her mother's sake I would have brought
her back from the grave if I could, but I would not have done it for my
own.

_From Susy's Biography_.

Then papa went to read in public; there were a great many authors
that read, that Thursday afternoon, beside papa; I would have liked
to have gone and heard papa read, but papa said he was going to
read in Vassar just what he was planning to read in New York, so I
stayed at home with mamma.

The next day mamma planned to take the four o'clock car back to
Hartford. We rose quite early that morning and went to the Vienna
Bakery and took breakfast there. From there we went to a German
bookstore and bought some German books for Clara's birthday.

Dear me, the power of association to snatch mouldy dead memories out of
their graves and make them walk! That remark about buying foreign books
throws a sudden white glare upon the distant past; and I see the long
stretch of a New York street with an unearthly vividness, and John Hay
walking down it, grave and remorseful. I was walking down it too, that
morning, and I overtook Hay and asked him what the trouble was. He
turned a lustreless eye upon me and said:

"My case is beyond cure. In the most innocent way in the world I have
committed a crime which will never be forgiven by the sufferers, for
they will never believe--oh, well, no, I was going to say they would
never believe that I did the thing innocently. The truth is they will
know that I acted innocently, because they are rational people; but what
of that? I never can look them in the face again--nor they me, perhaps."

Hay was a young bachelor, and at that time was on the "Tribune" staff.
He explained his trouble in these words, substantially:

"When I was passing along here yesterday morning on my way down-town to
the office, I stepped into a bookstore where I am acquainted, and asked
if they had anything new from the other side. They handed me a French
novel, in the usual yellow paper cover, and I carried it away. I didn't
even look at the title of it. It was for recreation reading, and I was
on my way to my work. I went mooning and dreaming along, and I think I
hadn't gone more than fifty yards when I heard my name called. I
stopped, and a private carriage drew up at the sidewalk and I shook
hands with the inmates--mother and young daughter, excellent people.
They were on their way to the steamer to sail for Paris. The mothe