“One morning,” said Mrs. Harrison, “after my husband had successfully defended a client, the man grasped his hand very warmly, and, to my husband’s amazement, said, ‘Well, Mr. Harrison, I want to tell you what we think of your wife. She’s the finest writer in the English language, that’s what my daughter says. She says there are no books like hers.’
“‘Which one does she like most?’ asked my husband, immensely pleased.
“‘Well,’ he replied, ‘I can’t just answer that, but I think it’s “Your Eyre.”’
“Once I received a rather startling letter from a western ranchman. It said, ‘Your book has been going the rounds, but it always comes back, and I have threatened to put a bullet in the hide of the man who does not return it.’ I was greatly pleased with that letter.
“The most gratifying letter I ever received was from a man in a prison. He begged to be supplied with all I had written.
“Perhaps he was a man who had been in society, and there is a little story connected with his imprisonment.”
SHE IS A GENTLE, FORCEFUL WOMAN.
Mrs. Harrison has made many close friends through her books. Once she was with a party of friends in a Madrid gallery. Her name was mentioned, and a Spanish lady came forward, and introduced herself, at the same time expressing her admiration for her.
“She is now one of my dearest friends,” concluded Mrs. Harrison.
Just then, a colored man appeared in her library, bearing a tray,—for afternoon tea,—so I arose, although she asked me to have a cup of tea, fearing that I might be intruding, and expressed my wish that she would soon be at her desk again.