"George Edgar Montgomery."
"It was on one of the most delightful days of last month that Mr. Roe received in an informal way at his hillside home his fellow-craftsmen of the Authors' Club of New York.
"A rambling old house placed back from the road and perched upon one of the many hilltops that rise from the river in that most picturesque section known as the Highlands of the Hudson, Mr. Roe's home had about it that air of comfort and serenity that one would naturally imagine as the most appropriate surroundings for the author of 'Nature's Serial Story.'
"Mr. Roe was so peculiarly a companionable man that his friends were legion, and among the busy workers who constitute the Authors' Club none were more popular than he—the busiest worker of them all.
"He met us at the landing, his genial face speaking a welcome even before his voice was heard, and 'Roe! Roe! Roe!' came the greeting from his expectant guests ere they filed off the boat. He saw that we were all comfortably bestowed in the numerous carriages that he had in waiting, led the procession up the steep road that climbed the Cornwall hills, and standing at the foot of his veranda steps, welcomed each visitor who 'lighted down' with his cheery smile and his cordial hand-clasp. He turned us loose in his strawberry bed—that pet domain of one who had so practically shown how it was possible to achieve 'Success with Small Fruits;' he loaded us with roses—dear also to one who lived as he did 'Near to Nature's Heart;' and then with brief words of hospitality that were alive, hearty and inspiring, he bade us make free with his house and home for the day. That we enjoyed it, every action testified. Released from care and labor for a day, surrounded by all the attractions that make a June day among the Highlands doubly delightful, and made so cordially to feel ourselves at home, enjoyment was easy, and the day was one to be marked with a red letter by all whose good fortune it was to have been one of that merry party.
"Mr. Roe's Cornwall home showed the lover of Nature and of his chosen profession. 'This has been your inspiration here, has it not?' I asked. 'Yes,' he replied, with a loving glance at the quiet country landscape that we overlooked from the broad veranda; 'here and hereabouts I have got very much of my material. I love it all.'
"The comfortable rooms of that quaint, old-fashioned house had many a touch that showed the affection for his surroundings.
"'Well, Roe,' said Stedman, ever ready with his apt quotations, 'this castle hath a pleasant seat,' and he said truly. The homelike house, the thrifty farm-lands, the verdant patches filled with fruits and flowers, and the green growths of the kitchen garden bespoke the man who added to the gentleman-farmer the practical student of the helpful products of the earth.
"'Down there,' he said, indicating one portion of his land, 'I have planted twenty-five varieties of peas. I wish to test them, to study their quality and discover which are the best for the producer to raise and which have the best flavor. I like to make these experiments.'
"A bountiful spread for the sharpened appetites of those who found in that flower-laden air an increase of desire awaited us in the cool dining and reception-rooms—thrown into one to comfortably seat so large a company—and it was a question who enjoyed it most, guests or host, for his kindly attentions and his invitation to eat and spare not gave an extra sauce to the good things offered us. An after-dinner ride through the charming country thereabout, so many sections of which had been written into his characteristic stories; a siesta-like reunion beneath the shade of the trees that dotted his ample lawn and almost embowered his home; an oft-repeated desire that we should not go city-ward until 'the last train;' a quiet chat as this most delightful of hosts passed from group to group; the zest with which the pleasant-faced wife and the son and daughter of our host seemed to enter into his and our enjoyment of the day—these, and the many minor details of a June day's outing among the historic Highlands that may not find expression here, gave to us all an experience that no one among us would have missed, and which each one of us will recall with peculiar and tender memories now that the good man who made them possible to us has dropped his unfinished work and left us so suddenly and so unexpectedly.