href="#u65ef0c57-e952-485a-a1ca-481a50c8ad1f">Having Just Got Home
New York To the Home-comer's Eye
Cheapness of the Costliest City on Earth
Ways and Means of Living in New York
The Quality of Boston and the Quantity of New York
The Whirl of Life in Our First Circles
Comparative Luxuries of Travel
A Niece's Literary Advice To Her Uncle
Practical Immortality on Earth
The Advantages of Quotational Criticism
A Normal Hero and Heroine Out of Work
OTHER ESSAYS
Autumn in the Country and City
Personal and Epistolary Addresses
The Counsel of Literary Age to Literary Youth
The Unsatisfactoriness of Unfriendly Criticism
The Summer Sojourn of Florindo and Lindora
ILLUSTRATIONS
AT THE OPERA FIFTH AVENUE AT THIRTY-FOURTH STREET FIFTH AVENUE FROM THE TOP OF A MOTOR-BUS CHARLES EMBANKMENT, BELOW HARVARD BRIDGE THE MALL, CENTRAL PARK BROADWAY AT NIGHT ELECTION-NIGHT CROWDS ZOÖLOGICAL GARDENS, BRONX PARK
IMAGINARY INTERVIEWS
I
THE RESTORATION OF THE EASY CHAIR BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION
It is not generally known that after forty-two years of constant use the aged and honored movable which now again finds itself put back in its old place in the rear of Harper's Magazine was stored in the warehouse of a certain safety-deposit company, in the winter of 1892. The event which had then vacated the chair is still so near as to be full of a pathos tenderly personal to all readers of that magazine, and may not be lightly mentioned in any travesty of the facts by one who was thought of for the empty place. He, before putting on the mask and mimic editorial robes—for it was never the real editor who sat in the Easy Chair, except for that brief hour when he took it to pay his deep-thought and deep-felt tribute to its last occupant—stood with bowed face and uncovered head in that bravest and gentlest presence which, while it abode with us here, men knew as George William Curtis.
It was, of course, in one of the best of the fireproof warehouses that the real editor had the Easy Chair stored, and when the unreal editor went to take it out of storage he found it without trouble in one of those vast rooms where the more valuable furniture and bric-à-brac are guarded in a special tutelage. If instinct had not taught him, he would have known it by its homely fashion, which the first unreal editor had suggested when he described it as an "old red-backed Easy Chair that has long been an ornament of our dingy office." That unreality was Mr. Donald G. Mitchell, the graceful and gracious Ik Marvel, dear to the old hearts that are still young for his Dream Life and his Reveries of a Bachelor, and never unreal in anything but his pretence of being the real editor of the magazine. In this disguise he feigned that he had "a way of throwing" himself back in the Easy Chair, "and indulging in an easy and careless overlook of the gossiping papers of the day, and in such chit-chat with chance visitors as kept him informed of the drift of the town talk, while it relieved greatly the monotony of his office hours." Not "bent on choosing mere gossip," he promised to be "on the
