A London Life is one of James's longest tales, in fact it falls into the category which he labelled the nouvelle. It seems that in writing it the author's attitude to his heroine gradually became more critical and in the finished text a number of the other characters try to make Laura Wing realize that her standards are just too high and that she applies them too rigidly for modern society.
A devoted sister attempts to check her sibling's scandalous behavior in the world of British high society. A delightful comedy of Anglo-American manners and a fascinating glimpse of late Victorian London.
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Alfred John Church (1829-1912) was an English classical scholar. He was born in London and was educated at King s College London, and Lincoln College, Oxford, he took holy orders and was an assistant-master at Merchant Taylors School for many years. From 1880 until 1888 he was professor of Latin at University College, London. While at University College in partnership with William Jackson Brodribb, he translated Tacitus and edited Pliny s Letters (Epistulae). Church also wrote a number of stories in English re-telling of classical tales and legends for young people (Stories from Virgil, Stories from Homer, etc. ). He also wrote much Latin and English verse, and in 1908 published his Memories of Men and Books. Other works include: Stories of the Magicians (1887), The Count of the Saxon Shore; or, The Villa in Vectis (with Ruth Putnam) (1888), Heroes of Chivalry and Romance (1898), Stories of Charlemagne (1902), The Crown of Pine (1906) and With the King at Oxford (1909).
It was raining, apparently, but she didn't mind-she would put on stout shoes and walk over to Plash. She was restless and so fidgety that it was a pain; there were strange voices that frightened her-they threw out the ugliest intimations-in the empty rooms at home. She would see old Mrs. Berrington, whom she liked because she was so simple, and old Lady Davenant, who was staying with her and who was interesting for reasons with which simplicity had nothing to do. Then she would come back to the children's tea-she liked even better the last half-hour in the schoolroom, with the bread and butter, the candles and the red fire, the little spasms of confidence of Miss Steet the nursery-governess, and the society of Scratch and Parson (their nicknames would have made you think they were dogs) her small, magnificent nephews, whose flesh was so firm yet so soft and their eyes so charming when they listened to stories. Plash was the dower-house and about a mile and a half, through the park, from Mellows. It was not raining after all, though it had been; there was only a grayness in the air, covering all the strong, rich green, and a pleasant damp, earthy smell, and the walks were smooth and hard, so that the expedition was not arduous.
