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expand2003 (1)
1Author:  Stoddard Elizabeth 1823-1902Add
 Title:  Temple House  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: Early one autumn morning, on his forty-first birthday, Argus Gates walked down the old turfy lawn, and felt immortal in his human powers. The elms above him dropped warning leaves, the silver cobwebs in the grass vanished beneath his tread, and the sere grass rose not again; but Aurora was in the sky. The stalwart, willing earth dipped beneath her chariot wheels, to lave in the rays flooding from those eyes fixed in “The ever silent spaces of the East,” and Argus was one with the earth. “Dear Mother: You never saw such work; we lost the small trunk, which was not marked. Have you seen Virginia? Her society will make amends for my absence. I wish I was at home, but I like travelling. I saw somebody yesterday that looked exactly like Mary Sutcliffe. I had half a mind to ask her if the cat's kittens had yellow patches, or if they were black and white: Mary said the cat would have kittens by the time I got back. You can't think how fish seems to be prized at these hotels, while we care nothing for it. We stopped in Boston, and John bought me an Indian scarf. In New York he bought me a dark blue silk; he is very attentive, but he has a cold. I had it made, and it is trimmed with black lace. Mother, the lace was three dollars a yard. We are in Chicago now. The air has a flat taste to me; it is different from Kent air. Of course, Uncle Argus has worried about me; oh yes, I think he is pining away. There are no good preserves at any hotel; the noise at these great houses, would drive you wild, mother; you would never again wink your eyes at my slamming doors, could you stay in one awhile. Have those Drakes been to see you? I do not care for them; do you, mother? I shall visit them but very little. John asked me if I would go to housekeeping in warm weather. I said, “Er, em, em,” which ment “yes” to him; to me, “nary housekeeping.” Why should I wash dishes for him, and dust furniture, and learn not to suit him in cooking—let me see, four times a day. He is too particular about his food. Mother, I had rather eat your dry bread; I hate to see people imagining they would like to have this, and that, to eat. I shall be gone some weeks yet. I'll help you knit when I return. John has snatched this from the table, and I am mad, for he laughs loud at it, and says—“Give me a kiss?” but I won't. It is eleven o'clock; there is no lamp burning in Temple House; you are asleep.
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