suitable poem. His _magnum opus_ is an elementary chemistry in verse for
use in schools. He had a chubby, rubicund face and a head of iron grey
curls which shook as he laughed.

The Barbers and Pennimans are kind to me, but they no longer offer me an
apple and a cake. Perhaps they like me and think they can make something
of me. Or it may be on my mother's account, whose kind heart and sweet,
winning face every body knows except herself, for she is as humble and
modest as she is good. Admitted to their houses I discover new manners;
their clothing is different and their rooms have unfamiliar furnishings
that show no sign of usage. I sit very straight in a soft-seated chair
as I have been instructed, but do not know what to do with my hands and
can hardly keep them out of my pockets. My heels secretly feel for the
rung of the chair; it has none, which seems curious, and it is a puzzle
I take home with me. These superior neighbors of ours speak of books, of
music and persons and places unknown to me. They have been as far as
Mendon, beyond I imagine, for I hear the names Boston and Providence. It
incites me to know all that they know, and I begin to make comparisons,
to find that one house differs from another, that one person differs
from another and to choose between them. All things draw or repel me. I
have glimmerings of an ideal, of something less or more than is present
and actual. A cent, that formerly made me rich, now makes me poor. I am
not so eager for playmates; there are moments when they seem mere
babies, and our sports dull and trivial. The sweet child whose frock
falls only to her knees, whose wide white pantalets almost touch her red
shoes, with whom I have romped for three summers alternately teasing and
caressing, yet always with the lofty port of protection and superiority,
no longer satisfies my heart or gratifies my pride. I try to avoid her.
She follows me about meekly, confused by my coldness. Her long-lashed
eyes look at me distrustfully and are suffused with tears when I decline
to play. What do I care? My heart is harder than a stone. Moreover, I
have transferred my affections; I am in love with a woman of
twenty-three, seventeen years older than myself. To be with her makes me
perfectly happy; I am transformed, I am humble to slavishness and my
manner toward this enchanting being is precisely like that of my
discarded maid toward me. Thus is she avenged, for I too have to suffer
when unnoticed.