Welcome to PhiloLogic  
   home |  the ARTFL project |  download |  documentation |  sample databases |   
Child, Lydia Maria Francis, 1802-1880 [1836], Philothea (Otis, Broaders & Co., Boston) [word count] [eaf046].
To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.

Previous section

Next section


Much I dislike the beamless mind,
Whose earthly vision, unrefined,
Nature has never formed to see
The beauties of simplicity!
Simplicity, the flower of Heaven,
To souls elect by nature given.”

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

As the maidens entered their apartment, Eudora
rather abruptly dismissed Dione, the aged nurse, who
had been waiting their arrival. Her favorite dog was
sleeping on the couch; and she gave the little creature
a hasty box on the ear, which made him spring suddenly
to the floor, and look up in her face, as if astonished
at such ungentle treatment.

Philothea stooped down and caressed the animal,
with a slightly reproachful glance at her friend.

“He was sleeping on my mantle,” said the petulant

“His soft, white fur could not have harmed it,” rejoined
her companion; “and you know that Hylax himself,
as well as the mantle, was a gift from Philæmon.

Eudora carelessly tossed the mantle over her embroidery
frame, from which it trailed along the dusty
floor. Philothea looked earnestly in her face, unable
to comprehend such wayward conduct. “It is evident
you do not want my company to-night,” she said; “I
will therefore return to my own apartment.”

The peevish maiden slowly untied her sandal, without
making any reply. Philothea's voice trembled

-- 059 --

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

slightly, as she added, “Good night, Eudora. Tomorrow
I hope you will tell me how I have offended you.”

“Stay! Stay!” exclaimed the capricious damsel;
and she laid her hand coaxingly on her friend's arm.
Philothea smiled a ready forgiveness.

“I know I am very petulant to-night,” said Eudora;
but I do not believe you yourself could listen to Hipparete
without being vexed. She is so stupid, and so
haughty. I do nt't think she spoke ten words to-night
without having a grasshopper for one of them. She is
so proud of her pure Athenian blood! Do you know
she has resolved to employ a skillful artificer from Corinth
to make her an ivory box just like the one Tithonus
gave Aspasia; but she took care to inform me that
it should be inlaid with golden grasshoppers, instead
of stars. A wise and witty device, is't not? to put
grasshoppers in the paws of transformed Calisto, and
fasten them in the belt of Orion. The sky will be so
purely Athenian, that Hipparete herself might condescend
to be a constellation.”

The talkative maiden laughed at her own conceit;
and even her more serious companion could not refrain
from a smile, as with untiring volubility she continued:
“Then she told me that she herself embroidered her
grasshopper robe, and bade me admire the excellence
of the pattern. She said Plato could not possibly have
mistaken the wreath intended for her; knowing, as he
did, that her father and mother were both descended
from the most ancient families in Athens; and she repeated
a list of ancestors with names all ending in
ippus and ippides. When, in answer to her question, I
acknowledged that the ornament in her hair was beautiful,
she told me she would gladly give me one like it,
if it were proper for me to wear it. I do so detest the

-- 060 --

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

sight of that Athenian emblem! I would walk to the
fields of Acharnæ, on purpose to crush a grasshopper.”

“You put yourself in a singular passion for such a
harmless insect,” replied Philothea, smiling. “I hope
there are none of them within hearing. You know the
poets say they rose from the ashes of men, who, when
the Muses first had existence, pined away for the love
of song; and that after death they go to Parnassus,
and inform the most ancient Calliope, the heavenly
Urania, and the amorous Erato, concerning the conversation
of their votaries. If they are truly the children
of song, they will indeed forget their own resentments;
but your conversation would be so unlikely to
make a favorable impression on the tuneful sisters,
that it may be well for you the insects are now

“If the tattling tribe were all awake and listening,”
replied Eudora, “I would freely give them leave to
report all I say against Astronomy, or Poetry, or Music.
If this be the test, I am willing to be tried with
Hipparete at the court of the Muses. If she were less
stupid, I think I could tolerate her pride. But I
thought she would never have done with a long story
about a wine-stain that nearly spoiled her new dove-colored
robe; the finest from the looms of Ecbatana;
the pattern not to be matched in all Greece; and Aspasia
half wild to obtain one like it. She did not fail
to inform me that the slave, who spilled the wine, was
tied to the olive-tree in the garden, and whipped six
days in succession. I never saw her in my life that
she did not remind me of being a slave.”

“Dearest Eudora,” said Philothea, “how can you
make yourself so unhappy on this subject? Was not

-- 061 --

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

Phidias, from the first hour he bought you, allowed you
all the privileges of a daughter?”

“Yes,” replied Eudora; “but the very circumstance
that I was bought with his money embitters it
all. I do not thank him that I have been taught all
which becomes an Athenian maiden; for I can never
be an Athenian. The spirit and the gifts of freedom
ill assort with the condition of a slave. I wish he had
left me to tend goats and bear burdens, as other slaves
do; to be beaten as they are beaten; starved as they
are starved; and die as they die. I should not then
have known my degradation. I would have made
friends with the birds and the flowers, and never had a
heart-wound from a proud Athenian fool.”

Philothea laid her hand gently on her friend's arm,
and gazing on her excited countenance, she said,
“Eudora, some evil demon vexes you strangely tonight.
Did I not know the whole tenor of your blameless
life, I should fear you were not at peace with your
own conscience.”

Eudora blushed deeply, and busily caressed the dog
with her foot.

In a mild, clear voice, Philothea continued: “What
now prevents you from making friendship with the
birds and the flowers? And why do you cherish a
pride so easily wounded? Yes, it is pride, Eudora.
It is useless disguise to call it by another name. The
haughtiness of others can never make us angry, if we
ourselves are humble. Besides, it is very possible
that you are unjust to Hipparete. She might very
naturally have spoken of her slave's carelessness,
without meaning to remind you of bondage.”

“She did mean it,” replied Eudora, with angry emphasis:
“She is always describing her pompous

-- 062 --

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

sacrifices to Demeter; because she knows I am excluded
from the temple. I hope I shall live to see her proud
heart humbled.”

“Nay, Eudora,” said Philothea, turning mournfully
away: “Your feelings are strangely embittered; the
calm light of reason is totally obscured by the wild
torch-dance of your passions. Methinks hatred itself
need wish Hipparete no worse fate than to be the wife
of so bold and bad a man as Alcibiades.”

“Oh, Philothea! I wonder you can call him bold,”
rejoined Eudora: “He looks steadily at no one; his
eyelashes ever rest on his face, like those of a modest

“Aye, Eudora—but it is not the expression of a
sinless heart, timidly retiring within the shrine of its
own purity; it is the shrinking of a conscience that
has something to conceal. Little as we know about
the evils of the world, we have heard enough of Alcibiades,
to be aware that Hipparete has much need to
seek the protection of her patron goddess.”

“She had better worship in the temple of Helen at
Therapne,” answered Eudora, sharply: “The journey
might not prove altogether hopeless; for that temple is
said to confer beauty on the ugliest woman that ever
entered it.” As the peevish damsel said this, she gave
a proud glance at her own lovely person, in the mirror,
before which a lamp was burning.

Philothea had often seen her friend in petulant
moods; but she had never before known her to evince
so much bitterness, or so long resist the soothing influence
of kindness. Unwilling to contend with passions
she could not subdue, and would not flatter, she
remained for some moments in serious silence.

The expression of her countenance touched Eudora's

-- 063 --

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

quick feelings; and she said, in a humble tone, “I
know I am doing wrong, Philothea; but I cannot help

Her friend calmly replied, “If you believe you
cannot help it, you deceive yourself; and if you do
not believe it, you had better not have said it.”

“Now you are angry with me,” exclaimed the sensitive
maiden; and she burst into tears.

Philothea passed her arm affectionately round her
waist, saying, “I am not angry with you, Eudora;
but while I love you, I cannot and ought not to love
the bad feelings you cherish. Believe me, my dear
friend, the insults of others can never make us
wretched, or resentful, if all is right within our own
hearts. The viper that stings us is always nourished
within us. Moreover, I believe, dearest Eudora, that
half your wrongs are in your own imagination. I too
am a foreigner; but I have been very happy within
the walls of Athens.”

“Because you have never been a slave,” retorted
her companion; “and you have shared privileges that
strangers are seldom allowed to share. You have
been one of the Canephoræ; you have walked in the
grand procession of the Panathenaia; and your statue
in pure Pentelic marble, upholds the canopy over the
sacred olive-tree. I know that your skillful fingers,
and your surpassing beauty have deserved these honors;
but you must pardon me, if I do not like the proud
Athenians quite so well as you do.”

“I gratefully acknowledge the part I have been
allowed to take in the sacred service of Pallas,” replied
the maiden; “but I owe it neither to my beauty, nor
my skill in embroidery. It was a tribute to that wise
and good old man, my grandfather.”

-- 064 --

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

“And I,” said Eudora, in a tone of deep melancholy,
“have neither grandfather, parent, or brother to
care for me.”

“Who could have proved a better protector than
Phidias has been?” inquired her gentle friend.

“Philothea, I cannot forget that I am his slave.
What I said just now in anger, I repeat in sober sadness;
it would be better for me to have a slave's mind
with a slave's destiny.”

“I have no doubt,” replied Philothea, “that Phidias
continues to be your master merely that he may retain
lawful power to protect you, until you are the wife of

“Some slaves have been publicly registered as
adopted children,” said Eudora.

“But in order to do that,” rejoined her friend, “it
is necessary to swear to their parentage; and yours
is unknown. If it were not for this circumstance, I
believe Phidias would be most willing to adopt you.”

“No, Philothea—Phidias would do no such thing.
He is good and kind. I know that I have spoken of
him as I ought not to have spoken. But he is a proud
man. He would not adopt a nameless orphan, found
with a poor goathered of Phelle. Had I descended
from any of the princes conquered by Grecian valor,
or were I even remotely allied with any of the illustrious
men that Athens has ostracised, then indeed I
might be the adopted daughter of Phidias.” After a
short pause, she added, “If he enfranchised me without
adoption, I think I should have no difficulty in
finding a protector;” and again the maiden gave a
triumphant glance at her mirror.

“I am aware that your marriage with Philæmon
has only awaited the termination of these unfortunate

-- 065 --

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

law-suits,” replied Philothea: “Though he is not rich,
it cannot be very long before he is able to take you
under his protection; and as soon as he has the power,
he will have the disposition.”

“Will he indeed!” exclaimed Eudora; and she
trotted her little foot impatiently.

“You are altogether mysterious to-night,” said
Philothea: “Has any disagreement arisen between you
and Philæmon, during my absence?”

“He is proud, and jealous; and wishes me to be
influenced by every whim of his,” answered the offended

“The fetters of love are a flowery bondage,” rejoined
Philothea: “Blossoms do not more easily unfold themselves
to the sunshine, than woman obeys the object of
her affections. Don't you remember the little boy we
found piping so sweetly, under the great plane tree by
the fountain of Callirhöë? When my grandfather
asked him where he learned to play so well, he answered,
with a look of wondering simplicity, that it
`piped itself.' Methinks this would be the reply of a
loving woman, to one who inquired how her heart had
learned submission. But what has Philæmon required,
that you consider so unreasonable?”

“He dislikes to have me visit Aspasia; and was
angry because I danced with Alcibiades.”

“And did you tell him that you went to Aspasia's
house, in conformity with the express directions of
Phidias?” inquired Philothea.

“Why don't you say of my master?” interrupted
Eudora, contemptuously.

Without noticing the peevishness of this remark,
her friend continued: “Are you quite sure that you
have not been more frequently than you would have

-- 066 --

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

been, if you had acted merely in reluctant obedience
to the will of Phidias. I am not surprised that Philæ
mon is offended at your dancing with Alcibiades; assuredly
a practice, so boldly at variance with the customs
of the country, is somewhat unmaidenly.”

“It is enough to be one man's slave,” replied
Eudora. “I will dance with whom I please. Alcibiades
is the handsomest, and the most graceful, and the
most agreeable man in Athens—at least everybody
says so. I don't know why I should offend him to
please Philæmon.”

“I thought there was a very satisfactory reason,”
observed Philothea, quietly: “Alcibiades is the husband
of Hipparete, and you are the promised wife of
Philæmon. I would not have believed the person who
told me that Eudora seriously called Alcibiades the
handsomest and most agreeable man in Athens.”

“The sculptors think him pre-eminently beautiful,”
answered Eudora; “or they would not so often copy
his statue in the sacred images of Hermes. Socrates
applied Anacreon's eloquent praise of Bathyllus to
him, and said he saw in his lips `Persuasion sleeping
upon roses.' ”

“That must have been in the days of youthful
innocence,” replied Philothea: “Surely his countenance
has now nothing divine in its expression; though
I grant the coloring rich, and the features regular.
He reminds me of the Alexandrian coin; outwardly
pleasing to the eye, but inwardly made of base metal.
Urania alone confers the beauty-giving zone. The
Temple of Aphrodite in the Piræus is a fitting place for
the portrait of Alcibiades; and no doubt he is well
pleased that the people go there in throngs to see him
represented leaning on the shoulder of the shameless

-- 067 --

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

“If Aristophon chose to paint him side by side
with the beautiful Nemea, it is no fault of his,” said

“The artist would not have dared so to represent
Plato, or Philæmon, or Paralus,” rejoined Philothea;
“nor would Alcibiades allow his picture thus to minister
to the corruption of the Athenians, if he had any
perception of what is really beautiful. I confess,
Eudora, it pained me to see you listen to his idle flattery.
He worships every handsome woman, who will
allow herself to be polluted by his incense. Like
Anacreon, his heart is a nest for wanton loves. He is
never without a brood of them—some trying their
wings, some in the egg, and some just breaking the

With slight resentment in her manner, Eudora
answered: “Anacreon is the most beautiful of poets;
and I think you speak too harshly of the son of

“I am sorry for you, if you can perceive the beautiful
where the pure is wanting,” rejoined Philothea:
“You have changed, since my residence in the Acropolis.
The cherub Innocence, that was once the everpresent
deity in your soul, has already retired deeper
within the shrine, and veils his face in presence of the
vain thoughts you have introduced there. I fear Aspasia
has made you believe that a passion for distinction
is but another name for love of the good, the true,
and the beautiful. Eudora, if this false man has flattered
you, believe me he is always ready to bestow
the same upon others. He has told me that I was the
loveliest of earthly objects; no doubt he has told you
the same; but both cannot be true.”

“You!” exclaimed her companion: “Where could

-- 068 --

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

he find opportunity to address such language to

“Where a better man would have had better
thoughts,” replied Philothea: “It was during the
sacred festival of the Panathenaia. A short time before
midnight it was my duty to receive the sacred basket
from the hands of the priestess, and deposit it in the
cave, beneath the Temple of Urania, in the gardens.
Eucoline, the daughter of Agatho, attended me, carrying
a lighted torch. Having entered the cave, I
held the torch while she took up the other sacred
basket, which was there in readiness to be conveyed
to the Parthenon; and we again stepped forth into the
gardens. A flood of light streamed from the Temple,
so clear and strong, that I could distinctly see the
sacred doves, among the multitude of fragrant roses—
some sleeping in the shaded nooks, others fluttering
from bush to bush, or wheeling round in giddy circles,
frightened by the glare. Near a small lake in the
centre of the gardens, stood Myron's statue of the
heavenly Urania, guiding a dove to her temple by a
garland of flowers. It had the pure and placid expression
of the human soul, when it dwells in love and
peace. In this holy atmosphere we paused for a moment
in silent reverence. A smiling band of infant
hours came clustering round my memory, and softly
folded themselves about my heart. I thought of those
early days, when, hand in hand with Paralus, I walked
forth in the spring-time, welcoming the swallows to our
shores, and gathering fragrant thyme to feed my bees.
We did not then know that bees and young hearts need
none to take thought for their joy, but best gather their
own sweet nourishment in sunlight and freedom. I
remembered the helpless kid that Paralus confided to

-- 069 --

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

my care. When we dressed the little creature in
wreaths, we mourned that flowers would not grow in
garlands; for it grieved our childish hearts to see
them wither. Once we found, in the crevice of a moss-covered
rock, a small nest with three eggs. Paralus
took one of them in his hand; and when we had admired
its beauty, he kissed it reverently, and returned
it to its hiding-place. It was the natural outpouring
of a heart brimfull of love for all things pure and simple.
Paralus ever lived in affectionate communion
with the birds and the flowers. Firm in principle, but
gentle in affection, he himself is like the rock, in whose
bosom the loving bird found a sheltered nook, so
motherly and safe, where she might brood over her
young hopes in quiet joy.”

The maiden's heart had unconsciously followed her
own innocent recollections, like the dove led by a garland;
and for a few moments she remained silent in
thoughtful tenderness.

Eudora's changeful and perturbed spirit had been
soothed by the serene influence of her friend; and she
too was silent for awhile. But the giddy images that
had of late been reeling their wild dance through her
brain, soon came back in glittering fantasy.

“Philothea!” she exclaimed, abruptly, “You have
not told me where you met Alcibiades?”

The maiden looked up suddenly, like an infant
startled from sweet dreams by some rude noise. Recovering
from her surprise, she smiled, and said,
“Eudora, your question came upon me like his unexpected
and unwelcome presence in the sacred gardens.
I told you that we stood by that quiet lake in meek
reverence; worshipping,—not the marble image before
us,—but the Spirit of Beauty, that glides through

-- 070 --

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

the universe, breathing the invisible through visible
forms, in such mysterious harmony. Suddenly Eucoline
touched my arm with a quick and timid motion. I
turned and saw a young man gazing earnestly upon us.
Our veils, which had been thrown back while we looked
at the statue, were instantly dropped; and we hastily
retraced our steps. The stranger followed us, until we
passed under the shade of the olive grove, within sight
of the Propylæa. He then knelt, and attempting to
hold me by the robe, poured forth the wildest protestations
of love. I called aloud for protection; and my
voice was heard by the priests, who were passing in
and out of the Acropolis, in busy preparation for the
festival. The young man suddenly disappeared; but
he was one of the equestrians, that shared in the solemnities
of the night, and I again saw him as I took
my place in the procession. I had then never seen
Alcibiades; but when I met him to-night, I immediately
recognized the stranger, who spoke so rudely in the

“You must forgive me,” said Eudora, “if I am not
much disposed to blame mortal man for wishing to
look upon your face a second time. Even Plato does
homage to woman's beauty.”

“True, Eudora; but there is reverence mingled
with his homage. The very atmosphere around Alcibiades
seemed unholy. I never before met such a
glance; and the gods grant I may never meet such
another. I should not have mentioned the occurrence,
even to you, had I not wished to warn you how lightly
this volatile Athenian can make love.”

I heard something of this before,” rejoined Eudora;
“but I did not know the particulars.”

“How could you have heard of it?” inquired Philothea,
with an accent of strong surprise.

-- 071 --

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

“Alcibiades had a more eager curiosity than yourself,”
replied Eudora: “He soon ascertained the
name of the lovely Canephoræ, that he saw in the
Gardens of Urania; and he has never ceased importuning
Aspasia, until you were persuaded to visit her

The face, neck, and arms of the modest maiden
were flushed with indignant crimson. “Was it for
this purpose,” she said, “that I was induced to yield
my own sense of propriety to the solicitations of
Pericles? It is ever thus, when we disobey the gods to
please mortals. How could I believe that any motive so
harmless as idle curiosity induced that seductive and
dangerous woman to urge me into her unhallowed

“I marvelled at your courage in talking to her as
you did,” said Eudora.

“Something within impelled me,” replied Philothea,
reverently;— “I did not speak from myself.”

Eudora remained in serious silence for a moment;
and then said, “Can you tell me, Philothea, what you
meant by saying you once heard the stars sing? Or
is that one of those things concerning which you do
not love to have me inquire?”

The maiden replied: “As I sat at my grandfather's
feet, near the statue of Phœbus in the portico, at early
dawn, I heard music, of soft and various sounds, floating
in the air; and I thought perchance it was the farewell
hymn of the stars; or the harps of the Pleiades,
mourning for their lost sister.—I had never spoken of
it; but to-night I forgot the presence of all save Plato,
when I heard him discourse so eloquently of music.”

“And were you as unhappy as you expected to be
during this visit?” inquired her friend.

-- 072 --

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

“Some portions of the evening I enjoyed exceedingly,”
replied Philothea. “I could have listened to
Plato and Tithonus, until I grew old in their presence.
Their souls seem to move in glowing moonlight, as if
surrounded by bright beings from a better world.”

Eudora looked thoughtfully in her friend's face.
“It is strange,” said she, “how closely you associate
all earthly objects with things divine. I have heard
Anaxagoras say that when you were a little child, you
chased the fleeting sunshine through the fields, and
called it the glittering wings of Phœbus Apollo, as he
flew over the verdant earth. And still, dearest Philothea,
your heart speaks the same language. Whereever
you look, you see the shining of god-like wings.
Just so you talked of the moonlight, the other evening.
To Hipparete, that solemn radiance would have suggested
no thought except that lamp-light was more
favorable to the complexion; and Hermippus would
merely have rejoiced in it, because it saved him the
expense of an attendant and torch, as he reeled home
from his midnight revels. I seldom think of sacred
subjects, except while I am listening to you; but they
then seem so bright, so golden, so divine, that I marvel
they ever appear to me like cold, dim shadows.”

“The flowers of the field are unlike, but each has a
beauty of its own; and thus it is with human souls,”
replied Philothea.

For a brief space there was silence.—But Eudora,
true to the restless vivacity of her character, soon
seized her lyre, and carelessly touching the strings,
she hummed one of Sappho's ardent songs:

“More happy than the gods is he,
Who soft-reclining sits by thee;
His ears thy pleasing talk beguiles,

-- 073 --

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

His eyes thy sweetly-dimpled smiles.
This, this, alas! alarmed my breast,
And robbed me of my golden rest.”

Philothea interrupted her, by saying, “I should much
rather hear something from the pure and tender-hearted

But the giddy damsel, instead of heeding her request,
abruptly exclaimed, “Did you observe the
sandals of Artaphernes sparkle as he walked? How
richly Tithonus was dressed! Was it not a magnificent

Philothea, smiling at her childish prattle, replied,
“It was gorgeous, and well fancied; but I preferred
Plato's simple robe, distinguished only by the fineness
of its materials, and the tasteful adjustment of its

“I never saw a philosopher that dressed so well as
Plato,” said Eudora.

“It is because he loves the beautiful, even in its
minutest forms,” rejoined Philothea; “in that respect,
he is unlike the great master he reverences so highly.”

“Yes—men say it is a rare thing to meet either
Socrates or his robe lately returned from the bath,”
observed Eudora; “yet, in those three beautiful
statues, which Pericles has caused to be placed in the
Propylœa, the philosopher has carved admirable drapery.
He has clothed the Graces, though the Graces
never clothed him. I wonder Aristophanes never
thought of that jest. Notwithstanding his willingness
to please the populace with the coarse wit current in
the Agoras, I think it gratifies his equestrian pride to
sneer at those who are too frugal to buy colored robes,
and fill the air with delicious perfumes as they pass.

-- 074 --

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

I know you seldom like the comic writers. What did
you think of Hermippus?”

“His countenance and his voice troubled me, like
the presence of evil,” answered Philothea: “I rejoiced
that my grandfather withdrew with us as soon as the
goblet of the Good Genius passed round, and before he
began to dance the indecent cordax.”

“He has a sarcastic, suspicious glance that might
sour the ripest grapes in Chios,” rejoined Eudora.
“The comic writers are over-jealous of Aspasia's
preference to the tragic poets; and I suppose she permitted
this visit to bribe his enmity; as ghosts are said
to pacify Cerberus with a cake. But hark! I hear
Geta unlocking the outer gate. Phidias has returned;
and he likes to have no lamp burn later than his own.
We must quickly prepare for rest; though I am as
wakeful as the bird of Pallas.”

She began to unclasp her girdle, as she spoke, and
something dropped upon the floor.

Philothea was stooping to unlace her sandal, and
she immediately picked it up.

It was a beautiful cameo of Alcibiades, with the
quiver and bow of Eros.

Eudora took it with a deep blush, saying, “Aspasia
gave it to me.”

Her friend looked very earnestly in her face for a
moment, and sighed as she turned away. It was the
first time she had ever doubted Eudora's truth.

-- 075 --

Previous section

Next section

Child, Lydia Maria Francis, 1802-1880 [1836], Philothea (Otis, Broaders & Co., Boston) [word count] [eaf046].
Powered by PhiloLogic