The Madonna of the Tubs by Phelps, Elizabeth Stuart
Houghton, Mifflin & Co 1886 Fourth Edition
Hardcover 94 pages
Illustrated - 43 original illustrations
Measures 8 x 5.75 inches Weighs 13 ounces
Clean brown boards are richly decorated at front in black and gold and also decoration in gold on spine.
Corners and all edges are bumped. A bit of fraying is starting to begin at edges. Gift inscribed neatly on first blank leaf dated 1896. Very occasional and very minor foxing is present on a page or two at the binding edge.
A lovely edition in great shape for the age.
Solid sturdy well crafted copy.
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward (1844–1911) was an early feminist American author and intellectual who challenged traditional Christian beliefs of the afterlife, challenged women's traditional roles in marriage and family, and advocated clothing reform for women.
CHAPTER I, PAGES ONE AND TWO
THE MADONNA OF THE TUBS.
OW there! B said Ellen Jane Salt;
"I'm tired seein' a passel of
folks squealin' at a snail shell."
It happened that much the same view of the
case was occupying Miss Helen Bitter at the same
moment; the chief difference being that the sum
mer boarder's view was not dependent upon ex
pression, while that of the | native" (as usual)
It was what is called a burning fog that day.
Miss Bitter was sitting on the cliff under a Japa
nese umbrella. Twenty people were sitting under
Japanese umbrellas. Hers, she thanked Heaven,
was of ivory-color, plain and pale. feNo Turkey red
flaunted fiercely nor purple mandarin sprawled hys-
terically against indigo skies above her individual
head. There is a comfort in distinction even if
it go no farther than a paper sunshade miss
Ritter enjoyed the added idiosyncrasy of sitting
under hers alone. She was often alone.
In July the seaside is agreeable; in September
irresistible; in October, intoxicating. In August
one does not understand it: one comes up sud
denly against its " other side," as against pecul
iarities in the character of a friend known for
years, and unexpectedly putting the affection to a
In August the sun goes out, and the thick
weather comes in. The landlady is tired, and the
waitress slams the plate; the fog-bell tolls, and
the beach is sloppy; the fog-whistles screech, and
one may not go a-sailing; the puddings and sauc es
have grown familiar, and one has read too many
novels to stand another, and yet not enough to
force one back, for life's sake, on a "course of
solid reading." In August one's next neighbor is
sure it was a mistake not to spend the season
the mountains. In August the babies on the same
corridor are sick. In August one has discover