Produced by John M. Krafft LEMORNE VERSUS HUELL Elizabeth Drew Stoddard Harper's New Monthly Magazine 26 (1863): 537-43. The two months I spent at Newport with Aunt Eliza Huell, who had been ordered to the sea-side for the benefit of her health, were the months that created all that is dramatic in my destiny. My aunt was troublesome, for she was not only out of health, but in a lawsuit. She wrote to me, for we lived apart, asking me to accompany her--not because she was fond of me, or wished to give me pleasure, but because I was useful in various ways. Mother insisted upon my accepting her invitation, not because she loved her late husband's sister, but because she thought it wise to cotton to her in every particular, for Aunt Eliza was rich, and we--two lone women--were poor. I gave my music-pupils a longer and earlier vacation than usual, took a week to arrange my wardrobe--for I made my own dresses--and then started for New York, with the five dollars which Aunt Eliza had sent for my fare thither. I arrived at her house in Bond Street at 7 A.M., and found her man James in conversation with the milkman. He informed me that Miss Huell was very bad, and that the housekeeper was still in bed. I supposed that Aunt Eliza was in bed also, but I had hardly entered the house when I heard her bell ring as she only could ring it--with an impatient jerk. "She wants hot milk," said James, "and the man has just come." I laid my bonnet down, and went to the kitchen. Saluting the cook, who was an old acquaintance, and who told me that the "divil" had been in the range that morning, I took a pan, into which I poured some milk, and held it over the gaslight till it was hot; then I carried it up to Aunt Eliza. "Here is your milk, Aunt Eliza. You have sent for me to help you, and I begin with the earliest opportunity." "I looked for you an hour ago. Ring the bell." I rang it. "Your mother is well, I suppose. She would have sent you, though, had she been sick in bed." "She has done so. She thinks better of my coming than I do." The housekeeper, Mrs. Roll, came in, and Aunt Eliza politely requested her to have breakfast for her niece as soon as possible. "I do not go down of mornings yet," said Aunt Eliza, "but Mrs. Roll presides. See that the coffee is good, Roll." "It is good generally, Miss Huell." "You see that Margaret brought me my milk." "Ahem!" said Mrs. Roll, marching out. At the beginning of each visit to Aunt Eliza I was in the habit of dwelling on the contrast between her way of living and ours. We lived from "hand to mouth." Every thing about her wore a hereditary air; for she lived in my grandfather's house, and it was the same as in his day. If I was at home when these contrasts occurred to me I should have felt angry; as it was, I felt them as in a dream--the china, the silver, the old furniture, and the excellent fare soothed me.