At this period, as she had an accessible home in the pleasant city of
Hartford, strangers and travelers often sought and found her. In one
of her familiar notes of 1867 she wrote: "The Amberleys have written
that they are coming to us to-morrow, and of all times, accordingly,
our furnace must spring a leak. We are hoping to make all right before
they get here, but I am really ashamed to show such weather at this
time of year. Poor America! It's like having your mother expose
herself by a fit of ill temper before strangers.... Do, I beg, write
to a poor sinner laboring under a book." And again, a little later:
"_The book_ is almost done--hang it! but done _well_, and
will be a good thing for young men to read, and young women too, and
so I'll send you one. You'll find some things in it, I fancy, that I
know and you don't, about the times before you were born, when I was
'Hush, hush, my dear-ing' in Cincinnati.... I smell spring afar off
--sniff--do you? Any smell of violets in the distance? I think it comes
over the water from the Pamfili Doria."
Among other responsibilities assumed by her at this time was that of
getting Professor Stowe to consent to publish a book. This was no
laughing matter; at first the book was planned merely as an article on
the "Talmud" for the "Atlantic Magazine." Afterwards Professor Stowe
enlarged the design. Later in speaking of his manuscript she says:
"You must not scare him off by grimly declaring that you must have the
_whole manuscript complete_ before you set the printer to work;
you must take the three quarters he brings you and at least make
believe begin printing, and he will immediately go to work and finish
up the whole; otherwise what with lectures and the original sin of
laziness, it will all be indefinitely postponed.
Pages:
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177