help to convince us that it is worth while to take part in the struggle for right against wrong, and that if we do so we cannot fail to find life richer and finer because we have done it. They are bracing to the moral nature, making it easier to resist temptation; and if we have done wrong, they give us courage to fight our way out of it, with God's help. Therefore her books leave a good effect behind them, so that we count it a fortunate day when we read them, a day which put new sunshine into life, and a day which gave light upon some of the dark places which we feared or stumbled through before.

It may be said of Mrs. Stowe, as of all authors who move the world by their moral personality, that she was greater than any of her books. Her womanhood was the most conspicuous thing about her, and is that which most strongly commends her to us. Her books are but fragmentary expressions of her large and rich nature. No one can read her biography by her son, which is largely of the nature of an autobiography, without feeling that here was a true woman, who was able to overcome untoward circumstances, to whom poverty was an enrichment of nature and sorrow a gain

ing of larger hope and faith. Her religion was so generous, liberal, broad-minded and genuine, that we can but feel it grew out of greater depths than those of tradition,-that somehow it had touched reality in God. So it is that her life was in itself the most perfect of her works, most worthy of perusal, and giving to the imagination the largest satisfaction.

It is not one of the highest places in literature which Mrs. Stowe will occupy in the future, but one of permanent hold upon those who love what is simple and heartfelt. When we are weary of brilliant intellectual novels, in which art and tragedy have a large place, we shall come back to these stories of human affection, to find them having a power to charm and inspire as the others cannot. Having read them, we shall go away to live out something of their pure human worthiness into the toil and sorrow of each day. Whatever the art limitations of Mrs. Stowe's books, they are such as the mass of men and women will love, because finding in them comfort and hope. It is this human quality, this quality of hope and courage, which will long keep them alive.

E

VERYBODY knew the forbears of the Chichesters. Did not a family tree in excellent lithograph, as well as numerous ancestral portraits and family belongings, testify thereto, in an old brick mansion on a plantation not five miles from Torrance? They were of true and valiant stock, the Chichesters, having done good service in navy and state in old England and America. Therefore when James Chichester married a pretty little Miss Pardee, and brought her to the town of Torrance, -a university town by the way, "the naso adunco" of the society people achieved a Horatian altitude and significance.

"The Pardees are nobody," said

one.

"She certainly is not good enough for him," said another.

"Good enough? Absolute degradation, say I," remarked the widow of a senator. "But given a man of good birth, good breeding, good disposition and unimpeachable honor, and faith in woman, and you can safely count on his marrying a woman who is not his equal. He is just the man to be caught by the most skilful angler; and whatever Miss Pardee lacked in other respects, she and her family-for you may be sure she had help-have proven themselves expert anglers. Such a man as James Chichester, too, so fine a fellow ought to have a wife capable of appreciating him!"

"Yes, some men marry, and other men are married, or I should say are given in marriage," said a physician's wife sententiously.

"Oh, given in marriage by all means!" laughed the senator's widow. "Somehow it was made to appear to James Chichester that the well-be

ing or happiness of this woman depended on his proposing to her. You may be sure he never once looked at his own advantage, he is too chivalrous for that! Wives and husbands are sometimes inexplicable curses, sent by a malignant fairy or wicked spirit."

"Ah, ladies, you are darting straws against the wind to try to account for a man's motive in marrying, or a woman's either," said a stately octogenarian, the mother-in-law of the widow. "The law says Miss Pardee is James Chichester's wife-and there's an end of it. Yet he is the most unmated looking man I ever saw. His face is a history!"

"Oh, he is very married looking, I think," retorted the widow.

"He does look rather subdued," said the physician's wife, "but she,dear me, she seems to be in a continuous flutter of self-gratulation and embarrassment, as much as to say, 'Now haven't I out-married the world? I am a Chichester-I am!' She flutters, however; she has not yet crystallized into her position—the environage is much too new and strange."

"You are out there, my dear. Her self-poise is tremendous," interrupted the octogenarian. "These half-strainers, as the negroes call them,—these vulgarians-always have plenty of self-assertion. Fools, you know, rush in where angels fear to tread."

"Well, she does make him comfortable; she is an excellent housekeeper," mildly interposed the clergyman's wife. "She has copied half my book of recipes already, and her fruitcake is a triumphant success, I assure you."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the widow. "Like all people of her class, she im

agines bustle and fuss the marks of a notable housekeeper. If every negro on the place is running to and fro for dear life, looking busy, she is content. The poor darkies hardly have time to eat their meals. I daresay they hate her. Think of her requiring the cook to show her hands before she begins to cook a meal-a cook trained by James Chichester's mother proving her cleanliness to a Pardee-think of it! Old Sukey,-a perfect artist in the kitchen!"

"Oh, don't let's discuss her any more," said the clergyman's wife. "I hear her health is very poor now. Doctor Johns is there once a week regularly."

"Well, then," continued the octogenarian, “I say poor James Chichester again; for there is no more inexorable tyrant than the one who wields the sceptre from a sick chair. On my soul, I pity James Chichester."

"Perhaps he would not thank you, mother," replied the daughter-in-law. "Besides, he made his own bed; let

him lie on it."

"No, no, Rebecca, you are wrong. Men and women do not always make the beds on which they are compelled to lie."

"Well, if she has become an invalid, we have compensations; we shall escape the sight of those startling toilettes she exhibits on Sunday at the morning service. I hate a dumpy woman, and they always dress badly."

"Well, all of us cannot be tall," again expostulated the clergyman's wife, taking in at a glance the handsome figures which comprised the little circle; "she didn't make herself!"

"Begging your pardon, she does make herself. She makes a fool of herself every day of her life, and James Chichester is obliged to see it," exclaimed the widow, with a laugh so contagious that every face in the room shone with merriment.

"I declare, Rebecca, say no more; you do exceed all bounds," laughed the octogenarian, with a glance at her daughter-in-law, divided between pro

test and admiration. "I am sorry for poor James Chichester!"

"You can exercise your compassion to better purpose," replied the widow. "I dare say she esteems it a phase of elegance to pose as an invalid. No doubt she will enjoy her bad health to her heart's content."

"Rebecca! Rebecca!"

And so it came to pass, that from an attack of malaria, a touch of neuralgia and rheumatism, followed by a complication of bodily ills, Mrs. Chichester was absent from church service for several weeks, and the astonishing toilettes were presented to the eyes of Torrance only during the afternoon drives, which occurred three times a week. The first assault of disease in no wise daunted these braveries of dress, nor did a protracted siege accomplish unconditional surrender. The Chichester pew showed a vacant seat, and the afternoon drives were finally given up, but Mrs. Chichester still received visitors. Her spacious drawing-room offered ample opportunity for the display of rare toilettes. In the course of time she became too feeble to stand during the formalities of a reception, and seated in a handsome fauteuil, welcomed the fashion and "elite" of Torrance. From this enthroned incurability Mrs. Chichester did not arise.

Mrs.

What happens to flowers and plants when, as florists say, they are over-potted? A loss of vital energy and surcease of growth. Chichester had been over-potted. Excessive indulgence had produced an atmosphere which her feeble nature could not resist, and development was arrested. From the sick-chair to the carriage was a painful transition; hence a chair on wheels-a sort of modernized palanquin, with overhanging curtains, fine of texture and bright with color,-propelled by a sturdy negro footman, became the invalid's means of locomotion. On exhilarating mornings and radiant afternoons, the pleasant avenues of Torrance were coursed by this unique

perambulator, showing in its brilliant equipment as much of oriental magnificence as could be condensed into its dimensions. Time, indeed, added somewhat to Mrs. Chichester's avoirdupois, but generously declined to exact anything in payment. Her luxuriant growth of hair retained its raven gloss, her eyes sparkled as brightly as ever, and if her complexion had lost its rose, it had received compensation in the added beauty of the lily. Nor were the adventitious aids of dress wanting. Dainty gowns from the emporium of Olampe, the exponent of fashion in New Orleans and Paris, struggled in violent and almost fatal contest with the wearer's original designs in toilette effects; and although after five years the chair and its occupant ceased to be the cause of Torrance wonderment, the remark they excited was none the less frequent. They were the inevitable topic.

Naturally the invalid had been a source of emolument to many of the physicians in the county. Each one counted on his probable income and Mrs. Chichester. As a change of menu is essential to healthy digestion, so the advice and practice of alternating physicians offered a pleasant variety in the invalid's monotonous life. Weary of the same old methods, the same old anecdotes and the same old face, she demanded change. Presto! another entered the cosy little boudoir, sowed his seed, and gathered his harvest. Yet the case was hopeless; amelioration, not cure, was the highest expectation of the most sanguine-when there arrived in Torrance a new member of the medical fraternity, a man already famous, whose great reputation had preceded him. Dr. John Sterling had diplomas from various medical schools of Europe, was fresh from the clinics of Paris and the hospitals of Vienna, and rumor recorded the most extraordinary cures which his skill had accomplished.

"What sort of a looking man is this

"No, not cure," answered Mrs. Chichester, smiling in pity at her husband's credulity. "I shall never be a well woman again, you know, James. But we can try him,-certainly if it pleases you, my dear. Really, I'm so tired of Torrance doctors. I hear he is a charming man."

"No doubt, my dear. But let's try him with the hope of a cure. You are young enough to get well; hope and courage are half the battle. Just think what it would be if you could walk about everywhere. You used to be a good walker. Cheer up; let's take a strong pull and a pull altogether for complete restoration."

"Oh-oh!" gasped the wife with a deprecatory wave of her hand. "O, James, how can you talk so? walk about everywhere! I-who have not taken a step for so long! Would I be sitting here if I could walk? Oh, how unfeeling men are! Hand me the camphor, Tamah."

"My dear, I only mean to say-to hope-that the new doctor may discover something which can help you." And James Chichester, the embodiment of manly excellence, looked the impersonation of guilt as he listened to the hysterical sobs which issued from the sick-chair. "Surely, my dear, you must know that I did not mean to wound you."

"Well," said Mrs. Chichester, lifting her head from the cushions and following up the victory she discerned, "I'm willing to try him if you

say so. I've taken everything the doctors gave me. That closet there is full of bottles, isn't it, Tamah?"

"Gawd knows!" replied Tamah pathetically, surveying her mistress.

"Few women have gone through so much as I have; and other people know it, if my own husband doesn't,

-and that's a consolation." And Mrs. Chichester adjusted the folds of her lavender gown, the prettiest thing of the kind Olampe had ever made, so declared that paragon of modistes.

"I know better than all, my dear," said the thoroughly subjugated husband, "what you have suffered; but if this doctor can help-can amuse you!"

"Oh, yes, he may amuse me," replied the wife, her black eyes sparkling. "I do need a change. You can see him as soon as you choose and call him in, dear. I don't rebel. I'm a submissive wife."

Mr. Chichester looked up with a vague expression of distress and utter inability to comprehend that most incomprehensible of enigmas, a hysterical woman. He said soothingly: "I will call on Doctor Sterling at once, my dear, and tell him just what a dreadful sufferer you are; and he shall come and relieve, I mean amuse you. He can break the wearisome monotony, at least."

"Yes, James, he can make me a little more comfortable."

The earliest reprieve from legal duties found Mr. Chichester at Doctor Sterling's office where an account of his wife's illness was given in explicit detail.

"I will call and make a careful examination of the case and tell you candidly, sir, whether or not I can make a cure," said Doctor Sterling.

"A cure!" Mr. Chichester's heart gave a bound. "I hardly dare hope for a cure; a relief-an amelioration, perhaps. Oh, if you could cure her! Tell me, sir, are such cases cured?"

ever

"Undoubtedly," said the doctor

with emphasis. "There are numberless instances of complete recovery. But we will not talk of it until I have seen your wife. Then I shall be perfectly candid with you."

To Mrs. Chichester, the coming of a new physician marked an epoch. There was evident excitement even in the newly arranged furniture and decorations of the room where the elaborately attired patient sat awaiting the professional visit.

Doctor Sterling proved more than agreeable; he was charming. He was a good listener to the oft told tale. His very attitude and expression imparted a flavor of novelty and interest to the old complaints, and the patient gave a recital of bodily ailments and mental depressions with a zest she had never felt before. He sympathized with each detail and encouraged the bottle review and vial parade, which through the instrumentality Tamah was made to pass before his eyes. He extracted the truth, in spite of inadequate concessions and preposterous evasions.

of

re

'Ah, doctor, you see I have been through more than most women!" "I do, madam. Your case quires judicious handling." He drew from his satchel a box of dainty pills. "We will go slow; but these pills will surprise you by their quick results. Take one before each meal, and one just before your night's rest; take one now, if you please." The patient swallowed the pill with a sip of lemonade; and the doctor departed with effusive leave-taking.

When in the afternoon of the same day Mr. Chichester entered his office, he greeted him with the words: "I made a thorough examination, sir, and am glad to tell you that I have little doubt of making a cure. But I will undertake the case on one condition only."

"What is that, sir?"

"That you do not find fault with my treatment."

"I am not in the habit of interfering with my wife's medical advisers."