of her in Society's Doings of the day--nothing of her dress or
equipage. If she was "superbly gowned," we do not know it; if she was
ever one of the "unbonneted," history is silent. All we know is, that
together they read Bulfinch's "Mythology," Grote's "History of Greece,"
Plutarch, Dante and Shakespeare. We know that she placed a light in the
window for him to make his home-coming cheerful, that together they
sipped their midnight tea, that together they laughed, and sometimes
wept--but not for long.

* * * * *

In Eighteen Hundred Forty-six Chapin was thirty-two years old. Starr
King was twenty-two. A call had reached Chapin to come up higher; but he
refused to leave the old church at Charlestown unless Starr King was to
succeed him. To place a young man in the position of pastor where he has
sat in the pews, his feet not reaching the floor, is most trying. Starr
King knew every individual man, woman and child in the church, and they
had known him since babyhood. In appearance he was but a boy, and the
dignity that is supposed to send conviction home was entirely wanting.

But Chapin had his way and the boy was duly ordained and installed as
pastor of the First Universalist Church of Charlestown.

The new pastor fully expected his congregation to give him "absent
treatment," but instead, the audience grew--folks even came over from
Boston to hear the boy-preacher. His sermons were carefully written, and
dealt in the simple, every-day lessons of life. To Starr King this world
is paradise enow; it's the best place of which we know, and the way for
man to help himself is to try and make it a better place. There is a
flavor of Theodore Parker in those early sermons, a trace of Thoreau and
much tincture of Emerson--and all this was to the credit of the
boy-preacher. His woman's mind absorbed things.

About that time Boston was in very fact the intellectual hub of
America. Emerson was forty-three, his "Nature" had been published
anonymously, and although it took eight years to sell this edition of
five hundred copies, the author was in demand as a lecturer, and in some
places society conceded him respectable. Wendell Phillips was addressing
audiences that alternately applauded and jeered. Thoreau had discovered
the Merrimac and explored Walden Woods; little Doctor Holmes was
peregrinating in his One-Hoss Shay, vouchsafing the confidences of his
boarding-house; Lowell was beginning to viol