Year: 1875

Al an carry pefl0d In my HE IL became
my lot to play the bachelor, and to live in
true bachelor quarters in the gray old uni
versity on Washington Square, in New
York. had given myself up, soul and
body, to the law, and yet had preserved
enough romanticism to make it requisite
that should fit up my apartments (such
as they were) in an elegant, half-gloomy
fashion, and that ample provision should
be made for my friends, whom | already
regarded as my prospective clients. To
aid me in this undertaking, l sought the
advice of my Aunt Catherine, a lady for
whom had always felt profound love
and admiration. She was only too glad
to assist me, and she brought all her long
tried taste and experience toibear at once.
She purchased my carpets and curtains,
and superintended the arrangement of my
furniture with as much solicitude as If she
herself were about to come and inhabit
the place with me. She lived at a country
house some eight miles out OF the city, in
Westchester, but she never failed to drive
in on each day, and in spite of all wealth
ers, to look alter my concerns. She
moved about here and there, very often in
the midst of dusty and frigid atmos-
phere, and made close inspections of all
things that came in from the furnishers,
and gave her good advice on all matters,
important and trivial. Besides the graft
tude | felt for this practical interest,
quickly learned to value the hallowing of
my abode, which seemed to be the result
OF her presence in it. Her life had been a
sad one. and. as grew older. and conse-
quently more appreciative of sorrow, my
regard for her grew stronger and more
intelligent. While she was. yet young
girl she had been almost forcibly separated
from man whom she passiOnately loved,
and was compelled. by those thousand
compulsions that ambitious parents find it
possible to use, to marry one for whom
she had but little respect and no affection.
Her life was wretched in the extreme,
though the united fortunes made it posi-
Bile for her to move hither and thither all
over the world, and to try all pleasures in
the attempt to assuage her pain. This at
tempt utterly failed. She found that it
was impossible to eradicate from her
heart and mind the memory of one to
whom she had looked for all the happi-
ness that might be allotted to her on earth.
That she struggled faithfully, and that she
recognized the absolute necessity of the
struggle, | have no doubt; but neither
have ] any doubt that the daily, nay.
hourly, contest that was waged in her
bosom for over twenty years was as mighty
and as heart-rending as any ever fought in
the privacy of q human breast.


AT the end of these twenty years her
husband died. leaving her childless. She
returned to the neighborhood of her old
home, and my father surrendered to her
the estate which he had held for her in
trust. 1t was at this period that came to
know her well. and that there grew up
between us the affection that | so highly
priced, and that afforded me so much good
guidance.


The physical effects of her long trial
were at once sad and inspiring. Although
she was but forty-three years of age, she
seemed to be fifty. Her hair was very
gray. her face was very pale and very
spiritual, and in her eyes and about her
mouth there had gathered the fine traces
of sweet but deeply-seated melancholy.
Her figure was still erect, and she bore
herself with grace that seemed to me to
be the utmost refinement of motion.
could not look upon her without feeling a
sense of ennoblement, and every moment
that passed in reflection upon her almost
lifelong prlyation aroused me more and
more to a sense of its terrible distress


1t was the continual cleaning of the
warmth of her heart through the mourn
fulness of her face that made her seem an
gelc. At those moments when she per-
ceived that she could perform some gra-
cious and generous act, a faint flush would
overspread her almost luminous cheeks,
her eyes would become darker and larger,
and her lips would part over her white
teeth in smile that was so sweet and so
thoroughly responsive that, having once
felt its influence, one never forgot it,


What wonder was it, then, that | was
able to fancy that my rooms and their fit
tings were sanctified by the mere pres
ence of this finest of womenp | recall
her wildly as she walked slowly about on
her last inspection. clad, as was her hab-
it, in black, with her heavy veil drawn
from her face with one hand, turning her
head from this corner to that in mute con-
demnation and approval


Nothing escaped her; the rugs, the few
pieces of old fashioned furniture, the black
wall cabinet, with its spare collections of
china; the easy chairs, the iron-work at
the fireplace. the sketches ON the walls
all passed under review, and she was
pleased. The rare, warm smile came in
to her face once more as she stopped be-
fore me. and in her gentle way put out
both her hands.


"At last" said she, "you have home
of your own. 1t is all ready for you; you
have only to lock the door behind me
when 60 out, and then you will be mas
ter"


fixed my eyes upon her in silence.
could say nothing. | felt that with the
marking of this epoch for me there had
returned to her sharp realization of her
own sorrow.


Still she tried to look happy. She passed
me quite rapidly, and followed her. As
we crossed the threshold she paused and
said, in trembling voice.


"Dear Chris, make your rooms haven
for those among your friends whom you
find restless and unless and unhappy.
Make them sure that within your walls
they will find little comfort whenever
they may want it. l am sure you will
Chris"


l was still more incapable of speaking
than ever, and she did not ask for a reply
Perhaps she saw one in my look; ii sht
did, it satisfied her, for she suddenly
pressed my hand, and. drawing her vel
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