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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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