On January tenth I began "A Singer from the Sea," Mr. Bonner's third serial. On the twenty-second I was at the Astor Library all day, and at Rossiter Johnson's at a reception in the evening; Mr. Jewett went with me. On the twenty-third Mr. McClure and Mr. Ballistier took lunch with me at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and Mr. McClure would have been very generous to me for some stories, but my engagement with Mr.
Bonner prevented any business. I was at Mrs. Dodge's in the afternoon, and among the numerous visitors picked out Edith Thomas at once. I took dinner at Dr. Jewett's and watched with delight Mrs. Jewett dancing with her sons and daughters.
On March fifteenth I finished "A Singer from the Sea" and then began "Michael and Theodora" for Mrs. Dodge, which I did not finish until June; and in July I began "Girls of a Feather," Mr. Bonner's last serial, which I finished in October. I was busy all summer in having a fence put round Cherry Croft, and a hedge planted within the fence.
During October I wrote an article for the _North American Review_ called "Flirting Wives;" I had my little green house filled with bulbs and flowers, and planted with my own hands, and many tender memories, some laburnum trees. They were my mother's favorite, and I can see them dropping golden flowers all around our pretty garden in the Isle of Man.
On November sixth I began the "Flower of Gala Water" which Bonner published after its serialization in the new _Godey's Magazine_, and on the eleventh we were honored and delighted with a visit from Dr.
William Hayes Ward, who spent the week end with us. A little event of this visit remains like a picture on my memory. There was some question about a text in the Epistles, and Dr. Ward took from his vest pocket a small Testament. He said he had carried it there for many years. "Then it is not a revised Testament?" I asked. And he looked at the little book affectionately, and answered, "No." Yet the doctor had been on the committee of revision. But I understood. For me there is no version but the King James Version, and nothing could make me give it up. I have only one copy of the revised edition, and that Dr.
Talmage inscribed to me with such extravagant encomiums, that I leave it lying on my parlor table, as a kind of certificate of moral health.
During 1892 I had written "The Singer from the Sea" and "Girls of a Feather," "The Flower of Gala Water" and "The Preacher's Daughter,"
"Michael and Theodora" and several articles. My eyes were very tired, and I did not do so much during January, 1893. On the twenty-third, I began an article for Mr. Bok called "Why Literary Women Do Not Marry"
and on the twenty-ninth, I began my novel called "Prisoners of Conscience." It was then a short story, and was published in the _Century Magazine_, but was later enlarged to book size, and published by the Century Company. During the month I also wrote another article for Mr. Bok called "Women's Weapons."
In March, I wrote "The Lone House." A study of this story had appeared in the _Christian Union_. It was a good book, but Rutger told me the young people said it was "too religious," and they wished I would go back to my love stories. So I began "Bernicia," a love story among people of the first condition. But on my sixty-fourth birthday I became very ill with ulcerated sore throat, and on the fourth of April was in such a dangerous condition, that I sent for a New York specialist. I came near to death, but recovered slowly, and on June sixth I took Alice and went to England.
It was not until the beginning of 1895, that I was able to take up "Bernicia," but during the same interval, I had written a story and several articles for the Bacheller Syndicate. From the eighteenth to the twenty-first of January I was in New York paying a visit to Mrs.
Goldschmidt. The first afternoon we went together to a large studio reception. There were all sorts of professional people there, but I remember no one but Mrs. Frank Leslie. She was then Mrs. Wilde, I believe. The next day Mrs. Goldschmidt gave a dinner, and I sat next to General Collis, but liked Mr. John Wise and his beautiful wife best of all. I believe they were Virginians. The day following there was a crowded reception, and a supper party, and I sat next to Moncure Conway and Mrs. Frank Leslie. For the next night there was a theatre party, and a supper at the Waldorf. More weary than if I had written a book, I went home in the morning. I was grateful for the kindness shown me but very sorry indeed for the people who called it "life" and lived it.
On my sixty-fifth birthday I was still on "Bernicia," but I had been very sick, and had a great deal of trouble of a heartaching quality, but though I complain a little to my diary, I add, "Truly I am old and weary, but with Thy help, O God, I am young, and strong, and ready to mount up as on eagles' wings. Thy loving kindness faileth not!"
I finished "Bernicia" on the twentieth of April, and found a couplet from the Sufi poets, which pleased me so much, I will copy it here:
"The Writer of our Destiny is a fair writer; Never wrote He that which would wrong us."
I was very ill with nervous dyspepsia during June, but on July second accepted the proposal of the _New York Herald_, to run for one of the three judges of the ten thousand dollars prize offered by that paper for the best novel submitted to it. My vote was so large, that it was at this time the _Herald_ said I must be "the best beloved woman in the country." Mr. George Parsons Lathrop and Mr. Hazeltine were my colleagues.
After this I wrote "The Knight of the Nets" for the _Herald_.
"Discontented Women" for the _North American Review_--for which article Mr. Rideing the editor wrote me a letter of thanks, a story for the _Home Queen_, and other small items.
On the twenty-sixth of September Lilly married Mr. Edward A. Munro, a Canadian whose business was in Brooklyn. It was an overwhelming trial to me, for Lilly had been my right hand in all affairs since her father's death. It is true that ten words by telegraph never yet failed to bring her to my side by the next possible train, but the house was empty and forlorn without her; and both Alice and I were desolate. However life is a constant learning "to do without" until that wonderful, "never-coming-back," we call death, restores to us all that we have lost.
On December twenty-second, our dear Sultan died. We buried him in Cherry Croft, and were all heart-broken. Alas!
"There's sorrow enough in the natural way, From men and women to fill our day: But when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware, Of giving your heart to a dog to tear."--KIPLING.
January twelfth, 1896, Mrs. Goldschmidt had opened her house in Cornwall and Mr. Wilcox, and Ella Wheeler Wilcox, the artist Arter and Mrs. Arter and others were staying there. I took dinner with them, and that evening made up my mind that large parties were a mistake. A man's family is never too many, because perfect freedom and unanimity of interest make them one. But with strangers there should be no more guests than the host can personally entertain. The Ettrick Shepherd's "Rule of Three" is a good one, both as regards the guests and the courses. Every one has been to crowded and extravagant dinners, where they played the hypocrite for three or four hours, and said a fervent "Thank God!" when it was over.
Two days after this dinner I was in New York to attend Edward Bok's reception--I think at the Waldorf Astoria. I should call it a mob, and not a reception. I had with me Dr. Lysander Dickerman, but even his splendid physical bulk, could not make a way for me through the crowd.
The next day he came to Cornwall with me, and with Dr. and Mrs. Stone, who called to see him, we had a delightful evening. I wish I had space to say more of Dr. Dickerman, but there must be many living yet who remember his piety, his vast stores of learning, his attractive personality and fine conversational powers. The next morning Mr. Paul, a London editor, came in and brought me his last book.
On the twenty-seventh of this January, 1896, I made an arrangement with Mr. Dodd to enlarge "The Knight of the Nets" for a book, for which they agreed to pay eight hundred dollars on January, 1897. Then I went out to spend the weekend with Irving Bacheller at his home in Port Chester. He had a beautiful place there, and a lovely wife, and I enjoyed my holiday very much. Mr. Bacheller was a good performer on the organ, which astonished me, and yet it need not have done so, for men seem to play with little or no effort. He was a fine driver also, and I saw the villages of Greenwich and Belle Haven. Professor Gaines dined one evening with us, and my visit to Mr. and Mrs. Bacheller is full of pleasant memories.
I returned to New York on Monday morning, Mr. Bacheller coming with me. I intended spending the day in the Astor Library, but when we reached Astor Place, Mr. Bacheller said suddenly, "I am going to see Louis Klopsch, and I want you to go with me."
"Who is Louis Klopsch?" I asked.
"The proprietor of the _Christian Herald_."
"Oh!" I replied. "Do you think he will care to see me?"
"He will be glad to see you, and I dare promise, that you will be the better for seeing him."
So I went to see Louis Klopsch, and it was one of the happiest and the most profitable things I ever did. We found him in his private office, and the room was in itself remarkable. It had an ornate, Eastern look; the windows were shaded with tinted glass, and there was an oil painting of "The Descent from the Cross" covering a large space of the western wall, while other Biblical pictures and models were everywhere to be seen; giving it the Oriental look of which I have spoken. And I had never seen such handsome furniture and appointments in any editor's or even publisher's office. I thought of the rather large closets, with their plain wooden chairs and simple desks, in which Harper's editors sat; of the slips in which George Merriam, and Moses Coit Tyler wrote and read; the poverty of all the editorial offices I had ever seen flashed across my memory, as I sat amid the color, beauty and luxury of the office of the _Christian Herald_.
Dr. Klopsch rose as we entered, and with smiles came to meet us. Mr.
Bacheller hastened away, I stayed nearly two hours, and they went like ten minutes. At the end of our interview, I was astonished at my first estimate of his countenance. I had then thought it remarkable, but not handsome; but I soon understood that it was the only face, that could have expressed his complex inner man, as well as properly manifest his slight, graceful personality. He had charming manners, and walked with a kind of alert grace. I have been particular about Dr. Klopsch's appearance, for I came to know him well, both in a business and a social way, and I suspect he could appear very different, to people with whom he was not in sympathy.
I went home on the first of February, and found so many letters I could do nothing on the second but answer them. Among the writers were Mrs. Libbey, and Mr. Rideing; the latter sent me a check for seventy-five dollars in payment for "Discontented Women." On the eleventh, I went to Princeton, and remained with the Libbeys until the fourteenth, when I returned to New York, and dined with the Rideings.
I liked to go to the Rideings; there was always such a sweet, old English air and influence about their home and dinners. I think they spent their summers in England, and never quite lost its atmosphere.
On the sixteenth I began to rewrite "The Knight of the Nets" for Mr.
Dodd; and on the twenty-first I signed a contract with Dr. Klopsch to write him a serial for the _Christian Herald_ for twenty-five hundred dollars. I also saw Mr. Booth King about a short story of four chapters for his paper called _Fashion_ and promised to write it for five hundred dollars. Then I worked on "The Knight of the Nets" all the rest of February.
On the fourth of March I was again in New York attending a play and supper at Colonel Robert Ingersoll's. Mr. Jewett went with me. I remember nothing about the play, but I shall never forget Robert Ingersoll. I know all that has been said against him. It does not alter my fixed opinion that in practice he was one of the best Christians I ever knew. He has gone to the Mercy of the Merciful One, and I can only remember his wonderful intelligence, and personal charm.
On March nineteenth the Sorosis Club gave me a breakfast at the Waldorf, at which I met Mrs. Helmuth, Jennie June (Mrs. Croly) and many other notable women. I returned home after the affair, and the next day went to work on Mr. King's story called, "I Will Marry My Own First Love." I did not finish it until the thirty-first, for though I had contracted for twelve thousand words, I wrote twenty-one thousand, because I could not properly develop the story with less work.
March, the twenty-ninth, was my sixty-fifth birthday. I was writing all day on the story for Mr. King. "In the evening I sat with Lilly and Alice in the firelight, and talked of God's wonderful care over us. Alice said many comforting things. So sweet and good is the dear One! We used the new blue dinner service for the first time." (Diary, 1896.)
I was on "The Knight of the Nets" again until the twentieth of April, when I got a letter from Mr. Charles Frohman, about "The Bow of Orange Ribbon." On the twenty-first I made a contract with him to dramatize it, _if I could_, about which fact I was doubtful. I had already realized that a play was not to write, but to build. Mr. Frohman gave me a box for that night's performance of "The Prisoner of Zenda" and Mr. Edward Dodd and Mr. Bacheller occupied it with me. Before trying the play, I finished "The Knight of the Nets" so often delayed and put aside. This was not until the eleventh of May.
I gave nearly two weeks to the play, but felt it was not technically right, and Mr. Frohman in a kindly and gentlemanly manner told me so.
And I was sorry at my failure to do what he wished. It made me nervous and sick, and I went to stay a few days at Elwyn, with Dr. Martin Barr.
This clever, delightful physician is not, I regret to say, any relative of mine, but we are the best of friends, and I always resort to him for advice when sick, and other physicians fail me. Only three months ago I did so with the usual success. He is the head of the Elwyn State Institution for Insanity in many forms, and an exceedingly clever physician and social scientist.
As the Elwyn Institution is very near to Swartmoor College I visited Professor De Gama, its principal at that time, and was delighted with him, and his large body of male and female students. He took me through the building, until we came to a door leading into a separate wing of the house. He told me he could not pass this door, as it led to the quarter sacred to the women students. "But," he added, "go down the corridor, and you will find plenty of friends."
I did so, and seeing a door open, and a room full of girls, I stood and looked at them. There was an instant pause, and then a little joyful cry of "_Amelia Barr! Amelia Barr!_" Afterwards I had as happy an hour as any woman could have, and standing among that joyous, handsome crowd of young, lovely girls, and hearing their sweet voices call me, "Friend Amelia," I felt young again. And my thoughts flew instantly to the fair streets of Kendal, on First Day morning, full of beautiful, richly-gowned Quaker girls, going to meeting, while the magical chimes of Kendal Church filled the still air above them with heavenly melody. And every morning, as long as I remained at Elwyn, I found on my breakfast table a bouquet from the girls of Elwyn College.
May God bless every one of them, wherever they now dwell!
On the first of June, I began a story for Dr. Klopsch called "The King's Highway." It is a good story, but would have been better, if I had not received so many instructions from the editors of the _Christian Herald_. It had an unique acknowledgment from Mr. Thomas E.
Clarke of Minneapolis, who sent me a copy of a story called "The King's Highway" in the Dakota language.
On the twenty-second of June, I was at a dinner party given to Julian Hawthorne on his fiftieth birthday, and had the pleasure of sitting between Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Hazeltine. I know there was a very fine dinner, but as to the feast of reason and the flow of soul, if it was remarkable I have quite forgotten all about it. Yet with Hawthorne and Hazeltine present, many clever things must have been said. The two items that impressed me, was the beautiful gown of Mrs. Richard Stoddard, and the wreath of laurel that crowned the chair in which Julian Hawthorne sat.
On the ninth of July I was so tired, that I took my work to Nantasket and stayed there two weeks. It was then a quiet seaside resort, I believe it is now a kind of Coney Island. But I met pleasant people, and saw the New Englander on his native soil, and liked him so much, that I wrote the following poem to express my admiration of his character:
They intended to go to Virginia, But God at the wheel said, "No!
The hundred that I have chosen, To the cold, white North shall go.
I will temper them there as by fire, I will try them a hundred fold, I will shake them with all its tempests, I will steady them with its cold."
So these men from the English meadows By the pitiless Plymouth Bay, Learned well the worth of their Freedom, By the price they had to pay.
But out of the fires of affliction, The tumult and struggle of wars, They brought forth her glorious banner, Its azure all shining with stars.
The Hundred has grown to a nation, The wilderness blooms like the rose, And all through the South and the West Go the men of the ice and the snows.
But wherever they go, they carry The strength of their forefather's fight-- The courage and moral uprightness, Of men who prefer to do right.