My father is a great man.  It is not a greatness hedged in by a local limit; he is known far and wide.  His scientific researches have made him famous and his name familiar and beloved on foreign shores.  Nor is he a prophet without honor even in his own country.

My mother is a rare woman.  She is peculiarly a womanly woman.  She constantly gives her best thought, her best effort, to the members of her family, always forgetting self; and she is full of the tenderest consideration toward other people.  She never speaks ill of her neighbor; she is always true.  She is always ready to discharge her duty—­and more.  She is tender, gentle, firm; there is not a flower which blooms more full, better rounded out, more sweet, better to look upon, or in any way more complete, more perfect than she.

I may not be great or entirely good myself, but I constantly breathe an atmosphere exhilarating and pure—­made so by the presence of a great man and a good woman.

Our house is the tacitly recognized head-quarters for all kinds and conditions of clever people, and some not so clever, but who—­in their way—­are just as interesting: 

Social Exquisites. 
Social Drifters. 
Briefless Barristers. 
Men Who Have Risen. 
Men Unsuccessful. 
Sympathy Seekers. 
Sympathy Finders. 
Newspaper Reporters. 
Newspaper Poets. 
Authors Private. 
Authors Public. 
People Of The Army. 
People Of The Navy. 
Bohemians, Ragged As To Their Cuffs, Unkempt
As To Their Raiment. 
All Classes, Shades And Conditions Of Life. 
In Short, A Strange Kaleidoscopic Circle.

To be a gentleman above question is the badge of admission.  To be clever is the badge of promotion.  I am the center of this intensely interesting circle.  I am the focus, the magnet around which they all revolve.  The bulk of the social burden rests on me.  The minute but highly important details are carefully watched and skillfully righted by the good mother.  I am the General Entertainer, but she is the ameliorator of those little roughnesses, those little sharp corners which cling even to unconventional people.  Her clear, well-balanced mind, her gentle, yet quietly positive temperament, peculiarly fit her for this necessary but frequently neglected social work.

I am young, beautiful, untrammeled; I am full of an unlimited ambition; I am not content with the small things of life; I will have none of those precious morsels—­mere fragments—­which tempt and readily please my sweet sisters in Vanity Fair.  Young, yet I am far enough beyond twenty to have ideas of my own.  Beautiful, yet I am free from that all-conscious air which pervades the average beauty.  Untrammeled, because men do not touch me—­have not the power to rouse within me one tender feeling.  I am interested always, but I am never susceptible.  Women depend too much on their intuitions; they know so little about human