ober second thought, it won't do!--I withdraw
that letter. Not because I said anything in it which is not true, for
I didn't; but because when I allow my name to be used in forwarding a
stock-scheme I am assuming a certain degree of responsibility as toward
the investor, and I am not willing to do that. I have another objection,
a purely selfish one: trading upon my name, whether the enterprise
scored a success or a failure would damage me. I can't afford that;
even the Archbishop of Canterbury couldn't afford it, and he has more
character to spare than I have. (Ah, a happy thought! If he would sign
the letter with me that would change the whole complexion of the thing,
of course. I do not know him, yet I would sign any commercial scheme
that he would sign. As he does not know me, it follows that he would
sign anything that I would sign. This is unassailable logic--but really
that is all that can be said for it.)

No, I withdraw the letter. This virgin is pure up to date, and is going
to remain so.

Ys sincerely,
S. L. C.

*****

To Rev. J. H. Twichell, in Hartford:

WELLINGTON COURT,
KNIGHTSBRIDGE, Mch. 4, '00.

DEAR JOE,--Henry Robinson's death is a sharp wound to me, and it goes
very deep. I had a strong affection for him, and I think he had for
me. Every Friday, three-fourths of the year for 16 years he was of
the billiard-party in our house. When we come home, how shall we have
billiard-nights again--with no Ned Bunce and no Henry Robinson? I
believe I could not endure that. We must find another use for that
room. Susy is gone, George is gone, Libby Hamersley, Ned Bunce, Henry
Robinson. The friends are passing, one by one; our house, where such
warm blood and such dear blood flowed so freely, is become a cemetery.
But not in any repellent sense. Our dead are welcome there; their life
made it beautiful, their death has hallowed it, we shall have them with
us always, and there will be no parting.

It was a moving address you made over Ward Cheney--that fortunate,
youth! Like Susy, he got out of life all that was worth the living, and
got his great reward before he had crossed the tropic frontier of dreams
and entered the Sahara of fact. The deep consciousness of Susy's good
fortune is a constant comfort to me.

London is happy-hearted at last. The