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Updated: June 16, 2025
In the bleak life of Ethan Frome on his bleak hillside there blooms an exquisite love which during a few hours of rapture promises to transform his fate; but poverty clutches him, drives him to attempt suicide with the woman he loves, and then condemns him to one of the most appalling expiations in fiction to a slavery in comparison with which his former life was almost freedom.
He was furious, but he thought it due himself to turn the other cheek by saying nothing. He reported his version to a circle of friends, and from them it spread like grass seed in the wind. Soon it was generally known that Jeff Farnum had grossly insulted with blasphemy a man who had tried to save his soul. Two days later Miller met Jeff at the door of Frome 15. "You're in bad! Jeff.
S.W. of Ilminster, from which it is most directly approached by a footpath. The church is Perp., and has been well restored. There is a stoup at the W. entrance, and another in the N. chapel. In the parish are the remains of an old manor house. Doulting, a small village 2 m. E. from Shepton Mallet, on the road to Frome.
That a subscription list be immediately opened in Adelaide to collect funds in aid of the undertaking. That R. F. Newland, Esq., be requested to act as Treasurer to this Committee, and that subscriptions be received at the Banks of Australasia and South Australia. E. C. FROME, Chairman. CHAS. BONNEY, Secretary.
There was a firm step on the gravel. Lady Dunstable, stick in hand, her short leather-bound skirt showing boots and gaiters of the most business-like description, came quickly towards the seat on which Meadows sat. "Mr. Meadows, I summon you for a walk! Sir Luke and Mr. Frome are coming. We propose to get to the tarn and back before lunch."
Frome, six miles away over the border in Somersetshire and on this same new way to the west, has shaken off its ancient air of bucolic peace and now prints books and weaves cloth and does a little in the manufacture of art metal work. The town, nevertheless, is very pleasant despite its strenuous endeavour to make money in a way Mercian rather than West Saxon.
This perhaps may have been the reason he failed to notice the skulking figure among the trees that dogged him to his destination. James laughed at himself for the exaggerated precaution he took to cover a perfectly defensible action. Why shouldn't he visit at the house of P. C. Frome? Entirely clear as to his right, he yet preferred his call not to become a matter of public gossip.
"Well, matters ain't gone any too well with him," Harmon said. "When a man's been setting round like a hulk for twenty years or more, seeing things that want doing, it eats inter him, and he loses his grit. That Frome farm was always 'bout as bare's a milkpan when the cat's been round; and you know what one of them old water-mills is wuth nowadays.
There will be more writers, like O. Henry, who write stories to please themselves, and thus please the majority. There will be fewer stories, I trust, where sentiment is no longer a part, but the whole of life. And we may get more narratives like Mrs. Wharton's "Ethan Frome," to make us feel that now as much as ever there is literary genius waiting in America.
"If we can hold our fellows together we'll win. But the Transcontinental is bidding high for votes and there's always a quitter somewhere." "Does Frome stand any chance?" "It will be Hardy or Frome. The least break in our ranks will be the signal for a stampede to P. C. The Republicans will support him when they get the signal. It's all a question of our fellows standing pat."
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