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"Last Autumn Leaves" by Lorenzo Tomada is licensed
under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
The Last Leaf
By O. Henry
1907
William Sydney Porter (1862-1910) was an American writer better known by his pen name, O. Henry. "The Last
Leaf," published in 1907, is a story about a young girl named Johnsy who gets pneumonia and is given a 1 in 10
chance of surviving. As you read, take notes on the literary devices the author uses to describe Johnsy's condition
and the vine outside her window. How do these details contribute to your reading of the text?
In a little district west of Washington Square the
streets have run crazy and broken themselves into
small strips called "places." These "places" make
strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a
time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable
possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill
for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this
route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a
cent having been paid on account!
So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people
soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and
eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low
rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a
chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a
"colony."
At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One
was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's,"
and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the
colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly,
smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."
Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric1
old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood
thinned by California zephyrs2 was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he
smote; and she lay, scarcely3 moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-
[1]
[5]
1. referring to chivalry, the medieval code of conduct for knights that emphasized ideas like bravery,
generosity, faithfulness, and courtesy to women
2. "Zephyr" is a mild wind.
3. Scarcely (adverb) barely, hardly
1
panes at the blank side of the next brick house.
One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, gray eyebrow.
"She has one chance in — let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer.
"And that chance is for her to want to live. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well.
Has she anything on her mind?"
"She — she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue.
"Paint? — bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice — a man for instance?"
"A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth — but, no, doctor; there is nothing of
the kind."
"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my
efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I
subtract 50 percent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new
winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."
After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she
swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped
whistling, thinking she was asleep.
She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must
pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to
Literature.
As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an
Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.
Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting — counting backward.
"Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost
together.
Sue looked solicitously4
out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be
seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the
roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until
its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.
[10]
[15]
4. Solicitous (adjective) showing great attention to or concern for another
2
"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.
"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred.
It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
"Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie."
"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor
tell you?"
"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do
with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor
told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were — let's see exactly what he said — he
said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on
the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing,
so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self."
"You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No,
I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."
In "The Last Leaf," O. Henry uses the literary device of personification to describe the pneumonia as a "cold, unseen stranger" who stalks the colony and touches victims with his icy fingers. This personification adds a sense of danger and mystery to the illness that Johnsy is facing, creating a chilling atmosphere in the story.
Additionally, the author uses imagery to describe the ivy vine outside Johnsy's window. The vine is described as "old, old" and "gnarled and decayed at the roots," with its leaves stricken by the cold autumn wind. This imagery of the dying vine mirrors Johnsy's own declining health, symbolizing the connection between the two.
These details contribute to the reader's understanding of Johnsy's condition by creating a sense of foreboding and inevitability. The personification of pneumonia and the imagery of the dying vine emphasize the seriousness of Johnsy's illness and foreshadow the potential outcome. Overall, these literary devices help to build tension and capture the emotional weight of Johnsy's situation in the story.