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 THE 
 
 BARCLAYS OP BOSTON. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. HARRISON GRAY OTIS. 
 
 ' And thus 'tis ever ; what's within our ken 
 Owl-like, we Wink at, and direct our search 
 To farthest Inde in quest of novelties ; 
 Whilst here at home, upon our very thresholds, 
 Ten thousand objects hurtle into view, 
 Of interest wonderful.' 
 
 BOSTON: 
 TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS, 
 
 MDCCCLIV.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in tlio year ]854, by 
 
 TicKNOR, Reed, and Fields, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 THHRSTON', TORBY, AND EMERSON, PniVTEHS.
 
 m^ 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM HENDERSON BORDMAN, 
 
 A BOSTON MERCHANT, 
 IS THIS BOOK 
 
 RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, 
 
 BY 
 
 HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 ';! r~^. r-" ,<> --> 
 
 ENGLISH
 
 THE BAECLATS OF BOSTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ' I was a child, and she vras a child, 
 In that kingdom by the sea.' 
 
 PoE. 
 
 In the cloak-room of a brilliantly illuminated house in 
 Chestnut street in Boston, the capital of Massachusetts, 
 stood a laughter-loving, gay, and particularly handsome 
 youth, over whose bright and sunny curls some seventeen 
 years had passed, holding in his hand a bunch of English 
 violets, and eagerly awaiting the arrival of his ' ladye love.' 
 
 Start not, gentle reader, at this announcement ; such 
 things occur even in the over-educated and overstrained 
 city of the Puritan fathers. 
 
 Young love ! what a sad pity that the only obstacle aris- 
 ing, in after years, when the tender passion exists and 
 overwhelms its deluded victims so early in life, is the 
 manifest difficulty of remembering and ascertaining the 
 idolized object of the * first dream,' and that the scent of 
 the roses, instead of embalming the fair vision, should be 
 lost in oblivion. 
 
 But who thinks of after days at seventeen ? So our 
 boy-lover, if you will, was, in time, rewarded for his patient 
 watch by the entrance of a pair of beauties and incipient 
 1
 
 4 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 belles, so extraordinarily alike, that even the youthful swain 
 himself, enamored as he was, and seeing them as often as 
 he possibly could, now and then mistook one for the other, 
 and was, much to his heartfelt mortification, frequently 
 puzzled to distinguish the fascinating Miss Georgiana Bar- 
 clay from her no less attractive sister, Miss Grace. In 
 point of fact, there is every reason to believe that, if 
 Charley Sanderson, the young gentleman with the violets, 
 had been cited to positively affirm at which of these lovely 
 shrines he absolutely bowed and sighed, he could have 
 hardly so promptly answered as the exigencies of his appa- 
 rently desperate love passage would seem to demand. 
 
 At any rate, Mr. Charley made his very best dancing- 
 school bow, offered the flowers, which were graciously ac- 
 cepted, and requested the honor of Miss Georgiana Barclay's 
 hand in the first dance, and was not denied the boon he so 
 earnestly craved. Just then he suddenly recollected a very 
 important message with which he had been charged, and 
 addressing the fair young creature before him, he ex- 
 claimed, ' Oh ! Miss Barclay, the extreme pleasure of 
 beholding you has nearly caused me to forget that my 
 very shy brother Gerald is awaiting my return to him in 
 the hall, I've no doubt with immense impatience. I have 
 literally dragged him here to-night under a solemn promise 
 that I would use all the very small influence I possess in 
 your quarter, to persuade you to dance with him ; you well 
 know he goes nowhere, and never speaks to any young 
 ladies. Now I have told him such pleasant talcs of your en- 
 gaging and agreeable ways, frank and charming manners, 
 that, having lured him here, I am bound, even if I must 
 renounce my own coveted dance, to entreat you to smile 
 upon him. Gerald declares he will not enter this room 
 unless you promise to patronize him, so please be kind, as 
 you always are.' 
 
 Now, it must be confessed, that the youthful school-girl 
 to whom this speech was addressed, had begun to half com-
 
 OF BOSTON. a 
 
 prehend the power of her superlative charms, and in some 
 degree to take state upon herself in consequence ; so she 
 listened and smiled, and replied that, if Mr. Gerald San- 
 derson did not think her of sufficient consequence to prefer 
 his suit personally and ask her himself, she would not 
 dance with him at all. This response seemed to crush at 
 once all Charley's hopes, as he was perfectly sure it would 
 be entirely impossible for Gerald to gather sufficient courage 
 to venture into the presence of the youthful beauty, and 
 fairly pronounce all the words requisite for such a porten- 
 tous occasion, he being, without exception, the most blush- 
 ingly diffident youth in his native city. So Charley waited, 
 and coaxed, and flattered not a little, and prayed and con- 
 jured, but all to no purpose, until he was fairly wearied, and 
 then he thought he would run away for a moment, find his 
 brother and see what could be done with him, since the 
 lady was so exacting and obdurate, and accordingly he 
 disappeared. 
 
 Grace Barclay, who was all the while standing by her 
 sister's side, when Charley fled, ventured to remonstrate 
 with her upon her obduracy, declaring that she had always 
 heard that Gerald Sanderson was overpowered by his 
 diftidence and shyness, and that his case seemed to demand 
 encouragement rather than rebuffs ; but, as Grace always 
 leaned to the aggrieved, Georgiana held firmly to her un- 
 shaken resolution, and reiterated her opinion that the least 
 Gerald Sanderson could do, was to appear and personally 
 plead his own cause ; besides, she said, it would be very 
 beneficial for him to be obliged to make the effort. 
 
 Grace Barclay, finding she could do nothing for the shy 
 youth, laughed and strolled towards a group of young 
 things, and assisted them to disencumber themselves of an 
 immense quantity of shawls, cloaks and hoods with which 
 they had been loaded by their over-careful friends. Mean- 
 while, Georgiana awaited the coming of the brothers, and 
 as she was imagining how Gerald Sanderson, whom she
 
 4 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 had never seen, but of whom she had heard many strange 
 things, would comport himself, her attention was aroused 
 by a slight movement behind her ; she turned and looked 
 upon a face and form which, once beheld, could never be 
 forgotten. A tall youth was gazing upon her with the most 
 intense admiration ; he seemed to her a man, for he had 
 numbered twenty years : large masses of black, silky hair 
 fell heavily over a brow of great breadth and expansion, a 
 finely chiselled nose, a rather large mouth, with perfect 
 teeth ; but the eyes ! the eyes were marvellous. There was 
 an irresistible fascination about them ; it would have been 
 quite impossible to decide upon their color ; indeed they 
 were hardly alike, but their variety of expression, their 
 sentiment, and the flashing light v.hich emanated from 
 them, every one could see and feel. 
 
 Tieck somewhere in his fairy tales compares the eyes 
 of his heroine to those of green snakes, and endues them 
 with all the fascination which is said to belong to that tor- 
 tuous and sapient race. If Georgy Barclay had ever read 
 the German author above mentioned, the same idea would 
 have immediately presented itself to her mind ; but at that 
 period, her reading had hardly embraced the Teutonic, and 
 she was just emerging from the everlasting Florian and 
 Telemachus, which teachers persist iu inflicting upon their 
 vouno- charges, without the remotest chance of any taste for 
 the French language, or its literature being inspired by their 
 perusal. 
 
 This tall youth, meanwhile, never desisting from his ar- 
 dent and searching glances, bowed ])rofoundly to Georgy, 
 and, with a quiet smile, avowed that he liad heard the whole 
 conversation between herself and sistca* ; that he well knew 
 he was entirely unworthy of the honor she had denied his 
 brother's pleadings : but that he could not refrain from ex- 
 pressing his sorrow at the refusal of his request ; that he 
 should never more annoy her in the same way, and asked 
 but one thing of her, that she would not forget him; then
 
 OF BOSTON. O 
 
 kissing the tips of his fingers to her, he gracefully glided 
 away. 
 
 As the young creature looked after him, in amazement, 
 he suddenly re-appeared, and said, 'I have but one more 
 favor to ask of you, Miss Barclay, and it is, that you will 
 never mention this meeting to my brother ; he will surely 
 be offended with me, and I pray you, allow me to rely on 
 your kindness in this matter.' Georgy bowed her assent, 
 and he departed. Soon came Charley, quite breathless in 
 the exertions he had made to find his lost brother, as he 
 called him ; he declared Gerald had been spirited away, 
 that, at first, he presumed he had wearied of waiting, and 
 so great was his desire to induce him to join the party, 
 that he had actually gone home for him. Then, not finding 
 him there, he returned and searched all the rooms unavail- 
 ingly. 'And now,' exclaimed he, ' I find you. Miss Barclay, 
 standing exactly where I left you ; you must, I am fearful, 
 think me very, very rude to have permitted you to wait so 
 long for me ; but really Gerald is so odd, that, at times, 
 I find him very difficult to manage, and my temper is a little 
 bit tried with his vagaries. Now, to-night, Gerald vowed 
 ho would not come unless I could persuade you to dance 
 with him, and when I go for him he has disappeared, not 
 even having had the politeness to await my coming. With 
 your answer, it will be a long time before I venture upon 
 another such silly errand for him.' 
 
 Then relenting, for Charley dearly loved this much abused 
 brother, he added, 'But after all, poor Gerald is so shy!' 
 Georgy thought she could give, if she would, quite another 
 version of this shy relative, but said nothing, and as Charley 
 was entirely occupied with endeavoring to account for the 
 truant's mysterious disappearance, he did not observe that 
 the lady of his thoughts seemed to have hers equally ab- 
 sorbed. Yet such was the thorough good-nature of Charley 
 Sanderson, that, before the evening was half finished, he 
 had totally forgotten the whole of poor Gerald's misde- 
 1*
 
 b THE BARCLAYS 
 
 meanors, and never remembered to reproach him with them 
 any more. 
 
 In any other family than that of the Sandersons this Uttle 
 adventure might have created much amusement; but Gerald 
 had so few pleasures, was so immersed in his books and 
 studies, was so averse to all sociability, having no friend but 
 his brother whom he adored, that, even when Gerald had 
 done his very worst, Charley could never make up his mind 
 to hiflict the slightest annoyance upon him ; so the whole 
 affair was passed over, as many similar things had been 
 before, without comment. 
 
 Charley offered his arm to Miss Georgy, and Grace fol- 
 lowing them, they all made their obeisances in due form to 
 the amiable hostess, who had given herself the trouble to 
 collect together this youthful party ; they then proceeded to 
 the ball-room. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley, the lady at whose house this juvenile society 
 was united, had no children, and like many women in the 
 same happy, or unhappy, predicament, was immensely ad- 
 dicted to entertaining all the little people in her own par- 
 ticular hemisphere, which, it must be conceded, extended 
 far and wide. She was, as may be supposed, vastly popular, 
 and though many well-judging mothers totally condemned 
 her hospitalities, still they were cried into and coaxed into 
 compliance with the ardent desires and wishes of their dar- 
 lings. To be present at one of ]\Irs. Ashley's children's 
 balls was the event of a life, not a very long one, to be 
 sure, and, as the agony consequent upon a denial of this 
 supreme felicity was much more than could be inflicted 
 upon the rising generation, by their wise ))rogenitors, the 
 question was ever, ' Why does Mrs. Ashley give these 
 
 balls r 
 
 Nobody amongst the mothers seemed dulv grateful. It 
 was objected, that these balls were too expensively ordered, 
 the refreshments too elaborate, and the dresses too fine, in 
 fact, saving that the heads of the guests, in many instances.
 
 OF BOSTON. 7 
 
 but reached the top of the festive board, there was small 
 difference between the ' baby balls ' and those with which 
 Mrs. Ashley favored her five hundred friends who had 
 reached years of discretion on other occasions. Many 
 were the remonstrances made to the lady, but give them 
 she would and did, and, moreover, found plenty of guests 
 amidst the ranks of her most decided opposers. 
 
 Charley Sanderson, in all the ardor of his devotions, it is 
 grievous to relate, had totally forgotten Grace Barclay ; but 
 Gracy, the darling ! little recked she of his obliviousness ; 
 he had escorted Get)rgy, and was not that cause sufficient 
 for not remembering a hundred other pretty little girls ? 
 And Grace followed her sister, which, by the bye, was the 
 very best way of distinguishing the two girls apart, as cun- 
 ning Jane Redmond, an older schoolmate of the Barclays 
 remarked to her brother Robert that very evening, when he 
 was stating his complete inability to say if Georgy or Grace 
 Barclay were dancing with Charley Sanderson. 
 
 'You must know,' said Jane Redmond, 'that Gracy so 
 ridiculously worships Georgy that she actually fancies herself 
 a thousand times less beautiful, accomplished and excellent 
 than her sister, and has such a trick of always following 
 her!' 
 
 ' I thank you for once, sister mine,' replied Robert Red- 
 mond ; ' I will not forget this precious bit of information.' 
 
 'And then,' said Jane, still continuing her gossip, 'how 
 can you know otherwise which is which ? Look at Georgy's 
 transcendently beauteous blue eyes!' (Miss Jane was ever 
 prodigal of superlatives), ' and then those long, rich, golden 
 curls are exactly similar to Gracy's, then their undulating 
 and fairy-like forms, and their small feet ! Then their 
 height, precisely alike, they certainly are both perfect, and 
 how 1 do hate them ! ' 
 
 ' Hate them ! ' almost screamed her brother ; * why I 
 thought you were very intimate with them, and all that sort 
 of thing, Jane ; it's quite shocking to hear you talk so 
 violently.'
 
 8 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Mr. Robert was twenty and a little bit over, and imagined 
 himself quite a senior in this assemblage, and had been 
 thinking that both he and his sister were quite out of their 
 own set amidst troops of children, when the appearance of 
 the sisters changed his views. 
 
 ' And so I am intimate, but do detest Georgy, though I'm 
 not quite so sure that I entertain the same feeling for Gracy ; 
 it is more difficult to do so, for she is half an angel at least, 
 the most disinterested person I ever saw ; she never thinks 
 of herself.' 
 
 ' I never demand a reason for any of your unreasonable 
 prejudices,' observed Robert Redmond, and immediately 
 strolled across the room, and invited the ' half an angel ' to 
 dance with him, a very bold manikin that ! 
 
 Gracy Barclay danced with Robert Redmond and with 
 sundry little gentlemen all the evening; enjoyed herself, and 
 imagined that all the admiration she excited must proceed 
 from the fortuitous circumstance of her being Georg}^'s 
 sister. Although this affectionate young creature was con- 
 stantly mistaken for Georgiana, even by the most intimate 
 friends of her family, and although frequently, in their 
 childish jests, they could exchange their seats, even in con- 
 versation with visitors, and remain undiscovered ; yet still 
 she persisted in believing her sister to be infinitely superior 
 to herself in every way, morally and physically. That this 
 lovely pair should have been pronounced the belles of the 
 evening was not extraordinary, for there were added to their 
 great personal charms goodness, gentleness and sweetness, 
 and remarkable self-possession, and if Georgiana Barclay 
 had a slight shade more pretension than her sister Grace, it 
 was overlooked in favor of her amiability. 
 
 There was the most undisguised admiration of their charms 
 exhibited by their attendant admirers, and a vast deal of 
 flattery from the young girls who are often as decided 
 adorers. In fact, nothing is more common among school- 
 girls than the getting up of extravaganzas and partisanship.
 
 OF BOSTON. 9 
 
 just as they begin to discard their dolls and kittens, and 
 their superabounding energies and affections must be lavish- 
 ed on something. The dance proceeded, and when late in 
 the night this juvenile party broke up, there appeared to be 
 pretty much the same amount of lassitude and weariness as 
 upon similar occasions when older people do congregate, 
 though proceeding from other causes. 
 
 In the first place, they had all remained too late ; they had 
 eaten too much of all manner of rich and unhealthful food 
 at an unwonted hour ; many had danced until they could not 
 stir a foot, and were utterly incapacitated for any work what- 
 ever at school the next day, and more, might possibly feel 
 the ill effects of this unnatural dissipation for weeks. Sec- 
 ondly, though the Barclays and others had danced to sati- 
 ety, some poor young things had been obliged to sit still 
 nearly all the evening, except when the good-natured and 
 attentive hostess had interfered and protested against exclu- 
 siveness ; which was, to say the least, rather mortifying to 
 the neglected juvenilities. 
 
 The youngest of the girls stoutly objected to being forced 
 upon their reluctant partners quite as obstinately as if they 
 had been older. As to the boys, who declined dancing 
 with these tiny tits, they had, if they had been cognisant of 
 the important historical fact, the authority of no less a per- 
 sonage than the Grand ^Monarch, Louis the Fourteenth him- 
 self, who, in his fifteenth year, pouted and scouted at the 
 proposition made him by his august mother, to lead forth a 
 small girl of twelve, and a princess to boot. Thus it appears 
 that the great and little world have been always the same. 
 ' There is nothing new under the sun,' sayeth the proverb. 
 
 Superadded to these objections were the facts, that the 
 children had indulged in strictures upon dress, cakes, and 
 confections, and, worse still, upon persons ; costume and 
 character had been criticised alike ; and, as amusements are 
 not very abundant, and certainly not extremely various in 
 America, it would appear to be rather the safest plan not to
 
 10 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 exhaust them too early in life. There is no reason why- 
 children should not enjoy themselves, and be made cheerful 
 and happy, but this result can only be attained by simplicity 
 in their pleasures, simplicity in their diet and dress, and 
 early hours. All deviations from these rules create fictitious 
 wants and desires, and encompass with clouds the rainbow 
 in the bright sky of their young days.
 
 OF BOSTON. 11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ' Sparrows must not build in liis house ecaves.' 
 
 SlIAIvSPEAUE. 
 
 In the northern part of Boston, amidst dwellings which 
 were, in bye-past days, occupied by its most influential 
 inhabitants, stood a large square, precise looking house ; it 
 was of wood, but painted and sanded in imitation of gray 
 stone ; the windows were wide and airy, and their glass 
 panes glittering with extreme cleanliness. 
 
 The approach to quite an imposing front entrance, with 
 an immense brass lion-headed knocker, was laid down in 
 square blocks of granite, the sides bordered with boxwood 
 and grass, the stones, the grass and the boxwood all as 
 freshly clean as the window-panes. On the whole, this 
 establishment might well have been called ' a marvellous 
 proper one,' as it frequently was. 
 
 Many were the gazers at that old place, (for it had even 
 some architectural pretensions,) who, regarding it most rev- 
 erentially, would say, in under-toned voices, ' That is the 
 rich Philip Egerton's house.' Such is the magical power 
 of great wealth over the masses, that even the possessor 
 of a fine house is mentioned after a different fashion from 
 his less favored brethren. 
 
 The grand front door of Mr. Philip Egerton's residence, 
 swinging back on its heavy, creaking hinges, presented to 
 the persons who entered, and very few they were, a large, 
 dark and deep hall, with a remarkably handsome flight of
 
 12 TilE BARCLAYS 
 
 Stairs ornamented with rich carvings, and having not only 
 broad landings, but permitting two persons to ascend side by 
 side, a little circumstance which would vastly improve many 
 dwellings now, situated in more favored resorts. On the 
 right-hand side of this hall was a gloomy, square parlor, 
 panelled richly with curiously painted pictures, which 
 artistic work must have been executed at least a hundred 
 years before the date of this veracious description ; the 
 furniture, coeval whh the pannelling, was composed of two 
 small tables, an uncommonly uncomfortable sofa, and pre- 
 cisely one dozen equally disagreeable chairs, all planted so 
 curiously and firmly against the walls that they looked as if 
 they never had been, never could be, and never would be 
 moved. In fact, if at any period a displacing had actually 
 occurred, no one remembered the portentous event, but then 
 they, one and all, chairs, tables and sofa, were polished to 
 such a pitch of perfection as quite beggars description. 
 The carpet on this sombre state apartment was as sad col- 
 ored as the plenishing, and very unyielding. The corres- 
 ponding room on the left side of the hall, contained a 
 threadbare covering on its floor, a square dining-tablc and 
 four chairs, a huge sideboard and an immense full-length 
 portrait of a remarkably grim and severe looking gentle- 
 man, whose face, and, in truth, all his person would have 
 been decidedly improved by a portion of the scrubbing so 
 liberally bestowed upon the furniture ; but, as he was mani- 
 festly a very unapproachable personage, nobody had been 
 found bold enough to touch him. The back room on the 
 left was exclusively appropriated to the master of this 
 establishment, and exhibited the same peculiar absence of 
 all enticing provocatives to comfort and luxury ; its aspect 
 presenting a very decided impression that a most stiff and 
 stark individual was domiciliated therein, and this view 
 of the case might ever remain unshaken, for no one could 
 be found more perfectly unbending than was the possessor 
 of this ungracious apartment. Most persons luxuriate in
 
 OF BOSTOxN'. 13 
 
 the luxuries of the land ; Mr. Philip Egerton revelled in 
 its nakedness. 
 
 Opposite to this repulsive sanctum was a delightful old- 
 fashioned kitchen, abounding in dark-corner cupboards and 
 crannies. Nobody had ever been able to make this spot 
 uncomfortable or gloomy, for its occupants, two ancient 
 servants, would have defied the touch of any fingers besides 
 their own upon its saucepans and brass kettles. An im- 
 mense fireplace, large enough to niche one's self in, a 
 heavy wooden settle by its side with a quantity of low stools 
 and seats surrounding it, created a picture of warmth and 
 comfort which certainly formed a striking contrast to Mr. 
 Egerton's private room. Every brass kettle was a mirror 
 in which the fairest lady in the land might have satisfacto- 
 rily beheld her bright face, and as to the warming-pan, it 
 was positively resplendent ! A Dutch artist would have 
 devoured it with his eyes, and have been made miserable 
 for months by his utter incompetency to imitate its bril- 
 liancy. The tables, chairs and floor were exactly in the 
 condition when all good housewives declare ' they can be 
 eaten off".' 
 
 But however fascinating this kitchen, it was eclipsed and 
 immeasurably surpassed by the garden in the rear of the 
 dwelling. This garden contained no new-fangled, scentless 
 thinffs miscalled flowers, remarkable only for their size and 
 ugliness, but in their place delightful jessamines, sweet-brier, 
 honevsuckle, hundred-leaved roses, lilacs, English violets, 
 and fragrant boxwood perfumed the air with their balmy 
 odors. Then lovely laburnums, laden with graceful blos- 
 soms, waved in the breeze, grape vines covered innumer- 
 able arbors and broad alleys, and Virginia creepers reached 
 to the chimney-tops, while the lily of the valley sheltered 
 itself in their roots. 
 
 Then such Saint Germain pears, brown Burys and Seck- 
 els as ripened in this favored spot ! the latter so hunch- 
 2
 
 14 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 backed that it is pleasant to remember them even now, 
 when it is the fashion to grow them so smooth and well 
 favored : they may have gained in beauty, but never a bit 
 in sweetness. 
 
 This garden, with its dear old trees, its pleasant, shady 
 walks, its hotbeds and gorgeous flowers, to which were 
 added quantities of delicious vegetables, was the admiration 
 of the whole neighborhood, and well might it so be. In the 
 country a garden is a matter of course, an every-day 
 occurrence, a thing to love, to be sure, but in the town to be 
 adored. Amid the noise, dust, and bustle of a city, it is 
 like ' breathing the gales of Araby the blest ' to come sud- 
 denly upon a few flowers ; they seem to be quadrupled in 
 value, their perfume concentrated, their colors heightened, 
 their very existence, by force of contrast, a balm in Gilead, 
 harmonizing and elevating the mind, and distracting it from 
 the worldly cares which surround it. As one by one these 
 gardens, these beautiful creations have disappeared before 
 an increasing population, how many have deplored and 
 lamented their destruction ; to the poor they were the only 
 glimpses of Nature their restricted condition permitted. 
 And their fruit, even now v.here some old plum tree 
 shelters itself in a spot so secluded that no temptation can, 
 by any chance, exist whereby an axe may reach it, the 
 flavor is pronounced to be incomparable. Would tlio po- 
 mologists had spared the ever regretted Seckels, and al- 
 lowed tbein to grow deformed after their own most ugly and 
 approved fashion. Mr. Philip Egcrton, the enviable pro- 
 prietor of this old and favored Eden, which, like ' the last 
 rose of summer was left blooming alone,' was a gentleman, 
 understood by the whole population of his native city to be 
 immensely rich and proportionably avaricious ; his wealth 
 was said to be colossal, and he himself was sometimes com- 
 pared to an iceberg, and sometimes to an avalanche, as the 
 case might be. Certain it is, he was uncommon frigid, even 
 for Boston, in his ways, and very haughty in his manners,
 
 OF BOSTON. 15 
 
 and, moreover, had very little to say to any one out of his 
 own four walls, and not too much to those who dwelt 
 therein. 
 
 Mr. Egerton was a tall, thin personage, with snow-white 
 hair, ' most disposedly worn,' good, salient features, cold 
 gray eyes, an immovable physiognomy, great quietude of 
 habits, and a thoroughly high-bred air. He was never in 
 the least degree excited, and seemed to be completely de- 
 nuded of a shade of enthusiasm, or even feeling. This 
 gentleman's dress was in perfect keeping with his character; 
 he always wore a light gray suit, a neckcloth of dazzling 
 whiteness, polished shoes, and stockings and gloves of sur- 
 passing purity ; indeed, if there were a particle of personal 
 vanity adhering to him, it might be peradventure touching 
 his hands and feet, which were singularly beautiful. 
 
 Of the tie of Mr. Egerton's neckcloth, it was stated and 
 thoroughly believed, that it could not ever be made by any 
 other person than himself, such was its extreme precision. 
 To be sure old Dinah, the queen of the chimney-peak in 
 his, or her kitchen, claimed a fair portion of its perfecti- 
 bility, inasmuch as she certainly bent all the powers of her 
 mind to the bleaching, starching and ironing of the muslin, 
 and was eminently successful in the important operation. 
 
 A lady was once told by a gentleman that he considered 
 her education perfectly finished with one exception, and 
 that, after having given profound attention to a certain little 
 volume which he would send her, it would be thoroughly 
 completed ; the volume on reception contained thirty-six 
 ways of tying a cravat. The accomplished author of this 
 recondite production, declared it to have been the result of 
 a long life's experience, and it is not improbable that Mr. 
 Egerton may have profited by it also. At any rate, the 
 rich man seemed to have tied up his heart as closely as his 
 neck if any he had it was so firmly encased that no 
 one got a peep at it. Mr. Egerton's reserve was natural, 
 and, moreover, seemed to be cultivated, petted and encour-
 
 16 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 aged, for, however narrowly he might be watched, no trace 
 of human weakness ever became visible to human ken. 
 Life with him was compressed into a homoeopathic space, 
 as it ever must be where sympathy is absent. Of all 
 charms in human character sympathy works the greatest 
 miracles. How many do we behold of inferior persons, 
 qualities and minds, with this Aaron's rod swallowing up 
 every thing ! We may bestow the meed of approbation and 
 admiration on brilliant qualities, beauty and accomplish- 
 ments ; we behold with our eyes, but we feel not with our 
 hearts when the one crowning charm is lacking, ' powerful 
 at greatest distance.' 
 
 Mr. Egerton walked in his own circumscribed world alone, 
 as he well deserved to do ; he had concentrated all his inte- 
 rests in himself; nothing cajoled him, nothing provoked him 
 out of himself; he had polished himself to a Parian marble 
 surface, and all was conventionalism, primness and stiffness, 
 and he certainly had completed a very unlovable character. 
 
 If Mr. Egerton looked beyond this world for something 
 unfound here, none knew ; all beheld the terrestrial, none 
 saw the celestial. Some tale there was of disappointed affec- 
 tion, as there generally is touching cross-grained old bachel- 
 ors, which it is rather advisable not to believe at all. There 
 exists no reason why all the faults of every man, who 
 chooses, from causes best known to himself, to remain sin- 
 gle, should be laid at the door of poor forlorn woman ; she 
 has sufficient, in all conscience, to bear in her earthly career 
 without this unseemly addition. But thus it is, and men 
 always excuse thoir own vagaries by turning them over to 
 the other sex. If men died of love in glorious Shakspeare's 
 time, and were delivered over to disgustingly creeping things, 
 they have long, long ceased to commit such follies, and 
 abandoned the venture as unprofitable in our commercial 
 country. So, whenever tliis part of Mr. Egerton's private 
 history was mentioned in polite circles, it was positively 
 vetoed by the fair sex, who, one and all, protested that, hav-
 
 OF BOSTON. 17 
 
 ing never owned a heart, he could never consequently be 
 said to have lost one. In fact, it must be acknowledged, that, 
 when he became the topic of conversation, he was not very 
 gently handled, he being ever declared miserly, cold and 
 stifT, and his manners, though severely polite, were pro- 
 nounced freezing and altogether intolerable. When, upon 
 festal occasions, he was recommended by some jesting Ben- 
 edict as an excellent ' would-be ' husband for a young bloom- 
 ing bit of mischief, the proposition was scouted and flouted 
 as wholly untenable, and Mr. Egerton's love passage de- 
 clared to be a positive myth. Indeed, one very lively lady 
 was heard to exclaim, that she did not concur in all the ill- 
 humor and crabbedness that men choose to assume being 
 ascribed to her sex ; they must, she knew by dire experi- 
 ence, have something or somebody on which to throw their 
 ill-natured mantles, and she, herself, was quite sure that, in 
 the event of her decease, her own husband would be obliged 
 to purchase an ape but then she was an English wo- 
 man ! 
 
 Alas ! for poor Philip Egerton ! But after all, little cared 
 he for sympathy or criticism ; the state of his mind disposed 
 him to think woman quite an inferior part of the creation, 
 ornamental if you will, but nothing more ; therefore he would 
 hardly have troubled himself, even if he had heard, which 
 he did not, all the eloquent strictures lavished upon his short 
 comings. 
 
 Now, this gentleman began his career with a profound 
 contempt for woman and her ways ; and it is always noted, 
 that when such a commencement is made, if a man happens 
 to have a sister, she is sure to be visited with a compound 
 interest portion, and Mr. Egerton possessing this relative, 
 she shared the fate of her fellow-suiTerers. The immense 
 wealth of this Croesus, with the exception of his paternal 
 estate, which has been described, was supposed to be locked 
 up securely in bonds, mortgages and banks, and other un- 
 known and inaccessible places ; one thing was positively 
 2*
 
 18 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ascertained, no one was relieved by it, no one hired it, no 
 one borrowed it, and nobody knew where it was. 
 
 I\Ir. Egerton went early in life to China, was reputed to 
 have there made, amongst that tea-drinking and petticoat- 
 wearing race, an astounding fortune, to have brought it all 
 home in beautifully real gold pieces, and to have securely 
 deposited it in places unknown ; and being uncommonly 
 uncommunicative and curt, nobody had dared to ask its 
 whereabouts. 
 
 Surely nothing could give a more striking idea of the cold- 
 ness and haughtiness of the wealthy man, than that this all- 
 important question had never been propounded to him by 
 somebody ; but so it was, and it must be reiterated, nobody 
 had mustered sufficient courage to do the deed. 
 
 We Americans ask a few questions where money is the 
 topic, whatever we may or may not do on other occasions, 
 and it was surprising ! Still Mr. Egerton lived on from day 
 to day in good health, without ever disclosing to people wlio 
 Avere dying of curiosity, and publicly declared themselves so 
 to be, one iota respecting his monetary affairs, and these 
 same bags of real gold pieces which he had brought home 
 with him. ]\Iany persons privately believed they were buri- 
 ed in some deep and hidden pit in his own lovely garden ; 
 and as private belief is marvellously apt to become public, 
 especially if it appertains to our neighbor's concerns, this 
 state of the case came, in time, to be received as a positive 
 fact, and Mr. Egerton derived all the advantages which ac- 
 crued from such a belief. 
 
 In the first place, the glass in his hotbeds was often found 
 broken in the morning, the fences pulled down and other- 
 wise injured, the flowers trampled upon and destroyed, and 
 now and then a large hole was discovered to have been dug 
 by the nocturnal amateurs of gold pieces, the incipient Cali- 
 fornians ! Secondly, his sleep and that of his family was 
 completely broken up, and what with the arrival and the 
 non-arrival of the gold-seekers, for the charm worked equal-
 
 OF BOSTON. 19 
 
 
 
 ly well both ways, his very existence was made a burthen 
 to him. 
 
 Nobody pitied Mr. Egerton ; but there were other mem- 
 bers of his persecuted household, for whom his neighbors 
 had more or less sympathy and kindly feelings ; so they 
 resolved themselves into midnight watches and all the other 
 means resorted to upon such momentous occasions, and after 
 several months' assiduous exertions, amidst snow-storms and 
 tempests, they succeeded in capturing a remarkably small 
 boy, who was not even white, but black, with a divining rod 
 in his hand. This insignificant individual stoutly protested, 
 with many groans and yells, that he had been employed by 
 some persons, of whose names he was utterly igribrant, to 
 seek for gold buried somewhere in the garden ; and as 
 nothing was to be elicited from him, but cries for mercy, he 
 was summarily dismissed, with an impressive injunction to 
 go forth and sin no more. 
 
 Notwithstanding the extreme meagreness of this capture, 
 the womenkind in Mr. Egerton's household persisted in re- 
 maining in a nervous state of alarm ; he, however, heeded 
 not their fears, but decided to dismiss his neighbors with 
 thanks for their kind offices. They were amazingly aston- 
 ished that he condescended to bestow any thing, and proba- 
 bly, from the rarity of such an unwonted circumstance as 
 the act of giving implied, tlie performance was sadly defi- 
 cient in graciousness. 
 
 It is now quite time that the reader should be informed of 
 whom ]Mr. Egerton's alarmed household consisted. That ho 
 had a sister has already been mentioned, as being the amia- 
 ble recipient of a very large share of the contumely he was 
 habitually wont to lavish upon her sex. This relative was a 
 widow, and this was an additional source of discontent, as 
 the bachelor hated widows particularly. She was the mo- 
 ther of Gerald and Charles Sanderson, who also shared the 
 very problematical hospitality of the rich Chinaman's melan-
 
 20 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 choly home. But she, assuredly, merits a chapter devoted 
 exclusively to herself, and shall accordingly have it. 
 
 It must be recorded, that Mr. Egerton substituted for his 
 neighborly light guard a superb Newfoundland dog, and 
 never saw any more divining rods.
 
 OF BOSTON. 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ' He, the young and strong, -who cherished 
 Xoble longings for the strife, 
 By the roadside fell and perished, 
 Weary with the march of life.' 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Emma Egerton, early in life, had married Gerald San- 
 derson ; it was a trusting and loving heart she. carried to 
 her husband, and nobly and fervently was its tenderness 
 returned ; he had a very small patrimony, entirely insuffi- 
 cient for his support ; but he was young, a rising lawyer, 
 and an American, who never despairs. Flad his life been 
 preserved, he would have carved out a fortune for himself 
 and risen to high trusts, for he had both the character and 
 ability for success; but this, for inscrutable purposes, was 
 denied, and he sunk by the roadside at early noon. A 
 nobler and more manly head was never laid in the dust, 
 as all who knew and loved him could testify. Mr. San- 
 derson left to his sorrowing wife all he possessed, full well 
 knowing she would minister to the comfort of his orphaned 
 boys, Gerald and Charles, more devotedly than any one 
 else. And he reposed in his lowly tomb, amid the shades 
 of Mount Auburn, and the flowers were planted, and the 
 cypress waved over the hallowed spot to which his bereaved 
 wife turned, for aye, in the midst of her weary years of 
 tribulation and care. At first, Mrs. Sanderson's grief was 
 so overwhelming, that serious fears were entertained for 
 her life ; the thought of her bereaved children brought her 
 back to the world and its trials, of which she, the solitary
 
 22 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 mourner, was doomed to take her fair portion. Emma 
 Sanderson had married just after her father's death, and a 
 short time succeeding her brother Philhp's return from 
 Canton ; she had been affianced to her departed husband 
 several years before, but, as he was too poor to marry, they 
 had defei'red, from time to time, the ceremony. On the 
 decease of her father it was found that he had bequeathed 
 his estate, almost the only property he possessed, to his son, 
 and with the exception of a few hundreds, she was literally 
 pennyless. It was then that Gerald Sanderson and she 
 decided to unite their destinies without any more delay, and 
 to trust to Providence for success. It was granted, for a 
 space, sufficiently for the young widow to possess an oasis 
 in the desert of her existence to which she could fondly 
 turn in after years. 
 
 The intimacy, if such it could be called, which had existed 
 between the high-sprited, warm-hearted and generous Gerald 
 Sanderson, and the cold-blooded, proud and haughty Philip 
 Egerton, was not very great, or impressive ; it was courteous 
 and quiet. When Gerald died, Philip left his sister to her- 
 self: perhaps this was all for the best. Some natures 
 demand constant intercourse in their aftliction ; others, com- 
 plete retirement to fight the good fight and to quell rebellious 
 spirits. In all cases it is but fitting that the sufferers decide 
 the question ; there should be no interference whatever. 
 This, of course, applies to the first stages of great grief ; 
 there always comes a time for friends and sympathy ; the 
 mind and heart, in most instances, being best brought to 
 entire submission to the Divine will in solitude and prayer. 
 This state, once attained, a healthy reaction ensues, and a 
 degree of outward peace, at least, is restored. 
 
 At the expiration of two months Philip Egerton saw 
 his sister; she was perfectly composed, and, after the first 
 ebullition of griefs consequent upon their meeting, she was 
 compelled to be calm also. 
 
 ' I come, Emma,' he said, ' to offer you and your boys
 
 OF BOSTON. 23 
 
 a shelter beneath my own roof-tree ; I can and shall do 
 nothing more. I am thus concise and explicit, as I know 
 no greater misfortune can befall these children than that 
 of being brought up in the expectation of great wealth, 
 I shall consequently hold forth no such inducement for you 
 to cross my threshold. I say exactly what I mean ; being 
 an honorable and, as you full well know, an upright man, 
 I propose to endow your sons with a very small sum of 
 money at my decease, and had always intended to do 
 this before their father's death, and his departure makes 
 no change whatever in my views and intentions. My house 
 is very large and commodious ; there is ample verge and 
 space for noisy boys, so you can have no fears on my 
 account ; they will not annoy me, and when they do, there 
 is always the garden. I freely invite you to come to me, 
 and hope you will decide to accept my proposition. You 
 are asked to enter your father's house ; you have a very 
 small income which will clothe yourself and children ; for 
 their education, they must be indebted to their native city, 
 which nobly provides for its sons; they must work. This 
 is the age of action ; all work, high and low, rich and poor, 
 in America ; your children will be both happier and better. 
 I am, myself, a solitary man, with unalterably fixed habits ; 
 with these habits you must attempt no interference what- 
 ever ; you will be a guest in my dwelling, a welcome one, 
 but I shall not permit a single order to emanate from any 
 person but myself. In my domains I am the monarch of all 
 I survey ; and, as I care for nothing out of them, I am all 
 the more jealous of my authority being therein usurped. I 
 detest the people here, and will have no intercourse with 
 them, but wish you to see all your friends, as freely in my 
 house as you have done in your own. You can have suites 
 of rooms in the old place, and, as the furniture may not 
 accord with your newly fashioned ideas of elegance, bring 
 your own and make your part of the establishment as home- 
 like as vou can.'
 
 24 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 This was an immensely long speech for Philip Egerton, 
 and nothing but the exigencies of the case would have 
 elicited it ; his style of conversation consisting in short, 
 sharp questionings, and equally curt answers. Emma San- 
 derson well knew her brother was perfectly sincere in his 
 ' proffers of service' to her ; she accordingly thanked him, 
 and told him she would return a decided answer in a week. 
 Then Mr. Egerton, having saluted her by just placing the 
 tips of his stiffly jointed fingers on the end of hers, departed, 
 having contrived to do a rather kind act in the most ungra- 
 cious and disagreeable manner; but it was a way he had, 
 and a very unpleasant one, indeed ! 
 
 Poor Emma! she sat shedding floods of tears and utter- 
 ing deep drawn sighs, when her brother left, as the memory 
 of happy days returned, alas ! forever past! This interview 
 with her sole relative had seemed to renew the first agony 
 of her despair, and she had felt herself enveloped in a 
 funeral mantle, in veriest truth, as she gazed upon the clear, 
 cold, gray eyes of Philip Egerton fixed upon her, while 
 he explained to her, in the most dictatorial and sententious 
 manner, his present and future plans and intentions. There 
 arose in the mind of the sorrowing and broken-hearted 
 woman such a yearning for human sympathy, such a longing 
 to lie down by the side of her lost treasure, that she fiung 
 herself despairingly on her bed, and for days laid prostrate 
 and helpless, dreading the mandate which must call her 
 ' back, back, to earth.' 
 
 Mrs. Sanderson was not a strong-minded woman, which 
 seems to be frequently a synonyme for a thoroughly unlov- 
 able person, but a sweetly affectionate and trusting creature, 
 pretty, fragile, and refined. She had a great taste for reading, 
 music, and drawing, and was an accomplished needle- 
 woman : this latter attainment was destined to be an 
 immense resource for her. She had been educated in great 
 retirement, and had made very few acquaintances ; and 
 those she had almost entirely neglected during her long
 
 OF BOSTON* 25 
 
 engagement to her husband, for hers had been a childish 
 love passage, in common with a vast many others in her 
 country, and, fortunately, more felicitous than they are apt 
 to be. In nine cases out of ten no school-girl marries the 
 boy to whom she has pledged her nursery faith, neither is 
 it desirable that she should. Our views of life, habits, 
 manners and tastes, all imperceptibly change as years pass, 
 in their winged flight, and we do not perceive our own 
 signal and certain metamorphosis until some slight and 
 apparently unimportant circumstance occurs, and we awake 
 from our dream and a change has come over the spirit of it. 
 There is no reflecting person who cannot remember such an 
 epoch in human feeling ; we marvel how we could have 
 ever enjoyed this thing, or liked that, and speculate upon, 
 what we are pleased to call, the incongruities of our nature. 
 
 Emma arose from this crisis of despair, and firmly resolv- 
 ed that it should be her last enduring weakness, so she ac- 
 cepted her cold-hearted brother's invitation, for what could 
 she do otherwise ? The small modicum left by her lament- 
 ed husband would, as Philip had stated, clothe herself and 
 children ; but how were they to be fed, and where, if not in 
 his house ? Its having been he father's, immensely recon- 
 ciled her to this alternative, lor had her father died without 
 a will, one half of that old homestead would have been law- 
 fully hers, and this she could not be supposed to forget, and 
 the fact recurred to her mind with additional force in the 
 painful certitude that she must abandon her own dwelling. 
 It was also an advantageous circumstance, that she would 
 not feel the weight of her obligation to her miserly brother 
 so greatly as she might have done, had the dwelling, to 
 which she was on the point of repairing, been purchased 
 with Philip's gold pieces ; so upon this subject her thoughts 
 also reposed quietly. 
 
 Then the house and rooms were very large, and the gar- 
 den was delightful; both for her children and herself; and 
 she was sure of having the entire possession of the latter, as, 
 3
 
 26 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 strange to confess, Mr. Egerton rarely entered it, except to 
 see the fruit gathered, confiding the vegetables to the tried 
 honesty of his servants ; and the flowers he totally disregard- 
 ed, caring nothing for them. As to walking in a garden! 
 he never dreamed of such a thing ; no gardens for him. He 
 arose by daybreak it is generally observed that the earli- 
 est risers are persons who have absolutely nothing to do 
 breakfasted leisurely, gave his orders to the servants for the 
 day, and walked, with his head elevated to a great height in 
 the air, to an insurance office, or the Athenaeum. Securing 
 a dozen newspapers, secreting some of them under the 
 cushion of his chair, and some in his pockets, and with one 
 under each arm, he began by occupying himself with the 
 ' respectable Daily Advertiser.' Sales, notices, exhibitions, 
 theatres, deaths and marriages were all food for this insatia- 
 ble reader. It was in vain that all Mr. Egerton's contem- 
 poraries, even the most remarkably experienced in such 
 operations, essayed to win this newspaperial race, and, 
 indeed, never renounced the hope of triumphing ; in fact, it 
 was the first thing they pondered upon before they arose in 
 the morning, or had even said their prayers ; but that gen- 
 tleman always cunningly contrived to distance them, and 
 won the cup, or in other words, journal. 
 
 It must be confessed he was a very uncommon quiet vic- 
 tor, neither singing nor shouting his pagans, but read on 
 forever and aye, until the above-mentioned worthies lost all 
 patience ; but, as they diurnally performed this same feat, 
 nobody seemed much concerned at the consequences of ' the 
 miser's' tenacity. In fact, the vanquished had solaced them- 
 selves by applying this gratifying and flattering title to Mr. 
 Egerton, and it seemed to be their only means of avenging 
 their wrongs. So thoroughly selfish was the possessor of 
 the title, that he carried his egotism even into the newspa- 
 pers, which certainly did not belong to him, and to which he 
 had no more prior claims than those whom he supplanted. 
 This one thing; alone would have created feuds manv a time
 
 OF BOSTON. 27 
 
 and oft, but it takes two persons to conduct a quarrel credit- 
 ably, and Mr. Egerton so thoroughly despised his enemies, 
 that he never descended from his lofty and inaccessible alti- 
 tudes to an altercation, and this added fuel to the flames, for 
 nothing is more offensive to angry men than such freezing 
 neglect. So ]\Ir. Egerton read on. 
 
 At two o'clock precisely, the gentleman wended his wind- 
 ing way to his own dwelling, and in half an hour might be 
 seen seated, in great state, in a high-backed chair, at the 
 head of his own board, discussing his repast in a most leis- 
 urely and moderate manner. Indeed, moderation was the 
 order of the refection, inasmuch as it was never over-abun- 
 dant, except in the vegetable season, when it abounded in 
 esculent delicacies, Mr, Egerton never sold the delicious 
 productions of his garden, though his maligners, particu- 
 larly the losers in the ' Daily ' race, affirmed solemnly upon 
 all possible and impossible occasions, that he did. A gentle 
 nap followed the repast, which was always enjoyed in-an 
 upright chair in what Mr, Egerton was pleased to denomi- 
 nate his library, though how a room came to bear the blush- 
 ing honors of such a high-sounding title, in which book there 
 was none, remained to be explained, Mr, Egerton working 
 up all his literature at the public expense, bought no books, 
 hired no books, and subscribed to no newspapers. 
 
 At four in the winter, and five in summer, he might be 
 regularly seen in Washington street, solemnly bent upon ' a 
 constitutional walk' to the Roxbury boundary line, an undis- 
 covered bourne from which travellers do return. This he 
 regarded somethinn; in the light of a pilgrimage to Hvgcia, 
 without the accompanying peas in the shoes, and quite 
 equivalent to the possession of any cardinal virtue extant. 
 In fact, he absolutely believed it to be his duty to impress 
 upon the mind of the only woman to whom he condescended 
 to impart his sentiments on small matters, to wit, his own 
 sister, that she could not be regarded as strictly correct in 
 his eyes, if she did not go and do likewise. Mrs, Sanderson
 
 28 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 concluded to pay this terrible penalty, and chose another 
 passage-way to heaven when she went forth, which was, 
 however, rarely, except on Sundays. 
 
 This grave excursion completed, (Mr. Egerton's vespers,) 
 he returned home, drank one small cup of very weak tea, 
 ate one morsel of dry bread without butter, by way of a sal- 
 utary example, and immediately retired into his ' library,' 
 with one candle, which, the maligners positively asserted, he 
 always extinguished the moment he shut the door of his 
 sanctum, and was seen no more. At nine of the old clock, 
 which stood on the first broad landing of the stairs and a 
 treasure of antiquity it was he ascended, with measured 
 steps and slow, to his dormitory, making his transit as im- 
 pressive and sonorous as he could, in order that his house- 
 hold might know he had retired. 
 
 No pleasant fireside chat for the bachelor ! 
 
 Soon came the lamented flitting for Mrs. Sanderson, too 
 soon by far : such a distressing parting from even the bare 
 walls, which had witnessed her departed liappincss ! She 
 left the small, delightful dwelling where her every wish had 
 been gratified, nay, even anticipated, to enter a house to 
 which Catherine of Russia's ice palace was a comfortable 
 residence for that had lights and fires to live with an 
 unsympathizlng, avaricious "nd egotistical man, and that 
 man her own brother ! thereby duplicating her misfortune, 
 Mrs. Sanderson, moreover, believed that her relative would 
 prove to be no litting example for her children, for how was 
 she to hold forth to them the merits of the very qualities he 
 lacked .' How was she to bid them avoid the very sins their 
 own uncle, every day, committed before their eyes ? Oh ! 
 there were trying moments, when she almost felt she could 
 not do this ; she could not enter her late father's house the 
 sacrifice was too great. 
 
 And then she remembered there was another Father's 
 house, even a heavenly one, of which the promise was 
 given, and that He would protect her darlings ; and she put
 
 OF BOSTON. 29 
 
 her trust in Him. It was necessary to begin her arrange- 
 ments at the old place before the winter should set in : and 
 many were the alterations to be made. All clashing with 
 Mr. Egerton's inner life was to be avoided; the children 
 must be far removed from him, as he could not be supposed 
 to be very tolerant of noisy young things, with drums, fifes, 
 and penny whistles. But here her brother's habits, so very 
 methodically exact, were decidedly in her favor, as she 
 would only be obliged to keep the little boys quiet when he 
 was at home ; when absent, they might run wild about the 
 upper part of the house, in the large chambers and garrets. 
 The children would hardly ever behold their uncle, except- 
 ing at meals, and they must be commanded to be orderly 
 and quiet, which was all for the best. Then she must en- 
 deavor to give as pleasant a view of Mr. Egerton's peculiar 
 character as she could, always impressing upon their young 
 minds and hearts his great kindness in affording them an 
 asylum when they had no shelter ; and then they must re- 
 member how large and commodious was thai shelter, and 
 how infinitely charming the dear old garden ! 
 
 So Mrs. Sanderson made surprising efforts, and had par- 
 tially succeeded in composing herself, when the hour arrived 
 for her departure, and she found herself once more in her 
 father's house. Alas ! groaned the bereaved young crea- 
 ture, if it were indeed my heavenly Father's house ! and 
 then she looked upon her boys, and mounted the grand stair- 
 case, and entered the sparsely furnished and frigid looking 
 chambers. Mr. Egerton was out on his constitutional walk, 
 and would not have omitted his ' vespers ' for all the widow- 
 ed sisters in Christendom.
 
 30 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 We know not love till those we love depart. 
 
 L. K. L. 
 
 It was a cold, dreary and drizzling autumnal evening, 
 with a pestilent east wind blowing in every direction, when 
 Mrs. Sanderson reached the old house. She was met at the 
 grand front entrance by Dinah, Mr. Egcrton's black cook, 
 and Peter, the house servant, butler, valet and gardener ; 
 they both were over-delighted to welcome her and the boys, 
 whose arrival they had been anticipating with immense 
 pleasure. 
 
 ' We've bell waitin and waitin hours for you, Miss 
 Emma,' cried Dinah, ' and begun to think you'd nebber 
 come ; but massy me, I'm thankful you're all here at last.' 
 
 Whereupon Dinah began to hug the little boys, but they 
 would not receive her enthusiastic demonstrations of aftec- 
 tion ; they were both weary and hungry. Mrs. Sanderson 
 had been busily occupied all the day, and, in fact for a 
 week, with but one awkv/ard servant, and, of course, all 
 their childish comforts had been abridged, and the last day 
 was like all such packing days, unendurable. iMrs. San- 
 derson, having been unwilling to forward a single package 
 before her arrival from the fear of annoying Philip, such 
 an awful personage was he, had arranged that all her etfects 
 should be sent the next morning in carts and wagons, and 
 had brought but the night gear of herself and children. 
 The French have a proverb ;>iat three removals are equal to 
 a fire ; Mrs. Sanderson fanc.cd her one a general confla- 
 gration, so many were the unlucky mischances attending
 
 OF BOSTON. 31 
 
 it. And then she had so poignantly missed the comfortinfT 
 and protecting arm of him who was now powerless! and, 
 with a weight of grief almost too heavy to live and bear, 
 she traversed the large cold chambers of her once beloved 
 home. 
 
 In her lamented father's time there had been, in the front 
 chamber, a handsome grate ; it was still there, and she 
 asked Peter to bring her some coal, the evening promising 
 to be particularly damp and gloomy. ' None in the house, 
 Miss Emma,' was the answer. ' Could she not have some 
 wood ? ' she inquired. ' None cut short enuf, Miss Emma.' 
 The truth was, that both of these kind-hearted servants 
 would have rejoiced to make a bonfire for ' Miss Emma,' 
 as they always called their young mistress, but were fearful 
 their master would be angry, especially as he had only 
 ordered the beds to be arranged for her. Mrs. Sanderson, 
 perceiving at once how matters stood, proposed taking her 
 children down into the kitchen ; this proved exactly the 
 thing for all parties. The boys were delighted with the 
 old fireplace, the high settle, and the low seats, and were 
 shortly niched in warm corners, with mugs of milk and 
 portions of bread, and there they were undressed and soon 
 fell asleep, and were carried up stairs and comfortably laid 
 in their beds. Their mother, however, felt she could not 
 pass the evening in the kitchen, and she told Dinah she 
 would repair to her chamber, and if Mr. Egerton asked for 
 her company she would go to him, but that she could eat 
 nothing, her appetite having deserted her. Mr. Egerton 
 returned home. She heard him enter the hall ; she waited a 
 couple of hours for a summons to join him, sitting in the 
 most disconsolate and melancholy mood on the side of her 
 bed. He neither came nor sent any message, so the 
 bereaved young creature, having commended herself and 
 orphans to the Father of the fatherless, crept into her bed 
 and fairly cried herself to sleep like a little child. And this 
 was Mrs, Sanderson's first night in her brother's house !
 
 32 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 The next morning Mrs, Sanderson was awakened by the 
 two boys running into her chamber in high glee. The sun 
 was shining brightly ; Peter had procured some coal, and 
 desired his mistress, through Dinah, to order her to make a 
 fire ; this was soon executed, and at least they were 
 warmed. Their respective toilettes finished, the young 
 things having been scrubbed and polished most accurately 
 by their careful mother, they all descended to breakfast in 
 the dining-room. Mr. Egerton received his sister solemnly ; 
 inquired the state of her health, and noticed very slightly 
 her children, who certainly looked sufficiently askance at 
 him, but had been instructed by their mother not to make 
 the least noise ; so things proceeded smoothly. The boys 
 ate their breakfast very deliberately, every now and then 
 casting sidelong glances apprehensively at the tall, thin 
 gentleman, who looked as if he had never bent himself in 
 his life. There is a spirit of free-masonry about the Ihtlc 
 people ; they know instantly who likes them and who does 
 not ; so the boys at once perceived intuitively that this grim, 
 severe looking personage was no decided admirer of juve- 
 nilities, and governed themselves accordingly. 
 
 The meal discussed, Mrs. Sanderson retreated into her 
 own fastnesses, and then soon appeared her own goods and 
 chattels, she having ordered them to be expedited when she 
 was sure of her brother's absence from home. The boys 
 were sent into the garden, and once there, required no pro- 
 tector, four high walls keeping them securely within bounds. 
 They were delighted with this arrangement, and, as their 
 mother snatched a moment now and then from her labors to 
 look tenderly upon her darlings, she felt most grateful to 
 her brother for the precious boon of that dear old garden. 
 
 And it was, indeed, a great resource, for she would 
 otherwise have been obliged to take her children out in 
 the streets for air and exercise, and, as she absolutely 
 loathed the idea of seeing or being seen, it was cheering 
 to know that she should not be oblicced to exhibit her
 
 OF BOSTON. 33 
 
 wretchedness abroad ; thus she had a charming retreat in 
 summer for herself and children, and even a pleasant one 
 in winter. As Philip had not permitted her to sell her 
 furniture, she was almost embarrassed with the multitude 
 of her possessions ; but they were at last all safely landed 
 in the second story of her new old home without more 
 breakage than usually accompanies such a state of tran- 
 sition. 
 
 At dinner Mr. Egerton was politely attentive, asked no 
 questions, and appeared to take no interest whatever in her 
 arrangements ; the repast finished, he walked into his li- 
 brary, and Mrs. Sanderson repaired to her chamber. They 
 had tea quite early, after which her brother bade her good 
 night and retired. She heard him ascend the staircase at 
 nine of the clock precisely, and thus was concluded her first 
 day in her brother's house. 
 
 And the davs sped on in the same monotonous routine, as 
 days will ever, happy or unhappy as the case may be. 
 Mrs. Sanderson made a charmingly comfortable parlor of 
 , the jront chamber, arranged her piano, books, drawing and 
 working materials in a tasteful manner; the back one was 
 also furnished with her own belongings; the two in the third 
 story wci'e appropriated to the boys for sleeping and playing, 
 and all looked remarkably pretty. [Mrs. Sanderson invited 
 her brother to examine her apartments, but he courteously 
 declined, assuring her that ho presumed they were very 
 pleasantly arranged from Iicr well known taste, and never 
 was seen to enter them. AVhen all was completed and 
 nothing more by any chance remained to be done, then 
 came a reaction, and it seemed to the solitary mourner as 
 if the evenings would never come to an end. She had ever 
 been in the habit of retirino; at midniirht, as her denarted 
 husband, a little fearful of his matutinal defections, was 
 laughingly wont to say that he finished his day's work and 
 began another before he went to bed.' Accordingly, Mrs. 
 Sanderson could not close her eves before her accustomed
 
 34 THE BAllGLAYS 
 
 hour. And oh ! how wearisome were those long, long even- 
 ings ! there seemed literally to be no end to them. She 
 could not, at that period, take any interest in books, her 
 Bible being the only one in which she ever looked ; she 
 dared not touch her piano lest she might disturb tire repose of 
 her brother, and was generally disinclined for all occupations. 
 So she passed her time in ruminating on her irreparable 
 loss. The days ])assed more swiftly as she was engaged in 
 watching and teaching her children; but the dismal 
 evenings ! 
 
 Gerald, the oldest boy, was a delicate, pale child, who, 
 v/ithout being decidedly sickly, required great care and 
 attention, physically and morally, for he was at that early 
 age of seven, a period he had just then reached, a little 
 bookworm, preferring any thing printed to all the toys and 
 playthings in the v/orld. His mother had made every effort 
 to win him from his books unavailingly, and she was, at 
 last, obliged to take away his treasures daily, lock them up, 
 and insist that he should pass the greater part of his time 
 in the open air. Gerald was gentle and alfectionate to his 
 mother, but promised to be an absorbed dreamer. Charley, 
 an entire contrast to his brother and two years younger, 
 was blessed with a robust constitution and excellent health, 
 superabounding spirits, and adored his mother Vv'itli an 
 intensity of feeling that seemed far beyond his years ; he 
 v/as generous and high-spirited, and possessed the most 
 perfect temper and the sunniest smile that ever lighted up 
 the human face. Both these children were sufficiently 
 good-looking and promised to improve ; it is not the most 
 beautiful boys that make the fmest men, and there is often 
 a striking change, even in the eyes of the fondest mother, 
 from the loveliest childhood to very common looking man- 
 hood. 
 
 The long winter months passed slowly on ; Mr. Egertou 
 altered not, never becoming, more or less, communicative ; 
 he was always coldly polite and v.'cU bred ; sarcastic he
 
 OF BOSTON. 35 
 
 must ever be, but, as he had no intercourse with any one 
 beyond the most formal interchange of common civilities, 
 he had nothing to do with the gossip of the town. He had 
 always regarded his sister as a very weak-minded woman, 
 to whom he should never dream of speaking on any subject 
 in which he was seriously interested; she had never trav- 
 elled, had never been in England, and consequently knew 
 nothing. The white cliffs of Albion were, to Mr. Egerton, 
 the Ultima Thule of creation ; no genuine John Bull, of the 
 purest water, could have worshipped more faithfully his 
 native land; every thing there was right, everything here 
 wrong ; and this was a truthful summing up of his prejudices. 
 Emma knew nothing of passing events, how could she ? 
 She lived within her own four walls and had always done so, 
 and, moreover, had never been in much society, even in her 
 own land. 
 
 The topics of conversation, introduced at the meal-time 
 liours, were consequently wretchedly circumscribed ; Mrs. 
 Sanderson's timidity and fear of her brother increasing the 
 difficulty of interchange of thoughts and opinions. Mr. 
 Egerton never condescended to give her any information, 
 and France might have had three kings and six presidents, 
 for aught she knew to the contrary, and ministries changed 
 in the land of her brother's adoration, and, in fact, the world 
 turned topsy-turvy without her becoming enlightened touch- 
 ing the facts. 
 
 At last, Mrs. Sanderson decided upon taking a very im- 
 portant step, and took in a newspaper ; her brother regarded 
 her with slight astonishment when she first mentioned some 
 event which had occurred in his beloved elysium across 
 the blue waters, and thenceforth spoke to her occasionally 
 of what was passing in foreign lands, seemingly having 
 conceived a less unfavorable idea of her intellect from the 
 circumstance of her reading a daily journal. Indeed, she 
 often marvelled that her hypercritical brother did not abandon 
 the land of his birth, which he professed to abhor, and
 
 36 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 transport himself and his pretensions to a more congenial 
 atmosphere ; but this opinion she had hardly ventured to 
 mention in his august presence, apprehensive lest the idea 
 might occur to him that she had an idea of her own. 
 
 Mrs. Sanderson was perfectly aware that Mr. Egerton 
 entertained no very exalted opinion of the minds of woman- 
 kind in general, and a particularly small one of hers ; so 
 she never ventured upon any thing beyond commonplaces 
 with him ; thus he, living with a refined and accomplished 
 woman, knew absolutely nothing about her. }.Ir. Egcrton's 
 table equipage was very beautiful indeed ; his father had 
 been a great admirer of old plate, and the house overflowed 
 with it; the sideboard being, every day, loaded with costly 
 and rare articles, emblazoned with the family arms, which 
 having been duly exhibited dazzling v.ith brilliancy, were 
 carefully collected at night in two huge baskets by old Peter, 
 and secreted, in parts unknown, until morning light brought 
 them again into diurnal display. The napeiy of Mr. 
 Egcrton's board was also exquisite from its fineness and its 
 getting up ; to this Dinah contributed her important share 
 of skill. The meals were admirably prepared, and however 
 common the materials, the flavoring was excellent and the 
 cleanliness quite perfect ; to be sure they were limited to 
 the smallest possible quantity, and it could hardly be asserted 
 that there was a sufiiciency, but they were served with 
 extreme care and vast pretension. 
 
 Of Dinah and Peter, tlio two black servants, who have 
 already been mentioned as having received their young 
 mistress, on her arrival, so enthusiastically, all manner of 
 praises might be showered on them ; they were up betimes 
 in the morning, and busily occupied all day with their 
 master's concerns ; in fact, they seemed ubiquitous, and 
 might have been seen almost, like Sir Boyle Roche's bird, 
 in two places at once; and, at night, they had completed 
 the work of double their number. Perfect treasures, were 
 the pair, of fidelity, honesty and truth.
 
 OF BOSTON. 37 
 
 Dinah, for many long years, had flattered herself that 
 Peter might be induced to tender to her, as a reward for her 
 constancy and devotion, his hand and heart. Somehow this 
 grand event never came to pass, yet she despaired none the 
 less, and went on hoping and trusting, as her sex are apt 
 to do. 
 
 Now Peter was a remarkably shrewd and cunning old 
 fellow, and knew, and had known, and would know, for 
 a long time, that he was an immense gainer by this simple 
 delusion of his sable companion; so he did not absolutely 
 bid her despair, but led her on through flowery mazes fronri 
 year to year, always insinuating, without absolutely assert- 
 ing, that the pleasant goal might be reached at last. And 
 she, the deceived, permitted herself to be deluded, and 
 served him and humored him in all his innumerable caprices, 
 and encouraged his whims until she had fairly spoiled him, 
 as far as she herself was concerned. A slave to the lamp 
 of African Peter was Miss Dinah, and seemed actually to 
 rejoice in her bondage and hug her chains. Peter might 
 rule with a rod of iron, but so Mr. Egerton did not. Dinah 
 thought her master the very first gentleman in Boston, for 
 she asked, ' Was he not doin' most noflin from mornin' till 
 night r ' But, nevertheless, in her domains, he had no con- 
 trol ; he was a terrible personage in her eves out of the 
 kitchen, but in it, ' nofiin.' And the gentleman, being 
 perfectly aware of the consideration in which he was held, 
 and comprehending fully the admirable management and 
 economy practised in his culinary department, never ven- 
 tured to intrude therein ; so all things proceeded most 
 smoothly. 
 
 The winter wore sluggishly on, and it was in this dreary 
 season that the gold-seeker's emissary had been captured 
 during a thaw, and Mr. Egerton substituted for his body- 
 guard a superb Newfoundland dog, called Tiger, who proved 
 a source of immense satisfaction to the juveniles in his 
 establishment. 
 
 4
 
 38 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 At last, the much desired Spring began to appear, if 
 Spring it can be called, which is Summer, for the months 
 set down in the calendar, in Massachusetts, as appertaining 
 to the coy goddess, are much worse to bear than those be- 
 stowed upon their frosty and snowy predecessors. If, by 
 any process hitherto untried in the alembic of time, the 
 months could be transposed, and May, the poet's delusion, 
 be introduced into July, how pleasantly might we concur in 
 all the glowing imagery and fascinating pictures presented 
 by the verse writers. None can surely forget the days when, 
 the heart and head filled to repletion, with flowery and 
 showery visions, all manner of projects were formed of 
 sallying forth ' a Maying.' The excursion finished, having 
 risen at four of the clock, the perpetrators of this bold deed 
 of high daring, returned home in a state pitiful to behold, 
 with benumbed hands filled with bare willow sticks, and 
 most unbewitchingly blue noses, and popped into their beds, 
 and enjoyed such respectable naps before breakfast. 
 
 There remains a small crumb of comfort, however, for 
 the New Englanders, it being almost as difficult to be abso- 
 lutely certain of catching a glimpse of the ' heaven-born 
 lady ' in other climes as here, though, it must be confessed, 
 she nowhere behaves herself quite so ill. In the south of 
 France, she at times conceals herself in a total eclipse: in 
 beautiful Naples, her worshippers are one day treated to a 
 snow-storm, and the next to a sirocco, and are gravely 
 counselled to betake themselves to Athens, in search of the 
 eluding nymph, and once there, ' Living Greece no more,' 
 strongly and impressively recommends Egypt. 
 
 With the bursting forth of the leaves, it is hardly worth 
 one's while to be too particular or critical as to the precise 
 epoch, but simply luxuriate in this enchanting season when 
 all Nature awakes to wondrous beauty, and be correspond- 
 ingly grateful for blessings received. At this season Mrs. 
 Sanderson found plenty of occupation in the garden, for
 
 OF BOSTON. 39 
 
 both herself and children ; she procured for them strong 
 working materials, and small as were the boys, they did 
 good service. They were taught to be industrious and use- 
 ful, and, under the united efforts of mother and sons, assisted 
 by Peter, the spot assumed the most enchanting aspect.
 
 40 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ' The life and felicity of an excellent gardener, is preferable to all 
 other diversions.' Eveltx. 
 
 The beautiful trees blossomed in all their affluence of 
 flowers in tlic dear old garden ; Nature smiled and made a 
 bountiful display of all her countless charms ; and Mrs. 
 Sanderson's heart and feelings expanded with the gay and 
 vernal season. The children and their canine friend, Tiger, 
 gambolled amid the pleached alleys, and the dog's shaggy 
 coat was covered with snow-white cherry blossoms. The 
 birds returned to their pleasant liaunts amidst the shrubbery, 
 and the humming-bird nestled in the lilac; and as the weeks 
 rolled on, fresh gratifications appeared in the luxuries of 
 their simple board, which would never have been seen, but 
 for the favored spot from which this family derived so 
 many pleasures. ]Mrs. Sanderson almost lived in the open 
 air, a circumstance which tended to improve her health, and 
 consequently her spirits. She had ever been a quiet gentle 
 creature ; so very unobtrusive that no one had taken the 
 trouble, except her departed husband, to discover her many 
 charming qualities ; and every one wondered when he mar- 
 ried her, how the liigh-spirited and gay Gerald Sanderson 
 could have chosen so tame a woman. But we are all rather 
 inclined to like our opposites in character ; at least, one 
 would imagine this to be the case from the extraordinary 
 freaks played by Hymen. Gerald was perfectly satisfied, 
 and troubled himself little with these animadversions upon 
 his choice. The boys throve wondrously, and Mrs. San-
 
 OF BOSTON. 41 
 
 derson was gathering strength imperceptibly to carry her 
 through another tedious winter and its long evenings. 
 
 And where was her brother all this while ? Shut up in hot 
 close rooms in the morning, taking long dusty walks to his 
 favorite boundary line, and vegetating in the evening; for 
 he never issued forth on the most brilliant moon-light nights. 
 In vain his sister essayed to lure him into the garden ; he 
 would not be tempted. Now and then he walked out, on an 
 investigating tour of his premises, sadly alarming Peter, 
 Tiger, and the boys, who, one and all, fled on his approach, 
 and secreted themselves like guilty things. 
 
 Mr. Egerton would have been outrageous, had he been 
 told that he was a sad Cockney, but such he innocently 
 was, and there could be no gainsaying of the assertion. He 
 delighted in noise, dust and confusion ; he seemed to enter- 
 tain a certain vague impression that his garden was a good 
 place for fruits and vegetables, and his sister and her chil- 
 dren, and may be the dog, but as for any thing else, it never 
 entered his head to interest himself in its contents, beyond 
 the pecuniary results. Any body might have the flowers ; 
 he would not sell them, and they could not be eaten, so 
 Peter and Dinah had permission to give theili to their friends, 
 as Mrs. Sanderson did not appear to have any ; and so they 
 bestowed them upon the neighbors in the most liberal 
 manner. 
 
 It may appear remarkable that Mrs. Sanderson should 
 have been so insulated, but she was educated at home by 
 her father ; assisted by private masters, he had completed 
 the finishing of her education ; and she was really well 
 grounded in all he had attempted to teach her. A scholarly 
 person himself, he rejoiced in her docility and application, 
 and bestowed upon her the closest attention. She was a 
 tolerable Latin scholar, a very good French one, and read 
 Italian; to history and geography and her own language, her 
 father had devoted many years. Few young girls were 
 better fitted to enjoy the fruits of the time passed in ac- 
 4*
 
 42 THE Barclays 
 
 quirements ; she was so self-centred and studious, that she 
 richly repaid all his paternal care. Of all this her brother, 
 who was absent at the time, was completely ignorant, and 
 on his return home, finding a shrinking young creature, 
 who evidently held him in great awe, he gave his sister no 
 credit for her various attainments ; and this, superadded to 
 his other preconceived ideas touching her sex, wevs abun- 
 dant cause for his total neglect of a woman who might have 
 been to him a joy and a blessing in his solitary pathway of 
 life. 
 
 But no ; Mr. Philip Egerton stalked about with his head 
 elevated above all weak-minded women, and thereby lost a 
 very pleasant portion of agreeable things in this world, 
 which other persons, not so overwise and fastidious, enjoy 
 with vast contentment and pleasure. 
 
 But to return to Mrs. Sanderson. She having had no 
 acquaintances before marriage, made only very formal ones 
 after ; her husband had no family, and was ever devoted 
 to her, she asked for nothing more ; and thus they had 
 lived for each other, and hardly saw any one. This is 
 always injudicious ; we are all subjects of sudden casualties 
 which demand assistance, and misfortunes requiring sympa- 
 thy. When Mrs. Sanderson's dark hours arrived, for none 
 escape, she was friendless. Gerald Sanderson had been 
 admired and respected by his fellow-citizens, and when he 
 departed, offers of kindness poured in from all his friends ; 
 as she knew them but slightly, they were refused. She 
 thereby shut her doors upon those who, in after years, 
 might have been of essential service to her orphans. 
 
 This was a great mistake, but one that is often made 
 under similar al]lictions, and Mrs. Sanderson was doomed to 
 pay the penalty. Then many persons would not have been 
 discouraged by first failures, had she not been removed to 
 her brother's dwelling ; but he was so very inhospitable and 
 so haughtily polite, that his patronizing and supercilious 
 manner was absolutely offensive. Nobody likes to be
 
 OF BOSTO.X. 43 
 
 overtly patronized. Nobody wished to approach Mr. Eger- 
 ton, even if he had desired society, which he certainly did 
 not ; so his sister seemed fated to wear away her existence in 
 utter seclusion, in the heart of a city, surrounded by a dense 
 population, and within hearing of its noise and bustle ; 
 this indeed was solitude. 
 
 And did she not feel herself alone ? Assuredly, and, 
 though she was a person remarkably well fitted for the sort 
 of life she led, perhaps, better than most women, yet, al 
 times, the sense of her own loneliness and friendlessness was 
 bitterly oppressive. The boys were not old enough to be 
 aught but playthings during the daylight, and it was the long 
 evenings she dreaded. 
 
 Autumn put on her robes of many colors, than which 
 nothing can be more beautiful in America, and soon stern 
 "Winter returned. This season found Mrs. Sanderson better 
 prepared for her position : fortified by the pleasant and pure 
 atmosphere in which she had lived, her strength was in- 
 creased, her health improved, and her mind more composed 
 and resigned. She had sought and prayed for courage and 
 submission, and the petition had been answered. She began 
 to think that, as Gerald was eight years old and a very pre- 
 cocious boy, it would be well to give him a Latin grammar 
 and rub up her own classics, which she did. Gerald, nothing 
 loth, applied himself vigorously to his tasks ; and, indeed, 
 there was no trouble whatever in teaching him, his desire 
 to learn being so dominant that he rather anticipated his 
 daily exercises, than avoided them. 
 
 Mrs. Sanderson found the teaching of her son a pleasant 
 and grateful occupation ; he came with his books, his lessons 
 learned, and thirsting for more ; so that she had but to arrange 
 them for him. 
 
 It is to be regretted or not, as the tastes may be, that the 
 same good account could not be given of Charley, for he 
 was never to be found on like occasions : he was off with his 
 boon companion. Tiger, hidden in snow-banks, and for
 
 44 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 for any thing but learning. Then there was such a bewitch- 
 ing old coach-house, in which carriage there was none, after 
 the fashion of the library, minus the books ; but it was so 
 charming! All the old trumpery and broken articles which 
 the family ever owned, of the grandiose kind, were there 
 ensconced. Then there v/as such a collection, as had been 
 rarely ever seen, in the immense garrets of the old house ! 
 There seemed to have been brought together under Mr. 
 Egerton's roof every odd article under the sun, collected 
 from all quarters of the globe ; he had never even taken 
 the pains to investigate the contents of his own higher 
 regions, which had been amply stored by his late father, 
 who having been an India merchant, had left the relics of 
 his cargoes in odds and ends innumerable. The old gentle- 
 man had retired early in life from business, having many 
 scholarly tastes, and had hardly given a thought to the upper 
 part of his dwelling. It was just such explorations as little 
 Charley Sanderson was habitually making to excavate, if 
 such a word can be used, considering it was a garret, all 
 these wondrous things, and every day his mother heard of 
 some extraordinary discovery. Headless figures of Chinese 
 mandarins, Turkish pipes of enormous boa constrictor size, 
 quantities of indigo and synchaws, immense Spanish olive 
 jars, figuring forth the forty thieves, bamboo chairs and sofas 
 and huge fans, Russia duck, and bows and arrows, and other 
 warlike missiles from the Sandwich Islands and the North- 
 west coast, with countless other things. When the hour for 
 study arrived, it was extremely difficult to find the truant 
 Charley ; hornbook and slate were alike undiscovered ; both 
 Peter and Dinah assisting in the concealment of their dar- 
 ling, and declaring he was altogether too young for tasks, 
 and too wonderful and too charming ' to ever live to grow 
 up,' and consequently would not require instruction. 
 
 When, at last, he was unearthed, his hands must be 
 washed, and his spirits brought into some degree of compo- 
 sure, and Tiger locked out of the room, and he, undignified
 
 OF. BOSTON. 45 
 
 doggie, scratched and whined at the door all the while the 
 unwilling urchin was puzzling about p's and q's ; so the 
 results were not of the most satisfactory order to his mother. 
 It required to be a mother to do such hard duty. 
 
 It is extremely doubtful if women ever receive the meed 
 they certainly deserve for their exertions in small things, for 
 all the wearisome hours spent in teaching rebellious and 
 giddy children ; -and it is equally certain that mothers volun- 
 tarily take this trouble upon themselves ; it may be, they 
 can find no one to do it for them. 
 
 At the end of the winter, Charley Sanderson had learned 
 to put two letters together, which immediately flew apart and 
 never reunited, so that, after all the pains taken to enlighten 
 him, he had made small progress in literature ; but then he 
 had occupied his mother, kept her from herself, and thus far 
 his academical course had been successful. It would be a 
 pleasant thing for victimized maternity, if children could be 
 taught to read by some patent way ; to be sure, there is the 
 phonetic, but then they must be taught twice over, and once 
 is sufliicient, in all conscience, for the poor young things, not 
 to even mention their mammas. 
 
 That winter a gentleman, who had been a client of the 
 deceased Mr. Sanderson, returned from Europe, and, as he 
 owed his lawyer a few hundreds, duly paid them over to his 
 widow, who placed a portion for each of the boys in the 
 savings bank, and reserved the rest for emergencies. 
 
 In a few monotonous and weary years Gerald was entered, 
 quite successfully, at the Latin school, and his schoolmates 
 were quite astonished when they discovered that he had been 
 prepared by his mother. 
 
 Charley entreated his mother to send him to a High 
 School, ' for,' said he, ' Gerald will never work, and I must, 
 and cannot spare time for Latin and Greek. I must push 
 my way in merchandise.' So Mrs. Sanderson permitted him 
 to do as he pleased, and Charley entered the High School, 
 and having followed his own inclinations, succeeded remark-
 
 46 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ably well, his devoted parent having effectually taught him to 
 unite the flying apart letters, and many good things beside. 
 
 At school Gerald made no acquaintances ; apparently 
 caring for no boy but his brother, his studies whollv engross- 
 ing him ; there was no need of exciting him in any way ; on 
 the contrary, it was almost necessary to divert his thoughts 
 from them, lest he might injure himself. When not occu- 
 pied in studying his lessons, he was absorbed in castle-build- 
 ing of various kinds, which he sometimes communicated to 
 his mother ; this was generally directed to Harvard Univer- 
 sity, his whole heart being filled with an ardent desire to go 
 to Cambridge, to strive for collegiate rewards and honors, to 
 attain scholastic eminence, to live and die a scholar. 
 
 Now this was a sad tribulation for his mother, as she was 
 unable to meet the expenses attendant on a college life, how- 
 ever restricted they might be. She bittei'ly deplored her ina- 
 bility, but felt the impossibility of gathering together, even 
 with the greatest economy, a sufficient sum for incidental 
 expenses. It may appear extraordinary that desiring, as she 
 earnestly did, to promote Gerald's views, she should not have 
 applied to her brother, but she knew that he perfectly under- 
 stood the state of things, and that, if he proposed to act, he 
 would make the offer spontaneously, and that by asking she 
 would only subject herself to a rcbutT, and be made even 
 more unhappy still. 
 
 Mr. Egerton had seen the boy for years, understood his 
 character, perfectly appreciated his efforts, and even some- 
 times commented upon his remarkable devotion to his books 
 and love for study, never, however, with much commenda- 
 tion, and pressed the matter no farther. 3Irs. Sanderson, 
 timid and unassuming, and thinking herself already under 
 immense obligations to her brother, whom she held in great 
 awe, dared not open her lips on this all-engrossing subject ; 
 so things remained as they were, and Gerald worked on. 
 
 Charley, having, as before nrentloned, been well satisfied 
 with his mother's compliance with his wishes, became quite
 
 / 
 
 OF BOSTON. 47 
 
 interested in his studies, and was fast becoming a great 
 favorite in his school, and a good scholar. Charley's friends 
 were legion ; he was never seen without a trainof followers, 
 who seemed quite dependent upon him for their amuse- 
 ments; he had entire control of the coach-house, and that 
 became a place of great resort. Into the garden no foot 
 penetrated, and many were the longing glances directed to 
 that Eden, with its black Adam and Eve, for Peter and 
 Dinah were always, one or the other, keeping watch in its 
 precincts for marauders ; so there was no chance for scaling 
 walls, and appropriating, to use a gentle word, the delicious 
 fruits and flowers it contained ; the latter, Peter, knowing 
 his master cared nothing for them, permitted Charley to 
 bestow upon his adherents in immense quantities. But what 
 were flowers in the eyes of hungry schoolboys, compared 
 with the delights of brown Burys and Seckels ? It must be 
 confessed this state of things was very tantalizing for the 
 3-oung revellers, at all times addicted to the luxuries which 
 Pomona had so luxuriantly showered on this favored spot, 
 who were obliged to look on and be denied the feast. 
 
 Charley was the most generous of boys, but this was a 
 point of honor with him, which nothing could induce him to 
 infringe ; the rules of the house must be observed, even for 
 a windfall, so his friends devoured with tlicir eyes, as boys 
 will, and the young host lamented in vain his hard fate, and 
 learned abundant lessons of self-denial and probity. One" 
 day Charley was mounted upon the high garden wall, near 
 a pear tree, bending under a rich load of luscious fruit just 
 ripened, when a gust of wind precipitated a quantity to the 
 earth. The boys on the outside, seeing this downfall, en- 
 treated him to give them just two or three pears. ' That's 
 all, just two or three, dear Charley,' said Robert Redmond ; 
 ' pray do, they look so good ; the old fellow will know noth- 
 ing about it.' ' Nothing would give me more pleasure,' 
 replied Charley, ' but my uncle's knowing nothing of the 
 matter will not alter my intentions ; I know it to be wrong.
 
 48 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 as I am forbidden to touch them by my mother, and should 
 not forgive inyself if I could be guilty of such a mean- 
 ness.' 
 
 ' Oh,' screamed Robert, who was the ringleader and 
 spokesman, ' you will soon be as stingy as your old miserly 
 uncle, if you live as long.' 
 
 ' Wait till I have something to give. Bob, and then you'll 
 see if I am stingy or not ; it's my uncle's fruit, and he has 
 a right to do as he pleases with it.' 
 
 Here a chorus of epithets saluted Charley's uncle ; he 
 was called an old crab tree, an old Elwes, and a double- 
 refined miser. 
 
 ' The first bit of money I get,' said Charley, ' I'll treat 
 you all, if you'll cease abusing my uncle, and you shall see 
 if I can't give.' 
 
 ' Give now,' said a voice behind him. He turned and 
 beheld Mr. Egerton, who, reaching him a ^c\v dozens of the 
 coveted fruit, ordered him to throw them to the little outside 
 barbarians; and, moreover, inform them they were the first 
 and the last they should ever have ; and that these were 
 only bestowed in honor of his own honestv. 
 
 Poor Charley ! his was a severe school of youthful priva- 
 tion and endurance, and but for the gentle mother who 
 watched so tenderly over him, would have been sad indeed ; 
 as he experienced, even at his early age, a sense of depend- 
 ence, both irritating and disagreeable, and longed for the 
 time when he should, by his own exertions, be emancipated 
 from his uncle's control, so cold and ungcnial.
 
 OF BOSTON. 49 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands Tested, 
 The fund ill secured oft in bankruptcy ends, 
 But the heart issues bills which are never protested, 
 When drawn on the firm of wife, children and friends.' 
 
 Lord Spencee. 
 
 Mr. John Barclay, the father of the budding beauties 
 mentioned in the first chapter of this book, was the son of a 
 most respectable merchant in Boston, who having bestowed 
 upon him a collegiate education, was unable to do more, hav- 
 ing a large family and small means. The son, thrown upon 
 his own resources, applied himself diligently to commerce, 
 and being very judicious and fortunate, amassed a large 
 property. Mr. Barclay, over whose birth some benevolent 
 fairy would have appeared to preside, was gifted with all 
 iTianner of good and pleasant things. In person he was 
 above the middle size, rather stout "and massive, yet very 
 lithe and active, and a perfect type of health and strength ; 
 his face beamed with intelligence and beauty, and to these 
 were added a frank, generous and loyal nature, and the 
 most admirable temper. Rich, handsome, and fascinating, 
 every body wondered when Mr. Barclay married Catherine 
 Seyton, a girl whom all the world pronounced to be awk- 
 ward, ugly, and pennyless. It has always been, and ever 
 will be, a problem to be solved why the joining together of 
 two persons in Hymen's bonds should be a circumstance of 
 such enduring importance to all their friends and acquaint- 
 ances, who manifestly have nothing to do with the matter;
 
 50 THE BARCLAA'S 
 
 but so it is, and Mr. and Mrs. Barclay proved no exception 
 to this all-prevalent rule. Indeed, it appeared that they 
 had an unusual portion of attention and criticism, he for his 
 bad taste, and she for her astonishing good luck. A state 
 of wonderment is one most pleasingly adapted to American 
 natures ; we have abandoned guessing, in polite circles, and 
 taken to wondering. But even the wisest of seers may be, 
 at times, mistaken, and the awkward and ugly girl became, 
 in a few revolving years, an uncommon fine woman with 
 charmingly graceful manners. Some travelled persons de- 
 clared this great change to proceed from Mrs. Barclay 
 having gained flesh, for she had been too thin ; others that 
 she had grown taller ; some said one thing, some another, 
 but all agreed in thinking her very beautiful. She could 
 have revealed the cause in one word happiness. And 
 truly hers was a blessed lot, the lines being cas> in pleasant 
 places indeed. She adored her husband and respected him ; 
 she watched over her children with intense care and de- 
 votion ; she Avas a firm, true and loyal friend, and a 
 kind neighbor, with a heart abounding in gratitude to her 
 Creator for mercies received ; she availed herself of her 
 signal advantages to enjoy them wisely, discreetly and 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Three daughters and a son composed this happy house- 
 hold : Georgiana, the first-born, was one year older than 
 her sister, Grace, but this was hardly perceptible, even to 
 the parents, so remarkably alike were these lovely young 
 creatures, who had reached the respective ages of fifteen 
 and sixteen. Kate, the third child, was just fourteen, and 
 certainly possessed none of the remarkable attractions of 
 her sisters ; she was a tall girl for her years, running out 
 her head fearfully, rolling round an amazingly black pair of 
 eyes, and perpetually shaking over them large masses of 
 not over-fine black hair, whicli, by no process whatever, 
 could be kept smooth or in place; then slie never, by any 
 chance, stood still a moment, but was constantly balancing
 
 OF BOSTON. 51 
 
 herself, first on one leg and then on the other, and, in 
 addition, was a sad romp, with a good heart and high tem- 
 per. Johnny, the youngest, at ten, was like most small boys 
 of his age, busily occupied in playing and eating, his father 
 having thought proper to send him to an excellent boarding 
 school in the country ; he prospered, and, in his vacations, 
 twice gladdened the hearts of his affectionate relatives, 
 when he returned home and when he departed. 
 
 Mr. Barclay had one brother, a bachelor, v/ho had lived 
 many years in France. A perfect contrast was Mr. Richard 
 Barclay to Mr. John : the one genial, pleasant and gracious, 
 looking on the bright side of all things ; the other rough, 
 burly, and an inveterate gambler, incessantly trying to con- 
 ceal his good and endearing qualities under a disagreeable 
 mask. Mr. Richard Barclay could find nothing to like out 
 of Paris ; just as devotedly as Mr. Philip Egerton wor- 
 shipped England, so did this gentleman adore France ; but 
 they both agreed in hating each other mortally. Mr. Rich- 
 ard Barclay recounted innumerable anecdotes of Mr. Eger- 
 ton's nonsensical (he called it) preference for the white 
 clifTs of Albion, and wondered why the old miser did not 
 betake himself to them and leave Boston forever. Mr. 
 Egerton, not to be outdone, declared Mr. Barclay to be 
 Gallic mad, and wondered why the old bear had not picked 
 up a Httle politeness amidst the well-mannered people whom 
 he so distractedly admired. These pleasant opinions of 
 each other being bandied backwards and forwards to the 
 separate parties by kind and peace-loving friends, added fuel 
 to the never-expiring flames of their long standing feud, and 
 nothing hindered their coming to blov/s but their never 
 coming together. 
 
 Mr. Richard had, to the surprise of every one, highly 
 approved of his brother John's choice, he having discovered 
 the germs of a remarkable woman under the veil of shyness 
 and timidity, which imparted to Catherine Seyton the false 
 semblance of awkwardness ; he had appreciated the good
 
 52 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 sense and the sensibility of the young girl, and knew her to 
 be w6ll read, well educated, and even accomplished. 
 
 Mrs. John Barclay never forgot this championship, and 
 richly she repaid Mr. llichard for all the pleasant things he 
 had far and wide disseminated in her favor ; she made his 
 brother's house a litde paradise for the forlorn bachelor, 
 according him the warmest seat at her fireside, the choicest 
 bits at table, and innumerable other incidental circumstances, 
 touching disruptured buttons and ever altering collars, com- 
 bined to remind him that she had not forgotten his helping 
 hand in her hour of need. In fact, nothing could exceed 
 Mrs. Barclay's devotion at all times and seasons, and Mr. 
 Richard had a growl for every one, save his sister Cathe- 
 rine ; he never called her sister-in-law, and always declared 
 her to be virtuousest, discreetest, best, in fact, a model 
 woman. 
 
 All this attention to his wants and wishes was the more 
 meritorious, as there was absolutely nothing to be anticipated 
 in the way of the 'root of all evil' from ]\Ir. Richard, he not 
 being one of the American uncles who tlourish in the French 
 vaudevilles, and annihilating time and spiice, arrive with 
 big bags of gold pieces, in the extremity of heroes and 
 heroines, to make two lovers happy. ]\Ir. Barclay's father, 
 it luis already been stated, was not rich ; he left at his 
 decease a very small patrimony to be portioned out to a 
 large family, the members of which, dying early in life, 
 bequeathed their minute modicums to the two surviving 
 brothers, John and Richard. The former pertinaciously 
 declining to take a dollar of the money, it naturally reverted 
 to his brother, and he went directly to his beloved France, 
 and, once there, though he had always maintained it to be 
 the most economical country in the known world, contrived 
 to spend a vast deal more than he could reasonably ailbrd, 
 and found himself, much against his will, obliged to return 
 home, being unwilling to retrench in his adored Paris. 
 
 Mr. Richard was what is usually denominated a stronc-
 
 OF BOSTON. 53 
 
 minded individual. Now it often happens that this manner 
 of man is exceedingly disagreeable, and the same manner 
 of woman infinitely worse. The possession of this strong 
 mind, being usually demonstrated by hardness of spirit, loud 
 voices which ring unpleasantly on the ears, and dogmatical 
 opinions, so decidedly obstinate as never to be susceptible of 
 change. Mr. Richard was wont to assert that ' he carried 
 not his heart on his sleeve for daws to peck at.' 
 
 Mr. Barclay ardently desired that his brother should live 
 with him ; but that the gentleman positively refused to do, 
 saying, he much preferred a den of his own to inhabiting a 
 palace belonging to any one else. Finding his resolves 
 unalterable, Mr. Barclay fitted up for him the nicest snug- 
 gery imaginable, to which his wife added many feminine 
 touches, which combined to make a very comfortable whole 
 indeed. In this den Mr. Richard growled away his day, 
 longing for the evening when he could repair to his brother's 
 pleasant fireside. In vain his relations urged him to dine 
 with them daily, but he chose Sunday, and to that day ad- 
 hered religiously. 
 
 Somehow his experience of his cherished theoiy, that man 
 could live alone, was sufficient to himself, and dependent on 
 no extraneous circumstances for enjoyment, was a failure ; 
 it was the last thing in the world to be acknowledged, but so 
 it was. To this melancholy fact he endeavored to blind 
 himself, by holding forth, on all possible and impossible 
 occasions, and expending a vast deal of time and breath on 
 his favorite topic, but in his heart of hearts he doubted, and 
 that dubiousness made him all the more obstinately vehe- 
 ment. This theory was a constant source of discussion 
 between himself and his relatives, who desired most sin- 
 cerely to behold the happiness of the being whom they 
 tenderly loved ; they were thoroughly convinced he was the 
 man to marry, for, assuredly, he was miserable alone, and 
 could fare none the worse whh a companion, and the grand 
 experiment was worth trying in such a desperate case. 
 5*
 
 54 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Mr. Richard had passed through the bachelor's inevitable 
 ordeal of being crossed in love, a perilous passage ever, 
 because a man always thinks to his dying day, that if he had 
 married the woman he should have been happier and better. 
 Perhaps, in this gentlemen's case, this view of the subject 
 might have proved correct. From the fatal epoch of his 
 'cross' our bachelor had eschewed womankind, and was 
 evermore showering on the devoted heads of the fair sex a 
 quantity of objurgations frightful to hear; he disliked bread- 
 and-bulter girls, thought unmarried ladies of a certain age 
 detestable, and had no words wherewith to express his abhor- 
 rence of widows, all and several. A sensible and agreeable 
 matron was then his last and sole resource, and there being 
 no fair mischiefs amongst this class in virtuous America, 
 Mr. Richard led a very respectable life ; and yet it often 
 happens that a man may be extremely respectable and very 
 much hated, and this was the gentleman's unhappy plight. 
 
 Now Mr. Egerton despised womankind quite as much as 
 his enemy, but then his contempt was too concentrated and 
 condensed for mere words ; ho contented himself, when he 
 met any of the trio of categories above-mentioned, to hold 
 his white head so monstrously high that he never saw them, 
 and as he never went any where, the world of women was 
 spared his private opinions, nobody but his poor sister being 
 made aware of them, and even to her he was very mono- 
 syllabic. 
 
 Mr. Richard could not hold his peace equally well, and 
 though he accused the sex of evermore chattering, he was 
 nowise behindhand in this feminine accomplishment. It 
 has been before hinted, that these two worthies never met 
 if they had, dire would have been the consequences, and 
 great the shock thereof ; so they had no means of compar- 
 ing notes, and there is small doubt but they would have 
 agreed to disagree even upon this, their mutually favorite 
 topic.
 
 OF BOSTON. 55 
 
 As in the case of Mrs. Barclay her brother made an ex- 
 ception in her favor, even so with her children he deviated 
 from his rules, or rather with her daughters ; he perfectly- 
 idolized them, and was perpetually lavishing upon them all 
 manner of pretty things, adapted to their various tastes 
 and pursuits. It seemed to be an outpouring of all the pent- 
 up treasures of his garnered affections upon their young 
 heads. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay was incessantly entreating him not to waste 
 so much money in extravagant purchases, but all in vain. 
 With regard to little Johnny, Mr. Richard declared that no 
 father ever saw his son when he was young, except when he 
 was hungry and when he grew older, except when he 
 wanted money. This Mrs. Barclaj^ considered truly shock- 
 ing. The brother, however, left the urchin to his own trap 
 and ball devices, and contented himself with jerking quarters 
 of dollars to him for candies and marbles. And Johnny did 
 not particularly admire his uncle, and habitually shirked his 
 awful presence when he met him in the streets, by dodging 
 round corners and down by-lanes to avoid him ; so there was 
 no love lost between them. 
 
 The daughters compensated for this absence of affection 
 on the part of the only son, by lavishing caresses on their 
 relative. They thought him, to be sure, rough, and lament- 
 ed it ; but they loved him, nevertheless, with all the fervor 
 and freshness of young hearts, and this, with the devotion of 
 his brother and sister, formed the one green spot in the 
 desert of existence, which the wilfully obstinate man had 
 carefully made for himself. 
 
 Nothing is more true than the oft-repeated assertion, that 
 we carve out our destinies with our own hands. The world 
 being our oyster, how do we open it .'' Awkwardly enough. 
 
 Mr. Richard would have been inexpressibly shocked, had 
 he been informed that he in nowise followed the sacred book 
 to which he habitually gave a portion of his time and at- 
 tention. The fact was, he perused it without digesting its
 
 56 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 blessed contents, and satisfying himself by so doing, the mere 
 act became in his eyes devotional. In this, as well as in 
 other things, he formed a most striking contrast to his excel- 
 lent brother, who, reading the Bible, acted out and followed 
 its precepts in his daily walk of life, and beautifully illustra- 
 ted, in his own proper person, the ennobling and revivifying 
 effects of his healthful draughts at the Fountain of all light 
 and life. 
 
 If Mr. Richard had any particular favorite amidst his 
 brother's three daughters, Kate had the best chance ; he, 
 however, was rather unwilling to acknowledge this even to 
 himself. Georgiana and Grace every one lauded and praised, 
 but the romp was not, by any means, so much admired as 
 her sisters, and this state of things rather inclined her uncle 
 to show a peculiar degree of graciousness towards her, for 
 him. He had, from some whim, bestowed upon Kate the 
 thle of Dolly, at which the whole family, at first, rebelled, 
 and finished by adopting it, the young thing sturdily setting 
 the example by never calling herself any thing else. She 
 was passionately attached to her father, following him every 
 where, like his shadow, sitting always on his knee, and con- 
 stantly caressing him, her eyes ever seeking the direction 
 of his, and she gave her undivided attention to every word 
 he uttered. In fact, the only time she could ever be declar- 
 ed quiet, was when she was listening to her father. She 
 resembled Mr. Richard in the strength of her prejudices, 
 and her open expression of them, and her impulsiveness was 
 a source of constant apprehension to her mother, who foresaw 
 much trial and suffering in store for her child, if her super- 
 abounding energies should be misdirected, and felicitous re- 
 sults in the event of their being led by judicious means into 
 proper channels. She knew that she must be the counter- 
 balancing medium between the father and daughter. It was 
 a hard thing for Mr. Barclay to utter the monosyllable ' No' 
 to his daughters ; with his son he was very firm and resolute.
 
 OF BOSTON. 57 
 
 With Georgy and Grace coersion was a thing unknown, be- 
 cause unrequired, but the Dolly was perpetually demanding 
 restrictions, as she reserved to her little exacting self a great 
 degree of latitude in both her actions and opinions. It may 
 seem absurd to mention the opinions of such a young thing, 
 but they were as firmly rooted as if many more years than she 
 called her own, had passed over her head. An indomitable 
 spirit was lying in her little person, and not dormant either, 
 but ever ready to burst forth upon the slightest occasion, so 
 that maternal checks were constantly in requisition. Indeed, 
 Mrs. Barclay was often assailed with the fear that the alfec- 
 tions of her daughter might become estranged from her by 
 the obligation imposed upon her of constantly quelling the 
 ebullitions of sensibility and high spirit developed by her 
 child. But no such calamitous result seemed to accrue. 
 Kate Barclay received her mother's admonitory counsels, 
 offered as they were, gently, tenderly, with profound re- 
 spect and obedience, and just so long as she remembered 
 them they fully answered their intended good purpose ; but 
 the difficulty laid in their being very, very often forgotten. 
 She was penitence itself when reminded of her aberrations, 
 and always hoped she might amend, but never could be per- 
 suaded to make any promises, declaring she could not trust 
 herself, being perfectly convinced of her own weakness and 
 backwardness in well-doing. Altogether she was a creature 
 to excite constant and incessant attention, for no one knew 
 what she would say or do, and an outbreak might be antici- 
 pated at any moment. 
 
 .lohnny Barclay was her favorite companion and playmate, 
 and during his vacations the nursery was thronged with his 
 friends, a legion, and Kate was constituted mistress of the 
 revels, all their sports and games and plans emanating from 
 her. She openly avowed her decided preference for the 
 society of boys, and thought girls excessively tame and Hat, 
 was the proprietor of a sledge, and owned a pair of skates.
 
 58 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Kate Barclay's life was April-hucd, sunshine and showers 
 of tears ; she was always regretting her misdemeanors, and 
 committing fresh ones ; hut then she enjoyed existence with 
 such an intense zest, and entered with unbounded delight 
 and enthusiasm into every species of pleasure ; come what 
 would, she was supremely happy for the nonce.
 
 OF BOSTON. 59 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ' 0, happiest he -whose ripei- years retain 
 The hopes of youtli, unsullied by a stain ! 
 His eve of life in calm content shall glide 
 Like the still streamlet to the ocean tide.' 
 
 J. T. Fields. 
 
 It has already been narrated that Mr. John Barclay had, 
 at a very early period of his life, accumulated a large fortune 
 by prosperous commercial enterprise, Avhich he firmly re- 
 solved to enjoy; and, as he could have no pleasure in any 
 thing unshared with his fellow-creatures, it naturally followed 
 that many hearts were gladdened by his prosperity. He 
 purchased a quantity of land and built for himself a most 
 comfortable dwelling, and, at the same time, laid out a 
 pretty square, and filled it with excellent houses, which he 
 rented to his friends, and thus had a small colony of pleasant 
 persons around him, with whom he lived in great harmony, 
 and the most genial, social intercourse, as far as his own 
 efforts could avail towards producing such a desired result. 
 
 Mr. Barclay was a good neighbor, in the full acceptation of 
 the term, and was old-fashioned enough in his views to take 
 a proper pride in being so designated ; he always declared 
 that, as every one worked in America, no man could be at 
 leisure in the mornings, but his evenings might, with great 
 profit and satisfaction to himself and others, be given to his 
 family and friends. From the first days of their marriage, 
 Mr. and Mrs, Barclay were always at home in the evening.
 
 60 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 cheerful and happy, and delighted to see pleasant faces 
 around them. This being perfectly understood, and, also 
 from its great rarity, extremely appreciated, there was no 
 lack of visitors. Indeed, no one can exaggerate the value 
 of such a house as theirs had always been in a community 
 where so few are opened in the same way. They conferred 
 a great social blessing on many, who, having no ties of 
 kindred, looked upon their fireside as an oasis in the desert ; 
 their house was, also, a resource for strangers ; they re- 
 ceived all the notabilities who passed through the city, and 
 thereby derived a very signal advantage from foreign 
 intercourse, which does a vast deal, in America, towards 
 rubbing off the rust collected by describing, diurnally, the 
 same circle of opinions and feelings. The house itself was 
 a large, square, unpretending bit of architecture, built more 
 for comfort than show ; the first floor contained a spacious 
 dining-room, and a small office where Mr. Barclay received 
 all persons who came on business errands. The hall was 
 large and spacious, and a handsome flight of stairs led to 
 a small ante-room, which opened into a charming parlor 
 fitted up with great taste ; the furniture graceful and solid, 
 the paper-hangings and draperies all undertoned in order 
 to bring out an excellent collection of pictures, with which 
 the walls were covered ; the dining-room and hall both 
 being decorated in the same manner. These pictures were 
 capital copies of the old masters, by capable hands and 
 originals of the first European and American artists. For 
 talent of any kind Mr. Barclay had a thoroughly appreciative 
 and kindly spirit, and was habitually doing all that laid in 
 his power to foster and encourage it, his house being the 
 cherished resort of his countrymen, who ever found a 
 gracious welcome in it. 
 
 This above-described apartment opened into a very large 
 and commodious library, the panelling and book-cases of 
 black walnut, the shelves of the latter being filled with 
 the most beautiful editions of valuable works, unsurpassed
 
 OF BOSTON. 61 
 
 in their finish of type and binding; the owner of these 
 treasures always declaring that in them centred his sole 
 extravagance. The book-cases, reaching within five feet 
 of the ceiling, their tops were covered with busts, Spanish 
 and Chinese jars, old armor, and weapons of various kinds. 
 Several niches in the library contained beautiful pieces of 
 statuary, and its furniture abounding in lounges, divans, 
 sofas and easy chairs, was pleasant to behold ; a variety of 
 tables, covered with books and engravings, completed the 
 arrangement of this delightful room. Large plate-glass 
 folding-doors connected the library with a conservatory filled 
 with rare plants, and even shrubs, at the end of which was 
 an aviary and fountain. These three rooms laid to the 
 south, and a sort of midsummer dreamland was thus con- 
 jured up, even in the aspect of a northern climate. j\Irs. 
 Barclay was extravagantly fond of flowers, and devoted much 
 time to their cultivation, assisted by her daughters ; her hus- 
 band encouraged this taste in every way by procuring her 
 every rare novelty in the floral kingdom. 
 
 This was a spot in which happiness might seem to 
 dwell, and truly did, to such an extent, that its possessors, 
 when they reflected upon the manifold blessings they enjoy- 
 ed, declared they trembled for their endurance. There are 
 no such happy persons in the world as those who are 
 constantly contributing to the well-being of others, the 
 absence of all selfish considerations being one of the purest 
 elements of a well-spent existence. In this respect the 
 dwellers in this home were beyond reproach. Every thing 
 was in daily use in Mrs, Barclay's home ; she had no one 
 article of table equipage that was better than another, and 
 this saved a world of trouble, time and temper, the two latter 
 of dominant importance in all households ; for, if there is a 
 bit of porcelain that excels another, it is sure never to be 
 forthcoming, in an American establishment, when it is most 
 required. Her dinners were excellent, and served unpre- 
 tendingly, she having no desire to ape foreign fashions with 
 6
 
 62 ' THE BARCLAYS 
 
 a few servants, and to adopt the affectation of forcing three 
 waiters to perform the service of thirty. If any short- 
 comings occurred, they were never perceived, or commented 
 upon, simply because there was no ostentatious pretension. 
 
 Mr. Barclay, being eminently hospitable, invited his 
 friends freely ; his wife gave them a gracious welcome, and 
 he a hearty one ; and their guests were not confined to the 
 prosperous and those who revelled in luxuries, but embraced 
 poor scholars, artists and others, to whom a well appointed 
 repast was a boon indeed, and the charm of social inter- 
 course, a greater one still. Mr. Barclay's was no debtor 
 and creditor account with feasts ; he disliked dining out, 
 and avoided as much as possible all formal entertainments. 
 
 Mr. Barclay, from early habit, rose at daybreak, made his 
 own fire, and read a couple of hours before breakfast, but 
 was in nowise bigoted as to the observance of this rule by 
 the rest of his family ; he had seen so much positive discom- 
 fort produced by the rigid enforcement of over-early rising 
 amongst his friends, that he resolved not to be too strict in 
 his own regulations. It was sufficient for him that his family 
 was punctual at dinner, and probably there never was one 
 more regular in attendance at morning prayers and repasts 
 than his. Flis breakfast finished, he went to his ofiice, and 
 remained until two o'clock, rode or walked a few hours, and 
 dined at five. Of his brother, Mr. Richard, he saw very 
 little in the morning, but looked forward with great pleasure 
 to his appearance at his fireside in the evening. The con- 
 trast between the two brothers was indeed remarkable, the 
 one so handsome, the other so ugly ; J\Ir. John's manners so 
 pleasing, Mr. Richard's exactly the reverse ; the one looking 
 at the world through rose-colored spectacles, the other 
 through darkest green ; Mr. John contented, Mr. Richard 
 discontented, and yet how they loved each other ! Knitted 
 together by the most tender ties, they lived most harmo- 
 niously, despite the great difference in their characters. Mr. 
 Richard positively adored his brother and all his belongings,
 
 OF BOSTON. 63 
 
 and even looked upon 'John's dog with -a more gracious 
 aspect than he regarded many human beings. There was, 
 however, a certain indefinable fascination about this grum- 
 bler, and even his ugliness was quite irresistible. If there is 
 no such phrase as a handsome-ugly person, there should be 
 one manufactured, for such was he. His grumbling was 
 ever amusing from its variety of subject, and his very inef- 
 fectual attempts at keeping out of sight the sensibility which 
 he was ever endeavoring to conceal, were interesting, and 
 perpetually demanding the attention of his friends. If Mr. 
 Richard was absent from his brother's house for a day, the 
 family lamented his non-appearance, and even the guests 
 could hardly dispense with his presence, he being their 
 sauce piquante. 
 
 A certain Mrs. Ashley was his pet dislike, the children's 
 ball-giving friend. On this lady, a very pretty, well-dressed 
 and pleasing person, by the bye, Mi'. Richard lavished a vast 
 deal of criticism when she was present and when she was 
 not. The lady, being very amiable, seemed totally to disre- 
 gard all the bachelor's hints, innuendoes and objurgations, and 
 paid no attention whatever to them, which was very pro- 
 voking indeed. 
 
 Mr. Richard had also a second pet dislike, Miss Serena 
 Tidmarsh, who did not bear her martyr's crown with like 
 equanimity, and repaid him with many a cat-like hit in a 
 very low-toned voice, but none the less stringent for that. 
 She was a neighbor of Mr. Barclay's, and her father had 
 been an old friend of his. 
 
 \Vhh Miss Jane Redmond, another neighbor, Mr. Richard 
 was always at daggers drawn ; they quarrelled famously. 
 She was an overt enemy, unlike her dear friend, Miss Se- 
 rena ; Jane was open-mouthed, and with a voice in alto 
 answered her opponent fiercely, and gave him no quarter. 
 He rather liked her the better for her candor, if any liking 
 there could be between the discordant pair. 
 
 The evening succeedine; the children's ball found Mr.
 
 64 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Barclay in his beautiful library by the side of a bright fire, 
 the Dolly on his knee and surrounded by his family, a per- 
 fect picture of content and happiness. The Dolly was told, 
 every day of her life, that she was altogether too tall and too 
 old to sit on her father's knee ; but she declared that there 
 were too many good things attached to the position of ' baby 
 of the family' to be readily renounced, and that, until he 
 sent her away, there she should remain, a thing he was very 
 unlikely to do. Georgy and Gracy were not very animated, 
 the ball having sadly fatigued them ; they, however, played 
 a duet or two for their mother, and then threw themselves 
 rather listlessly upon a sofa, and were nearly half asleep 
 when they were aroused by the entrance of Mrs. Ashley. 
 This lady, ever bright and cheerful, entered into a pleasant 
 chat immediately, inquiring of her young friends how they 
 had enjoyed her little party. 
 
 'Oh!' answered Gracy, 'immensely, dear aunty, nothing 
 was ever so charming, so delightful ; but I do feel so very 
 good for nothing to-night.' 
 
 ' The natural consequence of unnatural dissipation,' 
 sneered Mr. Richard. 
 
 ' You cannot propose,' said Mrs. Ashley, ' to feel as bril- 
 liant as common, my dear little girl ; you danced the whole 
 of last evening.' 
 
 ' And will lose the whole of this,' said Mr. Richard. 
 
 ' Oh no, uncle mine, I do not intend to do any such thing, 
 I confess to feeling a tiny bit fatigued, but Mrs. Ashley will 
 set me all right, as she always does.' 
 
 ' I do not approve of children's balls,' said Mr. Richard. 
 
 ' Nor I, either,' said [Mrs. Barclay, ' but my friend here, 
 with her all-persuasive powers, conquered and carried off my 
 daughters, and it appears they enjoyed their evening heartily; 
 it had all tlie charm of novelty certainly.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the Dolly, ' Mary Redmond told me to-day at 
 school, that Jane declared that Georg\' and Grace were the 
 little queens of the night, but, in her opinion, they never
 
 OF BOSTON.. 65 
 
 looked so ill, and were very untastefully dressed. I was 
 dreadfully angry at this, and told her that her sister was 
 always saying spiteful and disagreeable things, and I should 
 like to know what was a dress for young girls if white book- 
 muslin were not. Upon this she said that Jane thought me 
 the most ugly and disagreeable child in all Christendom ; 
 upon which I told her I didn't care a rush for herself or Jane 
 either ; that Jane was getting quite old, and never having 
 any admirers, was jealous of every one that had.' 
 
 ' My dear child,' exclaimed Mrs. Barclay, ' pray stop such 
 a torrent of words and listen to me ; this was all very im- 
 proper, indeed. Have I not enforced upon you, time and 
 again, that you must never indulge in personalities of any 
 kind ? ' 
 
 ' Well, dear mother, I will try not to do so, but you must 
 let me tell you the whole. I should hke to promise solemnly 
 that I would never again reply when Mary repeats what her 
 hateful sister, oh, dear me ! I forgot, iNIiss Jane Redmond, 
 says. You can't think, mother, how saucy she was. Mary 
 told me, besides, that I was an impertinent girl, and had no 
 manners, which was easily accounted for, as my mother 
 always kept a pet bear in the house. Oh! I screamed, What 
 a horrid fib ! Why, my father has only dear old Nero, 
 Georgy a mocking-bird, Gracy a canary, I a kitten, and 
 Johnny his dandy terrier ; the dogs are all kept in the stable, 
 and there is not a bear in the house. " I don't care," said 
 Mary, "you have got a bear, and it's your uncle Dick. 
 Jane heard one old gentleman at table to-day call him so ; 
 another said he was Ursa 3Iajor, and another Snarleyou, 
 and Jane laughed and declared his motto should be the 
 Baron of Bradwardines, ' Bewar the Bar.' " Upon this, I 
 was in a perfect fury, boxed Mary's ears soundly for calling 
 my dear, dear uncle such abominable names, and was shut 
 up in a dark closet two hours, with a horrid big mouse 
 scampering about all the time, because I would not confess 
 I was sorry for what I had done.'
 
 66 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Having completed this oration, the excited young creature 
 burst into tears. Mrs. Barclay begged her to go to bed and 
 compose herself, and just as she was preparing to obey 
 her mother, Mr. Richard arose and tenderly embraced his 
 champion. 
 
 When she had departed, Mrs. Barclay avowed that she 
 had, for a long time, dubitated as to the expediency of 
 sending Kate to a daily school. She was entirely different 
 from her sisters, being remarkably impulsive and veiy 
 excitable, and the event of this evening had fortified her 
 in her half-formed resolve of retaining her at home and 
 procuring a governess for her. She had perceived no ill 
 effects arising from the course she had pursued with her 
 elder daughters, but this one seemed to require a change. 
 
 Uncle Richard, who had always opposed the system of 
 sending girls to daily schools, very much approved of this 
 plan ; he had always thought that his nieces should be shut 
 up precisely as were the children in France, and deprecated 
 excessively the custom of allowing them ' to run about the 
 streets.' 
 
 Mrs. Barclay, however, had satisfied herself as to the ex- 
 cellence of the schools in her native city, and resolved that 
 her daughters should enjoy their attendant advantages ; but 
 in the case of the Dolly, she perceived that another ar- 
 rangement might be tried beneficially. 
 
 Some foreigners, who were travelling in America for the 
 purpose of examining, amongst other things, the system of 
 the public schools, were just then announced, and a very 
 interesting conversation ensued, in which they gained a vast 
 deal of information from their host, who was constantly 
 applied to on similar occasions. 
 
 There was a great charm to these strangers in this inter- 
 course ; they there beheld an American family assembled 
 together in the enjoyment of domestic happiness, and not 
 tricked out in * silk attire,' or in other words, company dress 
 and manners. They seated themselves at the tea-table,
 
 OF BOSTON. 67 
 
 over which one of the young and radiant daughters of this 
 household presided, with unaffected grace and modesty ; and 
 having partaken of the beverage which ' cheers but not in- 
 ebriates,' they remained several hours chatting agreeably, 
 and departed, rejoicing in having been permitted to see the 
 interior of at least one family, without fuss and parade. 
 
 Travellers worth knowing, who visit this country, come 
 usually for scientific and useful purposes, very few for 
 pleasure ; they consequently desire to see the inner life of 
 the Americans, not the outward and infrequent gala-show 
 days and nights, where nothing that they desire to learn can 
 be gained.
 
 68 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ' Who meets us here ? My niece Plantagenet, 
 Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster.' 
 
 SnAKsrE.uiE. 
 
 There is a pleasant custom in many American families 
 of adopting Aunts. Some agreeable person, connected with 
 them by no ties of blood, is selected and enacts very suc- 
 cessfully her part, the junior members always making the 
 choice. Mrs. Fanny Ashley had received this distinction 
 at the hands of Mr. Barclay's children, and a better or 
 more tenderly affectionate relative could nowhere have been 
 found. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley had been a very pretty little girl, and became 
 a very pretty young woman ; she was really so, hair, eyes, 
 teeth, figure and face all pretty ; and moreover, she was ex- 
 ceedingly amiable. 
 
 Somebody of ' man's estate ' had said of her that she 
 possessed precisely sense enough for a woman, and to these 
 attractive belongings was added a fine fortune. 
 
 Now all these pleasant things had, naturally enough, ob- 
 tained for her a host of pretenders to her favor, and the 
 young lady certainly surprised immensely all her friends 
 and admirers when she bestowed her hand upon a man 
 almost old enough to be her own father. But she was an 
 orphan and her own mistress, with no one to enlighten her 
 respecting the inner life of the individual she had thus un- 
 wisely chosen.
 
 OF BOSTON. 69 
 
 Mr. Samuel Ashley was excessively handsome, even at 
 an age when the fragility of such a possession as beauty is 
 decided ; he had travelled much, and was said to have studied 
 its preservation most accurately in the best of schools for 
 such a recondite science. Mr. Ashley's voice was captivat- 
 ing ; he sang, all the women declared, like an angel ; he 
 waltzed and danced incomparably, entirely heedless of the 
 sarcasms upon his juvenilities, launched forth by his married 
 contemporaries. 
 
 This gentleman was also a good talker, quoted Byron and 
 sighed forth Moore's songs most exquisitely, and had a splen- 
 did establishment and great wealth. He had just returned 
 from the East, when he beheld for the first time the pretty 
 creature whom lie wooed and won, as he well knew how to 
 do. They were married, and she was installed in his beau- 
 tiful house to find herself a slave. A greater tyrant never 
 existed than she discovered her liege lord and master to be- 
 His life had been an undivulged secret : the gay, fascinating, 
 agreeable Mr. Ashley proved a miserable invalid, existing 
 only by the perpetual administering of opium, disguised, to 
 be sure, under other names, but opium ever. 
 
 No sooner had he secured his prize, than, casting aside 
 all concealment, he appeared before his young wife what 
 he, in truth, really was, a selfish egotist, vain, cruel and 
 heartless, and, worse than all, jealous. The green-eyed 
 monster had never efiected a more perfect lodgment in 
 any man's breast than his : whatever his experience had 
 been in life, it was not flattering to woman ; he had no 
 faith in her. It has been related that he was remarkably 
 handsome. But who can picture the disgust of his wife 
 when she, who had thought his hyaclnthine ringlets the 
 most beautiful ever seen, was convinced, by ocular demon- 
 stration, that they were put in curl papers, every night, 
 by his own body-servant ! And a precious task had the 
 poor fellow, for this operation was but the commencement 
 of his nocturnal services. This one act alone would have
 
 70 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 sufficed to disabuse the most enamored of wives, which 
 Mrs. Ashley was not. 
 
 It is true, she had been enthralled ; and what was a simple 
 girl to do when an experienced and perfect actor like Mr. 
 Ashley had resolved to win her ? He well knew how to 
 spread his net, and the young fledgling was soon entangled 
 in its meshes ; she was also flattered excessively by the notice 
 of a man so courted and followed. His slightest laudatory 
 mention of her, the first time he saw her, quite elevated her 
 in the scal'e of the fashionable circle in which she moved. 
 He pronounced her pretty, very pretty, and every body im- 
 mediately voted her beautiful. She was dazzled and bewil- 
 dered by his attentions, and imagining that the delusion under 
 which she labored was love, she cheerfully consented to 
 place her destiny in his hands. 
 
 He began his marital career by commanding her to abandon 
 all her young friends, allowing her to receive them only in 
 the most formal manner : he detested, he said, silly intimacies. 
 Then she was to accept invitations only in certain houses, and 
 those most rarely ; he declared his own health to be so 
 delicate that all parties in the evening must be abandoned, a 
 grand and formal dinner being the only amusement per- 
 mitted. She miglit sit by his side, if she liked, when he 
 took his daily exercise in a close carriage, but, as to ' running 
 about town,' that was totally inadmissible ; his first wife had 
 never done any thing of the sort. So, in default of any 
 thing better, poor ]Mrs. Ashley entered every day, at one 
 o'clock, a superb equipage and dozed through a drive of six 
 miles, never more, never less, over the self-same road with 
 her magnificent husband, who made a j)oint of never open- 
 ing his lips. For why should he attempt being agreeable, or 
 give himself any trouble for his wife ? A little silly bread- 
 and-butter girl was she when he married her, with nothing 
 but her prettiness and fortune to recommend her, and she 
 must consider herself to have climbed to the very apex of 
 human felicity when he honored her by bestowing uponher
 
 OF BOSTON. 71 
 
 his great name. To be sure, he could not deny, even to 
 himself, that he had been obliged to exercise rather tiresome 
 efforts to gain this young thing, but now he was making 
 amends for the constraint he had been forced to put upon 
 himself. 
 
 A wearisome life was hers, and she was fast losing her 
 spirits and health, when death released her from her bondage ; 
 and, from being the nurse of a worn-out voluptuary, she 
 emerged, after a decent period of retirement, into the con- 
 solatory condition of an immensely rich widow, with renew- 
 ed health and spirits, and a firm resolve that, if she were 
 ever weak enough to contract another marriage, it should be 
 with the ugliest and worst-mannered man in Christendom. 
 
 The first person she sought was Mrs. Barclay. ' My 
 dear Kate,' said she, ' I hope you have not, for a moment, 
 imagined I love you the less for not seeing you ; my duties 
 of nurse have been so arduous, that no time have I had for 
 the cultivation of friendship, or even acquaintance. Now I 
 return to beg and conjure you to accord me my old place in 
 your atTections, and to allow me the blessed privilege of 
 coming here when I please.' Mrs. Barclay, embracing her 
 cordially, entreated her to return to her old haunts, and 
 sincerely assured her that the more she frequented her house, 
 the better would her husband and herself like and love her. 
 Mrs. Ashley, enchanted by the warmth of her friend's- wel- 
 come, availed herself of this gracious permission, and haunt- 
 ed, as she persisted in asserting, the dwelling where her 
 warmest affections centred. The whole family were delight- 
 ed with the gay and pleasant person who conferred so much 
 of her time upon them, and soon adopted her as the aunt of 
 their decided predilections. 
 
 Mr. Richard Barclay's pardon must be entreated for not 
 excepting him in the list of the fair widow's admirers : he 
 literally hated her, and often declared she was the only draw- 
 back in his brother's house. ' How they could like her, he 
 knew not, a silly flaunting thing ; delighted to be rid of
 
 72 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 her husband, and run wild ! Dress and parties, parties and 
 dress, nothing else ; her toilettes were exquisite he was willing 
 to concede, but then the time she devoted to them ! What 
 could John and his wife find in such a woman as that ? Not 
 an idea ; he abhorred even the sound of her voice.' And so 
 he grumbled and railed at his enemy, as he called her. Now, 
 this was not at all true ; Mrs. Ashley could be no one's enemy, 
 not even Mr. Richard's ; she simply thought he was particular- 
 ly rude ever to her, but then he was the brother of the per- 
 sons she most loved on earth, and she must bear with his odd 
 and disagrcablc ways for their sake. Had Mrs. Ashley been 
 asked who was the man she most disliked in the world, she 
 would have promptly answered, Mr. Richard Barclay. Under 
 the circumstances, she neither betrayed nor concealed her 
 feelings, but] avoided any intercourse with the ' bear,' other 
 than what was really inevitable. 
 
 This state of things would have been very disagreable to 
 the friends of the parties, but for the exquisite tact of the 
 lady ; and nothing could have been better than her treatment 
 of Mr. Richard's case, for a case it was requiring skilful 
 hands to manage. In vain Mr. Barclay remonstrated with 
 his brother on the extraordinary dislike he had taken to his 
 pretty and pleasing friend ; but the 'bear's' prejudices were 
 altogether too deeply rooted for any efforts he could make to 
 eradicate them, so he renounced all hope of effecting an 
 amicable arrangement between them. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay was devotedly attached to Mrs. Ashley. The 
 little estrangement |Which had occurred, she well knew arose 
 from no want of affection on the part of licr friend, but the 
 tyranny of her husband ; and she was delighted at the frank 
 and loyal manner in which the amiable and affectionately 
 attached woman had returned to her allegiance, and resumed 
 all the pleasant routine of bye-past days. It seemed as if the 
 interregnum had but increased their love for each other : she 
 lamented her brother's whims, and would gladly have recon- 
 ciled the two persons she so well loved.
 
 OF BOSTON. 73 
 
 On Mrs. Ashley's reappearance amidst her friends, several 
 of her followers began to appear also ; the one who made him- 
 self the most conspicuous was Mr. Naseby. This gentleman 
 had been rather slightingly treated by dame Nature in every 
 thing, but, as it very often occurs in such cases, the non- 
 recipient takes it into his head that he has been bountifully 
 supplied with all her gifts. Mr. Naseby was perfectly con- 
 fident that he was a charming poet, a delightful singer, that 
 he danced well, rode well, and gobbled up hearts. To be 
 sure, it did seem extraordinary that he had not been dis- 
 abused of some of these illusions by the infinite variety of 
 rebuffs he was perpetually receiving. Mrs. Ashley had 
 refused him a dozen times, but he always returned to the 
 charge with renewed vigor, and continued to haunt her steps 
 wherever she went. She declared he was as blind as a bat to 
 his own imperfections, and that there was no way of knocking 
 his conceit out of him. 
 
 And he was blind, indeed, for such near-sightedness as had 
 fallen on this unfortunate man no one had ever beheld ; the 
 mistakes and blunders he committed, touching the identity 
 of all objects animate and inanimate, were indescribably 
 ludicrous. Although sighing at the feet of Mrs. Ashley, Mr. 
 Naseby was not deterred, by the passionate nature of his 
 attachment, from distributing a few favors, in the shape of 
 verses, flowers and love-tokens in other quarters ; in fact, he 
 was a victim to the fair sex, and met with a most ungrateful 
 return. His appearance amongst the young girls, he being 
 no middle man, and ever meandering between widows and 
 juvenilities, was the signal of instant flight, for besides the 
 soft nothings he poured into their all-revolting ears, he 
 was a perfect terror to them in the matter of their toilettes. 
 Myopia was centred in him : he upset cups of chocolate 
 over rose-colored tissues, put his big feet into superb blonde 
 flounces, fell sprawling into the ranks of the waltzers, and 
 breathed into the ears of one divinity precisely what was 
 intended for another. Then his two arch-angels com- 
 7
 
 74 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 paring notes, vowed vengeance against him for ever and 
 aye ; and altogether the ' Cupidon,' as the young tits called 
 him, led rather a troublous existence. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley sometimes flattered herself that he had en- 
 tirely deserted her for some VVill-o'-the-Wisp of sixteen, but 
 no such good fortune awaited her; a short respite ensued, 
 and lo ! Mr. Naseby made his return known to the lady of 
 his love by breaking her invaluable Spanish fan, upsetting a 
 Buhl tripod with a marble bust of Petrarch's Laura upon it, 
 the nose of the immortal wife, and mother of eleven chil- 
 dren being destroyed thereby ; or giving Bobby, the mocking- 
 bird, such a big worm that, choking and strangling, he gave 
 up the ghost entirely. The last offence, one of a thousand, 
 the fair widow could not forgive, for Bobby had been taught 
 all manner of touchingly interesting feats, had flown away 
 seven times, and cost her ten dollars for every restoration to 
 his home and perch, besides the original outlay of a hundred. 
 ' What shall I do to rid myself of that incubus, Mr. 
 Naseby ? ' said Mrs. Ashley to Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 ' You must not make yourself so agreeable to him,' 
 replied the lady. 
 
 ' Oh, he is insufferable ! I have treated him in the most 
 shocking manner, especially after poor Bobby's death : did 
 you ever hear of any thing so abominable ? I have but one 
 hope left, and that is, in the transcendent beauty of your 
 daughters he will be oblivious of what he is pleased to call 
 my perfectibilities.' 
 
 ' To tell you the truth, my dear friend, I hav-e lately had 
 a suspicion that he has begun to turn liis gooseberry eyes in 
 ihiXt quarter.' 
 
 ' I could embrace you with all my heart for the good 
 news,' exclaimed Mrs. Ashley. 
 
 And so it was, the inconstant ! He had actually prome- 
 naded his regards, as the French say, on the two opening 
 beauties, but, unfortunately, could never distinguish one 
 sister from the other. He had proposed to pay his devoirs
 
 OF BOSTON. 75 
 
 to the youngest, Miss Grace ; but to persons in the full en- 
 joyment of their eyesight the resemblance was puzzling 
 beyond description, then what must it have been to the par- 
 cel-blind Mr. Naseby ! 
 
 Georgy and Grace Barclay had long desired to inform 
 Mrs. Ashley of the partial defection of her recreant swain, 
 but dared not take the liberty. On Mrs, Barclay's hint Mrs. 
 Ashley spake, and then such an amusing revelation as 
 ensued ! Georgy had innumerable protestations to record 
 for her sister, and Grace, the beloved one, comparatively 
 none at all. Copies of verses addressed to the divine Miss 
 Grace Barclay had been mysteriously left at the door by 
 small boys, bouquets, countless in number, and a pair of 
 turtle-doves. 
 
 The sisters had made a compact never to enlighten the 
 adorer touching their identity, and Georgy enjoyed the 
 joke immensely of repeating Mr. Naseby's platitudes to her 
 sister. 
 
 ' The wicked young things ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Ashley, 
 when she heard this recital of adventures ; ' but the silly 
 fellow richly deserves all the sad tricks they have played 
 upon him ; at any rate, I shall be rid of his presence at my 
 house for a while.' 
 
 But this was a sad mistake of the fair widow's. Mr. 
 Naseby had not the slightest intention of abandoning Mrs. 
 Ashley. He admired her excessively, found her house 
 extremely agreeable, her dinners well appointed and excel- 
 lent ; and what mattered it to him that she had positively 
 declined his matrimonial proffers half a dozen times ? He 
 was quite accustomed to such proceedings; refusals were not 
 ' few and far between ' in the annals of his life ? It would 
 have been well for him if he could have, for once, summed 
 up all his reminiscences of the various defeats he had 
 encountered, and learned a lesson of forbearance and hu- 
 mility.
 
 76 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ' If she undervalue me, 
 Wliat care I liow fair she be.' 
 
 Sir. Walter Raleigh. 
 
 Years had rolled away, and time had passed sadly and 
 slowly enough to Mrs. Sandei-son. Hers was a monotonous 
 life indeed ; friendless and alone, she felt the deprivation of 
 social intercourse severely, but possessed not sufficient cour- 
 age or energy to make any exertion. Gerald had left the 
 Latin school with honors, and had formed a plan and was 
 carrying it through efficiently, to pursue the same course 
 of studies at home that he should liave done could he have 
 effected his cherished purpose of entering Harvard Univer- 
 sity. To this he sedulously applied himself. 
 
 Charley had received a good mercantile education, to 
 which had been added French and Spanish, his mother 
 having taught him drawing and music, besides constantly 
 reviewing his studies. At sixteen he had been placed in a 
 commercial house, in which he had conducted himself ad- 
 mirably ; he had reached his eighteenth year, and was 
 ardently wishing to do something for himself in order that 
 he might no longer be a burthen to his mother, when, most 
 fortunately for him, he accidentally made the acquaintance 
 of Mr. Barclay. The gentleman was attracted by the 
 energy and industry- of the youth, having seen him con- 
 stantly at work ; and when their further intercourse devel- 
 oped all the pleasing and excellent qualities of the young 
 orphan, when he found that, to a high sense of honor and 
 probity in Charley Sanderson, was added the most fascinat-
 
 OF BOSTON. 77 
 
 ingly cheerful manners and pleasing accomplishments, he 
 quite cultivated the society of a creature so gifted by 
 nature. 
 
 Mr. Barclay had known Charley's father, and would wil- 
 lingly have paid his mother many delicate attentions, but 
 she was so entrenched behind the barricade raised by her 
 brother, Mr. Egerton, that he had always considered her 
 completely unapproachable. This good man, truly the 
 orphan's friend, had felt some regret, when he first began to 
 discern Charley's attractions, that he had rather neglected 
 these boys, and made all the amends in his power by 
 inviting them to his house. Charley, of course, was per- 
 fectly enchanted to accept any proffers of hospitality from 
 such a distinguished quarter ; but Gerald, whose shyness 
 and studious and dreamy habits had, by that time, become 
 unconquerable, resolutely refused all overtures for social 
 intercourse. In vain his brother raved of the beauty and 
 amiability of the sisters, the benevolence and graciousness 
 of their parents, the fascinations and attractions of all the 
 surroundings of this family ; Gerald obstinately persisted in 
 remaining at home, seeing no one but his mother and uncle, 
 and hardly ever getting beyond the bounds of the garden 
 walls. Indeed, there he took all his exercise, his mother 
 usually walking with him ; otherwise, his rounds would have 
 been truly solitary ; the rest of his time was given exclu- 
 sively to hard work, which seemed to be his only pleasure 
 with the exception of music ; he played on the guitar 
 admirably, and sang in a masterly style. His mother had 
 greatly encouraged this taste, as it was the only recreation 
 he permitted himself to enjoy ; she much lamented the 
 seclusion of her son, but, as she often said, what could she 
 do ? Her own means of promoting the happiness of her 
 darling children were so small, that all she could bestow was 
 an unlimited acquiescence in their pursuits, for other gifts 
 she was powerless ; and feeling herself so powerless she 
 could not gather sufficient courage to remonstrate with
 
 78 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Gerald on his solitariness. It is true that Mrs. Sanderson 
 was not far-sighted as to the evil consequences which would 
 infallibly ensue from such a course of life, its egotism alone 
 being the rock upon which his whole being might be 
 shipwrecked. Again, if by any chance, her son should be 
 deprived of Charley, his ignorance of the commonest world- 
 ly transactions being deplorable, how was he to guide or 
 govern himself? This question she had not asked herself ; 
 she had seen so much trouble, and the dullness of her 
 career had been so stupefying, that it had partially obscured 
 her susceptibility to coming events, and she appeared to 
 have settled down into the conviction that sufficient for the 
 day was the evil thereof. 
 
 Certainly Charley did his best to push Gerald out into the 
 world, sometimes trying coaxing, and sometimes scolding; 
 at the latter he was, however, no great adept ; but if he did 
 not succeed in effecting his purpose in the gairish light of 
 day, he now and then prevailed at night. By dint of great 
 persuasion Gerald would steal forth at midnight for an hour 
 to bestow a serenade upon the sisters whom his brother so 
 rapturously admired, and this to Charley was an immense 
 boon ; they sang deliciously together, their voices, from long 
 practice, mingling most harmoniously. Charley, when 
 charged with the pleasant fact of having trolled a love ditty 
 beneath his lady's window by the young beauties, always 
 frankly avowed his participation in the duo, but awarded 
 to his brother all the praises bestowed upon the perform- 
 ance. 
 
 Gracy had experienced an intense desire to see Gerald, 
 and often begged his brother to urge him to accept her 
 father's invitation ; but he declared Gerald to be an inexora- 
 ble fellow, nothing could be done with him, he declared, he 
 was so obstinately bent upon living at home and nowhere 
 else ; for, said he, ' Gerald will not even serenade you and 
 your sister when the moon is at its full, because he is fearful 
 you might peep out and get a chance look at him.'
 
 OF BOSTON. 79 
 
 ' Oh,' said Gracy, ' I do not believe any young gentleman 
 who takes so much pains to hide himself is worth looking at 
 at all. Is he deformed ? ' 
 
 ' Deformed ! ' almost shrieked Charley, ' why he is the 
 handsomest fellow I ever saw in my life, nothing can surpass 
 his beauty ; such a romantic air and manner, you never be- 
 held the like, Miss Gracy.' 
 
 ' Does he wear a minstrel's cloak, or a brigand's hat ? ' 
 
 ' Now you are mocking at Gerald.' 
 
 ' Well, well, I'll not say another word about him, but only 
 ask does he go to church ? ' 
 
 ' He does not, but devotes all Sunday to religious exer- 
 cises ; he is very devout.' 
 
 By the question ' Does he go to church,' Miss Gracy inno- 
 cently revealed a Uttle project of seeing Charley's strange 
 brother, of whom wonderful stories were floating amongst 
 the young people, his great learning, his application and 
 total seclusion being considered quite mysterious. The 
 answer put to flight her plan of stealing a look at him. She 
 renewed the subject with Georgy by asking her how she 
 supposed Gerald Sanderson looked. 
 
 'Not like other people at all, I imagine,' replied her sister; 
 ' it is said he is a very remarkably handsome person, very 
 poetical and visionary. I am told that an artist, who by 
 chance saw him, has been trying these last six months to 
 induce him to sit to him, but he cannot be persuaded to do 
 so ; he may relent, and then, you know, you can see the 
 picture, as you seem to be so curiously inclined.' 
 
 'I shall never like him,' said Gracy, ' half as well as 
 Charley, if he is as handsome as the Apollo Belvidere.' 
 
 ' I dare say not, for Charley seems to be the reigning 
 favorite with you, Gracy.' 
 
 ' I frankly confess he is. I never saw such a loyal, 
 charming tempered, gay creature in my life. How he 
 adores us all.' 
 
 ' Loves, you mean ; the adoration is all for a certain Miss
 
 80 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Grace Barclay. Time was when he paid his devoirs to me, 
 but you have supplanted me entirely in his atfections.' 
 
 ' And surely you had no claim on his affections, for you 
 are, and always have been, perfectly indifferent to him.' 
 
 ' I agree Avith you cordially in your estimate of Charley's 
 good qualities, and I really do love him, but as a brother 
 only.' 
 
 And true it was, that the youthful swain had at last 
 settled down into a state of perfect adoration of Miss Grace 
 Barclay. This revolution in the tenderness of his feelings 
 had been brought about by the continuous indifference of 
 Miss Georgy, and Charley had turned to another luminary ; 
 it was also true, that during the period he wore the elder 
 sister's chains, he frequently mistook the one for the other, 
 a circumstance that often occurred to many persons besides 
 himself. But, he soon began to feel, if he did not see, that 
 there was one who might smile upon him, if the other would 
 not ; and accordingly as he had never been perfectly con- 
 firmed in his true faith, he abandoned the old shrine and 
 worshipped at the new. And then a long adieu to mistakes; 
 none were made, and Charley became the most constant and 
 devoted of all true knights. 
 
 Just after Mrs. Ashley's ball Grace caught a bad cold, 
 which seemed to threaten her lungs. This sadly alarming 
 her parents, they consulted their medical man, and he 
 recommended that she should be shut up in the house all 
 winter, the temperature of which he declared to be quite 
 equable, and, as he did not think change of climate re- 
 quisite, she remained at home, and took her lessons from 
 private masters. 
 
 Georgy went to her daily school, as usual. She, at first, 
 lamented the precautionary measures adopted for the res- 
 toration of her sister's health, but, in the end, seemed re- 
 conciled, and went forth cheerfully as usual. To Gracy, 
 this was a terrible disappointment ; she missed her sister, 
 her classes, her kind teachers, and it could not be said that
 
 OF BOSTON. 81 
 
 she bore her deprivation with Hke equanimity. She de- 
 clared she could learn nothing well without Georgy ; her 
 sister assisted her so much in her lessons, was so much 
 more intelligent and clever, and, in fact, for the first time in 
 her life, was thoroughly discontented. This mood was not 
 of long endurance ; her better nature triumphed, as her 
 mother, remonstrating, begged her to remember the bless- 
 ings with which she was surrounded, and made her fully 
 aware, and also confess, how improper and unbecoming, 
 and even wicked, were these repinings, counselling her to 
 childlike submission, and praying that the cup might pass 
 away. It did, and the spring saw her restored to perfect 
 health. 
 
 About spring-time, a good chance occurring, Charley 
 Sanderson, under the patronage of Mr. Barclay, was sent to 
 India. The fact that a situation could be procured on board 
 an excellent vessel with a good commander being made known 
 to the orphan's friend,' he spoke to his young favorite, and dis- 
 covered what he had never before even suspected, that the boy 
 was penniless. At first, he could be hardly made to compre- 
 hend this, having ever seen this young creature so gay and 
 cheerful ; he had never surmised that he was enduring all sorts 
 of privations ; it seemed to him monstrous that with an 
 uncle, rolling in wealth, there were no means forthcoming, 
 except for a scanty outfit, and that even this resource had 
 been hoarded, in the most economical manner, by mother 
 and son. Charley's outburst of almost frantic grief, when 
 he heard of the project and acknowledged his inability to 
 accept it, was heart-rending; and, as Mr. Barclay subse- 
 quently told his wife, being more than he could bear, he 
 had advanced a few thousands, and intended to send him 
 on his way rejoicing. 
 
 And on this way he went, blessing and praying for the 
 welfare of his benefactor, every day of his life ; the parting 
 from his mother, Gerald, and Grace, was very, very sad, 
 but then it was illumined with the prospect of a prosperous
 
 82 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 voyage and speedy return. To Mrs. Sanderson, the sun 
 shone less brightly when her darling departed ; Gerald 
 moped and missed the joyous spirit that had gladdened his 
 existence, and Peter and Dinah groaned and sang ballads, 
 of twenty-four verses each, about horrible shipwrecks and 
 piratical murders in the Indian seas, that were frightful 
 enough to make one's hair stand on end. ' He'd nebber 
 come back alive,' they both declared. 
 
 All the Barclays missed and mourned the Charley, he 
 was so constantly with them, and such a bit of sunshine ! 
 it seemed hardly possible that the departure of one such 
 young person could leave so large a space unfilled. And 
 Grace found that she loved him with all her heart; 'a light 
 that's fled ' was he to her. She had been utterly uncon- 
 scious of the nature of her feelings for him, until the 
 glittering sail, which she watched from her own window, 
 had sunk below the horizon, carrying with it the light and 
 life of her existence. And many a time and oft went this 
 young creature to that same window, to watch and wait the 
 re-appearance of the Indian argosy which would bring back 
 her lover. For this he was, though no one word of troth 
 had ever passed her lips or his, but they had vowed them- 
 selves to each other in the depths of their own hearts ; and 
 this absence was to put to the proof their constancy. 
 
 It appeared also, on Charley's flitting, that Mr. Richard 
 had contrived ' to like the boy too well,' and he spared ' the 
 old miser' not a whit when he descanted upon the impossi- 
 bility of living with such a good fellow, and not loving him 
 and helping him, 
 
 'I always disliked Philip Egerton,' cried he, 'and I do 
 so now all the more. Why, what will he do with his money ? 
 PIc can't carry it with him, of that he must be sure; and 
 what could he have done better than bestow a bag of the 
 famous unseen gold pieces upon that dear boy ? I wish 
 heartily that the divining rod had fished them up, and then
 
 OF BOSTON. 83 
 
 somebody would have been the better for them. Where do 
 you suppose, John, they are ?' 
 
 Mr. Barclay was much amazed at Mr. Richard's conde- 
 scending, at last, to ask this question, when he had criticised 
 all Boston for doing the same thing. 
 
 ' It is a mooted point, Dick,' replied he, ' where they are 
 now. He'll found an Egerton Hospital or College with them 
 when he dies, depend upon it.' 
 
 ' And defraud his rightful heirs,' said Mr. Richard. 
 
 ' He may marry yet, Dick.' 
 
 * Who on earth would have him, John ,?' 
 
 ' Mrs. Ashley, perhaps.' 
 
 'Oh! John, John, how can you say so.'' she's a silly 
 thing, I well know, but not quite so foolish as that.' 
 
 ' I'm delighted, for once, to have caught you defending my 
 favorite and your pet dislike. Miss Serena, then, what say 
 you to her.?' 
 
 ' I give her up, but he'll never ask her, of that I am sure, 
 and am just as certain she would accept him if he did.' 
 
 ' I had some idea of writing that miserly Philip Egerton,' 
 said Mr. Richard, ' an anonymous letter, just to let him 
 know what all the world thinks of his conduct ; but, as 
 I never had done such a mean thing in my life, I was quite 
 sure I should finish by signing my name to it.' 
 
 ' Mr. Egerton is so supremely indifferent to every thing 
 that can be said or written of him, Richard, that all attacks, 
 overt or otherwise, would fall fruitless to the ground. I 
 must confess I am astonished that Charley Sanderson has 
 not broken through the ice of his misanthropy with his most 
 winning and endearing qualities; and if even my pet has 
 not been able to do this, no one can. I never, in my life, 
 met with a more charming youngster ; his very presence 
 diffuses sunshine ; 'tis pleasant to look upon his loyal and 
 loving eyes. I often pray that Johnny may become just such 
 another ; I shall miss him sadly.' 
 
 ' I hope, John, he will be one day your son-in-law.'
 
 84 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ' Ah ! well, my brother, they are both so young, many 
 changes may occur before they can ever think of marrying. 
 I wish my Gracy no better fortune than such a husband, if 
 she can ever make up her mind to leave her mother. One 
 thing I do know, Charley has never opened his lips to her, 
 but came in the most straight-forward and honorable man- 
 ner to me, and said that he loved my daughter devotedly, 
 and that if I thought I could never consent to allow him to win 
 her, he would never again enter my doors, as his wretchedness 
 would infallibly betray his secret, a pretty secret, forsooth, 
 which all the household knew. Upon this, I laughed, and 
 told him to let things remain just as they were, and keep 
 his lips closed until his return from India, and then we 
 should see how this grand passion had stood the perilous 
 test of salt water.' 
 
 ' Oh ! John, John,' cried Mr. Richard, ' how many people 
 in this over-wise city of Boston would think you a fool if 
 they could hear you now proposing to give your daughter 
 to a penniless boy ; it would quite ruin you on 'Change. 
 So never mention such a thing to any one but your brother.'
 
 OF BOSTON. 85 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Law. A rule of action. 
 
 Johnson's Dictionaht. 
 
 Mr. Bauclay had many old friends surrounding him, his 
 first neighbor, Mr. Redmond, a man of profound judicial 
 learning and great legal attainments, had experienced the 
 good fortune, early in life, of being able to convince his 
 townsmen of the existence of his gifts, a most important 
 step in any profession, but particularly in that of the law. 
 His career had been one of great prosperity; he had been 
 sent to the West Indies on some business, just after he 
 had completed his studies, and there, besides gaining a large 
 and valuable suit, won the heart and hand of an heiress of 
 great beauty and reputed accomplishments. He returned 
 home, bringing his bride, and having installed her in a very 
 handsome residence, and furnished it in a befitting manner, 
 he immersed himself in his law books, having, apparently, 
 nearly forgotten her presence in it. 
 
 Mrs. Redmond was not precisely the sort of person to 
 remind any man very impressively of her existence, much 
 less her absent husband. She was a fine creature, with 
 larwe, sleepy eyes, the lids of which she appeared actually too 
 indolent to raise, and her whole being was so swallowed up 
 in idleness and apathy, that she hardly seemed awake three 
 hours in the day consecutively. She never repined at her 
 husband's neglect, but consoled herself for the loss of his 
 attentions by devoting her time to the perusal of all the 
 novels and romances she could procure. She arose in the 
 8
 
 86 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 morning at nine o'clock, and, as the only thing she did 
 thoroughly was to perform her ablutions, and, as she had 
 a dim consciousness that if she were not then completely 
 dressed for the day, she should never mount the stairs to 
 her chamber again, she made an elegant and elaborate 
 toilette. Descending to the dining-room at eleven, she 
 drank a cup of tea and ate a morsel of dry bread, and then 
 she repaired to the parlor, and installing herself in a luxuri- 
 ous lounge, she dozed away her time with a novel. It was 
 impossible for her to read Miss Austen's works. She heard 
 her admirers laud them to the skies, but two chapters gave 
 Mrs. Redmond one of her soundest naps, and in twenty 
 years she had not finished ' Emma.' Sir Walter she rather 
 liked, but she could not read him forever, and, as she 
 required an immense deal of excitement, she devoured all 
 the yellow-covered horrors in Christendom. Nothing was 
 too shockingly improbable for her taste ; she doted upon 
 brigands and murderers, and strong sensations and pungent 
 situations ; and so she betook herself to the French school, 
 which is surnamed the ' Satanic,' and was tolerably well 
 contented, for every day brought her some new devel- 
 opments of human weakness and wickedness, with the 
 crowning one virtue to leaven the abominable mass of sin, 
 which that seminary disseminates. So Mrs. Redmond dozed 
 away her life, with the interruption occasioned by the birth 
 of three children, a son, Robert, and two daughters, Jane 
 and Mary. The children were left to nurses, and after- 
 wards to a nursery governess, and then to private schools 
 and masters. The boy went to Cambridge, was graduated 
 with honors, and turned out a capital fellow, high-minded, 
 frank and loyal, nobody knew how. He managed these 
 things himself, most people thought. 
 
 Jane fared worse. She was critical and satirical from her 
 earliest days, carping and fault-finding occupied her mind; 
 she despised her mother's inertness and plunged into another 
 extreme; she was too busy and active, always in a hurry.
 
 OF BOSTON. 87 
 
 There was no repose about her ; she flew about like a VVill-o'- 
 the-Wisp, resting nowhere. She had most settled and fixed 
 ideas upon all subjects, and,' as her mother neither rode, 
 walked nor talked, so Jane, in pure opposition, galloped, 
 ran, and chattered away as fast as she possibly could. Mrs. 
 Redmond looked upon her daughter in as amazed a way 
 as she could compass, and had been heard to declare she 
 could hardly believe Miss Jane to be her own offspring ; but 
 this was on some grand occasion, or extraordinary emer- 
 gency, when even her endurance had been taxed to its 
 utmost capacity. 
 
 Little Mary, as they all called her, was gentle and affection- 
 ate, but, at times, very ungovernable, from want of good 
 management. 
 
 Mr. Redmond had always departed to his office long 
 before any of his family were stirring; he returned to his 
 dinner, seated himself at table, ate a huge meal without 
 knowing whether it were good or bad, spoke never a word, 
 good or bad, and then retraced his footsteps to the same 
 place, and there remained until the small hours, and some- 
 times just remembered that he had a home at daylight. 
 It was well for him that the quantity and not quality of 
 his food was important, for worse dinners never were eaten 
 than disgraced his loaded board, from the most expensive 
 articles, no money being spared, to the cheapest, every 
 thing was either over-done or under-done. 
 
 Mrs. Redmond bestowing no attention whatever upon 
 her household, nobody else did, and, consequently, a more 
 extravagant establishment could nowhere be found ; fortu- 
 nately there was wealth, or there would have been shortly 
 an end to the mismanagement. So that the mistress of 
 the house had a few confections at her repasts she was 
 satisfied ; retaining in full force her West India taste for 
 sweet things, she always had a basket of candied fruits and 
 sugar-plums on the table by the side of her chair ; they 
 rivalled the yellow covers, and as this house kept itself,
 
 88 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 the pastiy cook and confectioner were vastly patronized. 
 Mrs. Redmond had actually so surfeited her children with 
 sweets, that she could not induce them to eat any more ; so 
 she was obliged to bestow her favors upon the Dolly and 
 others with whom she was immensely popular. She found 
 this an excellent plan, as it saved her from talking and 
 endeavoring to entertain young people, which she consid- 
 ered a most wearisome task, and, as she was beautiful and 
 elegantly dressed, they thought her a model Avoman ; thus 
 she acquired this reputation at a very small cost. 
 
 Notwithstanding her sleepy ways, Mrs. Redmond's house 
 abounded in visitors; she was very hospitable, and, if her 
 friends would only talk to her and expect no answers, she 
 was satisfied; every one was at home, the hostess permitting 
 her guests to do as they pleased. Her circle was very agree- 
 able, and comprised many pleasing and influential persons, 
 who, meeting others of the same stamp, naturally resorted 
 to a house where they were habitually to be found. Thus 
 it happened that the lady gathered around her a pleasing 
 re-union, when persons of infinitely more attainments and 
 talents were left in solitude. Mr. Redmond, though enjoying 
 the reputation of being a great lawyer, had absolutely 
 nothing to do with this, as he was always invisible ; and 
 Jane, the very antipodes of her mother, would have kept 
 every body away, except Miss Tidmarsh, with whom she 
 fraternized in an extraordinary manner, and, in fact, was 
 so ungracious, that the frequenters of the establishment 
 hardly acknowledged an acquaintance with her, and were 
 always pleased when she was not at home. Miss Serena 
 Tidmarsh was the reigning favorite with Miss Jane Redmond, 
 and paid much court to that young lady. Miss Serena, if 
 the truth must be told, was many years older than Jane, 
 but having no friends, she was fain to take up with a much 
 younger person, who, captivated by a similarity of tastes 
 and pursuits, eagerly fell into the net that was spread for
 
 OF BOSTON. 89 
 
 her by one much more conversant with the ways of the 
 world than herself. 
 
 It was a point gained in Miss Tidmarsh's game of life, 
 to have one house open to her at all times and seasons, 
 and especially a dwelling where she was sure to find a 
 pleasant society. She looked upon the lady hostess with 
 supreme contempt, and often puzzled herself to account 
 for the attraction there seemed to hang about her, and which 
 certainly collected very agreeable surroundings. Now, the 
 secret was a simple one after all, thoroughly good-natured 
 people are not so plentiful in society as it could be wished, 
 and when they choose to be the centre of a circle, they 
 can always command one; and if Miss Serena had exam- 
 ined this with half the critical acumen she habitually 
 bestowed upon the short-comings of her own little world, 
 she would soon have solved her problem easily. 
 
 Mrs. Redmond disliked her daughter's friend as much 
 as she could any thing but the Barclays, somehow, 
 the only positive opinion which emanated from her lips, 
 being a disparaging one of that family. She, who never 
 was heard to set down aught in malice, seemed in this one 
 instance to fail, and from what this backsliding proceeded 
 no one could tell, but so it was ; it might have been that 
 she heard them so universally lauded, except by her 
 daughter and her mature friend. It sometimes happens 
 that even very good people become wearied of hearing 
 other very good people praised. We are but mortals after 
 all. 
 
 Robert certainly performed his full part in the pagans that 
 were perpetually chanted in the Barclay chorus, and this 
 was the sole irritative that his mother ever endured. There 
 was, to be sure, a tradition that Mr. Redmond had gone to 
 the West Indies, in consequence of having been refused by 
 Mrs. Barclay in her maidenhood ; but this surely could not 
 have been the cause of Mrs. Redmond's prejudice against 
 her neighbors. 
 
 8*
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 The lady fancied that Robert was enamored of Georgy 
 Barclay, and this seemed an extremely disagreeable subject 
 for her to dwell upon, and, it really being the case, she 
 always dismissed it from her mind as speedily as possible. 
 It would be well if every one would do the same thing, 
 and wiser heads than Mrs. Redmond's might have profited 
 by her laudable example. 
 
 With regard to Miss Tidmarsh, Mrs. Redmond was pow- 
 erless ; she, having no influence over her daughter, could in 
 nowise control her, and therefore this disagreeable person 
 came and went at her pleasure and -wandered over the house, 
 which might be truly said to contain no mistress, since she 
 could not be expelled. 
 
 If Jane's misfortune was the possession of too much en- 
 ergy, her mother's consisted in having too little, or almost 
 none at all. Mr. Redmond had never done any thing towards 
 the formation of his wife's character ; she was a childlike, 
 lazy creature when he married her, and so she continued 
 afterwards. His time being so completely engrossed by his 
 legal pursuits, the bestowing of any attention upon the edu- 
 cation of his children was out of the question, he satisfied 
 himself that they had masters enough, and he paid their 
 bills. Of money he was profuse : he had received an ele- 
 gant fortune with his wife, and the income from his pro- 
 fession being very large, there were never any pecuniaiy 
 difliculties under his roof. In this way he lived perfectly 
 contented, and fully convinced, when he thought of his 
 family at all, that all was right. 
 
 Unfortunately there are too many Mr. Redmonds. An 
 ardent desire to accumulate wealth, an overweening love of 
 monej-, and an undue attention to professional pursuits, con- 
 nected with avarice and ambition, destroy the better part of 
 man's character in America. Nothing is so uncommon as 
 to find any human being satisfied with his lot and condition, 
 the most prosperous being as clamorous in their repinings as 
 the needy ; from the lowest round of the ladder to the high-
 
 OF BOSTON. 91 
 
 est, all alike rail against fortune. If, by chance, any one 
 pauses and desists in his pursuit of lucre, his name is chroni- 
 cled far and wide, and the solitariness of the case is amply 
 proved by the wonder and amazement it creates. And even 
 when a man like Mr. Barclay, gives a few hours every day 
 to his family, he is considered an extraordinary personage. 
 
 It is said that we are born, live and die in a hurry, and 
 most true is it that nearly all the testamentary dispositions 
 of hard-earned wealth are executed in the last agony. When 
 a man comes to die, instead of being able to turn his face to 
 the wall in peace with himself and the world, his thoughts 
 given to his Creator, he is tormented with wills and codicils 
 and lawyers, and terrestrial arrangements, where all should 
 have been not of the earth earthy, but celestial. 
 
 And thus it happens that, in a long life, he has not allowed 
 himself sufficient time to dispose of the dross, the accumu- 
 lation of which has cost him such weary years of toil, anx- 
 iety and care, and in the race for which he has exhausted, 
 and prematurely too, all the freshness of his feelings, his 
 heaven-born affections, his sublunary enjoyments, and, awful 
 to reflect upon, perchance his salvation. But over this let 
 the mantle of charity be thrown. It is to be devoutly hoped 
 he has found time and leisure to pray. 
 
 Robert Redmond, on leaving college, having taken Mr. 
 Barclay for his model, resolved to be just such a merchant 
 if he could, so he entered himself as a clerk in a large and 
 influential commercial house, with the prospect of becoming, 
 in due time, a junior partner ; this view of his case being 
 made almost a certainty by his father's promise of a large 
 sum accompanying the youthful aspirant. And very busily 
 and cheerfuly went Mr. Robert to work. It was never re- 
 ported of him that he actually swept out the establishment, 
 though the time has been, when it was firmly believed no 
 man ever made his fortune without so doing. Young Amer- 
 ica hires porters to perform this operation. 
 
 At any rate, the young man gave great satisfaction to his
 
 92 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 employers. He was a youth who sent his thoughts abroad ; 
 he was not fitted to plod at the desk, but he did quite as well 
 out of doors, and he was sent to Cuba. There he managed 
 well his commissions, and returned and was sent again. 
 His father seemed rather pleased with his activity and enter- 
 prise, and his mother embraced him tenderly when he de- 
 parted, and folded him tightly in her arms when he was 
 again restored to her ; a very remarkable effusion of sensi- 
 bility on her part. His first visit was always to the Barclays, 
 and his pleasant dinner with them was one of the things in 
 agreeable perspective during his absence. Jane was rather 
 indifferent to his comings and goings ; he was a little bit in 
 her way at home ; he loathed her bosom friend. Miss Se- 
 rena, and kept out of her presence as much as possible, and, 
 moreover, expressed to his sister openly his dislike of her 
 associate. This was an unpardonable offence in Jane's eyes, 
 and so she reconciled herself very easily to her brother's 
 departures, and the rather that he always brought her home 
 beautiful dresses of flowered linen cambric and superb Span- 
 ish fans; but not all the Cuban sweetmeats which he lavished 
 on his mother ever completely made her smile on his trav- 
 elling trunks. 
 
 It was in his absence that Mrs. Redmond, for the first 
 time, perceived the great value of her son's affectionate 
 devotion to her, dimly, to be sure, but this feeling increased 
 amazingly the second winter he passed away. She remem- 
 bered so many things he did for her and the house, the latter 
 no unimportant matter; she missed his evenings at home. 
 She had pleasant society, it was true, but no one compensated 
 her for the loss of her Robert. Then there really was se- 
 curity in his presence. Mr. Redmond would liave allowed 
 the dwelling to be consumed by fire before his eyes, provided 
 always the firemen did not enter his own bedchamber ; and 
 as to asking him to purchase any article for the house, none 
 of its inmates, in their wildest flights of imagination, ever 
 dreamed of such a thing. Sometimes a new servant, who
 
 OF BOSTON. 93 
 
 had not been trained to the ways of the establishment, might 
 venture upon such an act of pure folly. Mr. Redmond 
 always responded by presenting his purse, never knowing 
 what might be its contents, or troubling his head about the 
 matter ; Avhich might be Peach Mountain coal, the ther- 
 mometer at zero, or any thing else of equal household 
 importance. Mrs. Redmond then learned, for the first time, 
 that she had owed her greatly increased comforts to the 
 excellent arrangements of her son, whose absence she was 
 made to feel every hour in the day by their disappearance, 
 and to comprehend, in all its domestic bearings and other- 
 wise, her deprivation. This knowledge, however, influenced 
 in no way her conduct ; she felt and hourly lamented 
 Robert's departure, but she aroused herself none the more 
 for the consciousness of his loss ; she still remained as ir- 
 reclaimably torpid as ever, praying only that he might 
 speedily return.
 
 94 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 My comfort is, that their manifest prejudice to my cause will render 
 their judgment of less authority.' 
 
 Dkyden. 
 
 ' Now this would be perfectly delightful,' said Mr. Rich- 
 ard, one evening when they had all assembled in the library, 
 ' if it were not for one exception.' 
 
 ' And pray what is that ? ' inquired Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 ' Oh ! 'tis the wearisome prospect of beholding that ridi- 
 culous widow, Mrs. Fanny Ashley, sail into this pleasant 
 family circle and destroy all my comfort. What a bore she 
 is ! I am astonished, Catherine, you can have any enjoy- 
 ment in the society of that woman.' 
 
 * My dear Richard,' replied the lady, ' I must repeat, what 
 I have already asserted numberless times, that Mrs. Ashley 
 is my friend, and that I cannot permit her to be so disre- 
 spectfully mentioned, even by yourself, who are a privileged 
 person in this house.' 
 
 ' I assert nothing but the truth,' snarled Mr. Richard, 
 
 ' I regret to hear you speak in this way of such an esti- 
 mable person ; Mrs. Ashley has ever been to me a true and 
 firm friend in sickness and in sorrow, in weal and woe.' 
 
 'And pray what sorrows have you had, Mrs. Barclay? ' 
 
 'Many; I was a sickly child, nervous and overwhelmed 
 with all sorts of fantastic ideas, and she was my prop and 
 support, she having more self-possession and courage than 
 myself.' 
 
 ' Boldness you mean,' interrupted Mr. Richard.
 
 OF BOSTON. 95 
 
 Mrs. Barclay proceeded without paying any attention to 
 his remark", 'and, consequently, she was an immense re- 
 source for me, protecting me against the attacks of my 
 schoolmates, and helping me in my early lessons.' 
 
 ' It must have been in your early lessons, Catherine.' 
 
 ' She walked home with me to my own door every day, 
 and from that time to this has steadfastly adhered to me and 
 mine. Trust me, my brother, such friends are worth pre- 
 serving and cherishing.' 
 
 ' But you might have repaid her, my sister, in some other 
 way than by enduring her frivolity every day. I should go 
 mad to have Mrs. Ashley hanging about me, as she does 
 here, and I wonder my brother John submits to it.' 
 
 ' Brother John has a pleasant way, all his own, of sub- 
 mitting, and endures his wife's friends, and, moreover, likes 
 the lady in question nearly as well as I do.' 
 
 ' More fool he,' snarled Mr. Richard. ' What can he see 
 in her ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said Mr. Barclay, ' I find a great many good things 
 to admire in Mrs. Fanny. Firstly, she loves my wife and 
 children dearly ; and secondly, she has a small corner in her 
 heart for your humble servant, which is always a vast recom- 
 mendation to me.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, John, you're so soft-hearted, any silly woman 
 can creep into your affections. 1 should like to see that 
 widow try to do the like to me.' 
 
 Mr. Barclay opined that there was not much danger of 
 the attempt being made. 
 
 ' I detest widows,' resumed Mr. Richard. ' Now here is 
 this woman who never put her nose out of doors in her late 
 husband's reign ; no sooner is he dead, than she's every 
 where, the eternal Mrs. Ashley !' 
 
 ' Very good reason you have to say she never was seen 
 in Mr. Ashley's lifetime,' replied Mr. Barclay ; ' he never 
 permitted such doings ; his was a reign of terror with a 
 vengeance.'
 
 96 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ' I wish most heartily that it had continued, John, and 
 that his interesting relict had never enjoyed the chance of 
 dispensing herself every where as she does.' 
 
 ' But, my dear Richard,' said Mrs. Barclay, 'will you not 
 please to spare my friend, if not for her sake, for mine ? ' 
 
 * I sha'nt promise at all,' replied he, ' for I can hardly 
 refrain from telling the lady myself what I think of her. 
 Even your idol, Madame de Stael, always made a point of 
 informing her friends of their short-comings and defects, so 
 what have you to say now ? ' 
 
 ' That, great and distinguished, as she certainly was, she 
 must have heen a very disagreeable person.' 
 
 ' So you never wish " to hint at faults and hesitate dis- 
 likes," my sister, though you are the only woman I ever 
 saw who had so few to be knocked off.' 
 
 ' I mean to reply, brother, by stating that it is an occupa- 
 tion in which I do not excel. Sometimes, with young peo- 
 ple, I venture upon suggestions and reproofs, because I 
 imagine I may do good, but with older ones I should despair 
 of making important changes; and besides, I am inclined 
 to believe there is quite as much good as evil in the world.' 
 
 ' What Utopian nonsense ! I tell you the world is a very 
 bad place, and the people who cumber its surface worse 
 still ; and in America where the varnish of good manners 
 is so often found wanting, all the wickedness seems to be 
 duplicated.' 
 
 ' I am a victim to good manners,' said Mrs. Barclay, ' and 
 will not deny that they have immense weight with me, but 
 if I am to choose, give me the rough bark that I may know 
 what I have to fear. You cannot deny that Mrs. Ashley's 
 manners are good, and I am resolved that you shall, in time, 
 concede that her heart is equally so.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Ashley's heart is nothing to me, Mrs. Barclay.' 
 ' Take care, Dick,' laughingly cried Mr. Barclay, ' you may 
 succumb yet to the fair widow's charms, and even wear her 
 colors ; stranger things have happened than that.'
 
 OF BOSTON. 97 
 
 ' Never,' energetically replied Mr. Richard. 
 
 'Please, then,' said Mrs. Barclay, 'just be civil when you 
 meet her, and not allow her to perceive how very disagree- 
 able she is to you. I declare I think you evince a total 
 absence of good taste in your very decided disapproval of 
 my friend.' 
 
 ' I can't help expressing my dislike, and so must talk. 
 What is that woman dancing for at all the balls, and passing 
 her life in dissipation ? ' 
 
 ' How many balls do you suppose she numbers in a win- 
 ter, Catherine } ' 
 
 'And how many do you suppose she numbers in a sea- 
 son ? ' queried Mrs. Barclay. ' In her visiting list she may 
 possibly count a dozen balls. Certainly parties are not so 
 superabundant here ; and why should she not dance, if she 
 likes the amusement .-* It is surely extremely difficult for 
 her to find any other kind of recreation.' 
 
 ' You never dance,' said Mr. Richard. 
 
 ' Simply because my husband and I have got into a very 
 Darby and Joan way of living, in which we have been 
 greatly encouraged, perhaps too much, by our kind friends, 
 who are so much in the habit of finding us at home that, I 
 really believe, they would now quite resent our absence 
 from our own fireside. You well know how often they 
 descant upon the inestimable advantage, as they are pleased 
 to call it, of having a place to go to in the evening. It is 
 very probable that, if they ceased to come here, we should 
 be obliged to go out ourselves ; 'tis dangerous for man to 
 live alone, or woman either. Even Madame de Stael, whom 
 you have just quoted, could not exist out of Paris. She 
 vegetated in her father's dwelling, in the loveliest country in 
 the world, with even the Society of the Sismondis, Bonstet- 
 tens, &c. ; so, you perceive, the most intellectual cannot get 
 on always ruminating and reading, but require recreation. 
 I forgot to add, by way of strengthening my argument, that 
 this illustrious woman perfectly worshipped her father ; and 
 9
 
 98 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 that his little chateau was always filled with her admirers, 
 who were perpetually breathing incense at her shrine, and 
 yet she sighed for a city life. Furthermore, many of these 
 adorers followed her from Paris.' 
 
 ' Oh ! she was a woman, and a French one to boot,' said 
 Mr. Richard. 
 
 ' I shall not undertake to deny that ; but just look at the 
 famous men of your dear continent of Europe ; however 
 assiduously they may be occupied during the day, they 
 always devote their evenings to relaxation. Madame de 
 Sismondi arranged every morning some little amusement for 
 her husband's evening; and that he enjoyed better health, 
 and was brighter and more fitted for the labors of the ensuing 
 day, there is no doubt. Tieck gave his evenings to society, 
 and others too numerous to mention ; and, to bring the ques- 
 tion home to your own door, what would you yourself do 
 without us ? ' 
 
 * Oh ! I consider myself at home in your house.' 
 
 ' But you do not live here, and, consequently, you go out 
 when you visit us.' 
 
 At this juncture, just when Mr. Richard was nailed to the 
 floor, the very lady in question entered, all smiles and good- 
 nature. Mr. Richard, much to the amusement of his nieces, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and submitted to his hard destiny. 
 Kate laughed outright. 
 
 'You seem,' said Mrs. Ashley, 'to be a very merry 
 group, as usual;' and establishing herself comfortably in 
 a lounge, she looked around upon her friends most affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Grace, ' uncle Richard was railing at the world, 
 in his old way, and we were all, as usual, amused.' 
 
 ' I am extremely well enlightened touching Mr. Richard's 
 railings,' said the pretty widow. ' He spares no one, and 
 such general onslaughts do not materially disturb my equa- 
 nimity.' 
 
 ' I wish a little more attention were paid to my criticisms,'
 
 OF BOSTON. 99 
 
 responded Mr. Richard ; * the world would get on much 
 better.' 
 
 ' The world treats me very graciously,' said Mrs, Ashley. 
 ' 1 've no quarrel with it whatever. I should prefer a little 
 more gaiety, to be sure, than is to be found here ; fewer 
 lectures and more balls ' 
 
 ' Hear her,' said Mr. Richard, looking slyly at his sister. 
 
 ' Yes ! ' said Mrs. Ashley, ' more balls and fewer lectures. 
 Not that I distractedly admire dancing ; but as nobody will 
 give us any thing else, why, I would rather have that than no- 
 thing. I do sincerely wish we could have some other kind of 
 amusement. I should like a little society, some place to 
 go to, where I am not forced to dance and eat ; where I could 
 have a pleasant chat with agreeable men and women. I am 
 not intellectual, and the word is worn threadbare here if I 
 were ; and not being learned, am not ashamed to confess 
 that I like clever people's company better than my own. 
 But, as it seems impossible for me to find this diurnally out 
 of this house, and not having the face to come here forever, 
 why my only alternative seems to be the balls, with, occa- 
 sionally, a little music to relieve the tedium of long solitary 
 winter evenings.' 
 
 ' I'm quite sure,' said Mr. Richard, ' that if you had this 
 very society for which you declare yourself to be hungering 
 and thirsting, you would still frequent the balls in prefer- 
 ence.' 
 
 ' I will say nothing of the remarkable politeness you dis- 
 play, Mr. Richard, in openly contradicting a lady ; but I 
 think, my dear friends, your brother and sister, will confess 
 that I am consistent, at least, and so proved to be, by actu- 
 ally haunting their dwelling, and am astonished they do not 
 tire of me sadly.' 
 
 Upon this remark, both Mr. Barclay and his wife ear- 
 nestly intreated Mrs. Ashley never to imagine she could, by 
 any chance, come too often, and that they both were ex- 
 tremely flattered by the preference she had bestowed upon
 
 100 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 them. They were the more emphatic in their demonstra- 
 tions, as they were frequently quite ashamed of Mr. Rich- 
 ard's rudeness to their amiable friend, 
 
 ' Pray inform me, Mrs. Ashley,' said Mr. Richard, ' why 
 you always mention the long word intellectual so disparag- 
 ingly ; what has it done to arouse your anger ? ' 
 
 ' I have heard it all my life,' sighed the lady, very com- 
 ically ; ' my excellent mother held up for example before 
 my eyes, for years and years, a certain young lady, who 
 shall be nameless, as the most intellectual person in the 
 world, entirely dependent on her own resources. This 
 young person never wished to dance, never wished to dress, 
 or to go to balls, talked chemistiy, medicine, and all the 
 'ologies extant ; and my mother, in order to improve my 
 mind, so that I might attain the same climax of earthly dis- 
 tinction, forced me to frequent her society. Now, this same 
 young lady rarely walked abroad, and, if she did, never en- 
 tered a shop: had no taste for music, read Greek, and did 
 not understand French, or draw I beg her pardon she 
 squared circles, or fancied she did, and kept her hair in sad 
 disorder. Now, I trust, I have given you my first impres- 
 sions of intellectual women, and my succeeding observations 
 have not dispelled them.' 
 
 ' What became of her, did she marry f ' inquired Mr. 
 Richard. 
 
 ' Oh no ! she could never spare time to be courted, or, 
 perchance, there came no lover ; she still rejoices solitarily 
 in her intellectuality. You perceive the word grows longer 
 with my story.' 
 
 ' Courted ! ' sneered Mr. Richard. ' I'm amazed, Mrs. 
 Ashley, you should use such a common word ; it's not fit for 
 good society.' 
 
 ' And why not ? Do you believe any woman was ever 
 won, who was not courted ? What system of tactics do you 
 mean to adopt. Sir, when you venture upon the grand ex- 
 periment of seeking a wife ? '
 
 OF BOSTON. 101 
 
 ' Heaven forbid ! ' interrupted the gentleman. 
 
 ' I should like to know if you propose to throw down the 
 handkerchief for some errant damsel to pick up. Mark my 
 words, you will be obliged to act the offending word, as I 
 believe you would never marry a woman " who could, un- 
 sought, be won." ' 
 
 ' Ah, now you adopt proper expressions, Mrs. Ashley.' 
 
 ' Yes, Mr. Richard, just for the sake of not being tautolo- 
 gical, nothing more. I prefer my first expression, and very 
 intelligible it is to all ordinary persons.' 
 
 ' You are very incorrigible to-night. Madam.' 
 
 When Mr. Richard got to Madam with Mrs. Ashley, he 
 always buttoned up his coat, saluted the company, and de- 
 parted, which little circumstance, as usual, occurred. 
 
 When he was fairly gone this being well understood by 
 his shutting the hall door with a slightly perceptible bang 
 Mrs. Ashley said : ' What a pity it is that your brother, Mr. 
 Barclay, is so unlike yourself. He has excellent qualities 
 of head and heart, but seems to take a malicious pleasure in 
 making himself appear entirely the reverse. Mr. Richard 
 takes just as much time in endeavoring to persuade every 
 body that he is the roughest and most disagreeable person in 
 the known world, as other people do to attain the semblance 
 of perfect excellence.' 
 
 ' That is very true,' responded Mr. Barclay, ' I wish he 
 could get a gocd wife to humanize him. Pray marry him 
 yourself, and mak us all happy.' 
 
 ' There exists a most important obstacle ; the gentleman 
 will not ask me and if he should, nothing on this nether 
 globe would tempt me to accept him.' 
 
 ' But think, dear Mrs. Ashley,' said Mr. Barclay, ' what a 
 triumph it would be to make this ^rly bachelor succumb to 
 your charms : what a blessed influence you might exercise 
 over him ; how amiable he would become, basking in the 
 sunshine you would dispense, and how admirably you would 
 elicit all my dear brother's hidden excellences.' 
 9*
 
 102 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ' I am not sufficiently philanthropic to engage in such a 
 forlorn cause, and should prefer a mission to New Zealand 
 to civilize tattooed chiefs.' 
 
 ' Ah ! now you are really too hard on my brother,' said 
 Mr. Barclay. * I love him dearly ; he is the confidant of all 
 my perplexities. I have endured, as yet, thank God for his 
 mercies, few troubles. Richard is loyal, truthful and atfec- 
 tionate, full of generous impulses and deep sensibility. You 
 may look incredulous, I assure you he makes this rough- 
 ness a mask to conceal these good qualities.' 
 
 ' The Americans and English,' said Mrs. Ashley, ' are 
 the only nations -who affect these sort of peculiarities. On 
 the continent of Europe every man tries to make the best of 
 himself, and to present an agreeable front to the world. 
 Why should any man wish to be considered a bear? ' 
 
 ' That is a question I do not pretend to answer,' replied 
 Mr. Barclay ; ' and 1 only know that my beloved brother 
 certainly has a slight tendency to that kind of aspiration, and 
 God knows I sincerely lament it. Catherine will tell you 
 how kind he is to her children, how devoted to herself.' 
 
 ' Indeed will I, with all my heart,' said Mrs. Barclay ; 
 ' and I must teach you to think better of Mr. Richard.' 
 
 The hour arriving for Mrs. Ashley's departure, she took a 
 kind leave of her sincere friends.
 
 OF BOSTON. 103 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting ; 
 
 By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting, 
 
 Fond to be seen.' 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Mrs. Tidmarsh, the Barclays' second neighbor, was a 
 widow with one daughter, Miss Serena Tidmarsh. This 
 young lady, like most only daughters, had been allowed to 
 have her own way all her life in every thing, right or wrong. 
 Her father might have proved a salutary corrective, but he 
 had been dead a long time. This state of things growing 
 worse and worse, a species of domestic tyranny was enacted 
 in the poor widow's establishment, quite fearful to behold, 
 Mrs. Tidmarsh being, in truth, a sad victim to her child's 
 whims and caprices, and they were legion. In the first 
 place, their means of subsistence being very limited, Miss 
 Serena wished them to seem boundless ; and the conse- 
 quences of this attempt at deception were so transparent, 
 that though she fancied nobody saw her strivings and contriv- 
 ings for what she called ' keeping up appearances,' there 
 was not a doubt in the minds of all her acquaintances to the 
 reality of their position, every one peering through the thin 
 veil thrown over the futile attempts to vie with the Barclays, 
 and other rich families. 
 
 Secondly, Miss Tidmarsh's temper, naturally not the most 
 amiable, was not at all improved by this mean and petty 
 warfare with her destiny ; and her time, at home, was gene- 
 rally occupied in bewailing her miserable lot, and abroad in 
 criticising all the world, and disseminating little and big bits
 
 104 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 of scandal. Nothing came amiss to her, every thing of that 
 kind being acceptable. She began lier day with wearisome 
 and irritating expedients for making the worse appear the 
 better, turning and twisting, and making old lamps look 
 like new ; and then, with a troubled and anxious spirit, sal- 
 lied forth, and wandered from house to house, in search of 
 something disagreeable or unpleasant, and never desiring to 
 hear the reverse. Being miserable herself, disappointed in 
 her ambitious views, she wished to find every one else in the 
 same category, and as far as imparting all manner of disa- 
 greeable and unpleasant truths went, she succeeded admi- 
 rably. 
 
 Miss Serena's pet dislike was the Barclay family ; she 
 hated all its members. Doctor Johnson wojuld have admired 
 her, she was such a good hater. Their prosperity and popu- 
 larity were actual crimes in her eyes. She never stopped 
 to observe how rightfully theynvere gained; she was satis- 
 fied that they existed, and that sufHced to arouse all her 
 malevolent feelings. She would have rejoiced to discover a 
 flaw in Mr. Barclay's character or purse, both being, in her 
 eyes, equal. This was excessively ungrateful, for the very 
 house in which she dwelt was rented to her by Mr. Barclay, 
 at a mere nominal price, so small as to be hardly worth 
 mentioning, in consequence of his friendly relations with her 
 deceased father. 
 
 Georgy and Grace, Miss Serena declared, were not even 
 pretty, and what people could see in them to rave about, as 
 they did, she could not conceive ; then Kate was a positive 
 fright, and such a horrid romp ! and even little Johnny was 
 a very naughty, vicious boy. He had broken one of her 
 windows with a ball, an unpardonable offence she forgot 
 to mention that he immediately sent a glazier to mend it. 
 And all this was said in the lowest and softest tones imag- 
 inable, but was heard, nevertheless. Mr. Barclay, to be 
 sure, had befriended her father when he was in trouble, but 
 what of that! He had so much money that he would not
 
 OF BOSTON. 105 
 
 really know what to do with it, if he did not give it away ; 
 and she could never forgive him for advising her deceased 
 parent not to leave the mean little village where he had 
 vegetated, and go to Boston to practise his profession, years 
 before he did. And this was the truth rather an uncom- 
 mon circumstance in Miss Serena's narrations. 
 
 Mr. Tidmarsh, a country lawyer, respected for his hon- 
 esty and probity, but possessing small reputation for talent, 
 had been tormented by his wife into leaving his native place 
 and tiying his fortune in the city. He had thereby lost an 
 honorable and sufficiently lucrative position in his own com- 
 munity and gained nothing by the exchange ; this being 
 precisely Mr. Barclay's prediction when he counselled him 
 not to remove. Mr. Tidmarsh, on discovering the sad mis- 
 take he had made, would gladly have returned to his former 
 residence, but this having become impracticable, he was 
 just sinking under disappointed hopes and aspirations, when, 
 by the death of a distant connection, he came into the pos- 
 session of a meagre patrimony, which relieved his mind 
 from all future anxiety respecting his wife and child. A 
 short time after this event, he contracted a fever and fol- 
 lowed his relative. Miss Se^-ena had, in some undiscovered 
 way, adopted very erroneous and extravagant impressions 
 of her father's talents, which she also imagined she inher- 
 ited, and having been informed that Mr. Barclay had not 
 approved of his removal, and had objected to it many years 
 before the experiment had been tried which proved so sad 
 a failure, she resolved to believe, that if her lost parent had 
 complied with her mother's wishes earlier, he would have 
 won for himself fame and distinction. So, out of this coinage 
 of her own fertile brain, she wove a very touching and 
 pleasing romance. 
 
 Miss Tidmarsh had not been more favored by nature than 
 fortune ; she was below the middle size, stooping exces- 
 sively, which she fancied imparted a willowy movement to 
 her person ; was thin and bony ; had very little hair, and
 
 106 THE BAUCLAYS 
 
 extremely long scraggy arms ; her neck was singularly 
 elongated, and her shoulders were always uncovered day 
 and night, and were distinguished by large knobs on 
 them which protruded from every dress she wore. These 
 shoulders were always uncovered, summer and winter. 
 To be sure, she had occasionally the pretension of wearing 
 an areophane scarf, or an illusion tippet, but these articles 
 of feminine attire always falling immediately off, the knobs 
 remained visible in their pristine ugliness. These notable 
 charms were always arrayed in an aqua-marine colored silk 
 dress, the shade never being changed ; this, the damsel's 
 favorite hue, she constantly wore. It so happened that an 
 invalid friend who was going to Paris for six weeks, had, 
 in default of any one else, invited Miss Serena to accompany 
 her, which invitation was rapturously accepted; she went 
 and returned in the appointed time, not having been per- 
 mitted to remain longer. This unfortunate excursion filled 
 up the measure of the lady's absurdities, she re-appearing 
 with such a quantity of dippings and bobbings and duck- 
 ings and French phrases as were perfectly unendurable ; 
 the six weeks in Paris having turned her head completely. 
 Henceforward she could no longer dine without soup, ate 
 her meat solus, and changed her |)late for every vegetable, 
 and insisted upon her poor mother doing the same things, 
 to whom it was a perfect martyrdom and a sad inconve- 
 nience, as they had but one maid of all work, and she was 
 a dwarf and a cripple. 
 
 IMiss Serena, however, was constant to her aqua-marine 
 fancy, and this costume with newly acquired twitches, starts 
 and contortions, Avhich she imagined to be supremely Paris- 
 ian, gave to beholders the impression that she was half 
 frozen so that in all the houses she frequented, on her 
 arrival, ' Allow me to give you a shawl ' were the first 
 words addressed to her after the customary salutations had 
 taken place. With her French mosaic she did not long 
 annoy Mrs. Barclay, for that lady, addressing her in a Ian-
 
 OF BOSTON. 107 
 
 guage she herself spoke remarkably well, declared she 
 thought they had much better commune together in a whole 
 tongue than a half one, and Miss Serena, unable to com- 
 prehend the observation, stuttered and stammered, and was 
 fain to confess she did not understand its purport, with.e very 
 annoyed and mortified air. 
 
 But where was Miss Serena's mother all this while ? 'At 
 home in her closet, at her studies,' so said her daughter, 
 who affected abroad to idolize her. And so she was, having 
 completed her eighteen hundred and thirty-third sonnet, 
 had numbered it, and pasted it into an immense folio vol- 
 ume, by the side of its predecessors or ancestors for some 
 of them were very old indeed and these, never to be too 
 much admired effusions, were awaiting an amiable and 
 accommodating publisher. Now, amiable and accommo- 
 dating publishers exist, but oh! that shocking but they 
 require money, especially when there is a chance that the 
 critical and capricious reading world may not fall in love 
 with their offerings; and Mrs. Tidmarsh had none, and they 
 dared not venture upon the folio without the commodity, so 
 the unfortunate poetess was as unhappy as her daughter. 
 
 These sonnets Mrs. Tidmarsh denominated occasional : if 
 they were she invented the occasions, their subjects being. 
 The first Green Leaf in Spring, the last Yellow Leaf in 
 Autumn, a Mouse running into a Hole, Ditto running out, 
 A Fire-fly, the Belgian Giant, Mr, Barclay's Family, includi 
 ing Nursey Bristow, an important personage in it Niagara, 
 which she had never seen, and Mary Redmond's kitten 
 which she had, with hosts of others of equal originality and 
 interest. 
 
 It was very cruel, it must be confessed, of the naughty 
 avaricious publishers not to avail themselves of these hidden 
 treasures, but thereby Mr. Barclay was preserved from an 
 infliction they being dedicated to him Mrs, Tidmarsh, 
 disagi-eeing with her only daughter, and worshipping his 
 very shadow. When this important fact was communis
 
 108 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 cated to him, he certainly did pray they might never see 
 the light of day in a printed book, and there was conso- 
 lation ; for the enormous size of the folio precluded all 
 idea of its being ' handed round ' in manuscripts to admiring 
 friends and neighbors. 
 
 Very few persons ever saw Mrs. Tidmarsh, her daughter 
 keeping her concealed from the rude gaze of the public upon 
 which she so liberally bestowed herself; and, as is often the 
 case, the public, ungratefully regardless of Miss Serena's 
 charms, desired excessively to see her mother ; in fact, there 
 was a great curiosity awakened to get a peep at the famous 
 folio, eighteen hundred and thirty-three sonnets being rather 
 a large number for even Boston ' The American Athens.' 
 
 Pleasant Mrs. Ashley resolved she would be tantalized 
 no longer with fabulous histories touching the renowned 
 poetess, but would see her in spite of Miss Serena's pre- 
 cautions. So, one day she happened to meet her careering 
 about in search of a fair, which was operating somewhere ; 
 and having perfidiously enlightened her by showing her the 
 place she left her, fully occupied with screaming dolls 
 and emery strawberries, and repaired immediately to Mrs. 
 Tidmarsh's house. Once there, she gave a sharp ring at 
 the door, and authoritatively demanded of a dwarfish looking 
 pattern of a serving-maid, who answered the bell in a most 
 untidy state, to see her mistress. 
 
 ' You mean Miss, ma'am ? ' was the answer, or question. 
 
 ' Not at all, your mistress.' 
 
 As the dwarf recognised but one in their household, she 
 was rather puzzled, but, extremely awed by the fine lady, 
 she mounted the stairs in great trepidation, and leaving the 
 doors open behind her, Mrs. Ashley derived what benefit 
 there was to be obtained from hearing all the conversation 
 above. 
 
 'Oh! ma'am, ma'am, there's a great lady down stairs^ 
 with such a splendid velvet Jiat and cloak ! wants to see 
 you, yourself, ma'am.'
 
 OF BOSTON. 109 
 
 ' No such thing, no such thing, 'tis my daughter,' replied 
 rather a cracked voice. 
 
 Yes ma'am, I'm all right, I am ; she wants to see you 
 and nobody else ; nothing else will suit her, ma'am.' 
 
 ' I can't believe it. Why didn't you say I was out ? ' 
 
 ' Because you never are, ma'am.' 
 
 A pause ensued, and then Mrs. Ashley heard, ' Perhaps 
 its Eay's, Gray's and Fay's wife, the great publishers ; 
 Mrs. Tidmarsh, for it was she, forgetting in the confusion 
 of ideas, created by the uncommon circumstance of a visitor 
 to herself, that she had bestowed but one spouse on the firm. 
 
 ' Well, give me my new green bonnet, and bid her walk 
 up, Sally.' 
 
 ' So she wears green, as well as her daughter,' said Mrs. 
 Ashley to herself. 
 
 A short interval ensued, and the little maid came hobbling 
 down stairs and invited her to ascend. This sprite-like atten- 
 dant mounted the flight precisely as do small dogs, stopping, 
 turning and watching, and coming to a positive standstill on 
 the landing. Mrs. Ashley found herself in a large chamber 
 scrupulously neat and clean, with a ghost of a fire ; it was a 
 very cold day, and there seemed to be no occupant of this 
 room. Looking carefully around, the attendant having dis- 
 appeared, she presently discovered a sort of closet which 
 had been partitioned off from some other room, as it had but 
 half a window in it ; and there sat Mrs. Tidmarsh, her feet 
 immersed in a tub of hot water, the steam enveloping her 
 person, with the famous folio on her knees, a pencil and 
 paper in her hands, and two grass-green bonnets on her 
 head. 
 
 Having been extremely agitated by the rumor of a visit to 
 herself, and always wearing a bonnet of the above-described 
 color, the shade of her green being more matronly than her 
 daughter's favorite tinge, she only thought of putting on the 
 newest and best on such a momentous occasion, and left the 
 old one in its accustomed place. As to her feet, being 
 10
 
 110 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 greatly addicted to soaking them for hours, she had given 
 them no attention whatever. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley was obliged to keep her risible muscles under 
 proper subjection no small task and then to clear a 
 place for herself and a chair in the closet, as the floor was 
 completely covered a foot deep with little bits of paper, sad 
 scrawls, which she conjectured to be rejected sonnets. She 
 was then obliged to disabuse the lady of the impression that 
 she was the better half of Ray's, Gray's and Fay's firm ; 
 and, moreover, to inform her that she had heard such 
 wonderful accounts of herself and her poetical productions 
 that she ardently desired to see them, and had ventured to 
 take the liberty of calling, as she was acquainted with Miss 
 Tidmarsh. She also assured the lady that she had frequently 
 requested an introduction to her from her daughter, but 
 having been unsuccessful in the application, had conse- 
 quently resolved to effect it herself. Then, by the judicious 
 application of a little well-turned flattery, she persuaded the 
 poetess, nothing loth, to exhibit the folio; and, indeed, so 
 completely fascinated her, that she promised to indite a 
 sonnet to her eyebrow. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley, who was fearful Miss Serena might return, 
 felt obliged to curtail her visit ; and, with many compliments 
 and thanks, presented her profound obeisances to Mrs. Tid- 
 marsh, and departed quite enchanted with the success of her 
 stolen interview. 
 
 Miss Serena was furious when she returned home, and 
 her mother recounted to her the pleasant visit she had 
 received. Mrs. Tidmarsh endeavored to palliate the offence 
 she had committed in entertaining a stranger, by saying it 
 was only that silly, flirting widow, Mrs. Ashley. 
 
 ' Silly and flirting if you will, mother,' gruffly responded 
 Miss Serena, ' this ridiculous adventure will be all over 
 Boston before night.' Fancy Miss Serena Tidmarsh, the 
 gentle, delicate-voiced creature ! speaking to her adored 
 mother arufflv !
 
 OF BOSTON. Ill 
 
 And Mrs. Ashley, who quite piqued herself upon the 
 adroitness with which she had executed her project, certainly 
 did mention it to Mrs. Barclay and her daughters, and just a 
 few, very few other friends, who were immensely amused at 
 her adventure.
 
 1.12 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 * The world is bright before thee. 
 Its summer flowers are thine, 
 Its calm blue sky is o'er thee, 
 Thy bosom pleasure's shrine.' 
 
 IIalleck. 
 
 Johnny Barclay was an only son, a very perilous position 
 for the boy, but his father had resolved that his child should 
 prove an exception to the inevitable rule of 'sole heirs' 
 being spoiled by indulgence, and he very early began to 
 affect a very strict discipline with him. As soon as Johnny 
 evinced the vagrant propensities for which urchins are re- 
 markable, and preferred decidedly the streets to a large and 
 commodious court-yard whh plenty of play-ground, Mr. 
 Barclay dispatched him into the country to an excellent 
 boarding-school. At first, the boy was inconsolable, for he 
 was the youngest in the establishment, and on his return 
 home, in the vacation, he vowed to the Dolly, his boon 
 companion and friend, that he would never return. But this 
 high resolve proving abortive, Johnny retraced his steps 
 very sadly indeed, to what he was pleased to call his purga- 
 tory. 
 
 The second leave of absence found the schoolboy in much 
 better spirits, and quite well contented. The Dolly, inquir- 
 ing the cause of this sudden revolution in his sentiments 
 touching his seat of learning, was thus enlightened. ' Why 
 you mus<i know, my sister, that when I first went to Mr. 
 Sterling's school I was the smallest and youngest boy there ; 
 now, any one, with common sense, would suppose I should
 
 OF BOSTON. 113 
 
 have been coaxed and petted and treated kindly ; not a bit ; 
 I got nothing but cuffs and kicks, and, what was worse 
 than all, little, sharp, short pinches, exactly as if my skin 
 had been caught up with pincers, only they wern't hot; 
 they were the very worst things I had to bear, I can tell you. 
 Well, that whole term I was so miserable I had a good mind 
 to run away, not home, for I was afraid to do that ; but 
 any where ; I thought of going to sea before the mast ; 
 that's what almost all the boys talk about and threaten to 
 do when they're mad with the masters, or each other; 
 there's no end to their savage threats.' 
 
 ' What would my father have done, Johnny, if you had 
 run away, you naughty, naughty boy, to dare to think of 
 such a thing ? ' 
 
 ' Well, well, I can't help that now, you know, for I did'nt 
 do it, but I certainly should, as sure as a gun, if something 
 else hadn't happened ; why, I was pinched black and blue 
 all over, and sometimes could hardly move for the horrid 
 pain, and couldn't sleep of nights.' 
 
 ' But why didn't you give the pinches back again, Johnny ? 
 I should have done so, in your place, and with compound 
 interest too.' 
 
 ' Oh I tried, but it was the big boys that pinched. I tried 
 hard to fight them, one and all, and they pinched worse 
 and worse, they said I showed such a right plucky spirit. 
 Well, the next term was awful, and I had just made up my 
 mighty mind to run away, any where, I didn't care where, 
 when Joe Staples you know him came tearing along, and 
 tossing up his cap in the air; he was the next oldest boy to 
 me in the school and suffered some, I can tell you, Dolly 
 Well : he came and screamed and shouted, "Glorious news! 
 glorious news for you, Johnny Barclay ! the two Baileys are 
 coming." "What," I screamed, "you don't say so! well, 
 then, I won't ran away to sea as a cabin-boy, that's certain." 
 " Why, you don't mean to tell me you thought you would," 
 says Joe. " Oh ! yes, I'd settled the very day, and saved 
 10*
 
 114 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 up all my money." '' Why, how much have you got ? " 
 says he. " A dollar ! " " Then give me half for the good 
 news, you little villain," says he. "Well, will you believe 
 it, Dolly, I gave him the whole, for, you know, that was 
 glorious news ! capital news ! indeed. " ' 
 
 ' I don't understand at all what you mean, Johnny.' 
 
 'Oh, how confoundedly slow you are, Dolly; don't you 
 see, the two Baileys were very small boys, and my turn 
 had come, and for every blow, cuff, kick and pinch I ever 
 had, I gave them two and sometimes three f ' said Johnny, 
 as if reflectively making up the sum total in his own mind. 
 
 ' Oh, Johnny, Johnny, what a sad, bad boy you are ! how 
 could you be so cruel, when you knew so well how hard 
 the cuffs, kicks and pinches were to bear?' 
 
 ' Fiddle-dc-dee, Dolly, it was just for that reason that I 
 punished the Baileys, and then if I hadn't done it, somebody 
 else would have pommelled them to death ; but, as it was, 
 the big boys gave me my chance, they'd had theirs, and I 
 thought they were proper good fellows for doing so.' 
 
 These confidential communications were always made in 
 the nursery, a large, commodious and pleasant room, the 
 windows of which looked down upon the court-yard, and in 
 which the sun shone ever brightly. The room was filled 
 with all sorts of playthings in cabinets and cupboards and 
 shelves, the discarded household gods of Georgiana and 
 Grace Barclay having descended to their sister, who would 
 have shortly demolished them, but for the presiding genius 
 of this pleasant resort, Nursey Bristow. This dear old 
 woman was a treasure, indeed ; she had lived with Mrs. Bar- 
 clay from the day of her marriage, and, being a widow 
 and childless, had bestowed all her affections upon the chil- 
 dren who were confided to her care, and verily thought 
 them nature's most perfect handiwork. Georgy and Gracy 
 were very much attached to this invaluable person, but 
 having been disfranchised, they had another snug retreat in 
 a little room called their study, so the nursery's sole tenant
 
 OF BOSTON. 115 
 
 was the Dolly. In the vacations there might be seen Johnny 
 and his sister holding close and earnest consultations touch- 
 ing all manner of projects and plans for amusements, none 
 of them of a verj^ feminine character, and Nursey in her 
 low rocking-chair, with the cleanest of cap and apron, appa- 
 rently mending stockings, but looking over her spectacles at 
 her two darlings. It was true, it must be confessed, that she 
 did not altogether approve of all the proceedings, they being, 
 in many respects, exceedingly antagonistic to her precon- 
 ceived ideas of perfect propriety. ' But then poor Johnny, 
 who was so cruelly sent away to that horrid school all the 
 time, ought to be gratified when he loas at home ; ' and she 
 had said this so many times that Johnny felt he was licensed 
 to do exactly as he pleased during his holidays. In Nursey's 
 opinion, the Dolly fully coincided ; what her own peculiar 
 tastes had to do with her views she did not stop to reflect. 
 
 Every finale of term-time brought Johnny home, fraught 
 with some grand project ; as he grew older theatricals were 
 dominant. And no one can imagine the strivings and con- 
 trivings of his sister associate to carry out all the plans for 
 curtains, scenery, footlights and orchestra; nobody could do 
 any thing without the Dolly. It was true she did not perform 
 with the boys, for she was the audience, no other person 
 being allowed to be present, but she certainly was not 
 deceived by illusions and stage effect, as she produced all 
 there was, herself. The girl's greatest trouble arose, how- 
 ever, from the ambitious aspirations of her dramatic corps. 
 They would not rest contented with proverbs and light 
 farces, but sighed after the immortal Shakspeare, and nothing 
 short of Lear satisfied them. She consoled herself, for her 
 lack of influence in diverting their views into other channels, 
 with the certainty that the tragedy was sure to become a 
 farce, and so it did ; the passions being torn to shivers in the 
 most orthodox manner. The orchestra consisted of a guitar, 
 played by the Dolly, who also painted the scenery and 
 attired the actors in her own garments when they were re-
 
 116 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 quired. All this labor she bore with unexampled patience, 
 as well as the rehearsals, where the awkwardness of some, 
 and the want of memory of others ' was enough,' as she 
 declared, ' to try the patience of Job himself.' Theatricals 
 had a great vogue for a long time, and the sister had made 
 grand preparations for the arrival of her brother, when lo ! 
 a change had come over the spirit of his dream ; histrionics 
 no longer ruled the hour, but martial ardor reigned in their 
 stead, 
 
 Johnny Barclay would be nothing but a soldier. He got 
 up a company, (he called it a regiment,) and from actors 
 the Dolly was elevated to drilling, (the old troupe be it un- 
 derstood,) the youth of her day for defenders of their coun- 
 try's rights which were not attacked at all. A great 
 mortification awaited her; she knew that her brother had 
 been the principal mover in this military excitement, that he 
 had supplied the greater part of the funds for the vast ex- 
 penditure consequent upon it; he had given all his own 
 pocket money, and hers; and what was her annoyance 
 and disgust when, instead of being commander in chief of 
 the forces, he would persist in being, notwithstanding all her 
 prayers and entreaties, a drummer! This was positively 
 shocking, outrageous, she declared. ' Johnny had no am- 
 bition ! he would never make any thing in this world ! ' 
 But nothing surpassed the drummer's amazement at his sis- 
 ter's anger ' Why, what did 1 get up the regiment for,' 
 asked he, ' but to make all the noise 1 could in it ? How 
 ridiculous and silly girls are ; what absurd creatures ! ' But, 
 as the pair could not exist apart, they arranged their dis- 
 agreement amicably, and the Dolly drilled the regiment in 
 the nursery first, and afterwards looked down upon her sol- 
 diers from its windows, when they marched and counter- 
 marched in the court-yard. Now this company was, or 
 appeared to be, devoted heart and soul to the young girl, 
 who ministered to their gratification so unceasingly. They 
 made Russian mountains and snowy fortifications for her in
 
 OF BOSTON. 117 
 
 the winter, and capital slides ; and in summer climbed the 
 solitary pear tree in the court-yard and gathered its ripening 
 fruits. They constantly consulted her upon all occasions, 
 and partook of many nice feasts in the nursery, prepared 
 by Nursey Bristow and their hostess. 
 
 The Dolly conceived the idea of presenting to her friends 
 a stand of colors, and upon them she worked untiringly. 
 She had, from her earliest days, possessed an uncommon 
 talent for drawing, and it had been assiduously cultivated ; 
 so she executed very many beautiful designs upon the white 
 silk, and plentifully besprinkled the standards with gold leaf 
 and spangles, and altogether produced a magnificent effect 
 in the eyes of Nursey and the soldiers, who watched her 
 operations with intense delight. The colors completed, the 
 day of ' a grand dinner party,' as Nursey called it, was 
 selected for the presentation, as all the family would then 
 be engaged, and the thinw might be done without observa- 
 tion ; for the Dolly, having prepared a speech for the occa- 
 sion, was unwilling that any one should hear it but the 
 parties interested. The boys, in the interim, had arranged, 
 under the pear tree, then in full bloom, a staging which was 
 covered over with variegated horse-blankets from the stable, 
 and some evergreens and flowers, and the effect produced 
 was quite captivating. 
 
 Just as the guests at -Mr. Barclay's, on the appointed day, 
 had seated themselves at table and were commencing their 
 repast, the Dolly sallied forth from the nursery, carrying in 
 triumph her colors. She was received with shouts of ap- 
 plause by the soldiery, and, as she had made quite an elabo- 
 rate toilette for the occasion, she really presented a most 
 effective appearance, the costume being imitated from a 
 French print of the Goddess of Liberty, the petticoats 
 elongated. She walked in a stately manner to the pear 
 tree, and ascending a small flight of steps, mounted the 
 platform prepared for her. The speech was rapturously 
 received, and, after a short pause, she commenced Drake's
 
 118 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 address to the American flag, and was getting on famously, 
 to the united satisfaction of herself and the military, when, 
 melancholy to relate, the platform gave way, and the in- 
 spired dcclaimer found herself suddenly immersed to the 
 chin in cold water. It transpired that the youthful soldiery 
 might be very good military men, but were not certainly 
 architects, for they had raised their superstructure upon very 
 frail materials, and the Dolly had really and truly fallen into 
 a water-butt. The courageous girl, nothing daunted, waved 
 her colors and finished her poem ; but it was not fated to be 
 heard, for the soldiery, totally unmindful of all the gratitude 
 they owed to their best friend, rent the air with shouts of 
 laughter, and fairly finished by rolling on the ground. 
 
 Nursey Bristow, who had been watching from the win- 
 dows of her retreat this ' grand presentation,' immediately 
 called some of the women-servants, and rescued her darling 
 from her watery prison-house, who forthwith flew up stairs, 
 dripping like a naid. She was disrobed, the bed warmed, 
 Nursey had great faith in warming-pans, and then imme- 
 diately placed therein. 
 
 The Dolly heeded, not in the least, her discomfiture ; she 
 rather liked, what she called, the fun of the thing, but she 
 was shocked inexpressibly at the risibility of the soldiery. 
 ' What an ungrateful world is this, Nursey ! ' sighed she. 
 ' It is sad to think of it, after all the pains I have taken with 
 those good-for-nothing boys, for years; not one of them ever 
 came to my rescue, but, on the contrary', rolled on the 
 ground, laughing! Oh! I am disgusted with their pro- 
 ceedings, Nursey dear, and mark my words, from this day 
 henceforth, I will have nothing to do with them, nothing 1 
 Oh! the ingratitude of the world, tlic in-grat-i-tude ! ' and 
 the Dolly was soundly asleep. 
 
 Nursey looked alfectionately upon her darling, hoping and 
 praying she would not catch a cold ; and nothing did the 
 young lady, disgusted with the world, catch, but a nap which 
 lasted unbroken until the next morning.
 
 OF BOSTON. 119 
 
 With the next day came a heavy reckoning for the delin- 
 quents, for the Dolly called all the military together, and 
 took, as she said, an eternal farewell of them. She re- 
 proached them for their ill manners and their ingratitude, 
 and told them she hoped they would miss her forever. 
 The military were completely overwhelmed with this un- 
 expected blow, and pleaded for mercy in most abject terms, 
 but the young damsel was inexorable. 
 
 As soon as they had departed, the Dolly said, 'Now, 
 Nursey, I intend to turn over a new page in my life. I 
 play no longer with boys ; they are a heartless and unfeeling 
 set, and I have done with them. I am constantly told that I 
 am an untamable romp ; that may be true, but I've finished 
 my games with the boys. Only think, Nursey, I'm fifteen 
 next month, it's quite time, you'll allow.' 
 
 And the Dolly kept her word sacredly. Deputation upon 
 deputation waited upon her, and begged her to reconsider 
 her promise, unavailingly. She was the first person to 
 relate her ridiculous misadventure, and, accordingly, made 
 an excellent sketch of it, and presented it to the family at 
 dinner, that same day, and related the occurrence with great 
 spirit, and also her intentions of abandoning her old friends. 
 The latter part of her communication was received with 
 great commendation by all but Johnny, who was very un- 
 happy on the occasion. 
 
 ' A change had o'er his spirit come. 
 And he was sad indeed.'
 
 120 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 There is something very mortifying to pass one's life in a struggle 
 to make way in a particular path, and not to believe that one neither 
 does, nor can succeed or advance in it.' 
 
 AvTOBIOGKAPnY OF SiR ECERTON BRYDGEg. 
 
 The Barclays received the pleasing intelligence of the 
 arrival in America of a family in which" they felt a great 
 interest, and from which they had been long separated. 
 Mr. Augustus C4ordon had lived with his wife and children 
 in Europe, many years in diplomatic situations, and by 
 some remarkably strange accident was permitted to retain 
 them in the various changes of administration, which, in the 
 interim, had occurred; and he certainly never ceased spec- 
 ulating upon this anomaly in his career, and never fully 
 comprehended it. Some one suggested to him the proba- 
 bility that his government had forgotten him. 
 
 At last, came the hour of his recall, and he was replaced 
 by another minister. He had fortunately possessed a small 
 patrimony, or he would have revisited his native land a 
 beggar. His salary having been entirely insufficient for the 
 support of a wife and family, he had consequently encroached 
 upon his own small fortune, and thus he found himself 
 without any advancement in his profession a legal one 
 and with limited means, thrown upon the wide world 
 once more. 
 
 It is a subject for grave speculation for all travelled 
 Americans, how men can be found willing to accept these 
 diplomatic missions. In many cases, it may arise from
 
 OF BOSTON. 121 
 
 sheer ignorance of what they will be obliged to endure on 
 reaching their destination. Seduced by the outfit, which is a 
 mere trifle, they find the salary, on their arrival, just covers 
 their house-rent in the great cities of Europe if house 
 they have and their lives are passed in petty mortifi- 
 cations and annoyances. And these are duplicated if men 
 carry their wives with them ; there being no republican 
 simplicity of attire for women in courts, they must dress, 
 and dress well, or stay at home, which many of them do. 
 There is no reason why America should not be properly 
 represented at her embassys, as well as other nations, and 
 there is nothing to be done but to increase the salaries of 
 her Ministers and teach them French. 
 
 The Gordons had won their way along he with great 
 learning and talent, she with tact and good-nature and 
 they had been obliged to make sad inroads into their own 
 small property, and had only, after this sacrifice, lived very 
 quietly indeed. They felt the necessity of economizing in 
 their situation much more than they would otherwise have 
 done, as it prevented their offering to their countrymen hos- 
 pitalities which would have very much gladdened both par- 
 ties. Indeed, Mr. Gordon often asserted that he, in his long 
 residence abroad, had never seen one American, who, when 
 he beheld the state of things, so mean and denuded, con- 
 trasted with that of other powers, did not loudly declare it 
 must be changed, but opined he forgot all about it on his 
 return home. 
 
 When the Gordons revisited their country, they entered 
 their oldest son at the law school, and, as Mr. Gordon in- 
 tended publishing an important legal work, he thought they 
 should find Cambridge an agreeable residence, and so they 
 did. There is a remarkable equality and evenness in the 
 condition of all the society connected with the university, 
 which completely extinguishes all striving for what is per- 
 petually in the mouths of our people style and fashion 
 these two unattainable things being scrambled for by one 
 11
 
 122 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 part of our population and railed against by the other. The 
 latter raise a great outcry and opposition, and are asked by 
 those, who really have seen the things, where they are to 
 be found. To those who desire information pleasantly con- 
 veyed, the revelations of that most amiable and excellent 
 deceased pastor, Mr. Colman, in his valuable Avork, will 
 truthfully and fairly exhibit what is meant by these two 
 sadly misapplied words. The all-important basis of style 
 and fashion being service, and we having none, as such, 
 it necessarily follows that the pinchbeck substituted is pinch- 
 beck indeed, and the alarmists, who deplore its real presence 
 in our midst, are wofully mistaken. There is something 
 very attractive in the transplantation of the simple-hearted 
 clergyman, from his own solid and substantial mode of life, 
 which is, as yet, thank Heaven, dominant in Massachusetts, 
 to the lordly palaces and castellated halls of England ; and 
 the glowing pictures he has given us of what he saw, are 
 sketched with great exactitude. The book might be made of 
 incalculable advantage in this country, and if read aright, 
 would teach us the extreme folly of aping ducal establish- 
 ments, with sixty real servants, in houses of twenty-five feet 
 front, and six ' help.' We are indisputably a discontented, 
 aspiring race, and if we adopted some less ambhious stand- 
 ard in our own households than that of the nobility of proud 
 Albion with their princely fortunes, we should become, in 
 process of time, both wiser and happier. England, with her 
 long line of ancestry, her wealth and entailed estates, does 
 the thing, and does it gloriously : whereas, our prominent 
 short-comings are both absurd and ridiculous. Let every 
 true-hearted American woman look to this, and govern her- 
 self accordingly ; let her resist all innovations which cannot 
 consistently be carried out; let the means and end agree, 
 and she will do more good in her day and generation than 
 she will ever ellect by aspiring to command ships of war, 
 and lifting u^ her small and weak voice in the Senate of 
 these United States.
 
 OF BOSTON. 123 
 
 The Gordons, fresh from the splendor and magnificence 
 of foreign courts, preferred the quiet simplicity of a Cam- 
 bridge life to the more pretentious and hurried one of a city. 
 They had a fellow-feeling for the professors of the Univer- 
 sity, whom they considered to be as badly paid as' they 
 themselves had been, their salaries being as objectionably 
 small. There are collected together in Harvard University, 
 a band of men, remarkable for their various accomplish- 
 ments and great attainments, but in nothing more than their 
 spirited devotion to their Alma Mater; and, during the 
 Gordons' stay in Cambridge, several of these professors 
 were offered double their salaries and houses annexed, if 
 they would leave for other seats of learning, and refused. 
 Of all the noble endowments made to the oldest institution 
 in America, nothing has been given for the enlargement of 
 the incomes of men who devote their energies and lives to 
 it with such enthusiastic devotion. They should certainly 
 be absolved from all the petty annoyances attendant upon 
 small and insufficient means. 
 
 Much of the pleasure incidental to a Cambridge residence 
 depends upon those who reign in the Presidential mansion ; 
 and the Gordons were peculiarly fortunate in finding a large 
 family, whose cultivated tastes, refined habits of thought and 
 feeling, combined with purity of heart and charm of manner, 
 quite captivated them. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon was, at first, kept in constant commotion by 
 the incomings and outgoings of the ' help.' She behaved 
 admirably ; but having been exempted for so many years 
 from these annoyances, she resolved to take high ground 
 when they endeavored to intimidate her by threats of imme- 
 diate departure, and dismiss them on the instant. This, in 
 the end, proved quite effectual. The result of her experi- 
 ences in this chapter of her life was sufficiently character- 
 istic to be narrated. 
 
 ]\Irs. Gordon having been recommended by her friends 
 not to employ, in any event, an Irish servant, she accord-
 
 124 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ingly inclining to her own people, determined to engage 
 only American ' help ; ' and as she had returned home with 
 an earnest desire never to eat another ' made dish,' she im- 
 agined she might probably discover a good plain cook. Her 
 first essay commenced with a young lady, who sentimentally 
 informed her that ' the dream of her life was the possession 
 of a turtle-shell'comb, a linen cambric collar, and, may be, 
 a pair of long kid gloves ! ' What the damsel required the 
 comb for, Mrs. Gordon could not well comprehend, seeing 
 that her head was nearly bald. Three days after her advent, 
 she rushed into the library, where Mrs. Gordon was sitting 
 absorbed in a new book, and most summarily commanded 
 her to dismiss her waiter, James, declaring indignantly, that 
 ' he had been too sweet upon her.' On being asked in what 
 way, she replied, he had dared to call her ' My dear ! ' She 
 was informed she might immediately depart. 
 
 The next venture, in nearly the same space of time, per- 
 petrated a similar act, with this difference the man James 
 was declared, in the most violent lansua^e, to be the ' cross- 
 est wretch ever seen ! ' She was invited to follow her culi- 
 nary predecessor. The third on the list entered the house, 
 retired to her bed, and remained two consecutive days in an 
 apparently felicitous snooze. The fourth quarrelled with all 
 and several, excepting the man James, whom she rather 
 patronized, but he abhorred her. The lifth was extremely 
 disgusted that the family should speak any English, she 
 vowing ' the only recommendation it had in her eyes,' (she 
 meant ears,) ' was the hope that she might catch from it the 
 French language,' she having preparatorily armed herself 
 with a remarkably thin pamphlet, purporting to teach that 
 pleasant tongue in six lessons, without fail. The sixth came 
 cityward for sea air, lobsters and clams ; and the seventh 
 informed Mrs. Gordon ' that, for a woman who pretended to 
 have seen furrin parts, she liked remarkably plain fare.' 
 Now, not one of these errant misses had entered the house 
 with the remotest idea of obeying its mistress in any one
 
 OF BOSTON. 125 
 
 thing, or remaining a moment beyond her own capricious 
 will, kitchen rangers all ! 
 
 There is something so totally repugnant to all service in 
 the American breast, that it is perfectly wonderful our peo- 
 ple ever attempt such an obnoxious operation. In a country 
 where every man is looking forward to being President of 
 the United States, and every woman may be his wife, it is 
 wholly impossible for service, in any liberal acceptation of 
 the term, to exist ; and whatever doubts Mrs. Gordon might 
 have had on the subject were summarily dispelled by dire 
 experience. 
 
 It is gravely asserted, that the organ of reverence is 
 absent, on leave, in American heads ; and truly, it was no- 
 where to be found in the above-described New England 
 non-serving company. 
 
 All things come to an end in the magical number seven ; 
 so by the time Mrs. Gordon's list had reached this numeral, 
 the neck of her native Americanism was fairly broken, and 
 she then presented herself a holocaust to the tender mercies 
 of the exiles from that gem of the sea, the Emerald isle, 
 and certainly never regretted the measure. From that be- 
 nign period she enjoyed a quiet, well-ordered household, nay, 
 even more, an attached and devoted one, and could never 
 be induced to confess she repented her abandonment of 
 her own people as ' help.' 
 
 There is a dreamy sort of existence attending all college 
 life ; and the environs of' halls,' cloistered or not, are redo- 
 lent of repose and quiet. Mrs. Gordon often marvelled at 
 the absence of the fine manly sports, games and exercises 
 she had beheld in other climes, when she saw the numerous 
 students taking only short and often solitary walks, looking 
 as if they were ' dragging their slow lengths along,' from a 
 sense of the imperative necessity of some sort of exercise, 
 or an apology for it, rather than its actual enjoyment. She 
 renewed her intimacy with the Barclays ; and, entering into 
 it with great zest, derived much pleasure from her occa- 
 U*
 
 126 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 sional visits to Boston and their agreeable home, where a 
 warm welcome ever awaited her, their manner of living 
 being very congenial to her tastes and views. She vainly 
 sought in other houses for the pleasant evenings of the con- 
 tinent, where, without form and ceremony, friends meet and 
 partake of social interchange of feeling and sentiment, and 
 love each other the better for it. She regretted this state of 
 things all the more that her own limited means would not 
 admit of the expenses attendant on grand entertainments ; 
 and she perceived that she should not be able to dispense 
 any hospitality whatever, if she did not, on her return to 
 Boston, exercise more moral courage than she was aware of 
 possessing.
 
 OF BOSTON. 1.27 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ' In faith and hope the world will disagree, 
 But all mankind's concern is charity.' 
 
 POPK. 
 
 * I SAW this morning,' said Mr. Richard Barclay, ' an im- 
 mense quantity of barrels of flour, sugar and coffee, with 
 many boxes of tea and other things, tumbled into your cellar, 
 brother John. Are you proposing to open a grocery shop } ' 
 
 This question was asked one day, just about the blessed 
 Christmas and Thanksgiving time. Mr. Barclay, looking 
 slily at his wife, replied, ' Not exactly, Richard ; at least, 
 there will be no pay. Catherine has a bad way of never 
 sending any beggar from the door ; and as she never gives 
 money, I think buying these staple commodities by the 
 wholesale decidedly the most economical plan.' 
 
 * Nonsense ! ' replied Mr. Richard ; ' there can be no 
 worse way adopted of dispensing charity than giving to 
 street-beggars ; 'tis against all rules. I am astonished, Mrs. 
 Barclay, that a woman of your sense should ' 
 
 ' Please stop,' interrupted the lady addressed. ' Whenever 
 you commence a speech to me, brother Richard, with that 
 prescribed formula, I am always perfectly sure you think 
 me remarkably silly ; so I will e'en save you the trouble of 
 pronouncing such a verdict, and confess myself guilty, to 
 satisfy you ! ' 
 
 ' All political economy condemns totally such weak pro- 
 ceedings, my sister.' 
 
 * My head, brother, has never been able to receive these 
 dicta ; you well know I never had any capacity for abstruse
 
 128 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 sciences, and I sum up in one word political economy, and 
 call it hard-heartedness.'' 
 
 ' Hear her, John, I pray.' 
 
 ' Yes, I hear very well,' answered Mr, Barclay ; ' but 
 when you get a wife, Dick, you will find it much better to 
 let her have her own way in some things.' 
 
 ' My wife shall never give to street-beggars, John.' 
 
 ' When shall we see this rara avis, uncle ! ' queried 
 Grace. 
 
 ' Your wife, Richard, will then never be wrong,' said Mrs. 
 Barclay, ' as those who never give can never be deceived. 
 Now I would much prefer to be cheated twenty times by 
 false pretences, than lose the chance of serving one really 
 distressed person, deserving or not. I very well compre- 
 hend that this is against all that is laid down in the books, 
 but the heart is often as good a guide as the lucubrations of 
 frigid reasoners. My kind husband, at least, throws no ob- 
 stacles in my way. I was brought up to give ; my mother 
 did so before mc.' 
 
 ' A bad bringing up,' said Mr. Richard. 
 
 ' Of which your brotlier has enjoyed all the disadvantages, 
 just as our people say they enjoy a bad state of health.'' 
 
 ' Women never know how to reason,' said uncle Richard, 
 ' and never will.' 
 
 ' Not even your wife, that is to be ? ' said the Dolly. 
 
 ' Let her open her lips if she dare,' said he. 
 
 ' I'll teach her,' said Georgy. 
 
 Uncle Richard held up a threatening finger or two. 
 
 ' I confess,' resumed Mrs. Barclay, ' that my deepest 
 sympathies are not aroused for merely the poorly poor ; 
 they incline vastly towards the class that has seen better 
 days. Physical sufferings, that can be relieved with a bit of 
 bread, have not the same weight with me as moral ones ; 
 and all my exertions are made for the poverty that hides its 
 abashed head. The head that was once uplifted as high as 
 any in the land, now fallen by the adverse fortunes of com-
 
 OF BOSTON. 129 
 
 mercial ventures, fills my heart with compassion, and many 
 a one there is. My life has not yet reached its common 
 verge, and yet what changes have I not seen ! ' 
 
 ' Well,' said Mr. Barclay, ' I think it always best to leave 
 the hearts to the women ; they will have them whether we 
 will or no ; and I am not quite sure that we are any the bet- 
 ter for being so scientific in our charitable operations, or so 
 overwise in our generation.' 
 
 ' The best method is, for all people who have tender con- 
 sciences, to follow out their own devices,' said Mrs. Barclay. 
 ' Those who have not, may require " flappers," and socie- 
 ties are excellently well adapted for them. Many would do 
 nothing if they could not associate themselves with others 
 for benevolent purposes ; the thing is, to do good. We hold 
 various ideas on this subject ; but if we all resolve to do our 
 work upon earth well, it does not much signify hoic. It is 
 much the same with different sects and religious creeds ; 
 faith and works lead to the same haven at last, however we 
 may disagree as to the roads.' 
 
 This was a season of great and pure enjoyment to the 
 young people of this family. They were the almoners, and 
 were daily packed by their mother in a hackney coach, 
 she would not permit her own carriage to be used, lest it 
 might be known, and with Nursey Bristow, carried all 
 manner of delicacies and substantial comforts belonging to 
 this blessed season to the very quarters where her interests 
 were centred. They always left the vehicle at some dis- 
 tance from the house, and creeping quietly along, with their 
 baskets and packages, just pushed them in at the doors and 
 instantly retreated. Nothing could exceed the dexterity 
 with which they executed their missions, and certainly 
 nothing surpassed the happiness they enjoyed, except that 
 which they imparted. Many in this way received relief, 
 who would not for worlds have had the fact known, but who, 
 nevertheless, were intensely grateful. The certainty of pos- 
 sessing unknown friends is a source of great happiness and
 
 130 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 contentment to broken fortunes and spirits preserving self- 
 respect under adverse circumstances. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay diverted Uncle Richard from his projected 
 controversy by informing him of the (to her) joyful intelli- 
 gence, that the Gordons were about to leave Cambridge and 
 to settle in Boston, and had taken a house that very day in 
 her own neighborhood. To this Mr, Richard assented with 
 all his heart. He had a great admiration for Mrs. Gordon, 
 and her husband was an old friend of his ; so the arrange- 
 ment pleased him exceedingly. 
 
 A few weeks saw that family comfortably installed in a 
 pretty dwelling, not very large, but filled with works of art 
 and taste, collected during a long residence in foreign lands. 
 Mrs. Barclay claimed Clara as her guest during the transi- 
 ticm state, and would gladly have had all the members of the 
 family, but Mr. and Mrs. Gordon could not consent to such 
 an invasion. 
 
 Clara they found a charming inmate, remarkably well 
 educated and very accomplished enthusiastic and warm- 
 hearted. The demonstrations of her affections were very 
 decided, and seemed almost unreal, from their ardent char- 
 acter ; but Avere notwithstanding perfectly sincere and con- 
 stant. The younger members of the family were devoted 
 to her, and on leaving them she expressed her warmest ac- 
 knowledgments for the hospitality and kindness she had 
 received. Mrs. Gordon was soon visited by all the nota- 
 bilities of the city, and invited to many balls and a few 
 dinners. 
 
 To the latter she was happy to go, but the former rather 
 militated against all her preconceived ideas of pleasure. 
 Still, as she had lived long abroad, and had there contracted 
 fixed opinions, she was not willing that her daughter should 
 make her entrance into society without the protection of her 
 mother, and, consequently, resolved to accompany her. 
 She had beheld with amazement, that none of her own con- 
 temporaries ever went into the gay world with their daugh-
 
 OF BOSTON. 
 
 131 
 
 ters, and had condemned their practice of remaining at 
 home. She had remonstrated, and had been told that they 
 were not even invited. To be sure, her friends informed 
 her she was asked because she had declared she would not 
 allow Clara to go without her, and that a fashion existed 
 from which there was hardly any deviation, of leaving out 
 the mothers who had daughters, and asking the women who 
 had none an even distribution of party favors, which Mrs. 
 Gordon had great difficulty in comprehending. Indeed, she 
 hardly knew what to make of such a state of things. And 
 truly her first ball was melancholy enough. About half a 
 dozen women with the hostess, composed the matrons ; the 
 rest of the immense crowd were children or what she had 
 always considered as such in Europe half a dozen old 
 bachelors, who liked to be seen in youthful society, and 
 hardly any other men ; of boys there was no end. As she was 
 beautifully dressed in her foreign gear, and, moreover, ex- 
 tremely animated, an amiable youth, the son of one of her 
 friends, invited her to dance. She answered this request 
 by saying, ' My dear, if you will find a partner for your 
 mother, I will accept your invitation ; ' and, as she laid a 
 peculiar emphasis on the affectionate part of the speech, he 
 retired in disgust. 
 
 Meanwhile, Clara, a very pretty and engaging girl, simply 
 attired, attracted no attention whatever, and with a number 
 of poor young creatures, passed the evening in wishing as 
 she could not dance that she might be at home. Clara 
 was not at all mortified at this neglect, for she imagined 
 that she was not asked to dance because she was not known, 
 but her mother, Avith her keen perception, discerned the 
 cause immediately. Clara had been educated to follow, and 
 not to lead. She was timid and retiring in her manners 
 amongst strangers, and, therefore, had no decided air, and 
 was thought quite a failure by the leaders of the youthful 
 ton ; especially so when the great advantages she had en- 
 joyed were summed up. To be sure, the few ladies present
 
 132 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 thought Clara Gordon charming, and Mrs, Ashley deter- 
 mined to present some of her young friends to her ; but 
 these minute gentlemen afterwards declared that she had no 
 conversation, which was, assuredly, most true as far as they 
 were concerned, being entirely ignorant of the names and 
 qualities of the guests. 
 
 At last the good-natured and indefatigable widow discov- 
 ered an ' American Methusaleh ' of seven-and-twenty, who, 
 having just returned from Europe, and, of course, not wish- 
 ing to dance, was willing to be presented to a young lady 
 who had travelled ; so Clara had an escort to supper, and 
 shortly after returned home, declaring the only pleasant 
 thing to herself respecting the ball was its short duration. 
 
 ' Why, mother,' said she, ' we went at ten and are at 
 home at twelve, and yet the whole thing seemed infinitely 
 longer to me than the fetes in Europe, where I have re- 
 mained eight hours and more.' 
 
 ' If the evening seemed long to you, it was never-ending 
 to me,' replied Mrs. Gordon. ' I really and truly believe 
 that we women were as weary of the sight of each other as 
 we could possibly be, for we soon exhausted all our small 
 talk, and the noise of too much music in not over-large 
 rooms drowned every thing like conversation.' 
 
 ' How I wish I could never go again,' said Clara. 
 
 'But you must, my dear daughter, and try to become 
 acquainted with the young people with whom you are to 
 pass your life.' 
 
 ' Tliey will never care for me,' said the girl. ' They seem 
 to be broken up into sets and only talk to each other, and 
 I having no subjects in common with them shall never 
 get on.' 
 
 ' You must make the effort, nevertheless, my dear child.' 
 
 ' I will do as you bid me, mother ; and now, good-night, 
 for I am half asleep.' 
 
 Mrs. Gordon communed with herself long after her child 
 was gone : she thought that, perhaps, it would have been
 
 OF BOSTON. 133 
 
 better if she bad been educated in ber own land ; but, then, 
 she said to herself, ' I could never have borne to see my 
 daughter a leader of fashion before she was nineteen, ex- 
 hausting life ere it had begun, enjoying no childhood, and 
 losing the best hours of her existence in profitless amuse- 
 ments. Now she is a tolerably good scholar, possesses a 
 few accomplishments, and what is better than all beside, is 
 docile, obedient, and well-mannered. I will not then com- 
 plain, but endeavor to reconcile her to what, from my 
 experience of to-night, seems to be her destiny here 
 unrecognised good qualities. And so Mrs. Gordon, looking 
 upon herself very much in the light of a martyr, resolved to 
 accompany her daughter into the picayune world of fashion. 
 The next evening she went to Mrs. Barclay's with Clara. 
 Soon after their entrance, Grace asked the young lady how 
 she had been pleased at the ball. 
 
 ' Not at all,' was the reply. 
 
 ' How very extraordinary,' exclaimed Gracy, ' I thought 
 every body enjoyed balls immensely.' 
 
 ' I certainly did not, for I knew no one, and, as all the 
 company, which was almost entirely composed of extremely 
 young people, took very little note of me, I had rather a 
 dull evening, and enjoy myself much more here. My 
 mother wishes me to go into society, that I may not seem 
 alone in my native city ; but I hope she will soon change 
 her mind on this subject, and as I know she is sacrificing 
 herself to me, the sooner she does the better.' 
 
 Kate, who heard these remarks, cried, ' What, not enjoy 
 a ball ! I could dance forever from morning till night and 
 never tire of the delightful amusement. That comes of 
 being educated abroad : you are spoiled for every thing in 
 your own country'.' 
 
 ' Not at all,' replied Clara, ' I went out into society the 
 
 winter before my return home, for the first time, but I 
 
 always sat at my mother's side. She was the point of 
 
 attraction; she was the belle if you will. The men only 
 
 12
 
 134 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 danced with me because they wished to please her ; they 
 never talked with me ; they looked upon me as a little 
 bread-and-butter girl, and I was all the time really pining 
 to get home, where I heard the girls had so much liberty 
 and such fun. You know I never was permitted even to 
 walk out alone in Europe my maid always accompanied 
 me ; that at least I can do here, and enjoy it immensely. 
 But, it seems, that if there I was too young, here I am too 
 old.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Kate, 'you've made out a pretty good case, 
 but it won't deter me from accepting every invitation I can 
 procure. Gracy won't go into society because Georgy does 
 not, and says she can have no pleasure independent of her 
 sister. They ought to have been twins ; it was a great 
 mistake, but just let me get a chance, and my mother's 
 situation as a chaperone will be no sinecure, I can tell you 
 I shall lead her such a gay life, a perfect fandango ! ' 
 
 ' I don't think Mrs. Barclay will consider it in the same 
 light,' said Clara, ' if she is not to enjoy herself any more 
 than my mother did at Mrs. Lorimer's ball. I only wonder 
 why they called it hers, for she did not seem to have had 
 a chance to invite more than a dozen of her own friends 
 and contemporaries, and such an immense crowd too.' 
 
 ' No room, my dear,' said Kate, ' no room for old people ; 
 they've had their day, and must clear the way for the 
 young.' 
 
 ' But my mother was not considered an old woman in 
 Europe. She was quite admired and sought for there, but 
 here they look upon her as an antediluvian fossil remains, 
 if you will. She is clever and amusing, and across the waters 
 they think a vast deal of such things they like to be 
 entertained. I think my mother very agreeable, and Mrs. 
 Barclay also ; indeed, I fancy tliem to be very much alike, 
 and imagine they must have been so from childhood.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Ashley is the only woman,' said Grace, ' who
 
 OF BOSTON. 135 
 
 always gets on well ; she never seems to lose her popularity ; 
 it appears she will never be considered old.' 
 
 ' Oh yes,' said Clara, ' that's all true ; but then Mrs. 
 Ashley is an exception to all rules ; " one swallow makes 
 not a summer," Gracy.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' cried the Dolly, ' it's young America rules the 
 land now; every person over seventeen is in a total eclipse; 
 you 're an old, old maid, Clara. Just let me break forth 
 upon the all-astounded little world of fashion, and you'll see 
 what a noise I shall make in a Maria Louisa blue brocade, 
 embroidered in pomegranate blossoms and ditto colored 
 ribbons to match in my bonnie black hair ! I never, never 
 intend to renounce the hope that I may yet possess such a 
 divine dress ; and let me once have it, and you will behold 
 a leader such as the round globe ne'er saw.' 
 
 'And the Chinese tails ! ' whispered Grace, slily. 
 
 ' Oh ! the hideosities ! ! ' said the Dolly, at the same time, 
 bestowing upon the offending braids a terrible twitch, and 
 waltzing out of the room.
 
 186 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 I 'm twenty-two, I 'm twenty-two. 
 They gaily give me joy.' 
 
 N. P. Willis. 
 
 Mr. Bradshaw, ' the American Methusaleh,' who had 
 escorted Clara Grordon to the supper-table at Mrs. Lorimer's 
 ball, called the next morning upon her. He was twenty- 
 seven or eight years old, and considered by all the assem- 
 bled juvenilities of the preceding evening as verging towards 
 an antediluvian stage of existence. This gentleman had 
 been travelling in Europe with great advantage to liimself, 
 having improved his time judiciously. He was a sensible, 
 well-educated man; a thorough American in all his feelings, 
 and opinions; and although he had found, in other climes, 
 much to admire and approve, and regretted the absence of 
 many pleasant things in his native land, yet he loved his 
 home, and the soil on which he liad drawn his first breath 
 was dear to him. Here were centred his heart's affections 
 and sympathies. He had, however, one great defect; ho 
 was vastly sententious and very prosy. Mr. Bradshaw was 
 not a very demonstrative person, and the picayunes thought 
 him dull, and did not hesitate to call him so. He had 
 imagined, pretty much as Mrs. Gordon had done, that it 
 was fitting and proper for him to show himself, lest he might 
 be accused of neglecting his friends for foreign reminiscen- 
 ces. So he sallied forth, and, after two or three children's 
 balls and experiences amidst the disbanded nurseries, he 
 had resolved that it was impossible for him to make any 
 more sacrifices in that way, when he made the acquaintance
 
 OF BOSTON. 137 
 
 of Miss Gordon, and that event changed his determination 
 of abandoning the little world of fashion. Mr. Bradshaw 
 was much struck with her quiet and ladylike manners, her 
 deferential bearing towards her mother especially ; and his 
 farther intercourse confirmed his first impressions. He was 
 convinced that the best thing a man can do in America is to 
 marry, otherwise, knowing not how to pass his evenings, he 
 may fall into club habits ; and so Mr. Bradshaw, without 
 being desperately enamored, and perfectly able to give his 
 future wife a pleasant establishment, decided that he would 
 pay his court to Miss Gordon, and forthwith commenced 
 operations. Now this sort of beginning is never generally 
 very successful, the suitor entirely mistaking the character 
 of the object of his admiration, and beholding in her a 
 composed and self-possessed manner, fancied her to be 
 well-balanced mentally, and not remarkably impressible ; 
 but ' under still waters currents lie,' and little wotted he of 
 their existence when he made up his mind touching the 
 character of Clara Gordon. 
 
 The restrictions to which the young girl had been sub- 
 jected during her European life had left their impress, and, 
 though having been two years in the land of liberty, she 
 still submitted her most trifling actions to her mother, and, 
 as Mr. Bradshaw saw more of her, he was astonished, at 
 the same time greatly approving, to observe this respect and 
 deference. The gentleman naturally concluding that such 
 an obedient daughter would make .an equally compliant 
 helpmate, was enchanted to have made the discovery of 
 such a treasure, and determined to avail himself of it im- 
 mediately. Meanwhile the object of his mild passion was 
 wholly unconscious of her conquest. She perceived that Mr. 
 Bradshaw sought her constantly, that he was ever hovering 
 near her, but this state of things she attributed wholly to 
 their mutually isolated condition ; that he sympathized with 
 her on her loneliness in the balls she acknowledged, but 
 then ' fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind,' and he really 
 12*
 
 138 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 had so few persons to whom he could speak, that he was 
 actually driven to take refuge with her. 
 
 One morning, at breakfast, Mrs. Gordon said to her 
 daughter, ' I am excessively weary of holding up the walls 
 at these apochryphal festivities, Clara, and having exhausted 
 all my small talk with the very few unfortunate mothers, 
 who, in my predicament, have decided they must accom- 
 pany their young progeny the first season, I have marked 
 out to myself a plan which I propose to pursue. I have 
 peered about, and, in my explorations, discovered that in all 
 the houses we frequent there are sundry nooks, crannies and 
 corners, in which are secreted some card-tables, to which a 
 few superannuated worthies resort in order to kill their long 
 evenings. I intend to present myself as an applicant for 
 the honor of making a hand at whist with these aforesaid 
 octogenarians. They will be half frightened out of their 
 wits by my humble request, I know, but I don't care a rush 
 about that. I must, if I keep my promise, and my word is 
 as good as my bond, do something, and shall therefore 
 adopt the "old lady-like accomplishment" of whist.' 
 
 ' But, my dear mother,' interposed Clara, ' you know next 
 to nothing of the game; they'll not accept you, I'm afraid, 
 and, really, I wish you would not sacrifice yourself to me, 
 for I had much rather go to the Barclays any time.' 
 
 ' Never mind, my child ; I promised to go out this season, 
 and have, at last, devised a plan to make my martyrdom 
 palatable by learning whist ; so do you purchase for me, 
 this very day, the best and most recondite treatise you can 
 discover in the city of Boston, on this important science, 
 and I shall begin this evening at Mrs. Allen's, I beg her 
 pardon, Miss Allen's ball. I know that I must not trump 
 my partner's trick, and that I must play the third hand high, 
 and the rest shall come by intuition.' 
 
 ' I pity your partners, my mother ; they will be obliged to 
 exercise an immense deal of patience ; and another impor- 
 tant thing, how will you be able to keep silent ? '
 
 OF BOSTON. 139 
 
 ' You're a saucy thing, I've great confidence in my 
 own resources.' 
 
 That evening, then, having been provided with the trea- 
 tise, and having looked it carefully over while her maid was 
 dressing her hair, Mrs. Gordon found a partner, and be- 
 stowed herself in a small room at the top of the stairs, and 
 abandoning her place at her daughter's side, it was imme- 
 diately occupied by 'the Methusaleh' who was sedulously 
 watching all their movements. Miss Jane Redmond occa- 
 sionally condescended to peep out from the loop-hole of 
 her retreat, influenced by her overweening curiosity respect- 
 ing the affairs of the world, and preferring, on some mo- 
 mentous occasions, to say I saio to I heard. She was 
 generally invited, though considered to have passed her 
 grand climacteric entirely ; but she had contrived to inspire 
 the picayunes with such a wholesome terror of her tongue 
 and its animadversions, that they thought it much the best 
 plan to keep the peace with her ; and, as they invited Mrs. 
 Ashley for her agreeable qualities, so they asked Miss Red- 
 mond for her disagreeable ones. In fact, they were all 
 horridly afraid of her. 
 
 Jane strolled up to Clara, who was standing, guarded by 
 JMr. Bradshaw, and begged leave to present to her acquaint- 
 ance Mr. Hugh Maxwell, and then disappeared. And a 
 handsome bright-eyed and mischievous looking person was 
 this young gentleman, and being very gay and animated, he 
 entered forthwith into a half confidential conversation. 
 After inquiring how she liked America, for he said he had 
 a right to ask this national question, she having lived so 
 long out of her country must be regarded in the light of 
 a stranger, he begged to excite her compassion. ' Look at 
 me, pray, Miss Gordon, and commiserate my forlorn con- 
 dition, "I'm twenty-two, I'm twenty-two," and like "the 
 last rose of summer am left blooming alone ; my mates of 
 the garden lie scentless and dead ; " that is. Miss Gordon, the 
 plain unvarnished English, for every man I know having
 
 140 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 taken unto himself a spouse. If you but knew how solitary 
 and wretched I am, pity me, I conjure you.' 
 
 Miss Gordon admitted that his sad case demanded sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 * Alas ! ' said he, ' miserable enough am I, without a friend 
 in the world ! They are all occupied with their babies, and 
 have no leisure to bestow upon such a wretch of an old 
 bachelor as I oh ! Miss Gordon bestow one sympathizing 
 glance upon me. Fve a claim " on a blink of your e'en," 
 for I made the excruciating exertion of adorning myself 
 this evening for the sole and express purpose of being pre- 
 sented to you. You perceive that your fame has reached 
 my hermit's cell; "turn, Angelina, ever dear," and hear 
 that I propose to be your slave just so long as you show 
 yourself in " the gay and festal halls ; " for I honor your 
 moral courage. Ages gone by I made my appearance in 
 the fashionable world, with a deliciously charming band, 
 garlanded together with wreaths of perfumed flowers, of 
 which not one remains. I beheld them disappear in agony 
 of spirit, and then retreated myself, for what could I do? 
 The places that knew them once, know them no more, and 
 in their stead several generations have flourished.' 
 
 ' What melancholy reminiscenses,' said Clara, quite 
 amused by her companion's nonsense ; but Mr. Bradshaw, 
 who detested nonsense, looked unutterable things at Mr. 
 Hugh Maxwell, and certainly wished him back in his her- 
 mitage. 
 
 * But,' said Mr. Maxwell, ' you have not yet inquired how 
 I was particularly informed of your advent in these fasci- 
 nating latitudes, Miss Gordon.' 
 
 * You have a sister, I perceive,' said Clara, regarding a 
 most fragile young thing whom she had always observed to 
 be dancing with a small boy, to whom she had heard she 
 was affianced. 
 
 ' Even so. Miss Gordon ; but will you promise not to be
 
 OF BOSTON. 141 
 
 offended if I just venture to hint how I collected this, to me, 
 invaluable information ? ' 
 
 * I will assuredly promise not to be offended, Mr. Max- 
 well' 
 
 * Well, then, be it known to the travelled and accom- 
 plished lady, that this very morning I was asking my little 
 relative how the war was carried on in her own peculiar 
 circle ; and, after giving me the history of the divers en- 
 gagements existing between all these children now jumping 
 up and down before us, Miss Carrie Maxwell, that is, my 
 respected sister, declared that all things were proceeding 
 harmoniously. But, I rejoined, have you no old people 
 about now ? and she answered very few, indeed, only two. 
 I inquired the names and styles of the victimized pair, and 
 she replied Now, Miss Gordon, will you promise solemnly 
 not to be offended ? ' 
 
 ' I promise,' said Clara. 
 
 'Well, then, she replied, my sister, I mean, she 
 answered that the only old people about were Miss Jane 
 Redmond and Miss Clara Gordon.' 
 
 Upon this revelation, such a ringing laugh as fell upon 
 Mr. Bradshaw's ears ! He was positively shocked, being 
 very critical on the subject of laughter, and very angry 
 with Mr. Maxwell for provoking this indiscretion, 
 
 ' And will Mr. Maxwell,' said Mr. Bradshaw, for the first 
 time joining in the conversation, ' please inform me in what 
 light I am considered, if Miss Gordon is designated as old ? ' 
 
 ' Most willingly,' answered the gentleman addressed, ' my 
 sister. Miss Carrie Maxwell, has a long, long while voted 
 you to be a second grandfather Whitehead ! I beg not to 
 be made responsible for her opinions ; if you propose to call 
 any one out, for you look sufficiently indignant to perpe- 
 trate an honorable murder, please apply to the little gentle- 
 man with the huge cravat, so assidiously paying his court to 
 my respected relative, and I've no doubt he will be enchant- 
 ed to give you all necessary and unnecessary satisfaction.
 
 142 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Why, Bradshaw ! how owhshly solemn you look! I'm 
 absolutely alarmed. Miss Gordon, I place myself at your 
 feet, and will put a girdle round the earth at your bidding, 
 but just now will leave you and your redoubtable champion, 
 and return when he is in better humor.' 
 
 Thus saying, Mr. Maxwell made a profound obeisance, 
 and departed. 
 
 Suddenly he returned and said, ' I forgot entirely to 
 inform you, Miss Gordon, that I came here this evening for 
 the sole purpose of seeing you and finding a contemporary ; 
 but perceiving you are guarded like the golden fruit in the 
 den of Hesperides, I am constrained, altogether against my 
 will, to abandon a half-formed project of re-entering the 
 world, and bid you a solemn and eternal adieu.' 
 
 ' What a ridiculous popinjay ! ' exclaimed Mr. Bradshaw. 
 
 But, after all, he thought to himself, this may make a 
 good opening for me, and he asked Clara if she were not 
 fatigued, and would not prefer to be seated ; so she placed 
 herself on a sofa, and Mr. Bradshaw composedly disposed 
 himself beside her. Now, it was very true that Mr. Brad- 
 shaw had worn to the lady of his love a very paternal 
 guise, not exactly that of a grandfather; but there was ever 
 a very fatherly atmosphere enveloping him, and Clara Gor- 
 don felt it. He was too wise and too good for daily bread ; 
 he made long speeches and delivered virtuous homilies upon 
 the degeneracy of the times and the backslidings of the 
 people, and preached too much on week-days altogether. 
 He was an excellent individual ; there was not an objection 
 to be made to him morally, and he was only, as a matter of 
 taste, rather too demonstratively good. And, as Mr. Brad- 
 shaw had not hidden any of these admirable requisites for a 
 perfect helpmate, from Clara Gordon, it is wonderful how 
 she could have been so blind to them and his desire to make 
 her the sharer of his manifold excellences ; but so it was. 
 She felt neither, and saw not at all. He was sitting beside 
 her and, turning towards her, lowered the tones of his voice.
 
 OF BOSTON. 143 
 
 which in any way should have been drowned in the noise 
 of the music and the talkers, and he whispered : 
 
 ' The absurd fooleries of Mr. Hugh Maxwell are very 
 disagreeable to me, and I hope also to you, Miss Gordon, 
 but as he was pleased to do me the honor to mention my 
 unworthy name in connection with yours, I will venture to 
 affirm that I devoutly hope it may ever so remain. I have 
 long desired to mention a subject lying next my heart; and, 
 as he seems to think we are left by all our contemporaries 
 alone, his impression evidently being that of others also, 
 will you allow me, dear Miss Gordon, to ask you to accept 
 my heart and hand ? I have perceived a very great sym- 
 pathy in our tastes and feelings, and presume this has also 
 been made evident to the bystanders, since they have con- 
 ferred upon me the high favor of connecting my poor name 
 with yours. I can place you in a home as comfortable as 
 the one you leave, and solemnly promise to make it as 
 happy as it is in my power so to do. I know that, to all 
 young ladies, an offer of marriage is an important event in 
 their lives, requiring mature reflection, and demanding the 
 advice and counsel of their friends and advisers, and pre- 
 sume you will be no exception to the general rule, and 
 require sufficient verge and space for profound cogitations 
 upon my words. My professions bear the seal and stamp 
 of perfect sincerity, and I have profound regard and re- 
 spect for your character, in which I behold many things to 
 admire. I also dwell with great satisfaction on your nu- 
 merous accomplishments, as tending to enliven a home in 
 a superior degree ; and I sincerely hope for an acquies- 
 cent response to this exposition of my unwavering senti- 
 ments, for which I now wait with impatience.' 
 
 Poor Clara ! She listened with dismay to this never-end- 
 ing oration, with its repetitions and involved sentences, and 
 was all the time thinking how she should manage to rise 
 from the very, very low Louis the Fourteenth sofa on which 
 it could not be said she reposed in peace ; she had tried 
 many times, during Mr. Bradshaw's peroration, ineffectually.
 
 144 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ' Permit me to assist you to rise, Miss Gordon ; I know 
 full well you will wish to confide this event to your mother. 
 I entertain small doubt of her being propitious.' 
 
 ' I have no present intention,' said Clara, provoked beyond 
 expression at his pertinacious obstinacy in believing there 
 could be no obstacles any where, ' of consulting any one ; 
 and have but to reply to your proffers, that I most positively 
 and respectfully decline them.' 
 
 * Impossible ! ' exclaimed the gentleman, ' you cannot 
 surely refuse me ! ' 
 
 ' I certainly do ; and nothing can ever force me to change 
 my irrevocable intention of declining your addresses.' 
 
 ' This being such an extraordinary proceeding, I\Iiss Gor- 
 don, I must forthwith see your mother.' 
 
 ' It will avail you naught, Mr. Bradshaw.' 
 
 Upon which Mr. Bradshaw left Miss Gordon and saw her 
 mother, whom, in his excitement and indignation at her 
 daughter's conduct, he called from the card-room, and con- 
 fided to her her child's delinquencies. Mrs. Gordon in- 
 formed him that she could not control her daughter's 
 affections, which, it appeared in his case, were not fixed 
 upon him. She regretted his disappointment, but it was 
 evident he had not touched her child's heart, and that all 
 expostulations would be useless. Mr. Bradshaw became 
 vexed with both mother and daughter, and took, as he told 
 Mrs. Gordon, an eternal farewell of them. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon was not ver}^ sorry at Clara's rejection of 
 her suitor, though he was certainly an eligible match, and 
 she rather agreed with the picayunes, in thinking him a tiny 
 bit prosy, his conversation being rather tiresome, though 
 unobjectionably wise, but she was astonished at the exhi- 
 bition of bad temper he had made, which she, however, 
 attributed to mortified vanity, he having been so remarkably 
 sure of his matrimonial prize. 
 
 Indeed, Mr. Bradshaw could never be made to compre- 
 hend the cause of Miss Gordon's rejection of his suit.
 
 OF BOSTON. 145 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ' Dark lowers our fate, 
 And terrible the storm that gathers o'er us.' 
 
 Joanna Baillie. 
 
 It was just at this period when Mr. Barclay found him- 
 self in the complete enjoyment of his eminently prosperous 
 existence, in the zenith of his manhood, adored by his fam- 
 ily, surrounded by steadfast friends and environed with 
 countless blessings, for which he was aboundingly g?;ateful, 
 that a dire calamity befel him. A calamity which probing 
 him to the heart's core, and rudely dashing the overflowing 
 cup of his happiness to the earth in one dark and dreary 
 moment, dissolved into thin air the peaceful fabric of his 
 existence, never again to be restored. A cloud, black as 
 Erebus, broke over his devoted head. And this sad affliction 
 dwelt in the person of his child, his first-born, his idolized 
 daughter, Georgiana. She sought him in his own private 
 room, and closing the door carefully, fell at his feet in a 
 paroxysm of grief and remorse, and confessed herself to 
 have been secretly married. 
 
 On listening to this astonishing revelation, Mr. Barclay 
 imagined it to be the result of sudden delirium, of halluci- 
 nation, and he could only be persuaded of the truth of her 
 story by her repeatedly reiterated asseverations. 
 
 ' And to whom.'' demanded her almost distracted father, 
 
 * To Gerald Sanderson,' she answered. 
 
 * To Gerald Sanderson!' he exclaimed, 'the young and 
 dreamy enthusiast and hermit, of whom I have heard his 
 
 13
 
 146 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 brother speak so frequently, loving him devotedly, but ever 
 regretting his half-monastic habits, how got he access 
 to you, my child ? when and where ? I have always under- 
 stood he constantly remained in his study, at the top of the 
 old house, eschewing all society, and devoting himself to 
 abstruse and philosophical speculations.' 
 
 ' Oh ! my father, I dare not look in your dear face for 
 veiy shame and agony of spirit ; I have most grievously 
 sinned against you and my beloved mother, and deserve 
 no forgiveness whatever. I have hoarded up this fearful 
 secret until it became utterly impossible for me to retain 
 it any longer, in accordance with Gerald's earnest prayers 
 and supplications, he having conjured me to allow him to 
 bear the brunt of your well merited indignation, and assured 
 me he would not permit any one to be blamed but himself, 
 and now that he returns not home, I can bear this no longer. 
 Alas ! I full well know how much more criminal I am than 
 he ; he has never experienced your exalted goodness, your 
 indulgence, your devoted watchfulness, whereas I, sinner 
 that I am, have offended against yourself, my mother, and 
 my Maker. Oh ! what a load of misery is on my soul ; 
 how ungrateful, how disobedient, have I been ; what dis- 
 graceful deceptions have I not practised, when all around 
 mc was truth and honor ! .My father, my father, I ask not 
 for forgiveness ; punish me as you best think fit ; no penance 
 can be too severe for me to endure. Oh ! the weight on my 
 brain is too great to bear and live ; my whole life is banned 
 and marred forever ! ' 
 
 Mr. Barclay, with parental kindness, essayed to calm the 
 violence of his daughter's feelings, to compose, in some 
 degree, the fever of her mind. He then asked her where 
 she had first seen Gerald Sanderson. She replied, ' In the 
 cloak-room at Mrs. Ashley's children's ball,' and narrated, 
 what the reader already knows, her refusal to dance with him. 
 She then stated, that her sister's cold confining her to the house 
 during the winter, she had no companion in her daily walks
 
 OF BOSTON. 147 
 
 to school, and that, very soon after the ball, she began to 
 meet Gerald Sanderson. By degrees, insensibly she en- 
 countered him more frequently ; that at first she had not 
 mentioned his constant appearance in her path, simply from 
 a species of timidity, arising from a complete subjugation 
 of all her feelings which that youth had established over 
 her, from the very first moment she laid her eyes upon him. 
 She compared this feeling to sorcery or witchcraft, or any 
 other undue fascination; unholy she called it, for had she 
 not been led into undutifulness and hypocrisy by giving up 
 her whole soul to her lover ? In the beginning all was a 
 dream, but soon came a change. She longed for his pres- 
 ence, voluntarily met him, and took long walks with him 
 in bye streets, avoiding the frequented haunts where she 
 might chance to encounter familiar faces. He wrote her 
 long, impassioned letters and verses, gave her serenades, 
 sent bouquets and little novelties of various kinds anony- 
 mously. Of these the family had taken no notice, such 
 things constantly occurring from other quarters. He had 
 haunted her pi-esence day and night, she said, having passed 
 a great part of the latter under her windows ; he said 
 the watchmen, on their beat, knew him intimately by sight, 
 and took no note of him. He played and sang divinely, 
 and Gracy had jested with her, after Charley's departure, 
 upon Gerald's serenades, but had not the most remote idea 
 that she had ever seen him. He had forced her to swear 
 she would never divulge her secret, even to her sister; it 
 was not to be thought of. At last, he hfid told her he must 
 depart as his brother had done and seek a fortune, to marry 
 her; that his uncle would never leave him any thing, and 
 that he must work as Charley had done, in order to give her 
 the same comforts she possessed at home. She must always 
 live in luxury, he said. So when the time arrived that he 
 was to depart he urged a secret marriage, at which she 
 revolted. It took a long, lon<i while for him to induce her 
 to consent, but weak and powerless in his hands, he sue-
 
 148 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ceeded. They entered a house where she found a clergy- 
 man and a gentleman, whom Gerald declared to be his 
 best friend, not a young man, by any means, and they 
 were married. The ceremony concluded, (it was short, 
 she remembered it very indistinctly, it was all confusion 
 in her recollection) she and Gerald left the house imme- 
 diately. They parted at the corner of the street, she 
 never saw him more; she had reason to believe he passed 
 that night under her windows. The next day she received 
 a large bridal bouquet, a few hurried and passionate appeals 
 to her constancy, her affection, and he was gone. All these 
 events occurred in such rapid succession that she had no 
 time for reflection. She knew she had done a great wrong, 
 committed an unpardonable offence against her parents, but, 
 in some unaccountable way, she seemed not to regret it as 
 such. She was composed and quiet, assured that Gerald 
 would return. His absence appeared to produce a certain 
 relief to her overcharged spirit ; she stilled the voice of 
 her conscience, and pursued the even tenor of her way 
 unmolested. He did not write, and yet she was not un- 
 happy ; she trusted in him, but she could in no manner 
 comprehend her quietude under the infliction of his absence. 
 She had regarded his injunctions of secrecy as merely 
 fanciful ; he was of a romantic and visionary turn, (she had 
 a little of the same character herself,) and the whole thing 
 seemed a pleasing romance in her eyes. 
 
 This state of affairs lasted a long while. She had never 
 appeared to acknowledge to herself her position, but, as 
 time rolled on, and Gerald made no sign, she began to 
 apprehend misfortune, even death, and a film appeared to 
 pass from before her hitherto blinded eyes. She supposed 
 she had become more matured in her judgment : she 
 had looked upon her position in a totally different light. 
 Conscience, once fully awakened, would no longer be 
 hushed, and her sufferings had become perfectly unendur- 
 able, the more intense, from the obligatory concealment ;
 
 OF BOSTON. 149 
 
 SO, in a frenzy of despair, she had arisen from her prayers 
 to God for assistance, and gone to her father to make & 
 completely frank and truthful confession, and to beg and 
 conjure him to pardon her, though she felt she had no right 
 to sue as a petitioner for mercy, when she stood in his 
 presence. 
 
 Of course, all this was extracted bit by bit, and it seemed 
 that her heart would break under the trial, and her father, 
 totally unused to menaces, or even reproaches, treated her 
 with kindness and tenderness, and comforted her ; instead 
 of harshness and contumely, she received consolation. This 
 was even more than she could endure ; so paternal was his 
 bearing in her eyes, that she mourned her dereliction 
 from her duty all the more, and her duplicity towards her 
 inestimable and priceless father seemed more heinous than 
 ever. Georgiana had been so tortured by remorse, that the 
 full disclosure of her appalling secret had, in some sort, 
 relieved her harrowed mind. She felt that the crisis of her 
 fate had arrived ; the ordeal was passed ; she had poured 
 into the sympathizing bosom of her all-pardoning parent the 
 tale of her misery, and he had deigned to breathe words of 
 hope and encouragement to his erring child. Then came' 
 to both father and daughter, the distressing thought of the 
 mother and wife ! She was to be informed of the blow 
 which had fallen on her household ; how would she bear it ? 
 A worshipper of truth, having devoted her days to the instil- 
 ment of its healthful principles into the minds and hearts 
 of her children, how would she receive the mortifying intel- 
 ligence that her untiring efforts had been unavailing ? Here 
 was an acted lie in the very heart of her own family, the 
 place of all others in which she would have least expected 
 to find it ! How discouraging to her must be this failure of 
 her exertions to prove and perfect the character of her 
 daughter, the oldest, the one to whom she looked for the 
 fruition of her educational plans, to say nothing of the ex- 
 13*
 
 150 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ample which she had ever prayed this child of her affections 
 might exhibit to her sisters and brother. 
 
 As these reflections arose in the mind of that child, she 
 shrunk with fear and trembling at the melancholy task which 
 her father had taken upon himself, the imparting this story 
 of her humiliating disgrace to her mother. It was to be 
 done, and no one but he could properly break the wearisome 
 tale, and again and again, how would she receive it? 
 
 Mr. Barclay supported his fainting daughter to her cham- 
 ber, and closing the door, left her with her misery. How 
 long he was gone she knew not. It seemed an age of 
 torture ; she listened intently to every sound with checked 
 and fevered respiration ; she hardly dared to breathe ; cold 
 chills crept through her veins, and in after-times, as she 
 pondered upon those appalling moments, it was with an 
 intensity of suffering sad to reflect upon. Indeed, she 
 often marvelled that reason had not sunk under that mighty 
 trial. At last approaching footsteps were heard ; slowly 
 and solemnly they fell upon her ear ; the lock was turned, 
 the door gently opened, and her father appeared. If he had 
 come without her mother ! She attempted to rise from her 
 chair ; a choking and overwhelming sensation obliged her 
 to re-seat herself; an instant, and her mother had folded 
 her arms around her, and was whispering in melting tones 
 forgiveness, mercy, blessed and revivifying words ! Mr. 
 Barclay left them together, and over the scene, in which 
 the repentant young creature poured forth her whole soul 
 on the bosom of her parent, a veil shall be drawn. The 
 father then sought for Grace, and imparted to her the events 
 of this miserable morning. She was overwhelmed with 
 astonishment and grief; she had never, in the slightest possi- 
 ble way, suspected aught to her own perfect sister's dispar- 
 agement, and could hardly be made to believe what she 
 heard ; and surely, from no other source, would she have 
 given credence to such an astonishing revelation. She de- 
 clared that lately she had perceived a change in her sister.
 
 OF BOSTON. 151 
 
 which daily increased. She rather shunned society ; had 
 wakeful nights ; was excessively gay when in the presence 
 of the assembled family, and moping and melancholy alone. 
 She had always endeavored to rouse herself when she had 
 entered the room and found her in these moods, but very 
 shortly relapsed. Grace also said that she had been some 
 time thinking that her sister's health was declining ; but, as 
 neither her father or mother seemed to perceive it, she for- 
 bore mentioning her own suspicions lest she might alarm 
 them. Now all was revealed, she felt the most intense 
 commiseration for Georgy ; and so accustomed had she ever 
 been to regard her sister in the light of a superior being, 
 that it was with great difficulty she could bring herself to 
 express what, in any other case, she would have openly 
 avowed, her entire disapprobation of her proceedings. Still, 
 Grace was obliged to confess that her idol had deviated from 
 the path of her duty, and that with such parents the error 
 was all the more reprehensible. There was no way of gloss- 
 ing over her conduct ; she had been both undutiful and 
 ungrateful, and this was a source of exquisite suffering to 
 the tender-hearted and loving young creature. 
 
 The Dolly received this sad news with an outburst of 
 sensibility, almost alarming from its violence. She wept, 
 wrung her hands, and bewailed her sister's fate with irre- 
 pressible emotion. She raved at Gerald's folly, atGeorgy's, 
 and finally threw herself into Nursey Bristow's arms, and 
 fairly cried herself to sleep. Nursey laid her gently in bed, 
 from which she did not arise until late the next morning. 
 
 Mr. Barclay sent immediately for his brother, who came 
 and betrayed the deepest and most intense sympathy in his 
 sorrow, but took a cheering view of the case. He said he 
 hated Philip Egerton, and knew absolutely nothing of Gerald 
 except his disgraceful conduct in relation to his niece, but 
 that his father was an honorable man, universally respect- 
 ed ; the mother a good, weak creature ; and no very great 
 harm, he thought, could ever arise from a connection with
 
 152 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 the scions of such a stock; so he was disposed to look 
 favorably on the marriage. Again, Gerald was so young, 
 so unworldly and so romantic, that many excuses might be 
 urged for his conduct, which, under other circumstances, 
 would admit of no palliatives whatever. Mr. Richard was 
 quite sure that Charley would never have committed such an 
 act, not he ; but then he was a complete man of the world 
 compared with his brother. He knew, for certain, that his 
 young favorite was dying in love with Gracy, and yet had 
 never revealed his passion. ' Now,' said he, ' the best way 
 for you, John, is to go to-morrow morning and see Mr. 
 Egerton, state the case to him, and have every thing settled 
 satisfactorily. Revolve over the whole affair in your own 
 mind this evening ; arrange your plan for storming the 
 miser's stronghold ; sleep upon your trouble, and awake like 
 a giant refreshed, and attack Mr. Egerton and his treacherous 
 nephew. I beg your pardon, 1 will never again call your 
 son-in-law hard names. God bless you, my brother, and 
 good night; for I intend to leave you to your own reflections 
 until to-morrow, when I sincerely hope things will assume a 
 different aspect.' 
 
 Mrs. Barclay remaining with Georgy, her husband paced 
 his hitherto deliglitful library with heavy and mournful steps 
 all that long evening, every visiter being refused ; and 
 Grracy creeping closely to his side accompanied her father, 
 oppressed with grief. This being the young girl's first in- 
 troduction to sorrow and suffering, she longed for the morrow, 
 for change, imagining that tlic light of another day would 
 bring healing on its wings. So impossible does it seem to 
 convince youthful minds of the continuity of aflliction ; and 
 why should it ever be attempted r 
 
 Mr. Barclay, before he retired to rest, sent a servant to Mr. 
 Egerton's to inquire if Mr. Gerald Sanderson had returned 
 home, and learned that he was at his uncle's house ; at which 
 information he felt slightly relieved, as he thought the sooner 
 the whole thing was settled and arranged, the better.
 
 OF BOSTON. 153 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Wait ! for the time is hasting 
 
 When life shall be made clear, 
 And all who know heart-wasting, 
 Shall find that God is near.' 
 
 CiiAuxcET Haee Townsexd. 
 
 The next morning, after a wretched and sleepless night, 
 Mr. Barclay ordered his carriage and went to Mr. Egerton's. 
 He raised the ponderous knocker, and, at this unwonted 
 sound in that establishment, Peter rushed to the door, fol- 
 lowed by Dinah, who kept a little in his rear. Mr. Barclay 
 inquired if Mr. Egerton were at home, and if he could see 
 him. Peter opened the best parlor door, with great cere- 
 mony, and ushered him into Philip's state apartment. There 
 stood, nailed to the wall, the old chairs and sofa, and the 
 one solitary table, all looking as if they had not been re- 
 moved for a century, stiff and formal like their owner, the 
 grate not having seen a fire since the late Mr, Egerton's 
 decease. The room was intensely cold, and, although the 
 visiter's feet were almost frozen during the long time he 
 awaited his answer, he hardly seemed conscious of the 
 atmosphere in this incipient ice-house. Mr. Barclay was 
 quite sure that Mr. Egerton was at home, having arrived 
 early in order to secure an audience. In the excited state 
 of his feelings the minutes seemed hours to the unhappy 
 father, and he longed impatiently for the reappearance of 
 the black mercury. At last, when he had begun to think 
 of once more storming this old castle of dullness, by repair- 
 ing to the hall door and attacking its lion-headed knocker,
 
 154 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Peter arrived, and with many bows and grimaces assured 
 him his master would be happy to receive him. In this the 
 black plenipotentiary had remarkably stretched his powers, 
 inasmuch as Mr. Egcrton, after walking about the room an 
 indefinitely long period, had made a sort of assenting sign 
 that his most unexpected guest might enter his sanctum. 
 
 When Mr. Barclay found himself in ' the Library ' 
 without books, in the presence of two hard chairs and a 
 large square table, so polished he could have arranged his 
 toilet in it, very little fire, and the immensely stately, pom- 
 pous possessor of this private elysium, his courage nearly 
 failed him, every thing appeared so frigid, so unimpressi- 
 able. Mr. Egerton arose from his high-backed chair, and, 
 coldly bowing, desired, in measured terms, to be informed 
 to what fortuitous circumstance he owed the honor of a visit 
 at such an unwonted hour, from a gentleman he so rarely 
 had the pleasure to see. This was any thing but encouraging, 
 it must be confessed. Mr. Barclay, however, recovering 
 himself, stated that he had come on an errand of considerable 
 importance to himself, and trusted Mr. Egcrton would also 
 be interested in it. That gentleman, instantly perceiving 
 that there must be some momentous event to be announced, 
 from the agitated manner of a man whom he had always 
 not a little envied for his prosperity and equanimity, begged 
 Mr. Barclay would take a chair, and, seating himself com- 
 posedly, awaited its disclosure. Mr. Barclay immediately 
 began, and, in a plain unvarnished tale, recounted the sad 
 story which has already been related. As he proceeded, 
 althougii at times his voice almost failed him, the Christian 
 spirit breathing through his words, his patience and forbear- 
 ance, and the charm of his simple and natural manners 
 failed not to produce upon his listener a somewhat sympa- 
 thetic effect. Mr. Egerton was an honorable man, and 
 deeply felt his nephew's trcacllcr^^ Then his own good 
 name was, to a certain extent, involved in this nefarious 
 transaction, the pure blood of his family tarnished, and
 
 OF BOSTON. 155 
 
 poor Emma, his sister ! what had become of her ? And 
 then there was a satisfaction, no, not exactly that, but some- 
 thing near akin to it, that in his presence, and before his 
 eyes, he beheld the only man he had ever condescended to 
 envy, in his whole natural life, bowed down with grief and 
 shame for the dereliction of an idolized child. For, how- 
 ever Mr. Barclay might brave the coming storm, disgrace it 
 was, and emanating from a source which the unhappy 
 father had always regarded as pure and undefiled. Unspot- 
 ted had his daughter ever been, and what was she now ? A 
 creature for the shafts of envy and malice to be expended 
 upon ! 
 
 Mr, Egerton's feelings softened towards Mr. Barclay, the 
 tones of his voice altered, and while he expressed his honest 
 indignation at Gerald's misconduct, he begged him to accept 
 his sincere sympathy in his tribulation. The two gentle- 
 men, after a long and most intensely interesting conversa- 
 tion, debated the best means of apprising the delinquent of 
 his turpitude, and then dispatched Peter up into the young 
 offender's quarters in search of him. 
 
 Gerald, who was just then deeply engaged in solving 
 some abstruse mathematical problem, and looking marvel- 
 lously unlike a lover, quite resented the black's intrusion 
 into his eyrie, which was certainly a very unwonted circum- 
 stance. The excitement produced by the arrival of a visiter 
 at any hour would have completely upset poor Peter's brain, 
 but at nine in the morning! he had not an idea left in 
 his head, and accordingly bounced into the student's pres- 
 ence without even knocking. 
 
 ' Pray what do you want, Peter? ' cried Gerald, in no very 
 gentle tones ; ' what means this sudden intrusion ? ' 
 
 ' Oh Massa, Massa Gerald, Mr. Barclay, the great Mr. 
 Barclaj', is down stairs in my Massa's library, and wants to 
 see you ; so take off dat ole dressin gown and put on your 
 bess bettermost coat, and run down right off, dis minute.'
 
 156 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ' I shall do no such thing,' replied Gerald. ' Mr. Barclay 
 and I can have nothing to say to each other, I am positive.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, Massa, Massa ; good deal, good deal, I guess.' 
 
 ' And what do you know about this matter, Peter ? ' said 
 Gerald, gradually awakening from what Peter called his 
 ' brown study,' in which he had been intensely engaged 
 previous to the astounding news of a visit from the great 
 merchant. 
 
 ' What can he want ? ' said Gerald to himself. 
 
 ' Guess he want someting strange, berry strange, Massa.' 
 
 * How do you know ? you old villain ! ' cried Gerald. ' I 
 really believe you 'vo been at your vile tricks of listening at 
 the door.' 
 
 ' And if I hab, what harm, Massa ? Der nebber cum to 
 dis house noffin ; and when de biggest bug in de whole town 
 come bang-whanging away at de ragin lion's head, spose I 
 goin to wait til he be gone to know his bisness ? No, Massa, 
 no!' 
 
 ' 'Tis a very bad habit you have contracted, Peter, and 
 should be immediately corrected.' 
 
 ' Yes, I berry well know it's all wrong. Missus hab told 
 me so often enough for dis ole coon to member. But den, 
 you all know I nebber tell any ting out ob dis house.' 
 
 With this salvo for his conscience, the old servant was 
 perfectly satisfied with what he had done ; and as Gerald 
 did not inquire what the secret was, at which he was im- 
 measurably disappointed, he applied himself most dili- 
 gently to making the young man presentable before he 
 entered, what Peter considered to be, the august presence of 
 the ' biggest bug ' in the town. 
 
 Gerald descended, slowly and measuredly, the stairs, 
 seemingly occupied in arranging his scattered thoughts, be- 
 fore this grand audience should take place. At the library 
 door he stopped and hesitated ; he had never spoken to Mr. 
 Barclay, and had rarely seen him. This meeting evidently 
 agitated and alarmed him. After one or two unsuccessful
 
 OF BOSTON. ' 157 
 
 efforts to turn the lock, he effected his purpose, and stood in 
 the presence of his enraged uncle and afflicted guest. 
 
 Mr. Egerton, totally forgetting his dignified and imposing 
 ways, fell upon the young culprit unmercifully. ' What 
 have you been doing ? ' exclaimed he, ' you disgrace to 
 my blood ! you traitor ! who have stolen, like a thief in the 
 night, into this good man's house and taken away his daugh- 
 ter ! Shame on you for a recreant, as you are, to your 
 name and to your station ! What will my poor sister and 
 your devoted mother say to the tale of your dishonor and 
 perfidy, which I shall have to narrate to her ? This horrid 
 story will go far towards re-opening wounds in her lacerated 
 heart, which religion and time have been healing. Answer 
 me directly, How dared your noble father's son commit 
 such an offence against good faith and morality ? ' 
 
 ' Of what offence do you accuse- me, Uncle ^ ' said Ge- 
 rald, in the calmest manner possible. 
 
 ' Of having lured away Miss Georgiana Barclay ! ' thun- 
 dered forth Mr. Egerton, ' from her duty ; of having turned 
 her head with your absurd poetry and music and flattering 
 lies, until she consented to become your wife, unknown to 
 her excellent parents, whom I believe to be unexcelled in 
 their tender devotion to their children.' 
 
 ' 1 never, my Uncle, spoke to Miss Georgiana Barclay in 
 my life,' replied Gerald coolly. 
 
 ' Hear him ! hear him ! ' cried Mr. Egerton. ' God help 
 me, he is adding falsehood and hypocrisy to the already 
 horrid catalogue of his wicked doings ! ' 
 
 ' My father's son,' said Gerald solemnly, ' never lies.' 
 
 ' Oh, the viper ! the young villain ! ' exclaimed Mr. Eger- 
 ton. ' 1 will send you out of this house before this day is 
 well over ; you shall get your bread in other ways than 
 studying astronomy calculating the stars, forsooth ! I will 
 send you on a voyage round the world, in which you shall 
 have plenty of leisure to repent you of your misdeeds ; a 
 fellow that 1 have supported and harbored, faugh ! ' 
 14
 
 158 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ' I am perfectly willing, Sir,' said the young man, who 
 had become thoroughly aroused and angered, ' to leave this 
 old house, which has sheltered me, and very little else, dur- 
 ing many years. For your hospitality, such as it has been, 
 I am sufficiently gratefid ; but I entirely deny your right to 
 order me any where ; and I tell you, in your teeth, I will 
 not be sent to the Sandwich Islands or the Northwest Coast, 
 by you or any one else. I know,' he resumed, ' that those 
 long voyages are considered to be, by yourself and others, 
 the schools of reform for all wild youths, and also that you 
 have counselled many a father to do this same thing, to the 
 utter degradation and ruin of his son. One case came un- 
 der my own immediate cognisance, where a youth of great 
 refinement and sensibility was banished, for some very 
 venial and juvenile oifence, from a luxurious home to a 
 forecastle ; and what with the contamination of its atmos- 
 phere which, I grant, he had not the moral courage to 
 resist, that quality being rare in the spring-time of life and 
 his own despair, he entirely succumbed. I saw him the last 
 week even, a vulgar, degraded wreck, and that was your 
 own doing. Sir. I never saw a China merchant, who did 
 not firmly believe in the efficacy of this plan ; and I now 
 reiterate my assertion, I will not go ! ' 
 
 Mr. Egerton's amazement at this outpouring of resent- 
 ment from his quiet, unobtrusive nephew, completely bereft 
 him of words. He literally had nothing to say. Mr. Bar- 
 clay, who had until then been unable to make himself heard, 
 spoke. He asserted, that he could in nowise comprehend 
 why Mr. Gerald Sanderson should so positively deny the 
 charge brought against him ; for this he must be answerable 
 to his own conscience. He averred that he believed his 
 daughter's assertion before the asseverations of any one ; 
 that he was disposed, for many good reasons, into which he 
 would not then enter on the discussion, to look more leni- 
 ently upon the marriage than Mr. Egerton, and that he 
 would make the proposition that they should all repair to
 
 OF BOSTON. 159 
 
 his own house, and in the presence of the young lady her- 
 self settle the question at once. 
 
 Mr. Egerton acceded immediately to this measure, and 
 Gerald respectfully signified his complete willingness to ac- 
 company him. The drive was passed in perfect silence by 
 the whole trio. On arriving at their destination, Mr. Barclay, 
 hastily jumping out of the vehicle, ushered Mr. Egerton and 
 his nephew into the library, and then left them. They 
 passed the time during his absence in carefully avoiding 
 each other ; Gerald's uncle being still too much overwhelm- 
 ed to renew his accusations, and the nephew remaining 
 reserved and sullen. 
 
 Mr. Barclay found Georgiana more composed than he had 
 anticipated. Her mother, whose gentle attentions and melt- 
 ing kindness had effected this change, looked like a martyr, 
 as she was. 
 
 ' My dear wife, and daughter,' said he, ' I have brought 
 Mr. Egerton and his nephew with me ; you must endeavor 
 to compose yourselves sufficiently to receive them. You, 
 dear Mrs. Barclay, your son, and you, my daughter, your 
 husband ; all, all is forgiven ! Life is too short to be filled 
 with the misery we can evade by our own exertions ; want 
 of fortune is nothing to me ; the all of life is not money, and 
 provided Gerald Sanderson turns out a good fellow, I shall 
 thankfully receive and treat him as my own son. I do not 
 regard the offence, when I look upon my beloved child, in 
 the light his uncle does, who is outrageous at his breach of 
 faith. I know you to be very attractive, dear Georgy, and 
 he very young and romantic, and I remember my own boy- 
 ish days, when I thought myself a man.' 
 
 Mrs. Barclay looked upon her husband as if he were su- 
 perhuman, and Georgy, throwing herself into his arms, 
 wept abundant tears of joyful gratitude for his forbearance. 
 Some time elapsed before they were sufficiently composed 
 to descend the stairs, and many were the pauses made. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay could not so decidedly imitate the superior
 
 160 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 goodness of her husband. She thought Gerald a traitor, and 
 could not excuse him on the plea of his youth. She be- 
 lieved that his brother Charley would never have so conduct- 
 ed himself. She had long perceived his passion for Grace, 
 which he had never, b)'^ any word or sign, revealed to its 
 object, and she felt there was a vast difference between the 
 brothers. Mrs. Barclay knew Charley to be the soul of 
 honor, and she hoped that Gerald, having lived with him, 
 might still retain the germs of a quality for which nothing 
 can compensate. Mr. Barclay had not mentioned to her 
 Gerald's obstinate denial of his marriage, because he so 
 thoroughly disbelieved him ; and although this was certainly 
 truly shocking in his eyes, yet he trusted, for he was ever 
 hopeful, that time, good example, and the influence they 
 should all mutually exercise over him, would eradicate any 
 bad qualities he might possess ; and with these benign views 
 he gave his strong, supporting arm to his child, and, Mrs. 
 Barclay following, they entered the library. 
 
 Mr. Egerton, looking inexpressibly relieved, arose, and 
 coming forward, entirely screened Gerald Sanderson. This 
 was well arranged, as it prevented the shock of a sudden in- 
 terview between the youthful pair before he had signified his 
 approval of their union, which he proposed formally to do. 
 Mr. Egerton received his niece elect with a stately, but, for 
 him, remarkably softened manner. Me was evidently much 
 struck with her extreme loveliness, and he cordially wel- 
 comed her into the bosom of his family, at the same time 
 lamenting that in the excitement of their departure from his 
 own dwelling, he had neglected to bring with him his sister, 
 Mrs. Sanderson, who certainly had the first right to embrace 
 her. Mr. Barclay was rejoiced to perceive the evidently 
 agreeable impression his child had made on this hitherto 
 imperturbable personage, (icorgiana received his modula- 
 ted gratulations and felicitations modestly, timidly, and with 
 downcast eyes and mantling cheeks she thanked him for his 
 courtesies.
 
 OF BOSTON. 161 
 
 Indeed, nothing could surpass the attraction of the sweet 
 young girl, as she stood in the bloom of her charms, at sev- 
 enteen, with the radiant curls encircling a brow polished like 
 Parian marble, a voice redolent of sweet sounds, a fairy-like 
 figure, and enjoying a character for unsurpassed amia- 
 bility, but above all, for the possession of such a mother. 
 
 Mr. Egerton had always conceived a very decided preju- 
 dice for what he called a ' good stock ; ' and inwardly 
 rejoiced that he was to be allied to John Barclay and his 
 excellent wife ; at the same time he could not help thinking 
 that the young rascal, his nephew, did not deserve such a 
 rich prize in the matrimonial lottery for having so pertina- 
 ciously denied his marriage. Then he remembered that 
 this was Gerald's first offence, and it was better to forgive 
 and forget. 
 
 But where was Gerald ? As this question arose in his 
 mind, he changed his position, and presenting his nephew to 
 Georgiana, said to him, ' Let by-gones be by-gones, Gerald ; 
 we will never more remember what has passed between us 
 to-day. Now let me see you embrace your lovely wife, and 
 God bless you both.' 
 
 At this juncture Georgiana Barclay, raising her eyes for 
 the first time, with a piercing and heart-rending shriek, ex- 
 claimed, ' Oh God ! this man is not Gerald Sanderson ! this 
 man is not my husband ! ' and fell senseless on the floor. 
 
 14*
 
 162 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 * In the judgment of right and wrong, every man has a self.' 
 
 Watts. 
 
 When Mr. Egerton and Gerald left Mr. Barclay's mel- 
 ancholy abode, the former, true to his established habits, 
 wended his way to his beloved insurance office as usual. 
 It is, however, certain that there was a shade less of haughti- 
 ness in his bearing ; his head was less elevated, and he 
 was, for a wonder, wrapped up in something besides him- 
 self. 
 
 Eochefaucault has asserted that there is something not un- 
 pleasing to us in the misfortunes of our best friends. How 
 many a time and oft has this saying been quoted, and it is 
 not yet worn out, false or true as it may be ! Mr. Egerton, 
 assuredly, in that memorable walk deplored the overwhelm- 
 ing calamity which had befallen such a thoroughly estima- 
 ble person as ho was fain to confess Mr. John Barclay to 
 be, and he certainly wished that this terrible affliction might 
 have been averted from the head of a man whose whole 
 life had been so unspotted, and so filled with the milk of 
 human kindness towards liis fellow-creatures. But then 
 Mr. Egerton had no weaknesses for his fellow-creatures. 
 He entertained a very bad opinion of human nature, and 
 consequently could not sympathize with those who looked 
 upon it more leniently, or excused the short-comings of 
 their neighbors. He had ever considered Mr. Barclay a 
 rather weak and silly philanthropist, giving himself a vast 
 deal of trouble for very ungrateful recipients of his labors.
 
 OF BOSTON. 163 
 
 Then there was, unacknowledged _ even to himself a slightly- 
 envious feeling, mingled with his other sentiments, touching 
 this gentleman. Not that Mr. Egerton would have admitted 
 the fact for worlds, but so it was, and could not be gainsay- 
 ed ; and thus it happened that the Frenchman was right in 
 this case. Mr. Egerton certainly then hugged himself in 
 his single blessedness, and thanked his stars, over and over 
 again, that he was not cumbered with children to entail 
 upon him such an accumulation of misery. How he con- 
 gratulated himself that he had never married ! but this he 
 bad done many a time and oft, before it had been suggested 
 to him by Benedict acquaintances, (for friends he had 
 none,) that he was immensely grateful for remarkably 
 small favors. Still, as it has been stated, Mr. Egerton did 
 not walk quite as erect and self-sufficicntly as usual. The 
 little sympathy he felt did not, however, prevent his enter- 
 taining the whole assembled worthies in his favorite resort, 
 maligners and all, with a succinct and clear account of the 
 sad scene he had witnessed that morning. To do him jus- 
 tice, he did not relate this unpleasant tale from any gossip- 
 ping motives ; his being deeper and better founded, he con- 
 sidered himself bound to exonerate his nephew from all 
 suspicion. Mr. Egerton, being an honorable man, wished 
 nothing that appertained to himself to be suspected, and, 
 moreover, Gerald's name was most unpleasantly mixed up 
 with this melancholy adventure. 
 
 The tale was heard with breathless attention and deep 
 sympathy by many. Many who were parents thanked 
 God for his mercies, that they had been spared a like 
 affliction; some persons sneered, and declared that pride 
 must have a fall. To this a majority demurred, insisting 
 there was nothing but a proper self-respect about Mr. 
 Barclay. Others asserted that girls should be shut up and 
 not permitted to run wild about the streets, even if the 
 schools were so excellent. Being asked what they did 
 with their own daughters, it turned out they had none.
 
 164 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Generally, the feeling excited was a true-hearted senti- 
 ment of sympathy with the afflicted parents, and a profound 
 indignation against the young villain who had assumed the 
 name of Gerald Sanderson for his own nefarious purposes ; 
 and joined to this was an ardent desire to discover the of- 
 fender. In this Mr. Egerton most sincerely participated, and 
 resolved to leave no means untried until it was effected. 
 
 The whole history of Miss Barclay's sad love-passage 
 was so unfathomable in its mystery, that there seemed to be 
 no bounds to conjecture ; and certainly, under no other 
 circumstances, could a like calamity have occurred. But 
 for Gerald Sanderson's secluded and monastic habits of 
 life, no person would have dared to assume his name in 
 such a bold and darina; manner, Mr. Ee-erton felt that he 
 had not been blameless in this case, in permitting the young 
 student to bury himself alive in the midst of a populous 
 city, where even his very person was unknown ; and his 
 existence would have been equally so, save for the charm- 
 ingly social and genial qualities of his brother Charley. 
 To this conclusion he was not suffered to come alone ; for 
 the maligners were disposed to attack him with all sorts 
 of annoying remarks, and pelted him with wise sayings 
 and saws innumerable. Mr. Egerton also could not fail to 
 perceive that Gerald's reputation Avould be tarnished, at 
 least in a degree, by this occurrence, for garbled reports 
 would be circulating every where, in which his share must 
 bear a distinguished part ; and that, in fact, the story would 
 never be told without producing a certain injurious effect 
 upon the reputation of his nephew. So Mr. Egerton re- 
 solved to have a long and stringent conversation with the 
 young gentleman, and point out to him the error of his 
 ways, and urge him to abandon them ; and as his own as- 
 similated in a very remarkable manner to Gerald's, this 
 colloquy promised to be very like the extracting of the mote 
 from his nephew's eye, while the beam remained in his 
 own. It was, however, fated never to take place.
 
 OF BOSTON. 165 
 
 Most men on leaving Mr. Barclay's gloomy abode would 
 have proceeded directly home to impart the sad tidings to 
 sympathizing wives, mothers and sisters, but this magnifi- 
 cent Mandarin held the whole tribe in peculiarly small 
 acceptation, and 'poor Emma' as he called her, least of 
 all ; so he waited until a short time before dinner, and 
 then communicated to her the events of that all-wretched 
 day. 
 
 ]\Irs. Sanderson was inexpressibly shocked ; it was true 
 she had no personal acquaintance with the excellent family, 
 so suddenly precipated from the apex of human prosperity 
 to an abyss of sorrow and shame, for she could not deny, 
 even to herself, though most unwillingly, that shame was 
 indeed there, but she knew all its members from Charley's 
 animated and glowing descriptions. Now, making all due 
 allowance for youthful enthusiasm, heightened by gratitude 
 for boundless favors, she had become thoroughly imbued 
 with a high sense of the intrinsically excellent qualities of 
 all the members of Mr. Barclay's family, and totally un- 
 biased from her own isolated condition by its wealth and 
 position, she imagined she had formed a correct judgment. 
 Strange to relate, Mrs. Sanderson's first thought, on recover- 
 ing from the agitation created by this sad intelligence, was 
 for Charley, and not for Gerald, who seemed, certainly, to 
 have been the doomed victim of an abominable plot. She 
 was fully aware that Charley, young as he was, had an 
 enduring affection for Grace Barclay, which would cease 
 but with his existence ; whereas, apart from Gerald's love 
 for herself, she did not deem him sufficiently of the earth 
 earthy, to be touched by human suffering in any way. He 
 had lived in a little world of his own, peopled it might 
 perchance be, but not with living, moving, sentient beings; 
 and she, therefore, naturally concluded he would remain 
 passive on this occasion, and she knew that Charley would 
 suffer intensely from the misfortunes of his friends. 
 
 The mother concurred fully with the uncle in the opinion,
 
 166 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 that the time and the hour had arrived for effective remon- 
 strance, and that the setting forth to Gerald, in proper colors, 
 of the dangers he had incurred himself, and the misery he 
 had innocently, but surely, brought down upon the devoted 
 heads of the Barclay family, would not fail to produce a 
 signal reform in his habits. Mrs. Sanderson also resolved 
 to aid her brother in his good work towards her children, 
 and was even very much astonished that he had deigned to 
 impart his intentions to her, it being certainly one of the 
 longest communications she had ever received from Mr. 
 Egerton, and came nearer to being confidential than that 
 gentleman ever permitted himself to demonstrate to ' poor 
 Emma.' ' Poor Emma ' was completely aware of the mean 
 impression entertained of her abilities by her brother. Mrs. 
 Sandei'son lamented she had never presented herself at the 
 Barclays. She so longed to fly to them to offer assistance, 
 if necessary to pour forth her abounding sympathy to 
 tell them how sincerely she grieved for their afflictions ; but 
 how could she do this ? a stranger to them and theirs ! 
 
 Mr. Egerton, who had never, by any chance in his arro- 
 gance, thought himself wrong, seemed to have caught 
 glimpses uncertain and flickering, to be sure that his 
 own example might have contributed to foster Gerald's nat- 
 ural taste for solitude ; but if he could judge himself criti- 
 cally, what was she, the mother of this son, to do ? Bitterly 
 did she lament she had not availed herself, early in Gerald's 
 life, of her maternal influence to wean him from the over- 
 sti'ained indulgence of his anti-social habits ; that she had not 
 offered herself as a sacrifice, and even accompanied him 
 into the world. This world had been shut out from her own 
 eyes and her child's, and she now feared, that if he yielded 
 to her entreaties and went forth, he would be blinded by 
 excess of light ; for there could be nothing to interpose and 
 shield him from the effects of the twilight gloom, in which 
 he had hitherto been suffered to exist, and its shadows would 
 continue to hang around him, and color his future days.
 
 OF BOSTON. 167 
 
 She also thought, that if Charley were but at home, he 
 might exert great influence over his brother, in this emer- 
 gency, and be of signal importance to the unworldly Gerald ; 
 and sadly she missed the bright and cheerful spirit which 
 had ever illumined her path, and who was separated from 
 her by wide wide seas. 
 
 ]\Irs. Sanderson seated herself at her brother's board 
 without the power to eat a morsel, the melancholy intelli- 
 gence he had imparted to her having deprived her of all 
 appetite for her meal. Not so Mr. Egerton. He discussed 
 his repast precisely as if nothing had occurred, and, when 
 the cloth was removed, recommenced his conversation with 
 his sister. He told her that Gerald had hastily quitted him 
 on leaving Mr. Barclay's, and he counselled her not to be 
 alarmed at his non-appearance at the repast ; he would 
 doubtless return when he had gotten over the ebullition of 
 his anger, and his astonishment at the harassing scenes 
 through which he had that day passed ; and that he would 
 probably be thereby convinced that there was another 
 mundane sphere, besides the one in which he had always 
 thought proper to sojourn a little more worldly, to be sure. 
 But Mrs. Sanderson could not be diverted from her own sad 
 reflections even by the unwonted occurrence of her brother's 
 loquacity. Her thought was of Gerald. What would he do ? 
 How meet this momentous event in his life the first and 
 certainly remarkably extraordinaiy in its complexion ! Then, 
 what was her son to do ? his habits broken up ; his mind 
 in a chaos of ideas, and contending emotions overwhelming 
 him with their intensity. Mrs. Sanderson regarded her 
 brother with a species of envy, that he could so quietly and 
 coolly talk over the troubles which had befallen the child, 
 who was apparently the least able to bear the assaults of 
 fortune. 
 
 How would Gerald ever be able to stem the current 
 of the busiest of communities ? How was he to win his 
 way along, coming, as he naturally must, in constant col-
 
 168 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 lision with the peculiarly wide-awake people, whom he 
 would ever meet in the daily walks of life ? Alas ! these 
 were questions she had often propounded to herself before 
 in a helpless sort of way ; now they arose in fearful legions 
 before her affrighted imagination, and she marvelled how 
 she had lived so long without comprehending their vital 
 importance, Mrs. Sanderson reproached herself again and 
 again with her own inertness and want of activity and 
 energy. She considered herself to have been criminally 
 negligent, and bewailed the absence of stringent measures 
 in her conduct towards the children she adored. In fact, so 
 acutely alive had she become, in those few passing hours, 
 to the defects in her management, that in floods of bitter 
 tears she wept her own deficiencies, and many will con- 
 cede washed them a\^y. 
 
 Since the death of her husband, Mrs. Sanderson's life 
 had assumed such a monotonous complexion, that this was 
 the first grand event which had occurred, and portentous 
 did it seem to her in all its bearings. There was no way in 
 which she could regard it without blaming herself, and pos- 
 sessing naturally a very tender conscience, she certainly 
 spared none of her own short-comings, but, in fact, exag- 
 gerated them immensely. Then arose before her eyes a 
 vision of the young husband, so early lost ! had it pleased 
 God to spare his life, how differently would these objects 
 of her devoted affections have been educated ! Gerald 
 would not have been allowed to pursue his own way in 
 such a decided manner his enthusiastic love of learning 
 would have been tempered with discretion ; the father 
 would have checked its immoderate indulgence, and looked 
 to his physical nurture with care and attention. Whereas, 
 what had she, the mother, done? Nothing absolutely 
 nothing! And now, for aught she knew, her son, her 
 beloved Gerald whom no one valued, no one appreciated 
 save herself might be ruined by base suspicions and 
 dark surmises, impossible to fathom or to answer. It was
 
 OF BOSTON. 169 
 
 too distressing to dwell upon this constantly, so she tried 
 to divert her thoughts from dwelling upon the dark and 
 gloomy pictures she had conjured up ; and then they reverted 
 to Mr, Barclay's distressed family alas ! a sadder refuge. 
 
 Mr. Egerton, after the unwonted exertion of unbosoming 
 himself to any one, and that person a woman, retired into 
 the library, and seating himself in his high-backed leathern 
 inconveniency, ruminated for a while ; but the more he 
 reflected, the more puzzled he became as to the person who 
 could so boldly have perpetrated the outrage on his family 
 name. This with him was an unpardonable offence. The 
 world pronounced him to be a haughty, pompous, disagree- 
 able, mean man, but no accusation had reached his honor ; 
 that was untarnished ever. Finding the chair extremely 
 uneasy, (a fact which had been always apparent to all his 
 family,) he arose and paced the room for hours an unpre- 
 cedented act in his life and Peter informed Dinah late 
 that very night, that ' a berry 'strawdinary affair had hap- 
 pened to massa ; he had not sat down the whole evening ! ' 
 
 With Mr. Egerton an excitement was such a novelty, and 
 one growing out of a partial interest in the affairs of others, 
 that a sort of caviare gusto adhered to it ; and after revolv- 
 ing the whole story over in his mind repeatedly, he actually 
 commenced taking a deep and deeper interest in it, until, 
 at last, he quite finished by making it almost his own. And, 
 again, he was rather sorry he had spoken so roughly to the 
 ever meditative and gentle Gerald, and was vastly amused 
 at the lion spirit he had aroused within him. For Mr. Eger- 
 ton to confess to himself twice in one day, an interest in 
 any one, and a tiny bit of repentance, was a miracle, indeed ; 
 he the infallible personage! But even so it was. He 
 tried to remember what he had really said, in his fury, to 
 his nephew, which had produced such an ebullition of tem- 
 per, and recollected that he had treated him very much like 
 a boy, and thereby had discovered he was a man. ' Well,' 
 soliloquized the bachelor, ' I may make something of that 
 15
 
 170 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 young fellow yet, there is ringing metal in him. He showed 
 fight remarkably well.' 
 
 Altogether the day had not proved long ; on the contrary, 
 quite short. Mr. Egerton, being generally troubled with the 
 duration of his waking hours, cultivated sleep assiduously. 
 With absolutely nothing to do and very little to reflect upon, 
 life with him was rather ' up-hill work,' so he was quite 
 pleased on looking at his watch, to find it past ten o'clock. 
 
 When Peter went his nightly rounds to see that all was 
 safe on the premises, in which he was always accompanied 
 by Dinah and the dog, he discovered with amazement that 
 Massa Gerald was not at home. ' What's going to happen 
 next ? ' exclaimed he ' oleMassa up 'til ten and young one 
 out ! nebber knew such doins afore. You go to bed, ole 
 woman, and I'll wait up till he cum.' Wait and watch he 
 did, until morning light dawned, and no Gerald appeared ! 
 Where that young gentleman was must be reserved for 
 another chapter.
 
 OF BOSTON. 171 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ' I slept and dreamed that life Avas Beauty ; 
 I woke and found that life was Duty ; 
 Was then thy dream a shadowy lie ? 
 Toil on, sad heart, courageously, 
 And thou shalt find thy dream to be 
 A noonday light and truth to thee.' Axon. 
 
 The moment Gerald Sanderson parted with his uncle, 
 after the distressinc; scene of which he had been an asionized 
 spectator, he salHed forth into the country with a rapidity of 
 movement and a heart-stricken expression that arrested the 
 attention of all he met ; but little recked he of the piercing 
 glances he received from the passers-by, their doubts and 
 surmises, to all was he insensible. Suddenly, even before 
 he was aware of the distance he had traversed, he found 
 himself at the gates of the Mount Auburn Cemetery, and 
 rushing through its solemn mazes tenanted by the dead, he 
 reached his father's last resting-place, and, throwing himself 
 beside it, wept a flood of tears. These tears, the first he had 
 been able to shed, greatly relieved his overcharged heart, 
 and there he remained for hours holding stern communion 
 with himself. And bitterly did he then lament and deplore 
 the passages of his short life, and grievously bewail its mis- 
 takes, its egotism and self-indulgence, which had not only 
 injured his own well-being, but darkened and sullied the 
 future of the lovely creature whom he had just left. Had he 
 not been immured within his own four walls in the spring-
 
 172 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 time of life and enjoyment, the catastrophe which had 
 brought shame and desolation to the hearth-stone of the best 
 of men, would have been averted. He was the primary 
 cause of this sad talc, and on his own devoted head must 
 the blame fall. When he reflected that, but for himself 
 and his follies, all would have been sunshine which was now 
 darkness, he shuddered to think even death might ensue. 
 His brain was on fire, and, maddened with remorse, he 
 gnashed his teeth and wrung his hands in the depths of 
 tribulation. 
 
 Strange to say, he had never, until that fatal morning, 
 seen Georgiana Barclay, never beheld the fair form of one 
 whom his brother knew so well, and loved even as his own 
 sister. He had heard Charley dilating upon the charms of 
 the two objects of his affections until the very sound of their 
 names, instead of creating a desire in his mind to behold 
 these paragons, had filled it whh a complete distate for them, 
 so superior did he consider himself to the weakness of ad- 
 miring any young girl whatever. This feeling had, at last, 
 risen to such a pitch that he formally requested his brother 
 to drop his ever-interminable discourse upon the perfections 
 of the sisters, as it had become extremely tiresome for him 
 to listen ; and, as is often the case, having reached this point, 
 his aversion to the subjects of Charley's extravagant eulo- 
 giums became more and more decided. His brother, always 
 conceding to him disputed opinions, had almost renounced 
 all mention of the Barclay family in his presence, and made 
 amends amply for his abstinence in that quarter by never 
 ceasing to laud them to his mother, who lent an attentive 
 and sympathizing ear. That Gerald Sanderson had become 
 a little wayward and capricious from the indulgence of his 
 whims at home, there was no question ; and, as Charley and 
 his mother regarded him in the light of a prodigy of learning 
 and accomj)lislnnent, these unpleasant defects were making 
 great inroads into his character and marring its original ex- 
 cellence. Thus it happened, that when the beauteous vision
 
 OF BOSTON. 173 
 
 of Georgiana Barclay appeared before him, claiming him for 
 her husband, he was overwhelmed with the magnitude of her 
 charms, and his whole nature seemed to experience an entire 
 revolution in the short space of time which he had passed in 
 her presence. Then to this was superadded her despair at 
 the treachery which had been practised upon her ; and the 
 creature who had fainted at his feet, a very statue of Parian 
 marble, seemed destined to fill up with her host of attrac- 
 tions, the measure of his existence. The first burst of feel- 
 ing exhausted, he knelt and prayed for strength to begin a 
 new life, to cast aside the visionary dreams in which he had 
 revelled, lived, and had his being, and to substitute, in their 
 stead, lasting and enduring duties. This fervent invocation 
 finished, he vowed to devote himself to Georgiana Barclay 
 forever, to defend and protect her through all the manifold 
 trials, which he well knew awaited her in the vale of tears 
 into which she had entered. ' I have been,' he exclaimed 
 passionately, ' a weak, romantic boy ; I will go forth from 
 this hallowed spot a man. As my folly has destroyed the 
 happiness of a woman for whom I would willingly lay down 
 my own useless life, it is but meet that I should watch over 
 her and protect her. From this moment my resolution is 
 firmly taken ; it shall be sacredly kept.' And Gerald San- 
 derson walked slowly and composedly home, and stood in 
 his mother's presence a sadder and a wiser man. 
 
 Mrs. Sanderson was inexpressibly shocked at his appear- 
 ance. Such an astonishing change had the occurrences of 
 one day produced. She begged him to be seated, to take 
 some slight restorative, for she was absolutely terrified at his 
 exhausted condition. This he declined, but said he should 
 soon be better ; that the melancholy and exciting scenes 
 through which he had passed had completely unmanned 
 him, and sleep would be the best thing for him. 
 
 Gerald then proceeded to inform his mother, that, in con- 
 sequence of the insulting and reproachful manner in which 
 he had been assailed by his uncle in the morning, he had 
 15*
 
 174 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 decided never to pass another night under his roof. Mrs. 
 Sanderson was inexpressibly shocked at this determination, 
 but on hearing a detailed account of the interview, she also 
 made up her mind that her son could no longer accept the 
 hospitality, such as it was, of her ungracious brother, and 
 consistently with his own self-respect must "leave the house 
 that very evening. After some moment's reflection, she 
 remembered a quiet and comfortable boarding-house kept 
 by a poor widow whom she had formerly known, and having 
 bestowed upon her afflicted son innumerable little attentions 
 which served to compose his excited nerves, and bring his 
 thoughts into a sufficient degree of order to make arrange- 
 ments for leaving, she proposed to accompany him and 
 engage lodgings. To this he cheerfully acceded. They 
 soon reached their destination, and found a comfortable 
 chamber, large and airy, which, from being in the third 
 story of the house, was comparatively quite cheap. This 
 was a very important object, for the mother's purse was but 
 too scantily filled, and the son had so little that the most 
 rigid economy would be required. 
 
 To this new abode Gerald repaired that night, and thus it 
 happened that poor old Peter watched and waited till morn- 
 ing light for the young Massa, his mother having totally 
 forgotten to inform the worthy servitor of the change in her 
 son's destination. For this there certainly was sufficient 
 excuse in the agitating scenes through which ' poor Emma' 
 had passed. She, so unaccustomed to excitement of any 
 sort, was amazed, when she summed up the events of the 
 day, to find that she had actually been out of her own dwel- 
 ling and ventured into another. She however passed a 
 sleepless night, and when her son came to see her in the 
 morning, she conjectured he had also done the same from 
 his wearied and worn appearance. She determined not to 
 notice it, or in any way to advert to his sufferings. Hers 
 was the task to pour balm into his bruised spirit. She fully 
 understood, from the half-uttered confessions of the preced-
 
 OF BOSTON. 175 
 
 ing evening, that he required all her tenderness and care ; 
 and when, on that day, he poured forth all the tale of his 
 misery and despair into her bosom, she conjured him not to 
 dwell upon this wretched theme until he could do so without 
 such an undue degree of excitement. Mrs. Sanderson did 
 not regret so much the view Gerald had taken of his inno- 
 cent share in Miss Barclay's misfortunes, for she at once 
 perceived that it was destined to be the source of a great 
 revolution in his habits and feelings, and promised to be of 
 essential importance to his future welfare. So she essayed 
 to allay the outbreak of sensibility with which he accused 
 himself of his complicity, but at the same time did not deny 
 what was self-evident in his case. She admitted that, if he 
 had lived like other youths of his age, he might have pre- 
 vented the assumption of his name by an arch-deceiver, who 
 had basely availed himself of his known peculiarities to 
 insinuate himself into the confidence of the young lady who 
 had so severely suffered from the treachery. At the same 
 time she avowed she did not consider Georgy blameless, 
 which it appeared Gerald did, and could not even endure to 
 hear this part of the story adverted to. Mrs. Sanderson de- 
 clared she thought Georgy's extreme youth a most extenu- 
 ating circumstance her romance of character another ; but 
 her first duty belonged to her parents, and she could not 
 herself forget the deceptions practised, neither could she for- 
 give tliem. ' When she reflected,' she said, ' upon the ten- 
 der devotion, the unbounded love and indulgence of Mr. and 
 ]\Irs. Barclay towards their children, and, moreover, their 
 admirable management, and above all their example, she 
 had small forbearance left for the girl who could have been 
 so completely blinded to the priceless advantages she 
 enjoyed.' 
 
 To this Gerald replied in no very logical manner, by 
 declaring that he was alone to blame, that in his presence 
 no man or woman should be permitted to advance aught 
 in disparagement of his paragon, that it was his decided pur-
 
 176 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 pose to defend her character and reputation at all hazards, 
 at all times, and on every proper occasion. 
 
 Mrs. Sanderson was thoroughly convinced that no true 
 knight of old had ever been more completely imbued with 
 the spirit of chivalrous devotion to his ladye-love than the 
 tall, inspired youth who stood before her, his eyes flash- 
 ing fire, his whole graceful form breathing of spirit and 
 enthusiasm. She was truly amazed at the change which 
 had come over the spirit of his dream, and the velocity, (no 
 other word could be used to designate the metamorphosis,) 
 with which the whole had been so suddenly effected, and 
 one brief day had done this work ! But what cannot one 
 short day do ? 
 
 Her mind was entirely at rest regarding Gerald's every- 
 day concerns, as he had informed her he should give a 
 week to the prosecution of his researches for Miss Barclay's 
 husband, and then would commence a life of unrcmittinf 
 labor in his profession ; always bearing in mind, however, 
 that his first duty was the defence of the fair young girl, 
 and the discovery of her treacherous husband. Evidently 
 Gerald had nerved himself to his great work. His whole 
 bearing was a picture of what may be done by man for 
 man. His very step was firmer and bolder, and he already 
 looked like a being of fixed purpose. His mother watched 
 him from her window when he departed, as mothers 
 will, and admired, with deep-felt expressions of grati- 
 tude, the air and bearing of her son as he receded from 
 her view. 
 
 Mr. Philip Egerton, after a remarkably excellent night's 
 rest, (he was not usually a good sleeper,) arose much re- 
 freshed and in uncommon spirits, descended to his break- 
 fast, and was informed by Peter that his sister had already 
 discussed that meal two hours before. 
 
 ' Bless me,' exclaimed he, ' I must have overslept myself, 
 how extraordinary ! ' 
 
 Peter imagined the sky was about to rain larks, for this
 
 OF BOSTON. 177 
 
 late repast, superadded to all the other marvels, had nearly 
 upset his not over well-balanced brain. However, he fidget- 
 ted about, having something more wonderful still to relate, 
 but his master seemed determined to take no notice what- 
 ever of his varied attempts to commence a conversation, and 
 he began to think he should never have a chance to impart 
 his intelligence. Suddenly Mr. Egerton remembered he 
 had not seen Gerald, and felt rather inclined to ask him one 
 or two questions respecting his affairs, his colloquy with 
 ' poor Emma' having opened the flood-gates of all the elo- 
 quence he possessed, so he ordered Peter to call him. This 
 was the moment for that worthy's long desired explosion ; 
 but when it arrived, the good and affectionate creature was 
 so overpowered by his sorrow, that, instead of answering, 
 he burst into what the boys call a ' boohoo,' and blubbered 
 and sobbed in a whirlwind of griefs. 
 
 ' What in the name of heaven is the matter ? ' cried Mr. 
 Egerton. ' Is Gerald Sanderson ill ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir, no, sir,' stammered Peter. 
 
 ' Well, what then ? ' asked his master. 
 
 * He's gone sir, gone clean away, sir, the young Massa, 
 Pse always tended since he would make nasty dirt-pies, to 
 be sure, nebbcr so many as Massa Charley, nebber so un- 
 common many, but he's gone for all that, and left ole Dinah 
 and I, and his mother, nebber to come home agin, cben 
 to hab his best coat brushed. Oh ! oh ! who will ebber do 
 it as I hab, or clean his shoes ? To be sure, he nebber 
 dirtied 'em much, he nebbcr go out much, and now he'll 
 nebber come back again. Oh, Lord ! Oh, Lord ! what will 
 his mother, pinah, and ole Peter and the dog do ? Lord, 
 Lord, what will become of Dinah and me and his mother! 
 trunks and all gone! Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! ' 
 
 ]\Ir. Egerton, convinced that no information was to be 
 obtained from this mourner, was repairing to his sister's 
 apartment, when, on the front staircase, he found Dinah, 
 a second Niobe, all tears and lamentations, sitting with
 
 178 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 her checked apron over her head, and holding Tiger's 
 successor in her arms, bewailing the loss of young Massa. 
 Dinah had got thus far, in her ascension to Mrs. Sander- 
 son, when she declared she felt such a swimming in her 
 old head, she was obliged to sit right down on the grand 
 staircase a liberty she had never allowed herself to take 
 with the grand staircase before but every thing went 
 wrong that day, she said. 
 
 Philip began to think he should never reach his sister and 
 learn what had really happened in his household ; so, telling 
 Dinah she was an old fool, though he really did justice to 
 the faithfulness and devotion of his servants, he found 'poor 
 Emma,' who, frightened out of her wits, had to impart the 
 reasons of Gerald's disappearance. Having calmly heard 
 her story and also her approval and acquiescence in her 
 son's projects, he coolly told her he thought this might prove 
 in the end the very best thing that could possibly happen to 
 Gerald. His removal from his sky parlor and his descent 
 from the regions of morbid imaginations to the commonal- 
 ities and realities of existence might effect a radical change 
 in his life ; and, whereas he would never have done any thing 
 or made any thing of himself, he now stood a chance of 
 becoming a valuable member of society. ' In fact,' re- 
 sumed Mr. Egerton, ' 'tis the very best news I can possibly 
 hear of that remarkably silly boy. He actually roused up 
 yesterday, like a young lion from his lair, and I hope he 
 may continue to feel precisely as he now does. For my- 
 self, I don't care a rush for his anger, or indignation, I'm 
 only glad he's departed.' 
 
 This was a long peroration for the Mandarin to make at 
 one sitting ; so, having delivered himself of it, he quickly 
 repaired to his old arm-chair in State street and his dozen 
 newspapers, and spoke never a word more that morning. 
 
 Mrs. Sanderson descended to the kitchen and did her best 
 to assuage the unlimited bewailings and bowlings of the 
 sable pair in their own favored spot ; but finding they insisted
 
 OF BOSTON. 179 
 
 upon nursing their grief, she left them to the ample enjoy- 
 ment they seemed to derive from their luxury of woe, at 
 the same time, thanking them sincerely for their heartfelt 
 sympathy.
 
 180 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ' The glories of our earthly state, 
 Are shadows, not substantial things.' 
 
 Shirley. 
 
 Mr. Barclay, raising his insensible child from the floor, 
 bore her tenderly in his arms to her chamber, and laying 
 her carefully upon her bed, instantly summoned his servants 
 and sent in every direction for medical assistance. The 
 stricken father was quite assured that this terrible shock 
 would produce the most dangerous results, and so it proved ; 
 for as soon as Georgy was restored to consciousness, her 
 brain seemed literally on fire, and for hours, ravings and 
 faintings followed each other in rapid succession. At night, 
 when it was pronounced to be a brain fever, the mother 
 took her place at the bedside of the sufferer, and watching 
 over her in intense anguish of spirit, prayed that this bitter 
 cup might pass away, and the life of the beloved object of 
 her affections might be spared. An experienced nurse, who 
 had been employed, vainly essayed to urge I\Irs. Barclay to 
 take some repose, but the next morning found her on the 
 same spot, worn with fatigue and sorrow. The medical 
 men, in their consultation that day, declared that the patient 
 was in a most critical state, and that no opinion could be 
 pronounced for many days, or even weeks ; that the malady 
 being a moral one, as well as physical, was all the more 
 difficult to treat, and the more uncertain to decide upon its 
 future course ; that time could only answer the anxious ques- 
 tionings of the half-distracted parents. With these opinions
 
 OF BOSTON. 181 
 
 the members of this family were fain to remain in a state of 
 heart-rending suspense. 
 
 As the most profound silence was enjoined, no one but 
 the nurse and one other person was allowed to remain in 
 Georgy's chamber, her poor father eveiy now and then 
 creeping to the bedside, and taking just a hurried look at the 
 sufferer. Mr. Barclay could not be persuaded to leave the 
 house. He however received all his friends, who gathered 
 around him in deep sympathy with his affliction. Several 
 of these sympathizers, with the very best possible feelings, 
 suggested that the whole truth of the sad story might not 
 be revealed, and that the marriage had better not be avowed. 
 As they rather urged this course, he replied, ' I could 
 never consent that there should be any concealment what- 
 ever, and that the wbole truth and nothing short of it should 
 be given to the public. For,' resumed he, ' you may de- 
 pend upon what I say, the people here never believe any 
 part of a story where one half of it is left unrevealed ; but, 
 let them at once know the whole truth, and they will imme- 
 diately begin to find excuses and apologies for almost any 
 thing, and especially for the errors of extreme youth. I 
 have known,' he said, 'the most wretched falsehoods adhere 
 to whole families for half a century, when, if at first all the 
 incidents of the cases had been freely communicated to the 
 public, the whole thing would have dissolved itself into thin 
 air in a month. No, no, my dear friends, I sincerely thank 
 you for your kindness, but my mind is made up on this 
 point.' 
 
 Mr. Richard Barclay, who had evinced the most profound 
 sympathy and sorrow on learning the sad story of his be- 
 loved brother's calamity, was foremost in these entreaties 
 for silence ; but on listening to Mr. Barclay's opinions, he 
 said : 'I don't know that you are not all right, John, after 
 all ; for of one thing I am perfectly sure, nothing could be 
 concealed from the American people ; they ferret every 
 thing fairly out, sooner or later ; so perhaps it is best to give 
 16
 
 182 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 the whole story at once ; for, if you do not, as they are very 
 imaginative in this sort of affairs, they will finish by making 
 it twenty times worse than it is.' 
 
 ' Alas ! my dear brother,' replied Mr. Barclay, ' that seems 
 to me just now quite impossible.' 
 
 ' You will think differently in time,' rejoined Mr. Richard. 
 ' You must let things take their accustomed course, John ; 
 the nine days' wonder of talk will inevitably occur ; you well 
 know how the public revels in disagreeable, melancholy and 
 horrid events, and how it delights in disseminating the story 
 of them. Who ever hears a pleasant bit of news here } 
 Nobody. But if there is any thing so shocking it abso- 
 lutely makes one's heart ache to listen to it, somebody 
 must needs put on his seven-leagued boots and come to 
 spoil one's dinner with the recital thereof. Nobody ever 
 told me an agreeable thing in my natural life, and nobody 
 ever will. Why, I've heard, between the pirouettes in a 
 quadrille, talk about a horrid murder or shipwreck, which 
 would go far to making your hair stand on end. It's our 
 way, and a mighty disagreeable one it is. Why can't we 
 be smiling and gracious like the French ? It all comes of 
 our descent from that Melpomene-loving John Bull. I wish 
 most heartily we had possessed another grandfather.' 
 
 And thus I\Ir. Richard scolded on ; the affliction which 
 had befallen his brother not having tended to sweeten the 
 acerbity of his temper, he always choosing to regard misfor- 
 tunes in the light of personal aggressions. This certainly 
 might not have appeared to be an opportune occasion for the 
 expression of such strong and decided prejudices, but they 
 belonged to his overloaded fao-frot, and he had been so lonrr 
 grumbling, that it had become an inveterate habit, of which 
 he could not rid himself, and, to do him all imaginable jus- 
 tice, of which he was quite unconscious. This over-critical 
 and carping personage would have regarded just such a 
 declaimcr against things, all and several, as himself, an 
 intolerable bore, and would have found it quite Impossible to
 
 OF BOSTON. 183 
 
 endure his presence even an hour ; but Mr. Richard Barclay 
 was no exception to the general rule of man's blindness to 
 his own peculiarities. 
 
 These criticisms upon men and things in his own country, 
 had grown by what they fed on, until they had assumed ex- 
 travagant proportions, and had been so mingled with Mr. 
 Richard's daily conversation, that, however deeply interest- 
 ing, and even poignantly so, as in this case the subject 
 might be, it was evermore sure to be garnished with a few 
 nettles, and very stinging they were, as the reader well 
 knows. Here was a man, his heart actually bleeding for the 
 woes of his best friends, and which might assuredly seem 
 all absorbing, and yet, such was the tyranny of a bad 
 habit, that he could not abstain from it, even upon the most 
 momentous occasions. Truly do we build around us impen- 
 etrable walls of hewn granite, prison-houses from which we 
 cannot escape. 
 
 On that day Mr. Barclay received Gerald Sanderson, who, 
 after walking hours before the house, at last ventured to ring 
 the door-bell, and request an audience. Poor Gerald was 
 entirely overwhelmed with affliction when he beheld the 
 father of the woman whom he had solemnly sworn to defend 
 and protect. Mr. Barclay himself, so affected he could 
 hardly give him an audible welcome, listened in wrapt and 
 mournful attention to the outpourings of the youthful enthu- 
 siast, as he detailed the misery he endured, his sorrow 
 and grief. Indeed, as soon as he had mastered his own 
 emotion, he applied himself vigorously to soothing the suffer- 
 ings of the sorely stricken youth, who poured out his 
 feelings in the most affecting terms. When some degree 
 of composure had been secured, Mr. Barclay assured and 
 re-assured Gerald Sanderson that he considered him en- 
 tirely free from blame and begged him to think nothing 
 of the unhappy circumstance, and conjured him not to dwell 
 any longer upon it. To this Gerald replied, that it was en- 
 tirely impossibly for him to do otherwise, it being his daily
 
 184 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 thought and nightly dream ; and that, while the life current 
 flowed in his veins, so should it ever be. That he was im- 
 peratively called upon to be Miss Barclay's champion, and 
 had vowed himself to her cause, as truly and devotedly as 
 ever did knight of old ; that nothing should deter him from 
 trying to drag to light the usurper of his name, and expose 
 his falsehood and treachery, and he should never again 
 sleep in peace until that was effected. 
 
 This interview was not without its beneficial effects upon 
 Mr. Barclay, who found himself thus obliged, in his own 
 misery, to minister to the ' mind diseased ' of another. He 
 comforted and soothed his half-distracted young friend, and 
 having retained him several hours, begged him to visit 
 him as often as he could. 
 
 The intense sympathy which Gerald had shown for the 
 sufferings of himself and family, had greatly interested the 
 unhappy father, and he perceived that he was indeed one 
 who could probe the veriest depths of their afflictions from 
 the intensity of his own. 
 
 Mr. Barclay also beheld a sensitive and shrinking nature, 
 united to great tenderness and manliness of character, awak- 
 ing from a species of torpor which had encompassed it, 
 avowing its nobleness and chi^alr\' ; he beheld it with a 
 feeling of deep interest mingled with a strong sentiment of 
 gratitude. And how could he but choose be grateful to one 
 who, in the sincerity of his heart, had sworn allegiance 
 to the 'bruised reed,' nov/ lying perchance on her bed of 
 death .^ 
 
 Mr. Barclay's piety was of a healthful, cheerful character, 
 and confiding nature ; he knew that ' whom the Lord lovetli 
 he chasteneth,' and this conviction was, for him, a source 
 of perpetual consolation and gratitude. He regarded his 
 present allliclion as no special punishment, he beheld the 
 rain fall alike on tlie just and the unjust, and he knew the 
 wa^'s of Providence to be dark and mysterious, but ever 
 wise and merciful ; he acknowledged that he had enjoyed a
 
 OF BOSTON. 185 
 
 larger proportion of prosperity than usually falls to the lot 
 of mortals, and so believing, he bowed himself submissively 
 before, what would seem to be the law of man's nature, 
 partial suffering and sorrow. 
 
 Mr. Barclay's life had been one of faith and works. To 
 the best of his ability he had husbanded the talent confided to 
 him, but he had seen good men and true, whom he, in his 
 humility, considered infinitely superior to himself, exposed to 
 long trains of afilictions and privations; and he resolved, 
 come what would, to bear his cross meekly, patiently, and 
 await the final hour when all things should be revealed. 
 With this state of mind this good man mingled no com- 
 plaints or repinings, for he was devoutly grateful for the 
 blessings he still retained. 
 
 And night found the patient restless, fevered and deliri- 
 ous, not even recognising the gentle touch of her grieving 
 mother, who, hovering around her pillow, was ever adminis- 
 tering unavailing remedies. And day succeeded to day and 
 week to week, without any material change for the better; 
 to be sure, the phases of her complaint varied, and at last 
 typhoid seemed to be rooted in her exhausted frame ; to 
 this was added such complete prostration that every moment 
 threatened to be her last. 
 
 When Georgiana Barclay was first taken ill, her father 
 had only entered her room to give one look at his suffering 
 child, but as the malady gained ground and the symptoms 
 changed, and she becoming every day weaker, he was 
 required to lift her, which doing so gently and firmly she 
 seemed to prefer his aid to that of any other person ; then he 
 began to pass the nights by her bedside, forcing his wife to take 
 some needful repose the while, for she was nearly exhausted 
 with fatigue from constant watching. And thus Mr. Barclay 
 came to guard and protect this young creature in the still 
 hours of the night, and his spirit sank within him as he 
 looked upon the attenuated form of his idolized child, and 
 communed with himself upon her probable future destiny, 
 16*
 
 186 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 should it please God to spare her life. And a thorny path 
 was in this perspective ; narrow and rugged the way. The 
 mystery of her marriage, were it revealed or not, promised 
 nothing but misery, for surely the wretch, who could have 
 thus deceived her, was utterly unworthy to be claimed as 
 her husband, even should he prove to belong to the most 
 virtuous family in the land; and if he did not, what was he ? 
 who was he ? Soul-harrowing questions were these for a 
 parent to ask of himself, with no possibility of being an- 
 swered. Mr. Barclay firmly believed in his daughter's state- 
 ment ; he knew her to be the soul of truth and honor, but 
 could he ask the same reliance on her testimony from others ? 
 She was henceforth, in the event of her restoration to health, 
 to walk through life, bearing a blighted name ; enshrouded 
 in darkness, unenlivened by a ray of light, if her husband 
 were not discovered, and if he were, the deepest obscurity 
 might be preferable. How truly then would Georgiana 
 require the strong arm of her father to support her fainting 
 steps, and her loving mother's sympathy in this profound af- 
 fliction, to which would be superadded the harrowing con- 
 viction that all this trouble had been caused by her own 
 imprudence and misconduct. 
 
 The father also trembled for the accusations which her 
 overcharged conscience would perpetually elicit, and the 
 reproaches of tliis inward monitor he conceived would be 
 ceaseless. What a sad picture of human suffering was pre- 
 sented to his imagination, and who was the victim? his 
 beloved child, his first-born, who had awakened in his 
 heart the first enthralling sentiment of paternity. 
 
 Oh ! the dark, dark hours of those protracted vigils ! they 
 contained months of torturing reflections, unresolved doubts, 
 and soul-searching bitterness, which nothing, save prayer, 
 could mitigate or assuage. On the first revelation of this 
 affliction he had thought of abandoning Boston and all his 
 pursuits, and retreating into the country, there to bury his 
 daughter's shame and sorrow ; but, after mature reflection, be
 
 OF BOSTON. 187 
 
 became convinced of the impropriety of such a proceeding, 
 as it might give rise to more suspicions than already existed ; 
 so he resolved to remain. There were doubts to be re- 
 moved, and he trusted in Providence that his child's inno- 
 cence would be proved ; for he knew that, if human efforts 
 could effect this, he and his numerous friends would, in the 
 end, discover the mystery. 
 
 And surely man was never blessed with more ardent and 
 enthusiastic supporters than was Mr. Barclay. They vowed 
 never to desist from the search for the wretch who had 
 assumed Gerald Sanderson's name ; and one and all de- 
 clared they should never be satisfied until they had dragged 
 him to light. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley had almost lived in the house during the long 
 illness of her darling; refusing all other engagements, she 
 installed herself every morning in the library, ever ready to 
 be occupied about the patient, who sometimes appeared to 
 derive comfort from her presence. 
 
 Mr. Richard had evinced the devotion and tenderness of 
 one of the sex whom he had always affected to despise, 
 and, though he Avas not exactly the person to be found 
 serviceable in a sick room, he could give his unrepressed 
 sympathy. He was constantly running all over Boston, and 
 sending to New York for delicacies which his poor niece 
 could not touch when they arrived, and, moreover, he en- 
 tirely forgot to find fault with his pet dislike, Mrs. Ashley ; 
 the strongest proof he could possibly evince, of the all- 
 absorbing nature of his grief; also he made no comments 
 upon Miss Tidmarsh. Mrs. Gordon, ever active and ener- 
 getic, employed herself assiduously in assisting Mrs. Bar- 
 clay, whose patience and fortitude seemed absolutely undy- 
 ing ; and even Mrs. Redmond aroused herself sufficiently to 
 insist upon doing something, though what that something 
 was to be, nobody very well, comprehended. 
 
 Georgy's young friends actually besieged the house with 
 proffers of aid from their parents and themselves, and every
 
 188 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 thing was done that kindliness of heart and feeling could 
 suggest to alleviate the suffering family. 
 
 At last, there appeared a change for the better ; at first 
 so slight as to be hardly perceptible, but slowly, every day 
 increasing, and yet the medical men, in attendance, would 
 pronounce no distinctly favorable opinion. In time, how- 
 ever, youth rallied and conquered, and Georgiana Barclay 
 was raised from her deathlike prostration, and pronounced 
 out of all danger. With what intense feelings of grateful 
 devotion her father and mother received this joyful intelli- 
 gence, there is small occasion for recounting. Suffice to 
 say, they poured forth their surcharged hearts in earnest 
 and solemn thanks to the Source from which emanated this 
 great and abounding mercy, and asserted that all was well 
 with them. They would bow, they declared, with childlike 
 submission to the infliction which had been sent in the secret 
 marriage of their daughter, for was she not spared unto 
 them ? all other misfortunes had paled before the harrowing 
 thought of her death. Nothing was remembered but her 
 restoration from the fell destroyer, and they thanked God 
 for his signal mercies, and repeated and reiterated that all 
 was well with them.
 
 OF BOSTON. 189 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ' There's not a look, or word of thine 
 My soul hath e'er forgot ; 
 Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine, 
 Nor giv'n thy locks one graceful twine. 
 Which I I'emember not.' 
 
 Moore. 
 
 Mrs. Redmond was sitting, dozing over a yellow-covered 
 novel of the worst possible sort its cover as dirty as its 
 contents and every now and then taking a peep through 
 her torn lace curtains at the Barclay house, when Jane and 
 Miss Tidmarsh rushed in. Miss Serena resembled, on this 
 momentous occasion, an overboiling cauldron, and Jane was 
 so breathless with the news she had to impart, that she could 
 not speak for several minutes. 
 
 Mrs. Redmond, at last, becoming conscious by unmistaka- 
 ble signs, that there was an explosion somewhere, aroused 
 herself sufficiently to inquire what it was ; so she said, 
 ' What have you to tell, girls ? what has happened.^ ' 
 
 'Oh,' almost shrieked Jane, 'such an adventure at our 
 neighbors the Barclays; such a story ! such a hubbub ! ' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said her mother, with a sort of half-awakened, 
 half-bewildered air, ' any thing wrong there ^ any mis- 
 chief .? ' 
 
 * Mischief, and to spare, my mother,' was the reply ; 
 ' there is Grcorgiana Barclay, who, it appears, has been mar- 
 ried a long time, as she thought, to that bit of dream-land, 
 Gerald Sanderson ; and having, only yesterday, confessed 
 her wicked doings to her parents though why she did it
 
 190 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 now nobody can tell this has naturally created the most 
 intense commotion. Now, you perceive what your model 
 is, I hope the girl you have always held up to me for ex- 
 ample ! Well, Mr. Barclay instantly, on the reception of this 
 terrible communication being made to him, posted down to 
 Mr. Egerton's, saw the old miser, who vomited forth fire and 
 flames in his anger and between the two, poor frightened 
 Gerald was dragged down from the upper regions of the old 
 house, where he studies the stars ; and, both abusing him at 
 once for his treachery and duplicity, placed him in a car- 
 riage, and went, as fast as the horses could carry them, to 
 Mr. Barclay's.' Then Jane made a solemn pause, and look- 
 ing her mother in the face, appeared to enjoy immensely 
 her great excitement. 
 
 ' Oh, this is too, too shocking to believe,' cried Mrs. Red- 
 mond ; ' how very sad indeed ! ' 
 
 ' I can yet tell you something worse still,' said Jane : 
 ' Lo ! and behold ! when Gerald' Sanderson was confronted 
 with Georgy Barclay, they had beheld each other for the 
 very first time in their natural lives ! He was not the right 
 man ! some one else had assumed his name.' 
 
 Then Jane Redmond, having produced the unheard-of 
 circumstance of thoroughly arousing her dormant parent, 
 indulged in a loud and malicious burst of laughter. 
 
 Mrs. Redmond had never been charged with an overflow 
 of affection for her neighbors ; but she was a mother, and 
 she felt that this was a load of grief and suffering almost too 
 great for human endurance. She exclaimed : ' How can 
 you be so hard-hearted as to laugh and mock at such mis- 
 ery as the Barclays must suffer ? Shame ! shame on you, 
 my daughter.' 
 
 ' La, mother!' cried Jane, ' you seem to have changed 
 all of a sudden, it seems to me, and have begun to stand by 
 that disagreeable family ; for my part, I rejoice that pride 
 has had a downfall.' 
 
 ' And I also,' chimed in Miss Tidmarsh.
 
 OF BOSTON. 191 
 
 It seemed, at that moment, as if Mrs. Redmond had, for 
 the first time, comprehended how culpable had been her 
 neglect of her child, and how much she had to answer for 
 at the great tribunal, where all are weighed in the balance. 
 Here was a creature, confided to her charge by the Al- 
 mighty, who had been permitted to foster such evil passions 
 as made her own mother's blood curdle in her veins ; her 
 eyes opened to the total want of care in her management 
 of this child, her own indolence and apathy, and her own 
 consequent unhappiness. 'Jane,' said she, solemnly, 'can 
 you possibly forget when little Mary laid insensible ; when 
 we had all renounced even a shadow of hope ; when I, her 
 mother, who never despair, had made up my mind that I 
 must resign my youngest born, can you forget, I repeat, 
 that Mrs. Barclay, with energetic confidence, almost breathed 
 the breath of life into your sister by her innumerable appli- 
 cations and frictions, how she watched over her day and 
 night, until she was pronounced out of danger, and then 
 crept silently out of the house to avoid our acknowledg- 
 ments ? Thank God, I, at least, expressed my undying 
 gratitude to that woman for her kindness.' 
 
 ' Miss Serena Tid marsh,' said she, addressing her partic- 
 ularly, ' you will please to walk immediately out of my 
 doors, and never do you re-enter them again. I have long 
 thought your society was a great injury to my daughter, 
 whom I devoutly hope is not as malicious as she seems to 
 be. I therefore desire her to hold no further communion 
 with you.' 
 
 Miss Serena forthwith made her exit, in a very crest- 
 fallen manner, which, to say the least, was very different 
 from her entrance. Mrs. Redmond then ordered Jane to 
 her chamber for the day, which command the young lady 
 sullenly obeyed, and, once there, cried heartily from mere 
 spite, but having exhausted her tears, recommenced her 
 accustomed operations of watching the Barclay's house. 
 The fact was, that Jane Redmond's incurable fancy for
 
 192 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 knowing and settling other people's affairs, and her insatiate 
 thirst for scandal, which had been encouraged by her bosom 
 friend, Miss Tidnnarsh, had so completely vitiated a heart 
 naturally none of the best, that no favorable impression 
 could be made upon it ; at least by her mother whose inert- 
 ness and indolence she despised. 
 
 Thus Mrs. Redmond even reaped as she had sowed, and 
 finding that she possessed no influence whatever over her 
 daughter, she, that very day, resolved that Mary Redmond, 
 a promising girl, should be instantly removed from her 
 sister's contaminating presence, and this was shortly effect- 
 ed. Mary, incessantly domineered over and thwarted by 
 Jane, was delighted to hear that she was to be sent to a 
 good boarding-school. There was but one drawback to her 
 happiness, and that was her separation from her friend Kate 
 Barclay, whom she really loved, though now and then she 
 teased her a little. She crossed the street, imparted to her 
 this pleasant intelligence, and embracing her again and 
 again, took an affectionate farewell of her. 
 
 When Robert Redmond returned home to dinner, his 
 countenance well betrayed his feelings ; not a morsel could 
 he swallow, and at last, fairly overcome, he left the table. 
 His mother immediately following him, he threw himself on 
 her neck and wept like a child. Mrs. Redmond loved her 
 son, now she respected him ; so great was the contrast be- 
 tween him and his hard-hearted sister. She informed him 
 that she had literally turned Miss Tidmarsh out of doors, 
 and also imparted her determination to send Mary to school, 
 and to this plan he gave his unqualified approbation. Apart 
 from his knowledge of the pernicious influence exercised 
 over Jane by Miss Tidmarsh, he was greatly relieved by her 
 banishment, for she had lately taken into her silly head a 
 project of enslaving him, which she seemed disposed to carry 
 into effect by main force. 
 
 Poor Robert ! he certainly did consider this an infliction, 
 and often asked himself what great sin he had committed
 
 OF BOSTON. 193 
 
 to merit such a punishment. Wherever he went he was 
 sure to find Miss Tidmarsh ; she was certain to be returning 
 home at the precise moment he went to his meals, and ever 
 just about to take a walk as he left his house. She literally 
 haunted his steps, and actually made him, at times, quite 
 nervous. It being extremely easy for her to know all his 
 movements from Jane, who never dreamed of her friend's 
 projects, she was always at the right moment in the right 
 place, in her own view of the subject ; Mr. Robert Redmond 
 being of a totally different opinion. 
 
 It may be asked where was Mr. Redmond on this day 
 Avhen his best friend's home was filled with grief and sorrow. 
 He came to his dinner and received the sad intelligence 
 with sundry ejaculations, evidently not comprehending it at 
 all ; his head being filled with a patent case, he was revolv- 
 ing machinery, and arranging all its knotty points. One 
 week afterwards, the suit being decided in his favor, he had 
 leisure to feel quite sorry for Mr. Barclay's aflliction. 
 
 In the evening, Robert Redmond held a confidential con- 
 versation with his mother, in which he imparted to her his 
 long cherished affection for Georgiana Barclay. * He could 
 hardly,' he said, ' remember when it began, and he felt, now 
 that she was lost to him forever, immeasurably wretched.' 
 He was greatly indignant at the author of her misery, 
 and declared he would give ten years of his life to dis- 
 cover her husband. Never for a moment doubted he the 
 truth of the unhappy young creature's story, nor did his 
 mother ; they well knew she was truthful and honorable. 
 Mrs. Redmond, who felt grieved that she had permhted 
 herself ever to believe aught in disparagement of her valu- 
 able neighbors, or to entertain any prejudice whatever 
 against them, dwelt with feelings of gratitude on Mrs. Bar- 
 clay's kindness during Mary's recent illness, and the atten- 
 tive devotion it had elicited. Indeed, that day proved an 
 era in her existence, dispelling many disagreeable thoughts 
 and awakening many profitable reflections. The next morn-
 
 194 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ing Robert Redmond called on Mr. Barclay, and told him 
 in a straight-forward manner, that having learned he had 
 no objection to speak upon the melancholy event which had 
 occurred in his family, he had come to offer his services in 
 endeavoring to discover the wretch who had destroyed, in 
 such a mysterious manner, its peace and well-being. 
 
 Mr. Barclay answered him kindly, even affectionately, 
 and declared himself to be greatly obliged to him, and most 
 willing to accept his proffered services in the dire extremity 
 to which he was reduced. Robert Redmond then inquired 
 about Miss Barclay's state of health, and her father informed 
 him that she still laid in a state of partial insensibility, and 
 that he entertained strong doubts of her survival of the 
 shock she had endured. This sad communication complete- 
 ly unnerved the young lover, and he found it impossible to 
 repress his sensibility, and, seating himself, remained some 
 time quite overcome. 
 
 Mr. Barclay was much affected by this demonstration of 
 feeling, and spoke openly to him of his own sufferings, and 
 expressed his gratitude for the sympathy exhibited towards 
 his child. 
 
 ' Alas ! my dear Sir,' said Robert, ' I have so long loved 
 your daughter, that I now find much difficulty in remem- 
 bering the commencement of my interest in her. Imagine 
 then, I pray, my distress when all my long-cherished 
 hopes are blasted, and in such a cruel manner. I could 
 submit with some degree of patience to this infliction, if I 
 could be assured of Miss Barclay's happiness ; but when I 
 reflect upon the indignity offered to you and yours, my blood 
 actually boils with resentment and anger.' 
 
 ' We are in the hands of the Lord, my young friend,' 
 said Mr. Barclay, ' and whatsoever he chooses to inflict we 
 must bear with submission.' 
 
 ' Allow me to say, Sir,' said Robert, ' that the whole com- 
 munity sympathizes with you. My mother's heart bleeds 
 for Mrs. Barclay ; indeed, she is aroused in a most remark-
 
 OF BOSTON. 195 
 
 able way.' He then sorrowfully and respectfully with- 
 drew. 
 
 Robert Redmond returned to his mother, and communi- 
 cated to her the state of Mr. Barclay's family, and she 
 instantly wrote a note, overflowing with gratitude to Mrs. 
 Barclay, for her devotion in her own child's extremity, and 
 begged to be allowed to make some slight return. She 
 offered to watch day and night, and declared she should 
 never be satisfied until she was employed in her behalf. 
 ]\Irs. Barclay sent Kate with a kind message of thanks that 
 Mrs. Redmond's proffers of aid would be gratefully accept- 
 ed when needed, but that, at present, they were overwhelmed 
 with like requests. 
 
 The reaction had been very powerful in Mrs. Redmond's 
 views of her opposite neighbors ; she watched their house 
 still, devoting all the time she could possibly spare from her 
 novel reading, but, happily, not with the same carping and 
 critical spirit. Indeed, it is extremely doubtful if the lady 
 would have overlooked them at all, had not her lounging- 
 chair been placed near the window. Where there really 
 exists a good heart, however overgrown it may have become 
 with rank weeds, let but one ray of sunshine enter, and 
 another invariably follows. Mrs. Redmond was actually 
 enjoying the effects of such a felicitous event. 
 
 Robert Redmond wandered about the town despairingly ; 
 he could fix upon no occupation ; his mind was a chaos of 
 contending emotions. He now comprehended that all hope 
 for him had fled, and bitterly lamented he had not essayed 
 more openly to win Miss Barclay's affections. The truth 
 was that he, in his humility, although much older than the 
 young girl, had considered himself so immeasurably beneath 
 her, that he had never ventured to address her but with the 
 commonest courtesies of every-day life. Then Jane was 
 so disagreeable, that their home had few attractions for very 
 young people, and ]Mary, though pleasing, was too juvenile 
 for any members of the family, except Kate.
 
 196 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Mary Redmond was a very good little girl, and, as it 
 sometimes occurs in such disorganized domestic elements, 
 she stood forth quite prominently in this discordant family ; 
 more, perhaps, by force of contrast than otherwise. 
 
 The good example of the Barclays had a great share in 
 coloring Mary's existence, and her brother's also, and their 
 beneficent influence became every day more visible. Rob- 
 ert Redmond revolved over perpetually in his mind who 
 the wretch could be, who had so essentially destroyed the 
 happiness of the family he so dearly loved. He could not 
 remember to have ever seen Georgiana Barclay with any one 
 with whom he was unacquainted, but once. In vain, did he 
 try to recall the features of this individual. He recollected 
 thinking, at the time, he was a stranger, but, as his friends 
 were always receiving foreigners, he paid no attention to the 
 circumstance. 
 
 In all his reflections, and amidst this maze of conjectures 
 to which there existed no clue, never did he, for a moment, 
 blame Georgiana ; she remained in his eyes, as ever, fault- 
 less, nor would he permit any one else to blame her. 
 Fiercely resenting any criticisms on her conduct, he was 
 ever ready to do battle with any one in her defence ; 
 and no true and loyal knight of old ever held his ladye-love 
 in deeper, higher, holier consideration than the sorrowing 
 youth, who, from morning till night, fretted out his days in 
 repining for the treasure he had lost. Robert's love seemed 
 rooted all the more deeply in his heart that he had never 
 revealed it, and to this conclusion had it come at last, 'that 
 it was the absorbing interest of his life. No other woman, 
 he repeatedly avowed, should ever occupy Gcorgy's place 
 in his atfections. 
 
 Mrs. Redmond, becoming extrcmelv absorbed in the af- 
 flictions of her friends, her son beheld, to his immense 
 satisfaction, the disap|)earance of the tawdry looking vol- 
 umes he so much disliked, and perceived his mother had 
 substituted for them some embroidery. This he consider-
 
 OF BOSTON. 197 
 
 ed a salutary change, for he entertained an unmitigated 
 disgust for the would-be fashionable gentry she patronized ; 
 not even to mention the bandits, brigands, and robbers, 
 whom she liked better still. This change, however, only 
 lasted during the beginning of her excitement; she soon 
 returned to her old friends with renewed vigor. Robert 
 Redmond suddenly found himself, to his astonishment, lean- 
 ing on his mother, the slight and frail reed that mother 
 had ever seemed to be to him ! And now she was all the 
 world. Weak, indolent and frivolous as she was, Mrs. Red- 
 mond's sensibility awoke after her own fashion, at the call 
 for sympathy from a son whom she had loved, but was too 
 inert to make any decided demonstration, and she responded 
 to the appeal warmly and devotedly. 
 
 And thus it is, man may wander about, seeking for coun- 
 sel and support in other quarters, but he returns to his 
 mother at last. Surely, Robert Redmond's parent would 
 have seemed to be lamentably deficient in all the requisites 
 for grand emergencies ; but maternal love had lighted a 
 lamp in her heart, if it had failed to do so in her brain, and 
 she seemed to him a very tower of strength. And indeed 
 she was ; she comforted, soothed, deplored and caressed, 
 and truly did just as well for him, under the circumstances, 
 as if she had been the wisest woman in all Christendom. 
 
 Robert discovered that, at the very moment he lost his 
 mistress, he had found his mother ; that she was an equiva- 
 lent might be questioned, but she contrived to dispel, by her 
 tender attentions, a vast deal of gloom and despondency 
 which prevailed in the heart of her son ; and, this being the 
 case, it was of small import if Mrs. Redmond were silly or 
 wise. And then how that mother rejoiced with her son 
 at the glad tidings of Georgiana Barclay's restoration to 
 health ! 
 
 17*
 
 198 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 * Some falls are the means the happier to rise.' 
 
 Shakspeabe. 
 
 And Georgiana Barclay arose from her bed of pain and 
 suffering, pale, wan and exhausted. The lily of the valley 
 was not more colorless than her delicate cheek, nor more 
 disposed to hide itself from human ken than was this crushed 
 flower, swept to the ground by merciless blasts. Rude winds 
 had visited the blue-veined brow, over which rich masses of 
 golden curls flowed in graceful beauty, but the eyes that, 
 heretofore, had beamed on all so lustrously, were dimmed : 
 their downcast lids seemed doomed ne'er to rise again ; their 
 light was quenched indeed. A creature, shipwrecked on the 
 sanded shores of life, ere that young life began, was this 
 sweet bud of promise ; she had loved, hoped, trusted, and, 
 alas ! all too early, had won the guerdon of woman's destiny ; 
 and she was to bear her cross through her appointed days 
 courageously, fearlessly, or perish. The future on earth 
 was dark and sombre. A blight was upon her fair fame, 
 never to be effaced ; with this heart-rending conviction she 
 beheld the sun rise and set ; her nights were passed in tears. 
 
 A weight of woe was upon her almost too heavy for 
 human strength to cope with, but she was young, and youth 
 can never be entirely divested of hope ; a portion of this 
 blessing will ever cling to early days, even under the most 
 adverse fortunes. Women of maturer years, as it has been 
 demonstrated in many cases, sink under even the slightest, 
 faintest breath of scandal affecting their honor ; they under- 
 stand all the concomitant wretchedness and misery attendant
 
 OF BOSTON. 199 
 
 upon it ; they full well know that, like the Venetian mirror 
 of old, it must not be approached, and they sink. It is 
 a wise dispensation of Providence that the spring-tide of 
 existence is buoyant and hopeful, * Hope on, hope ever,' 
 its motto. Life is made up of contrarieties which admit of 
 no explanation ; and that woman, redolent of benevolent 
 and tender sensibility, should have no charity for the frailty 
 of her own sex, is the most extraordinary of all ; but so it 
 is and has ever been. And, even more, she gives no 
 quarter, she allows no extenuating circumstances to change 
 the fiat of her cold decision ; the nearest approach to mercy 
 she can reach is not to believe in the existence of guilt, is 
 not to listen to the sad tale of its misery and despair. No 
 sterner Daniel come to judgment, than is woman to woman. 
 Of all this a girl of seventeen is fortunately ignorant, and 
 however she may deplore in bitter tears of contrition and 
 repentance the course of events which have covered her 
 with a shroud of suspicious gloom, she knows not the deep 
 profound of her misfortune, its appalling and enduring 
 quality, its tenacious and abiding nature. For the possession 
 of the rich sources of wealth, locked up in the ardent and 
 devoted affection of her parents and family, Georgiana 
 Barclay poured forth her whole soul in thanks to her Creator ; 
 she had been saved from entering the dark valley of death, 
 and she resolved that the rest of her days should be given 
 entirely to them, and them only. Should the husband who 
 had so treacherously won her hand, re-appear, she would 
 never again behold him ; she considered herself perfectly 
 justified ia adopting this course and adhering to it. In fact, 
 she had conceived an irrepressible disgust with every thing 
 appertaining to the recreant to truth and honor, who had so 
 wickedly misled her youthful imagination, and lured her 
 away from her allegiance to her parents and friends ; the 
 sight of him would have been hateful to her. The more she 
 reflected upon her own misconduct, the more rigorously she 
 blamed herself, and the more odious she became in her own
 
 200 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 eyes. She believed that no sacrifice she could ever make 
 would suffice to atone for the load of misery she had 
 brought upon all she held most dear in the world. She 
 thought no penance which she could perform, no sacrifice 
 she could make, would be any atonement for the grief and 
 even shame she had brought down upon the head of her 
 revered father ; and for the mother who had untiringly and 
 perseveringly watched over her day and night through 
 wearisome months, she dared hardly to raise her eyes in 
 her presence. A tender conscience had Georgiana Barclay, 
 an excellent thing in man or woman. It was Mr. Barclay's 
 desire that his daughter should, on her convalescence, re- 
 appear in her own little world, as if nothing had occurred to 
 disturb the even current of her young days ; and this wish 
 being communicated to her in writing, (for he could not trust 
 himself to speak,) Georgiana registered a solemn vow that 
 all its requirements should be fulfilled, let the cost to herself 
 be what it might. And dreadful was the conflict of her 
 agonized feelings when the evening arrived wherein she was 
 again to rejoin the circle once to her so genial, so fascinating 
 and endearing. It came all too soon : she had counted the 
 days, and, as they swiftly departed, she had bitterly mourn- 
 ed their absence, and would gladly have availed herself of 
 any plausible excuse to evade the dreaded moment when she 
 should again behold the assembled group. Alas ! what a 
 mighty change had come over the spirit of her dream of 
 life since the last time she had stood amidst her family and 
 friends ! Then, though she was threatened with the storm 
 which had now broken over her devoted head, yet she had 
 seen it only in perspective, and had never until now fully 
 comprehended its magnitude and its fearfully momentous 
 consequences. So thought this young creature, but little 
 she recked, comparatively, what these consequences were to 
 be, ' A blindness to the future kindly given.' At any rate, 
 she nerved herself to the task, and found herself once more 
 restored to the apparently unchanged communion with her
 
 OF BOSTON. 201 
 
 tried and faithful friends ; but she felt there had been a 
 change. There was a shade more of tenderness in their 
 greeting, and a deeper intonation in their pleasant voices, 
 which fell upon her ear gratefully yet sadly. 
 
 Miss Edgeworth has a heroine who would have submitted 
 to any other infliction than pity as a punishment for her 
 short-comings ; and true it is, that this quality is often mixed 
 up with worldly feelings, which engender disturbing doubts of 
 its native purity. Not that any thing so base had entered 
 the charmed circle of which Georgy found herself the 
 centre ; but she was, for the first time in her life, a victim to 
 suspicious doubts, and so henceforth seemed doomed to 
 remain. Indeed, from the peculiarity of her situation how 
 could this be otherwise ? and suspicion was already added to 
 the weight of the burthen which her overladen spirit was to 
 bear. 
 
 Uncle Richard ' for this evening only,' forgot to grumble, 
 and contradicted Mrs. Ashley but once, that pleasant lady 
 being all smiles and gaiety as usual. Mrs. Gordon was in 
 her most entertaining mood, and her daughter, wild with joy 
 and excitement, never took her eyes from the beautiful 
 picture of her restored friend. Kate literally danced for joy ; 
 and Gracy declaring that, if she would tread a measure, she 
 must have music, played a waltz ; and the volatile creature 
 twirled round poor Johnny until he fell flat on the floor from 
 dizziness and exhaustion, not being accustomed to such 
 saltatory movements, and moreover a tyro in the act of 
 dancing. 
 
 Quiet, after strenuous efforts, being restored, and all be- 
 ginning to be soberly happy, several other persons arrived 
 with congratulations at the re-appearance of the invalid ; 
 amongst these were Gerald Sanderson, Miss Tidmarsh, and 
 two or three foreigners of distinction who had been recently 
 presented to Mr. Barclay. 
 
 Gerald, entirely overcome by the intensity of his feelings, 
 stammered forth his sincere satisfaction at once more being
 
 202 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 allowed to see Miss Barclay, and then retreated to the con- 
 servatory; remaining there a few minutes, he returned, and 
 seating himself in a distant part of the library fed his eyes 
 upon the object of his idolatry. Miss Serena devoted her- 
 self, after having paid sundry insincere compliments to 
 Georgy, to a young Frenchman, and invited him to accom- 
 pany her to one of the tables, where she entertained him in 
 her patchwork French with all the scandal she had managed 
 to collect during the week. 
 
 Now Johnny Barclay happened to be drawing at this 
 table, and this youth was a naturalist ; an incipient one to be 
 sure, for his researches were entirely confined to the feline 
 species. And woe unto the unfortunates ! their tribulations, as 
 far as he was concerned, being legion ; in fact, he never 
 allowed a cat to enjoy her existence any length of time in 
 his latitudes, and waged against that amiable race an exter- 
 minating warfare. Many old women in the neighborhood 
 had almost determined to enter a protest against Johnny's 
 murderous propensities, having missed their favorites and pets 
 from their accustomed haunts, and had only been deterred 
 by their respect for his father, whom they could not bear to 
 disturb with complaints. It so happened that Johnny asked 
 Miss Serena some question touching a foreign city of which 
 she and her companion were speaking, and Miss Tidmarsh, 
 being ignorant and not wishing to proclaim her want of 
 knowledge, pretended not to hear him. Upon which Johnny, 
 raising his voice above all drawing-room conventional 
 regulations, reiterated his demand. The lady answered in 
 her lowest whisper, and the turbulent child, roaring loud 
 enough to be heard at the end of the street, bawled 
 out ' Why don't you speak as loud as other people, !Miss 
 Serena ? you can ; it's only before company you're such a 
 mouse in a cheese. I heard you this morning when we boys 
 chased a glorious tom-cat up your pear-tree, and poor dirty 
 little lame Sally only came to the door to see the fun, I 
 heard you bellow and use awful naughty words besides ! ' No
 
 OF BOSTON. 203 
 
 one knew what to do or to say upon this explosion ; nobody- 
 could pi'etend to deafness all the assembled company 
 having been stopped short in their colloquies by the uproar. 
 
 Mr. Barclay immediately ordered his son and heir to 
 bed, the boy's most condign punishment, and Miss Tid- 
 marsh really did, for that time, take French leave, having 
 precipitately left the room as Johnny finished his peroration. 
 Johnny retreated to that refuge of the destitute and dis- 
 tressed, Nursey Bristow's quarters, and there it is lamentable 
 to state, (but the truth must be told,) he recounted his exploit 
 without evincing a single demonstration of repentance ; but 
 wickedly avowed his satisfaction therein, and his fixed 
 resolve to do the same thing again whenever he got a good 
 chance. Nursey, shaking her head and combing his, be- 
 wailed his naughtinesses in melting terms, which produced no 
 efTect whatever upon the little sinner. 
 
 Uncle Richard behaved no better than his hopeful nephew, 
 for perceiving the absence of Miss Tidmarsh, he burst out 
 into the most uncontrollable fit of laughter, in which he was 
 joined bv all the assembled company, except the heads of 
 the house, who, it must be confessed, had much difficulty in 
 restraining their mirth. Even Gerald, who had so long 
 thought he should never smile again, was fairly overcome, 
 and betrayed his mirth in no measured terms. Mr. Richard's 
 second pet dislike being Miss Serena, (he never renounced 
 his first) he was highly pleased that her deceit had 
 been thoroughly exposed ; he having always regarded the 
 delicacy of her lungs, of which she was perpetually com- 
 plaining, as a complete myth with which that young lady 
 favored the public. And now,' exclaimed he rejoicingly, 
 ' we shall hear no more of the ridiculous creature's pre- 
 tensions to morbid affections of the chest.' But he was 
 mistaken, her bad habits were as deeply rooted as his 
 own. and she was sure, in a few days, to forget the young 
 scapegrace's rebuff, and be more absurd than ever. 
 
 Georgiana, though not very strong, had crept out after
 
 204 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Miss Tidmarsh, whom she hoped to find in the hall ; but the 
 delicate pretender had vanished, having totally forgotten her 
 hooded cloak which remained pendent on the hat-stand, and 
 singularly resembled its owner. Mr, Barclay privately 
 informed his wife that he proposed punishing Johnny, and 
 only hoped he should perform the operation without laughing. 
 Mrs. Barclay replied that she wished he might avoid such a 
 catastrophe, but had her own doubts whether the offender 
 would not coax his father out of all such retributive justice. 
 Mr. Barclay was altogether too indulgent to his children; his 
 wife made strenuous efforts to counteract the pernicious 
 effects of such a course, and the consequence was, that they 
 ever held her in much greater awe than their father. He 
 could not behold, in any degree of peace, a frown on the 
 brow of a child ; he must immediately chase it away ; he 
 frankly acknowledged his weakness, and declared that he 
 left all the wholesome disciplining of his family to his 
 wife. In this respect he very much resembled all indiscreet- 
 ly fond fathers, in which America abounds.
 
 OF BOSTON. 
 
 205 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 * A rich man may have carved by the mere success of his enterprises 
 a right to be heard, having been tested by that success.' Axon. 
 
 Mr. Barclay, after many interviews with Gerald San- 
 derson, became extremely interested in that young man's 
 fortunes, and firmly resolved to do him some solid service. 
 Gerald, captivated by the sympathetic nature of his newly 
 acquired friend, felt that he almost haunted his footsteps, 
 and yet could not persuade himself to renounce the happi- 
 ness it imparted. Gerald unveiled to Mr. Barclay all the 
 most secret recesses of his heart ; his abandoned dream-land 
 and visionary projects ; and communicated his earnest de- 
 sire to effect a complete metamorphosis in his habits, and 
 to school himself severely in the busy marts of men ; his 
 plan being one he had long revolved in his mind, to enter 
 himself at the law school at Cambridge, where he thought a 
 year would suffice, as he had already studied three at home, 
 and then find a place in some distinguished lawyer's office 
 in Boston. All this was judiciously arranged, but the means 
 whereby this project could be carried through were wanting, 
 his small modicum being entirely inadequate to the disbursal 
 of his daily expenses. He had been told of the hope 
 deferred, and the sickened and fainting hearts of aspirants 
 for legal fame ; but nothing dismayed, he determined to 
 pursue his course, and try to find some occupation which 
 would give him bread while pursuing his studies. These 
 sad reflections cost him many hours of serious thought, and 
 were the only subjects of his matured plans which he failed 
 18
 
 206 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 to reveal to Mr. Barclay ; for, had he not assisted his 
 brother ? There then seemed to be no one to whom Gerald 
 could apply, for, in the days of his most amicable relations 
 with his uncle, he would never have ventured upon any 
 proposition for aid, and in their disseverment it was entirely 
 out of the question. So, poor Gerald pined away his days 
 in repentance of his past follies, and beheld his plans for 
 improvement passing away from lack of power to execute 
 them, and he actually seemed in danger, notwithstanding 
 all his good resolutions, of fast falling into his old and per- 
 nicious habits of castle-building and melancholy reverie. 
 From this state he was most opportunely and joyfully 
 aroused by a note from a gentleman, whom he only knew 
 by reputation, requesting him to call at his office the next 
 day at twelve o'clock. Little slept he that night, and arising 
 at break of day, he thought the long, long hours would 
 never come to an end ; but at last he beheld the desired 
 meridian, and found himself precisely at the appointed time 
 in the presence of a large, red-faced, burly individual, who, 
 greeting him freely and heartily, desired him to be seated, 
 and then entered upon business immediately, by saying : ' A 
 mutual friend of yours and mine, Mr. Sanderson, has often 
 spoken to me of you, and thinks you are exactly the person 
 I want. He says you are the soul of honor and probity, 
 and that implicit reliance can be placed on you ; that you 
 are a good French scholar, and will be able to conduct 
 satisfactorily a commercial correspondence in that language, 
 respecting some business which demands profound secrecy. 
 Don't be alarmed, there is nothing wrong about it ; but I 
 have discovered a way to make a round sum of money, and 
 am determined to keep close and have all the cakes and ale 
 for myself and children. Now, if you will undertake this 
 affair for me, and I understand, in the end, that you have 
 not breathed a syllable to any one respecting it, I will give 
 you a thousand dollars a year, and should the enterprise 
 prove successful, you shall have a bonus besides.' It need
 
 OF BOSTON. 207 
 
 hardly be doubted that Gerald gladly accepted this propo- 
 sition, the more so when he discovered that the work might 
 be executed in three days of each week. When Mr. Barton, 
 that being the name of the gentleman, informed Gerald of 
 this fact, he declared he thought the remuneration altogether 
 too large for the services to be rendered ; but the merchant 
 answered that he was paying for character and not work, 
 and persisted in his offer, Gerald inquired who the person was 
 who had kindly interested himself in his welfare, and heard, 
 without surprise, Mr. Barclay's name mentioned, for what 
 other friend had he in the world ? Mr. Barton was a tolera- 
 bly liberal man, and was very willing to pay for specified 
 moralities, (he wanted them,) but not exactly a thousand 
 dollars a year. He thought six hundred ample, and Mr. 
 Barclay supplied the deficiency under the seal of secrecy. 
 
 Gerald Sanderson entered that very morning on his func- 
 tions, and his employer seemed well satisfied with the zeal 
 and intelligence he evinced. Mr. Barton perceived that he 
 comprehended at a glance the important bearings of the 
 business, and applied himself assiduously to unravelling all 
 its intricate parts. They passed many hours together, and 
 parted mutually pleased with each other, Gerald being con- 
 vinced that he could give satisfaction to his employer. That 
 evening Gerald consecrated to his mother, and a blessed one 
 it was. She was made happy in the certainty of her son's 
 independence and his ability to pursue his legal studies, she 
 having always earnestly desired he should adopt his father's 
 profession. She also thought that this training under a 
 thorough business man, like Mr. Barton, whom she knew 
 to be an able financier, would be of immense service to 
 the young dreamer. Mrs. Sanderson had always thought 
 if Gerald could be once aroused and completely disenchanted 
 of his illusions, he would never again relapse, for she knew 
 there was a fund of practical good sense lying unrevealed 
 under his dreamy qualities. What would the delighted mother 
 have given to be able, on the instant, to impart this agreeable
 
 208 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 intelligence to her brother ? but he was immured in his library, 
 with never a book, and no one could put foot therein unless 
 formally requested to do so. Now, instead of pouring forth 
 her excited and overjoyed feelings in fraternal intercourse, 
 she called up the two sable friends she possessed in the 
 kitchen, and told them the pleasant tale of their young 
 master's prosperity ; to which Gerald added a bank note 
 a-piece, the first he had ever had the happiness to be able 
 to bestow upon them. The pair, when they did not laugh, 
 always cried on grand occasions ; that evening they cele- 
 brated by doing both ; and Peter, after descending into his 
 own domains, gave a slight touch or so of heel and toe, 
 and declared that next to the return home of Massa Charley, 
 this was the very best bit of news ho could ever hear. 
 
 The next morning Gerald Sanderson called on Mr. Barclay 
 before breakfast, and attempted to thank him for his unex- 
 pected kindness; but, in his own estimation, signally failed, 
 so greatly was he overpowered by his grateful feelings. 
 He, however, managed to invoke the blessing of the father- 
 less upon his head, and, as the Italians say, blessings never 
 fall to the ground, they must have rested there. Mr. Barclay 
 requested Gerald to remain and breakfast with him, and 
 soon his lovely family was assembled together in the library, 
 the servants following. Mr. Barclay read impressively a 
 short household service, and concluded with a fervent prayer 
 for their welfare. This finished, the greetings of the day 
 commenced affectionately, and they then repaired to the 
 dining-room, where, around a cheerful board, graced by 
 youth and beauty, the heads of this home looked as if 
 sorrow and suffering might not enter there ; and yet, alas ! 
 it had. 
 
 Gerald walked to Cambridge three times a week to the 
 law school, and the rest of his time was devoted to Mr. 
 Barton, that gentleman, however, not requiring his presence 
 in the evening, he was a free man ; but not once, in the 
 whole course of that year, did he open a book disconnected
 
 OF BOSTON. 209, 
 
 with his legal pursuits. When wearied with hard work and 
 study, he frequented the concerts and theatres, and kept up 
 by practice his own fine voice, and accompanied himself on 
 his guitar, and went to Mr. Barclay's as often as he dared. 
 Mrs. Barclay's hospitality was unbounded to him. With 
 a woman's keen susceptibility to love-passages, she had 
 instantly perceived the state of his feelings, but she thought 
 he would eventually conquer his passion for her daughter, 
 in view of its utter hopelessness ; she felt his solitariness 
 and the great advantage he would derive from his com- 
 munion with her family, and so she welcomed him warmly 
 to their fireside. 
 
 Mr. Barton having beG;un to take a decided likinor to his 
 diligent amanuensis, one day invited him home to dinner, 
 in order, as he declared, to make Mrs. Barton and his 
 daughters acquainted with him. Gerald accepting the invi- 
 tation, accompanied his patron, and found himself in an 
 elegant house, furnished in shockingly bad taste, glaring 
 and flashy ; in very truth, his eyes were almost blinded by 
 the variety of ill-assorted colors, which met them on all 
 sides. 
 
 The Misses Barton, showy and ambitious girls, were just 
 half educated, knowing a little of almost every thing; they 
 drew a little, played a little, and sang a vast deal, with 
 remarkably unmusical voices, and talked immensely of all 
 the 'ologies, to which were superadded chemistry and medi- 
 cine. 
 
 Mr. Barton, in describing his daughters to Gerald, had 
 mentioned with pride their vast attainments, and said that 
 subjects were discussed at his table, and to all appearance 
 definitely settled by these young ladies, that would puzzle 
 the most profound philosophers to unravel. ' But,' said he, 
 ' I have paid so much money for their schooling, that I 
 presume I am getting my money's worth, and the gist of 
 the matter lies there after all.' 
 
 Mrs. Barton, a good housewifely creature, received her 
 18*
 
 210 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 guest with great deference ; the daughters paid small regard 
 to their parents in any thing, evidently considering them 
 quite an inferior order of persons. 
 
 There was one thing which appeared to Gerald Sander- 
 son to be very remarkable, and it was, that the Misses Bar- 
 ton, having paid such strict attention to the acquisition of 
 various foreign and dead languages, should have so sin- 
 gularly neglected their own vernacular, in which they were 
 sadly deficient. 
 
 The dinner was excellent and well cooked, and Mrs. Bar- 
 ton, to the undisguised disgust of her daughters, was quite 
 willing that Gerald should comprehend she had taken a 
 large share in the confection of certain pastries which she 
 strenuously recommended to him. The servants were ill 
 trained and excessively awkward, and the hostess very fussy 
 with them, giving various orders and hints quite audibly 
 enough for all to hear. 
 
 To his great astonishment he heard not one word of the 
 dreaded 'ologies, the young ladies being completely ab- 
 sorbed in obtaining all the information they could from 
 Gerald, respecting the Barclay family, and he shortly made 
 the discovery that his gracious welcome was entirely to be 
 attributed to his known intimacy in that quarter. 
 
 Now, how shall it be written ? That the Bartons were 
 not of the same rank as the Barclays, no such word as 
 rank in democratic America. Not of the same class, 
 that will never do. Not of the same standing, worse and 
 worse. The fact is, and the truth must be told, it is very 
 hard, indeed, to describe certain things in a Republic. 
 Were the Bartons then not fashionable ? Travellers say we 
 have no fashion ; then how in the name of common sense 
 is this awkward affair to be managed ? Well, then, for 
 want of something better, the Misses Barton did not visit in 
 the same houses with the Barclays. Then were they or the 
 Barclays ' our first people ? ' But this is getting to be too 
 abstract a question, and the best way is to let it alone, and,
 
 OF BOSTON. 211 
 
 moreover, by far the safest. The result was, that the fami- 
 lies were unknown to each other ; and though the Barclays 
 had never seen Gerald's friends, it appeared they had 
 been carefully scanned in all public places, and particularly 
 on Sundays. Miss Julia Maria Barton begged to know if 
 Grace's hair was really golden ; and Miss Araminta Cora 
 Barton asked if the sister's eyes were black or blue. Kate 
 and Johnny were entirely neglected ; their fame had not 
 penetrated into the Barton circle. 
 
 These questionings and Gerald's answers broke all the ice 
 of ceremony, and a conversation ensued, if thus it could be 
 called, which was composed of interrogations and responses, 
 and made them all seem quite sociable. The young ladies 
 did not touch upon the debatable ground of poor Georgy, 
 for there sat facing them the principal personage in the 
 story ; though he fancied they were really dying to do so, 
 but, fortunately, they spared him such an infliction. The 
 visit pleasantly enough ended, he rose to take leave, when 
 they all entreated him to return very soon ; ' the oftener the 
 better,' said Mrs. Barton. Mr. Barton, who sallied forth 
 with him, declared he had not enjoyed such an agreeable 
 meal for a long time, never having heard a single word 
 about that nasty Liebeg, or his decided aversions the 'ologies, 
 while Gerald was in his house. 
 
 Gerald was much amused with this new phase of things ; 
 and, as there was nothing of which he liked to talk better 
 than the Barclays, the sound of their names being to him a 
 breathing and subduing melody, he resolved rather to cul- 
 tivate the acquaintance of persons who took such an intense 
 interest in them, no matter what the motive. 
 
 Mr. Barton had begun life in a very small way, and his 
 early career had been unprosperous ; he had failed in busi- 
 ness, but, with the characteristic courage and energy of his 
 * Down-East ' race, for he came from the State of Maine, 
 he, nothing daunted, looked adverse Fortune sternly and 
 defiantly in the face, and dared her to do her worst.
 
 212 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Failures in other lands are wearisome and melancholy 
 enough, there would seem to be no recuperative qualities in 
 the sufferers ; but in America a man falls but to rise and 
 take a bolder flight. A few years soon saw Mr. Barton 
 re-established, having gathered a rich harvest of experience 
 from his previous commercial disasters, and, what was 
 greatly to his honor, having paid off the principal and 
 interest of his debts. This time the fickle goddess contin- 
 ued to favor him, and he made by speculations an immense 
 fortune ; and then he performed a remarkably wise act, he 
 settled one half of his rapidly gained wealth on his wife 
 and children, declaring they should never again be made 
 beggars. For himself, he averred, that, as occupation was 
 the main-spring of his existence, and he should die of atro- 
 phy without it, he must work, and so he did just as assid- 
 uously as if his daily bread depended upon his exertions, 
 looking carefully after the smallest sums in a very searching 
 manner. Occasionally he gave to charities, incited by Mr. 
 Barclay, who had great influence over him ; but this was 
 rather to behold his name by the side of a man's whom he 
 greatly admired and respected, than from any real sym- 
 pathy with the wants of others. 
 
 Mr. Barton took great delight in recounting his early 
 adventures; he prided himself immensely on having battled 
 with poverty in its most pinching and griping aspect, and on 
 liaving conquered the enemy, and was rather vain of his 
 signal exploits. Not so his daughters; they, blushingly, 
 interrupted him, and always endeavored to divert his atten- 
 tion from the subject of his early days, and conjured their 
 mother to do the same ; but the good creature answered 
 that, if it made her husband happy to do this, it was all she 
 desired in the world. It was wonderful the efforts were so 
 perpetually made, seeing they were so constantly abortive; 
 but then the Misses Barton's father always began his graphic 
 descriptions when they had their very best acquaintance 
 with them. Now, this may faintly shadow forth where the
 
 OF BOSTON. 213 
 
 Bartons were in society, for the truly very best persons in 
 the land would have listened with interest and pride to the 
 detail of their countryman's struggles, from which, it ap- 
 peared, the young ladies' 'upper ten thousand' turned their 
 heads in mockery and disgust. 
 
 Mr. Barton's baptismal name was a peculiar one, to say 
 the least, he rejoicing in the appellation of Nicodemus, and 
 choosing to have it emblazoned in black-letter upon his 
 door-plate, and also visiting cards, that being the latest 
 fashion. It was in vain Miss Araminta Cora advised him of 
 the pleasant fact, that all the small boys in the neighbor- 
 hood had christened him ' Old Nick,' and even proceeded 
 to append a portrait of the real Simon Pure, horns and all, 
 on the back-gate of his dwelling. The father remained 
 obstinately impervious, and vowed he would never forswear 
 his birthright for all the little vagabonds in Christendom ; 
 and that they had brought the war into his camp, because 
 he had warned them, with their confounded balls, off the 
 court in which he lived. He was not to be scared out of 
 his name, a good family one, by babies, not he. So his 
 daughters were obliged to resign, for a time, all immediate 
 hope of a change in their father's patronymic ; but as they 
 inherited his never-dying spirit of tenacity of purpose, they 
 never despaired.
 
 214 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Something the heart must have to cherish, 
 Mast love and joy and sorrow learn, 
 Something with passion clasp or perish, 
 And in itself to ashes burn.' 
 
 Hypekion. 
 
 But does not the reader wish to hear something of the 
 whereabouts of the dear Charley .' He has never been 
 any where but in his bereaved mother's heart and mind, 
 morning, noon and night, since his departure. Gerald has 
 pined for his joyous brother ; Peter and Dinah have obstrep- 
 erously lamented his absence : and IMr. Egerton has said 
 never a word of the favorite, good or bad. The voyage was 
 long, tedious and moaotonous, for every one but Charley, 
 who was the life and soul of the whole ship's company. 
 Mrs. Sanderson had given her son a Bible and Shakspoare ; 
 these he read, the first solemnly and attentively, the second 
 eagerly drinking in its beauties, and, by turns, enacted, for 
 the gratification of his shipmates, almost every character 
 in it. 
 
 A great talent had Charley Sanderson for histrionic ac- 
 complishments, which he had but sparsely exercised on 
 shore ; but it was then brought out for the amusement of 
 othei's, as time moved slowly and tediously on and where 
 does it lag more wearily than at sea ? There was one 
 exception to the general favoritism that the dear boy enjoy- 
 ed, and that was in the person of a dark, atribilious, dis- 
 agreeable man, a passenger who seemed to think smiling 
 an ofience, and laughing a crime, and who had, from the
 
 OF BOSTON. 215 
 
 first moment he laid his ugly gray eyes on the youth, ap- 
 parently hated him. If Mr. Johnstone had been asked why, 
 he could not have satisfactorily answered, even to himself. 
 It was generally believed by the lookers-on, that he disliked 
 to see such a joyously happy creature crossing his own 
 unhappy path. At any rate, he took no notice of the ' pop- 
 ular member,' and always snarled at all the praises and 
 commendations bestowed upon him ; to this Charley gave 
 no heed whatever; he thought the ship large enough for 
 them both, and went on his way rejoicing and working, for 
 he set himself to learn navigation, and studied assiduously. 
 
 Some time before they reached Calcutta, Mr. Johnstone 
 fell dangerously ill of a contagious malady, and, being uni- 
 versally disliked, no man on board thought proper to risk 
 his life for such a ' disagreeable animal.' He would have 
 undoubtedly suffered from total neglect, and might have 
 died, but for the very person whom he had flouted and 
 scorned, Charley Sanderson. The dear boy entered his 
 state-room, proffering all the assistance in his power, watch- 
 ed over him day and night, and fairly brought him round, so 
 that he recovered his health, but not entirely his strength, 
 before they landed. Charley himself was unscathed by his 
 wearisome exertions, as he richly deserved to be ; he also 
 won golden opinions from his shipmates, who, one and all, 
 declared that he had behaved like the glorious good fellow 
 he was. ' Such benevolence and such a forgiving spirit,' 
 they cried, ' were rarely seen.' This sickness unto death 
 was, for Mr. Johnstone, a signal mercy. He had begun his 
 career in a mean and sordid way, believing in nothing and 
 in no one, and with an intense craving for human sympa- 
 thy, had, by his morose, unsocial and forbidding manners, 
 cast away from him his fellow-men. Without family, or 
 connections, he had wandered to India, and there, under its 
 burning sun, led a self-concentrated existence. Without 
 interests or affections, he had, after many years, returned to 
 America, and finding no one to care for him in his native
 
 216 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 land, he resolved to retrace his listless steps, and finish his 
 days in Calcutta, since there was nothing to live for at 
 home. Besides, he had found life perfectly intolerable in 
 Boston and elsewhere, his habits having been revolutionized 
 by his Indian residence, so back he was going, when a pas- 
 sage to eternity seemed much nearer to him than one to 
 Calcutta. Now, then, was exhibited to this unbeliever in 
 humanity, a new phase in his previous conceptions. Here 
 was a mere lad, whom he had purposely avoided, for no 
 reason on earth, and for whom he had most savagely be- 
 trayed a sentiment of contempt ; and this young creature 
 had devoted himself, with the most perseveringly untiring 
 efforts, to the salvation of his life and wherefore ? 
 
 There was no wealth to tempt, no apparent goodness to 
 seduce ; on the contrary, surliness and ill-nature ; and yet 
 he had risked even his own existence for that of a bad- 
 tempered and disagreeable man. This was surely a most 
 remarkable thing, and gave abundant food for reflection. 
 This carrying out of the doctrines of our Saviour by one so 
 young, completely humbled and changed the ill-conditioned 
 character and temperament of Mr. Johnstone ; from believ- 
 ing in nothing, human or divine, he prayed that he might 
 become exactly like the youth who had set him such a noble 
 example of forbearance and forgiveness ; he would imme- 
 diately take him for his model, and this he told Charley ; for 
 once the ice-bound barrier dissolved which severed them, 
 the restored invalid seemed to delight in baring his whole 
 soul to his preserver. But Charley conjured him to do no 
 such thing, to take no such frail reed as himself for a model, 
 but seek and he should find in the inspired volume which 
 his mother had given to him at parting, even the Bible, for 
 greatly had he been shocked to discover that Mr. Johnstone 
 was not the possessor of a solitary prayer-book. Certainly 
 no missionary ever labored with more pious ardor and en- 
 thusiasm in the good work of bringing an unbeliever to the 
 blessed light of the gospel, than did Charley Sanderson, and
 
 OF BOSTON. 217 
 
 his efforts proved eminently successful ; particularly during 
 the watches of the night, when Mr. Johnstone, unable to 
 sleep, was extremely impressible, and consequently more 
 open to conviction. Charley, imagining that his newly- 
 acquired friend was not prosperous, offered him any pecu- 
 niary assistance his own limited means permitted, and 
 begged to share and share alike when they reached their 
 destination. At last, the long wished for land appeared, 
 and, amidst the noise and confusion attendant upon all arri- 
 vals, the passengers trod the shores of India. They all 
 repaired to the same hotel, and Charley had ordered a 
 modest chamber, when he was informed by the waiter, that 
 Mr. Johnstone, whom he seemed to know very well, had 
 provided one for him, to which he was immediately con- 
 ducted. On entering it, he was surprised at its size and 
 elegance, and contemplated remonstrating with his friend 
 on his extravagance, but, as he had ordered it, he concluded 
 to remain in it at least one night. Having changed his 
 garments, he was thinking of just taking one peep into the 
 street before dinner, when a servant informed him that Mr. 
 Johnstone requested his company in his own parlor. Char- 
 ley, descending one flight of stairs, found that gentleman in 
 an elegantly furnished room, a table beautifully arranged 
 for two persons, and at which he invited him most gra- 
 ciously to seat himself. The dinner was very luxurious and 
 capitally served. Mr. Johnstone, now a changed creature, 
 gay and evidently very happy, did the honors of the repast 
 with remarkable spirit. Charley thought his friend a little 
 beside himself, for the nonce, but determined to have every 
 thing set right by the next day, otherwise he should be 
 ruined ; he, however, made no comments that would damp, 
 as he thought, the excitement attendant upon the first dinner 
 on shore. 
 
 When the fruit appeared and the servants had retired, 
 Mr. Johnstone addressed him thus : ' You are, no doubt, 
 immensely surprised, my dear young friend, at finding me, 
 19
 
 218 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 as you may naturally enough suppose, squandering away 
 the little money I have. Now, permit me to set at rest all 
 your apprehensions. You must henceforth regard me not 
 in the light of the poor Mr. Johnstone, but the rich one ; for 
 rich I am, thank God, and can thereby endeavor to repay 
 you for all the immense debt of gratitude I owe you. 
 Henceforth you are to be my guest.' Observing that Charley 
 was about to object to this arrangement, he resumed : * You 
 must not say one word in opposition, I am obstinately bent 
 upon this, and will have my own way ; but for you, your 
 wondrously noble kindness, I should have been fathoms 
 deep in the sea, but through your efforts, under Providence, 
 I am now a regenerated and totally changed creature. I 
 feel there is nothing I can do for you that will in any way 
 prove an expression of my gratitude, so you must receive 
 whatever my paltry wealth can effect. Of what avail was 
 all the dross I had hoarded, when I had lost my own soul r 
 Through you, I repeat, I am in a hopeful way of being 
 brought to salvation, and since the wretched day you 
 entered my state-room, looking like an angel of mercy, a 
 great revolution has been wrought in me. But why should 
 I call it a wretched day ? rather say blessed. Now I am, 
 and ever have been, a man of kw words and fewer good 
 deeds : you must allow me to make a beginning, and with 
 whom can I do this so effectually as my preserver, tempora- 
 rily and eternally ; ' and, finishing, he actually wept like a 
 child. To Charley, who, following the true instinct of his 
 own excellent nature, had, in his own eyes, only performed 
 a simple act of Christian kindness, this ebullition of feeling 
 on the part of his, so lately saturnine friend, was, indeed, 
 extraordinary, and he knew not what lo say. He disclaim- 
 ed, however, the great merit attributed to him, and declared 
 he should consider himself the obliged person. 
 
 The next morning he wished to commence his operations 
 immediately, bat Mr. Johnstone said he had other views for 
 him, in which he could essentially serve him, and he must
 
 OF BOSTON. 219 
 
 await his pleasure. He desired his young friend should see 
 the city thoroughly, and, in the interim, he would arrange 
 for liini something which he thought would exactly suit him. 
 This was effected, and Charley, instead of making several 
 India voyages to and fro, was installed in a mercantile 
 house for two or three years, the head of which desired to 
 establish a branch in America ; and all this was done 
 through the influence of Mr. Johnstone and his rupees. Of 
 the latter part of this transaction, Charley was kept com- 
 pletely ignorant. He knew that his friend had been en- 
 gaged, at one time, with this house, and supposed they had 
 taken him to oblige Mr. Johnstone. It was a sad and mel- 
 ancholy sacrifice for him to abandon his dear mother, 
 brother and friends, but he knew full well he could never be 
 justified in renouncing such an excellent chance for prefer- 
 ment, and that the only hope he had on earth of obtaining 
 Grace Barclay, his heart's treasure, laid in the success of 
 his apprenticeship in this India house. It was a golden 
 venture, and no considerations, however sentimentally im- 
 perative, must bid him forego the positive fact, that he 
 might in time become sufficiently important to his employ- 
 ers to induce them to bestow upon him their patronage in 
 his native land. All this he wrote, in a joint letter to his 
 mother and Gerald, and also in another to Mr. Barclay, by 
 the same ship in which he went out. 
 
 ]\Irs. Sanderson was greatly afllictcd when the vessel 
 arrived without her son, though she had already received an 
 overland duplicate of the letter, and she was thoroughly 
 prepared not to see him, yet there had ever lingered a hope 
 that something might occur which would prevent his stay 
 in India. But he came not, and in lieu of the Charley, 
 she beheld a Cashmere shawl, of surpassing beauty, in a 
 camphor-wood box, a present from a man whom she had 
 never seen, and a letter, detailing most frankly and circum- 
 stantially, such a grateful narrative of her son's admirable 
 conduct as made her eyes rain tears of heartfelt joy. It was
 
 220 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 then she reaped the fruits of the good seed she had sown, 
 and a proud and happy mother was she that day ! 
 
 Mr. Barclay was delighted with his young favorite's cheer- 
 ing prospects, and Gerald carried to him Mr. Johnstone's 
 letter, which he read with intense pleasure, and begged per- 
 mission to communicate its contents to his family. It can 
 safely be imagined how enchanted was Gracy with this 
 missive, and how she gloried in her choice, when she heard 
 all she loved, praising in no measured terms, the Charley. 
 She felt that she loved him a thousand-fold more, now that 
 such admirable qualities had been developed in him, and 
 she was quite sure all her family sympathized with her, 
 which they certainly did. 
 
 Mr. Richard said that, for his part, he was in no wise 
 surprised at Charley's good conduct, and he thought the 
 very best thing Mr. Johnstone could do was to adopt him, 
 he having neither kith nor kin, and give him a portion of his 
 vast wealth, the more especially, since the boy had taught 
 him that there was something better to worship than mam- 
 mon. The old fellow was a brand saved from the burning, 
 but better late than never, he had known him when the bark 
 was rougher. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley exclaimed, when Charley's letter was read 
 to her, ' How charmingly romantic ! Quite an Arabian 
 Night's tale, and all true, nevertheless ! ' i\Iiss Tidmarsh 
 said, that ' There was always something happening at the 
 Barclays ; she supposed that they would then no longer 
 object to a match between Grace and Charley Sanderson 
 as there was a good prospect of wealth ; though she had 
 heard they had hitherto violently opposed it.' And this was 
 just as near the truth as that veracious person ever came. 
 But she was not deterred by her ever-recurring, ungracious 
 opinions of her neighbors, from frequenting their agreeable 
 house, and constantly bestowing upon them her disagreeable 
 presence. In this Miss Redmond, agreeing with her friend 
 thoroughly, yet found it convenient to do the same thing.
 
 OF BOSTON. 221 
 
 There were too many pleasant people clustered round the 
 Barclays, for the amiable pair to renounce visiting where 
 they were constantly to be met. As soon as they heard of 
 Charley's good fortune, they sallied forth to verify it, and 
 both entered Mrs. Barclay's library at once ; the one striding 
 along, and the other half slidinfj, half swimmino;. Jane 
 Redmond informed Mrs. Barclay that her father had been 
 employed by Mr. Johnstone in some legal business, and that 
 Mr. Redmond was far from thinking that gentleman very 
 wealthy, and conjectured Mr. Charley Sanderson must be 
 mistaken. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay made no reply to this speech ; she was only 
 amazed that Jane had been able to extract so much inform- 
 ation about any one from her restricted paternal intercourse. 
 Mrs. Gordon, who was present, begged to know Mr. John- 
 stone's age. Upon that question being pi'opounded, Mrs. Ash- 
 ley, in high glee, declared she had caught her friend at last. 
 'I am surprised,' she exclaimed, ' that you, dear Mrs. Gor- 
 don, of all persons in the world, should inquire the age of 
 any one, after all your criticisms upon our habits, and hav- 
 ing heard you frequently declare that you were never an 
 hour in American society without listening to this question ; 
 I repeat, 1 am astonished.' 
 
 ' That's very true,' replied the lady, ' I make no denial, 
 and am fairly entrapped. You remember the " evil com- 
 munications" of our copy-books, and also have not forgotten 
 good Mr. Burlington's habit of always diminishing the for- 
 tunes of his friends, and adding to their ages, so that what 
 he subtracted from their wealth he piled on to their years. 
 A very innocently dangerous person was he. Age is a 
 favoriie topic in our country. I lived abroad many years, 
 and never heard the subject mentioned, and, for aught I 
 knew to the contrary, might have been sweet seventeen, 
 but now the nearest approach I make to receiving a compli- 
 ment is, that I wear well, hold my own, and bear my years. 
 Thus, however flattering may be the intentions in the be- 
 19*
 
 222 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 stowal of these very apocryphal favors, they come to me 
 in a decidedly neutralized state. You may all laugh as 
 much as you please, I don't believe the men like this sort 
 of sugar-plums any better than the women. An old friend 
 of mine told me, that he was sitting in the reading-room of 
 the Tremont House, last week, when two men, having 
 glowered at him an immense long while, crossed the floor 
 and asked his age, in a respectful manner, it must be stated. 
 " Upon which," said he, " I flew at them in a violent 
 rage, and asked them what, in the devil's name, they wished 
 to know it for ? 1 being bald, half-blind and lame." So, 
 you perceive, the other sex, even at an advanced period, is 
 as techy as we are on this debatable ground, and the fewer 
 remarks you make upon my comments, the better. And, 
 permit me to assure you, my good friends, that no one will 
 find me encouraging the idle curiosity of the little Pedling- 
 ton school, by divulging the number of cycles which have 
 gathered around my head, unless an immense heritage is 
 to be gained by the confession.' 
 
 'And you are perfectly right, Mrs. Gordon,' said Mr. 
 Richard. ' What impertinent and futile curiosity ! I don't 
 think that even I myself would like to confess my age any 
 better than your old friend, who was made so furiously 
 angry by those ill-behaved fellows. But it's just the way 
 here always ; it's every body's business to know every 
 body's business. Give me a country where people are 
 unacquainted with their next-door neighbors, I say. What 
 a terrestrial paradise such a land must be, no Mrs. Grundy 
 extant ; she has always lived in all the streets I have inhab- 
 ited, and exercised full sway
 
 OF BOSTON. 223 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 To-morrow you take a poor dinner vrith me ; 
 No words I insist on 't precisely at three.' 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 One evening, after dinner with the Barclays, Mr. Egerton, 
 who had now become quite domesticated in their establish- 
 ment, that is, for him, arose to depart, for he never 
 remained in the evening, and solemnly invited the whole 
 family to dinner with him in one week from that time. Mr. 
 Barclay, quite taken aback, in a nautical way, accepted on 
 the spot, and would, probably, have done the same thing the 
 next day, so touched was he by this demonstration of good- 
 will from the pragmatical and inhospitable personage. As 
 this event occurred soon after Georgiana Barclay's restora- 
 tion to health, the kindness of this unwonted proceeding was 
 manifest, and it was evident that Mr. Egerton had decided 
 upon this grand experiment in his life from the most deli- 
 cate motives, decidedly wishing to evince to the whole 
 community his entire belief in the truth of I\Iiss Barclay's 
 melancholy story. 
 
 Mr. Egerton walked in solemn state round the assembled 
 friends, and personally requested the honor of Mrs. Ashley's 
 company and that of Mr. Richard Barclay. The lady gra- 
 ciously assented, and the gentleman did not decline, to the 
 utter amazement of his brother and sister, who were just as 
 much astonished at the invitation, as at its prompt accept- 
 ance. This ceremony completed, Mr. Egerton begged, as 
 a particularly personal favor, that Kate might be allowed to 
 join the party. At this proposition both her parents de-
 
 224 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 murred, pleading her youth, but on his strenuously persist- 
 ing, they consented. 
 
 No sooner did the assent fall upon the Dolly's enraptured 
 ears, than she rushed like wildfire out of the library, and 
 skipping up four stairs at a time, bounded into the nursery, 
 embracing Dame Bristow again and again, and then waltzed 
 round the room till she fell exhausted into a chair. 
 
 ' What is the matter, deary r ' cried Nursey. 
 
 'I'm invited to a dinner-party, Nursey. What do you 
 think Mary Redmond will say when she hears of it ? ' 
 
 With both hands upraised in wonder, Nursey Bristow 
 regarded her child for a long timq before she could re- 
 gain her speech, and inquire ' Where ? ' 
 
 'Guess, Nursey, guess; I'll give you one, two, three, 
 and even four hours to discover ; and you'll never do it 
 then.' 
 
 ' I can't wait, darling,' said that bewildered and worthy 
 woman ; ' I can't indeed. W^here can it be ? Who could 
 have been so silly as to ask such a child as you to a formal 
 dinner-party with grown-up people r 1 shall never guess, if 
 I go on forever ; so pray tell mc, that's a dear.' 
 
 ' Well then,' said the Dolly, rising from her recumbent 
 position with the most important air imaginable, and drawing 
 herself up to her utmost height, ' I am asked to dine with 
 the redoubtable Mr. Philip Egerton, Nursey mine.' 
 
 ' You'll never be permitted to go, deary.' 
 
 ' But I am already; and have obtained, not the unqualified 
 consent, to be sure, of both my respectable parents. Just 
 think of that, ma'am, as long as you please ; contemplate 
 the subject, Nursey, and revolve it over in your own per- 
 spicacious mind, please do.' 
 
 Nursey rolled up her old eyes over her spectacles, and 
 exclaimed, ' Well, well, miracles will never cease, my dar- 
 ling ; the world is certainly coming to an end.' 
 
 ' Not before we have had our grand dinner, I hope.'
 
 OF BOSTON. 225 
 
 * When did the old miser invite you, my child ? ' 
 
 ' Even just this minute, Nursey. I tore up to tell you, 
 I mean to say, walked up, now that I am bidden to feasts 
 and to sit at great men's boards.' 
 
 ' All, all invited ? ' asked Nursey. ' And Miss Georgy, 
 will she go ? ' 
 
 ' I hope and pray she may ; for, do you know, Nursey, 
 it's my private opinion that this grand and unheard-of de- 
 monstration is made in her honor quite entirely.' 
 
 Nursey agreed with her darling Completely, and felt the 
 attention. It would have hardly been one from any one 
 else but from Mr. Egerton, who had never been known to 
 give a dinner in his life it was extraordinary ! So Dame 
 Bristow resolved, mentally, never again to call Mr. Egerton 
 ' the old miser.' 
 
 ' Now, Nursey dear, what shall I wear to this grand ban- 
 quet ? ' asked the young romp, in a most excited manner. 
 * Oh dear ! how I wish ! ' 
 
 ' What's the use of wishing, deary, for any thing you've 
 not got ? for you know, perfectly well, your mother will 
 never allow you to wear any thing but a book-muslin.' 
 
 ' Oh ! now I do wish, Nursey, that all the book-muslins 
 in the world were at the bottom of the deep, deep sea. 
 What I, Miss Kate Barclay, do want, and am literally dying 
 for, is a magnificent Maria Louisa blue brocade, embroid- 
 ered with superb pomegranate blossoms, which I stood an 
 hour disobeying my mother, who charged me never to do 
 such things admiring at a shop-window in Washington 
 street. If I could but possess it ! Do you think, Nursey, 
 it was named after the charming Louisa of Prussia, or 
 that horrid Austrian woman, a disgrace to her sex, who 
 abandoned her husband, and left him to die alone on the 
 rock in the wide ocean ? ' 
 
 This being an historical doubt which Nursey was vmable 
 to solve, she only nodded her ignorance. 
 
 ' Do you think I can have it for this dinner ? '
 
 226 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ' I've already told you, Miss, that you can't. What ab- 
 surd nonsense for you to desire such a dress as that; its 
 positively ridiculous for you to think of it. You can't carry 
 it off; you're not old enough.' 
 
 ' Put me into it, Nurscy, and try me you'll see if I 
 can't.' 
 
 ' And it was very wrong of you, Miss, to stand staring 
 into shop-windows, when your mother forbade you to do so; 
 and as to its being for an hour, 1 don't believe a word of 
 that for how could y(*u keep still so long ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, never mind all that, Nursey dear : if I could but 
 have that dress, what a happy creature I should be. At any 
 rate, I must have some new ribbons for my sleeves and my 
 sash.' 
 
 ' Why, you've plenty of sashes, Miss.' 
 
 ' Yes ; but if I cannot be the ecstatic possessor of that 
 unsurpassed brocade, I must have ])omegranate-colored rib- 
 bons for my "bonnie brown hair." ' 
 
 'Your bonnie brown hair! Why, it's as black as a 
 crow's; and I was just thinking how very becoming would 
 be the long tails with the brocade.' 
 
 The Dolly, planting herself directly before Xursey, said : 
 ' Now, Nursey, you can't seriously imagine that I'm to 
 sport those two execrable Chinese appendages at my first 
 dhiner-party ! ' 
 
 ' Why not then, deary .' ' 
 
 ' Because I propose to obtain the royal permission that the 
 al om nable objectionablcs shall be disposed around my all- 
 beauteous pericranium like a coronal, Dame Bristow.' 
 
 ' A what ? ' demanded Nursey, extremely puzzled to 
 follow her birdling into her amazing Johnsonian flights. 
 
 ' Why, a crov.n imperial, Nursey ; in })lain ])arlance, I 
 mean they shall form a diadem. Who knous what inroads 
 t'>ey may make into ' the old miser's ' heart of Iiearls. I 
 can't help thinking I've made an impression even now, lie 
 was so urgent for my august presence at his festive board.
 
 OF BOSTON. 227 
 
 And then the ribbons ! Who knows, Nursey, what they 
 may do ? 
 
 " A pomegranate flower bear 
 In blossom to my love." ' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' cried Nursey, out of all patience ; ' your sisters 
 never ran on, Miss, in such a way. Why don't you take a 
 leaf out of their good books, and behave yourself. They 
 never gave your mother, or I, half the trouble you do, 
 we're both obliged to be eternally watching you.' 
 
 ' Well, well, I know all that, just as perfectly as you do ; 
 but then they " never loved, like Nathalie, her goosv, 
 poosy " and you know it. Now, what I ardently desire 
 is to coax you to coax my mother to issue a royal mandate, 
 that the hair which, but for your admirable management, 
 would never have been brought into order, you having 
 made things straight which were never intended so to be 
 shall be elevated to the top of my head, and never again 
 left to fall in straight lines. Hogarth's curved ones for me 
 forever ! Do you hear, Bristol inda r ' 
 
 ' Oh yes, I hear but don't believe she will consent.' 
 
 ' Now if you'll do but this one thing for me, I'll hug 
 all the breath out of your old body. How I wish the same 
 accident that occurred to poor Kachel Taylor might happen 
 to me. She and her mother bewailed it in dust and ashes, 
 and ate earth on the occasion.' 
 
 ' What was it ? ' inquired Nursey. 
 
 ' Oh ! she went to a panorama of something or other, 
 either of the Nile or a whaling voyage, I forget which ; and 
 vou know all such places are pokerishly dark " abysses 
 profound," and when she came out, her two magnificent 
 John Chinamen were missing. Some amiable philanthro- 
 pist I wish I could meet with him had despoiled her of 
 her hirsute possessions ; and how she mourned their loss, no 
 tongue can tell. Mrs. Taylor has not done fretting yet, and 
 never will until bounteous nature supplies the deficiency. 
 Now, I should have considered it a benevolent exploit on the
 
 228 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 part of the operator ; the mother took a totally different 
 view of the subject, and called him or her " a horrid thief." ' 
 
 ' It was a melancholy loss,' sighed Nursey. 
 
 ' Oh, I dare say you would never have got over the 
 calamity ; but please don't forget to broach my all-impor- 
 tant affair to my mother to-morrow morning betimes, dar- 
 ling.' So saying, she embraced Nursey tightly, and de- 
 scended to the library, six stairs at a time, and resumed 
 her accustomed seat. 
 
 ' Don't you begin to think,' said Mr. Barclay, ' that a 
 young lady who is bidden to banquets is too old to sit on 
 her father's knee, my Dolly ? ' 
 
 ' Suppose then that you put me down, my father; such a 
 positive case of abandonment may be imagined.' 
 
 This not being done, the conversation turned upon the 
 marvellous event of the invitation from Mr. Egcrton. Mrs. 
 Ashley declared she did not believe in it at all ; it was a 
 myth ; and if they really went, they should find it a Barme- 
 cide's feast, and then she inquired of Mr. Richard how he, 
 who had until lately eschewed the gentleman, should have 
 permitted himself to be seduced into a doubtful allegiance by 
 the first temptation of the arch seducer, Mr. Philip Egcrton.' 
 
 ' I think,' answered Mr. Richard, ' that my brother John 
 will explain this to you at some more convenient period. I 
 am free to confess that I have much mollified my recent 
 opinions touching that gentleman, even to the acceptance of 
 a dinner, and actually went the length of calling upon him 
 formally last week.' 
 
 ' This is quite marvellous,' resumed the lady ; ' but I re- 
 main still doubtful respecting the banquet.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you would be more credulous if you had listen- 
 ed to a short interlude I enjoyed with Mr. Egcrton,' said 
 Mrs. Barclay, 'just before our own meal to-day, when he 
 consulted me anent about his projected hospitalities, and, 
 moreover, invited me ; thus I was the first person asked.' 
 
 * We shall see ! ' said Mrs. Ashley, * and seeing is believ-
 
 OF BOSTON. 229 
 
 ing, though I have even heard obstinate persons declare it 
 was not.' 
 
 ' Why should not Mr. Egerton give a dinner ? ' inquired 
 Mr. Barclay. 
 
 ' Because he never has,' replied the lady. 
 
 ' There exists no reason why he should not begin to adopt 
 hospitable and pleasant ways, even at the last hour,' said 
 Mr, Barclay. 
 
 ' I confess to an unusual proportion of curiosity,' said Mrs. 
 Ashley, 'about this forthcoming repast, and would willingly 
 have renounced all my future engagements for the chance 
 of fulfilling this one, and am really glad he asked me. How 
 I shall surprise all my friends, when I can say, carelessly, I 
 dined on such a day with Mr. Egerton, and we had thus 
 and so ; and shall astonish them quite as much as when I 
 mention my elephant, which I keep in petto for grand occa- 
 sions.' 
 
 ' Now, dear Mrs. Ashley, pray tell us of your forest 
 friend,' said Georgiana ; ' I think I never heard you mention 
 this before.' 
 
 ' When I was in Geneva, in Switzerland,' said the lady, 
 * there came down a man from Paris to that curious old 
 town, with Mademoiselle Djeck, the elephant, whom I be- 
 lieve had figured in this country also. After exhibiting her 
 ladyship a few weeks, the keeper ran away, and left her to 
 the tender mercies of the authorities, and remarkably tender 
 they were ; they're a saving people, the Genevese, They 
 ordered her to be placed in a dry ditch under the ramparts 
 of that locked-up .city ; but finding she consumed an im- 
 mense quantity of food, they decided to slay her, for econo- 
 my's sake. This was accordingly done, and her flesh sold 
 in the market-place, and most eagerly purchased ; and will 
 you believe me, I tasted a tiny bit, that I might astonish peo- 
 ple when they were boasting of having eaten odd things, 
 just for a show-off.' 
 20
 
 230 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ' How did you relish your tempting morsel ? ' inquired 
 Grace. 
 
 ' Not much,' answered Mrs. Ashley ; ' it tasted like coarse 
 beef. I was soon, however, at a large dinner party, com- 
 posed of natives of various lands, and many of them great 
 travellers ; they were all narrating their numerous experi- 
 ences in gastronomy. One had eaten buffalo, one snails, 
 another Chinese dogs, &c. ; but I distanced them all by 
 gravely avowing my own experiment. You should have 
 seen how they looked at me ! They were quite mortified at 
 being eclipsed by a woman, and thought me an ogress 
 besides.' 
 
 ' Not a very frightful one, at least,' said Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 ' Now,' resumed Mrs. Ashley, ' perceiving I have made 
 an impression, I shall depart ; but must add that, some time 
 afterwards, I met a Genevese surgeon, who assisted at the 
 massacre of the big innocent. Mademoiselle Djeck, and he 
 informed me that nothing could have been more afiecting 
 than her execution. At flrst, the soldiers who were employ- 
 ed to destroy her, missed fire, and the poor animal, suppos- 
 ing this to be the word of command her late master was in 
 the habit of using, actually went down on her knees to be 
 killed. Of one thing I am perfectly sure, I should not have 
 tasted the morsel of her flesh, had I heard this account before 
 it was offered to me. So good-night, my friends.' 
 
 Mrs. Ashley departed. ' What a pleasant person she is ! ' 
 said Grace, ' always having some amusing reminiscence.' 
 
 ' She is a remarkable instance,' observed Mrs. Barclay, 
 ' of what may be done, with a good temper, kind heart, keen 
 eyesight and retentive memory. There are many women, 
 vastly better educated in every sense of the word, who are 
 not half so companionable or agreeable. Mrs. Ashley never 
 gives us any strong-minded looks, and really entertains a 
 rather inferior opinion of her own abilities, as such ; but 
 what she has seen she remembers and describes most agree- 
 ably. Mrs. Ashley is neither any great reader of solidities.
 
 OF BOSTON. 231 
 
 but as we have so many who devote profound attentions to 
 incomprehensibilities, it matters not.' 
 
 ' I'll defy any of the class you refer to,' said Mr. Richard, 
 ' to use a longer word than that; but I observed, my dear 
 Georgiana, a decided negative in your expressive face when 
 Mr. Egerton invited you. Please accept, I pray.' 
 
 ' I cannot indeed, my dear Uncle Richard.' 
 
 ' I must not hear you say this, Gcorgy ; there are many 
 considerations which will arise in j'our mind, on reflection, 
 and induce you to change your opinion, I hope.' 
 
 ' Say yes, my child,' said Mr. Barclay, ' and confer a 
 favor on your mother and myself, as well as your Uncle 
 Richard.' 
 
 Georgy not being proof against these entreaties, consented. 
 
 ' Now you are all in the mood of granting melting peti- 
 tions,' said the Dolly, ' do please let my Chinese tails be 
 gracefully disposed around my brainless head on that mo- 
 mentous occasion. I 've hardly heard a word of the con- 
 versation this evening, for thinking of being obligated to 
 wear them hanging, dingle-dangle, to my first dinner-party. 
 All the energies of my being are concentrated in the obtain- 
 ing of this one favor, and its denial will make me unutter- 
 ably wretched ; so relieve me of my weight of woe, I pray.' 
 
 Both Mr. and Mrs. Barclay laughed heartily at the Dolly's 
 ' ]Misery of human life,' and promised that she should be 
 gratified, and, even more, that she might ask Nursey 
 Bristow to commence operations the next day, so that the 
 offending elongations might be brought into proper order 
 before the dinner, the permission extending no further. So 
 the Dolly retired to her dormitory, and nearly annihilated 
 Nursey in her ecstasies of delight at the completion of her 
 wishes ; fell fast asleep, and dreamed they were cut off, 
 and awoke, crying heartily because they were not.
 
 232 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 ' Now each mechanical man 
 
 Hath a cupboard of plate for show, 
 Which was a rare thing 
 "When this old cap was new.' 
 
 Old Ball\u. 
 
 The next morning, after his dinner at Mr. Barclay's, Mr. 
 Egerton propounded to Mrs. Sanderson his intention of 
 giving to Miss Barclay a grand feast ; and this information 
 was imparted in such a solemn manner, that it occasioned 
 a vast degree of astonishment in the person to whom it was 
 addressed. But if the lady was amazed, her servants' de- 
 light was unbounded. As the conversation occurred at 
 breakfast, Peter heard it almost unbelievingly, but never- 
 theless ran out, as soon as he had finished his service, and 
 cried out, ' Oh, Miss Dinah, ]\Iassa's goin' to gib a hightop 
 dinner a Bethazzar's feast to all the bigwigs; noffin 
 was ever like it, or ever will be again. Do you hear, ole 
 woman? Why don't you answer?' Peter might well ask 
 this question, for the cook was speechless. In time, how- 
 ever, she regained her voice, and poured forth such a volley 
 of questions ! ' Who was coming ? What were they to 
 have to eat ? and last, not least. What was she in the varsal 
 world to do ? How could she ever manage a grand din- 
 ner ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! nebber give yourself any concern whatsomdever in 
 this matter, Miss Dinah ; you're not to touch the dinner. 
 I heerd my ]\Iassa say the great Miss Thompson was to be 
 sent for, and the great 3Ir. John Leander Pitts with all his
 
 OF BOSTON. 233 
 
 men. I tell you, ole woman, I thought I should drop down 
 right back of my Massa's chair, I'se so glad and so proud 
 the ole house is to be opened agin. I nebber spected to see 
 any more grand company here, Miss Dinah. Oh ! the good 
 ole times ! ' 
 
 Peter, like all his race, was excessively fond of society, 
 of feasts and gay shows, and this unexpected event had 
 actually turned his old head, as he declared, ' insidout.' 
 Miss Dinah's mind, being happily relieved from the Ata- 
 lantean weight of a grand dinner, could take in Peter's 
 rhapsodies very comfortably ; but it was in vain for her to 
 attempt to follow him in all his flights which were accom- 
 panied with the cracking of his fingers, and a touch of heel 
 and toe, as he recounted the glories of old Massa's time. 
 
 If there were commotion in the kitchen, there was also 
 excitement in Mrs. Sanderson's quarters, for she began 
 precisely as did the Dolly, with wishing she had something 
 to wear befitting the occasion. It was not exactly a Maria 
 Louisa brocade, embroidered with pomegranate blossoms, 
 but still a dress was required. She immediately occupied 
 herself in overlooking her long-forgotten finery, and was 
 surprised to discover many beautiful articles which had 
 been lying hidden in divers coffers. Mrs. Sanderson's young 
 husband had always admired pretty things on women, and 
 had more than surpassed his small means in making ex- 
 pensive purchases for her, which, as he was laughingly 
 wont to say, was throwing away his money, for she never 
 wore them more than once. In truth, they were altogether 
 too elegant for her small establishment, yet she could never 
 bear to tell him this, and accepted them in the same gracious 
 spirit in which they were presented. 
 
 There was one dress, an emerald green velvet, a great 
 favorite of his, lying in its folds, as fresh as the day it was 
 purchased, and as men, when they buy women's gear, al- 
 ways get yards and yarda too much, she soon had the waist 
 20*
 
 234 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 and' sleeves remodelled, and it turned out, as it really was, 
 most beautiful and very becoming. 
 
 Peter and Dinah recommenced operations instanter, and 
 cleaned over and over again all the plate in the house. The 
 massive chests on being opened, revealed such treasures ! 
 and such a magnificent display as was made of things that 
 had not seen the light for years, quite beggars description ! 
 Then Dinah carried tubs and tubs of hot water into the 
 china closet, and washed its contents, as if they had never 
 been touched before. 
 
 But this china-closet demands a special notice. In the 
 first place, it should have been denominated a cabinet, so 
 ample were its dimensions, and so rare and costly its con- 
 tents ; in fact, the sight of it was sufficient to drive a col- 
 lector of curiosities quite mad, and to arouse all manner of 
 envious feelings in the breasts of porcelain hunters. Every 
 variety of the old burnt china, so valuable even in its own 
 land, the curiously cracked, with the rare colors, and the 
 transparent biscuit were all there. Whole sets of these, sepa- 
 rately arranged, many of them with the arms and initials of 
 the family, graced the broad shelves, interspersed with 
 green dragons and blue cats. There were dinner services 
 innumerable and tea to match, and such superb desserts ! 
 In fact, there was no end of the beauty and value of these 
 treasures. Now, it cannot be truthfully asserted that the 
 presiding guardian of this closet. Miss Dinah, was aware of 
 their intrinsic worth, but they were, nevertheless, her house- 
 hold gods, for had they not belonged to 'ole Massa!' and 
 no care that she could bestow upon them was sufiicient. 
 Whenever she was missing, Peter always declared she 
 would be found in that ' china-closet,' a-cleaning the crock- 
 ery. 
 
 The eventful and long wished-for day arrived for the 
 feast. Mr. John Leandor Pitts walked into the dining-room, 
 with his men, and Mrs. Thompson stalked into the kitchen. 
 She found every thing in order for her operations, and the
 
 OF BOSTON. 235 
 
 great John Leander stood, spell-bound, before the above- 
 mentioned wonders of porcelain which Peter exhibited in the 
 most vain-glorious manner, inquiring eveiy two minutes, ' if 
 he had ever set his two ole eyes upon de like ; ' which John 
 Leander was fain to confess, much against his will, he never 
 had. 
 
 At five of the clock the guests were assembled punctu- 
 ally. They were ushered, with all manner of indescribable 
 scrapes and bows, by Peter, into the library, which served for 
 the time as a cloak-room, and thereby was avoided the disa- 
 greeable necessity of mounting flights of stairs, which uni- 
 versally exists in American city houses. To persons enter- 
 taining a pious horror of the treadmill, this is a serious 
 objection to all the parties given. Then Peter marshalled 
 the company into the best parlor, which, it cannot be denied, 
 was quite as stiff and formal, though not so cheerless and 
 cold as usual. 
 
 The half hour before dinner is proverbially stupid, and 
 this was no exception to the general rule. The imperfect 
 light, from a blazing fire in the grate, sei'ved to give flicker- 
 ing glimpses of the assemblage, and the rather low and 
 whispered tones, in which a sort of meteorological conver- 
 sation was held, was rather appalling, and then the chairs 
 and tables nailed to the wall, nobody daring to move a seat, 
 it looked so forbidding. 
 
 The Dolly, in a white book-muslin, with pomegranate- 
 colored ribbons in her sleeves, and such a love of a sash, 
 and above all, the Chinese tails bound around her well-turned 
 head in magnificent profusion, really looked very pretty; 
 but then she wished herself, in that solemn interval, fairly 
 at home, with Nursey Bristow and her pet kitten, at least 
 fifty times. All things come to an end, dreary and other- 
 wise, and Peter entering with a magnificent low bow, which 
 he had practised before one of the large mirrors, many a 
 time, and which was unfortunately lost in the obscurity, 
 announced dinner. Then came a change indeed, a blaze of
 
 236 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 lights, exquisite flowers, and such cut-glass and old plate as 
 decorated the board, the latter of such rare workmanship 
 and splendor as attracted all eyes. Tongues were then let 
 loose in their natural tones, and the genial influence of the 
 scene produced a corresponding feeling. The party con- 
 sisted of Mr. Barclay, his wife, and three daughters, Gerald 
 Sanderson, his mother, Mr. Richard Barclay, Mrs. Ashley, 
 Mr. Meredith, a young clergyman, Mr. Naseby, Mr. Rose- 
 velt, an officer in the navy, and Mr. and Mrs.' Gordon, and 
 their daughter Clara, and her eldest brother. 
 
 When the guests had found their places, which were indi- 
 cated by a small card in each plate, Mr. Egerton requested 
 Mr. Meredith to say grace, when there fell upon their pleased 
 ears such a voice, so musical in its tones, and which, once 
 heard, it was impossible to forget. Indeed, Peter, in giving 
 to Dinah a glowing description of Mr. Meredith, reported his 
 voice to bo ' the Melodeon of the spears.' There was at 
 once undisguised admiration expressed for the old plate and 
 china, Mrs. Gordon declaring herself really tempted to be 
 envious at the sight. All this praise was not unacceptable 
 to the host ; he certainly quite prided himself upon these 
 among his abundant possessions, for there was a different 
 service for each course. 
 
 The Dolly found herself seated next the Rev. Mr. Mere- 
 dith, who, addressing to her some slight remarks, was ex- 
 tremely amused at her answers, and became quite interested 
 in his young neighbor. The Dolly informed him that this 
 was her very first appearance at a dinner-party ; that she 
 could hardly conceive how she had been permitted to enjoy 
 such an exquisite pleasure by her father and mother, and 
 she was vastly obliged to them ; that at first she had found she 
 must acknowledge the best parlor odious, and wished herself 
 at home; but now, every thing being changed, she should 
 like to remain until midnight. That this was a very natural 
 young lady the gentleman soon perceived, but lie entertained 
 rather a decided prejudice for her class, there being so many
 
 OF BOSTON. 237 
 
 little men and women about. It was indeed refreshing to 
 meet with a child, though rather a tall one ; so he asked her 
 many questions and received satisfactory answers, enlighten- 
 ing him with her own little history. The Dolly was enchanted 
 with her companion ; for he did not regard skating in the 
 court-yard a sin, any more than the proprietorship of a 
 sled, and most particularly liked dogs, though he did not 
 equally affect kittens. 
 
 Mr. Naseby sat next to Miss Georgy Barclay, and mis- 
 taking her as usual for her sister. Miss Grace, whispered 
 in her ears all manner of soft nothings, in his would-be 
 mellifluous tones ; she, adhering to the old fashion of never 
 disabusing her sister's devoted swain. There seemed no end 
 to the blunders he committed. He invited Mrs. Gordon to 
 drink wine with him, calling her, in the most pointed manner, 
 Mrs. Ashley, of which mistake the lady mischievously made 
 him cognisant ; he then upset a glass of claret over Miss 
 Georgy's dress, which, not being white book-muslin, was 
 irreparable. Then, in endeavoring ineffectually to remove 
 this injury, he dropped his napkin, and, in reaching for it, 
 tipped over and lost his eye-glass. These little playful 
 occurrences rather diverted his attention, for a time, from 
 the suppositious ladye-love at his side ; but he shortly over- 
 came these misadventures, and returned to the charge with 
 renewed vigor. Gerald sat opposite to Georgy Barclay, 
 and contented himself with looking at her whenever he 
 thought she did not perceive him. He had been invited to 
 meet his friends very unexpectedly, and gladly availed him- 
 self of the permission, and also made himself generally 
 agreeable. 
 
 The grand dinner was very successful ; a pleasant flow 
 of chat and thought pervaded it. Mr. Egerton was, assur- 
 edly, not a person to give an impetus to pleasurable things, 
 but he really did make astounding efforts at unbending and 
 unstarching upon this occasion. With the fruit appeared 
 the host's invaluable specimens of porcelain. Mrs. Barclay,
 
 238 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 examining her plate, said, ' I never comprehended the great 
 value of this china until I went to Europe. We are all 
 surrounded, in this country, by such quantities of the mate- 
 rial, and, accustomed to see it from our childhood, we 
 really do not appreciate it as we should, until we behold 
 what a value is set upon it across the water.' 
 
 ' Women are china-fanciers ever,' said Mr. Barclay, ' and 
 mistress of herself when china falls, has been poetically 
 stated to be the highest point of excellence in your sex.' 
 
 ' Yes,' she replied, ' by a bachelor, but you surely remem- 
 ber the tiny cup and saucer which I showed you in Dresden, 
 where it had just been sold for five-and-twenty dollars. I 
 began then to think myself very rich, with a couple of 
 dozen.' 
 
 Mr. Richard Barclay interposed to declare, ' There was 
 no comparison between the French and Chinese, the former 
 being incomparably superior.' This leading to a discussion 
 on the different degrees of excellence of various countries 
 in the article, JMr. Rosevelt and Mr. Meredith slipped in, 
 agreeably enough, many interesting anecdotes. Mr. ^Icre- 
 dith laughed heartily when the Dolly, totally forgetting 
 his clerical position, invited him, jestingly, to conceal a 
 remarkable bit in his pocket for her, declaring, that when 
 a little child, half her pleasure in having a nice thing, con- 
 sisted in stowing it away in a receptacle of the same sort. 
 3Irs. Ashley, seated on the left hand of Mr. Egcrton, was 
 gay and chatty, and Mrs. Sanderson seemed almost to recall 
 the days of her past happiness in such engaging and con- 
 genial society. 
 
 A dinncr-parfy is cither insufferably stupid or very agree- 
 able, there is no medium ; a chance discussion, light and 
 flowing, like the one related, often breaks the ice, and, set- 
 ting all tongues in motion, leads to other things of more 
 importance. Mr. Egerton's china effected this pleasant 
 purpose, and his guests enjoyed themselves exceedingly. 
 When the ladies retired their host arose, and in his grandest
 
 OF BOSTON. ^ 239 
 
 and most imposing manner, bowed them out of the dining- 
 room, and then Mrs. Sanderson invited them into her own 
 apartments. 
 
 On entering her sitting-room, Mrs. Ashley who had 
 dreaded ' the best parlor' quite as much as the Dolly hav- 
 ing established herself in a comfortable lounge, exclaimed, 
 ' What a charming room ! home is written all over it in 
 golden characters books, music, drawing, flowers and 
 knicknackeries, and then so quiet and retired ! I absolutely 
 adore these old houses, they are so large and commodious ; 
 my own little dwelling seems quite a wren-box.' 
 
 ' Had you not better compare it to a musical box, dear 
 Mrs. Ashley ? ' said Grace. 
 
 ' You're a flatterer ! ' answered the lady. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said Mrs. Sanderson, ' the old house is but an 
 heir-loom, and melancholy enough has it been to me these 
 latter years. Were it not for this part of it, I know not 
 what I should have done, or my dear children cither.' 
 
 ' These rooms must have been a resource,' said Mrs. 
 Gordon, ' for, to speak frankly, the rest is gloomy enough ; 
 we have had a gay dinner to-day, but generally, I should 
 imagine, you would find it, Mrs. Sanderson, a little bit dull.' 
 
 ' Most truly do I find it gloomy,' replied the lady. 
 
 ' What a beautiful dress you have on, Mrs. Sanderson,' 
 said the Dolly, ' it's almost as handsome as a brocade I saw 
 the other day.' 
 
 ' It is, indeed,' said her mother, ' and recalls to my mind 
 a modern Italian picture of great merit, in Florence, of 
 Tasso reading to Leonore his own poems. The princess 
 wears a dress of emerald green, and I was so enamored 
 of it that I resolved to purchase one exactly similar, when, 
 suddenly, I recollected my unlucky complexion, and that 
 like the milkmaid, in the story-book green would be 
 positively unbecoming to me. Now, for you, Mrs. San- 
 derson, the hue is charming.' 
 
 ' This reminds me of an anecdote about myself,' said
 
 240 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Mrs. Ashley. ' I happened to tell a young lady, one day, 
 that on seeing a new fashion, for the first time, I could 
 generally trace it to some picture of the old masters I had 
 beheld abroad, so she reported, that Mrs. Ashley said she 
 always dressed herself after all the old pictures. Heaven 
 help me, how I should look ! But I shall assuredly never 
 forget my first visit to the Borghese Palace in Rome, when, 
 being accompanied by a very handsome young man, and a 
 most prim and antiquated damsel from our Quaker city of 
 Philadelphia, we suddenly found ourselves in a small room, 
 containing fourteen Venuses, in Mount Olympus disarray, 
 all having been entirely oblivious of sublunary garments 
 save one and she had donned, for the occasion, a Spanish 
 hat and feathers. You may well imagine that we beat a 
 speedy retreat. My ancient friend's steps were very zig- 
 zaggish, indeed. She came extremely near unto fainting, 
 and solemnly entreated, that no "pretty young fellows" 
 might ever again accompany us in our explorations.' 
 
 ' My husband,' said Mrs. Sanderson, ' had an English 
 friend, who would never accept a story however good it 
 it might be singly. He persisted in receiving pairs of 
 ear-rings, he called them. Now, I think I can give you a 
 pendant, Mrs. Ashley, for your young Miss, with her pecu- 
 liar ideas of costume. Mrs. Reginald Gardiner, whom you 
 know, was one day very politely asked, how she could 
 wear pink ribbons, at her advanced time of life, (Amer- 
 ican fashion;) and she very prettily replied, "I have an 
 old apple-tree in my 'wee bit garden' in New York, 
 which puts forth pink blossoms every revolving year, and 
 I shall wear my cap-trimmings of those roseate colors, 
 just so long as my dear old tree continues to bloom." A 
 few days afterwards comes a lady to Mrs. Gardiner, and 
 says, " Oh ! I heard such a charming speech of yours." 
 " Pray what was it ? " " Oh ! I heard you said you had an 
 old apple-tree in your garden, and had all your caps 
 made precisely like it." '
 
 OF BOSTON. 241 
 
 Mrs. Sanderson, in showing some rare gems, led the 
 ladies to speak of diamonds, when Mrs. Barclay jestingly- 
 declared she never wished to wear less than fifty thousand 
 dollars' worth. 
 
 ' Very modest indeed in your pretensions ! ' said Mrs. 
 Ashley. 
 
 ' You may laugh, if you please,' said Mrs. Barclay, 
 * but I assure you, nothing looks so mean to me as a few 
 diamonds. I saw women in Europe wearing diamonds to 
 the amount of half a million of dollars, who did not seem 
 to be overloaded ; other precious stones in the same quan- 
 tity would be perfectly frightful. Jesting apart, however, 
 and always excepting heir-looms, I think the spending of 
 money in such things, in our country, every way absurd. 
 I like harmony in arrangements, domestic and otherwise, 
 and think the unities should be preserved ; and confess it 
 would grieve me excessively, to be obliged to take off ten 
 thousand dollars' worth of diamonds, and descend into my 
 Plutonian regipn the kitchen to lard a partridge, and 
 compound a Bavarian cream which many a time and oft 
 I have been obliged to do, in the interregnum created by 
 the sudden and causeless outgoing of one high and contend- 
 tending priestess of the culinary art, and the incoming of 
 another.' 
 
 -'A crabbed old man,' said ]Mrs. Gordon, 'once told me 
 that our women, when they congregated together, never 
 talked of any thing but dress and servants ; so, fortunately, 
 here come the gentlemen to their tea.' 
 
 They entered, and music in which Mrs. Sanderson 
 joined inviting Grace Barclay to preside at the tea-table, 
 in her stead, whiled away the time until Peter, with a sublime 
 bow, which, on that occasion, was not lost for lack of light, 
 announced the carriages; and thus ended Mr. Philip Eger- 
 ton's grand dinner. 
 
 21
 
 242 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 ' What call'st thou solitude ? Is not the earth, 
 With various living creatures of the air, 
 Replenish'd, and all those at thy command, 
 To come and play before thee?' 
 
 MiLTOX. 
 
 The evening succeeding Mr. Egerton's dinner Mrs. Ashley 
 came, as she declared, to talk it over. iMr. Rosevelt and 
 the Rev. Mr. Meredith both presented themselves, and also 
 Mrs. Gordon and her daughter. They v/cre all professing 
 the pleasure they had enjoyed in their visit to the bachelor, 
 when Miss Tidmarsh and Miss Redmond joined the circle. 
 These two ladies had heard of the unwonted proceedings at 
 'the old miser's,' things are circulated rapidly in Boston, 
 and the two damsels were dying of curiosity to know if 
 Mr. Egerton's guests had actually seen any edibles at all; 
 a question they had permitted themselves to moot in various 
 places. And they were really made very uncomfortable, 
 for the Dolly had intense satisfaction, which she openly 
 avowed, in making them almost expire of envy at not having 
 been present, and filled their unwilling ears with an entire 
 and complete description of the glories of the plate, the 
 splendor of the porcelain, and the super-excellence of the 
 dinner, and gaiety of the party. Miss Serena, not being 
 able to contradict this statement in the presence of so many 
 eye-witnesses, responded with rather incredulous ohs and 
 ahs. Getting weary of hearing praises bestowed, lauda- 
 tions of any kind being positively hateful to her, she 
 turned lier attention to the gentlemen, or, as she was pleased
 
 OF BOSTON. 243 
 
 to call them, the beaux. Now if it had not been for tlie 
 chance of seeing those beaux, she would never have crossed 
 the threshold of Mrs. Barclay's doors. 
 
 The gentlemen were very ungrateful, not paying any 
 regard to her amiable advances, or evincing any admiration 
 of her bare and knobbed shoulders. Miss Serena always 
 looked like a person pinched with the cold, and that evening 
 more than ever ; and if she wore this guise at the Barclays, 
 who were noted for the warmth of their dwelling, how did 
 Miss Serena appear in cooler latitudes ? It afterwards 
 transpired, through Clara Gordon, that Mr. Rosevelt had 
 asked her this same question. Nothing abashed by her 
 total want of success, Miss Serena changed her scat, and 
 entered into conversation, if the bald and disjointed sentences 
 she uttered could be so denominated, with IMiss Gordon ; 
 thereby interrupting a degree of intercourse between her 
 and Mr. Rosevelt, which appeared to her to be altogether 
 too interesting to the parties. This was a plan the amiable 
 Serena invariably adopted and thoroughly enjoyed, being 
 one too many, a thing all the world exceedingly dreads and 
 avoids. 
 
 Finding she made no impression on the handsome young 
 naval officer, she moved towards Mrs. Barclay, and began 
 informing her she thought it extremely probable that Mr. 
 Naseby was about to be engaged to Jane Redmond, and 
 inquired what she thought of the match. Mrs. Barclay 
 answered, she was always glad to hear of happiness any 
 where, and of matrimonial engagements when they were 
 officially announced, but permitted herself to give no opin- 
 ions whatever upon mere conjectural reports. Which answer 
 Miss Tidmarsh translated, after her own peculiar fashion, to 
 mean, that the lady was very angry at the report, hoping 
 to secure Mr. Naseby for one of her own daughters, and 
 bored every one she met with her own malicious construc- 
 tions. Georgy and Grace never very well knew what to 
 do with Jane Redmond, for she regularly contradicted all
 
 24 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 their assertions, however incontrovertible they might be; 
 and as she was older than they, she regarded them in a 
 remarkably inferior light, and took no pains Avhatever to 
 conceal her opinions. They generally proposed music as a 
 safety-valve, and, as she played well and liked to be invited, 
 they contrived to get on smoothly. They sometimes did wish, 
 it must be avowed, that Miss Redmond had not the right to 
 come and go at her pleasure in their father's house, but a 
 friendship of long standing had existed between Mr. Barclay 
 and Mr. Redmond, who, however he might forget the rest 
 of his friends and acquaintances, never neglected his college 
 chum. Mrs. Barclay had long desired to renounce all but 
 formal intercourse with her two neighbors, and would have 
 done so, but for the other members of their respective 
 families, and was glad to find that her daughters liked 
 neither Jane or Serena any better than she did herself. 
 When the music was finished, the twain, having drank a 
 cup of tea each, and seasoned them with a little scandal, 
 retired, leaving behind them, as usual, a disagreeable im- 
 pression. 
 
 It being just then the moment, there was always a myste- 
 rious signal given to the Dolly by Nursey Bristow that her 
 hour had arrived to depart, she made her salutations and 
 left the room. A second ensued, when she re-appeared, 
 having jerked her shoulders entirely out of her frock, and 
 brought her long hair into precisely the fashion of Miss 
 Tidmarsh's head gear; she sailed into the room, dipping 
 and bowing, and then curtseyed herself out backwards, in 
 Miss Serena's best style. So perfect was the imitation, that 
 every one was convulsed with laughter, except her mother, 
 who never encouraged any of these proceedings. 
 
 ' She is perfectly incorrigible,' said Mvs. Barclay. 
 
 'Impossible not to laugh,' cried Mr. Richard, 'I wonder 
 how you can look so grave, Catherine.' 
 
 But the lady addressed looked graver still, and the Uolly 
 was well lectured the next morning ; but, somehow, though
 
 OF BOSTON. 245 
 
 she prpfessed to be sorry for her misdemeanors, and really 
 was, she was constantly in the habit of commencing a fresh 
 score. 
 
 ' Surely,' said Mrs. Barclay to her husband when their 
 guests had departed, ' I have been spoiled by Georgy and 
 Grace, for Kate gives me more trouble in one week, than 
 they ever did in their natural lives, in these small matters. 
 I wish, John, you would not laugh at her, she is greatly 
 encouraged by your mirth.' 
 
 ' How can I help it ? ' replied Mr. Barclay, laughingly, 
 ' the imitation was so perfect.' 
 
 'Ah! ' said his wife, 'you will spoil that child, John.' 
 
 ' Girls bear spoiling remarkably well,' answered he. 
 
 The next evening Mrs. Sanderson and Gerald made their 
 appearance. This was her first visit, and she had preferred 
 to make it informal, rather than ceremonious. She came, 
 she said, to thank them for their kindness in honoring the 
 old house with their cheering and agreeable presence, and 
 she also brought her brother's acknowledgments, who, but 
 for a cold, would have presented them himself. 
 
 iNfrs. Sanderson was greeted with great cordiality, and 
 before the evening was half finished, she had lamented she 
 had not paid this visit years before. Georgy and Grace 
 conducted her into the conservatory, and, once there, en- 
 joyed a charming chat respecting their mutual favorites, the 
 flowers and birds. She was much delighted with the taste 
 displayed in the arrangements, and afterwards joined them 
 in duets and some concerted pieces of music, and played 
 admirably. 
 
 I\Ir. Richard was extremely attentive and courteous to her, 
 and Gerald followed all their movements with his eyes. 
 What contentment did he not experience in beholding his 
 beloved mother once more entering into a little society, and 
 communing with kindred spirits ! Hopeless as was his own 
 case, and wretched as he must ever be, for thus youth 
 always exaggerates, he still could feel great interest in his 
 21*
 
 246 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 parent's welfare, and was overjoyed that a prospect of change 
 and variety was opening to her in an intercourse with this 
 charmintT familv. Gerald had, since the abandonment of 
 the dream-land in which he had been enthralled, experi- 
 enced many unpleasant hours, in addition to his other 
 perplexities, on the subject of his mother's total seclusion. 
 Mrs. Sanderson was a great reader, it was true, and she 
 also possessed many accomplishments, but there is nothing 
 like a collision with one's fellows, to rub off the dust collect- 
 ed in the brain by solitude and clear away its cobwebs. We 
 are too prone to overrate our own individual importance 
 when we live alone, to magnify the value of our own opinions, 
 and also to think ill of a world into which we never enter. 
 
 Gerald Sanderson had eaten of this bitter fruit, in his 
 early seclusion ; his own soul was filled with poignant re- 
 morse, that, but for his own insane folly, the woman he 
 adored might have been spared a life of misery. He 
 beheld her battling with her destiny, and bearing, with a 
 martyr's fortitude, her cross, while, again and again, he 
 reiterated, in agonized despair, 'This, this is my work.' 
 These sad reflections made him all the more anxious that his 
 mother, now that her sons were unavoidably separated from 
 her by their occupations and pursuits, should gradually be 
 alienated from her recluse habits of existence, and he hailed 
 with delight the vista of a pleasant social life now pre- 
 sented. 
 
 Zimmermann has written a thick volume on the charms of 
 solitude, and has finished by avowing and confessing that we 
 must all have some one person to whom we can exclaim, 
 How charming is this solitude ! An old author has said, 
 quaintly enough, ' The mind requires dusting, and, as this is 
 a process we are not inclined to perform ourselves, it must 
 naturally enough be done by others.' The world is a much 
 better place than its scorncrs imagine, who, peeping out 
 from the loop-holes of their disagreable retreats, scowl and 
 rail at its inhabitants, and covering them with the panoply
 
 OF BOSTON. 247 
 
 of their own virtuous indignation, bedeck them with all 
 imaginable and unimaginable vices. That we are not wholly 
 good, or wholly bad, is most true, unmitigated villains being 
 rare. It assuredly behooves these patterns of excellence, 
 who believe they possess all ' the cakes and ale ' to come 
 forth and suffer themselves to be admired, as, at present, 
 they are hardly even desired. 
 
 It is pretty well conceded now, that, to do good and effect 
 beneficial reforms, pleasant faces and cheerful voices are 
 required; the reign of the sour-visaged and dingy saints has 
 passed away, and forever ; the present generation must be 
 lured into straight- forward paths, not coerced and driven. 
 The modern brothers and sisters of charity must don no 
 conventional and gloomy garb; 'they must insinuate them- 
 selves In cheerful garments, into the hearts and souls of 
 their converts, bit by bit ; long homilies are out of the ques- 
 tion ; no one, in our ever curiously busy land, having time 
 to listen to a second chapter, not to even mention, a forty- 
 ninth. 
 
 Many of the people, most inclined to do good, commit 
 the grand mistake of forgetting that a mighty page has 
 been turned over in this last century and added to the great 
 volume of the universe, and that gentler handling is requir- 
 ed. To those who have looked on, and added their own 
 small mite to the general welfare, this has become a self- 
 evident fact. In these times children are made to do many 
 pleasant things, not precisely duties, by cheerful precepts 
 and examples which were unknown to our rigid forefathers. 
 A milder and more genial race has succeeded to a sterner 
 one, but there is yet much to be done. All duties should 
 be rationally enforced, but the pleasant amenities of life 
 mav be very much cultivated in a cheerful atmosphere. 
 The children of the poor, particularly, maybe taught 'to look 
 through nature up to nature's God,' and allowed occasional 
 glimpses of the beautiful things which He has provided 
 for mankind, with great advantage to themselves and the
 
 248 THE BAUCLAYS 
 
 rich; thereby bringing them together in closer bonds, and 
 breaking down the iron barriers which separate them. 
 
 On becoming more acquainted with Mrs. Sanderson, Mrs. 
 BarcUiy counselled her to interest herself in some of the 
 charitable institutions with which Boston abounds ; she being 
 a person who required to be aroused, and to have other 
 thoughts directed into useful channels, and for these, 
 societies are great blessings. The lady, agreeing with her 
 adviser, promptly set herself to work, and became thereby 
 obligated to bestir herself, and was consequently much 
 happier than she had ever been. She found these institutions 
 demanded both care and much time, and she was induced 
 to devote a portion of her leisure to them. These things 
 also brought her into connection with many deserving per- 
 sons, whom she had not before known, and extended her 
 several relations and sympathies. 
 
 Gerald encouraged his mother in all her little plans and 
 projects, and even persuaded her into an excursion to New 
 York, and once there, she went on to Washington. The 
 preparations for this expedition exceeded, by far, any 
 arrangements for an expedition to Nova Zembla, and iMrs, 
 Sanderson could hardly forbear laughing heartily at her own 
 luggage and its multifarious variety of articles. But having 
 once perpetrated a journey, and returned home in comfort 
 and security, she began to think it was not such an arduous 
 undertaking as she had imagined.
 
 OF BOSTON. 249 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 ' One glance from lier my soul loves best, 
 In the soft grace of beauty drest, 
 I would not change and wish to live, 
 For all this boasted world can give.' 
 
 Iglesias de la Casa. 
 
 Mr. Barclay had been gratified at receiving in his house 
 the young clergyman, Mr. Meredith, whom he had met at 
 Mr. Egerton's, having heard an excellent report of him from 
 several mutual friends, and finding him pleasing and genial. 
 He invited him to join, whenever it suited his pleasure, his 
 family circle ; he also asked Mr. Rosevelt, Mr. Barclay, 
 having a partiality for the navy, and thinking a gentlemanly 
 sailor a rather fascinating sort of person. He was always 
 inclined to receive him hospitably, and ever admired his 
 straight-forward, frank and loyal nature, as well as his gen- 
 erosity. To be sure, he sometimes smiled at his suscepti- 
 bility and childlike simplicity respecting womankind angels 
 all, as he religiously believes them to be and sometimes 
 sympathized with him in his disappointments. 
 
 Mr. Rosevelt seemed fated to follow in the footsteps of 
 his impressible class, for he fell desperately in love at 
 first sight with Clara Gordon, Sailors are all Romeos, very 
 Shaksperian. In this case, the gentleman rover found a 
 Juliet, for that young lady romantically responded to his 
 passion, and, moreover, fancied she had done a very wise 
 thing ; thus the sea swallowed up the ' American IMethuse- 
 leh.' It was not more than a month, or less than a week,
 
 250 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 after their first meeting, that the enamored Lieutenant 
 poured forth the tale of his love at his lady's feet, and that 
 she confessed her perfect willingness to share his destiny. 
 
 When this important intelligence was announced at home, 
 it met with a very decided opposition from her parents. 
 They could not at all consent to part with their only daugh- 
 ter, to become for the rest of her days a wanderer on the 
 face of the globe ; then they objected to the long, irremedi- 
 able absences which an officer's wife must endure, the sep- 
 arations so difficult to bear, and, in fact, both Mr. and Mrs. 
 Gordon smiled not upon the pretender to the favor of their 
 daughter. Clara Gordon flew in utter despair to Mrs. Bar- 
 clay, and begged and conjured her to intercede and pray for 
 the consent of her parents. Mrs. Barclay counselled her 
 young friend to wait a year, and then, if she were of ' the 
 same opinion still,' it might possibly be obtained, they being 
 shocked by the suddenness of the whole thing. But Clara 
 declared her lover would hear of no such dilatory proceed- 
 ings ; that he would be unutterably wretched, and thought 
 he should never survive a refusal ; and that she herself was 
 miserable. After an interview with the lover, Mrs. Barclay, 
 finding all reasoning out of the question, and both parties 
 being in a most despairing state, and happening to be ac- 
 quainted with the gentleman's family, which w^as an excel- 
 lent Southern one, and knowing that he had a small private 
 property and good expectations, and having learned the 
 most important part, that his character was excellent, she 
 concluded to try and do something for the unhappy pair. 
 
 So Mrs. Barclay saw i\Irs. Gordon, and smoothing away 
 many difficulties, and making her friend and her husband 
 cognizant of many pleasant facts which she had, moreover, 
 gathered from the Commodore of the station, undoubted 
 authority, she inanaged to bring round the Gordons, and 
 they bestowed their consent to the union of the pair, and, as 
 they said and lirmly believed, they were made supremely 
 happy. Clara nearly smothered her friend with kisses, and
 
 OF BOSTON. 
 
 251 
 
 her sailor lover looked as if he would also like to do the 
 same thing. 
 
 Then came all the busy note of preparation for the wed- 
 ding. Grace Barclay was invited to be first bridesmaid, and 
 a handsome young officer was first bridesman, and, as a 
 matter of course, became enslaved by the superlative 
 charms of his associate, though he was not so fortunate as 
 his friend, Mr. Rosevelt. In a marvellously short period, 
 almost beyond belief, had he belonged to any other profes- 
 sion. Miss Grace Barclay received her first offer of mar- 
 riao-e a most momentous occurrence in a young girl's life, 
 smiles she, or frowns she, and this offer the damsel 
 becomingly refused, but in such a gentle manner that the 
 rejected suitor continued to be her fast friend. It must be 
 confessed, however, that, notwithstanding his despair and 
 tribulation, he lost his heart again the very next year, and 
 Gracv heard of his nuptials with intense satisfaction ; for 
 she, in her youthful simplicity, had felt ver}' sad at witness- 
 in"" his sorrow, and almost imagined he might succumb 
 under its wciglit ; but he had lived on, and she was greatly 
 relieved of her anxiety. 
 
 But to return from this short and hurried digression, very 
 indicative of salt water. Miss Gordon was married in church, 
 the bridegroom in full uniform, looking admirably. The 
 bride was attired in a pure white silk high-necked dress, and 
 a bewitching French hat, filled with orange blossoms, and 
 such a veil! a present from Mrs. Barclay, it nearly cov- 
 ered her whole person. The bridesmaids were charming, 
 though, of course, they are never permitted to eclipse the 
 bride, and the church was filled to repletion with young 
 persons ; and the Dolly thought the whole thing went off 
 admirably, and was capital fun, as she privately informed 
 Nursev Bristow. And most especially did she incline to 
 Mrs. Nichols' delicious wedding-cake, her veiy best handi- 
 work, of which she had a portion passed through the bride's 
 ring, and pinned up in white paper with the bride's pins ;
 
 252 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 and this arrangement being effected, the little parcel was 
 placed carefully under her pillow, and she dreamed ' never 
 a bit of any body or any thing,' she said, and added, half 
 crying, ' that this was very provoking indeed.' The happy 
 couple, after a charming breakfast, departed on a visit to 
 Mr. Rosevelt's family, and to the Barclay's, who had been 
 kept in a perpetual state of excitement for a month, the 
 whole of this engagement and bridal seemed like the em- 
 bodiment of a dream. 
 
 Georgy and Grace deplored Clara's departure bitterly, 
 and the Dolly thought every thing vastly dull. Mr. Richard 
 pronounced the Gordons to be fools for consenting to such 
 hurried doings. Miss Serena Tidmarsh opined no good 
 would ever come of this hurried marriage ; and Jane 
 Redmond said, ' Who would have imagined that any girl 
 could find a husband at Philip Egerton's ? ' Mr. Barclay 
 roundly asserted that his young friend had made a good 
 match, and that all would agree with him in time ; but then 
 Mr. Richard said, his brother John had always a weakness 
 for 'the buttons,' and his opinion did not carry as much 
 weight as usual, on this occasion. Mr. Richard Barclay 
 never heard of marrying, or giving in marriage, with any 
 great degree of equanimity ; he generally snarled more or 
 less on such occasions. Mrs. Ashley said, ' All's well that 
 ends well,' and ' Wc must wait, for this whole thing has 
 been carried through in such a hurry-scurry, that I have 
 not had time to breathe, and, besides, I am very sorry to 
 lose Clara, and cannot be expected to give my unqualified 
 consent.' So they all said their say, but, as Mrs. Barclay 
 quietly observed, ' the subject of these remarks was " mar- 
 ried and awa', " and all they could do or say would not 
 alter her condition.' 
 
 The bride and bridegroom returned, after a month's 
 absence, having had a delightful warm-hearted Southern 
 reception, and intended remaining a few weeks with Mrs. 
 Gordon, preparatory to their going to Norfolk, where he 
 was ordered.
 
 OF BOSTON. 253 
 
 Shortly after their return, the wife of the Commodore of 
 the station issued invitations for a ball on board a seventy- 
 four in the harbor, and the Gordons, Rosevelts and Barclays 
 were all invited. It being a delicious season of the year, 
 every thing favored this pleasant fete. Mr. Barclay, who 
 admired excessively a ship of war, instantly persuaded his 
 wife to accept the invitation. Georgiana peremptorily de- 
 clined, but Grace was extremely pleased with the idea of 
 seeing the beautiful vessel in a gala dress, the more espe- 
 cially as all her friends were going. The Dolly was in a 
 frenzy of despair at being obliged to stay away from this 
 ' entrancing party,' and coaxed and pleaded and induced 
 Uncle Richard to pray for her exemption from general rules, 
 and, at last, between the pair, a consent was extorted ; and 
 even Johnny was smuggled on board, nobody knew how. 
 Mr. Rosevelt was strongly suspected of having introduced 
 this small contraband article, but there he was, and no one 
 pleaded guilty, not even the youthful aspirant for marine 
 festivals himself. 
 
 On a delicious afternoon in July, the Barclays departed, 
 ' on pleasure bent,' from their own house, and reached ' the 
 stairs,' where an orderly inquired if they were for the ship, 
 to which they responded affirmatively. A young midship- 
 man assisted them down these stairs, and a handsome lieu- 
 tenant placed them carefully in a twelve-oared barge, the 
 linings of which rivalled the whiteness of the women's 
 dresses. In a moment they were upon a world of waters, 
 enlivened by the songs of the seamen in the surrounding 
 shipping, and the plashing of oars, a delightful contrast 
 indeed, to the dust and brick walls of the city. The seven- 
 ty-four's barges were plying to and fro for the guests, 
 manned by sailors in their prettiest of all costumes. At the 
 ship's side, on a carpeted platform, they were received by 
 two officers, who helped them up the ladder, which, on this 
 occasion, were transformed into good and broad steps. They 
 were then ushered into a scene of perfect enchantment, a 
 22
 
 254 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ball-room which Aladdin's lamp might have produced in the 
 good olden time, when wc believed and luxuriated in the 
 Thousand-and-one Nights, a ball-room of two hundred 
 feet in length, adorned with the flags of all nations, and 
 presenting such a gorgeous harmony of coloring as quite 
 dazzled their bewildered eyes, enchanting the artist as well 
 as the amateur. The tri-color of France, the bold lion 
 of England, and the stars and stripes of our own land, all 
 mingled together in peace and harmony, as it is hoped 
 they ever will be. At one end was an orchestra most taste- 
 fully decorated in- the same way, and, at the other, the top 
 of the Commodore's cabin was carpeted and draped with 
 flags and filled with luxurious seats, from which they looked 
 down upon the beauteous ball-room below. The hatchways 
 were surrounded with stands of arms, each musket bearing 
 an innocent wax-light ! a great relief to many of the female 
 part of the assembled company who held in terror muskets 
 without either stock or lock. Colored lanterns were dis- 
 posed amidst the draperies, looking like emeralds and 
 rubies. 
 
 The Barclays were presented to their lady-like hostess, 
 and the Commodore, all graciousness, conducted them over 
 his ship, even down into the orlop-deck. The cleanliness 
 and purity of the vessel might be gathered from the fact, 
 that the white satin shoes of the young girls were spotless. 
 They then peeped out of sundry loop-holes, and beheld a 
 sunset such as never was surpassed at Venice, where the 
 majesty of light is predominant. As the twilight shadows 
 gathered around, the illumination of this enchanting ball-room 
 commenced, and when it was finished and an air from the 
 opera of Gustavo issued from the orchestra, it surpassed in 
 beauty the famous last scene in that production at Paris. 
 
 Just then the ships' bell sounded, and Mrs. Barclay de- 
 clared she was alarmed lest it might be the stage managers' 
 call, and the whole would, presto, disappear, so perfect was 
 the illusion. The company was composed of youth, middle-
 
 OF BOSTON. 255 
 
 aged, and even some old people a very memorable event. 
 Philadelphia had sent to this ball its golden-haired Peris, 
 Milton its beauties, and Boston its lovely daughters and 
 lovelier mothers, in the ' mezzo giorno,' on whom the rich, 
 warm rays 
 
 ' Of mid-day sun shone with a summer power. 
 Queen-like they moved with pure and lofty brow, 
 And, redolent of thought, life's wide-expanded flower 
 Had so remained unchanged.' 
 
 Sweet Tasso, the poet of the matrons, has said something 
 like this. ' What a pity the mezzo giorno does not show 
 itself oftener ! ' 
 
 The dancing was spirited, and interspersed with frequent 
 visits to refreshment-rooms and many visits to the gun-deck. 
 Hundreds of cannon, bristling and fearful, lined this deck, 
 which was half-lighted, presenting, by a refinement of good 
 taste in its partial illumination, a severe contrast to the ori- 
 ental splendor above ; and in truth it seemed a remarkably 
 popular part of the ship, the sailors grouped in amongst the 
 guns, adding to the lights and shadows of its immense per- 
 spective. The officers devoted themselves to the guests, 
 and every woman present imagined herself an exclusive ob- 
 ject of attention, an impression that the 'buttons' are very 
 apt to give to the fair sex. At midnight, after giving a dozen 
 or more last looks at the ball-room, the guests departed, de- 
 lighted with every arrangement, and as the ship receded 
 from their view, the bright moon above, the blue calm waters 
 below, she looked as she was, a thing of life and beauty. 
 
 To attempt to describe the Dolly's raptures would be im- 
 possible. She was soon discovered by the midshipmen to be 
 an admirable dancer, and accordingly her partners were 
 countless, and she flew about like a lapwing and was sur- 
 rounded by admirers. She gave her mother warning next 
 day that she must not expect her to be rational for a month, 
 and was answered that if she were it would be for the first
 
 256 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 time in her life. Johnny had contracted a violent friendship 
 with a middy who was just out of leading-strings, and se- 
 riously meditated an immediate entrance into the navy, but 
 was admonished by his father that he had better wait a few 
 years and ruminate upon his project. Shortly after this 
 never to be forgotten ball, the Rosevelts left for Norfolk, and 
 were sadly regretted by all their friends.
 
 OF BOSTON. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 * If, despising all visible decorations, tliey were only in love with the 
 embellishments of the mind, Avhy should they borrow so many of the 
 implements, and make use of the most darling toys of the luxurious ? ' 
 
 Berxard Mandeville. 
 
 Shortly after Gerald Sanderson's first visit to Mr. Barton, 
 he received from him a huge embossed card, in a saffron- 
 colored envelope, requesting the honor of his company at 
 dinner, and forthwith accepted the invitation. A week's 
 notice prepared him for a grand entertainment, and on the 
 appointed day he sallied forth, in full dress, to dine with his 
 patron. Punctually at five he reached the house, and being 
 ushered into the ' best parlors,' found that he had arrived 
 half an hour too early, his watch having misled him. In the 
 interval, before the appearance of the ladies, and his host, 
 whose apparelling was not finished, he had plenty of time to 
 examine, at his leisure, the plenishing of these halls of 
 beauty. 
 
 Louis the Fourteenth has many misdeeds for which to 
 answer to posterity, but if he could but see the abominations, 
 in the matter of furniture and upholstery, perpetrated in his 
 honor, and falsely bearing his name and style in these United 
 States of America, he would consider his punishment great 
 indeed. Really nothing was ever so odious as the sprawling 
 tables and comfortless chairs and sofas, which, covered with 
 gilding and brocade, encumbered those small rooms, and all 
 so low that no one could rise from them without risk of life 
 and limb. Immense mirrors with ponderous frames, enor- 
 mous clocks, and huge figures, bearing candles so tall that 
 22*
 
 258 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 they almost reached the low plaster of Paris ceilings, all cold 
 and naked. The walls were covered with the gaudiest of 
 paper-hangings, and sprinkled over with pictures, great and 
 small, the lines all broken at the base, and looking as if they 
 had been thrown there at a venture. 
 
 The catalogue of this collection of the fine arts was abso- 
 lutely astounding in its nomenclature two Raphaels, four 
 Correggios, almost as many as grace the Dresden Gallery, 
 three Claudes, &c. Now, considering that the love-lorn 
 King of Bavaria purchased the last d'Urbino to be found on 
 sale in all Europe for twelve thousand dollars, and a small 
 one too, it was really marvellous where such inestimable 
 treasures had been found. Not a single native artist had 
 been, by any chance, admitted into this distinguished society. 
 Oh, no ! On the other hand, there were loads of knicknack- 
 eries, puerile and ridiculous enough. Presently the ladies 
 dropped in, one after another, and were enchanted to renew 
 their acquaintance with Gerald and their inquisitorial re- 
 searches into the Barclay family. To all their demands 
 upon his time, Gerald exhibited the most remarkable and 
 exemplary patience, it being an ever-gracious theme to him, 
 the mention of his friends. The Misses Barton informed 
 him they were to entertain on that day a most select party, 
 with only one exception, and that was their father's country 
 cousin Mrs. Hastings, of Hastingsville who having most 
 inopportunely arrived the evening before, they had been 
 obliged to invite sadly against their will. 
 
 ' I told her,' said Miss Araminta Cora, who rather liked 
 Gerald, and threatened to do even more, ' that she would 
 not in the least enjoy herself, and begged her to come to- 
 morrow, when we would get up a snug little party of her old 
 friends for her, but she would not hear of this arrangement, 
 declaring she wished to see our new ones ; and as there are 
 expectations, she being verv rich indeed, we were obliged to 
 submit. Now,' resumed the young lady, quite confiden- 
 tially, ' though I should like exceedingly to have you to sit
 
 OF BOSTON. 259 
 
 beside me at dinner, I must renounce the gratification, and 
 beg you to do me the great favor to lead our cousin of 
 Hastingsville down stairs ; for if she gets near any other of 
 our guests, she will so shock them with her commonplaces, 
 proverbs, and homely saws.' 
 
 So Gerald promised, and received in return the most gra- 
 cious of smiles from Miss Araminta Cora. 
 
 The party consisted of twenty-four persons, a world too 
 many for enjoyment. None of them seemed to be ac- 
 quainted with each other, and Mr. Barton persisted in intro- 
 ducing them. Now, as they were all Bostonians, this was 
 in bad taste ; and Gerald was just thinking that the several 
 parties were much annoyed, when one gentleman rebelled, 
 and fairly told his host that he declined the acquaintance of 
 the person to whom he was presented. This was a terrible 
 stroke, but it transpired that there had been a deadly feud 
 between the two gentlemen, all about a cargo of saltpetre, in 
 which neither was to blame except that they would not listen 
 to reason, and of which Mr. Barton was entirely ignorant, 
 this being a new phase of society to him. This, it must be 
 confessed, was a most discordant commencement of festivi- 
 ties, and as ill-luck prevailed, the twain were seated next to 
 each other at table, and discoursed gunpowder slantwise. 
 Indeed, it was discovered that almost every one had been 
 mismated on this grand occasion. 
 
 Gerald thought he was especially favored, for just before 
 the repast, Mr. Barton, taking him suddenly by the button- 
 hole, and at the same time destroying a moss rosebud which 
 his daughter. Miss Araminta Cora, had bestowed upon the 
 youth, begged him to place himself at his right hand. ' For,' 
 said he, ' my girls have insisted upon giving a thorough 
 French dinner, and I don't know the name of a single kick- 
 shaw, so you must promise to tell me.' Poor Gerald ! his 
 post of favorite promised to be rather wearisome, but he 
 slipped out of this dilemma by advising his friend not to 
 attempt offering any thing whatever, but to order the ser-
 
 260 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 vants to do so. ' What a horrid time I shall have,' said Mr. 
 Barton, ' not being able to offer any thing ; how very inhospi- 
 table I shall seem. Those confounded girls will be the death 
 of me with their foreign nonsense ; I wish I had never con- 
 sented to such a grand parade.' 
 
 Gerald, faithful to his promise, escorted Mrs. Hastings to 
 dinner, and shortly heard the Misses Barton holding long 
 arguments on their favorite studies with the two saltpetre 
 guests, who, for once, though not addressing each other, 
 seemed to be of the same mind, opining that one or two 
 'quarters' of chemistry, geology, medicine and anatomy 
 were worse than useless; and one of them, avowing he 
 had dabbled a little in the sciences, thought a whole life 
 would hardly suffice for the acquisition of chemistry alone. 
 Mr. Barton, who supposed his talented progeny had learned 
 all these things thoroughly, was amazed beyond expression 
 at this discovery, and after a long pause, he turned to Mrs. 
 Hastings and said, ' Well, cousin, what do you think of all 
 this ? ' The lady, who proved to be a strong-minded woman, 
 declared she had given no attention to the sciences, seeing 
 that it required an age to get any knowledge of them what- 
 ever, but was devoting all her powers to getting a homestead 
 bill passed, and was resolved to see if women could not be 
 exempted from taxation, an abominable imposition upon 
 the sex, which she hoped to see set right before she died. 
 There should be no taxation without representation ; for her 
 part she did not desire to represent any thing but her- 
 self, but she would not be satisfied until that thing was 
 changed. 
 
 Gerald, finding his host had sprung a mine unawares, en- 
 deavored to change the conversation by inquiring of the lady 
 how she liked the country. 
 
 'I should like it very well,' she replied, ' if I could ever 
 discover it in America. Where I live there is more aj)ing of 
 what my neighbors arc pleased to call " style and fashion " 
 than in any city in the Union. I hear divers complaints
 
 OF BOSTON. 261 
 
 here of the same thing, but do you come and stay with me 
 and see how the rule works at Hastingsville. Why,' said 
 she, ' none of the farmers' daughters make butter and 
 cheese now ; they are all learning exactly what cousin 
 Barton's girls do, and talk in precisely the same ridiculous 
 manner of things they know nothing about. Cousin Barton 
 can afford to allow his chits to waste their time, but the 
 country people must have somebody to do housework and 
 look after the dairy ; all the world can't be idle ladies and 
 gentlemen. The fact is,' she resumed, ' the spirit of unrest 
 is rampant in our country ; nobody is satisfied ; even I, with 
 my eyes wide open to this crying evil, have two objects 
 which must and shall be accomplished, and I should not be 
 an American if I had not.' 
 
 Gerald was much amused with his neighbor, and heard 
 her opinion of the guests with a hearty laugh, ' The old 
 friends,' she declared, ' were much the most interesting ; 
 they had subjects in common with cousin Barton, and were 
 not set up and stiff like these people. The old dinners were 
 vastly pleasanter and better ; for her part, she liked to know 
 w^hat she was eating ; nobody could tell what these French- 
 men did when they once got into one's kitchen. And then, 
 cousin Barton, a good creature enough, and liis wife even 
 better, were thrown away upon the " upper ten thousand." 
 They despised them, and melancholy to relate, by courting 
 these people they had lost all their old friends. Now if you 
 could have seen Nick at his own board years ago ; he was 
 such a happy fellow ! urging every body to eat his good 
 things, and enjoying himself hugely ; now he looks all curled 
 up into a heap.' Then peeping down the table, she reported 
 Mrs. Barton to be in precisely the same condition. ' This 
 all comes,' said she, ' of spoiling children. My cousin's 
 daughters are all the time tutoring their parents, and have 
 deprived them of all their pleasures. When I am here I 
 have some influence, and use it to make my kind-hearted 
 relatives more comfortable with pleasant chats about old
 
 262 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 times, for I should think this eternal bothering about Pin- 
 nock's catechisms would weary them out of their senses. I 
 am sure I take leave of my own sometimes, here and at 
 home, with all the nonsense I hear. You perceive I speak 
 plainly.' 
 
 ' I am afraid, Mrs. Hastings,' said Gerald, ' you will disa- 
 buse me of all my ruralities by the account you give of 
 country life, and the falling off of the present generation 
 from the good fashions of their forefathers.' 
 
 'I am sorry to disturb your illusions,' replied the lady, 
 'but, if you could see my neighbors in their silks and finery, 
 you would soon cast aside all your preconceived opinions. 
 There are no milkmaids now ; they went out with the 
 spelling-book which chronicled the well-filled pail. The 
 young ladies are afraid of cows. Eggs are no longer counted ; 
 and all the wools sorted are German, out of which country 
 damsels manufacture not socks and stockings, as of old 
 but nondescript animals and cabbage-headed flowers.' 
 
 ' Have you no influence ? ' queried Gerald. 
 
 ' None at all : the fact is, I get angry and lose all my 
 persuasive powers if any I ever had which I doubt.' 
 
 The dinner was excellent, and admirably ordered, and 
 well served, and Mrs. Hastings was fain to confess that the 
 colored gentry, who conducted the arrangements, were 
 capable and much better trained than the old scrambling 
 set, who formerly served her cousin's table at the repasts 
 she so much regretted ; but then the guests, she persisted 
 in declaring, were not half so pleasant or agreeable. 
 
 The company all leaving the dining-room at the same 
 time, music was introduced, the Misses Barton regaling 
 their circle with some very questionable melodies. When 
 they had finished, Gerald was entreated to favor them. So 
 he obligingly sang some delicious airs from ' Lucretia 
 Borgia,' accompanying himself with a guitar, and received 
 the most enthusiastic thanks. His style was unambitious, 
 his rich manly voice, soul-searching, penetrated into the
 
 OF BOSTON. 263 
 
 recesses- of all hearts, and his auditors seemed never weary 
 of listening. When he had finished, Mrs. Hastings was 
 exceedingly voluble in his praise, and informed him that 
 she had puzzled her poor brains all dinner-time, to under- 
 stand what situation he held in the family she havins 
 been told he had one and now she had discovered he was 
 the music-master, he could be nought else. 
 
 Gerald, laughingly, assured her that he had not the honor 
 to teach the young ladies, and that such was not his voca- 
 tion. Then how can he play and sing so well, queried Mrs. 
 Hastings, if he is not a teacher ? The carriages being shortly 
 announced, the guests departed, and when the last vehicle 
 rolled away, Mr. Barton, giving himself a congratulatory 
 shake, and unbuttoning the lower part of his waistcoat, 
 plumped himself down into a Louis the Fourteenth, as if he 
 hoped to rise from it nevermore, and exclaimed, in most 
 joyous tones, 'Thank heaven, it's all over.' 'Why father!' 
 screamed the triad of daughters, ' how can you say so ? 
 every thing so elegant, so well arranged, such good taste, 
 so recherche.'' 
 
 ' I don't know what that last word means, if it be not 
 stupid,' said he. 
 
 ' Oh dear ! oh dear ! ' screamed the three in concert. 
 
 ' Well, my old woman, what do you say ? ' said their 
 father, addressing his wife, 'what do you think of this hard 
 day's work } ' 
 
 ' Why, my good husband, I had nothing to do with cook- 
 ing the grand dinner, and that I liked very much. I've 
 seen the time when I was so thoroughly worn out making 
 jellies, custards and pastry, that I hardly had any strength 
 left to put on my best gown, and was half-asleep all dinner- 
 time.' 
 
 ' But,' interrupted ]Mrs. Hastings, ' did you have a pleas- 
 ant meal to-day ? ' 
 
 '' To be sure,' replied Mrs, Barton, ' to be sure I did ;
 
 264 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 there was not even one dish put on the table awry, and that 
 was really charming ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Hastings, of Hastingsville, smiling contemptuously 
 at her simple cousin's idea of a pleasant dinner, then 
 inquired if Mrs. Barton had enjoyed any improving conver- 
 sation with the gentlemen who sat at her side, she having 
 observed that they talked very fast across their hostess. 
 
 'Why no, not exactly,' she answered, 'they almost dis- 
 tracted me with talking about things I could not understand. 
 They had a furious dispute about steamboats going to Eng- 
 land, and quoted Dr. Dionysius Lardner, Mrs. Heavyside, 
 and a vast many learned people besides.' 
 
 Mrs. Hastings, casting a half glance at Gerald who had 
 been especially requested to remain said, 'I perceived 
 they had almost forgotten your presence, which I consider 
 very rude indeed ; there is surely a certain respect always 
 due to the hostess.' ' Cousin Nick,' said she, ' I do not 
 think you have got at the right people yet. AVhat's the use 
 of talking of books forever ? I want to know what a man 
 thinks himself, and desire to get at the kernel of these big 
 nuts. Now, there are in Boston and its environs if they 
 could be collected together, which I am told is very diffi- 
 cult very agreeable people. Then why don't you try? 
 It would be richly worth your while. x\lmost every body 
 likes good dinners. Yours are splendid. Then why have 
 them eaten by such disagreeable stiff creatures so full of 
 airs and pretensions, and apparently having no regard for 
 you whatever.' 
 
 ' Shocking, shocking ! ' cried tiie young ladies. 
 
 'T think,' said their father, 'she is perfectly right; but 
 I had rather have my old friends than any others ; there's 
 a heartiness about them I like.' 
 
 ' Then, why not invite them ? ' asked Mrs. Hastings. 
 
 * Because the girls have so showed them the cold shoulder 
 that they will not come if we were to go on our knees 
 to them.'
 
 OF BOSTON. 265 
 
 ' If there is one thing I have to be more thankful for 
 than another, it is that I have no daughters, cousin.' 
 
 ' Thankful for small favors,' sneered Mr. Barton, who 
 did not like to hear his children criticised. 
 
 'Do you know any man satisfied with his condition in 
 this country ? ' asked Mrs. Hastings, suddenly turning to 
 Gerald. 
 
 ' I think I do.' 
 
 ' Who is the happy person ?' 
 
 ' Mr. Barclay.' 
 
 ' Will you introduce me to him ?' 
 
 ' I can hardly take that liberty, madam, having so lately 
 made his acquaintance myself.' 
 
 ' 1 shall then call upon him shortly, as I am really anxious 
 to see a contented individual.' 
 
 ' Have you none in Hastingsville ? ' 
 
 ' The last place in (he world for a search ! All my 
 acquaintances there are dying to go to town, and I can 
 hardly have my own way in any thing every body quoting 
 "city fashions" that's the pet phrase. I wanted, last 
 week, to get some large logs cut for rustic seats, and I 
 was credibly informed that nobody sat upon logs in the 
 city, and, if I would, I must have stuffed cushions.' 
 
 Just then, Gerald discovered Mrs. Barton in a sound 
 sleep on the most comfortless of sofas, and, being fearful 
 if the lady remained much longer in her crooked position 
 she would catch a stiff neck, he arose to depart. Mrs. 
 Barton awoke, and was greatly shocked to perceive slie 
 had reclined upon the brocade ' ten dollars a yard.' How 
 she sighed ! 
 
 As Gerald wended his way home, he reflected, in a 
 species of agony, upon the prospect of Mrs. Hastings' visit 
 to Mr. Barclay, and this under the cover of his own name. 
 What should he do when he saw her enter, some pleasant 
 evening, the charmed circle where all his ideas of elegant 
 refinement centred ? This question he repeatedly asked 
 23
 
 266 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 himself, and regretted having answered the lady, when 
 she inquired where a contented man was to be found. 
 
 Mrs. Hastings, of Hastingsville, w^as an enterprising wo- 
 man, priding herself upon a strong mind, very much given 
 to fiercely enforcing her doctrines in other words, cram- 
 ming them down other people's throats. Her personal 
 appearance also added some weight to her arguments ; for 
 she was a tall, masculine woman, with remarkably big, 
 uncovered bones, a loud voice, and, being near-sighted 
 wore spectacles, sometimes, even green ones. ]Mrs. Has- 
 tings' dress, however, was unlike that of her sisters of the 
 strong-minded class, being remarkably rich and elaborate ; 
 and, although not certainly prepossessing, her air and man- 
 ner commanded respect. Yet still Gerald Sanderson was 
 quite nervous at the idea of her presenting herself, at what 
 might seem to be his instigation, in Mrs. Barclay's house ; 
 so he resolved to explain the matter in that quarter, lest the 
 lady might fall upon her unawares. His fears of the threat- 
 ened invasion for such a curious purpose, were shortly 
 removed by hearing Mr. Barton regret that his cousin had 
 been suddenly called home by the illness of her husband ; 
 and Gerald was thereby made aware of the existence of 
 such an individual as Mr. Hastings a gentleman, whom 
 Mr. Barton averred, was very little seen and rarely heard. 
 Tiiis did not surprise Gerald, as he had concluded, that if 
 there existed a person enjoying a marital title in tlie lady's 
 household, he must be very secondary indeed.
 
 OF BOSTON. 267 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 ' Of all the gay j^laces the world can afFoi'd 
 By gentle and simple for pastime ador'd, 
 Fine balls, and fine concerts, fine buildings and springs, 
 Fine walks and fine views, and a thousand fine things.' 
 
 Bath Guide. 
 
 Mr. Barclay, amidst his pleasant possessions, had never 
 made the acquisition of a counfry-house. He declared him- 
 self to be a bit of a cockney, liking his city life extremely 
 well, and varying it in the summer heats by excursions to 
 the sea-shore and watering-places. The latter he had not 
 recently frequented, as he had thought his daughters too 
 young for such gay places. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay, who ever jestingly asserted that she had 
 not the housekeeping bump sufficiently developed in her 
 cranium to keep up two establishments suitably, preferred 
 to retain one in excellent order, and enjoyed these snatches 
 of change greatly, but always returned, with renewed 
 pleasure, to her own charming home. Both parents, how- 
 ever, thought that an entire revolution in Georgy's habits 
 and feelings would be eminently beneficial, and resolved to 
 take her with her sisters to Saratoga. To this arrangement 
 she made a decided resistance, and pleaded that neither her 
 health nor spirits demanded it; that she was perfectly con- 
 tented in her father's house, and rec^uired no change what- 
 ever; but in the end consented to go, to gratify her parents. 
 For herself, she anticipated no pleasure whatever, but true 
 to her resolve of doing every thing, henceforth, for them, 
 she determined to adopt the semblance of satisfaction at
 
 268 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 least. She was so conscious that her melancholy story 
 would be known and commented upon, that she dreaded an 
 entrance into a world of strangers ; but this display was 
 entirely obviated by the extraordinary resemblance between 
 herself and Grace, and, as no one could veiy well distin- 
 guish one from the other, she thereby avoided all embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley accompanied them on this excursion, and 
 Mr. Richard declined. He said he detested watering-places, 
 and once a day was quite sufficient for him to see the silly 
 widow, without being obligated to dance attendance upon 
 her for a month. Mr. Richard might have spared himself 
 these fears, and have enjoyed many pleasant hours with his 
 friends, instead of dozing away his time at home, earnestly 
 praying for their return, and railing against such absurdities 
 as families leaving their own comfortable dwellings and 
 running about in search of pleasure. Indeed, at one mo- 
 ment, he was almost tempted to follow them, so heartily 
 wearied was he of his solitariness; but then his consistency 
 was at stake, and obstinacy forbade any change of purpose. 
 
 The amiable grumbler might have truly spared himself 
 any aj)prehensions with regard to Mrs. Ashley, pleasant 
 people being wanted every where, and in no place more 
 than Saratoga ; the lady was followed and courted to her 
 heart's content. And a charming party they were, when 
 they first appeared ; all the inmates of the United States 
 Hotel congratulated themselves upon such an addition to 
 the beauty and grace of the household. They soon made 
 many acquaintances, and the younger members contract- 
 ed indissoluble friendships with other young creatures 
 whom they had never seen before, and there was the ac- 
 customed interchange of trinkets, bouquets, locks of hair, 
 and model attachments, which commonly occur upon such 
 momentous occasions. The sisters were quite worshipped, 
 so beautiful and so engaging, their music entrancing all ears 
 with harmonious strains ! The Dolly considered herself, she
 
 OF BOSTON. 269 
 
 said, in a terrestrial paradise midway between heaven and 
 earth, and even had not time to remember if ' the tails ' were 
 bound round her head or not ; the more especially as certain 
 Spanish girls, to whom she had vowed an enduring con- 
 stancy, allowed theirs to float on the breeze with endless 
 yards of colored ribbons. 
 
 Mr. Naseby had followed his adorations, and, just one 
 week after his arrival, the following occurred. 
 
 ' My dear Grace,' said Georgy, rushing into her sister's 
 chamber, ' such a scene as I have had ! I think I shall 
 hardly be able to recount my absurd adventure, for laugh- 
 ing.' 
 
 ' Pray what is it, Georgy ? I am dying with curiosity to 
 hear.' 
 
 ' And so you should be dying to know it, for you are, in 
 truth, the heroine, though I flourished in your stead.' 
 
 ' Please tell me directly then, dear Georgy,' 
 
 ' I was just running through the garden piazza, from a 
 friend's room to my own, when my steps were arrested by 
 a hand gently and lightly laid upon my arm, and a voice 
 whispered softly, " Give me but one moment, divine Miss 
 Grace, a kingdom for one moment." At first, I was 
 bewildered by the suddenness of the movement, and, as it 
 was twilight, hardly knew by whom I was addressed ; but 
 shortly perceiving this importunate swain to be one of your 
 waifs and strays, Mr. Naseby, I became instantly possessed 
 with a little of my old mischief, and resolved to leave him 
 in his delusion, he being always in one, you well know, so I 
 stopped and received the most impassioned declaration of 
 love and adoration, and, over and above all this, a positive 
 ofter of his hand and heart, house, carriages, jewels, &c., 
 &c.' 
 
 ' Capital ! ' exclaimed Gracy, ' what fun ! and what did 
 you say ? ' 
 
 ' Why, I ventured to put a very pretty negative on all 
 these demonstrations. Was I right ? ' 
 23*
 
 270 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ' To be sure. What ! I marry Mr. Naseby ! heaven for- 
 bid.' 
 
 ' But he would not receive the negative, and insisted that 
 his devotion, his love, demanded quite another response, 
 and even suggested, you understand his consummate vani- 
 ty that you had, in some sort, favored his suit; that he 
 had seen certain indications of preference, not to say, affec- 
 tion. I thought I should have laughed outright when he 
 asserted his having seen any thing. Imagine his adopting 
 that phrase, under the circumstances ; it was like a blind 
 man talking of light. I confess I was irritated when he 
 hinted at your having betrayed a preference for him, and 
 that made me even more decided than I should have been, 
 and I reiterated my refusal very pertinaciously. Upon this, 
 he declared himself to be a very ill-used person, saying that 
 you had never given him reason to think he was displeasing 
 to you, and that even your father and mother had also smiled 
 upon him, as well as ^liss Georgy Barclay, and that he 
 had, fbr some time, considered himself quite assured of the 
 concurrence of all your family. I replied that he must 
 receive this denial in good faith, and must never again re- 
 sume the subject, and upon that ground alone would he be 
 permitted to renew his intercourse with my relatives. Mr. 
 ]Saseby then became quite angry, and declared he should 
 complain to my father, and reveal to him the manner in 
 which his daughter encouraged her admirers, and then re- 
 jected them. I told him that course would be of no avail, 
 we were quite spoiled with indulgence, and, being always 
 allowed to take our own way in these things, he would abso- 
 lutely gain nothing by such a procedui-e. Finding me most 
 unrelenting, though I cannot think the measures he took 
 were very persuasive, he departed in a furious mood, 
 choosing to regard himself as a most remarkably injured 
 individual.' 
 
 ' How very, very happy I am,' cried Gracy, ' that you 
 received his declaration in lieu of myself, you answered
 
 OF BOSTON. 271 
 
 the silly fellow so much better than I could have possibly 
 done. What can he call encouragement ? I really have 
 almost had scruples of conscience when I have thought of 
 the mischief we have concocted together, and all the naugh- 
 ty tricks we have played upon Mr. Naseby. I shall never 
 experience any more twinges, I can assure you. 
 
 ' Oh ! no,' said Georgy, ' have no compassion at all upon 
 him ; he has sadly misbehaved this evening. I am not quite 
 positive that I have been able to make my account of this 
 adventure very lucidly clear, for there was such a confusion 
 of persons and things in my mind.' 
 
 ' Pray make no apology, dear Georgy ; the only wonder 
 is, how you managed to do so well, and save me so much 
 trouble. I shall never think of that garden scene without 
 laughing. What a Romeo ! Why worlds would not induce 
 me to marry such a buzzard, and so vain and conceited ! I 
 hope he will not be so silly as to appeal from your decision, 
 or mine, which is it ? 
 
 ' He may, but if he does, he will gain nothing, and my 
 father and mother both well know that you have, always 
 refused to listen to his declarations, and that I have done 
 the same thing. Now, Gracy, as it is evident he cannot 
 distinguish his charmer from her sister, what a confused 
 story he will have to tell ; and you can affirm that you 
 never received the proffer of his true love ! This is really 
 delightful!' And Georgy positively laughed, after her old 
 fashion, in a way that gladdened the heart of her sister, in 
 which merriment Gracy cordially joined. 
 
 That evening, at the ball, Mr. Naseby avoided Gracy, 
 but certainly did appeal to Mr. and Mrs. Barclay, repre- 
 senting himself as a much aggrieved personage. They 
 assured him that they had never perceived the least appa- 
 rent liking for him in their daughter, but would inquire the 
 next morning Itow matters stood. This they accordingly 
 did, and were immensely amused when they listened to the 
 little farce which had been enacted on the garden piazza.
 
 272 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 But how to reveal to the gentleman his mistake ? The 
 Gracy had no mercy upon him, for she thought he had 
 hoped to implicate her, and Georgy was resolved he should 
 know what he had done, as she thought this knowledge 
 would prevent any recurrence of like adventures in future. 
 So, Mr. Barclay was deputed to inform Mr. Naseby that he 
 had offered himself to the wrong sister, and, though this 
 office was performed in the kindliest spirit imaginable, it 
 proved any thing but acceptable to the unfortunate recipient. 
 Mr. Naseby would not, at first, believe he could have been 
 so deceived, and Mr. Barclay was obliged to remind him 
 of the imperfectibility of his vision, tempered with the ac- 
 knowledged resemblance between his daughters. This 
 softened the matter a little, but he keenly felt all the ridicule 
 attendant upon such an absurd incident, and commented, 
 with great severity, upon Miss Georgiana Barclay's assump- 
 tion of her sister's name and style. This part of his pro- 
 ceedings Mr. Barclay advised him to withhold and keep to 
 himself, and, moreover, counselled him to bury the whole 
 affair in oblivion, as the part he had played in it did not cer- 
 tainly redound to his credit, and, by blazoning it abroad, he 
 would only publish his own discomfiture. Whereupon, the 
 indignant and defeated pretender to Gracy 's hand took the 
 advice so kindly proffered, and departed the next day, having 
 lost all the pleasure he had proposed to himself in his excur- 
 sion to Saratoga. Gracy was enchanted when she learned 
 that her true knight was gone, ' over the hills and far away,' 
 to Niagara. She now entered freely into the amusements of 
 the place, as before the recent event in her history, Mr. 
 Naseby had so followed and besieged her that she had pre- 
 ferred to lock herself up in her own chamber, rather than 
 encounter, at every turn, the sentimental squire of dames, 
 who was perpetually pouring into her unwilling ears, in the 
 blandest of tones, honeyed words and speeches, which both 
 cloyed and annoyed her.
 
 OF BOSTON. 273 
 
 * And how many more yards of ribbon do you propose to 
 wear, Miss Catherine ? ' said Nursey Bristow. 
 
 ' Just as many as Carmencita de Dolores and the other 
 girls, the delicious darlings ! If you could but see, Nursey, 
 their heautiful black eyes, and hear their melting voices ! ' 
 
 'As if I do any thing else all day long. Are they not 
 forever and ever in this chamber, rolling about on your 
 bed ? ' 
 
 ' I grant that ; but then you will not acknowledge their 
 superlative charms, their overwhelming attractions.' 
 
 ' I'm looking at their tumbled frocks, Miss.' 
 
 ' Oh dear ! Oh dear ! I wish I could make you see them 
 as I do, so fascinating, so bewitching ! ' 
 
 Kate had loved Mary Redmond, but every thing paled 
 before the passion she had conceived for these Spanish girls. 
 Their broken English and pretty ways had captivated her, 
 and she poured forth on their lovely heads a volcano of en- 
 thusiastic admiration. Nothing was ever so fascinating ; 
 they were called the inseparables, the trio. They walked 
 together, sung together, and would have danced together, if 
 young America would have permitted them ; but this was 
 not allowed, Kate being a famous belle among the waltzers. 
 So much for youth, the pleasant meetings, the bitter part- 
 ings. It is the season designated for enjoyment in the pro- 
 gramme of existence, but it is questionable if even in after 
 years more scalding tears are shed, than when young hearts 
 twined together in an inconceivably short space of time, are 
 sundered and some old ones too. 
 
 Though set down in the books as a resort for the very 
 gay and frivolous, there is always at Saratoga a substratum 
 of clever and studious men, who resort to this watering, 
 place for relaxation, and they, with their pleasant families, 
 give an elevated tone to the society. Casting aside all the 
 cares attendant upon professional pursuits for the time, these 
 men look as unlike the American of the city as possible, 
 and impart to this watering-place an additional charm.
 
 274 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 While their children amused themselves, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Barclay found very many interesting persons, with whom 
 they cultivated an agreeahle intercourse, and whiled away a 
 few weeks acceptably to themselves and others. Then came 
 the partings, and these were heart-rending to the Dolly. 
 She imagined she should never survive the separation from 
 her Spanish beauties ; and such protestations and vows of 
 eternal friendships were hardly ever before registered, and 
 such a voluminous correspondence as was threatened, in 
 order to alleviate, if possible, the agonizing pangs conse- 
 quent upon the wide waters being placed between herself 
 and the objects of her idolatry. 
 
 And they returned home. The Dolly resumed her studies, 
 wafting many sighs to her friends for a long while, and 
 certainly betrayed a remarkable degree of constancy in her 
 adlierence to the memory of their piercing black eyes and 
 broken English. Mr. Naseby withdrew himself from Mr. 
 Barclay's house, and rarely visited Mrs. Ashley ; he had 
 absented himself on account of his wrongs, and betaken 
 himself to other haunts, amongst which Mr. Barton's house 
 was one. 
 
 Mr. Richard was overjoyed at the return of his favorites, 
 and railed in good set terms against all such expeditions for 
 pleasure, when persons had comfortable and luxurious homes. 
 But his brother responded, that they loved this home all the 
 better for beholding how very inferior every thing else was 
 in comparison with its attractions. Mr. Richard declared his 
 belief that Mrs. Ashley was at the bottom of this expedition, 
 its prime mover, and disliked her all the more. 
 
 Georgiana devoted herself to her father and mother. Their 
 forbearance and kindness demanded lior deepest and most 
 abiding gratitude, and she asked for no other boon than tlic 
 power to minister to their welfare and happiness. And 
 Grace was wrapt up in love and admiration of her sister ; 
 as Georgiana refused all invitations, so did Grace, and in
 
 OF BOSTON. 275 
 
 their home was centred all their pleasures. The Dolly 
 insisted that 
 
 ' They sat upon one cushion, 
 Sewing of one seam ; ' 
 
 and that, in her opinion, Grace was an absurd creature not 
 to shine forth at the balls, which she was so fitted by nature 
 to adorn and beautify, ' No sentimental considerations shall 
 ever induce me to forego such enchanting pleasures,' cried 
 she. ' I should like to annihilate time and space, and be- 
 come old enough to sally forth and enjoy myself, and really 
 believe I am ; and if I could but persuade my mother of this 
 important fact, and extort from her a permission to exhibit 
 myself, would'nt I have that Maria Louisa brocade ! ' 
 
 Gerald Sanderson was a most constant visitor, as well as 
 his mother, whose spirits were much improved by her inter- 
 course with the Barclays and others, for the recluse was no 
 longer immured within her own solitary home, but walked 
 abroad and interested herself ifi her fellow-beings, from 
 which course she derived signal advantage. Gerald worked 
 sturdily on, and began, in course of time, to command the 
 attention of others besides his employer. Mr. Barton being 
 thoroughly satisfied with the management of his affairs, soon 
 threw a vast many other things into his hands, and Mr. Bar- 
 clay also gave him business, and sent him clients, and he 
 prospered even beyond his most sanguine anticipations. 
 
 And there was outwardly sunshine, once more, on the 
 heads of the Barclays. The world seemed to have become 
 oblivious of Georgiana's sad story, no one reverting to it, 
 save Miss Serena Tidmarsh, who was very unwilling to resign 
 her hold upon it ; but things pass so rapidly in succession in 
 America, that, if it were not for the unfaltering efforts of a 
 few Misses Tidmarsh, almost all the skeletons in the country 
 would be buried, and their memories never resuscitated. 
 But these amiable Serenas have a great tendency to adhe- 
 siveness, and grasp tightly and hoard up all scandalous waifs 
 and strays. Johnny Barclay came and went hack, with sor-
 
 276 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 rowing steps and slow, to his seminary for polite learning, 
 sometimes bringing home good reports and oftener the re- 
 verse, and ' had,' as he said, ' capital fun with the Dolly,' 
 who studied not at all when her brother and playmate was 
 at his holiday exercises, and which certainly did ' exercise ' 
 Nursey Bristow. 
 
 So time sped and years passed gently and quietly on, 
 they were not the happy ones of bj'-gone days. The sense 
 of security from the shafts of adverse fate had vanished, and 
 dread of ills which ' we wot not of would hover around and 
 oppress at times the beings on whom these shafts had de- 
 scended. To be sure, their gay friend, Mrs. Gordon, assured 
 them that, amidst the pleasant people with whom she had 
 lived, she never had heard of this foreshadowing of evil. 
 They enjoyed the goods of this life without anticipation of 
 troubles, which they could not, in any event, avert, and died 
 not many deaths in fearing one. And she thought this plan 
 decidedly the best, but at the same time believed it to be a 
 characteristic trait in the minds of her countrymen, the look- 
 ing on the shady side of things. At any rate, there was no 
 danger of Mrs. Gordon's perpetrating the same mistake, for 
 she added, by her cheerfulness, a vast amount of pleasure 
 wherever she appeared ; and, as she greatly frequented the 
 Barclays' house, she was the source of much happiness to 
 them. 
 
 Suitors came to Gracy, but she remained constant to her 
 first love-passage, and smiled not at all on the pretenders to 
 her favor. News often came of the dear Charley; who was 
 making rapid strides towards promotion, and gave very 
 agreeable accounts, in his letters, of his favorable prospects, 
 and hopes of return to his friends. And this family ' kept 
 the peaceful tenor of its way,' uninterrupted by any startling 
 events, united and tranquil.
 
 OF BOSTON. 277 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 ' I will not -warn thee not to set thy heart 
 Too firmly upon perishable things ; 
 In vain the earnest preacher spends his art 
 Upon the theme ; in vain the poet sings.' 
 
 SOUTHET. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay had received several little presents from 
 Mrs. Rosevelt, accompanied by short and most affectionate 
 notes, breathing a grateful spirit, but there had recently 
 arrived a very interesting letter from that lady, which she 
 read to her family with great satisfaction. 
 
 ' Norfolk, . 
 
 ' I pray you may not consider me, dear Mrs. Barclay, a 
 sadly ungrateful creature, wholly unmindful of the all-im- 
 portant part you took in procuring for me the consent of my 
 parents to my union with my beloved husband, and I entreat 
 you to believe I shall never forget your kindness. Having 
 occasionally sent you a little memorial of my existence, I 
 now proceed to explain why 1 have not written more elabo- 
 rately before. 
 
 ' You well know what a hurried marriage was mine, my 
 dear friend, and how many times a certain musty proverb 
 was quoted, which is always served up on such occasions. 
 I hate proverbs. I therefore resolved, from the first, not to 
 give you any positive information respecting my position 
 and feelings, until I had been a wife a sufficiently long 
 period to impart stability to my statements, and to warrant 
 their immediate acceptance. Faithful to this high resolve, I 
 24
 
 278 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 have awaited the termination of this period, in order to give 
 consistency to my account, and now solemnly aver that I am 
 perfectly happy ; indeed, I rather think I love my husband 
 better now than ever, his excellent qualities having been 
 greatly developed since I first knew him. Flaving thus 
 satisfied you touching my welfare, I must inform you, that 
 on arriving here we repaired to an antiquated building, sur- 
 named the castle. In this large establishment, presided over 
 by a dignified and charming old Virginia lady, we found a 
 nice parlor, chamber and dressing-room prepared for us, and 
 which we have ever since occupied with great contentment. 
 
 ' This house is filled with naval officers and their wives. 
 We meet at meals, and in the evening occasionally, in a 
 large parlor, where there is a piano. The society is excel- 
 lent ; the lodgers, all arriving from different parts of our 
 country, and all having seen the world, have abundant 
 sources of conversation, both pleasing and instructive and 
 all the common gossipping about Our neighbors, which you 
 so thoroughly despise, is thereby avoided. To be sure, my 
 husband and I much prefer to pass our evenings together in 
 our own parlor, but we occasionally mingle with the board- 
 ers, to avoid all semblance of singularity ; and when he is 
 on duty, I go to the ladies, and play for them to dance and 
 also sing, they professing to like my humble efforts in either 
 way. There arc here some charming Mahonese women, 
 who have taught me their beautiful embroidery, and I am 
 busily employed in working two lace shawls one for you, 
 and another for my dear mother. 
 
 ' You will smile, my dear friend, when I assure you I 
 firmly believe the naval officers' wives to be the happiest 
 women in the world. The fact is, that their husbands never 
 remain long enough at home to become wearied of their 
 society ; and then a sailor always fancies all women to be 
 angels maybe never be disabused. Certainly the sepa- 
 rations are shocking. Just imagine a three-years' absence ! 
 What shall I do when my hour arrives ? I tremble while I
 
 OF BOSTON. 279 
 
 write. There is no end to the amount of sympathy de- 
 manded here for the outgoings and incomings ; this veiy 
 morning Mrs. Captain Barrett, an excellent friend of mine, 
 is bewailing the departure of her liege lord in an agony of 
 tears, in my parlor ; and precisely at the same time, Mrs. 
 Lieutenant Carter rushes in with the joyful intelligence that 
 her husband has reached the Ripraps, so I demand of the 
 twain. Am I to laugh or to cry ? Nothing caa surpass the 
 kindness of the officers to the families of their absent ship- 
 mates ; they are even excellent nurses. We have had a 
 case of sickness and death here, where the attentions were 
 of the most delicate character ; where men, who had faced 
 the cannon's mouth, watched over a little child like women, 
 and thoughtfully ordered from the pastry-cooks jellies and 
 confections for the sufferer ; and when he died, laid him 
 tenderly and feelingly in his coffin, and covered it with 
 flowers. 
 
 ' The towns-people are very hospitable and kind, and have 
 the most agreeable fashion of sending us, by comely blacks, 
 the most delicious lunches, and immense baskets of odorife- 
 rous flowers, and they also give gay and pleasant balls and 
 dinners. Thus you perceive, dear Mrs, Barclay, how very 
 pleasant are the places in which my lines are cast. 
 
 ' I send my devoted and enduring love to your daughters, 
 my respectful regards to your husband, and pray you to be- 
 lieve me, as ever, your most affectionately attached 
 
 ' Clara Rosevelt.' 
 
 !Mrs. Barclay was highly pleased with the good news of 
 her young friend's welfare, and expressed herself accord- 
 ingly. ' The end thereof has not yet arrived,' said Mr. 
 Richard. Gracy bounded to him, and closing his mouth 
 with her hand, conjured him not to say one word in dispar- 
 agement of her dear friend's marriage. 
 
 ' Now just suppose,' said the Dolly, ' if I should take it
 
 280 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 into my head or heart to give you a handsome young officer 
 for a nephew, what would you do, uncle mine ? ' 
 
 ' I would immediately lock you up, Miss.' 
 
 ' But I may yet, for all your threats.' 
 
 ' Who would think of you having a lover,' said Mr. Rich- 
 ard, 'a baby like you, eternally on your father's knee. 
 Pshaw ! you are not yet out of leading-strings.' 
 
 ' But I have had,' cried the Dolly; and then, overwhelm- 
 ed with confusion, she hid her head on her father's shoulder, 
 and nearly cried from mortification. 
 
 Mr. Richard living, as he did, so entirely in this family, 
 and daily beholding its members, did not perceive that the 
 youngest daughter had o'ertopped her sisters, and actually 
 appeared to be older than they were. And true it was, 
 moreover, that a foreign traveller, of good family and large 
 fortune, had demanded her hand of her father, after the 
 fashion of his country. Mr. Barclay had courteously refused 
 this alliance, and had hesitated as to the propriety of inform- 
 ing he Dolly of this important conquest. On reflection, he 
 concluded to tell her. She heard him with profound atten- 
 tion, and informed him that she was exceedingly obliged to 
 him for refusing the gentleman's otfer. She confessed she 
 had a prejudice for being differently won, and would never 
 marry any man, even if she died an old maid, who did not 
 ask her consent before her fatlicr's. The next time she met 
 her rejected suitor, she made it a point to turn her back 
 upon him most indignantly, which demonstration did not 
 appear to annoy him in the least, and at this the Dolly con- 
 fessed she was vastly surprised. Mr. Richard, who had not 
 heard this passage in his favorite's life, was very much 
 amused at her spirited answer, and declared that, notwith- 
 standing his love for her sisters, he really believed, if he 
 possessed a fortune, he should make the gipsey his heiress. 
 
 Mrs. Rosovelt's epistle proved most satisfactory to all her 
 friends and acquaintances, except Miss Serena Tidmarsh, 
 who having, Cassandra-like, prophesied that Clara's mar-
 
 OF BOSTON. 281 
 
 riage would prove unhappy, was consequently much annoy- 
 ed that her evil omens had not been verified. However, she 
 consoled herself with saying, ' Well, ISlr. Rosevelt will be 
 ordered to the coast of Africa shortly, I've no doubt,' and 
 thereupon took especial comfort. But Mr. Rosevelt had 
 already enjoyed, before his marriage, a cruise in that engag- 
 ingly fascinating region, and contracted an irritation of the 
 nerves of his eyes, which, though not at all disfiguring, was 
 of sufficient importance to warrant an application for a con- 
 stant absence from the shores which had proved, fortunately 
 for him, not so disastrous as they commonly are. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Meredith, the young clergyman who 
 had been presented to the Barclays at the same time with 
 the young officer, was a man of remarkable purity of thought 
 and action, and was noted for his particularly conscientious 
 discharge of his parochial duties. His talents were good, 
 his delivery most simple and impressive, and, at times, even 
 afTectingly touching. He was not reputed to be a brilliant 
 writer, yet his followers were perpetually enchained by the 
 unaffected naturalness of his style and the almost apostolic 
 grace of his manner, to which his expressive face and noble 
 bearing added additional charms. From his earliest days 
 Mr. Meredith had devoted himself to Gospel teaching ; and 
 having completed his studies, he was invited to preside over 
 a rather fastidious parish in Boston. This call was but par- 
 tially accepted, as he insisted on being granted the permis- 
 sion to preach one year before the closing step should be 
 taken in his ordination, which would bind him and his people 
 irrevocably together, he dwelling solemnly on the impor- 
 tance of this measure, as tending to perfect the intimate 
 relations between himself and the people over whom he was 
 to preside. 
 
 The parish was rather unwilling to grant this request, as he 
 was considered well qualified to satisfy all its various requisi- 
 tions ; but he persisted in modestly adhering to his primal 
 resolution. At the expiration of a year, in which his popu- 
 24*
 
 282 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 larity had increased tenfold, Mr. Meredith informed the 
 parish that, in the interim, he had, very unexpectedly, come 
 into the possession of a large fortune from the demise of his 
 grandfather ; but that this accession to his temporalities 
 would in nowise interfere with his previous arrangements, 
 his life having been -always consecrated to the ministry. 
 This state of things would then produce no change in either 
 his vocation or feelings, and he had but touched upon it in 
 order to ask leave to associate with him, as a colleague, a 
 young friend, w^hose share in the ministerial duties would 
 naturally lighten his own labors, and thereby allow him more 
 time to devote to his people. 
 
 Mr. Meredith declared, that he thought a vast deal more 
 good might be effected by social intercourse with his parish- 
 ioners tlian by the most elaborate discourses; that his own 
 highest aim in his relations with them was to understand, as 
 far as in him laid, their wants and requirements, and to re- 
 spond to them in the truest spirit of devotion. By associ- 
 ating with him his friend, he was assured of a corresponding 
 acquiescence and a perfect similitude of views and opinions, 
 and, far greater than all beside, of acts. He said he had 
 long conceived it to be almost an impossibility for a clergy- 
 man to write in such a manner as to perfectly satisfy his 
 parish, and at the same time to see his people freely, in all 
 their hours of need ; that if he were obliged to choose be- 
 tween these two alternatives, he should decidedly adopt the 
 latter, as eventually proving the most useful and beneficial. 
 
 Upon this request being granted, Mr. Meredith assumed 
 the responsibilities of his position in the most solemn and 
 impressive manner, and devoting all the energv of his soul 
 and mind to the discharge of his sacred mission, became to 
 his people their pastor in the most perfect acceptation of the 
 word. His was no violent manifestation of zeal expending 
 itself in froth and fume, but the lucidly clear and gentle 
 current flowing securely, refreshing and revivifving its banks 
 as it passes along slowly and pleasantly. It was some time
 
 OF BOSTON. 283 
 
 before the apparently unimpressible style of Mr. Meredith's 
 manner was appreciated ; but once allowed to take firm hold 
 on the listener, its grasp was adamantine, there was no re- 
 coil from it ; the hardest of hearts were softened, the rather 
 that his eloquence was insinuating from its extreme gentle- 
 ness than from its brilliancy or profound reasoning. Mr. 
 Meredith's mission on earth was to persuade sinners to walk 
 in the right way, not to force ; and in this he was eminently 
 successful. 
 
 The young clergyman soon found Mr. Barclay's house a 
 great resource in his hours of relaxation. He was remarka- 
 bly social and genial in his feelings, and the society he met 
 therein satisfying him completely, he consequently became 
 a frequent guest. 
 
 The Barclays all, with one exception, were delighted with 
 this valuable acquisition ; and the only person who did not 
 appear quite captivated by the gentle graces of the young 
 pastor was the Dolly. This juvenile Missey had, at first, 
 quite admired Mr. Meredith, but suddenly rather avoided 
 him, declaring him to be all too good for her. She said he 
 looked, breathed and discoursed goodness, until she was 
 fairly wearied. 
 
 Mr. Meredith, however, took small note of this dissentient 
 voice, and was uniformly polite and attentive to her, but she 
 rejected his overtures rather significantly, and held herself 
 quite aloof from the gentleman's attentions. The Dolly's 
 dislike on this occasion was not very demonstrative, hers 
 usually were, she rather avoided the source of it by evad- 
 ing all advances to conversation and intercourse. She did 
 not, in her accustomed way, express it openly, but only now 
 and then gave expression to it. 
 
 Mr. Richard Barclay had lately become extremely capti- 
 vated with the persuasive powers of the youthful divine, and 
 had actually purchased a pew in the chapel, in which he 
 was constantly seen, a most assiduous attendant upon the 
 service. The Dolly and Nursey Bristow were often for-
 
 284 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 mally installed in this pew, the Missey declaring she much 
 preferred Mr. Meredith's preaching to his talking; his crown- 
 ing virtue, in her eyes, being the shortness of his sermons. 
 Nursey Bristow thought every thing he said and did, per- 
 fection.
 
 OF BOSTON. 285 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ' But I, I seek thee in my heart of hearts, 
 '^Vhere none thine image sweet can see, 
 My hidden love, my secret faith that parts 
 Not with my life, my gentlest girl, from thee. ' 
 
 Tasso. 
 
 Mrs. Sanderson pined for her beloved son. She had 
 received letters in abundance, setting forth his prosperity, 
 Mr. Johnstone's unvarying kindness, and his own certainty 
 that the time would soon come when he should once more 
 retrace his steps to his native land, and behold all he held most 
 dear on earth. Then, then could he claim the hand of the 
 delicious young creature to whom he had devoted his heart's 
 best affections ; then could he ask her to share his lot, and 
 bestow upon her all the luxuries of existence. And although 
 no tryst had passed between Charles Sanderson and Grace 
 Barclay, the pure faith was deep rooted in his bosom; he 
 believed in her, his trust was unshaken. Mrs. Sanderson 
 contributed greatly to this state of feeling by her unvaried 
 assurances of her firm belief in the young girl's constancy, 
 and she kept her son advised of all the indications of deep 
 interest manifested by Grace on the reception of bits of 
 intelligence imparted, not positively to her, but to all her 
 relatives. 
 
 In this manner the far distant exile was comforted and 
 consoled under his privations, and the time, which would 
 otherwise have dragged so sadly and slowly along, wtxs 
 bereft of a portion of its weariness by the ministering hand 
 of the mother. And this was of signal importance to ]\Irs.
 
 286 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Sanderson herself, by reason of keeping her mind occupied, 
 and interesting her intensely in the proceedings of various 
 suitors for Grace Barclay's favor, which the beautiful girl's 
 attractions gathered around her, and to whom she evinced the 
 most perfect indifference. As these pretenders to the hand 
 of the young girl appeared and disappeared, Mrs. Sander- 
 son busied herself in advising her son of their rebuffs, and 
 communicated to him the most exquisite pleasure. At last, 
 after many disappointments and hope deferred, sickening 
 the mother's heart, there came the joyful and blessed 
 intelligence that the Charley was on the eve of returning, 
 having etrected a prosperous arrangement with the India 
 house to transact its American business in Boston, and was 
 also to bring with him Mr. Johnstone, who proposed to fix 
 himself in the city. 
 
 And soon the long-expected son ai'rived, looking outward- 
 ly quite like another creature, but ever the same dear 
 Charley internally. Though the India sun had embrowned 
 his skin to such an extent, and the addition of a most 
 imposing moustache, with nearly a foot to his height, had 
 made him almost unrecognisable, yet was he still the self- 
 same joyous creature. And such a jubilation as his arrival 
 created ! His mother, in a trance of delight, could not take 
 her eyes from him ; his brother, beside himself with rapture ; 
 Peter and Dinah, oblivious of all proprieties, laughing and 
 crying, dancing and singing ; Tiger's successor scampering 
 about and barking tremendously ; and Mr. Philip Egerton 
 touching, almost imperceptibly, Charley's expanded palm 
 with the tips of his frozen fingers. 
 
 Then such loads of presents, scarfs, shawls, muslins and 
 sinchaws ! Mrs. Sanderson knew not what to do with her 
 treasures, so numerous were they, and Gerald had cashmere 
 cloth sufficient to make him forty jdressing-gowns and as 
 many waistcoats. In the evening Charley begged his mother 
 to accompany him to Mr. Barclay's, in which request she 
 joyfully acquiesced, Gerald accompanying them. They
 
 OF BOSTON. 287 
 
 were greeted most cordially, and the Charley received many 
 complimentary notices of the great change which had trans- 
 pired in his personal appearance, with the hope that none 
 had been made otherwise. The family were all content he 
 should return exactly the same pleasant individual that he 
 departed. To one and all the traveller brought some 
 memento, some curious India stuff or rarity. He seemed 
 to wish that all should share his happiness and prosperity. 
 No one was forgotten, Johnny's fireworks were amazing 
 from their variety and beauty, and even Nursey Bristow had 
 been remembered. Mr. Richard declared his present to be 
 the very best of the whole collection, and was truly over- 
 joyed to see his favorite once more. On being questioned 
 as to the whereabouts of his ' convert,' Charley declared he 
 had left him at the Tremont House ; he having totally re- 
 fused to accompany him home, but hoped shortly to have 
 the pleasure to introduce all his friends to him, and particu- 
 larly begged Mr. Barclay and his brother would call upon 
 him, which they agreed to do the very next morning. 
 
 Charley spoke of his new friend in terms of unbounded 
 gratitude, and could hardly have been more enthusiastic had 
 he known all that ^Ir. Johnstone had done for him ; that gen- 
 tleman having kept concealed a large portion of the benefits 
 he had conferred upon his young friend. This he was able 
 to do by making all the extraordinary preferment and 
 advantage appear to proceed from the head of the India 
 house ; whereas, certain bags of rupees had very miraculous- 
 ly facilitated the sudden gradations in the rise of the young 
 merchant. In fact, ' the convert ' had become so devotedly 
 and earnestly attached to Charles Sanderson, that he could 
 not live without him, and had followed him home. Havino- 
 had no family ties and no friendly relations in this life, his 
 pent-up feelings, which had been lying dormant for so many 
 long, long years, were now gushing forth like perennial 
 springs, watering and refreshing the soul of this solitary 
 man to such an extent, that he felt himself waxing better and
 
 288 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 better in body and mind as time rolled on. Now, all this 
 amelioration in his condition he acknowledged was to be 
 attributed to the genial and blessed influence of Charles 
 Sanderson. Time was, when Mr. Johnstone would not have 
 believed in the existence of a creature so perfectly true and 
 disinterested, as the boy whom he had found on the sluggish 
 waters of the India seas, and who was ordained by Divine 
 Providence to conduct him to the source of all light and 
 life, a repentant and erring sinner. Now, all was changed, 
 he had become a new man and a regenerated one, looking 
 upon things terrestrial and celestial with other eyes than the 
 jaundiced vision of by-gone days ; existence had become 
 to him a boon, for had he not something to love, something 
 to interest him ? How different was his condition, in these 
 awakened moments, from the morbid torpidity of his pre- 
 vious life ! Then he was encompassed with darkness, and 
 yet endured the torture of compunctious visitings in that 
 benighted state ; now he beheld in the perspective a bright 
 and shining goal, which, with careful perseverance, he 
 hoped, in process of time, to reach, and there present him- 
 self as a burnt offering in humiliation and supplication. 
 
 And Grace, how did she feel on the rc-appcarance of 
 her child lover? Slic had heard of his projected arrival, 
 and knew precisely the time he was expected to come, and 
 watched and waited at the window which looked out upon 
 the waters of the bay, seeking to distinguish the white 
 canvass which would waft home the youth whose image had 
 never been supplanted in her breast. And how had her 
 remembrance fared, meanwhile, in his heart of hearts ? 
 This was a question she asked herself every hour in the day. 
 How would he look upon her ? The first glance would 
 decide this oft mooted point, the first glance alone. And 
 that one soul-searching look sufficed ; she knew he had been 
 constant, ' as the sun-flower turns on his God when he sets, 
 the same look which he turned when he rose,' so came that 
 glance to her, and she was content withal. It had been a
 
 OF BOSTON. 289 
 
 love-song without words, the passion of these young people, 
 even such as German composers have given to enraptured 
 ears, none the less eloquent for lacking sweet voices. No 
 tryst had been made, no promise given, no vows pledged, yet 
 were they perfectly assured of the constancy of each other 
 from the rapturous moment their eyes met. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Barclay and his brother called upon 
 Mr. Johnstone. They found him overflowing with grateful 
 reminiscences of his first meeting with Charles Sanderson, 
 which succeeding years had not diminished ; indeed, he 
 declared he should never have re-visited his native land but 
 for that meeting.- He now hoped, he said, to finish his days 
 in his own country, and he considered his having encounter- 
 ed that youth to be a signal interposition of Providence in 
 his own behalf. He wished to know his family and all his 
 friends intimately, to form new social ties, to enter freely 
 into a world he had obstinately and blindly rejected, being 
 now convinced, through the teachings of his youthful friend, 
 that it was not the hateful place he had morbrdly pictured it 
 to be. He desired to live with his fellow-men, to share their 
 sorrows and their joys, and was convinced that this was the 
 supreme will of his Creator, otherwise he would not have 
 been sent on earth. He owed this revolution in his senti- 
 ments to the benign and genial influence of his preserver, 
 for thus he should ever continue to call him, and he hoped 
 and trusted to profit most beneficially from his farther inter- 
 course with all that young man's friends. 
 
 The brothers were greatly pleased with this interview, 
 and entreated Mr. Johnstone to visit them freely, and to make 
 himself at home with them, which he promised to do, and 
 shortly availed himself of their profiered hospitalities. 
 
 Mr. Johnstone went to see Mrs. Sanderson, and gladdened 
 her heart with good tidings of the excellence of her son, his 
 pleasant prospects, and the confidence which was placed in 
 him by his commercial correspondents abroad. He begged 
 permission to be considered quite a member of her family, 
 23
 
 290 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 and declared that, having so long possessed the inestimable 
 treasure of Charles Sanderson's companionship, she must 
 not engross too much of his time, or he should be made 
 quite wretched. Mrs. Sanderson promised to awardto him 
 a full share of her darling's leisure, and they parted mutual- 
 ly pleased with each other. 
 
 Mr. Johnstone immediately purchased an elegant house in 
 the vicinity of Mr. Barclay's establishment, and furnished it 
 in a style of oriental magnificence ; and, as he had brought 
 home with him some native servants, the illusion seemed 
 quite perfect. How the poor creatures were to withstand the 
 inclemency of the winter season seemed extremely dubious ; 
 but, after gathering up a large quantity of snow, which they 
 called white wool, and crying their eyes out because it 
 melted, and freezing their fingers besides, they concluded to 
 remain in the well warmed house, and never more stir 
 abroad. To this resolve they religiously adhered, and 
 prospered accordingly. Mr. Johnstone immediately com- 
 menced giving a series of beautiful dinners which proved 
 extremely popular, and as he had a storehouse of India 
 rarities at his disposal, and was, moreover, very generously 
 and gallantly inclined to bestow them upon the ladies, there 
 seemed to be no bounds to the favor he found in their bright 
 eyes. And all this he seemed to enjoy with intense delight, 
 and entered into the spirit of the entertainments as if he had 
 never been present at anv before, which was, in fact, the 
 case, so that they possessed for him all the charm of novelty. 
 Mr. Johnstone insisted that Charles Sanderson should always 
 assist him in performing the duties of a courteous host, and 
 would fain have enlisted him as an occupant of his little 
 palace ; but to this arrangement the young gentleman object- 
 ed, as he declared his mother would be actually jealous if he 
 abandoned her. 
 
 And Mr. Philip Egerton even condescended to honor ]\Ir. 
 Johnstone with his august presence at the festivities proifered 
 by such a generous and hospitable host, even though he made
 
 OF BOSTON. 
 
 no return, his own wonderful exploit, in that way, having satis- 
 fied him for the rest of his natural life, Mrs. Sanderson was 
 drawn out also on the plea of ' its only being a bachelor's 
 party,' but to this was superadded her gratitude for all the 
 kindness the host continually showered upon her son. 
 
 !\Ir. Johnstone devoted himself to Grace Barclay, making 
 her the most magnificent and costly presents, and distinguish- 
 ing her, upon all occasions, above her peers. A short time 
 after Charles Sanderson's return, he waited upon Mr. Bar- 
 clay, and, in his accustomed frank and straight-forward man- 
 ner, declared his undying love for his daughter ; that it 
 had never faltered for a moment, during his long absence ; 
 that the hope of obtaining her hand had been the beacon- 
 light of his India life, and the primary cause of all his 
 exertions ; that he had solemnly adhered to his promise, and 
 never breathed one word of his entire devotion into her ears. 
 He begged permission, nov.-, that his prospects were bright 
 and cheerful, and that he felt he could bestow upon this idol 
 of his soul the same luxuries she enjoyed at home, to be 
 allowed to speak to her, to ask her to share his lot. Mr. 
 Barclay, who, when Charles Sanderson was pennyless, had 
 resolved to give his consent to his union with his daughter, 
 withheld it not, but graciously and frankly accepted him 
 as his son, and bade him try his fortune with Grace im- 
 mediateU". This being speedily effected satisfactorily, the 
 youthful pair, looking supremely happy, presented themselves 
 before the contented father and mother, and received their 
 fervent benedictions. 
 
 ]\Irs. Sanderson declared that the measure of her satis- 
 faction was entire and complete. Gerald was enchanted, 
 Mr. Richard delighted in the welfare of his favorite, and Mr. 
 Egerton forgot himself, on this felicitous occasion, into the 
 expression of something very much like ' capital match, 
 good fellow, pretty girl, excellent stock,' pronounced in a 
 most formal and emphatic manner, but clearly enunciated, 
 as Peter and Dinah could have testified, had they not them-
 
 292 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 selves been assiduously engaged inmaking, what the Poles 
 call an hurrah's nest, in such a loud and furious manner, that a 
 respectable thunder-clap would have passed over their black 
 heads unheeded. Indeed, the young gentleman, the hero of 
 this uproar, was almost torn piecemeal by his warm-hearted 
 humble friends.
 
 OF BOSTON. 293 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 The lust of gold succeeds the lust of conquests, 
 The lust of gold, unfeeling and remorseless, 
 The last corruption of degenerate man.' 
 
 JOHXSOS. 
 
 Mr. Egerton had been indisposed several times during 
 the season, and there had been reports of sudden seizures 
 with cramps and violent pains, which he strenuously denied, 
 and, in truth, dragged himself slowly down to his accus- 
 tomed resorts, when he had really no longer strength and 
 power to do so, in. order to prove that he was not an invalid. 
 In vain Mrs. Sanderson begged and entreated her brother 
 to remain at home, and take some little care of himself, 
 but he always refused distinctly, and seemed to receive all 
 hints respecting attention to his own health in the light of per- 
 sonal affronts. 
 
 Mrs. Sanderson knew not what to do. Gerald had never 
 renewed any intimacy with his uncle sufficient to warrant 
 any interference in his affairs, and Charley, keeping himself, 
 as much as possible, out of Mr. Egerton's presence, dared 
 not open his lips to him. The secluded life of Mr. Egerton 
 precluding all access to him, Peter was the only medium 
 through which his sister could obtain any positive informa- 
 tion of his state and condition. It appeared, on inquiry, 
 that Mr, Egerton had very sleepless nights accompanied 
 with great suffering, which he had for a long time alleviated 
 with opium, but that failing to produce effect, his pain had 
 become intense, yet all the while he would have no medical 
 25*
 
 294 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 assistance. At last, the accounts of his servant beconning 
 more serious every day, Mrs. Sanderson resolved to speak. 
 Mr. Egerton was excessively otlended at her venturing to 
 give any adVice whatever, and declared his fixed resolve 
 not to apply to the fannily physician. He said he had no 
 faith in medical men, and would not see any of them. 
 
 This state of things continuing, greatly to his sister's 
 sorrow, she knew not what to do, when one morning Peter 
 called her before daylight, and informed her that he had 
 been watchinij all night at his master's door, having heard 
 him groan at eleven o'clock, and not daring to enter, he 
 could endure the suspense no longer, and had come to beg 
 her to go and discover the cause of his illness. Mrs. San- 
 derson arose, and hastily throwing on a dressing-gown, 
 reached her brother's chamber to find him insensible. She 
 sent immediately for medical assistance, and in a short 
 time several of the faculty made their appearance, and 
 having applied all necessary restoratives, pronounced Mr. 
 Egerton's case liopeless. They said he had sulFered for 
 years with an internal complaint which was incurable ; that 
 it had reached its crisis, and that no one could tell what 
 he must have endured of pain and agony. It ap[)eared that 
 he had always understood the exact nature of his malady, 
 and believing that nothing could relieve him, had never 
 tried any thing. On being restored to sensibility, the sick 
 man asked how long he might live ; and said he had been 
 for years awaiting his final hour; that he was prepared, 
 and desired only to see Mr. Barclay. His question of the 
 duration of his life was answered by the doctors that he 
 might live a day or two, not more, and with this assurance 
 and some palliative remedy, the gentlemen took leave. 
 Mrs. Sanderson remained at her brother's bedside, and after 
 a quiet sleep of an hour he awoke, seemed quite relieved 
 of pain, and again desired to see I\lr. Barclay. She sent 
 instantly for him ; he came, and she left them together. 
 
 Mr. Egerton was very weak, but calm and collected; he
 
 OF BOSTON. 295 
 
 welcomed his visitor, and requesting him to be seated, he 
 said : ' You are, my dear sir, the only person I respect 
 sufficiently in this world to invite to my deathbed, to hear 
 a species of confession, which, if I were a Roman Catholic, 
 would be made to my confessor; and, in fact, you do now 
 stand very much in that position towards me.' 
 
 Mr. Barclay interrupted Mr. Egerton, and entreated him 
 not to tax his strength by commencing any long narrative, 
 but he replied, ' He must do this now, or never.' He re- 
 sumed, ' You well know, my dear Sir, that my deceased 
 father had expended nearly the whole of the remains of his 
 once large property before he departed, having lost in manu- 
 factories immense sums, the proceeds of India ventures 
 which he had invested, as it proved, injudiciously. In point 
 of fact, my father left little else than this estate, yet, as 
 he imagined me to be immensely wealthy, this gave him 
 no uneasiness, being convinced that poor Emma and her 
 children would never want for any thing while I had the 
 means to provide for them. When his will was opened, it 
 had be.en executed many years previous, it was found that 
 he had bequeathed this estate to me, and the residue of his 
 property was to be divided between my sister and myself. 
 Now, there was next to nothing left besides the old house, 
 and Emma and her husband acquiesced in my opinion that 
 this state of things should be kept a profound secret, and 
 so it was, and has been, up to this moment. I came home, 
 after many years' absence, with the reputation of being a 
 Crcesus, a false estimate often made of returned Chinamen, 
 and finding that the renown of my reputed gold had pen- 
 etrated into the heart of my native city, and that all I could 
 do, or say, my people would never be disabused of their 
 belief in my wealth, I tacitly consented to their bestowal 
 of a colossal fortune upon mc. There was something so 
 captivating to my perverted imagination in hearing, even 
 the small boys whisper, as I passed along the crowded 
 streets, " There goes the rich Mr. Egerton," that I could
 
 296 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 not persuade myself to renounce the gratification it afforded 
 me. I believe scholarly attainments and literature have 
 more dominant power in Boston than any where else in my 
 country, and that we are even apt to over-rate what we 
 possess in that way ; but wealth, all-glittering wealth, is 
 still worshipped, alas! all too much, and, as I now lie 
 here, the world receding from my view, I deplore, in 
 anguish of spirit, my own insane love of even its shadow. 
 None other have I ever possessed than a vain show ; for 
 my fortune, even while in Canton, had been over-rated, 
 and just before I returned home I lost two valuable ships, 
 one on the North-west coast, and another on her pas- 
 sage to America, which gave nearly the finishing blow 
 to my finances. But when I once more trod my native 
 shores, and discovered what a personage the fancied pos- 
 session of a large fortune had made me, the respect with 
 which it environed me, and the great consequence it im- 
 parted to my position, I, who had no scholarly tastes, or 
 literary pursuits, and no decided talent, succumbed under 
 the temptations offered me by the above state of things, 
 and consented to be a living lie. AVould that 1 had died 
 ere I thus degraded myself. 
 
 ' And this has been to me a living death. My downfall 
 was terrible. A man of honor once, I felt myself an im- 
 postor; I looked no honest man fairly in the face, and not 
 being willing to bear the outward semblance of a cheat, I 
 vowed to hold my head higher and more haughtily than any 
 one else in the community, and hide my degradation from 
 mankind if I could not from myself. And thus, just in the 
 ratio that I was lowered in my own private estimation, did 
 I appear cold, haughty and defiant to the world. I have 
 held small intercourse with my fellows, have denied myself 
 the gratification of all social and genial intercourse, which, 
 I really believe, I should have grcatlv enjoved, and absent- 
 ed myself even from your charming abode for this same 
 reason. The weight of my own duplicity presses too heavily
 
 OF BOSTON. 297 
 
 on a once honorable spirit. And, alas! what has not been 
 lost, lost to me by my voluntaiy alienation from poor 
 Emma and her noble boys. This alone seems to me price- 
 less. Knowing I could do nothing more for them but secure 
 a shelter under the old roof-tree in the dwelling which, in 
 fact, partly belonged to them, and being unwilling to behold 
 their many wants and privations without possessing the pow- 
 er to gratify them, which under the circumstances was im- 
 possible, I withdrew from their presence, and, retreating 
 into my den, in a corner of the old house, left the rest of it 
 to my heirs. Thus I continued to dwell within myself, 
 no pleasant domicil, I can assure you, and closed up all 
 the issues of my heart : for I have one, whatever may be as- 
 serted to the contrary. 
 
 ' My heirs, forsooth ! poor fellows, I sicken at my own 
 delusion ! And what have I gained by it ? Scandal and 
 detraction, " The old miser" my title. Oh ! many a time 
 and oft, have I longed ardently to throw myself on my dear 
 sister's neck, and reveal the sad tale of my internal suffer- 
 ings, God knows, I had bodily enough, but they were 
 as naught, in comparison with the mental. I absolutely, at 
 times, hungered and thirsted to hear her sympathizing voice 
 pouring the balm of commiseration into my soul. But 
 pride, indomitable pride, has colored and distorted my whole 
 career on earth, and, instead of a deathbed surrounded by 
 loving hearts, breathing forth prayers for my salvation, I am 
 doomed to depart, unmourned and unregretted. When I 
 reflect how different might have been these my last hours, 
 but for the leviathan absorbing my whole being ; when I 
 think that, but for the contemptible renown of possessing 
 filthy dross, I bartered away my soul to the prince of dark- 
 ness, I bow down my once loftily raised head, and, in sack- 
 cloth and ashes, repent me my sins. I am even willing, 
 reserved and retiring as I have been, as a slight extenuation 
 of my offences against God and man, to point a moral and 
 adorn a tale as a beacon-light to my countrymen, "the 
 proud man's contumely " has disappeared,'
 
 298 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Mr. Egerton's ' confession ' was not made without many 
 interruptions, and almost as soon as he had finished, another 
 violent attack occurred, and then ho fell into a drowsy state, 
 in which he remained many hours. Mrs. Sanderson, her 
 sons, and Mr. Barclay surrounded his bed, but could not 
 perceive that he in any way recognised them, Peter and 
 Dinah they were necessitated to order out of the chamber, 
 so obstreperous were they in their demonstrations of grief 
 at ' the Massa's illness.' At twelve that night he breathed 
 his last, so quietly that none knew when his spirit took 
 flight. Mrs. Sanderson remained with the body until morn- 
 ing dawned, and then retired to her own room, but not to 
 sleep. She retraced all the steps in her past life, and pon- 
 dered over them, she tried to remember if she had ever, in 
 word or deed, given cause for the evident estrangement of 
 this dead brother, her only one ! She forced herself to 
 recapitulate all the events of their disunited existence, and 
 the result of her communings with herself was, that if she, 
 perchance, had been more courageous and less timid, she 
 might have made more impression on the hardened nature 
 of her sole relative, and she blamed herself severely, 
 and not Philip Egcrton. Now, this was Mrs. Sanderson's 
 characteristic, the casting of all blame on herself, and 
 exonerating her brother. Perhaps, a more fearlessly ener- 
 getic person might have succeeded better, but with the 
 unrevealed secret which the departed had just divulged to 
 Mr. Barclay, a load on his soul, it does not appear 
 probable his sister could have effected any radical change 
 in the character of a man who idolized, even the fabulous 
 reputation of great wealth, to the extent of abandoning 
 kith and kin for its supposititious possession ; and even 
 with but a bare sufTicicncy for daily wants, assumed 
 the semblance and bearing of a nabob, and was willing 
 to incur the disgrace of even being universally consider- 
 ed an uncommon miser for Mammon's sake. While that 
 ever carefully guarded secret remained undivulged, Mr.
 
 OF BOSTON. 299 
 
 Egerton, was like a man in mailed armor clad, or the 
 Neapolitan entangled in the fisher's net, the meshes con- 
 stantly growing smaller and smaller as time waned. There 
 could have been no release whatever from his self-imposed 
 thraldom. 
 
 Death, even unaccompanied by troops of agonized rela- 
 tives, mourning friends and sorrowing survivors, is always 
 and ever a solemn messenger, performing his melancholy 
 errand impressively. Neither Gerald nor Charles Sanderson 
 loved their departed uncle. And wherefore should they ? 
 He had assuredly never given them any cause to do so, for 
 love comes not at duty's call, but affection's thrall ; yet they 
 nevertheless felt solem.nly and impressively that the grim 
 tyrant had entered the old house and ' ta'en away its lord.' 
 And as he rarely deals his blows singly, they trembled ; 
 for who might be the next victim ? The darkened rooms, 
 the whispering voices of the attendants on funereal obse- 
 quies, the silence and hushed footsteps of all around, combin- 
 ed to arouse sad reflections on the instability of human 
 affairs, and to teach that ' this is no continuing city.' 
 
 On examination, a few indistinct lines were found, traced 
 with a pencil, in which Mr. Egerton expressed his desire to 
 be buried as privately as possible, and requesting that his 
 sister, her sons and servants should alone follow him to his 
 last resting-place ; but if Mr. Barclay himself should feel 
 disposed to pay his memory the respect of joining his rela- 
 tives and seeing him home, he begged him to do so. Ac- 
 cordingly, every thing was ordered in the most unpretending 
 manner ; Mr. Meredith performing the ceremony devoutly 
 and acceptably, and the last of the proud and lofty Philip 
 Egerton was laid in the Copp's Hill Cemetery, and, side by 
 side, he and his father slept. Mrs. Sanderson was unspeak- 
 ably affected, as she stood on the hallowed spot containing 
 all her kindred, and turning from it threw herself into 
 Gerald's arms, and was borne fainting to her carriage by 
 her two sons.
 
 300 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 A week had elapsed when Mr. Barclay wrote a note to 
 Mrs. Sanderson, and requested an interview with her and 
 her children. This being accorded, he saw iliem, and then 
 came the explanation of all the glaring iticongruities in their 
 deceased relative's conduct, the origin of the lights and the 
 shadows. They were all sadly pained, as they listened to 
 this strange revelation, and Charley, who had, times without 
 mind, thought his uncle ' an old miser,' now reproached 
 himself bitterly for this aspersion of his character, and, at 
 the same moment, rejoiced he had never given any expres- 
 sion to his opinions, or allowed others to do so in his pres- 
 ence. Gerald, also considering himself to have erred in 
 the same way, was equally penitent, and they all felt, moth- 
 er and sons, tliat they never had appreciated Mr. Egerton 
 until the causes of his apparent cold-heartedness were re- 
 vealed to them. Thcv remembered his failings only to be- 
 stow pity and commiseration upon them, and {)rayed that the 
 sin of his all-absorbing pride might be pardoned, in view 
 of the melancholy conflicts and suficrings it had engendered 
 during his lono: life. 
 
 The brothers were in nowise disappointed respecting tlie 
 loss of fortune ; they had never anticipated any inheritance 
 from their uncle, other than the old house : indeed, he had 
 constantly told them that a few thousands to their mother 
 would be all they would enjoy of his fortune. They had 
 ever known that they must win their own bread, and had 
 done so entirely independent of their relative, and they 
 perceived and acknowledged the wisdom of his proceedings. 
 Mrs. Sanderson, imagining that her brother had taken a 
 decided dislike to her sons, however incomprehensible this 
 might appear to her, supposed he would leave his immense 
 fortune to some public establishment, charitable or literary, 
 to found a name for himself. Then greatlv was she gratifi- 
 ed when slie discovered that no such prejudice existed, and 
 that the deceased had done full justice to the excellent 
 qualities of her darlings.
 
 OF BOSTON. 301 
 
 Thus it appeared, that this disinterested family was more 
 satisfied without a rich inheritance than many who, reach- 
 ing the goal of all their aspirations, attain the height of 
 what they believe to be the culminating point of human 
 prosperity. There is one thing incontrovertible, that 
 nothing excites such a revolution in habits and feelings as 
 the sudden accession of immense wealth, the recipients be- 
 coming changeable and unsettled, nothing satisfying, they 
 launch forth into a sea of trouble and expense, rarely re- 
 membering the poor, and deserting all their old haunts for 
 new ones. At least the Sandersons were not subjected to 
 any temptations of this sort, and things took their wonted 
 course. It was certainly surprising to behold how little Mr. 
 Egerton was missed in his own household ; how soon its 
 members became accustomed to the vacant seat at the 
 board where he had pi'esided so long in solemn state ; and 
 how much his departure had increased the list of his sister's 
 acquaintances. Persons, who had never before entered the 
 doors, called and made kind offers of bearing her company 
 in her solitude, and begged her to walk abroad and breathe 
 the air, and thus recruit her strength, and elevate her de- 
 pressed spirits. All this was pleasant enough, and possess- 
 ing the charm of novelty, she gradually and imperceptibly 
 revived. Her children were devoted to her, and, both 
 having the means of adding luxuries and enjoyments to her 
 existence, were truly a blessing to her. 
 
 Mr. Barclay's whole family were also an inappreciable 
 comfort to her, paying her all sorts of delicate attentions. 
 Mr. Egerton's insurance-office mates, missing him from his 
 old arm-chair, clutched eagerly at the newspapers he had 
 so pertinaciously retained during his life, and, having thor- 
 oughly discussed him in all his bearings, they repeated, 
 what they had said five hundred times before, that he was 
 a haughty, proud, and cold-hearted man, having never a 
 friend in the wide world; but this time, they were constrain- 
 ed to omit their favorite appellation of ' The old miser.' 
 26
 
 302 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 ' It is our nature's strong necessity, 
 
 And this the soul's unerring instincts tell ; 
 Therefore, I say, let us love worthily, 
 
 Dear child, and then we cannot love too well.' 
 
 SOUTHEY. 
 
 Mr. Barclay was passing through the hall, and just about 
 to leave his house for the day, when he beheld Mr. Meredith 
 sitting in his own little room, apparently waiting his coming. 
 He instantly entered and greeted him most cordially. As 
 this gentleman was in the habit of coming at all hours, on 
 errands of charity and other purposes, ]Mr. Barclay was not 
 surprised to find him there thus early ; but he was greatly 
 astonished at the excited and agitated state of his usually 
 calm and collected friend. Mr. Meredith seated himself, 
 and after a long pause in which he was apparently arrang- 
 ing his thoughts in order to frame a proper and set speech, 
 he burst forth, and in uncontrollable emotion, requested Mr. 
 Barclay to bestow upon him the hand of his daughter in 
 marriage, declaring that his future happiness entirely de- 
 pended on the answer he should receive. 
 
 ' My dear sir,' said Mr. Barclay, ' need I say what entire 
 and perfect satisfaction such an event as really possessing 
 you for a member of my family, would give both myself 
 and wife ? I know nothing that could surpass the pleasure 
 we both should feel in having the comfort and the honor of 
 calling you our son ; but it cannot be. I confess that I am 
 amazed you have not seen that another has gained the affec- 
 tions of my child ; to be sure, nothing has as yet been posi-
 
 OF BOSTON. 303 
 
 lively arranged, for I, in my selfishness, have not dared to 
 think of parting with my daughter, and therefore have pro- 
 crastinated the evil moment as much as possible. I well 
 know the time must come and shortly, yet every month 
 seems to me a grateful respite.' 
 
 ' I thank you, my dear sir,' said Mr. Meredith, ' for your 
 frankness, and for the flattering way in which you have 
 announced to me this unexpected intelligence. It is, indeed, 
 distressing to me, and will require all the stock of forti- 
 tude I pcssess to enable me to bear up against this sad blow 
 to my future hopes of happiness.' 
 
 ' I cannot avoid expressing my surprise,' said Mr. Barclay, 
 ' that you have permitted yourself to nurse such hopes in the 
 face of such an open and declared demonstration of atfection 
 as exists between Grace and our dear Charley Sanderson.' 
 
 'Grace,' cried Mr. Meredith, and hastily jumping out of 
 his chair, he caught Mr. Barclay by the hand and ex- 
 claimed, ' I have not asked for Grace ; you have another 
 daughter, Catherine, Catherine ! ' 
 
 ' What ! ' cried Mr. Barclay ; ' Kate ! my Dolly ! the child ! 
 This cannot be possible ! I beg your pardon ; but this is too 
 absurd to be credited.' 
 
 ' Absurd or not, my dear sir, 'tis nevertheless true, most 
 true.' 
 
 ' But think, I entreat you, of the folly of taking such a 
 volatile creature ; such a romping, waltzing young thing to 
 a parsonage ; reflect for a moment upon the manifest im- 
 propriety of such a procedure.' 
 
 ' I have looked upon this aspect of the case and every 
 other,' said the lover, ' and I firmly believe that any man 
 who can inspire Catherine Barclay with a profound attach- 
 ment, may mould her character precisely as he pleases. 
 The basis of that character is admirable. I am no blinded 
 adorer of imaginary perfections ; I think I see her exactly 
 as she is ; and you will excuse me when I say, that I really 
 believe the position of a clergyman's wife in the faithful
 
 304 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 discharge of all the onerous duties incumbent upon it, is 
 precisely the one for her. Your daughter is an enthusiastic 
 creature, overflowing with energy and feeling. These qual- 
 ities, once well directed into safe and proper channels, will 
 produce the most felicitous results. Nothing of any impor- 
 tance was ever attained in this world, in my opinion, without 
 enthusiasm. I know it is the fashion, in New England, to 
 think that a man must be deficient in correct judgment who 
 possesses this quality : my own observation goeth to the 
 contrary entirely. Let it be tempered with discretion, and 
 every thing good and great may be anticipated,' 
 
 ' But,' said Mr. Barclay, ' you have undoubtedly heard 
 her say many a time and oft, that nothing would induce 
 her to marry a clergyman, and be obliged to visit all the 
 old women in the parish.' 
 
 ' Yes, many a time and oft, as you observe, but I am 
 none the more discouraged for that. Let me try to win 
 your daughter, I pray and conjure you, my dear friend, and 
 she will do that very thing cheerfully.' 
 
 'But there certainly must be some latent cause for the 
 security you almost appear to manifest on this occasion. 
 Have you any reason to believe, that if I consent to part 
 with my child, she will ever herself consent to leave me and 
 her mother ? ' 
 
 ' We are positively sure of nothing in this changing world ; 
 but if you will make me supremely happy by granting me 
 your permission to urge my suit, I shall then be better able 
 to answer you. You must, indeed, excuse my apparent bold- 
 ness in my seeming certainty of your gracious assent ; but 
 you expressed yourself so flatteringly towards me when you 
 thought me the suitor for Miss Grace's hand, that I trust to 
 your acknowledged benevolence for my excuse.' 
 
 Upon this, Mr. Barclay laughing heartily at his own mis- 
 take, desired Mr. Meredith to go and try his fortune with 
 the Dolly ; ' and,' said he, ' you need be in no hurry, I 
 will await your return here, and write some letters mean- 
 while.'
 
 OF BOSTON. 305 
 
 So he sat down to his desk to write, but did very little 
 else than ruminate upon the extraordinary event which had 
 just transpired. That the creature whom he had dandled on 
 his knee, without perceiving that she had grown up to be 
 a woman, had found a lover so entirely after his own heart, 
 how he hoped he might be after hers, was indeed mar- 
 vellous; and although he would gladly have retained her 
 many years longer, yet still he could not help believing 
 that Mr. Meredith was right in his estimate of her character, 
 and the beneficial results which would accrue from the 
 course of life she must necessarily lead with such a partner. 
 Kate had always been a source of great anxiety to her 
 father, the impulsiveness of her nature, so dangerous in its 
 uncontrolled state, requiring the greatest possible judgment 
 in the selection of a husband, and the perfect assurance that 
 he always felt that there would be absolutely none at all 
 evinced. Now, indeed, there was hope in its pleasantest 
 colored picture, and he prayed that Mr, Meredith might be 
 successful. How long his musings continued, it is not well 
 to relate : it might be asserted by critics, that the damsel 
 yielded all too soon ; but certain it was that the door of the 
 little office was gently opened, and I\Ir. Meredith entered, 
 leading the Dolly, who, throwing herself into her father's 
 arms, hid her blushing cheeks on his shoulder. 
 
 Mr. Barclay was inexpressibly affected with joy and grati- 
 tude to God for his signal mercies, his prayers for the wel- 
 fare of his child having thus been benignly answered. He 
 sent immediately for her mother, who came and rejoiced 
 with him, and warmly welcomed her new and unexpected 
 son-in-law. 
 
 When a little composure had been restored to the actors 
 in this scene, Mr. Barclay asked the Dolly, slily, how she, 
 who had always vowed she would never marry a clergy- 
 man, had consented to change her mind. Slie replied most 
 frankly, that she had ever been trying, by such assertions, 
 to fortify her mind in her disappointment ; that she no 
 2G*
 
 306 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 longer scrupled to avow she had loved Mr. Meredith a long 
 while ; and also, as she supposed, hopelessly. ' I have not 
 looked as if I wore the willow,' said she, ' and resolved no- 
 body should ever say I did ; but if he had not chosen me I 
 should have been an old maid, and you would have had the 
 pleasure of my intellectual society for ever and a day. I 
 hope you will acknowledge, my dear father, what an escape 
 you have had ; I should not have been the angel that 
 Georgy is by any means.' 
 
 ' I am convinced, my child,' said her mother, ' that you 
 have chosen most admirably for your welfare here and 
 hereafter.' 
 
 ' Will it be the same for Mr. Meredith ? ' queried the 
 young lady.' 
 
 ' It is in your power to make it so,' replied her mother. 
 
 * I do nothing but ask questions, I know,' said Mr. Barclay, 
 ' yet I must frankly declare myself very curious about this 
 new chapter in my history, and wish to inquire how my 
 son-in-law, that is to be, was so seemingly sure of his 
 success ? ' 
 
 ' He must answer, himself,' said the Dolly. 
 
 'I grounded my little faith, it was no more,' replied the 
 gentlemen, ' on the constant assurances mentioned by Miss 
 Barclay, and her rather decided demonstration of perfect 
 indifference to me. If it had not been so positive, I should 
 not have doubted ; but this is sometimes a measure adopted 
 by very young ladies as a mask for concealing deeper feel- 
 ings, and on this hint I took comfort and spake. The re- 
 sult has proved I was not wrong in my conjectures, and 
 nothing surpasses my gratitude for the gift of her affections, 
 but my entire thankfulness to my Creator for vouchsafing 
 me such a treasure.' 
 
 ' The Dolly will have very important duties to perform,' 
 said her father, ' and she must begin to think of them deeply 
 and seriously.' 
 
 ' I shall make no promises,' said the betrothed, ' lest I may
 
 OF BOSTON. 307 
 
 break them when I go to the parsonage, which will not be 
 for a long time ; I shall then let you all see what a shining 
 light I shall be, or otherwise.' 
 
 ' I can bide my time to see it show forth,' said her lover, 
 * which I truly hope will not be for a long time, for I have 
 perfect faith in my future wife, and am thoroughly con- 
 vinced she will be a model for all clergymen's spouses.' 
 
 'It's an excellent plan,' said the Dolly, 'to begin with a 
 vast deal of faith and love in married life, so much of it gets 
 frittered away on the roadside.' 
 
 ' And pray where did you get all this matured expe- 
 rience ? ' said her mother. 
 
 ' Not in your house, ray own blessed mother,' replied the 
 daughter, embracing her most tenderly. 
 
 ' Well,' said Mr. Barclay, ' I must go immediately and 
 impart this good news to Uncle Richard.' 
 
 ' And he will not believe you, father, for he has told me 
 over and over again, that nobody would ever take me for 
 better or worse.' 
 
 So, Mr. Barclay went, and his brother was indeed de- 
 lio-hted. ' Just the very best person in the wide world,' 
 exclaimed he, ' to manage that young thing ; she will never 
 know a word of the matter, but she will be ruled gently, 
 most judiciously ; all her superabounding qualities pruned, 
 she'll become a glorious creature. Mr. Meredith has chosen 
 admirably, in my opinion, and she, even better. What a 
 blessing to you, my dear brother John, to have such a son- 
 in-law ; but you deserve this and every good thing that can 
 be showered on your excellent head. You are doing good 
 from the time you open your eyes in the morning till you 
 close them at night, and I must say I do like to see a few 
 rewards for such excellence on earth.' 
 
 ' But,' replied his brother, 'just look, Dick, how I am 
 favored, and many of my friends so much better than my- 
 self are pining in desolation ; I am, indeed, most grateful.' 
 
 ' You always, in your humility, underrate yourself, John.
 
 308 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Now if I were in your place, I should be as vain-glorious 
 of my good deeds as a peacock ; but then I never was the 
 least like you or ever shall be.' 
 
 ' You have excellent qualities, my beloved brother, but I 
 will not say you might not be better, because you seem to 
 desire to hide those you already possess. Now, for my 
 sake, please let them be more visible.' 
 
 ' Well, well,' said Mr. Richard, 'I'll think about it, if it 
 will make you any happier ; ' and so they parted. 
 
 Miss Tidmarsh said Mr. Meredith was crazed, and Jane 
 Redmond, in her fiercest tones, proclaimed him, far and 
 wide, to be a fool, ' A pretty clergyman's wife Kate Bar- 
 clay will make ! ' she screamed ; ' why, the whole parish 
 will be in fits before the first anniversary of their marriage. 
 She'll affront every body, a saucy thing that she is ! ' 
 
 ' So much for ordaining such verj^ young men over 
 parishes; they always make such injudicious choices in 
 their wives,' said Miss Serena. 
 
 ' We're not much given to sin in the matter of juvenili- 
 ties in New England,' replied Jane ; ' a man hardly efVer 
 gets an office here of any kind, until he is gray-haired.' 
 
 'And past being either useful or ornamental,' said IMiss 
 Tidmarsh. 
 
 ' That's the reason why all the youngsters run away from 
 us,' said Jane. ' I remember nobody could persuade me I 
 had seen the Governor of Maryland, when I had been pre- 
 sented to quite a handsome young fellow, who was accom- 
 panied by an old broken-down individual, and I, with my 
 settled eastern notions, took the latter for the real presence. 
 But to return to Kate, What possesses her to marry and 
 doze away her days in a parsonage ? ' 
 
 ' The first ofier, probably,' replied IMiss Tidmarsh, 
 
 ' No such thing ; it's the second, I know.' 
 
 'I don't believe a word of this,' snarled Miss Serena. 
 ' You, who have no faith, Jane, in any one, always appear 
 to give credence to whatever those hateful Barclays say.
 
 OF BOSTON. 309 
 
 You would never contradict the most improbable story, if 
 it proceeded from that family.' 
 
 ' I shall ever award them one precious quality, Serena. 
 They are truly honest people, and may be believed, what- 
 ever else I may assert in their disparagement ; and, moreover, 
 they never mentioned any thing of the sort to me, as they 
 are very honorable.' 
 
 ' Miracles will never cease, Jane. Your praising the 
 Barclays ! On what sweet-scented grass have you walked 
 lately 'r ' 
 
 But just as these devoted friends were beginning to squab- 
 ble, Mrs. Tidmarsh tottered into the room, green-bonneted, 
 and announced that she had just completed a sonnet on 
 Kate's engagement, which remarkably novel circumstance 
 diverted her amiable daughter's wrath into its legitimate chan- 
 nel, and the poor old mother suffered for Jane's misdeeds.
 
 310 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 ' Soft eyes look'd love to eyes that spake again, 
 And all went merry as a marriage bell.' Byrox. 
 
 AxD there were to be two weddings at the Barclays ! 
 One is enough in all reason to fill a house with confusion 
 and excitement, but two !J Mrs. Newton declared that slie 
 entrenched herself behind mountains of bride-cake and wed- 
 ding favors ; that marriage being an event the happy couples' 
 fancy can never be repeated, should be celebrated with great 
 solemnity and vast rejoicing : and so she governed herself 
 accordingly, and gave orders for grand festivities, as on this 
 eventful occasion the felicities were duplicated. Xo objec- 
 tions were made to these proceedings. Grace and Charley 
 were both charmingly sympathetic and gay. The Dolly had 
 always declared that when she was married there should be 
 wondrous doings, and Mr. Meredith delighted in happy faces. 
 Mr. Richard perfectly agreed with his sister, making only 
 one reservation, that older people should do such things more 
 quietly. To which Mrs. Barclay cheerfully assented. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley could never be sufficiently busied, so anxious 
 was she that the plenishing of the two young creatures' ward- 
 robes and households should be faultless, and to which she 
 contributed most judiciously, saying, that, as in her opinion 
 no one should marry a second time, every thing should- be 
 done to commemorate this important step in a woman's life. 
 
 ' But,' said Gracy, ' will vou never marrv, dear Auntie, 
 with your innumerable adorers .' How can vou manage ? 
 You'll be obliged to surrender at discretion some time or 
 other.'
 
 OF BOSTOX. 311 
 
 ' Never, my Gracy, I shall never marry mortal man.' 
 
 ' What an irrevocable decree ! Now Auntie mine, I should 
 have infinitely more faith in your assertion, if it were not so 
 positively and solemnly asseverated, as I can't help thinking 
 that you have been revolving the subject in your own mind, 
 and must have encountered some pros and cons.' 
 
 ' You're a saucy young chit, Miss Gracy, though you are 
 to be so shortly a matron.' 
 
 ' I know seven who stand ready to fall at your feet, and in 
 fact, I never saw any one but my uncle Richard who did not 
 allow you were a most fascinating creature. Charley thinks 
 you quite adorable.' 
 
 ' That is when he can snatch a moment from your attrac- 
 tions to bestow his thoughts upon any one, and as to Mr. 
 E-ichard, he is intolerable ; and if he were not your dear 
 father's brother, I should not condescend to even speak to 
 him. He's positively rude, and does not promise any 
 improvement.' 
 
 ' Uncle Richard does not mean all he says, dear Auntie, so 
 do not trouble yourself about him a bit.' 
 
 ' That I'm very far from doing, Gracy.' 
 
 ' And have you heard, Auntie, that our Mr. Naseby, 
 having knocked at all the doors in the city, has at last 
 had one opened to him, and is positively betrothed to Miss 
 Araminta Cora Barton .' He called last evening to impart 
 this felicitous bit of news to my mother, and begged she 
 would honor him by visiting his wife on his marriage. It 
 appears he was so extremely anxious to insure her presence, 
 that he quite overlooked the old grudge against Georgv and 
 I, and even condescended to entreat us to do the same, say- 
 ing, that as the lady, whom he pictured in glowingly extrava- 
 gant terms, was not precisely in our circle, he should esteem 
 our notice an especial favor, so we graciously accorded our 
 royal consent. Gerald told me that the first day Mr. Naseby 
 dined there, he knocked down a centre-table covered with 
 the most ill-assorted and expensive collection of porcelain.
 
 312 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 and Mrs. Barton after he departed declared she never again 
 wished to set her two eyes upon him. But it appears her 
 daughter thou2;ht otherwise, and has consented to make the 
 swain of the many weeping willows happy.' 
 
 Mr. Barclay having been consulted as to his pleasure 
 touching the bridal preparations, declared the women must 
 manage them all their own way, and whatever they did he 
 should like. He was, however, by no means so complaisant 
 when Mr. Johnstone proposed that Charley and Gracy should 
 live with him ; then he fairly rebelled, and said that no child 
 of his should accept a home from any one but himself. In 
 the first place, he thought young people should always begin 
 and blunder themselves into good housekeepers, there was 
 no other phrase to be used ; and secondly, he had erected 
 houses expressly that when his daughters married, he might 
 install them in their own dwellings, and every time he looked 
 out of his own windows he could behold their residences, the 
 homes of those he best loved in the world. This he declared 
 was to be the great solace of his old age, if God spared his 
 life. So Mr. Johnstone's proposition was gratefully declined, 
 Charley promising to sec him every day, and Gracy as often 
 as possible. 
 
 Mr. Johnstone was truly oriental in his magnificent pro- 
 ceedings. He vowed that Gracy should outshine all the 
 brides present, and to come in silver and gold muslins and 
 shawls and diamonds. The bride elect protested that she 
 was too young to wear many of his gifts, but he would not 
 hear her ; he would not listen to any objections. He said he 
 had no relatives in the wide world, that he had been beating 
 about it without having found an anchorage for his affec- 
 tions, and now that this desideratum had been discovered, he 
 should avail himself of it in its most enlarged acceptation, 
 and would not allow any objections to be made. So he had 
 his way, and most people thought it was quite a pleasant 
 one, Gracy imagining all her great favor in Mr. Johnstone's 
 eyes proceeded from a very beloved source.
 
 OF BOSTON. 313 
 
 In the dear, delightful library, brilliantly illuminated, the 
 conservatory redolent of flowers, the birds, awakened by the 
 glittering of lights, singing pocans of rejoicing, and sur- 
 rounded by all they held most dear on earth, were these 
 sisters united to the possessors of their affections. Mr. Mer- 
 edith performed the ceremony for Charles Sanderson and 
 Grace most impressively, and then his colleague joined the 
 hands of the young pastor and Kate Barclay. Uncle Richard 
 was jubilant upon this festive occasion ; he declared that 
 weddings being proverbially sad, this should be ' contrary- 
 wise.' Mrs. Sanderson wept notwithstanding the autocrat's 
 imperial edict, but they were tears of joy she shed. Mrs. 
 Ashley, more charming than ever, quite captivated the 
 nabob, who was immoderately gay. Mr. and Mrs. Gordon 
 and their sons added more than their usual quota to the 
 general enjoyment. Gerald exerted himself to his utmost 
 capacity ; and Georgy, deeply and truly participating in the 
 happiness of her sisters, cast aside all her own tribulations, 
 and appeared the gayest of the gay. Nursey Bristow was 
 too happy to be very demonstrative ; and Peter and Dinah, 
 in full dress, not being able to be noisy, and rather overawed 
 by the assembled company, contented themselves with such 
 an infinite variety of contortions and twitches, signifying de- 
 light, that they were almost frightful to behold, and caused 
 Johnny Barclay nearly to expire with laughter. In fact, that 
 young gentleman rather devoted the whole of his time to 
 them until supper was announced, and then so vigorously 
 addressed himself to the boy consumption of its superabound- 
 ing delicacies, that a most profound somnolency overwhelm- 
 ing hira, he was fain to take refuge in the arms of Morpheus 
 on a sofa, where he said ' he slept like a top until the next 
 morning.' The heir apparent having been entirely over- 
 looked in the gaieties, he was left to his slumbers and lost 
 half the evening thereby. The succeeding week there were 
 receptions and collations, which the rich and the poor shared 
 alike, and ' all went merry as a marriage bell.' At its ex- 
 27
 
 314 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 piration the young brides removed to their own dwellings, 
 and took upon themselves the important state of budding 
 housekeepers. Then came house-warmings and friendly 
 dinners, in which Mrs. Ashley and the Nabob shone pre- 
 eminent. 
 
 ' I never saw,' said Miss Serena Tidmarsh, ' two brides 
 look worse did you, Jane .- ' 
 
 ' I am constrained to differ from you, Serena ; and de- 
 clare thev were most lovely. You know I always tell the 
 truth.' And so she did, as far as her own individual 
 opinions went, but she had no scruples whatever in repeat- 
 ing any scandal, however absurdly false it might be, ema- 
 nating from others. 
 
 ' And that old, ugly, green-eyed monster, the Nabob, 
 how devoted he was to Mrs. Ashley, .Tane. She'll have him, 
 I've no doubt. What a sacrifice for such a j^retty woman ! ' 
 
 ' Now, don't you think you might be tempted, even you, 
 Serena, by that little palace, and the muslin turbans of his 
 retainers, to say nothing of rubies and emeralds r ' 
 
 ' My dear Serena,' said Mrs. Tidmarsh, ' please seal 
 these packages.' 
 
 Miss Tidmarsh turned and looked contemptuously upon 
 envelopes covered with sprawling cupids, hearts, and darts, 
 and containing two cpiihalamiums wljich she had composed 
 on what it was her pleasure to denominate. The Twin Mar- 
 riages. ]\Irs. Tidmarsh stated that she did not exactly think 
 these productions quite creditable to herself, inasmuch as 
 sonnets being her forte, she could not be expected to suc- 
 ceed as well in other things. Miss Serena dutifully advised 
 her mother not to make a fool of herself by sending them 
 at all, but, as she had just escaped the infliction of Mrs. 
 Tidmarsh's appearance, in the liest green bonnet at one of 
 the wedding visits, she consented to a])pend her seal to the 
 missives. 
 
 It appeared that the venerable lady had thought it abso- 
 lutely incumbent upon her to pay her respects to the brides,
 
 OF BOSTON. 315 
 
 and was just sallying forth when the dirty little handmaiden, 
 who served her, thought she had better advise Miss Serena 
 of this important fact, which was accordingly done, and 
 poor Mrs. Tidmarsh was constrained, by her daughter's 
 violent resistance to remain at home. To do her justice, 
 she did not retaliate upon the little tale-bearer, as she con- 
 sidered the child had troubles enough without this addition 
 to their number. 
 
 ' Mrs. Charles Sanderson's dresses are magnificent,' said 
 Miss Serena ; ' and what affectation and pretension in the 
 Dolly to start with so much simplicity of attire she who 
 always declared that nothing should surpass the splendor of 
 her wardrobe ! ' 
 
 ' Her dresses are, nevertheless, very costly, but not so 
 showy as her sister's. Did you examine them, Serena .-* 
 I rather liked this in a clergyman's wife, and was inclined 
 to give her due credit for good taste and proper discretion.' 
 
 ' What do you suppose tlie Nabob gave to Charley, 
 Jane ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing, for the young man refused a splendid gift, 
 Serena, and in money also; he said he could give his wife 
 the luxuries she had enjoyed at home, from the proceeds of 
 his business, and that he most gratefully declined any addi- 
 tion to his income. Now I call that miraculous, in this 
 dollar-loving age.' 
 
 'And the estate, the old house, Jane, they say it will all 
 sell immensely well.' 
 
 ' That's true, but silly ]\Irs. Sanderson has not yet sold 
 the property from respect to her brother's memory, though 
 she has had great offers. They say the Nabob proposes 
 putting up an immense pile of superb warehouses, in order 
 to invest some of his lacks of rupees, and no doubt, wishes 
 to pay double to favor the Sandersons.' 
 
 ' So the Sandersons will be very rich, after all, Jane. 
 What iuck some people have ! ' 
 
 '. Yes, they'll be like the old Manhattan burgher, who so
 
 316 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 comically enough took to his bed, thinking to die of starvation, 
 and awoke the next morning a very Croesus, the corporation 
 having run a street through his cabbage-garden. We see 
 many such changes every day in America ; the Sander- 
 sons' property has risen famously.' 
 
 ' The Barclays are favored indeed by the smiles of the 
 fickle goddess.' 
 
 ' You forget Georgy, Miss Serena.' 
 
 'I don't at all, but things die away here. I did my very 
 best to keep that story alive, I'm sure ; but now it seems 
 almost forgotten. I sometimes think it was a myth got up 
 for effect, and to make a splash, and that Georgy Barclay 
 never was married to any one.' . 
 
 ' Her husband will turn up one of these days, I know, 
 Serena ; I believe in my heart her story, and so do you, if 
 you would but confess it. I hope he'll prove a wretch, just 
 to punish that family for appearing to be so much better 
 than their neighbors.' 
 
 * They're a proud set, Jane.' 
 
 'Not at all proud, just remember who visits them. 
 I am sure, in all their recent festivities, they must have 
 clothed as well as fed some of their guests. They care 
 nothing for what is called fashion, and choose for them- 
 selves ; it must be confessed education is every thing there. 
 I don't like them and never shall ; but I sec these things 
 with my two eyes, and seeing is believing.' 
 
 'I really think you praise the Barclays to teaze me, Jane.' 
 
 Mrs. Tid marsh sat looking at these two disagreable per- 
 sons, and pondering in her own mind what manner of bond 
 of union this could be which was so perpetually threatened 
 with fractures ; for the twain seemed ever on the eve of 
 discord, and what Jane Redmond called a ' blow-up ' was 
 constantly so near, that the old lady wondered they did not 
 explode altogether. 
 
 'Yes,' resumed Jane, ' the Barclays do choose for them- 
 selves. Most unfashionable people visit there, and very
 
 OF BOSTON. 317 
 
 poor ones too, but then there's always something in them, 
 some talents or great or good qualities, with very few 
 exceptions ; it may be safe to say, whoever you meet there 
 is worth knowing.' 
 
 'I'm sure there are exceptions, Jane, and I would not 
 give them the entree to my house.' 
 
 ' But you are not a Barclay, Serena ; you can't uphold 
 any one ; it's just as much as you can do to get along in 
 society yourself. That family have the will and the way, 
 and no silly and vulgar fears about being intimate with 
 merit, however obscure it may be. The Barclays know 
 their own position to be thoroughly respectable, and can 
 afford to be gracious to thos*e on whom fortune has frowned. 
 Their old friends are every thing to them ; they never cast 
 them off, come what will, and their charities are unbounded 
 to them. If there is any thing in this world I despise, it's 
 the everlasting chatter I hear, of position, and of this per- 
 son's being in society and that one out. Mrs. Gordon, who 
 has lived so long in Europe, declares the whole affair to lie 
 in a nutshell, and thinks the people who arc so tormented 
 with fastidious scruples, should depart instantly and pitch 
 their tents where they would not be contaminated with 
 republicanism ; and I thoroughly agree with her. If these 
 extra exclusives can't be satisfied here, why e'en let them 
 go, we can do without them ; their cry ever is " vulgarity," 
 little reck they that the world sets them down for unmiti- 
 gated snobs thanks to Mr. Thackeray for so accurately 
 defining the class that there's no mistake.' 
 
 ' Dear me, Jane, how very warm you get on this subject.' 
 
 'I detest pretension, Serena, and shall always set my 
 face against it as long as I live, and shall have plenty of 
 work on my hands, I'm quite sure. I must leave you now, 
 as I've an engagement, and am going to pay a visit to Mrs. 
 Gordon. I rather like her; she sees many things to im- 
 prove here, but never rails against her own countrymen, 
 though she has lived so long in Europe.'
 
 318 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 ' Schoolboy's tears 
 Take up the glasses of my sight.' 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Johnny Barclay, whose head had been nearly turned 
 by the extraordinary circumstaHce of two weddings in his 
 family, and having exhausted all his rejoicings before the pair 
 of events transpired, indited a letter, a few weeks after, to 
 his friend, Joseph Staples, who had entreated him to impart 
 to him a glowing account of the festivities ; he having been 
 retained at school during the vacation for divers misde- 
 meanors. Johnny wrote : 
 
 ' I promised you, my dear Joe, to send you an accurate 
 description of all the wonderful doings at our house on the 
 pair of weddings. Well, as the family was in such a dread- 
 ful mess, for some time before, with such preparations, I 
 had a glorious chance of doing up forty little prohibited 
 things, which I declare honestly I cared not much about; 
 but then, you know, they were forbidden, and there laid 
 the whole gist of" the matter. Some things I did that were 
 exceedingly pleasant. I've always had a grudge against 
 ]\Iiss Tidmarsh, you know, the old maid I've told you about. 
 Well, I unscrewed her knocker, and absconded with it, being 
 sure she would cry over its loss forever, and never will 
 she see it again, for 'tis buried. Now, ask no questions. 
 She, the old thing, had a big story, about as heavy as the 
 lost article, which she always finished by saying that the 
 knocker was aristocratic, and belonged to her father. I 
 hesitated between that and her cat, but decided for what
 
 OF BOSTON. 319 
 
 I thought she'd grieve for most. She's told many a tale 
 of me to my mother, and I'm even with her now, thank 
 the stars and a dark night. 
 
 ' And Jane Redmond's another of my distinguished favor- 
 ites, for the self-same reasons, and I soaped the iron railings 
 of her steps, on the night of a grand hall to which she was 
 going, and she covered her white kid gloves with the article, 
 to which was added a little black paint, and then held up her 
 dress, a white satin one ! ! Oh ! how she stormed ! But 
 then she lives in a whirlwind. She never discovered the 
 mischief. I've taken particular care to ascertain the fact, 
 until she was told of her mishap, ever so many times, just as 
 she was beginning to flourish forth in a quadrille ; then out 
 she flounced into the hall, and raged furiously all the way 
 home, and after she got there too. Capital fun ! wasn't it, 
 my good fellow ? 
 
 ' Then, I've given two balls in the harness-room. It's 
 not very large ; that was the only difliculty. You know I 
 play on the flute a bit, and we had an excellent supper. 
 You see, our house has been so full of dress-makers and 
 every thing else, that my doings have been totally disre- 
 garded. The weddings were charming, no doubt, and very 
 merry, and I ate so much, and the last piece of Strasbourg 
 pie did the business for me ; for I felt creepy all over, and 
 mortal sick, and fell asleep on one of the sofas, lost the 
 serenades, and never waked up till the next morning, and 
 was rather stifiish or so, but got over it, and began to feed 
 again. That's the only way, my boy. I like my two new 
 brothers very much, Charley Sanderson's a roarer ; but then 
 the Dolly's husband is, you know, a parson, and I was dread- 
 fully afraid of him. Only think of my sister, 'the Dolly,* 
 marrying a preacher ! Dear me ! how it troubled me at 
 first. What will she do ? She'll be obliged to renounce 
 dancing and laughing, I thought, but I dined with her yester- 
 day, and my mind was much relieved. Will you believe ? 
 No, I am sure you won't; Mr. Meredith turns up quite a
 
 320 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 trump. He was as gay as possible, and the Dolly, Mrs. 
 Meredith, and I, talked over our old theatricals and military, 
 and he laughed heartily, only think of that, Sir ! Well! 
 then, after dinner, I ran all over the new house. It's beauti- 
 ful, and chased my sister up stairs and down, and such a real 
 frolic as we had, just like old times. Pm quite reconciled 
 to her choice ; and then she seems so happy ! quite as much 
 so as Gracy ; and Mr. Meredith begged me to come as often 
 as possible, and I shall go. 
 
 ' The vacation will soon be over, and, to tell you the truth, 
 I shall be ratlier glad to get back to the old fogy, Sterling, 
 after all, for it's a little bit dull here without " the Dolly." 
 To be sure, she has not, since the water-butt dodge, had 
 any thing to do with our sports and ])lays, but she was 
 always such a resource in extremities, I miss her horridly, 
 more and more every day. My mother has given me a 
 splendid plum-cake, weighing ever so many pounds, frosted 
 and gilded, and somebody has sent me, anonymously, in 
 sixty-four wrappers, a ten dollar gold piece, and I've pur- 
 chased six half bottles of champagne, and six wax lights, 
 so we'll have a magnificent time the night of my arrival. 
 The only difficulty is, that all the feast of reason and flow 
 of soul must be abandoned for dumb show ; but pantomime's 
 my forte, and the rest must do as well as they can, for if 
 old Sterling hears us, we shall certainly catch it. 
 
 ' Ever yours, Joiixny Barclay.' 
 
 ' P. S. I shall smuggle the wine in my pockets. That's 
 the reason why 1 bought small bottles. I should much 
 rather had big ones, they're grander ; not that I care much 
 for champ;igne, it always gives me the headache ; but then, 
 you know, it's a wedding feast. Yours, ever, J. B.' 
 
 It unfortunately happened for the fruition of the projected 
 entertainment, that Joe Staples being a sadly careless fellow, 
 left his precious letter in his bed, having read it over every 
 day before he arose, and the chamber-maid, a reading
 
 OF BOSTON. 321 
 
 young lady, having perused it first herself, consigned it to 
 the safe keeping of Mr. Sterling, it being of no possible use 
 to her. When Johnny arrived, his trunks and boxes passed 
 Mr. Sterling's customs; but his person was searched, and 
 the accusing spirits were found. He was thunderstruck, 
 and fancied that his friend had betrayed hrm, but farther 
 developments showed the contrary. Still Johnny was very 
 angry with Joe for his heedlessness, and reproached him 
 bitterly, and the offender was very miserable. The mag- 
 nificent plumcake was unpacked, exhibited to longing eyes, 
 and confiscated for a whole month, its restoration de- 
 pending then upon the most admirable conduct in the 
 interim. Here was a category, with a vengeance ! The 
 schoolboys were all furious, and poor Joe was assailed with 
 an unaccountable quantity of abuse and vituperation, which 
 he, not bearing meekly, sundry fights ensued, and sundry 
 sequestrations followed, so that the plumcake became a 
 terrible source of discord in this never paradisiacal seminary 
 of learning. Johnny cared very little for the cake, himself, 
 for he had endured countless nightmares in consequence of 
 over-eating the coveted article ; but he regretted ks tem- 
 porary disappearance for his friends' sake, and vowed never 
 to take another nice thing into that establishment again. 
 
 And Johnny had returned to his school in the full and 
 perfect assurance that his favorite sister was happy. He loved 
 Georgiana and Grace, but his playmate was the boy's heart's 
 treasure. And Mrs. Meredith 'was just as happy as her 
 young brother believed her to be. She and her sister, Mrs. 
 Sanderson, compared notes in the arrangement of their 
 respective houses and domestic details, and, although the 
 clergyman's wife found that she would have much less time 
 for her own purposes than Mrs. Sanderson, yet she repined 
 not, and, furthermore, resolved to busy herself, as much as 
 possible, that she might save her husband a portion of his 
 hours for the theological works in which he was earnestly 
 engaged. She had not communed with any one but her
 
 322 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 mother on her projects of usefulness, because, as she frankly 
 avowed, she might yet falter and linger by the wayside; 
 and Mrs. Barclay was astonished to discover what profound 
 reflection and good resolutions her youthful daughter had 
 taken with her into the abode of her husband ; what a 
 strong sense of her coming duties her child entertained, 
 and what an ardent desire she felt to fulfil them. ' She had 
 made no promises,' she said, ' but intended to surprise Mr. 
 Meredith with her exertions, and be to him truly a helpmate. 
 It appeared that her reverence and affection for Mr. Mere- 
 dith had developed many remarkable qualities, which would 
 have otherwise lain dormant ; and her mother had great 
 reason to congratulate herself on the choice which this young 
 creature had made, since every day added to the perfecting 
 of her character. 
 
 With Grace and Charley Mrs. Barclay's assurance of con- 
 geniality was unquestionable ; but she had doubted if the 
 impressible and excitable nature of Kate would, in the end, 
 assimilate so happily with Mr. IMeredith, and awaited, rather 
 anxiously, the result. These doubts she had expressed to 
 her husband ; but he, on the other hand, believed this union 
 to be just the most felicitous event which could have possi- 
 bly occurred to his child, and bade his wife be of good cheer, 
 and asserted that all would be right. Mr. Barclay enter- 
 tained the most exalted ideas of the excellent qualities of his 
 new son, and hailed with delight the entrance of such an 
 admirable person into his family. And succeeding observa- 
 tions induced Mrs. Barclay to believe ho was correct in his 
 views. 
 
 Mr. Meredith had married 
 
 ' A creature not too bright or good 
 For human nature's daily food ; 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and sraiies.' 
 
 And he had married with a complete knowledge of all the 
 imperfections, as well as the good qualities, of his wife.
 
 OF BOSTON. 323 
 
 He had made up his mind to guide her gently and discreetly ; 
 he knew she devotedly loved him, and that conviction amply 
 sufficed to inspire him with a strong sense of security as to 
 her future career. She was enthusiastic, impulsive, and 
 warm-hearted ; her whole happiness was centred in pleasing 
 him, and she was, moreover, fascinatingly attractive, and 
 with this state of things he considered himself blest in the 
 possession of such a treasure. But he was wholly unpre- 
 pared for the serious manner with which she entered upon 
 the arduous duties of her station; he had imagined he 
 should gradually introduce her to them as much by example 
 as precept, but he discovered, to his amazement, that she 
 fully comprehended their importance, and was prepared not 
 only to fulfil them, but even to assist him greatly. When 
 this conviction dawned upon his mind, and on further obser- 
 vation he perceived that her exertions were untiring, he was 
 indeed delighted. 
 
 There had not been wanting, as usual, many kind ad- 
 visers, who, when they discovered he was affianced to Kate 
 Barclay, had ventured upon timely remonstrances respecting 
 his choice, thinking that, even at the last moment, it was 
 better to do something, than allow their young and beloved 
 pastor to rush madly on his evil destiny. For although they 
 all greatly respected her father and mother, they had ever 
 considered the daughter to be a very flighty young girl, and 
 knew she liad always been an irreclaimable romp. Mr. 
 Meredith received these remonstrances respectfully, but in- 
 formed these anxious individuals that he considered himself 
 the best judge of his own affairs, and especially in the matter 
 of the choice of a partner for life ; that he knew the young 
 lady thoroughly, having been long intimate in Mr. Barclay's 
 family, and finally assured them that he had ever enter- 
 tained a strong prejudice in favor of irreclaimable romps, 
 and had found that they generally made very captivating 
 and excellent wives. So his meddlesome friends departed 
 with many dismal forebodings touching their clergyman's
 
 324 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 prospects of happiness, and made sundry and divers pre- 
 dictions which were never destined to be fulfilled. Now 
 these persons were certainly not ill-disposed ; but if they 
 had reflected, even for a moment, they would have perceiv- 
 ed the folly of interfering when vows had been registered 
 and faith pledged, and might also have reflected upon the 
 great mistake they committed when they attempted to infuse 
 doubts and fears into the mind of a man whom they loved. 
 But Mr. Meredith's afl^ection and trust in the ' irreclaimable 
 romp' was not to be shaken by any interference of that 
 kind, and he made his advisers feel the necessity of silence 
 for the future, by entreating them never again to recur to 
 the subject, and, as they knew him to be in nowise pecu- 
 niarily dependent upon them and wished earnestly to retain 
 him, they concluded to hold their peace.
 
 OF BOSTON. 325 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live 
 till I were married.' Suakspeare. 
 
 About this time, as the almanacs say, there occurred a 
 most astounding event in Boston ; nobody in the vast excite- 
 ment it created, remembering to examine in what conjunc- 
 tion were the planets, so busy was the circle in which it 
 happened in commenting and criticising. There was a 
 marriage ! wliich, in the words of the dear, delicious old 
 Frenchwoman, Madame de Sevigne, ' was the most surpris- 
 ing, the most marvellous, the most miraculous, the most 
 uncommon, the most bewildering, the most singular, the most 
 incredible, and the most absorbing.' 
 
 Mr. Richard Barclay was married ! ! 
 
 And to w^hom ? 
 
 It is to be hoped that, by this time, the reader is suffi- 
 ciently interested in the bachelor's destiny, to wish that this 
 important question may be answered. ' Guess, then, 
 four times is given to guess it in six a hundred.' 
 
 ' Truly,' says the reader, '' it must be a very difficult thing 
 to guess.' And so it proved, the gentleman in question, 
 about whose affairs the public was so intensely interested, 
 never having, within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, 
 that ubiquitous personage, showed the minutest polite atten- 
 tion to any mortal woman, save Mrs. John Barclay, Mrs. 
 Sanderson, Mrs. Gordon, and his nieces. Then who could 
 ' the impossible she ' be .^ Not the great Mademoiselle 
 all the fair se^ are princesses in favored America. Not 
 2S
 
 326 
 
 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Mrs. Sanderson she was altogether too tame for ' the 
 bear.' Then the grandiose revelation must be made ; for 
 the newspapers had published the catastrophe, and they are 
 always correct : ' On Thursday evening, by the Reverend 
 Mr. Meredith, Richard Barclay, Esq. to Mrs. Fanny Ashley, 
 widow of the late Samuel Ashley, Esq.' 
 
 Such a commotion as occurred in Miss Tidmarsh's parlor 
 never was before known no, never ; this lady seemingly 
 regarding 'this momentous event as a decidedly personal 
 affront. She had abused Mr. Richard in all the set and 
 choice terms of which she was an accomplished mistress, 
 but then she might have been deluded into marrying him, 
 had he positively asked her; and her rage was overboiling 
 that he had failed to do so. ' To think of his taking that 
 silly, flirting widow ! ' screamed the vexed damsel to her 
 sympathizer, Jane Redmond ' to think of his marrying, at 
 last, his pet dislike ! was ever any thing so ridiculous ? ' 
 Suddenly Miss Serena remembered that Johnny Barclay, 
 that terrible child ! had informed her that she herself was 
 his uncle's second abhorrence might there not be a chance 
 still ? but the bride was provokingly healthy, and certainly 
 gave abundant promise of thus remaining. 
 
 Miss Serena, in the fever of her excitement, totally forgot 
 her company manners. The tones of her dulcet voice, 
 losing its diapason in its unwonted elevation, became fright- 
 fully screechy, and thereupon several neophytes in the lady's 
 habits and ways became extremely amazed and astonished 
 at this powerful change, Mrs. Gordon amongst others. 
 
 ' But,' said Miss Redmond, ' you are perpetually bewail- 
 ing Mr. Richard Barclay having taken unto himself Mrs. 
 Ashley ; now I think the condescension is all on the lady's 
 side. How could she marry him ? Siic must have forgotten 
 the motto I placed on his brow years ago, " Bewar the Bar." 
 Mr. Richard has absolutely nothing to recommend him ; 
 neither looks, manners nor money. Now Mrs. Ashley is cer- 
 tainly a pretty woman, prettily dressed, and all the world
 
 OF BOSTON. 327 
 
 declares her to be pleasing in the extreme ; nobody has 
 more attention from both men and women. She might fifty 
 times, to my certain knowledge, have married.' 
 
 ' I don't believe a word of it,' exclaimed Miss Tidmarsh. 
 
 ' Very well,' responded Miss Redmond, * I shan't enter into 
 discussions upon indisputable facts.' 
 
 Then such a chorus of exclamations as arose amidst the 
 assemblage, in which the poor bride and bridegroom were 
 sadly belabored, no softer word can be used. Mrs. Gordon 
 was highly amused at this hubbub, it being precisely ' what 
 she went for to hear.' She laughed immoderately, and 
 when the group had exhausted themselves, and an interval 
 of cessation occurred in this hail-storm of words, she said 
 ' I am reminded by all the noise you make, ladies, of a 
 little circumstance in my very early days. When I was a 
 child I was extremely happy to be permitted to go into the 
 stable occasionally, just to take a peep at a pair of snow- 
 white horses which my father owned. One day our old 
 coachman, black Joe, said to me " Look here, little Missy, 
 here's a beautiful lot of white soap Missis has sent me, and 
 I'm going to give the horses such a washing ! for she has 
 ordered me to harness up and bring home a live Countess, to 
 stay with her." I opened my big eyes in stupefied amaze- 
 ment, a live Countess ! This was news indeed ! what 
 would she be like ? What would she resemble ? one of 
 the beautiful women dancing round the chariot in which 
 stood the superb young man, in the great picture in our 
 dining-room ? I could think and dream of nothing else, 
 and was in a fever of impatience until she arrived. She 
 came, and, after dinner, I was permitted to gratify my in- 
 tense curiosity, having waited motionless at the head of the 
 hall stairs four hours without food. I entered with the fruit, 
 and having taken my accustomed place on my father's 
 knee, I watched her with an eaglet's eye. Oh ! the dire 
 disappointment ! she was as unlike what " my fancy painted 
 her " as she possibly could be, and it was long ere I recovered
 
 328 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 from my despair at finding a live Countess, ugly. Intelli- 
 gent and accomplished she certainly was. The conversa- 
 tion turned upon the acquisition of foreign languages, which 
 she strongly recommended, as also did my mother, and 
 they both thought French the most useful. Then they 
 talked of particularly expressive words, and the lady pro- 
 nounced hullabaloo to be one of the most emphatic in the 
 English language. Now, permit me, ladies, to assert that 
 you have decidedly reminded me of this big word by your 
 noisy excitement this morning.' So saying, Mrs. Gordon 
 arose and departed, and gained, by her rebuke, many spite- 
 ful expressions of dislike, but little cared she for them, as 
 she had not proposed to make herself either pleasing or 
 agreeable. 
 
 The whole thing resolved itself into a nut-shell. Mr. llich- 
 ard had lost his heart to his fair enemy, even at the precise 
 moment he was most perfectly sure as to its entire posses- 
 sion. The transition from the sublime to the ridiculous is 
 effected in a moment. Then why should not the bachelor 
 have committed liis oflence against the almiglity public in 
 the same period of time, though wlmt that public had to do 
 with the matter no one could tell. 
 
 It appeared that one bright morning, long after Georgiana 
 Barclay's restoration to health, her uncle arose with a firm 
 and solemn conviction that he should be made supren;icly 
 happv, if Mrs. Ashley would condescend to smile upon him ; 
 and this Innng the first time, in his natural life, that the idea 
 of happiness had ever suggested itself to his imagination, 
 lie felt rather inclined to take it into his heart of hearts and 
 make much of it slowly, quietly. Accordingly, he did so, 
 but how he contrived to bring round the fair widow to the 
 same viev.' of the engrossing subject remains to be discover- 
 ed, as nobody ever knew, or ever will, not even Miss 
 Tidmarsh, who left no stone unturned in her praiseworthy 
 eflbrts to enlighten the public, touching the how and the 
 when of this particular passage in Mr. Ilichard Barclay's
 
 OF BOSTON. . 329 
 
 career, so eventful in its consequences and so tardy in its 
 fruition. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Barclay were as much astonished as their 
 friends and neighbors, when the engagement between the 
 pair they so dearly loved was announced to them, but wisely 
 asked no questions. Mrs. Barclay warmly congratulated 
 the happy man, and his brother embraced him affectionate- 
 ly, declaring himself extremely satisfied with this pleasant 
 news. The daughters of the family were quite beside 
 themselves with joy, for would not the aunt of their adop- 
 tion be truly their own at last? Mrs. Meredith, entirely 
 oblivious of her dignified position, whirled her uncle Richard 
 round the library in a waltz, after her old fashion, and then 
 rushed up stairs to impart the joyful intelligence to Nursey 
 Bristow, who begged her to remember she was a clergy- 
 man's wife. 
 
 Mr. Richard made one stipulation, and it was, that no 
 one, out of the house, should be informed of his affianced 
 condition he said he desired to be married as quietly as 
 possible, and get off. Poor man ! he well knew what a 
 martyrdom would ensue if his secret were divulged. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay seemed to be the only person who had 
 formed any conjecture touching the commencement of her 
 brother's marvellous change of sentiments. She imagined 
 that it had occurred a long time before, when he was left 
 so much alone with the lady during Georgy's illness. And 
 perchance she was right ; there is high authority, no less 
 than Miss Edgeworth, that propinquity works miracles in 
 such cases. At any rate, Mr. Richard was married and off, 
 and, after a month, returned, looking many shades happier 
 than he had ever done before. The bride received her 
 innumerable friends in her usual agreeable manner, that 
 being hardly susceptible of improvement, and responded to 
 some Tidmarsh-like insinuations, that -she had consulted her 
 own happiness in her choice, and should allow no remarks 
 to be made, jestingly or otherwise, respecting it. 
 28*
 
 330 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 To Mrs. Barclay she declared, that, having become 
 wearied of tables and chairs for company, they were not 
 then as gay and frisky as now, she had selected an in- 
 telligent man ; that siie well knew his defects, nobody 
 better, but they were, in her own opinion, counterbalanc- 
 ed by noble qualities, and she had no doubt they should get 
 on admirably together. ' Added to all this, my dearest 
 friend,' she exclaimed, ' am I not now your sister, and truly 
 the beloved aunt of your darling children } ' It was indeed, 
 wonderful to behold, with what a good grace Mr. Richard 
 submitted to the infliction of dinners and routes and soirees, 
 the balls were abandoned, and whether pleased or not, 
 gave no indications of being otherwise. He received and 
 welcomed all his hospitable wife's innumerable friends and 
 visiters cordially, and performed this courtesy voluntarily ; 
 for she had provided for her ' bear,' she said, a den, and 
 wonderful to relate, he refused to remain in it. 
 
 In fact, a pleasanter establishment could nowhere be found. 
 This harmonious state of things vastly disappointed the 
 preconceived opinions of the public, and Miss Serena Tid- 
 marsh, in particular, she having predicted, far and wide, 
 that nobody would desire to enter Mrs. Eichard Barclay's 
 doors a second time, her husband would make himself so 
 disagreeable. 
 
 Mr. Richard entered his bride's home, as if he were a 
 guest on probation, for he never gave an order, or changed 
 the arrangement of a single thing in it; being perfectly satis- 
 fied with her management, he never interfered. His wife 
 was deferential, and consulted him respecting her domestic 
 details, festal and otiierwise ; but he entreated her not to 
 open her mouth to him on those subjects, saying that he 
 thought all those kind of things belonged exclusively to 
 women, and he should never have married one who could 
 not regulate them. 
 
 Where was then Mr. Richard Barclay's iron rule ? Dis- 
 solved into thin air, like the baseless fabric of a vision, not
 
 OF BOSTON. 331 
 
 a vestige remained, ' the bear ' was tamed. Mr. Barclay 
 was vastly amused by this grand revolution in his rough 
 brother's views, but sagely abstained from reminding him 
 of his desperate threats of autocmtic sway and power in 
 married life. He was satisfied that the bachelor was happy, 
 and had found a haven at last, and as he had heard many 
 such high resolves and seen the same results, his motto had 
 always been silence. It cannot, with truth, be asserted that 
 every one was equally forbearing. Mr. Richard was hit 
 right and left, and not very gently either ; but he behaved 
 with great discretion, and comported himself admirably, and 
 consequently furnished the public additional food for aston- 
 ishment and speculation. 
 
 And the truth was, that Mr. and Mrs. Richard Barclay 
 were a very happy couple. They were certainly sufficient- 
 ly acquainted with each other to comprehend what would be 
 their relative positions when united, and having resolved to 
 live together, were perfectly conscious that there must be 
 a certain degree of forbearance exercised on both sides. 
 This state of feeling ofien produces more lasting and happy 
 results than exaggerated views of life and over-wrought 
 pictures of ideal felicity, which must be dispelled up by the 
 realities of existence. Now, these are the common-sense, 
 practical remarks on the subject to which we all fully sub- 
 scribe in our common-sense moments, but if these are wise 
 and lucid, we have or have had some which are not quite 
 so denominated in the bond. It must be avowed that there 
 is something extremely attractive in a really old-fashioned 
 love-match; and we are very apt to turn from the rationali- 
 ties and give our undivided attention, despite all our con- 
 ventionalisms and aphorisms, to any remarkably silly 
 pair of fledglings, who are precipitating themselves into 
 matrimony without a single requisite for domestic happiness.
 
 332 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 ' Truth crushed to earth shall rise again. 
 Eternal years of God are hers ; 
 But error wounded 'writhes in pain, 
 And dies among her -worshippers.' 
 
 Bryant. 
 
 
 
 Mr. Barclay was one morning favored with a visit from 
 Captain Eliathan Williams, a brave, kind-hearted, ' Down 
 East ' sailor, engaged in the merchant service. He had just 
 then returned from Leghorn, and had formerly been em- 
 ployed by that gentleman, and having entertained a high re- 
 gard for him, he called to pay his respects. He entered Mr, 
 Barclay's office, and after shaking him by the hand with an 
 iron grip, and formally inquiring after every member of his 
 family by name, he settled himself down in an arm-chair, and 
 made very decided signals of spinning a pretty long sea- 
 yarn by stowing away an enormous quid of tobacco in a 
 corner of his capacious mouth, placing a broad-brimmed hat 
 between his knees, in which figured conspicuously a ban- 
 danna handkerchief, large enough for a flag-staff, half a 
 dozen invoices, six newspapers, and a dozen bills of lading. 
 Having carefully arranged this most precious travelling cas- 
 ket, he combed up with his thick fingers each particular hair 
 on his bullet-shaped head, so erect that the quills on 'the 
 fretful porcupine' were nothing to them, and solemnly began 
 his long story. 
 
 ' You must know, Sir, that my Betsy Williams is a very 
 good kind of woman in the main, when she has every thing 
 right her own way, but is sometimes a little contrary when
 
 OF BOSTON. 333 
 
 she is crossed, most women-kind are just about the same 
 thing, they tell me. Well, then, I never put her out much. 
 They do say that the gray mare is the better horse at our 
 house ; of that I make no dispute, but then she is, and ought 
 so to be, commander on board her own craft. But I take 
 mighty good care, I can tell you, that she has nothin to do 
 with my barque, the Betsy and Mary, and so we get on pretty 
 considerably straight, though I won't swear there isn't a 
 squall ahead sometimes. She's not a very likely woman, 
 my wife ; 1 didn't choose her for her outside, as Sam Kidder 
 did his'n, and has never done repentin his bargain. Why, 
 Judith Kidder's ugly behavior has entirely spiled her good 
 looks, and Betsy Williams holds her own such as it is. 
 But this is neither here nor there, as you'll allow, Sir.' 
 
 Now Mr. Barclay certainly coincided with the worthy 
 captain, and had begun to think that this involved preamble 
 would never come to a close ; but he well knew from dire 
 experience that there was no use in stopping him, as that 
 only made matters worse, and that in process of time he 
 would get to the end of his rope, and then there was always 
 something worth hearing, so he patiently submitted. 
 
 ' Now, Betsy doesn't like to have the house riled a bit, 
 she's dreadful nice, and its just as much as I can do to find 
 a place to spit in, and I have at last caught the trick of send- 
 ing my sliots right straight up the chimney. It cost me a lot 
 of time to learn this, but it pays ; for you see, she gets ram- 
 pagious mad when I miss, and sets up such a sesserary it's 
 perfectly ridiculous ! Well, as I was tellin you, I've been 
 to Leghorn, and as I did pretty well, considering, I thought 
 I'd make a trade for a straw flat for Betsy, which they do 
 say is very handsome, and likewise a pin, it's raither large 
 for a pin, and all made of little pieces of glassware dove- 
 tailed together, and is right curious, very peculiar, I can tell 
 you. Well, the man I traded with charged me not to forget 
 the subject, I think he said it was three pigeons drinking 
 out of a wash-bowl. And upon the whole, I guess I made a
 
 334 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 pretty good trade, for I swapped away some codfish, the real 
 dun, for these things. I wish I could remember the name 
 of the pin, my memory's failin I do believe. As I didn't 
 begin to make this grand trade till the barque was pretty 
 considerably near ready, we sailed soon after. We'd ben 
 out a few days and were spanking along at a famous rate, 
 she's a capital sailer, that Betsy and Mary, I can tell you, 
 when we saw a great light right ahead of us. It turned out 
 to be a ship on fire. Oh ! such a horrid sight my eyes never 
 beheld ! and the signal guns, they bellowed away, and 
 didn't we crowd on sail ! At last we reached her. Most of 
 the crew and passengers had jumped into the boats, and the 
 minute they saw us were half crazed with joy. One young- 
 ster and a woman was standia on the deck. He seemed to 
 be trying to coax her to go over the side with the rest, but 
 she wouldn't budge an inch ; it seems she was so frightened 
 that she'd no wits left. Presently what did he do but take 
 her right up in his arms and jump overboard with her. How 
 he did this I couldn't tell, for he's a slim-made fellow ; but 
 there she was flounderin about in the salt brine in a jilTey. 
 It served her right for her obstinacy. They soon got 'em 
 into a boat, and the whole of 'em we took aboard and did all 
 we could for 'em. Them women always make just such a 
 fuss at sea ! I never want one aboard the Betsy and Mary. 
 When I was first mate in the Sally, the captain's wife took it 
 into her head to go too, and such a real tarnation crittur as 
 she was ! I swan if there wasn't a petticoat nailed to the 
 mainmast the whole voyage, tisn't lucky 'nother, I can tell 
 you. Well, as I said afore, we got the whole squad on 
 board, and did all we could for 'em. There was no clothes 
 for the woman, so she wore my Sunday suit, which did very 
 well. At first she was raither ashamed, she hadn't heerd 
 of Bloomerism, but got used to them in the end. Well, the 
 lad who saved her was a right good fellow, I can tell you, 
 and I took to him mightily. At first he seemed very well ; 
 he sung for us beautifully, and drew all sorts of funny pic-
 
 OF BOSTON. 335 
 
 turs of all our ship's company. Every body loved him on 
 board. Whether or no he strained himself when he jumped 
 overboard with the woman I can't tell, but he soon began to 
 ail and complained of a pain in his breast and side, and one 
 day I found him faintin with his mouth full of blood ; he 
 said he had broken a blood-vessel. I thought the woman 
 was crazed ; she wrung her hands and tore her hair, and 
 called on fifty saints and made such a to-do about this lad. 
 She said he had destroyed himself in savin her, a total 
 stranger ; but he said no, that he had almost always enjoyed 
 bad health, and was no worse then than common. A bad 
 cough set in, and he was tied to his berth and seemed to get 
 worse and worse every day, and the sicker he grew the bet- 
 ter I loved the lad. Oh, he's a prince of a fellow, with such 
 a big heart ! Well, when we anchored, the first thing I did 
 was to rig up smart, make all tight, see the owners, and then 
 take the Leghorn flat and the mosicky pin, now I've got 
 it, straight up to the house, and as I went along I thought 
 how nice it would be to slick up that poor fellow I'd just left 
 in his narrow berth, into the best chamber, white curtains 
 and all. Well, I found Betsy, and she was glad to see me ; 
 she always is, and liked her pin very much and the flat also, 
 but says she shall never be able to make up her mind how 
 to have it cut; and, as the fashions won't let her wear it 
 whole, she's dreadfully afraid that she'll never be able to 
 put it on her head, but says she can keep it for a show. It's 
 just so always, poor little Mary had got the measles, and 
 was put in the best chamber, every body is that's sick in 
 our house, and so there was no place for the poor lad ; 
 and I thought I'd just come and tell you the whole story, as 
 you're always good at listening to me and helping all dis- 
 tressed people. I once asked this young man if he knew 
 any one in America, and he answered, no one to whom he 
 could apply for assistance. I can't bear the thoughts of his 
 being sent to the hospital, good as it is. He don't look like 
 a person who has ever done hard work ; his hands are very
 
 336 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 soft. How I do wish Mary hadn't the measles ; she's not 
 very sick, but can't be moved. I'm sure he's a gentleman. 
 Now if we could get a good room, I'm perfectly willin to 
 pay one half if you will the other. He's got the consump- 
 tion.' 
 
 Mr. Barclay was as usual repaid for his patient listening, 
 and assured the captain that he would engage to defray all 
 expenses, and would immediately accompany him on board 
 the barque and see his passenger. He then ordered a 
 coach, and jumping in with the captain, they proceeded to 
 Gerald's old quarters, and engaged a nice, airy room, and 
 gave directions for a good fire to be prepared. Then they 
 hastened on board the barque. ^Ir. Barclay found an un- 
 commonly handsome young man, with most prepossessing 
 manners and refined address, lying exhausted and suffering 
 in his berth, the cold winds of autumn blowing fiercely 
 around him. The captain bustled about and informed him 
 that every thing was ready, and that they desired he would 
 try to rouse himself and get on shore. After many inef- 
 fectual efforts, they succeeded in having the invalid trans- 
 ported to the wharf, and from thence to the boarding-house, 
 where the mistress of the house received them at the door 
 in the kindest manner, and installed the sufterer in a warm 
 and comfortable bed in a remarkably cheerful and sunny 
 room. Mr. Barclay then sent for a medical man, who came 
 and administered some alleviating potion, and the patient 
 sank into a profound slumber. A good nurse was engaged, 
 and he was left to her care. Mr. Barclay sent in the even- 
 ing to inquire for the young stranger, and found that he had 
 greatly rallied under the combined influence of warmth and 
 comfort, and was much better. 
 
 The next morning he went to visit him. The good cap- 
 tain was already there, and the stranger was sitting up in bed 
 propped with pillows. When Mr. Barclay entered. Captain 
 Williams formally introduced his passenger to him as Mr. 
 Julian Seaton, having forgotten in the hurry of the preceding
 
 OF BOSTON. 337 
 
 day, to perform the ceremony. Mr. Barclay started when 
 he heard the name, and when his own was pronounced the 
 stranger fainted. After some time he revived, and entreated 
 to be left alone with Mr. Barclay. He then said, ' God 
 grant me strength to impart to you, Sir, the miserable tale of 
 my wickedness. I can scarcely find words in which to 
 express my own sense of my utter unworthiness ; the only 
 appeal I shall make to your mercy and forgiveness is, that I 
 shall not for a long time cross your pathway. The sands in 
 my glass of life are nearly run, and it is a miserable and 
 dying sinner who now throws himself on your clemency for 
 protection. I am Julian Seaton, the only son of your wife's 
 cousin, Paul Seaton; and I am, oh God, that I should live 
 to confess this to you! your daughter's husband, the 
 deceiver, the traitor who stole away the heart of your child 
 under false pretences. Blame not her, I conjure you, let 
 the whole weight of your just displeasure full upon me, 
 wretch that I am.' 
 
 Mr. Barclay was, as may naturally be supposed, thunder- 
 struck at this revelation ; he administered a renovating cor- 
 dial to his fainting relative, and after this had taken effect 
 he renewed the conversation, and heard exactly the same 
 narrative as far as his daughter was concerned, as she had 
 already given to him of her acquaintance with her husband. 
 A long and intensely interesting interview was this, in which 
 the good merchant accorded a full pardon to the erring 
 young man, and poured the balm of forgiveness into his peni- 
 tent and humble spirit. On leaving Julian Seaton, he instantly 
 repaired to his brother's and communicated the intelligence 
 of his wonderful discover}^ Mr. Richard was surprised 
 overjoyed. ' Oh,' said he, ' my dear little niece's reputation 
 for veracity, I have reason to know, though I never told you, 
 John, had been implicated. There are people who have 
 dared to doubt her word ; thank God, they can do it no 
 longer, she is righted and we are saved so long as there 
 was a stain upon her honor, I was miserable. Now all is 
 29
 
 338 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 revealed, the truth of her story made manifest, and it is to 
 no low and objectionable person that she is married, but to 
 one of your own kith and kin, or your wife's, which is the 
 same thing. To be sure the father is a good for nothing 
 rascal, but 1 have heard the most admirable account of the 
 mother; the boy can't be very bad, I'm sure. What a 
 relief ! John, I feel as if an atlas had been lifted up from 
 my shoulders. What an incubus has been removed this 
 blessed morning by this revelation ! We must mark this day 
 with a white stone in the calendar of our lives, and bless 
 God for his mercies, I must go home with you, John, and 
 hear you tell your wife ; she has behaved like an angel 
 through all her tribulations, and I'm determined to see how 
 she will bear this good and joyful news.' 
 
 Mr. Barclay was delighted with this proposition, for he 
 was greatly overcome with the interview he had just passed 
 through, and required the assistance of his brother in im- 
 parting it to his wife. He had found joy almost as over- 
 whelming as sorrow. So, with light steps and lighter hearts, 
 these united brothers wended their way on their joyful 
 errand, and, reaching tlie house, begged to see Mrs. Barclay 
 alone. She came to them with an agitated and inquiring 
 air, and demanded the cause of this interview so ceremo- 
 niously requested. She perceived, at once, that the intelli- 
 gence her husband and brother were about to communicate 
 was not of an afflicting nature. 
 
 'Catherine,' said Mr. Richard, 'you, who have borne, 
 as few women could have done a great and absorbing 
 calamity, and, under the infliction, have showed yourself 
 to possess tlie greatest self-control and the most unequalled 
 fortitude, and have, through the whole of your troubles, 
 preserved your cheerfulness in an extraordinary manner ; 
 can you bear equally well their removal .'' ' 
 
 ' I assure you, I consider this one of the happiest moments 
 of my life, when I am permitted, by my brother's kindness,
 
 OF BOSTON. 
 
 339 
 
 to be the harbinger of great and good news, and entreat 
 you to receive it calmly.' 
 
 ' Is Georgy's husband discovered ? ' exclaimed Mrs. Bar- 
 clay ; ' this can be nothing else.' 
 
 ' He is found, and is in Boston.' 
 
 ' Who is he .? What is he .? For the love of heaven, tell 
 me.?' 
 
 ' He is Julian Seaton, your own cousin's son.' 
 
 'God be praised!' she cried, and threw herself into 
 her husband's arms. 
 
 On recovering from the first effects of her delightful 
 surprise, Mrs. Barclay professed herself to be overflowing 
 with gratitude for this great blessing vouchsafed to her, 
 the restoration of her child's honor. But she was in no- 
 wise inclined to pardon Julian. She had a rooted aversion 
 to his father arising from some passages in his life con- 
 nected with hers and imagined that no good whatever 
 could proceed from such a source. It appeared that Paul 
 Seaton had fruitlessly tried to win her favor, and had, 
 on her constant refusals of his hand, vowed vengeance 
 against her, plunged into all sorts of dissipation, and then 
 laid all his misdoings at her door. He had declared openly, 
 that if she had married him, he should have pursued a 
 different course, and that he attributed his ruin entirely 
 to her rejection of his suit. This often occurs where women 
 are entirely blameless, and, certainly, Mrs. Barclay had 
 no reproaches of conscience, for her cousin was, as Mr. 
 Richard had averred, a great rascal from the beginning, 
 and no woman on earth could have made him either better 
 or worse. But he had chosen to make her the scapegoat 
 for all his offences, and persisted in considering himself 
 a most ill-used man, when, in fact, he was nothing more 
 than a worthless profligate. Women often bear a vast 
 deal of odium for otfences quite as ill founded as this. 
 
 Mr. Barclay imparted to Mrs. Sanderson and Mrs. Mere- 
 dith the great good fortune that had befallen them all.
 
 340 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 They both declared, that, firmly believing in Iheir sister's 
 innocence, not a shadow of a doubt had ever for a moment 
 rested upon their minds; but that, naturally, they were 
 transported with delight to be able to proclaim the restora- 
 tion of her husband, and that he was exactly the person 
 they could have wished him to be. They could not be 
 persuaded to look upon the romance he had enacted in 
 the same light as their mother; they rather glossed it over, 
 but they were young and romantic, and looked forward to 
 long days of happiness for their sister and her newly-found 
 husband. 
 
 This time Mrs. Meredith waltzed her father round the 
 room, to her heart's content for he was so overflowing 
 with happiness that he never resisted. Mrs. Barclay, on 
 breaking to her daughter the intelligence she had received 
 on this eventful morning, was still palpitating under the 
 excitement it had produced in her own feelings, but she 
 effected her purpose judiciously. Georgy received the joyful 
 news of the re-establishment of her honor and truth with 
 intense delight and gratitude. She thanked her Creator 
 for having vouchsafed this great and signal mercy to her, 
 and wept tears of contrition on the bosom of the mother, 
 who had been her solace and comfort through her tribu- 
 lations. But she distinctly and positively refused to see 
 Julian Seaton ; she declared she had irrevocably made up 
 her mind to this course ; that her feelings were entirely 
 changed towards him ; and that an interview with him 
 would but open anew the floodgates of her sorrows and his. 
 She said, that this having been her fixed determination for 
 a long time, it was unchangeable, and no cfTorts of others 
 not even those she most loved and worshipped in the world 
 would induce her to rescind this resolve. She said she 
 had come to this state of mind from long and deeply 
 solemn reflection, and was convinced that, for the welfare 
 of both, it was best. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay imparted her daughter's determination to her
 
 OF BOSTON. 341 
 
 husband. He would have wished it otherwise, but was 
 convinced that Georgy had good and sufficient reasons for 
 her conduct, which she might, perchance, desire to conceal ; 
 of their rectitude he was firmly assured, and neither he nor 
 his wife ever inquired their nature. 
 
 Gerald Sanderson went immediately to Julian Seaton, 
 and proffered his services in his sick room as reader, at- 
 tendant, or friend. Robert Redmond and Charley San- 
 derson did the same. Uncle Richard actually installed 
 himself as major domo, and ordered away his brother and 
 all of them, when they talked too much and fatigued the 
 invalid. There was, however, one exception, and this was 
 Mrs. Betsy Williams, who would not be commanded by 
 any man living, she said ; and came and went at her own 
 bidding. The captain loved Julian like a child, and he 
 carried little Mary when she had emerged from her Pan- 
 dora's box for chicken-pox had been added to the measles 
 
 to see his favorite, and Julian taking a fancy to her, she 
 went to visit him daily. Mrs. Betsy overloaded him with 
 what she called 'goodies' and very excellent they were 
 
 such jellies and creams and custards as she made for 
 him ! they were only too good. 
 
 The medical man who attended him, seemed to bo highly 
 interested in his patient, and passed hours with him. His 
 landlady was also ever indefatigable, so that the friendless 
 and forlorn creature, who had landed on the American 
 shore in complete destitution, found himself surrounded by 
 friends, luxuries, and comforts. Julian Seaton received the 
 fiat of his doom from the lips of ]\Ir. Barclay, who, as gently 
 as possible, imparted to him his daughter's decision. He 
 listened with tearful eyes, and, groaning in spirit, declared 
 that he had richly merited his punishment. He was con- 
 vinced that Georgiana Barclay loathed him for his duplicity, 
 his treachery, that her pure spirit could never mingle with 
 his. ' And what good would accrue,' he exclaimed, ' from 
 a meeting where hearts dissevered can never more be 
 29*
 
 342 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 joined together? Your daughter, my revered friend, has 
 ceased to love me, I should expire under averted glances ; 
 the eyes, once turned to mine and beaming with love and 
 affection, now averted, would annihilate me. I could never 
 survive the meeting. I am convinced she detests me.' 
 
 ' She has pardoned you.' 
 
 ' With that I must rest content. I have not long to bear 
 my martyrdom ; death, welcome death, will shortly release 
 me from my sufferings, and 1 shall rejoin my sainted mother 
 where sin and sorrow are no more. She loved me, and I 
 had not forfeited her affection. As I can now sit up a por- 
 tion of the day, I propose, my dearest benefactor, to write 
 for you with your consent a little history of my life, 
 which, as I finish, I will give to you. You will therein dis- 
 cover that I am the creature of circumstances, having been 
 left without guidance or direction ; and, forgetful of the 
 monitions of the saint now in paradise, I fell, and great was 
 my fall. It was a sad one. I carried with me even your 
 daughter, accursed that I am. My death will restore her to 
 liberty, all aspersions on her fair fame being removed by 
 my re-appearance in your land. She will yet be spared for 
 a long life of happiness, and for death, I pray, and ever 
 shall. I watch my decaying strength with intense satis- 
 faction, day by day, and ask not for another sun to rise 
 over my devoted head.' 
 
 Mr. Barclay was deeply affected by this interview. This 
 young creature becoming daily more dear to him, he sym- 
 pathized with him, and endeavored to console him under 
 the afflictions which gathered around him. Julian Seaton 
 desired to see a Catholic priest. Mr. Barclay sent one to 
 him from whose presence and ministrations he seemed 
 to derive infinite peace and contentment and was much 
 calmer and more cheerful after every visit he received from 
 his confessor. Indeed, the good man devoted himself to the 
 sufferer, and remained with him in the watches of the night, 
 when, nervous and feverish, he could obtain no repose.
 
 OF BOSTON. 343 
 
 and only left him when he saw him surrounded by his 
 friends. He also promised to be with him, when the night, 
 which, coming to all, precedes ' the day-spring from on 
 high,' emanating from heaven's wide portals, 
 
 Mr. Barclay received a letter from Julian Seaton, which 
 will be read in the next chapter. It was brought by Captain 
 Williams, who stated that he had just seen off that plaguey 
 woman, whose good for nothing life had been saved at the 
 expense of a fellow, who was worth a million such petti- 
 coats. ' She'd gone to Kentucky,' he said, ' for to find her 
 sweetheart, who had written for her to come to America, 
 and had sent her the money to pay her way along ; and the 
 worst harm he wished her, was that he himself might never 
 set his two eyes upon her again.' 
 
 Mr. Barclay was quite astonished at this ebullition of 
 temper on the part of his old friend ; but it afterwards trans- 
 pired that Mrs. Betsy Williams had actually got jealous of 
 ' the Italian crittur,' and the poor captain had no peace in 
 his life, and was naturally greatly relieved when the girl 
 departed. She had taken an affecting farewell of her pre- 
 server, and had made him quite ill by the violence of her 
 grief at parting.
 
 844 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 ' Oh Rome I my country ! city of the soul ! 
 The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 
 Lone mother of dead empires ! and control, 
 In their shut breasts their petty misery.' 
 
 Byeon. 
 
 ' To John Barclay, Esq. 
 
 ' Not daring, Sir, to address this letter to your angelic 
 daughter, over whose young days it has been my melancholy 
 lot to cast a mantle of sorrow and trouble, which not all 
 the repentant agony I am now enduring will ever dispel, I 
 venture, at your solicitations, to write you the history of my 
 life, now that it is fast closing. I could not, for a moment, 
 dream that you would take any interest in one so fallen as 
 myself, were not the destiny of your child so fearfully 
 mixed up with mine as to make my own insignificant course 
 of importance to you. On the eve of standing before my 
 great Judge, and in his awful presence, receiving the award 
 of my punishment for my sins, I can confess nothing but 
 the sacred truth ; and that you shall learn without any fruit- 
 less attempt at extenuation or diminution. 
 
 ' I do not think I was born to the heritage of dishonor, 
 which has weighed down my spirit and bowed my head to 
 my mother earth in shame and despair, for I have ever so 
 felt mv degradation, even in my wildest flights of imagina- 
 tion and misdeeds. This, and my present state of regener- 
 ated life, induces me to believe, that if I could have enjoyed 
 the priceless blessing of a home, I might have been a widely 
 diflerent being from the one who nov/ pours forth his whole
 
 OF BOSTON. 345 
 
 soul in supplications for your mercy, and who asks but the 
 boon of your forgiveness, and that of your afflicted child, 
 to die in comparative peace. 
 
 ' In order that you should thoroughly understand my his- 
 tory, I must naturally mingle with it a relation of my father's 
 course of life, and that this development will cost me many 
 a pang, need I say to you, whose whole existence has been 
 one of such unblemished purity ? Would to God that I could 
 tell my sad and miserable tale without mentioning the name 
 of the author of my being, but it cannot be, and, as I pro- 
 ceed, I feel that to no one but to you, and influenced by the 
 sad circumstances which have produced the necessity of 
 this missive, could I have found strength and resolution to 
 unfold the pages of my own existence, which so fearfully 
 involve my fathers reputation. 
 
 ' Of the antecedents of my parent's career in Boston I 
 believe you to be well acquainted, having been his class- 
 mate in college life. I have often heard him say, -he, 
 for some reason unknown to me, bore towards you and 
 yours a deadly hatred, and although I have essayed, times 
 out of mind, to get at its cause, I utterly failed. My gene- 
 ral impression, from my knowledge of your character, is that 
 he never forgave you for having been through life in ad- 
 vance of him, in every thing. I have often heard him, in 
 his stormy gusts of passion, swear vengeance against you ; 
 but when I prayed him to reveal to me the cause of this 
 deeply rooted hatred, he would never accede to my request, 
 but, on the other hand, ill treated me, and commanded me 
 never to touch upon a subject so revolting to him. 
 
 ' On one occasion, and one only, I jieard him mention a 
 name, and that was in a fit of delirium, arising from a vio- 
 lent fever, under which he was laboring, after my sainted 
 mother's death in Florence. Nor paying much attention to 
 it at the time, I did not remember the word, but now that 
 my reminiscences are vividly aroused, and every circum- 
 stance appertaining to that period arises like a living picture
 
 346 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 before my sight, I think he declared he would be revenged 
 
 on you for supplanting him in the favor of Catherine ; 
 
 the rest of the name I heard not. 
 
 ' In Florence, the city of flowers, I saw the light, and 
 basking in the bright sunshine of my mother's eyes I revelled 
 in all the joys accompanying the childhood of an idolized 
 first-born. The demonstrations of affection I received, were 
 much more ardent than those which the well-tempered nature 
 of your countrywomen bestow upon their offspring, how- 
 ever tender and absorbing may be their maternal feelings. 
 Again, I believe, that my mother, who had lavished all 
 the rich treasure of her impassioned soul on my father, on 
 finding herself deceived and disappointed in him, centred 
 her whole heart in me, and such a heart ! I thus became 
 to her the spring-tide of her existence, the fount from which 
 she drew her whole being. 
 
 ' My first recollections of her, were those of a creature 
 beaming with resplendent beauty, and full of poetry, religion, 
 and love. My mother would have been considered unedu- 
 cated in America, but the very language she spoke was mu- 
 sic, and her passion for the poets of her own beauteous land 
 was intense. Not a day passed that she did not repeat to 
 me the verses of Tasso and Ariosto, and, in fact, I was 
 taught to lisp in numbers, and exhibited to her friends as a 
 prodigy of attainment. Family, my mother had none, 
 she was an unprotected orphan, with a small fortune, when 
 my father made her acquaintance. Captivated by her beau- 
 ty and native talent, he sought, and won the lovely creature, 
 and, having married her, he tired of her almost immediate- 
 ly. She was treated with some degree of affection until 
 after my birth, and then he resumed his old habits of gam- 
 bling, and she saw little of him ; for the time he passed in 
 his own house was usually consumed in sleep. Sometimes, 
 for days, and even weeks, he never left the hells he fre- 
 quented, and only returned to look upon his young wife and
 
 OF BOSTON. 347 
 
 child when a run of ill luck had come over him, or a bank 
 was broken. 
 
 ' At first, she was very miserable at his neglect, but her 
 buoyant nature actually rebelled against sorrow, and then she 
 had her boy, her worshipped child, over whom she would 
 hang in an ecstacy of maternal tenderness. She would ex- 
 claim' " Every thing but thee can I renounce, my heart's 
 treasure, my soul, my light of life, my jewel." She would 
 wander about with me in the gardens and galleries, showing 
 me all the wonders of the palaces of art with which Flor- 
 ence abounds, and teaching me the history of all the saints 
 whom she worshipped. We regularly attended all the church 
 festivals, and amidst their pomp and ceremonies she would 
 thank God that he had allowed her to breathe her first breath 
 of life in glorious Italy, the land of the poet and the painter. 
 Sometimes there would a cloud pass over the spirit of her 
 dream, and she would ask me in the most impassioned tones 
 if I thought my father would ever have the cruelty to tear 
 her away from this Eden, and force her to go to his own 
 cold and ice-bound country. "I should die," she would 
 exclaim, " in that frigid zone, my very heart would be frozen 
 up ; he says there are no pictures, no gardens, no statues 
 there. Alas! alas! what will become of your poor mother, 
 with no friends, no neighbors, no theatres, no churches, and 
 no English ! " 
 
 ' At these times I comforted her as well as I could. Many 
 of these things which I now relate respecting my earliest 
 days my mother confided to me ; such as the first indications 
 of my fiither's declining love for her, and his consequent 
 neglect. "Ah," she would exclaim, '' my beloved Julian, I 
 should have laid me down in one of the churches, at the 
 feet of the blessed Virgin and slept my last sleep, had I not 
 possessed my adored child ; my life would have been a 
 dreary waste, but for the blessing vouchsafed to me in my 
 bov. At first, I thought my heart would break, and surely 
 none ever will if mine did not, but I prayed to the Holy
 
 348 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Mother, and she, taking pity on my acute sufferings, raised 
 up such a feeble creature as I am, and gave me my child. 
 And then I soon began to perceive that the stream of love 
 which had flowed so rapidly towards your father was cen- 
 tred in my innocent babe, and I cared no longer for his 
 absences, at which I had been in the habit of weeping my 
 soul out. I cared no longer for them ! how terrible this 
 sad truth appeared to me when it broke upon me ! 
 
 ' " I was then encompassed in clouds and darkness, a 
 midnight in my soul, but soon a little ray of light illumed 
 this dense gloom. It was, indeed, so small, so very small, 
 but it increased and became the morning's dawn with all its 
 dewy, balmy freshness. Ah ! how I rejoiced in it. 1 was 
 another creature ; never had I been so happy before, not 
 even when he worshipped me in the earliest period of my 
 acquaintance with him, not even when he first poured 
 forth his love for me." Well do I remember the time and 
 the scene wherein these outpourings of my beautiful moth- 
 er's feelings were made. We lived in the first floor of an 
 old palace ; all our rooms opening on to a large garden 
 thickly planted with superb trees, and to which my mother 
 had added myriads of flowers. The sitting-room of thd 
 family was so large, that in the evening when she taught 
 me my lessons at the table, by the light of a bright lamp, 
 it was mostly enveloped in shadow. The children here 
 would be frightened out of their senses to live in such a 
 place ; but my mother was there, and I never had known 
 fear. It was not in the house, however, that her revelations 
 were made to me ; she always preferred a stone seat in the 
 garden, where, under the umbrageous protection of wide- 
 spread trees, she repeated her simple history. It seemed to 
 me that the walls of our dwelling produced some decidedly 
 oppressive effect upon her spirits, so doated she upon the 
 open air; for she never was half so communicative, or half 
 so charminfT in-doors. Oh ! those blessed davs I How I
 
 OF BOSTON. 349 
 
 pine to live them over. That garden of Armida, my glo- 
 riously beautiful mother, all gone ! never to re-appear. 
 
 'I have mentioned my lessons, these consisted of all 
 she could teach, my church praclices, reading, writing, 
 and music. A beautiful Italian hand was my mother's ; 
 and she played delightfully on the guitar, and accompanied 
 herself with great skill and talent, having been thoroughly 
 taught. These things she imparted to me in such a winning 
 manner, that I knew not when, or how, I acquired them. 
 It was a melancholy proof of the all-devouring and absorb- 
 ing nature of my father's hateful pursuits, if any were 
 wanting, that he, an American, should have permitted his 
 only son, for aught he knew to the contrary, to be brought 
 up in utter ignorance. But so it was. He would, when in 
 a pleasant mood, take me upon his knee and caress me ; 
 but then these moods were rare, few, and far between, and 
 his constant absences prevented his knowing hardly any 
 thing about me. My father was in the habit of running 
 down to Venice. He never invited my mother to accom- 
 pany him, nor did she appear to wish to go, for she was 
 satisfied to be left at home. She had a little circle of friends 
 who sufficed for her amusement, as far as social life went ; 
 and certainly they had a vast deal more genial intercourse 
 than I have ever seen in this country. 
 
 ' These good people met together in the summer evenings 
 in their different dwellings constantly ; nothing was given in 
 the way of refreshments, and consequently there were no 
 tedious preparatory arrangements to mar their pleasure. 
 The talk was of the next Church festival, the poets, some 
 distinguished holy father's preaching, some remarkable art- 
 ist who had but lately sprung up, the vagaries of the foreign- 
 ers abiding in the place. I well remember the horror of my 
 mother's circle at the appearance of a stage-coach set up 
 by a stranger nobleman, driven by himself! they could 
 not be reconciled to such things ; to which was added the 
 enormity of putting his men and women servants inside. 
 30
 
 350 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 These little parties always finished with music, and many a 
 concert have I heard in this country that was not half so 
 good, the soul, the enthusiasm was wanting. 
 
 ' One day my father came rushing home, in most exube- 
 rant spirits, and kissing my mother, a thing he rarely did, 
 threw into her lap a very large sum in rouleaus of gold, say- 
 ing, " There, take this money, and go to Rome and enjoy 
 the holy city to your heart's content. Stay as long as you 
 like ; I will go and see you when I have leisure. You 
 know you have always desired this above all things on 
 earth." And very true was this, for my mother had been 
 lately pining to behold the Pope, and besides the Montinis, a 
 family she dearly loved, were about to remove there. So 
 all these things combined to make this delightful to her, and 
 she fell on my father's neck, and thanked him in a flood of 
 joyful tears. 
 
 ' At last, came the happy day. I was then ten years of 
 age, and crazed with delight at the prospect of beholding 
 my mother's blessed haven, for so she called it. All pros- 
 pered ; the Montinis taking charge of us, engaged a vettu- 
 rino ; honest Babel, who permitted me the great favor of 
 sitting by his side on the coach-box, told me all manner of 
 pleasant talcs besides. This man was a person who would 
 have talked to himself had I not been perched upon the box 
 with him ; so he was very gracious indeed, and charmingly 
 communicative. My father lifted me into the seat, embrac- 
 ing me the while, and having performed the same ceremony 
 to my mother, he waived his hat in the air ; Babel cracked 
 his long whip with a terrible noise, and we were off. The 
 journey was enchanting, our companions so kind and atten- 
 tive to my mother and myself, and Babel, I shall never 
 forget him. We crossed the mountains happily with one 
 most interesting event. I was awakened from a profound 
 sleep by Babel, who exclaimed, " Up, up, boy, and see the 
 robbers ! " and surely there were before me three men, 
 guarded by soldiers, who, in their picturesque costumes.
 
 OF BOSTON. 351 
 
 velvet dresses, and plumed hats, with even a bouquet in 
 the button-hole, were a sight indeed ! They were tied to 
 their horses, but seemed any thing but miserable. Our 
 whole party congratulated themselves on having encoun- 
 tered them under such circumstances, and I thanked the 
 vetturino heartily for having shown them to me. 
 
 **We came within sight of the " Eternal City." " Bel- 
 lissima Roma ! " my mother cried. Indeed, she had even 
 added out of her own purse another horse at the last post- 
 house, that we might reach "the haven" by sunset. And 
 such a sunset ! Glorious ones have you in your own land, 
 but nothing to ours. We all descended from the carriage at 
 Babel's shout of " Roma ! Roma ! " and, kneeling, thanked 
 God for his mercy in being allowed to behold St. Peter's. 
 My mother afterwards cried, laughed, sang, and danced, in 
 which variety of joyful exercises she was joined by her 
 friends, and I am quite sure, had the whole party been seen 
 by any Americans, they would have been considered fitting 
 subjects for an insane establishment. As we entered the 
 gates of Rome, and were stopped by the "customs," we 
 saw a woman holding the head of a horse, while a man was 
 engaged with the officers. This pair had passed us in our 
 day's journey, and we had supposed they were out on a 
 pleasure excursion of a few hours. Not a bit, they had 
 travelled from Paris with a one-horse stanhope without a top. 
 Of course they were English, and my mother said she sup- 
 posed it was some wager. We met them again at our hotel, 
 and they said they were going to Naples, after remaining a 
 week in Rome. 
 
 ' After a good night's sleep, my mother aroused me and 
 said, " Awake, my Julian, awake, we are in Rome. And 
 Oh ! how very happy I am, and I hope you are also. Now 
 we will have a good breakfast, and depart for Saint Peter's. 
 The ^lontinis take a carriage, and you shall go with them, 
 but I will approach that sacred building in no way but on 
 foot." I, however, pleaded and begged so hard to accompany
 
 352 . THE BARCLAYS 
 
 her that she, being unable to refuse me any thing, consented, 
 and weary enough was I, when, having traversed ail man- 
 ner of dirty streets and narrow lanes, we emerged into the 
 magnificent part of the blessed city, and passing the Castle 
 of Saint Angelo, found ourselves in front of the Church. My 
 mother, kneeling, returned thanks on the pavement, and we 
 walked up the grand entrance, and drawing aside the curtain 
 which is before the side-door, we stood breathless with awe 
 and amazement in Saint Peter's. I say we, for though too 
 young for such a state of excitement, my mother's enthusi- 
 asm had been communicated to me in an uncommon degree, 
 and never have I since experienced the same sensations. 
 She said she would not go into the Vatican that day, Saint 
 Peter's was all-sufficient ; but the Montinis insisting, she was 
 dragged there much against her will, as she seemed to think 
 this proceeding almost disrespectful to the holy place. They, 
 however, pleaded, and said she must see the Apollo. She 
 did not go down on her knees to it, though 1 almost thought 
 she would ; for my own part, I had an earnest desire to pay 
 the same compliment to a lion in the hall of the animals. 
 
 ' My mother took an apartment in the Via Babuino, a suf- 
 ficiently dark and gloomy street, but the Montinis liked it as 
 being near their business, and so we resided together in 
 great peace and harmony. 
 
 ' Oh, Sir ! will you ever pardon me for my wearisome 
 prolixity? You have been too indulgent to me; and, as 
 you have besffed me to omit nothing which would throw 
 light upon my career, I have borne this request in mind. I 
 am fearful that I have imposed upon your kindness and pa- 
 tience. Neither do I write so very readily in English ; it is 
 just so in my conversation, for I am apt to halt terribly ; and 
 then when I drop my pen and reflect for a moment to whom 
 I am writing, I am deeply impressed with your goodness and 
 forbearance, and blush at my own hardihood. 
 
 ' I shall forward to you this long epistle to-day, which will 
 be followed by another to-morrow, and so on, until con-
 
 OF BOSTON. 353 
 
 eluded ; for I never tire of lingering amid the scenes of my 
 lost innocence, and dread the moment when I must emerge 
 from them, and enter upon a recital of my miseiy and my 
 misdeeds. May the peace that passeth all earthly show, 
 and the blessing of the orphan, rest upon your head. 
 
 ' With great consideration and profound respect, I am your 
 obliged and devoted Julian.' 
 
 30*
 
 354 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 ' Five years like yon bright valley, sown 
 Alternately with weeds and flowers, 
 Had swiftly, if not gaily, flown, 
 And I still loved the rosy hours.' 
 
 N. P. Willis. 
 
 'Since you have been pleased to say, my best friend, 
 that you liked not the formality of my style to you in my 
 former letter, I will now address my benefactor, and resume 
 the thread of my narrative, 
 
 ' We lived, my mother and myself, with the dear Mon- 
 tinis, five short years. Oh ! how rapidly they vanished ; 
 they were always and ever the same simple, kind-hearted 
 people. I think nothing can surpass the naturalness of the 
 Italians ; there is no affectation in them, high and low are 
 all alike, in that respect equally true to themselves. 
 
 ' Our housekeeping in Florence had been always of the 
 most unpretending character ; our modest repasts consisting 
 chiefly of vegetables and fruit, which an old woman pre- 
 pared. At Rome, my mother, having literally nothing to 
 do, wandered about the livelong day in the ruins, galleries, 
 gardens and churches. We often sallied forth in the morn- 
 ing, taking our simple dinner with us, and returned only 
 when the shadows of evening fell upon the Campagna, 
 seldom or never failing to climb the Pincian Hill, to look out 
 upon the glorious sun in his setting. During this time I 
 took lessons in drawing, as I had a small natural talent at 
 sketching, and practised my little art in these excursions. 
 The evenings were devoted to music and books and society,
 
 OF BOSTON. 355 
 
 for we soon had a pleasant circle around us; my mother's 
 genial and social qualities always attracting pleasant people. 
 They accused her of having some method even in her 
 rambles, for she was always at home by eight in the 
 evening, and delighted to see them. 
 
 'My father would "run up to Rome,"' as he said, for a 
 few days, but soon tired of the city. He thought it dull, 
 very dull, he never took much notice of me, and I fan- 
 cied my mother felt much relieved when he departed. The 
 society of artists was never much to his taste; he liked the 
 foreigners, and they were quieter in Rome than in Florence. 
 The Montinis said, " They had tRe grace to pay the Eternal 
 City that respect, if they did nothing else ; there were no 
 English stage-coaches there," those vehicles were sad 
 bugbears to our friends. We always went two or three 
 times a week to Saint Peter's ; then we repaired to the Vat- 
 ican, and having remained in its "halls of living light" 
 until we were frozen up in the winter, we then returned to 
 the Church, and warmed ourselves in its perfect atmosphere. 
 My dear simple mother really believed that the holiness of 
 this tabernacle produced this genial temperature. The 
 artists told me it was the thickness of its walls. They, 
 however, never thought proper to enlighten her. While 
 she was praying at all the shrines, I would sit, for hours, 
 before the tomb of the last of the Stuarts. How very beau- 
 tiful it was to me ! less elaborate than others, I could the 
 more easily take it into my heart's core, the mournful 
 caryatides ! trailing their funereal torches on the ground, 
 and patiently awaiting the opening of its closed portals 
 when the last trump shall sound, possessed for me an inde- 
 scribable charm. Often my mother had finished her orisons 
 long ere I could be aroused from my day-dreams, before 
 this shrine of beauty. 
 
 ' This sort of life had no chastening or strengthening 
 character in it for me ; I acquired a bad habit of dreaming, 
 with my eyes wide open; I am sure I was often as sound
 
 356 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 asleep as if they had been shut. I became thoughtful, ab- 
 stracted, not unhappy, no, never with /ter, but a castle- 
 builder, a visionary, just what Gei'ald Sanderson has so 
 miraculously escaped. Perhaps if I had enjoyed the ines- 
 timable advantage of such counsel as he received and ac- 
 cepted, I might have been radically cured of my folly. It 
 was not so to be, and I will not now repine. The decree of 
 Providence has gone forth, and I humbly submit. Were 
 my life spared, I should never be much more than I am 
 now, and for one all-important reason I ask it not, she 
 will be fi'ee. 
 
 ' One day when I had fallen into an absent fit before the 
 tomb of Clement the Thirteenth, Oh ! the wonderful 
 lions ! I was rudely awoke by a grand procession of hor- 
 rid old men and women emerging from the mausoleum, 
 carrying mops, pails, dusters, watering-pots, brooms, and 
 brushes, and was thus painfully made aware of its being 
 cleaning day in Saint Peter's. At first, I imagined this to 
 be a frightful nightmare, but afterwards discovered there 
 was a receptacle for all these utilities somewhere about the 
 tomb ; the waking lions seemed to glare upon them fero- 
 ciously. My mother laughed heartily at this adventure. 
 
 ' I read a vast many novels, and devoured all the works on 
 chivalry I could procure, and began to aspire to do battle for 
 some fair damsel ; but, somehow, never found one. The Ro- 
 man girls of my age were all locked up in con vents and schools, 
 and, though there were many beautiful English, I was unac- 
 quainted with them, and consequently could have no access 
 to them. I have informed you that I lived in the Via Babuino. 
 This street is almost entirely devoted to lodging-houses. 
 My mother and I had great amusement in the winter in 
 watching the arrivals and departures of the occupants, who 
 did not remain long. At last, an American family took the 
 apartments in the first story, directly opposite us, and we 
 heard they were to remain many months. I had always a 
 great thirst for any information respecting my father's birtli-
 
 OF BOSTON. 357 
 
 place, and, judge of my delight, when I heard they were 
 from Boston. I resolved to become acquainted with them, 
 if possible, and this was not difficult. I succeeded in arrest- 
 ing the attention of the ladies of the party by some slightly 
 rendered service, and they invited me to visit them. My 
 first appearance amongst them, for there were two gen- 
 tlemen also, was not at all advantageous to me, for I was 
 so excessively agitated I could hardly command my over- 
 wrought feelings. The second time I did better, and informed 
 them of the cause of my apparent stupidity ; they asked me 
 many questions, and amongst others, the name of my father, 
 which I answered. They kindly begged permission to visit 
 my mother, but their request was politely refused ; she said 
 she could not speak English, and never wished to do so. I 
 urged her to receive these ladies, but she was inexorable ; 
 so I made all the necessary apologies for her apparent de- 
 ficiency in hospitality ; and I should have gone to them 
 oftener myself, but for the terrible fires they kept. I would 
 leave our own windows open, while my mother, in a thin white 
 dress, was looking out from them, and go across the street and 
 find my American friends shivering and shaking with what 
 they were pleased to call the intense cold, and crouching 
 around the hearth. Now, I believe that, measured by a 
 thermometer, you have more real cold in this country, in 
 a month, than we have in a whole year in all Italy. They 
 kindly invited me to dine ; but such dinners as I then thought 
 them, such loads of meat ; I ventured to tell them they could 
 not continue this practice if they remained for any time 
 in our climate. 
 
 * There was also another custom, very disagreeable to 
 me, tne abundance of flowers. We think them unhealthy, 
 and one day when the ladies offered me a bouquet for my 
 mother I gratefully declined their proffer, at which they 
 were astonished, and inquired the reason. I told them she 
 would not allow them to remain in her room ; we liked 
 flowers in the open air, but not in our houses. They then
 
 358 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 remembered that their Italian maid had declared she was 
 made ill by the great profusion of flowers and perfumes 
 they had ever about them, and speculated upon the singular- 
 ity of these things, attributing them to difference of climate. 
 Finding myself always ill after their repasts, I was obliged 
 after this to decline invitations, but went, occasionally in the 
 evening, when they had a charming variety of persons. 
 The conversation was delightful, such a number of inter- 
 esting topics were discussed, 
 
 'These lodgings were ill-furnished, and this gave rise to 
 many amusing scenes. One evening the lady, who always 
 presided at the tea-table, I could never be persuaded to 
 drink any of the nauseous stuff, confided to me a great 
 misadventure. Just as she was preparing to make the 
 " exhilarating beverage," I think they called it, Peter, their 
 servant, informed her that the only tea-pot they possessed 
 was broken. Here was a dilemma, indeed. The lady told 
 him he must find one, and he departed, saying he would not 
 return without one. So she whispered to me we must be as 
 agreeable as avc can to cover and hide our trouble, and you 
 must play and sing. Accordingly I did, and in an hour and 
 a half Peter returned with such a thing ! The shops all 
 shut, it was impossible to buy one, and he had scoured all 
 Rome before he could even borrow one. Its arrival was a 
 source of great joy and amusement to the assembled guests. 
 Many times there were not spoons enough, so many visiters 
 were there ; and then she always begged the frequenters of 
 the house patiently to await the serving of those who were 
 more of strangers. Very merry times were these, and I 
 enjoyed them immensely. 
 
 ' My mother said to me, after a description I had given 
 to her of one of my visits to the ladies, " Julian, if I thought 
 those women would make you forget me for an instant, you 
 should never enter their doors again." I threw myself into 
 her arms, and told her I would never see them more. Upon 
 this, she relented, and said, "I do not wish to deprive you
 
 OF BOSTON. 359 
 
 of any pleasure on earth, but you are all I possess in this 
 world, and the deprivation of one tithe of your affection 
 would make me wretched." I was, however, not called 
 upon to make this sacrifice, for soon they all departed 
 after the Holy Week, and I lost my kind friends, and re- 
 solved to make no more acquaintances, as I perceived that 
 this sort of thing pained my dear mother, who had become 
 jealous of even my short absences. In the spring we re- 
 sumed our pleasant gipsey course of life ; the Montinis 
 called my mother " the amiable vagabond," and declared 
 she was not an Italian in that respect, though an excellent 
 one in others. She answered that, having married an 
 American, he had taught her to walk. " Travel, you 
 mean," they laughingly replied, "for you walk miles and 
 miles every day." I do not think, however, that the women 
 are great pedestrians here, and rather fancy my father had 
 copied the English, who excel in this respect ; at any rate, 
 the good effects of exercise were very visible. The Italian 
 women are constantly in the open air, in courts and gardens, 
 but no walkers. But this enchanting life was not to endure. 
 My father came and asked us if we had any idea how long we 
 had been in Rome. We answered. Five years. How short 
 this time had seemed to us ! He then informed us we were 
 to return to Florence, and that I was to be placed under the 
 care of an Englishman, in order, as he said, to learn some- 
 thing useful at last. " You are a dunce," he said; at which 
 I cried my heart out, and then he called me a baby. 
 
 ' And then came the sad, sad leave-taking of all our idols, 
 the churches where we had prayed, the galleries we had 
 almost lived in, the gardens, the ruins, the Vatican, and 
 lastly. Saint Peter's. My mother and I sat on the Pincian 
 Hill, and sorely wept ; we dared not shed tears at home 
 before my father, who regarded our sensibility as sheer 
 nonsense, childish in the extreme. "Julian," he said, " you 
 arc an absurd, silly, spoiled boy, who must be taken in hand 
 immediately, and taught something." " You were always a
 
 360 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 foolish creature," he exclaimed, turning to my afflicted 
 mother, " and, instead of improving, grow worse and 
 worse every year. I have borne with your nonsense long 
 enough, and have left the boy dangling at your petticoat 
 strings until he is half ruined, and nothing will ever be 
 made of him now. So you must decide to part from him 
 on our arrival at Florence. I shall be utterly ashamed to 
 take such an ignoramus home with me to America, where 
 they will expect to see something very different." 
 
 ' Our doom was sealed, we embraced the dear Montinis re- 
 peatedly, and my mother whispered, "You never will again 
 behold me, if my husband executes his threat, and separates 
 me from my child. He virtually deserted me long, long 
 years gone, and I adopted Julian in his stead. He now 
 occupies the place in my breast, where his father once 
 reigned supreme, and I shall never survive his departure." 
 Sad words, and, alas! how prophetic! "I have endured," 
 she seemed actually choked by the intensity of her sen- 
 sations, but she proceeded, "I have survived torture 
 once, and shall never have sufficient strength to bear it a 
 second time." And so we mournfully retraced our steps to 
 Florence, and found ourselves once more in the same old 
 palace, which my father had again hired, thinking to please 
 my mother; but little recked she of this place or that, if I 
 shared it not. 
 
 ' May God be with you, my best friend, prays your de- 
 voted Julian.'
 
 OF BOSTON. 361 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL 
 
 ' But Arno wins us to the fair white walls, 
 Where the Etruriau Athens claims and keeps 
 A softer feeling for her fairy halls.' 
 
 BmoN. 
 
 'We returned to Florence, as I stated in my last letter, 
 my dearest benefactor and friend, and to the old palace, and 
 our same old woman was there to greet and welcome my 
 mother. In one week from our arrival my father com- 
 manded my mother to prepare me for my school. This 
 command threw her into an agony of grief; she even fell 
 on her knees at his feet, and prayed and conjured him, with 
 many tears and supplications, not to take me from her. He 
 answered loudly and imperatively, that the boy must go ; he 
 had been idling away his precious time years too long, to 
 please her silly fancies, and had become a perfect milksop, 
 livino- upon poetry and romances. He would make a man 
 of him ; he desired to see no girls in boy's attire not he. 
 
 ' " Ah Paul, my husband ! " she responded, " you will kill 
 me by so doing. I never shall survive this separation from 
 my child ; my heart-strings will break." 
 
 ' " A truce with such nonsense," he cried ; " the boy shall 
 
 go." 
 
 ' And forth I went, and my dear mother hung about my 
 
 neck in a frantic state, and then fainted. This delayed my 
 
 departure a little*; but on her revival I was torn from her, 
 
 and confided to the charge of the Englishman, who was 
 
 waiting for me at the door in a carriage. 
 
 ' When I entered the vehicle, I found three boys, about 
 
 31
 
 362 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 my own age, all looking very sad and melancholy. I cried 
 bitterly, and they, seeing that I did so and that our master, 
 Mr. Hibbert, took no notice whatever of my sorrow, they 
 began also to weep ; so we journeyed twenty miles this way 
 and reached our destination. Those boys were ever 'and 
 always my best friends during my stay in the school ; we 
 had sorrowed together ; and if we had not, should probably 
 have quarrelled and fought. 
 
 ' The establishment was large and roomy, with fine trees 
 and fine, gardens, in which we worked. ]\Ir. Hibbert was a 
 good man, and his wife better women always are. VVe 
 were obliged to study very hard ; but we had plenty of time 
 allotted for air and exercise and bathing. We raised all our 
 own vegetables ourselves ; we cultivated flowers, in which 
 Mrs. Hibbert greatly delighted ; and we had music and 
 dancing every week. The only fault I ever had to find, 
 was the abundance of meat to be eaten. I was sent every 
 Sunday to church, about five miles distant, whh the other 
 Catholics ; Mr. Hibbert, being himself a Church of England 
 clergyman, performed the service at home for the Protest- 
 ants. I take great shame to myself that 1 was happy, but I 
 must tell the whole truth. No boy's love is as strong and 
 powerful as his mother's ; and I have never ceased to repent 
 that I enjoyed mj'self when she was pining out her life for 
 me at home. 
 
 ' My father gave her permission to see me once a month. 
 Oh, what meetings were those ! blessed indeed, as under 
 the trees we sat and communed together. She told me she 
 did not see my father for weeks, and he was colder and 
 more inditlerent than ever, or so he seemed to her, now that 
 I was no longer with her. She spoke of her solitariness, 
 and I said, But do you no longer see your friends and neigh- 
 bors, as in by-past times ? and she woilld rcjily, " No, I 
 no longer take any pleasure in their society." Oh ! the 
 thoughtlessness of young days ; I paid not the attention I 
 should liave done to these confessions. But then I often re-
 
 OF BOSTON. 363 
 
 fleet, in this very room, made so pleasant by your bounty, 
 what could I have done ? i\Iy father was obstinately bent 
 upon separating us, and no efforts of mine would have sway- 
 ed him. Will you not, my best friend, agree with me 
 when next I see you ? I feel, as I proceed in my 
 journal, that every line brings me nearer to you. I have 
 been wicked, I know, but now that you declare I am not so 
 bad as you for years have thought me to be, I feel that I 
 may love and respect you. 
 
 ' One day I waited at the end of the avenue of olive-trees 
 for my mother the livelong day. She came not. I was 
 very miserable, and knew not what to think of her absence. 
 Monday I received a short note from her, informing me that 
 she was injured slightly by a fall, and should come to me 
 shortly ; but if a week or so elapsed, and I saw her not, I 
 must not be alarmed. So my mind being satisfied, I only 
 thought of her as having met with a slight accident. 
 
 ' A fortnight elapsed, and still another, when I received a 
 letter from Mrs. Montini, who wrote that she and her hus- 
 band had arrived in Florence, and repaired immediately to 
 my mother's house, and found her in a very sad state 
 indeed. It appeared, she wrote, that her friend had declined 
 almost from the first week of my departure, and had not 
 rallied even for a day. She had seemed dead to every 
 thing, no longer taking any interest in her former pursuits, 
 and sitting all day, without moving, on the stone bench in 
 the garden. Her appetite had entirely left her, and to this 
 succeeded faintings ; in one of these she had fallen and in- 
 jured her head. She desired our old woman not to mention 
 these things on any account to her husband, and accordingly 
 she did not. But the Montinis having heard these things, 
 went boldly to him, and told him they were convinced his 
 wife was pining herself to death for the loss of her child. 
 At this he was indignant, and declared it was nothing but pre- 
 tence, by which his wife hoped to get their boy back again, 
 and spoil him worse than ever. The Montinis told him
 
 364 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 plainly that he would repent of his conduct, for that they well 
 knew how she idolized her son, and then they told him the 
 words she had whispered in their cars on quitting Rome. 
 My father said they might take her back to that city of her 
 affections, if she wished to go ; but as to his son, he had a 
 right to do as he pleased with his own child, and would 
 never consent to his leaving the school where he had placed 
 him for four years. The course of studies he had marked 
 out for him, he said, would be broken up, and the boy was 
 ignorant enough, Heaven knew. He had been sufficiently 
 weak in allowing him to remain so long under the guidance 
 of his wife, and would do it no longer. He farther inform- 
 ed them that he intended to return home in a few years, and 
 was not willing to carry with him an ignoramus who knew 
 not his right hand from his left. So the Montinis departed, 
 taking a tender and melancholy farewell of their miserable 
 friend, thinking, as they wrote me, never to look upon her 
 sweet face again, until they should meet her, as they hoped 
 to do, in heaven. 
 
 ' Immediately on the receipt of this letter, which I hastily 
 scanned, I ran to Florence, even without my hat. I asked 
 no leave of my master, for I knew he would forbid me to 
 go. How I reached our house I know not, nor ever shall. 
 I ran all the way, I think, and reaching the door, knocked 
 violently. The old woman appeared. I burst into the hall, 
 shrieking, Mother ! mother ! For the first time in my life, 
 there was no response in those walls. The old woman 
 looked at me mysteriously, and bursting into tears, said, 
 " Your mother is in her grave, my poor child ! " 
 
 ' I heard no more, and knew no more for weeks ; then 
 youth conquered, and I arose from my bed of suffering, and 
 my father, who had been rather kinder to me than ever 
 before, said I must return to school ; that change of air and 
 scene would revive me entirely. So I departed and resum- 
 ed again my studies. The old woman told me my mother 
 had been found dead at sunset on the stone bench, with her
 
 OF BOSTON. 365 
 
 head leaning against her favorite tree, and a miniature of 
 myself in her hand. Thus she had died, broken-hearted 
 my sainted mother ! for the loss of her child. She told 
 the old woman, at several different periods, that she was 
 convinced her husband proposed abandoning her, and taking 
 with him her son, would return to his own land, never again 
 to behold Italy, and that his placing me in that school was 
 the preparatory step. So, she said, the sooner I die the 
 better ; I never can survive the execution of this plan. Tell 
 my boy I worshipped him to the last, and beg him so to live 
 that he may meet me above, in that blessed country where 
 there are no separations. 
 
 ' Two years before, she had given me her miniature, and, 
 just as I went to school, she had one painted by a skilful 
 artist, of myself. The two were placed, back to back, in a 
 medallion set round with large pearls ; she said, for the first 
 time in our lives we looked not in each others faces. These 
 miniatures, which have never left my bosom, I pray you, 
 my best friend, to accept, as a slight testimonial of my 
 eternal gratitude, when I shall go to my mother. On my 
 return to ^Ir. Hibbert, I begged pardon for so unceremoni- 
 ously leaving his house, which, in consequence of the cir- 
 cumstances, he graciously granted. 
 
 ' I devoted myself most particularly to the study of Rome, 
 its history, its legislation, and its antiquities. I looked upon 
 it as the city of my sainted and lamented mother's predilec- 
 tion, and thereby discovered how much more I might have 
 enjoyed my visit had my knowledge been greater. Just in 
 the ratio of what is taken into the Eternal City is that which 
 is brought out ; its very stones speak, and oh ! how I 
 lamented my ignorance ! and how had I wasted my precious 
 hours there ! But the wailing for lost time is useless, and so 
 I resolved to work and make up for this misspent period of 
 my life. I mingled not much with my schoolmates. They 
 were, for the most part, English ; they liked all manner of 
 hardy sports and games, for which my tastes disinclined me, 
 31*
 
 866 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 I thought their boxing barbarous, and they called my Tasso 
 a " spoon." With the Italians I fraternized better ; we read 
 the sonnets of my favorite poet together, and built air-castles 
 together, in which we placed Leonores. And we thought, 
 should we ever find in the wide wide world such a beautiful 
 creation ! I always maintained that I had seen one, but was 
 afraid to say the person was my mother, lest they should 
 jeer me ; and I could illy have borne any unceremonious 
 mention of her blessed name. 
 
 ' My sainted mother, she came between me and all 
 evil thoughts and aspirations ; she was then my shield and 
 my safeguard. Alas ! that 1 should live to confess my back- 
 slidings, why did I not hold fast to my true faith in her, 
 a model of purity and virtue ? I have not been half as much 
 punished as I deserved ; instead of finding the kindest of 
 friends, I have richly merited poverty, desertion and mis- 
 ery. When I look on the past, and remember my own 
 transparent character, my abhorrence of deceit and duplicity, 
 and sacred love of truth, my very heart bleeds with anguish. 
 No penance is too great for me to suffer when I reflect upon 
 her teachings, and how I have rewarded them what base 
 ingratitude to her memory. Why did I ever permit the 
 beautiful picture of her excellence to disappear from my 
 sight ? a vision of purity placed between myself and 
 crime. Were it not for the comforting assurances of my 
 priest and yourself, I should despair of forgiveness. A lapse 
 from virtue in the neglected and ignorant is venial, but for 
 one like myself, having received every advantage, it is 
 monstrous. I shudder when I think of my wickedness, and 
 earnestly pray for mercy. 
 
 ' I know these digressions are all wrong, they will occupy 
 too much of your precious time, my benefactor ; but you 
 yesterday reiterated the request that I should pour out my 
 whole soul to you and even so it is done. Pardon me, I 
 pray, my egotism. You would hear the story of my life, 
 and very little have I to tell but of myself, my own feelings
 
 OF BOSTON. 367 
 
 and thoughts ; so lonely and solitary became my existence 
 when my mother went home to paradise. That you have 
 become my staff and stay on earth is a blessing I do not 
 merit, and I accept this assurance as an especial instance of 
 God's kindly affectionate providence in my behalf, and bow 
 myself down to Him in deep and abiding gratitude. 
 
 'The four years rapidly departed, and the term of my 
 stay with Mr. Hibbert expiring, my father came punctually 
 and took me away with him. I left my kind master sorrow- 
 fully ; he had been always forbearingly indulgent to me, 
 and we parted mutually grieved at the separation. Mrs. 
 Hibbert, good creature ! wept over me as if I had been her 
 own child. She knew, with a mother's keen sensibility, all 
 the trials to which youth is exposed, deprived of the influ- 
 ence of woman, and she foreshadowed my destiny, and 
 sad enough it was. We went to Leghorn almost imme- 
 diately, and embarked on board a barque bound to Boston. 
 After a tedious voyage, in which I was always sick the 
 sea and I deciding to disagree we landed at the birth- 
 place of my father. The snow was six feet deep, the wind 
 east, and the humidity of the atmosphere penetrated into the 
 very marrow of my Italian bones. I dared not venture out 
 of our hotel after my first attempt, as on that occasion I 
 measured my length on the snow and ice, and the stunning 
 effect of the fall almost bewildered my poor brain. After- 
 wards, during my stay, I contented myself with looking out 
 of the Tremont House windows on the delicate and fragile- 
 looking young girls who seemed to be flying about as if 
 it were a midsummer-night dream, instead of a Nova Zem- 
 bla. 
 
 * My father seemed to know no one. We had a parlor 
 and private table, and very dull it would have been for me, 
 but for the sleighs, they made the city so gay ; and the 
 numerous parties out on pleasure excursions, tempted me to 
 ask my father to indulge me in the same way. He forth- 
 with gave his consent, and I returned to my hotel with my
 
 368 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ears frost-bitten and my feet so much benumbed with the 
 cold, that I thought I should never again recover the use of 
 them. My father asked me if I felt satisfied with my frosty 
 experience, and I replied affirmatively, and in addition said 
 I never again desired to renew this misnamed amusement. 
 At the expiration of a week we departed for New York, and 
 fixed ourselves in a retired and small hotel, frequented by 
 foreigners, just off Broadway, for the winter. 
 
 'And now, my dear friend, I will give you a breathing 
 space. May good angels and the saints in heaven guard 
 you. ' Jl-lian.' 
 
 ' P. S. I forgot to inform you that the letter of the Mon- 
 tinis was confided to a particular hand, and that caused the 
 unfortunate delay, alas ! what a s".d and melancholy 
 
 mischance for me otherwise But I will not trouble 
 
 you with my sorrowings for things beyond recall. Yours, 
 
 ' Julian.'
 
 OF BOSTON. 369 
 
 CHAPTER XLIIL 
 
 ' As o'er the moiintain's snowy height 
 In bright Apollo's beams arrayed, 
 So flowed her golden tresses light, 
 And down her spotless vesture strayed.' 
 
 Lorenzo de Medicis. 
 
 ' We remained in New York one year. Ah ! my dearest 
 benefactor! I would that it had been erased from my life, 
 for it was the precursor of my misfortunes. But why do I 
 use such a mild term ? crimes should be the word. In that 
 city I first began to abandon the external rites of my church ; 
 matins were altogether too early for my newly acquired 
 habits of idleness ; then I neglected confession, passing my 
 time so recklessly, I cared not to avow it ; so one bad thing 
 followed another, and my downfall was terrible. I dared 
 not look within myself, or on my mother's miniature which I 
 ever carried next my heart ; it should have been my segis 
 and safeguard, but it was not, and I became, in the end, 
 afraid to look at it. I beheld a frown upon her lovely brow. 
 Conscience makes such cowards of us all. 
 
 ' One day, in our hotel a man, who had lately been quite 
 friendly with my father, applied to him a sadly opprobrious 
 epithet, and, although he was much older, and vastly strong- 
 er than myself, I was able, so violent was my indignation, 
 to knock him down. Judge of my great astonishment, 
 when my father actually reproached me for so doing; 
 for he was living in profound retirement, and wished not 
 his name, or that of any one who belonged to him, to 
 appear before the public. I had reason, afterwards, to
 
 370 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 know that he paid quite a large sum of money to hush up 
 this adventure of mine. 
 
 ' I liked not New York ; there was too much noise and 
 too little pleasure for me. 1 heard some music, and now 
 and then went to the theatres with the foreigners in our 
 hotel. At first, I had money in plenty ; my father was 
 never niggardly ; what he had won he spent freely, but in 
 a few months his luck had apparently changed, and he said 
 fortune no longer smiled, and that he would shortly leave 
 the city. He soon departed, taking me with him. We 
 went to Philadelphia 1 liked that place no better ; for, if 
 2sew York was too bustling and noisy, " the home of broth- 
 erly love " was altogether too quiet for my taste. But I 
 have no right to criticise ; for I knew no one in either place, 
 and, as there is so little amusement in this country, com- 
 pared with the enjoyment we derive from pictures, statues, 
 and the fine arts generally abroad, if a stranger has no 
 circle into which he can enter, he must dislike all the cities 
 equally. 
 
 ' We remained in Philadelphia a few months, and then 
 came to Boston. My father took a furnished apartment, 
 mean and comfortless, in an obscure part of the city, and 
 was careful not to appear too much in public. Boston 
 being so much smaller than New York, he was very 
 much more careful of avoiding recognition, though I am 
 sure it would have been impossible for even his own mother 
 to have known him under the disguise of beard, moustache 
 and imperial, he so resembled an Italian in every thing. 
 At any rate, he seemed very much afraid of being known ; 
 he had commanded me, on my arrival in America, to call 
 myself Julian Paul, and that was my name ever after. 
 
 ' Once setded here, he told me he had supported me in 
 idleness already too long, and I must forthwith begin to 
 work. This I was very ready to do, and, having found a 
 scholar here and there, I gave lessons in Italian, singing, and 
 the guitar. Amongst these pupils were the two brothers
 
 OF BOSTON. 371 
 
 Sanderson ; they were the only persons who were really 
 kind to me ; they treated me like a gentleman, and appre- 
 ciated my acquisitions in other things heside my mere 
 lessons ; for this I was abundantly grateful. I fell into a 
 habit of passing many hours with them at each lesson, and, 
 in that way, they came to speak my own delicious tongue 
 very well ; for their music, you well know how it prospered. 
 In our conversations, your family had always the largest 
 part ; Charley never tired of chanting its praises, and 
 Gerald indulged his brother in listening sometimes atten- 
 tively, in which I joined until it became the whole dream 
 of my life to behold the beautiful and enchanting sisters. 
 
 ' And then I reached the hateful epoch in my existence. 
 Whatever wrong things I had done before, they all vanish 
 into thin air in comparison with my crime towards you and 
 yours. When I reflect upon the goodness you have mani- 
 fested to such an offender as myself, I am overwhelmed 
 with gratitude, and at the same time astonished at your 
 charity and benevolence toward me. When I remember 
 that you, my dearest friend, have forgiven me, sinner that 
 I am, I regard you as a superior being ; a man, of whom 
 we may say, " Of such is the kingdom of heaven." But 
 I well know you like not to hear your own praises, so I 
 will proceed with my sad tale. 
 
 ' The week preceding the ball I heard of nothing else ; 
 the sisters were actually going, and Charley Sanderson was 
 beside himself with joy. He would dance with them alter- 
 nately all the evening, and then it would be whh Miss 
 Georgy mostly, and so he ran on. Gerald inquiring if 
 he could discern them apart, he was indignant, but this 
 lasted not long ; he was so thoroughly good-natured, and 
 he never ceased urging his brother to accompany him like- 
 wise. Gerald refused, but Charley persevering in his en- 
 treaties, his brother at last, always jesting, declared he 
 would accompany him to the ball, if Miss Barclay could be 
 persuaded to bestow upon him the honor of her hand for
 
 372 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 the first quadrille. Thus encouraged in his desires, Char- 
 ley, the night of the long anticipated party, sallied forth in 
 full dress, with a bouquet of violets in his hand ; Gerald and 
 I following him. 
 
 ' Where was then my good genius .'' where was then the 
 memory of my sainted mother, that it interposed not be- 
 tween me and my desolation and ruin .'' But I deserved no 
 such boon from Providence. Although I ever bore my 
 mother's presentment next my heart, its potent charm was 
 broken, destroyed ; it was no longer my talisman against 
 evil thoughts and evil doings, I followed my young friend, 
 and was lost. 
 
 ' Charley Sanderson left his brother standing at Mrs. Ash- 
 ley's door; I crept lightly after him and heard the request 
 he made, and answered, you well know how. He flew 
 down stairs to inform Gerald of the result. I cared little 
 for this, as I knew Gerald had no intention of going to the 
 ball, as, from not frequenting society, he had not even a 
 proper dress for the occasion. I will not attempt to describe 
 my sensations when the dazzling vision of your daughter's 
 supernatural beauty broke upon my bewildered and enrap- 
 tured senses, and, for some moments, I stood wrapt in ob- 
 livion of all in the world beside. 
 
 ' Suddenly the thought crossed my mind to personate 
 Gerald Sanderson for the moment, only for the moment, 
 1 had no plan, no project, nothing beyond an insatiable 
 and overpowering desire to speak to the celestial creature 
 who stood before me, radiant in loveliness and beauty. I 
 must speak or die on the spot ; she must look upon me 
 once, and that would suffice for a life. I did speak, and 
 from that hour was a lost man. I closed not my eyes all 
 that night ; I railed madly against my adverse fortune that 
 forbade me to enter the lists with her admirers; I envied 
 the dear Charley, and despised Gerald for his indilTerence, 
 and walked my room in a species of hallucination. Here 
 was the true Leonore ! I had sought her for aye, and now
 
 OF BOSTON. 373 
 
 she was found. Ah ! thought I, could my companions, at 
 Mr. Hibbert's, see this divine creature, would they not ex- 
 claim with me she is found ! our visions are embodied ! 
 Then 1 began to ask myself why I might not win such a 
 treasure, as well as Charley Sanderson. To be sure, there 
 was no money, or family connections that I knew, but this 
 was a country where every man could hope for distinction. 
 Might I but win the guerdon of her smiles, and then every 
 thing else would be easily won, fame, fortune and pros- 
 perity must follow the first great boon ; all else would be as 
 naught. This was, indeed, love at first sight ; my very 
 heart and soul was filled with it ; it pervaded instanta- 
 neously my whole system, and from that eventful night, 
 there was nothing in the universe for me, but Georgiana 
 Barclay. 
 
 ' I loathed my occupations, and above all the lessons at 
 the Sandersons'. These I immediately renounced, being un- 
 able to listen to Charley's rhapsodies. It appeared to me he 
 had no right or title to mention her peerless name, and my 
 feelings were so ungovernable that I could no longer com- 
 mand myself The brothers both kindly requested me to 
 remain and teach them, as they appeared to enjoy great 
 pleasure in my society, apart from the advantage they had 
 gained. All this was gracious and polite, but I was obsti- 
 nately bent upon leaving them, and I said I had not the time, 
 having other things to do more desirable. So you, my best 
 friend, must perceive how I began to sink deeper and deeper 
 in my pit of perdition, when I, who had been taught by my 
 mother to regard the truth as an eternally sacred obliga- 
 tion, thus violated it. 
 
 ' I sought the object of my passion every where ; I fol- 
 lowed her to the school; I watched her returning; I scat- 
 tered flowers in her path, and wrote sonnets to her eyes, 
 her hair, her hands, her feet. There was no folly con- 
 ceivable or inconceivable, which I failed not to commit. I 
 serenaded her at night, and, in fact, lived but in her pres- 
 32
 
 874 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ence during the day. These efforts-, in process of time, 
 were successful. She walked with me often ; and, one day, 
 1 rriet my father. In the evening, he said to me, " Julian, 
 who was that young girl with whom I saw you walking, 
 this morning ! " I liked not to answer, but he commanded 
 me to do so. And when I told him, he said, " You love 
 her, then ? that fair-haired creature ! " 
 
 ' " As my own soul and better ! I would peril my existence 
 to save a hair of her beautiful head." 
 
 ' " Do you imagine she would marry you ? " 
 
 * " I know not ; never having dared to ask her such a mo- 
 mentous question." 
 
 ' " Do so, then, immediately." 
 
 ' I fell at his feet in a paroxysm of joy and gratitude, and 
 thanked him a thousand times. 
 
 ' " Do so," he repeated, " and, she consenting, I will take 
 upon myself to arrange every thing without a possibility of 
 failure. Her haughty, proud mother shall repent in dust 
 and ashes certain passages in her life ! " 
 
 ' I knew not, I asked not wherefore my father should so 
 willingly consent to my union , with iMiss Barclay, but per- 
 ceived that he did ; and that sufficed nearly to craze my 
 poor brain with excess of happiness. 
 
 ' My father, however uncommunicative at other times, was 
 not so then ; he told me, that the preceding evening he had 
 received a letter from Florence, bringing the glad intelli- 
 gence of a fortune for me. A distant relative of my sainted 
 mother had died, and bequeathed lands and money to her 
 child, and it became absolutely necessary that we should de- 
 part immediately, as other heirs proposed disputing my rights. 
 He furthermore added, that if I did not secure the object of 
 my adoration before my departure, I should infallibly lose 
 her. He said this could be effected by a civil marriage, 
 which, when I returned rich and prosperous, would be 
 solemnized by the rites of my own church, and the young 
 lady's also. My father then informed me, that he had
 
 OF BOSTON. 375 
 
 known my course lately, and had thoroughly approved of it 
 from the first; that I must follow his injunctions in word 
 and deed ; and that my future prosperity, and even the 
 power of supporting in suitable style the idol of my affec- 
 tions, depended upon my implicit obedience. " For," said 
 he, " her father and mother will be so furiously angry when 
 they learn her marriage, that they will infallibly disinherit 
 her." And my idol, on learning that I must depart instantly, 
 with many tears and sighs consented to become mine. 
 Need I relate the prayers, supplications and entreaties, that 
 this consent cost me, and the many letters I wrote, and the 
 many times I saw her before my happiness was secured ! 
 
 ' She met me on the appointed day, at last ; for often- 
 times before, the day had been fixed, and she had not 
 appeared, so many were the conflicts she endured before 
 she could persuade herself to this act. We appeared before 
 a magistrate, and were married. As Heaven is my witness, 
 I who am so near the awful moment of my appearance 
 before the judgment-seat of my Creator most solemnly 
 swear, that so profound was my respect and love for the 
 fair creature who had confided her destiny to me, I dared 
 not even kiss her hand. We parted that morning, on leav- 
 ing the house where the marriage was performed, at the 
 door, and I have never seen this object of my idolatry since, 
 and, God knows, never expect to do so again. I will not 
 repine ; it is but an expiation of my olTence. Bitterly have 
 1 been punished, and richly do I deserve miy fate. 
 
 ' We sailed the very next day. Our passage was a good 
 one, and we reached Leghorn, and repaired immediately to 
 Florence. There we were received by our lawyers, who 
 were very civil, and had no doubt of our success. My first 
 visit was to my mother's grave, where, casting myself be- 
 side her, I bewailed my wickedness and neglect of her 
 admonitions, and prayed for her forgiveness and tlie wel- 
 fare of the dear creature, holding the second place in my 
 affections. For, madly as I adored your child, there was
 
 376 . THE BARCLAYS 
 
 never a moment that this mother of mine reigned not in my 
 heart. It seemed even that I loved better and better her 
 memory ; and so was it rightly ordered. My last idol has 
 forsaken me, justly enough I concede ; but, thank God for 
 his great and enduring mercies, my blessed mother remains 
 to me still ! 
 
 ' Alas, the law's delay ! We remained a year awaiting 
 the result of my suit, and at its expiration, were no farther 
 advanced than when we arrived. Then I caught a violent 
 cold, and was confined to my chamber six months not 
 being permitted by the medical man to cross the threshold 
 of my door and even after I was what they called conva- 
 lescent, I was ordered to the baths of Lucca. They said 
 my lungs were much affected, and that the American cli- 
 mate had weakened them. This was a fact, for, during my 
 residence here, I was never wholly free from catarrhal 
 affections, and, at times, suffered from great pain in my 
 chest. Thus was a second year consumed, and the third 
 entered upon, and still our lawsuit dragged its slow length 
 along. All this time I wrote innumerable letters to your 
 daughter, never desisting, though I never received a single 
 response. This affliction greatly added to my sufferings, and 
 hindered my restoration to health. I was rendered nervous 
 and irritable, and my mind, ever dwelling upon her desertion 
 of me, made me very ill, and I made no advances in strength. 
 The dear Montinis, learning my grave illness, came to me 
 and remained a month in Florence. Blessed communion 
 had we on the happy days passed together in my mother's 
 bellissima Roma. When they departed they would fain 
 have taken mc with them, but it was absolutely necessary I 
 should remain in Florence. It was a sad parting that ! I 
 had a gloomy presentiment I should never see them more ; 
 I never shall. I have just now forwarded to them my fare- 
 well letter on earth. Tried friends were they to me and 
 mine, and I would not leave this troublous world without 
 giving them some testimony of my affection.
 
 OF BOSTON. 377 
 
 ' Many a time and oft I determined to go to America in that 
 third year ; but my father said he had no means to send me 
 properly I being an invalid and that, if your daughter 
 should abandon me as I deserved, no good result would 
 accrue from my presence in a beggared state. And besides, 
 he urged, " You are not in a condition to go ; you require 
 all manner of care personally, and if you depart before the 
 lawsuit is settled, I will not undertake to answer for the 
 consequences. Your sole chance for claiming the young 
 lady lies in the full possession of your inheritance." 
 
 ' My father had a servant, who always took my letters to 
 the post. I am now convinced that he carried them to his 
 master, who burned them. Over this we will drop a veil. 
 I wish not to dwell on my unfortunate parent's delinquencies. 
 If your daughter's heart was changed to me, all the out- 
 pourings of my passionate and constant affection would 
 have been as naught. At last, our lawsuit was decided in 
 my favor, and I was a rich man. But poor, abjectly poor 
 in spirit and affection, what was gold to me ? Less than 
 dross. I had cast my fortunes on the die of her love 
 that gone, all else was worthless. VVhy, alas ! should I now 
 fear the passage through the dark valley of death, who 
 have made it o'er and o'er again the last three miserable 
 years of a wretched existence. Nevertheless, I resolved to 
 go to America, and 1 left Florence ; but, as I imagined my 
 father might throw obstacles in my way, if he became 
 aware of my intentions, I departed secretly, taking with me 
 very little money, and neglecting to supply myself with 
 letters of credit in my haste and trepidation. On getting to 
 sea, my health recruited, and with this change came hope 
 and trust, and I was better than I had been for a long time. 
 My mind was in such a chaotic state when I left Italy, that 
 I made no more provision for my advent here than a child 
 would have done ; I thought of nothing but escaping. This 
 may appear absurd in America, but the power of a parent 
 over a child in Italy is very much greater than here.
 
 378 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 From certain indications I had concluded that all means 
 would be used to force me to remain. God knows if I were 
 correct in my opinion. I can hardly bear to write, much 
 less to think of this. I only know my father was powerful, 
 and I was weak, and wish to explain no more. 
 
 ' And now, my benefactor, my best friend, receive my most 
 heartfelt and deeply-rooted expression of ardent thanks for 
 all your goodness to me. I possess not words wherein to 
 pour forth my gratitude. May the blessing of God and all 
 the saints rest upon your head, Proffer to all the friends 
 who have devoted themselves to me my reiterated thanks, 
 and to one and all my sincere love. 
 
 ' With profound respect, your devoted Julian.'
 
 OF BOSTON. 379 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 ' I lov'd thee once, I'll love no more. 
 Thine be the grief as is the blame ; 
 Thou art not what thou wast before. 
 What reason I should be the same. ' 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 If any thing could have augmented Mr. Barclay's love for 
 the object of his care and devotion, these letters would have 
 effected it ; but he felt this was impossible. The childlike 
 simplicity, the affectionate nature, the delicacy and nobleness 
 of character developed in them was truly captivating. The 
 deep and heartfelt penitence manifested by Julian Seaton for 
 his derelictions from the paths of virtue, commanded his 
 sympathy and respect, and he wept over the touching and 
 affecting recital of his short life with deep and abiding sor- 
 row. Mr. Barclay appreciated to its fullest extent the deli- 
 cate manner m which the young man had treated the relation 
 in which he stood to himself, never adverting to his claim as 
 kinsman to Mrs. Barclay, or son-in-law to himself; never 
 touching upon Georgiana, except when unavoidable, and 
 then so respectfully and deferentially. 
 
 After reading the missives twice, he took them to his 
 brother, and he having perused them, declared that both 
 Mrs. Barclay and her daughter would be stony-hearted 
 wretches, if, after reading them, they should refuse to visit 
 Julian Seaton. Mr. Richard also thought that Mr. Barclay 
 had better advise his wife of the relationship existing be- 
 tween herself and her cousin. ' When she sees,' said he, 
 ' that Julian has been more sinned against than sinning, she 
 will relent ; I trust to her own noble spirit to recognise its
 
 380 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 fellow in that of her relative.' Accordingly, Mr. Barclay 
 entreated his wife to read Julian's confessions, which she 
 consented to do, the more readily when she discovered who 
 he was. Thus it appeared that Mr. Barclay had been wrong 
 in thinking she would allow her opinions respecting the father 
 to influence her feelings towards the son, and wished he had 
 advised her of this fact before. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay was inexpressibly affected, and felt that not 
 a moment was to be lost ; so she laid down the packet and 
 went immediately to her cousin. Julian was overjoyed to 
 receive her; their interview proved most satisfactory and in- 
 teresting, and Mrs. Barclay from that day took her place at 
 his bedside with his other friends, for his strength began to 
 fail so rapidly that he could no longer sit up. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said ^Ir. Richard one day to his sister, ' I wish I 
 had never known the dying creature; he has wound himself 
 so completely around my heart that I cannot bear to think 
 of our parting,' and as he pronounced these words, the big 
 tears rolled down his cheeks. This was an unparalleled 
 degree of emotion for a man who despised all demonstration. 
 'Ah!' he resumed, when he had conquered this ebulHtion 
 of sensibility, of which he was greatly ashamed, ' this is the 
 miscreant! caitiff! that I have so many a time and oft exe- 
 crated. If I but learn a lesson of forbearance and charity 
 from him, I shall have become myself a better man. 
 The poor darling fellow ! how I pity him !' And most true 
 was it that the humility and strong religious faith of the suf-* 
 fering Julian Seaton had produced a remarkable effect upon 
 Mr. Richard Barclay, and that the gentleness and patience 
 of the dying youth had done more than any thing else in the 
 world, to mollify the asperities of a man who prided himself 
 upon their possession. The daily intercourse with such a 
 being had shed its balmy influence over his spirit, and 
 had a beneficial effect upon him. A nature must be cal- 
 lous indeed that can remain in communion with such vir- 
 tues as adorned the character of the invalid, to whom he was
 
 OF BOSTON. 381 
 
 devoting hours every day of his life, and not receive a real 
 and lasting advantage. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay had presented the packet of letters to her 
 daughter with a request that she would read it. She con- 
 sented, and her mother did not again see her for a day ; 
 Georgiana requesting to be left alone, no one intruded upon 
 her privacy. The next morning Georgiana begged to see 
 her mother in her own room. I\Irs. Barclay found her calm 
 and composed, but looking as if she had greatly suffered. 
 Georgy returned the letters, and addressing her said, ' I have 
 been, my dear mother, endeavoring all night to gain power 
 from on high to pass through the ordeal which awaits me in 
 this interview. God in his mercy grant me strength to be 
 able to impart to you my final resolution. You have edu- 
 cated me, my blessed mother, in a sacred regard for truth. 
 How I have rewarded all your assiduous teachings and ten- 
 der care, you alas ! too well know. In one instance I for- 
 feited my right to your confidence, and that first lapse from 
 virtue has colored my whoje destiny, destroyed the happiness 
 of my beloved family, and marred my father's irreproachably 
 honorable name. That I have been bitterly, severely, and 
 justly punished, is most true ; for, from my first deviation 
 from rectitude, I have never enjoyed one moment of serenity 
 or peace ; my life lias been a dreary blank. Even the an- 
 gelic goodness which I have felt in my inmost soul, in the 
 forbearance exhibited by my adored father and yourself 
 towards me, has increased my misery. I deserved it not, 
 ungrateful child that I am ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Barclay was amazed at this outbreak in her usually 
 so calm and collected daughter. She had flattered herself 
 that time, with healing on its wings, had performed its 
 wonted good work ; but now, alas ! she discovered that the 
 heart was bleeding still. 
 
 ' !My child, my child!' interposed Mrs. Barclay, 'apply 
 not, I conjure you, such terrible epithets to yourself, for 
 my sake, for your father's, cease, I pray you.'
 
 382 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 'Mother,' resumed Georgiana, 'I will try to be composed, 
 and endeavor to still the beatings of my overcharged heart 
 while I reveal to you my fixed resolution. I will not see 
 Julian Seaton ; I have long, long ceased to love him ; 
 another has supplanted him in my affections. Neither am I 
 sure that I can even dignify with the name of love the un- 
 governable fancy I experienced in my childish days, for my 
 boy-lover; at any rate it is now, and^has been for years, 
 completely extinguished by his treachei*v. My presence in 
 Julian Seaton's sick room will be of no avail ; I can carry 
 with me no consolation. He full well knows I have forgiven 
 him, and with that assurance must rest contented. I had 
 thought that the depths of my soul could never be again 
 stirred, the calmness of my mind disturbed, and had schooled 
 myself to bear the cross I had made for myself; but such, 
 it appears, is not to be my destiny. The fiood-gates of my 
 pent-up feelings are once more destroyed, and the last night 
 has been to me an excess of agony. I am disabused of the 
 consolatory illusion that a certaiu degree of serenity had 
 fallen upon me ; and awake to find that intense sulTcring is 
 henceforth to be my lot. I repeat, I cannot behold Julian 
 Seaton ; no good can possibly accrue to him or to me from 
 the interview. I feel that I could never endure it. I may be 
 mistaken, but I believe all the love I bore Julian is gone for- 
 ever. When I make to you the confession, my mother, that 
 I have placed my affections elsewhere, it is with no intention 
 of ever doing more than making this revelation of the state 
 of my feelings, which has, in truth, been now torn rudely 
 from me by force of circumstances. I shall never marry ; I 
 have vowed a vow to devote the rest of my days to you and 
 my father ; it is the least thing I can do in return for your 
 kindness to me. When I reflect that no reproach has ever 
 passed your lips or his to your erring child : that no sign 
 has ever been made by which 1 have had occasion even to 
 infer that my sad misconduct was remembered, I am over- 
 whelmed with gratitude for the kindness I have received at
 
 OF BOSTON. 383 
 
 your hands. God knows how I have prayed for strength to 
 bear the semblance of cheerfulness in your presence, and I 
 am overjoyed to find that I have been successful. 
 
 ' Now, my mother, I will confide to you the possessor of 
 my true affections. You will probably not be surprised when 
 I mention Gerald Sanderson. 1 know that he loves me. Of 
 his ignorance of my interest in him I am just as perfectly 
 convinced, and in that state he will ever remain. I shall 
 never marry him. No woman, I think, could have remained 
 insensible to such chivalrous devotion, and such affection so 
 respectfully demonstrated. I know that he has been 
 defending I wish I could say my fair fame for years. 
 I know he adores me, but I have other duties moi-e 
 holy, more important, and I lay my affection for him, a 
 holocaust on my parental altar. In no way can I better 
 show my sincere and deep-felt penitence.' 
 
 Mrs. Barclay tenderly embraced her child. She entered 
 into no argument then in the overwrought state of her 
 daughter's feelings touching Gerald, but trusted to time. 
 She knew that Julian's life-sands were fast ebbing away, 
 and that Georgy would be emancipated , for in that light she 
 was constrained to believe that her daughter would regard 
 his departure. She had heai'd her solemnly declare that she 
 would never recognise 'the deceiver;' would never live 
 with him ; that she forgave him ; and more could not be 
 demanded of her, and the mother knew that her child's de- 
 cision was unalterable. Mre. Barclay, when she looked 
 upon the radiant creature before her, was amazed as the 
 sternness of her nature developed itself, and the fiuxedness 
 of her purpose was brought to light by adverse circum- 
 stances. 
 
 On repeating this conversation to her husband, he shared 
 her astonishment, that one aY>parentiy so gentle should be 
 so wondrous firm. ' Ah ! ' said he, ' I tremble for poor 
 Gerald Sanderson ; ' in v/hieh. feeling Mrs. Barclay thor- 
 oughly sympathized.
 
 384 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 On Georgiana's decision being made known to Julian 
 Seaton he submitted, and, declaring it to be but another 
 penance inflicted upon him for his sins, never again resumed 
 the subject. Mr. Richard was terribly incensed, and de- 
 clared he would give his niece ' a bit of his mind,' but was 
 dissuaded from his purpose by the entreaties of his amiable 
 wife, who was always a peace-maker. 
 
 A few days closed the earthly career of Julian Seaton. 
 To the last, he was overflowing with love and gratitude to 
 his friends. After a violent fit of coughing, they raised him 
 in his bed. He had just sufiicient strength left to place 
 his arm around Mr. Barclay's neck, and on his fostering 
 bosom, breathing the names of Georgiana and his mother, 
 he expired. The good Catholic priest had been with him 
 the whole day, and just as the shades of evening gath- 
 ei'ed round, the youthful spirit departed, having been cheered 
 to the last moment by religion and friendship. The funeral 
 ceremonies were performed in the Catholic church, all Mr. 
 Barclay's f\imily attending, and all the friends who had 
 solaced and comforted the suflierer during his illness. 
 
 In a short time Gerald Sanderson waited upon Mr. Barclay 
 with Julian Seaton's will. It appeared that it had been exe- 
 cuted a month before his decease, and that he had devised 
 two thousand dollars a-piecc to his Church, Mr. Richard Bar- 
 clay, Gerald Sanderson and his brother, Robert Redmond, the 
 Montinis and Captain Williams ; the residue of his fortune 
 being equally divided between his father and Mr. John Bar- 
 clay. In a codicil appended to this document, he requested 
 that his body might be sent to Florence and laid by the side 
 of his mother's. Mr. Barclay, his brother, and Gex'ald San- 
 derson were appointed executors. 
 
 Mr. Barclay's first wish was to resign his portion alto- 
 gether, but the delicacy of the arrangement disclosed itself. 
 Julian Imd not even mentioned his daughter's name, had 
 never claimed her as his wife, and in this, his dying testa- 
 ment, had preserved the same silence ; still he had, in all
 
 OP BOSTON. 385 
 
 human probability, wished her to inherit his patrimony, and 
 being assured she would never accept it from himself, had 
 adopted this plan of securing it to her- Mr. Barclay be- 
 coming convinced of this fact from learning certain con- 
 versations that Julian had held with Gerald and Robert, 
 determined to receive the property and settle it upon Geor- 
 giana. 
 
 When Julian's testamentary dispositions were made known 
 to Mr, Richard Barclay, !ife declared his intention of pro- 
 ceeding to Italy with the remains of Julian Seaton, and 
 placing them by the side a mother whom he so idolized. 
 ' For, besides,' said he, ' loving the poor fellow as if he 
 were my own son, it is worth a man's while to make a 
 pilgrimage to the tomb of a woman who had inspired such 
 love and devotion in her child's bosom ; she must have been 
 a rare creature indeed ! ' 
 
 Mr. Barclay was much pleased with this plan, and imme- 
 diately sought for Captain Williams, who was just then 
 about to proceed to the Mediterranean in a barque of his 
 own. The accommodations were excellent, all being new 
 and fresh, and to these Mr. Barclay added every imaginable 
 luxury for his brother and wife ; she being entirely willing 
 to accompany her husband on his pious mission. 
 
 Captain Eliathan Williams, whose grief had been more 
 audibly expressed at the funeral than that of any other per- 
 son, was rejoiced to fulfil the last injunctions of his young 
 friend. So every thing being 'arranged, Mr. Richard Bar- 
 clay, with his wife, sailed for Leghorn, and as they stood on 
 the deck of their good vessel, the shores of their native 
 land receding from their sight, they beheld their affectionate 
 friends greeting them with cheering signals. And these 
 friends, as they wended their way back sadly to their homes, 
 looked upon the events of the last few months as a tale that 
 had been told, both pleasant and mournful. Pleasant, that 
 they had possessed the will and the power to create an 
 atmaspliere of lave and devotion around the departing days
 
 386 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 of their young friend ; and melancholy, that they had just 
 beheld his remains borne swiftly away by the pretty argosy 
 then trimming its white canvas to the wind in their own 
 beautiful harbor. They thought of Richard Barclay, and 
 dwelt with intense satisfaction on his noble devotion to Julian 
 Seaton, renouncing his new home, where, grumbler as he 
 was, and ever would be, he confessed himself to enjoy pure 
 and unalloyed happiness ; and giving up all his newly ac- 
 quired comforts to cross the Atlantic, in an inclement season, 
 for love of the poor youth who had entwined himself around 
 his warm heart. And yet when they mused upon all the 
 endearing and excellent qualities, and the positive fascina- 
 tion of Julian Seaton, who had seemed to scatter ' love- 
 powders ' around him, they marvelled not at the sacrifice. 
 They prayed that prosperous gales might waft the high- 
 souled man to his destination, and in due time restore him 
 and his charming wife to their own pleasant home. 
 
 Mr. Barclay returned home, sadly missing his brother, 
 who, whatever his minor faults might be, was a daily bless- 
 ing to him. It often happens that absence, like death, swal- 
 lowing up all the little discrepencies of character, leaves 
 nothing behind save its excellences, the defects being com- 
 pletely forgotten in the sad blank occasioned by the depar- 
 ture of a relative or friend, beloved despite his faults. The 
 French proverb, that the absent are always in the wrong, is 
 hardly a correct one. 
 
 That evening was a particularly gloomy one in Mr. Bar- 
 clay's family. Georgy had hardly been visible for a month, 
 and Mrs. Meredith, every time she looked upon uncle Rich- 
 ard's empty chair, felt her eyes suffused with tears. ]Mrs. 
 Sanderson was ever pretexting some excuse to slip away 
 from her family to minister to her suffering sister, so that 
 the burthen of making things even apparently comfortable 
 laid upon the husbands of the ladies, who were also quite 
 unequal to the task. Mr. Barclay retired early, having 
 lately passed many sleepless nights, and the little party was 
 dispersed.
 
 OF BOSTON. 887 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 I could forgive the miserable hours 
 His folsehood, and his only, taught my heart; 
 But I cannot forgive that for his sake 
 My faith in good is shaken.' 
 
 L. E. L. 
 
 Mr. Barclay's family had resumed its usual routine of 
 existence, chequered as it so lately had been ; this was a 
 great comfort to him. Several of its members had received 
 pleasant letters from Mrs. Richard Barclay, full of renewed 
 interest and intense satisfaction in her present visit to Italy, 
 and very amusing recitals of their uncle's sayings and 
 doings ; but nothing from him, except a few hurried notes 
 when he reached Florence, respecting his melancholy errand 
 and other things. He had, however, long promised to write 
 a ponderous letter. 
 
 Some time elapsed, but at last, it came. Now an 
 epistolary correspondence was Mr. Richard's horror ; not 
 that he disliked receiving agreeable missives, for who does.' 
 He loathed the trouble of answering them, but nobody was 
 more anxious for the arrival of the mails than was he. On 
 the much desired, thickly folded packet being opened in full 
 conclave by Mrs. Barclay, she read : 
 
 ' Rome, . 
 
 'I wrote you, my dear brother, from Florence, giving you 
 a short account of our safe arrival there, and the laying in 
 the tomb, by the side of his mother, of our beloved Julian. 
 God bless his sv/eet memory, and may I ever preserve it as
 
 888 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 freshly in my heart as now. I could write many things on 
 this subject, but you know I abhor what is usually called 
 sentiment, and shall leave all that sort of things to my 
 wife. 
 
 ' So here we are in the " Eternal City," which the dear 
 boy loved so well. I have seen the Montmis, and paid them 
 their legacy ; whether I get mine or not, will signify nothing 
 to me. They are not rich, and two thousand dollars is a vast 
 deal of money here. They received the sum with floods of 
 tears. My wife is enchanted with them, and a great intimacy 
 has sprung up between them. 
 
 ' The sight-seeing here, Oh ! how heartly wearied I am 
 of it ! is as eternal as the city itself; and, as we have a 
 large carriage, Fanny offers two places to the Montinis in 
 it, and they accompany us every where, and are excellent 
 guides, and then they usually return to dine and pass the 
 evening with us. These people have told me many dis- 
 graceful anecdotes of that rascal, Paul Seaton, and I am 
 now more rejoiced than ever that I refused to receive him in 
 Florence, and insisted that all communications between us 
 should pass through the hands of my lawyers, 'tis the 
 only way to treat such cattle. Whatever humbug he may 
 write to you, answer him never a .word, he is wholly beneath 
 the notice of a gentleman, and is universally despised where- 
 ever he is known, as a dishonored gambler and miserable 
 creature. I absolutely sicken when I think of his wicked- 
 ness, deceit, and treachery to his own child, the dear angeF 
 now in heaven. How he came to possess such a son, 
 Heaven only knows. The goodness of our lost one, I think, 
 must have descended from his mother; Spurzheim always 
 held to this doctrine in similar cases. At any rate never had 
 poor child a worse father. 
 
 ' I believe the money is all safe, thanks to the probity of 
 the Italian lawyers ; for Paul Seaton has tried hard enough 
 to grasp the whole, but quite unsuccessfully. Let us now 
 drop his name forever ; 'tis melancholy to think that the 
 earth is cumbered with such wretches.
 
 OF BOSTON. 389 
 
 'Nothing can surpass my wife's overboiling entiiusiasm 
 touching Rome, save her indefatigable industry ; she works 
 hard all day, and talks all the evening with a host of 
 virtuosos, literary people, and artists. I leave them all to 
 her, you know she likes to ask questions, and confine my 
 intercourse to some sensible John Bulls, capital fellows ! 
 who agree with me thoroughly. Now, it must be confessed 
 I am every day victimized, and so are they by their wives, 
 and that's a great comfort to me ; for Fanny almost drives 
 me distracted with her confounded sight-seeing friends. We 
 are taken by a squad of antiquaries and solemnly informed, 
 one day, that such and such ruins bear such and such 
 names, and all manner of learned authorities quoted to back 
 these all-important assertions ; the very next morning comes 
 another cohort of seers, and, carrying us to the identical 
 spots we visited but yesterday, tell us, most emphatical- 
 ly, that the preceding set were all wrong, and we must 
 unlearn our lesson and spell out another. I wish you could 
 but hear these two contending parties squabble in the even- 
 ings at Fanny's tea-table ; it's glorious fun ; they do every 
 thing but come to blows ; and what hinders them, I and my 
 chosen friends, the English, can never tell. Some how the 
 natives of the white cliffs of Albion and we Americans do 
 fraternize better together in foreign parts than other nations, 
 so we get together in corners and enjoy the sport amazingly. 
 
 ' You well know what my wife is. If she were to set up 
 housekeeping in the desert of Arabia the Stony, she would 
 have a crowd round her. I'm not in the least jealous of 
 the antiquaries, they might be set up to frighten crows ; and 
 the artists and others are all well-behaved enough ; so if 
 this kind of thing amuses her, I'm content and never 
 object. But what I do rebel against forcibly is, the being 
 obliged to go sight-seeing, every hour in the daylight. 
 Sometimes she very reluctantly lets me off, but she thinks 
 that, as I never was here before, I must not miss a single 
 columbarium ; and down we go into such poky-holes and 
 33*
 
 390 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 corners as I shall not attempt to describe, and I, for one of 
 the party, come up again to the blessed light of the sun 
 never a whit the wiser. Then we stand up to our knees in 
 mud and filth, our teeth chattering with the cold, even in 
 bellissima Roma, before magnificent buildings which once 
 had superb flights of broad marble steps to their entrances ; 
 now all have disappeared. There we speculate upon their 
 sunken condition, the why and the wherefore, and all sorts 
 of theories are broached and disputed, of course. The only 
 sensible remark I have heard made on this subject, came 
 from a rollicking Irishman, who turning to me, probably from 
 sympathy, asked what was the use of all this bother. ' No- 
 thing so easy,' said he, ' as to answer, Every thing grows in 
 this world why shouldn't the earth?' I leave you to 
 fancy what contemptuous looks he got from Fanny's friends 
 for this profane speech. Nobody ever seems to be cold, but 
 poor I, in these explorations of dungeons, under-ground 
 cliurches, and ice-houses of palaces and galleries. I pre- 
 sume enthusiasm keeps these idolaters warm ; for my part, 
 if I had any, it would all ooze out of my frozen fingers. I 
 try hard for a holiday, and now and then succeed, but Fanny 
 is generally inexorable. We have a solemn looking man of 
 all work who cooks our dinners amongst other things, and 
 excellent they are ; and, as my rule is not precisely what my 
 saucy niece, the Dolly, I humbly beg her pardon, Mrs. 
 Meredith, predicted it would be, iron, I only beg and 
 pray that I may return home in due season for our repasts. 
 And this, to do Fanny justice, is generally accorded. I 
 think I never, in my natural life, enjoyed a dinner as I do in 
 Rome, tell it not in Gath ; worn and wearied, it is the 
 very best thing I have in the twenty-four hours, such beef 
 and half-dried grapes ! All this is shockingly heretical, I 
 know, but you entreated me to write, and so here goes for 
 the truth and nothing else. I would not allow Fanny to see 
 this letter for worlds, as she begins to fancy Pm getting 
 round famously to the true faith, and would not be at all 
 gratified at its contents.
 
 OF BOSTON. 391 
 
 ' We shall go from here to Naples where another inevitable 
 compaign of sight-seeing awaits me, pity me my brother; 
 and then, presto ! to Paris. Once there, I am on my own 
 hunting-grounds and free as air, having lived there so long, 
 and, as my wife has also enjoyed the signal advantage of 
 sojourning in the capital where mortals can dispense with 
 happiness, she will not tease me to death to go trooping 
 about with her. A short stay will, I most devoutly hope, 
 suffice for Fanny to effect the ordering of forty-four dresses, 
 and to fill up the catalogue of her offerings at the shrines of 
 her innumerable friends on the other side of the Atlantic ; 
 and then, thrice blessed news ! we shall make our way out 
 to America, where, thank Heaven ! there is nothing to be 
 seen. 
 
 ' God bless you, my dear brother, and all your belong- 
 ings. Fanny sends her best love ; kiss your wife and 
 daughters for their old uncle ; and box Johnny's ears, I 
 dare say he merits punishment for some mischief or other. 
 
 ' Yours faithfully, IIiciiakd Barclay.' 
 
 This characteristic epistle created a vast deal of amuse- 
 ment for the assembled listeners, as uncle Richard's fas- 
 cinating grumbling always did. His perseveringly untir- 
 ing effort to make himself appear much worse than he 
 was, were somehow never very successful. In his short 
 notice of Julian they recognised their eccentric relative's 
 weakness. 
 
 ' I'm thoroughly convinced,' said Mrs. Meredith, 'that my 
 dear uncle Dick is the yiost henpecked husband in all 
 Christendom, and will finish by earning the title of " good- 
 man Richard." ' 
 
 ' But I thought,' said her father, ' you had predicted pre- 
 cisely ^he reverse, some time since.' 
 
 ' I know I did,' she replied, ' but I'm not so ignorant now 
 as I then was,' at the same time bestowing a rather sly look 
 upon her husband.
 
 392 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 * Aunt Fanny,' said Mrs. Charles Sanderson, ' perfectly 
 understands her husband's character; certainly his wooing 
 was of the most mysterious nature ; nobody can deny that. 
 When I think of uncle Richard as a Benedict, I fancy I'm 
 dreaming, and yet how harmoniously he and his wife live 
 together.' 
 
 ' All nature's difference makes all nature's peace,' said 
 Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 ' My brother is an excellent fellow in the main,' said Mr. 
 Barclay ; and he looked around for Georgy, but she had 
 disappeared. 
 
 The mention of Julian had produced such sad and varied 
 emotions, that she was unable to bear the scrutiny of even 
 her own family. There were moments when he appeared to 
 her in the recesses of her memory, bearing the old guise of 
 ' the first love,' ' the hallowed form,' and she became unable 
 to control her emotions ; then the impassable barrier 
 raised by his treachery and falsehood, her own desolation, 
 the years of shame and suffering she had endured, assumed 
 colossal proportions, and she seemed to sink completely 
 under them. But worst of all, her trust in mankind had been 
 shaken, that faith so infinitely dear to youth. It had been, she 
 thought, her duty to cast all remembrance of her young lover 
 from her, and this one word duty creates a wonder-working 
 effect with our New England women. It is heard all too 
 often, there is no doubt, and as often monstrously misappli- 
 ed, and also falsely embodies a vast many things irrespective 
 of the quality represented, making these women more re- 
 spectable than lovable ; but it ^as a great and beneficial 
 effect upon their characters when it is adopted as an im- 
 portant part of their natures, in the spirit and not the letter. 
 
 Georgiana had cast off the memory of Julian Seaton, and 
 another had usurped his place in her heart ; and so firmly 
 was he rooted as never to be displaced. Yet would the 
 sliadow of the lost one even pass between the reality, and 
 produce moments of acute agony ; then would she retire from
 
 OF BOSTON. 393 
 
 her own beloved circle, and pray for strength to bear the 
 heavy burthen of her sorrow. These were sad and 
 wearisome conflicts ; they had been of rare recurrence 
 before his death, that melancholy event had renewed 
 them. She was not always sure if she had been right in 
 refusing to see him ; but she had believed such an act would 
 have been hypocritical in the extreme if she divulged not 
 the change in her sentiments, and what might such a terrible 
 revelation have produced ? Even instant death, for aught she 
 knew to the contrary. Her sincere forgiveness had been 
 freely proffered and eagerly accepted, and Julian died 
 ignorant that another had usurped his place in her bosom. 
 She felt that this secret might remain undiscovered to her 
 husband, so long as she absented herself, but once in his pres- 
 ence, it must be revealed. This young creature was blamed 
 and criticised for not appearing at the deathbed of her hus- 
 band, accused of insensibility, of hardness of heart by those 
 who, unaware of the secret springs of feeling by which she 
 was actuated, sat in judgment on her conduct. Even her 
 own mother had seemed, at first, to wish she would make the 
 effort, until, in pouring forth all the agony of her soul into 
 her sympathizing bosom, her daughter had convinced her 
 that she could not behold Julian Seaton without making the 
 dreaded confession. And such was Mrs. Barclay's horror of 
 duplicity that she felt obliged to concede that her cliild was 
 right, for no one could foresee, she well knew, what the con- 
 sequences might be of the disclosure. 
 
 From the moment of her husband's decease, Georgiana's 
 mind had insensibly gained a reasonable degree of com- 
 posure, which she was hardly willing to acknowledge even to 
 herself, but there were various causes combining to produce 
 this result, her own strong will, all hateful mystery dis- 
 pelled, her own fair fame re-established, the knowledge that 
 her youthful choice had been neither low nor mean, and, more 
 than all besides, Julian's ties of kindred with her mother. 
 She could never forgive herself, or wish any one else to do
 
 394 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 SO, the concealment she had practised towards her excellent 
 parents; but she hoped to make a sufficient atonement to 
 them in devoting her whole existence to their welfare. Mrs. 
 Barclay had also abstained from seeing Julian Seaton. She 
 dreaded the many questions he would inevitably ask of her ; 
 she had pardoned his treachery, but she no more desired an 
 interview with him tlian did her daughter. She knew he 
 was surrounded by affectionate friends and countless luxuries, 
 and this satisfied her ; but when she had once perused his 
 letters, she relented, and watched over him tenderly. 
 
 ' When Mr. Barclay's daughters were married, he had 
 settled on each fifty thousand dollars, and did the same for 
 Georgiana. The interest of this money was paid quarterly, 
 and, as she had few expenses, her charitable nature revelled 
 in the power of alleviating distress and dispensing her wealth 
 freely ; and, as she had ever possessed the signal advantage 
 of an admirable example in her mother in this way, her 
 bounties were most judiciously bestowed. She was, in fact, 
 a well drest ' Sister of Charity,' going about doing good in 
 an unostentatious manner, secretly and wisely ; she had been 
 schooled in affliction, and had thereby acquired habits of 
 self-control ; she had become thoroughly mistress of her- 
 self. To the world Georgiana was cheerful, and apparently 
 happy. 
 
 In process of time, how soon or how late, need hardly be 
 narrated, Gerald Sanderson preferred his suit, and poured 
 forth his long-concealed love, his faith and devotion to the 
 woman to whom he had vowed his life. Georgiana received 
 this declaration, which she had so long foreseen awaited her, 
 with great apparent calmness, thanked him sincerely for the 
 expression of his alTections, but firmly and decidedly reject- 
 ed them. Beside himself with grief, he urged her to 
 reconsider her refusal, to take pity on his desolation, and in 
 such a noble and loyal manner as almost destroyed the 
 composure which veiled the sacrifice she made. But it was 
 made, and he was informed that thev could never meet
 
 OF BOSTON. 395 
 
 again, except as friends ; that he must cherish no hopes or 
 aspirations of any other nature ; none must exist. 
 
 - Gerald departed, in the perfect assurance that Georgiana 
 felt completely indifferent towards him, and that no efforts of 
 his could ever effect a change in her feelings. And she 1 
 
 she flew to her own chamber, and, locking the door, 
 threw herself on her bed and wept floods of bitter tears. 
 The sacrifice was made, and he was gone, and forever. 
 Lost to her, and by her own free-will, the man who had 
 devoted himself to her cause in all the spirit of chivaliy and 
 love ! Lost ! lost ! 
 
 It was but a short interval of the luxury of grief that this 
 young creature permitted herself to indulge. Soon she 
 arose, bathed her eyes in pure water, removing all traces of 
 her tears, and, nerving herself to the appointed task of 
 suffering in silence, she re-appeared in her own domestic 
 circle, the same Georgiana who was the centre of its 
 attraction, the idol of her father, and the source of infinite 
 happiness to her mother ; and by dint of imparting felicity 
 to those around her she became embued with a portion of its 
 pervading essence, even herself. One other trial awaited 
 her in the dismissal of Mr. Robert Redmond ; but this was 
 as naught in comparison with the preceding one. She had 
 but to impart to him the utter impossibility of succeeding in 
 his pretensions to her favor, and her thanks for his good-will, 
 
 mere forms of speech and courtesy, leaving but slight 
 traces behind of their passage. Verily woman's destiny is 
 to suffer, and she must nerve herself nobly to the task, 
 and remember, 
 
 "Man's a king, his throne is Duty, 
 Since his work on earth began."
 
 396 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 ' Think'st thou that this love can stand. 
 Whilst thou still dost say me nay ? 
 Love unpaid does soon disband, 
 Love binds love as hay binds hay.' Marvell. 
 
 Shortly after the rejection of Mr. Robert Redmond's suit 
 by Mrs. Georgiana Seaton, his father was seized with a vio- 
 lent attack of paralysis, occcasioned by intense application 
 and excessive hard work. This had been preceded by sev- 
 eral faintings in court, which had greatly alarmed his son, 
 and he had earnestly remonstrated with him on the mode of 
 his life, and entreated him to give himself some relaxation ; 
 but he heecled not his child or his wife, who was also induced 
 by Robert's urgent request to arouse herself sufficiently to 
 do the same. 
 
 Mr. Redmond insisted that if he ceased working he should 
 inevitably die, and that he would infinitely prefer to expire 
 in his harness than pass his days in idleness. On one occa- 
 sion during an illness, he was absolutely placed in bed by 
 his medical attendant, and ordered to keep perfectly quiet ; 
 he was found several hours afterwards with twenty-four 
 volumes of law books all arranged about his bed, and with 
 pencil and paper taking notes. Robert saw full well that 
 things must inevitably take their course ; that his father being 
 incorrigible, all the efforts he could make would be fruitless, 
 and so it eventually proved. 
 
 Mr. Redmond rallied after his illness, but being again at- 
 tacked, was found one morning dead in his bed, with his 
 twenty-four friends, the law books, surrounding him ; in this
 
 OF BOSTON. 397 
 
 case they proved his worst enemies. Mrs. Redmond re- 
 ceived the intelligence of her husband's decease with great 
 calmness ; busied herself immensely for her with her mourn- 
 ing ; was extremely particular touching the width of her 
 crape and the quality of her bombazine, and altogether bore 
 her widowhood discreetly. She sat with the newspapers in 
 her hands, reading for hours their heralding forth of the great 
 and good qualities of the deceased, and had a sort of dim con- 
 sciousness that she must herself have been very blind to so 
 many excellences. 
 
 A learned man was Mr. Redmond, a great chamber coun- 
 sel advocate, and nothing else ; he had neither been a good 
 husband, father, or friend ; his life had been passed amid 
 folios, to the extinction of all the good qualities he might 
 have possessed when he began his prosperous career. Not 
 one half hour in the twenty-four had he given to his family. 
 God had raised up for it in the person of his son, Robert 
 Redmond, a friend and judicious adviser, and this had been 
 a signal mercy. Many evil consequences had ensued from 
 the father's utter negligence of his duties, which even all the 
 efforts of the son had not been able to avert. It had been a 
 subject of perpetual astonishment to all Robert's friends how 
 he had become the man he was under the circumstances. 
 It sometimes however happens that children, by the very 
 reason of perceiving the bad consequences of mismanage- 
 ment, or none at all, as in this case, mark out for themselves 
 a totally contrary course, and strictly follow it. 
 
 Jane was obstreperous, as she must ever be ; but having 
 finally exhausted the first grand ebullition of her grief, she 
 resumed her usual routine of existence as if nothing had 
 occurred ; her sister showed much sensibility of a more 
 endearing quality. 
 
 Robert Redmond, after judiciously arranging his father's 
 affairs, for Mr. Redmond, who had executed countless last 
 wills and testaments for his clients, had never found a dis- 
 posable moment to make one for himself, then announced 
 34
 
 398 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 his intention of going to Europe immediately for a couple of 
 years, and invited his mother and sisters to accompany him. 
 Mrs. Redmond actually recoiled from her son's proposition 
 with a species of horror ; not that she disliked the idea of a 
 change of scene, on the contrary rather desired it, but the 
 exertion she must make to get herself in readiness 1 How 
 was she ever to put in order her travelling trunks and boxes ? 
 This question she propounded to herself fifty times a day, 
 and, at last, as a finishing resource, sent for Mrs. Barclay. 
 That lady immediately flew to her assistance, well compre- 
 hending her inanimate friend's dilemma, and found Mrs. 
 Redmond, who had made up her mighty mind to go, with all 
 her new and lugubrious wardrobe laid on the chairs, tables, 
 bed and floor. She turned as Mrs. Barclay entered, and in 
 most imploring accents demanded of her how she was ever 
 to get all those things into all those trunks. Mrs. Barclay 
 having cleared a way for herself, asked for. Mrs. Redmond's 
 maid, who appearing, declared her mistress had asked her 
 the same question over and over again, and that she knew no 
 more than the babe unborn how to answer her. Mrs. Bar- 
 clay then assured the proprietor of this grand display of 
 grief, that she must decide to leave at least one half behind, 
 which she sorrowingly consented to do, and then all things 
 being arranged, the packing was satisfactorily completed. 
 
 Mrs. Redmond and her family sailed, her valedictory 
 speech being, ' that but for the immense exertions of my 
 kind neighbor we should never have been able to depart.' 
 Robert, being unable to trust himself with another interview 
 with Georgiana, took an affectionate leave of the rest of the 
 family. 
 
 They passed the winter in Paris, and Gcorgy had the 
 extreme satisfaction to learn that her lover had replaced her 
 image in his breast by admitting another of great beauty and 
 attraction, he having met in that gay capital a young Amer- 
 ican girl from Baltimore, fallen suddenly and desperately in 
 love with her, and married her, to the great delight of his 
 mother and sisters.
 
 OF BOSTON. 
 
 399 
 
 No passion, however eternal it may promise to be, 
 will ever survive the impossibility of a return ; there may 
 have been exceptions, but they are very rare and uncom- 
 mon ; there must be a ray of hope. Mrs. Robert Red- 
 mond had a young cousin, a small, pale, quiet, unpre- 
 tending individual, who never raised his voice above a whis- 
 per, and was besides excessively shy and nervous, he was 
 travelling with her and her mother for his health. This gen- 
 tleman, who rejoiced in the imposing patronymic of Diony- 
 sius Hornblower, a name which in nowise designated his 
 feeble character, was nearly as helpless as a child. He 
 possessed a good fortune, which he had neither spirit nor 
 taste to spend, his whole time being in fact occupied with 
 looking after his immense variety of ailments, imaginary and 
 otherwise. He carried with him always a medicine chest, 
 which was not however very cumbrous, he being a homoeo- 
 pathist ; but as it took him a comfortable while to count the 
 infinitesimal doses in the course of the day, and served to 
 Kill time, it was generally useful on that account. 
 
 Di Hornblower, as he was called for shortness, some 
 people added Miss, rarely ventured forth until mid-day, and 
 always returned in excellent season for his dinner, which he 
 ate with an enormous appetite at five of the clock, all the 
 while declaring stoutly he had none whatever. After a short 
 nap he always awoke, and asked his aunt and cousin, 
 ' What shall I do with myself until twelve o'clock to-night?' 
 They invariably replied, ' Go to the theatre ; ' but he 
 answered that he did not understand the French language ; 
 so he found the theatre was a horrid bore. Then they 
 would suggest the opera, to which he responded that he 
 detested music ; they urged that his medical man had 
 ordered him to amuse himself, a little opera, a little the- 
 atre, a {ew balls being the prescription. Di was not to be 
 persuaded, so they recommended some pleasant book, and 
 he averred he could not read at night, his eyes being very 
 weak. So this ceremony regularly occurring every even-
 
 400 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ing, the aunt and cousin were just beginning to declare to 
 each other that, of all the inflictions two poor lone women 
 were ever saddled with, theirs was the most intolerable, when 
 Robert Redmond came, saw, and conquered ; and his gentle 
 sister Jane obligingly took the invalid off their hands, for she 
 married him. 
 
 It may be positively asserted that Miss Jane Redmond 
 married Mr. Dionysius Hornblower, for, he being much 
 younger than herself, and moreover awfully afraid of her, 
 had apparently never dared to open his lips in her august 
 presence, and would have as soon thought of facing a green 
 dragon as expressing an opinion before her ; besides she 
 was so very tall and he so short. It was true, nevertheless, 
 that little Di had ventured to whisper to his aimt his aversion 
 to Mr. Redmond's sister, ' the ferocious Miss Jane,' and 
 Jane knew this, she having accidentally heard this confi- 
 dential communication. Whether she incontinently resolved 
 to take him upon the spot in pure opposition, is not positively 
 recorded, but that she possessed herself forthwith of this 
 jewel of high price in quick time, every body was assured 
 by a grandiose ceremony in the way of a wedding, to which 
 all the Americans in Paris were bidden. The bride was all 
 dominant, as usual ; her dress was of white velvet, orange 
 blossoms, and Chantilly lace, becoming in the extreme de- 
 gree, and was vastly admired ; the breakfast was superb. 
 Mrs. Dionysius Hornblower presided over this magnificent 
 repast in great state ; her little spouse was present, but the 
 guests being intensely occupied in the discussion of Parisian 
 delicacies, were very unobservant of that unobtrusive indi- 
 vidual, and only remembered afterwards that he left the 
 table in the middle of the feast, on the plea of slight indispo- 
 sition, and that the bride elect took no manner of notice of 
 his disappearance. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Dionysius Hornblower left Paris that day 
 for beautiful Italy, and all the family was vastly relieved of 
 a certain and positive degree of oppression by her absence,
 
 OF BOSTON. 401 
 
 and of a vast amount of dullness by that of the bride- 
 groom. 
 
 Mary Redmond immediately expanded into a young lady, 
 the absence of her tyrannical sister causing an entire revo- 
 lution in her habits and feelings ; and the care of her help- 
 less mother devolving upon her, she evinced great good 
 sense and discretion in the discharge of this duty. Mrs. 
 Redmond rejoiced in the change of affairs and all the 
 more, as she dared not give expression to her feelings so 
 she lavished upon her youngest daughter a good degree of 
 tenderness. All efforts, agreeable or otherwise, being ex- 
 tremely repugnant to her habits, she made great exertions 
 to prove to her child the value of her attentions, by making 
 her most beautiful presents in jewelry and books, and 
 actually sallied forth alone to purchase them ; and, on the 
 first of these grand excursions, sadly alarmed her daughter 
 by not returning until night. By constant practice she 
 learned to walk a little, but never much admired the exer- 
 cise ; still, there were so many things to be seen in the 
 streets, that, her attention being diverted from herself, and 
 her mind occupied, she certainly made more progress in 
 pedestrianism than she had ever done before ; but, after all, 
 hers was a snail's pace. She was much pleased with Mrs. 
 Robert Redmond, and though she would have preferred 
 Georgiana Seaton, still she was not insensible to the pretty 
 face and pleasing manners of her new daughter the more 
 especially, as she proved to be quite a busy person, liking 
 housekeeping very much, and promising to take all care 
 off her hands ; and this qualification Mrs. Redmond appre- 
 ciated much more than all the accomplishments of the 
 blooming bride. 
 
 Robert Redmond was extremely glad to perceive that his 
 mother was beginning to use her feet which heretofore 
 had been of no more use to her than those of Mrs. Chin-Chow 
 Ling, or any other Chinese lady and hoped she would 
 continue this salutary habit on returning home. i\Iary Red- 
 34
 
 402 THE -BARCLAYS 
 
 mond was not particularly pleased with Parisian society, 
 decidedly thinking it was no sphere for young American 
 girls. Mrs. Robert Redmond had a few French acquaint- 
 ances, and Mary accompanied her to a beautiful ball, 
 with another family from New York, which consisted of a 
 handsome mother and three good-looking daughters. The 
 latter had ruled and reigned at home giving entertain- 
 ments, receiving visits, &oc. What was their unbounded 
 disappointment at finding themselves restricted, even before 
 they went, in the arrangement of their dress, but on arriv- 
 ing, being obliged to be carefully seated by the side of their 
 mother, and she invited to dance in preference to them- 
 selves ! This was, indeed, a new phase of society for them, 
 to which they submitted with very ill grace. The lady, 
 who had still retained a fancy for her dancing days, ac- 
 cepted her invitations, which were quite numerous ; whereas 
 Mary and her companions sat in speechless amazement. 
 At last, they were invited once, and once only. The gen- 
 tlemen, who figured with them, made no attempts at con- 
 versation during the quadrille, and, re-conducting them to 
 their places, left them, and never returned. 
 
 After returning to their hotel, Mrs. Robert Redmond and 
 the lady mamma spoke in high terms of the enjoyment they 
 had received that evening ; but the young girls solemnly 
 vowed never to make another such sacrifice, and never did. 
 Consequently, Mary Redmond ardently longed for a restor- 
 ation to her native land and her rights, which she laughingly 
 declared were usurped by Mrs. Robert. To be sure, she 
 had not ' been out ' in America, but was extremely well 
 advised of the state of things there. Neither Mrs. Robert 
 or her friend abstained from enjoying themselves on account 
 of the rebellion of the younger branches, but went wherever 
 they obtained an entrance, insisting they were quite right so 
 to do, it being their last chance ; as, on their return home, 
 they would be obliged to have recourse to their disagreeable 
 occupation of holding up the walls once more in matronly 
 meditation, ' fancy free.'
 
 OF BOSTON. 403 
 
 CHAPTER XL VII. 
 
 * She says she had a gentleman who came thirty miles to her to hear 
 the relation ; and that she told it to a roomful of people at the time.' 
 Wonderful Story of oxb Mrs. Veal. 
 
 Mr. Barclay had heard several rumors that his brother 
 had been ill in Rome, but being quite sure that, if there 
 were any danger, Mr. Richard's wife would have advised 
 him of it, he did not mention them to his family. Some 
 time elapsed when glad tidings came, in the shape of a letter 
 from pleasant Aunt Fanny. It was addressed to Mrs. Bar- 
 clay. She wrote : 
 
 ' Naples, . 
 
 * We have been here, my dear sister, several weeks, and 
 my time having been very much occupied with the sight- 
 seeing at which my husband rails so heartily, must be my 
 apology for not having written before this ; your brother has 
 none other than sheer laziness as his excuse. 
 
 ' I am sorry to write that my husband was threatened 
 with a fever in Rome, which he ascribes to being carried, 
 or forced, into an underground church by his wife and her 
 friends; but, I assure you on honor that, being tempted by 
 a delicious day, he left his overcoat at home, and thereby 
 contracted a cold, of which he wilfully took no note what- 
 ever, until he was obliged to take to his bed, where he 
 remained two or three days. From this cold he recovered 
 very quickly, not having allowed me to enjoy more than 
 one adventure during his illness, which was very cruel; in- 
 deed it was this :
 
 404 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ' On my arrival at Florence I engaged a Swiss maid, a 
 travelling servant, she having been in Italy several years. 
 I procured an excellent character of her for honesty and 
 other good qualities from an American lady, whom she had 
 served a long while who, however, added that she was very 
 bad-tempered. We have got on remarkably well together, 
 notwithstanding, I kept house in Rome very pleasantly, 
 and had an agreeable circle around me every evening, my 
 tea being the attraction. Your brother enjoyed those little 
 parties very much, whatever he may please to say to the 
 contrary. One evening, as the company assembled, each 
 person brought intelligence of a murder which had been 
 committed on a jeweller, and, as he was robbed of money, 
 the Romans present stoutly averred that no inhabitant of the 
 Eternal City had perpetrated the deed. They said Romans 
 murdered for jealousy and revenge, but never for money. 
 This produced a discussion, and elicited many interesting 
 stories of all sorts of horrid adventures. When our guests 
 departed, your brother informed me he should have enjoyed 
 the recitals extremely, but for a violent pain in his back and 
 head; this sadly alarming me, I ordered a fire to be made 
 in a chamber, which was at the end of a rather long and 
 narrow corridor, and immediately commenced most vigorous 
 operations with baths, frictions, &c., to which was added a 
 tolerable dose of medicine. The patient grumbled awfully, 
 but I was absolute, and as he really began to improve, he 
 looked upon my proceedings more favorably in the end. 
 Having finished, 1 ordered Antonio, the cook, to carry his 
 bed and throw it on the floor by the side of my husband, 
 and then left him, with many injunctions to call me, if his 
 master awoke, which, it appears, he did not. It was naturally 
 very late when I retired to my own chamber, and, being 
 much fatigued from my unwonted exertions, I dismissed my 
 maid, as soon as possible, and was shortly in a profound 
 sleep. 
 
 ' How long this had lasted I am unable to tell, but I awoke
 
 OF BOSTON. 
 
 405 
 
 finding myself sitting upright in bed, and staring, in great 
 affright, at the reflection on the wall of the light from a 
 lamp in the adjoining chamber. Now in this room slept my 
 maid, and, as she was a person much given to vociferating 
 and noisy demonstrations on the slightest possible and im- 
 possible occasions, I had a dim consciousness that Issaline 
 was not in that room. This feeling became appalling cer- 
 tainty, when sundry stealthy movements, and opening of 
 drawers and trunks were added. I think I never knew what 
 perfect fright was before. I was convinced Issaline was mur- 
 dered, and in her sleep, for in no other way could the deed 
 have been perpetrated, except in her slumbers, for she would, 
 otherwise, have aroused all Rome with her cries and shrieks. 
 ' The examination of all the corners of the chamber was 
 then made, and I imagined that a person crawled under the bed 
 and dragged out some cumbrous article. If this should be poor 
 Issaline's body ! ! My blood actually curdled in my veins, 
 my very hair stood on end with terror, but I neither 
 shrieked nor groaned ; for I well knew how perfectly fruitless 
 would be any effort of that sort, as my husband and Antonio's 
 room was at so great a distance from me, and in my 
 total silence seemed to lie my only security. And there I 
 sat, it seemed to me an age of torture. All the horrid sto- 
 ries to which I had lent such an attentive ear before I retired 
 to rest, arose before me in a living, moving mass, and passed 
 before my sight like the scenes in an overwrought tragedy 
 on the stage, when the senses being held captive, all is 
 fearful reality, and, palpitating and breathless, naught re- 
 mained but the certainty of a violent death. At last, the 
 investigation of Issaline's premises seemed to have come to 
 a close, and the footsteps approached my own door. There 
 was doubt and hesitation ; the lock was gently, slowly turned. 
 By this time big drops of perspiration were chasing each 
 other rapidly down my cheeks and even arms, and the fear- 
 ful and horrible click of that lock will live in my memory 
 to my latest hour, uttering no sound I fainted dead away.
 
 406 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 ' From this heavy swoon I was aroused by the opening of 
 my shutters, and a bright sun showed me Issaline. I started 
 up confused, bewildered; my first impressions were that I 
 had experienced a paralyzing nightmare. I sent her to 
 inquire for my husband's state ; she returned, reporting a 
 favorable night, and then I said to her, " Did you go out of 
 the house last night, after I retired ? I hope not." 
 
 ' " Oh ! no ma'am, assuredly not ; I should never think of 
 such a thing without asking your permission." 
 
 ' " Then where did you sleep ? certainly, not in your own 
 room." 
 
 ' Upon this, out she rushed, and returned bearing aloft in 
 the air a nightgown. 
 
 ' " Here, ma'am ! " screamed she, " this will answer 
 why I did not sleep in that room. Look and see for your- 
 self, how the wicked fleas treated me last night. I could 
 not close my eyes for them, and at last took my bed and 
 placed it on the table in the dining-room, and climbed up 
 into it out of their way, the abominable imps of dark- 
 ness ! " 
 
 ' It was impossible to resist this account, backed as it was 
 by the dress, covered, as she declared, with her own blood, 
 her own blood! I burst into a hearty laugh, which did 
 me a world of good under the circumstances. 
 
 ' " But," said I, " there was certainly some one in your 
 chamber last night." 
 
 ' " Oh, no ma'am ! " said she, " not in my room. Antonio's 
 nephew, Domenico, got up in the night with a violent colic. 
 My master has given him some money, and he has gone to 
 the hospital." 
 
 ' This did not at all satisfy me ; I was, more and more, 
 convinced that he had ransacked Issaline's drawers and 
 boxes before he departed. She, however, persisted in think- 
 ing him innocent of this charge ; " for was he not," she 
 cried, " studying for the church ? "
 
 OF BOSTON. 407 
 
 'I went to my husband, found him much better, and re- 
 lated to him my adventure. He evidently did not believe a 
 word of it, but thought I had been excited before going to 
 sleep, and had suffered from a horrid dream. At this, I was 
 rather vexed, but thought I would await his restoration to 
 entire health before I gave him a good scolding for his in- 
 credulousness. 
 
 ' In about two hours I heard terrible shrieks, and flying 
 into Issaline's room, from whence they had proceeded, found 
 her in strong hysterics, wringing her hands and tearing her 
 hair, and declaring she had been robbed of several Napo- 
 leons, and amongst them was one given her by her father, 
 many years previous to her leaving home, which she had 
 always preserved as a " lucky penny," and would not have 
 lost for worlds. Indeed, there was no calamity which she 
 did not predict for herself in consequence of her loss, and 
 openly accused Antonio's nephew of the larceny. That 
 worthy, boiling over whh rage, declared that his relative was 
 a candidate for the church ; that he felt the honor of his 
 family disgraced, and demanded of my husband instant sat- 
 isfaction. Your brother referred him to me, saying that it 
 was my maid who had committed the offence, a sly way 
 men always have of getting themselves out of trouble, and 
 I suppose on that occasion congratulated himself on the pos- 
 session of a wife ; at any rate, I had a hard task to keep the 
 peace, the parties being so very pugnacious. Issaline insist- 
 ed upon examining my trunks and bureaus^ and discovered 
 that a superb gold watch of mine had also disappeared. 
 Things then began to confirm the suspicions I had expressed, 
 and my dream seemed to have taken a tangible form. The 
 watch was of remarkable workmanship and beauty, a pres- 
 ent to me, and extremely valuable for the donor's sake, and 
 was also very costly. 
 
 ' As soon as your brother got out again, 1 accompanied 
 him to an officlars office, to make a statement of my loss, 
 and the gentleman being in bed with a cold, we were invited
 
 408 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 into his chamber. Such a bed ! I really think it was in- 
 tended to accommodate his whole family, so immense was 
 its size. He was lying in state, the sheets and pillow-cases 
 trimmed with rich lace, the counterpane magnificent, two 
 common wooden chairs and a table completing the furniture. 
 I related my story, and he wrote to the governor of Rome, 
 who ordered a number of the police to search Domenico's 
 house, which was in a village ten miles from the city. 
 Nothing was found. There was in this place one jeweller's 
 shop, and that was searched also ineffectually, so my hus- 
 band renounced all idea of ever regaining my watch. 
 
 ' The evening before I left Rome I took Antonio aside, 
 and told him I was convinced that his nephew had stolen my 
 watch ; that I knew him to be a very shrewd person, and 
 depended upon him to find it ; that a sufficient reward had 
 already been offered, but that he should be additionally paid 
 if the missing article were restored. As to his nephew be- 
 ing a person studying for the church, I did not believe a 
 syllable of the story, for the work of my kitchen was no pre- 
 paratory step to such an important situation. Antonio talked 
 very loud, but I told him to keep still, and look out sharply 
 after my watch. 
 
 ' We left Rome the next day, and in six weeks from that 
 time I received my precious watch safe and sound, a long 
 and most grateful epistle from Antonio, and such a quantity 
 of documents from the police officers as was certainly amaz- 
 ing all respecting the recovery and restoration of my time- 
 piece. Domenico had stolen it, and when he knew we had 
 quhted Rome, he offered it for sale, and Antonio, watching 
 and waiting, pounced upon his prey. 
 
 ' I must, by way of explanation, just tell you how I came 
 to have such a good view of Domenico's doings in Issaline's 
 chamber. All the doors in our Roman lodgings were covered 
 with green baize, and so shrunken that light and sounds were 
 freely admitted, and they, moreover, were excessively capri- 
 cious, sometimes remaining shut for a week and baffling all
 
 OF BOSTON. 409 
 
 our united efforts to open them, and then no human force 
 could close them. Fortunately for me, it was their shutting 
 up time, and Issaline, when she left her chamber for her 
 dinner-table dormitory, took the key of my door with her. 
 Domenico had somehow, nobody could answer why, taken 
 up his abode in our kitchen, as scullion, under the distin- 
 guished patronage of his uncle, and Issaline had found him, 
 on the morning of my adventure, in my chamber, and threat- 
 ened to broomstick him, she said, for the offence. It is 
 probable he then stole the watch. 
 
 ' I assure you I was triumphant when I saw my watch, 
 unbelievers being scattered to the winds. I now wish, my 
 dear sister, most solemnly to assert that I have not, even in 
 one solitary instance, invited my husband to accompany me 
 in any " sight-seeing " here, in consequence of his illness in 
 Rome ; and desire you will remember that he has never 
 once failed to go whh me on all my excursions. I embrace 
 you all, and shall have the happiness to see you shortly. 
 
 ' Yours in love and affection. ' Fanny.' 
 
 ' P. S. Your brother requests me to inform you all, with 
 his best love, that this is no traveller's tale, but a veracious 
 chronicle, and that he considers it to comprise all the pure 
 elements of Italian life fleas, fright, and felony. F.' 
 
 The Barclays were made very happy just after the recep- 
 tion of Aunt Fanny's letter, by the advent of a tiny creature. 
 Mrs. Sanderson had presented her husband with a son, 
 whom it was instantly decided was to bear his grandfather's 
 name of John Barclay. Charley Sanderson, every body 
 had called him so, married or single, was beside himself 
 with joy, and expected every one should congratulate him. 
 Mrs. Barclay became intensely busy with caudle, and the 
 grandpapa seemed almost as much enchanted as the parents. 
 But Johnny felt himself half a foot taller when he command- 
 ed every body to call him uncle ; and Nursey Bristow de- 
 35
 
 410 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 dared that such a child had never been seen in the world 
 before. Georgy and Mrs. Meredith longed more earnestly 
 than ever for dear Aunt Fanny's arrival, that she might pro- 
 nounce her opinion on the wondrous charms of the little 
 stranger. And Mr. and Mrs. Richard Barclay made their 
 appearance once more amidst their affectionate friends ; he 
 in great spirits and high glee, she prettier and better dressed 
 than ever. They had brought home for all their family and 
 friends innumerable presents, and had all manner of inter- 
 esting things to tell of the countries they had visited and the 
 people they had seen, and were an immense addition to 
 many other families besides that of their relatives. 
 
 Mr. Richard persisted in returning thanks for his restora- 
 tion to a land in which there was nothing to be seen, and 
 professed himself delighted to arise in the morning without 
 a load of sights on his mind ; but still he seemed to have 
 not forgotten the most insignificant of the foreign shows. In 
 France he had been disappointed, and thought all things 
 changed, and not at all for the better ; and it was observed 
 that he certainly did not quote that country in the same en- 
 thusiastic manner as had been his custom before his depar- 
 ture. He declared his whole family had got their heads 
 turned by a little baby, and yet he stole into Mrs. Sander- 
 son's nursery very often himself, and looked the least bit in 
 the world ashamed when he was found there. Altogether 
 the Benedict conducted himself remarkably well, and a 
 happier couple were rarely seen. 
 
 Miss Tidmarsh, who had roundly asserted that the evident 
 improvement in his manners which had developed itself on 
 his marriage, would never last, disliked immensely to hear 
 any mention of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Barclay's well-being. 
 This, however, she was doomed to hear and survive, if she 
 could, for their house became once more, as it had always 
 been, the resort of all the pleasant people in the city, and as 
 they and their friends were always made welcome, nothing 
 was more frequently remarked upon than its manifold attrac-
 
 OF BOSTON. 411 
 
 tions. Indeed, there were found persons bold enough to 
 assert, even in Miss Serena's presence, that it was more 
 agreeable than ever since Mrs. Ashley had married Mr. 
 Richard Barclay. This being vastly more than that amia- 
 ble YOUNG person could reasonably endure, she instantane- 
 ously quarrelled with * the bears' friends, and, in fact, had 
 so many little affairs of this kind on her hands, that her 
 visiting list became sadly diminished in numbers. There 
 was a rumor abroad, that many of her acquaintances 
 friends she had none took this method of ridding them- 
 selves of Miss Serena Tidmarsh.
 
 412 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 CHAPTER XL VIII. 
 
 Although thou mauii never be mine, 
 Although even hope is denied ; 
 
 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 
 Than aught in the world beside.' 
 
 BUKNS. 
 
 Mr. Barclay having been successfully brought to the 
 culminating point of his career, when, surrounded by his 
 children and friends, in the possession of tlie undying affec- 
 tion of his cherished wife, in the full enjoyment of the good 
 things of this world, and the perfect assurance of the dis- 
 charge of his duties, he may be safely left with the convic- 
 tion that his lines are cast in pleasant places. As belonging 
 to the time-honored race of Boston merchants, he has nobly 
 sustained their acknowledged reputation for probity, upright- 
 ness and benevolence ; he has ever been the orphan's 
 friend ; has encouraged the youth of his time, and solaced 
 and consoled the widow. Adored by his family, loved and 
 respected by his townsmen, he seems destined to pursue 
 the peaceful tenor of his way, for the residue of his exist- 
 ence, in the moral sunshine which he has created around 
 him to gild the evening of his days. Art and science having 
 been fostered and cherished by his untiring and persevering 
 efforts, he enjoys the perfect satisfaction of beholding the 
 felicitous results of his own good works in the persons of 
 those whom liis own right hand has raised from poverty and 
 de])ression, weariness ;ind faint-heartcdness to absolute pros- 
 perity, and they arise and bless him. Mr. Barclay's whole
 
 OF BOSTON. 413 
 
 character may be then summed up in three words A good 
 citizen. 
 
 ' How blest is he who crowns iu scenes like these 
 A youth of labor with an age of ease.' 
 
 Mrs. Barclay, from having cordially aided and assisted 
 her noble husband in his admirable efforts, and deferring to 
 him in the important events of her existence, has succeeded 
 in producing these felicitous results, and has proved herself 
 worthy the happiness of sharing her destiny with a truly good 
 man. 
 
 Mr. Richard Barclay, subdued, and consequently improved 
 by the gentler teachings and gentler influence of his amia- 
 ble and pleasing wife, certainly promises not to relapse into 
 his old misanthropic ways, and is in a fair way to renounce 
 entirely his fault-finding and grumbling habits, which is con- 
 sidered by his friends as quite miraculous, and a vast im- 
 provement in that gentleman's character. 
 
 Mrs. Sanderson has sold the old house, and bitterly she 
 deplored at the time the necessity of such a proceeding ; 
 but the estate becoming, by the increase of the population 
 and growth of the city, so immensely valuable, she became 
 a most wealthy widow instanter, and immediately received 
 several proffers of marriage, containing the usual hypocrit- 
 ical protestations of affection with which fortune-hunters 
 attack ladies of a certain age. But she was altogether too 
 wise to be snared by such stratagems, and, never forgetting 
 the husband of her young days, her beatified vision of per- 
 fectibility, she with studied dignity declined the false pre- 
 tences of her quondam adorers, thereby bestowing upon 
 them each ' a Roland for an Oliver.' 
 
 Gerald and Charley refusing decidedly any participation 
 in their mother's newly acquired wealth, begged her to pur- 
 chase a handsome house near her friends, to open it, and 
 receive them hospitably, and enjoy the good fortune which 
 85*
 
 414 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 had SO opportunely fallen upon her, and to their Avishes she 
 cheerfully acceded. 
 
 It was a long while before Peter and Dinah and Tiger 
 the third could be at all reconciled to the small square of 
 earth, to which they were consigned by this change in their 
 domicil ; indeed, these poor creatures were almost heart- 
 broken. Dinah's lamentations and interrogatories as to the 
 getting up of a washing-day in a nutshell, how the linen 
 was ever to be thoroughly dried, how she was ever again 
 to whiten a counterpane, were marvellously affecting; and 
 Peter found no space and verge for any thing. The good 
 old times were evermore in their mouths, and the gas and 
 kitchen ranges considered perfect abominations, such thor- 
 ough conservatives were they. ]\Irs. Sanderson was, at one 
 time, quite alarmed, for Dinah's health and strength seemed 
 absolutely declining; but, fortunately, there lived in the 
 neighborhood a ^Methodist clergyman of great renown 
 amongst the colored population; she happened to know him, 
 and narrating to him the sad state of her servant's mind, he 
 kindly lent himself to the dispelling and ejecting of these 
 thick-coming fancies from Miss Dinah's brain, and the good 
 creature was restored to her pristine state of equanimity. 
 3Irs. Sanderson also deeply felt the deprivation of the old 
 house and garden, and sorely wept when she bclield the 
 beautiful flowers and venerable trees struck to the earth by 
 the ruthless hands of the ' improvers.' Gerald managed to 
 transplant one of her idols clandestinely, and place it in the 
 corner of the patch she now called her own. This kind act 
 was highly ap[)rovcd by his mother, who embraced and 
 thanked him most gratefully; the tree having been one she 
 had herself planted in her girlish days. 
 
 Gerald continues to live with his mother, to live and love 
 on. It is generally believed that unrequited affection evan- 
 esces and decays, without sustenance. May not a suspicion 
 of the real truth have dawned upon his hitherto benighted 
 mind with regard to Georgiana .' This is mere conjecture ;
 
 OF BOSTON. 415 
 
 he has seen * lovers around her sighing,' and the woman 
 who still holds his affections in thrall, has waived them from 
 lier presence, and will none of them, may he not have 
 thereby conceived a suspicion that the heart of the beloved 
 one is occupied ? ' Man never is, but always to be blest.' 
 Perchance, the young lover may enjoy as great a share of 
 happiness under ' this pleasing delusion, this flattering unc- 
 tion,' as if he had really obtained the object of his idola- 
 try, and gone forth to share with her the changes and the 
 chances of this sublunary sphere. At least, what comes to 
 him henceforth in the saddened guise of sorrow's garb will 
 be endured alone, and this to many is a vast source of con- 
 tentment. To deeply impressible hearts the sharing of 
 troublous days and gloomy hours with loved ones gives no 
 consolation whatever ; they send forth the joys and pleas- 
 ures of their lives for all to share, opening wide their por- 
 tals when flooded with sunshine, but closing them fast and 
 firm when dark clouds lower. 
 
 Fortune smiles on Gerald Sanderson in all beside. He is 
 fast rising in his profession, and from principle has become 
 deeply engrossed therein ; he works, occupies himself, and 
 rejects manfully all gloomy retrospection, but he has no pleas- 
 ing hope for the future on earth. His dreams have vanished, 
 his youth is gone ; it is an old man who lives in the person 
 of the young and handsome Gerald Sanderson ; 'he has died 
 many deaths in fearing one.' This he truly believes, and 
 much more besides. But will not time, the assuager, disa- 
 buse him ? ^Vill he not be subject to its influence with his 
 fellow-men ? and time alone can tell. At any rate, there 
 is hope though he rejects it, just so long as he firmly resists, 
 ana, looking his fortunes sternly in the face, upholds himself 
 below, trusting to a higher Source above for consolation. 
 His mother! She is a guardian angel to him, in his some- 
 times fitful moods ; 'tis she who brings him home from 
 his fancied flights, which will even, though repelled and 
 scorned, still assail him. Gerald regards these visionary
 
 416 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 dreams as the source of all his misfortunes, and manfully 
 exerts himself to cast them off; he loathes them, conse- 
 quently their recurrence becomes less and less frequent, and 
 soon they will entirely disappear. Gerald's is an onward 
 and upward path ; the law an exacting mistress, rebelling 
 against all romance and castle-building. 
 
 Charles Sanderson, 'tis time to drop the Charley, now 
 that he is a respectable head of a family, is supremely 
 happy ; his lovely wife shares the felichy. The tiny bit 
 baby is so wonderful in their eyes, that they assert, twenty 
 times a day, ' there never was such a child ever before 
 seen,' and no one openly contradicts them, though Miss Tid- 
 marsh declares aside that all babies are hideous, and this 
 one particularly so. Mr. Johnstone is enchanted with this 
 novelty, and is only puzzled to know what to give the little 
 creature. He is, however, constantly ordering silver cups 
 and whistles, and other knicknacks ; and he lives much more 
 with the young mother than at home, and takes lessons 
 in nursery discipline. 
 
 Mr. Meredith devotes his life to good works, in which his 
 wife, falsifying all the predictions launched forth at her mar- 
 riage, nobly assists him, eliciting the admiration of her hus- 
 band, and by far surpassing his fondest hopes and aspirations. 
 Mrs. Meredith is charmingly gay as ever, her ebullitions 
 only a little tempered by the discretion gathered from a 
 source she so entirely respects, her own most excellent 
 husband ; she never tires of well-doing. It thus appears 
 that a judicious direction of her enthusiastic spirit into 
 proper channels, has completed and perfected what, under 
 other circumstances, might have proved a very unequal 
 character, to say the least. Watched and guided, she gives 
 a fair promise of becoming a most superior woman ; the 
 performance of her parochial duties being really extraordi- 
 nary. She always declares, in her usual frank manner, that 
 it was the most blessedly fortunate period of her life, when 
 Mr. Meredith turned his loving eyes to the thoughtless and
 
 OF BOSTON. 417 
 
 inconsiderate Dolly. Mr. and Mrs. Barclay regard Mr. 
 Meredith as the benefactor of their child, and fully appre- 
 ciate the remarkable change he has effected in her charac- 
 ter. Mr. Meredith declares, however, that the germs of all 
 this excellence were lying hidden, requiring only to be 
 brought forth through the affections, and that his wife is 
 becoming every day more and more discreet and matronly ; 
 in which opinion his fastidious parish fully concur. 
 
 Robert Redmond has returned home, bringing with him 
 his wife, who proves a most agreeable addition to the society 
 of his native city ; his young sister, very much improved by 
 her travels ; and his mother with such a wardrobe ! and an 
 incomparable lady's maid. Mrs. Redmond is now more 
 helpless than ever, but she has no housekeeping. Mrs. 
 Robert takes that incumbrance off her hands, if any it ever 
 were, and the above mentioned French soubrette keeps her 
 most artistically and critically arrayed in the last Parisian 
 fashions; and by dint of keeping up an eternal chattering 
 in her mistress's ears, has taught her a curious admixture of 
 broken French ; and she wades through interminable vol- 
 umes of George Sand, Eugene Sue, and Alexander Dumas 
 in their original tongue, no longer discussing the transla- 
 tions, and all this she gained by her foreign tour. 
 
 Mrs. Dionysius Hornblower followed her family shortly 
 after. There never was too much of the little Benedict 
 before his marriage, and that event had apparently ab- 
 stracted an integrant part of his outer man ; for such a 
 nonentity, morally and physically, had never before been 
 exhibited. But he was a Southerner, and finding the snow 
 wreaths taller than himself, and that many people thought 
 his syntax required reforming, he, for the first time in his 
 marital condition, ' spoke out,' and avowed his fixed deter- 
 mination to leave Boston. Tliis was asserted, to be sure, 
 with fear and trembling, but still the mighty words were 
 uttered, and Jane feared the consequences to her frail part- 
 ner if she remained; so she left and emigrated to Florida.
 
 418 THE BARCLAYS 
 
 Johnny Barclay, now an aspirant for high-heel " boots, 
 says that, if Mr. Hornblower has found a wife, he thinks 
 his own chance is not a bad one, and shall govern himself 
 accordingly. 
 
 Mr. Gordon has just been elected to a high official station, 
 which gratifies his wife immensely, and himself not a little. 
 Mrs. Rosevelt still continues firm in the faith that sailor's 
 wives are the happiest women in the world. 
 
 Captain Williams received from the Italian woman's 
 husband a most grateful letter, and a present in money, 
 which vastly reconciled Mrs. Betsy to that person, whom, by 
 the bye, she has never seen, and never wishes to behold. 
 
 And Georgiana Seaton, will she marry Gerald Sander- 
 son ? This is a question so often mooted in her circle that 
 it is worn threadbare, and yet is of constant recurrence. 
 The shade of the lost husband too frequently passes between 
 the young and widowed creature and her lover, overwhelm- 
 ing her with sorrow, all the more heavily since she feels 
 obliged to conceal it. It is, in fact, a mixed emotion ; an 
 undefined sentiment which prevents the entire expansion of 
 Georgiana's love for Gerald. She acknowledges this love to 
 herself and her mother, but at the same time protests she 
 can never marry the object of her affection. She declares 
 that a passion so pure and disinterested as his, demands the 
 possession of a virgin heart, a first love; and that she 
 cannot bestow, and she does not believe that her lover would 
 rest satisfied with what she can offer in return for the wealth 
 of affection which he would lavish upon her, however he 
 might be persuaded to the contrary ; but that time would 
 certainly disabuse him of his illusions, and inevitable un- 
 happiness would ensue. 
 
 We must all, she thinks, have in this world something to 
 love and cherish. She has her parents, her family, and 
 friends ; her interests will in time all centre completely in 
 these attractive objects, and Gerald Sanderson will find a 
 partner to share his lot who can entirely respond to his
 
 OF BOSTON. 419 
 
 ardent and enthusiastic nature ; whereas with himself there 
 would be an aching void in his breast, a rankling wound^ 
 hidden, at first, but ever ready to be probed to the quick at 
 the slightest suspicion of a diminution of her affection. To 
 this conclusion she has come at last, that marriage is not an 
 all-important and essential portion of woman's happiness. 
 There are other fields in which to seek it, and those should 
 be tried in all cases where doubts and fears predominate. 
 No shadow should ever fall upon the marriage vow. 
 
 But above all, she religiously believes that having deviated 
 from the path of rectitude, having erred in her relations with 
 her beloved parents, she is bound to make all possible expi- 
 ation and devote her life to them. She has then decided^ 
 irrevocably, she thinks, that she shall not unite her destiny 
 with the man of her choice ; and when a New England 
 woman comes to a fixed determination conscientiously, there 
 is little room for change. Upon other grounds, opinions and 
 high resolves may be susceptible of variation, but a resolu- 
 tion based upon such all-dominant principles as conscience 
 and duty combined, is sure to be considered as indestructi- 
 ble ; and it may be then fairly concluded, that, clinging to 
 her own happy home, the young creature, whose trials have 
 engrossed a large portion of this simple Boston story, will 
 forever remain the affectionately devoted daughter, Georgi- 
 ana Seaton.
 
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