had testified-but her potentialities, the effect upon her of the new world that would open to her when Harlow should be gone. III WELBORN found it necessary to visit Wycherly frequently in the ensuing months. Harlow had been unable to conceal his illness and spent many days in bed. The compression and alterations Welborn had suggested were made, however, and Helen, he found, was reading the galley proof aloud to her father on days when his weakened condition permitted. With many misgivings and not without much difficulty, Welborn had withheld from Fenton the fact that "The Heart of Life" was Harlow's work. The secret was to be kept, Harlow insisted, until after his death. He offered no reason for this save that he was unequal to the strain of facing old friends, and when Welborn tried to reason him out of this attitude, promising that he should not be disturbed, he answered with a wan smile that Fenton and Moreton were not fellows who would suffer him to pass out of existence without making an effort to see him. He died, very suddenly, one morning when Welborn was in the house expediting the return of the last proofs. He wired Fenton, asking him to come immediately to Wycherly and directing him to Harlow's letter, which he had deposited in the safe of the publishing-house against just such an emergency. . . . A year passed, and "The Heart of Life," after scoring the magazine success of the year, was launched in book form with Harlow's name on the title-page. First the newspapers and then the more leisurely literary periodicals were filled with Harlow's strange history, in which Helen, too, inevitably figured. The Fentons had shielded her as far as possible from publicity, but she had insisted that it was due her father's memory that nothing should be kept back; he had done a magnificent thing-he had written the most impressive American novel since "The Scarlet Letter"; and the curious world should be denied no essential fact that enhanced the achievement. The Fentons, who were childless, lived the year round at Stamford, and they had installed Helen as a permanent member of their household. Before the end of the year it was apparent that Welborn had dropped his rôle of friend and adviser for that of lover. He was in Fenton's study one night talking of Helen and taking counsel of him as to whether the time had arrived when he might declare himself. "It doesn't seem fair; I'm the only man she has known outside of Wycherly. I think-I think perhaps she cares, and you know what she means to me. I was hard hit the first time I saw her-and since she came to you you've seen how it's gone with me.' Fenton looked at him oddly, then rose and crossed the room before he spoke. "Harlow didn't tell you didn't tell you all that's in that letter he left for me?" "Well, no," Welborn replied, surprised by Fenton's gravity; "nothing beyond the confession that he was Harlow and his reasons for hiding himself as he did." "I think you ought to know the rest of it. If his story, as the world has heard it, is the strangest you and I are ever likely to know, it's staggering when you know the whole. This must die with us, Welborn; I rather advise you against ever letting Helen know you have any notion of it--but that of course is not my affair. We've established Harlow's fame. 'The Heart of Life' plants a white stone that will never be forgotten or neglected in American literature. But"-he spoke slowly with his hand on Welborn's shoulder "I have his word for it that he did not write the novel-it's Helen's work!" Welborn stared helplessly, then passed his hand slowly across his face. "Harlow couldn't do it," Fenton continued; "he frankly and unequivocally states that. She was precocious-astonishingly so, and he taught her to write. She caught something of his style, but the free, broad sweep is hers. They tried working together, and those chapters we thought weak were his own; he mentions them specifically, and the chapters he substituted were hers; hers, mind you! In their joint labors she wanted to retain as much of his work as possible-pretended to forget the individual authorship and all that. Our quick detection of the difference probably broke his poor tired heart. The ties between them were unusual. Her love for him was half-maternal; she was like a mother who wants a child to have the thing he craves most and willingly sacrifices herself that he may gain it. She had enjoined silence upon him; she knew how much success meant to him; her joy in it all was the happiness of seeing him succeed, and she thought she was deceiving him into believing she was merely his assistant and copyist. But he knew he couldn't do it! With all his genius, his fineness, his sense of the big thing, he was only an observer and a teacher. Perhaps here and there something stands that is really his-but only a paragraph-an occasional sentence. I've spent many a night over the book and I think I can point out the places, but I challenge any one else to do it." "Helen has never, by a word, never by any hint-" began Welborn. "Ah, she would not be his daughter if she told! I admit the tragedy of it all. The whole thing has its embarrassments and they are multiplying," Fenton continued impatiently. "I'm in the position of lending myself to a gigantic fraud! Poor Harlow, of course, realized how it would be; he was a man of strictest honor. He expressed in his letter the hope that Helen would tell the truth. But if I know her she will never acknowledge it. She wanted him to have the fame he coveted, and she got it for him-she conferred immortality upon him! There are aspects of the thing that I don't like, and Harlow would have hated the whole business. Why, Moreton is going to give the college a dormitory in Harlow's memory. It's rather nasty when you think of it. Harlow couldn't straighten it out himself; he left it to me to settle with Helen; he expected me to make it right, but, my God, I can't mention it to her. I can't do it; I don't see that you can ever do it. We can't take the risk of spoiling the joy of her sacrifice!" "It's absurd, preposterous!" cried Welborn. "But there's that other manuscript! 'The Iron Hand' is wholly worthy to stand with 'The Heart of Life.' There are splendid heights in it." Fenton shook his head. "That's all Helen's; Harlow made no pretense of even helping! We're going through with the publication as another Frederic Harlow book, and it will add materially to his fame. That chapter 'The Crooked Shoulders' alone would make a reputation; it's the sort of thing that will get into school readers-it's perfect writing; it's classic!" With bent head Welborn pondered. "It's not possible," he began earnestly, "that a woman who could do such things would stop writing; it's against all the laws that govern creative genius. Harlow tutored her too well! She knows too much to be content with lifelong suppression. She's bound to go on! We've got to persuade her to acknowledge 'The Iron Hand.'" "It's impossible to approach her about it," said Fenton soberly. "The individuality of 'The Iron Hand' is too marked; she wouldn't dare claim it; she'd be afraid of giving the whole thing away." "But we can't encourage her to hide the finest genius in America, to bury it forever!" Welborn cried. "We should be endangering her happiness. I can't imagine it; I can think of nothing that would compensate for so enormous a renunciation!" "Her love for him," said Fenton softly; and averted his eyes. M RUSKIN IN OLD AGE SOME UNPUBLISHED LETTERS By J. Howard Whitehouse, M.P. Founder of the Ruskin Society In 1866 Ruskin declared his love for Rosie and told her parents of his hope to make her his wife. There was a great difference of years between them. Ruskin was now forty-seven; Rosie was in her eighteenth year. There was some natural hesitation on the part of the parents, and it was arranged that the matter should be postponed for three years, when Rosie would be twenty-one years old. RS. LA TOUCHE, to that could have added to their happiwhom these letters were ness. addressed, lived at Harristown, Kildare, in Ireland. She is associated with the great tragedy of Ruskin's life. In the year 1858 she was introduced to Ruskin in London by his friend Lady Waterford. Mrs. La Touche had at this time three young children, two girls, Emily and Rosie, and a boy. She was a devoted admirer of Ruskin's works and a careful student of his teaching. She was very anxious that her children should be taught properly the beginnings of art, and she asked Ruskin if he would take some interest in their education. Ruskin's love for children was, throughout his life, a distinguishing feature of his wonderful personality; he gladly assented to Mrs. La Touche's request, and a friendship began which henceforth was to color and influence his whole life. Rosie, the younger girl, was at this time nine years old, Emily being fourteen. The little boy disappears from the story, for the only later reference to him in the official life of Ruskin is contained in a letter by Ruskin describing a visit to the home of the La Touches at Harristown, where he arrived late at night and the little boy came running to greet him, barefooted, from his bed. But other members of the family soon play a great part in his life. Ruskin supervised the art teaching of the girls with great earnestness, and they both entered with sympathy and understanding into his ideals. A deep affection soon united Ruskin to all of them, but for Rosie he felt an increasing love and worship. For nearly nine years the intimacy continued on this basis, Ruskin, their friend and guide, spending all the time he could spare at their house in London. No one could have had a more faithful friend: he would have made any sacrifice Ruskin waited for the passing of these three years with an intensity of feeling which is beyond description. More and more he idealized the beautiful woman who had grown from childhood under his tuition. He had helped to form her mind and guide her sympathies. She had become a woman of exquisite beauty of character. But when the period of probation was ended new difficulties arose. There was hesitation not only on the part of the parents but also by Rosie. The remaining facts can be stated in a few words. It would be idle and perhaps unseemly to attempt now to probe the details. It is sufficient to state that Miss La Touche was of a deeply religious nature, but her views were orthodox and she did not share the wider views on spiritual questions which Ruskin increasingly believed in. Her love for him had never wavered since the days of her childhood, but she doubted if, holding the views she did, she could marry him. Both she and Ruskin suffered the deepest distress, and it is better not to raise the veil too far from the events of the next few years. For a little time there was estrangement, and there is a moving entry in Ruskin's diary in the year 1870: "Last Friday about 12 o'clock at noon my mistress passed me and would not speak." In the following year there was reconciliation, and always Ruskin was buoyed with the hope that before long they would be united as man and wife. But it was not to be. Their friendship continued. Ruskin saw her whenever it was possible. When they were separated they exchanged letters. The number of these was very great, and they were of the most intimate nature. But Miss La Touche's indecision was not removed. The end of Ruskin's dream came in 1875. Miss La Touche's health, never strong, began to fail, and she died in May of this year. The effect upon Ruskin was overwhelming, but the nobility of his character was never seen to greater advantage. The sorrow remained with Ruskin all his life, but the memory of the character of the woman he loved and the communion that existed between them inspired all that he was to do in the future. Some immediate relief he found by plunging into fresh work, and the next few years were filled with intense labor. The letters which Ruskin wrote to Miss La Touche and those which she wrote to Ruskin were destroyed. After her death Ruskin had kept all of them in a special box. They were his most sacred possession. The destruction of the letters is related by Mr. Cook in his "Life of Ruskin": "On a day in autumn Mr. Severn and Prof. Norton took them to the woodland garden above Brantwood and gave them to the flames. A wind was blowing and one letter fluttered away from the pyre. It was written from Brantwood when Ruskin was first settling in his new home, and in it he wonders whether Rosie will ever give him the happiness of welcoming her there. But she never came to Brantwood. The garden, lake, and shore which became so dear to Ruskin were left without any memory of her presence, though often, as it seemed to him, graced by her spirit." Opinions will vary as to the wisdom of this destruction. The writer is one of those who regret it, for he believes that the world is the poorer. To have delayed publication of the letters would have been reasonable; to deprive the world for all time of literature so unique, which revealed the fragrance and nobility of the writers in a setting so exquisitely beautiful, was to incur a heavy responsibility. But before this destruction took place one of Rosie's letters had been given to the world. In 1888 Ruskin, an old man, was writing the last chapter but one of "Præterita" (Chapter III, L'Esterelle). It is about the woman he worshipped. "Some wise and prettily mannered people have told me," he writes, "that I shouldn't say anything about Rosie at all. But I am too old now to take advice, and I won't have this following letterthe first she ever wrote me-moulder away, when I can read it no more, lost to all loving hearts." It is a wonderful letter which follows, tender and loving, but showing in its youthful writer an informed judgment, alike on art and nature, tempered by a sense of humor. In this chapter of "Præterita" Ruskin tells with exquisite feeling the story of the beginning of his friendship with Rosie and her mother and sister. He describes his first meeting with her: "So presently the drawing-room door opened, and Rosie came in, quietly taking stock of me with her blue eyes as she walked across the room; gave me her hand, as a good dog gives its paw, and then stood a little back. Nine years old on 3rd January, 1858, thus now rising towards ten; the eyes rather deep blue at that time and fuller and softer than afterwards. . . .” He describes the first visit to Denmark Hill: "That first day . . . there was much for them to see:-my mother, to begin with, and she also had to see them; on both sides the sight was thought good. Then there were thirty Turners half a dozen Hunts; a beautiful Tintoret; my minerals in the study; the loaded apple trees in the orchard; the glowing peaches on the old red garden wall. The lesson lost itself that day in pomiferous talk, with rustic interludes in the stables and pig sty." It is only a fragment which Ruskin gives us of the great friendship of his life, but it is one which has enriched the literature of the world. Mrs. La Touche died in 1906, having survived Ruskin six years. In 1908 her letters were published under the title "Letters of a Noble Woman" (Mrs. La Touche, of Harristown), by M. F. Young. This book contained six letters written to her by Ruskin, but did not include any of the accompanying letters, which are now printed for the first time. The great library edition of Ruskin's works, edited by Mr. E. T. Cook and Mr. A. Wedderburn, contains eight letters by Ruskin to Mrs. La Touche. Of these eight, six are the letters which appeared in "Letters of a Noble Woman." It will, perhaps, be for the convenience of readers to state the dates of the letters to Mrs. La Touche which appear in the library edition of Ruskin's works. They are as follows: August 3, 1881; July 4, 1882; October 22, 1882; November 2, 1882; June 9, 1883; June 22, 1883; June 8, 1889; June 12, 1889. It will be observed that most of the letters now published are signed St. C. This was an abbreviation of Saint CrumThis was an abbreviation of Saint Crumpet, the pet name by which the children knew him. Its origin is thus described by Ruskin: "Rosie had shortly expressed her sense of her governess's niceness by calling her 'Bun,' and I had not been long free of the schoolroom before she wanted a name for me also, significant of like approval. After some deliberation she christened me 'Crumpet'; then, impressed by seeing my gentleness to beggars, canonized me as 'Saint Crumpet' or, shortly and practically, 'St. C,'-which I remained ever afterwards; only Emily said one day to her sister that the C. did in truth stand for 'Chrysostom."" In order to assist as far as possible to the fuller understanding of the letters now published, I have added a brief note before each letter giving any relevant details concerning the contents of the letter or the circumstances of Ruskin's life at the time it was written. The letters possess a unique interest. They come from the pen of the prophet in his old age, and they enable us to realize that in the evening of his life, though broken in health with the strain of sorrow and effort, he kept intact his great enthusiasms, his powers of admiration, hope, and love, his limitless sympathies, and all the winning qualities which endeared him not only to those within the circle of his personal friendship but to a nation. LETTER I had had a serious illness and for some [In the early part of this year Ruskin weeks was laid prostrate with brain fever. The foxglove referred to in this letter was apparently sent to him by Mrs. La Touche, for a letter dated August 3, printed in "Letters of a Noble Woman," makes further reference to it. It was regarded by Ruskin as a remarkable freak in nature.] BRANTWOOD, CONISTON, LANCASHIRE, 22nd July 81. MY DEAR LUCY: Its ever so nice mak ing you dells of Grampus: but I've a notion I shall carry on a good deal farther with Florence (who is responsible by the way for the whole arrangement!) Suppose it ends in opposite cells-and Bells, on the Old Man and the St. Georges Amiens. I've been rather puzzled this crags-like St. Alpha and St. Dormice at miracle of praying the Frogs (to be) quiet morning to present St. Alpha's great who disturbed her at her prayers, in a manner to command the respect of Protestant readers. miracle myself and make E talk, more, I hope to reverse the for them. I'm wild to see that mossy Foxglove of your's but I'd rather not have any seed lest our foxgloves should take to any such tricks! I am so glad you found things to gather here, and enjoyed yourself. If I'm here in the Winter (I've some instead-but I don't think it will come to vague notion of being at Monte Cassino any thing) I wish you would come to cobwebs and crystals-all twined and see the lovely cascades of down-lacenetted over jellies of grass and candies of heath and sugar-conserve of moss— and barley-sugar of fern. Its very wonderful and not a bit cold, and you'll never begin to look at my books. Ever your loving ST. C. LETTER II [Ruskin's biographer, Mr. E. T. Cook, notes in his "Life" that after recovering from the serious illness which he had at |