Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Summary

Portrait of Thomas Bailey Aldrich Thomas Bailey Aldrich Miss Mehetabel's Son

Now and then a passing drover looks in at that lonely bar-room, where a high-shouldered bottle of Santa Cruz rum ogles with a peculiarly knowing air a shrivelled lemon on a shelf; now and then a farmer rides across country to talk crops and stock and take a friendly glass with Tobias; and now and then a circus caravan with speckled ponies, or a menagerie with a soggy elephant, halts under the swinging sign, on which there is a dim mail-coach with four phantomish horses driven by a portly gentleman whose head has been washed off by the rain.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Thomas Bailey Aldrich Thomas Bailey Aldrich Miss Mehetabel's Son

Jaffrey's case. I could easily understand how a man with an unhealthy, sensitive nature, overwhelmed by sudden calamity, might take refuge in some forlorn place like this old tavern, and dream his life away. To such a man—brooding forever on what might have been and dwelling wholly in the realm of his fancies—the actual world might indeed become as a dream, and nothing seem real but his illusions. I dare say that thirteen years of Bayley's Four-Corners would have its effect upon me
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Thomas Bailey Aldrich Thomas Bailey Aldrich Miss Mehetabel's Son

On a black-walnut shelf between the windows lay a choice collection of meerschaum and brier-wood pipes.
Filling one of the chocolate-colored bowls for me and another for himself, Mr. Jaffrey began prattling; but not about the murder, which appeared to have flown out of his mind. In fact, I do not remember that the topic was even touched upon, either then or afterwards.
“Cosey nest this,” said Mr. Jaffrey, glancing complacently over the apartment. “What is more cheerful, now, in the fall of the year, than an open wood-fire?
Source: Gutenberg

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