mahogany seats in the four deep windows, ancient mahogany chairs, and
great bookcases across one side of the room, with dark pier-tables and
centre-table, and large mirror,--all of ancestral New England solidity
and rich simplicity; some saintly portraits on the wall, a modern
easel in the corner accounting for fine bits of coloring on canvas,
crayon drawings about the room, and a gorgeous firescreen of autumn
tints; nasturtium vines in bloom glorifying the south window, and
German ivy decorating the north corner; choice books here and there,
not to look at only, but to be assimilated; with an air of quiet
refinement and the very essence of cultured homeness pervading
all;--this is the meagre outline of a room, which, having once sat
within, you would wish never to see changed, in which many pure and
noble men and women have loved to commune with the lives which have
been so blent with all its suggestions that it almost seems a part of
their organic being.

But it was twenty-five years ago [This memorial was written in 1887.]
that this circle of congenial and expectant young people were drawn
together in the room to listen to the first reading of the MSS. of
"The Seven Little Sisters." I will not name them all; but one whose
youthful fame and genius were the pride of all, Harriet Prescott (now
Mrs. Spofford), was Jane's friend and neighbor for years, and heard
most of her books in MSS. They were all friends, and in a very
sympathetic and eager attitude of mind, you may well believe; for
in the midst, by the centre-table, sits Jane, who has called them
together; and knowing that she has really written a book, each one
feels almost that she herself has written it in some unconscious way,
because each feels identified with Jane's work, and is ready to be as
proud of it, and as sure of it, as all the world is now of the success
of Miss Jane Andrews's writings for the boys and girls in these little