Indeed, one might go far to find another such lovable old lady.
It is often supposed by the outside world that jealousies and rivalries exist between authors, as is too often said to be the case in other professions. Nonsense! Here is one example to the contrary. And many another could easily be furnished.
At the very time that Mrs. Lynn Linton was earning her living by writing novels, Mrs. Alexander, in private life Mrs. Hector (another dear memory), was doing the same. Rivalry there was none between these two; more than that, they actually helped each other. And in the end, when Mrs. Lynn Linton died, she left her most cherished cabinet of china and many other souvenirs to her woman writer friend, who prized them above rubies.
The following is a characteristic letter from Mrs. Lynn Linton, anent an article I had written about her:
“My dear Mrs. Tweedie,
“Thank you so much for your kind letter. I am so glad you are busy and successful in your work.
“The She you painted in T.B. was a very nice old She indeed, a quite superior She, and a little better than the original, I am sorry to say! But, la, la, la, the heaps of begging letters and manuscripts the paper has brought me. It has punished me for any pride I might have had there-anent, and kept my comb cut down to my head. To-day, again, comes a long eight-paged letter of sorrow, distress, and nonsense, which I am asked to help. Well, I do what I can, and, at all events, sympathy and kind words and thoughts have their own value, if that is not of a productive or golden kind.
“I was very sorry not to see that fine young fellow again. I was charmed with him, if you like![4] I should have liked to kiss his hand for respect and hope and admiration. I should have liked to whip him as an aged Sarah might have whipped her grandson! I hope he will come back safe and with renown and success.
“Good-bye, dear Mrs. Brightness.
“Yes, I have partly recovered from Ibsen, who had a lurid kind of light that fascinates yet repels, a lying spirit that enthusiates yet revolts.