the clown in pantomime on the edge of 
 the bath (with his clothes on) for the amusement of 
 Dolby and Osgood; in a moment and before he knew 
 where he was, he had tumbled in head over heels, clothes 
 and all. A second and improved edition of "Les Noy- 
 ades," I thought. Surely this book is a marvel of thought 
 
166 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 and labor. Why, why have I left it unknown to myself 
 until now ? I fear, unlike Lowell, it is because I could 
 not read eighteen uninterrupted hours without apo- 
 plexy or some other 'exy, which would destroy what 
 power I have forever. 
 
 March 6. Mr. Dickens dined here last night 
 without company except Messrs. Dolby and Osgood 
 and Howells. We had a very merry time. They had 
 been to visit the Cambridge Printing Office in the after- 
 noon and had been shown so many things that "the 
 chief" said he began to think he should have a bitter 
 hatred against any mortal who undertook to show him 
 anything else in the world, and laughed immoderately 
 at J. T. F/s proposition to show him the new fruit house 
 afterward. We all had a game of Nincomtwitch and 
 separated rather early because we were going to a party ; 
 and as C. D. shook me by the hand to say good-bye, he 
 said he hoped we would have a better time at this party 
 than he ever had at any party in all his life. A part of 
 the dinner-time was taken up by half guess and half 
 calculation of how far Mr. Dickens's manuscript would 
 extend in a single line. Mr. Osgood said 40 miles. J. 
 said 100,000 ( ! !). I believe they are really going to find 
 out. C. D. said he felt as if it would go farther than 40 
 miles, and was inclined to be "down" on Osgood until 
 he saw him doing figures in his head after a fearful 
 fashion. All this amusing talk served to give one a 
 strange, weird sensation of the value of words over time 
 and space; these little marks of immeasurable value 
 covering so slight a portion of the rough earth ! Howells 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 167 
 
 talked a little of Venice, thought the Ligurians lived 
 better than the Venetians. C. D. said they ate but little 
 meat when he lived in Genoa; chiefly "pasta" with a 
 good soup poured over it. ... 
 
 He leaves Boston today, to return the first of April, 
 so I will end this poor little surface record here, hoping 
 always that the new sheet shall have something written 
 down of a deeper, simpler, and more inseeing nature. 
 
 On the return of Dickens to Boston, Mrs. Fields dined 
 with him at the Parker House, March 31, 1868, and, 
 commenting on his lack of "talent" for sleeping, wrote 
 in her diary : 
 
 I remember Carlyle says, "When Dulness puts his 
 head upon his mattresses, Dulness sleeps," referring to 
 the apathetic people who went on their daily habits and 
 avocations in Paris while men were guillotined by thou- 
 sands in the next street. Mr. Dickens talked as usual, 
 much and naturally first of the various hotels of 
 which he had late experience. The one in Portland was 
 particularly bad, the dinner, poor as it was, being 
 brought in small dishes, " as if Osgood and I should quar- 
 rel over it," everything being very bad and disgusting 
 which the little dishes contained. 
 
 At last they came to the book, "Ecce Homo," in 
 which Dickens can see nothing of value, any more than 
 we. He thinks Jesus foresaw and guarded as well as he 
 could against the misinterpreting of his teaching, that 
 the four Gospels are all derived from some anterior 
 
168 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 written Scriptures made up, perhaps, with additions 
 and interpolations from the "Talmud/* in which he ex- 
 pressed great interest and admiration. Among other 
 things which prove how little the Gospels should be 
 taken literally is the fact that broad phylacteries were not 
 in use until some years after Jesus lived, so that the 
 passage in which this reference occurs, at least, must 
 only be taken as conveying the spirit and temper, not 
 the actual form of speech, of our Lord. Mr. Dickens 
 spoke reverently and earnestly, and said much more if I 
 could recall it perfectly. 
 
 Then he came to "spiritualism" again, and asked if 
 he had ever told us his interview with Colchester, the 
 famous medium. He continued that, being at Kneb- 
 worth one day, Lytton, having finished his dinner and 
 retired to the comfort of his pipe, said : "Why don't you 
 see some of these famous men ? What a pity Home has 
 just gone." (Here Dickens imitated to the life Lytton's 
 manner of speaking, so I could see the man.) "Well," 
 said D., "he went on to say so much about it that I 
 inquired of him who was the next best man. He said 
 there was one Colchester, if possible better than Home. 
 So I took Colchester's address, got Charley Collins, my 
 son-in-law, to write to him asking an interview for five 
 gentlemen and for any day he should designate, the 
 hour being two o'clock. A day being fixed, I wrote to a 
 young French conjuror, with whom I had no acquaint- 
 ance but had observed his great cleverness at his busi- 
 ness before the public, to ask him to accompany us. 
 He acceded with alacrity. Therefore, with poor Chaun- 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 169 
 
 cey Townshend, just dead, and one other person whom 
 I do not at this moment recall, we waited upon Mr. Col- 
 chester. As we entered the room, I leading the way, 
 the man, recognizing me immediately, turned deadly 
 pale, especially when he saw me followed by the con- 
 juror and Townshend, who, with his colored imperial 
 and beard and tight-fitting wig, looked like a member 
 of the detective police. He trembled visibly, became 
 livid to the eyes, all of which was visible in spite of 
 paint with which his face was covered to the eyes. He 
 withdrew for a few minutes, during which we heard 
 him in hot discussion with his accomplice, telling him 
 how he was cornered and trying to imagine some way 
 in which to get out of the trap, the other evidently urg- 
 ing him to go through with it now the best way he could. 
 He returned, therefore, and placed himself with his back 
 to the light, while it shone upon our faces. We sat 
 awhile in silence until he began, insolently turning to 
 me : 'Take up the alphabet and think of somebody who 
 is dead, pass your hands over the letters, and the spirit 
 will indicate the name.' I thought of Mary and took 
 the alphabet, and when I came to M, he rapped; but 
 I was sure that I had unconsciously signified by some 
 movement and determined to be more skilful the next 
 time. 
 
 For the next letter, therefore, he went on to H, and 
 then asked me if that was right. I told him I thought 
 the spirits ought to know. He then began with 
 some one else, but doing nothing he became hotter 
 and hotter, the perspiration pouring from his face, until 
 
iyo MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 he got up, said the spirits were against him, and was 
 about to withdraw. I then rose and told him that it 
 was the most shameless imposition, that he had got us 
 there with the intent to deceive and under false pre- 
 tences, that he had done nothing and could do nothing. 
 He offered to return our money I said the fact of his 
 taking the money at all was the point. At last the 
 wretch said, turning to the Frenchman, 'I did tell you 
 one name, Valentine/ 'Yes/ answered the young con- 
 juror, with a sudden burst of English, 'Yes, but I 
 showed it to you !' indicating with a swift movement of 
 the hand how he had given him a chance." Then it was 
 all up with Colchester, and more scathing words than 
 those spoken by Dickens to him have been seldom 
 spoken by mortal. 
 
 It was the righteous anger of one trying to avenge 
 and help the world. Mr. Dickens always seems to 
 me like one who, working earnestly with his eyes fixed 
 on the immutable, nevertheless finds to his own sur- 
 prise that his words place him among the prophets. 
 He does not arrogate a place to himself there ; indeed 
 he is singularly humble (as it seems to us) in the 
 moral position he takes ; but for all that is led by the 
 Divine Hand to see what a power he is and in an 
 unsought-for manner finds himself among the teachers 
 of the earth. He says nowhere is a man placed in such 
 an unfair position as at church. If one could only be 
 allowed to get up and state his objections, it would be 
 very well, but under the circumstances he declines 
 being preached to. 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 171 
 
 A few days later Mrs. Fields heard Dickens read the 
 "Christmas Carol" for the last time in Boston. 
 
 Such a wonderful evening as it was ! ! We were on fire 
 with enthusiasm and in spite of some people who went 
 with us ... looking, as C. D. said, as if they were sorry 
 they had come, they were really filled with enthusiasm, 
 and enjoying as fully as their critical and crossed natures 
 would allow. He himself was full of fun and put in all 
 manner of queer things for our amusement ; but what he 
 put in, involuntarily, when he turned on a man who was 
 standing staring fixedly at him with an opera glass, was 
 almost more than we could bear. The stolidity of the 
 man, the fixed glass, the despairing, annihilating look of 
 Dickens were too much for our equanimity. 
 
 Thursday. Anniversary of C. D/s marriage day 
 and of John Forster's birthday. C. D. not at all well, 
 coughing all the time and in low spirits. Mr. Dolby 
 came in when J. was there in the morning to say there 
 were two gentlemen from New Bedford (friends of 
 Mr. Osgood's) who wished to see him. Would he allow 
 them to come in ? "No, I '11 be damned if I will," he 
 said, like a spoiled child, starting up from his chair! 
 J. was equally amused and astonished at the outburst, 
 but sleeplessness, narcotics, and the rest of the crew of 
 disturbers have done their worst. My only fear is he 
 may be ill. However, they had a walk together towards 
 noon and he revived, but coughed badly in the evening. 
 I think, too, only $1300 in the house was bad for his 
 spirits ! 
 
172 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 April 7. Dickens . . . told Jamie the other day 
 in walking that he wrote "Nicholas Nickleby" and 
 "Oliver Twist" at the same time for rival magazines 
 from month to month. Once he was taken ill, with both 
 magazines waiting for unwritten sheets. He immedi- 
 ately took steamer for Boulogne, took a room in an inn 
 there, secure from interruption, and was able to return 
 just in season for the monthly issues with his work com- 
 pleted. He sees now how the work of both would have 
 been better done had he worked only upon one at a 
 time. 
 
 After the exertion of last evening he looked pale and 
 exhausted.. Longfellow and Norton joined with us in 
 trying to dissuade him from future Readings after these 
 two. He does not recover his vitality after the effort 
 of reading, and his spirits are naturally somewhat de- 
 pressed by the use of soporifics, which at length became 
 a necessity. . . . " Copperfield " was a tragedy last 
 night less vigor but great tragic power came out of 
 it. 
 
 April 8. In spite of a deluge of rain last night 
 there was a large audience to hear Dickens, and Long- 
 fellow came as usual. He read with more vigor than 
 the night before and seemed better. . . . The time ap- 
 proaches swiftly for our flight to New York. We dread 
 to leave home and would only do it for him, besides, the 
 pleasure must be much in the fact of trying to do some- 
 thing rather than in really doing anything, for I fear he 
 will be too ill and utterly fatigued to care much about 
 anything but rest. 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 173 
 
 Friday, April 10. Left home at eight o' clock in 
 the morning, found our dearly beloved friend C. D. 
 already awaiting us, with two roses in his coat and look- 
 ing as fresh as possible. It was my first ride in America 
 in a compartment car. Mr. Dolby made the fourth in 
 our little party and we had a table and a game of "Nin- 
 com" and "Casino" and talked and laughed and whiled 
 away the time pleasantly until we arrived here at the 
 Westminster Hotel in time for dinner at six. I was im- 
 pressed all day long with the occasional languor which 
 came over C. D. and always with the exquisite delicacy 
 and quickness of his perception, something as fine as the 
 finest woman possesses, which combined itself won- 
 drously with the action of the massive brain and the 
 rapid movement of those strong, strong hands. I felt 
 how deeply we had learned to love him and how hard it 
 would be for us to part. 
 
 At dinner he gave us a marvellous description of his 
 life as a reporter. It seems he invented (in a measure) a 
 system of stenography for himself; this is to say he 
 altered Gurney's system to suit his own needs. He was 
 a very young man, not yet 20, when at seven guineas a 
 week he was engaged as reporter on the" Morning Chron- 
 icle," then a very large and powerful paper. At this 
 period the present Lord Derby, then Mr. Stanley, was 
 beginning his brilliant career, and O'Connell, Shiel, and 
 others were at the height of their powers. Wherever 
 these men spoke a corps of reporters was detailed to 
 follow them and with the utmost expedition forward 
 verbatim reports to the " Chronicle." Often and often he 
 
174 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 has gone by post-chaise to Edinburgh, heard a speech 
 or a part of it (having instructions, whatever happened, 
 to leave the place again at a certain hour, the next re- 
 porter taking up his work where he must leave it), and 
 has driven all the way back to London, a bag of sover- 
 eigns on one side of his body and a bag of slips of paper 
 on the other, writing, writing desperately all the way 
 by the light of a small lamp. At each station a man on 
 horseback would stand ready to seize the sheets already 
 prepared and ride with them to London. Often and 
 often this work would make him deadly sick and he 
 would have to plunge his head out of the window to re- 
 lieve himself; still the writing went steadily forward on 
 very little slips of paper which he held before him, just 
 resting his body on the edge of the seat and his paper on 
 the front of the window underneath the lamp. As the 
 station was reached, a sudden plunge into the pocket of 
 sovereigns would pay the postboys, another behind him 
 would render up the completed pages, and a third into 
 the pocket on the other side would give him the fresh 
 paper to carry forward the inexorable, unremitting work. 
 At this period there was a large sheet started in which 
 all the speeches of Parliament wera reported verbatim 
 in order to preserve them for future reference a mon- 
 strous plan which fell through after a time. For this 
 paper it was especially desired to have a speech of Mr. 
 Stanley accurately reported upon the condition of Ire- 
 land, containing suggestions for the amelioration of the 
 people's suffering. It was a very long and eloquent 
 speech and took many hours in the delivery. There were 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 175 
 
 eight reporters upon the work, each to work three- 
 quarters of an hour and then to retire to write out his 
 portion and be succeeded by the next. It happened that 
 the roll of reporters was exhausted before the speech 
 came to an end and C. D. was called in to report the 
 last portions, which were very eloquent. This was on 
 Friday, and on Saturday the whole was given to the 
 press and the young reporter ran down to the country 
 for a Sunday's rest. Sunday morning had scarcely 
 dawned "when my poor father, who was a man of im- 
 mense energy, surprised me by making his appearance 
 The speech had come into Mr. Stanley's hands, who was 
 most anxious to have it correctly given in order to have 
 it largely circulated in Ireland, and he found it all bosh, 
 hardly a word right, except at the beginning and the 
 end. Sending immediately to the office, he had ob- 
 tained my sheets, at the top of which, according to cus- 
 tom, the name of the reporter was written, and, finding 
 the name of Dickens, had immediately sent in search of 
 me. My father, thinking this would be the making of 
 me, came immediately, and I followed him back to 
 London. I remember perfectly the look of the room and 
 of the two gentlemen in it as I entered Mr. Stanley 
 and his father. They were extremely courteous, but I 
 could see their evident surprise at the appearance of so 
 young a man. For a moment as we talked I had taken a 
 seat extended to me in the middle of the room. Mr. 
 Stanley told me he wished to go over the whole speech, 
 and if I was ready he would begin. Where would I like 
 to sit ? I told him I was very well where I was and we 
 
176 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 would begin immediately. He tried to induce me to sit 
 elsewhere or more comfortably, but at that time in the 
 House of Commons there was nothing but one's knees 
 to write upon and I had formed the habit of it. Without 
 further pause then he began, and went on hour after 
 hour to the end, often becoming very much excited, 
 bringing down his hand with violence upon the desk 
 near which he stood and rising at the end into great elo- 
 quence. 
 
 "In these later years we never meet without that 
 scene returning vividly to my mind, as I have no doubt 
 it does to his also, but I, of course, have never referred 
 to it, leaving him to do so if he shall ever think fit. 
 
 "Shiel was a small man with a queer high voice and 
 spoke very fast. O'Connell had a fine brogue which he 
 cultivated, and a magnificent eye. He had written a 
 speech about this time upon the wrongs of Ireland, and, 
 though he repeated it many, many times during three 
 months when I followed him about the country, I never 
 heard him give it twice the same, nor ever without being 
 himself deeply moved." 1 
 
 Mr. Dickens's imitation of Bulwer Lytton is so vivid 
 that I feel as if it were taking a glimpse at the man him- 
 self. His deaf manner of speaking he represents exactly. 
 He says he is very brilliant and quick in conversation, 
 and knows everything ! ! He is a conscientious and un- 
 remitting student and worker. "I have been surprised 
 to see how well his books wear. Lately I have reread 
 
 1 In Yesterdays with Authors (see pp. 230-31), Fields made use, with re- 
 visions and omissions, of this portion of his wife's diary. 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 177 
 
 'Pelham' and I assure you I found it admirable. His 
 speech at the dinner given to me just before leaving was 
 well written, full of good things, but delivered exe- 
 crably. He lacks a kind of confidence in his own powers 
 which is necessary in a good speaker." 
 
 Speaking of O'Connell, Mr. Dickens said there had 
 been nobody since who could compare with him but 
 John Bright, who is at present the finest speaker in Eng- 
 land. Cobden was fond of reasoning, and hardly what 
 would be called a brilliant speaker ; but his noble truth- 
 fulness and devotion to the cause to which he had 
 pledged himself made him one of the grandest of Eng- 
 land's great men. I asked about Mrs. Cobden. He told 
 me she had been made very comfortable and in a beauti- 
 ful manner. After her husband's death, his affairs hav- 
 ing become involved by some bad investment he had 
 made, a committee of six gentlemen came together to 
 consider what should be done to commemorate his great 
 and unparalleled devotion to his country. The result 
 was, instead of having a public subscription for Mrs. 
 Cobden with the many unavoidable and disagreeable 
 features of such a step, each of these gentlemen sub- 
 scribed about 12,000, thus making 70,000, a suffi- 
 cient sum to make her most comfortable for life. . . . 
 
 I have forgotten to say how in those long rides from 
 Edinburgh the mud dashed up and into the opened 
 windows of the post-chaise, nor how they would be 
 obliged to fling it off from their faces and even from the 
 papers on which they wrote. As Dickens told us, he 
 flung the imaginary evil from him as he did the real in 
 
178 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 the days long gone, and we could see him with the old 
 disgust returned. He said, by the way, that never 
 since those old days when he left the House of Com- 
 mons as a Reporter had he entered it again. His hatred 
 of the falseness of talk, of bombastic eloquence, he had 
 heard there made it impossible for him ever to go in 
 again to hear anyone. 
 
 Sunday, April 12. Last night we went to the circus 
 together, C. D., J., and I. It is a pretty building. I was 
 astonished at the knowledge C. D. showed of every- 
 thing before him. He knew how the horses were sten- 
 ciled, how tight the wire bridles were, etc. The monkey 
 was, however, the chief attraction. He was rather 
 drunk or tired last night and did not show to good ad- 
 vantage, but he knew how to do all the things quite as 
 well as the men. When the young rope-dancer slipped 
 (he was but an apprentice at the business, without 
 wages, C. D. thought), he tried over and over again to 
 accomplish a certain somersault until he achieved it. 
 "That 's the law of the circus," said C. D. ; "they are 
 never allowed to give up, and it 's a capital rule for 
 everything in life. Doubtless this idea has been handed 
 down from the Greeks or Romans and these people 
 know nothing about where it came from. But it 's well 
 for all of us." . . . 
 
 At six o'clock Mr. Dickens and Mr. Dolby came in to 
 dinner. He seemed much revived both in health and 
 spirits, in spite of the weather. . . . 
 
 Dickens talked of Frederick Lemaitre ; he is upwards 
 of sixty years old now; but he has always lived a 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 179 
 
 wretched life, a low, poor fellow ; yet he will surprise the 
 actors continually by the new points he will make. He 
 will come in at rehearsal, go about the stage in an abject 
 wretched manner, with clothes torn and soiled as he 
 has just emerged from his vulgar, vicious haunts, and 
 without giving sign or glimmer of his power. Presently 
 he says to the prompter, who always has a tallow candle 
 burning on his box, "Give me your candle"; then he 
 will blow it out and with the snuff make a cross upon 
 his book. "What are you going to do, Frederick ?" the 
 actors say. " I don't know yet ; you '11 see by and by," 
 he says, and day after day perhaps will pass, until one 
 night when he will suddenly flash upon them some won- 
 derful point. They, the actors, watching him, try to 
 hold themselves prepared, and if he gives them the least 
 hint will mould their parts to fit his. Sometimes he 
 will ask for a chair. "What will you do with it, Fred- 
 erick ?" He does not reply, but night after night the 
 chair is placed there until he makes his point. He often 
 comes hungry to the theatre, and the manager must 
 give him a dinner and pay for it before he will go on. 
 Fechter, from whom these particulars come, tells 
 Dickens that there can be nothing more wonderful than 
 his acting in the old scene of the miserable father who 
 kills his own son at the inn. The son, coming in rich and 
 handsome, and seeing this old sot about to be driven 
 from the porch by the servant, tells the man to give him 
 meat and wine. While he eats and drinks, the wretch 
 sees how freely the rich man handles his gold and re- 
 solves to kill him. Fechter's description, with his own 
 
i8o MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 knowledge of Lemaitre, had so inspired Dickens that 
 he was able to reproduce him again for us. 
 
 Wednesday y April 15. [On returning from a read- 
 ing in "Steinway Hall, than which nothing could be 
 worse for reading or speaking "] : He soon came up 
 after a little soup, when he called for brandy and lemons 
 and made such a burnt brandy punch as has been 
 seldom tasted this side of the "pond." As the punch 
 blazed his spirits rose and he began to sing an old- 
 fashioned comic song such as in the old days was given 
 between the plays at the theatre. One song led to an- 
 other until we fell into inextinguishable laughter, for 
 anything more comic than his renderings of the chorus 
 cannot be imagined. Surely there is no living actor 
 who could excel him in these things if he chose to exert 
 his ability. His rendering of " Chrush ke Ian ne chous- 
 kin ! !" or a lingo which sounded like that (the refrain 
 of an old Irish song) was something tremendous. We 
 laughed till I was really afraid he would make himself 
 too hoarse to read the next night. He gave a queer old 
 song full of rhymes, obtained with immense difficulty 
 and circumlocution, to the word "annuity," which it 
 appeared has been sought by an old woman with great 
 assiduity and granted with immense incongruity. The 
 negro minstrels have in great part supplanted these 
 queer old English, Irish, and Scotch ballads, but they 
 are sure to come up again from time to time. We did 
 not separate until 12, and felt the next morning (as he 
 said) as if we had had a regular orgy. They did not 
 forget, Dolby and he, to pay a proper tribute to "Mary- 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 181 
 
 land, My Maryland," and "Dixie" as very stirring 
 ballads. 
 
 [After another reading, from which Dickens came 
 home extremely tired] : We ran in at once to talk with 
 him and he soon cheered up. When I first pushed open 
 the door he was a perfect picture of prostration, his 
 head thrown back without support on the couch, the 
 blood suffusing his throat and temples again where he 
 had been very white a few minutes before. This is a 
 physical peculiarity with Dickens which I have never 
 seen before in a man, though women are very subject 
 to that thing. Excitement and exercise of reading will 
 make the blood rush into his hands until they become 
 at times almost black, and his face and head (especially 
 since he has become so fatigued) will turn from red to 
 white and back to red again without his being conscious 
 of it. 
 
 Friday, April 17. Weather excessively warm, sky 
 often overcast. Last evening Mr. Dickens read again 
 and for the last time " Copperfield " and " Bob Sawyer." 
 He was much exhausted and said he watched a man 
 who was carried out in a fainting condition to see how 
 they managed it, with the lively interest of one who was 
 about to go through the same scene himself. The heat 
 from the gas around him was intolerable. After the 
 reading we went into his room to have a little soup, 
 "broiled bones," and a sherry cobbler. His spirits were 
 good in spite of fatigue, the thought of home and the 
 memories of England coming back vividly. We, finally, 
 from talk of English scenery, found ourselves in Strat- 
 
1 82 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 ford. He says there is an inn at Rochester, very old, 
 which he has no doubt Shakespeare haunted. This con- 
 viction came forcibly upon him one night as he was 
 walking that way and discovered Charles's Wain set- 
 ting over the chimney just as Shakespeare has described. 
 "When you come to Gad's Hill, please God, I will show 
 you Charles's Wain setting over the old roof." 
 
 We left him early, hoping he would sleep, but he 
 hardly closed his eyes all night. Whether he was 
 haunted by visions of home, or what the cause was, we 
 cannot discover, but whatever it may be, his strength 
 fails under such unnatural and continual excitement. 
 
 Saturday, April 18. Mr. Dickens has a badly 
 sprained foot. We like our rooms at his hotel 47 is 
 the number. Last night was "Marigold" and "Gamp" 
 for the last time. He threw in a few touches for our 
 amusement and a great deal of vigor into the whole. 
 Afterward we took supper together, when he told us 
 some remarkable things. Among others he rehearsed a 
 scene described to him years ago by Dr. Eliotson of 
 London of a man about to be hanged. His last hour had 
 approached as the doctor entered the cell of the crim- 
 inal, who was as justly sentenced as ever a wretch was 
 for having cut off the end of his own illegitimate child. 
 The man was rocking miserably in his chair back and 
 forth in a weak, maudlin condition, while the clergyman 
 in attendance, who had spoken of him as repentant and 
 religious in his frame of mind, was administering the 
 sacrament. The wine stood in a cup at one side until the 
 sacred words were said, when at the proper moment the 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 183 
 
 clergyman gave it to the man, who was still rocking 
 backward and forward, muttering, "What will my poor 
 mother think of this?" Finding the cup in his hands, 
 he looked into it for a moment as if trying to collect him- 
 self, and then, putting on his regular old pothouse man- 
 ner, he said, "Gen'lemen, I drink your health," and 
 drained the cup in a drunken way. "I think," said 
 C. D., "it is thirty years since I heard Dr. Eliotson tell 
 me this, but I shall never forget the horror that scene 
 inspired in my mind." The talk had taken this turn 
 from the fact of a much-dreaded Press dinner which is 
 to come off tonight and which jocosely assumed the 
 idea of a hanging to their minds. C. D. said he had often 
 thought how restricted one's conversation must become 
 with a man who was to be hanged in half an hour. "You 
 could not say, if it rains, 'We shall have fine weather 
 tomorrow!' for what would that be to him? For my 
 part, I think I should confine my remarks to the times 
 of Julius Caesar and King Alfred ! !" He then related a 
 story of a condemned man out of whom no evidence 
 could be elicited. He would not speak. At last he was 
 seated before a fire for a few moments, just before his 
 execution, when a servant entered and smothered what 
 fire there was with a huge hodful of coal. "In half an 
 hour that will be a good fire" he was heard to murmur. 
 
 Mr. Dickens has now read 76 times. It seems like a 
 dream. 
 
 Sunday, April 19. Last night the great New 
 York Press dinner came off. It was a close squeeze with 
 Mr. Dickens to get there at all. He had been taken 
 
184 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 lame the night before, his foot becoming badly swollen 
 and painful. In spite of a skilful physician he grew worse 
 and worse every hour, and when the time for the dinner 
 arrived he was unable to bear anything upon his foot. 
 So long as he was above ground, however, it was a 
 necessity he should go, and an hour and a half after the 
 time appointed, with his foot sewed up in black silk, he 
 made his way to Delmonico's. Poor man ! Nothing 
 could be more unfortunate, but he bore this difficult 
 part off in a stately and composed manner as if it were a 
 sign of the garter he were doffing for the first time in- 
 stead of a badge of ill health. The worst of it is that the 
 papers will telegraph news of his illness to England. 
 This seems to disturb him more than anything else. 
 Ah ! What a mystery these ties of love are such pain, 
 such ineffable happiness the only happiness. After 
 his return he repeated to me from memory every word 
 of his speech without dropping one. He never thinks of 
 such a thing as writing his speeches, but simply turns it 
 over in his mind and "balances the sentences," when he 
 is all right. He produced an immense effect on the Press 
 of New York, tremendous applause responding to every 
 sentence. Curtis's speech was very beautiful. "I think 
 him the very best speaker I ever heard," said C. D. "I 
 am sure he would produce a great effect in England from 
 the sympathetic quality he possesses." I have seldom 
 seen a finer exercise of energy of will than Mr. Dickens's 
 attendance on this dinner. It brought its own reward, 
 too, for he returned with his foot feeling better. He 
 made a rum punch in his room, where we sat until one 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 185 
 
 o'clock. After repeating his speech, he gave us an imi- 
 tation of old Rogers as he would repeat a quatrain : 
 
 "The French have sense in what they do 
 
 Which we are quite without, 
 For what in Paris they call gotit 
 In England we call gout." 
 
 Mr. Dolby sat at dinner near a poor bohemian of great 
 keenness of mind, Henry Clapp, by name, who said some 
 things worthy of Rivarol or any other wittiest French- 
 man we might choose to select. Speaking of Horace 
 Greeley (the chairman at the dinner), he said : "He was 
 a self-made man and worshipped his creator." Of Dr. 
 
 O , a vain and popular clergyman, that "he was 
 
 continually looking for a vacancy in the Trinity." Of 
 Mr. Dickens, that "nothing gave him so high an idea 
 of Mr. Dickens's genius as the fact that he created 
 Uriah Heep without seeing a certain Mr. Young (who 
 sat near them), and Wilkins Micawber without being 
 acquainted with himself (Henry Clapp)." Of Henry 
 
 T that "he aimed at nothing and always hit the 
 
 mark precisely." . . . 
 
 This speech of Mr. Dickens will make a fine effect, a 
 reactionary effect, in the country. The enthusiasm for 
 him knew no bounds. Charles Norton spoke for New 
 England. I had a visit from him this morning as well 
 as from Mr. Osgood, Dolby, etc. C. D. lunched at the 
 Jockey Club with Dr. Barker and Donald Mitchell and 
 returned to dine with us. He talked of actors, artists, 
 and the clergy church and religion but was evi- 
 dently suffering more or less all the time with his foot, 
 
1 86 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 yet kept up a good heart until nine o'clock, when he re- 
 tired to the privacy of his own room. He feels bitterly 
 the wrong under which English dissenters have labored 
 for years in being obliged not only to support their own 
 church interests in which they do believe, but also the 
 abuses of the English Church against which their whole 
 lives are a continual protest. He spoke of the beauty of 
 the landscape through which we had both been walking 
 and driving under a grey sky, with the eager spring 
 looking out among leafless branches and dancing in the 
 red and yellow sap. He said it had always been a fancy 
 of his to write a story, keeping the whole thing in the 
 same landscape, but picturing its constantly varying 
 effects upon men and things and chiefly, of course, upon 
 the minds of men. He asked me if I had ever read 
 Grabbers "Lover's Ride." We became indignant over 
 a tax of five per cent which had just been laid upon the 
 entire proceeds of his Readings, telegraphed to Wash- 
 ington, and found that it was unjust and had been 
 taken off. 
 
 Monday , April 20. Attended a meeting of a new 
 "institution" just on foot, first called "Sorosis" and 
 afterwards "Woman's League" for the benefit and 
 mutual support of women. It was the first official meet- 
 ing, but it proved so unofficial that I was entertained, 
 and amused as well, and was able on my return to make 
 Mr. Dickens laugh until he declared if anything could 
 make him feel better for the evening that account of the 
 Woman's League would. 
 
 Tuesday. I find it very difficult today to write at 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 187 
 
 all. Mr. Dickens is on his bed and has been unable to 
 rise, in spite of efforts all day long. . . . Mr. Norton 
 has been here and we have been obliged to go out, but 
 our hearts have been in that other room all the time 
 where our dear friend lies suffering. . . . Oh! these 
 last times what heartbreak there is in the words. I 
 lay awake since early this morning (though we did not 
 leave him until half-past twelve) feeling as if when I 
 arose we must say good-bye. How relieved I felt to 
 brush the tears away and know there was one more day, 
 but even that gain was lessened when I found he could 
 not rise and even this must be a day of separation too. 
 When Jamie told him last night he felt like erecting a 
 statue to him because of his heroism in doing his duty 
 so well, he laughed and said, "No, don't ; take down one 
 of the old ones instead !" 
 
 The diary goes on to express the genuine sorrow of 
 Mrs. Fields and her husband at parting from a friend 
 who had so completely absorbed their affection, but in 
 terms which the diarist herself would have been the 
 first to regard as more suitable for manuscript than for 
 print. The pages that contain them throw more light 
 upon Mrs. Fields a warm and tender light it is 
 than upon Dickens. There is, however, one paragraph, 
 written after the Fieldses had returned to Boston from 
 New York, which tells something both of Dickens and 
 of Queen Victoria, in whose personality the public in- 
 terest appears to be perpetual ; and with this passage 
 the quotations from the diary shall end. 
 
1 88 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Friday , April 24. After the Press dinner in New 
 York Mr. Dickens repeated all his speech to me, as I 
 believe I have said above, never dropping a word. "I 
 feel," he said, "as if I were listening to the sound of my 
 own voice as I recall it. A very curious sensation." 
 Jamie asked him if Curtis was quite right in the facts of 
 his speech. He said, "Not altogether, as, for instance, 
 in that matter about the Queen and our little play, 
 'Frozen Deep/ We had played it many times with con- 
 siderable success, when the Queen heard of it and 
 Colonel Phipps ( ?) called upon me and said he wished 
 the Queen could see the play. Was there no hall which 
 would be appropriate for the occasion ? What did I 
 think of Buckingham Palace ? I replied that could not 
 be, for my daughters played in the piece and I had never 
 asked myself to be presented at court nor had I ever 
 taken the proper steps to introduce them there, and of 
 course they could not go as amateur performers where 
 they had never been as visitors. This seemed to trouble 
 him a good deal, so I said I would find some hall which 
 would be appropriate for the purpose and would ap- 
 point an evening, which I did immediately, taking the 
 Gallery of Illustration and having it fitted up for the 
 purpose. I then drew up a list of the company, chiefly 
 of artists, literary and scientific men, and interesting 
 ladies, which I caused to be submitted to the Queen, 
 begging her to reject or add as she thought proper, set- 
 ting aside forty seats for the royal party. The whole 
 thing went off finely until after the first play was over, 
 when the Queen sent round a request that I would come 
 
TAVISTOCK HOUSE THEATRE. 
 
 UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF MB. CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 On Twelfth Night, Tuetday, January 6</i, 1857, AT A QUARTER BEFORE 8 O'CLOCK, will bepretented 
 AN ENTIRELY NEW 
 
 ROMANTIC DRAMA, IN THREE ACTS, BY MR. WILKIE COLLINS. 
 
 THE FROZEN DEEP. 
 
 The Machinery and Properties by MR. IRELAND, of the Theatre Royal, AMpM. The Drew, 1-y MESSRS. NATHAN, 
 of Titchbournt Street, Haymarktt. Perruquier, MR. WILSON, of the Strand. 
 
 TOE PROLOGUE WILL BE DELIVERED BY MR. JOHN FORSTER. 
 
 CAPTAIN EBSWORTH, of The Sea Me 
 CAPTAIN HELDINO, of The Wanderer 
 LIEUTENANT CRAYFORD . 
 FRANK ALUERSLEY ... 
 RICHARD WARDOUR . . -i 
 LIEUTENANT STEVENTON . 
 
 MB. EDWARD PIGOTT. 
 MR. ALFRED DICKENS. 
 MR. MARK LEMON. 
 MR. WILKIE COLLINS. 
 MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 
 MR. Youso CHARLES. 
 
 JOHN WANT, Ship'$ Cook . . , . . . . Mn. AUOCSTOS EGO, A.R.A. 
 
 (OFFICERS AND CREWS OF THE SEA MEW AND WANDERER.) 
 
 MRS. STEVENTON ........ Miss HELEN. 
 
 ROSE EBSWORTH ......... Miss KATE. 
 
 LUCY CRAYFORD ......... Miss HOOARTU. 
 
 CLAUA BURNHAM . . ....... Miss MARY. 
 
 NURSE ESTHER ......... MRS. WILLS. 
 
 MAID ............ Miss MARTHA. 
 
 THE SCENERY AND SCENIC EFFECTS OF THE FIRST ACT, BY MR. TELBIN. 
 THE SCENERY AND SCENIC EFFECTS OF THE SECOND AND THIRD ACTS, BY Mr. STANFIELD, BJL 
 
 ASSISTED BY Mil DANSON. 
 THE ACT-DROP, ALSO BY Mr. STANFIELD, R.A. 
 
 AT THE END OF THE PLAY, HALF-AN-HOUR FOR REFRESHMENT. 
 
 To Conclude with MRS. INCUBALD'S Farce, in Two Acta, of 
 
 ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 
 
 (THE SCENE is LAID re SEVILLE.) 
 
 THE DOCTOR . . . . MR. CHARLEH DICKERS. 
 
 PEDRILLO MR. MARK LFJKW. 
 
 THE MARQUIS DE LA GUARDIA . . . . . .MR. Yoiwo CHARLES. 
 
 CREGORIO MR. WILKIE COLLINS. 
 
 CAMILLA Miss KATE. 
 
 JACINTHA Miss HooABTir. 
 
 Musical Composer and Conductor of the Orchestra-Mr. FRANCESCO BER6ER, who will 
 preside at the Piano. 
 
 CARRIAGES MAY BE ORDERED AT IIALF-PAST ELEVEN. 
 GOD SAVE THE QUEEN ! 
 
 FACSIMILE PLAY-BILL OF "THE FROZEN DEEP," WITH DICKENS AS 
 ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 189 
 
 and see her. This was considered an act of immense con- 
 descension and kindness on her part, and the little party 
 behind the scenes were delighted. Unfortunately, I had 
 just prepared myself for the farce which was to follow 
 and was already standing in motley dress with a red 
 nose. I knew I could not appear in that plight, so I 
 begged leave to be excused on that ground. However, 
 that was forgiven and all passed off well, although the 
 large expense of the whole thing of course fell on me, 
 which amounted to one hundred and fifty or two hun- 
 dred pounds. Several years after, when Prince Albert 
 died, the Queen sent to me for a copy of the play. I told 
 Colonel Phipps the play had never been printed and 
 was the property of a gentleman, Mr. Wilkie Collins. 
 Then would I have it copied ? So I had a very beautiful 
 copy made and bound in the most perfect manner, and 
 presented to her Majesty. Whereupon the Princess of 
 Prussia, seeing this, asked for another for herself. I said 
 I would again ask the permission of Mr. Collins and 
 again I had a beautiful with copy made great labor. 
 Then the Queen sent to ask the price of the books. I 
 sent word that my friend, Mr. Wilkie Collins, was a 
 gentleman who would, I was sure, hear to nothing of the 
 kind and begged her acceptance of the volumes. " "How 
 has the Queen shown her gratitude for such favors ?" I 
 said. "We have never heard anything more from her 
 since that time." Good Mr. Dolby said quietly, "You 
 know in England we call her 'Her Ungracious Maj- 
 esty.'" Certainly one would not have believed it pos- 
 sible for even a queen's nature to have become so 
 
190 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 hardened as this to the kindly acts of any human being, 
 not to speak of the efforts of one of her most noble sub- 
 jects and perhaps the greatest genius of our time. 
 
 If any reader wishes to follow the further course of 
 the friendship between Dickens and the Fieldses, he has 
 only to turn to "Yesterdays with Authors," in which 
 many letters written by Dickens after April, 1868, are 
 quoted, and many remembrances of their intercourse 
 when the Fieldses visited England in 1869, the year 
 before Dickens's death, are presented. Here it will 
 suffice to quote one out of several passages in Mrs. 
 Fields 's diary relating to Dickens, and to bring to light 
 a single characteristic little note from Dickens, not 
 hitherto printed. 
 
 On Wednesday, May 12, 1869, Mrs. Fields wrote of 
 Dickens : 
 
 He drove us through the Parks in the fashionable 
 afternoon hour and afterward to dine with him at the 
 St. James, where Fechter and Dolby were the only out- 
 siders. Mrs. Collins was like one of Stothard's pictures. 
 I felt this more even after refreshing my memory of 
 Stothard's coloring at the Kensington Museum yester- 
 day. C. D. told me that the book of all others which he 
 read perpetually and of which he never tired, the book 
 which always appeared more imaginative in proportion 
 to the fresh imagination he brings to it, a book for in- 
 exhaustiveness to be placed before every other book, is 
 Carlyle's "French Revolution." When he was writing 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 191 
 
 "A Tale of Two Cities," he asked Carlyle if he might 
 see some book to which he referred in his history. 
 Whereat Carlyle sent down to him all his books, and 
 Dickens read them faithfully ; but the more he read the 
 more he was astounded to find how the facts but passed 
 through the alembic of Carlyle's brain and had come 
 out and fitted themselves each as a part of the one great 
 whole, making a compact result, indestructible and un- 
 rivalled, and he always found himself turning away 
 from the books of reference and rereading this marvel- 
 lous new growth from those dry bones with renewed 
 wonder. 
 
 The note from Dickens read : 
 
 GAD'S HILL PLACE 
 HICHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT 
 Wednesday Sixth October, 1869 
 
 MY DEAR FIELDS : 
 
 Delighted to enjoy the prospect of seeing you and 
 yours on Saturday. Wish you had been at Birming- 
 ham. Wish you were not going home. Wish you had 
 had nothing to do with the Byron matter. 1 Wish Mrs. 
 Stowe was in the pillory. Wish Fechter had gone over 
 when he ought. Wish he may not go under when he 
 ought n't. 
 
 With love, 
 
 Ever affectionately yours, 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS 
 
 1 Mrs. Stowe's unhappily historic article on "The True Story of Lady 
 Byron's Life" appeared in the Atlantic Monthly for September, 1869. 
 
gigfcam fig ;&0jdbsler , j&t nt. 
 
 
 _ 
 
 Facsimile note from Dickens to Fields 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 193 
 
 Among the papers preserved by Mrs. Fields there are, 
 besides the manuscript letters of Dickens himself, many 
 letters written after his death by his sister-in-law, Miss 
 Georgina Hogarth. From bits of these, and especially 
 from a letter written by Dickens's daughter, while his 
 death was still a poignant grief, the affection in which 
 he was held in his own household is touchingly imaged 
 forth. 
 
 "All the Old World," wrote Miss Dickens, "all the 
 New World loved him. He never had anything to do 
 with a living soul without attaching them to him. If 
 strangers could so love him, you can tell a little what he 
 must have been to his own flesh and blood. It is a 
 glorious inheritance to have such blood flowing in one's 
 veins. I 'm so glad I have never changed my name." 
 
 From one of Miss Hogarth's letters a single passage 
 may be taken, since it adds something of first-hand 
 knowledge to the accessible facts about one piece of 
 Dickens's writing which in so far as the editor of 
 these pages is aware has never seen the light of 
 print. This letter was written in the September after 
 Dickens's death: 
 
 " I must now tell you about the beautiful little New 
 Testament which he wrote for his children. I am sorry 
 to say it is never to be published. It happens that he ex- 
 pressed that decided determination only last autumn to 
 me, so we have no alternative. He wrote it years ago 
 when his elder children were quite little. It is about 
 sixteen short chapters, chiefly adapted from St. Luke's 
 Gospel, most beautiful, most touching, most simple, as 
 
i 9 4 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 such a narrative should be. He never would have it 
 printed and I used to read it to the little boys in MS. 
 before they were old enough to read writing themselves. 
 When Charley's children became old enough to have 
 this kind of teaching, I promised Bessy (his wife) that 
 I would make her a copy of this History, and I deter- 
 mined to do it as a Christmas Gift for her last year, but 
 before I began my copy I asked Charles if he did not 
 think it would be well for him to have it printed, at all 
 events for private circulation, if he would not publish it 
 (though I think it is a pity he would never do that !). 
 He said he would look over the MS. and take a week or 
 two to consider. At the end of the time he gave it back 
 to me and said he had decided never to publish it or 
 even have it privately printed. He said I might make a 
 copy for Bessy, or for any one of his children, but for no 
 one else, and that he also begged that we would never 
 even lend the MS., or a copy of it, to any one to take 
 out of the house ; so there is no doubt about his strong 
 feeling on the subject, and we must obey it. I made my 
 copy for Bessy and gave it to her last Christmas. After 
 his death the original MS. became mine. As it was never 
 published, of course it did not count as one of Mr. 
 Forster's MSS., and therefore it was one of his private 
 papers, which were left to me. So I gave it at once to 
 Mamie, who was, I thought, the most natural and 
 proper possessor of it, as being his eldest daughter. You 
 must come to England and read it, dear Friend ! as we 
 must not send it to you ! We should be glad to see you 
 and to show it to you and Mr. Fields in our own house." 
 
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 195 
 
 Miss Hogarth must have known full well that, if this 
 manuscript Gospel according to Charles Dickens was 
 to be shown to anybody outside his immediate circle, 
 he himself would have chosen the Charles Street friends 
 from what he called to them his "native Boston." 
 
VI 
 
 STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 
 
 HAD anyone crossed the Charles Street threshold of 
 the Fieldses with the expectation of encountering within 
 none but the New England Augustans, he would soon 
 have found himself happily disillusioned, even at a 
 time when there was no Dickens in Boston. As it was 
 in reality, so must it be in these pages, if they are to ful- 
 fill their purpose of restoring a vanished scene, the 
 variety of which must indeed be counted among its 
 most distinctive characteristics. The pages that follow 
 will accordingly serve to illustrate the familiar fact that 
 the pudding of a "family party" is often rendered the 
 more acceptable by the introduction of a few plums not 
 plucked from the domestic tree. 
 
 Mrs. Fields once noted in her diary the circumstance 
 that, when her husband came to Boston from Ports- 
 mouth at the age of fourteen, and began to work as a 
 "boy" in the bookshop of Carter & Hendee, the second 
 of these employers had a box at the theatre and, to keep 
 his young employees happy, used constantly to ask one 
 or more of them to see a play in his company. Thus 
 enabled in his youth to see such actors as the elder 
 Booth, Fanny Kemble and her father, and many others 
 of the best players to be seen in America at the time, 
 Fields acquired a love of the theatre and of stage folk 
 which stood him in good stead throughout his life. A 
 
JAMES T. FIELDS AT FIFTEEN 
 
 From a drawing by a French painter 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 197 
 
 certain exuberance in his own nature must have sought 
 a response in social contacts other than those of the 
 straiter sect of his local contemporaries. In men and 
 women of the stage, in authors from beyond the com- 
 pass of the local horizon, writers with whom he formed 
 relations in his double capacity of editor and publisher, 
 in artists and public men outside the immediate "liter- 
 ary" circle of Boston, Fields took an unceasing delight, 
 shared by his wife, and still communicable through her 
 journals. 
 
 From their pages, then, I propose to assemble here a 
 group of passages relating first to stage folk, and then 
 to others, and, since these records so largely explain 
 themselves, to burden them as lightly as possible with 
 explanations. Slender as certain of the entries are, each 
 contributes something to a recovery of the time and of 
 the persons that graced it. 
 
 Thomas Bailey Aldrich, says his biographer, used to 
 declare in his later years, "Though I am not genuine 
 Boston, I am Boston-plated." His intimate relation 
 with Boston began in 1865, through the publication of 
 a "Blue and Gold" edition of his poems by the firm 
 of which Fields was a member, and the beginning of 
 his editorship of "Every Saturday," an illustrated 
 journal issued under the same auspices. His range of 
 acquaintance before that time was such that when the 
 "plating" process began, it was really more like a 
 transmutation of metals, he sometimes served as a 
 
198 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 sympathetic link between his new Boston and his old 
 New York. It was in New York, only a few weeks 
 after the assassination of Lincoln, that Aldrich appears 
 in the diary, fresh from seeing his friend, Edwin 
 Booth. 
 
 May 3, 1865. An hour before we went to tea, 
 Aldrich came to see us. He said he and Launt Thomp- 
 son were staying with Edwin Booth alternate nights 
 during this season of sorrow; that it was "all right 
 between himself and the lady he was about to marry." 
 Then he described to us the first night while Booth was 
 plunged in agony. He said the gas was left burning low 
 and the bed stood in the corner, just where he lay sleep- 
 less, looking at a fearfully good crayon portrait of Wilkes 
 Booth which glared at him over the gas. Launt Thomp- 
 son started with the mother from New York for Phila- 
 delphia, where she was going to join her daughter the 
 day that John Wilkes was shot, and an extra containing 
 the news was brought them by a newsboy as they 
 stepped on the ferry-boat. The old woman would have 
 the paper. "He was her 'Johnny* after all," said T. B. A. 
 
 Friday. Have seen a lady who knows the person to 
 whom Booth is engaged said that her letter telling 
 him she was true passed his letter of relinquishment on 
 its way to Philadelphia. She thinks these two women 
 have saved Booth. "I have been loved too well," he 
 said once. . . . 
 
 Aldrich said we should not have been more aston- 
 ished to hear he himself had done the terrible deed than 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 199 
 
 he was to know Wilkes Booth had done it. "He was so 
 gentle, gentler than I, and very handsome a slight, 
 beautiful figure/' and (as he described the face, it was 
 the Greek Antinous kind of beauty there) I could not 
 but reflect how the deed may deform the man. Nobody 
 said he was beautiful after he was dead, but they laid a 
 cloth upon the face and said how dreadful. It has been 
 a strange experience to come among the people who 
 know the family. I hoped I should be spared this, but 
 the soul of good in things evil God means we should all 
 see. 
 
 Sunday, May 7. A radiant day. Went to hear Dr. 
 Bellows a grand discourse. After service sat in his 
 drawing-room and talked and then walked together. . . . 
 He too has been to see Edwin Booth. The poor fellow 
 said to him, "Ah! if it had been a fellow like myself 
 who had done this dreadful deed, the world would not 
 have wondered but Johnny ! !" 
 
 Wednesday, January 3, 1866. Dined with the 
 Grahams and went to see Booth upon the occasion of 
 his reappearance. The unmoved sadness of the young 
 man and the unceasing plaudits of the house, half filled 
 with his friends, were impressive and made it an oc- 
 casion not to be forgotten. 
 
 September 23, 1866. Edwin Booth and the Al- 
 driches came to tea; also Tom Beal and Professor 
 Sterry Hunt of Montreal, the latter late. Booth came 
 in the twilight while a magnificent red and purple and 
 gold sunset was staining the bay. The schooners an- 
 chored just off shore had already lighted their lanterns 
 
200 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 and swung them in the rigging, and the full moon cast 
 a silver sheen over the scene. I hear he passes every 
 Sunday morning while here at the grave of his wife in 
 Mt. Auburn. He seems deeply saddened. He was very 
 pleasant, however, and ready to talk, and gave amusing 
 imitations in particular of his black boy, Jan, who 
 possesses, he says, the one accomplishment of forget- 
 ting everything he ought to remember. One day a man 
 with a deep tragic voice, " Forrestian," he said, came to 
 him with letters of introduction asking Mr. Booth to 
 assist him as he was about to go to England. Mr. B. 
 told him he knew no one in England and could do noth- 
 ing for him, he was sorry. If he ever found it possible to 
 do him a service he would with pleasure. With that Mr. 
 B. turned, they were in the vestibule of the theatre 
 and entered the box-office to speak to someone there; 
 immediately he heard the deep voice addressing Jan 
 with "You are with Mr. Booth." "Yes," responded Jan 
 with real negro accent, "I 'm wid Mr. Booth." "In 
 what capacity are you studying ?" " Yaas," returned 
 Jan, unblushingly, "I 'se studyin'." "What are you 
 upon now?" "Oh, Richelieu, Hamlet, an* a few of 
 dese yer." "Ah, I should be pleased to enter into corre- 
 spondence with you while I am abroad. Would you have 
 any objections?" "Oh, no, no objection, no objection 
 at all." "Thank you, sir; good-day, sir." With that 
 they parted and Jan came with his mouth stretched 
 wide with laughter. "Massa, what is 'correspond'? 
 I told him I 'd correspond, what 'd he mean, corre- 
 spond ? " Then Jan, convulsed with his joke, roared and 
 
Qt^^*-jt, 
 
 Facsimile notejrom Booth to Mrj. F/ 
 
202 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 roared again. They are surely a merry race, but pro- 
 voking enough sometimes. They are capable of real 
 attachments, however; this man has been several 
 times dismissed but will not go. Booth told everything 
 very dramatically, but I was especially struck with his 
 description of a man travelling with two shaggy terrier 
 pups in the cars. He had them in a basket and hung 
 them up over his head and then composed himself to 
 sleep. Waking up half an hour later, he observed a man 
 on the opposite side of the car, his eyes starting from 
 his head and the very picture of dismay, as if a demon 
 were looking at him. The owner of the pups, following 
 the direction of the man's eyes, looked up and saw the 
 two pups had their heads out of the basket. He quietly 
 made a sign for them to go back and they disappeared. 
 The man's gaze did not apparently slacken, however, 
 but in a moment became still more horrified when the 
 pups again looked out. "What 's the matter ?" said the 
 owner. "What are those ?" said the man, pointing with 
 trembling finger; "pray excuse me, but I have been on 
 a spree and I thought they were demons." He intro- 
 duced the subject of the stage and talked of points in 
 "Hamlet," which he had made for the first time, but 
 occasionally through accident had omitted. The next 
 day he will be sure to be asked by letter or newspaper 
 why he omits certain points which would be so excel- 
 lent to make, the writer thinks. He has had a life of 
 strange vicissitudes, as almost all actors. He referred 
 last night to his frequent travels during childhood over 
 the Alleghanies with his father, of long nights spent in 
 
BOOTH AS HAMLET 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 203 
 
 this kind of travel ; and once in Nevada he walked fifty 
 miles chiefly through snow. "Why?" said Lilian. "Be- 
 cause I was hard up, Lily," he continued ; "I walked it 
 too in stage boots which were too tight it was mis- 
 
 ery." . . . 
 
 They had all gone by half-past ten, but we lay long 
 awake thinking over poor Booth and his strange sad 
 fortune. Hamlet, indeed! although Forceythe Will- 
 son says, "I have been to see Mr. Hamlet play Booth." 
 Yes, perhaps when he is playing it for the 4Ooth time 
 with a bad cold, it may seem so ; indeed I found it dull- 
 ish myself, or his part, I mean, the other night ; but he 
 did play it once the night of his reappearance in New 
 York. 
 
 May 1 8, 1869. Last Sunday evening Booth, Al- 
 drich and his wife and sister, Dr. Holmes and Amelia 
 and Launt Thompson, Leslie and ourselves took tea 
 here together. In the evening came Mr. and Mrs. Emer- 
 son. We did have a rare and delightful symposium. 
 Booth talked little as usual, and the next night went 
 round to Aldrich's and took himself off as he behaves in 
 company ! ! Nevertheless he was glad to see Holmes, 
 though every time Dr. H. addressed him across the table 
 he seemed to receive an electric shock. 
 
 A chance meeting between William Warren and 
 Fields in a lane at the seaside Manchester is re- 
 corded, with their talk, in the diary as early as 1865. 
 Two entries in 1872 have to do with Jefferson, first 
 
204 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 alone and then with Warren. The friendship with 
 Jefferson, begun so long ago, was continued until his 
 death. 
 
 Tuesday, March 18, 1872. Left Boston for a short 
 trip to New York. Jefferson the actor, famous through- 
 out the world for his impersonation of "Rip Van 
 Winkle," was on the train and finding us out (or J. 
 him), came to our compartment car to pass the day. 
 He talked without cessation and without effort. He 
 described his sudden disease of the eyes quite bravely 
 and simply, from the use of too much whiskey. He said 
 the newspapers had said it was the gas, and many other 
 reasons had been assigned first and last ; but he firmly 
 believed there was no other reason than too much 
 whiskey. He had taken the habit when he was some- 
 what below his ordinary physical and mental condition 
 in the evening and wished to rise to the proper point 
 and "carry the audience" of taking a small glass of 
 whiskey. This glass was after a time made two, and 
 even three or four. Finally he was stricken down by a 
 trouble of the eyes which threatened the entire extinc- 
 tion of sight. His physician at once suggested that un- 
 natural use of stimulants was the cause, of which he 
 himself is now entirely convinced and no longer touches 
 anything stronger than claret. He has played to a 
 larger variety of audiences probably than almost any 
 other great actor. The immense applause he received 
 in England, where he played 170 consecutive nights at 
 the Adelphi in London, always as "Rip," has only 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 205 
 
 served to make him more modest, it would seem, more 
 desirous to uphold himself artistically. He gave us a 
 hint of his taste for fishing and described his trout-rais- 
 ing establishment in Jersey ; very curious and wonder- 
 ful it was. Nature preserves only one in a hundred of 
 the eggs of trout to come to maturity. Mr. Jefferson 
 in his pond is able to raise 85 out of 100. There seems 
 no delight to him so great as that of sitting beside a 
 stream on a sunny day, line in hand. 
 
 Talking of the everlasting repetition of "Rip," he 
 says he should be thankful to rest himself with another 
 play, but this has been a growth and it would be a dar- 
 ing thing for him to attempt anything new with a public 
 who would always compare him with himself in this play 
 which is the result of years of his best thought and 
 strength. I think myself, if he were quite well he would 
 be almost sure to attempt something else. He told us 
 several stories very dramatically. He is an odd, care- 
 lessly dressed little mortal, a cross between Charles 
 Lamb and Grimaldi, but we have seldom passed a more 
 delightful day of talk than with him. The hours abso- 
 lutely fled away. 
 
 Wednesday, May 22, 1872. Mr. Longfellow, Dr. 
 Holmes, and Jefferson and Warren, the two first come- 
 dians of our time, dined here. The hour was three 
 o'clock, to accommodate the two professional gentlemen. 
 The hours until three, with the exception of two visits 
 (Miss Sara Clarke and Miss Wainwright in spite of say- 
 ing " engaged "), were occupied in making preparations 
 for the little feast. I mean the hours after breakfast until 
 
206 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 time to dress. (Of hours before breakfast I have now-a- 
 days nothing to say. I am not strong enough to do any- 
 thing early, but country life this summer is to change all 
 that.) Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Warren arrived first. 
 Finding much to interest them in the pictures of our 
 lower room, they lingered there a few moments before 
 coming to the library, when we talked of Marney's pic- 
 tures (Mr. J. owns some of his water-colors) and looked 
 about at others. Soon Longfellow came with Jamie. 
 He said he felt like one on a journey. He left home early 
 in the morning, had been sight-seeing in Boston all day, 
 was to dine and go to the theatre with us afterward. 
 
 He asked Mr. Warren why a Mr. Inglis was selling his 
 fine library and pictures a question nobody had been 
 able to solve. Mr. Inglis is, however, in some way con- 
 nected with the stage, and Warren told us it was because 
 he had been arrested with Mr. Harvey Parker and 
 others and condemned to be thrown in the House of 
 Correction, for selling liquor. His money protected him 
 from the rigor of the law, but the disgrace remained. His 
 children felt it much and he was going to Europe at 
 least for a season. We could not help feeling the injus- 
 tice of this when we remembered the myriad liquor 
 shops for the poor all over the town, with which no one 
 interferes. 
 
 Mr. Jefferson was deeply interested in our pictures of 
 the players by Zanagois. Dr. Holmes came in, talked a 
 little at my suggestion about Anne Whitney's bust of 
 Keats, which he appears to know nothing about artis- 
 tically (I observed the same lack of knowledge in Emer- 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 207 
 
 son), but he criticised the hair. He said he supposed 
 nothing was known about Keats's hair, so it might as 
 well be one way as another. I told him on the contrary 
 I owned some of it ; whereat I got it out, and he went 
 off in a little episode about an essay which he had some- 
 times thought of writing about hair. He has a machine 
 by which the size of a hair can be measured and re- 
 corded. This he would like to use, and make a note of 
 comparison between the hairs of "G. W." (as he laugh- 
 ingly called Washington), Jefferson, Milton, and other 
 celebrities of the earth. He thought it might be very 
 curious to discover the difference in quality. 
 
 We were soon seated at the table (only six all told) 
 where the conversation never flagged. Longfellow prop- 
 erly began it by saying he thought Mr. Charles Mathews 
 was entirely unjust to Mr. Forrest as King Lear. He 
 considered Mr. Forrest's rendering of the part, and he 
 sat through the whole, as fine and close to nature. He 
 could not understand Mr. Mathews's underrating it as 
 he did. Of course the other two gentlemen could say 
 nothing more than the difficulty Mr. Mathews from 
 his nature would have in estimating at its proper worth 
 anything Mr. Forjest might do, their idea of Art being 
 so dissimilar. Here arose the question if one actor was a 
 good judge of another. Jefferson said he sometimes 
 thought actors very bad judges indeed he preferred 
 to be judged by an audience inspired by feeling rather 
 than by one intellectually critical. 
 
 Jefferson has a clear blue eye, very fine and bright 
 and sweet. Longfellow thinks his mouth a very weak 
 
208 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 one, and certainly his face is not impressive. Warren 
 appears a man of finer intellect and more wit. He had 
 many witty things to say and his little tales were always 
 dramatically given. Dr. Holmes could not seem to re- 
 cover from the idea that Jefferson had made a fortune 
 out of one play and that he never played but one. "I 
 hear, Mr. Jefferson/* he said, when he first came in, 
 "that you have been playing the same play ever since 
 you came here." (He has been playing the same for a 
 dozen years, I believe, nearly and has been here three 
 weeks!) Jefferson could hardly help laughing as he as- 
 sured him that for the space of three weeks he had given 
 the same every night. Dr. Holmes had a way at the 
 table of talking of "you actors," "you gentlemen of the 
 stage," until I saw Longfellow was quite disturbed at 
 the unsympathetic unmannerliness of it, in appearance, 
 and tried to talk more than ever in a different strain. 
 
 After I left the table, which I did because I thought 
 they might like to smoke, Jamie sent for Parsons's 
 poems and read them some of the finest. Of course the 
 talk was wittier and quicker as the time came to sep- 
 arate, but I cannot report upon it. The impression the 
 two actors left upon me, however, was rather that of 
 men who enjoyed coming up to the surface to breathe a 
 natural air seldom vouchsafed to them than of men 
 sparring with their wits they are affectionate, gentle, 
 subdued gentlemen and a noble contrast to the self- 
 opinionated ignorance which we often meet in society. 
 Dr. Holmes was, however, the wit of the occasion, as he 
 always is, and everybody richly enjoyed his sallies. 
 
JEFFERSON IN THE BETROTHAL SCENE OF "RIP VAN WINKLE' 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 209 
 
 They stayed until the last moment indeed I do not 
 see how they got to their two theatres in time to dress. 
 It must have been, as they say of eggs, a "hard scrab- 
 ble." We went afterward we four to see a new 
 actor, Raymond, play "Colleen Bawn" at the Globe 
 pretty play, though very touching and melodramatic, 
 by Boucicault. I must confess to dislike such plays 
 where your feelings are wrought to the highest pitch 
 for nothing. 
 
 The name of Fechter is familiar to the middle-aged 
 through the memory of fathers, to the young through 
 that of grandfathers. Readers of these pages will recall 
 that Dickens, soon after reaching America in 1867, 
 spoke of him in terms which caused Mrs. Fields to 
 look forward with confidence to a new friendship. His 
 coming to America was specifically heralded by an ar- 
 ticle, "On Mr. Fechter's Acting," contributed by Dick- 
 ens to the "Atlantic " for August, 1 869. When Fechter 
 was in Boston, warmly received as Dickens's friend, 
 he often appears in the journals of Mrs. Fields, in con- 
 junction with others. 
 
 Friday , February 25, 1870. Mr. Fechter came to 
 lunch with Mr. Longfellow, Mr. Appleton, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Dorr. He talked freely about his Hamlet, so different 
 from all other impersonations. His audience here he 
 finds wonderfully good, better than any other; fine 
 points which have never been applauded before bring 
 
210 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 out a round of applause. On the whole he appears to 
 enjoy new hearers does not understand the constant 
 comparison between himself and Booth. They are al- 
 ready great friends. Booth was in the house the last 
 night of his performance there; afterward he did not 
 come to speak to him, and Fechter felt it ; but a letter 
 came yesterday saying he was so observed that he 
 slipped away as soon as possible, and could not come on 
 Sunday because visitors prevented him. Better late 
 than never; it was pleasant to Fechter to hear from 
 Booth with one exception : he enclosed a notice from 
 some newspaper, cutting up himself horribly and prais- 
 ing Fechter. "Ah ! that won't do ; I shall send it back 
 to him and tell him why. We are totally unlike in our 
 Hamlets, and neither should be praised at the other's 
 expense." 
 
 Mr. Fechter described minutely Mr. Dickens's at- 
 tack of paralysis last year, and, the year before, his 
 prompt appearance in the box of the theatre at the last 
 performance of "No Thoroughfare," which he said he 
 should do ; but as Fechter had not heard of his return 
 from America, it was a great shock. "If it had been 
 'Hamlet/ or any difficult play, I could not have gone on ! 
 He should not have done such a thing." He told us a 
 strange touching story of M'lle Mars, during her last 
 years. She came upon the stage one night to give one 
 of the youthful parts in which she had once been so 
 famous. When she appeared, some heartless wretch 
 threw her a wreath of immortelles, as if for her grave. 
 She was so shocked that the drops stood on her brow, 
 
A NAST CARTOON OF DICKENS AND FECHTER 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 211 
 
 the rouge fell from her cheeks, and she stood motionless 
 before the audience, a picture of age and misery. She 
 could not continue her part. 
 
 He spoke with intense enthusiasm of Frederick 
 Lemaitre, much as I have heard Mr. Dickens do. "The 
 second-class actors were always arguing with him (only 
 second-class people argue) and saying, 'Why do you 
 wish me to stand here, Frederick ?' 'I don't know/ he 
 would say, 'only do it.'" 
 
 Mr. Appleton was deeply interested in the fact that 
 Shakespeare proved himself such a believer in ghosts, 
 as "Hamlet" shows, and would like to push the sub- 
 ject farther, Mr. Fechter evidently finding much to say 
 on this topic also. Mr. Longfellow was interested to ask 
 about the Dumas, pere etfils. Mr. Fechter has known 
 them well and has many queer stories to tell of their 
 relation to each other. Lefils calls mon pere, " my young- 
 est child born many years ago," and the father usually 
 introduces the son as M. Dumas, mon pere. The motto 
 on Fechter's note paper is very curious and a type of the 
 man "Faiblesse vaut vice" Mr. Longfellow spoke 
 again of Mr. Dickens's restlessness, of his terrible sad- 
 ness. "Yes, yes," said Fechter, "all his fame goes for 
 nothing." . . . 
 
 Jamie is so weak that he went to sleep almost as soon 
 as they were gone. God knows what it all means ; I do 
 not. 
 
 It is odd that Fechter's eyes should be brown after all. 
 They look so light in the play. He is a round little man, 
 naturally friendly, spontaneous. We do not know what 
 
212 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 his life has been, and we will not ask ; that does not rest 
 with us ; but he is a very fine artist. His imitation of 
 Mr. Dickens, as he sat on the lawn watching him at 
 work, or as he joined him coming from his desk at lunch- 
 time with tears on his cheek and a smile on his mouth, 
 was very close to the life and delightful. 
 
 Mr. Longfellow did not talk much, not as much as the 
 last time he was here, but he was lovely and kind. 1 He 
 brought a coin of the French Republic which had been 
 touched by French wit, LibertZ x (point), Egaliti x 
 (point), Fraternite x (point). And more to the same 
 effect, without altering the coin. 
 
 Apple ton has just bought a new Troyon, which he 
 says he shall lend me for a week. 
 
 At the end of the following August there is a record of 
 a talk with Fechter on the boat from Boston to Nahant, 
 where he and the Fieldses dined with Longfellow. 
 Dickens had died in the June just past, and Fechter had 
 much to say of him and his family life. "Day by day," 
 wrote Mrs. Fields, "I am grateful to think of him at 
 rest." The little party at Nahant is described. 
 
 1 On April 20, 1 870, Longfellow wrote to Fields (See Life of Henry Wads- 
 worth Longfellow, etc., edited by Samuel Longfellow, III, 148) : 
 " Some English poet has said or sung : 
 
 'At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, 
 And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove.' 
 
 "I wish Hamlet would be still ! I wish I could prove the sweets of forget- 
 fulness ! I wish Fechter would depart into infinite space, and 'leave, oh, leave 
 me to repose!' When will this disturbing star disappear, and suffer the 
 domestic planetary system to move on in the ordinary course and keep time 
 with the old clock in the corner ?" 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 213 
 
 We found dear Longfellow looking through a glass to 
 espy our approach, and all his dear little girls and 
 Ernest and his wife and Appleton, who whisked me 
 away from the dinner-table to his studio where he 
 had some really good sketches. The conversation at 
 table was half French, Longfellow and Appleton both 
 finding it agreeable to recall the foreign scenes by 
 the foreign tongue. But except a queer imitation of 
 John Forster, by Fechter, I do not remember any 
 quotable talk. F. said Forster always looked at every- 
 body as if regarding their qualifications for a lunatic 
 asylum (he is commissioner of lunacy), saying to him- 
 self, "Well, I '11 let you off today, but tomorrow you 
 must certainly go and be shut up." He describes For- 
 ster's present state of health as something very pre- 
 carious and wretched. 
 
 November 14, 1870. Monday night went to see 
 Fechter in "Claude Melnotte." Longfellow and his 
 daughter Edith sat in the box adjoining ours. It was 
 the stage box where they were sheltered from observa- 
 tion ; ours was the box next it, to be sure, but accessible 
 to all eyes. During the curtain Longfellow came into 
 our box ; Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Andrew were with me, 
 both plain ladies dressed in mourning. His advent 
 caused a little rustle of curiosity to ripple over the 
 house. Longfellow was never looking finer than he is 
 today. His white hair and deep blue eyes and kind 
 face make his presence a benediction wherever he 
 goes of such men one cannot help feeling what Dr. 
 Putnam so well expressed last Sunday in speaking 
 
214 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 of the presence of our Lord at a feast. "He rewarded 
 the hospitality of his friends by his presence." 
 
 Longfellow brought an illegible scrawl in his hand 
 which Parsons had written from London to Lunt. He 
 told me also of having lately received a photograph 
 from Virginia of a young woman, and written under it 
 were the words, "What fault can be found with this?" 
 He said he thought of replying, "The fault of too great 
 youth." It certainly could not be agreeable to him to 
 sit in the eye of the audience as he did ; but he was very 
 talkative and pleasant, expressed his disappointment at 
 not having us at his Nilsson dinner, but his family 
 were too many for him ; said how he liked her for her 
 frankness ; told me of the old impressario Garrett, the 
 Jew, coming without invitation and certainly without 
 being wanted (as it sent "his children upstairs to 
 dine") ; and then, as the play was about to begin, he 
 withdrew. He was much amused and disgusted by the 
 platitudes of the play. Returned to his own box, Jamie 
 said he laughed immoderately over the absurdities of it 
 as it continued. He tooted as the instruments tooted 
 and spouted as the second-rate actors spouted, all of 
 which was highly amusing to Edith, who was weeping 
 over the unhappy lovers, utterly absorbed in the play. 
 Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Andrew, too, were full of tears, 
 and I found it no use attempting to say anything more 
 during the evening. 
 
 Fechter was indeed marvellous. He raised the play 
 into something human, something exquisite whenever 
 he was upon the stage. His terrible earnestness sweeps 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 215 
 
 the audience utterly away. But he is not the player for 
 the million. 
 
 Sunday evening, December n, 1870. Went to Mr. 
 Bartol's and met Mr. Collyer. He was pleased to hear 
 what Fechter said of him Saturday night (by the by we 
 met Fechter at Mrs. Dorr's dinner on Saturday), that 
 he singled him out, found him a capital audience, and 
 played to him. It was a fine house on Saturday and 
 Fechter played c< Don Caesar." It was never played bet- 
 ter. Curtis was there, and fine company. Fechter was 
 graceful and saucy too in talk at dinner just right 
 for the occasion. 
 
 Monday , December 19. I have just returned from 
 seeing Fechter in "Ruy Bias." The public has just 
 received the news that he is to leave the Globe Theatre 
 and Boston in four weeks. The result was an enormous 
 house, and the most fashionable house I have seen this 
 season. He played with great fire and ease, but he has a 
 wretched cold and his pronunciation was so thick and 
 French (as it is apt to be when he is excited) that I 
 could often hardly catch a word. But his audience was 
 determined to be pleased and they caught and ap- 
 plauded all his good points. I saw but one dissenting 
 spirit, that was a spoiled queen of fashion just returned 
 from Europe, who saw nobody and nothing but her- 
 self. . . . 
 
 Saturday, January 7, 1871. Dined at Mr. Long- 
 fellow's with Mr. Fechter. The poet welcomed us with 
 a cordiality peculiar to himself and his children, with a 
 simple glad-to-see written over their faces which is 
 
216 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 worth a world of talk. We had a merry table-talk al- 
 though Fechter was laboring under the unnatural ex- 
 citement of his position in having lost his season at the 
 Globe, broken with the proprietor Cheney who was his 
 friend, and finding himself without an engagement for 
 the time. Also, so mischance held the day, Miss Le- 
 clercq, his only fit support, injured herself in the 
 afternoon and their superb audience went away disap- 
 pointed. However, the dinner went off beautifully, as it 
 always must with Longfellow at the helm. There was 
 some talk of poetry and the drama and J. amused them 
 too with anecdotes. Then we adjourned to the room of 
 Charles the East-India man, where we saw many curios- 
 ities and had a very pleasant hour before leaving. Pass- 
 ing through the dressing-room of our dear Longfellow, I 
 was struck with seeing how like the house of a German 
 student it was a Goethean aspect of simplicity and 
 largeness everywhere books too are put on all the 
 walls. It is surely a most attractive house. 
 
 January 13, 1871. Today Jamie lunched with 
 Appleton. We passed the evening at Mrs. Quincy's. It 
 is the great benefit to Fechter, but in consequence of 
 the tickets being sold unjustly at auction, we shall not 
 go. Unhappily there are rumors about town that 
 Fechter is to be insulted in the theatre. I wish I could 
 get word to him. I shall wait until J. gets home and 
 then ask him to drive up to put F. on his guard. 
 
 January 23. It proved an unnecessary alarm ! The 
 evening went off well enough but unenthusiastically, 
 and at last Fechter gave all the money to the poor ! 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 217 
 
 When Mrs. Fields first met that representative of 
 the once alluring art of "elocution," James E. Mur- 
 doch, he was already a veteran who had twice, at 
 an interval of nearly twenty years, retired from the 
 stage. Two notes about him recall his robust person- 
 ality. 
 
 January 13, 1867. I never met James E. Murdoch, 
 the actor, to hear any talk until Sunday night. The 
 knowledge of his patriotism, of his son who died in the 
 war, and of the weary miles the father had travelled to 
 comfort the soldiers by reading to them, and afterwards 
 the large sums of money he had given to the country's 
 cause gathered up laboriously night by night by public 
 "readings" all this I had known. Of course no intro- 
 duction could have been better, yet I liked the man even 
 more than I had fancied was possible. He was so modest 
 and talked in such a free generous way, purely for the 
 entertainment of others, I fancied, because we saw he 
 had a severe cold on his chest. The way too in which he 
 recited "Sheridan's Ride" and anything else for the 
 children which he thought they would like was quite 
 beautiful to see in a man of his years, who must have 
 had quite enough of that kind of thing to do. His hobby 
 is elocution. He is about to establish a school or col- 
 lege or something of that description, whatever its 
 honorable title will be, at the West l (the money having 
 been granted in part by legislature, the other half 
 to be made by his own public efforts) for the pur- 
 
 1 A contemporary definition of Cincinnati. 
 
2i 8 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 pose of educating speakers and teaching men and women 
 how to read. He has known Grant and Sheridan well, 
 lived in camp with them at the same mess-table, and 
 has the highest opinion of the patriotism and probity 
 of both of them. There is no mistake about one thing. 
 Mr. Murdoch made himself a power during the war, 
 and now that is over does not cease to work, nor does 
 he allow himself to presume upon the laurels he has 
 won nor to brag of his own work. 
 
 Saturday morning, November 13, 1875. After a 
 western journey, left for home. Sunday met James E. 
 Murdoch in the cars at Springfield. It was about six 
 o'clock A.M., but he was bound for Newton. He came 
 in therefore with us, and talked delightfully until we 
 parted. He is an old man but as full of nerve, vigor, and 
 ripened intellect as anyone whom I have seen. His talk 
 of the stage, of his disgust for Macready's book, his dis- 
 gust at the manner in which Forrest treated his wife, his 
 account of his own experiences, when he was glad to 
 play for $35 a week, were deeply interesting. The better 
 side of Forrest he understood and appreciated thor- 
 oughly. 
 
 The hospitalities of Charles Street were by no means 
 confined to the men of the theatrical and kindred 
 professions. In later years Miss Ellen Terry, Lady 
 Gregory, and those other ladies associated with the 
 stage who so surely found their way to Mrs. Fields's 
 door when they visited Boston, were but carrying on the 
 

 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 219 
 
 traditions of the earlier decades. As the visitors came 
 and went, the diary in the sixties and seventies re- 
 corded their exits and their entrances. A few passages 
 are typical of many. 
 
 A portion of the notes relating to Charlotte Cushman 
 will be the better understood for a preliminary remark 
 upon a Boston event of huge local moment in the au- 
 tumn of 1863. This was the dedication of the Great 
 Organ, that wonder of the age, in Music Hall. The first 
 public performance on the organ, at the ceremonies on 
 the evening of November 2, were preceded by Char- 
 lotte Cushman's reading of a dedicatory ode, contrib- 
 uted, according to the "Advertiser" of the next day, by 
 an "anonymous lady of this city." The secret of Mrs. 
 Fields's authorship of this poem, which the "Adver- 
 tiser" found somewhat too long in spite of its merits, 
 must have been shared by some of her friends, though it 
 was temporarily kept from the public. 
 
 Sunday y September 20, 1863. In the evening Char- 
 lotte Cushman and her niece, Dr. Dewey and Miss 
 McGregor, Miss Mears and Mr. W. R. Emerson, passed 
 a few hours with us. Charlotte, always of athletic but 
 prejudiced mind, talked busily of people and events. 
 She is a Seward-ite in politics and called Dr. Howe and 
 Judge Conway "ass-sy" because they said Charles 
 Sumner had prevented thus far a war with England. 
 She has made money during the war, but believes appar- 
 ently not at all in the patriotism of the people. She is to 
 give one performance for "the Sanitary" in each of the 
 
220 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 four northern seacoast cities, also for fun and fame. 
 She can't endure to give up the stage. She is a woman 
 of effects. She lives for effect, and yet doing always good 
 things and possessed of most admirable qualities. She 
 has warm friends. Mrs. Carlyle is extremely fond of her, 
 gives her presents and says flattering things to her. 
 "Cleverer than her husband," says Miss Cushman. I 
 put this quietly into my German pipe and puff peace- 
 fully. 
 
 Saturday Evening, September 26, 1863. Charlotte 
 Cushman played Lady Macbeth for the benefit of the 
 Sanitary Commission to a large audience. Her reading 
 of the letter when she first appears is one of her finest 
 points. She moves her feet execrably and succeeds in 
 developing all the devilish nature in the part, but dis- 
 covers no beauty. Yet it is delightful to hear the won- 
 drous poetry of the play intelligently and clearly ren- 
 dered. It would be impossible to say this of the man 
 who played Macbeth, who talked of " encarnardine," 
 and "heat-oppretf brain/' for "oppressed," besides in- 
 numerable other faults and failures, which he mouthed 
 too much for me to discover. Charlotte in the sleeping 
 scene was fine that deep-drawn breath of sleep is 
 thrilling. . . . 
 
 There has been an ode written to be spoken at the 
 organ opening. No one is to know who wrote it. Miss 
 Cushman will speak it if they are speedy enough in 
 their finishing. This is of interest to many. I trust they 
 will be ready for Miss Cushman. 
 
 Monday, November 2, 1863. Miss Dodge and Una 
 

 I 
 
 FROM A CRAYON PORTRAIT OF CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 
 
 I 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 221 
 
 Hawthorne came to dine. At 7 o'clock we all started 
 for the Music Hall. Miss Cushman read my ode in a 
 most perfect manner. She was very nervous about it 
 and skipped something, but what she did read was per- 
 fect. Her dress and manner too were dignified and beau- 
 tiful. It was a night never to be forgotten. Afterward 
 we had a little supper. Dr. and Mrs. Holmes, Mr. Og- 
 den of New York, Dr. Upham * and Judge Putnam and 
 Mrs. Howe were added to our other guests. Charlotte 
 Cushman left early the next day and Gail Hamilton and 
 I sat down and took a long delicious draught of talk. 
 
 April 27, 1871. Charlotte Cushman came to see us 
 yesterday. Her full brain was brimming over, and her 
 rich sympathetic voice is ringing now in my ears. She 
 does not overestimate herself, that woman, which is 
 part of her greatness, for the word does apply to her in a 
 certain way because she grows nearer to it every day. 
 J. de Maistre refused the epithet "grand" to Napoleon 
 because he lacked more stature but this hand-to- 
 hand fight with death over herself (loving life dearly as 
 she does) has strengthened her hold upon her affection 
 for life, insensibly. She grows daily wiser and nobler. 
 
 November 13, 1871. We all went together to Char- 
 lotte Cushman's debut in Queen Katherine at the Globe 
 Theatre. A house filled with her friends and a noble 
 piece of acting. She spoke to every woman's heart 
 there ; by this I felt the high art and the noble sympa- 
 thetic nature far above art which was in the woman and 
 
 1 Dr. J. Baxter Upham, the moving spirit in the building of the Music Hall 
 and the installation of the organ. He presided at its dedication. 
 
222 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 radiates from her. Much of the play beside was poor, 
 but Mrs. Hunt was very amusing and we laughed and 
 laughed at her sallies until I was quite ashamed. J. 
 went behind the scenes and talked with C. C. She was 
 in first-rate condition. 
 
 For other contacts with the stage, three brief passages 
 may speak : 
 
 November 8, 1866. Went to see Ristori's "Pia dei 
 Tolomei" in the evening. It was pure and beautiful. 
 Being R/s benefit, she made a short speech, and ex- 
 quisitely simple as it was, her fine voice and the slight 
 difficulty of enunciating the English words made her 
 speech one of the most touching features of the time. 
 
 Saturday. Morning at home. Went to see Ristori 
 for the last time, as Elizabeth, perhaps her finest char- 
 acterization. Longfellow and Whittier had both prom- 
 ised to go with us, but the courage of both failed at the 
 last moment. The house was crowded. Mr. Grau asked 
 Mr. Fields to go and speak with the great actress, but 
 he excused himself. 
 
 Whittier had never been inside of a theatre and could 
 not quite feel like breaking the bonds now besides he 
 said it would cost him many nights of sleep. Longfellow 
 does not face high tragedy before a crowd. 
 
 January 16, 1868. Fanny Kemble read "The Mer- 
 chant of Venice" in Boston last night the old way of 
 losing her breath when she appeared, as if totally over- 
 come by the audience. We could not doubt that she 
 
- 
 
 II 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 223 
 
 felt her return deeply and sincerely, but however, the 
 feeling was undoubtedly real if short-lived, and we will 
 give her credit for it. Her voice is sadly faded since the 
 brilliant readings of ten years ago ; she has had much 
 sorrow since then and shows the marks of it. It is inter- 
 esting to compare her work with Mr. Dickens's ; he is 
 so much the greater artist ! You can never mistake one 
 of his characters for another, nor lose a syllable of his 
 perfectly enunciated words. She speaks much more 
 slowly usually, and there is a grand intonation as the 
 verses sway from her lips, but one cannot be sure al- 
 ways if Jessica or Nerissa be speaking, Antonio or 
 Bassanio. Her face is marvellous in tender passages, 
 a serenity falls upon it born of immortal youth. It is 
 beautiful enough for tears. She enjoys the wit too her- 
 self thoroughly, and brought out Launcelot Gobbo with 
 great unction. An enormous and enthusiastic audience 
 gave her hearty welcome. Longfellow could not come 
 His wife in the old days enjoyed this play too well when 
 they used to go together for him to trust himself to hear 
 it again. 
 
 Monday , May 18, 1868. Raining like all possessed 
 again today. I was to have done my gardening today 
 but there is no chance yet. Walked over to Roxbury 
 with J. yesterday and found everything gay with the 
 coming loveliness. It has scarcely come, however. 
 Jamie was much entertained by tales Mrs. Kemble's 
 agent told him of that lady : how she watched an Irish 
 scrubbing woman dawdle over her work, who was paid 
 by the hour, and finally called her to her (she was sit- 
 
224 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 ting at her own reading-desk in the hall), and said in 
 her stately fashion, "I fear, madam, if you exert your- 
 self so much over your work you will make yourself 
 ill. Your health is seriously endangered by your severe 
 efforts." The woman, not seeing the sarcasm, replied 
 in the strongest possible brogue to the effect that 
 nothing short of the direst necessity would compel 
 such dreadful labor. Whereat Mrs. Kemble, with a 
 look not to be reproduced, and a wink to Mr. Pugh, 
 withdrew. She read "Midsummer Night's Dream" on 
 Saturday P.M. We went, but found the place entirely 
 without air and left after the first part. She did not 
 begin with much spirit, but her voice was exquisite and 
 her fun also, and her dress was an aesthetic pleasure, as 
 a lady's dress should always be, but alas ! so seldom is, 
 in this country. 
 
 Wednesday, November 9, 1870. We have had a 
 reception today for Miss Nilsson. Longfellow and 
 Henry Ward Beecher were here, beside Perabo and many 
 excellent or talented people, nearly sixty in all. It 
 was a curious fact to give out seventy invitations and 
 have sixty (or nearly that) present. 
 
 Miss Nilsson, Mrs. Richardson (her attendant), Alice 
 Longfellow, and ourselves sat down to lunch afterward, 
 when she sang snatches of her loveliest songs and talked 
 and laughed and was as graceful and merry and sweet 
 as ever a beautiful woman knows how to be. She is now 
 twenty-seven years old. Her light hair, deep blue eyes, 
 full glorious eyes, are of the Northern type, but her 
 broad intellectual brow, her beautiful teeth, and strong 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 225 
 
 character, belong only to the type of genius and beauty. 
 She is not only brave but almost imperious, I fancy, 
 at times; a manner quite necessary, I say, to protect 
 her from vulgar animosity and audacity. We heard her 
 last night sing " Auld Robin Gray" not only with exqui- 
 site feeling, but with a pronunciation of the Scottish 
 dialect that appeared to us very remarkable. When we 
 spoke to her of it she said, "Yes, but there is much like 
 that too in the Swedish dialect. When I first came up a 
 peasant to Stockholm to learn to sing, I had the dialect 
 very bad indeed, and it was a long time before I lost it. 
 Then I went to school in France, and now my accent 
 and dialect are French. When I went back home and 
 talked with the French dialect, they said to me, 'Now 
 Christine, don't be absurd/ but I could not help it. 
 I catch everything. I have never studied English in my 
 life. I am learning American fast. I have learned 'I 
 guess/ and I shall soon say 'I reckon* by the time 
 I come back from the West." 
 
 Vieux temps, the violinist, she appreciates and en- 
 joys highly as an artist. Of Ole Bull she says, "He is a 
 charlatan. Ah, you will excuse me, but it is true/' Of 
 Viardot-Garcia she has the highest admiration. Noth- 
 ing ever gave her higher delight than Viardot's com- 
 pliment after hearing her "Mignon." It was uncalled 
 for, unexpected, and from the heart. She rehearsed 
 what we recall so well, Viardot's plain face, poor figure 
 and great genius triumphant over all. Well, we 
 hear poor Viardot has lost her fortune by this sad 
 French war. 
 
226 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 I have set down nothing which can recall the strong 
 sweet beauty of Nilsson. She is a power to command 
 success fine and strong and sweet. Her face glowed 
 and responded and originated in a swift yet gentle way, 
 as one person after another was presented, that was a 
 study and a lesson. She neither looked nor seemed tired 
 until the presentation was over, when she said she was 
 hungry. "We have had no breakfast yet, nothing to 
 eat all day ; ah, I shall know again what it means when 
 Mrs. Fields asks me to lunch at one o'clock!" with an 
 arch look at me. I was extremely penitent and hurried 
 the lunch, but the people could not go out of the dining- 
 room. However, all was cleaned at last and we had a 
 quiet cosy talk and sit-down, which was delightful. 
 
 On Saturday she sang from "Hamlet," the mad 
 scene of Ophelia. As usual, her dress and whole appear- 
 ance were of the most refined and perfect beauty, and 
 her singing we appreciated even more deeply than ever. 
 She has not the remote exalte nature of highest genius, 
 but she is the great singer of this new time, and her 
 realism is in marked sympathy with her period. 
 
 It has already been suggested that, when Thomas 
 Bailey Aldrich made his migration to Boston as editor of 
 "Every Saturday," he brought into the circle of the 
 Fieldses many fresh breezes from the outer world. In 
 the diary of Mrs. Fields there are frequent notes re- 
 vealing a friendship which lasted, indeed, long after 
 the diary ceased, and up to the end of Aldrich's life, 
 
CHRISTINE NILSSON AS OPHELIA 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 227 
 
 in 1907. Two entries the first relating to the mete- 
 oric author of "The Diamond Lens," regarded in its 
 day as a bright portent in the literary heavens, the sec- 
 ond to the Aldriches themselves at the country place 
 with the name which Aldrich embalmed in his excellent 
 title, "From Ponkapog to Pesth" warrant conver- 
 sion from manuscript into print. 
 
 November 9, 1865. Aldrich told us the story of Fitz- 
 James O'Brien, the able author of "The Diamond 
 Lens." He was a handsome fellow, and began his career 
 by running away with the wife of an English officer. 
 The officer was in India, and Fitz-James and the guilty 
 woman had fled to one of the seaports on the south of 
 England in order to take passage for America, when the 
 arrival of the woman's husband was announced to them 
 and O'Brien fled. He concealed himself on board a ship 
 bound for New York. There he ran a career of dissipa- 
 tion, landing with only sixty dollars. He went to a first- 
 rate hotel, ordered wines, and left a large bill behind 
 when the time came to run away. Then he wrote for 
 Harpers, and one publisher and another, writing little 
 and over-drawing funds on a large scale. He came and 
 lived six weeks upon Aldrich in his uncle's house one 
 summer when the family were away. One day he tried 
 to borrow money of Harpers, and being refused he 
 went into the bindery department, borrowed a board, 
 printed on it, "I am starving," bored holes through 
 the ends, put in a string, hung it round his neck, 
 allowed his fawn-colored gloves to depend over each 
 
228 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 end, and stood in the doorway where the firm should 
 see him when they went to dinner. A great laugh and 
 more money was the result of this escapade. Finally, 
 when the war broke out, he enlisted, and this was the 
 last A. heard of him for some time ; but, being himself 
 called to take a position on General Lander's staff, he 
 was on his way to Richmond and had reached Peters- 
 burg, when someone told him Fitz-James O'Brien had 
 been shot dead. Then he went to the hospital and saw 
 him lying there dead. 
 
 Shortly after this, when Bayard Taylor and his wife 
 were dining in a hotel restaurant at Dover, I believe, 
 it was one of the south of England towns, they 
 saw themselves closely observed by a lady and gentle- 
 man sitting near them. Finally the gentleman arose 
 and came to speak to Taylor, said he observed they 
 were Americans, and asked if he had ever heard of 
 F. J. O'Brien. "Oh, yes," said Taylor, "I knew him 
 very well. He was killed in our war.'-' Then the lady 
 burst into tears and the gentleman said, "She is his 
 mother!" 
 
 I forgot to say in the course of the story that he 
 borrowed once sixty-five dollars for which A. became 
 responsible, and when it was not paid he sent a let- 
 ter to O'B. saying he must pay it. In return O'Brien 
 sent him a challenge for a duel, which A. accepted, in 
 the meantime discovering that an honorable fight 
 could not be between a debtor and a creditor. How- 
 ever, when the time appointed arrived, O'Brien had 
 absconded. We could not repress a smile at the idea 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 229 
 
 of A.'s fighting^ for he is a painfully small gentleman. 
 
 May 31, 1876. Passed the day with the Aldriches 
 at Ponkapog. Aldrich maintained at dinner that the 
 horse railroad injured Charles Street. His wife and 
 J. T. F. took the opposite ground. Finally J. said, "Well, 
 the Philadelphians don't agree with you; they have 
 learned the value of horse railroads in their streets." 
 "Oh, that 's because they are such Christians," said A. 
 "They know whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth." 
 
 He is a queer, witty creature. When the railroad 
 dropped us at Green Lodge station, a tiny place sur- 
 rounded by wild green woods and bog, we found him 
 sitting on a corner of the platform where he said he had 
 been "listening to the bullfrog tune his violin. He had 
 been twanging at one string a long time !" Aldrich was 
 in an ecstasy of delight, and in truth it was a day to put 
 
 kthe most untuned spirit into tune. In the afternoon we 
 floated on the beautiful pond. The whole day gave us a 
 series of pictures only thirteen miles from town, yet 
 the beechwoods can be no more retired. Mr. Pierce 
 owns 500 acres, and it must be a pleasure to him, while 
 he is away in Washington, to feel that someone is using 
 and enjoying hi3 beautiful domain ; and how could it 
 be half so well used and enjoyed as by the family of a 
 struggling literary man ! The house they live in, which 
 was going to decay, may really be considered a creation 
 of Lilian's. Altogether she is very clever and Aldrich 
 most fortunate and our Washington senator is doubt- 
 less most content to think of the enjoyment of others 
 in his domain. 
 
2 3 o MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Still more exotic a figure in Boston than Aldrich 
 was William Morris Hunt in spite of his temporary 
 association with Harvard College and his Boston mar- 
 riage. Both he and his wife are constantly to be met 
 in the pages of Mrs. Fields's journals, from which they 
 emerged with some frequency into her published " Bio- 
 graphical Notes," even as they have reappeared, with 
 others, on earlier pages of this book. 
 
 In other places than Charles Street, Fields and Hunt 
 were often meeting. One brief record of an encounter, 
 at the end of a Saturday Club meeting, should surely 
 be preserved, for all that it suggests of Hunt in amused 
 rebellion against his surroundings. 
 
 Sunday , August 26, 1874. Hunt came to Jamie 
 when the afternoon was nearly ended and asked him to 
 go up to his studio. As they went along, he said, " I Ve 
 made a poem ! First time I ever wrote anything in my 
 life. 'T is n't long, only four lines, but I Ve got it writ- 
 ten down." Whereat then and there he pulled out his 
 pocketbook and read : 
 
 " Boston is a hilly place ; 
 People all are brothers-in-law. 
 If you or I want something done 
 They treat us then like mothers-in-law. 
 
 "This goes to the tune of Yankee Doodle," whereat he 
 sang it out on the public highway. He looked very hand- 
 some, was beautifully dressed in brown velvet with a 
 

 
 ' 
 
 j 
 
 fi&'tif 
 
 , A~ **** 
 
 Facsimile letter from Hunt to Fields 
 
232 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 gold chain about his neck, but swore like a trooper and 
 was in one of his most lawless moods. 
 
 He gave J. for me a photograph of a marvellous 
 picture which he calls his Persian Sybil, Anahita. I 
 see his wife in it as in so many of his best works. "I 
 don't mean to do any more portraits/* he said. "When 
 I remember how I have wasted time on an eyebrow 
 because somebody's i4th cousin thought it ought to 
 turn up a little more it makes me mad ! " 
 
 When the English painter, Lowes Dickinson, the 
 father of G. Lowes Dickinson, was visiting the Fieldses 
 in Boston, a photograph of Hunt's portrait of Chief 
 Justice Lemuel Shaw so impressed him that he asked 
 to be taken to the painter's studio. In Miss Helen M. 
 Knowl ton's "Art Life of William Morris Hunt" this 
 circumstance is related, together with its sequel, which 
 was the publication of Hunt's "Talks on Art" from 
 notes made by Miss Knowlton herself. It is a surmise 
 but slightly hazardous that a characteristic note found 
 among the Fields papers was written apropos of Dickin- 
 son's visit to Hunt : " Send 'em along I mean Paint- 
 ers," he wrote to Fields. "I have had a delightful day 
 with your friend and I know he is a painter why ? 
 because he likes what I do well and hates what I do 
 that ain't worth. . . ." 
 
 It has been seen that, as early as November, 1868, 
 James Parton suggested that "a writer named Mark 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 233 
 
 Twain" be engaged to contribute to the "Atlantic." 1 
 In October, 1868, "F. Bret Harte" wrote to the editor 
 of the "Atlantic" from San Francisco : "As the author 
 of 'The Luck of Roaring Camp/ I have to thank you for 
 an invitation to contribute to the 'Atlantic Monthly/ 
 but as editor of 'The Overland/ my duties claim most 
 of my spare time outside of the Government office in 
 which I am employed. . . . But I am glad of this op- 
 portunity to thank someone connected with the 'Atlan- 
 tic* for its very gracious good-will toward me and my 
 writings, particularly the book which G. W. Carleton 
 of New York malformed in its birth. There was an 
 extra kindness in your taking the deformed brat by the 
 hand, and trying to recognize some traces of a parent 
 so far away." 
 
 It was in the discharge of his work as editor of the 
 "Atlantic" that Fields, hospitable to practitioners of all 
 the arts, entered especially into relations with writers 
 whose paths might not otherwise have crossed his, and 
 his wife's. Of all the young Lochinvars of the pen who 
 came out of the West while Mrs. Fields was keeping her 
 diary, Bret Harte and Mark Twain were the daring and 
 dauntless gallants who most captured the imagination 
 and have longest held it. To each of them Mrs. Fields 
 devoted a numbei of pages in her diary. We shall see 
 first what she had to say about Bret Harte. 
 
 Friday, March IO, 1871. Too many days full of 
 
 1 See ante, page in. 
 
234 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 interest have passed unrecorded. Chiefly I should 
 record what I can recall of Francis Bret Harte, who has 
 made his first visit to the East just now, since he went 
 to San Francisco in his early youth. He is now appar- 
 ently about 35 years old. His mind is full of the grand 
 landscape of the West, and filled also with sympathetic 
 interest in the half-developed natives who are to be 
 seen there, nearer to the surface than in our Eastern 
 cities. He told me of a gambler who had a friend lying 
 dead in the upper room of a gambling house. The man 
 went out to see about having services performed. 
 "Better have it at the grave," said the parson to whom 
 he applied. Jim shook his head as if he feared the proper 
 honors would not be paid his friend. The other then 
 suggested they should find the minister and leave it 
 to him. "Well," said Jim, "yes, I wish you 'd do just 
 that, for I ain't much of a funeral 'sharp* myself." He 
 told me also, as a sign of the wonderful recklessness 
 which had pervaded San Francisco, that at one time 
 there was a glut of tobacco in the market and, a block 
 of houses going up at the same period, the foundations 
 of those houses were laid of boxes of tobacco. Bret Harte, 
 as the world calls him, is natural, warm-hearted, with a 
 keen relish for fun, disposed to give just value to the 
 strong language of the West, which he is by no means 
 inclined to dispense with; at ease in every society, 
 quick of sense and sight. Jamie, who saw him more than 
 I, finds him lovable above all. We liked his wife too, 
 not handsome but with good honest sense, apprecia- 
 tive of him, and two children. She is said to sing 
 
/ 
 
 tux 
 
 <sTW 
 
 
 4 
 
 
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 Facsimile page from an early letter of Bret Hartes 
 
236 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 well, but poor woman ! the fatigues of that most dis- 
 tressing journey across the continent, the fetes, the 
 heat (for the weather is unusually warm), have been 
 almost too much for her and she is not certainly at 
 her best. They dined and took tea here last Friday. 
 
 Tuesday, September 5, 1871. J. went to Boston. 
 I wrote in the pastures and walked all the morning. 
 Coming home, after dinner, came a telegram for me 
 to meet J. and Bret Harte at Beverly station with the 
 pony carriage. I drove hard to catch the train, but 
 arrived in season, glad to take up the two good boys 
 and show them Beverly shore. Stopped at Mrs. Cabot's 
 
 returning to see Mrs. , etc. They were all glad to 
 
 have a glimpse of Bret Harte. The talk turned a little 
 upon Hawthorne, and I was much amused to hear 
 
 Mrs. say, drawing herself up, "Yes, he was born 
 
 in Salem, but we never knew anything about him." 
 (The truth was, Mrs. was the last person to appre- 
 ciate him.) . . . Fortunately Miss Howes was present, 
 whose father was one of Hawthorne's best friends ; so 
 matters were made clear there. We left soon and came 
 on to Manchester, where, after showing him the shore, 
 we sat and talked during the evening. 
 
 Mr. Harte had much to say of the beautiful flowers of 
 California, roses being in bloom about his own house 
 there every month in the year. He found the cloudless 
 skies and continued drought of California very hard 
 to bear. For the first time in my life I considered how 
 terrible perpetual cloudlessness would be! He thinks 
 there is no beauty in the mountains of California, hard, 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 237 
 
 bare, snowless peaks. Neither are there trees, nor any 
 green grass. 
 
 He is delighted with the fragrant lawns of Newport 
 and has, I believe, put into verse a delightful ghost story 
 which he told us. 1 He has taken a house of some an- 
 tiquity in Newport, connected with which is the story 
 of a lady who formerly lived there and who was very 
 fond of the odor of mignonette. The flower was always 
 growing in her house, and after her death, at two o'clock 
 every night, a strong odor has always been perceived 
 passing through the house as if wafted along by the 
 garments of a woman. One night at the appointed hour, 
 but entirely unconnected in his thought with the story 
 Mr. Harte had long ago heard, he was arrested in his 
 work by a strong perfume of mignonette which appeared 
 to sweep by him. He looked about, thinking his wife 
 might have placed a vase of flowers in the room, but 
 finding nothing he began to follow the odor, which 
 seemed to flit before him. Then he recalled, for the first 
 time, the story he had heard. He opened the door ; the 
 odor was in the hall; he opened the room where the 
 lady died, but there was no odor there ; until returning, 
 after making a circuit of the house, he found a faint 
 perfume as if she had passed but not stayed there also. 
 At last, somewhat oppressed perhaps by the ghostliness 
 of the place and hour, he went out and stood upon the 
 porch. There his dream vanished. The sweet lawn 
 and tree flowers were emitting an odor, as is common at 
 
 1 "A Newport Romance," published in the Atlantic Monthly for October, 
 1871. 
 
238 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 the hour when dews congeal, more sweet than at any 
 other time of day or night, and the air was redolent of 
 sweets which might easily be construed into mignon- 
 ette. The story was well told and I shall be glad to 
 see his poem. 
 
 Many good stories came off during the evening, some 
 very characteristic of California ; ones such as that of 
 an uproar in a theatre and a man about to be killed, 
 when someone shouts, "Don't waste him, but kill a 
 fiddler with him." Also one of the opening nights at 
 the California theatre, the place packed, when a man 
 who has taken too much whiskey wishes a noise ; imme- 
 diately the manager, a strong executive man, catches 
 him up with the help of a policeman, and before any- 
 body knows the thing is done or the disturber what is 
 the matter, he finds himself set down on the sidewalk 
 outside in the street. "Well," said he with an oath, "is 
 this the way you do business here ; raise a fellow before 
 he has a chance to draw?" (referring to the game of 
 poker). 
 
 Mr. Harte is a very sensitive and nervous man. He 
 struggles against himself all the time. He sat on the 
 piazza with J. and talked till a late hour. This morning at 
 breakfast I found him most interesting. He talked of his 
 early and best-loved books. It appears that at the age 
 of nine he was a lover and reader of Montaigne. Certain 
 writers, he says, seem to him to stand out as friends and 
 brothers side by side in literature. Now Horace and 
 Montaigne are so associated in his mind. Mr. Emerson, 
 he thinks, never in the least approaches a comprehen- 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 239 
 
 sion of the character of the man. With an admiration 
 for his great sayings, he has never guessed at the subtle 
 springs from which they come. The pleasant acceding 
 to both sides in politics, and other traits of like nature, 
 gives him affinity 1 with Hawthorne. By the way, he is 
 a true appreciator of Hawthorne. He was moved to 
 much merriment yesterday by remembering a passage 
 in the notes, where he slyly remarks, " Margaret Fuller's 
 cows hooked the other cows." Speaking of Dr. Bartol, he 
 said, "What a dear old man he is ! A venerable baby, 
 nothing more !" But Harte is most kindly and tender. 
 His wife has been very ill and has given him cause for 
 terrible anxiety. This accounts for much left undone, 
 but he is an oblivious man oftentimes to his surround- 
 ings leaves things behind ! ! 
 
 January 12, 1872. Bret Harte was here at break- 
 fast. It is curious to see his feeling with regard to soci- 
 ety. For purely literary society, with its affectations 
 and contempts, he has no sympathy. He has at length 
 chosen New York as his residence, and among the 
 Schuylers, Sherwoods, and their friends he appears to 
 find what he enjoys. There is evidently a gene about 
 people and life here, and provincialisms which he found 
 would hurt him. He is very sensitive and keen, with a 
 love and reverence for Dickens almost peculiar in this 
 coldly critical age. Bryant he finds very cold and totally 
 unwilling to lead the conversation, as he should do 
 when they are together, as he justly remarks, he being 
 so much younger but never a word without cart and 
 horses to fetch it. 
 
2 4 o MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Bret Harte has a queer absent-minded way of spend- 
 ing his time, letting the hours slip by as if he had not 
 altogether learned their value yet. It is a miracle to 
 us how he lives, for he writes very little. Thus far I 
 suppose he has had money from J. R. O. & Co., but I 
 fancy they have done with giving out money save for a 
 quid pro quo. 
 
 February , 1872 [during a visit to New York]. We 
 had promised to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Harte early 
 and go to the theatre afterward, therefore four o'clock 
 found us at their door. He welcomed us by opening it 
 himself and only this reassured Jamie. We had driven 
 up in a "Crystal," much to my amusement, in which J. 
 had insisted I should sit until he discovered if that was 
 the house. The scene was altogether comic. I shortened 
 the ludicrousness as much as possible by jumping out 
 and running quickly up the steps. Mrs. Harte was not 
 ready to see me, but I found Mr. Barrett the actor with 
 Mr. Harte in the parlor, and soon being invited upstairs, 
 found Mrs. Barrett and Mrs. Harte together. We had 
 a merry dinner together, the young actor evidently 
 quite nervous with respect to the evening's performance. 
 He went an hour before us to the play. We sat in the 
 stage box; the play was "Julius Caesar." It is useless 
 to deny Edwin Booth great talent, exquisite grace and 
 feeling. Both the young men, the first, Barrett, a man of 
 intellect, and Booth, a man of inherited grace and feel- 
 ing as well as good mind, have the advantage moreover 
 of being born to the stage. Their stage habits fit them 
 more perfectly than those of the drawing-room and they 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 241 
 
 walk the stage with the ease that most men do their 
 own parlors. During the performance Booth invited us 
 into his drawing-room ; a short carpeted way led from 
 the box into the small room where he was sitting in 
 Roman costume, pipe in mouth; he rose and called 
 "Mary," as we approached, when the tiniest woman 
 ever called wife made her appearance. She is an ardent 
 little spark of human flame and he really looks large 
 beside her. 
 
 But his grace, his grace ! His dress too, was as usual 
 perfect more, far more than all, both the actors had 
 such feeling for Shakespeare and for their parts with 
 which they are filling the stage nightly, that they were 
 deeply and truly enthusiastic. It was a sight to warm 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Saturday, September 18, 1875. Bret Harte came on 
 the \ past 12 train. He came in good health, save a 
 headache which ripened as the day went on; but he 
 was bubbling over with fun, full of the most natural and 
 unexpected sallies. He wished to know if I was ac- 
 quainted with the Cochin China hen. They had one at 
 Cohasset. They had named him Benventuro (after a 
 certain gay Italian singer of strong self-appreciation who 
 came formerly to America). He said this hen's state of 
 mind on finding a half-exploded fire-cracker and her 
 depressed condition since its explosion was something 
 extraordinary. His description was so vivid that I still 
 see this hen perambulating about the house, first with 
 pride, second with precipitation, fallen into disgrace 
 among her fellows. 
 
242 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 He said Cohasset was not the place to live in the sum- 
 mer if one wanted sea-breezes. They all came straight 
 from Chicago ! ! He fancied the place, thinking it an old 
 fishing village, not unlike Yarmouth. Instead of which 
 they prided themselves upon never having " any of your 
 sea-smells," and, being five miles from the doctor, could 
 not be considered a cheerful place to live in with sick 
 children. He said he was surprised to find J. T. F. with- 
 out a sailor's jacket and collar. The actors among whom 
 he had been living rather overdid the business; their 
 collars were wider, their shirts fuller, and their trousers 
 more bulgy than those of any real sailor he had ever 
 observed, and the manner of hitching up the trousers 
 was entirely peculiar to themselves and to the stage. 
 
 We went to call upon the Burlingames. In describing 
 Harrisburg, Virginia, where he had lectured, he said a 
 committee-man came to invite him to take a walk, and 
 he was so afflicted with a headache that he was ready 
 to take or give away his life at any moment ; so he ac- 
 cepted the invitation and walked out with him. The 
 man observed that Harrisburg was a very healthy place ; 
 only one man a day died in that vicinity. "Oh!" said 
 Harte, remembering the dangerous state of his own 
 mind, "has that man died yet today ?" The man shook 
 his head gravely, never suspecting a joke, and said he 
 did n't know, but he would try to find out. Whereat 
 Harte, to keep up the joke, said he wished he would. He 
 went to the lecture forgetting all about it and saw this 
 man hanging around without getting a chance to speak. 
 The next morning very early, he managed to get an 
 
i 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 243 
 
 opportunity to speak to him. "I couldn't find out 
 exactly about that man yesterday," he said. "What 
 man ?" said H. "Why, the one we were speaking of; 
 the Coroner said he could n't say precisely who it was, 
 but the one man would average all right." 
 
 Harte said in speaking of Longfellow that no one had 
 yet overpraised him. The delicate quality of humor, the 
 exquisite fineness in the choice of words, the breadth 
 and sweetness of his nature were something he could 
 hardly help worshipping. One day after a dinner at Mr. 
 Lowell's he said, "I think I will not have a carriage to 
 return to town. I will walk down to the Square." " I will 
 walk with you," said Longfellow. When they arrived at 
 his gate, he said, he was so beautiful that he could only 
 think of the light and whiteness of the moon, and if he 
 had stayed a moment longer he should have put his arms 
 around him and made a fool of himself then and there. 
 Whereat he said good night abruptly and turned away. 
 
 He brought his novel and play 1 with him which are 
 just now finished, for us to read. He has evidently 
 enjoyed the play, and he enjoys the fame and the 
 money they both bring him. 
 
 He is a dramatic, lovable creature with his blue silk 
 pocket-handkerchief and red dressing slippers and his 
 quick feelings. I could hate the man who could help 
 loving him or the woman either. 
 
 In the passages touching upon Mark Twain now to be 
 copied from the journals, he is seen, not in Boston, but 
 
 1 Probably Gabriel Conroy and Two Men of Sandy Bar. 
 
244 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 in Hartford. If Mrs. Fields had continued her diary 
 until 1879, there would doubtless have been a faithful 
 contemporaneous account of the humorist's unhappy 
 attempt to be funny both in the presence and at the ex- 
 pense of the "Augustans" assembled in honor of Whit- 
 tier's seventieth birthday. 1 But Mrs. Fields's reports 
 of talk and observations under his own roof, in the 
 days when his fame rested entirely upon a handful of his 
 earlier books, should take their place in the authentic 
 annals of an extraordinary personality. On the first of 
 the two occasions recorded, Fields went alone to deliver 
 a lecture in Hartford, and in answer to a post-card in- 
 vitation signed "Mark," stayed in the new house of the 
 Clemenses. On the second occasion, three weeks later, 
 Mrs. Fields accompanied him. After her husband's re- 
 turn from the first visit she wrote : 
 
 April 6, 1876. He found Mrs. Clemens quite ill. 
 They had been in New York where he had given four 
 lectures hoping to get money for Dr. Brown. He had 
 never lectured there before without making a great deal 
 of money. This time he barely covered his expenses. 
 He was very interesting and told J. the whole story of 
 his life. They sat until midnight after the lecture, Mark 
 drinking ale to make him sleepy. He says he can't sleep 
 as other people do ; his kind of sleep is the only sort for 
 him three or four hours of good solid comfort more 
 than that makes him ill ; he can't afford to sleep all his 
 thoughts away. He described the hunger of his child- 
 
 1 See The Atlantic Monthly and Its Makers, pp. 73-75. 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 245 
 
 hood for books, how the " Fortunes of Nigel " was one 
 of the first stories which came to him while he was learn- 
 ing to be a pilot on a Mississippi boat. He hid himself 
 with it behind a barrel where he was found by the 
 master, who read him a lecture upon the ruinous effects 
 of reading. "I Ve seen it over and over agin," he said. 
 "You need n't tell me any thin* about it ; if ye 're going 
 to be a pilot on this river yer need n't ever think of 
 reading, for it just spiles all. Yer can't remember how 
 high the tides was in Can's Gut three trips before the 
 last now, I '11 wager." "Why no," said Mark, "that 
 was six months ago." "I don't care if 't was," said the 
 man. "If you had n't been spiling yer mind by readin' 
 ye 'd have remembered." So he was never allowed to 
 read any more after that. "And now," says Mark, "not 
 being able to have it when I was hungry for it, I can 
 only read the Encyclopedia nowadays." Which is not 
 true he reads everything. 
 
 The story of his courtship and marriage, too, was 
 very strange and interesting. A portion of this has, 
 however, leaked into the daily papers, so I will not 
 repeat it here. One point interested me greatly, how- 
 ever, as showing the strength of character and right- 
 ness of vision in the man. He said he had not been 
 married many months when his wife's father came to 
 him one evening and said, "My son, would n't you like 
 to go to Europe with your wife?" "Why yes, sir," 
 he said, "if I could afford it." "Well then," said he, 
 "if you will leave off smoking and drinking ale you 
 shall have ten thousand dollars this next year and go to 
 
246 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Europe beside.", "Thank you, sir," said Mark, "this is 
 very good of you, and I appreciate it, but I can't sell 
 myself. I will do anything I can for you or any of your 
 family, but I can't sell myself." The result was, said 
 Mark, " I never smoked a cigar all that year nor drank a 
 glass of ale ; but when the next year came I found I must 
 write a book, and when I sat down to write I found it 
 was n't worth anything. I must have a cigar to steady 
 my nerves. I began to smoke, and I wrote my book ; 
 but then I could n't sleep and I had to drink ale to go to 
 sleep. Now if I had sold myself, I could n't have written 
 my book, or I could n't have gone to sleep, but now 
 everything works perfectly well." 
 
 He and his wife have wretched health, poor things ! 
 And in spite of their beautiful home must often have 
 rather a hard time. He is very eccentric, disturbed by 
 every noise, and it cannot be altogether easy to have 
 care of such a man. It is a very loving household though 
 Mrs. Clemens's mother, Mrs. Langdon, hardly knows 
 what to make of him sometimes, it is quite evident. 
 
 Thursday, April 27, 1876. We lunched and at 3 
 P.M. were en route for Hartford. I slept, and read Mr. 
 Tom Appleton's journal on the Nile, and looked out at 
 the sunset and the torches of spring in the hollows, each 
 in turn, doing more sleeping than either of the others, 
 I fear, because I seem for some unexplained reason to be 
 tired, as Mrs. Hawthorne used to say, far into the future. 
 By giving up to it, however, I felt quite fresh when we 
 arrived, at half-past seven o'clock, Mr. Clemens' (Mark 
 Twain's) carriage waiting for us to take us to the hall 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 247 
 
 where he was to perform for the second night in suc- 
 cession Peter Spyle in the "Loan of a Lover." It is a 
 pretty play, and the girl's part, Gertrude, was well 
 done by Miss Helen Smith; but Mr. Clemens' part 
 was a creation. I see no reason why, if he chose to adopt 
 the profession of actor, he should not be as successful 
 as Jefferson in whatever he might conclude to under- 
 take. It is really amazing to see what a man of genius 
 can do beside what is usually considered his legitimate 
 sphere. 
 
 Afterward we went with Mr. Hammersley to the Club 
 for a bit of supper this I did not wish to do, but 1 was 
 overruled of course by the decision of our host. We met 
 at supper one of the clever actors who played in a little 
 operetta called "The Artful Mendicants." It was after 
 twelve o'clock when we finally reached Mr. Clemens' 
 house. He believed his wife would have retired, as she 
 is very delicate in health ; but there she was expecting 
 us, with a pretty supper table laid. When her husband 
 discovered this, he fell down on his knees in mock desire 
 for forgiveness. His mind was so full of the play, and 
 with the poor figure he felt he had made in it, that he 
 had entirely forgotten all her directions and injunctions. 
 She is a very small, sweet-looking, simple, finished 
 creature, charming in her ways and evidently deeply 
 beloved by him. The house is a brick villa, designed by 
 one of the first New York architects, standing in a lovely 
 lawn which slopes down to a small stream or river at the 
 side. In this spring season the blackbirds are busy in 
 the trees and the air is sweet and vocal. Inside there is 
 
'l^J^^IW* 
 
 j?Z3t<">2<>*~ : ^+ F**** 
 
 -*&&> f &* 
 
 /# twOe<r &^^ui^> -J-tfA^U^ 
 
 *. t ~* * ' * / '. /y i /, t 
 
 Facsimile verses and letter 
 
<NC 
 
250 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 great luxury. Especially I delight in a lovely conserva- 
 tory opening out of the drawing-room. 
 
 Although we had already eaten supper, the gentlemen 
 took a glass of lager beer to keep Mrs. Clemens com- 
 pany while she ate a bit of bread after her long anxiety 
 and waiting. Meantime Mr. Clemens talked. The quiet 
 earnest manner of his speech would be impossible to 
 reproduce, but there is a drawl in his tone peculiar to 
 himself. Also he is much interested in actors and the 
 art of acting just now, and seriously talks of going to 
 Boston next week to the debut of Anna Dickinson. 
 
 We were a tired company and went soon to bed and 
 to sleep. I slept late, but I found Mr. Clemens had been 
 re-reading Dana's "Two Years before the Mast" in bed 
 early and revolving subjects for his "Autobiography." 
 Their two beautiful baby girls came to pass an hour 
 with us after breakfast exquisite affectionate chil- 
 dren, the very fountain of joy to their interesting par- 
 ents. . . . 
 
 Returning to lunch, I found our host and hostess 
 and eldest little girl in the drawing-room. We fell into 
 talk of the mishaps of the stage and the disadvantage of 
 an amateur under such circumstances. "For instance, 
 on the first night of our little play," said Mr. Clemens, 
 "the trousers of one of the actors suddenly gave way 
 entirely behind, which was very distressing to him, 
 though we did not observe it at all." 
 
 I want to stop here to give a little idea of the appear- 
 ance of our host. He is forty years old, with some color 
 in his cheeks and a heavy light-colored moustache, and 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 251 
 
 overhanging light eyebrows. His eyes are grey and 
 piercing, yet soft, and his whole face expresses great 
 sensitiveness. He is exquisitely neat also, though care- 
 less, and his hands are small, not without delicacy. 
 He is a small man, but his mass of hair seems the one 
 rugged-looking thing about him. I thought in the play 
 last night that it was a wig. 
 
 To return to our lunch table he proceeded to speak 
 of his "Autobiography," which he intends to write as 
 fully and simply as possible to leave behind him. His 
 wife laughingly said she should look it over and leave 
 out objectionable passages. "No," he said, very ear- 
 nestly, almost sternly, "you are not to edit it it is to 
 appear as it is written, with the whole tale told as truly 
 as I can tell it. I shall take out passages from it, and 
 publish as I go along in the 'Atlantic* and elsewhere, 
 but I shall not limit myself as to space, and at whatever 
 age I am writing about, even if I am an infant, and an 
 idea comes to me about myself when I am forty, I shall 
 put that in. Every man feels that his experience is un- 
 like that of anybody else, and therefore he should write 
 it down. He finds also that everybody else has thought 
 and felt on some points precisely as he has done, and 
 therefore he should write it down." 
 
 The talk naturally branched to education, and thence 
 to the country. He has lost all faith in our government. 
 This wicked ungodly suffrage, he said, where the vote 
 of a man who knew nothing was as good as the vote 
 of a man of education and industry ; this endeavor to 
 equalize what God had made unequal was a wrong and 
 
2-52 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 a shame. He only hoped to live long enough to see such 
 a wrong and such a government overthrown. Last 
 summer he wrote an article for the "Atlantic," printed 
 without any signature, proposing the only solution of 
 such evil of which he could conceive. "It is too late 
 now," he continued, "to restrict the suffrage; we must 
 increase it for this let us give every university man, 
 let us say, 'ten votes, and every man with common- 
 school education two votes, and a man of superior 
 power and position a hundred votes, if we choose. This 
 is the only way I see to get but of the false position 
 into which we have fallen." 
 
 At five, the hour appointed for dinner, I returned to 
 the drawing-room where our host lay at full length on 
 the floor with his head on cushions in the bay-window, 
 reading, and taking what he called "delicious comfort." 
 Mrs. Perkins came in to dinner, and we had a cosy good 
 time. Mr. Clemens described the preaching of a West- 
 ern clergyman, a great favorite, with the smallest pos- 
 sible allowance of idea to the largest possible amount of 
 words. It was so truthfully and vividly portrayed that 
 we all concluded, perhaps, since the man was in such 
 earnest, he moved his audience more than if he had 
 troubled them with too many ideas. This truthfulness 
 of Mr. Clemens, which will hardly allow him to portray 
 anything in a way to make out a case by exaggerating 
 or distorting a truth, is a wondrous and noble quality. 
 This makes art and makes life, and will continue to 
 make him a daily increasing power among us. 
 
 He is so unhappy and discontented with our govern- 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 253 
 
 ment that he says he is not conscious of the least emo- 
 tion of patriotism in himself. He is overwhelmed with 
 shame and confusion and wishes he were not an Amer- 
 ican. He thinks seriously of going to England to live for 
 a while, at least, and I think it not unlikely he may 
 discover away from home a love of his country which 
 is still waiting to be unfolded. I believe hope must dawn 
 for us, that so much earnest endeavor of our statesmen 
 and patriots cannot come to naught ; and perhaps the 
 very idea he has dropped, never believing that it can 
 bring forth fruit, will be adopted in the end for our sal- 
 vation. Certainly women's suffrage and such a change 
 as he proposes should be tried, since we cannot keep the 
 untenable ground of the present. . . . 
 
 It is most curious and interesting to watch this grow- 
 ing man of forty to see how he studies and how high 
 his aims are. His conversation is always earnest and 
 careful, though full of fun. He is just now pondering 
 much upon actors and their ways. Raymond, who is 
 doing the "Gilded Age," is so hopelessly given "to 
 saving at the spigot and losing at the bung-hole" that 
 he is evidently not over-satisfied nor does he count the 
 acting everything it might be. 
 
 We sat talking, chiefly we women, after dinner and 
 looking at the sunset. Mr. Clemens lay down with a 
 book and J. went to look over his lecture. I did not 
 go to lecture, but after all were gone I scribbled away at 
 these pages and nearly finished Mr. Appleton's "Nile 
 Journal." They returned rather late, it was after ten, 
 bearing a box of delicious strawberries, Mrs. Colt's gift 
 
254 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 from her endless greenhouses. They were a sensation ; 
 the whole of summer was foreshadowed by their scarlet 
 globes. Some beer was brought for Mr. Clemens (who 
 drinks nothing else, and as he eats but little this seems 
 to answer the double end of nourishment and soothing 
 for the nerves) and he began again to talk. He said it 
 was astonishing what subjects were missed by the Poet 
 Laureate. He thought the finest incident of the Crimean 
 War had been certainly overlooked. That was the going 
 down at sea of the man of war, Berkeley Castle. The 
 ship with a whole regiment, one of the finest of the Eng- 
 lish army, on board, struck a rock near the Bosphorus. 
 There was no help the bottom was out and the boats 
 would only hold the crew and the other helpless ones ; 
 there was no chance for the soldiers. The Colonel sum- 
 moned them on deck ; he told them the duty of soldiers 
 was to die ; they would do their duty as bravely there 
 as if they were on the battle-field. He bade them shoul- 
 der arms and prepare for action. The drums beat, flags 
 were flying, the service playing, as they all went down to 
 silent death in the great deep. 
 
 Afterward Mr. Clemens described to us the reappear- 
 ance before his congregation of an old clergyman who 
 had been incapacitated for work during twelve years 
 coming suddenly into the pulpit just as the first hymn 
 was ended. The younger pastor proposed they should 
 sing the old man's favorite, " Coronation," omitting the 
 first verse. He heard nothing of the omission, but be- 
 ginning at the first verse he sang in a cracked treble the 
 remaining stanza after all the people were still. There 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 255 
 
 was a mingling of the comic and pathetic in this inci- 
 dent which made it consonant with the genius of our 
 host. Our dear little hostess complained of want of air, 
 and I saw she was very tired, so we all went to bed about 
 eleven. 
 
 Saturday morning. Dear J. was up early and out in 
 the beautiful sunshine. I read and scribbled until break- 
 fast at half-past nine. It was a lovely morning, and I 
 had already ventured out of my window and round the 
 house to hear the birds sing and see the face of spring 
 before the hour came for breakfast. When I did go to 
 the drawing-room, however, I found Mr. Clemens alone. 
 He greeted me apparently as cheerfully as ever, and it 
 was not until some moments had passed that he told 
 me they had a very sick child upstairs. From that in- 
 stant I saw, especially after his wife came in, that they 
 could think of nothing else. They were half-distracted 
 with anxiety. Their messenger could not find the doctor, 
 which made matters worse. However, the little girl did 
 not really seem very sick, so I could not help thinking 
 they were unnecessarily excited. The effect on them, 
 however, was just as bad as if the child were really very 
 ill. The messenger was hardly despatched the second 
 time before Jamie and Mr. Clemens began to talk of our 
 getting away in the next train, whereat he (Mr. C.) said 
 to his wife, "Why did n't you tell me of that," etc., etc. 
 It was all over in a moment, but in his excitement he 
 spoke more quickly than he knew, and his wife felt it. 
 Nothing was said at the time, indeed we hardly observed 
 it, but we were intensely amused and could not help 
 
256 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 finding it pathetic too afterward, when he came to us and 
 said he spent the larger part of his life on his knees mak- 
 ing apologies and now he had got to make an apology to 
 us about the carriage. He was always bringing the blood 
 to his wife's face by his bad behavior, and here this very 
 morning he had said such things about that carriage ! 
 His whole life was one long apology. His wife had told 
 him to see how well we behaved (poor we !) and he knew 
 he had everything to learn. 
 
 He was so amusing about it that he left us in a storm 
 of laughter, yet at bottom I could see it was no laugh- 
 ing matter to him. He is in dead earnest, with a desire 
 for growth and truth in life, and with such a sincere 
 admiration for his wife's sweetness and beauty of char- 
 acter that the most prejudiced and hardest heart could 
 not fail to fall in love with him. She looked like an 
 exquisite lily as we left her. So white and delicate and 
 tender. Such sensitiveness and self-control as she pos- 
 sesses are very, very rare. 
 
 May Day. Longfellow, Greene, Alexander Agassiz 
 and Dr. Holmes dined with us. This made summer, 
 Longfellow said at table that this was May Day 
 enough, it was no matter how cold it was outside. 
 (The wind outside had been raging all day and winter 
 seemed to be giving us a last fling.) Jamie recalled one 
 or two things "Mark Twain" had said which I have 
 omitted. When he lectured a few weeks ago in New 
 York, he said he had just reached the middle of his lec- 
 ture and was going on with flying colors when he saw in 
 the audience just in front of him a noble gray head and 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 257 
 
 beard. "Nobody told me that William Cullen Bryant 
 was there, but I had seen his picture and I knew that 
 was the old man. I was sure he saw the failure I was 
 making, and all the weak points in what I was saying, 
 and I could n't do anything more that old man just 
 spoiled my work. Then they told me afterward that 
 my lecture was good and all that; I could only say, 
 'no, no, that fine old head spoiled all I had to say that 
 night/" 
 
 Longfellow was quite like himself again, but the talk 
 was mainly sustained by Dr. Holmes and Mr. Agassiz. 
 When Dr. Holmes first came in he looked earnestly at 
 the portrait of Sydney Smith. "It reminds me of our 
 famous story-teller, Sullivan," he said; "it is full of 
 epicureanism. The mouth is made for kisses and canvas- 
 backs" Later on in the dinner, when Mr. Agassiz was 
 describing the fatigue he suffered after talking Spanish 
 all day while he still understood the language very im- 
 perfectly, "Why," said Holmes, "it 's like playing the 
 piano with mittens on." 
 
 There was something pathetic in the fact of this young 
 man sitting here among his father's friends, almost 
 in the very place his father had filled so many times 
 but his speech was manly and wise, from a full brain. 
 They talked of the spectroscope as on the whole the 
 most important discovery the world had known. "Well, 
 what is it?" said Longfellow. "Explain it to us." (I 
 was glad enough to have him ask.) Agassiz explained 
 quite clearly that it was an instrument to discover the 
 elements which compose the sun, and proceeded to un- 
 
258 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 fold its working in some detail. Two men made the dis- 
 covery simultaneously, one in India and one in Eng- 
 land. This spectroscope has been infinitely improved, 
 however, by every living mind brought to bear upon it, 
 almost, since its first so-called discovery. It is so diffi- 
 cult, Dr. H. said, to tell where an invention began ; you 
 could go back until it seemed that no man that ever 
 lived really did it like some verses, whereupon one of 
 Gray's was given as an example. The talk turned some- 
 what upon the manner of putting things, the English 
 manner being so poor and inexpressive compared with 
 the southern natures the French being the masters of 
 expression. 
 
 Longfellow gave a delightful account of the old artist 
 and spiritualist, Kirkup, the discoverer of the Dante 
 portrait, though Greene undertook to say that a certain 
 Wilde was the man. I never heard anybody else have 
 the credit but Kirkup, and certainly England believes 
 it was he. 
 
 I think they all had "a good time" ; I am sure I did. 
 
 As Mark Twain, in the preceding pages may be said to 
 have led the reader back into the Boston and Cambridge 
 circle, so there were constant excursions of interest 
 from that circle but into the world in which such a man 
 as Sumner stood as the friend of such another as Long- 
 fellow. For twenty-three years, from 1851 till his death 
 in 1874, Sumner was a member of the United States 
 Senate, and consequently was much more to be seen in 
 
CHARLES SUMNER 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 259 
 
 Washington than in the state he represented. He ap- 
 pears from time to time in the pages of Mrs. Fields's 
 diary, and in the two ensuing passages figures first at 
 her Boston dinner-table and then in Washington-. 
 
 Saturday, November 1 8, 1865. Last night Miss Kate 
 Field and Charles Sumner dined with us. Before we 
 went to dinner Charlotte Foster, the young colored girl 
 whom Elizabeth Whittier was so fond of and who is now 
 secretary of the Freedmen's Bureau, came in to call. 
 She is very pretty and good. It is difficult nevertheless 
 for her to find a boarding-place. People do not readily 
 admit a colored woman into their families. I shall help 
 her to find a good home. . . . 
 
 Mr. Sumner opened the conversation at dinner by 
 asking Miss Field to tell him something of Mr. Landor. 
 She, smiling, said that was difficult now because she 
 had talked and written so much of him that she hardly 
 knew what was left unsaid. Mr. Sumner described his 
 own first introduction then at the house of his old 
 friend, Mr. Kenyon, in London. He had dropped in 
 there by accident, but was positively engaged elsewhere 
 at dinner ; before he left, however, he was able to parry 
 skilfully a remark aimed at the Yankees, which tickled 
 Mr. Landor and made him try to hold on and induce 
 him to stay. He was obliged to go then, however, but 
 he returned a few days after to breakfast, when Landor 
 asked him why the body of Washington did not rest 
 in the Capitol at Washington. "Because," said Mr. 
 Sumner, " his family wished his ashes to remain at Mt. 
 
260 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Vernon." "Ashes," said L., "his body was not burned ; 
 why do you say 'ashes/ sir?" "I quoted, 'E'en in our 
 ashes live their wonted fires/ and he said nothing more 
 at the time, but," added Mr. Sumner, "I have never 
 used 'ashes' since." 
 
 Kate Field said "his wife was a perfect fiend" ; but 
 Mr. Sumner was inclined to doubt the statement. 
 "These marriages with men of genius are hard," he said, 
 "because genius wins the race in the end." 
 
 Then Kate brought the authority of Mr. Browning 
 and others to back her statement, but, referring to Mr. 
 Landor 's temper, she said that while the Storys were at 
 Siena passing the summer one year, the Brownings took 
 a villa near by and Mr. Landor lived opposite, while she 
 and Miss Isa Blagden went down to make the Brown- 
 ings a visit. During their stay Mr. Landor fancied that 
 the stock of tea lately purchased for his use was poi- 
 soned, and threw it all out of the window. The Conta- 
 dine reaped the benefit of this ; they came and gath- 
 ered it up like a flock of doves. 
 
 Mr. Sumner spoke of the high, very high place he ac- 
 corded to Mr. Landor as a writer of prose. He had been 
 a source of great admiration to him for years, he said. 
 As long ago as when G. W. Greene was living in Rome 
 and first becoming a writer, he asked Mr. Sumner what 
 masters of prose he should study. "Then," said Mr. S., 
 "you remember his own style was bad; the sentences 
 apt to be jumbled up together. I told him to read Bacon, 
 and Hooker, and all the prose of Dryden he could find 
 in the prefaces and elsewhere, and Walter Savage Lan- 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 261 
 
 dor ; and my reverence for Mr. Landor as a writer of 
 prose has never diminished." 
 
 Later during the dinner, talking of his life abroad, Mr. 
 Sumner was reminded of a letter he had received from 
 John P. Hale, our minister plenipotentiary to Spain. 
 He said for a number of years, while Mr. Hale was in 
 the Senate, whenever appeals came from our foreign 
 ministers or consuls abroad asking for increase of salary, 
 Mr. Hale would jump up and say, "Gentlemen of the 
 Senate, allow me to say I would engage to live at any 
 point in Europe upon the salary now granted by the 
 Government. It is no economy, indeed it is a great 
 lack of economy, to think of raising these salaries." 
 
 "Hereupon comes a letter from Spain urging an 
 increase of salary in terms which would convulse the 
 Senate with laughter after the protestatibns they have 
 heard so often. I should like nothing better than to 
 read it to them." For the lack of their presence, how- 
 ever, he read it to us, and it was amusing truly, as if the 
 old days and speeches were a blank. 
 
 Mr. Sumner easily slipped from this subject into 
 others connected with the Government. 
 
 Kate Field said that Judge Russell told her that 
 President Johnson was no better than a sot, and that 
 the head of the Washingtonian Home (a refuge for in- 
 ebriates here) had been sent for, as a man having skill 
 in such cases, to try to save him. "Is this true, Mr. 
 Sumner ?" she asked. Mr. Sumner said not one word at 
 first; then asked, "What authority had Judge Russell 
 for making such an assertion?" Kate did not know, 
 
262 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 and I thought on the whole Mr. Sumner, who knew the 
 man had really been sent for by the President himself, 
 it is supposed for some other reason, doubted the whole 
 tale. I doubted it sincerely from the first moment, 
 and I wonder a man can be left to say such things. 
 
 Sumner then continued to describe very vividly what 
 he had known of Andy Johnson's behavior. When he 
 left Tennessee to come to Washington to be Vice-Presi- 
 dent, he travelled with a negro servant and two demi- 
 johns of whiskey which he dispensed freely, drinking 
 enough himself at the same time to arrive at Washing- 
 ton in a maudlin condition, in which state he remained 
 until after the fourth of March. He was then living at 
 the hotel, and a young Massachusetts officer, who lived 
 on the same floor and was obliged to pass Mr. Johnson's 
 door many times a day, told Mr. S. that during the two 
 days subsequent to Mr. Johnson's arrival he saw, while 
 passing his room, and counted twenty-six glasses of 
 whiskey go in. At length good men interfered; they 
 saw delirium tremens or some other dreadful thing 
 would be the result if this continued, and old Mr. Blair 
 went with Mr. Preston King and persuaded Mr. John- 
 son to go down and stay at Mr. Blair's house, and he 
 surrendered at discretion. It was a small house and a 
 very quiet family, but they stowed Mr. Johnson away 
 and Mr. King also, who was kind enough to offer to 
 take care of him. Shortly after this Mr. Lincoln and 
 Mr. Sumner had gone down the river in a yacht, and 
 had landed at General Grant's headquarters. They 
 were sitting together at two desks reading the papers 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 263 
 
 for the day when Mr. Sumner observed a figure darken 
 the door, and looking up found Mr. Johnson. "Ah, Mr. 
 Vice-President, how do you do," he said, putting his 
 papers aside. "Mr. President, here is the Vice-Presi- 
 dent." Mr. Lincoln arose and extended his hand, but as 
 Mr. Sumner thought very coldly, and after a short time 
 they started again for their yacht. Mr. Johnson walked 
 as far as the wharf, talking with Mr. Lincoln, but when 
 they arrived there, Mr. Lincoln did not say, " Come with 
 us and have lunch," or "Come at night and have din- 
 ner," but bade him simply "Good-bye" there, where 
 they observed him afterward watching their departure 
 with Mr. King by his side, who had come to rejoin him. 
 
 "This," said Mr. Sumner, "is all Mr. Lincoln saw 
 of Mr. Johnson. One week after this time the President 
 was assassinated, and they never met from that hour 
 until his death." 
 
 Mr. Sumner thinks Mr. Beecher is making a danger- 
 ous and deadly mistake, and told him so. He said fur- 
 ther to Mr. B. that his anxieties prevented him from 
 sleeping, that he had not slept for three nights. "I 
 should think so," Mr. Beecher replied, "you talk like 
 a man who had been deprived of his natural rest." The 
 two men have a respect for each other and talk kindly 
 of each other, but they do not see things from the 
 same point of view now at all. 
 
 Friday morning, March 21, 1872. L. W. J. and her 
 daughter met us at the cars [in New York] bound to go 
 with us to Washington. A pleasant day's journey we 
 had of it with their friendly faces to accompany us and 
 
264 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 with Colonel Winthrop to meet us at the train. The 
 evening of our arrival Jamie went at once to see Charles 
 Sumner who lives in a fine house adjoining our hotel. 
 Nothing could be finer than the situation he has chosen. 
 He kept J. until midnight and tried to detain him still 
 longer, but the knowledge that I was waiting for him 
 made him insist at length upon coming away. He found 
 him better in health than he had supposed from the 
 newspapers, and "the same old Sumner," as Jamie 
 said. 
 
 Saturday morning I went in early with J. and passed 
 the entire morning with the Senator. Several colored 
 persons came in as we sat there, and those who were 
 people of eminence were introduced. He talked of lit- 
 erature and showed us his own curiosities which appear 
 to be numberless. Jamie was called away, but he urged 
 me to stay. He said he had sent a message to the Sen- 
 ate which required a reply and he expected every mo- 
 ment to hear the sound of hoofs on the pavement, as 
 he had requested a special messenger to be sent on 
 horseback. The messenger did not arrive, but I stayed 
 on all the same until his carriage came to take him to 
 the Capitol, when he insisted that I should accompany 
 him. He showed me all the wonders of the place, not 
 forgetting the doors which Crawford never lived even 
 to design in clay altogether, but which his wife, de- 
 siring to have the money, caused to be finished by her 
 husband's workmen and foisted upon our Government. 
 They are poor enough. Sumner opposed her in what he 
 considered a dishonest attempt to get money, but of 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 265 
 
 course he could not make an open opposition of this 
 nature against a lady, the widow of his friend. 
 
 Sumner's character is one of the most extraordinary 
 pictures of opposing elements ever combined in one 
 person. He is so possessed by Sumner that there is 
 really no room for the fair existence of another in his 
 world. Position, popularity, domestic happiness, health, 
 have one by one been cut away from him, but he still 
 stands erect, with as large a faith in Sumner and with 
 as determined a look toward the future as if it beckoned 
 him to glory and happiness. I suppose he must believe 
 that the next turn of Fortune's wheel must give him the 
 favor he has now lost ; but were he another man, all the 
 honors of the state could hardly recompense him in the 
 least for what he has lost. He has a firm proud spirit 
 which his terrible bodily suffering does not appear to 
 make falter. His health is so precarious that doubtless 
 a few more adverse strokes would finish him; but he 
 has had all there are to have, one would say. His 
 friends, however, uphold him most tenderly; letters 
 from dear Mrs. Child and others lay upon his table urg- 
 ing him to put away all excitement and try to live for 
 the service of the state. Public honor, probity, the 
 high service of his country seem to be the passions which 
 animate him and by which he endures. He has a mania 
 for collecting rare books and pictures nowadays and it 
 is almost pitiful to see how this fancy runs away with 
 him and how he must frequently be deceived. The 
 tragedy of his marriage would be far more tragic if it 
 had left any scar (as far as mortal can discover) save 
 
266 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 upon his pride. I would not do a man whom I hold in 
 such honor any injustice, but he never seemed in love. 
 
 Sunday. Not well kept to my room in the Ar- 
 lington Hotel all day, obliged to refuse to see guests 
 also, and dear J. has gone alone to dine with Sumner. 
 I had hoped to see his home once more and to see him 
 among his peers. There is always a doubt of course, 
 but especially in his state of health, whether we may 
 ever meet again. If not, I shall not soon forget his 
 stately carriage at the Capitol yesterday nor the store 
 he sets at present upon his counted friends. 
 
 He pointed out the great avenue named Massachu- 
 setts, and the school house named after himself, with 
 a just and noble pride yesterday. The trees are all 
 ready to burst into leaf. Read Bayard Taylor's Nor- 
 wegian story, "Lars" very sweet and fine it is 
 just missing "an excuse for being." L. J. fills us with 
 new respect and regard. Her devotion to her daughter 
 is so perfect and so wise. 
 
 Jamie returned about 12 o'clock. There had been a 
 gorgeous dinner. The guests were Caleb Cushing, 
 Carl Schurz, Perley Poore, Mr. Hill, J. T. F. The serv- 
 ice was worthy of the house of an English nobleman, 
 the feast worthy of Lucullus. It fairly astonished J. to 
 see Surnner eat. He of course sat at S.'s right. Not a 
 wine, nor a dish, was left untasted and even the richest 
 puddings were taken in large quantities. I thought of 
 poor Mrs. Child and other devout admirers of this their 
 Republican ( ! ) leader, then of Charlotte Bronte's story 
 of Thackeray at dinner. Some day, said J., we shall 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 267 
 
 take up the paper and find Sumner is no more, and it 
 will be after one of these dinners. 
 
 The talk astonished J., utterly unused as he is to 
 look behind the scenes of government. Caleb Gushing, 
 a man over 70, who appears to have the vigor of 50, 
 called Stanton "a master of duplicity." Caleb Cushing 
 said Seward was the first man who introduced ungentle- 
 manly bearing into the Cabinet. Until he came there, 
 there was no smoking, no putting up of the feet, but 
 always a fine courtesy and dignity of behavior was 
 preserved. 
 
 Before leaving the diaries from which so many pages 
 have already been drawn, before letting the last of the 
 familiar faces which look out from them fade again from 
 sight, it would be a pity not to assemble a few entries 
 recalling notable persons of whom Mrs. Fields made 
 fragmentary but significant record. Here, for instance, 
 are glimpses of Henry Ward Beecher, fresh from the 
 great service he rendered to the Union cause in the 
 Civil War by his speeches in England. 
 
 Tuesday , November 17, 1863. J. T. F. saw Mr. 
 Kennard today and we heard from him the particulars 
 of Mr. Beecher's landing. He came on shore in the 
 warm fog which was the precursor of the heavy rain 
 we have today, at 3 o'clock A.M. of Sunday. He went 
 to the Parker House until day should break and Mr. 
 Kennard could come and take him to the retirement 
 
268 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 of Brookline, to pass the day until the train should 
 leave for New York. News of his arrival getting abroad, 
 a company of orthodox deacons waited upon him very 
 early to invite him to preach. " Gentlemen, do you take 
 me for a fool," he said, "to jump so readily into the 
 harness of the pulpit even before the fatigue of the voy- 
 age has worn away ?" He heard of the illness of one of 
 his younger children and therefore hastened as quickly 
 as possible toward home. 
 
 The day before the one upon which he was to speak 
 at Exeter Hall he awoke in the morning with a heavy 
 headache; his voice, too, was seriously impaired by 
 over-use. He wanted to speak, his whole heart was in 
 it, yet how in this condition ? He shut himself up in the 
 house all that day and hoped for better things and went 
 early to bed that night. The next morning at dawn he 
 awoke, he opened his eyes quickly. "Is God to suffer me 
 to do this work ?" He leaped from the bed with a bound. 
 His head was clear and fresh, but his voice he hardly 
 dared to try that. " I will speak to my sister three thou- 
 sand miles away," he said, and cried, "Harriet." The 
 tones were clear and strong. "Thank God !" he said 
 then speedily dressed trying his voice again and again 
 then he sat down and wrote off the heads of his ad- 
 dress. All he needed to say came freshly and purely to 
 his mind just in the form he wished. The day ebbed away 
 and the carriage came to take him to the hall. When 
 he descended to the street, to his surprise there was a 
 long file of policemen, through whom he was conducted 
 because of the crowds waiting about his door. He was 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 269 
 
 obliged to descend also at some distance from Exeter 
 Hall, and he was again conducted through another line 
 of police before he reached the door. The people pushed 
 and cried out so that he ran from the carriage towards 
 the hall ; and one of the staid policemen, observing a 
 man running, cried out and caught him by the coat-tail 
 saying he must n't run there, that line was preserved 
 for the great speaker. "Well, my friend," said Mr. 
 Beecher, "I can tell you one thing. There won't be 
 much speaking till I get there." While he hurried on, 
 he felt a woman lay hold of the skirts of his coat. The 
 police, seeing her, tried to push her away, but she said 
 to one of them, "I belong to his party." Mr. B. said, 
 "I overheard the poor thing, but I thought if she chose 
 to tell a lie I would not push her away ; but as I neared 
 the door she crept up and whispered to me, ' I am one 
 
 of your people. Don't you remember , a Scotch 
 
 woman who used to live in Brooklyn and go to the 
 Plymouth Church ? I have thought of this for weeks 
 and longed and dreamt of being with you again. Now 
 my desire is heard." 1 
 
 The rest of this wonderful night the public journals 
 and his own letters can tell us of have told us. He 
 has been as it were a man raised up for this dark hour of 
 our dear Country. May he live to see the promised 
 land, and not only from the top of Pisgah. 
 
 December 10, 1863. Visit from H. W. Beecher. . . . 
 Mr. Beecher did not like Mr. Browning. He found him 
 flippant and worldly. To be sure he had but one inter- 
 view and could scarcely judge, but had he met the man 
 
270 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 by chance in a company he should never have sought 
 him a second time. He said of Charles Lamb that he 
 always reminded him of a honeysuckle growing between 
 and over a rough trellis; it would cover the stakes, it 
 would throw out blossoms and tendrils, it would attract 
 hummingbirds and make corners for their nests and fill 
 the wide air with its fragrance. Such was C. Lamb to 
 him. 
 
 He was sure he could have liked Mrs. Browning 
 so credulous, generous, outspoken. He liked strong 
 outspoken people, yet he liked serene people too; but 
 then, he loved the world in its wide variety. 
 
 He said his boy wished to be either a stage-driver or a 
 missionary. His fancy was for stage-driving ; he thought 
 perhaps his duty might make him a missionary. . . . 
 
 It was such a privilege to see him back and such a 
 privilege to grasp his hand, I could say nothing but be 
 happy and thankful. 
 
 A few years later a passing shape from still an earlier 
 generation casts its shadow of tragic outline across the 
 pages of the diary. . 
 
 Sunday, January 6, 1867. A driving snow-storm. 
 Last night Jamie went to the Club ; met W. Everett, 
 who said that while his father was member of Congress 
 and was at one time returning from Washington to 
 Boston he was stopped in the street as he passed through 
 Philadelphia by a haggard man wrapped in a cloak. "I 
 am Aaron Burr/' said the figure, "and I pray you to 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 271 
 
 ask Congress for an appropriation to aid me in my mis- 
 ery." Mr. E. replied that the member from his own 
 district was the person to whom to apply. "I know 
 that," was the sad rejoinder, "but the others are all 
 strangers to me and I pray you to help me." After some 
 reflection Mr. Everett promised to try to do something 
 in his behalf; fortunately, however, he was released by 
 death before Congress was again in session. 
 
 Then soon appears a more cheerful figure, in the 
 person of the Rev. Elijah Kellogg whose lines of "Spar- 
 tacus to the Gladiators" have resounded in many a 
 schoolhouse. His tales of the Stowes and the family 
 Bible may still divert a generation that knows not 
 Spartacus. 
 
 Thursday , January IO, 1867. Yesterday J. fell in 
 with a Mr. Kellogg, a clergyman from Harpswell, 
 Maine, the author of many noble things, among the 
 rest, of the "Speech of Spartacus" which is in Sargent's 
 "School Speaker," a piece of which the boys are very 
 fond, but the masters are obliged to forbid their speak- 
 ing it because it always takes the prize. He wrote it 
 while in college, to speak himself. He went to school 
 with Longfellow, though he is younger than the poet, 
 and the latter calls him a man of genius. He is a preacher 
 of the gospel and for the past ten months has been 
 speaking every Sunday at the Sailor's Bethel with great 
 effect. He called to see J. and told him some queer anec- 
 dotes regarding his sea-life. He dresses like a fisherman, 
 
272 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 red shirt, etc., while at home. He remembers Professor 
 Stowe and his wife well. He says their arrival at Bruns- 
 wick was looked for with eagerness by many, with some 
 natural curiosity by himself. One day about the time 
 they were expected he was in his boat floating near the 
 pier and preparing to return to his island where he lives, 
 as the tide was going down and if he delayed much 
 longer he would be ashore; but he observed a woman 
 sitting on a cask upon the wharf swinging her heels, 
 with two large holes the size of a dollar each in the back 
 of her stockings, a man standing by her side, and sev- 
 eral children playing about. At once he believed it 
 must be the new professor, so he dallied about in his 
 boat observing them. Presently the man cried out, 
 "Hallo there, will you give my wife a sail ?" "I can't," 
 he replied, " there's no wind." "Will you give her a row 
 then?" "The tide's too low and I shan't get home." 
 "Oh," said the woman, "we will pay you ; you 'd better 
 take me out a little way." "No, I can't," he said. 
 Presently he heard somebody say something about 
 that 's being the minister and not a fisherman at all. 
 "Do you think so?" said Mrs. Stowe. With that he 
 dropped down into the bottom of his boat and was off 
 before another word. 
 
 He told Mr. Fields also of the professor who preceded 
 Professor Stowe. He was an unmarried man with three 
 sisters, all of whom were insane at times and frequently 
 one of them was away from home in an asylum. One 
 day the brother was away, the eldest sister being at 
 home in apparently good health, when another pro- 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 273 
 
 fessor came to visit them to whom she wished to be 
 particularly polite. "What will you have for dinner/' 
 said she, "today?" "Oh! the best thing youVe got," 
 he replied. So when dinner came she had stewed the 
 family Bible with cabbage for his repast. He speaks 
 with the greatest enthusiasm of the beauty of that 
 Maine coast. We must go there. 
 
 Out of what seems a past almost pre- Augustan come 
 these memories of N. P. Willis, a poet who suffered the 
 misfortune of outliving much of his own fame. 
 
 Thursday, January 31, 1867. The papers of last 
 night brought the news of N. P. Willis's death and that 
 he was to be buried in Boston from St. Paul's Church 
 today. Early this morning a note came from Mrs. Willis 
 asking Mr. Fields to see Dr. Howe and Edmund Quincy, 
 to ask them to be pall-bearers with himself and Colonel 
 Trimble. Fortunately last night J. had seen the an- 
 nouncement, and before going to Longfellow's made up 
 his mind to ask Longfellow and Lowell tb come in to 
 assist at the ceremony of their brother-author ; he had 
 also sent to Professor Holmes before the note came from 
 Mrs. Willis. He then sent immediately for the others 
 whom she mentioned and for a quantity of exquisite 
 flowers. All his plans turned out as he had arranged 
 and hoped and the poet's grave was attended by the 
 noblest America had to offer. The dead face was not 
 exposed, but the people pressed forward to take a sprig 
 from the coffin in memory of one who had strewn many 
 
274 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 a flower of thought on the hard way of their lives. There 
 are some to speak hardly of Willis, but usually the 
 awe of death ennobles his memory to the grateful 
 world of his appreciators. "Refrain ! refrain !" we long 
 to say to the others who would carp. "If you have 
 tears, shed them on the poet's grave." 
 
 There had been previously an exquisite and touch- 
 ing service at Idlewild where Octavius Frothingham did 
 all a man could do, inspired by the occasion and the 
 loveliness of the day and scene. The service here would 
 have seemed cold as stone except for the gracious poets 
 who surrounded the body and prevented one thought 
 of chill lack of sympathy from penetrating the flowers 
 with which it was covered. I could not restrain my 
 tears when I remembered a few years, bnly two, and 
 the same company had borne Hawthorne's body to its 
 burial. Which, which, of that beloved and worshipped 
 few was next to be borne by the weeping remnant ! ! 
 
 Wednesday , July I, 1868. In our walk yesterday J. 
 delighted himself and me by rehearsing his memories of 
 Willis. J. was at the Astor House when Willis returned 
 first from Europe with his young bride. He was then the 
 observed of all observers. As in those days travellers 
 crossed in sailing vessels, his coming was not heralded ; 
 the first that was known of their arrival was when he 
 walked into the Astor with his beautiful young wife 
 upon his arm. He wore a brown cloak thrown grace- 
 fully about his shoulders and was a man to remind one 
 of Lady Blessington's saying, "If Willis had been born 
 to 10,000 a year he would have been a perfect man." 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 275 
 
 He was then at the head of the world of literature in 
 America ; his influence could do anything and his heart 
 and purse were both at the service of the needy asker. 
 Unfortunately from the first he never paid his debts. 
 J. said he never believed the tales of Willis's dissipa- 
 tion. He spent money freely even when he had it not. 
 All the English folk, lords and ladies, who then came 
 to see America were the guests of Willis. 
 
 I asked what his wife was like ! "Like a seraph. She 
 was lovely with all womanly attractions." 
 
 Of the various "causes" to which Mrs. Fields and 
 her husband paid allegiance, the cause of equal oppor- 
 tunity for men and women cannot justly be left unmen- 
 tioned. They espoused it before its friends were taken 
 with the seriousness they have long commanded, and, as 
 the following passage will suggest, were full of sym- 
 pathy with those who fought its early battles. The im- 
 pact of one of these combatants, Mrs. Mary A. Liver- 
 more, a reformer in sundry fields, against the rock of 
 conservatism represented by the President of Harvard 
 College, is the subject of a lively bit of record. 
 
 September 22, 1876. At four came Miss Phelps, at 
 six came Mrs. Livermore. Ah ! She is indeed a great 
 woman a strong arm to those who are weak, a new 
 faith in time of trouble. She came to tea as fresh as if 
 she had been calmly sunning herself all the week in- 
 stead of speaking at a great meeting at Faneuil Hall 
 the previous evening and taking cold in; the process. 
 
276 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 She talked most wittily and brilliantly, beside laughing 
 most heartily and merrily over all dear J.'s absurd sto- 
 ries and illustrations. He told her of a woman who came 
 to speak to him after one of his lectures, to thank him 
 for what he was trying to do for the education of women. 
 She said, "I was educated at home with my brothers 
 and taught all they were taught, learning my lessons by 
 their side and reciting with them until the time came for 
 them to go to college. Nobody ever told me I was not 
 to go to college ! And when the moment arrived and it 
 dawned upon me that I was to be left behind to do 
 nothing, to learn nothing more, I was terribly un- 
 happy." 
 
 "I know just how she felt," said Mrs. Livermore; 
 "there was a party of six of us girls, sisters and cousins, 
 who had studied with our brothers up to the time for 
 going to college. We were all ready, but what was to be 
 done ? We were told that no girls had entered Harvard 
 thus far. We said to each other, we six girls will go to 
 Cambridge and call upon President Quincy, show him 
 where we stand in our lessons, and ask him to admit 
 us. I was the youngest of the party. I was noted for 
 being rather hot and intemperate in speech in those 
 days, and the girls made me promise before we left the 
 house [not to speak] 'For as sure as you do/ they 
 said, 'you will spoil all/ So I promised, and we went to 
 Cambridge and found Mr. Quincy. The girls laid their 
 proposition before him as clearly as they dared, by 
 showing him what they 'had done in their lessons. ' Very 
 smart girls, unusually capable girls/ he said jencourag- 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 277 
 
 ingly ; 'but can you cook ?' 'Oh, yes, sir/ said one, 'we 
 have kept house for some time.' 'Highly important/ 
 he said ; and so on during the space of an hour." 
 
 Mrs. Livermore said she found he was toying with 
 them and they were as far away from the subject in 
 their minds as the moment they arrived, and, forgetting 
 her promise of silence, she said: "'But, Mr. Quincy, 
 what we came to ask is, will you allow us to come to 
 college when our brothers do ? You say we are suffi- 
 ciently prepared; is there anything to prevent our 
 admission ? ' ' Oh, yes, my dear, we never allow girls 
 at Harvard ; you know, the place for girls is at home/ 
 'Yes, but, Mr. Quincy, if we are prepared, we would 
 not ask to recite, but may we not attend the recitations 
 and sit silent in the classes ?' 'No, my dear, you may 
 not/ 'Then I wish ' 'What do you wish ?' he said. 
 'I wish I were God for one instant, that I might kill 
 every woman from Eve down and let you have a mas- 
 culine world all to yourselves and see how you would 
 like that/ Up to this point the girls had been kept up 
 by excitement, but there we broke down. I tried the 
 best I could not to cry, but I found my eyes were get- 
 ting full, and the only thing for us to do was to leave as 
 soon as we could for home. We lived in the vicinity of 
 Copp's Hill and I can see, as distinctly as if it were 
 yesterday, the room looking out on the burial-ground 
 in which we all sat down together and cried ourselves 
 half-blind. ' I wish I was dead/ said one. 'I wish I had 
 never been born/ said another. 'Martha, get up from 
 that stone seat/ said a third; 'you'll get cold/ 'I don't 
 
278 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 care if I do,' said Martha; 'I shall perhaps die the 
 sooner/ We were all terribly indignant." 
 
 I was deeply interested in this history. I was stand- 
 ing over the cradle of woman's emancipation and seeing 
 it rocked by the hand of sorrow and indignation. 
 
 Other passages might be cited merely to illustrate the 
 skill and industry of Mrs. Fields in reducing to narra- 
 tive form the mass of reported talk of one sort or an- 
 other which her husband brought home to her. A strik- 
 ing instance of this is found in the full rendering of a 
 story told by R. H. Dana, Jr., to Fields, at a time when 
 they were discussing a new edition of "Two Years 
 before the Mast." It is a long dramatic account of 
 Dana's experience on a burning ship in the Pacific, 
 which he told Fields he had "never yet found time to 
 write down." In Charles Francis Adams's biography 
 of Dana, the bare bones of the story are preserved in a 
 diary Dana was keeping during the voyage in which 
 this calamity occurred. If Adams could but have turned 
 to the diary of Mrs. Fields for 1868, he would have 
 found a detailed description of an episode in Dana's 
 life which might well have been included in his biog- 
 raphy. 
 
 But the ifs of bookmaking are hardly less abundant 
 than those of history. If, for a single instance, this were 
 in any real sense a biography of Mrs. Fields, it would be 
 necessary for the reader to explore with the compiler the 
 journals and letters written during two visits the 
 Fieldses made to Europe in 1859 an ^ l $(>9- But this 
 
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 
 
 279 
 
 would be foreign to the present purpose, which has not 
 been either to produce a biography, or to evoke all the 
 interesting persons known to Mrs. Fields, at home and 
 abroad, but rather to present them and her against her 
 
 ^~"~ 
 
 From a letter of Edward Lear's to Fields 
 
 own intimate and distinctive background. She herself 
 has written, in her "Authors and Friends," of Tennyson 
 and Lady Tennyson, and to the pictures she has drawn 
 of them it would be easily possible to add fresh lines 
 from the unprinted records as it would be, also, to 
 bring forth passages touching upon many another famil- 
 iar figure of Victorian England. The roving lover who 
 justified himself by singing that 
 
 They were my visits, but thou art my home, 
 
 stated, in essence, the principle to which these pages 
 have adhered. The frequenters of the house in Charles 
 Street well knew that something of its color and flavor 
 
280 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 was derived from the excursions its hostess made into 
 other scenes. Yet her own color and flavor were not 
 those of the visitor, but of the visited. It is a pity that 
 many who would have been welcome visitors none 
 more than Edward Lear never came. Even as it is, 
 there is ample ground for laying the emphasis of this 
 book upon the panorama of a picturesque social life 
 chiefly as seen from within the hospitable walls of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Fields. When he died in 1881, a long and 
 happy chapter in her long and happy life came to its 
 close. 
 
VII 
 
 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 
 
 SUCH a statement about Mrs. Fields as that she "was 
 to survive her husband many years and was to flourish 
 as a copious second volume the connection licenses 
 the figure of the work anciently issued/' almost iden- 
 tifies itself, without remark, as proceeding from the 
 same friend, Henry James, whose words have colored a 
 previous chapter of this book. The many years to which 
 he referred were, indeed, nearly thirty-four in number, 
 about a third of a century, or what is commonly counted 
 a generation. For a longer period than that through 
 which she was the wife of James T. Fields, she was thus 
 his widow. Through nearly all of this period the need 
 of her nature for an absorbing affectionate intimacy was 
 met through her friendship with Sarah Orne Jewett. 
 It was with reference to her that Mrs. Fields, in the 
 preface to a collection of Miss Jewett 's letters, published 
 in 1911, two years after her death, wrote of "the power 
 that lies in friendship to sustain the giver as well as the 
 receiver." In the friendship of these two women it 
 would have been impossible to define either one, to the 
 exclusion of the other, as the giver or the receiver. 
 They were certainly both sustained by their relation. 
 
 Miss Jewett, born in South Berwick, Maine, in 1849, 
 and continuously identified with that place until her 
 death in 1909, first entered the "Atlantic circle" in 
 
282 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 1869, when she was but twenty years old, and Fields 
 was still editor of the magazine. In that year a story 
 by her, called "Mr. Bruce" and credited in the index 
 of the magazine for contributions then appeared 
 unsigned to "A. C. Eliot," was printed in the "Atlan- 
 tic." Four years later, Consule Howe/Is, "The Shore 
 House," a second story, appeared over her own name, 
 the practiceof printing signatures having mean while been 
 instituted. In May, 1875, the "Atlantic" contained a 
 poem by Miss Jewett, which may be quoted, not so 
 much to remind the readers of those stories of New Eng- 
 land on which her later fame was based, that in her 
 earlier years she was much given to the writing of verse, 
 as to explain in a way the union there is no truer 
 word for it that came later to exist between herself 
 and Mrs. Fields. 
 Thus it read : 
 
 TOGETHER 
 
 I wonder if you really send 
 Those dreams of you that come and go ! 
 
 I like to say, " She thought of me, 
 And I have known it." Is it so ? 
 
 Though other friends walk by your side, 
 
 Yet sometimes it must surely be, 
 They wonder where your thoughts have gone, 
 
 Because I have you here with me. 
 
 And when the busy day is done 
 
 And work is ended, voices cease, 
 When every one has said good night, 
 
 In fading firelight, then in peace 
 
^i 
 
 m&ffljjjjjjjijjljii^ 
 
 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 
 
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 283 
 
 I idly rest : you come to me, 
 
 Your dear love holds me close to you. 
 
 If I could see you face to face 
 It would not be more sweet and true ; 
 
 I do not hear the words you speak, 
 
 Nor touch your hands, nor see your eyes : 
 
 Yet, far away the flowers may grow 
 From whence to me the fragrance flies ; 
 
 And so, across the empty miles 
 Light from my star shines. Is it, dear, 
 
 Your love has never gone away ? 
 I said farewell and kept you here. 
 
 It was not strange that the writer of just such a poem 
 should have seemed to Fields, before his death in 1881, 
 the ideal friend to fill the impending gap in the life of his 
 wife. He must have known that, when the time should 
 come for readjusting herself to life without him, she 
 would need something more than random contacts with 
 friends, no matter how rewarding each such relation- 
 ship might be. He must have realized that the intensely 
 personal element in her nature would require an outlet 
 through an intensely personal devotion. If he could 
 have foreseen the relation that grew up between Mrs. 
 Fields and Miss Jewett her junior by about fifteen 
 years almost immediately upon his death, and con- 
 tinued throughout the life of the younger friend, he 
 would surely have felt a great security of satisfaction in 
 what was yet to be. In all her personal manifestations, 
 and in all her work, Miss Jewett embodied a quality of 
 distinction, a quality of the true aristophile, to em- 
 
284 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 ploy a term which has seemed to me before to fit that 
 small company of lovers of the best to which these ladies 
 preeminently belonged, that made them foreordained 
 companions. To Mrs. Fields it meant much to stand in 
 a close relation apart from all considerations of a 
 completely uniting friendship with such an artist as 
 Miss Jewett, to feel that through sympathy and en- 
 couragement she was furthering a true and permanent 
 contribution to American letters. To Miss Jewett, 
 whose life, before this intimacy began, had been led 
 almost entirely in the Maine village of her birth, a 
 village of dignity and high traditions that were her 
 own inheritance, there came an extension of in- 
 terests and stimulating contacts through finding her- 
 self a frequent member of another household than her 
 own, and that a very nucleus of quickening human 
 intercourse. To pursue her work of writing chiefly at 
 South Berwick, to come to Boston, or Manchester, for 
 that freshening of the spirit which the creative writer so 
 greatly needs, and there to find the most sympathetic 
 and devoted of friends, also much occupied herself 
 with the writing of books and with all commerce of vital 
 thoughts what could have afforded a more delight- 
 ful arrangement of life ? 
 
 Even as early as 1881, the year of Fields's death, 
 Miss Jewett published the fourth of her many books, 
 "Country By-Ways," preceded by "Deephaven" 
 (1877), "Play Days" (1878), and "Old Friends and 
 New" (1879). From 1881 onward her production was 
 constant and abundant. In 1881 also began a period of 
 
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 285 
 
 remarkable productiveness on the part of Mrs. Fields. 
 In that very year of her husband's death she published 
 both her "James T. Fields: Biographical Notes and 
 Personal Sketches," and a second edition of "Under the 
 Olive," a small volume in which she had brought to- 
 gether in 1880 a number of poems in which the influence 
 of the Greek and English poets is sometimes manifested 
 notably in "Theocritus" to excellent purpose. 
 If Mrs. Fields had been a poet of distinctive power, the 
 fact would long ago have established itself. To make 
 any such claim for her at this late day would be to de- 
 part from the purpose of this book. It was for the most 
 part rather as a friend than as a daughter of the Muses 
 that she turned to verse, the medium of utterance for so 
 many of that nest of singing-birds in which her life was 
 passed. In 1883 came her little volume "How to Help 
 the Poor," representing an interest in the less fortunate 
 which prepared her to become one of the founders of the 
 Associated Charities of Boston, kept her long active and 
 influential in the service of that organization, and made 
 her at the last one of its generous benefactors. In 1895 
 and 1900, respectively, appeared two more volumes of 
 verse, "The Singing Shepherd and Other Poems," 
 assembling the work of earlier and later years, and 
 "Orpheus, a Masque," each strongly touched, like 
 "Under the Olive," with the Grecian spirit. From 
 "The Singing Shepherd" I cannot resist quoting one of 
 the best things it contains a sonnet, "Flamman- 
 tis Mcenia Mundi," under which, in my own copy of 
 the book, I find the penciled note, written probably 
 
286 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 more than twenty years ago : "Mrs. Fields tells me that 
 this sonnet came to her complete, one may almost say ; 
 standing on her feet she made it, but for one or two 
 small changes, just as it is, in about fifteen minutes." 
 
 I stood alone in purple space and saw 
 The burning walls of the world, like wings of flame, 
 Circling the sphere ; there was no break nor flaw 
 In those vast airy battlements whence came 
 The spirits who had done with time and fame 
 And all the playthings of earth's little hour ; 
 I saw them each, I knew them for the same, 
 Mothers and brothers and the sons of power. 
 
 Yet were they changed ; the flaming walls had burned 
 
 Their perishable selves, and there remained 
 
 Only the pure white vision of the soul, 
 
 The mortal part consumed, and swift returned 
 
 Ashes to ashes ; while unscathed, unstained, 
 
 The immortal passed beyond the earth's control. 
 
 For the rest, her writings may be said to have grown 
 out of the life which the pages of her diary have pic- 
 tured. The successive volumes were these: "Whittier: 
 Notes of his Life and of his Friendship*' (New York, 
 1893); "A Shelf of Old Books" (New York, 1894); 
 "Letters of Celia Thaxter" (edited with Miss Rose 
 Lamb, Boston, 1895) ; "Authors and Friends" (Boston, 
 1896); "Life and Letters of Harriet Beecher Stowe" 
 (Boston, 1897) ; "Nathaniel Hawthorne" (in the "Bea- 
 con Biographies," Boston, 1899); "Charles Dudley 
 Warner" (New York, 1909); and, after the death of 
 the friend whose name appears above this chapter, 
 "Letters of Sarah Orne Jewett" (Boston, 1911). 
 
 This catalogue of publications is in itself a dry bit of 
 
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 287 
 
 reading, and to add the titles of all the books produced 
 by Miss Jewett after 1881 would not enliven the record. 
 But the lists, explicit and implicit, will serve at least 
 to suggest the range and nature of the activities of 
 
 An autograph copy of Mrs. Fields'* "F/ammantis Moenia Mundi " 
 before its final revision 
 
 mind and spirit in which the two friends shared for 
 many years. It is no wonder that Mrs. Fields, who 
 abandoned the regular maintenance of her diary in the 
 face of her husband's failing health, resumed it in later 
 years only under the special provocations of travel. 
 In its place she took up the practice of writing daily 
 missives sometimes letters, more often the merest 
 
288 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 notes to Miss Jewett whenever they were separated. 
 These innumerable little messages of affection con- 
 tained frequent references to persons and passing events, 
 but rather as memoranda for talk when the two friends 
 should meet than as records at all resembling the ear- 
 lier journals. Such local friends as Mrs. Pratt and Mrs. 
 Bell, in whom the spirit and wit of their father, Ru- 
 fus Choate, shone on for later generations ; Mrs. Whit- 
 man, mistress of the arts of color and of friendship; 
 Miss Guiney, figuring always as "the Linnet," even as 
 Mrs. Thaxter was "the Sandpiper" ; Dr. Holmes, Phil- 
 lips Brooks, "dear Whittier" these and scores of 
 others, young and old, known and unknown to fame, 
 people the scene which the little notes recall. There 
 are, besides, such visitors from abroad as Matthew Ar- 
 nold and his wife, Mrs. Humphry Ward and her daugh- 
 ter, M. and Mme. Brunetiere, and Mme. Blanc ("Th. 
 Bentzon"), whose article, "Condition de la Femme aux 
 Etats-Unis," in the "Revue des Deux Mondes" for 
 September, 1894, could not have been written but for 
 the knowledge of Boston acquired through a long visit 
 to the house in Charles Street. Of the salon of her 
 hostess she wrote: "Je voudrais essayer de pein- 
 dre celui qui se rapproche le plus, par beaucoup de 
 cotes, les salons de France de la meilleure epoque, le 
 salon de Mrs. J. T. Fields." She goes on to paint it, 
 and from the picture at least one fragment apropos 
 of the portraits in the house should be rescued, if 
 only for the piquancy conferred by Mme. Blanc's na- 
 tive tongue upon a bit of anecdote : " Emerson realise 
 
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 289 
 
 bien, en physique, 1'idee d'immaterialite que je me fai- 
 sais de lui. Mrs. Fields me conte une jolie anecdote : 
 vers la fin de sa vie, il fut prit d'un singulier acces de 
 curiosite ; il voulut savoir une fois ce que c'etait le whis- 
 ky et entra dans un bar pour s'en servir : Vous vou- 
 lez un verre d'eau, Mr. Emerson ? dit le gargon, sans 
 lui donner le temps d'exprimer sa criminelle envie. 
 Et le philosophe but son verre d'eau, . . . et il mourut 
 sans connaitre le gout du whisky." 
 
 But if the notes of Mrs. Fields to Miss Jewett, and 
 Miss Jewett's own letters to her friend in Boston, do 
 not provide any counterpart to the diaries which make 
 up the greater portion of this book, there are, in the 
 journals kept by Mrs. Fields on special occasions of 
 travel, records of experiences shared by the two friends 
 which should be given here. 
 
 When they went to Europe together, as early as 1882, 
 the two travellers were happily characterized by Whit- 
 tier in a sonnet, "Godspeed," as 
 
 her in whom 
 
 All graces and sweet charities unite 
 The old Greek beauty set in holier light ; 
 And her for whom New England's byways bloom, 
 Who walks among us welcome as the Spring, 
 Calling up blossoms where her light feet stray. 
 
 No effort or adventure seemed to daunt the compan- 
 ions in their journey ings. There was an indomitable 
 quality in Mrs. Fields which Miss Jewett used to as- 
 cribe to her "May blood," with its strain of aboli- 
 tionism, and it showed itself when she accepted with 
 
2 9 o MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 enthusiasm, and successfully urged Miss Jewett to ac- 
 cept, an invitation to make a two months' winter cruise 
 in West Indian waters, in company with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Aldrich, on the yacht Hermione of their friend, Henry 
 L. Pierce. The diary of Mrs. Fields records discomforts 
 and pleasures with an equal hand, and gives lively 
 glimpses of island and ocean scenes. At Santo Do- 
 mingo, for example, the President of the Republic of 
 Haiti dined on the Hermione on St. Valentine's Day, 
 1896, and talked in a manner to which the impending 
 liberation of Cuba from the Spanish yoke may now be 
 seen to have added some significance. 
 
 Anything more interesting than his conversation 
 [wrote Mrs. Fields] would be impossible to find. He 
 ended just before we left the table by speaking of Cuba. 
 He is inclined to believe that the day of Spain is over. 
 The people are already conquerors in the interior and 
 are approaching Havana. Spain will soon be compelled 
 to retire to her coast defenses and she is sure to be driven 
 thence in two years or sooner. Of course, if the Cubans 
 are recognized by the great powers they will triumph 
 all the sooner. 
 
 "Do these island republics take the part of Cuba?" 
 someone asked. 
 
 "I will tell you a little tale of a camel," he said, "if 
 you will allow me a camel greatly overladen who 
 lamented his sad fate. 'I am bent to the earth/ he 
 said; 'everything is heaped upon me and I feel as if I 
 could never rise again under such a load.' Upon his 
 
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 291 
 
 pack was seated a flea, who heard the lament of the 
 camel. Immediately the flea jumped to the ground. 
 ' See ! ' he said ; 'now rise, I have relieved you of my own 
 weight.' 'Thank you, Mr. Elephant/ said the camel, 
 as he glanced at the flea hopping away. The recognition 
 of these islands would help Cuba about as much,*' he 
 added laughingly. 
 
 But the President of Haiti, concerning whom much 
 more might be quoted, is less a part of the present 
 picture than Thomas Bailey Aldrich, of whom Mrs. 
 Fields wrote, February 21 : 
 
 T. B. A.'s wit and pleasant company never fail 
 he is so natural, finding fault at times, without being a 
 fault-finder, and being crusty like another human crea- 
 ture when out of sorts but on the whole a most re- 
 freshing companion, coming up from below every morn- 
 ing with a shining countenance, his hair curling like a 
 boy's, and ready for a new day. He said yesterday that 
 he should like to live 450 years "shouldn't you?" 
 "No," I said; "I am on tip-toe for the flight." "Ah," 
 he said with a visible shudder, "we know nothing about 
 it ! Oddly enough, I have strange impressions of hav- 
 ing lived before once in London especially not at 
 St. Paul's, or Pall Mall, or in any of the great places 
 where I might have been deceived by previous imagina- 
 tions, not at all, but among some old streets where 
 I had never been before and where I had no associa- 
 tions." He would have gone on in this vein and would 
 
292 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 have drawn me into giving some reasons for my faith 
 which would have been none to him, but fortunately 
 we were interrupted. He is full of quips and cranks in 
 talk is a worshipper of the English language and a 
 good student of Murray's Grammar, in which he faith- 
 fully believes. His own training in it he values as much 
 as anything which ever came to him. He picks up the 
 unfortunates, of which I am chief, who say "people" 
 meaning "persons," who say "at length" for "at last," 
 and who use foolish redundancies, but I cannot seem to 
 record his fun. He began to joke Bridget early in the 
 voyage about the necessity of being tattooed when she 
 arrived at the Windward Islands, like the rest of the 
 crew ! Fancying that he saw a sort of half idea that he 
 was in earnest, he kept it up and told her that the butter- 
 mark of Ponkapog should be the device ! The matter 
 had nearly blown over when yesterday he wanted her 
 suddenly and called, "Bridget," at the gangway rather 
 sharply. "Here, sir," said the dear creature running 
 quickly to mount the stairs. "The tattoo-man is here," 
 said T. B. With all seriousness Bridget paused a mo- 
 ment, wavered, looked again, and then came on laugh- 
 ing to do what he really wanted. "That man will be 
 the death of me so he will," said B. as she went away 
 on her errand. She is his slave; gets his clothes and 
 waits upon him every moment ; but his fun and sweet- 
 ness with her "disemtuit de service " and more, charges 
 it with pleasantness. 
 
 T. B. A. is a most careful reader and a true reporter 
 upon the few good books of which he is cognizant. He 
 
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 293 
 
 has read Froude's history twice through, and Queen 
 Mary's reign three times. He has read a vast number 
 of novels, hundreds and hundreds, French and Eng- 
 lish, but his knowledge of French seems to stop there. 
 He also once knew Spanish, but that seems to have 
 dropped he never, I think, could speak much of any 
 language save his own. Being a master there is so much 
 more than the rest of us achieve that we feel he has won 
 his laurels. 
 
 On a later journey, in 1898, Mrs. Fields and Miss 
 Jewett, visiting England and France in company with 
 Miss Jewett's sister and nephew, were on more famil- 
 iar and more suitable ground if indeed that word 
 can be used even figuratively for the unstable deck of 
 a yacht. In London there were many old and new 
 friends to be seen. In Paris Mme. Blanc opened for the 
 travellers the doors of many a salon not commonly 
 accessible to visiting Americans. But from all the 
 abundant chronicle of these experiences, it will be 
 enough to make two selections. The first describes a 
 visit to the Provencal poet, Mistral, with his "Boufflo 
 Beel" dog and hat; the second, a glimpse of Henry 
 James at Rye. 
 
 It was in May of 1898, that Mrs. Fields and Miss 
 Jewett, finding Paris cold and rainy, determined to 
 strike for sunshine, and the South. A little journey 
 into Provence, and a visit to Mistral, followed this de- 
 cision. The following notes record the visit. 
 
294 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 A perfect time and perfect weather in which to see the 
 country of Provence. Fields of great white poppies and 
 other flowers planted for seed in this district made the 
 way beautiful on either hand. Olive trees with rows of 
 black cypress and old tiled-roofed farmhouses, and the 
 mountains always on the horizon, filled the landscape. 
 The first considerable house we reached was the home 
 of the poet. A pretty garden which attracted our atten- 
 tion with a rare eglantine called La Reine Joanne, and 
 other charming things hanging over the wall made us 
 suspicious of the poet's vicinity. Turning the corner 
 of this garden and driving up a short road, we found 
 the courtyard and door on the inner side as it were. 
 We heard a barking dog. "Take care/' said the driver, 
 "there is a dangerous dog inside." We waited until 
 Mistral himself came to meet us from the garden ; he 
 was much amused. There was an old dog tied, half 
 asleep, on a bench and a young one by his side. He 
 said laughing, "These are all, and they could not be 
 less dangerous. The elder" (he let them loose while 
 he spoke and they played about us), "the elder I call 
 Bouffe, from Boufflo Beel" (Mistral does not speak 
 any English, nor does his wife) "and the reason is be- 
 cause I happened to be in the neighborhood of Paris 
 once just after Buffalo Bill had passed on toward Calais 
 with his troupe. I saw a little dog, unlike the dogs of 
 our country, who seemed to be lost, but the moment he 
 saw me, he thought I was 'Boufflo Beel* and adopted 
 me for his master. You see I look like him," he said, 
 putting his wide felt hat a little more on one side ! Yes, 
 
MISTRAL, MASTER OF "BOUFFLO BEEL' 
 
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 295 
 
 we did think so. "Well, the little dog has been with us 
 ever since. He possesses the most wonderful intelli- 
 gence and understands every word we say. One day I 
 said to him, 'What a pity such a nice dog as you should 
 have no children !' A few days later the servant said to 
 me, 'Bouffe has been away nearly two days, but he 
 has now come back bringing his wife.' 'Ah!' I said, 
 'take good care of them both/ In due time this other 
 little dog, his son, arrived in the world,"and shortly after 
 Bouffe carried his wife away again, but kept the little 
 dog. He is a wonderful fellow, to be sure." 
 
 We went into the house and sat down to talk awhile 
 about poetry and books. There was a large book-case 
 full of French and Provencal literature here, but it was 
 rather the parlor and everyday sitting-room than his 
 work-room. Unhappily, they have no children. Evi- 
 dently they are exceedingly happy together and natur- 
 ally do not miss what they have never had. She opened 
 the drawing-room for us, which is the room of state. It 
 is full of interesting things connected with Provence 
 and their own life, but perfectly simple, in actoord with 
 the country-like fashion of their existence. There is 
 a noble bas-relief of the head of Mistral, the drum or 
 "tambour" of the Felibre, or for the Farandole, and, 
 without overloading, plenty of good things photo- 
 graphs, one or two pictures, not many, for the house is 
 not that of a rich man, plaster casts, and one or two 
 busts, perhaps the presents of artists, illustrations 
 of "Mireio," and things associated with their individual 
 lives or the life of Provence. Presently Mistral gave me 
 
296 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 his arm and we went across the hall. Standing in the 
 place of honor opposite the front door and in the large 
 corner made by the staircase, is a fine copy of the bust of 
 Lamartine, crowned with an olive wreath. We paused 
 a moment here while Mistral spoke of Lamartine, and 
 always with the sincere reverence which he has ex- 
 pressed in the poem entitled " Elegie sur la mort de 
 Lamartine" . . . 
 
 The dining-room was still more Provencal, if possible, 
 than the rooms we had visited. The walls were white, 
 which, with the closed green blinds, must give a pleas- 
 ant light when the days are hot, yet bright even on grey 
 days. Specimens of the pottery of the country hang 
 around, decorated with soft colors. The old carved 
 bread-mixing-and-holding affair, which belonged in 
 every well-to-do house of the old time, was there, and 
 one or two other old pieces of furniture, while the chairs, 
 sofa, and table were of quaint shape, painted green with 
 some decorations. 
 
 The details are all petty enough, but they proved how 
 sincerely Mistral and his wife love their country and 
 their surroundings and endeavor to ennoble them and 
 make the most of them. After sitting at table and en- 
 joying their hospitality, we went out again into the gar- 
 den where Madame Mistral gathered "Nerto" (myrtle) 
 for us, beside roses and other more beautiful but more 
 formidable things. "Nerto "is the title of one of his last 
 books (I hear) and the wife doubtless believed that we 
 should cherish a branch of her myrtle especially in mem- 
 ory of the visit. She was quite right, but these things 
 
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 297 
 
 which are "to last" how frail they are; the things 
 that remain are those which are written on the heart. 
 
 We cannot forget these two picturesque beings stand- 
 ing in their garden, filling our hands with flowers and 
 bidding us farewell. As we drove away into the sunny 
 plain once more, we found it speaking to us with a 
 voice of human kindness echoing from that poetic and 
 friendly home. In a more personal vein, the address to 
 Lamartine by Mistral expresses better his mood of the 
 afternoon when we stood together looking at the bust 
 and recalling each our personal remembrance of the 
 man. 
 
 An excursion from London, on September 12, de- 
 voted to a day with Henry James, gave Mrs. Fields a 
 memorable glimpse of the son of an old friend, and an 
 honest pleasure in learning at first hand of his apprecia- 
 tion of Miss Jewett's writings. 
 
 Monday, September 13, 1898. We left London 
 about II o'clock for Rye, to pass the day with Mr. 
 Henry James. He was waiting for us at the station 
 with a carriage, and in five minutes we found ourselves 
 at the top of a silent little winding street, at a green 
 door with a brass knocker, wearing the air of impene- 
 trable respectability which is so well known in England. 
 Another instant and an old servant, Smith (who with 
 his wife has been in Mr. James's service for 20 
 years), opened the door and helped us from the car- 
 riage. It was a prettv interior large enough for ele- 
 
298 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 gance, and simple enough to suit the severe taste of a 
 scholar and private gentleman. 
 
 Mr. James was intent on the largest hospitality. 
 We were asked upstairs over a staircase with a pretty 
 balustrade and plain green drugget on the steps ; every- 
 thing was of the severest plainness, but in the best 
 taste, "not at all austere," as he himself wrote us. 
 
 We soon went down again after leaving our hats, to 
 find a young gentleman, Mr. McAlpine, who is Mr. 
 James's secretary, with him, awaiting us. This young 
 man is just the person to help Mr. James. He has a 
 bump of reverence and appreciates his position and 
 opportunity. We sat in the parlor opening on a pretty 
 garden for some time, until Mr. James said he could 
 not conceive why luncheon was not ready and he must 
 go and inquire, which he did in a very responsible man- 
 ner, and soon after Smith appeared to announce the 
 feast. Again a pretty room and table. We enjoyed our 
 talk together sincerely at luncheon and afterward 
 strolled into the garden. The dominating note was 
 dear Mr. James's pleasure in having a home of his own 
 to which he might ask us. From the garden, of course, 
 we could see the pretty old house still more satisfac- 
 torily. An old brick wall concealed by vines and 
 laurels surrounds the whole irregular domain ; a door 
 from the garden leads into a paved courtyard which 
 seemed to give Mr. James peculiar satisfaction; re- 
 turning to the garden, and on the other side, at an angle 
 with the house, is a building which he laughingly called 
 the temple of the Muse. This is his own place par excel- 
 
LAMB HOUSE. 
 RYE. 
 
 SUSSEX. 
 
 
 Reduced facsimile of postscript of a letter from Henry James, 
 
 expressing the intention^ which he could not fulfill, to provide 
 
 an Introduction to the "Letters of Sarah Orne Jewett" 
 
300 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 lence. A good writing-table and one for his secretary, a 
 typewriter, books, and a sketch by Du Mauri er, with 
 a few other pictures (rather mementoes than works of 
 art), excellent windows with clear light, such is the 
 temple ! Evidently an admirable spot for his work. 
 
 After we returned to the oarlor Mr. James took oc- 
 casion to tell Sarah how deeolv and sincerely he appre- 
 ciated her work; how he re-reads it with increasing ad- 
 miration. "It is foolish to ask, I know," he said, "but 
 were you in just such a place as vou describe in the 
 'Pointed Firs'?" "No," she said, "not precisely; the 
 book was chiefly written before I visited the locality 
 itself." "And such an island?" he continued. "Not 
 exactly," she said again. "Ah! I thought so," he said 
 musingly; and the language "It is so absolutely true 
 not a word overdone such elegance and exactness. " 
 "And Mrs. Dennet how admirable she is," he said 
 again, not waiting for a reply. I need not say they 
 were very much at home together after this. 
 
 Meanwhile the carriage came again to the door, for 
 he had made a plan to take us on a drive to Winchel- 
 sea, a second of the Cinq Fortes, Rye itself also being 
 one. The sea has retreated from both these places, 
 leaving about two miles of the Romney Marsh b etween 
 them and the shore. Nothing could be more like some- 
 thing born of the imagination than the old city of Win- 
 chelsea. . . . Just outside the old gate looking towards 
 Rye and the sea from a lonely height is the cottage 
 where Ellen Terry has found a summer resting-place 
 and retirement. It is a true home for an artist nothing 
 
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 301 
 
 could be lovelier. Unhappily she was not there, but we 
 were happy to see the place which she described to us 
 with so great satisfaction. 
 
 From Winchelsea Mr. James drove us to the station, 
 where we took the train for Hastings. He had brought 
 his small dog, an aged black and tan terrier, with him 
 for a holiday. He put on the muzzle, which all dogs 
 just now must wear, and took it off a great many times 
 until, having left it once when he went to buy the tick- 
 ets and recovered it, he again lost it and it could not be 
 found ; so as soon as he reached Hastings, he took a car- 
 riage again to drive us along the esplanade, but the first 
 thing was to buy a new muzzle. This esplanade is three 
 miles long, but we began to feel like tea, so having 
 looked upon the sea sufficiently from this decidedly un- 
 romantic point of view, we went into a small shop and 
 enjoyed more talk under new conditions. "How many 
 cakes have you eaten?" "Ten," gravely replied Mr. 
 James at which we all laughed. "Oh, I know," said 
 the girl with a wise look at the desk. "How do you sup- 
 pose they know?" said Mi. James musingly as he 
 turned away. "They always do!" And so on again 
 presently to the train at Hastings, where Mr. Me Al- 
 pine appeared at the right instant. Mr. James's train 
 for Rye left a few moments before ours for London. He 
 took a most friendly farewell and having left us to Mr. 
 McA. ran for his own carriage. In another five minutes 
 we too were away, bearing our delightful memories of 
 this meeting. 
 
302 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 Not because they record momentous events and en- 
 counters, but merely as little pictures of the life which 
 Mrs. Fields and Miss Jewett led together, these passages 
 are brought to light. They are the last to be presented 
 here. For more than another decade beyond the summer 
 of 1898, Miss Jewett, sorely invalided through the final 
 years as the result of a carriage accident, remained the 
 central personal fact in Mrs. Fields's interest and affec- 
 tions. Soon after her death, in June, 1909, Mrs. Fields 
 wrote about her to a common friend: "Of my dear 
 Sarah I believe one of her noblest qualities was her 
 great generosity. Others could only guess at this, but 
 I was allowed to know it. Not that she made gifts, but 
 a wide sympathy was hers for every disappointed or 
 incompetent fellow creature. It was a most distinguish- 
 ing characteristic ! Governor Andrew spoke of Judge 
 
 B once as 'A friend to every man who did not 
 
 need a friend* ! Sarah's quick sympathy knew a friend 
 was in need before she knew it herself; she was the 
 spirit of beneficence, and her quick delicate wit was 
 such a joy in daily companionship !" 
 
 Of this daily companionship an anonymous contrib- 
 utor to the "Atlantic Monthly" for August, 1909, had 
 been a fortunate witness. I need not ask his permission 
 to repeat a portion of what he then wrote : 
 
 "There is but one familiar portrait of Miss Jewett. 
 It has been so often reprinted that many who have seen 
 it, even without seeing her, must think of her as im- 
 mune from change, blessed with perpetual youth, with 
 a gracious, sympathetic femininity, with an air of 
 
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 303 
 
 breeding and distinction quite independent of shifting 
 fashions. 
 
 "This portrait is intimately symbolic of her work. It 
 typifies with a rare faithfulness the quality of all the 
 products of her pen. In them one found, and finds, the 
 same abiding elements of beauty, sympathy, and dis- 
 tinction. The element of sympathy perhaps the 
 greatest of these found its expression in a humor that 
 provoked less of outward laughter than of smiles within, 
 and in a pathos the very counterpart of this delicate 
 quality. The beauty and the distinction may be less 
 capable of brief characterization, but they pervaded her 
 art. . . . 
 
 "This work of hers, in dealing with the New England 
 life she knew and loved, was essentially American, as 
 purely indigenous as the pointed firs of her own coun- 
 tryside. The art with which she wrought her native 
 themes was limited, on the contrary, by no local bound- 
 aries. At its best it had the absolute quality of the 
 highest art in every quarter of the globe. And the spirit 
 in which she approached her task was as broad in its 
 scope and sympathy as her art in its form. It was pre- 
 cisely this union of what was at once so clearly Ameri- 
 can and so clearly universal that distinguished her 
 stories, in the eyes of both editor and reader, as the 
 best so often in any magazine that contained them. 
 
 "Her constant demand upon herself was for the best. 
 There were no compromises with mediocrity, either in 
 her tastes or in her achievement s. It was the best as- 
 pect of New England character and tradition on which 
 
304 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS 
 
 her vision steadily dwelt. She was satisfied with noth- 
 ing short of the best in her interpretation of New Eng- 
 land life. The form of creative writing in which she 
 won her highest successes the short story is the 
 form in which Americans have made their most dis- 
 tinctive contributions to English literature; and her 
 place with the few best of these writers appears to be 
 secure. 
 
 "If the familiar portrait typifies her work, it is equally 
 true to the person herself. The quick, responsive spirit 
 of youth, with all its sincerity, all its enjoyment in 
 friendship or whatever else the day might hold, was an 
 immutable possession. So were all the other qualities 
 for which the features spoke. Through the recent years 
 of physical disability, due in the first instance to an acci- 
 dent so gratuitous that it seemed to her friends unendur- 
 able, there was a noble patience, a sweet endurance, 
 that could have sprung only from an heroic strain of 
 character." 
 
 For nearly six years Mrs. Fields survived Miss Jew- 
 ett, bereaved as by the loss of half her personal world, 
 yet indomitable of spirit and energy, so long as her phys- 
 ical forces would permit any of the old accustomed exer- 
 cises of hospitality and friendship. The selection and 
 publication of Miss Jewett's letters was a labor of love 
 which continued the sense of companionship for the 
 first two of the remaining years. Through the four 
 others there was a failing of bodily strength, though not 
 at all of mental and spiritual eagerness ; and in her out- 
 ward mien through all the later years, there was that 
 
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 305 
 
 which must have recalled to many the ancient couplet : 
 
 No Spring, nor summer's beauty hath such grace 
 As I have seen in one autumnal face. 
 
 Towards the end there was a brief return to the keep- 
 ing of a sporadic diary. Its final words, written Janu- 
 ary 25, 1913, were these: "The days go on cheerfully. 
 I have just read Mark Twain's life, the life of a man 
 who had greatness in him. I am now reading his 
 'Joan of Arc/ I hope to wait as cheerfully as he did 
 for the trumpet call and as usefully, but I am ready." 
 
 When Mrs. Fields died and the Charles Street door 
 was finally closed, at the beginning of 1915, the world 
 had entered upon its first entire year of a new era. It is 
 an era as sharply separated from that of her intimate 
 contemporaries, the American Victorians, as any new 
 from any old order. The figures of every old order take 
 their places by degrees as "museum pieces," objects of 
 curious and sometimes condescending study. But let us 
 not be too sure that in parting with the past we have let 
 it keep only that which can best be spared. We would 
 not wish them back, those Victorians of ours. They 
 were the product of their own day, and would be hardly 
 at ease poor things in our twentieth-century Zion. 
 Even some of us who inhabit it gain a sense of rest in 
 r centering their quiet, decorous dwelling-places. As we 
 emerge again from one of them, may it be with a re- 
 newed allegiance to those lasting " things that are more 
 excellent," which belong to every generation of civilized 
 men and women. 
 
INDEX 
 
 PAGE numbers set in bold-faced type indicate, generally speaking, 
 the more important references to the persons concerned. As a com- 
 plete list of the pages on which Mr. or Mrs. Fields, or both, are 
 mentioned would include substantially the whole book, only a few 
 of the more significant references to them have been selected for 
 inclusion under their names. 
 
 ADAMS, ANNIE, marries J. T. F., n. 
 
 And see Fields, Annie. 
 Adams, Charles F., Jr., 278. 
 Adams, Lizzie, 20. 
 Adams, Zabdiel B., n. 
 Agassiz, Alexander, 256, 257, 258. 
 Agassiz, Elizabeth C., 159. 
 Agassiz, Louis, 48, 93, 105, 141. 
 Alcott, A. Bronson, 63, 72-77, 81, 82, 
 
 95- 
 
 Alcott, Mrs. A. Bronson, 63. 
 Alcott, Louisa M., 73. 
 Alden, Henry M., 57, 89. 
 Aldrich, Lilian (Woodman), 126, 203, 
 
 229, 290. 
 Aldrich, Thomas B., n, 116, 126 and 
 
 ., 127, 197/., 226-229, 290, 291- 
 
 293. 
 
 Andrew, John A., u, 36 n., 302. 
 Andrew, Mrs. John A., 28, 213, 214. 
 Appleton, Thomas Gold, 115, 116, 
 
 126, 152, 154, 209, 211, 212, 213, 
 
 216, 246, 253. 
 Aristotle, 133. 
 Arnold, Matthew, 288. 
 Astor, John Jacob, 76, 77. 
 Atlantic Monthly ', 6, 13, 14, 107, in, 
 
 191 ., 209, 233, 252, 281, 282, 302. 
 
 BACON, FRANCIS, Lord, 112. 
 Baker, Sir Samuel, 149. 
 Barbauld, Anna L. A., 101. 
 Barker, Fordyce, 151, 185. 
 Barlow, Francis C., 61. 
 Barrett, Lawrence, 240. 
 Bartol, Cyrus A., 114, 215, 239. 
 Beal, James H., 143. 
 
 Beal, Louisa (Adams), 42, 143. 
 
 Beal, Thomas, 199. 
 
 Beecher, Henry Ward, 89, 224, 263, 
 
 267-269, 270. 
 
 Bell, Helen (Choate), 98, 143, 288. 
 Bellows, Henry W., 199. 
 Bentzon, Th. See Blanc, Marie T. 
 Bigelow, George T., 36. 
 Bigelow, Mr. and Mrs., 143, 144. 
 Blagden, Isa, 260. 
 Blake, Harrison G. O., 89, 90. 
 Blanc, Marie Therese, 288, 289, 293. 
 Blessington, Countess of, 274. 
 Blumenbach, Johann F., 128, 129. 
 Boccaccio, Giovanni, 58. 
 Booth, Edwin, 28, 198-203, 210, 
 
 240-241. 
 
 Booth, J. Wilkes, 28, 198, 199. 
 Booth, Junius Brutus, 196. 
 Booth, Mary (Mrs. Edwin), 241. 
 Booth, Mary A. (Mrs. J. B.), 198. 
 Boswell, James, 60. 
 Boutwell, George S., 89. 
 Bradford, George, 81, 82, 90. 
 Bright, John, 177. 
 Bronte, Charlotte, 131, 266. 
 Brooks, Phillips, 36 ., 94, 288. 
 Brown, John, Pet Marjorie y 59. 
 Browne, Charles F., 21. 
 Brownell, Henry Howard, 29. 
 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 270. 
 Browning, Robert, 43, 142, 260, 269. 
 Brunetiere, Ferdinand, 288. 
 Bryant, William Cullen, 239, 257. 
 "Buffalo Bill." See Cody, W. F. 
 Bugbee, James M., 126. 
 Bull, Ole, 225. 
 
3 o8 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Burr, Aaron, 270, 271. 
 Butler, Benjamin F., 95. 
 
 CABOT, MRS., 236. 
 
 Calderon de la Barca, Pedro, no. 
 
 Carleton, G. W., 233. 
 
 Carlyle, Jane Welsh, 75, 142, 220. 
 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 73, 75, 79, 89, 141, 
 
 142, 165, 167, 190, 191, 220. 
 Channing, W. Ellery, 81, 98, 114. 
 Cheney, Arthur, 216. 
 Cheney, Ednah D., 114. 
 Child, Lydia M., 265, 266. 
 Childs, George W., 64. 
 Choate, Rufus, 288. 
 Cicero, 45. 
 Clapp, Henry, 185. 
 Clarke, James Freeman, 72, 114. 
 Clarke, Sara, 205. 
 Clemens, Samuel L., 232, 233, 244- 
 
 257, 305. 
 
 Clemens, Mrs. S. L., 245 ff. 
 Cobden, Richard, 177. 
 Cody, William F., 294. 
 Colchester (medium), 168, 169, 170. 
 Collins, Charles, 168. 
 Collins, Mrs. Charles (daughter of 
 
 Dickens), 190. 
 Collins, W.Wilkie, 145, 1 89. 
 Collyer, Robert, 215. 
 Con way, Judge, 219. 
 Cooke, George W., 120. 
 Crabbe, George, 186. 
 Crawford, Thomas, 264. 
 Crawford, Mrs. Thomas, 264, 265. 
 Cubas, Isabella, 22, 23. 
 Curtis, George William, 14, 33, 184, 
 
 188. 
 
 Curtis, Mrs. G. W., 14. 
 Gushing, Caleb, 266, 267. 
 Cushman, Charlotte, 123, 219-222. 
 
 DANA, CHARLOTTE, 161. 
 
 Dana, Richard H., Jr., 93, 95, 116, 
 
 144, 250, 278. 
 
 Dana, Mrs. R. H., Jr., 92, 93. 
 Dana, Sallie, 161. 
 Daniel, George, 95. 
 Dante, Alighieri, 258. 
 Davidson, Edith, 99. 
 Davis, George T., 19, 20. 
 Dennet, of the Nation, 127. 
 
 De Normandie, James, 8l. 
 
 Dewey, Dr., 219. 
 
 Dickens, Bessy, 194. 
 
 Dickens, Catherine (Hogarth), 160. 
 
 Dickens, Charles, in America, 138- 
 
 188; his readings, 140, 144, 145, 
 
 152, 157, i?i, 172, 181, 182; 
 
 letters of, to J. T. F., 150, 191; 
 
 12, 32,33, 1 1 8, 119, 120, 135-195, 
 
 209, 210, 211, 212, 223, 2 4 0. 
 
 Dickens, Charles, Jr., 194. 
 
 Dickens, John, 175. 
 
 Dickens, Mary: quoted, 193; 140, 
 
 164, 169, 194. 
 Dickinson, Lowes, 232. 
 Dodge, Mary Abigail, 144, 220, 221. 
 Dolby, George, 136, 138, 139, 140, 
 
 H3, J 44> H9, 150, 161, 162, 165, 
 
 166, 171, 173, 178, 180, 185, 189, 
 
 190. 
 
 Donne, Father, 102. 
 Donne, John, 95. 
 Dorr, Charles, 149, 209. 
 Dorr, Mrs. Charles, 35, 149, 150, 
 
 209, 215. 
 
 Dryden, John, 109. 
 Dufferin, Earl of, 163. 
 Dumas, Alex., 211. 
 Dumas, Alex.,//j., 211. 
 Du Maurier, George, 300. 
 Dunn, Rev. Mr., 122. 
 
 ECCE HOMO, 167. 
 
 Eliot, Charles W., 41. 
 
 Eliotson, Dr., 182, 183. 
 
 Ellsler, Fanny, 24. 
 
 Emerson, Edith, 89, 91. And see 
 
 Forbes, Edith (Emerson). 
 Emerson, Edward W., 94, 103, 104. 
 Emerson, Ellen, 88, 94, 96, 97, 99, 
 
 100, 103, 104. 
 Emerson, Lilian (Jackson), letter of, 
 
 to Mrs. F., 88; 61, 62, 89, 94,^95, 
 
 99, 101, 203. 
 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, letter of, to 
 
 J.T. F.,87; 14, I5., 24,61,62, 
 
 67, 73, 74, 79, 83, 84, 86-105, 130, 
 
 131, 141, 158, 161, 165, 203, 206, 
 
 238, 239, 289. 
 Emerson, W. R., 219. 
 England, Hawthorne on, 59, 60. 
 Everett, Edward, 116, 270, 271. 
 
INDEX 
 
 309 
 
 Everett, William, 270. 
 Every Saturday, 197. 
 
 FALSTAFF, SIR JOHN, 1 10. 
 
 Fechter, Charles, 139, 146, 148, 149, 
 159, 179, 190, 191, 209 /. 
 
 Field, John W., 124. 
 
 Field, Kate, 152, 259, 260, 261. 
 
 Fielding, Henry, Tom Jones, no, 
 in. 
 
 Fields, Annie, disposition of her 
 papers, 3; her journals, 4, 12; 
 H. James quoted on, 5 ; marriage, 
 1 1 ; her neighbors, 1 1 ; and Leigh 
 Hunt, 15, 16; letter of Holmes to, 
 on her memorial volume, 50, 51 ; 
 her books, 53; H. James, Sr., 
 quoted on, 85; "Thunderbolt 
 Hill," 1 01 ; her character as re- 
 vealed in her diary, 132-134; her 
 championship of Dickens, 156, 
 157; the variety of her friend- 
 ships, 196 ff. ; her ode for the in- 
 stallation of the Music Hall organ, 
 219, 220, 221 ; with J. T. F., 
 visits Mark Twain at Hartford, 
 246 ff.; and the cause of equal 
 rights for women, 275, 278 ; her 
 skill in digesting reports of conver- 
 sations, 279, 280; her intimate 
 friendship with Miss Jewett, 281 
 ff.; her poetry, 285, 286; list of 
 her published prose works, 286; 
 friends of her later years, 288; 
 travelling with Miss Jewett,289jf.; 
 and the President of Haiti, 290, 
 291; visits Mistral, 293-297; 
 visits H. James, Jr., at Rye, 297- 
 301 ; quoted, on Miss Jewett, 302 ; 
 her last years, 304, 305 ; the last 
 words in her diary, 305; her 
 death, 305. James T. Fields: 
 Biographical Notes, 4, 13, 16, 50; 
 Authors and Friends, 4, 31, 86, 87, 
 105, 129, 134, 279; A Shelf of Old 
 Books, 12 n . ; Hawthorne, 54. 
 
 Fields, Eliza J.(Willard), ii. 
 
 FIELDS, JAMES T., early days in 
 Boston, 10, n, 196; marries Annie 
 Adams, 1 1 ; their home on Charles 
 St., n, 12, 137, 138, 218, 219; 
 editor of the Atlantic, 14, 58, 67, 
 
 87, I07,"m,ll 9 , 191 ., 233, 282; 
 as raconteur, 21 ; Holmes quoted 
 on his position in the literary 
 world, 34 ; retires from business, 
 40; H. James, Sr., quoted on, 85 ; 
 his love of the theatre and stage 
 folk, 196, 197; his death, 280; 
 fosters Mrs. F.'s friendship with 
 Miss Jewett, 283. 
 
 Yesterdays with Authors, 4, 54, 
 55, 62, 137, 176 n., 190. 
 
 Fields, Osgood & Co., 10. 
 
 Fiske, John, 48. 
 
 Forbes, Edith (Emerson), 91. 
 
 Forbes, William H., 91. 
 
 Forrest, Edwin, 207, 218. 
 
 Forrest, Mrs. Edwin, 218. 
 
 Forster, John, 154, 160, 163, 171, 
 213. 
 
 Foster, Charlotte, 259. 
 
 Frothingham, Octavius B., 274. 
 
 Froude, James A., 68, 293. 
 
 Fuller, Margaret, 24, 239. 
 
 Fulton, J. D., 122. 
 
 Furness, William H., 101 .,IO2 , 103. 
 
 GARRETT (impressario), 214. 
 Gaskell, Elizabeth C. S., 131. 
 Godwin, Mrs. William, 16. 
 Goethe, Johann W. von, Wilhelm 
 
 Meister, 132, 133. 
 Gorges, Sir F., 74. 
 Gounod, Charles, 44. 
 Grant, Julia Dent, 159. 
 Grant, Ulysses S., 1 59, 262. 
 Grau, Maurice, 222. 
 Greene, George W., 19, 20, 44, 45, 
 
 47, 126, 141, 256, 258, 260. 
 Gregory, Lady, 218. 
 Guiney, Louise Imogen, 288. 
 
 HAITI, President of, 290, 291. 
 
 Hale, Edward E., 93. 
 
 Hale, John P., 261. 
 
 Hallam, Henry, 89. 
 
 Hamilton, Gail. See Dodge, Mary 
 
 Abigail. 
 
 Hammersley, Mr., 247. 
 Harper's Weekly, 14. 
 Harris, William T., 81. 
 Harte, F. Bret, 117, 233-243. 
 Harte, Mrs. F. B., 239, 240. 
 
3 io 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Harvard College, Commemoration 
 Day at, 36 n. 
 
 Hawthorne, Julian, 15, 144. 
 
 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, death of, 
 27, 28, 67 ; letters of, to J. T. F., 
 54> 55> 56; his last letter, 65-67; 
 13, 14, 15 and ., 18, 19, 30, 32, 
 33,54-72,97,105, 127,236. 
 
 Hawthorne, Sophia (Peabody), let- 
 ter to Mrs. F. on Hawthorne, 70- 
 72; 61, 65, 66, 67, 68, 91, 144, 246. 
 
 Hawthorne, Una, 15, 97, 221. 
 
 Hawthorne, E. M., sister of Nathan- 
 iel, 69. 
 
 Hayes, Isaac I., 33, 34. 
 
 Herbert, George, 95. 
 
 Herrick, Robert, 95. 
 
 Higginson, Thomas W., 1 14. 
 
 Hill, Thomas, 92. 
 
 Hillard, George S., 17, 18, 19, 143. 
 
 Hoar, Ebenezer R., 37, 90, 91, 141. 
 
 Hogarth, Georgina, quoted, 193, 
 194; 140, 155, 165, 195. 
 
 Holmes, Amelia (Jackson), 30, 34, 
 39,40,41, 51, 153,203, 213, 214, 
 
 221. 
 
 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, his rela- 
 tions with the Fieldses, generally, 
 17-52; letters of, to J. T. F., 17, 
 49, and to Mrs. F., 50; n, 13,54, 
 90, 94, 96, no, iiiw., 115, 116, 
 117, 1 1 8, 135, 141, 142, 203, 205, 
 
 206, 207, 208, 221, 256, 257, 273, 
 288. 
 
 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, Jr., 21, 31. 
 Home (medium), 163, 168. 
 Horace, 238. 
 Howe, Julia Ward, 9,10, 61, 90, 114 
 
 and n., 221. 
 
 Howe, Laura (Mrs. Richards), 150. 
 Howe, Samuel G., 219, 273. 
 Howells, William D., 38, 116, 166. 
 Howes, Miss, 236. 
 Howison, George H., 81. 
 Hunt, Henry, 48. 
 Hunt, Leigh, 15, 1 6, 58, 122. 
 Hunt, T. Sterry, 199. 
 Hunt, William M., 96, 97-99, 230, 
 
 232. 
 
 Hunt, Mrs. W. M., 96, 98, 222, 230. 
 Hyacinthe, Pere, 44, 
 
 INGE LOW, JEAN, 142. 
 
 [ACKSON, CHARLES T., 94 and n. 
 
 'ames, Alice, 77, 8 1, 83. 
 ames, George Abbot, 42. 
 ames, Henry, Sr., letter of, to 
 J. T. F., 82, and to Mrs. F., 83, 
 85; 72-85. 
 
 James, Mrs. Henry, 75, 77, 81. 
 
 James, Henry, Jr., quoted, 6, 7, 137, 
 281; letter of, to author, 8, 9; 
 119, 120, 297-301. 
 
 Jan (Booth's servant), 200, 202. 
 
 Jefferson, Joseph, 203-208, 247. 
 
 Jewett, Sarah Orne, her intimate 
 relations with Mrs. F., 281^,302- 
 304; her early days, 281, 282; 
 her literary work, 282-284; cor- 
 respondence with Mrs. F., 288, 
 289 ; H. James on her work, 300 ; 
 her death, 302 ; 1 2, 50. 
 
 Johnson, Andrew, impeachment of, 
 159; 261, 262, 263. 
 
 Johnson, Samuel, 60. 
 
 Jonson, Ben, 96. 
 
 Julius Caesar, 45. 
 
 KEATS, JOHN, 43, 68, 206, 207. 
 Kellogg, Elijah, 271, 272. 
 Kemble, Charles, 196. 
 Kemble, Frances Anne, 196, 222, 
 
 223, 224. 
 
 Kennard, Mr., 267, 268. 
 King, Preston, 262, 263. 
 Kirkup, Seymour S., 258. 
 Knowlton, Helen M., 232. 
 
 LAMARTINE, ALPHONSE DE, 296, 297. 
 
 Lamb, Charles, 270. 
 
 Landor, Walter Savage, 259-261. 
 
 Langdon,Mr., Mark Twain's father- 
 in-law, 245. 
 
 Langdon, Mrs., 246. 
 
 Larcom, Lucy, 70. 
 
 Lathrop, George P., 97. 
 
 Lathrop,Rose (Hawthorne), quoted, 
 67.; 97, 144. 
 
 Lear, Edward, 280. 
 
 Leclercq, Carlotta, 216. 
 
 Lemaitre, Frederick, 178, 179, 180, 
 211. 
 
INDEX 
 
 31* 
 
 Lincoln, Abraham, assassination of, 
 28,198; 55,56,77,262,263. 
 
 Livermore, Mary A., 275-278. 
 
 Locke, David R., 33. 
 
 Longfellow, Alice, 42, 96, 224. 
 
 Longfellow, Charles, 128, 216. 
 
 Longfellow, Edith, 42, 213, 214. 
 
 Longfellow, Mrs. Ernest W., 42. 
 
 Longfellow, Henry W., 13, 19, 33, 
 34, 35, 39, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 
 48, 60 and ., 90, 96, 97, 98, 99, 
 109, 115, 116, 117, 119, 123, 124, 
 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 141, 144, 
 152, 153, 159, 160, 161, 172, 205, 
 206, 207, 208, 209, 211, 212 and 
 ., 213, 214, 215, 216, 222, 223, 
 224, 243, 256, 257, 258, 273. 
 
 Longfellow, Mrs. H. W., 55, 223. 
 
 Longfellow, Samuel, 42, 2i2. 
 
 Loring, Charles G., 36 n. 
 
 Lowell, Frances (Dunbar), 123, 124. 
 
 Lowell, James Russell, letters of, to 
 J. T. F., 107, 108, 112, 113, 120, 
 141 w.; 5, 13, 33,34, 35, 36n., 90, 
 92, 93, 94, 95, 104, 105, 106, 107 
 ff., 116, 117, 123, 124, 126, 127, 
 149, 159, 163, 164, 1 66, 243, 273. 
 
 Lowell, Mabel, 107, 113, 123,' 124, 
 
 T I49 V 
 
 Lunt, George, 214. 
 
 Luther, Martin, 89. 
 
 Lytton, Edward Bulwer, Lord, 168, 
 
 MACREADY, WILLIAM, 21 8. 
 Maistre, Joseph de, 221. 
 Mars, Anne F. H., 210, 211. 
 Mathews, Charles, 207. 
 Merivale, Herman, 95. 
 Miller, Joaquin, 43, 1 26. 
 Milton, John, 74. 
 Mistral, Frederic, 293-297. 
 Mistral, Mme. Frederic, 295, 296, 
 
 Mitchell, Donald G., 185. 
 Mitford, Mary R., 98. 
 Montaigne, Michel de, 112, 238, 239. 
 Morton, W. T. G., 94 and n. 
 Motley, J. Lothrop, 37. 
 Mott, Lucretia C, 74. 
 Murdoch, James E., 217, 218. 
 
 Music Hall, Boston, great organ in, 
 
 219, 220, 221. 
 
 "NASBY, PETROLEUM V." See Locke, 
 D. R. 
 
 Nichol, Professor, 90. 
 Nilsson, Christine, 214, 224-226. 
 Norton, Caroline (Sheridan), 46. 
 Norton, Charles Eliot, 92, 103, 104, 
 
 141, 144, 172, 185, 187. 
 Norton, Mrs. C. E., 163. 
 
 O'BRIEN, FITZ- JAMES, 227-229. 
 O'Connell, Daniel, 173, 176, 177. 
 Orsay, Count d', 145. 
 Osgood, James R., 116, 136, 151, 
 153, 161, 162, 165, 166, 167, 185. 
 
 PARKER, HARVEY D., 206. 
 Parkman, Francis, 104, 105. 
 Parkman, Mrs. Francis, 35. 
 Parkman, George, murder of, 1 53. 
 Parsons, Thomas W., 208, 214. 
 Parton, James, no, in, 232. 
 Peabody, Elizabeth, 82, 119, 
 Pedro, Dom, Emperor of Brazil, 1 27, 
 
 128. 
 
 Perabo, Ernst, 224. 
 Phelps, Elizabeth Stuart, 275. 
 Phi Beta Kappa, Harvard (1868), 
 
 36, 37; 92. 
 
 Phillips, Wendell, 89, 114. 
 
 Phipps, Colonel, 188, 189. 
 
 Pickwick, Mr., in. 
 
 Pierce, Franklin, Hawthorne's loy- 
 alty to, 13, 14, 15.; 57,58,67. 
 
 Pierce, Mrs. Franklin, death of, 57, 
 58. 
 
 Pierce, Henry L., 229, 290. 
 
 Poore, Ben Perley, 266. 
 
 Pratt, Mrs. Ellerton, 288. 
 
 Prescott, Harriet (Mrs.Spofford), 58. 
 
 Putnam, George, 36^., 213. 
 
 Putnam, John P., 221. 
 
 QUINCY, EDMUND, 86, 273. 
 Quincy, Josiah, 85, 275, 276, 277. 
 Quincy, Josiah P., 86, 92, 93. 
 Quincy, Mrs. Josiah P., 92. 
 Quixote, Don, no, 
 
3 I2 
 
 INDEX 
 
 RADICAL CLUB, 114. 
 Raymond, John T., 253. 
 Read, John M., 31, 32. 
 Read, T. Buchanan, 44. 
 Reade, Charles, 146. 
 Rip Van Winkle, in. 
 Ripley, Miss, 88. 
 Ripley, Mrs., 91. 
 Ristori, Adelaide, 222. 
 Rogers, Samuel, 185. 
 Rossetti, Christina, 97 
 Rowse, Samuel W., 152. 
 Russell, Thomas, 261. 
 
 SANBORN, F. B., 68. 
 
 Saturday Club, 104, 105, 116 and n. 
 
 Schurz, Carl, 266. 
 
 Scott-Siddons, Mrs., no. 
 
 Seward, William H., 28, 219, 267. 
 
 Shaw, Lemuel, 232. 
 
 Shaw, Robert G., 14, 24. 
 
 Shelley, Percy B., 16. 
 
 Sherman, William T., 77. 
 
 Shiel, Mr., 173, 176. 
 
 Silsbee, Mrs., 95, 143. 
 
 Smith, Alexander, 17, 19. 
 
 Smith, Samuel F., 47. 
 
 Smith, Sydney, 89, 257. 
 
 Somerset, Duchess of, 46. 
 
 Stanley, Edward G. S.S. (afterward 
 
 I 4 th Earl of Derby), 173, 174, 175. 
 Stanton, Edwin M., 267. 
 Stephen, Leslie, 95. 
 Sterling, John, 75. 
 Stone, Lucy, 114. 
 Story, William W., 116. 
 Stothard, Thomas, 190. 
 Stowe, Calvin E., 272. 
 Stowe, "Georgie," 38, 39. 
 Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 38, 39, 61, 
 
 191 and ., 268, 272. 
 Sumner, Charles, 42, 44, 45, 46, 48, 
 
 77,ios,2i9,258-267. 
 
 TAYLOR, BAYARD, 109, 1 10, 1 1 1, 1 16, 
 
 117, 118, 119, 228, 266. 
 Taylor, Mrs. Bayard, 109, no, in. 
 Tennent, Sir Emerson, 153. 
 Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 254, 279. 
 Tennyson, Lady, 
 
 74, 
 
 Terry, Ellen, 218, 300, 301. 
 
 Thackeray, William M., 32, 33, in, 
 154, 266. 
 
 Thaxter, Celia, 98, 129-131, 152, 
 154, 288. 
 
 Thompson, Launt, 198. 
 
 Thoreau, Helen, 62, 74. 
 
 Thoreau, Henry D., 14, 62, 68, 
 89, 90. 
 
 Thoreau, Sophia, 68. 
 
 Thoreau, Mrs. (mother of H. D.T.), 
 62, 68, 74. 
 
 Ticknor, William D., 63/. 
 
 Ticknor and Fields, 10. 
 
 Ticknor, Reed and Fields, 17. 
 
 Towne, Alice, 45. 
 
 Towne, Helen, 45. 
 
 Townshend, Chauncey, 169. 
 
 Trimble, Colonel, 273. 
 
 Twain, Mark. See Clemens, Sam- 
 uel L. 
 
 UPHAM, J. BAXTER, 221 and n. 
 
 VAUGHAN, HENRY, 74, 81, 95. 
 Viardot-Garcia, Michelle F. P., 
 Victoria, Queen, 187, 188. 
 Vieuxtemps, Henri, 225. 
 
 225. 
 
 WARD, ARTEMUS. See Browne, 
 
 Charles F. 
 Ward, Mary A. (Mrs. Humphry), 
 
 288. 
 
 Ward, Samuel, 90. 
 Warren, William, 203, 205, 206. 
 Washington, George, 259. 
 Wasson, David A., 1 14. 
 Waterston, Mrs., 24. 
 Watts, Isaac, 101. 
 Webster, John W., 153. 
 Whipple, Edwin P., 20. 
 White, Andrew D., 92. 
 Whitman, Sarah, 288. 
 Whitney, Anne, 101, 102, 206. 
 Whittier, Elizabeth, 259. 
 Whittier, John G., 39, 40, 68, 70, 
 
 114, 129, 130, 131, 161, 222, 244, 
 
 288. 
 Willard, Eliza J. See Fields, Eliza 
 
 J. (Willard)/" 
 
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