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Updated: June 6, 2025
"Suspect what?" growled Spofford. "That there must be some abnormal cause for so abnormal a proceeding. Think, now, Algy." "I've heard of rats leavin' a sinkin' ship. The building might have been sinkin'," suggested the visitor hopefully. "Is that the best you can do? I'll give you one more try." "I know," said Spofford. "A cat."
So he turned in an alarm and saved a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar building." "Umph!" grunted Spofford. "Well, what's that got to do with the advertisement I brought you?" "Nothing in the world, directly. I'm merely trying to figure out, in my own way, how a mind like yours could see under the surface print into the really interesting peculiarity of this clipping.
"They might as well be in use as packed away in that trunk in the garret for moths to gnaw." No moths would ever have ventured near those quilts, for they reeked of mothballs to such an extent that they had to be hung in the orchard of Patty's Place a full fortnight before they could be endured indoors. Verily, aristocratic Spofford Avenue had rarely beheld such a display.
Spofford, and was presently in Boston, where her husband was a member of the General Court; Mrs. Phelps Ward, as Miss Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, dwelt in her father's house at Andover. The chief of the Bostonians were Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, Doctor Holmes, and Doctor Hale. Yet Boston stood for the whole Massachusetts group, and Massachusetts, in the literary impulse, meant New England.
"Have you any idea who Patty is?" asked Priscilla. "Patty Spofford is the name of the old lady who owns it, I've discovered. She lives there with her niece, and they've lived there for hundreds of years, more or less maybe a little less, Anne. Exaggeration is merely a flight of poetic fancy.
About 1418, the cloister connecting the Bishop’s palace with the cathedral was begun by Bishop Lacy, who took great interest in the cathedral although he never visited his diocese. It was upon this work of the cloisters that 2800 marks were expended by Bishop Spofford, 1421-1448, in whose time the great west window was erected by William Lochard, the precentor.
In prose Frances Hodgson Burnett is the author of many interesting novels and stories; Harriet Spofford, of original tales; Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, of popular and highly wrought novels; Adeline Whitney, of entertaining novels of every-day life; Rebecca Harding Davis, of powerful though sombre novels, of pictures of contemporary life, society, and thought; Louisa Alcott, of a series of charming New England stories for the young.
Stowe, Whipple, Rose Terry Cooke, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, Mrs. Prescott Spofford, Mrs. Phelps Ward, and other New England writers who still lived in New England, and largely in the region of Boston. Occasionally there came a poem from Bryant, at New York, from Mr. Stedman, from Mr. Stoddard and Mrs. Stoddard, from Mr. Aldrich, and from Bayard Taylor.
Another door opened out of it directly into the pine grove and the robins came boldly up on the very step. The floor was spotted with round, braided mats, such as Marilla made at Green Gables, but which were considered out of date everywhere else, even in Avonlea. And yet here they were on Spofford Avenue! A big, polished grandfather's clock ticked loudly and solemnly in a corner.
"Sure she knows," again interrupted "Soapy," unembarrassed. "I'm not after anybody's jewels, Mrs. Spofford, and besides which I am the principal candidate for Sheriff of this bailiwick. You don't suppose a man who's running for the office of sheriff on Mr. A. A. Percival's ticket is going to lift anything before election, do you?
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