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第1章 THE EARLY DAYS

Richard Harding Davis was born in Philadelphia on April 18,1864,but,so far as memory serves me,his life and mine began together several years later in the three-story brick house on South Twenty-first Street,to which we had just moved.For more than forty years this was our home in all that the word implies,and I do not believe that there was ever a moment when it was not the predominating influence in Richard's life and in his work.As I learned in later years,the house had come into the possession of my father and mother after a period on their part of hard endeavor and unusual sacrifice.It was their ambition to add to this home not only the comforts and the beautiful inanimate things of life,but to create an atmosphere which would prove a constant help to those who lived under its roof--an inspiration to their children that should endure so long as they lived.At the time of my brother's death the fact was frequently commented upon that,unlike most literary folk,he had never known what it was to be poor and to suffer the pangs of hunger and failure.That he never suffered from the lack of a home was certainly as true as that in his work he knew but little of failure,for the first stories he wrote for the magazines brought him into a prominence and popularity that lasted until the end.But if Richard gained his success early in life and was blessed with a very lovely home to which he could always return,he was not brought up in a manner which in any way could be called lavish.Lavish he may have been in later years,but if he was it was with the money for which those who knew him best knew how very hard he had worked.

In a general way,I cannot remember that our life as boys differed in any essential from that of other boys.My brother went to the Episcopal Academy and his weekly report never failed to fill the whole house with an impenetrable gloom and ever-increasing fears as to the possibilities of his future.

At school and at college Richard was,to say the least,an indifferent student.And what made this undeniable fact so annoying,particularly to his teachers,was that morally he stood so very high.To "crib,"to lie,or in any way to cheat or to do any unworthy act was,I believe,quite beyond his understanding.Therefore,while his constant lack of interest in his studies goaded his teachers to despair,when it came to a question of stamping out wrongdoing on the part of the student body he was invariably found aligned on the side of the faculty.Not that Richard in any way resembled a prig or was even,so far as I know,ever so considered by the most reprehensible of his fellow students.He was altogether too red-blooded for that,and I believe the students whom he antagonized rather admired his chivalric point of honor even if they failed to imitate it.As a schoolboy he was aggressive,radical,outspoken,fearless,usually of the opposition and,indeed,often the sole member of his own party.Among the students at the several schools he attended he had but few intimate friends;but of the various little groups of which he happened to be a member his aggressiveness and his imagination usually made him the leader.As far back as I can remember,Richard was always starting something--usually a new club or a violent reform movement.And in school or college,as in all the other walks of life,the reformer must,of necessity,lead a somewhat tempestuous,if happy,existence.The following letter,written to his father when Richard was a student at Swarthmore,and about fifteen,will give an idea of his conception of the ethics in the case:

SWARTHMORE--1880.

DEAR PAPA:

I am quite on the Potomac.I with all the boys at our table were called up,there is seven of us,before Prex.for stealing sugar-bowls and things off the table.All the youths said,"O President,I didn't do it."When it came my turn Imerely smiled gravely,and he passed on to the last.Then he said,"The only boy that doesn't deny it is Davis.Davis,you are excused.I wish to talk to the rest of them."That all goes to show he can be a gentleman if he would only try.I am a natural born philosopher so I thought this idea is too idiotic for me to converse about so I recommend silence and Ialso argued that to deny you must necessarily be accused and to be accused of stealing would of course cause me to bid Prex.good-by,so the only way was,taking these two considerations with each other,to deny nothing but let the good-natured old duffer see how silly it was by retaining a placid silence and so crushing his base but thoughtless behavior and machinations.

DICK.

In the early days at home--that is,when the sun shone--we played cricket and baseball and football in our very spacious back yard,and the programme of our sports was always subject to Richard's change without notice.

When it rained we adjourned to the third-story front,where we played melodrama of simple plot but many thrills,and it was always Richard who wrote the plays,produced them,and played the principal part.As I recall these dramas of my early youth,the action was almost endless and,although the company comprised two charming misses (at least I know that they eventually grew into two very lovely women),there was no time wasted over anything so sentimental or futile as love-scenes.

But whatever else the play contained in the way of great scenes,there was always a mountain pass--the mountains being composed of a chair and two tables--and Richard was forever leading his little band over the pass while the band,wholly indifferent as to whether the road led to honor,glory,or total annihilation,meekly followed its leader.For some reason,probably on account of my early admiration for Richard and being only too willing to obey his command,I was invariably cast for the villain in these early dramas,and the end of the play always ended in a hand-to-hand conflict between the hero and myself.As Richard,naturally,was the hero and incidentally the stronger of the two,it can readily be imagined that the fight always ended in my complete undoing.Strangulation was the method usually employed to finish me,and,whatever else Richard was at that tender age,I can testify to his extraordinary ability as a choker.

But these early days in the city were not at all the happiest days of that period in Richard's life.He took but little interest even in the social or the athletic side of his school life,and his failures in his studies troubled him sorely,only I fear, however, because it troubled his mother and father.The great day of the year to us was the day our schools closed and we started for our summer vacation.When Richard was less than a year old my mother and father,who at the time was convalescing from a long illness,had left Philadelphia on a search for a complete rest in the country.Their travels,which it seems were undertaken in the spirit of a voyage of discovery and adventure,finally led them to the old Curtis House at Point Pleasant on the New Jersey coast.But the Point Pleasant of that time had very little in common with the present well-known summer resort.

In those days the place was reached after a long journey by rail followed by a three hours'drive in a rickety stagecoach over deep sandy roads,albeit the roads did lead through silent,sweet-smelling pine forests.Point Pleasant itself was then a collection of half a dozen big farms which stretched from the Manasquan River to the ocean half a mile distant.Nothing could have been more primitive or as Iremember it in its pastoral loveliness much more beautiful.

Just beyond our cottage the river ran its silent,lazy course to the sea.With the exception of several farmhouses,its banks were then unsullied by human habitation of any sort,and on either side beyond the low green banks lay fields of wheat and corn,and dense groves of pine and oak and chestnut trees.

Between us and the ocean were more waving fields of corn,broken by little clumps of trees,and beyond these damp Nile-green pasture meadows,and then salty marshes that led to the glistening,white sand-dunes,and the great silver semi-circle of foaming breakers,and the broad,blue sea.On all the land that lay between us and the ocean,where the town of Point Pleasant now stands,I think there were but four farmhouses,and these in no way interfered with the landscape or the life of the primitive world in which we played.

Whatever the mental stimulus my brother derived from his home in Philadelphia,the foundation of the physical strength that stood him in such good stead in the campaigns of his later years he derived from those early days at Point Pleasant.The cottage we lived in was an old two-story frame building,to which my father had added two small sleeping-rooms.Outside there was a vine-covered porch and within a great stone fireplace flanked by cupboards,from which during those happy days I know Richard and I,openly and covertly,must have extracted tons of hardtack and cake.The little house was called "Vagabond's Rest,"and a haven of rest and peace and content it certainly proved for many years to the Davis family.From here it was that my father started forth in the early mornings on his all-day fishing excursions,while my mother sat on the sunlit porch and wrote novels and mended the badly rent garments of her very active sons.After a seven-o'clock breakfast at the Curtis House our energies never ceased until night closed in on us and from sheer exhaustion we dropped unconscious into our patch-quilted cots.All day long we swam or rowed,or sailed,or played ball,or camped out,or ate enormous meals--anything so long as our activities were ceaseless and our breathing apparatus given no rest.

About a mile up the river there was an island--it's a very small,prettily wooded,sandy-beached little place,but it seemed big enough in those days.Robert Louis Stevenson made it famous by rechristening it Treasure Island,and writing the new name and his own on a bulkhead that had been built to shore up one of its fast disappearing sandy banks.But that is very modern history and to us it has always been "The Island."In our day,long before Stevenson had ever heard of the Manasquan,Richard and I had discovered this tight little piece of land,found great treasures there,and,hand in hand,had slept in a six-by-six tent while the lions and tigers growled at us from the surrounding forests.

As I recall these days of my boyhood I find the recollections of our life at Point Pleasant much more distinct than those we spent in Philadelphia.For Richard these days were especially welcome.They meant a respite from the studies which were a constant menace to himself and his parents;and the freedom of the open country,the ocean,the many sports on land and on the river gave his body the constant exercise his constitution seemed to demand,and a broad field for an imagination which was even then very keen,certainly keen enough to make the rest of us his followers.

In an extremely sympathetic appreciation which Irvin S.Cobb wrote about my brother at the time of his death,he says that he doubts if there is such a thing as a born author.

Personally it so happened that I never grew up with any one,except my brother,who ever became an author,certainly an author of fiction,and so I cannot speak on the subject with authority.But in the case of Richard,if he was not born an author,certainly no other career was ever considered.So far as I know he never even wanted to go to sea or to be a bareback rider in a circus.A boy,if he loves his father,usually wants to follow in his professional footsteps,and in the case of Richard,he had the double inspiration of following both in the footsteps of his father and in those of his mother.

For years before Richard's birth his father had been a newspaper editor and a well-known writer of stories and his mother a novelist and short-story writer of great distinction.Of those times at Point Pleasant I fear I can remember but a few of our elders.There were George Lambdin,Margaret Ruff,and Milne Ramsay,all painters of some note;a strange couple,Colonel Olcott and the afterward famous Madam Blavatsky,trying to start a Buddhist cult in this country;Mrs.Frances Hodgson Burnett,with her foot on the first rung of the ladder of fame,who at the time loved much millinery finery.One day my father took her out sailing and,much to the lady's discomfiture and greatly to Richard's and my delight,upset the famous authoress.At a later period the Joseph Jeffersons used to visit us;Horace Howard Furness,one of my father's oldest friends,built a summer home very near us on the river,and Mrs.John Drew and her daughter Georgie Barrymore spent their summers in a near-by hostelry.I can remember Mrs.

Barrymore at that time very well-wonderfully handsome and a marvellously cheery manner.Richard and I both loved her greatly,even though it were in secret.Her daughter Ethel Iremember best as she appeared on the beach,a sweet,long-legged child in a scarlet bathing-suit running toward the breakers and then dashing madly back to her mother's open arms.A pretty figure of a child,but much too young for Richard to notice at that time.In after-years the child in the scarlet bathing-suit and he became great pals.Indeed,during the latter half of his life,through the good days and the bad,there were very few friends who held so close a place in his sympathy and his affections as Ethel Barrymore.

Until the summer of 1880my brother continued on at the Episcopal Academy.For some reason I was sent to a different school,but outside of our supposed hours of learning we were never apart.With less than two years'difference in our ages our interests were much the same,and I fear our interests of those days were largely limited to out-of-door sports and the theatre. We must have been very young indeed when my father first led us by the hand to see our first play.On Saturday afternoons Richard and I,unattended but not wholly unalarmed,would set forth from our home on this thrilling weekly adventure.Having joined our father at his office,he would invariably take us to a chop-house situated at the end of a blind alley which lay concealed somewhere in the neighborhood of Walnut and Third Streets,and where we ate a most wonderful luncheon of English chops and apple pie.As the luncheon drew to its close I remember how Richard and I used to fret and fume while my father in a most leisurely manner used to finish off his mug of musty ale.But at last the three of us,hand in hand,my father between us,were walking briskly toward our happy destination.At that time there were only a few first-class theatres in Philadelphia--the Arch Street Theatre,owned by Mrs.John Drew;the Chestnut Street,and the Walnut Street--all of which had stock companies,but which on the occasion of a visiting star acted as the supporting company.

These were the days of Booth,Jefferson,Adelaide Neilson,Charles Fletcher,Lotta,John McCullough,John Sleeper Clark,and the elder Sothern.And how Richard and I worshipped them all--not only these but every small-bit actor in every stock company in town.Indeed,so many favorites of the stage did my brother and I admire that ordinary frames would not begin to hold them all,and to overcome this defect we had our bedroom entirely redecorated.The new scheme called for a gray wallpaper supported by a maroon dado.At the top of the latter ran two parallel black picture mouldings between which we could easily insert cabinet photographs of the actors and actresses which for the moment we thought most worthy of a place in our collection.As the room was fairly large and as the mouldings ran entirely around it,we had plenty of space for even our very elastic love for the heroes and heroines of the footlights.

Edwin Forrest ended his stage career just before our time,but I know that Richard at least saw him and heard that wonderful voice of thunder.It seems that one day,while my mother and Richard were returning home,they got on a street-car which already held the great tragedian.At the moment Forrest was suffering severely from gout and had his bad leg stretched well out before him.My brother,being very young at the time and never very much of a respecter of persons,promptly fell over the great man's gouty foot.Whereat (according to my mother,who was always a most truthful narrator)Forrest broke forth in a volcano of oaths and for blocks continued to hurl thunderous broadsides at Richard,which my mother insisted included the curse of Rome and every other famous tirade in the tragedian's repertory which in any way fitted the occasion.

Nearly forty years later my father became the president of the Edwin Forrest Home,the greatest charity ever founded by an actor for actors,and I am sure by his efforts of years on behalf of the institution did much to atone for Richard's early unhappy meeting with the greatest of all the famous leather-lunged tragedians.

From his youth my father had always been a close student of the classic and modern drama,and throughout his life numbered among his friends many of the celebrated actors and actresses of his time.In those early days Booth used to come to rather formal luncheons,and at all such functions Richard and I ate our luncheon in the pantry,and when the great meal was nearly over in the dining-room we were allowed to come in in time for the ice-cream and to sit,figuratively,at the feet of the honored guest and generally,literally,on his or her knees.

Young as I was in those days I can readily recall one of those lunch-parties when the contrast between Booth and Dion Boucicault struck my youthful mind most forcibly.Booth,with his deep-set,big black eyes,shaggy hair,and lank figure,his wonderfully modulated voice,rolled out his theories of acting,while the bald-headed,rotund Boucicault,his twinkling eyes snapping like a fox-terrier's,interrupted the sonorous speeches of the tragedian with crisp,witty criticisms or "asides"that made the rest of the company laugh and even brought a smile to the heavy,tragic features of Booth himself.But there was nothing formal about our relations with John Sleeper Clark and the Jefferson family.

They were real "home folks"and often occupied our spare room,and when they were with us Richard and I were allowed to come to all the meals,and,even if unsolicited,freely express our views on the modern drama.

In later years to our Philadelphia home came Henry Irving and his fellow player Ellen Terry and Augustin Daly and that wonderful quartet,Ada Rehan,Mrs.Gilbert,James Lewis,and our own John Drew.Sir Henry I always recall by the first picture I had of him in our dining-room,sitting far away from the table,his long legs stretched before him,peering curiously at Richard and myself over black-rimmed glasses and then,with equal interest,turning back to the ash of a long cigar and talking drama with the famous jerky,nasal voice but always with a marvellous poise and convincing authority.He took a great liking to Richard in those days,sent him a church-warden's pipe that he had used as Corporal Brewster,and made much of him later when my brother was in London.

Miss Terry was a much less formal and forbidding guest,rushing into the house like a whirlwind and filling the place with the sunshine and happiness that seemed to fairly exude from her beautiful magnetic presence.Augustin Daly usually came with at least three of the stars of his company which Ihave already mentioned,but even the beautiful Rehan and the nice old Mrs.Gilbert seemed thoroughly awed in the presence of "the Guv'nor."He was a most crusty,dictatorial party,as I remember him with his searching eyes and raven locks,always dressed in black and always failing to find virtue in any actor or actress not a member of his own company.I remember one particularly acrid discussion between him and my father in regard to Julia Marlowe,who was then making her first bow to the public.Daly contended that in a few years the lady would be absolutely unheard of and backed his opinion by betting a dinner for those present with my father that his judgment would prove correct.However,he was very kind to Richard and myself and frequently allowed us to play about behind the scenes,which was a privilege I imagine he granted to very few of his friends'children.One night,long after this,when Richard was a reporter in New York,he and Miss Rehan were burlesquing a scene from a play on which the last curtain had just fallen.

It was on the stage of Daly's theatre at Thirtieth Street and Broadway,and from his velvet box at the prompt-entrance Daly stood gloomily watching their fooling.When they had finished the mock scene Richard went over to Daly and said,"How bad do you think I am as an actor,Mr.Daly?"and greatly to my brother's delight the greatest manager of them all of those days grumbled back at him:"You're so bad,Richard,that I'll give you a hundred dollars a week,and you can sign the contract whenever you're ready."Although that was much more than my brother was making in his chosen profession at the time,and in spite of the intense interest he had in the theatre,he never considered the offer seriously.As a matter of fact,Richard had many natural qualifications that fitted him for the stage,and in after-years,when he was rehearsing one of his own plays,he could and frequently would go up on the stage and read almost any part better than the actor employed to do it.Of course,he lacked the ease of gesture and the art of timing which can only be attained after sound experience,but his reading of lines and his knowledge of characterization was quite unusual.In proof of this I know of at least two managers who,when Richard wanted to sell them plays,refused to have him read them the manu on the ground that his reading gave the dialogue a value it did not really possess.

In the spring of 1880Richard left the Episcopal Academy,and the following September went to Swarthmore College, situated just outside of Philadelphia.I fear,however,the change was anything but a success.The life of the big coeducational school did not appeal to him at all and,in spite of two or three friendships he made among the girls and boys,he depended for amusement almost wholly on his own resources.In the afternoons and on holidays he took long walks over the country roads and in search of adventure visited many farmhouses.His excuse for these calls was that he was looking for old furniture and china,and he frequently remained long enough to make sketches of such objects as he pretended had struck his artistic fancy.Of these adventures he wrote at great length to his mother and father,and the letters were usually profusely decorated with illustrations of the most striking incidents of the various escapades.Several of these Swarthmore experiences he used afterward in short stories,and both the letters and sketches he sent to his parents at the time he regarded in the light of preparation for his future work.In his studies he was perhaps less successful than he had been at the Episcopal Academy,and although he played football and took part in the track sports he was really but little interested in either.There were half-holidays on Wednesdays and Saturdays,and when my brother did not come to town I went to Swarthmore and we spent the afternoons in first cooking our lunch in a hospitable woods and then playing some games in the open that Richard had devised.But as I recall these outings they were not very joyous occasions,as Richard was extremely unhappy over his failures at school and greatly depressed about the prospects for the future.

He finished the college year at Swarthmore,but so unhappy had he been there that there was no thought in his mind or in that of his parents of his returning.At that time my uncle,H.

Wilson Harding,was a professor at Lehigh University,and it was arranged that Richard should go to Bethlehem the following fall,live with his uncle,and continue his studies at Ulrich's Preparatory School,which made a specialty of preparing boys for Lehigh.My uncle lived in a charming old house on Market Street in Bethlehem,quite near the Moravian settlement and across the river from the university and the iron mills.He was a bachelor,but of a most gregarious and hospitable disposition,and Richard therefore found himself largely his own master,in a big,roomy house which was almost constantly filled with the most charming and cultivated people.There my uncle and Richard,practically of about the same age so far as their viewpoint of life was concerned,kept open house,and if it had not been for the occasional qualms his innate hatred of mathematics caused him,I think my brother would have been completely happy.Even studies no longer worried him particularly and he at once started in to make friendships,many of which lasted throughout his life.

As is usual with young men of seventeen,most of these men and women friends were several times Richard's age,but at the period Richard was a particularly precocious and amusing youth and a difference of a few decades made but little difference--certainly not to Richard.Finley Peter Dunne once wrote of my brother that he "probably knew more waiters,generals,actors,and princes than any man who lived,"and I think it was during the first year of his life at Bethlehem that he began the foundation for the remarkable collection of friends,both as to numbers and variety,of which he died possessed. Although a "prep,"he made many friends among the undergraduates of Lehigh.He made friends with the friends of his uncle and many friends in both of the Bethlehems of which his uncle had probably never heard.

Even at that early age he counted among his intimates William W.Thurston,who was president of the Bethlehem Iron Company,and J.Davis Brodhead,one of Pennsylvania's most conspicuous Democratic congressmen and attorneys.Those who knew him at that time can easily understand why Richard attracted men and women so much older than himself.He was brimming over with physical health and animal spirits and took the keenest interest in every one he met and in everything that was going on about him.And in the broadest sense he saw to it then,as he did throughout his life,that he always did his share.

During those early days at Bethlehem his letters to his family were full of his social activities,with occasional references to his work at school.He was always going to dinners or dances,entertaining members of visiting theatrical companies;and on Friday night my mother usually received a telegram,saying that he would arrive the next day with a party of friends whom he had inadvertently asked to lunch and a matinee.It was after one of these weekly visits that my mother wrote Richard the following:

Monday Night.

MY DARLING Boy:

You went off in such a hurry that it took my breath at the last.You say coming down helps you.It certainly does me.It brings a real sunshine to Papa and me.

He was saying that to-day.I gave Nolly a sort of holiday after her miseries last night.We went down street and got Papa a present for our wedding day,a picture,after all,and then I took Miss Baker some tickets for a concert.I saw her father who said he "must speak about my noble looking boy."Ialways thought him a genius but now I think him a man of penetration as well.Then Nolly and I went over to see the Russians.But they are closely boxed up and not allowed to-day to see visitors.So we came home cross and hungry.

All evening I have been writing business letters.

Papa has gone to a reception and Charley is hard at work at his desk.

I answered Mr.Allen's letter this morning,dear,and told him you would talk to him.When you do,dear,talk freely to him as to me.You will not perhaps agree with all he says.But your own thoughts will be healthier for bringing them--as Imight say,out of doors.You saw how it was by coming down here.Love of Christ is not a melancholy nor a morbid thing,dear love,but ought to make one more social and cheerful and alive.

I wish you could come home oftener.Try and get ahead with lessons so that you can come oftener.And when you feel as if prayer was a burden,stop praying and go out and try to put your Christianity into real action by doing some kindness--even speaking in a friendly way to somebody.Bring yourself into contact with new people--not John,Hugh,Uncle and Grandma,and try to act to them as Christ would have you act,and my word for it,you will go home with a new light on your own relations to Him and a new meaning for your prayers.

You remember the prayer "give me a great thought to refresh me."I think you will find some great thoughts in human beings--they will help you to understand yourself and God,when you try to help them God makes you happy my darling.

MAMA.

It was in this year that Richard enjoyed the thrill of seeing in print his first contribution to a periodical.The date of this important event,important,at least,to my brother,was February 1,the fortunate publication was Judge,and the effusion was entitled "The Hat and Its Inmate."Its purport was an overheard conversation between two young ladies at a matinee and the editors thought so well of it that for the privilege of printing the article they gave Richard a year's subion to Judge.His scrap-book of that time shows that in 1884Life published a short burlesque on George W.

Cable's novel,"Dr.Sevier,"and in the same year The Evening Post paid him $1.05for an article about "The New Year at Lehigh."It was also in the spring of 1884that Richard published his first book,"The Adventures of My Freshman,"a neat little paper-covered volume including half a dozen of the short stories that had already appeared in The Lehigh Burr.In writing in a copy of this book in later years,Richard said:"This is a copy of the first book of mine published.My family paid to have it printed and finding no one else was buying it,bought up the entire edition.

Finding the first edition had gone so quickly,I urged them to finance a second one,and when they were unenthusiastic I was hurt.Several years later when I found the entire edition in our attic,I understood their reluctance.The reason the book did not sell is,I think,because some one must have read it."In the summer of 1882Richard went to Boston,and in the following letter unhesitatingly expressed his opinion of that city and its people.

BOSTON,Wednesday.

July 1882.

DEAR FAMILY:--

I left Newport last night or rather this morning.I stopped at Beverly and called on Dr.Holmes.He talked a great deal about mama and about a great many other things equally lovely in a very easy,charming way.All I had to do was to listen and I was only too willing to do that.We got along splendidly.

He asked me to stay to dinner but I refused with thanks,as I had only come to pay my respects and put off to Dr.Bartol's. Dr.Holmes accompanied me to the depot and saw me safely off.Of all the lovely men I ever saw Dr.Bartol is the one.He lives in a great,many roomed with as many gables,house.Elizabethan,of course,with immense fireplaces,brass and dark woods,etchings and engravings,with the sea and rocks immediately under the window and the ocean stretching out for miles,lighthouses and more Elizabethan houses half hid on the bank,and ships and small boats pushing by within a hundred rods of the windows.I stayed to dinner there and we had a very jolly time.There were two other young men and another maiden besides Miss Bartol.They talked principally about the stage;that is,the Boston Stock Company,which is their sole thought and knowledge of the drama.The Dr.would strike off now and then to philosophizing and moralizing but his daughter would immediately sit upon him,much to my disgust but to the evident relief of the rest.His wife is as lovely as he is but I can't give it to you all now.Wait until I get home.

The young lady,the youths and myself came up to Boston together and had as pleasant a ride,as the heat would allow.

I left them at the depot and went up to the Parker House and then to the Art Museum.The statuary is plaster,the coins are copies,and by the way,I found one exactly like mine,which,if it is genuine is worth,"well considerable",as the personage in charge remarked.The pictures were simply vile,only two or three that I recognized and principally Millet and some charcoal sketches of Hunt's,who is the Apostle of Art here.The china was very fine but they had a collection of old furniture and armor which was better than anything else.

Fresh from or rather musty from these antiques,who should Imeet but the cheerful Dixey and Powers.We had a very jolly talk and I enjoyed it immensely,not only myself but all the surrounding populace,as Dixey would persist in showing the youthful some new "gag,"and would break into a clog or dialect much to the delectation of the admiring Bostonians.Iam stranded here for to night and will push on to Newport to-morrow.I'll go see the "babes"to night,as there is nothing else in the city that is worth seeing that I haven't investigated.I left the Newburyportians in grief with regret.I met lots of nice people and every one was so very kind to me,from the authoresses to the serving maids.

Good-bye.

DICK.

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    一觉醒来叶浩,忽然来到一个奇怪的世界,还没来得及搞清楚情况,就被一个十分美丽的御姐一拳打昏了过去,再次醒来时他已经成了舰娘口中抛弃镇守府和一大群婚舰的渣提,出于种种原因只得做起了勾结深海,打劫舰娘总部商船的海盗提督,,,,
  • 薄情王爷爱正欢

    薄情王爷爱正欢

    【腹黑王爷★任性可爱王妃】片段一,“啊!你的手是热的,你没有死!”姚芊芊看到了和老公高志远一张一样的脸的男人,有些激动地抱住了他。耶律伟宏推开她,“青芸公主,本王托你福当然不会死,要好好地活着。”“我不记得啦?”她一脸的无辜和无助,冲着耶律伟宏笑笑,“你既然是我的夫君,以后就要好好爱我,绝不能负我,更不能有三妻四妾!”片段二,“你这个不守妇道的贱女人,本王问你,你肚子里的野种是哪个野男人的?”耶律伟宏突然掐住她的脖子,逼问着她,完全没有了刚才的笑意。姚芊芊没有想到生宝宝的时候还能穿越,这玩笑开大发啦!突入其来的车祸让她失去了最疼爱她的老公高志远,腹中的宝宝早产了,生产过程她穿越到了西鲁国,成为西鲁国三王爷耶律伟宏的废弃正妃。明明长着和老公一张相同的脸,为什么会第一次见到他就开始羞辱她厌弃她,当着她的面搂着别的女人,还说她不守妇道怀了野种。老天爷这是在惩罚她对老公曾经的任性吗?她要在这个穿越的时空里找回那个疼爱她的老公。
  • 千年之恋:妖颜倾世

    千年之恋:妖颜倾世

    前世,她们义结金兰,她是她口中的漂亮嫂子;今生,她们也曾知心相交,她是她口中的美人姐姐。前世,她们刀剑相向是别人预谋已久的阴谋;今生,她们刀剑相向却是师徒间一时兴起的游戏。她们之间,是缘,还是孽?轮回之后,是否还记得前世相视莫逆的友情?轮回之后,是否还记得前世刻骨铭心的爱情?轮回之后,是否还记得前世血浓于水的亲情?当前世的刻骨遇上今生的懵懂,当前世的纠葛遇上今生的纠缠,当谎言遇上了真实,当假意遇上了真情,摆在他们面前的情仇爱恨,他们将何去何从?是延续前世的情仇爱恨,还是放下一切,只做今生的自己?沉寂千年,等待他们的是否还是原来的结局?
  • 至尊女王爷

    至尊女王爷

    她是揽月国皇帝弃妃的孩子,生长与市井之中,古灵精怪,也嚣张跋扈。他是天启国最受宠爱的皇子,智谋超群,运筹帷幄,行军布阵更是神鬼莫测。当他不败的神话被她打破:“你是如何利用一万士兵将我五万士兵打溃的?”无辜地眨了下眼睛,然后笑眯眯地说道:“那个啊,当时看到你们有这么多士兵,我就吓坏了,转身就跑,我的兵当然也跟着我一起跑了,可是跑着跑着突然发现竟然迷路了,只好派兵出去找路,正好你的士兵就进入到了我们的包围圈之中,哎呀呀,意外意外。”两国和谈,他道:“说吧,有什么要求。”“听说你有个妹妹长得艳丽无双,更温婉贤淑,最近好像刚满十六岁,可以嫁人了哦?”看着她那兴奋的样子,突然心里很不是滋味,心情更是差到了极点,问道:“你想与我天启国联姻?想娶我皇妹?”“哎?我只是想给我皇兄找个漂亮的皇妃而已,嘿嘿!”“……”他是她从小的玩伴,却是一次意外中“身亡”,再次相见,他已是控制六国地下组织的暗夜王。“哇啊啊,昊昊你竟然没死!”毫不客气地挥手在她脑袋上面就是一拳,吼道:“我有那么容易死吗?也不看看我是谁?”“呜呜,可是人家真的以为你已经死了的。”“……”趴在某家屋顶上偷窥,他抓着她的衣领想要将她拎走:“你现在可是王爷,身为王爷怎么可以做这样的事情?”她只是摇晃了几下脑袋,吧了下小嘴,一脸垂涎地说道:“啊啊,好漂亮啊……”突然心中一阵发闷,直觉地想要将个被她说很漂亮的女人给杀了。~呼呼,宝贝又开新文了,简介写得不好,亲们见谅哈,呼呼,呼呼~快点收藏啊收藏,投票了投票哦!宝贝开了新文《冷妃醉》:亲们支持一下咯,O(∩_∩)O~他怀抱着妖艳女子,手执酒杯从身旁楚轻的身上扫过,嘴角弯起一抹残酷的弧度,朝对面的男子说道:“作为你将如此美人送给朕的回礼,今晚,朕就会将朕的皇后送到你的寝宫。”楚轻神色漠然,甚至没有抬头看他一眼,就如同他口中的皇后与她没有半点关系。她说:“我为你练出一支铁军,助你横扫天下,作为交换,你要还我自由。”“好。”没有任何犹豫,他一口答应了她的提议,轻执起她的下巴,笑容邪魅,说道,“但是今天晚上,由你侍寝。”她脸上的神色淡漠如冰,亦没有任何的犹豫,“可以。”只是,她没有想到,作为一国之君,理应君无戏言,可是他却失信了,而且,失信的皇帝,不止他一个…
  • 后唐宗庙乐舞辞

    后唐宗庙乐舞辞

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。汇聚授权电子版权。
  • 凝水凌

    凝水凌

    一个叫乔凌凝的女孩在修真路上前进的故事,人生、爱情、与能力,从小白变的内心强大在某一个点爆发,故事很精彩,各位看官且听说来……
  • 办公室里生存的230个小诀窍

    办公室里生存的230个小诀窍

    如果假设自己能够身临其境在别处,或是所遇到的是不一样的工作、环境或人事,生命的一切就会完全改观。但事实上,并不是因为环境、工作,而使我们活得有声有色。真正使我们不枉此生、扭转乾坤的,是个人特有的生命物质、处事态度,以及曾经耕耘、付出的多少。一个人的事业成功,80%来自于与别人相处,20%才是来自于自己的心灵。本书以通俗的语言和趣味横生的小故事阐述了简单的人生真谛,寓意深刻。
  • 凤临天下之魔妃倾城

    凤临天下之魔妃倾城

    其实这不过是一场由腹黑皇帝和狡黠恶女定下的一个约盟继而引发的一个故事!人人皆道,将军府嫡女苏溶玥是京都第一贵女,不仅身份尊贵,更是天生好命,五岁初次进宫,便被皇帝赐婚于五皇子。苏溶玥:这是……好命?!难道不是在玩命嘛!可是大厦忽倾,将军府一遭变故,唯剩苏溶玥兄妹二人相依为命,苏溶玥因病离京,却是不想……七年之后,齐王五皇子撕了婚书,毁了姻缘。正当女主沦为京都笑柄时,谁知女主再次出现,却是那样风华绝代,渣男后悔,苦命相追,谁知女主心冷如冰,志不在此。齐王:“我是真心爱你,只要你能开心,你要我如何我都会答应……”苏溶玥媚然一笑:“那你就滚远些,不要挡了我的桃花……”齐王:“……”温馨提示:男主女主绝对干净,渣男渣女只有当炮灰的命,我是绝对不会放他们出来干扰某两人的!本文拥有各色美男,什么狼系,犬系,猫系,狐狸系,傲娇腹黑男,纯情小正太……只有你想不到,没有你见不到,如果你喜欢,可以自行领养,谢谢……
  • 荒世

    荒世

    自三大家族崛起,江湖中已然安稳近百年。然而,宋仁宗嘉佑元年三月二十五日,从不失准的神卜遗言却兀然打破这平静,诅咒一般的预言令人惶恐不安,随着三大世家的渐渐失衡,命运正如无法避免的暴风雨一般袭来,将这盛世武林推入不可知的漩涡……
  • 龙血武神

    龙血武神

    魔神指,世间至强秘宝,可将天下武道仙法纳为己用。少年敖空偶然间获得魔神指,从此一飞冲天!笑我天生废柴?神指一吸夺你一世修为!欺我势单力孤?单刀赴会灭你万世基业!脚踏大地、肩扛苍穹、拳碎星河,废柴少年却要登那仙道极巅……