"Does Mr. Spence belong to Boston?" I asked, anxious to find out all I could about the celebrity.
But this remark was not more happy than the last Aunt Agnes pursed up her lips and said,—
"If you mean, was he born in Beacon Street, no, he was not. Dreadful as it may seem to you, I know nothing of either his father or his mother. But you will learn when you are a little wiser, that genius in order to be recognized and admired is not obliged to produce parents."
"You misunderstood me, Aunt Agnes. I merely wished to know if he were a foreigner or not."
"He has lived everywhere I believe, and is cosmopolitan, as all great men are. He is one of the few characters really worth knowing in our community. His philosophic and hygienic thoughts surpass his poetry in worth, in the opinion of the best judges."
"And Miss Kingsley,—does she write at all?"
"Certainly. Did she not tell you that she is the compiler of the weekly column of fashionable items in the 'Sunday Mercury'?"
"Yes," said I, "but that is scarcely literature."
Aunt Agnes did not answer for a moment. "You have judged hastily, and consequently have misjudged. If you were to ask me whether I think Miss Kingsley's present occupation is proportionate to her abilities, I should answer 'no.' She would herself admit that it was hack-work,—though, mind you, even hack-work can be redeemed by an artistic spirit, as she has so adequately explained to you. All young women have not independent fortunes, and such as are without means are obliged to take whatever they can find to do in the line of their professions. I agree with your implication that society items do not constitute literature, but they are stepping stones to higher things. Which is the more creditable, pray, to collect and chronicle the social customs of the age in which you live, foolish as they may be, or to be one of the giddy and frivolous creatures whose doings are thus compiled as a warning to posterity, or to excite its jeers? The one is work, earnest though humble; the other, a sheer dissipation of the energies of life."
I felt that this was aimed at me; but as I made no response, Aunt Agnes continued:—