N D U R A 
 
 B. P. MOORE 
 
GIFT -OF 
 
ENDURA; 
 
 OR, 
 
 Three Generations, 
 
 A NEW ENGLAND ROMANCE 
 
 KY 
 
 B. P. MOORE. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO: 
 
 GOLDEN ERA COMPANY, 
 
 712 MONTGOMERY ST. 
 
 1885. 
 
All rights reserved. 
 GOLDEN ERA COMPANY. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 We often hear of immense fortunes being left in Europe, the heirs to which are 
 supposed to be in America. In some few instances the fortunes have been 
 secured by the legitimate heirs, but usually the great difficulty is in collecting 
 money enough to prosecute the claim to a successful termination, there being 
 such a lack of harmony and unanimity among the claimants, each one being 
 afraid that he or she will contribute more than his or her share; or, what is just 
 as likely, the heirs may be too poor to pay out money upon such a venture, so 
 that in the end all efforts are abandoned, and, in time, the whole matter is for 
 gotten. 
 
 It is no uncommon thing to take up a newspaper and read an advertisement, 
 that Smith, or Jones will hear something to his interest by communicating with 
 Black & White, attorneys-at-law, street and number So-and-so. The aforesaid 
 Smith or Jones may never turn up, and, consequently, the world is left in igno 
 rance as to what he may have been wanted for. True it is that hundreds of for 
 tunes have been lost by parsimony and neglect. Where there is apathy or lack 
 of enthusiasm there is lack of enterprise, and not much can be expected to be 
 accomplished. 
 
 It became necessary for some one to furnish the money to prosecute the claim 
 in the Iver s case, and as the family was poor, it would have been impossible for 
 them to do it. Even if they had had means sufficient, without some clew, it would 
 have been the height of folly to have spent money upon a matter so uncertain. 
 
 The author conceived the idea of making a rascal, unwittingly, furnish the sin 
 ews of war, with the full hope and expectation of enjoying the fortune, as the 
 result which was accomplished, according to the following story, would never 
 have been reached if a great many heirs had been interested and consulted. It 
 was a great stake for a gambler to play for, and, had not Providence interfered, 
 he might have won. Such an accident as the friend of the family s discovering the 
 fraud, could easily have happened. Eut it was a great question with the author, 
 as to whether the lawyers who had the case in charge, having received retaining fees 
 and large amounts of money from time to time, could honorably abandon his 
 interests, even though the conviction was forced upon them that he was an 
 impostor. 
 
 The author consulted a number of able attorneys upon the subject, whose 
 opinions differed greatly. And there appeared to be no better way out of the 
 dilemma than that the impostor, himself, should be put out of the way ; and 
 nothing was more natural than that his accomplice should be the one to make 
 way with him, when said accomplice became convinced that he had been robbed 
 and fooled by the cunning rascal. 
 
 The scenes are laid in New England and in France. The first of the localities 
 
the author is familiar with, and as much as it pains him to admit the decay of 
 old New England country homes, he is compelled to do so. And that parsi 
 mony and bigotry have had much to do with its decline, he fully believes; which, 
 with the lack of new blood coming in, and many of the more enterprising young 
 men going away to newer fields, have all contributed to its decline. 
 
 The characters which have been described in this volume may be seen to-day 
 in any of the country towns of New England. And it is sad to contemplate, 
 but they are growing worse and worse as the land produces less and less. 
 
 Wherever a railroad goes, goes life and enterprise. But like a great tree 
 with far-reaching roots, it draws from the country around the young men 
 who were wont to till the soil. They work upon the road, or hang around the sta 
 tions, waiting for something to turn up, while the plow rusts and the fences go un 
 repaired. 
 
 But we believe the time will come when our old homes will be reinhabited and 
 the old fields recultivated, and youth and beauty once more gather around the 
 hearth ; when the beautiful and romantic nooks will be selected for the homes 
 of those seeking health and pleasure among the woods and green fields ; where 
 the brown thrush sings at dawn, and the whip-poor-will at dusk, and babbling 
 brooks run on forever. 
 
EN DURA:" 
 
 OR, 
 
 THREE GENERATIONS. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SETTLER. 
 
 " Nature I ll court, in her sequested haunts, 
 
 By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or cell, 
 Where the pois d lark his evening ditty chants, 
 And health, and peace, and contemplation dwell." 
 
 Smollet s Ode to Independence. 
 
 WE will lead you through uncertain paths, over stone walls 
 buried beneath the debris and mould of ages, by the side 
 of stream-beds that were once gurgling brooks, through tangled 
 brushwood and brambles where once the smooth path led to a 
 neighboring house, the path now choked and lost, except to him 
 whose childish feet were wont to stray therein. Near this path 
 was once a quaint old house of which naught remains but a pile 
 of rough stones with plastered chinks a crumbling monument 
 of the builder long since forgotten. This old chimney brings 
 to mind a long train of recollections, some sweet, some bitter. 
 
 Here lived, long ago, the hardy tiller of the now worn-out 
 soil. These hills once echoed to the sound of the woodman s 
 axe, as it cleft the great oaks which have given place to their 
 stinted successors that at present cumber the ground. Each 
 generation seems to have scraped closer and closer to the bone, 
 until it is almost bare, and to-day the sturdy farmer barely 
 gathers the pittance which suffices to feed and poorly clothe his 
 growing family. We know it was not always thus; comparative 
 wealth was once found even here. 
 
 The lines by Oliver Goldsmith, upon Old England, written a 
 century and a quarter since, are to-day just as applicable to 
 New England: 
 
2 ENDURA I OR, 
 
 * t* -A time tkera w,a$, O~e England s griefs began, 
 
 *- When QTeiiyjrbpd^of ground maintained its man; 
 - ... ^io r him. light labor spread her wholesome store, 
 
 -* "- f i * : ^^^ gjave what ]fie req[uir d, but gave no more ; 
 His test co mj&hic hs innocence and health, 
 And his best riches, ignorance of wealth." 
 
 Indeed, the whole poem, "The Deserted Village," might well 
 have been written for many a village in New England to-day. 
 About the time the above lines were written, the agricultural 
 interests of America were in their infancy, and yet, we might 
 almost say, the Eastern States had reached their most happy, if 
 not their most prosperous, stage. It is certain that the same 
 amount of land supported fully four times as many inhabitants 
 then as it does to-day; and who shall say that there was not 
 more real happiness throughout that particular section of the 
 country than there is at the present time? Comfortable homes, 
 thrift and prosperity, where to-day is penury and parsimony. 
 Indeed, it behooves the inhabitants who still remain at these old 
 homes to-be prudent, if not parsimonious, and it is little wonder 
 if they have grown mean and bigoted amid the general decay. 
 
 The hardy settlers of the New England States have a record 
 that their descendants have never attained a record for succeed 
 ing in the face of disaster and discouragement that the bravest 
 and the best may well emulate. The forests became meadows, the 
 apple-tree took the place of the oak, and corn-fields covered the 
 hillsides and the valleys. The domain was sub-divided, line 
 fences were built, stone walls gradually replaced the chestnut 
 rails, with gaps and bar-ways here and there, from one field to 
 another; crops were rotated, the meadow became a cornfield, and 
 then the potato-vines covered the ground, and then the oats were 
 scattered and grew apace with the clover, the redtop and the 
 herd-grass planted and taking root at the same time, so that the 
 fourth year it became a meadow again. All seasons had 
 their charms, and the happy husbandman was grateful for all 
 the spring that brought buds and promise, the summer with its 
 fruits, and the autumn with its abundance, while winter brought 
 rest and social enjoyments. The light work necessary to be 
 done was a recreation. While the farmer did his indoor work, 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 3 
 
 the good wife carded and spun, and wove or knitted, as the 
 case might be, while the children studied or ate the apples and 
 nuts which they had helped to gather ere the earth became 
 bound in its icy chains. 
 
 It was in the latter part of the last century, when the good people 
 of good old New England were enjoying all that a contented, happy 
 people could possibly enjoy, that a young man came into the thriving 
 
 town of S and purchased a small tract of woodland, with a 
 
 small clearing, which seemed most prolific of rocks and cobblestones. 
 A pretty little stream went singing on over the rocks, and through the 
 lowlands; now laughing in the sunshine; now plunging down into the 
 crystal pool beneath; now hidden in the wild grass that grew by its 
 side; anon, coqueting with the slender twigs of the willow that bent to 
 kiss it as it passed; still singing its beautiful song 
 
 " Men may come, and men may go; 
 But I go on forever." 
 
 Jeremiah Ivers concluded to cast his lot amid scenes like these. 
 His cabin, or hut, as it really was, was built after the style of the In 
 dian wigwam, by standing poles on end, leaning together at the top, 
 with a small aperture through which the smoke from the fire, which 
 was built in the center, was expected to find its way, after blinding for 
 the time the tenant who was kept in-doors by the inclemency of the 
 weather. 
 
 A large, flat stone, standing on end, was supposed to represent the 
 fire-place, while from long poles suspended from the top were 
 hung the pot-hooks and trammels, well gauged to accommodate the 
 fire that was to boil the water and cook the food. Upon either side 
 were spaces alloted for household utensils, for a general storehouse, 
 and for a bunk, or bunks, as the case might be. Some saplings, tied 
 together with withes, calked and lined with flags, or grass, constituted 
 the door, which fastened on the inside by a latch, with a strong 
 leather strap passing through a hole to the outside, so that by pulling 
 the string, or strap, the latch would be raised and one could enter 
 hence, the saying of the latch-string being out to a friend. At night 
 the string was pulled in, and so the door was fastened. Jerry Ivers 
 took great interest and pride in his hut, and when it was completed, 
 with its bunk of clean, dry leaves and glowing coals of fire, it pre- 
 
4 ENDURA I OR, 
 
 sented an air of comfort that a tired man might well covet. Gradual 
 ly a shed was erected, well thatched with leaves and mud. In good 
 time a cow and a pig were added, when another tenement was 
 erected. Soon turkeys and chickens and geese and ducks were 
 seen around the isolated habitation. They made their nests, and laid 
 their eggs, and hatched their young, and multiplied, and young Ivers 
 was almost happy. 
 
 True, wild animals would sometimes raid his hen-roosts, or destroy 
 his young turkeys; but he was content to raise three-quarters of 
 what the old ones brought from their nests. From chopping and 
 grubbing came plowing and sowing, when cattle or horses became 
 necessary. By trading and bartering, the young farmer at length 
 became the happy possessor of a pair of steers. Two-year-old calves 
 could scarcely be called oxen; but it was wonderful what the tough 
 little creatures could do, and they grew as they worked until they 
 were indeed oxen; and well repaid their owner s care and attention. 
 
 One by one the implements of husbandry were brought to the 
 settlement. Carts, plows, harrows, etc., were made and taken care of, 
 until scarcely a thing was needed for successful farming, as farming 
 was conducted at that time. 
 
 Mr. Ivers began to feel that his hut had done its work, and that a 
 modest house could be built with little expense other than his own 
 labor. He could exchange work with others who lived but a few 
 miles distant; and thus he could get assistance for doing the raising 
 and heavier part of the building. When it was enclosed with rough 
 boards, he rived and shaved the shingles for the entire outside and 
 roof, and in due course of time he put them on. 
 
 When the outside was finished he turned his attention to the in 
 terior, which required rather more skill than the exterior. A carpen 
 ter was employed for a few days, with whose help the house soon 
 became habitable. At first a few benches and a rough table were all 
 the furniture the mansion could boast of. Half a dozen splint-bottom 
 chairs were soon added without paint or polish. Then a fall-leaf 
 table of curled maple, and then a bedstead corded and pinned, with 
 a good under-bed of clean rye-straw, and that old-time New England 
 luxury, the feather-bed, completed the outfit. It appeared to the young 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 5 
 
 man that his house was almost complete. There was one thing 
 wanting, and that was a wife. 
 
 In his native town, ten miles away, there was a substantial, sensible 
 girl waiting, we do not know how patiently, to fill the void. The 
 fondest hopes of the young man had been realized, and he was 
 anxious for the girl he loved to enjoy the home he had provided for 
 her. When such a home was the best, ambition could ask no more. 
 They might have dreamed of palaces, but they were not for them, and 
 they were content. Four snug rooms were sufficient, as they to each 
 other were all in all. 
 
 The above is no fancy sketch, nor is it an isolated instance of 
 thrift and enterprise in New England a hundred years ago; and 
 to-day, in the far West, there are thousands of cases which might 
 fairly be mistaken for the one we have depicted. Such men as 
 Jerry Ivers can be found in any new country, and the child is yet 
 unborn who shall tell his tale a hundred years hence. 
 
 Our young farmer rapidly grew in importance and wealth. Acres 
 and acres were added gradually to his domain, until Squire Ivers 
 was the undisputed owner of the largest farm in the county. 
 
 About this time a son was born unto him, and there appeared to 
 be a treble incentive to work. Mrs. Ivers, who had, until now, been 
 able to do most of the work, found it necessary to have help, and a 
 young girl, the daughter of a neighboring farmer, was engaged to do 
 housework, for which she was to receive $i a week, which was 
 considered good pay; and so it was, when she could get a calico 
 dress made for $i, without the aid of the sewing-machine; and, as 
 few wore silk, it was as good as the average. Besides assisting Mrs. 
 Ivers with the work of the house, the servant had time to do many 
 little jobs for herself, as well as some fancy needle-work, or knit a 
 purse for her young man, who thought as much of it as young men 
 of the present day do of their gorgeous dressing-gowns or brocaded 
 slippers. The young folks were quite as happy, and far more con 
 tented, than they are to-day in the same walks of life. They had 
 their huskings, their quiltings, their apple-cuts or paring-bees, and 
 their parties, at which they played plays or danced their country 
 dances. 
 
 The paring-bees were conducted by the young people altogether. 
 
ENDURA: OR, 
 
 A quantity of apples were provided, which were to be pared and 
 quartered and strung upon strings, to be hung in the sun to dry. 
 Needles were not so plenty that they could be afforded for such 
 work, so it became necessary to improvise some, which was done by 
 bending a piece of wire to make an eye through which to put the 
 strong thread that was to hold the quartered apples. Some young 
 man in the surrounding country was usually the owner of a paring- 
 machine, and his was often the hardest work. In fact, he was 
 quite a lion. The girls would gather around him and clamor for the 
 fairest and best apples, and when an apple was pared and the peel 
 fell unbroken, it served as a fortune-teller, until too many fortunes 
 broke it in twain. As the evening wore on, other amusements were 
 introduced. Not infrequently would a stray core or a quarter of an 
 apple bring up against the head of some presumptuous fellow, and 
 no one would know from whence it came. A sharp lookout would 
 be kept for the daring miss who threw it, and it often happened 
 that the core of an apple, well aimed, was as effective as Cupid s 
 fabled arrows. 
 
 After the work of the evening was accomplished, which was 
 usually about eight o clock, the debris was cleared away, the aprons 
 and over-dresses removed, and the business began in good earnest. 
 Games were played, fortunes were told, songs were sung, and general 
 joy prevailed until the refreshments were brought in. The refresh 
 ments usually consisted of cakes and candies and new cider. 
 Philopenas were eaten and forfeits made. All sorts of punishments 
 were contrived that the witty could suggest or that the more daring 
 would attempt to execute from making a "sailor s jacket," which 
 was a kind of twisted kissing, or of going to Jerusalem, which was a 
 wickedly-designed punishment, obliging the criminal to go the round 
 of the room, kissing all the girls present. Some would have lingered 
 long by the way, but the pilgrimage must be made, and woe to the 
 love-lorn knight that rested too long in the bower of some favorite 
 beauty. The ring plays were much in vogue, and a willing hand 
 has often remained upon the cord while some favorite touched it, 
 with little effort; and then the kiss, and the changing places she to 
 the center of the ring, while the lucky fellow was marked for the 
 prey of some other fairy. Some would stray away into quiet corners 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 7 
 
 and whisper love, and live, for one short hour, in bliss, to be 
 awakened at last to the sad reality that they must part, as part they 
 do, when the lateness of the hour admonishes them that morning 
 soon will dawn. 
 
 How many have dreamed that brief and happy dream ! Who 
 can say? Thousands who have never realized what they so fondly 
 hoped for. Some were separated forever, and others, who were 
 allowed to possess their heart s idol, have lived to bless the day 
 when a stray apple-core decided their fate. 
 
 Those were, indeed, halcyon days for New England. 
 
 " These were thy charms, sweet village. Sports like these, 
 With sweet succession, taught e en toil to please. 
 These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed ; 
 These were thy charms but all these charms are fled." 
 
 In writing about New England, we wish to be understood to refer 
 to the country, and the small villages, which have both deteriorated 
 and fallen to decay within less than half a century. Whatever the 
 larger towns and cities may have absorbed, we cannot say; but we 
 know that the country is no longer what it was fifty years ago; and 
 what must it have been one hundred years before, when it was in its 
 glory? History alone can tell us. 
 
ENDURA : OR, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CROWNED WITH HONOR. 
 
 The honors of a name tis just to guard ; 
 They are a trust, but lent us, which we take, 
 And should, in reverence to the donor s fame, 
 With care transmit them down to other hands. 
 
 Shirley. 
 
 various town-offices were heaped upon Mr. Ivers as long as he 
 JL would consent to acccept them. When he pleaded his inability to 
 give an office the proper attention, he was persuaded to take it against 
 his better judgment. He was Town Clerk, Overseer of the High-ways, 
 Justice of the Peace, Overseer of the Poor, and general candidate for 
 any office which his constituents thought best to thrust upon him. 
 He had been a soldier in the War of the Revolution, and some of 
 his military ardor still clung to him. From Corporal to Captain he 
 soon arose to be the General commanding the militia, which held its 
 annual muster once a year, every fall, when the General appeared in 
 all his glory, bedecked with his trappings of gold and silver tinsel. 
 Then he was, indeed, a great man, and looked up to by all the coun 
 try around. The old admired and the young were fired to emulate. 
 By the unsophisticated boy he was looked upon as a superior being, 
 almost as a God. 
 
 When it so happened that a young, single man arose from the 
 ranks to the saddle, he was the envy of his fellows, and the idol of 
 the fair sex. Gradually, as Walter Ivers grew in years, his father laid 
 his honors aside, holding one or two offices, however, until the day 
 of his death; which did not occur until four-score years were added 
 to his days, before which Walter was capable of filling his position, 
 so that the Ivers place was still in good hands. 
 
 Walter was not in all respects like his father. He had been 
 brought up in a different school, but still he had many of his 
 characteristics. He was persevering and speculative, where his father 
 had been conservative and prudent. He was a genial companiom 
 and, being wealthy, was naturally looked upon as one of the foremost 
 men of the country. Honors sat lightly upon him. He seemed to 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 9 
 
 take them up as his father had laid them down. Having been edu 
 cated in a different school from that of his father, it was natural that 
 he should have imbibed different ideas, more generous and enlarged. 
 In fact, his tendencies were to extravagance. He had plenty of 
 everything that heart could wish before his father died. Scarcely 
 anything was denied him, even as a boy. His mother indulged him 
 as a child, and, being an only child, his father idolized him, 
 and granted him almost every request. When he was about twenty 
 years of age an event occurred in the neighborhood, which caused 
 quite a ripple upon the smooth current of the time. A mysterious 
 gentleman and his family came to settle in a distant town. It was 
 understood that he was a Frenchman; but he, with his wife and 
 daughter, spoke English fluently, and they were soon accepted as 
 friends and citizens; and, by the better class, courted for their refine 
 ment and gentility. The gentleman s name was Louis Dubrow, and 
 his daughter was called Annette. Madame Dubrow was a tall, dark, 
 commanding woman, not beautiful nor yet plain. There was a 
 quiet dignity about her that seemed to impress one with her superior 
 ity; always polite, often coldly so. 
 
 Her home was better furnished than her neighbors . Articles 
 of virtu were scattered here and there throughout the house, which 
 was large and rather imposing elegant vases, some bronzes, some 
 rare pictures, some old portraits, old china, silver with mysterious 
 hieroglyphics, and linen with very odd letters deftly wrought 
 upon it by the hand of an artist. 
 
 There were also some elaborately-wrought pieces of antique 
 tapestry, kept most sacred. Mr. Dubrow purchased the place from 
 an old Revolutionary soldier, and it was said he paid a good round 
 price for it, which was mostly paid in English sovereigns and French 
 gold. He was not a good farmer, and, although he had one of the 
 best farms in the State, he did not seem to prosper, but rather to go 
 behind. He did little or no work himself, and the help he employed 
 appeared to do pretty much as they liked. They were well paid, 
 and liked their master, seeming to think that there was no bottom to 
 his money-bags. He sold very little produce, and purchased every 
 thing for himself and his family in town, where he had an account. 
 He neglected his buildings and his crops, and soon the once 
 
io ENDURA: OR, 
 
 beautiful farm showed the neglect. His wife did not appear to 
 realize what the end would be, but lived as though the fountain 
 could never run dry. Annette partook something of her mother s 
 characteristics, but, physically, she was of an entirely different type. 
 She was a decided blonde, of perfect mould, but rather slender. 
 Her eyes were of a dark blue, and danced as she spoke, especially if 
 she happened to be a little excited, which was not very often the 
 case. Her features were rather Grecian, but modified, still not 
 approaching the Roman. She had perfect hands and feet, which 
 were always daintily dressed. Indeed, all her dressing was faultless, 
 and showed to the very best advantage a figure which nature had 
 lavished so much on that art could add but little. Her acquaint 
 ance was much sought by the young men of the country, who 
 pretended to be the fashionable representatives of the place. Young 
 Ivers, among . the rest, sought the beautiful stranger, and became 
 enamored of her at first sight. But he met with so many repulses 
 that he became almost discouraged, until an event occurred which 
 seemed to open up a way for his success. Mr. Dubrow became 
 greatly embarrassed, which fact came to the ears of young Ivers, who 
 requested his father to assist him by indorsing his note. 
 But Squire Ivers preferred himself to advance the money, 
 taking a mortgage upon Mr. Dubrow s farm for the amount. About 
 this time there was a bank incorporated, of which Jeremiah Ivers 
 was president, and his son cashier. The salary was not large, but 
 young Ivers felt that he could indulge in more luxuries than he would 
 otherwise have thought of doing. Perhaps the noble instincts of the 
 young man may have prompted him to assist the embarrassed 
 farmer. Be that as it may, the assistance was gladly granted, and 
 quite as gladly accepted. 
 
 During the negotiations, Walter Ivers was frequently called to the 
 home of the Dubrows, which, in a measure, gave him the advantage 
 over other suitors for the hand of the daughter. Some of these 
 young men were of more aristocratic pretentions, and, it was thought 
 by the knowing ones, more acceptable to the young lady s 
 father. But Walter appeared to thrive in his suit, and all bid fair for 
 a speedy consummation. The first loan was soon followed by a 
 second, and soon a third was applied for; but Ivers, Sr., did not 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. I I 
 
 consider the security gilt-edged, and declined any further advance, 
 which brought matters to a climax. The valuable property was 
 deeded to Mr. Ivers, and Mr. Dubrow and family were allowed to 
 remain as tenants. In the meantime, Annette had become more 
 and more interested in the smart young American, until the time 
 was fixed when they were to be married. 
 
 Unexpectedly, it was announced that Mr. Dubrow was to sell all 
 his personal property at public auction. There was no reason given 
 for the sudden determination, and upon the day set all his movables 
 were so disposed of, with the exception of a few, which were boxed 
 up and shipped to the city, where the ex-farmer immediately followed 
 them with his wife and daughter. 
 
 At the time the above transpired, communication between the 
 different sections of the country was not as rapid as at present. It 
 sometimes took ten days for the mail to reach Boston from New 
 York, and the telegraph was unheard of. 
 
 The sudden departure of the Dubrows filled the mind of young 
 Ivers with distrust and alarm, and the mouths of the gossipers with 
 something to talk about. Walter was troubled to think that his 
 affianced wife should depart without one line or word informing him 
 of her destination or address. He waited anxiously for many days 
 before a letter came, post-marked New York. He knew the hand 
 writing, and eagerly opened it, to have his hopes dashed to the 
 ground ; for, instead of the expected loving letter from his heart s 
 idol, there were but a few lines in a strange hand, as follows : 
 
 NEW YORK, Sept. 10, 18-. 
 
 DEAR WALTER : There is no opportunity for me to write un 
 observed, so I am obliged to sign my name to a blank, and dictate, 
 in apparent disinterested conversation, what I wish you to know. 
 We sail for Liverpool in two hours. Papa is now engaged in send 
 ing our luggage on board, and does not observe me in conversation 
 with one of the hotel servants, by the name of Katy Freeman, who 
 has kindly offered to write what I shall dictate. I will write on 
 board ship, and contrive some way for it to reach you. I am almost 
 distracted, but must appear calm to allay suspicion. When I reach 
 he other side, I will write and tell you how and where to address me. 
 Until then, believe me to be your sorrowing ANNETTE. 
 
12 , ENDURA: OR, 
 
 \Vhen Walter saw her name at the bottom of the page, written in 
 such evident haste, he nearly burst with rage, realizing for the first 
 time that he had been duped by the wily Frenchman. He deter 
 mined to go immediately to New York and see and converse with 
 the young woman who had so faithfully acted her part. 
 
 He did not inform his father of his intended trip, until a few 
 hours before his departure, and then that old gentleman was told for 
 the first time of the treachery of the man they had befriended, and 
 of the unkind treatment of his daughter upon his account. Mr. 
 Ivers did not say, "Do not go," but, on the contrary, intimated that 
 he would accompany him, which the young man would not consent 
 to, on account of his mother, who, he said, would be so lonely if 
 both were away. It was finally settled that Walter should go alone. 
 His father gave him a letter to a friend in the city, with what money 
 he required, and, bidding adieu to his mother, he set out with his 
 father for the place where he was to take the stage. It soon came 
 along, and Walter was fairly on his way to the great city, where, for a 
 time, we will leave him, while we look up some more of the characters 
 which are to play parts in the drama being enacted. 
 
 The town of S , in the early part of the present century, did not 
 
 greatly differ from what it is to-day, as far as its tendency to gossip, 
 and the most unimportant matter was often magnified into astonish 
 ing proportions. It was soon noised about that Mr. Dubrow had 
 run away, owing Squire Ivers a large amount of money. Some said 
 ten thousand dollars ; others set it as high as twenty thousand, or 
 more. At one time it was whispered around that it would bank 
 rupt him; and some few who had a little money in the bank drew 
 it out, in anticipation of a collapse of that institution, in consequence 
 of the great drafts made upon it by the president, to bridge over his 
 great loss. They were surprised that the bank did not suspend, and, 
 after weeks of uncertainty and anxiety, they stealthily took back 
 what they had drawn out so unceremoniously. 
 
 Some scandalous stories were set afloat about Walter Ivers. There 
 were those, who pretended to know, who said that Annette Dubrow 
 was not the daughter of Louis Dubrow, but a waif picked up in the 
 city, and brought out in the country for improper purposes. In 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 13 
 
 fact, that she was nothing more nor less than the mistress of Dubrow 
 himself, and that it was jealousy that prompted him to take the action 
 he did. Others said he was an escaped convict, and that mysterious 
 men had been seen watching the house, who, it was now supposed, 
 were detectives on his track, and to escape them he had fled so 
 precipitately. 
 
 Others pretended that he had run off with all the money he had 
 borrowed from Mr. Ivers, and that he was robbed and murdered on 
 the way. To give coloring to the latter theory it was related that the 
 skeleton of a man had been found at some distance from the high 
 way, in a deep cedar swamp, and that portions of the clothing found 
 near were identical with that which he had on the day before he went 
 away. 
 
 About the same time a crazy Irishman attempted to murder an 
 entire family in a neighboring village. He had been stopping with 
 the family, and it appeared that he had become very much attached 
 to them. But for some unaccountable reason, one night he procured 
 an axe, and tried to butcher them all, some five or six, all told. 
 All, with the exception of the daughter, a young woman, were 
 gashed and left for dead. She ran out of the house and fell into a 
 hole where potatoes had been buried the year before, and so escaped. 
 Strange as it may seem, though all were assailed by the same 
 deadly instrument, none were killed outright; in fact, all recovered, 
 eventually, enough so that they were able to attend to their duties, 
 and some lived to a goodly old age. 
 
 The would-be murderer never was captured, though the whole 
 neighborhood turned out with guns, axes, pitchforks clubs, and, 
 blood hounds, trying to find him. It was reported many years 
 after that a man was hanged for some crime in the far West, who 
 confessed that he murdered a family in New England, and it was 
 supposed that was the crime he alluded to. 
 
 Such facts gave coloring to the supposed taking-off of Louis 
 Dubrow. 
 
 It became gradually known that Squire Ivers had purchased the 
 Frenchman s place, and, when he offered it for sale, or to lease, other 
 theories must necessarily be proposed. Some of the baser of the 
 maligners did not hesitate to insinuate that Squire Ivers knew more 
 
14 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 about the sudden departure of the Frenchman than he was willirig to 
 admit; and one brutal fellow, who had been arrested for stealing a 
 sheep from the Squire, said he believed he had murdered Dubrow 
 himself, and sent his son away, so that he might not expose him. 
 Where ignorance reigns, suspicion and superstition run rampant. 
 So it was in this instance. One theory was no sooner disposed of 
 than another was promulgated. There was scarcely a bog or a 
 swamp in which the body of the Frenchman was not supposed by 
 some to have been buried. 
 
 It was a little strange that nothing was said of the women who had 
 disappeared at the same time. 
 
 It was now and then hinted that Walter Ivers knew where they 
 went, and at the proper time, when suspicion was allayed, he quietly 
 followed them, and that now he was living with the young one in New 
 York, or some where else, on their ill-gotten gains. The tough old 
 hard-shells did not hesitate to say to Squire Ivers that they had 
 always been afraid he had indulged his boy too much, and now they 
 hoped he could see his mistake; but that he and Mrs. Ivers should 
 have their prayers, and possibly the prodigal might return when the 
 fatted calf should be killed. 
 
 One or two of the more pious offered to pray with him in his own 
 house. He thanked them, and said he feared they were over-solic 
 itous for his good. But he did not think matters were as bad as they 
 thought, and that it would all turn out right in the end. They went 
 away sorrowing at his impenitence and lack of understanding. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Ivers was compelled to suffer more. 
 
 Some of the good sisters of the church waited upon her, and told 
 her, that though her sins were as scarlet, they could be made as white 
 as snow, if she would but believe and look to the Lord. She told 
 them that she had her household to look after, and that they must 
 excuse her. But they would not consent to let her go on and die in 
 her sins when there was a hand stretched out to save her. They 
 told her they would call next day; and, sure enough, they did, and 
 one of the deacons came with them. 
 
 He read a chapter in the New Testament, closing with the 
 twentieth verse of the thirteenth chapter, in the Gospel according to 
 St. John, as follows: "Verily, verily, I say unto you, he that re- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 15 
 
 cieveth whomsoever I send, recieveth me; and he that recieveth me, 
 receiveth Him that sent me." He closed by saying, "My dear sister, I 
 am but an humble instrument in the hands of the Almighty, to show 
 you the slippery ground upon which you stand, and to assure you 
 that, according to the text, He that receiveth me, receiveth 
 Him that sent me, " ending with a prayer asking God to not lay his 
 hand too heavily upon her, notwithstanding her sins; for, said he, "she 
 knoweth not what she doeth." Well satisfied that he had done his 
 duty, he asked her if she had any new rum in the house. Being 
 answered in the affirmative, he said he felt exhausted, and would 
 take a little before he went, which being done, he took his departure, 
 fully satisfied that he had given a quid pro quo for all he had re 
 ceived. 
 
 Walter Ivers reached New York after a tedious, stormy voyage of 
 eight and thirty hours. The packet upon which he took passage was 
 one of those staunch little schooners, built expressly for the rough 
 usage which, at times, they were sure to receive while passing 
 through the "Sound." She had weathered many a storm, and the 
 last had not been one of the least which she had encountered. But 
 she brought her passengers through safely, and Walter was not long 
 in getting upon terra firma; nor was he long in finding his way to 
 the "Knickerbocker Hotel," the house at which the Dubrows stopped 
 while in the city. 
 
 But alas for human hope and human expectations ! the bird 
 had flown. The young woman by the name of Katy Freeman could 
 not be found. 
 
 Walter ascertained that she had left the hotel some days before, 
 and no one could give him any clue to her whereabouts. At length 
 he learned, from one of the maids who knew her in the house, that 
 she had gone into the country, as she understood, to the home of her 
 parents. After much inquiry and delay, the name of the post-office 
 was discovered. Young Ivers took steps to proceed thither at once, 
 fearing delay in getting an answer to a letter, should he write one. 
 He could scarcely wait, so anxious had he become. 
 
 The stage coach usually left in the morning, and, of course, there 
 was no alternative but for him to remain over another night. 
 
 Time hung heavily on his hands and he wandered listlessly about 
 
i6 
 
 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 the streets, looking in the windows, as country people are apt to do 
 when on shopping excursions to the city. He was discovered by 
 some sharpers and followed from place to place until, straying into the 
 park, he seated himself upon one of the benches to rest. Soon a 
 respectable-looking man came and sat upon the same bench, making 
 some unimportant remark which was scarcely noticed by Walter. 
 
 Turning suddenly toward him, he asked if he was not from , 
 
 naming some place so indistinctly that Walter did not understand him. 
 Walter said he thought he had made a mistake, as he was from 
 
 S . The man begged his pardon and left. But Walter was 
 
 not lost sight of, and soon after returning to his hotel another young 
 
 man accosted him, asking him if he was from S . Walter answered 
 
 in the affirmative, when the young man casually asked how all the 
 good people were in that section, saying that he used to go there often 
 when he was a boy. He appeared to remember the people as Wal 
 ter spoke of them. He told the young man, his name and from time 
 to time during the conversation alluded to this and that affair that 
 had happened, something of which the stranger seemed to know. 
 All that Walter let drop was carefully treasured up for future use. 
 Occasionally, the young man would ask about some person of whom 
 Walter had unconsciously spoken, which so completely threw him off 
 his guard that he became quite confidential. The young man was 
 asked if he remembered a family by the name of Dubrow. He 
 acknowledged that he did not. But he gradually drew from Walter 
 enough to feel sure of his footing, and in the end he learned all he 
 wished, and he seemed to enter into Walter s feelings as though he 
 were a brother. After awhile Walter asked him if he knew Katy 
 Freeman, the young woman he was in search of. He said he knew 
 her but slightly. But he was well acquainted with her cousin, a young 
 man who lived quite near, and he would, if he wished, accompany 
 him to the place. Walter gladly accepted the offer, and they started 
 out. After going up one street and down another, they turned 
 sharply around a corner and entered a kind of saloon, where there 
 were tables and chairs scattered around promiscuously. The young 
 man went up to the counter and had some conversation with the man 
 behind it. Then he turned and went out. Soon after he came back, 
 and two men were with him. One of them was a tall, dark man, 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 1 7 
 
 with long hair and heavy whiskers, and the other was a short, thick 
 set, bullet-headed man, smooth-shaven but with short red hair. The 
 tall man told Walter that the man he wished to see was not in. He 
 being rather under the weather had gone to his room two blocks 
 away. But if he would like to see him he would accompany him 
 and his friend to the place, if he did not mind the walk. The idea 
 of Walter Ivers minding a walk of two blocks for such information 
 as he expected to receive! The proposition was gladly accepted, 
 and the four men started out and soon came to rather an uninviting 
 entrance to a somewhat dilapidated house, where the quartette halted, 
 and the tall man volunteered to go up stairs and see if his friend was in. 
 He soon came down and motioned to his comrades, who followed 
 him in, and, sure enough, they found a man who seemed to be some 
 thing of an invalid. Two bottles of wine and some empty glasses 
 were standing on the table. One of the bottles was full, while the 
 other appeared to have had some taken out of it. Walter was intro 
 duced, and the matter of his visit broached. The sick man admitted 
 that " Katy Freeman " was his cousin, and that she lived in the coun 
 try. But her address as given at the hotel was incorrect. The name 
 of the post-office was much the same, but in another county. Walter 
 was very thankful for the discovery of the mistake, and so expressed 
 himself. The conversation continued for some time, when the inva 
 lid excused himself for not inviting them to have a glass of wine. 
 Walter thanked them, saying he seldom drank. But they insisted, and 
 at last he consented, each filling his glass and drinking to the success 
 
 of their friend from S . The conversation was not allowed to flag. 
 
 Very soon Walter became drowsy, and finally became insensible, 
 and the next thing he knew he was in the station-house, taken up, it 
 was said, for having been found drunk in the street. His watch and 
 all his money had been taken, and it dawned on him then that he 
 had been duped and drugged and robbed. 
 
 The first thing for him to do was to get released from the meshes 
 of the law. It was then that his father s letter came to mind. He 
 had left it in his satchel at the hotel. An officer accompanied him 
 thither to get it, and rather unexpectedly the guardian of the peace 
 was enabled to return to the office with his man, and the letter, which 
 
1 8 RA : OR, 
 
 was soon delivered to its proper destination, with a line from Walter 
 telling of his unfortunate predicament. 
 
 The note was answered immediately in person, and upon the as 
 surance of Mr. Sherwood that it was all right, Walter was allowed to 
 go free. At the same time the young man was invited to the house 
 of his father s friend, which he declined, and as a reason he said he 
 was determined to go to the country the next day. Mr. Sherwood 
 finding that he was determined, advanced him what money he re 
 quired, and requested him to call when he should return to the 
 which Walter agreed to do. 
 
 Bright and early the next morning our much disgusted young 
 friend found himself at the stage office, and when the coach drew up 
 for the passengers and mail, he was about the first one on board. 
 Having engaged an outside seat, he took his place by the side of the 
 driver. Another, quite a portly gentleman, sat upon the same seat, 
 and so nearly hid him from view, that without considerable effort he 
 could not be seen by any one upon the ground. The mail-bags were 
 lifted up, and the cry "all aboard " was given, and away the six 
 horses started upon the keen jump, which was kept up for a consider 
 able distance. They had driven perhaps twelve or fifteen miles, 
 when they stopped for breakfast and to change horses. The passen 
 gers inside turned out one by one, and shook themselves preparatory 
 to washing for breakfast. 
 
 Walter noticed a rather slender man with a long duster get out, 
 and it did not take long for him to think where he had seen him. 
 It was none other than the invalid who was so good as to pledge 
 him a glass of wine two days before. 
 
 Walter s greatest anxiety now was to keep from being seen by his 
 too-generous friend. He had every reason to believe that his destin 
 ation was the same as his own, but he kept his counsel until just after 
 the stage had left the last station before the one to which he was 
 booked. Then he asked the driver if he knew the slim man with a 
 long duster and slouched hat. The driver said he thought he might 
 be one of the light-fingered gentry of New York; "at any rate," said he, 
 "I think he will bear watching." 
 
 This was sufficient, and when the stage drew up at the 
 station at which he was to get off, the slim gentleman was out 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 19 
 
 before him. Walter clambered down the opposite side of the coach 
 and, coming around, he pounced suddenly upon his victim before he 
 had time to think what had happened. The stranger turned, and 
 the moment his eyes met those of Walter, he grew pale and 
 quailed before him as though he had been his executioner. 
 
 At first he denied his identity. But Walter called upon those 
 present to assist him in securing the robber. He declared that 
 he believed some of the money stolen from himself might then be 
 found upon him. The suspected man was taken into the station and 
 closely watched until an officer could be found. When the officer 
 came he was searched, and a small amount of money was found upon 
 his person. Walter was not yet satisfied, and, at his suggestion, a 
 second search was made, which resulted better. Four ten-dollar 
 bills, upon the very bank of which his father was president and he 
 himself was cashier, was found between the outside and the lining of 
 his coat; slipped in through a small hole in the lining, made by some 
 sharp instrument. The proof was conclusive, and the thief was held 
 for trial, which could not take place for some time, much to Walter s 
 disgust. 
 
 The prisoner was confined in the county jail until his trial should 
 take place, and it was at Walter s suggestion that he should not be 
 allowed to have any letters mailed unless the officer first read them. 
 The very day after he was confined he called for writing materials, 
 which were promptly furnished him. His letter was written and 
 sealed, and given to the jailer to mail. But that official promptly 
 gave it into the hands of the Sheriff, who as promptly examined its 
 contents; but thought advisable to retain it until the gentleman for 
 whom it was intended could be seen by a detective in the city; 
 which was accordingly done, and the result will be hereafter ex- 
 explained. 
 
 It did not take long for Walter to learn the direction to be taken 
 to reach the home of John Freeman, who lived scarcely half a 
 mile from the station, and thither he bent his steps. He gave his 
 name, and soon made known his errand. Katy was introduced to 
 the stranger. She proved to be an intelligent young woman, and 
 quite prepossessing in her appearance. She told- Walter what had 
 transpired at the hotel, of the difficulty the young lady had in elud- 
 
20 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 ing her father; that she was very much distressed, and told her many 
 things to write to him, a great deal of which she now related. Walter 
 was excited and, angered at what he had heard of Dubrow, more at 
 the cruel treatment of his daughter than the duplicity and perfidy of 
 his actions toward himself; he then mentally determined to save 
 Annette at any cost. 
 
 His fear that her father might put her in a convent, when they 
 should arrive in France, made him more cautious than he otherwise 
 would have been, but he was not able yet to understand how he 
 could communicate with her, knowing, as he did, that every avenue 
 would be watched by the suspicious Frenchman. 
 
 His interview with Katy Freeman gave him much comfort, and it 
 was with reluctance that he left the home of the good farmer to return 
 to the city. After arranging with Katy to write to him, if she heard 
 or remembered anything that she thought would be of interest to him, 
 he took his departure. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SHIPWRECK. 
 
 Her planks are torn asunder, 
 And down comes her mast with a reeling shock, 
 And a hideous crash like thunder. 
 
 Her sails are draggled in the brine, 
 
 That gladdened late the skies ; 
 And her pendant that kissed the fair moonshine, 
 
 Down many a fathom lies. 
 
 Wilson. 
 
 IT was Walter s intention to return home immediately, and he 
 would have done so but for an extraordinary event which 
 transpired, and some startling news which was afloat when he re 
 turned to the city. The newsboys were crying extras, with full ac 
 counts of the loss of the packet ship "King Philip," with nearly all on 
 board. Only two persons were known to be saved, who were just 
 brought into port by the barque "Good Return." The "King Philip 
 being the very ship upon which Mr. Dubrow and family took passage, 
 Walter was greatly agitated, believing, as he did, that his darling was 
 lost to him forever. He could not believe for one moment that she 
 could have been one of the saved. Procuring an extra, he read as 
 follows: 
 
 GREAT CALAMITY. 
 
 FEARFUL SHIPWRECK, AND TERRIBLE LOSS OF LIFE. 
 
 Foundering in mid-ocean of the packet ship "King Philip, "with all 
 on board; but two known to be saved out of a total of one hundred 
 and forty souls. 
 
 Arrival of the barque "Good Return," with two of the shipwrecked 
 passengers, picked up at sea with great difficulty the day after the 
 wreck. Two spars, which had lain upon the ship s deck, fastened to 
 gether by strong hawsers, were the means of saving two precious 
 lives one a young lady by the name of Dubrow, and the other a 
 middle-aged man by the name of Waters. The young lady, with her 
 father and mother, were returning home to France, and the gentle 
 man was on his way to Liverpool upon business. The family of the 
 
22 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 latter, consisting of a wife and two children, reside in this city. The 
 young lady, it is believed has no friends in this country. Some steps 
 will be taken immediately for her relief. 
 
 GRAPHIC ACCOUNT OF THE DISASTER. 
 
 The " King Philip " sailed from this port September loth, with 
 upwards of one hundred passengers and twenty-nine officers and 
 crew. All went well, and it bid fair to be a remarkably quick pas 
 sage, until on the evening of the 2oth, just ten days out. Already 
 about one-half the watery waste had been spanned, when the indi 
 cations were that there was to be a storm. Everything was made 
 taut, and every precaution taken for the safety of the ship and 
 her precious freight. The next day the weather became more threat 
 ening, and that night the storm broke upon the doomed vessel with all 
 its fury. The good ship, staunch and apparently as unyielding as 
 her tawny namesake, rode easily until near morning, when a tre 
 mendous sea broke over her from stem to stern. Every timber in 
 her seemed to shiver as sea after sea threatened to engulf her. 
 The ship had scarcely recovered from the great shock, when another 
 tremendous wave struck her broadside, carrying away almost every mov 
 able thing upon her decks. At the same time a great crash was heard, 
 and the main topmast was hanging truck downward. Orders were 
 given to cut away. In the meanwhile the ship fell into the trough of 
 the sea, and was almost upon her beam ends. She did not right, and 
 it was soon ascertained that her rudder-head had been completely 
 wrenched off, so that she lay as helpless as a log. The few spars 
 on deck were cut away, and every provision for the safety of all 
 which could be made was made immediately. Soon another great 
 sea swept over her, and the " King Philip " was no more. 
 
 The two spars, upon which three passengers clung, arose upon 
 the mountain wave, as if to look upon the scene of desolation; but 
 not a sound was heard above the ocean s roar. One of the three pas 
 sengers lost his hold upon the spars, and not being able again to 
 reach them, he soon "joined those upon that shore, where storms 
 do not arise." The other two, clinging to the ropes which held 
 the timbers together, so remained, until discovered the next day, 
 when they were rescued by the "Good Return." 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 23 
 
 Then followed a list of the passengers, with the names of the cap 
 tain, officers and crew, in all just one hundred and forty souls. 
 
 The great calamity seemed to be upon every mind, and in every 
 mouth. Walter hurried to the wharf where the passengers of the 
 " Good Return " were expected to land; but none had come ashore 
 as yet. Procuring a boat, he was not long in reaching the ship s side. 
 He soon learned that the party for whom he inquired had gone 
 ashore an hour before. Backward, as fast as strong arms could pull 
 him, he hastened, and immediately went to the Knickerbocker Hotel, 
 where he learned that Miss Dubrow had arrived a short time before; 
 but that she was perfectly prostrated, and could see no one. Walter 
 sent his card, requesting that they should only mention his name, 
 and if she did not express a wish to see him at once, he would not 
 insist on doing so. Scarcely five minutes elapsed before the mes 
 senger returned, saying that Miss Dubrow would see the gentleman 
 immediately. 
 
 Walter could scarcely restrain himself, but, with as much calmness 
 as he could command, he went to her room, and, falling on his 
 knees by the bedside, he clasped his precious treasure to his bosom, 
 without uttering one word, kissing her over and over, while tears of 
 joy rained from both. At last he whispered, " Darling, once more 
 in my arms, never to part again!" 
 
 We must leave them for a time, and look after those who require 
 our attention more; those who will not greet the young New Englander 
 quite so cordially. 
 
 Through the means of the letter written by the young man in 
 limbo, in the country, two of his companions were arrested and con 
 fined in the city prison, failing as they did to secure bail. The name 
 of the one who took the trip in the country upon the same 
 stage with Walter was Charley Jackson at least, that was the name 
 he gave. He signed his letter "Charley." 
 
 One of the other two was the tall dark man who sported a full 
 beard and long hair at the time he so cordially bade Walter God-speed. 
 He was now shorn of his locks and clean shaven. He said his name 
 was John Willis, and that he should be able to prove an alibi. The 
 other, Mr. Ballard Jones, could not be mistaken, though his name 
 was rather a misnomer. It should have been Bullethead Jones, or 
 
24 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 any other name would have done as well after Bullethead. The 
 
 young gentleman who knew so much about S could not be found; 
 
 doubtless he was as well posted about other sections of the country 
 before long, and it may be, felt more secure than he would around 
 his old haunts. The preliminary examinations were had, and the 
 counsel for the prisoners did their best to put off the final trial of 
 the case until Walter should return home. The Prosecuting Attorney 
 as strenuously insisted that it was great injustice to the young man 
 who had been robbed, as well as an unnecessary expense to the 
 Commonwealth, to continue a case as aggravating as the one before 
 them. 
 
 The trial was finally set for the next term of court, and Walter 
 made immediate arrangements for returning home. 
 
 The day following, when our young friend was packing, prepara 
 tory to leaving, he received a card from a lady who awaited him in 
 the parlor. He could not surmise what any lady wanted of him, but 
 he went down immediately, and met a most beautiful woman, who 
 apologized for disturbing him. She said she was the sister of the 
 unfortunate young man by the name of Jackson, who was then under 
 arrest, and that she had come to see what could be done about the 
 matter. She insisted that her brother was a most excellent young 
 man, who had fallen into bad company and been led astray; that an 
 aged mother was dependent upon him, beside the disgrace which his 
 conviction would bring upon the family; though she could not blame 
 him for feeling as he did toward the gang who had robbed him, but 
 every dollar should be refunded to him. In fact she proposed to 
 give him $1,000, if he would go away and not appear against her 
 brother. Said she : " You are the only one who has been injured 
 or lost anything by him, and it would be a noble act not to prosecute 
 him; but if you do, you will not recover a penny." 
 
 Walter told her he was sorry for her brother, but that the law would 
 not allow him to compromise a felony, if he were ever so much 
 inclined to do so for her sake. 
 
 The woman said the lesson which her brother had received was a 
 severe one, and that if he were allowed to go free he would certainly 
 do better, and it lay with him (Walter) whether he should have the 
 opportunity to do so or not. She said her brother, as well as herself, 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 25 
 
 would feel everlastingly grateful if he would consent to do that one 
 kind act. Walter was still obdurate; in fact, he was getting impatient 
 and wished the woman would take her leave. At this juncture, per 
 ceiving that she had made but little impression on the young man, 
 she changed her tactics. 
 
 After displaying her charms to the best advantage for well she 
 knew how and using all the blandishments she could command, 
 she intimated that she knew something of his life, at the same time 
 alluding to his lady-love, and her miraculous escape from death, and 
 how thankful he ought to be. She said she was not so fortunate; 
 she too had a very dear friend on that ill-fated ship, who was lost to 
 her forever. With that she appeared to be perfectly overcome, and 
 fainted. He raised her up and placed her upon the sofa, when she 
 soon came to, sobbing bitterly. He tried to soothe her, but with 
 little effect. Seeming to remember herself, at length, she looked 
 up so lovingly with her great, tear-filled eyes, that his heart almost 
 failed him. He said he would call for assistance, but she begged 
 him not to do so for the world, as she could not well explain herself 
 to any one just then. Walter was getting very uneasy in the position 
 he was occupying in the public parlor of a hotel with a lady weeping, 
 and apparently in great distress. The situation was very embarrass 
 ing for a young man as unsophisticated as Walter Ivers. 
 
 Suddenly the door opened, at the same instant the woman gave a 
 scream, and seemed to be in the act of disengaging herself from the 
 young man. Her eyes flashed, and her hair was disheveled, and her 
 dress disarranged. 
 
 She begged to be protected, asserting that that man had attempted 
 improper liberties with her, which she had successfully resisted, al 
 though she claimed to be badly bruised and hurt by his brutal assault. 
 She demanded that he be arrested at once. 
 
 Walter was struck dumb by the sudden transformation of an angel 
 into a fiend. He recovered his self-possession enough to try and 
 explain, but in the meantime an officer had entered who took him in 
 charge. Once more he had to ask the assistance of his father s 
 friend to bail him out of prison. The case was to come up the next 
 day, and Walter was asked if he wished counsel. He answered in 
 
26 
 
 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 the negative; but at the suggestion of his friend he consented, and 
 Mr. Sherwood sent for his own attorney to manage the case. 
 
 The woman was called and sworn. She said she called at the 
 hotel to see the gentleman upon some private business, when he met 
 her and they conversed for a time. He, in the meanwhile made 
 some improper overtures to her, which she indignantly resented. 
 When he laid his hand upon her, she resisted with all her might, and 
 finally screamed, which brought assistance. She showed how her 
 clothes had been torn, and told how very lame and sore she felt from 
 his rough usage. 
 
 When her direct testimony was through, the attorney for the de 
 fense commenced to cross-examine. He asked where she lived; 
 what she did for a living, what was the particular business with 
 the defendant which called her to the hotel. These being followed 
 by more pointed and significant questions, her attorney could not 
 do less than object. The questions themselves were not so bad, but, 
 if answered truly, they would have been very damaging. The de 
 fendant s counsel continued to press her quite hard, and she broke 
 down completely, and could not, or would not, answer, so she was 
 excused. 
 
 Walter then took the stand and told his story. When he was 
 through, the Prosecuting Attorney asked him how long he had been 
 in the city, and what he had been doing. He asked him if he had 
 not been mixed up with a notorious gang of counterfeiters and black 
 legs, as well as many more questions quite irrelevant and insulting, 
 all of which were answered in a plain, straightforward manner. 
 
 When the lawyer was through, Walter s counsel arose and asked 
 that his client be acquitted. And he showed conclusively, and to 
 the satisfaction of the Court, that he had been the victim of base 
 frauds, the last, attempted by one of the most notorious confi 
 dence women in the city ; a wretched creature, who had already 
 served out one term in the penitentiary for just such an attempt at 
 fraud and confidence game she had tried to practice upon his client; 
 failing in which she determined to ruin him. She could not buy him 
 off so that he might not appear against her lover, who was one of the 
 lowest of the low. She attempted to disgrace him in the mind of 
 his affianced, and in the eyes of the world. He said she belonged 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 27 
 
 to a class who were out-lawed, "and yet" said he, "she dares to come 
 into a court of justice to prosecute and persecute the innocent." 
 
 He closed by saying that the city had already an unenviable 
 reputation abroad so much so, that strangers were constantly 
 cautioned against just such characters, and it was high time an 
 example was made of some of them. Closing, he sat down, and the 
 Judge, a very conservative gentleman, admitted the truthfulness of 
 his remarks, and said he would be glad to punish any such breaches 
 of the peace with all the severity the law would allow. 
 
 Just then a detective entered and presented a paper to the Judge, 
 whereupon he was authorized to arrest her at once, which he did, 
 he having had the warrant for her arrest in his possession for some 
 days. She was taken to the lock-up, where she will be safe for a 
 time, at least. 
 
 Walter hurried back to the hotel, where he found Annette in great 
 distress at his prolonged absence. All was finally explained, and the 
 next day he left for his home with his affianced wife, which was reached 
 in about two days. Walter had written to his father two or three times, 
 but not since Annette s return, and, of course, the surprise was great, 
 though they had not yet heard of the terrible shipwreck, with all its 
 attendant horrors. 
 
 Of course, the old people were overjoyed at the return of their son, 
 and it may as well be admitted that they were almost equally 
 delighted to think he had brought his wife with him; for they 
 had come to believe that Annette was really one of the family ; and 
 then her great trials, and the fearful ordeal through which she had 
 passed, endeared her to them still more. Everything was done for 
 her comfort, and to make her happy, that it was possible to do, both 
 by Walter and by the old Squire and his good wife. 
 
 But there were evil minds in S , and evil tongues, too. When 
 
 it became known that Walter Ivers had got home, all sorts of specula 
 tions were rife, and the one who could invent the most outrageous 
 stories was the hero of the hour. 
 
28 ENDURA: OR 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SOME CHARACTERS. 
 
 " Who stabs my name would stab my person too, 
 Did not the hangman s axe lie in the way." 
 
 Crown s Henry VII. 
 
 NOT many days after his return there happened to be a quilting 
 party at Mrs. Tartar s. Now, Mrs. Tartar was a widow who 
 had a son who was a swaggering fellow, who had been taught to 
 believe he was of considerable importance, and evidently considered 
 himself quite a catch, as he was an only son. His father had been 
 well to do, and left most of his property to him, willing something 
 to his widow, besides the personal property and some money in bank. 
 Joe Tartar had never been a favorite with Annette, and he 
 was perfectly willing to listen to anything that was said to her dis 
 credit. Mrs. Tartar s name was Thankful. Possibly her parents did 
 not like the name of Tartar, but would have it appear that they were 
 thankful it was no worse. 
 
 Early in the afternoon upon the day of the quilting the guests 
 began to arrive. First came Mrs. Cramp and her daughter, accom 
 panied by Miss Cutting, a lady of an uncertain age, who had refused 
 no one knew how many eligible offers. Then came two young 
 misses by the name of Brown Deborah and Hannah. Old Mrs. 
 Maxon came in later with two of her nieces, daughters of a farmer 
 by the name of Jenks Patty and Betsey. There was quite a number 
 of others who came in to help awhile during the afternoon, who 
 were obliged to leave in time to get supper for their husbands and 
 family. It is just as well that they left; for they were scarcely spoken 
 to while they were there, and, as they did not have much to say, 
 we shall not miss them. 
 
 Now, the Brown girls were considered nice, modest young ladies. 
 They had not been in society long enough to become garrulous, and 
 they had not associated with disappointad old maids enough to be- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 29 
 
 come chronic men-haters. The Jenks girls were somewhat older, 
 and they had never missed a party when they could prevail upon their 
 aunt to accompany them. Mrs. Maxon was a sort of dependent 
 upon farmer Jenks, having lost her husband who left her nothing but 
 unpaid bills which he owed ; so that, having no children of her own, 
 she quite naturally took to her nieces, and from their childhood had 
 been a kind of second mother to them. The care she had taken of 
 the children had been an offset to her board, and in as much as Mr. 
 and Mrs. Jenks were usually tired enough to stay at home when night 
 came, the aunt was allowed to chaperon them when they went out. 
 
 At first the young men would offer to accompany them home, but 
 they declined, saying their aunt \vas with them, or that papa would 
 call for them at the proper time. After a while the offers of the young 
 men became less and less frequent, until no young gentleman thought 
 of such a thing as offering his company to one of the Jenks girls. 
 Indeed, it began to be whispered about that they were passe already, 
 and would soon figure as old maids. 
 
 Now Mrs. Tartar had made great preparations for this quilting, 
 and among others she had invited the wife of the minister, a poor 
 little hard-worked woman, with three children. Her husband, Elder 
 Knocks, was a carpenter by trade, and .could have made a fair living 
 for his family had it not been for his duties as a preacher of the 
 gospel. He was called to every sick-bed, when the doctors failed; 
 he preached every Sunday, and sometimes three or four times during 
 the week; he married people, for which he received a dollar, or 
 a bushel of corn; he attended funerals, for which he got nothing but 
 his dinner, which was made great account of upon such occasions. 
 Occasionally he would receive two or three dollars from one of the 
 rich men of the congregation. The women sometimes gave their 
 cast-off clothing to Mrs. Knocks, which she was expected to make 
 over for herself, or the children; and yet, with all these munificent 
 donations, he could scarcely support his family. Of course, Mrs. 
 Knocks could scarcely be expected to attend the quilting, and, being 
 absent, she came in for a good share of gossip. 
 
 Mrs. Tartar could not see, for the life of her, why she did not get 
 along; only last week she had sent her a bushel of potatoes, and Mr. 
 Cribbe had sent her a beautiful pumpkin and some turnips. 
 
30 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 Mrs. Cramp said she believed she was a shiftless critter, while old 
 Mrs. Maxon rather took her part. Miss Cutting said she thought 
 just as Mrs. Tartar did; that something must be wrong. She said 
 she had always been able to take care of herself, and she should be 
 glad to know what a man was good for if he could not support his 
 wife. 
 
 Said Mrs. Cramp: "I m told its jes so, where they pay em 
 regalar wages, as much as four or five hundred dollars a year, and it 
 is scandalous. Religion is coming to a pretty pass when we have to 
 buy it, the same as we do flour and caliker. It did n t use to be so, 
 when I was young." 
 
 Deborah Brown suggested that possibly they were not all carpen 
 ters there, which seemed to put quite a damper upon that subject 
 for the present. 
 
 But another one nearly as important came up. Old Eben Rail 
 kept quite a number of fox-hounds, and recently there had been some 
 sheep killed in the neighborhood, and, very naturally, the mischief 
 was laid to "Old Ebe s dogs." Mrs. Tartar said it was shameful for 
 a man to keep three or four great, lop-eared, hungry hounds, to de 
 stroy his neighbor s sheep; and that he ought to be complained of, and 
 made to pay for the damage. Some one ventured to ask if it was 
 known that Mr. Rail s dogs killed the sheep; whereupon, a majority 
 joined in chorus, saying the sheep had been killed, and if his dogs 
 did not kill them, whose did ? 
 
 That last question was a poser, and some other subject coming up, 
 the sheep were forgotten for the time being. Old Mr. Josselyn had 
 lost a cow been choked with a potato, or something else. Mrs. 
 Cramp said it was "jest good enough for him," to lose his cow, as he 
 had turned his cattle into a field where there had been potatoes. 
 
 Some one said he did not lose his cow, for he had fattened her, 
 and was about ready to butcher her, when she swallowed the potato, 
 so he cut her throat, and put her out of her misery, and she made 
 splendid beef. 
 
 Miss Cutting wanted to know if they would dare offer such meat 
 for sale. She said there might be a law against it. Mrs. Cramp 
 said she heard Deacon Snow say "there was a law agin sellin dead 
 calves," and she would like to know if dead calves "was enny wuss 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 31 
 
 than dead cows." No one seemed able to answer the question; and 
 so the dead cow was forgotten. 
 
 One of the Jenks girls happened to mention, just then, that Walt. 
 Ivers had got home, and brought his wife with him. Mrs. Tartar, 
 who had not said much for a few minutes, broke in: "Wife, indeed! 
 who believes that she is his wife ? Call her his mistress, and you ll 
 come nearer to it, I guess." 
 
 "Well, I should think so," chimed in Miss Cutting. 
 
 "And that reminds me," said Mrs. Tartar, "that I heard a 
 dreadful story about that young scapegrace. Somebody saw it in 
 the papers; how he tried to take liberties with some woman in the 
 hotel where he was stopping. She screamed, and people rushed in, 
 and the officers came, and he was arrested and taken to jail. It 
 had been kept mighty quiet," but she believed it was true, because 
 it was in the papers. 
 
 Mrs. Cramp corroborated the story. She said Deacon Garner told 
 her all about it, and that it was awful. She believed, if the truth 
 could be known, that Walt. Ivers had something to do with the 
 breaking up of the Dubrow family. She said there had been a great 
 deal of underhanded work about the whole matter. 
 
 Mrs. Tartar congratulated herself upon having purchased at the 
 sale one or two pieces of silver, upon which were engraved some 
 queer letters, and something over them like a crown. 
 
 One of the Jenks girls said she had heard that the Dubrow s were 
 some great things in the old country, and that they came here to get 
 away from Bonaparte. She believed they called Mrs. Dubrow a Mar 
 chioness, or something of the kind. 
 
 "A Marchioness, indeed!" said Miss Cramp, "I saw her, and she 
 looked like a very common woman; and as for Dubrow, he did not 
 look unlike old Rivers, the miller." 
 
 Miss Cutting said she had heard that Walter Ivers had been ordered 
 out of Dubrow s house, so he told his father he had been insulted and 
 the Squire threatened to sue them if they did not pay up imme 
 diately; and that was why they had been obliged to part with their 
 valuables. 
 
 Mrs. Tartar said, for her part, she could not see why Squire Ivers 
 indulged that boy so much. She said he would surely bring the old 
 
32 ENDURA I OR, 
 
 man s grey hairs to the grave, with sorrow, and that he would have no 
 one to blame but himself. 
 
 "Yes, he will," broke in Miss Cramp, " for Mrs. Ivers is just as 
 foolish as the old man, and indulges him just as much." 
 
 Miss Cutting ventured to say that Mrs. Ivers thought there never 
 was anybody like Walter. 
 
 Mrs. Tartar said, "Oh, yes, some folk s geese are all swans." 
 But she guessed such people would have their eyes opened some 
 time. 
 
 They went into a lengthy controversy regarding the rising represen 
 tative of the Ivers family. Mrs. Tartar said she was thankful that 
 her son was not like him, and, for her part, she was glad they 
 did not associate. Just then Joe Tartar came in. He had been 
 gone since the night before. He had an untidy, debauched look, 
 and acted very cross and impudent to his mother. 
 
 He said he wanted something to eat pretty d d quick, for he 
 had to go out. Tim Mouser was waiting for him to go to the 
 turkey-shooting at the cross-roads. His mother tried to persuade 
 him to stay and have tea with them. She said the Jenks girls were 
 there and had asked for him. 
 
 " Yes," he added, "and that d d old fool of an aunt, I sup 
 pose." 
 
 "No," said he, "I don t want none of it in mine." 
 
 " But why in h 11 don t you get me something to eat?" 
 
 At that moment Betsy Jenks came in. Joe barely spoke to her, 
 and then went on talking in a coarse, vulgar strain, much to the 
 chagrin and mortification of his mother, who tried in vain to quiet 
 him; but nothing would please him, so he jammed his hat down over 
 his eyes, and, with an oath, went out, slamming the door rudely and 
 angrily as he went. 
 
 Mrs. Tartar went into the room where the quilting was being done, 
 and told her friends she was afraid Joseph would be sick. "He 
 was always so gentle, but to-day he was quite rude. Really, I was 
 almost ashamed of him, in the presence of Betsy Jenks, too; 
 I should have thought he would have behaved different. But/ 
 vhe added, " you must not mind him, Betsy, he is not always 
 like that. He just talks that way some times, but he don t mean 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 35 
 
 anything. He would not hurt a fly. Poor boy, he inherited 
 his father s temper. But Peter Tartar was a good man, for all that, 
 and it was a great loss when he was taken from us. But," said she, 
 "my loss was his gain." And there were some present who thought 
 so, too. 
 
 It was getting late, and tea was about ready, so the gossiping con 
 vention adjourned preparatory to going to the table. In the mean 
 time, Deacon Snow came in, and Mrs. Tartar could do no less than 
 ask him to stay to tea, hoping and expecting he would refuse. 
 But, when he began to make excuses, and to say that his clothes 
 didn t look well enough, and that he needed shaving, " But you know 
 Mrs. Tartar I ve got better clothes," she looked as though she wished 
 he had them there, or, what would have suited her far better, that he 
 had been where his clothes were. He was in no hurry to go, how 
 ever, and dirt begrimed and coatless as he was, there appeared no al 
 ternative but that he must sit down with them; and as it had been 
 customary when he was dressed up to have him ask a blessing at the 
 table, the ceremony could not well be omitted now; so, when they 
 were all seated around the table, Deacon Snow stood back of his chair 
 with both hands upon it, with his mouth watering for the good things 
 before him, and made a long prayer asking God for a thousand 
 things which he did not need nor expect to get; most of which bless 
 ings, as he called them, would have been perfectly superfluous, and 
 he would not have known what to have done with them if he had 
 had them. But long prayers, like all else, must have an end; at all 
 events Deacon Snow s had. After several unsatisfactory efforts to round 
 it off, he finally came to the Amen. Stillness reigned for the space of 
 half a minute. It was heavenly; something like the time we read of 
 when "there was silence for the space of half an hour"; and women 
 were there too, it is supposed; or perhaps, a better simile would be, 
 when a thousand machines cease for a time and then all begin again 
 anew. 
 
 Mrs. Tartar was the first to be heard. She said she hoped that 
 everybody would help themselves, and if there was anything they 
 wanted out of their reach to ask for it. 
 
 The table that was groaning with the weight of good things soon 
 ceased to groan, and it was not long before some who sat around it 
 
34 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 began to do the groaning themselves. The Deacon s waistcoat was al 
 together too small, and it was getting exceedingly warm for the season 
 of the year, and this before the substantial were through with. 
 
 By and by the dessert was brought plum puddings, mince pies, 
 custard pies, apple pies, pumpkin pies, cakes and cookies. One 
 after another declined having any, and Mrs. Tartar said she was sorry 
 she didn t have something better. The Deacon, doubtless for fear of 
 displeasing her, shook out another reef, and sampled the pudding and 
 two or three of the pies, when, reluctant as he was to give up, there 
 were no more buckles to loose, and he was obliged to say he could 
 eat no more. The announcement gave entire satisfaction, and they 
 all withdrew, much more quiet than when they came into the supper- 
 room. 
 
 Doubtless, like hungry birds, they sang the best empty. They were 
 absolutely too full for utterance, and Deacon Snow would have been 
 glad to have had a snooze; but it was not to be. They had scarcely 
 withdrawn from the table when a neighbor came post-haste with the 
 dreadful news that Joe Tartar had shot a man, with whom he had a 
 quarrel, and that the man was dying, and Joe had been arrested for 
 an attempt at murder. Mrs. Tartar was so much shocked that she 
 did not know what she was doing. She kept crying out: " My poor 
 boy, my poor boy, what will become of him!" Deacon Snow went 
 immediately to Squire Ivers, to see what had better be done. The 
 old gentleman concluded it would be best to get some one to go on 
 his bond, He suggested to the Deacon that he had better get Mr. 
 Jenks, and they two would be sufficient. The Deacon declined. He 
 said he was afraid that Joe Tartar was a bad man, and he did not 
 feel like taking any chances on such a scapegrace. They sent for 
 Mr. Jenks, who said he would be bail for the young man, if Squire 
 Ivers would go on the bond with him. It was finally so arranged, 
 and the would-be homicide was set at liberty to await the result of the 
 wound, which was said to be very severe, if not fatal. 
 
 It appeared, upon the examination, that Joe Tartar went direct 
 from his mother s house to the place appointed for the turkey-shoot 
 ing, and met a man from a distant town who had come to witness 
 the sport. He did not like the bullying way Joe had with him, and 
 hinted that he took some unfair advantages, which Joe resented, and 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 35 
 
 attempted to strike him. The man warded off the blow, and almost 
 as quickly knocked Joe down. This so infuriated him that when he 
 got up he seized a gun which was near him, and fired, the charge 
 taking effect in his left hip. The man fell, and Joe, supposing of 
 course that he had killed him, attempted to run away, but was 
 caught, and had his hands tied behind him, and taken into the 
 house, where his mother found him two hours later. Just before his 
 bondsmen came to release him, Mrs. Tartar consulted Squire Ivers as 
 to who would be the best lawyer for her to engage. After some dis 
 cussion, it was decided that she should try to get Judge Fairfax, one 
 of the most effective pleaders in the State. She immediately sent 
 post-haste to the city to secure his services. 
 
 Mr. Wilcox, the man who was shot, lay in an unconscious state for 
 some time, under the influence of opiates, while the wound was 
 dressed. For days he lingered between life and death. Once or 
 twice he was reported dying, and once the news came that he was 
 dead. 
 
 Then the cowardly bully showed of what stuff he was made. He 
 mounted a horse which he had kept ready, and fled, no one knew 
 whither. 
 
 It turned out to be a false alarm, but Joe did not return until he 
 learned through a secret agent that the man was getting better, and 
 likely to recover. Then he came back with as much bravado as 
 he could assume. He said he had been to the city to secure coun 
 sel, and that he would show Jim Wilcox that he could not knock 
 him down without any cause. 
 
 He said it was a pity the had not died; coming 
 
 over there to interfere in their shooting matches. Such is the real 
 coward when he knows there is no danger. 
 
36 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE WEDDING. 
 
 Across the threshold led, 
 And every tear kiss d off as soon as shed, 
 His house she enters, there to be a light 
 Shining within, when all without is night, 
 A guardian angel o er his life presiding, 
 Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing. 
 
 Roycs Human Wife. 
 
 NOT very long after Walter returned with his bride-elect from 
 New York, preparations were made for their wedding. There 
 was a great deal to be done, and help was difficult to be obtained. 
 But at last Mrs. Ivers succeeded in securing the services of a poor 
 girl in the neighborhood, whose mother had died when she was very 
 young, and whose father, a miserable, drunken sot, had been convicted 
 of highway robbery, and been sentenced to five years in the peniten 
 tiary, where he was then serving out his time. His name was Hiram 
 Vic, and his daughter s name was Sallie. Her mother had died, as 
 some said, of a broken heart, on account of the miserable wretch 
 who was considered a nice young man when she married him, 
 She had hidden his faults, until they became too glaring, 
 and even then she was faithful to him, and so remained until 
 death. Sallie Vic was a pretty, modest girl, and when Mrs. Ivers 
 sent for her to come and live with her, and help her, she hesitated, 
 fearing that, being the daughter of a convict, she would not be treated 
 as well as she otherwise would have been, especially by Miss Dubrow, 
 who had the name of being very "high-headed, " as Mrs. Cramp would 
 say. 
 
 She finally consented to come and stay with Mrs. Ivers until after 
 the wedding. 
 
 At first Sallie was timid, and scarcely spoke to Miss Dubrow, but 
 Annette was so kind and gentle to her that gradually she gained con 
 fidence, and in a very few days she could scarcely bear to be out of 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 37 
 
 her sight, and there was nothing which she would not undertake for 
 Nettie, as she called her. 
 
 Sallie had been taught to do plain sewing, and, being very neat and 
 tractable, it was not long before she became an expert seamstress, 
 and was of the greatest assistance during the few weeks preceeding 
 Walter s marriage. As the time drew nigh the invitations were 
 given out. It was scarcely expected that everybody could be invited, 
 but Walter was determined not to overlook any of his friends, if he 
 could help it. But the house was not large enough to accomodate 
 everybody. True, the Squire had made extensive additions to his 
 cottage since it was built, and now, as he said, it was not very 
 sightly, but very comfortable. 
 
 The time for the wedding was set for Thanksgiving Day, and 
 preparations were made for the greatest feast that had ever been 
 given in those parts. 
 
 One of the rooms which had been added to the pioneer s cottage 
 was very large. It was intended by the Squire for a kind of court 
 room, wherein he held court, while he was Justice of the Peace, and 
 for a dining-room, whenever there was an unusual number invited or 
 expected to dine with them. There was another use which the great 
 room as it was called, was put to. There being a large fire-place, 
 with a great oven in back, and ample room to get around great ket 
 tles, it was used as a general slaughter-house, or, at least for the 
 scalding and dressing of pigs, poultry, etc., during the fall and winter 
 months; also for making and repairing of agricultural tools, such 
 as would be required the following season. Here corn was shelled 
 during the long, stormy nights of winter. It was also the grand 
 apple-cut room, where old and young met; the aged to live over 
 their youth again, and the young looking afar off to the good time 
 coming, little knowing that they were, just then, amid the very 
 ecstasies of life. 
 
 " And still as each repeated pleasure tir d, 
 Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired." 
 
 Upon the present occasion the great room was to be decorated as 
 never before. It was papered anew and painted anew; while 
 around upon the walls hung trophies and pictures wreathed in 
 "Creeping Jenny" and "Princess Feather." Laurel branches 
 
38 ENDURA I OR, 
 
 entwined with autumn leaves, were made to represent arches, and 
 chains of red cranberries hung in festoons, completely around the 
 room. Two pine trees stood beside the great fire-place, heavily 
 laden with red and yellow apples; while over the mantel, pro 
 jecting about three feet into the room, was an evergreen bower, bear 
 ing golden fruits ; beneath that, suspended by invisible cords, were the 
 letters W and A, made also of cranberries, upon a back-ground of 
 wintergreen leaves, plaited together. 
 
 Two tables, running the entire length of the room, were trimmed 
 with evergreen. In the center of each was a beautiful fir tree, laden 
 with choice fruits, upon which were fastened mottoes appropriate to 
 the occasion. 
 
 The long-looked-for, and most welcome day at last had come, and 
 the guests began to assemble. 
 
 Elder Knocks was selected by Walter to marry him, and Mrs. 
 Knocks was deferred to so much that she almost felt herself a queen, 
 and her husband one of the nobles of the land. 
 
 Sallie Vic was everywhere; now superintending the dining-room, 
 now assisting to dress the bride. She made the wreaths and strung 
 the cranberries for the festoons, and assisted Mrs. Ivers to make the 
 wedding-cake. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers told her she must not go on so, or she would surely be 
 sick, and Annette begged that she would not work so hard, just for 
 her sake. Sallie said it was for her sake that she did work so. An 
 nette kissed her cheek and said she should be her dear sister. That 
 brought tears to the poor girls eyes, while she could only say: "No, 
 no, Nettie, you do not mean it." It was strange that those two> 
 brought together under such circumstances, should have formed an 
 undying affection for each other, and, as widely different as their 
 positions were, they were indeed like loving sisters. 
 
 As the neighbors and guests arrived it seemed as if the house 
 would not hold them, and when, finally, the candidates came for 
 ward, there was scarcely standing-room inside the house. It was not 
 thought advisable to have a bridesmaid, or groomsman, so they took 
 their places beneath the evergreen canopy, and, joining hands, the 
 good man read the ceremony, and pronounced them man and wife 
 After making a very fervent prayer, he congratulated them both, say 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 39 
 
 ing he believed they were worthy of each other. After the forma 
 congratulations of their friends present, the room was cleared and the 
 feast prepared, which was by far the most important part of the 
 ceremony to a majority of those present. 
 
 The Squire sat at the head of one table with his old wife, both 
 looking as happy as it is possible for those to look who have reached 
 a ripe old age, and who had been prospered, as they almost felt, be 
 yond their deserts. At the other table sat Walter and his bride. He 
 was, indeed, nature s nobleman, one who might have been selected 
 from among a thousand modest and dignified, but genial and con 
 siderate; a manly form, large dark eyes and perfect features; his 
 beautiful hair, worn according to the fashion of the times, was his 
 crowning beauty. Graceful and easy in his manners, he was admired 
 and complimented by all present no, not all, for there were those 
 who envied and hated him while they pretended to do him honor. 
 The bride seemed the very acme of loveliness and innocence. Her 
 sweet smile seemed to lend enchantment to the scene, and her golden 
 hair was the rich setting of a face all beauty, not a line could have 
 been changed for the better. Her eyes seemed to look out from the 
 soul which was all love and hope; her dress was simple, so that her 
 own personal charms were enhanced. Indeed, nothing could have 
 detracted from them, for, like a precious stone, her beauty out 
 dazzled all setting. 
 
 Many were the compliments the young couple received by both 
 old and young, and much as some present would have liked to have 
 made unfavorable comments, they did not venture to do it there; but 
 their envy was bottled up for future use. 
 
4 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OLD TIMES. 
 
 Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way 
 With blossom d furze, unprofitably gay, 
 There, in his noisy mansion skilled to rule, 
 The village master taught his little school. 
 
 Goldsmith s Deserted Village. 
 
 THE manners and customs of some portions of New England do 
 not differ greatly from what they were one hundred years ago. 
 
 They have their own way of doing things, and that is the way their 
 grandfather s did it before them. A school-meeting in a country dis 
 trict, is just the same as it was half a century ago. In the matter of 
 schoolhouses there has been a rise and decline, all within fifty years. 
 It is within the memory of man, not yet old, when a portion of some 
 private house was rented for the use of the district school. A load 
 or two of green wood was brought to the door, and the school-master 
 was expected to cut it up ready for use; said master usually provided 
 himself with a good, strong ferule, or ruler, as it was called, and a nice 
 slender hickory or birch switch, which was used to persuade refrac 
 tory boys and girls to mend their ways. The furniture of a school 
 room then was somewhat unique. 
 
 The seats, or benches, as they were called, were usually made from 
 the first slice of a chestnut log, called a slab. Usually it had four 
 large auger-holes bored into the convex side of it, into which were 
 driven great sticks, for legs. That left the flat side up, upon which 
 the unfortunate children were allowed to sit for six hours each day, 
 without being able to touch a foot to the floor, and without a single 
 thing to rest their backs against. The seats for the larger scholars 
 were still higher, and the pupil usually sat facing the wall, with a 
 board in front, which was called a desk, upon which was laid their 
 writing books, slates, etc. When they read or spelled, which was 
 usually about five times each day, they were obliged to right about 
 as best they could, in order to face the teacher, who usually stood 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 4! 
 
 somewhere near the centre of the room. It would be considered 
 somewhat difficult for a young lady of the present day to get in and 
 out from behind those long, tall benches; but practice makes perfect, 
 and they very soon became expert in changing their positions. 
 
 The teacher was expected to write their copies, in their writing- 
 books; mend their goose-quill pens; keep up the fire; hear the child 
 ren say their letters, four times each day, and follow the reading 
 class in their New Testament readings, at least twice each day. 
 
 That Bible or Testament reading was quite an event, fifty years 
 years ago, in New England. Each scholar would be required to 
 read a verse, beginning at one end of the writing benches and going 
 to the other. It was often the case that a scholar could not read 
 an average of two words without stopping to spell it out; and 
 when it happened that such an one was required to read a long 
 verse, one could almost take a nap. The stupid fellow would repeat 
 word after word after the teacher, and let his eyes wander from his 
 book as soon as he repeated each, until the next one was called, and 
 so on to the end. 
 
 Jim Dowdle was one of this kind. He never could learn, and the 
 terrible ordeal through which he passed was excruciating. Great 
 drops of prespiration gathered on his brow as the color came and 
 went around his mouth until the last word was repeated. 
 
 Upon one occasion the whole school were in a titter 
 before he waded through, which so incensed him, that he drop 
 ped his book by his side, and rolling up his eyes, he said, "Now 
 laugh, all on ye, laugh!" which was the signal for a general roar. 
 
 There are many pleasant reminiscenses of those days, as for in 
 stance, when some pretty girl sat next to you, who happened to be 
 the favorite of the school; for whom partiality was shown, even by 
 the teacher, who was supposed to be incapable of any preference. 
 Who shall say what effect such close proximity to gentleness and 
 beauty may not have had upon the rough, uncouth young men of 
 half a century ago? It may have influenced the lives of thousands 
 of those who have since made their mark in the world; and the pres 
 ent generation must still feel their influence for good, and the same 
 moral effect may descend to the generations that shall come after us. 
 
42 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 Who shall say how long their influence will be felt, away down the 
 dim vista of coming years? 
 
 About the time of which we write, a new order of things was es 
 tablished. They began to build schoolhouses. It might very prop 
 erly have been called the age of schoolhouses. True, they were un 
 ostentatious; indeed, they were simplicity itself But still, they were 
 an improvement upon the old system of putting rough wooden 
 benches against some old tumble-down kitchen, and calling it a 
 schoolroom. The location usually selected was at some cross-roads, 
 or at a corner that would be central for the district. There was 
 usually an entry or hall, running across the entire end of the 
 building, often as large as five by twenty feet, out of which opened 
 two doors into the school-room proper. Some of the more preten 
 tious had two outside doors opening into the hall, and two other 
 doors into the school-room. 
 
 They were usually without paint, or ornament, but now and then 
 one was treated to a coat of red paint, which seemed to be the pre 
 vailing color at that time. The side seats were usually elevated about 
 one foot from the floor; upon the platform, in front of the seat, look 
 ing toward the middle of the room, were the writing desks, which 
 formed a back for the children s seats. These, with a few benches 
 standing in a hollow square around the stove, were all the seats the 
 house could afford. The "entry," as it was called, was usually the 
 receptacle of wood, where also were placed the indispensable water- 
 pail and dipper. Along, upon either side, were nails driven, upon 
 which the scholars hung their hats and wraps. In the center of the 
 room was placed a large stove, with a great capacity for wood; the 
 pipe usually ran straight up through the ceiling, where it entered a 
 brick chimney, which was supported by a single perpendicular tim 
 ber, just back of the pipe. In cold weather the teacher would cram 
 this great iron box with wood, until the room became intolerable; 
 and then the windows and doors would be thrown open; the result 
 was severe colds and a general barking among the children, to the 
 annoyance of each other. 
 
 The teacher was required to labor six days in the week, and the 
 pay was from eight to twelve dollars a month; at the latter price, he 
 was often required to board himself. But boarding around was cus- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 43 
 
 ternary, prorating according to the number of children sent to school. 
 This custom usually created more or less jealousy, especially if the 
 teacher was a single gentleman and good-looking, as many of his 
 pupils were young women, who were not above smiling on the 
 teacher. 
 
 It was not always that the teacher stayed longest where there 
 were the most children; indeed, some poor or disagreeable families 
 were excused altogether. 
 
 Spelling schools were quite a feature in a district school, during 
 the winter term, when the scholars from the surrounding districts 
 would be invited. It was not an uncommon occurrence for them to 
 go five or six miles to attend one of those entertainments. They 
 usually took place in the evening, and lasted until the candles were 
 burned out, when it was time for the young men to be looking out 
 for some girl to accompany home. Their offers were not always 
 accepted; sometimes the young lady had made a previous engage 
 ment; and then, again, the young man may not have been to the 
 liking of the girl. 
 
 The spelling classes were arrayed against each other; a boy and a 
 girl having been selected to choose sides. After all present had been 
 invited by one side or the other, which was done alternately; the 
 contest began in good earnest. When one side missed a word the 
 boy or girl missing it must leave the ranks, and the opposite side had 
 a right to draw one from the side upon which the word had been 
 missed; then if the other side failed to spell it, the one missing must 
 leave, and the same one that had been drawn to that side would be 
 called back; so that, frequently, a really good speller would be kept 
 going from one side to the other, until the hard word was spelled 
 correctly. Sometimes such a word would floor half of those in the 
 class, but that was no great loss, for the good spellers were left, who 
 seemed to defy hard words, and spell on until it became monotonous, 
 when they were ordered to stand up. The teacher would then select the 
 most peculiar and difficult words to be found, and the one who stood 
 up the longest was considered the champion speller. If one word 
 floored them all, it was a kind of draw game, and each felt himself 
 equal to the others, at least, and usually found some excuse for not 
 spelling it. 
 
44 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE MEETING HOUSE. 
 
 Bubble on, ye priests, amuse mankind 
 With idle tales of flames and torturing fiends 
 And starry crowns, for patient suffering here; 
 Yes, gull the crowd, and gain their earthly goods, 
 For feigned reversions in a heavenly state. 
 
 W. Shirley s Parricide. 
 
 ONE would suppose that the churches would have kept pace with 
 the times, but on the contrary they seem to be the very last of 
 all the institutions of the country to take a step forward. 
 
 True the old sounding-boards and high-backed pews have gradu 
 ally been done away with. But many of the old-time customs re 
 main the same as they were a century ago. For fifty years there has 
 not been any perceptable improvement in the churches, inside or 
 out. The congregations act the same as they did generations ago, 
 and they absolutely refuse to listen to any new doctrine. For that 
 matter, any man that can read the Bible without understanding it is 
 considered fit to preach the gospel. He is supposed to be able to 
 expound the Scriptures, whether he reads them intelligently or not. 
 They argue that it is a sin for a man to write a sermon, and they will 
 not sit under such preaching if they can help themselves. They 
 say: " Open your mouth and God will fill it if he wishes you to 
 speak." 
 
 Within little more than a year, the writer listened to a preacher of 
 about the ordinary intelligence, who said he did not like such re 
 ligion as required a man to read a sermon or prayer. For his part, 
 he did not believe in such, and he thought God almighty, turned a 
 deaf ear to sermons of that kind. 
 
 Another man, who happened to be present, who was a Sweden- 
 borgian, arose, and said he differed somewhat from the brother who 
 had just spoken, and that he reads Mr. Giles sermon simply because 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 45 
 
 he thought Mr. Giles could preach better than he could himself. We 
 concurred. 
 
 Whole communities, notwithstanding their educational advantages, 
 have not advanced a peg, and in some sections they seem to be 
 drifting back to barbarism. They have become indolent and de 
 bauched, and year after year they seem to degenerate, growing more 
 and more bigoted as they grow less and less refined. 
 
 As we are treating of the second generation, it may be anticipating 
 in making the above remarks. But we feel it incumbent upon us to 
 show some of the customs of the second generation, which may ap 
 ply equally well to the third, where the men and women are sep- 
 rated in the churches, the men going in at one door, and the wo 
 men at the other. 
 
 Such are the fashions in many churches in good old New England 
 to-day. 
 
 We left Walter and his bride wandering away to other themes and 
 to other days. We now return to them to accompany them along 
 the road of life, through sunshine, and through shadow, by the 
 side of pleasant waters and upon life s stormy ocean. We may, 
 perchance, lose sight of them from time to time, while we look after 
 others whom we may wish to know, but we cannot forget the part 
 they are to play. They are not the real characters, but they repre 
 sent the second generation, and as such they deserve a prominent 
 place in the story. 
 
 A few weeks after the wedding it became necessary for Walter to 
 go to New York to attend the trial of the villains who had robbed 
 him. Annette could not bear to have him absent so long. It might 
 be for two weeks or more. But Walter, much as it pained him to 
 leave his bride, thought it better that she should remain with the old 
 people. So, he packed his satchel, and took his leave of the family, 
 his wife driving him to the station where he was to take the stage, and 
 there they parted, he to go on his lonely way, and she to return to 
 her lonely home, the home where she was beloved, as have been 
 few daughters-in-law. But still there was a great void. The rooms 
 were hollow ; the great dining-hall in which they were mar 
 ried seemed as though it were waiting for a funeral. Green 
 boughs had withered and been removed, but the festoons of 
 
46 ENDURA ! OR, 
 
 cranberries still decorated the walls; the evergreen canopy, under 
 which she and Walter were made one, had been taken away, and the 
 silence of the grave seemed to be everywhere. 
 
 Annette sat down and wept, as she thought of the sweet and bitter 
 past; great tears rolled down her cheeks, and audible sobs escaped 
 her. She seemed lost to all around, as though she were in a trance. 
 Feeling a hand laid gently upon her head, she looked up, and there 
 hovering over her like a guardian-angel, was Sallie Vic. She, 
 too, was weeping, and seemed in almost as great distress as Annette, 
 who immediately arose and embraced the dear girl who could make 
 her sorrow her own. No words could speak the feelings conveyed 
 by that embrace. No sisters could have loved each other better. 
 
 Annette suggested that they take a walk in the fields, to which her 
 young friend assented ; anything to make Annette forget for a 
 moment her sorrow and loneliness. It was pleasant, but the autumn 
 air was keen, and they walked on briskly through the field where 
 Walter s favorite mare was feeding. Annette spoke to her and she 
 came toward them, almost near enough for Annette to stroke her 
 nose. Turning suddenly, she raised her head, and, snorting fiercely, 
 bounded away. Annette was frightened, and look around for some 
 cause; but nothing appearing, they walked on toward where the ani 
 mal had halted, when the same performance was repeated. Annette 
 was a little puzzled to know why the animal, always so fearless and 
 gentle before, should suddenly have become so wild and frightened, 
 seemingly. 
 
 For two or three days Annette and Sallie were almost constantly 
 together; indeed, Annette could not sleep without her. 
 
 The fourth night after Walter left, they were sleeping together, as 
 usual, when Annette awoke with a scream, which awakened the old 
 people, as well as Sallie, who seemed to feel every movement made by 
 Annette. The old gentleman came to the door and asked what the 
 matter was. Annette told him she had had a horrible dream; she 
 supposed it must have been a kind of night-mare; but she declared 
 she could not sleep any more that night. 
 
 She said she had seen Walter at the hotel, in the very room which 
 she had occupied while in New York, after the terrible ship-wreck. 
 He appeared to be asleep. Just then the door appeared to be gently 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 47 
 
 pushed open, when, of a sudden, there was a tremondous crash, 
 upon which she screamed, and awoke. She got up and dressed, and 
 nothing could induce her to try to sleep again. She declared that 
 some one had attempted the life of Walter, if he had not already 
 been murdered. Her excitement was intense; nothing could soothe 
 her. She tried to be brave, but hysterics came on, and she was un 
 controllable. The next day she had a fever, and they tried to quiet 
 her by saying that she might expect a letter from Walter. She said, 
 "No; Walter could not write." Her mania began to be serious. She 
 would talk of the ship-wreck, and of her mother and her father; 
 and she shrank as she seemed to feel the ship tremble, and then she 
 would cling to Sallie, and beg of her to save her; now and then raving 
 for Walter, who, she said, they had murdered. 
 
 The family physician was called, who was frightened himself; but 
 he prescribed perfect quiet, at the same time administering an opi 
 ate, which gave temporary relief. 
 
 A week passed, and no news from Walter. Squire Ivers began 
 to feel uneasy. Day after day went by, and still no letter. Every 
 paper that came to the post-office from New York was closely 
 scanned. At last the following paragraph arrested the attention of 
 those interested: 
 
 REMARKABLE CAPTURE. 
 
 Some time since a young man from the country was stopping at 
 the Knickerbocker Hotel. Meeting a stranger, who appeared to be 
 acquainted with his part of the country, he was induced to take a 
 walk with him. Under some pretense or other, they entered one of 
 the deadfalls which abound in the lower part of the city, where the 
 countryman was drugged and robbed, and the next morning he found 
 himself in the station-house, from which unpleaasnt situation he was 
 soon released by the interposition of a friend. There appeared to 
 be four of the robbers, who were, as it was supposed, accomplices. 
 
 The next day the young man, whose name is Ivers, left on the 
 
 morning stage for W . He had scarcely taken his seat on the 
 
 top of the coach before he saw a man get inside who he had good 
 reason to remember. It proved to be "Puny," alias Chas. Jackson, 
 the proprietor of the den in which he was drugged and robbed. 
 Young Ivers mistrusted his purpose, and determined to not lose 
 sight of him, at the same time keeping shady himself. As Ivers sus 
 pected, they both got off at the same station; when Ivers, who is a 
 
48 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 powerful man, immediately collared him, accusing him of the rob 
 bery. At first he denied any knowledge of what the man was talking 
 about, but, subsequently, a portion of the young man s money was 
 found upon his person, with other proofs which were conclusive; so 
 he was held to answer with two of the others, who were discovered 
 through a letter which he attempted to forward clandestinely, but 
 which was intercepted, fortunately, for the good of the community. 
 Thus were three as great rogues captured as there are in the city; 
 also a woman who attempted the confidence game upon the same 
 young man, all of whom, including the woman, are now in jail await 
 ing their trials. Now comes the strangest part of the whole affair. 
 Mr. Ivers arrived in the city the day before yesterday, and stopped 
 again at the Knickerbocker Hotel. He came as a witness for the 
 commonwealth against the villains who have so long disgraced our 
 city. After being tempted by an offer of a large sum of money, as 
 well as otherwise, he acted the part of an honest, conscientious gentle 
 man, and came on, greatly inconveniencing himself, in order that jus 
 tice should be done to some of the worst characters that infest New 
 York. 
 
 Going to his room the night after his arrival, he noticed that the 
 bolt did not seem to enter the cavity intended for it, so he left the 
 key half turned; but in order to make it secure, he put the washstand 
 against the door, and on top of that his valise, while still on top of 
 all he put the ewer and basin which were in the room. About mid 
 night the house was aroused by a tremenduous crash, which brought 
 Mr. Ivers out of bed and to the door in an instant. The night clerk 
 rushed to the foot of the stairs, where he met a man in great haste 
 trying to make his escape. The clerk, with the assistance of two or 
 three who happened to be present, secured him, notwithstanding his 
 protestations of innocence. Mr. Ivers soon came down, and, wonder 
 ful to be told, recognized the very man who first gained his confi 
 dence and induced him to go to the den where he was robbed. 
 
 There could be no mistaking the man. He gives his name as 
 Harry Richards, but he is believed to be none other than "Foxy," the 
 escaped convict, for whom there is a large reward offered. An officer 
 was called in, and he was searched; upon his person was found a 
 bottle of chloroform, a large dirk-knife, and a pair of brass knuckles. 
 If it be the man, which it now appears is quite certain, he was con 
 victed some two years ago of murder in the second degree, and sen 
 tenced to the penitentiary, from which he escaped about six months ago, 
 by the aid of the very woman who attempted to practice her confi 
 dence game upon Mr. Ivers, when he was in the city before; at which 
 time he so providentially escaped from her wiles and webs, and so 
 completely turned the tables upon her. Her case comes up, with the 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 49 
 
 three first captured of the quartette of knaves, the present term of 
 court. 
 
 It is no less remarkable that the last, who it is believed is by far 
 the worst, of the four robbers, should have been caught in his own 
 trap, as it now appears quite certain that he had dabbled with the 
 lock on the door, he having been seen about the house a number of 
 times during the day. A small block of wood was fitted into the 
 mortise of the lock, thus preventing the bolt from passing the center, 
 which virtually left the door unlocked. 
 
 It is supposed that he intended to chloroform, rob and murder 
 Mr. Ivers, as there did not appear to be another way of getting rid 
 of so important a witness; and but for the precaution taken by Mr. 
 Ivers, all four of the confederates would have been set at liberty, 
 and another murder been unaccounted for, while the murderer would 
 have been at large in our midst. By this time the city " black legs" 
 will begin to feel that the man from S is a bad man to tackle. 
 
 It appears, almost, that Mr. Ivers had been an instrument in the 
 hands of providence for annihilating these outlaws, and it is to be 
 hoped that nothing will delay the course of justice until the whole 
 five are behind the bars at Sing Sing. 
 
 By the next days mail there came a letter addressed to J. Ivers, 
 Esq. Annette had been in a fearfully nervous state since the night 
 of her terrible dream, which came so near being a fearful reality. 
 Indeed, all that which she seemed to see and hear was real, and 
 must be accounted for upon some of those undefined and mysterious 
 theories which have existed so long, but of which comparatively little 
 is known. 
 
50 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SALLIE VIC. 
 
 Abused mortals ! did you know 
 
 Where joy, heart s ease and comfort s grow 
 
 You d scorn proud towers, 
 
 And seek them in their bowers, 
 
 Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake, 
 
 But blustering care could never tempest make, 
 
 Nor murmurs e er come nigh us, 
 
 Saving of fountains that glide by us. 
 
 Sir W, Raleigh. 
 
 WHEN the letter was brought to Annette, with the assurance that 
 Walter was well, she appeared scarcely to realize that she had a 
 letter holding it abstractedly in her hand, for two or three minutes, and 
 then she opened it with trembling fingers. She pressed it to her 
 lips, and held it there for a moment, then, taking it away, kissed it 
 again and again rapturously before she attempted to read it. 
 Finally, as she read word after word, the tears fell faster and faster, 
 until she was almost blinded by the shower, which relieved her 
 seared brain, and the dear girl was herself once more. She had 
 been tried by another fearful ordeal, and had just awakened from her 
 dream. 
 
 All of the family were greatly relieved by the receipt of Walter s 
 letter. 
 
 Annette did not let his letter to her leave her possession. Walter 
 did not write again until after the trial of one of the accused had 
 terminated. They were tried separately, and, of course, it took a 
 long time, notwithstanding the prosecution had only one witness to 
 rely upon. True, some of the city police were called, but they could 
 say little more than that they knew the parties, and had never known 
 of their doing anything to get an honest living, or that they were sus 
 picious characters; all of which went for naught, being objected to by 
 their counsel, as a matter of course, so that Walter s two-weeks, ab 
 sence was extended to three, and finally to four weeks, before he 
 could return home. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 51 
 
 The trial resulted in the conviction of the whole of the gang, the 
 woman included, and in a short time the honest people of New York 
 had the satisfaction of having them all sent to the State Prison, their 
 terms ranging from three to fifteen years. "Puny," who proved 
 to be an escaped convict and murderer, was returned for the 
 latter period. And, strange enough, Walter was awarded the reward 
 which had been offered by the Governor, which he generously divided 
 with the police who had been so persevering in his behalf. Walter 
 won a name for honor and uprightness which was never forgotten in 
 the city of New York. He was remembered as the Yankee who was 
 connected with the remarkable trial, or, more properly, trials, of the 
 five robbers, the records of which remain to this day. 
 
 Walter did not think it advisable to write, stating at what time he 
 might be expected home, for fear of detention and disappointment, 
 so, of course, he expected to surprise everybody. But he was mis 
 taken, for not a stage came in but he was looked for, and the day he 
 arrived his wife had driven over to the post-office, feeling almost sure 
 that he would come, or, at least, she would receive a letter. When 
 the stage drove up he bounded out, almost into the arms of his 
 darling Annette, and they were, once more, as happy as it is possible 
 for human beings to be. 
 
 Another welcome awaited him at home. His father and mother 
 could scarcely believe their eyes, and poor, timid little Sallie dared 
 not show half her feelings. Annette told Walter what a dear, good 
 girl she had been to her, and that he must love her very much for 
 her sake. He told Sallie what his wife said, and made her a present, 
 which he had purchased expressly for her before he left the city. 
 Stooping over, he kissed her forehead, and said she should always be 
 Annette s sister, and he would be a brother to her. This was, indeed, 
 too much. She thanked him, and hastened out of the room. 
 
 When Sallie Vic reached her room, she could control her emotions 
 no longer. She threw herself upon her bed, and sobbed like a child. 
 Presently a knock was heard at the door, and Annette s gentle voice. 
 Sallie tried to brush away the tears and look smiling, but it was too 
 apparent to Annette that she had been crying. Putting her arms 
 around her, she told her how much she loved her, and that it made 
 her feel bad to see her so unhappy. Sallie said she did not cry 
 
52 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 because she was unhappy, but because she felt she was not good 
 enough for all the kindnesses which the whole family bestowed upon 
 her. 
 
 It was Annette s turn now to try and soothe her friend. She told 
 her that she was not beholden to any one; that she worked for all 
 she got, and was deserving of much more. Still, the feeling that she 
 was a servant, and the daughter of a convict, seemed to break her 
 spirit, and all the assurances Annette could give appeared to 
 aggravate the case. Unfortunately for Sallie Vic, she was educated 
 above her sphere in life, and, being naturally sensitive, her position 
 and birth wore upon her, and, it seemed to her friends, to be making 
 inroads upon her health. All who knew her were considerate of her 
 feelings, never alluding to her parents or relations. And still, she 
 appeared to feel that they were thinking how to avoid doing or saying 
 anything to pain her, all the time. 
 
 It is more unfortunate for a person to be born and educated above 
 the sphere which they are compelled to occupy in life, than for a 
 person of mean birth to be forced into a higher position. Neither 
 can adjust herself to her place. The difference is, the one who is 
 pulled down feels too much her debasement ; while the one who is 
 promoted feels too much her elevation. 
 
 Sallie Vic came from good stock. Her mother was descended from 
 good English blood, and her father was the son of a prominent 
 business man, who lived to see his son disgrace him and enter the 
 prison s portals. His mother died some years before, of that slow 
 but sure disease, consumption. It was said that the waywardness of 
 the son was, in a great measure, attributable to the indulgence of his 
 mother. But she did not live to see him disgraced, and feel disgraced 
 with him. Sallie remembered her grandmother, and many claimed 
 to see a striking likeness to the grandmother in the granddaughter. 
 
 It was often predicted that she would go, as her grandmother had 
 gone, by consumption; every cold seemed to settle on her lungs, and 
 the last was more severe than any she seemed to have contracted be 
 fore. 
 
 About this time some important improvements were contemplated 
 on the Ivers farm. The old house, which the Squire had built when 
 he first cleared up the land, was without form or comeliness, merely a 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 53 
 
 succession of additions made from time to time, as necessity de 
 manded. A site had been selected years before by Squire Ivers upon 
 which to build a new house, if ever one was required. From year to 
 year Walter had intimated that the time was at hand. At length 
 the old gentleman consented, and the great event was undertaken. 
 
 A cellar was dug under the entire house, which was walled up with 
 flat stones and pointed with mortar, and then great flat rocks were 
 placed on top, upon which the stout oak frame was to rest. The men 
 went into the woods, and with their axes felled the trees for the 
 sleepers, and with their broad axes they squared them, so that solid 
 seven-inch timbers were first laid upon the stonework; and then the 
 great upright corner and center posts were framed in, draw-bored and 
 pinned, braced and bolted; in between were the stout oak joists, bridged 
 and braced like the frame of a ship. Then came the plates upon which 
 the floor-timbers were to rest, and then more uprights and more brac 
 ing, until the top plates, upon which the rafters were to rest, were in 
 place; then came the rafters, also bolted, draw-bored and pinned. 
 The gables were then timbered, and the frame was up ready for 
 covering. Oak and chestnut were also used for the rough boarding, 
 and usually the surface was covered by chestnut shingles; but Squire 
 Ivers, or, rather, we should say Walter Ivers, had concluded to have 
 clapboards, as they were supposed to make a better finish, though 
 costing somewhat more. It was a whole year before the house was 
 completed, during which time Walter became a happy father; a son 
 had been born unto him, to the great joy of the household. When, 
 finally, the house was completed, there was quite a large family, with 
 servants and workmen, to take possession of it. A description of the 
 great house may not be without interest to the reader. We are 
 writing of the second generation, and it will be proper to describe the 
 houses in which the people lived. 
 
 Every age has had its peculiar style of architecture. One hundred 
 and fifty years ago, the gambril-roof predominated, with now and 
 then an attic window or two peeping out from the almost perpen 
 dicular roof which formed the second story, like great eyes, overlook 
 ing the country around. 
 
 The gambril-roof era lasted about half a century, when a change 
 took place, it could scarcely be called an improvement. Instead of 
 
54 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 the single story, and then the steep lower roof which formed the 
 second story, there were two full stories in front, sloping away to a 
 very low story in the rear, making one continuous roof from the ridge 
 pole to the lower eaves. Along the front were two rows of small 
 windows with panes of glass about six by eight inches. In the rear 
 of the house was the kitchen, which usually occupied the most of the 
 side of the house upon which it was located. This style did not last as 
 long as the gambril-roof; but out of it grew the regular two-story 
 house, which may be seen to-day, with the stereotyped rows of small 
 windows; with the little panes of glass, scarcely larger than a man s 
 hand; with one great chimney in the center of the ridge-pole. Some 
 times two chimneys were built, but usually one did the work, with 
 fire-places upon all sides. 
 
 History repeats itself in architecture as in everything else, and it is 
 conceded that the present style 1885 is copied after that of two 
 hundred years ago; certain it is that many country houses built 
 within the last five years look wonderfully like those built one hun 
 dred and fifty years ago; many of the same angles in sides and roofs, 
 and, in some, even the little windows are introduced. The colors, 
 too, have changed within a very short period. It is but a few years ago 
 that white houses with green blinds were the fashion. Now an artistic 
 house is seldom painted white; dark and parti-colors preponderate 
 where there are any pretensions made to esthetics or style. 
 
 At the time Squire Ivers built his new house, the two-story, little- 
 window style was in vogue. The house was finished and painted red 
 a favorite color at that period. The front door, exactly in the mid 
 dle of one side, was finished with side-lights and transom, all of 
 which, with the window-casings, were painted white. 
 
 Upon the center of the door was a grotesque head intended to 
 represent a lion. In the mouth was held the bronzed bail of the rude 
 knocker, which was used instead of a bell. This knocker could be 
 heard in any part of the house, and was really quite as effectual 
 as the gong bell. 
 
 One peculiarity of those country houses was that they fronted 
 nowhere, or in other words, their front door was of very little use, 
 except to put milk-pails and pans upon the steps to dry. 
 
 Oftentimes they were far away from the highway, in the fields, 
 
KESIDENCE OF GENERAL IVEBS. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 55 
 
 with a number of gates to be opened before they could be reached; 
 and then the front was as likely to be walled up as not, or, at best, it 
 fronted on the vegetable garden, which was fenced up on three sides 
 to keep the hens out. 
 
 Lilacs and currant bushes were the chief ornamental shrubs, while 
 in summer sun-flowers and saffron adorned the borders. Later pole- 
 beans and potatoes were most admired by the farmer, while his wife 
 cultivated a few "sweet-williams" and "bouncing bet." 
 
 Usually a white and red rose was allowed to struggle for life in 
 some unapproachable corner, and from time to time, some persistent 
 flower would spring up unnoticed, and live to bloom and beautify 
 the too-practical garden. 
 
 The hop vine not unfrequently embowered the door, and spear 
 mint hid away in the lower corner, among the rocks, defying the 
 spade and hoe. Pigeonberry and comfrey were allowed to grow, be 
 cause they were good for medicine; but valuable ground could not be 
 cumbered by useless flowers, no matter how beautiful or fragrant they 
 may have been. 
 
 Stone walls divided the fields. The orchard was separate and 
 alone. In summer the swine were kept there to eat the falling fruit, 
 and the rising worms. It was generally thought, and with good 
 reason, that an apple orchard produced better when hogs were kept 
 in it. 
 
 Squire Ivers garden was not unlike those of other farmers, out when 
 the new house was built, Walter determined to have a nice-looking 
 front yard, and with that view the lawn was made smooth and grass- 
 seed sown; then a few ornamental plants and trees were planted upon 
 each side of the walk leading up to the door. Two great poplar 
 trees stood guard at equi-distant from either corner of the house. 
 
 By the side of a brook which gurgled along at the bottom of the 
 slope were two golden willows, which Mrs. Ivers had planted there 
 many years before. A magnificent white ash grew a little nearer the 
 house, where stood the grindstone and hung the scythes when the 
 noon hour came. 
 
 This great tree stands, casting its shadows farther and farther year 
 after year, and the children of to-day enjoy its grateful shade as did 
 the children of a century ago. On the hillside across the verdant 
 
56 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 vale were the lowing kine, cropping the sweet grass in summer, or 
 seeking a shelter when wintry storms were rife. Beyond were the 
 woods, bare in winter, but when spring came they were clothed in 
 beauty, and the thrush andredbird sang their wild notes amid the leafy 
 coverts; the meadows stretched away to the lowlands where grew the 
 wild tiger-lilies, to which was compared Solomon and his glories; and 
 still they were more beautiful. Like a flame the Indian pink stood 
 up from the river bank, and the blackbird, perched upon its bending 
 top, caught its scarlet tints, and, rising, soared away to heaven with 
 Its joyful notes, while the swallows skimmed the buzzings gnats from 
 the tepid stream. When evening came the night-hawk soared aloft, 
 and, when almost above the clouds, would sound his trumpet and 
 shoot again to earth to seek his mate. The whippoorwill, with melan 
 choly song, perched near, sings and repeats its lonely strain. When 
 the midnight hour was past, the cuckoo s plantive song was heard in 
 the glade, until aurora streaked the east, and the song-birds of day 
 sang the glad tidings. Gradually the stars went out and the glorious 
 sun of morning shone forth in all his splendor, flooding the valley 
 with light, and gilding the hilltops; and another day of joy and sor- 
 was begun. 
 
 Those who are born in cities, who have been denied the pleasure 
 of being in the country and enjoying its summer beauties, have lost 
 one of the greatest pleasures of life, a pleasure to which the aged 
 look back as to an oasis in the desert. 
 
 All the enjoyments of life are sweeter when surrounded by the 
 pure and beautiful. Man must become better amid such scenes of 
 beauty and innocence; even love itself should be sweeter where no 
 alloy can mingle with the pure gold. Calm thoughts, rest to body 
 and soul, with nature s benediction, must be conducive to love pure 
 and holy, a love which looks above and beyond self, and loses it 
 self in the sweet contemplation of others good. Love like this 
 lives on forever; it follows that which has won it beyond lifes portals, 
 even into the valley and shadow of death. 
 
 At last the great house was completed, and furnished as well as 
 such houses were expected to be furnished at that time. 
 
 Happiness and contentment were found here for the young, and 
 peace and hope for the aged. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 57 
 
 For five years good old Squire Ivers and his faithful wife traveled 
 on together toward that better rest, laying up treasures in heaven by 
 doing good upon earth. The good old man stumbled at last, and 
 the gaping earth swallowed him up. His sickness was, as he could 
 have wished, of short duration. His mind was clear to the last. 
 Standing at death s portal, he saw the gates ajar, and, with a fond 
 adieu, he entered in. 
 
 His good wife survived him but two or three years, when they 
 met again upon the other shore. Renewed in youth, divested of the 
 corruptible, they put on the incorruptible, and live on to-day in glory, 
 joined long since by many, who were the better for having followed 
 their example here. 
 
 When the Squire died there was great mourning throughout the 
 country, and all joined in honoring one who had himself honored the 
 place where he lived; and the day of his burial is an event referred to 
 to this day, when mourning was throughout the land. 
 
 Having buried the first, it becomes our duty to bring forward the 
 second generation, as a kind of interlude between the first and the 
 third, to show the effect of each upon the one succeeding it. 
 
 When Jeremiah Ivers first came to S the neighbors were few 
 
 and far between. The surrounding country was heavily timbered, 
 and wild game was in abundance. The bear and the wolf were 
 common, and caused much damage, at times, to the flocks of the 
 settlers. 
 
 We have read how young Ivers laid the foundation for a moderate 
 fortune ; how he built his tents and cleared the fields, and planted 
 crops and built fences, first of trees and then of stone ; how he 
 hewed and cut, and built buildings to protect himself and his cattle 
 against the wintry storms ; how, all alone, he provided a home for 
 one who, as the grandmother of the real character of this drama, 
 played an important part. At the time the hardy settler took unto 
 himself a wife, he was considerably past the age when passion, rather 
 than prudence, predominates. It was the age of mature manhood, 
 and the one he selected for his helpmate had waited for years until 
 her affianced should say, "Come." It is true, they were not kept 
 entirely apart, for many were the happy hours they passed together 
 at her father s house, where she spun and wove and sewed and knit 
 
5$ ENDURA : OR, 
 
 and prepared things useful, when she should be installed mistress of 
 a home of her own. 
 
 In those days the farmers raised flax, and broke it and hackled it, 
 and their wives and daughters spun it and wove it into cloth. They 
 spun and wove their wool, and knit stockings and made the linsey- 
 woolsey of which their best gowns were manufactured all this 
 within one hundred years. Every intelligent member of the family 
 lent a hand to assist, both indoor and out. There were no drones in 
 a New England farmer s house, one hundred years ago; and who 
 shall say they were not as happy then as now? 
 
 Is there any wonder that our old homes have fallen into ruins, 
 when their inhabitants have become so indifferent and shiftless as 
 have those of the present generation? Their higher education has 
 not been conducive to the welfare and prosperity of the country, 
 nor has improved machinery helped the poor. Their labors are no 
 less, and their comforts, no more. The few luxuries that we enjoy 
 to-day, which were denied our ancestors, are outweighed by the 
 effeminacy they have produced. 
 
 But we are not arguing the pros or cons of society, and we will 
 take the world as we find it, and go on with our story. 
 
 The family cares of Walter Ivers increased from year to year. 
 They had been married nearly three years when Bernard was born, 
 and fully eight years more elapsed before was born the daughter, 
 whose remarkable history will be related in the following pages. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 59 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " ENDURA." 
 
 A lavish planet reigned when she was born, 
 And made her of such kindred mould to heaven 
 She seems more heaven s than ours. 
 
 Lee s (Edipus. 
 
 ENDURA IVERS advent into the world was an occasion of great 
 rejoicing. Already had her little brother Bernard wound him 
 self into the affections of his fond and happy parents. Almost 
 every indulgence was granted him; all his surroundings were pleasant; 
 his disposition was gentle, unlike most children of his sex; his percep 
 tion was keen, and he had all the attributes of high nobility. 
 
 He was taught to love his little sister, and she, in turn, looked up to 
 her brother as to one of superior attainments; and this feeling grew 
 with the children, so that when Endura was yet but a child, and 
 Bernard scarcely more than a lad, she magnified him into a hero, and 
 a great man. 
 
 The first rudiments of learning were taught him at home, so that 
 when he went to the district school he was even more advanced than 
 many who had been sent there a number of terms before. He could 
 spell and read and cipher, and stood at all times at the head of his 
 class; and it was quite natural that he should be the favorite, and to 
 some extent, the pet of the teachers. 
 
 This was gratifying to his parents, and encouraged them to ren 
 der him all the assistance which was in their power, in order that he 
 should maintain the position which he had reached at a bound. 
 
 As a youth, he was noble; of generous instincts, and great mental 
 powers, far beyond any of his play-fellows or comrades.. 
 
 Bernard Ivers was of a peculiar type. As a boy and youth, aside 
 from his high mental acquirements, he was remarkable. He was what 
 is called a pretty boy; tall, well-formed, and graceful in every move 
 ment. His complexion was dark; eyes and hair decidedly black. 
 
6o 
 
 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 Every expression lent beauty to his face, and every movement was 
 grace itself. His father used to call him his little Frenchman, and 
 his play-fellows could think of no worse nickname than "Frenchy." 
 Of course, he had rivals; competitors in study, and those who were 
 envious of his position, and of the favors he received. Up to the 
 time he was twelve years old he was called by some of the ill-natured 
 ones the girl-boy. They said he was tied to his mother s apron- 
 strings, which was thought to mean a great deal. 
 
 His inclinations were toward mercantile pursuits. His grandfather 
 had been a thoroughly practical man; his father a gentleman of en 
 larged views, generous and enterprising. What the good old gentle 
 man had accumulated the young Squire kept together and added to. 
 
 Walter Ivers, Esq., was well calculated to fill the position occu 
 pied by his father. All the honors and offices that he would accept 
 were thrust upon him, and he filled all places with ability and credit 
 to himself. Being of a more convivial turn of mind than his father 
 had been, he naturally won friends who avoided his more matter-of- 
 fact father. 
 
 The young Squire was ambitious, and when a candidate was 
 wanted for a political position, he was sought out, and without much 
 trouble induced to accept. Preferments and offices were, then as 
 now, expensive; and those of moderate means could not afford to 
 accept them, when the expenses were great and the emoluments 
 few. 
 
 Walter Ivers was Brigadier-General of the State Militia. He was 
 Overseer of the Town Poor. He was president of the same bank of 
 which his father had been before him. He was one of the Town 
 Council, School Committeeman, Overseer of the Public High-ways,and 
 a standing candidate for president of all meetings, whether political or 
 otherwise. He took an active part in everything which he believed was 
 for the good of the community in which he lived. Even the Church 
 felt the influence of his mind and his purse. He was a generous 
 supporter of the cause, though perhaps somewhat lax in his example. 
 The puritanical doctrine predominated, almost to the exclusion of 
 other creeds. If any other religious belief was promulgated, it was 
 at once frowned down by the zealous Methodists or the hard-shelled 
 Baptists. Squire Ivers not only tolerated, but actually encouraged 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 6 I 
 
 new doctrines and new teachings; so much so, that some of the more 
 bigoted accused him of infidelity and predicted that he was sowing 
 the wind and would reap the whirlwind. 
 
 About the time of which we write, a wealthy gentleman from the 
 city, purchased a place in the village. He made extensive improve 
 ments, and finally built a beautiful house, to which in time he 
 brought his family, consisting of a wife and two children, a boy and 
 girl. 
 
 Mrs. Haywood was a perfect lady, and the children were well 
 brought up, and bid fair to become ornaments to society. 
 
 At first the women in the place visited the family and seemed 
 disposed to cultivate the acquaintance of the strange lady. 
 
 Unfortunately, the new comer made known her religious belief, 
 which happened to be of the sect called Universalists. When it 
 became known that she believed in such a doctrine, every woman in 
 the village shun ned her, and they even went so far as not to allow 
 their children to play with hers. 
 
 They were encouraged in their treatment of the Haywoods, by 
 universal condemnation of Universalism by all the ministers who 
 preached the good old doctrine of hell-fire and brimstone, which 
 had been handed down to them from generation to generation, 
 
 Mrs. Tartar was considered good authority, and Mrs. Cramp said 
 she had heard, and she was pretty sure it came from Mrs. Tartar, 
 
 because it was told her by Miss ; but she bethought herself and 
 
 did not give the name. It was presumedly Miss Cutting, who had 
 told her that a great black dog had been seen about the village since 
 the Haywoods came there, which had never been seen there before, 
 and some people did think that that great dog was Satan himself, 
 hanging around ready to take charge of the soul of that wicked man 
 as soon as the breath left his body. 
 
 There was another very mysterious man living in the neighbor 
 hood. His house was said to be haunted and strange things 
 occurred there constantly. Strange lights had often been seen in his 
 garret and strange noises heard, though no one was found rash enough 
 to investigate the mysterious stronghold. It was generally under 
 stood that Mr. Haywood knew this mysterious man. In fact, it was 
 supposed that they were interested together in some dark plot to de- 
 
62 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 stroy the peace and good name of the place. These whisperings grew 
 louder and louder, until it became common talk, and circumstances 
 soon came to pass that decided the inhabitants to take some public 
 action in the matter. 
 
 The strange man who had been suspected of being a confederate 
 of Haywood s, really made his appearance in those parts some time 
 before him, and built a very queer-looking house, not entirely unlike 
 others in the neighborhood, except its foundation and attic. It was 
 two full stories in front, running back to a ledge in the rear 
 that was somewhat higher than that portion of the 
 house, which was but one story. The ledge which sloped 
 gently away from the house, was covered with timber, that was 
 rather a protection against northerly storms. From the edge of this 
 cliff was built a strong bridge, or causeway, over the lower portion 
 of the house, and through a kind of dormer window into the upper 
 story, which was intended, as he said, for a stable for his horse. The 
 floor upon which he intended his cattle to stand was very strong, and 
 rounding to the center like the deck of a ship, and then covered well 
 with a tough clay, so that no sound could be heard below. Every 
 provision was made for horses, and the careless ones said, " What an 
 old fool !" and laughed at his ecentricities. 
 
 This odd old man was known far and near as " Goold Smith," 
 and his profession was that of a tinker, and maker of silver spoons, 
 some of which may he seen in the neighborhood to this day. The 
 old man would go about the country and gather up old metal and 
 gold and silver, which he would manufacture into spoons and gold 
 beads, which were much in vogue at the time of which we write. 
 ^ Sometimes the old tinker would be gone for weeks together, and 
 return home loaded down with material for his workshop. When 
 the spoons or necklaces were done he would set out to deliver them. 
 His customers were from far and near. Some of the more risky of 
 the neighbors ventured to patronize him, and they were usually well 
 pleased with his work. 
 
 Mr. Ivers concluded to have him make some spoons, and in due 
 course of time they were sent home, all lettered and polished. No 
 one was ever invited into his workshop, and they only knew that he 
 did as he agreed, and did not care to pry into the old man s secrets. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 63 
 
 The mare which the old man rode most of the time was a marked 
 animal. Just one-half of her head was white, while the other was 
 black. One of her eyes was white, and the other as black 
 as a coal. Her mane and tail were white, and white and 
 black spots covered her body. One fore-foot and one hind-foot was 
 black, and the others were white. Her walk was like that of the 
 camel, and her trot, or whatever her more rapid movements might 
 be termed, was like the swing of an elephant when being hurried 
 along. The animal was never seen once but she was known next 
 time. 
 
 A great robbery and murder was supposed to have been committed 
 
 something like eight or nine miles from S , and it was thought 
 
 advisable to employ a detective from the city to work up the case. 
 The bones of a horse, with saddle and bridle still fastened to the 
 carcass, were discovered in a deep, dark swamp, at some considerable 
 distance from the public road. The animal appeared to have been 
 tied to a tree with a strong rope, and, as far as was known, was 
 then killed outright, or allowed to starve to death. 
 
 It was finally ascertained that the horse and saddle were 
 owned and ridden by a peddler who passed that way years before, 
 and who was never seen or heard of again. 
 
 It was, without doubt, a foul murder, and the poor horse was made 
 to suffer that he might not excite suspicion by appearing without his 
 master. Every effort was made to unravel the mystery, that could 
 possibly be made. 
 
 The theory of some was that the man was murdered and put 
 upon his horse and carried into the dense swamp where the bones 
 were found, and there sunk in one of the many mire holes which 
 abounded. These holes were all sounded and dragged, but no signs 
 of human bones were brought up. 
 
 Hundreds of curious people from the surrounding country went to 
 the spot and stayed for hours, in hopes that something would de 
 velop to satisfy their morbid curiosity. Something horrible and re 
 volting was momentarily expected, as the workmen poked and 
 dragged the green, slimy waters, or the stinking mud, as it was drawn 
 upon the quivering banks. For weeks the excitement was kept up. 
 Months even elapsed before the search was abandoned. One or two 
 
64 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 celebrated detectives were employed by the authorities to clear up 
 the mystery; others, hearing of the affair, came from a distance and 
 visited the spot, hoping to add to their laurels by discovering some 
 clue to the murdered or murderer. 
 
 Goold Smith was returning home from one of his long tramps, 
 and, happening to be in the neighborhood, he thought he would ride 
 into the swamp and see what could be seen. 
 
 There were a great many strangers present. One in particular 
 seemed to take a great notion to the remarkable horse which the old 
 man rode. He watched the rider closely as though he knew him. 
 
 Once or twice he tried to draw the old man into conversation, but 
 in vain. The strange man with a strange horse seemed to prefer to 
 be by himself and go by himself. He showed that he was annoyed 
 by trying to avoid the stranger, which made the cunning man all the 
 more anxious to make his acquaintance. When, at last, the old 
 tinker started out of the woods, the detective followed him, 
 determined to keep in his company. Whenever the queer-look 
 ing old horse was urged into a trot he found the strange roadster 
 close by his side; when he subsided into a walk, the other would 
 walk also; whichever road the spotted horse took the bay 
 would follow. It was growing late, and the detective did not 
 know whither he was being led; but he was well armed and con 
 stantly on his guard. The shades of night were settling fast, and it 
 began to be quite difficult to see the road; but Mr. Sharp, which was 
 the name by which the detective was known, knew something of his 
 locality by the distance they had ridden, and the general course 
 they had kept. Of a sudden the old man halted, and getting 
 off his horse opened some bars, and turned in a from road. Mr. Sharp 
 rode on, and after some inquiry by the way learned that the village 
 
 of W was but about two miles ahead. This was the post village 
 
 where Mr. Hay wood lived, though, at that time, but little known to 
 the neighbors, he was well-known to Mr. Sharp, who had done busi 
 ness for him in the city. He knew his patron lived during the sum 
 mer at a place of that name, and he immediately concluded that this 
 was the very place. Upon entering the village his first inquiry was 
 for Mr. Haywood; his house was pointed out to him, and thither he 
 turned the head of his tired steed. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 65 
 
 Mr. Haywood was well pleased to meet his old acquaintance, and 
 cordially welcomed him to his village home. When they were com 
 fortably seated in the little sitting-room Mr. Haywood began the 
 conversation by saying: 
 
 " Well, well; who would have expected to see you in this out-of-the- 
 way place at this time. After somebody, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Rather say I came with somebody; for really, the party will 
 scarcely say I was chary of my company." 
 
 " Perhaps your companion would have preferred company of his 
 own choosing." 
 
 "Be that as it may, we did not quarrel." 
 
 " Who might be this traveling companion who has lured you thus 
 far into the bowels of the land ? " 
 
 u There you have me. I was about to put a similar question to 
 you; surely you ought to be acquainted with your neighbor. I would 
 ask you who lives in your neighborhood with a calico horse ? An 
 animal that, without doubt, is a direct descendant of the ones manu 
 factured to order by Jacob, upon his final settlement with his father- 
 in-law Laban." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say, you refer to old Mr. Smith, who lives up the 
 road about two miles." 
 
 " It is exceedingly hard telling where he lives the most of his time; 
 but he turned into the woods just about as far from the village as 
 you say. It was getting dark, or I might have accompanied him to 
 the end of his journey." 
 
 "You would not have had far to go, as he lives but little more 
 than half a mile from the road where he turned into the woods." 
 
 " What kind of a man is this Mr. Smith ? There is something 
 rather strange about him." 
 
 " Yes, he is quite eccentric, but a quiet, honest man, I believe; he 
 is a kind of silversmith makes spoons and tinkers in that line." 
 
 "How long has he lived here?" 
 
 " Some years I believe. He has quite a nice place down through 
 the woods, where he does his work; in fact, he built the house he lives 
 in, and a very peculiar house it is." 
 
 " Why peculiar? " 
 
 " Well, it is strangely constructed they say; and the situation 
 
66 ENDURA I OR, 
 
 is a singular one; the house is quite imposing in front, and slopes 
 back to an almost perpendicular bluff, from which there is a 
 draw-bridge, over which he takes his old mare to help him work his 
 press, as he calls it. In the garret of the house there is a forge, and 
 a kind of horse-power by which he plies his trade, the floor of this at 
 tic is arched like the deck of a ship, and thickly covered with tough 
 clay. There is but one way this room can be entered, and that is 
 from the bluff over the draw-bridge. When he crosses over, and goes 
 in, the bridge goes up, and so remains until by some machinery, he 
 lowers it again and makes his egress, when it rises up again, com 
 pletely hiding the door which, like a dormer window, is in through 
 the roof." 
 
 " You have interested me immensely by the account you give of 
 the old man, and I will now tell you where, and under what circum 
 stances, I met him. 
 
 " You are aware that there has been a great deal of excitement 
 about the supposed murder of a man in the adjoining town. 
 
 "The skeleton of a horse was found, supposed to have be 
 longed to a peddler who disappeared four or five years ago, about 
 whom there has been much speculation. It is presumed there 
 has been foul play, and I thought I would like to know something 
 more of the matter than I could learn from the newspapers or hear 
 say, so I concluded to ride out to the swamp and see for myself. 
 
 " I found a great many people gathered there, intent upon discover 
 ing some clue to the mysterious affair. Some were digging in the 
 mire and mud, and others were clearing away the mould, seeking for 
 the bones of the departed peddler. 
 
 " I remained there several hours, when I saw a horse which arrested 
 my attention. The horse was ridden by a man almost as marked as 
 the animal he rode. 
 
 " I tried, in vain, to draw the strange man into conversation, and I 
 thought I noticed an anxiety to get rid of me, which made me all 
 the more persistent; so when, at last, he turned to leave, I 
 concluded to accompany him, whither I did not know. We 
 traveled together for three hours, going this way, and that until 
 it began to grow dark, when we reached the bars where my compan 
 ion turned into the woods, after which I rode on. Meeting a man, 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 67 
 
 I inquired the way to the nearest inn, when he directed me to this 
 village. Remembering that you lived in a place similar in name, I 
 asked the first person I met in the street if such a man lived here, and 
 was immediately shown this as your residence, and never was the 
 sight of an inn more welcome. And such an inn ! But perhaps I 
 am so delighted that I am over free." 
 
 " Not a whit. There could scarcely have been a friend I would 
 more cordially welcomed." 
 
 Just then Mrs. Haywood entered, and was introduced, and soon 
 the children came in. Mrs. Haywood said she had heard her hus 
 band speak of Mr. Sharp frequently, and she did not think he be 
 lied his name, if what was said was true. 
 
 Mr. Sharp thanked her and said were it not for his profession he 
 should think it a questionable compliment. But he supposed it must 
 sharpen one s wits to be constantly on the look out for rogues. In 
 fact, it had become a kind of second nature to measure every man 
 he came in contact with, often judging unjustly, no doubt, but on 
 the whole he had detected many rouges whose every appearance was 
 that of honest men. There was an old saying that the devil usually- 
 left the bars down, and he thought it was so. 
 
 Mrs. Haywood asked if he was upon the track of some one in or 
 about the village. 
 
 He said no, he could not say that he was ; it was a mere matter of 
 curiosity which brought him there, and he should not regret it if 
 nothing more came out of it, than meeting his old friend Haywood.. 
 
 Mr. Haywood suggested that supper was ready; our traveller- 
 acknowledged that to be a welcome announcement, and they repaired 
 to the dinning-room. When the conversation continued, Mr. Sharp 
 asked about the people of the village, and, was told that they were 
 an honest set, but quite clanish and somewhat superstitious. The 
 Doctor was a social man and a very good physician, and some of the 
 people in the surrounding country, were genial, pleasant people; 
 amongst them he named Squire Ivers, who, he said, was one of the 
 substantial farmers, as well as one of the most enlightened gentlemen 
 in that part of the country, and Mrs. Ivers was an elegant and 
 accomplished lady; besides they had two children, a son and a daugh 
 ter, the latter somewhat yonnger than Willie meaning their son. 
 
68 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 Mr. Sharp expressed a desire to meet Mr. Ivers, upon which Mr. 
 Hay wood said he would drive him around that way next day. He 
 said he should expect him to remain a number of days, and he 
 wanted to show him the country. 
 
 Mr. Sharp said he could not deny himself the pleasure of remain 
 ing over one day, but that his duties would scarcely allow him to 
 stay longer. The evening wore on and our traveller was glad when 
 it was suggested that it was time to retire. He would have been per 
 fectly willing to have done so an hour ago but disliked himself to 
 break off the conversation which had become general and interest- 
 to all. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 69 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A STRANGE BEAST. 
 
 Imagination works ; how can she frame 
 Things which are not ; methinks she stands before me. 
 
 And by the quick idea of my mind, 
 Were my skill pregnant, I could draw her picture. 
 
 Webster. 
 
 A FTER their guest had retired, Mrs. Haywood asked her husband 
 1\ if he thought Mr. Smith was suspected of wrong doing. Mr. 
 Haywood said he did not think so, but you could not expect a detec 
 tive to give away his business. 
 
 Mr. Sharp was very tired, and would have gone to sleep immedi 
 ately, but somehow that queer, old horse seemed to haunt him. 
 
 Once during the night, he awoke after a kind of nightmare. That 
 veritable white eye seemed to be glaring at him, and her hoofs were 
 on the point of trampling him down, when he awoke, and strangely 
 enough, it flashed across his mind, where he had seen the animal 
 before, the same old mare, with the same leathern saddle-bags, 
 and the circumstance as he remembered it was not unlike his dream. 
 He was on the track of some counterfeiter in a distant town, and had 
 really captured a man with some of the queer in his possession and 
 was having considerable difficulty in holding him, he being sur 
 rounded by his friends, who were ready to vouch for his honesty 
 and respectability. While he was struggling with the apparently des 
 perate, but really indignant individual in the middle of the street, a 
 man on horseback rode by, and that so near to the two men that they 
 were compelled to step one side, when Mr. Sharp caught a glimpse of 
 that glaring white eye, but of course, being excited he took no far 
 ther note of the strange animal or of the rider. 
 
 The man who was arrested by him, proved to be a worthy citizen 
 who had sold some produce and taken some of the counterfeit coin, 
 in payment. The same party afterwards finding another purchaser 
 took his good money at a trifling reduction from what he had given for 
 
70 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 the produce only the day before and departed no one knew whither- 
 Mr. Sharp could not sleep, tired and all as he was, but he thought of 
 that old horse and of the old man ; and what if he should really be 
 the one who was making the counterfeit money, and going to distant 
 parts in order to dispose of it with safety and without suspicion? 
 And might he not have accomplices in all those places where the stuff 
 had been so freely circulated ? 
 
 Our detective was out in good season the next morning, and 
 enjoyed his breakfast very much. Mrs. Hay wood, after the custom of 
 hostesses, asked how he had rested. 
 
 Mr. Sharp said if he did not sleep, it was not the fault of the room 
 or the bed, for he never remembered having lain upon a nicer one. 
 
 He kept his counsel, and after looking around the place, Mr. Hay- 
 wood concluded it was about time for them to set out for their ride. 
 The vehicle was a commodious one, with two broad seats, so that 
 Mrs. Haywood and both children were comfortably seated on the 
 back seat, while Mr. Haywood and Mr. Sharp occupied the front. 
 Their first drive was around the road by which the detective had 
 come the night before. He readily remembered the bars where the 
 old man had dismounted, but they did not go in sight of the 
 mysterious house. 
 
 About dinner time, which has always been at mid-day in New 
 England farm houses, they reached Mr. Ivers , who was delighted to 
 see them ; and Mrs. Ivers, always at ease, soon put them all so. 
 
 Dinner was soon ready and such a dinner! They are enjoyed 
 nowhere except in good old New England; and even the dinners 
 now, do not seem to be like what they then were. 
 
 Such pork, such beef, such vegetables, such brown bread, such 
 Johnny cakes, such pies, such puddings such everything, that was 
 put upon a farmer s table, at the time of which we write! And to-day 
 even, notwithstanding the general decay of our old homes, there are 
 many good housewives, and many good dinners served. Even the 
 poorest have not lost the art of making Johnny-cakes, which, with 
 their good, sweet butter, is food for the gods. After dinner, while 
 jvlr. Ivers showed the gentlemen around the place, Mrs. Ivers enter 
 tained Mrs. Haywood in the parlor, and the children romped together 
 on the green. Those were halcyon days for New England. Happi- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 71 
 
 ness and contentment abounded, and prosperity sat smiling o er the 
 land. 
 
 After being most agreeably entertained and well rested, our tourists 
 bade good-bye to their kind friends, and went on their way. Mr. 
 Sharp was much interested in everything he saw, and as Mr. So-and 
 so s place was pointed out, he could seem to understand the character 
 of the men by the appearance of their houses and their surroundings ; 
 and he was not far from being correct. 
 
 They were driving along a road well on their way home when Mr. 
 Haywood called his friend s attention to a house nearly hidden in 
 the woods, apparently a mile or so from the highway they were on. 
 He told him that was Mr. Smith s house, his traveling companion of 
 the night before. 
 
 Mr. Sharp took his bearings and mentally resolved that he would 
 know more of the strange trio, namely, the man, the horse and the 
 house. Returning to the village all were well pleased, they having 
 had a delightful day. 
 
 The next day after enjoying a good night s rest Mr. Sharp took his 
 departure, promising to call again if he happened to be in those 
 parts. 
 
 After Mr. Sharp had left it was vaguely whispered who he was and 
 what he was. 
 
 A quartette of good Christians met at Mr. Tartar s. There were 
 Miss Cramp and Miss Cutting and Deacon Garner and Mr. Cribbe. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Tartar to Mr. Cribbe, "what do you think of 
 the goings on ? What do you think of your nice gentleman now, the 
 man whom you thought had as much right to his belief as any 
 of us, going around with nobody knows who, and doing all sorts 
 of things, even to playing the riddle on the Sabbath day, and teach 
 ing his children to dance?" 
 
 Mr. Cribbe said he did not think there was any law against fiddling 
 on Sunday or on any other day he might choose. 
 
 " I suppose he can drive around the country with strangers and 
 bad characters if he has a mind to," put in Miss Cramp. 
 
 11 And go to people s houses and spread his wicked doctrine among 
 the neighbors, "said Miss Cutting. 
 
7 2 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 " As for that,", put in Mrs. Tartar, " I do not believe the Ivers are 
 much better than he is." 
 
 " If I remember aright, Squire Ivers helped your son out of a little 
 difficulty once." 
 
 " You needn t throw that up to me, for that affair was settled long 
 ago, and the miserable fellow was not half so badly hurt as he pre 
 tended." 
 
 " Besides it was the Old Squire we asked a favor of and not Wal 
 ter, who had enough to do to get out of scrapes of his own at that 
 time." 
 
 " Perhaps I may have forgotten, but I do not remember that Wal 
 ter had any very bad scaapes to get out of." 
 
 "No scrapes indeed! What was he doing with that woman in 
 New York, when he was caught and arrested on the spot ? I should 
 like to know what you call a scrape if that was not one." 
 
 " Yes, but if I mistake not, she proved to have been one of the 
 gang who had robbed him, and she was sent to seduce him or buy 
 him off, and when she found she could not she took advantage of her 
 situation and alarmed the house. It was proved afterwards that she 
 was a bad woman, and she was tried and imprisoned with her con 
 federates." 
 
 " All very well, but what business had he being in company with 
 such characters ? " 
 
 " The same business that you have living in the same village with 
 that wicked man, Mr. Hay wood." 
 
 You may talk all you have a mind to, Peter Cribbe, but you 
 can t make me believe Walter Ivers is the nice young man you pre 
 tend he is." 
 
 " For my part," said Miss Cutting," " I should not want him for a 
 husband." 
 
 " Perhaps that may account for his taking up with Miss Dubrow," 
 said Mr. Cribbe. 
 
 Deacon Garner said it was better not to be too personal. For his 
 part he had nothing against Walter Ivers ; and as for the trouble he 
 had in New York he did not think Walter was to blame. 
 
 Mrs. Cramp said he had no business in New York, and there was 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 73 
 
 no knowing whether the truth had been told or not. One thing was 
 certain a man may be known by the company he keeps. 
 
 " At that rate, what do you make me out? " said Mr. Cribbe. 
 
 "There s that poor gal, Sally Vic, who lives with the Ivers . They 
 make a slave of her and she is so weakly," said Mrs, Cramp. 
 
 " They do say she has the consumption, "said Miss Cutting. 
 
 "And yet they make her take care of those children who are 
 humored like two great babies. And she does their washing, I m 
 told, and cook s, and waits on the family just like a nigger," said 
 Mrs. Tartar. 
 
 Mrs. Cramp said it was awful, and she heard that they threatened 
 to expose her to everybody because her father was in the State prison. 
 
 Mr. Cribbe said he knew better. That whatever other people 
 might say, he knew that the girl was treated tenderly, and that Mrs. 
 Ivers was all the time trying to make her work light by assisting in 
 everything, and that he had heard Mrs. Ivers say she should not wash 
 the clothes. But she would work all the time in spite of Mr. or Mrs. 
 Ivers. 
 
 " Oh, yes, when you are there they pretend to be very kind to her, 
 no doubt," said Mrs. Tartar. 
 
 "And what about that poor Mr. Carter who had a note at the 
 bank and could not pay, and Walter made him sign over part of his 
 farm. Was that done like a Christian," said Mrs. Cramp. 
 
 "I don t know about its being Christianlike," said Mr. Cribbe, 
 but two of the most prominent members of your church were the 
 directors of the bank who were anxious to have the debt secured, 
 even against the pleadings of Walter Ivers, who they said was too 
 young to advise men like them who had had more experience in 
 such matters." 
 
 "Well, I should think so," said Mrs. Tartar. "The idea of that 
 upstart, just because his father was well to do, daring to advise such 
 men as Mr. Lantern and Deacon Snow!" 
 
 "I don t know how it is," said Mrs. Cramp, "but you allers stick 
 up for them Ivers, Mr. Cribbe. 
 
 " And I would for you, too, Mrs. Cramp, if I thought you were in 
 the right, and were being talked about." 
 
 " That s another thing," said Mrs. Cramp. 
 
74 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 Deacon Garner said the good book told them there were none 
 perfect, and when he thought of his own shortcomings he felt satisfied 
 that it was so. 
 
 Mr. Cribbe said he must go as it was getting late. He had been 
 with some groceries and produce to a poor widow, a member of their 
 church, who worked out amongst the people for a mere pittance, and 
 had it not been for Mr. Cribbe and a few more like him she must 
 have suffered. 
 
 When Mr. Cribbe had gone he came in for a severe overhauling. 
 They all agreed in one thing just because Mrs. Tartar said so. And 
 that was that Mr. Cribbe had become worse by associating with the 
 Haywoods. The fact was he furnished Mr. Haywood with wood, 
 farm produce, and occasionally met him when he collected his bills. 
 
 Deacon Garner said : "the wicked may flourish for a season but 
 they shall be cut down and perish forever." For his part he did not 
 think Haywood and stubble could stand against the Almighty. But 
 still we were commended to pray for such. 
 
 Miss Cutting changed the subject by saying that she heard that 
 Elder Knocks had a new suit. 
 
 Mrs. Cramp said she guessed it was new to the Elder, but that 
 Brother Champlain had worn it for his best for a year and it was getting 
 too small for him, and just fitted Elder Knocks, so he sold it to him 
 for two weeks work on his new barn. 
 
 Miss Cutting said it would go with the gown Mrs. Cribbe gave Mrs. 
 Knocks. 
 
 " And the bonnet you let her have and she has never paid for," 
 said Mrs. Cramp to Mrs. Tartar. 
 
 "Somehow some people are always being helped and never seem 
 to have anything," said Mrs. Cramp. "Now them youngsters o hern 
 hain t got a decent dress to go to meetin in, and only last spring the 
 society met at her house ready to make em up something fit to be 
 seen in. They knowed Mr. Muslin give em some cloth long before ; 
 and do you believe it, she had made it up into pantalets and petti 
 coats, every yard of it ! Such a shiftless way for people to get along, 
 and he has so much gin him at that ! " 
 
 The backbiting session finally closed, and each of the women con 
 gratulated herself upon what she had learned from the other, always 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 75 
 
 flattering herself that she had been very circumspect, when in reality 
 the very thoughts of either of them could be understood almost as 
 much by what they did not say as by what they did. They were ever 
 willing to listen to slander and only too eager to retail it to their 
 neighbors. And with such people a story does not lose by repeating. 
 They protect themselves by saying they heard so and so, when half 
 of the time they were themselves the fabricators and originators. 
 
 From the first it grew until the father of the falsehood would not 
 have recognized his child. And when of importance enough to be 
 traced back to him, it would assume such a different meaning and 
 signification that it became of little or no consequence. It was only 
 the distortion that made it appear important. How much mischief 
 has been done by such tattlers will never be known. Small towns and 
 villages suffer most by them, as a certain class seem to feed upon such 
 garbage and thrive, while those who do not take a part become them 
 selves subjects to be talked about. The ignorant gossippers declare 
 that those who do not join them in their scandalous gatherings are 
 stuck up. 
 
7 6 / ENDURA : OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 WITHOUT OSTENTATION. 
 
 I have too deeply read mankind 
 To be amus d with friendship; tis a name 
 Invented merely to betray credulity ; 
 Tis intercourse of interest not of souls. 
 
 IT MAY be well to look in upon the Hay wood family, as a pleasan 
 contrast with the scandal-mongers of the last chapter. 
 
 When Mr. Sharp had left, Mr. Hay wood said: "Well, my dear, we 
 have had a very pleasant visit from my old friend, and it was such an 
 agreeable surprise, too." 
 
 " I was delighted to meet him, I had heard so much of him and 
 his wonderful exploits." 
 
 "And yet he seems to be a very modest man," said Mr. Hay- 
 wood. "You would never suspect him of being a great detective, 
 would you ? " 
 
 " Quite the contrary; he appeared quite unsophisticated. I won 
 der if he is just the same when he is with rogues." 
 
 "Perhaps that may be a secret of his great success. I was de 
 lighted to have you take us to Mr. Ivers; they are so cordial and do 
 so much for their friends. 
 
 " There are few more genial gentlemen than Walter Ivers, and 
 Mrs. Ivers is a perfect lady a model woman. There are some very 
 nice people in this neighbood. Some who may not be accustomed 
 to the usuages of polite society, but I find them good-hearted, as far 
 as I know; but I am sorry to say my acquaintance with them is 
 rather limited; I returned every call, which was made upon me, when 
 we first came here, and hoped to see them all, again, but scarcely 
 one of them called after. That Mr. Cribbe and his wife seem to be 
 generous hearted and they do a great deal of good." 
 
 "This very day I met him, with a load of produce and groceries 
 which he was distributing among the poor. He appears so con 
 scientious about his weights and measures. I have never had such 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 77 
 
 honest cords of wood, as he brings me. He seems to take great 
 pleasure in bringing us the best of everything." 
 
 " Yes, and he is so kind-hearted, too. One day last Summer, he 
 insisted upon wading into the water, to get me some pond lillies, just 
 because I happened to say I wished I could have them, without a 
 thought of his getting them for me; and his wife is just like him, she 
 will make me take some little thing, every time I go there, until I am 
 fearful she may begin to think that I call just to take what she 
 offers." 
 
 " Did you ever refuse, my dear? " 
 
 Its no use refusing; I find a package ready for me and take it, 
 I must I know, I would cause her to feel badly if I did not take it, 
 and I am sure, we all enjoy the little delicacies. Such preserves as 
 she puts up! And those sweet pickles! I know how to make them 
 now; and was there ever anything more appetizing than those grapes; 
 great green and purple clusters, just as they came from the vine, and 
 I think I never saw such fruit, as they always have. 
 
 " For that matter all fruit seems nice, just taken from the tree. 
 But I grant you, Mr. Cribbe has some very rare and delicious fruit. 
 His peaches and pears were luscious and some of the apples which 
 he raises are very fine. Those black gillyflowers and those great red 
 sweetings. There could not be anything nicer, and that reminds me 
 I must order some more apples, just for the Winter. I should like 
 to send Mr. Allen a bushel of apples, of all the varieties. Yes, and 
 Mr. Goodhue s family thinks so much of anything sent them in that 
 way." 
 
 "We might say that of a number of our friends in the city, and I 
 think I will send down two barrels, and Mr Hanford can distribute 
 them as we may suggest, or I can when I go to town next time." 
 
 " I suppose Mr. Sharp is well on his way by this time. I hope he 
 will meet with no mishap going back. It is a long lonely road, and 
 they do say robberies and murders have taken place in those dark 
 woods." 
 
 "Do you know what they call that road through that swamp? I 
 will tell you. For years it has been called * Cowards Hole, and 
 since the finding of the remains of that horse and his accoutrements 
 
78 ENDURA: OR 
 
 it will make more cowards than ever, and they will all dread the 
 long woods after dark." 
 
 " It does not take long to fly from Mr. Hay woods to Mr. Ivers; 
 and the same bird that told us what the Haywoods said of their 
 neighbors will whisper something of what it heard at the home of the 
 Ivers." 
 
 When the jolly wagon load were out of sight Mrs. Ivers began by 
 saying that she was glad they came. It was so good of them to bring 
 their friend along. "I hope he was favorably impressed with the 
 country." 
 
 " I could tell you something, my dear, and perhaps I may as well 
 now they are gone. That strange gentleman is the great detective. 
 The celebrated Mr. Sharp we have heard so much of. Of course I 
 could not ask what he is here for. But I ll warrant he is on the 
 track of same rascal." 
 
 "Well! I never should have thought it. I am glad now that I did not 
 know who he was or I might have felt a little embarrassed." 
 "Why so, my dear; did he not seem like other men?" 
 " Yes, too much so for the cunning man I hear he is." 
 " What would you have expected of an officer of that kind ? " 
 " Well, I scarcely know, but he was so very modest. He appeared 
 just like one of our neighbors, and the children took him out to see 
 the chickens. He was particularly pleased with the little bantams, 
 and he told Bernard he would like to have him save him a pretty 
 pair and send them to him the first opportunity, and he actually in 
 sisted upon his accepting a dollar in payment. Bernard asked me 
 what he should do. I told him it would be time enough for the gen 
 tleman to pay for them when he got them. But he gave each of the 
 children half a dollar, and told Bernard when he came to the city 
 that he must be sure and come and see him if he was at home." 
 
 " How well those men know how to gain the good will of every 
 body, and once a friend always a friend, I have heard. We hear of 
 criminals escaping sometimes through the carelessness of these offic 
 ials. There may be such instances, but it is not often when they 
 have taken so much trouble to catch a rogue that they carelessly let 
 him go. Sometimes criminals pay large amounts of money to officers 
 to let them go, so they take the money and pretend they never saw 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 79 
 
 the rogue, or if it was known that he had been captured they would 
 say he escaped, and make some plausible excuse for his doing so. 
 The other cases may be when the officer arrests some one who had 
 befriended him in the past, but who had been unfortunate and done 
 something wrong ; or some poor man who had struggled against 
 temptation, and at last it became so strong that in an ungarded mo 
 ment he forgot himself and fell. Such a man might have escaped 
 from Mr. Sharp. At all events he would not have made the same 
 effort to arrest such an one as he would notorious thieves and mur 
 derers." 
 
 "Well, I wish him well, and may he always do right." 
 
 A few miles from the town of S , lived a poor man by the name 
 
 of Kent. He rented a small farm, and, when not cultivating it, he 
 worked by the day for the neighbors who had need of his services. 
 
 General Ivers gave him considerable employment, and tried to en 
 courage him in his efforts to get along. 
 
 Mr. Kent was a Scotchman by birth, and had always been used to 
 hard work. He married an honest American girl, willing to assist to 
 hold the plow, or drive. They had been married quite a number of 
 years, and their children increased more rapidly than their more sub 
 stantial worldly possessions. 
 
 Their eldest child was a daughter, who, from the time she was six 
 years old, began to be of use to her mother in caring for the younger 
 children. The second was a boy, who felt himself a man almost as 
 soon as he was out of short clothes just because his parents used to 
 call him their little man. At ten years old his father said he could 
 do the work of a man, and the little fellow tried hard to make his 
 father s words good, and it is doubtful if any man could have been 
 found who would have accomplished more in a day than Sandy 
 Kent at ten or eleven years old. His chores were never neglected, 
 and his days were never ended until he had studied to perfection one 
 or more lessons. 
 
 The third child was a boy, and his father gave him the good old 
 Scotch name of Donald. Donald Kent was a lusty baby and 
 grew very fast. He was perfectly healthy, and being the youngest, 
 for a short time, was of course called the baby, and the older ones 
 were expected to take care of him. He was not taught to work, 
 
8o ENDURA I OR, 
 
 as his brother Sandy had been, because it had not been necessary. 
 In fact, it was easier for his parents to insist upon Sandy s doing the 
 work which his brother could have done, than it was for them to teach 
 the younger brother how, and compel him to do it. So it came about 
 that Donald Kent was called lazy. As the other children came along, 
 they were doubtless lazy as well. At all events the parents had little 
 time to teach them, so that their education in all departments was 
 left to the older children. So have thousands of great men been ed 
 ucated who have since made their mark in the world. From such 
 beginnings have sprang our great statesmen and rulers, and it has 
 been demonstrated to be the rule rather than the exception, that 
 great men are seldom born of wealthy parents, or brought up in the 
 lap of luxury. It is the boy that helps himself who appears to be 
 most capable of helping others. There is no inconsiderable expense 
 attending the raising and educating a large family. And Abner Kent 
 found his resources severely taxed, and he was often at his wit s end 
 to know how he was to provide for his rapidly increasing brood. 
 Sandy and Margy could take care of themselves, and did much to 
 ward taking care of the others. But they required clothes to wear 
 and food to eat, and they had not the wherewith to procure it, as all 
 their time was spent at home, for which they did not expect anything. 
 To be sure, Sandy could set snares and catch partridges and quail, 
 and rabbits, for which he received money, but it was but little. 
 Margy could not do that, and all the money she could call her own 
 had been given her as a child, which she put away in her little box to 
 be looked at wistfully now and then when released from her cares. 
 Donald did not have any and did not need any. Somehow he 
 managed to get into bed, and as it was no trouble to go to sleep he 
 required no urging. 
 
 When Donald Kent was ten years old he was an uncommonly fine 
 looking lad. He was as large as most boys at twelve, with great blue 
 eyes and rather dark brown hair. He was as straight as an arrow, 
 and as strong as a young steer. His parents were very proud of him, 
 but there did not seem to be any place for him to fit into. There 
 appeared to be too many pegs for the holes, or else not holes enough 
 for the pegs, especially during the long, cold Winter. 
 
 About this time, when Donald was just past his thirteenth year, 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 8 1 
 
 General Ivers met Mr. Kent and made a proposition to him. It was 
 in the Fall of the year, and the district schools were just about be 
 ginning. General Ivers proposed to Mr. Kent that Donald should 
 come and stay at his house and go to school. He said he could do 
 chores enough to pay for his board and clothing, and in the Spring 
 he would make him a present just to enconrage him. He wished 
 him to take care of Endura, to take her to school and back, and 
 before and after school he was to work around at whatever there 
 might be to do. 
 
 Bernard Ivers had always taken good care of his little sister, but 
 he had so far advanced in his studies that it was thought advisable to 
 send him to a neighboring academy for a few terms, preparatory to 
 his entering college, so that it was really a very great accommodation 
 to General Ivers to have Donald stay with him, and in a measure 
 take Bernard s place. 
 
 Donald Kent was a bashful boy, and when his father told him of 
 the arrangement he seemed to like it all well enough, but just the 
 care of little Endura. He did not, in the lest, mind the work which 
 he would be obliged to do. He did not mind the bitter cold and 
 snow, and the fearful storms, which he was sure to have to en 
 counter; but the care of the little girl rather worried him. To be 
 sure he had a little sister younger than himself, and a little brother,, 
 but he had never had any care of them, and this going away from 
 home to chaperon a little miss was something which he did not 
 quite like. Had it been a boy he would have felt somewhat differ 
 ent, but a girl, he thought the other boys might laugh at him; still it 
 had been settled so there was no alternative but for him to go. 
 General Ivers usually kept a man through the winter, whose duties 
 left him little time to look after children, so that Donald was expected 
 to attend to the light work, and take Dura, as he called her, to school 
 and home. 
 
 Some of the boys were inclined to make a butt of Donald,and now 
 and then they would sneeringly allude to his wife. At first Donald 
 did not know what to do, there were strict rules against fighting 
 among the scholars, and Donald was too much of a man to tell the 
 teacher what the boys said and did to him. He had not had the ad- 
 
82 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 vantage which most of the other scholars had, and, as a consequence, 
 he was backward in his studies, so much so that much smaller chil 
 dren were in the same class with himself, and with these he could not 
 seem to keep up. Even little Dura could tell him a great deal, which 
 he did not mind as he grew to love her like one of his little sisters, 
 but he could not be blamed and scolded by the teacher, or laughed 
 at by the more favored boys and girls who made up the school. He 
 had scarcely been in school one month when he was advanced to a 
 class higher, and he arose rapidly before the close of the term, until 
 he far out-stripped those who were far in advance of him when the 
 school began. His teacher and friends began to be very proud of 
 him, but a few jealous, envious boys could not let an opportunity slip 
 without trying to tease and jeer him. There was one by the name of 
 Jack Young, a great bully, who had been especially offensive and im 
 pudent all along. 
 
 Donald had intimated that he should pay the penalty of his impu 
 dence several times, which only made Jack laugh, and the little boys 
 that were afraid of Jack sided with him. One day Donald had 
 brought Dura to school upon his little sled, which he put in the wood 
 shed to take her home on, when the school should be out. At after 
 noon recess the boys pulled his sled out, and broke one of the runners. 
 Three or four of the boys were implicated in the affair, and were very 
 much frightened for fear of being punished by the teacher, so they 
 said nothing. When Donald found his little sled ruined he very 
 naturally accused Jack Young of having a hand in it. Jack had no 
 notion of denying it. He wished to see what Donald would do. He 
 thought, if Donald told the teacher, he would tell that Jim Eddy, 
 Sam Dowley, Dave Jones and Pete Shinn got it out to coast a little, 
 and it broke down with them. 
 
 But Donald had no notion of complaining to the teacher. He 
 went to Jack Young and accused him of breaking his sled. Jack 
 said: 
 
 " Well, if I did, what will you do about it? " 
 
 "I ll lick you," said Donald, "and I ll do it now," walking up to 
 Jack in a threatening attitude. 
 
 Jack drew off and struck him upon the side of the head, which 
 staggered Donald, but only for a moment. He recovered himself 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 83 
 
 and went for Jack like a young tiger, only to be hit a second time as 
 well as kicked in a foul manner by the bully. Donald was thor 
 oughly aroused. He took off his jacket and threw it down, and 
 grappled his adversary and threw him ; and then he got astride of 
 him and pummelled him to his heart s content, until the coward 
 begged and bellowed like a calf and others came to his rescue. When 
 he got up his clothes were soiled and torn and his nose bleeding pro 
 fusely. The teacher, knowing what had happened, requested Jack 
 and Donald to stop in the hall while the rest of the scholars went into 
 the schoolroom. He then asked them why they had broken the rule, 
 and Jack told his side of the story, saying that Donald had accused 
 him of breaking his sled and called him a liar, and then threw him 
 down and tore his clothes. Donald related the facts as they 
 were, and said quite a number of the scholars were by and saw it all. 
 The teacher was much puzzled, for the two stories did not tally. So 
 he called out two or three of the boys and questioned them upon the 
 matter. They also appeared a little uncertain how it came about. 
 Finally the teacher told them that he should be obliged to punish 
 them both, unless he could get at the facts so that it should appear 
 somewhat clear who struck first. At this juncture a rapping was 
 heard upon the door, upon opening which a little fellow said he saw 
 it all. He said Jack struck Donald and kicked him before Donald 
 hit him at all. And then Donald threw him down and licked him. 
 This so far corroborated Donald that the teacher decided what to do. 
 Jack was expelled from the school, and Donald was severely talked 
 to in the presence of the whole school. After school was out the 
 scholars very naturally took sides, some with Jack and some with 
 Donald. The latter could not hide his resentment of what the 
 teacher had said to him, and when he went home he told General 
 Ivers all that had happened, and at the same time he told him he did 
 not wish to return to school, but that he would go home. The Gen 
 eral told him he would see the teacher the next day himself, and see 
 that he had justice done him. Donald was obdurate and said he had 
 been abused all winter by some of the boys of the school, and if he 
 was still to bear it he would not return. 
 
 Supper was over and they had left the table, when a knock was 
 heard at the door. The General opened the door himself and there 
 
84 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 stood Mr. Wright, the teacher. He said he could not sleep before he 
 saw the General and apologized to Donald. 
 
 After school was out, two of his best and most reliable scholars, 
 told him a greal deal which he did not know before; how Donald 
 had been the butt of the rough boys, all Winter; how they had 
 taunted him and annoyed him, while Donald had said nothing, but 
 kept on with his studies, until he was one of the best scholars in the 
 school. He said that Donald was entirely justified in thrashing the 
 impudent bully, that tomorrow he proposed to make just as public an 
 apology as he had a reprimand. This pleased the General very 
 much. 
 
 "But," he said, " I am sorry to tell you, Mr. Wright, that Donald 
 says he will not return to the school any more, to be laughed at, and 
 abused, as he had been. I told him I would see you tomorrow, but 
 it does not signify. He says he will go home tomorrow. I am very 
 sorry as he is an excellent boy, faithful and honest, and I do not well 
 see how we are to get along without him. Endura is greatly attached 
 to him, and does not wish to go to school unless he takes her. I will 
 do the best I can to induce him to change his mind, but I fear with 
 out avail, as he has a strong Scotch will, which he inherits from 
 his father." 
 
 Mr. Wright said he would like to see Donald, so he was called in. 
 When his teacher told him how sorry he was for what had happened, 
 and especially so for the unjust reprimand, which he had given him, 
 before the school, but that he had found out his mistake and he 
 wished to apologise not only to him alone, but to him before all the 
 school. Donald seemed to feel badly, and rather pitied the teacher, 
 but to one well acquainted with him it was evident he did not intend 
 to return to school. 
 
 The teacher took his departure saying, that he hoped Donald 
 would be on hand the next day. 
 
 The next day, Donald was up early, did his chores, got in his 
 wood, fed the cattle, and then came to tell the General he was going 
 home. General Ivers tried to persuade him not to go, but to return 
 to school; but it was no use. Finally he said to him, 
 
 " Donald, I admire your sense of honor, but I dislike very much 
 your stubborness. What more can your teacher do, than he has 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 85 
 
 done, to come here and apologize to you and to me and offer to 
 apologize to you before the whole school ? " 
 
 Donald said he liked the teacher, but he did not think he wanted 
 to admit to the whole school that he was right, while he the teacher 
 acknowledged that he was wrong. It struck the General that it 
 was the noble nature of the boy, that wished to spare the teacher the 
 mortification of acknowledging that he was wrong. 
 
 General Ivers said no more upon that subject, but he told Donald 
 that he might continue to live with him, if he chose, and keep on 
 with his studies; he would, himself, assist him with his arithmetic, 
 and he could make very good headway, he thought. He noticed 
 that it seemed to please Donald, and he said he would not go home 
 but he did not wish to return to school. 
 
 So it was settled that he remain the rest of the Winter. He 
 assisted little Dura in her studies, and with his close application, 
 he made rapid progress in his studies, doing better even than it 
 would have been possible for him to have done in the school-house. 
 
 Spring came and Donald Kent returned to his father s house, to 
 work on the farm. A season of hard work was before him, but he 
 did not give up his studies; upon every occasion he would work out 
 some problem in arithmetic, or some geometrical puzzle. Then he 
 was fond of history and geography, all of which claimed his leisure 
 hours. He loved his home, the fields where he rambled, the bud 
 ding woods, the brooks and quiet nooks. He knew where the 
 thrush built his lowly nest, and the oriole suspended his cradle. The 
 robin and the bluebird sang to him at break of day, and the lark 
 caught up the melody and skimmed away to his mate, ere the sun 
 was high. At noon the bobolink rose up in full dress and soared 
 away to Heaven with his liquid notes, while his modest little mate 
 sat upon her eggs, patiently awaiting the life her warmth should bring 
 forth. 
 
 There was nothing in nature that Donald did not love. Even the 
 long days of toil had their charm for him, and when the Sabbath 
 came it was, indeed, a day of rest to him. 
 
 It was remarked by the neighbors that Donald Kent had much im 
 proved since he had lived in General Ivers family. They said he 
 was very odd, and some said he was not exactly right in his head. 
 
86 ENDURA I OR, 
 
 Still he kept on. The little education which he had received whetted 
 his appetite for more. Besides, he seemed to feel that if he could 
 outstrip some of those who had made sport of him for his ignorance, 
 it would be triumph enough. 
 
 So the summer passed on. He visited his friends the General s 
 family once or twice, and was cordially received by them all. Mrs. 
 Ivers was more than kind, and little Dura tried hard to monopolize 
 him altogether. Sallie Vic, who was now quite feeble, seemed to 
 light up at the mention of his name and the sound of his voice. 
 Even the old dog Carlo acted as though Donald was his special 
 charge and kept constantly with him. 
 
 When the time came for him to leave for his home, he lingered and 
 listened to a few more regrets ; and when at length he separated from 
 his kind friends, the world seemed very hollow. 
 
 Seasons soon fall around, and as we turn to the past, we say how 
 short ! but as we turn our eyes to the future we cease to measure 
 time, as we have no lease of what is before us. 
 
 Another winter came, and it was not difficult for General Ivers to 
 induce Donald to assume his old duties. There was another teacher 
 in the district. He was quite a young man, and at first it was thought 
 to be a little questionable if his education and abilities were equal to 
 the position. But upon the assurance of the Examining Committee, 
 who were educated men, he was allowed to try. 
 
 There was a large school. Quite a number of young men and 
 young ladies attended, and the teacher had an unusual amount of 
 work to perform. The scholars were studious and well-behaved, with 
 a few exceptions, and they, from very shame, tried to do as well as 
 they could. 
 
 Jack Young attended, of course. But though he did not much 
 like Donald, yet there was no open rupture between them. 
 
 The young teacher seemed to take a particular fancy to Donald 
 Kent, which feeling appeared to be reciprocated. In fact, Donald 
 was one of the best, if not the very best scholar in the school. 
 
 The spelling schools were a feature of the winter, in which Donald 
 took a part. He was an excellent speller, and when the scholars 
 stood up to see who would stand the longest before missing a word, 
 Donald Kent was usually the last one to take his seat ; and when 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 87 
 
 strangers came in from other districts, the champions were pitted 
 against Donald, and about as often they were vanquished by him. 
 
 Difficult problems would often tax the abilities of the teacher to 
 the utmost until Donald modestly volunteered to assist him, which 
 assistance the teacher promptly accepted, and for which he was very 
 grateful. 
 
 The rapid strides which Donald had made in his studies surprised 
 everybody, and he soon became quite a lion in the neighborhood. 
 
 But school times soon close and the scholars are scattered. 
 
 In the springtime Donald returned to the plow. 
 
 But he did not lose sight of little Dura, or of his studies, in which 
 he was deeply interested. 
 
 Sally Vic grew more and more feeble, and the spring found her 
 fast fading away. Day after day her eyes grew brighter and her 
 cheek thinner and paler, and yet she talked of the summer when she 
 would feel better. The summer days came, and with them sweet 
 flowers and early fruits. One Sunday Donald wandered about the 
 fields and meadows. He gathered the last violets with the first 
 daisies, and wild strawberries and pennyroyal, with azalias and wild 
 roses, and took them to the poor sick girl. She thanked him with a 
 smile that told of the angel s whisper. She ate some of the straw 
 berries, and the flowers were put in a vase before her, with the excep 
 tion of a few violets which she took in her hand. 
 
 A heavenly calm spread over her face as her eyes rested upon the 
 sweet flowers. 
 
 Pressing them softty in her thin hand, she took them with her to 
 Heaven. Her gentle soul went up with the violets perfume, but the 
 smile still remained upon her lips. 
 
 The flowers were emblematic of herself, and the violets were placed 
 in her hand, in the coffin, while wreaths and garlands of wild flowers 
 completely enveloped the casket that held the sacred clay. 
 
ENDURA : OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A SOLEMN OCCASION. 
 
 Thus o er the dying lamp th unsteady flame 
 Hangs quivering on the point, leaps off by fits 
 And falls again, as loth to quit its hold. 
 
 Addison s Cato. 
 
 A FUNERAL in the country is quite different from one in a 
 city where they seem to be burying some one all the time. 
 
 The bell in the cemetery tower of a great city is almost constantly 
 tolling, and no one appears to notice it, unless, indeed, it be those 
 who follow the remains of some dear friend to the silent city, when 
 the clang of the brazen tongue strikes harshly upon the sensitive ear. 
 
 In the country no sound is heard. The very tread of the horses 
 seems muffled. 
 
 Men talk in whispers or in subdued tones. The merits of the de 
 parted are oftenest the subject of conversations. And then the manner 
 of his taking off, and the loss to the community, or the great void 
 which the departed will make in the family circle. When the grave 
 is reached the friends gather around to see the body lowered into its 
 narrow tenement, and then the earth is shoveled in. When the first 
 clods fall upon the coffin s lid, the hollow sound creates a sensation 
 as though they fell too hard ; but as spadeful after spadeful is thrown 
 in the wounded earth heals up, and wrapping its mantle around the 
 coffined clay, a little mound remains sodded and green, with one rude 
 stone at the head and another at the foot and all is finished. 
 
 Every funeral in the country is made an occasion for a kind of 
 feast. Not that the bereaved have much appetite, but it has been a 
 custom from time immemorial, and the friends have a care that 
 nothing shall be neglected or wanting that can cause remarks. 
 
 The friends are invited to remain and the good people are solicit 
 ous that all shall be well served who have done honor to the departed, 
 by being present upon the mournful occasion. 
 
 Of course all the neighbors and townspeople attended the funeral 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 89 
 
 of Sally Vic. Those who scarcely knew her and those who did not 
 know the family of General Ivers at all. 
 
 Those who had not darkened the doors of the Ivers mansion for 
 years found that an occasion for a general gathering. The house was 
 filled to overflowing, and a great many were unable to get within hear 
 ing distance. A young friend of Bernard Ivers was expected to 
 officiate, much to the disappointment of some of the neighbors. 
 
 The young man was a professor in the instititution in which Ber 
 nard was a student. He had but recently graduated from " Old 
 Harvard," and according to common report he was talented and 
 exemplary. His name was Walter Bishop, and having had the degree 
 of Doctor of Divinity conferred upon him he was called Doctor 
 Bishop, which at the time we write sounded somewhat strange ; and 
 to some of the more ignorant it was not quite clear what a doctor had 
 to do with preaching. But this only made them the more anxious to 
 hear what he would have to say. 
 
 The Reverend gentleman was dressed according to the adopted 
 fashion of the Episcopal church, which was something remarkable for 
 the place, and when he arose and read the funeral service quite a 
 sensation was created. Some of the more ignorant and superstitious 
 began to fear that he was of the same stripe of Mr. Haywood, who 
 was there present with his family. 
 
 After going through the usual ceremonies, the minister read a pas 
 sage of scripture, and took for his text the 24th verse of the i2th 
 chapter of the gospel according to St. John : 
 
 " Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall into the 
 ground and die, it abideth alone ; but if it die it bringeth forth much 
 fruit." 
 
 He said the Master often likened the good to wheat and the wicked 
 to the chaff which was blown away or burned up and destroyed. An 
 other favorite metaphor was salt, "Ye are the salt of the earth," etc. 
 
 Taking a grain of corn or a kernel of wheat as an illustration, he 
 said it was easy to prove the necessity of death. For, said he, 
 unless the grain die the new life can not come forth. " He that 
 loveth his life shall loose it; and he that hateth his life in this world 
 shall keep it unto life eternal." Life at best, said he, is but a proba 
 tionary season a trial fitting us for another life, which shall be 
 
90 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 eternal. If we sow good seed here it shall bring forth fruit in the 
 life to come. Even here the effect of good example is felt, so that 
 in the case of human life the seed need not die before good fruit 
 comes of it. And here is where the application of the metaphor of 
 salt may be used. "Ye are the salt of the earth," etc., meaning that 
 they possessed the saving qualities. 
 
 Again, he likened his disciples to yeast, showing how a little good 
 would be felt all through. There was no limit to its influence. We 
 feel it, while they live, and we are all the better for their example 
 when they have left us. Who, that has a proper appreciation of 
 right and wrong, that does not profit by good example? Even 
 those who are not well inclined must be more or less influenced for 
 the better by good moral surroundings. 
 
 The life of this young woman, said he, is a fitting prototype for 
 the young to follow; and the aged might find something in her pure 
 life worth emulating. Modest and self-sacrificing, patient and for 
 bearing, firm and faithful, honest and truthful, kind and affectionate, 
 she combined almost all the Christian virtues, with few of the frailties 
 common to our natures. There rested upon her face a heavenly 
 smile as she looked back from the dark portal through which she was 
 about to enter. As if she heard the joyful welcome and "well done" 
 echoed from the other shore, she laid her burden down, and her 
 gentle soul was wafted away. 
 
 This is but the casket that held the priceless gem. This is the 
 mortal which has put on immortality. That heavenly smile will fade 
 away in the damp, cold grave. In a day, or week, or month, this 
 body will change, and those accustomed to see it day after day would 
 not recognize it. But even when hidden in its dark chamber, that 
 smile will remain with us. And should we live to be aged, that 
 "sweet smile will haunt us still." So shall she live, young and beau 
 tiful as now, when we are old. For the dead never grow old. It is 
 but the living who grow wrinkled and gray, when weighed down by 
 years and sorrow. At the last day, if we do right, keeping the 
 heavenly goal in view, we may all hope to meet once more our de 
 parted friend. Let us look for aid to the Divine source that we may 
 so live. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 9! 
 
 The Reverend gentleman then read a beautiful prayer, closing with 
 a benediction. 
 
 When the young men stepped forward, who had been selected as 
 bearers, it was noticed that they were all her personal friends, those 
 of whom she thought most. Side by side walked Bernard Ivers and 
 Donald Kent. The latter seemed to command the sympathy of all. 
 A mere boy, he had the dignity and demeanor of a man. He was 
 a perfect specimen of a hardy New England lad, with a faultless 
 physique and a ruddy countenance. He looked more like a young 
 man of twenty than a boy of scarcely sixteen. He excited the sym 
 pathy, as well as the admiration, of every one present. Among all 
 the mourners there was not one more bowed down than the noble 
 youth who saw her smile and die with the violets which he gave her, 
 clasped in her hand. And those same violets lay there upon her 
 breast above the heart now cold and still forever. At times it was 
 with an effort that Donald could suppress his feelings. Tears would 
 fill his eyes, and a choking sensation in his throat told it all. There 
 was no need of words to speak his heart s sorrow. 
 
 Bernard, too, appeared affected almost as much at the sorrow of 
 his young friend as at the realization that Death had entered his 
 home and taken from thence a gentle being who had been his friend 
 and adviser. 
 
 All those who were present were too deeply effected, or had too 
 much discretion to say anything derogatory to the officiating clergy 
 man. But Mrs. Cramp and Miss Cutting walked home with Mrs. 
 Tartar across the field, while Farmer Brown s daughters, Patty and 
 Betsy, drove around that way, and at the earnest solicitation of the 
 two they hitched their horse and went in. Mrs. Tartar had scarcely 
 laid her bonnet off when she let loose the vials of her wrath. 
 
 " What are we coming to, I should like to know ? Another infidel 
 has dared to come into our midst and pretend to preach to us. Dew 
 you call that preachin ? I should say it was readin a lesson from a 
 book, and a preachin from a book, too, for that matter. Sich pray 
 ers never get above the head of him that makes em." 
 
 Betsy Brown said he appeared to be a very smart young man and 
 she thought he talked real good. 
 
9 2 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 " He talked well enough," said Mrs. Tartar, " but he had no feel 
 ing in what he said." 
 
 " I wish Elder Knocks could have said a few words ; he would 
 have touched many a heart. But no ; he was not good enough. They 
 must get that young upstart from the city. College-bred they call 
 him. College-bred, indeed ! I should like to know how much bet 
 ter a man can preach after going to College. For my part I d ruther 
 hear old Deacon Simper read than any of your great preachers, and 
 he never went to school but one day in his life. It is jest tew soothin 
 for anything to hear him read the Bible. I can go to sleep any time 
 alistenin to him." 
 
 Miss Brown said it must be good reading to make one so sleepy. 
 But for her part she liked reading or preaching that would keep her 
 awake. 
 
 Miss Cutting said Elder Knocks read well enough for her. She 
 had known him to make some of his audience cry by reading a sim 
 ple hymn. And she believed if the young man who had pretended 
 to preach that day should read the same hymn it would have quite 
 another meaning. 
 
 "That may be, but are you sure Mr. Knocks gave it any mean 
 ing at all?" said Miss Brown. 
 
 "Now, Betsy Brown, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You, 
 who have sot under the preachin of that good man for mor n ten 
 years. To me it has been like down droppin of manna in the wil 
 derness. Sich a tone ! So solum an orful, even the commonest 
 hymn sounded good. Jest as good as, < Hark, from the tomb a dole 
 ful sound. Do you think your nice young man could do that ?" 
 
 "Well, he might not be able to make < Yankee Doodle sound 
 quite as solemn as When darkness long has veiled my mind, but 
 perhaps he would convey the meaning of the author quite as well as 
 would Deacon Knocks with all his solemnity." 
 
 "It may be you think a readin from that book was prayin , " said 
 Mrs. Cramp. " For my part it was only readin , an poor readin at 
 that." 
 
 "Perhaps you think his good clothes made him all the better, 
 said Mrs. Tarter. " I dare say he owes for them if the truth was 
 known." 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 93 
 
 "And his shirt-bosom that looked so white and stiff I suppose his 
 poor old mother worked to do it up so that he could appear smart to 
 day." 
 
 " Really, I did not notice his shirt-bosom at all. I thought his 
 coat was buttoned over it," said Miss Brown. " But if you say it 
 was clean I am glad." 
 
 " You might have seen his shirt," said Mrs. Cramp. "There was 
 one button off in front of his coat, and you could have seen it plain 
 as anything." 
 
 " There was that wicked man Hay wood there too. I should 
 think he would know he was not wanted in this neighborhood, and 
 what Walter Ivers invites him to his house for, I do not understand. 
 He seems to think as much of him, and treats him just as well as if 
 he was a good Christian man," said Mrs. Tartar. 
 
 " Poor Sally has gone to heaven and it can do her no harm. But 
 when she looked down and saw the mummery they had over her to 
 day she must have felt bad," said Miss Cutting. 
 
 "Do you suppose that Sally Vic has reached her place of eternal 
 rest, and is now looking back regretfully to this wicked world ? " said 
 Betsy Brown. 
 
 " Tain t no use to talk to some folks," said Mrs. Cramp. " They 
 don t believe nothin . But the time will come when they will believe 
 and humble themselves in sack cloth and ashes, or they will die in 
 sins and go to the place prepared for the devil and his angels the 
 lake of fire and brimstone that no water can put out." 
 
 " Do you believe, Mrs. Cramp, in a literal lake of fire and brim 
 stone?" 
 
 " I should think anyone would believe it who pretends to believe 
 in the bible." 
 
 "There are very many things in the bible which are not to be 
 taken literally. Now, you believe that some rich men go to heaven, 
 do you not ? " 
 
 " Wall, yas, I think Squire Ivers went to heaven and maybe now 
 and then another rich man." 
 
 " And yet, you know, Christ said it was easier for a camel to go 
 through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom 
 
94 ENDURA: OP, 
 
 of heaven. Now, you know a camel cannot go through the eye of 
 a needle?" 
 
 "Yes, he could if the Almighty so willed it. Betsy Brown, you 
 may be smart, but you will find others jest as smart as you be. Some 
 that have lived longer in the world than you have." 
 
 Miss Brown acknowledged that it might be so, and excusing her 
 self took her leave with her sister. 
 
 Among bigoted or narrow-minded people, opposition engenders 
 hatred and contempt ; and though they may not be able to reason with 
 such they appear to know how to abuse them. The ignorant are most 
 stubborn in their belief. They refuse to be taught, and pretend to 
 despise education and refinement, and their actions seem to prove 
 that they really do prefer darkness, inasmuch as they prefer to herd 
 with those of the same stripe as themselves to being with the educated 
 and refined. No sooner had the Brown girls gone than those who 
 remained appeared united. Whatever Miss Tartar said Mrs. Cramp 
 indorsed and Miss Cutting acquiesced in. 
 
 First of all Betsy Brown was no better than she ought to be. In 
 fact, the whole Brown family were getting altogether too liberal in their 
 belief, and they were quite willing to find an easier way to heaven than 
 the straight and narrow way. And some of them acted as though they 
 did not believe there was such a place as hell, where the fire is not 
 quenched and the worm dieth not." 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Cramp, and it appeared to give her no little sat 
 isfaction, " they will find out their mistake when they git to that 
 place, where there will be weeping and wailing and gnashing of 
 teeth." 
 
 How long such people enjoy talking ill of their neighbors depends 
 upon their endurance and the bitterness of their opposition. 
 
 Every household where death has entered has an air of loneliness 
 about it. 
 
 Everything seems so silent. The very smoke rising from the 
 chimney seems to have a significance it never had before. 
 
 The room where a corpse has lain has a peculiarly vacant and 
 lonely seeming to those unaccustomed to looking the grim messenger 
 in the face. Especially is that so in the county where the gaunt 
 spectre comes but seldom. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 95 
 
 But at an undertaker s in a great city it becomes so a matter of 
 business that those interested do not seem to care. One body is 
 scarcely removed before another is in its place. The hearse is hur 
 ried back from the cemetery for the second r and third load, and the 
 impatient undertaker can scarcely endure the slow march to the grave; 
 so when they turn homeward, they must, if possible, make up for 
 the time lost on their way to the cemetery. It becomes a business, 
 and the more they can accomplish in a day the more money they 
 make. Like the clown in " Hamlet;" they sing at grave-making, and 
 as " Hamlet " says, truly, " The hand of little appointment has a 
 daintier sense." 
 
 When people are buried in the country they appear to be soon 
 forgotten. That is, if we are to judge by the way the country grave 
 yards are neglected. It was a fashion, a century ago, to stake off 
 some out of the way corner of the farm for a burying ground, where 
 the family are laid away one by one and forgotten; often without a 
 stone to mark the limits of their earthly possession. Sometimes a 
 rough chip or flattened boulder would be placed somewhere hear the 
 boundary line. But no name, or record, or letter, could be traced 
 which would enlighten those who passed by. And in a few years 
 friends even could not determine which was the mound or which the 
 declivity above those whom they had once known and loved and 
 honored. 
 
 When large families grew up they usually scattered. Some found 
 their way to the towns and cities, and others to the far west. The 
 father of a large family was taken away, and according to the custom 
 of the times his body was placed in a pine coffin, lettered (with brass 
 nails upon the lid) "A. E," whatever it might have been. It was 
 loaded into a common lumber wagon and carted away. Bars were 
 opened and fences were torn down for the procession to pass. Over 
 rough causeways, through swamps and narrow paths in the woods to 
 a lonely spot where the grave yawned for its own. The ropes were 
 brought out and the body lowered into the hole called a grave. The 
 earth was thrown in and all was done. More than forty years after 
 the wife followed her husband, and those of the children, who had 
 been away and learned the ways of the world, were anxious that their 
 mother should have a respectable coffin, even if it were to be placed 
 
96 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 in an out of the way graveyard. A very nice casket was obtained 
 with plate and trimmings, much to the disgust of one of the rough 
 old farmers who remembered the pine coffin of her spouse who pre- 
 ceeded her by nearly half a century; when asked what he thought of 
 the costly casket, he said the family had evidently not forgotten the 
 pine box they put the old man in, which came to pieces in the wagon 
 as they jolted over the stones, and was tied up with birch withes that 
 it might hold the body until it was well covered up in the earth. 
 
 "But times are changed," said he. "Folks are better than they 
 used to be. When old Bundy was buried fifty years ago, it was 
 winter and they put his body on an ox-sled and in going over an old 
 stone wall, which was covered with snow, they upset the sled 
 and lost the coffin in a snow bank; when they dug it up, the top had 
 come off and Bundy s body had tumbled out. That was a rough 
 winter in these parts; there was not a stone wall or fence to be seen 
 any where about here, and as for travelling, we could not get about 
 for two weeks. All of our sheep were buried up, and some of them 
 were not found for weeks, and when they were found, they were 
 nearly starved to death." 
 
 Such were some of the winters our ancesters had to contend with, 
 and even at the present day, terrible snow storms are not unusual, in 
 bleak old New England. And the " oldest inhabitant " tells of the 
 storms they had when he was a boy. and compares it with the ones 
 of to-day. All of the old men seem to remember something a little 
 worse when they were boys. 
 
 They acknowledge every winter to be the most severe within 
 the memory of the oldest inhabitant, but doubtless old people some 
 times forget. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 97 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Yet is the schoolhouse rude 
 As the chrysalis is to the butterfly, 
 To the rich flowers the seed. 
 
 Street s Poems. 
 
 OUMMER flowers had bloomed and faded. Autumn fruits were 
 O ripe. The chestnuts and hickory nuts had fallen to the ground, 
 and the wild grape was frost killed upon the vine. The swamps had 
 donned their Autumn hues, and dry leaves rustled under foot. The 
 season was at hand when a school-teacher was to be chosen. 
 
 The school-meeting was called, and the candidates presented them 
 selves; some from a distance, with their credentials, offered to take 
 the school, in District 20. That was the district in which General 
 Ivers lived, and as a matter of course, he was elected chairman. 
 When the candidates had all been proposed and their merits can 
 vassed, there was a general lull; it remained for General Ivers to 
 make some remarks, which somewhat surprised some of the mem 
 bers of the board. He said there was no doubt but that one or 
 two of the young men who had come before them were in every way 
 qualified to teach the school. 
 
 " But," he said, " I have a proposition to make, which I think will 
 meet with the approbation of the gentlemen composing the board of 
 school directors. I am about to propose the name of a young man 
 for teacher, who has grown up with us, who studied in this school- 
 house and who is every way qualified for the position; one who is 
 worthy and deserving, but whose modesty will not allow him to pre 
 sent his name. I allude to Donald Kent." 
 
 The announcement caused some surprise. But no one seemed to 
 speak, and the General said, if there was no objection, he would sug 
 gest that Mr. Brown and Mr. Cribbe wait upon the young man and 
 get his consent to take the school. 
 
 One of the trustees ventured to ask if the boy could pass the exam- 
 
98 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 ination before the committee. The General said unless he could, of 
 course he could not get a certificate, and that would end it, and they 
 could engage some one else. And so the meeting adjourned to meet 
 in three days. 
 
 In the meantime the committee waited upon Donald, who was 
 more surprised than were the trustees when his name was first men 
 tioned by General Ivers. 
 
 At first he said no. But when asked if he thought he could get a 
 certificate he promptly answered yes. When they said General Ivers 
 would expect him to accept the position, which he finally consented 
 to do if he received a certificate. 
 
 In due course of time the school began, and it was admitted by all 
 that there never had been a more orderly school kept in the district. 
 Even Jack Young tried to behave himself, and it was well that he 
 did, for the other boys of the school were not in a humor to bear 
 much from the bully, since his mean abuse of Donald years before. 
 
 Of course, little Dura attended, and many a night was pleasantly 
 passed beneath the roof of General Ivers, which was a relief to some 
 of the poor families, since the teacher was expected to use all alike, 
 prorating according to the number of pupils sent. As the saying was, 
 "boarding around/ It was surprising to every one in the district 
 that Donald Kent, who came into the neighborhood scarcely three 
 years before, a simple unlettered boy, should have so far outstripped 
 all the best scholars in the school as to become their preceptor, and 
 from that time forward the young pedagogue became of considerable 
 importance. He was beloved and honored by all. The aged ad 
 mired him for his sterling qualities, and the young appeared anxious 
 to emulate the characteristics so much admired by those older than 
 themselves. 
 
 When Joe Tartar was extricated from the little unpleasantness in 
 to which his temper had gotten him, he knocked around home and 
 did nothing for some months. At length he went to the city, and, 
 naturally enough, he visited an uncle, the brother of his father. 
 
 The old gentleman welcomed his nephew, and took him around to 
 different establishments, hoping that something would interest him 
 into which he could assist him to get a position. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 99 
 
 Nothing appeared to suit him, and time rolled on ; days ran into 
 weeks, and weeks into months. 
 
 It was nearly a year since the old gentleman first welcomed his 
 nephew, and the young man said he could not find anything to do. 
 
 He hung around a stable, and earned a quarter of a dollar now 
 and then, taking out a horse, or perhaps a dollar or two, driving for 
 some of their customers. He still lived with his relatives, but, of 
 course, he had not been able to pay anything for his board. The 
 little he earned went for drink, cigars, etc., but it was insufficient 
 for his growing wants. There was not a saloon far or near which 
 did not have an account chalked up against him. He owed for the 
 clothes upon his back, and for the shoes upon his feet. 
 
 His associates were no better off financially than himself, so that 
 he could not possibly borrow from them. Once in a while there 
 would be a raise made by some one of his half dozen companions, 
 and for a time they all appeared flush. They were well acquainted 
 with most of the dark alleys, and with those who inhabited them. 
 There were congregated the vilest of the earth, both men and women, 
 that disgraced their names ; low dens without one ray of light by day; 
 doors closed, and windows boarded up so that there might as well have 
 been none there; frail women who caroused all night, and lay in stupor 
 and drunken debauch all day ; thieves, and gamblers, and bla cklegs, 
 who seldom walked upon the traveled streets without looking this 
 way, and that, as if in fear of arrest or detection. The ragged urchin, 
 the sickly child, the filthy negro, the poor and ignorant of all colors 
 and nationalities are to be found in such vile holes. And how an 
 average young man, who has been educated in the country, can find en 
 tertainment in such a loathsome place passeth understanding, and 
 yet many there are who, having left good homes, drift to such places as 
 naturally as water runs down hill. 
 
 The police of a city usually know most, or many of the characters 
 who frequent those places, and often they spot them, as they say, for 
 future use. Sometimes they manage to elude for a long time, the 
 most cunning detective, and some times the unreliable or dishonest 
 officer accepts bribes from such, when the rogues put on an assurance 
 and go forth unmolested, while the same officer will arrest a boy, or 
 a low woman, and bring them to the bar of justice, simply because they 
 
ioo ENDURA: OR, 
 
 have no money to pay him to let them go free. There is too much 
 of this kind of justice in all great cities. 
 
 The crowd to which Joe Tartar belonged was composed of what 
 would be called fast young men, if they were supplied with plenty of 
 money, but if compelled to live by their wits they are called 
 men about town, or loafers. Almost any young man with those pecu 
 liar characteristics, is perfectly willing to be called fast, while he ob 
 jects to being termed a loafer. Some such young men whose parents 
 live in the city, manage to keep up an appearance of respectability 
 for years, while they are never known to do a day s work, and such 
 sometimes give standing to their more questionable associatse. 
 
 Mr. Sharp, the detective, did not entirely forget the old calico 
 horse, and at times he would say to himself: " What has become of 
 him ? " Bogus money was still afloat in good, honest hands. Dry 
 goods men had it ; grocery men had more or less of it, almost every 
 branch of business was helped along with the stuff; some of it might 
 be found in almost every house, and no one seemed to think it crim 
 inal to get rid of a questionable piece, and it was certainly not crim 
 inal to be found with it in your possession. 
 
 Once in a while bright, new silver dollars were in circulation. This 
 and that person would have one, and nothing in particular would be 
 thought of it. 
 
 One day our detective espied his well-remembered Equestrian 
 friend, and his old mare. The same old saddle-bags were thrown 
 across her back, and the same red eyes seemed to be glaring at him. 
 
 He took a notion to follow the pair for a while, just to see where 
 they went, and what they did. At first the old man rode to the stable 
 and dismounted, taking off his saddle-bags himself. His horse was 
 fed and cared for, and the old man took care of himself. 
 
 Mr. Sharp noticed that he took Joe Tartar aside and talked to him 
 in an undertone, and in an earnest manner. He also noticed that he 
 gave Joe a small package, at the same time he looked cautiously 
 around as though he was fearful that someone might see them. They 
 separated. Joe soon met some of his companions, and by his ac 
 tions he seemed to say, " I m all right." 
 
 There were two of his friends together, so the three entered a bar 
 room and called for drink. Joe threw down a silver dollar. Mr. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. IOI 
 
 Sharp was partly hidden behind some lum5eiS oil tbe opposite, &ide of 
 the street, and he could not quite see all which appeared to be going 
 on. 
 
 After awhile the three came out, and soon they met another of their 
 friends, who was also invited to take a drink in another saloon, so 
 they all drank again; and as near as Mr. Sharp could make out who 
 could not come to the front, another silver dollar was thrown down, 
 and the change received. So from place to place they were tracked, 
 until the original one was multiplied by six, and still they went on. 
 Of course, they were all getting pretty boosy, and did not have that 
 discretion they would otherwise have had. 
 
 Joe Tartar made no bones of exhibiting his money, and like most 
 drunken men, he became very generous, giving something to each of 
 his companions, and seemingly cared very little who saw him. 
 
 All of the six were characters well known to Mr. Sharp, and the 
 web was nearly spun into which they would all soon stumble. 
 
 When he had seen and learned all that it was possible for him to 
 learn from the young men he took a back track. He visited the bar 
 rooms one after another, the proprietors of which were well known to 
 him. He would casually ask them if they had received any bogus 
 coin, upon which they would examine their tills, when the new dollar 
 would invariably come to light. Mr. Sharp did not fail to take the 
 coin, giving in exchange a receipt or another dollar. He followed up 
 the lead until he found Joe Tartar buying a load of oats from a 
 farmer, and the next day he purchased a load of hay, both of which 
 were paid for in the new coin and taken to the stables and disposed 
 of for a trifle less. All kinds of farm produce were purchased and 
 paid for in like coin. 
 
 He ascertained that the old man made some purchases and resold 
 them for whatever he could get offered. At last he seemed to have 
 spent all his money and was making preparations to get out of the 
 city. He had not been lost sight of for a single day by our astute 
 detective, who would encounter him as an old man with along white 
 beard, or as a dandy gotten up exquisitely. At another time a good- 
 natured farmer would meet him and banter him for a horse trade or 
 try to sell him something. He appeared to the half-dozen young ras 
 cals in similar guises, and was often the butt of some vulgar joke. 
 
io2 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 But he never "lost a trick, " as he said, and he was never in their 
 company for half an hour that he did not learn something of interest 
 to himself r,t least. ^ : 
 
 When Mr. Smith was ready to leave, he thought it was time some 
 thing should be done. His first act was to arrest the old man, who 
 was secure in jail before he made known what he intended to do. His 
 next plan was to arrest the six accessories, which was accomplished 
 with the assistance of the police. Joe Tartar, "Jack Smart," alias 
 " Smarty," and Ben Burt were all captured at the same time and 
 place, where they were having a game of cards with another rough 
 looking man. They had put up a little money just to make the thing 
 interesting as they said, which was against the law, as they well knew. 
 
 As soon as they were secured, Mr. Sharp, accompanied by two offi 
 cers, visited another of their haunts, where were found Sol Silver and 
 Dick Burr, " Black Dick," as he was familiarly called. They were 
 both taken in, and the last of the six, Ralph Gopher, was the only one 
 at large. All the places of rendezvous were visited, but the man was 
 not to be found. Ralph was the son of a close-fisted old hypocrite 
 who had grown rich by his mean, miserly habits. He thought more 
 of saving a dollar than he did of saving his son ; and his wife, though 
 perhaps quite as covetous as her husband, had managed to supply her 
 scapegrace of a son with more or less money for his daily wants. She 
 was constantly shielding him and making excuses for his shortcom 
 ings, and it was strongly suspected that he got wind of the arrest of 
 his companions and escaped or was secreted by his friends. The 
 officers visited his home where they were told he had gone out of town, 
 but to what place they did not say, or rather they pretended not to 
 know. 
 
 There were six arrested and three of the six succeeded in procuring 
 bail. The others were locked up to await trial. The three who got 
 bail were Joe Tartar, Sol Silver, and Ben Burt. 
 
 Of course Joe s uncle went his bail and he was allowed to go free. 
 The ungrateful villain went to his home, told his mother how he had 
 been unjustly accused, and blamed everybody, even to his uncle, who, 
 he said, was to blame for his being with the young men who were sus 
 pected with him. Of course his mother believed him, and as a con- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 103 
 
 sequence berated his uncle for not taking more interest in her pet 
 boy. 
 
 After remaining at his home for a few days he suddenly disap 
 peared. Some said he had gone to sea, others that he had gone to 
 New York, 
 
 One thing was certain. Mrs Tartar, sold a piece of property for 
 which she received the cash, and as she had no other use for the 
 money it was suspected that it went to her hopeful son. 
 
 In course of time the others were tried, but all were acquitted ex 
 cept the old man Smith. It was shown that they were in no way as 
 sociated with the old man, and that they did not not know how 
 young Tartar came by the money. 
 
 It appeared that they were only instruments used unwittingly by 
 the old man and Joe Tartar to get the stuff in circulation. As soon 
 as it was known that the quartette were acquitted, Ralph Gopher 
 turned up in his old haunts as worthless as ever. He was not even 
 arrested, as the officers well knew it would be impossible to convict 
 him after the decision in the other cases. So that the impression went 
 abroad that the young men had been unjustly suspected. 
 
 Goold Smith was tried and convicted and suffered the penalty of 
 the law. The mysterious house by the cliff was entered and all the 
 apparatus and machinery necessary for the manufacture of counterfeit 
 coin was found. It was found that the old mare was the only assist 
 ant that the old man had in his manufactory of spurious coin. 
 
 Joe Tartar did not return, and of course his uncle was compelled 
 to pay the amount for which he had gone security. 
 
 Mrs. Tartar wrote him a letter blaming him for not advising Joseph 
 to keep out of bad company, as it was certain that his associates 
 had gotten him into the difficulty, though it had been proved that 
 they were innocent, and of course, Joseph was just as innocent as the 
 others. 
 
 She wrote to her brother-in-law that she was fearful that her poor 
 boy had been murdered or that he had made way with himself, as she 
 had not heard from him since he went away. The uncle now had 
 his eyes open, and he well knew why Joe did not show up. 
 
ENDURA: OR, 
 
 Of course the affair was considerably talked about, not only in the 
 city, but more especially in S - , where two of the principal charac 
 ters belonged. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 10$ 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WITCHES. 
 
 Oft, what seems 
 
 A trifle, a mere nothing, by itself, 
 In some nice situation turns the scale 
 Of fates and rules the most important actions. 
 
 THE arrest and conviction of the old man Smith created quite a 
 sensation, and the fact that Joe Tartar was implicated did not 
 tend to raise him in the estimation of the respectable portion of the 
 town. Even children seemed to feel that something terrible had hap 
 pened to the old man and his old horse. The queer-looking beast 
 was not seen on her rounds, and the old man s house appeared lonely 
 and ghostlike. Some said it was haunted, and timid people gave it a 
 wide berth. It was closed up, and as the setting sun shone upon the 
 windows they sent back a ghastly glare, as if demons were within, 
 lighting their hellish fires. 
 
 Old people remembered hearing of haunted houses. But it was 
 very long ago when an old witch died. It was said they built 
 their fires every night, and country people used to hurry by, looking 
 behind to be sure the ghosts of the disembodied hags were not follow 
 ing them. 
 
 The stories could not be traced to any reliable source, but having 
 been much talked about, and by some believed, others, somewhat 
 credulous, were forced to admit that where there was so much smoke 
 there might be some little fire ; especially, as the Bible was authority 
 upon witches there was no good and sufficient reason why a few of 
 the genus homo might not have come across the Atlantic in early 
 times. 
 
 Possibly, some good ship brought them safely over, or it might 
 have been they were too much persecuted in the old country and con 
 cluded to just step across the water some fine night to see what there 
 was upon this side. 
 
 Of course, there must have been something in the witch theory, for 
 
106 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 were there not plenty of them in the Massachusetts Colony in early 
 times? 
 
 Was it not a fact that many of them had been captured and tried 
 by impartial judges, and convicted too, and sentenced by those fair- 
 minded, unbiased dispensers of law and justice? With such positive 
 proofs who would dare deny that such things as haunted houses and 
 witches ever existed? 
 
 At all events, the good people of S were perfectly willing to be 
 lieve anything that would give a little variety to the everlasting mo 
 notony of the place. 
 
 There are those living to-day in New England who believe that 
 such things did once exist, and not only puritanical New England, 
 but, without doubt, almost any State in this great Union harbors those 
 who are just as superstitious. Some, who may not quite believe in 
 witches, having such indisputable proofs in the past, are not quite 
 ready to deny that they may not exist somewhere even to-day. 
 
 New and strange doctrines are all the time being promulgated, all 
 of which have more or less disciples or followers. 
 
 These same theories or doctrines may be exploded and forgotten 
 within a few years, when it might be impossible to bring proof that 
 they ever existed at all. 
 
 At all events there were glaring lights seen in the windows of the 
 old counterfeiter s house, and they were always seen just before sun 
 set or when the god of day first peeped over the hills, which showed 
 that the witches lighted up early and stayed late. Some skeptical 
 person said, it was simply the sun shining upon the windows that 
 gave the illusion. But as that was only their theory, we leave the 
 reader to judge between the believer and the skeptic, possibly there 
 may be precedents and colorings of truth for both of them. The be 
 lievers certainly had colorings. 
 
 George Haywood went past the abandoned old house often, and 
 wondered at the ignorance and superstitution of people, who could 
 attach any importance to such everyday natural causes, and his son 
 was no less surprised at the almost criminal ignorance of people who 
 could be so easily imposed upon. Criminally ignorant, because 
 being assured of the fallacy of such superstition they were still unwill 
 ing to let go of a delusion which had, for generations, been promul- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. lOy 
 
 gated and believed. The man who would attempt to deny that such 
 things ever existed was set down as a heretic and unworthy of belief. 
 Some of the most bitter controversies were had upon subjects so ridi 
 culous, the contestants being alike ignorant and stubborn; but now 
 and then those with more knowledge were drawn into such disputes, 
 where they were obliged to advocate an opinion given accidentally, 
 perhaps, but so expressed that it was susceptable of more than one con 
 struction. Such a one was very likely to have a whole household 
 against him, all arguing with as much reason as a flock of geese, so 
 that the poor man who had expressed a belief, found there was no op 
 portunity of backing out, or arguing with his adversary. Young 
 Haywood was often so caught. 
 
 Rodney Haywood was about three years younger than Bernard 
 Ivers, which would make him about five years older than little Dura; 
 so that when she was a modest little miss of thirteen, Rodney was in 
 his eighteenth year ; a tall, handsome young man, who would have 
 created a favorable impression in whatever society he might have 
 been placed. Even the bigoted people of the neighborhood were 
 obliged to admit that George Haywood had a handsome son. 
 
 Rodney Haywood, for reasons before mentioned, had very few ac 
 quaintances in the village. The daughter of the village physician 
 was about the only young lady with whom he was on terms of inti 
 macy or even friendship. 
 
 It was only when he visited the city that he met young ladies of 
 his own station, and with whom he cared to associate. Many of the 
 young women in the village would have been glad to have made the 
 acquaintance of a young man of such personal attractions, but the 
 edict had gone forth, and there were none bold enough to defy public 
 opinion, or lay themselves liable to be talked about by associating or 
 countenancing a young man whose father was a noted Universalist. 
 It was true that there had never been one word against either father or 
 son, except the religion of the father. 
 
 There was one place in the neighborhood where the young man 
 was ever cordially welcomed, and that was at the beautiful home of 
 General Ivers; not only was he welcomed by General and Mrs. Ivers, 
 but Endura seemed never more happy than when he came, and 
 
io8 
 
 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 when he would go away a cloud would overshadow her sunny coun 
 tenance which did not pass half as speedily as it came. 
 
 Even when a girl of thirteen or fourteen he seemed to have an in 
 fluence over her, which no one else had. Donald Kent was greatly 
 respected by Endura, and some knowing ones predicted that unless 
 the parents interfered she would eventually marry Donald. When 
 she was sixteen years old her beauty and accomplishments were 
 known far and wide. 
 
 Hers was a peculiar beauty. In stature she was rather below than 
 above the average women. Her eyes were dark, full and expressive ; 
 her nose regular, tending toward the Grecian, rather than the Roman 
 type ; her mouth was a perfect Cupid s bow, with lips like dew-tipped 
 rose-leaves ; her chin was as if it had been cast in Venus mould, and 
 her small, well-shaped ears were like pink sea-shells. But her crown 
 ing glory was her hair, which fell in beautiful tresses about her white 
 neck and shoulders like sun-tinted waves breaking in golden sprays 
 over cliffs of alabaster. 
 
 It was not so much one feature which attracted, but a combination 
 of the whole. Her form was beautifully moulded, her head well set 
 upon her shoulders, and the general contour of her figure, perfec 
 tion. It was not altogether the perfect model which so attracted 
 every beholder, but there were certain pretty little ways which cap 
 tivated both old and young. Not a movement but was grace itself, 
 and that without study or effort. Her speech was pretty and musical, 
 and her smile sweet and winning. She never asked for anything in 
 reason that she did not get. She had been the pet of her family 
 since her birth, and no one could be with her and not learn to love 
 her. Indeed, none could help loving her at first sight. There was 
 no effort on her part to interest or attract more than that considera 
 tion and politeness which she considered due to every one whether 
 stranger or friend. She visited very little among a certain clique 
 who were notorious in the neighborhood, and for that reason, when 
 spoken of at all by those who were ringleaders in scandal and abuse, 
 she was sure to come in for a share of their spite or ill-nature. She 
 inherited her mother s characteristics, as she did her beauty. Even 
 this, by those who delighted to defame, was cause sufficient for un 
 complimentary remarks and impudent slurs. Groundless insinua- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 1 09 
 
 tions were often indulged in by the envious and rude. Some moth 
 ers held her up to their daughters as a model to be patterned after, 
 which was not, in every instance, quite agreeable. More than once 
 villainous lies were circulated about her, which were as malicious as 
 they were criminal. But she did not seem to realize the great sin 
 they committed, or what the injury might be to herself. 
 
 There was at that time, and is to this day, held in some of the 
 Eastern States what is called a general meeting, which is an annual 
 meeting of representatives from different churches. The session 
 usually lasted three days, during which time people came from far 
 and near; not particularly to listen to church creeds, or uninteresting 
 sermons, but to see the sights and meet friends who made a point 
 of coming together year after year. 
 
 Booths and cookie-stands were fitted up, and often tents were 
 erected for the accommodation of those who could not otherwise be 
 provided for. Some of the more prominent men of the place usually 
 invited strangers to their houses when they were properly introduced, 
 or if requested by their friends to entertain one of their visiting 
 brethren. General Ivers usually had one or more of said gentlemen 
 awarded him. And whenever the same brother came that way after 
 wards he did not forget Brother Ivers, nor the good things with 
 which the house abounded. 
 
 Endura was but little past her sixteenth birthday when one of 
 these good brothers first met her. And although he was a man 
 nearly double her age, he thought her fitted to be his wife, and began 
 at once to lay siege to the citadel of her heart, expecting capitulation 
 at once. He began by telling her what an interest he had in her 
 welfare, and asked her if she had a hope in Christ. She was 
 frightened, and tried to evade him. 
 
 Her mother, quick at discerning any unusual action of her daugh 
 ter, was surprised and somewhat pained to see that Endura was not 
 as polite to Mr. Spooner as was her wont to be to strangers. 
 
 Mr. Ephraim Spooner was exceedingly pious. He prayed at the 
 table, and before retiring he read a chapter, when all were expected 
 to kneel while he prayed for fifteen or twenty minutes, asking all 
 sorts of blessings upon the household, pleading especially for the 
 conversion of the young lady who was beyond the pale of the sane- 
 
IIO ENDURA : OR, 
 
 tuary. He prayed again and again that she might be brought into 
 the fold of Christ to be one of the gentle lambs of the good 
 Shepherd. 
 
 It was all very kind of Mr. Spooner, but Endura did not appear 
 to have much interest in his supplications, she did not wish to be 
 a lamb. At last, just before he was about to leave, he told her 
 mother that he should like to talk to Endura before he went. His 
 interest in her spiritual welfare was so great that he could not leave 
 without making an especial appeal to the throne of grace for her sal 
 vation. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers told Endura that Mr. Spooner was about to leave, and 
 wished to see her a moment before he went. He was then in the 
 parlor, and her mother requested her to step in, and see him. En- 
 dura would much rather he had not made the request or that her 
 mother had not told her. But there was no alternative but to do as 
 her mother and Mr. Spooner requested, or to be considered rude. 
 She went into the room, where the good brother awaited her, with 
 fear and trembling. 
 
 He said: " My dear young friend, I am about to leave this hos 
 pitable roof and we may never meet again. I feel it my duty as 
 a Christain to try and impress upon your mind the dangerous 
 ground upon which you are standing." 
 
 He then asked her to kneel with him in prayer, which she politely 
 declined, telling him she would listen, but she could not kneel, upon 
 which the good man knelt down and offered up another labored 
 prayer for the good of the sister, who could not be made to realize 
 that all are born sinful, and that none could be saved, except through 
 and by the atoning blood of Jesus Christ. 
 
 When Mr. Spooner arose, Endura was standing at the other side of 
 the room, as pale as a statue. He stepped toward her and reached 
 out his hand, which she shrank from, as from a poisonous thing. He 
 tried to soothe her, but it was no use; she was too much wrought up 
 to speak or to give attention to what he said. When finally he turned 
 to open the door to leave, she mustered courage enough to bid him 
 good day and he was gone. 
 
 Endura was in no haste to go to her mother, for she was in no en 
 viable frame of mind, after the ordeal through which she had just 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. Ill 
 
 passed. She waited till Brother Spooner was sure to have taken his 
 departure from the house, when she came out and was met by her 
 mother, who did not require to be told that her daughter was morti 
 fied and vexed, at what she felt her mother had been instrumental in 
 bringing about and subjecting her to, but she was naturally too ami 
 able to make a scene or to talk unbecomingly to anyone, much less 
 her mother, and this mother had too much discretion to ask what the 
 good brother had to say to her. It was thought best on the part of 
 Mrs. Ivers, not to say anything that would cause any unnecessary 
 unpleasantness, and Endura was quite as willing to let the matter be 
 forgotten as soon as possible. 
 
 During the winter following the autumn when Brother Spooner 
 first visited General Ivers , there was quite an excitement created by 
 a revival of religion in S . There was great interest felt through 
 out the country, but in the village of W the excitement was the 
 
 greatest. Elder Swan and other evangelical preachers visited the 
 place and as the good ministers of the gospel thereabout said, did 
 some excellent work. Old and young were converted by scores. 
 Even that hardened old sinner Ben Blunt was brought to see the 
 error of his ways and for a time it really did seem that he had been 
 converted, Now, Ben Blunt was a kind of butcher, that is he went 
 around in the fall of the year, and killed pigs and skinned them, tak 
 ing the skins for his pay. Occasionally he would be called upon to 
 knock a bullock on the head, for which a slice of the animal and a 
 piece of the liver was the only compensation. 
 
 When his Fall work was done and hunting was over for the season, 
 time hung rather heavy upon Ben s hands. The blacksmith was 
 too busy shoeing cattle for icy roads, and there was not room in the 
 small shop of the cobbler. The grocery man was not always ami 
 able and Ben s wife gave him no rest at home. So it came about 
 that one night he strayed into the little church, as he said, "just to 
 hear them d d fools shout." 
 
 Ben sneakingly crept into the church and took a seat in a corner 
 near the stove. Indeed there was scarcely another seat to be had, 
 there was such a jam. The converts, old and young, were especially 
 anxious to sit where they could see and be seen. The youngest ap 
 peared to be the most curious and presumptuous. 
 
112 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 A hymn was usually sung at the beginning of the service, after 
 which a prayer was offered, and then if it was a conference meeting 
 one and all were allowed to relate their experience and conversion ; 
 and it was sometimes very late before the meeting concluded. If there 
 was to be preaching, the minister would occupy the evening from 
 early candle lighting until eight or nine o clock, when he would say 
 he could say much more, but as there were a number of brethren and 
 sisters to hear from he would give way, then he would sit down. 
 
 Usually when the preacher took his seat the invitation would be 
 given out to the brethren and sisters who wished to bear testimony for 
 their Lord and Saviour for them to improve the time. At first one or 
 two of the deacons would get up and say something, and then an old 
 woman and then one of the young converts, and finally they could 
 scarcely wait one for another. Even little children would pop up here 
 and there and pipe out their experience in their own peculiar dialect. 
 
 Some of the converts were children too young to say ten words in 
 telligibly. So the good man who had the meeting in charge would 
 wait until all had spoken who could speak, and the hour was getting 
 late, when he would give them all an opportunity to be heard by re 
 questing all who felt that they had been converted to simply rise and 
 say so, when the little heads would pop up like turkeys in a meadow 
 just to say, " I m converted " and then subside. And then another 
 would rise, say the same thing, and sit down immediately, until every 
 young convert had his or her say. 
 
 The night Ben Blunt went, the meeting was a more than ordinary 
 occasion. Elder Swan was to preach and one or two other celebrities 
 were to be present, which was a great inducement for the people to 
 turn out. 
 
 The crowd was tremendous ; chairs and benches were placed in 
 the aisles and many were unable to get seats. Time was up and many 
 were getting impatient for the meeting to begin, but Elder Swan had 
 not arrived. 
 
 Directly there was a stir about the front of the church which rap 
 idly spread over the whole room, all turning to look toward the 
 entrance where Brother Swan soon made his appearance in seemingly 
 great haste, pressing his way through the crowd as best he could. At 
 last he reached the platform, stepping upon which he threw off his 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. , 113 
 
 coat, flung it upon the seat back of the desk, walked around upon the 
 other side, stepped down into the aisle again, pushed up his shirt 
 sleeves, ran his fingers through his hair and abruptly said : " You are 
 all going to Hell !" At which a dozen "amens" were distinctly heard. 
 Ben Blunt did not much relish the information as he had a little fore 
 taste of the place by being in close proximity to a red-hot stove, 
 from which position it was well nigh impossible for him to escape ; 
 and when Brother Swan announced the direction in which all present 
 
 were tending, Ben said it could not be a d n sight hotter than where 
 
 he was sitting, which might have called forth another amen but they 
 were all too intent in listening to Elder Swan, who went on to say 
 that all were naturally wicked and prone to evil as the sparks fly up 
 ward. "But," said he, "Jesus Christ came into the world to save 
 sinners," and he was glad to say that all present could be saved by 
 looking to Christ. As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, 
 even so shall the son of man be lifted up. 
 
 The reverend gentleman did not stop to explain how or why Moses 
 lifted up the serpent, but the fact that he did lift one up was sufficient; 
 and so the son of man was to be lifted up. Christ knowing the wick 
 edness of the world, offered himself to save the world and through his 
 atonement we could be freed. 
 
 After preaching a good sprightly sermon, the good man sat down 
 in a reeking perspiration, and Ben Blunt tried to get out. He had 
 visited a rum mill just before entering the church and charged himself 
 with a good four-fingers of New England rum to keep out the cold, and 
 the hot stove made it necessary, in his opinion, to have just about as 
 much more to counteract the heat of the stove. One of the brethren 
 noticing his anxiety to get out, thought it best to corner him and talk 
 to him about the welfare of his soul. 
 
 Ben said he didn t know nothin about it, but if he would let him 
 
 out of that d d hot hole, he d be d d if he would catch him 
 
 there again. 
 
 This was exactly the opinion of the brother, so he determined to 
 make hay while the sun shone. He immediately knelt down and 
 began to pray for the conviction and conversion of the poor sinner 
 whose sins were many. He said though his sins were as scarlet, Christ 
 would make them white as snow. Great drops of sweat rolled down 
 
114 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 Ben s cheeks until he could stand it no longer, when he said to the 
 laboring brother that he wished he would stop that fooling, when 
 came the ever ready response Amen. Ben arose and rushing past 
 the kneeling brother, he clambered over the benches until he reached 
 the door. It was as cold outside as it was hot within. The ground 
 was frozen and ice everywhere in the depressions. As Ben reached 
 the outside he had scarcely gone a dozen steps when he stepped into 
 one of those holes where the water had settled and frozen over. He 
 slipped and fell and broke his leg. His screams and groans soon 
 brought assistance, he was taken home and the doctor sent for. 
 The limb was set and the poor fellow made as comfortable as pos 
 sible. The enthusiasts went and prayed with him and told him it 
 was a judgment sent upon him for his wickedness, and especially for 
 his turning a deaf ear to the good brother s prayer. Poor Ben could 
 not get away, and as constant dropping wears a stone, Ben was worn 
 out, and at last apparently he was convinced of his wickedness and 
 concluded to turn Christian, when he was overcome with congratula 
 tions; which showed plainly that there was more rejoicing over the 
 one lost sheep which had been found, than there was over the ninety 
 and nine which had never strayed from the fold. 
 
 Brother Ephraim Spooner was one of the visiting revivalists on ac 
 count of his great zeal in the good cause. Brother Spooner was a 
 poor man, and went forth without scrip or purse ; neither took he 
 two coats, "for, "said he, "the Lord will provide"; and somehow 
 he demonstrated the truth of his assertion, for really he never seemed 
 to have better fare, or to be more warmly clad, and yet like the lilies 
 of the field he toiled not, neither did he spin, but Solomon himself 
 could scarcely have been better arrayed. 
 
 Elder Knocks, of course, took an active part in the good work, 
 and knowing the great difficulty the brethren had in getting accom 
 modation he invited two of them to his own house to remain during 
 their stay in the village. Of course he gave up his own bed and 
 with his wife slept upon a straw tick upon the floor, with what cover 
 ings there might be found, including dresses, cloaks, etc. Notwith 
 standing all the privations and inconveniences, Brother Spooner was 
 still unprovided for. 
 
 General Ivers had not yet been alloted his pro rata of the influx, so 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 115 
 
 of course, he was asked to give Brother Spooner accommodations, 
 which he readily consented to do. 
 
 It was suspicioned that the good brother neglected to provide for 
 himself with the hope and expectation of this very contingency. He 
 was cordially welcomed by the General and his wife, but Endura ap 
 peared to avoid him. Very naturally he inquired of Mrs. Ivers for 
 her daughter, and hoped she was well; he said he had taken a great 
 interest in her at his former visit, and he hoped she had profited by 
 his advice, and sought her Saviour. Mrs. Ivers told him that she was 
 absent from home with a young friend, where she frequently stayed all 
 night, and occasionally for two or three days; she said she presumed 
 that he would meet her, as she was stopping in the village, which ap 
 peared to interest him very much. The meetings were held twice 
 each day, morning and evening, but the evening service was usually 
 the most eventful. The next day before the n o clock service, 
 Brother Spooner learned from Mrs. Ivers that Endura was stopping 
 at Mr. Haywood s. Immediately after the meeting was out he in 
 quired for Mr. Haywood s, whither he bent his steps. 
 
 Going up to the door he knocked, and was admitted by the lady 
 of the house, after enquiring if Miss Ivers was stopping there, and 
 being answered in the affirmative. 
 
 Of course there was no alternative but for Endura to meet him, 
 unless she should be really rude. He appeared delighted to meet her 
 again, and told her he hoped she had chosen the good part. She 
 said as little as possible, and after a time asked to be excused that 
 she might call Mrs. Haywood, and her young friend, Miss Haywood. 
 Mr. Haywood and Rodney were not in. Soon Mrs. H. and Clara 
 came in and were introduced. Brother Spooner was exceedingly 
 happy to make the acquaintance of Mrs. H. and her daughter, and 
 he would be pleased to meet Mr. Haywood during his stay in the 
 village, which must necessarily be brief, he said, as he had calls else 
 where, which it was his duty to make. Mrs. H. said she expected 
 her husband every minute, "and no doubt," said she, "he will be 
 pleased to see you." 
 
 The conversation continued for sometime longer when Mr. Hay- 
 wood came, and before supper Rodney came in from a long ride on 
 horseback. Brother Spooner had not eaten anything since breakfast, 
 
Il6 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 and it did not require a pressing invitation for him to remain and 
 sup with them. 
 
 When they gathered around the table he had not received an invi 
 tation to say grace, and he was apparently not a little embarrassed, 
 so much so that Mr. Haywood observed it, and immediately gave his 
 permission; whereupon the good brother made a long prayer, and 
 wound up with asking God to bless the household, and the young lady 
 who was a sojourner with them. The prayer was somewhat shorter 
 than it would have been, had he not been very hungry. When the 
 time came for the evening service to begin Brother Spooner said he 
 supposed they would all attend, when for the first time he learned 
 that they had not attended any of the meetings, which troubled him 
 sorely. He could do no less than thank them for their hospitality, 
 and took his departure. 
 
 He was overtaken on his way to the church by one of the brethren 
 who asked him with whom he was stopping. He said he stayed with 
 Brother Ivers, but he had just taken supper with Mr. Haywood in the 
 village. His friend was thunderstruck, exclaiming: 
 
 " Is it possible ! Do you know who this man, Haywood, is ?" 
 
 He answered that he did not, farther than that he was a gentleman 
 and doubtless a Christian, notwithstanding, he said, that they had 
 not attended any of the meetings. His friend threw a shell into 
 camp by informing him that Mr. Haywood was none other than the 
 notorious infidel of which he had doubtless heard. 
 
 Brother Spooner said he had prayed with him, and he hoped the 
 lesson would sink deep into his heart. 
 
 There were others in the village who had been informed that 
 Brother Spooner had gone to the house of that wicked man, and they 
 felt that it was as much as his life was worth for him to venture into 
 that lions den. 
 
 The news spread like wild-fire, that one of the brethren had been 
 seen to enter that marked dwelling. 
 
 That evening many prayers went up for his protection with a little 
 information to the Almighty that there was a great sinner within their 
 gates. . They prayed that fire might be sent from heaven to burn up 
 the wicked and purify the earth. Evidently they had not faith for the 
 fire did not descend, and that vile sinner escaped without the smell of 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 
 
 117 
 
 fire upon his garments, perhaps, some of the more ignorant and su 
 perstitious believed that the punishment was only postponed. 
 
 A revival of religion in a New England village, half a century ago, 
 stunned the community from center to circumference. It not unfre- 
 quently swept them all in. Old and young became first interested, 
 then excited, and then, as they said, convicted and finally, converted. 
 It was thought to be almost equivalent to conversion if an outsider 
 attended one of their meetings. If he attended twice he was ap 
 proached by one of the enthusiastic converts, and pressed to make a 
 confession. It was customary for them to clear the front seats as soon 
 as the sermon was through, to make room for the anxious they were 
 called the anxious seats and those who felt the need of the prayers 
 of the congregation would go forward, some voluntarily, and more 
 after much pressing and persuasion. When all who desired to be 
 prayed for went forward, the praying began in good earnest. 
 
 Mostly short prayers were made, for those who affected them could 
 not find words to fill in the time with, that gave frequent oppor 
 tunities for them to sing a verse which was done after every prayer, 
 or when one of the brothers or sisters spoke. Usually some popular 
 air was adjusted to lines suitable for the occasion, and all joined in 
 with more parts than the greatest artists ever dreamed of. The chief 
 requisite was good lungs, and strong oaken pins prevented the roof 
 from rising. 
 
nS ENDURA: OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 STAR PERFORMERS. 
 
 I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night; 
 
 For I have need of many orisons, 
 
 To move the heavens to smile upon my state; 
 
 Which well thou know st, is cross and full of sin. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 THE night after the one on which Brother Spooner took tea with 
 the Hay woods there was to be another important event. Two 
 colored men were to preach and sing, and conduct the services. One 
 was a full-blooded negro who could not read a single word, but whose 
 memory was really very wonderful. He could recite whole chapters 
 without missing a word, and he could sing in his peculiar style 
 almost every conference hymn. The other colored brother was almost 
 a full-blooded Indian, with some little education, and a wonderful 
 amount of assurance ; both were really star performers, and when 
 they put in an appearance together the houses that they drew were 
 immense. 
 
 The Haywoods, hearing that the two celebrated preachers were to 
 conduct the services, concluded to go, and Endura Ivers was to ac 
 company them. Mr. and Mrs. Haywood walked together, and Rod 
 ney walked with Miss Ivers and his sister. 
 
 When the quintet entered the church they created quite a sensa 
 tion, the house was full, and the whole congregation turned complete 
 ly around, as though some royal personages had entered. They 
 made their way toward the center of the building where they found 
 seats for a part of the party, Rodney and Miss Ivers were accommo 
 dated elsewhere. 
 
 The services began by singing. One famous tune which was sung 
 upon every occasion with words which were elongated to adjust them 
 selves to it was called " Canaan," but somehow it was drawn out into 
 
 "O Cane-e-ann, bright Cane-e-ann! 
 I am bound for the land of Cane-e-ann. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 119 
 
 Carie-e-ann, O Cane-e-ann, it is my happy home ! 
 
 1 am bound for the land of Cane-e-ann. 
 If you get there before I do, 
 
 I am bound for the land of Cane-e-ann; 
 
 Look out for me, I m coming too, 
 
 I am bound for the land of Cane-e-ann." 
 
 The words were easily learned, and as for the tune it did not much 
 matter, for the words did not fit anything else. At first the leader 
 would start off, and after that everybody tried to lead, and he who 
 came out ahead thought himself the best fellow. There was a regu 
 lar tramping of feet, keeping time until the building would tremble 
 which seemed to enthuse and inspire the young converts. 
 
 Each fresh attack upon the refrain would bring forward others to 
 be prayed for who insisted that they were the greatest sinners that 
 ever lived, and the good brethren all said Amen, which seemed to 
 clinch it. The evening was fast wearing away, of which the congre 
 gation were admonished by a brother s breaking out with the hymn, 
 the first line of which ran: 
 
 "We are wearing away like a long summer day." 
 
 Possibly, unless they were all too sleepy, another anxious one might 
 come forward, but it was getting late and Mr. Haywood and his fam 
 ily did not appear to be seriously affected. He was waited upon by 
 one more daring and fool-hardy than the rest, and though there was 
 no sign of his satanic majesty over his shoulder, or at his elbow, yet, 
 doubtless, he imagined he had run a great risk in coming in such 
 close contact with one of his the devil s most trusty servants ; an 
 other waited upon Rodney, he told the man, who was one of their 
 neighbors, that he did not come to take part but simply to listen. 
 
 Brother Spooner felt it his duty to go and labor with Endura. 
 Coming near where she sat he requested the person who sat next to 
 her to let him take the seat, which, the party being a good Christian, he 
 readily consented to do. Brother Spooner then sat down and taking 
 her hand pressed it the least bit as he drew her gently towards him. 
 He talked to her in a very low tone of voice for a short time, which 
 did not seem to have the desired effect, when he knelt down and be 
 gan to pray, when she whispered to Rodney, upon which he arose very 
 quietly and went out, she following him. Mr. and Mrs. Haywood 
 and Clara observing this went out also, and left brother Spooner labor- 
 
I 2O ENDURA : OR, 
 
 ing with all his might, physically and mentally, for the young woman 
 who did not realize the brink upon which she was standing. That 
 same young woman, was comfortably fixed at Mr. Haywood s before 
 the good brother opened his eyes enough to see that he had been 
 praying to an empty bench. He arose angry and mortified. 
 
 Of course the blame was all laid to that abandoned son of a wicked 
 father. After the religious meeting was over, some of the more promi 
 nent men of the village were invited to remain, as a matter of consid 
 erable importance was to be acted upon. The last one having gone 
 out into the cold who was not allowed to be present during the busi 
 ness meeting, the dozen or so who remained were called to order and 
 the object of the meeting explained. 
 
 A sort of preamble was read, beginning with : 
 
 WHEREAS, Believing it to be our duty as God-fearing beings to rid 
 the community of certain wicked and ungodly persons who have come 
 to live among us, swallowing up our substance and contaminating our 
 people, spreading infidelity and unbelief broadcast, and sowing the 
 seeds of wickedness throughout the land, now, therefore, be it 
 
 Resolved, That we take steps immediately to get rid of a certain 
 man calling himself George Haywood, with his family, who are 
 almost if not quite as wicked as himself, who have set all our laws, 
 religious and moral, at defiance ; even coming together into the House 
 of God, and beneath the very sanctuary have scoffed and scorned at 
 religion, and grossly insulted a brother who was doing his duty, and 
 also tried in every way to bring religion into disrepute. 
 
 After many speeches pro and con, and some angry words towards 
 any one who dared say anything in favor of Mr. Haywood, a com 
 mittee was appointed to wait upon him and give him notice of the 
 purport of the meeting, requesting him to leave the place immediately. 
 
 Three of the brethren, two of them neighbors of Mr. Haywood, 
 were the committee who were appointed. 
 
 Brother Spooner was strongly in favor of using forcible means to 
 get rid of the obnoxious citizen, if gentle persuasion failed to bring 
 about the result. 
 
 Elder Knocks did not like to go to extremes, and Mr. Cribbe posi 
 tively refused to do any thing against Mr. Haywood, for which refusal 
 he was lashed soundly with the tongue of more than one brother. 
 Early the next morning Mr. Cribbe sent word to Mr. Haywood to 
 come to his house, which was just out of the village. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 12 I 
 
 Mr. Haywood knew that something was up, as soon as the word 
 reached him ; and, setting off immediately, he was soon at Mr. 
 Cribbe s house, where he was cordially met by the family. 
 
 Soon Mr. Cribbe came in and made known the whole plot, at 
 which Mr. Haywood smiled and thanked him ; at the same time, said 
 most positively that he did not propose to be frightened out of town, 
 and, if they attempted force, he would be prepared for them. 
 
 When he returned to his own house, he met two of the committee 
 at the door. It appeared that they had knocked at the door, which 
 was opened by Mrs. Haywood, who invited them in. They declined 
 to enter, but said they were a committee appointed to see Mr. Hay- 
 wood on business, upon which she told them that she expected him 
 back very soon, so they said they would wait for a short time, as they 
 wished to see him that day. It was not long before the gentleman 
 they were in quest of appeared, and greeted them civilly, if not 
 cordially. 
 
 They soon made known their errand, and waited to hear what he 
 would have to say. At first he said he was astonished at the action 
 which had been taken, and he could not be made to believe that it 
 had been done in a Christian spirit ; and he felt that, upon second 
 thought, they would all make haste to undo such action, so unjust and 
 so ungenerous. 
 
 The two men who waited upon Mr. Haywood were strong Secta 
 rians ; one was named Cleaver, and the other Burnham. 
 
 Brother Cleaver spoke first, and said it was not a duty of his 
 seeking, and he presumed it was as distasteful to Brother Burnham 
 to be called upon to act in so important a matter. But at a meeting of 
 the good citizens, members of the church and God-fearing people, it 
 was deemed for the best interest of the community for him (Mr. Hay- 
 wood) to leave the place. 
 
 Mr. Haywood demanded that they make a formal accusation, 
 which they declined to do. He insisted that he had been a good, 
 law-abiding citizen, paying his taxes and fulfilling his duty as such, 
 and he should decline making any move until it was made apparent 
 that he had done something for which he should be punished. 
 Brother Cleaver said he was accused of being an infidel, and as such, 
 dangerous to the good morals of the village. 
 
122 ENDURA I OR, 
 
 Mr. Haywood said he was surprised to hear such an absurd 
 accusation come from a man he had hitherto believed to be so intelli 
 gent and fair-minded. 
 
 The allusion to his intelligence rather nattered Brother Cleaver, and 
 apparently stopped his mouth. 
 
 But Brother Burnham came to the rescue, and asked him if he did 
 not attend the meeting the night before for the purpose of derision, 
 and that they might disturb them in their devotions. Mr. Haywood 
 seemed to comprehend the situation, and explained why he went out 
 of the church when he did ; and added, as a proof that he did not 
 wish to disturb them in their exercises, that he went so quietly that 
 scarcely a dozen of the congregation knew when he went. 
 
 The committee acknowledged that it was so, as neither of them 
 knew when he went out with his family. 
 
 Mr. Haywood then asked them how they could expect him to go 
 away and leave his property. 
 
 They informed him that that matter had not been considered by 
 those who had appointed them as the committee, but that, no doubt, 
 some arrangement would be made to meet the emergency. Mr. 
 Haywood finally told them that as much as he would have liked to 
 remain and make his home among them, had they manifested the 
 least desire to have him do so, he would be only too glad to leave, 
 since he felt sure they wished it, and he would make a proposition to 
 leave, if they could find a purchaser for his property at a fair valua 
 tion, which they said they would make an effort to do. And so the 
 parley ended, just where it began, with this advantage to Mr. Hay- 
 wood : It had opened his eyes, and he was made to see and better 
 understand the community in which he lived. 
 
 Endura Ivers was not desirous of meeting Brother Spooner, after 
 leaving him so unceremoniously in the church. Fearing that he 
 might possibly call upon her again if she remained in the village, 
 she told her friends the next morning that she must go home, and 
 she could not be prevailed upon to change her mind. So when 
 dinner was over, Rodney drove around, with his beautiful new cutter 
 and his favorite horse, to take her home. 
 
 Her friend Clara was sorry to have her go, but upon her promising 
 to come again soon, they kissed and parted. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 123 
 
 What New Englander, who spent his youth and early manhood in 
 that land of extremes, that does not remember the time when he 
 took his lady-love sleigh-riding ? We will suppose it was the first 
 time he had been vouchsafed the pleasure. 
 
 The very best turnout that could be had was secured, the brighest 
 and most musical bells, the warmest and prettiest robes, in short, 
 everything was the best that could be procured for love or money, 
 at least for the small amount of money usually at the command of a 
 New England youth at the time of which we write, or for that matter 
 
 t> 
 even now. 
 
 The young lady was warmly clad, and as for the young man it did 
 not much matter, as love was a great equalizer of his youthful blood. 
 His ears and nose might have been frost-bitten, he would have scarce 
 ly heeded it, as he held the reins over the impatient horse, who 
 seemed as anxious to go as the youth was to have him ; and who ap 
 peared to enjoy the merry jingling of the bells about as well as did 
 his driver. The soft, sweet, rosy girl sat by his side in the very ec 
 stasy of delight, as the polished runner glided along the icy road. 
 Ever and anon the crisp snow would send up a piercing shriek as it 
 crumbled into the path beneath the iron shoe. On they go, up hill 
 and down, by this and that dwelling through the forests, across the 
 plain, over the frozen river safe and secure. Too too soon, they 
 reach their journeys end. A happy greeting and a blazing fire upon 
 the hearth soon makes them content, but they are almost impatient to 
 be speeding back upon the way over which they had just come. 
 
 Often parties of four or five sleighs would start out together, and if 
 the sensation was not the same the fun was all the greater. Sleighing 
 is really the great pleasure of a New England winter, and he who has 
 not taken a sleigh-ride can scarcely form an idea of such an intoxicat 
 ing and exhilarating enjoyment. 
 
 Rodney Haywood was the envy of the village, not alone for the 
 good things he was able to have and enjoy, but for being, as was sup 
 posed, the accepted lover of the sweetest and prettiest girl in the 
 country far or near. He never went to ride that there was not talk 
 made about it, and unpleasant or envious remarks made regarding 
 him or his companion, whoever it happened to be, most of whom 
 were from the city, and unbeknown to the village gossips. When his 
 
I2 4 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 sleigh came around in front of his home and a young lady got in, it 
 was not long before nearly everybody in the village was made ac 
 quainted with the fact. Upon this last occasion it flew like wild-fire, 
 Rodney Haywood had gone off in his sleigh with Endura Ivers. 
 
 To many it was a matter of such slight importance that it was not 
 spoken of, to others it furnished a theme for an evening s gossip. Lit 
 tle heeded our hero and his lovely charge as they sped away. 
 
 The drive to Endura s home never appeared so short, and by the 
 time Rodney and Dura were in the house the hired man had cared 
 for the horse and sleigh; the latter was left under the shed while the 
 horse was unharnessed and put in the stable, not before he had been 
 well cared for and blanketed, however. 
 
 Gen. Ivers had just received a letter from Bernard saying that they 
 might expect him that night or the day following, so the General pre 
 vailed upon Rodney to remain until the stage came in, which was 
 rather late, and finally as it was so late, he was persuaded to stay all 
 night. There was a rousing fire in the parlor, and Rodney and En- 
 dura were left alone to enjoy it. 
 
 It is very delightful and exhilarating to glide along over a smooth- 
 frozen road, in a nice comfortable cutter, with an agreeable companion, 
 especially if it be a young man riding for the first time with the idol 
 of his heart. But the average lover would prefer the cozy parlor, 
 with the blazing fire and luxurious furniture, to even a glorious 
 sleigh-ride. As much as Rodney Haywood enjoyed his ride, his 
 tete-a-tete with the lovely Endura in the pretty little parlor was 
 infinitely preferable. 
 
 Endura appeared quite happy and expressed satisfaction at being 
 at home, and reverted, with apparent disgust to the ordeal through 
 which she had passed in the church in the village. 
 
 Rodney condemned yery strongly the insult, as he called it, which 
 Brother Spooner offered to herself. He said he blamed himself, in a 
 measure, for what had happened, as he had proposed that they should 
 attend the meeting. Being, as he said, curious to hear and see the 
 performance, Endura assured him that she was no less anxious to 
 attend the meeting than himself, and she thought it very kind of him 
 to take her ; and, notwishstanding the result, she was glad they went. 
 
 They were seated together upon the sofa. There was no one to 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 125 
 
 molest or make afraid. He took her hand gently in his own, and 
 looked her in the face. Not a word was spoken for the space of at 
 least one minute, during which time his brain was active in forming a 
 sentence which would best express what he felt. Words came at 
 length; words which fell upon her hungry soul like manna. She 
 listened, spell-bound, to all that he had to say, but essayed not an 
 answer. 
 
 "My dear Endura," said he, "I ought to be happy. I have all 
 that a young man has a right to expect a happy home and kind 
 friends. Among the latter, I have ever been proud to number your 
 dear little self. From the time we met as children until the present 
 moment, I have loved you, and each ye.ar has added ardor to that 
 love, until I almost worship as an idol that which I loved as a child." 
 
 He still held her hand, which she did not attempt to withdraw from 
 him, but he was sure he felt a gentle pressure in response to his 
 loving words. 
 
 He continued : " I may be doing wrong in making this declaration, 
 knowing, as I do, the difference in our religious training, and feeling 
 that it may be just possible that my love will bode you evil, knowing 
 the sentiment that exists against the doctrine taught by my parents 
 since infancy. You are, no doubt, aware that a committee of church 
 members waited upon father this very day. But you do not know 
 the purport of that meeting. I will tell you, and you will then know 
 the position in which you place yourself by associating with an 
 ostracized family/ 
 
 He then related the facts as they occurred. The hand of Endura 
 trembled within his, and when he ceased speaking, she leaned toward 
 him and whispered: 
 
 " Why should we care ? Must we be denied all the pleasures of 
 life because a few devotees set themselves up to be our judges, and 
 to say what we may or may not do ?" 
 
 Rodney replied, saying that for himself, he was quite indifferent to 
 what their opinion might be. "But for you, it is quite another affair; 
 your home is fixed among them, and your happiness, in some 
 measure, depends upon the good-will of your neighbors, with whom 
 you are compelled to associate, more or less." 
 
 Endura asked if he was not a neighbor, and if his family were not 
 
126 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 friends of her family and of herself. Friends whose place could not 
 be supplied by any others. And since it had come to the point, she 
 should no longer consider them friends, who had forfeited her friend 
 ship by the outrages committed upon his family. 
 
 Rodney watched her closely, and when she spoke of the insult 
 which his father had received, her indignation arose to the highest 
 pitch. She declared that if that was religion, she did not wish to be 
 a Christian, and that sooner than attend their meetings, she would 
 stay away from church forever. 
 
 Rodney told her of what he had learned, from time to time, of their 
 opinion of his family, and especially of himself, and he said he felt 
 guilty for being instrumental in making a breach between herself and 
 those who would have been her friends. 
 
 "Away with such friends," said Endura. "Am I to turn my back 
 upon those who are congenial to me? Those who are every way 
 worthy to be my friends and associates, to affiliate with those who 
 are not worthy my friendship? Can I love those who do not love 
 me ? Those who try to embitter my life ? Those who pretend to 
 seek my future good by making me miserable here ? I am sick of 
 such canting hypocrisy. Give me one true friend; one who can 
 increase my hope in the future by a foretaste of good here. For one 
 such, I would abandon all who are but the semblance of friends 
 who do not know how to be what they would have you believe they 
 are. They are not friends. My friends, they can never be!" 
 
 Rodney was amazed, he had never heard such eloquence, and that 
 from his timid little friend. "Oh ! Endura," he exclaimed "can I read 
 aright? Do I indeed understand, or am I idiotic or blind? Tell 
 me if I am too presuming. I have said I loved, do love you ! Have 
 told you why it might be better that we part forever, and yet the sel 
 fish knave that I am I would not lose you. I cannot bear to think 
 of parting. The thought maddens me, but why stay to be your curse, 
 to blight your young life, knowing or feeling as I do, what the end 
 must be. I know I am not bigoted, but the thought of being and 
 associating with people who are my enemies at heart, however much 
 they may try to have me believe otherwise, makes me question my 
 own candor and honesty. 
 
 "Must I be deceitful because they are so? Must I meet fraud 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 127 
 
 with fraud ? Must I wear a lie upon my face, and speak it with my 
 lips, because I can see falsehood and deceit written upon theirs? 
 Can they not see it as well upon mine? Must I hear from such the 
 condemnation which my own conscience indorses ; that which tells 
 me I may do you a wrong and make myself more hateful for the 
 doing? I may lead you to worship false gods, instead of the God of 
 your father. 
 
 " Tell me, Endura, have you no fears of the result ?" 
 " No no Rodney, I cannot believe that I can be the worse for 
 knowing you. It is true our religious training has been different, but 
 my father is a reasonable man, a discreet man. Did he believe 
 that intimacy with your family would contaminate me, he would have 
 most assuredly discountenanced it." 
 
 " No, Endura, do not say my family, they cannot harm you. It is 
 I, my love, and what may come of it is what may make us both 
 wretched. You have never told me you loved me. Others have 
 done as much as yourself to make me feel their love, but not one has 
 ever filled the void of my hungry soul which you have done. I feel 
 that I have lacked discretion, andthat I have been imprudent. Too 
 rash in my declaration, but I would not call back one word that I 
 uttered which told you of my love, and so I drift farther and farther 
 from soundings into that ocean which is unfathomable, when I may 
 be drawn into the dark whirlpool, and where my rashness may draw 
 you as well. Endura, I cannot, I must not ! I will go out into the 
 world alone ; you shall know me as your friend, one who would have 
 loved you best of all." 
 
 Endura seemed agitated, and nestling close beside him she laid her 
 head upon his shoulder, and wept in silence. Rodney put his arm 
 around her, and for the first time imprinted a kiss upon her forehead. 
 A faint sob was the only response, and for a time he too, was silent. 
 She broke the silence; looking up with tear-filled eyes she said : 
 
 " Oh, Rodney, must I tell you I love you ? Have you not known 
 it from the first ? Have I hidden my love so well that you have not 
 discovered it in all these years ? You talk of going away to escape 
 the society of a deceitful and bigoted people ; those who would 
 slander you behind your back, and fawn and flatter you at your face. 
 You would leave me with such, while you would fly from them. 
 
128 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 Think you that they like me better than you ; or do you believe 
 me capable of sinking to their level?" 
 
 " I would go away, Endura, that you might be free from the stigma 
 of associating with one who is denied admission into what is called 
 your best society. You they might tolerate, were I absent ; at least, 
 if it were known that I could not come near to influence and corrupt 
 you, and through you, their immaculate society." 
 
 " Rodney, when you talk of going away, a great shadow seems to 
 settle over me. Can it be that you have become so necessary to my 
 happiness ? Or is it ever thus when one s friends go from us ? How 
 often have I felt lonely when a dear friend has gone from me. No 
 matter who was left behind, the one who went always appeared to be 
 the one who should have remained. When Bernard leaves us and 
 goes back to the city, I feel lonely for a day or two but it wears off, 
 because I feel it will be but a short time before he will return again, 
 and make us glad. But oh, Rodney, when will you return, if you go 
 from me now ? Why go away at all ? " 
 
 " My dear girl, it is impossible for me to look into the future. 
 I can not tell what destiny may have in store for me. But there is a 
 position offered me at the south, which father idvises me to accept. 
 The agent of Haywood & Hanford, at New Orleans, has resigned 
 and both father and his partner seem anxious for me to take his 
 place. It is a flattering offer and nothing would please me better 
 under ordinary circumstances, but the very thought of leaving you 
 both distresses and pleases me, and it is cheifly for your sake, that I 
 am pleased and pained. It is to me a painful satisfaction to leave 
 you, that you may be free, and not be obliged to shun your friends 
 or excuse yourself on my account. I may be absent for two years 
 or more, but absent though I may be in body, you will be ever near 
 me in spirit, and I shall look foward to our meeting, as the con- 
 sumation of a great hope. I do not anticipate going for some weeks, 
 but I thought best to apprise you of what might happen almost any 
 day. Mr. Rich, our agent, may be expected at any time. It will 
 then be determined when I am to go. I would have much preferred 
 to have gone at this season and become acclimated before the extreme 
 warm weather, but I must await developments. In the meantime 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 
 
 129 
 
 let us try to be happy, and enjoy all there may be left for us in the 
 few days we may be permitted to be together." 
 
 " Be happy ? Yes, I am happy, too happy for it to last. Rodney,, 
 you have made me happy to-night. I have just begun to be happy, 
 and now comes the great sorrow of my life. Why did you tell me 
 you loved me? Why did you hold the golden chalice to 
 my lips but to dash it from me? We might have parted as we often 
 have before, to meet neither knew when. Time might have flown, 
 weeks and months might have passed, even years might have rolled 
 away, ere you came, and I could have hoped on, but to listen to 
 your words, to know that it may be years ere we meet, if ever, is more 
 than I can bear, and yet I would not stand in the way of your ad 
 vancement. I can still love, suffer as I may. 
 
 The clock struck the hour of twelve. It was midnight. How fast 
 the hours had flown! Neither realized that it could have been past 
 10 o clock. Bernard had not arrived and of course would not be 
 home before the next afternoon. Rodney retired, and Endura, agi 
 tated and wakeful as she was, could do no less than go to her room. 
 Cold as was the night, she threw herself upon her bed and wept. 
 How long she lay there she did not know, but when she arose, she 
 felt a severe chill, which did not leave her when she was in bed. 
 
 The next morning she sent for her mother and told her how ill she 
 had been all night. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers was frightened, as it was too apparent that her daughter 
 was destined to have a settled fever. Rodney was told of Endura s 
 illness, and he drove immediately to the village for the doctor, 
 who happening to be at a neighbor s, whose wife was at the point of 
 death; nothing was left, but for him to go for another physician, who 
 lived four miles away. Taking the doctor in his cutter, as no time 
 was to be lost, harnessing another horse, they were soon on their 
 way to Endura s home, where they arrived in good time. Rodney s 
 horse had seldom felt the whip before, and when he was urged by 
 his considerate master, he seemed to feel the importance of the 
 occasion and he fairly flew over the smooth frozen road. Doctor 
 Edgar was a young practitioner who had lately settled in the county, 
 and notwithstanding the popularity of Doctor King, the old family 
 physicain, he was building up a splendid practice. It was unfortu- 
 
130 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 nate for Doctor King, that he was unable to attend Endura, upon on 
 that occasion, as Doctor Edgar gave such perfect satisfaction that he 
 was ever after retained as the family physician. 
 
 He set himself to work to break up the fever, taking measures 
 which the old allopathic system prohibited, but which appeared to 
 work like a charm. Endura was very ill. All the day following the 
 night when Rodney spoke to her of going away, her mind wandered, 
 and the next night she was quite delirious ; so much so, that when 
 Bernard came, she did not know him. She was in great pain, and 
 between her groans would say, appealingly, "You must go." 
 The third day, the doctor had obtained complete mastery 
 over the fever, and his patient began to mend, and 
 grew better rapidly. Bernard remained at home for several days 
 to the great delight of his sister, who could not bear to have 
 him out of her sight. Rodney came every day until Endura 
 was quite recoved. The day before Bernard was to return to his 
 studies, Rodney invited him to take a sleigh ride with him, which 
 Bernard very gladly accepted. During the drive, Rodney took occa 
 sion to disclose some of the facts herebefore mentioned. Among 
 others, the long standing and growing regard he had for his sister, 
 and finally thathe had told her all, which, he was happy to say, was 
 reciprocated. He said he had some misgivings as to the wisdom or 
 propriety of letting her know his feelings, knowing as he did the 
 peculiar position in which it would place her with her neighbors and 
 friends, who differed with him on religious matters. He said he felt 
 it would be better for him to accept the position offered him at New 
 Orleans, as it would give Endura plenty of time to consider the ad 
 visability of her continuing to recognise him as a friend or some 
 thing nearer. 
 
 Bernard said he knew his sister well enough to assure him that it 
 would make no difference whether the neighbors indorsed him or nojt, 
 if she had once made up her mind. At the same time, he approved 
 of his accepting the position, which was offered him, as one which 
 would eventually lead to further advancement. 
 
 Bernard was surprised and indignant. He expressed the belief 
 that with such bigotry and intolerance ill would befall the place soon 
 or late, and he advised Rodney to give his father his opinion, and tell 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 131 
 
 him to try and dispose of his property as soon as possible. Rodney 
 said his father had no idea of running away from them because of 
 their threats. 
 
 "But," said he, "if he could find a customer who would offer him 
 a fair price for his place he thought he might sell." 
 
 Returning from their drive the two young men separated. Rodney 
 going to his home in the village, while Bernard made himself ready 
 to take the stage, which was to convey him back to town. Endura 
 recovered without suffering a run of fever, which was attributed to the 
 prompt treatment of Doctor Edgar, who was much honored for his 
 great success. 
 
132 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 WORKING TO REST. 
 
 If by prayer 
 
 Incessant I could hope to change the will 
 Of him who all things can, I would not cease 
 To weary him with my assiduous cries. 
 
 Milton s Paradise Lost. 
 
 THE season of revival had its run, and after the winter came spring 
 and flowers, and bright sunshine and green leaves. The 
 hyacinth and the crocus awoke from their winter s sleep and came 
 forth decked in beauty, and laden with perfume the first children of 
 spring. Anon the stately lilac puts forth its purple plums, and sways 
 its censers o er the garden walks ; the orchards are in bloom, and 
 o er the earth is scattered the snowy leaves, like flakes they fall from 
 the parent tree. The blue sky and clear cut clouds, the clear air and 
 gurgling brooks, the early song-birds, and the concerting frogs in the 
 marsh below, all said that spring had come. The wild-geese were 
 winging their way northward, which assured the cheerful farmer that 
 the winter had, indeed, gone, and the time for him to begin work in 
 earnest was at hand. 
 
 General Ivers was prepared for emergencies. His plows were in 
 order, his tools were kept bright, and his sleek, well-fed cattle were 
 in good heart to undertake what was before them. The General had 
 employed a man and boy who, with what assistance he would give 
 them, and now and then an extra man or two by the day, were ex 
 pected to do the work on the farm. 
 
 General Ivers often spoke of Donald Kent. He said he was the 
 best hand he had ever had on the place, man or boy. All of his good 
 qualities were talked over in the family, with an expressed wish, by 
 some one of them, that he would come back; none wished it more 
 than Endura, who said the least about it. 
 
 There are two seasons in the country, especially conducive to con 
 templation if not to loneliness. They are spring and autumn. The 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 133 
 
 one is the awakening, and the other the consummation, or the morn 
 ing and evening of the year. 
 
 The very birds go in pairs to seek their nests, and are happy to 
 gether in spring. They grow glad with the summer, and when the 
 melancholy days are come they change their songs of mirth to suit the 
 time, and fly away to warmer climes, until another spring shall bring 
 forth other flowers, when they will come again with their happy 
 songs. Why there should be an air of loneliness around when all 
 nature is so gay, with its new life is hard to understand, unless it is 
 that toil and hardship is before us. When the crops are planted a 
 kind of respite is had, and the husbandman rests complacently while 
 they corns forth. 
 
 General Ivers crops were all planted. His fields were dressed ; his 
 walls and fences were repaired. The corn was just beginning to 
 peep from the ground, showing the green blades in long rows across 
 the field. It was May. Every vistige of winter was gone. Flowers 
 were on the meadow. The hillsides were strewn with violets, and 
 the blue fleur-de-lis were on the river bank. The gentle breeze kissed 
 the grassy knoll that blushed at its embrace. Summer was near, 
 gay, glorious, bountiful summer, nature s perfect life. 
 
 One evening, the last of May, General Ivers received a letter post 
 marked Boston. He knew the handwriting. It was that of Donald 
 Kent s, who had been quite ill, so much so that both partners of the 
 law firm, with which he was studying, advised him to take a good, 
 long rest. He wrote to his old friend to know if he might come and 
 work for him for a few weeks. 
 
 He said that he should not expect any pay, for he did not think he 
 would be worth much, if anything, for some days, at least, until he 
 could regain his strength which he wrote was nearly all gone since his 
 sickness; but he promised to do his best if the General would let him 
 come. 
 
 General Ivers answered the letter immediately, and told him to 
 come at once. Said he : 
 
 "Your hoe hangs in its old place. I have never let any one use 
 it, and it is almost as bright as when you hung it there years ago." 
 
 Donald was delighted to receive the letter, and immediately made 
 arrangements for his departure. 
 
134 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 It was on a Saturday night, early in June, that our young friend 
 arrived, a welcome guest at the house of our farmer prince. No son 
 was ever more kindly welcomed than he was by Mr. and Mrs. Ivers. 
 No brother was ever more warmly greeted with a sister s love than 
 he was by Endura s. 
 
 He was pale and thin, but the same noble bearing remained. The 
 same genial smile that could make happy all who came under its 
 influence was his. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers really seemed alarmed at his feeble appearance, and 
 told him she was afraid he had been studying too hard. 
 
 He told her that he had applied himself rather closely, "but," said 
 he, " I am sure I shall come out all right if you let me stay here a 
 few days. I have so longed for some of your nice dinners and, 
 more than anything, for a piece of one of your johnny-cakes." 
 
 Mrs. Ivers promised him both, and a real good bed to rest upon; 
 and as it was getting late, she knew he must be tired, and he had 
 better retire, which he was in no way loth to do. 
 
 He was shown into the great east bedroom, which had recently 
 been furnished as a guest-room. Everything was new and fresh, 
 from the carpet on the floor to the feather-bed, which was most in 
 viting to our weary friend. 
 
 There were beautiful flowers upon every hand. Upon either side 
 of the mirror on the bureau there stood a lovely vase filled with fra 
 grant wild violets ; with those mingled the perfume of the azalia and 
 the sweet-briar. The whole atmosphere was laden with the odor of 
 many flowers, so much so, that Donald feared it might disturb his 
 rest. Opening the window, he placed vase after vase upon its sill, 
 until nearly all were removed, when he retired. 
 
 Who shall say that was not a happy household! Those who 
 bestowed and he who received were alike happy. Donald lay his 
 head upon his pillow, and a silent prayer of gratitude went up to 
 the Throne of Grace, after which he slept sweetly until the morning. 
 
 When Donald awoke the next morning the sun was up and the 
 birds sang their sweetest, as if they too welcomed him. He could 
 not but feel that God had been good to him in allowing him to be 
 placed amid such pleasant surroundings. He remembered the time 
 when, as a boy, he occupied the little room over the kitchen, when it 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 135 
 
 was his duty to be the first astir in the morning. He remembered 
 how he looked forward to the time when he would be a man and be 
 welcomed as a guest to the great house; but the reality far surpassed 
 his most sanguine dreams. He did not arise immediately, as he 
 knew there would be no hurry, it being the Sabbath morning. He 
 lived over the past. He saw himself the poor boy at home where 
 there were enough without him; and then he pictured himself as first 
 he appeared before General Ivers, with his father; and then he saw 
 himself going to school with little Endura; and then came an un 
 pleasant chapter in his youth s history his fight with Jack Young, 
 and his disgrace and mortification. 
 
 He wondered if the good people down-stairs remembered it, and 
 if they still believed he did wrong in not forgiving the teacher and 
 going back to school. Every unimportant event appeared to come up 
 before him the bitter and the sweet. 
 
 Then he thought of the time he was selected to teach the district 
 school, and the pleasant winter which followed, when all the young 
 people who attended tried to see who should do him most honor; 
 and how happy he was, and how rapidly the days and weeks flew 
 past, when spring came and he let himself for months of toil upon a 
 farm in a distant part of the State. How hard it was to part with his 
 pupils, and, especially so, from Endura, who appeared so fond of 
 him, and who he was sure he loved better than a sister; and then of 
 his visit, and of Sally Vic s death. Oh! it seemed so so long ago. 
 He got up instinctively, and, going to the window, he looked out 
 upon the beautiful green fields, dotted here and there with early sum 
 mer flowers. His eye rested upon the graveyard, in a sunny corner, 
 where Squire Ivers and his good wife had lain side by side for many 
 years; and then a little to the right was the third marble tablet. It 
 occurred to him at once that it could be for none other than his gen 
 tle friend Sally Vic. He felt a thrill, and the landscape grew dim ; 
 the birds ceased, or he heard them not, and the flowers yielded no 
 perfume. Donald Kent was in heaven, or lost in reverie ; but a gen 
 tle step in the hall awakened him from the rapturous trance into 
 which his reverie had born^ him. 
 
 He dressed himself as soon as possible and went down. There 
 sat the little charge of his boyhood upon the front steps with a book 
 
136 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 in her hand. She greeted him with a sweet voice and her loveliest 
 smile. She said she had been waiting for him to sit with her and to 
 breathe the soft air of morning, hear the birds sing, and to talk over 
 old times. 
 
 "Oh, Donald, I am so glad you came. I wish you would come 
 often; I have so much to tell you that I can not think of one-half of 
 it when you come. It has been so long, more than two years 
 since we have seen each other, and the last time I did not have you 
 to myself at all." 
 
 " If I remember, you had some one else very much to yourself at 
 that time. By the way, I must ask after your friend, Mr. Hay wood; 
 he is well, I hope ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, Rodney is quite well; but he expects to leave us very 
 soon to be gone for two years, or it may be longer." 
 
 " How is that ? I did not hear of it before. Where does he an 
 ticipate going to ?" 
 
 " Mr. Haywood and his partner, Mr. Hanford, both wish him to 
 go to New Orleans as purchasing agent for the company. Their 
 agent is expected home at any moment. Rodney does not take 
 kindly to it, but he has concluded that it will be for his interest to 
 go, so he will leave as soon as Mr. Rich arrives." 
 
 " You will be very lonely, Endura, but I am afraid my presence 
 would not compensate for the loss of him who goes from you." 
 
 Donald, for the first time, thought he noticed a slight coloring of 
 her face, and he said no more. Endura said Rodney had been very 
 kind, and she could not but miss him very much. 
 
 "I expect him to-day," she continued, "and I am so glad. I do 
 not believe you knew each other very well. I want you to be the 
 best of friends for my sake." 
 
 "We shall certainly be friends. Whoever is your friend shall be 
 mine; and if he prove unworthy your friendship, let him beware of 
 me. When you were a little child and I carried you over the bad 
 places, or dragged you on my little sled, I felt that I must watch over 
 you, and now, when you have no farther need of me in the capacity 
 of guardian and protector, I feel like assuming my old prerogative 
 and taking care of you still." 
 
 " I have never been more happy than when you used to take me 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 137 
 
 to school. And the times we coasted down the steep hill back of the 
 orchard, how well I remember them! you held me on the sled before 
 you, and down we went, often to be tumbled in the snow. I used to 
 get almost frozen, but would suffer rather than go in. And when I 
 did go near the fire how my little hands did ache, and mother would 
 wrap them in a warm cloth until the blood circulated, when I was 
 ready to try it again." 
 
 "It was a great pleasure for me, I assure you, for I was ever fond 
 of such sport. Besides, I was always so proud of my sweet, little 
 charge. " 
 
 " Donald, you were more to me than a brother. Bernard never 
 cared for me half as well. In truth, I never had one-half the confi 
 dence in him that I have ever had in you." 
 
 "It pleases me to have you say so. But there is one coming to 
 day in whom you have greater faith, one whom you can trust more 
 and love better." 
 
 " Do not say trust more. Who can I ever trust as I have trusted 
 you ? As a child I loved you as a brother, but you must remember 
 I am a woman and that we have been separated. You have drifted 
 from me, and you can not blame me if I have formed other ac 
 quaintances. But I shall ever look upon you as one of my very 
 dearest friends." 
 
 Just then they we re called to breakfast, which was smoking hot 
 upon the table. 
 
 Where does a breakfast taste as good as in the country, at a farm- 
 house? But there must be something more than mere country air to 
 give it the zest longest to be remembered. 
 
 Donald Kent thought he never ate such a breakfast before. He 
 had often eaten johnny-cakes at that same table, but it seemed to 
 him that he never relished them as much before that sweet new 
 butter, the fresh eggs, the delicious ham, all raised by farmer Ivers. 
 Donald realized that he was really hungry. It appeared to him a 
 long time since he had been so before ; he was quite sure that he 
 had not tasted such a breakfast for, it seemed to him, years. 
 
 The conversation was pleasant, and the anticipation of a ramble 
 about the place added to the pleasure. But General Ivers spoke of 
 attending church, which, if they did, there was little time to lose. 
 
I3 8 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 Donald was asked if he cared to go with them. He said if they 
 were all going he would accompany them, and it was so decided. 
 Perhaps it might not have been altogether to his taste, but he thought 
 he could have his ramble afterwards. " Besides," he thought, "I 
 shall see some of my old friends." 
 
 The carryall was already at the door, and as it took but a few 
 minutes for Mrs. Ivers and Endura to get ready, they were soon on 
 the way, and, indeed, very soon there. 
 
 It was a lovely morning, and the good people from far and near 
 seemed to have taken advantage of it, for there were a great many 
 present, when General Ivers and his family arrived, and they con 
 tinued to come until the house was full, if not crowded. 
 
 A stranger was to preach, as they learned after they reached the 
 church, and perhaps it might have been a knowledge of this fact that 
 had something to do with the number present. When the speaker 
 arose, all were somewhat surprised, if not disappointed. He 
 appeared like a very common man, dressed in rather ordinary 
 clothes, but neat and respectable. He took for his text, Acts 
 xvii: 22 : "Then Paul stood in the midst of Mars hill and said, 
 Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too supersti 
 tious." The reading of the text appeared to have the desired effect, 
 as all present seemed to awake as soon as it was announced; and 
 from that time to the close the speaker commanded the closest atten 
 tion. 
 
 He said : "The Athenians worshiped idols, and spent their time in 
 telling or listening to some new thing ; and as they heard that Paul 
 proclaimed a new doctrine, they were anxious to hear what it might 
 be. They said, What will this babbler say ? They said unto him, 
 Thou bringest certain strange things to our ears; we would know, 
 therefore, what these things mean. Then Paul stood up and told them 
 the truth. He said as he passed by he saw an altar with this inscription : 
 * To THE UNKNOWN GOD Whom, therefore, ye ignorantly worship, 
 him I declare unto you. When they heard of the resurrection of 
 the dead some mocked, and others said: We will hear thee again 
 on this matter. When Paul departed from among them, certain 
 men believed in the doctrine he had preached to them. Now, my 
 brethren, if I am as fortunate as was Paul, I shall think myself most 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 139 
 
 I 
 
 happy and well paid. The Jews raised a great hue and cry against 
 Paul, and said: This fellow persuadeth men to worship God con 
 trary to the law. Thank God ! there is no law in this country as to 
 how we are to worship, except with prayer and fasting, and by doing 
 unto others as we would have others do unto us. I am sorry to 
 know that there are those here to-day who do not follow those blessed 
 precepts. There are those present who would not believe any doctrine 
 that did not accord with their own narrow, contracted ideas. And 
 they would compel, if they could everyone, to worship God as they 
 do, or not at all. 
 
 " Now, brethren, that is not the right spirit. Such were not the 
 teachings of our Lord and Savior. Think you, brethren, that the 
 Jews did right? They were intolerant; so are you. They perse 
 cuted those who promulgated new doctrines; so do you. Would you 
 have believed the blessed Savior had you lived in his time and been 
 brought up with the Jews ? Methinks not. And yet you condemn 
 them, while to-day, in this enlightened age, you yourselves do the 
 same thing. And we will do you the credit of believing you are sin 
 cere. I again repeat the words of the great apostle, " Ye are too 
 superstitious. " 
 
 The whole discourse, which was a long one, was continued in the 
 same strain. The speaker was especially scathing in his denuncia 
 tions of intolerance, and he commended charity as the greatest 
 Christian virtue. He closed with an able prayer, not forgetting all 
 who were in their midst, and those who did not understand religion 
 as he did, no matter what gods they worshiped, or if they worshiped 
 the same God in a different way; as long as they were sincere they 
 were brothers; and he believed in the end they would all reach the 
 same goal. 
 
 When the sermon was finished, there appeared to be a more than 
 usual commotion. The congregation collected in twos and fours 
 and sixes, generally indorsing what had been said by the minister. 
 A few there were who did not coincide with him, who appeared to 
 feel that he preached especially at them. Among them were those 
 who had been most active in their persecution of Mr. Haywood. 
 
 Mrs. Tartar waited until Elder Knocks should give his opinion, 
 and Mrs. Cramp waited to hear what Mrs. Tartar would say ; but 
 
14 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 Miss Cutting gave an unqualified opinion, which was, that the man 
 had come there in the interest of that wicked man, Haywood, which 
 Mrs. Tartar could not indorse, or the infidel would certainly have 
 been present. Mr. Cribbe, meeting the above-named ladies as they 
 came out of church, asked them how they liked the sermon. But 
 with the exception of Miss Cutting, their answers were rather equiv 
 ocal. General Ivers and family were highly pleased with the dis 
 course, and the General invited the speaker to ride home and stay 
 the night with him, which, after some little persuasion, he consented 
 to do. 
 
 Endura was to remain at Mr. Haywood s until Donald could 
 return for her; but Rodney, being at home, he insisted upon taking 
 her himself, which he did, and arrived as soon as General Ivers did 
 with his more moderate team. Donald was somewhat disappointed 
 when Rodney insisted on driving Endura home ; and while he re 
 mained, Donald did not seem quite happy. But Rodney was 
 obliged to return, as the mail was expected to bring a letter which 
 would seal his destiny ; besides, he did not quite like to feel that 
 Endura s attentions would be divided if he remained. 
 
 When Rodney was gone, Donald appeared like himself. He 
 asked Endura if she would not like to take a ramble with him across 
 the fields, as far as one of the neighbor s. She readily consented, 
 and, taking her sun-hat, they set off together. 
 
 They went first to the graveyard where the grandfather and 
 grandmother of Endura were buried. They read the simple 
 epitaph upon each tablet, and then turned to the headstone 
 of Sally Vic. Donald lingered by the grave without speaking a 
 word, and as he turned to go he took out his handkerchief and wiped 
 his eyes, as he said : 
 
 " Poor Sally ! why was she born ? The cold world is no place for 
 such as she. And yet she made happy those around her, even when 
 she stood upon the verge of the dark river. Endura, that poor 
 girl made me better than otherwise I should have been. Her patient 
 suffering taught me a lesson which I have never forgotten. And that 
 answers my question. She did not live in vain. Shall I tell you 
 that you, too, have influenced my life? Bad as I may be, I am 
 the better for knowing you." 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 14! 
 
 " Donald, you were always good, always gentle and kind, not alone 
 to me, but to every one else." 
 
 "You must except Jake Young, Endura, I was never very gentle 
 to Jake." 
 
 " Do not speak of that wretched fellow, Donald. He went to sea 
 and has never been heard of since." 
 
 They wandered on across the fields until they were very near Mrs. 
 Tartar s house, when Donald suggested that they go in. They were 
 cordially welcomed by Mrs. Tartar, and introduced to a friend who 
 was visiting her. Mrs. Cramp was there, and, as she expressed it, 
 she was " drefful glad to see them both." She said she allers did 
 like Donald, and if she was a gal she d set her cap for him. And 
 then she laughed, and Donald said what a pity she was not young: 
 She said she sposed he had a gal in Boston, but said she : 
 
 "I don t b lieve she can beat a sartin one I know who don t live 
 fur off." 
 
 Mrs. Tarter said she did hope Donald would have found a nice 
 girl in the neighborhood for a wife. Mrs. Cramp said, "Mebbe he 
 will yit." 
 
142 ENDURA: OR 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE SUMMER RAMBLE. 
 
 The Spring s gay promise melted into thee, 
 Fair Summer ; and thy gentle reign is here. 
 
 Willis G. Clark, 
 
 T^HE conversation of the old woman was continued in pretty much 
 the same strain while they remained. It was not very edify 
 ing to either Donald or Endura so excusing themselves they took 
 their leave. 
 
 It was a lovely day. The blush of summer was upon the land 
 scape. The lingering flowers of spring, which dotted the fields, bent 
 to the gentle breeze, and cast their perfume upon the listening air. 
 Their petals drooped as if in sorrow, as they looked upon the set 
 ting sun for the last time, ere death scattered them afar. 
 
 A gay butterfly flitted near and hovered above some early daisies, 
 while a bee lodged upon the sweetest flower soon hid itself in its 
 folds to revel in its sweetness. A swallow, happy in new fields, sun 
 ning its jet wings, shot like an arrow o er the grassy mead and van 
 ished like a meteor. All nature seemed to welcome returning sum 
 mer ; but nothing could have been more charmed than was Donald 
 as he walked by the side of Endura. Was it a dream ? Was that 
 perfect form real ? Were those soul-searching eyes of the earth ; or 
 were they lent for a time from heaven to enrapture and enslave poor 
 mortals like himself? Were those lips warm and soft? and that 
 golden hair, was it not that of an angel ? 
 
 Donald had never realized before how perfectly lovely was the fair 
 creature by his side. To clasp her in his arms would, as he well 
 knew, break the spell ; and, yet, how could he resist heaven when it 
 was so near ? Could the bee resist the flower ? Could the flower 
 resist the sun ? 
 
 The gentle breeze played with her hair and kissed her soft cheek, 
 while he, flesh and blood like herself, was doomed to witness all and 
 be denied the blessed boon that things inanimate were accorded. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 143 
 
 "Endura," said he, " I am far happier than I ever hoped to be. 
 I have heen happy with you before ; but to-day appears to be the cul 
 mination of my happiness. How much have I thought of you ! 
 How I have longed to see my little pet once more ! and here I am 
 by her side. Beautiful as she was as a child she is ten times more 
 charming to-day, in the early summer of life." 
 
 " Donald, you must not flatter so much. We girls are easily 
 spoiled, and you may lay some great sin at your own door by heap 
 ing praise upon me. I wanted to talk to you about your profession 
 and your plans, but I have had no good opportunity as yet. I 
 expect you have made many pleasant acquaintances in the great city, 
 while poor me vegetated here among the other weeds." 
 
 " Do not mock me, Endura. Think you I could be as happy any 
 where as I have been here ? " 
 
 They approached a sloping rock, upon which they sat down. Don 
 ald, taking her little hand in his, said: 
 
 " Endura, I too have wished to say something to you. Will you 
 hear it now?" 
 
 Endura was startled, but summoning all her fortitude she bade 
 him speak. 
 
 " I have wanted to tell you how much I love you." 
 
 " Donald, do not speak more !" 
 
 "Is it a sin, then, that I have dared to raise my eyes to you? 
 Have I loved in vain ?" 
 
 " Oh, Donald ! Donald ! Why do I hear this, and from you? It 
 must not be ! You are my dear brother; you can never be aught 
 else !" 
 
 " True, true ! I had forgotten from whence I came ! I was your 
 friend, Endura, your teacher, your servant." 
 
 "Stop ! stop ! Donald ! Are you not my brother? Ask me to be 
 all that a sister can be and see if I falter. Have I not loved you as 
 a sister? As a spoiled child have I not idolized my adopted brother? 
 AVhat restraints have I felt, what freedom have I not taken with you 
 that I would have taken with my own brother ? Have I been guilty 
 of one act unsisterly, yesterday, to-day, or even in the past, since 
 childish whims gave way to reasoning age? Is not that enough? 
 
144 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 Could a brother ask for more? Could a loving sister render less? 
 Tell me, Donald, could I do more ?" 
 
 "No, Endura. It was I who aimed my arrow at the sun, forget 
 ting its distance from me. Forgive me, my sister. Love on as 
 before. I will be your brother. And let what come that may come, 
 remember your adopted brother; and should misfortune overtake 
 you, which God grant may never be, fly you to him, he will assist you." 
 
 "Thanks, Donald, I feel happier now since you do not miscon 
 strue the words which my heart prompted. And now may I confide 
 in you?" 
 
 "Yes, Endura; I can hear anything touching yourself, only I 
 beg you will forget my presumption." 
 
 "There was no presumption. But being myself accountable to 
 another, I dared not listen to you." 
 
 Donald was brave and determined. But bowing to the inevitable, 
 great tears welled up from the soul that could sacrifice so much for 
 the happiness of another. 
 
 Endura put her arm around his neck, and drawing his head gently 
 toward her she imprinted a loving kiss upon his brow, while his head 
 lay as if in a swoon upon her gentle breast. He would have rested 
 there forever, but her soft hand thrilled him into life, and he spoke: 
 
 "Was it a dream?" said he. "Are we not here on the rock to 
 gether? Did I feel your soft lips upon my forehead? Do not say 
 no, unless you would prolong my torture." 
 
 "Yes, I did kiss you, and will again, and each kiss shall be a seal 
 to a sister s love. I perceive that what I said distressed you; let us 
 not refer to it again." 
 
 "Speak, Endura, I am calm and can hear you now." 
 
 "You know, Donald, that my circle of friends is small. There 
 are but few in the neighborhood with whom I have cared to associate. 
 I have a few friends in the village who are congenial. One among 
 them has been most kind ; one in every way worthy to be your 
 brother. Oh, Donald, you can never know how lonely I was when 
 you left us ! I cried for more than a week and did not see any one. 
 
 "At last Mr. Haywood and Rodney came to the house, and while 
 Mr. H. was entertained by the family I undertook to interest Rodney. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 145 
 
 He seemed pleased, and that pleased me and encouraged me to 
 greater efforts to entertain and interest him. 
 
 " From that time we became friends. He has taken me riding 
 and to his home, where I have been most welcome by his people, 
 and I have learned to love very dearly his sister Clara. After you 
 went away I tried to shake off the dreadful feeling which took posses 
 sion of me. It seemed to me that all who cared for me had gone 
 away and left me in loneliness and sorrow. It was then that Rod 
 ney Haywood came to me and found me hungry for some congenial 
 spirit. 
 
 " He came often, always most welcome by me. I grew to expect 
 him, and was sadly disappointed if he failed to come. His society 
 became essential to my happiness, and gradually he supplied the 
 place made void by your long absence ; and so I grew to love him, 
 but it was months before he knew it. At last he told me he loved 
 me, and I confessed all to him. Did I do wrong ? " 
 
 "No, Endura, it is but fate; and may you prosper in your love,, 
 and may the future contain golden sheaves. Such shall ever be the 
 prayer of your adopted brother." 
 
 "It is scarcely one month since he told me he had loved me from 
 the first. I gave him my promise, as I would have given it to you, 
 It is sacred, and I should deserve and expect your severest con 
 demnation, as I should despise myself, if I attempted to avoid its 
 fulfillment." 
 
 They both arose with sad hearts, but with firm resolves Donald 
 to try and make his new-found sister happy, Endura to prove herself 
 worthy of such a brother. 
 
 The sun was fast sinking in the west ; the shadows were long upon 
 the grass ; the great white ash, which stood upon the lawn, stretched 
 its shadows away to the meadow and the hills ; the birds had begun 
 their evening songs, and the crickets chirped in their hiding-places, 
 while the noisy frogs added their clamor to the rest. " The song of 
 the turtle was heard in the land," and all nature rejoiced in the full 
 ness of the earth. 
 
 Such seasons lend sweetness, as they carry sadness to the human 
 heart, and he that feels no emotions at such a time, must be void of 
 the finer senses. 
 
146 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 Donald and Endura entered the house, and so well did they dis 
 semble, that neither the General nor Mrs. Ivers could have suspected 
 that any but the most pleasing pastime had been theirs. The 
 evening passed pleasantly, Donald telling them of the busy city, of 
 the palaces, of the merchant princes, and the squalor of the poor. 
 
 He pictured the great gulf that separated the rich from the poor, 
 and compared them with the greatest extremes in the country so 
 favorable to the latter, that those who considered themselves poor, 
 with pure air and health, and plenty to eat, drink and wear, might 
 almost deem themselves rich. 
 
 Another Sabbath had ended; another week had begun. The 
 morrow would be a day of toil, but, to the thrifty farmer, light toil is 
 a pleasure and a pastime. He loves to see his crops growing, while 
 he aids them with his spade or his hoe. He loves to prune his trees, 
 which seem to thank him by sending forth new and vigorous shoots, 
 instead of the sickly and dying branches which his sharp blade had 
 severed. He loves to destroy the weeds which choke and stint the 
 corn, for he knows it will repay his kindness with a bountiful 
 harvest. Every day the contented farmer sees something to make 
 him thankful, and encourage him to new efforts. Even when seasons 
 are unfavorable, there are still some bright spots. 
 
 Donald was up early, and went about his work with the promptness 
 of a hired man. He worked in the garden a good long hour before 
 breakfast, and when, at last, he was called, he had no reason to com 
 plain of an appetite, and the breakfast that was set before him 
 enhanced it. 
 
 He asked why it was that he could not get so good a breakfast in 
 the city. 
 
 The General suggested that he did not have a garden to work in 
 before eating a city breakfast ; and the pure, fresh air, he said, was 
 another condiment. 
 
 " Mrs. Ivers," said he, " is there any fear that your Johnny-cakes 
 and apple sauce and new butter will give out?" 
 
 The good lady laughed at the idea, but the General said if there 
 was any prospect for such a calamity, he wished to know it in time, 
 so that he could forbid him working in the garden until the supply 
 was assured. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 147 
 
 All laughed at the neat turn given the subject, which helped to 
 settle an excellent breakfast. 
 
 The sun had crossed the meridian, and began slowly to descend to 
 his setting. Donald was already tired of labor for the day, for he 
 had worked steadily since early morning. The General told him he 
 had better call it half a day, and go in advice he was in no wise 
 loth to accept. 
 
 He did not enter the house immediately, but availed himself of his 
 old privilege of lounging awhile beneath the willows whose supple 
 branches swept the verdant lawn. He had not been long in repose 
 before a sudden chill admonished him of danger. He arose just as 
 Rodney Haywood drove up in his buggy to bid good-bye to the 
 family, as the advices had arrived which made it neccessary for him 
 to leave by that evening s coach for the city, from whence he would 
 sail for New Orleans two days later. All the family felt sad at his 
 going, but for Endura the parting was bitter indeed. 
 
 Rodney took his leave of Endura alone in the parlor, and then, as 
 if he dared not trust himself by lingering, he bade good-bye to all, 
 and rushed away. Donald walked with him to the gate, and return 
 ing, told Mrs. Ivers he felt cold, which somewhat alarmed the good 
 woman, who knew not of his imprudence under the willow. He 
 grew rapidly worse, and in two hours from the time Rodney left, he 
 was in a burning fever. 
 
 General Ivers sent for the doctor immediately. Of course none 
 other than Dr. Edgar must be called, after their experience when 
 Endura was so similarly attacked. 
 
 The doctor happened to be home, and came immediately. When 
 he had examined the patient he pronounced it a congestive chill, 
 which might result in a run of fever. 
 
 He asked if Donald had exposed himself, and was told that he had 
 not, as far as was known. The doctor said that occasionally the 
 mind had something to do with such sudden prostrations, and he 
 asked if he had been unusually excited. This was also answered in 
 the negative. 
 
 Dr. Edgar remained for more than an hour, during which time his 
 patient grew rapidly worse. Leaving some medicine, with directions 
 
148 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 for administering, he took his departure, promising to come again in 
 the morning. 
 
 Donald was in great agony, and at times his mind wandered, and 
 he muttered something to himself which General Ivers or his wife 
 could not make out. Either the General or his wife was by his bed 
 side all night long, and they awaited very anxiously for the doctor s 
 arrival the next morning. When he came he told them it would be 
 next to impossible to break up the fever, which was, he said, a 
 malignant form of typhoid. And said he : 
 
 "It will greatly depend upon a good constitution and good nursing 
 as to whether he gets through or not." 
 
 Endura heard the words of the physician and grew pale and faint, 
 but turned and hurriedly left the room. She was fearful that her 
 looks or her emotion would betray her, and dared not remain. She 
 went to her room, and, throwing herself upon the bed, she wept as 
 though her heart would break. 
 
 "Oh, Donald, am I to blame? Would I could suffer for you!" 
 
 She did not realize how long she had been there, when the voice 
 of her mother called her to her senses. She wiped her eyes and 
 went down but to find the household in the greatest alarm. The 
 hired man had been hurried off for another doctor, at the request of 
 Dr. Edgar. 
 
 The two hours of the man s absence seemed an age, but he came 
 at last, and with him Dr. Carmel, one of the best physicians in the 
 county. After a hasty examination of the patient, he approved of all 
 Dr. Edgar had done, and said it was very important that he should 
 have immediate relief, "for," said he, "humanity can not long 
 endure the agony he is suffering." 
 
 Opiates were administered, much stronger than had often been 
 given, but they failed to give relief. At last morphine was injected 
 into the veins of the suffering man, which appeared to quiet him, 
 while a semblance of death gathered upon his face. From that time 
 forward he was kept under the influence of opiates for four days. 
 
 Of course he was much exhausted, and every means was resorted 
 to to stimulate him sufficient to carry him through. So, for many 
 days he lay balancing between life and death, suspended, as it were, 
 by a burnt cord, which the gentlest breath might sever. After the 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 149 
 
 first two or three days, not a sound or a whisper escaped him, until 
 the frail bark was slowly wafted back to life. For days he lay as if 
 in a trance. He heard the lowest whisper in the room; and when 
 the doctor came and spoke in subdued tones, he listened eagerly to 
 what he said. 
 
 "He is a very sick man," said the doctor, "but the climax has 
 passed, and with no drawback he will continue to mend." 
 
 Two or three days after the above conversation, Endura was sitting 
 by his bedside. Her soft hand was on his forehead. She heard him 
 whisper her name, and placing her head nearer his, she heard her 
 own name from lips called back from death s portal. 
 
 "Endura, must I live?" 
 
 "Yes, Donald. You are getting better, but you must not talk." 
 
 And her soft hand soothed and satisfied him. Slowly, day by day, 
 he gained strength until he was able to sit up in bed. His recovery 
 was assured, and he felt calm and happy. Endura was almost con 
 stantly with him, and read to him. One day he said to her: 
 
 " Endura, I would rather have died, and when I heard the doctor 
 say I was to get well, I felt sorry. Now I am so happy so glad to 
 come back to life; to be with you for a little while longer. You were 
 with me upon the very brink of the dark river, and had I crossed 
 over you would have accompanied me. Your better part was with 
 me even in the valley and shadow of death. And now I have come 
 back to you for a brief season. In life and death you have been 
 mine. Who could ask for more?" 
 
 From that time forward, Donald improved rapidly. His appetite 
 increased faster than his system could absorb what he ate. He was 
 obliged to be careful and eat moderately of what was set before him, 
 and especially careful and self-denying as to the very things he most 
 craved. Those good old New England boiled dinners made his 
 mouth water, but he was not allowed scarcely a taste of them. In 
 time he attempted to walk around, but it seemed as if his limbs 
 would not bear him. The bright summer mornings would find him 
 upon the porch or in the garden until breakfast, when he indulged in 
 that great luxury, a New England farmer s breakfast. 
 
 The summer was far advanced into July, and the sharp scythe was 
 brought out that was to lay low the emerald grass. And then the 
 
150 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 meadow was the center of interest. The perfume of the new mown 
 hay went up like an incense from every field throughout the land. 
 The voices of hay-makers were heard in the valley and upon the hill 
 side. Great loads moved hither and thither to the places of storage. 
 
 Donald could not help going into the field and mingling with the 
 men, as if to live over again the days that were past. He would 
 take a scythe and mow a few sweeps, when his strength would give 
 out and he would be obliged to sit down and rest. At last nature 
 would give way and he would return to the house exhausted. But he 
 remembered the seductive shade that had been so near his death and 
 passed it by. 
 
 One day as he returned from one of his rambles Endura met him 
 at the door. Joy was depicted in her countenance as she held up a 
 letter, the second she had received from Rodney since he left for his 
 home in the South. 
 
 " Oh ! Donald, he speaks of you so kindly and says he hopes you 
 are quite recovered," said she as they sat upon the porch together. 
 
 " If you loved me as you do Rodney, I could speak well of all the 
 world. As it is, I have naught against a living soul. And Rodney 
 Haywood above all others I wish to consider my friend, for well as 
 sured am I that while we are friendly you will love me just a little." 
 
 " Donald, you can never know how much I have loved you. Some 
 times I fear it is wrong. I think that perhaps some great punishment 
 will befall me for 
 
 For what, Endura?" 
 
 " For loving you too well, better far than I have loved my own 
 brother ! " 
 
 " To love is Godlike God is love and the most sacred attribute 
 of God or man is love ; and the more we love the greater our reward." 
 
 " Yes, Donald, but there are so many degrees of love a parent s, 
 a husband s or a wife s love; a sister s or a brother s love; the love 
 of nature ; an inward gratitude for life and its blessings ; a love for 
 children; a love for our friends ; love of flowers and things beautiful ; 
 love for dumb animals whose gratitude repays us tenfold ; a love for 
 all the minor objects of life which make us happier and better for their 
 existence." 
 
 " To which class do I belong, Endura ? To the first or the last ? " 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 151 
 
 " Not to the last, certainly. But now I must read you Rodney s 
 letter." 
 
 "All of it, Endura?" 
 
 "Well, if I omit a part you must think you should not hear it." 
 
 " My Endura " 
 
 " Excuse me, but you must have omitted something." 
 "Oh, yes. I forgot to say, New Orleans, June 3oth, 18 . " 
 * And did you not omit one other little word ? " 
 "Well, I ll begin again." 
 
 " MY DARLING ENDURA : Here I am in the midst of cotton and 
 Creoles. It is excessively hot, and it is feared there will be a great 
 deal of sickness during the summer. I long for a sniff of the New 
 England air. For a ramble through the beautiful woods, for a drive 
 on her flower-bordered highways, for a bath in the beautiful streams, 
 for a rest beneath the grand old oaks and for one embrace there, 
 I did not intend to read that, so please consider it not read." 
 
 " No, go on. One embrace let me finish the sentence of 
 the loveliest creature among all things lovely " 
 " No, that is not it. I will continue : " 
 
 " I was pained to learn of the severe illness of Mr. Kent, but I 
 should consider myself but too happy to be sick with such a nurse as 
 I am sure you would be. I sincerely hope he is recovered ere this, 
 for too much sympathy may ripen into love. But I must not think 
 of what might be ; I only know what is. " 
 
 "Poor fellow ! He does not know what is. And it is well he does 
 not, or he would not be so happy and full of hope, Still, may curses 
 descend upon me, if I knowingly blot out one ray of hope from his 
 fair sky. We know each other, and so knowing, it shall be mine to 
 guard both our honors. When you write him, Endura, ask him to 
 drop me a line in Boston, where I expect to be within a week, and 
 tell him that my greatest happiness shall be in knowing that he is 
 worthy my adopted sister. But read on ; surely you are not through." 
 
 " Well, no ; but all the rest is about business and the weather and 
 the negroes, you know, and I guess you don t care for that. Now you 
 tell me you are going away, and I shall be alone and so lonely." 
 
 " It is best that I go. I feel as Adam must have felt when he was 
 driven out of paradise, when I think of leaving you ; but I know I 
 
I5 2 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 must go, and I feel I am punished for much the same as was Adam." 
 In three days Donald was back in his old quarters, in the metropo 
 lis of New England, where he was most cordially welcomed by his 
 patrons and friends. Let us leave him for a time and turn to other 
 characters who have found a place in this story. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 153 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 PROVIDING FOR PAUPERS. 
 
 In faith and hope the world will disagree, 
 But all mankind s concern is charity. 
 
 Pope s Moral Essay. 
 
 IN some of the New England towns it has been a custom from 
 time immemorial to farm out the poor. There have scarcely 
 been paupers enough to warrant the building of a poor-house, so that 
 the disposing of such unfortunates in some way became a matter of 
 necessity. Usually, at the June town meeting, several of these de 
 pendent creatures were struck off to the lowest bidder; as, for in 
 stance, some poor old man or woman who could not support them 
 selves were put up at auction. If it was supposed to be worth two 
 dollars a week to support them, and any one who was responsible 
 would agree to take them for one dollar, believing that the person 
 could earn enough to half pay for keeping them, he or she was 
 awarded to such person, provided no one would agree to take them 
 for less. 
 
 About the time that Donald Kent left for the city, the town meet 
 ing took place, at which quite a number of the poor of the town were 
 to be auctioned off. General Ivers, being the "overseer of the poor," 
 was the one whose duty it was to provide such with temporary homes. 
 
 Among those who were to be let out upon that particular occasion 
 was the Widow Cramp, who was quite aged, but by no means an im 
 becile. She could knit and sew some, and as mending was an item 
 where there were several boys in a family, she could make herself 
 quite useful. A neighboring farmer, who had a large family, finally 
 agreed to take care of her for one dollar a week. 
 
 The next to be bid for was Miss Cutting, a " maiden lady," as Gen 
 eral Ivers rather facetiously remarked as he named the person to be 
 bid for. He said she was not so old as the Widow Cramp, and 
 would be an agreeable companion for a woman whose husband was 
 away from home a great deal. He said she was a good talker and 
 
154 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 very pious; she could spin, or sew, or knit, and was entertaining to 
 strangers. The last remark was emphasized so strongly that it almost 
 implied that she was not particularly entertaining to anyone else. She 
 was "knocked down" to a neighbor who said he would give her a 
 home for seventy-five cents a week. 
 
 The next was a blind man who was secured by another neighbor 
 for fifty cents a week. He could milk, turn the grindstone, thresh 
 grain and churn butter, and was considered a useful man to have 
 around. 
 
 All of the paupers were finally disposed of, and then there was the 
 meager effects of one or two paupers who had died, to be put up and 
 sold. One spinning wheel, one reel, one old rocking-chair, a tin 
 coffee-pot, a broken looking-glass, four broken plates, three cups and 
 saucers, an old silver watch, a snuff-box, one silk handkerchief, two 
 silver spoons, one old iron candlestick, a pair of snuffers, etc., all of 
 which were knocked down to the highest bidder, realizing in the ag 
 gregate about seven or eight dollars, enriching the town to that extent. 
 
 When General Ivers returned home who should be at his house 
 but the same " maiden lady" he had eulogized so highly. She was 
 told that Mr. Jenkins had agreed to take care of her, which informa 
 tion did not seem to be satisfactory to the lady herself, and she then 
 and there positively refused to make her home at the house of the 
 aforesaid Jenkins. She gave her opinion of the man who would 
 take her liberty in his hand to dispose of it as he might see fit. She 
 said Mrs. Tartar would have taken her for less. The General said 
 he was sorry Mrs. Tartar had not been there to bid, but, as it was, 
 there was no alternative but for her to go peaceably or otherwise. 
 
 Of course there was nothing left but for Miss Cutting to go off with 
 Mr. Jenkins, which she was finally persuaded to do. 
 
 There was a startling piece of information come to the ears of 
 General Ivers while he was at the village. It was nothing less than 
 the return of Joe Tartar, and it was said he was a changed man. 
 He had arrived that very day from a three-years voyage at sea, where 
 it was said he had done remarkably well. He had visited^California 
 and the gold mines, and had been in British Columbia, and away in 
 the Arctic Ocean. He had seen all kinds of wild life, and now he 
 had returned to settle down at his old home to comfort and care for 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 155 
 
 his aged mother. Everyone spoke of the great change for the better. 
 He applied himself to work, assisting his mother to fix up the place 
 so that in a short time there was really great changes for the better. 
 
 General Ivors was heard to say that it had been the making of Joe, 
 being obliged to go away as he did. In view of the great moral 
 change all the past was soon forgotten. He visited General Ivers 
 and others- the best people in the town. In a short time he pur 
 chased a fine horse and buggy, in which he rode around the country 
 to the envy of half the poor young men in the neighborhood. Still, 
 not one word was said against his character, and the only wonder ex 
 pressed was that there could have been such a complete trans 
 formation. 
 
 Mr. Tartar, as they began to call him, was becoming somewhat 
 important in the community, and the neighbors really began to think 
 of giving him some office in the town. He managed his mother s 
 farm with considerable ability, and made many suggestions for the 
 improvement of the public institutions of the the town, which were 
 somewhat neglected, some of which suggestions were adopted to the 
 great credit and interest of the place. 
 
 Joe Tartar was rather prodigal in his expenditures, especially with 
 other people s money. But the neighbors rather liked him for that 
 unless it happened to touch their own pockets. He advocated a 
 thorough repairing of the district school house, and the putting in 
 order of the highways, building bridges, and even the opening of 
 new roads, where there had never been anything but " drift ways" 
 and rough, narrow paths. 
 
 It really did seem that Joe Tartar had reformed, or rather that ex 
 perience and practical education abroad had fitted him for the real 
 business of life. In short, it had made him a useful citizen. Still, 
 there were a few who did not entirely believe in his complete and 
 lasting reform. Certain things occurred from time to time which 
 convinced them that his apparent reform was mostly, if not altogether, 
 on the surface. But a majority seemed willing to believe he was 
 what he appeared to be. 
 
 The name of the law firm with which Donald Kent studied was 
 Stern & Strong. Their office as situated on Berwick Square. 
 From the front windows they could look far down the bay, and see 
 
156 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 the shipping as it came and went. The great English steamships 
 with their red and blue smoke-stacks, were always objects of interest 
 to Donald Kent from the time he first entered the office, until he left 
 it for a time to return to his old home. He used to wonder if he 
 should ever make a voyage in one of those leviathans of the deep; 
 
 and when he told his friends in S that the famous Cunarders 
 
 went out upon their long ocean journey, in full view from his 
 office window it was so graphic that the listeners almost imagined 
 that they could hear the pent steam as it escaped from the valve, or 
 the tinkle of the Captain s bell that said to the engineer, "go ahead." 
 
 When young Kent reached the office, the first to welcome him was 
 Mr. Stern who appeared delighted to have him return, and looking so 
 much better after his alarming illness. Soon Mr. Strong came in and 
 congratulated him upon his recovery. He then said : 
 
 " We were on the point of sending for you, thinking that perhaps 
 a sea voyage would do you good, and having a matter to look into 
 in France, we concluded to have you go over and investigate it. It 
 will be ten days before the Europa sails; in the meantime you can 
 make preparations and get thoroughly posted in the matter. There 
 has been a liberal appropriation for the service with a large contin 
 gent fee, one-half of which will be allowed you personally in case of 
 success. 
 
 " You are to go in the interest of some heirs, who make claims 
 against a very large estate, and the proof seems to be conclusive. The 
 direct heir is missing, but it is quite evident that the one who has 
 undertaken to unravel the mystery is the next in line. 
 
 "It is one of those cases where it is said certain property was con 
 fiscated by the crown under the belief that the owner was disloyal, 
 and had fled to this country. But after years it was learned that the 
 estate was illegally held, and efforts were made to discover the heirs. 
 The original owner had never been heard of, but it is believed that we 
 have a clew to the heirs. It is supposed that the property in question 
 carried with it a title of which the owner was shorn, at the time his 
 estate was taken from him, which was at the time Napoleon Bonapart 
 laid hands upon the empire, and shook the world from centre to cir 
 cumference. When that great warrior was defeated, and found a 
 home upon the lonely island in the far-off Pacific, Louis XVIII. was 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 157 
 
 again placed upon the throne of France, and his scattered adherents 
 were called back to their beloved country, and their estates returned 
 to them. The estate in question was one of those which should have 
 been so restored. 
 
 Donald Kent was in every way qualified to undertake such a mis 
 sion. He was an excellent French scholar, and his knowledge of in 
 ternational law was something phenomenal. He having given it much 
 study, and interested himself in some measures, which had escaped 
 the attention of some of the best lawyers of the day, he could not 
 help feeling a certain pride at being selected to undertake so impor 
 tant a matter. Indeed, it was difficult for him to realize that he was 
 really to make a voyage across the Atlantic. He thanked his em 
 ployers for intrusting to him an undertaking of such magnitude, 
 "And," said he, "while I shall do my utmost to make it a success, I 
 cannot but have misgivings as to my competency to fulfill the duty you 
 assign me, and much as I should like to make the voyage, which has 
 long been one motive of my life, still I feel that greater age and ex 
 perience is demanded in a case so complicated and so important." 
 
 Mr. Stern said he had talked the matter over with Mr. Strong, who 
 fully agreed with him that he (Donald Kent) was the best qualified to 
 undertake the matter of any one of their acquaintances ; and farther, 
 the retaining fee was large, and would insure something whether any 
 thing beyond it should be recovered or not. 
 
 "If fortune should favor you the fee will be the largest ever secured 
 and will make you independent for life," said Mr. Stern. 
 
 It was very flattering to Donald, his being offered the management 
 of a case in which such a vast amount was involved, and it was with 
 
 a glowing pride that he wrote to his friends in S , of his great, 
 
 good fortune. 
 
 With the young, Time moves with clogged wheels. How impa 
 tiently we await hoped-for pleasures. How we look foward to a con 
 summation which is devoutly wished for. Knowing as we do that it 
 but brings us nearer to the dark portal, where all earthly hopes and 
 pleasures must cease. We would know just that joy. We would 
 realize just that hope. And yet that conscience which was Scipio s 
 slave, whispers: "Beware!" 
 
 Age creeps on; Time flies. The days which once seemed like 
 
158 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 weeks, now are but hours. Weeks, days, and months, weeks. A 
 year passes and we wonder that we have accomplished so little. 
 With Donald Kent, the days moved never so slow, but 
 
 " The unwearied sun, from day to day, 
 Doth the Creator s power display, 
 And publishes in every land, 
 The work of an Almighty hand." 
 
 As the sun sank in the West, for the last time before the day upon 
 which Donald was to take his leave of his friends and his country, 
 a shadow of melancholy came over him. For the first time he 
 realized that on the morrow he would be out upon the ocean, on his 
 way to a strange land, and it might be years ere he looked upon 
 those familiar scenes again. 
 
 Donald remained in the office after all the others had left, and 
 wrote some, and thought a great deal. It was getting late, and yet 
 he felt no inclination to retire. He laid his head upon his desk, and 
 thought, and as he thought, tears of gratitude fell thick and fast; and 
 then a sudden shock would dry them instantly, and a groan would 
 escape from the overcharged soul, that told of gloomy forebodings, 
 of the great undertaking and responsibility he was about to assume, 
 and of the very uncertain result. He did not think of the months 
 and years that would intervene so much as he did of his final suc 
 cess. It was well that he did not know the secret feelings of his 
 principals, neither of which had much confidence in his success 
 but both encouraged him, and talked of the favorable termination, 
 and of the name and position it would give him ; at the same time 
 they both advised him not to expect too much, but to be prepared for 
 dissapointment and possibly ultimate defeat. While he silently 
 prayed and hoped for success, there was something which arose be 
 fore him like a barrier to be surmounted, which his young soul was 
 determined to overcome. He little knew what he would be called 
 upon to endure ere he could say, " It is done." 
 
 He went to his lodgings, but sleep came not. The night was far 
 spent and the young lawyer had not slept. Aurora came forth in her 
 glorious car, a courier of the god of day. At last the sun burst 
 forth in all his splendor, to none more welcome than to him, who was 
 about to exile himself for a time, from all he held dear on earth. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 159 
 
 Messrs. Stern & Strong were at the office early, in order that every 
 thing might be done to assist their protege, and give him their final 
 advice. 
 
 At last he was fairly on board, his trunk was stowed away and his 
 small luggage piled in his stateroom, while he waved a last adieu from 
 the steamer s deck as she swung gracefully into the stream and her 
 ponderous engines began to move. Donald remained on deck as 
 the good ship glided down the harbor and pointed her storm-tried 
 prow toward the great ocean. For the first four days, he saw 
 no one except the steward, who brought him his gruel and took care 
 of his room ; on the fifth day, the weather being fine, he felt some 
 what better and so upon the sixth and seventh, when the weather 
 became threatening and the sea grew rough. It was evident that 
 they were to have a storm. They were in mid-ocean and there was 
 but one thing for them to do, and that was to prepare for the 
 encounter, which good sailors know well how to do, and the Europa 
 carried a splendid crew. 
 
 The officers and sailors were all English, and those who have gone 
 down to the sea in ships, with English officers, know what good dis 
 cipline is. 
 
 The storm was severe, but the steamer had encountered many 
 that were more so. The officers and men did not seem to mind the 
 terrible laboring of the ship, as she struggled through the tremendous 
 seas. Often when a great wave would mount to the hurricane deck 
 or deluge her companion-ways, a shout would go up as if in defiance 
 of the storm king ; and when her bows would be buried deep beneath 
 the foam, they watched her calmly, well knowing that she would rise 
 again, unharmed, to meet another mountain wave. 
 
 Thus the steamer labored for twenty-four hours, still keeping on 
 her course a lonely ship on a stormy sea. Donald did not realize 
 that there was any danger. He knew no fear, but he was as 
 miserable as fearful sea-sickness could possibly make him. On the 
 eighth day the storm had abated, but still the sea ran very high and 
 the motion of the ship was not conducive to a landsman s happiness. 
 On the ninth day it was much calmer, and a few of the passengers 
 came on deck to take a look at the ocean that had so shaken and 
 tossed them for forty-eight hours. Onward the good ship goes now 
 
160 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 plunging into a sea, and now rising upon another. Water, water 
 everywhere! 
 
 Eleven days had elapsed since they left Boston. They had hoped 
 to have been in Liverpool by this time. The passengers were daily 
 posted as to the position of the ship, and they strained their eyes to 
 catch the first outline of the Irish Coast. 
 
 It was toward the evening of the twelfth day that there went up 
 the cry of "Land! ho!" Many looked in vain. When, at last, they 
 concluded that they really did see land once more, their delight was 
 boundless, until, all at once, their land settled into ocean, and all 
 was water again. Some who had been often fooled themselves, called 
 the illusion " Cape Flyaway." 
 
 One after another declared that they really saw land, while others, 
 who had made the assertion before and then lost sight of it, were 
 rather skeptical. The more knowing ones were quite confident, and 
 tried to point out the outlines of some highlands which, they said, 
 were quite plain. 
 
 There is usually an oracle on ship-board one who has made the 
 voyage before, and he is often appealed to to verify this or that 
 opinion, and it does not matter what his opinion is, it must be 
 accepted until better authority is had. 
 
 Those who have made long voyages at sea, know with what anxiety 
 they look for land. It matters little if it be calm or storm, they are 
 on deck when they draw near their journey s end. 
 
 The morning of the thirteenth day rose bright and clear, and there, 
 in full view, stood the headlands which shoot out from the Irish 
 Coast. Away to the north, dark and bold, rose " Dunmore Head;" 
 to the south was " Mizen Head ;" stretching away to south and 
 east, was an arm of the Atlantic; and beyond, St. George s Channel 
 and the Irish Sea. 
 
 It was said that they were nearing Queenstown, where the steamer 
 was to touch, and leave the mail and some passengers before she 
 crossed over to Liverpool. As they sailed up along the Irish Coast, 
 every scene, as it came in view, was more beautiful than the one 
 before. All were loud in their praises of the beautiful land before 
 them, and some remarks were indulged in regarding its unhappy 
 condition. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. l6l 
 
 There are generally two sides to a question, and it is a rash man 
 that boldly takes either one or the other side when England s policy 
 toward Ireland is discussed. Whether another nation would have 
 been more liberal or more severe, can never be known ; or, if the 
 people were left to govern themselves, is it at all likely their condition 
 would be improved? It is scarcely possible, and certain it is, no 
 great power wishes to adopt them or assume their quarrels. Since 
 England has the unruly children, like another parent, she alone is 
 expected to manage and take care of them. 
 
 The good old ship steamed into Queenstown harbor, and the pas 
 sengers were all anxious to go on shore; a great many did so, Don 
 ald Kent among the number. As he walked up the dock strange 
 feelings came over him. He said to himself, " This is Ireland, the 
 land of sorrow and of song, the land to which many an exile had 
 turned with melancholy thoughts," as sweet memories awoke the dim 
 ming past. Whatever might have been his home, however mean its 
 surroundings, whatever sufferings he may have endured from cold or 
 hunger, still there were pleasant memories of that far-off past. The 
 hovel with love s charm became a palace, and every loved spot a 
 shrine revered and sacred. 
 
 Donald saw nothing around him to inspire him. On the con 
 trary squalor and suffering was everywhere present; but amid it all 
 there appeared a kind of forced happiness, which seemed to say, " I 
 will be happy in spite, of my surroundings." 
 
 The young man seemed to comprehend it all. He said to him 
 self, " This is the real, what we saw as we sailed up the coast, was 
 the ideal Ireland." Perhaps it was the recollection of those loved 
 scenes and the assurance of something more beautiful beyond that 
 thrilled him and filled his soul with a longing to see and know more 
 of the lovely country beyond the hills. 
 
 But the steamer s stay in port was but short, and our hero hastened 
 back to board her and complete his journey, mentally determining 
 to visit the green Island when he could spare time to learn more of 
 its institutions and its people. 
 
 It is scarcely a day s run from Queenstown to Liverpool ; and for 
 one hundred miles it is along the coast of Ireland, up the channel, 
 every mile of which is fraught with unflagging interest; on the left 
 
1 62 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 the ever present highlands of "Erin so green," while around, before, 
 and behind is life on the wing. Ships going and coming in every 
 direction; little steamers with clouds of black smoke rolling from their 
 funnels, tugging at great ships or shooting like arrows when loosened 
 from the monsters that held them in check. Great black steamships 
 steaming away to distant lands or returning after succesful voyages to 
 their havens of rest. Smaller crafts flitting like swallows hither and 
 thither, skimming the water with scarcely a track, so light and so 
 swift they fly. Steamboats plying between different points on the 
 Channel, and pleasure yachts going no one knew whither. Some 
 with all sail set with a fair wind speeding on their course, while others 
 tacked and beat against wind and tide. Steam yachts running at 
 full speed as though they defied everything before them, kept on their 
 course. 
 
 After passing Cainsore Point the steamer shoots out into mid- 
 channel and heads northerly. 
 
 The land of poetry, Patricks and potatoes still is with us. Yonder 
 are the Wicklow mountains and there towering above the rest is Mt. 
 Laguaguilla. And now we are off Dublin Bay, while on the right is 
 Holyhead and the coast of Wales. 
 
 The steamer passes well around Anglesey Island and heads direct 
 for Liverpool where the voyage by steamer is to end. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great interest which Donald has taken in the 
 voyage up the Channel he is anxious to reach the end of his ocean 
 journey. So when Liverpool is sighted his pulse beats quicker at the 
 thought, and when at last the good ship enters port and he is allowed 
 to set foot upon English soil, he feels proud in the knowledge that 
 good old England is indeed his mother, the mother of every Ameri 
 can. True, she tried to manage us in our childhood, but unruly and 
 obstreperous children that we were, we refused to be managed; and 
 after trying for a time to coerce, better counsels prevailed and she 
 left us to shift for ourselves. But to-day the good old dame is proud 
 of her naughty children and the time is not far distant when the two 
 greatest nations on the face of the earth will have interests so in com 
 mon that nothing can estrange them. 
 
 After a long sea voyage the sight of land is most welcome, and 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 
 
 I6 3 
 
 when we reach the port where we are to rest for a time, we feel a 
 kind of relief as though one distinct act of our lives is complete. 
 
 We are willing to rest. At all events to forget the ocean and its 
 storms for pleasanter scenes on the land. 
 
 Donald was delighted to get on shore knowing full well that the 
 work mapped out for him was not yet begun, at the same time, little 
 dreaming what it would be necessary for him to do ere the object 
 and purpose of his journey was accomplished. He went direct to a 
 hotel, determined to rest for two or three days, making in the mean 
 time some excursions about the great seaport. He determined to visit 
 her great docks and public institutions, and learn more of the people 
 of whom he had heard so much. He had letters to two or three 
 gentlemen correspondents of Messrs. Stern & Strong, also a letter to 
 the United States Consul from one who had been formerly a school- 
 mate and chum of the honorable gentleman, all of which he deter 
 mined to see before he crossed over the Channel. 
 
 We will leave him with his friends while we return again to those 
 who missed him sorely in his old New England home. 
 
1 64 ENDURA I OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DONALD RETURNS TO BOSTON. 
 
 Friend after friend departs ; 
 
 Who hath not lost a friend ? 
 There is no union here of hearts. 
 
 That hath not here its end. 
 
 Montgomery. 
 
 WHEN Donald Kent left the house and the friends with whom he 
 had been so happy, where cloud and sunshine had alternated 
 in his heart as on the landscape, he was lonely indeed, and every 
 mile which widened the gulf between him and those he honored and 
 loved so dearly seemed interminable. 
 
 If it was so with him, how much more so must it have been with 
 her he left behind, who called him brother so lovingly, so sweetly. 
 With her the world appeared a blank. Her affianced gone to the far 
 off south, she could not hope or expect to see him for a year at 
 least, and her adopted brother had returned to his home in the great 
 city. 
 
 True, she little dreamed that Donald would be absent so long. So 
 when his letter came stating that he would leave so soon for Europe 
 the wound opened afresh. She went to her chamber and gave her 
 self up to sorrow and disappointment. 
 
 General Ivers said he was glad Donald had been selected to inves 
 tigate the matter. He said he believed if any man could unravel it 
 he could. Mrs. Ivers almost felt as if it were her own boy who was 
 going so far away. And she said if Donald Kent did not make his 
 mark in the world she was no prophet ; said she, " He was born to 
 greatness and greatness he will attain." 
 
 Bernard Ivers had about finished his education, and it was begin 
 ning to be a serious question what he should do. He did not develop 
 any taste or special ability for any profession, and his father was con 
 siderably exercised as to what he would do for a livelihood. He was 
 an excellent scholar and a genial companion, but he did not appear 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 165 
 
 to be ambitious or to care to turn his talents or education to any pur 
 pose. His chum at school was the son of a wholesale grocer in the 
 city, whose father had made considerable money, and who was satis 
 fied that his son should follow the same business. He was "getting 
 on in years," he said, and if his boy wanted to take hold of the busi 
 ness he would leave it to him, especially if he could get young Ivers 
 to go in with him, as he had heard such good accounts of the young 
 man, and knowing the General, his father, as he did to be a gentle 
 man and a man of means. He proposed to his son to speak to Ber 
 nard about it, and say to him that he would furnish half the capital 
 if General Ivers would put in the other half. 
 
 The proposition appeared to meet the young man s views, and he 
 immediately consulted his father upon the subject, who was inclined 
 to listen to the proposition, though it would take a very large amount 
 of ready money much more than General Ivers could afford or even 
 had. But he thought the opportunity too good to be lost, and both 
 he and Mrs. Ivers thought their boy was fitted for something better 
 than " to plow and sow, to reap and mow." In short, he was too well 
 educated to come home and farm for a living. It is a mistake 
 that has often been made, and parents will continue to make it so 
 long as grass grows or water runs. 
 
 General Ivers considered the advisability of his raising such a large 
 sum of money to put into an enterprise that would be beyond his 
 control. 
 
 It was a business which he knew nothing about, and he would be 
 obliged to rely entirely upon his son to look after his interest. The 
 young man had noble instincts. He was confiding and generous to 
 a fault. Naturally genial and social he won many friends, nor stopped 
 to count the cost. He went into the best society and was courted by 
 rich and poor. If he occasionally indulged to excess it was over 
 looked, for was not his father and mother of the salt of the earth, and 
 had not his grandfather been before them ? How could it be possible 
 with such ancestors and such training that he could go astray ? So 
 thought all who knew Bernard Ivers. So thought his father and 
 mother. 
 
 The young man who had been his chum at school, was more cun 
 ning. He saw in his young friend, one who would be easily led, and 
 
* ENDURA: OR, 
 
 he had learned enough of his father s business to see how such a young 
 man could be made useful and profitable. He had told his father 
 of the good qualities of Bernard, and the merchant saw, or thought 
 he saw, ability in his son; at the same time he felt that he could give his 
 son a lift without risking more than half the capital he then had in 
 his business; besides there would be no need of curtailing the large 
 and constantly increasing business. The merchant s name was Wheat, 
 and his son s name was Charles Wheat. 
 
 Mr. Wheat wrote to General Ivers, saying that his son, Charles, 
 had taken a great fancy to Bernard; and inasmuch as he proposed to 
 retire and leave his business with his son, if General Ivers thought it 
 advisable to have Bernard go into mercantile business, he would 
 withdraw at once. He said he had no doubt but that the young 
 men could conduct the business sucessfully, and that it would be the 
 very best thing that they could do. General Ivers replied, thanking 
 Mr. Wheat for the kind offer, but said at the same time, that to pay 
 cash for one half of the stock, would require rather more ready 
 money than he was possessed of, which, Mr. Wheat assured him, 
 would make no difference, as General Ivers could give him his note 
 for whatever balance remained, to make up one half of the amount, 
 as it would be a pity to reduce the stock. 
 
 After some further negotiations, it was settled that the two young 
 men should join fortunes and begin business under the firm name of 
 Wheat & Ivers. 
 
 It was a masterstroke of policy on the part of Mr. Wheat. Turn 
 ing as he did half his stock on hand into ready cash, while at the 
 same time he virtually controlled the whole, the same as before. 
 Besides, had he not set his son up in business where he could assist 
 and advise him, which advice coming as it did from a shrewd experi 
 enced man and that man his father, was of the utmost importance to 
 the son. 
 
 On the other hand was it wise for General Ivers to put so large a 
 portion of his fortune into a business of which he knew next to 
 nothing, and his son, if possible less ? But he had confidence in the 
 merchant, and he had confidence in Bernard. He said to himself: 
 " Has not this man made a fortune ? And is not his son better pre- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 167 
 
 pared to add to it than his father was to lay the foundation and build 
 upon it so surely and so substantially ? " 
 
 The good man really believed that he was providentially favored in 
 having an opportunity of putting his son in the way of making for 
 himself a name and a fortune. So thought Mrs. Ivers and other 
 friends of the family. 
 
 Mr. Haywood met the General a few days after the consummation 
 of the contract and congratulated him upon his good fortune. 
 
 Bernard Ivers was delighted, and for some time he reported faith 
 fully what the firm was doing. After some months the reports that 
 came were meager and unsatisfactory. Another thing that appeared 
 rather strange, Bernard did not care to visit his home, although 
 pressed to do so by all the family. 
 
 General Ivers visited the city from time to time; at first he found 
 Bernard in the store, but seldom occupied, while his partner appeared 
 to have all he could do. Latterly, when the General called to see his 
 son he was told he was not in, often he did not see him during his 
 
 stay in town. 
 
 It had gone on thus for nearly a year, still there was no hint by 
 Mr. Wheat that there was anything wrong. One day General Ivers 
 received a notice that the note given for a portion of the purchase 
 money, must be paid. He was thunderstruck, but there was no 
 alternative, but to raise the money and cancel the note, which he did 
 by mortgaging his place very heavily. He had borrowed some from 
 the bank of which he was a director, at the time he purchased the 
 half interest in the store. 
 
 He went immediately to the city and waited upon Mr. Wheat, who 
 said he was sorry to be obliged to call upon him for the money, but 
 he was about making some large investments that would require 
 every dollar he could raise. 
 
 General Ivers told him that it was his privilege to demand it, and 
 he had come prepared to pay it, though he was in hopes that Ber 
 nard would try to help, and pay a portion of it himself. The money 
 was counted out, and the note canceled, after which, the conversa 
 tion turned upon the business. Mr. Wheat said the business was 
 good, so good, in fact, that they had found it necessary to employ an 
 additional clerk, which much surprised the General. 
 
1 68 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 Gradually it came out, that Bernard was seldom at the store, 
 which so alarmed his father, that he insisted on knowing more of 
 him and his doings. Mr. Wheat said he was sorry to say Bernard 
 had neglected the business very much, and more than that, he had 
 drawn so heavily from the funds that but little, if anything, remained 
 of the amount that had been put in as his portion. General Ivers 
 could then see why Mr. Wheat had been so anxious to collect the 
 amount for which the note had been given. To say that General 
 Ivers was shocked would be to feebly express his feelings. 
 
 He was unmanned, and would have given way to tears had he 
 not been where he was. As it was, he expressed great surprise and 
 sorrow, and said he must see Bernard at once. He was told that he 
 had not been at the office for two days, which distressed the good 
 man more and more. He tried to ascertain where he spent his time, 
 which his partner pretended not to know. But one of the clerks 
 said he could sometimes be found in a certain saloon not far away; 
 but if he was there at that time he could not say. 
 
 The distracted father bent his steps thither, where he met a man 
 supposed to be the proprietor. Upon inquring if Mr. Ivers was 
 there, he was answered in the negative; at the same time something 
 in the man s manner made the inquirer suspicious. He asked the 
 man when he saw him last, and was told the day before, which fact, 
 if it were a fact, went to prove that he had been to the saloon since 
 he had been to his office. 
 
 General Ivers could not help thinking that the man could tell him 
 more if he would. But he returned to the store and went directly to 
 the clerk who gave him the clue, and asked him if Bernard did not 
 spend most of his time in and about the aforesaid saloon. 
 
 The young man admitted as much, and on being farther pressed, 
 he said he usually spent his afternoons there and came to the store 
 very late the next day. The clerk said at first it was a social habit 
 for Bernard to take a friend or customer over and treat him. After 
 awhile it got so that they would remain and play a game of billiards, 
 or a little game of poker. The habit grew upon him until the greater 
 portion of his time was spent there or at the club, of which he was a 
 member, where cards were played also, and large sums of money 
 were lost and won. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 169 
 
 The good man was more than ever determined to find his son. 
 He told the clerk that he believed that Bernard was in the building 
 in one place or another, and he prevailed upon him to assist him to 
 find him. This the young man consented to do, and volunteered to 
 go and try at the same place where he had directed General Ivers to 
 go. The proprietor, believing that Mr. Wheat wanted him, and had 
 sent for him as he had often done before when he was wanted for 
 some especial purpose, told the clerk that he was asleep, but as 
 soon as he awoke he would tell him he was wanted at the store, 
 which the young man told General Ivers upon his return. 
 
 The unhappy father could not wait, but went forthwith and up 
 braided and threatened the man who had attempted to deceive him 
 by pretending not to know of Bernard s whereabouts. 
 
 The man had very little to say in his own behalf, but he said the 
 young man did not wish to be disturbed. 
 
 General Ivers demanded to be shown where his son was, and it 
 appeared to the saloon-keeper that there was no alternative, so he 
 told the General to follow him, which he did. They went up-stairs, 
 along a long hall to the farthest end of the building until they came 
 to a door over which there was no transom. The hall at this place 
 was entirely dark, and had the appearance of being seldom used. 
 
 The man halted at the door and listened; but there was not a 
 sound. He gave a gentle knock; still he heard nothing. Another 
 and harder knock; still no answer. He spoke; but no one answered. 
 The man became alarmed and tried the door which was locked on 
 the inside; they could see the key. There was nothing to be done 
 but to break in the door, which they determined to do. 
 
 The man procured an ax, and a few blows sufficed to do the work, 
 when horrible to behold! there lay the body of the young man 
 stretched upon the floor quite dead, though still warm. The man 
 was dumb, and the horror-stricken father fell upon his son, calling 
 him by name and saying: "What have I done that this great curse 
 should come upon me." 
 
 The saloon-keeper went down immediately and sent word to the 
 store. Soon after, the building was crowded with the morbidly 
 curious. 
 
 The body was taken up and placed upon a bed, which was in the 
 
ENDURA : OR, 
 
 room, when General Ivers for the first time noticed the bloated ap 
 pearance of his son. 
 
 Upon a small table stood a bottle and a tumbler. The former 
 contained about a gill of liquor of some kind. The tumbler was 
 quite empty, but upon examination there appeared to be a sediment 
 of some kind which had settled in the bottom. The tumbler was 
 taken care of, as well as the bottle, and immediate measures were 
 taken for the removal of the body, which was taken to the under 
 takers preparatory to an autopsy which it was decided should be 
 had. The Coroner was called and the facts related as above. The 
 liquor was analyzed and found to contain arsenic which was found 
 also in the dregs in the tumbler. 
 
 Thus it was apparent to all that it was a case of suicide, and upon 
 farther examination it was so found by the Coroner. 
 
 The body was then dressed and placed in an elegant casket ready 
 to be taken home to the family burying ground, where the remains 
 of the good old squire and his wife had rested for so many years. 
 Poor Sally Vic s earthly remains lay near by, and now the first bone 
 of the third generation must sleep with them the sleep which knows 
 no waking. Another spot in the green turf must be broken. An 
 other windowless tenement must be made. 
 
 Bernard s partner was selected to carry the heart-rending news to 
 the bereaved mother and sister, while the grief-stricken General re 
 mained to accompany the body of his darling boy. 
 
 Mr. Wheat was a young man of good address and easy manners, 
 but to go upon a mission of that kind was to him something new. 
 He would have excused himself, but there was no excuse, so he de 
 termined to break the terrible news as gently as possible. 
 
 When he reached the once happy home of his late partner, some 
 thing seemed to reproach him for being in some way responsible for 
 the dark shadow which was so soon to cover the once happy home. 
 Why could not the lightnings of heaven strike and destroy the great 
 house and its inmates, sooner than he should blast it with words of 
 his. Hesitating did not make the task easier, and no time was to be 
 ost. 
 
 The young man raised the handle of the great bronze knocker and 
 et it fall once or twice. The sound seemed to echo in the hills, all 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 17 I 
 
 was so still. Presently he heard steps approaching. The door was 
 opened and he recognized Endura, his late partner s dearly beloved 
 sister. Never had he beheld a creature of such transcendent loveli 
 ness. They had met before, but he had never realized how beautiful 
 Endura was. Was it not a dream? Was ever mortal so near per 
 fection ? Certainly she had never appeared anything like this before. 
 He imagined that a troubled expression o ershadowed her face as he 
 inquired for Mrs. Ivers. Perhaps she imagined something had hap 
 pened to her father, as she knew he was directly from him. But she 
 hastened to call her mother, who came almost immediately. 
 
 After the first words of salutation, Mr. Wheat said he was sorry 
 to be the bearer of bad news. Mrs. Ivers blanched instantly, and 
 asked if anything had happened to her husband. He said no, not 
 to the General ; he was well, but Bernard had died suddenly the day 
 before, and his remains would be brought home for burial the next 
 day. 
 
 Both women swooned. Mrs. Ivers fell upon the lounge, and En- 
 dura fainted and fell upon the floor. 
 
 Mr. Wheat called for help which brought the servant girl, who was 
 so much shocked as to have no control over herself. So she sat 
 down helpless in a chair, while the young man raised the poor young 
 lady who lay prostrate before him upon the floor. He called for cold 
 water, which the domestic by this time had recovered enough to bring, 
 as well as other restoratives, which soon restored both ladies to con 
 sciousness. 
 
 Mr. Wheat then gave some further facts pertaining to the sad affair, 
 ever speaking in the highest terms of the young man. He alluded to 
 the post mortem examination, as he well knew all of the facts must ap 
 pear in the papers. He said there were indications of arsenic in a tum 
 bler, which was found in his room, which seemed to go to show that 
 he took his own life. 
 
 The young man said that he could give no reason for such a rash act. 
 " Certainly," said he, " your son was an exemplary young man, and 
 had made himself very popular with customers until quite lately, when 
 he had not given the attention to business which he formerly did." 
 
 Mrs. Ivers said she was afraid that something was going wrong since 
 
T 7 2 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 Bernard had neglected writing them so much and came home so 
 seldom. 
 
 Mr. Wheat could have told them why he did not write oftener, and 
 why he did not come home, but he would not. Already he had said 
 too much but it was done with good intent, and perhaps he was ex 
 cusable. 
 
 There were certain things to be done before the funeral and Mr. 
 Wheat undertook them. He superintended the whole thing even to 
 the digging of the grave. 
 
 It had been decided that Bernard s old friend, the Rev. Dr. Bishop, 
 should officiate, so he was to be sent for and many things to be pro 
 vided which Mr. Wheat felt it his duty to attend to. 
 
 It was scarcely three hours before all the neighborhood had heard 
 of the sudden death of Bernard Ivers. But nothing further was 
 known except that the funeral would take place from his father s 
 house the next day. The day of the funeral came. 
 
 A lovely autumn morning dawned upon the land and blessings 
 were scattered over the earth. A bountiful Providence blessed the 
 husbandman. The fields were white and ready for the sickle. The 
 aftermath carpeted the meadows. The yellow corn burst from its 
 white sheets to welcome the harvesters. The apples blushed upon 
 the trees, and the acorns were scattered for beasts and birds. Dry 
 nuts rattled among the golden-tinted leaves. The wild grape lent its 
 perfume, as its clusters dangled from the tall trees, mingling the pur 
 ple and gold while casting their living incense on the soft autumnal 
 air. Animals and insects were happy in the abundance. The birds 
 of the air welcomed the harvest. The cattle in the fields were fat. 
 All nature seemed to say, " Eat, drink and be merry." 
 
 Amid all this beauty and abundance was a great sorrow. A soul 
 had gone forth leaving all to try the unknown country. 
 
 Bernard Ivers could never more look upon those beloved scenes. 
 True, if the spirit can look back he may see it all as we behold stars 
 and the beautiful sky, but so far so far away. It was a sad house 
 hold. The neighbors did everything in their power, but the cloud 
 lifted not. When the carriages and hearse, which contained the body, 
 came in sight, the grief of mother and sister knew no bounds, like 
 one of old they refused to be comforted. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 173 
 
 "Can it be," thought the mother, "that that casket contains 
 all there is left of my poor boy the joy of my youth, the pride of my 
 mature years? And will he not speak to me, call me mother, and 
 embrace me as was his wont? Shall I not feel his soft kiss upon my 
 cheek, and see him smile again ? " 
 
 Alas ! no, poor, mourning mother, he cannot return thy kiss ; 
 cannot feel thy warm lips upon his white brow. No sign of debauch 
 there now ; no swollen eyes ; no purple cheeks ; no haggard looks; 
 only a sweet, peaceful smile which seemed to the poor mother to say, 
 "all is well." And all was well with the inanimate clay. The soul 
 was with God, the Father. 
 
 Is it too much to believe that God who created the world and all 
 that is therein, and pronounced it good; the God of love and all good 
 ness ; who heeds the sparrows fall and makes the lilies grow ; who 
 guards and protects us on sea and on land ; whose attributes are 
 love ; in short, that God who is omnipotent and all love : we say, is 
 it too much to believe that such a being will care for his own? 
 
 Is he angry because one of his creatures, who in a moment of suf 
 fering or sorrow, puts out the light which he gave him ? 
 
 There have been many pilgrims who were unable to carry their 
 load. Could we blame them for laying it down that they might 
 reach the end of their journey? To carry it to the end was but to 
 die. 
 
 So with the suicide. The wretched being who has tried all in his 
 power to reform and be a man, still finds himself sinking lower and 
 lower. Taking the poison slowly it may be but surely, who knows 
 that he is certainly killing himself, just as he would be were he to 
 sever an artery or cut his throat. 
 
 Is it more self-murder to do it at once by a stronger potion or by 
 some instrument? These are questions the happy and contented can 
 not be expected to answer. 
 
174 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE SERMON. 
 
 What life refus d, to gain by death he thought: 
 For life and death are but indifferent things, 
 
 And of themselves are not to be shunn d nor sought, 
 But for the good or ill that either brings. 
 
 Earl of Sterline. 
 
 was a great gathering, the news had spread so rapidly. 
 JL They came from far and near. "When any one favored of for 
 tune passes away, he appears to leave a void which it is not easy to 
 fill, and when that person is young or in the prime of life he is 
 doubly mourned, because something was to have been expected of 
 him. 
 
 It has been said that those " whom the god s love, die young." 
 Certain it is that when the young do die, we are apt to extol their 
 virtues until their faults are forgotten. 
 
 It does seem that the best are often taken first. A favorite in a 
 community has often been marked as the one to die. How 
 often has it been said that such a child was too good for earth. And 
 is it not a little strange that they appear to be the ones first taken 
 from it? It is not all imagination; they are not merely coincidences, 
 but facts which have often been proven to the satisfaction of those 
 who have given the matter thought. 
 
 When the news went abroad that Bernard Ivers was dead, the uni 
 versal exclamation was that a promising young man had been taken 
 away in the very beginning of his usefulness. And the sorrow was 
 real; not one had an unkind word to say. 
 
 The great house had not known such sorrow before. When the 
 good squire died, his many virtues were recounted, and it was 
 summed up that he had lived his allotted time and gone to his re 
 ward. And so with the mistress; she too had died full of years and 
 honors. 
 
 When poor Sally Vic was taken, she but fulfilled the saying, "She 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 175 
 
 was too good for earth and was transplanted to bloom in a better 
 land, where sorrows come not." 
 
 But when the young, the noble, the generous, and the good, the 
 pride and the heir was taken away, what could be said ? 
 
 Much had been expected from him, not only by his parents and 
 more intimate friends, but by the whole community to which he be- 
 longecl. He had been a favorite with all, with those who had 
 known him since he was a child, and with the children and youths 
 who knew him in the glory of early manhood. What wonder then 
 that the great house was full to overflowing at his funeral ? 
 
 Not only was the house crowded so that standing room even could 
 not be had, but the front yard and lawn was covered, while crowds 
 stood around each and every window trying to catch the words as 
 they fell from the lips of the man of God. 
 
 The text which the Reverend gentleman selected for the founda 
 tion of his remarks was the last part of the first verse of the thir 
 teenth chapter of the gospel, according to St. John. 
 
 The words were as follows : " Having loved his own which were 
 in the world, he loved them unto the end." 
 
 " These words were spoken of our Lord and Savior on the very eve 
 of his betrayal. 
 
 "It was just before that great holiday which was held annually in 
 Jerusalem, which the Jews called the feast of the Passover, when 
 thousands of lambs were slain and offered as burnt offerings to pro 
 pitiate the God who had spared them, while he smote and destroyed 
 others. And these were the very people who were so anxious that 
 the Son of man the Christ who was then with them should be de 
 stroyed because he did not come up to their idea of what the Messiah 
 ought to have been. 
 
 " To them he was a fraud an impostor. To think that he, a bare 
 footed Nazarine, should dare to attempt to impose upon them by 
 pretending to be a king the one they had looked for so long, en 
 raged them against him. 
 
 " Now before the feast of the passover, when Jesus knew that his 
 hour was come that he should depart out of this world unto the 
 Father, having loved his own which were in the world he loved them 
 unto the end. 
 
I 7 6 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 11 Two applications might be made to the text. One, showing that 
 our Lord and Savior having once loved loved on to the end. That 
 itself was something more than human. Subject as we are to passion, 
 our real or fancied wrongs outweigh the friendship and kindnesses of a 
 lifetime. One writer says: Kindnesses are like traces drawn in the 
 sand. The breath of every passion wipes them out and they are 
 remembered no more. But injuries are like inscriptions on pillars of 
 brass or monuments of marble. They remain unimpaired through 
 the revolutions of time. 
 
 " Another application can well be made which seems most comfort 
 ing to the friends of the deceased having loved you once he loved 
 you always ; and he loves you now and there can be no doubt but he 
 will love on forever. 
 
 " If spirits in bliss look down upon this world of sorrow, who shall 
 say that they do not mingle with our better selves and lighten the load 
 that is heaped upon us ? 
 
 " The body that now lies before us once contained a spirit that I 
 loved, and I feel that I am the better for having known him. Look 
 around us. Is there one here who did not love him? Is there one 
 here whom he knew that he did not love ? 
 
 " He was patient and gentle, dutiful and affectionate; kind of heart 
 and by nature honorable ; full of generous impulses, and longing to 
 do some noble deed that might benefit others whom he loved ; whom 
 he still loves, and will continue to love if our religion be true, through 
 all eternity. 
 
 " Love is the one great quality that lifts us to God, where we can 
 give love for love forever. We feel sure of the love of our Heavenly 
 Father through all time, yea, even through eternity itself, and we are 
 just as sure that the love of our departed friend will last as long. He 
 was, doubtless, fashioned to much good, and we are not to question 
 the ways of Providence in his taking off. Good may even come of 
 that. The sorrowing cry out in their anguish, u Thy will be done/ 
 Wherefore cry they ? Do they believe that God knows best ? So 
 ought they certainly to believe, or do they feel their insignificance in 
 the presence of all that has been created, and realizing their helpless 
 ness before God who created all things, they appeal imploringly to 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 177 
 
 him that they are told doeth all things, well hoping or expecting he 
 will take pity on them because they were just then penitent. 
 
 "Our Saviour said : * O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup 
 pass from me ; nevertheless, not as I will but as thou wilt. We see 
 that even the Saviour of mankind, knowing as he did, that he must 
 suffer in order that the Scriptures might be fulfilled, yet prayed to his 
 Heavenly Father to spare him if it were for the best. At the same 
 time he was resigned. So the true Christian feels in the hour of 
 great trial. While hope lingers they are schooling themselves for the 
 worst. 
 
 "King David prayed to God to have his child live. He fasted and 
 lay all night upon the earth. But on the seventh day, when told that 
 his child was dead, he arose from the earth and washed himself, and 
 changed his apparel, and when they set bread before him he eat 
 thereof. 
 
 "When the servants said unto him, Why have you done this ? 
 he did not attempt to equivocate, but gave that honest and even 
 memorable answer : While the child was alive I fasted and wept, 
 for I said : * Who can tell whether God will be gracious to me, that 
 the child may live. But now he is dead, wherefore should I fast ? 
 Can I bring him back again ? I shall go to him, but he shall not 
 return to me. How many there are who like David of old, pray that 
 a dear friend may be spared. Almost believing that their prayer will 
 be heard and answered. But when the friend is taken away they are 
 ready to say, Thy will be done. And really comfort themselves 
 with the belief that they are reconciled. 
 
 "With our mourning friends before us no such hope was held out. 
 No such prayers were made. The bolt fell, and they reverently sub 
 mit, filled with that glorious hope that they will go to him, but 
 he can never return to them. Let us all hope, and trust, and the end 
 will be well." 
 
 Some comforting words were said to the bereaved friends, and the 
 services were concluded. 
 
 The casket containing the body was removed to the front yard, and 
 placed beneath the great Willow which the deceased loved so much. 
 The lid was then removed, that the sorrowing friends might have a 
 last look upon the peaceful features of one so well beloved. Hun- 
 
178 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 dreds walked around the casket, and passed out with swelling breasts 
 and tear-filled eyes. At last, came the father and mother, followed 
 by Endura leaning upon the arm of Mr. Wheat. 
 
 For a moment the mother looked calmly upon the face of her dead 
 boy. And then as if overcome by some great emotion, she burst out 
 in sobs, calling his name as though she expected he would answer 
 er her. She would have lingered long by the sacred dust but a gen 
 tle hand upon her arm admonished her and she was led away. 
 
 Next came Endura, and the scene was more affecting if possible 
 than had been that with the mother. The heart-broken sister bowed 
 her head upon the edge of the casket and sobbed violently but uttered 
 no words. At length, thrusting her veil aside, she stooped and im 
 pressed one fervent kiss upon the cold white brow of her dead 
 brother. Not an eye present but was moistened, not a lip that did 
 not tremble, not a heart that did not beat quicker, not a soul that 
 did not sympathize with the beautiful being in this, her as yet greatest 
 sorrow. 
 
 She took one long, last look and ere she turned away she motioned to 
 have the lid placed in position, which was done while she still looked, 
 so that she would be the last upon earth to behold the face so lov 
 ingly enshrined in her heart of hearts. 
 
 The lid was fastened down, and the bearers young men who had 
 been his companions in life s short journey stepped forward to ac 
 company all that was mortal of their once happy companion to the 
 place of final rest. It was a slow, sad march but too soon to end. 
 The graveyard, as will be remembered, was but a short distance from 
 the house. It was thither the young men bent their steps, bearing 
 their precious but inanimate burden between them. 
 
 The grave had been dug and two timbers placed across it, upon 
 which was a large box in which the casket was placed. The box was 
 then enclosed with a cover made for the purpose, and gently lowered 
 into the tenement prepared for it. Some rye straw white and clean, 
 was scattered on the top so that the earth might fall gently and with 
 out noise, and then some of the softest earth was let fall gently until 
 the box was well covered, when the remaining earth was filled in until 
 a mound instead of a hole was to be seen. The grave was smoothed 
 over and a board placed at the head and another at the foot, and the 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 179 
 
 work was complete. A short prayer by Doctor Bishop closed the cere 
 mony, and Bernard Ivers was at rest. 
 
 There are few ceremonies more affecting than a New England 
 country funeral, especially one like that attempted to be described 
 above. The order of exercises may be somewhat changed, but they 
 amount to about the same. Sometimes they may have the last prayer 
 before the body is lowered into the grave, or there may be reading 
 after the Masonic fashion, with " Earth to earth, ashes to ashes," etc. 
 Or there may be a hymn sung, which is not often, nor is it always 
 that prayer is made upon these occasions. But it matters little, the 
 solemnity of the occasion is about the same. 
 
 The funeral was over; the people went their ways. Mr. Bishop 
 and two or three friends returned to the house. The reverend gentle 
 man conversed upon various subjects, but nothing comforted the mother 
 so much as did his loving allusions to her poor boy his dead friend. 
 He told of their first meeting, and of the favorable impression that he 
 formed of him at that time, and how he had never had occasion to 
 change his mind, or to regret that he had made his acquaintance. 
 
 He said he little dreamed when he came there to attend the funeral 
 of Miss Vic, Bernard in strolling about the place went with him. 
 to the little plot where his grandparents were laid, and where was then 
 the open grave dug for the poor girl he could not have believed that 
 Bernard s would be the next narrow house to be constructed in the 
 sunny nook. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers told him that Bernard used to go out and sit by his 
 grandfather s grave all alone when but a mere child, and when any of 
 his young friends came home with him from town he used always to 
 take them there and tell them what a good man his grandfather was. 
 
 It is thus that parents dwell upon the acts and sayings of a child 
 that has been taken from them, and Mrs. Ivers was not greatly differ 
 ent from other mothers who have lost children. 
 
 A country house after the death of a favorite inmate is a lonely 
 place to be in, and the home of the Ivers was no exception. The 
 neighbors seeemed to dread meeting any of the family as there ap 
 peared to be but one thing to talk about, and that the very thing most 
 unpleasant and harrowing. But, notwithstanding this a great many 
 
i8o 
 
 ENDURA ! OR, 
 
 sympathizing friends called at the great house with words of tender 
 ness and comfort for the bereaved inmates. 
 
 Among those who came was Joe Tartar bringing his mother, who 
 Avas now very old and feeble. Still she thought she could stand it to 
 ride over to try and comfort the mourners. The poor old lady seemed 
 to feel that her own end was near, and she wished by such acts to 
 impress upon her neighbors the sacrifice she was willing to make to 
 visit the afflicted. Many years before her visit would have had 
 another significance, even though ostensibly made for the same pur 
 pose. 
 
 Joe Tartar was willing and anxious to accompany his mother, 
 * which he would scarcely have done when he was first introduced to 
 the reader, which was thought by some to be a sure proof of his re 
 formation. Others attributed his kind attentions to different motives. 
 Be that as it may, Joe Tartar appeared like a very different man from 
 what he was ten years before. 
 
 It had now been more than a year since Rodney Haywood went 
 to New Orleans. True, he had made one flying trip north during the 
 summer, which visit was all too short, and the pain of separation was 
 more acute, if possible than when he first went away. The last day 
 before he was to leave he and Endura rode out together. They talked 
 of their plans and where they would like to live, and of the little world 
 of their own which they would make for themselves, where there 
 should be "no tales, but tales of love," no songs but love songs, no 
 friends that were not lovers. Everything beautiful and good should 
 surround them and be with them. There would be no more sorrow, 
 no more parting. For surely cruel death would not come near to 
 separate them, and what else could come between to mar their prom 
 ised happiness in the Eden of their imagination. 
 
 Such are the dreams of youth ! But alas, how few realize those 
 dreams ! Or, if all they hoped for comes to pass, is there not some 
 shadow like a cloud before the sun to darken the reality ? 
 
 Of course Endura wrote of their great bereavement, and of the 
 sorrowing household now more lonely than ever before, since they 
 knew that Bernard could never come back to them. She wrote: 
 
 "I sometimes fear that you, too, may be taken from me; that per 
 haps I may never see you again. Could I endure it? Could I live 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. l8l 
 
 to be left alone, with but my father and mother to love and protect 
 me ? The thought is too horrible. To me it is like some fright 
 ful nightmare; it makes me shudder as it comes over me. No ! no I 
 it must not, it can not be ! My dearest friend, come home to me. 
 Do not stay one day longer than may be necessary to arrange your 
 affairs, so that you may never leave me to go so far away again. I 
 am lonely, so lonely without you, that I can not compose myself; yet, 
 why should I make you unhappy with my sorrows and complaints? 
 I will not, I must not be a weight and a burden to you. I will say, 
 Press on, it will make you mighty among men. I will assist and 
 encourage you to realize your dreams. You shall be great, you shall 
 be rich, you shall be noble. But I can not love you better." 
 
 In due time the answer came, full of love and sympathy; words 
 of endearment were multiplied. The lover wrote as only lovers can, 
 commencing with: 
 
 " MY DARLING ENDURA: Who has such cause to be thankful and 
 happy as myself? Have I not the love and prayers of an angel? 
 What am I that I am so loved ? I know I am unworthy, but the 
 goodness and prayers of one like your dear self shall make me bet 
 ter day by day. I will try, my darling one, to fit myself to be your 
 companion, and when we meet, you shall teach me how I may, in a 
 measure, fill the void caused by the death of my dear friend 
 your gentle, loving brother. I have misgivings as to whether I can, 
 in many things, fill up the measure of goodness attained by your lost 
 darling. But such as my poor nature will allow, in nothing shall you 
 lack. I would fly to you at once, but it would not be wise. My 
 future good, and yours, depends upon close application for a few 
 months more. Ere the leaves fall again I shall be with you, when I 
 shall clasp you in my arms and call you mine forever." 
 
 It was a long letter, and the extract above will give some idea of 
 its entire contents. Such love missives were flitting back and forth 
 every few days, filled with words of hope and endearment, promises 
 oft repeated, vows often made, assurance upon assurance of undying 
 affection constantly given. 
 
 Notwithstanding these tokens and assurances of unquenchable 
 and undying affection, Endura was very lonely and unhappy. Her 
 associates in S . were not of that class to give comfort and encour 
 agement to one longing for sympathy, and hungry for something vis- 
 ibleto love and submit to. 
 
1 82 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 True, Clara Haywood was often with her and talked about Rod 
 ney, and of his coming home, and how she missed him. 
 
 "But," said she, "I suppose we shall never have him with us 
 much more; he will be with you all the time, as he was when he was 
 here last Summer. But I shall not be jealous, for I can visit you as 
 often as I like." 
 
 " You shall live with me and be my darling sister. Just think of 
 it, Clara ! what beautiful pictures we paint for ourselves ! Will they 
 ever be as beautiful in reality as our imagination and our hopes por 
 tray them? Is the reality ever as comforting as happy dreams?" 
 said Endura. 
 
 Campbell says, and the sentence has found many responces: 
 
 "Cease every joy to glimmer on my mind, 
 But leave, oh! leave, the light of hope behind." 
 
 How sad would be life without hope. The prisoner in the gloomy 
 cell bows to fate and lives beyond. For him there is a bright world 
 beyond his prison bars, with friends and happiness. The voyager 
 on the ocean looks beyond the storm to calm and sunshine. The 
 traveler o er the desert waste, strains his eyes to catch the first view 
 of the oasis shade. To those who are lost in the dark forest, a 
 gleam of light gives hope. 
 
 There is no place so dismal but hope may illumine it; no heart so 
 bowed down that hope may not buoy it up; no tear-dimmed eye 
 that hope will not brighten. 
 
 Hope will bring smiles out of tears as sunshine banishes the 
 clouds. What sorrow is there that hope cannot lighten; it is a qual 
 ity that grows spontaneously; a blessing that comes unasked; it 
 comes most often to those most in need; those who have every 
 wish gratified, have no need of hope; it flies from such, like a 
 shadow, and goes to the wretched who welcome and bless it. 
 
 Endura Ivers lived upon hope; it dwelt with her, visited her in her 
 dreams; went with her about her household duties; awoke with her 
 in the morning and retired with her at night; but the sad heart though 
 moved with hope longs for a consummation. 
 
 Joseph Tartar was not an unfrequent visitor at the Ivers mansion. 
 Upon one or two occasions he had tried to make himself especially 
 agreeable to Endura. He kept a good horse and buggy, and he 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 183 
 
 ventured to invite her to ride with him, which she declined with 
 some plausible excuse. One evening he presistently forced himself 
 upon her society in spite of hints given as plainly as it was possi 
 ble for a modest young lady to give them. His rudeness would 
 often crop out, notwithstanding his every care and precaution. Some 
 coarse remark would often fall from his lips, which he would realize 
 the next minute and stammeringly try to correct or unsay. 
 
 There are those of more than average natural abilities who are 
 vulgar in spite of themselves. Joe Tartar was one of them, and his 
 associating with hack drivers and stable-boys in the city had not im 
 proved his morals. 
 
I 84 ENDURA I OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 BANKRUPT. 
 
 The gods in bounty work up storms upon us, 
 
 That give mankind occasion to exert 
 
 Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice 
 
 Virtues that shun the day and lie concealed 
 
 In the smooth seasons and calms of life. 
 
 Addison s Cato. 
 
 IT was but a short time after the funeral that General Ivers received 
 a letter from Mr. Wheat, the father of Bernard s partner, in 
 which he intimated that it would be well to fix up the affairs of the 
 concern as soon as possible. It being the season of the year when 
 farmers are very busy the General postponed it from day to 
 day, until some weeks had passed, when a second letter came some 
 what pressing. The fall work now being pretty well over he con 
 cluded it would be but proper to give the matter his attention. 
 
 Within a day or two he set off for the city, where he found the 
 books of the late firm of Wheat & Ivers made up and balanced. But 
 most astonishing to him instead of his having due him one-half of 
 the value of the goods on hand, as well as of the accounts due the 
 concern, he found, to his great surprise, that Bernard had largely 
 overdrawn his account, so much so, that it required more than the 
 amount of his father s last payment to make it good. In addition to 
 this there were several thousand dollars of gambling debts for which 
 he had given the firm s notes, besides nearly as much more was re 
 presented by his individual note. 
 
 The good man, his father, was staggered. He was ruined past 
 hope, even if he did not attempt to make good his individual liabili 
 ties. He determined to protect the partner from loss, though he 
 could not but blame him for not advising him sooner of Bernard s 
 habits. In fact at the time he was called upon to pay the note for 
 the balance of the stock, not a word was said or intimated that all 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 185 
 
 was not right with his son. As it appeared there was nothing to do 
 but to make the best settlement he could. 
 
 His property was already mortgaged to its full value, besides he 
 had unsecured debts which were to him real debts of honor, with 
 nothing to pay them with. How, then, could it be expected that he 
 would assume still other obligations when there was nothing to meet 
 them with? 
 
 He returned to his family. Alas ! his home no more. When he 
 entered the house, which he had hoped would be his refuge and rest 
 ing-place when old age came on, his feelings so overcame him that 
 he came near falling to the floor, which so frightened Mrs. Ivers and 
 Endura that they, too, almost fainted. 
 
 He soon recovered himself, and little by little made known the 
 terrible facts. 
 
 He did not tell them that they were homeless, and that the beauti 
 ful house in which they lived was theirs no longer ; but gradually it 
 came out that he had agreed to pay more than his entire earthly pos 
 sessions were worth. 
 
 It was then that the good man fully appreciated the true worth of 
 his noble wife and affectionate daughter. They comforted him by telling 
 him how they could get along, and they had no doubt but that some 
 way would be provided by which he could extricate himself. 
 
 Bad news flies fast, and it was not surprising that the whole coun 
 try thereabout, should hear of the misfortunes that had befallen the 
 Ivers . 
 
 Mr. Hay wood first learned of it through the papers, which gave a full 
 account of the affair, with some severe remarks thereon. 
 
 Of course the young man who slept undisturbed came in for a 
 great share of blame, which was but right. Some blamed Mr. Wheat 
 and his son for not informing General Ivers of the doings of his son, 
 while others said that it was a delicate affair to meddle in family mat 
 ters. But all were bitter in their denunciations of the saloon-keepers 
 and gamblers who had led the young man astray. 
 
 The feeling against them ran so high that they were threatened 
 with prosecution, and a committee was actually appointed to wait 
 upon them, to try and make them disgorge some of their ill-gotten 
 
1 86 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 gains. Of course, the notes which Bernard had given were worthless, 
 as it was said there had been no value received. 
 
 Upon a thorough investigation of the affairs of the concern, there 
 were found to be some assets which had been overlooked, and 
 some accounts which had been pronounced worthless, out of which 
 something might be expected. At all events General Ivers would not 
 be obliged to pay any more money to make good his son s deficit, 
 but on the contrary, there was a small amount coming to him from 
 the concern. 
 
 When Mr. Haywood heard of the calamity he hastened to offer any 
 assistance that it might be in his power to render to the heart-broken 
 man. General Ivers thanked him, but told him that he might be 
 glad to accept assistance from him at some future day, but that at 
 present there were no actual demands which he could not meet. His 
 personal notes were in the hands of friends, and the mortgage upon 
 the farm was given to the bank of which he was himself a director, 
 and the interest upon the money was all it was necessary for him to 
 pay at present. 
 
 " But," said he to Mr. Haywood, " when necessity requires it, you 
 are the first man I shall apply to for assistance." And so the matter 
 rested, as far as Mr. Haywood was concerned, but with others it did 
 not rest there. 
 
 When it was reported that Bernard Ivers had committed suicide in 
 consequence of his embarrassments brought about by drink, gambling 
 and other dissipations, there were a great many who said, " I told 
 you so." 
 
 Mrs. Tartar, who had become very old and childish, had still 
 enough of her old nature left to pretend pity. While she could not 
 help reverting to the time when they all talked so against her poor 
 boy, she was thankful, she said, that he had proven himself innocent. 
 
 Joe Tartar himself affected the greatest sympathy for the misfor- 
 fortunes of the Ivers. But those who knew him best did not, for a 
 moment, believe him sincere. He could not help betraying himself 
 whenever the matter was alluded to in his presence. 
 
 Younger members of the community appeared to be imbued with 
 feelings akin to those of Joe Tartar, and it was but fair to conclude 
 that they were in a measure, influenced by the sayings and acts of 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 187 
 
 that gentleman, especially as they were oftenest seen in his society. 
 
 Some of the more ignorant and consequently more bigoted mem 
 bers of the orthodox churches attributed the misfortunes of the Ivers 
 to their association with such heretics and infidels as the Haywoods, 
 while others said that the boy had always been allowed too much 
 latitude. . In fact that he had been spoiled as a child, and that it was 
 little wonder that he had turned out as he had as a man. 
 
 The general feeling in the neighborhood had apparently undergone 
 a complete change since the day of the funeral, and much of that 
 feeling could be directly traced to the ignorant, the jealous and the 
 spiteful persons of the community ; and among them all there were 
 none more bitter, sarcastic and hypocritical than the pretended 
 Christians and members of the church, who seemed to believe that 
 none could be saved unless they accepted their doctrine. 
 
 The narrow-minded could not see beyond their own limited sphere, 
 and there were plenty who coincided with them. The ministers of 
 the gospel preached upon the subject without any of the milk of 
 human kindness in their souls. Without charity except that which is 
 spoken, and not felt or acted ; without love, without sympathy. 
 
 Many pretended to sympathize, but hypocrites that they were, their 
 cloven feet were seen howsoever much they tried to hide them. Like 
 the ass in the lion s skin their ears protruded, and thus they discovered 
 each other and herded together. 
 
 Not all in the neighborhood were like the above, but it was equiv 
 alent to ostracism for those who differed in their opinion to advocate 
 a belief not in accordance with that most generally accepted in the 
 community. 
 
 It did not matter what that belief was. The Baptist did not think 
 the Methodist was on exactly the right road, but there was a possibil 
 ity that he might get to heaven. And so thought the Methodist of 
 his Baptist brother. Even an Episcopalian might be allowed to enter 
 the golden portal under extraordinary circumstances. 
 
 The Catholics had a poor show. Nothing short of a miracle would 
 admit them. But the Universalists were past praying for, and must 
 certainly be damned. Nothing could save them. If there were other 
 creeds worse than the Universalists they did not know of them. 
 
 In some parts of New England such an absurd belief still exists, 
 
I 88 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 and the man must be rash to advocate new doctrines among such 
 people, no matter upon what authority, or what may be its merits. 
 
 So the winter passed and spring came forth in royal robes to gladden 
 the heart and quicken the blood. It was not unlike other springs. 
 The buds opened and the leaves expanded. The fields were covered 
 with verdure, the birds sang as of old their matin songs ; the violets 
 bloomed in the pastures and the lilacs by the garden wall. 
 
 But how different were the circumstances of the Ivers from what 
 they were when spring greeted them before ! Then they were rich, 
 contented and happy. But now they were dependent and cast down. 
 
 General Ivers had aged more within six months than he had done 
 within six years before. Mrs. Ivers bore up much better, and be 
 came a great stay and comfort to her husband. 
 
 Endura lent her mother every aid and became, as she well knew 
 how, the servant of all work. She went so far as to solicit work from 
 those who had it to be done, that she might earn a little money with 
 which she could purchase little things for herself, so that her father 
 could save every dollar to pay the interest upon the notes, which were 
 held against him. 
 
 The General planted his crops as usual, but Oh ! with what differ 
 ent feelings ! Every hill of corn appeared not to belong to him. 
 Even his cattle, as they cropped the grass in the fields, seemed to 
 say: " It is not for you." He imagined that his friends shunned him, 
 or that they came not as of old. There were a few, however, who 
 were true friends, whose friendship adversity did not chill. Among 
 them were the Haywoods and some poor, but modest, good neighbors 
 that the Ivers never knew. They were too modest to intrude or 
 press themselves upon the notice of the wealthy or the great. But 
 now that misfortune had overtaken them, they were ready to give 
 their friendship and a helping hand. 
 
 Thus they gained as many real, true, worthy friends, as they lost 
 false ones by their misfortunes. And they considered themselves the 
 gainers in more ways than one. That was one of the first bright 
 spots since their terrible trial, and it made them happy in their 
 great need. Thus one star arose that shone along their gloomy path 
 of life. 
 
 Donald Kent had been absent about twelve months when the great 
 
THREE GENERATIONS * 189 
 
 calamity befell the friends he so much loved and honored. He had 
 read of the facts in the papers, some of which had been forwarded 
 to him by other than friends. But the great distress to the family he 
 did not, he could not know. If he had, he could not have believed 
 it, for to his young mind, General Ivers was a very rich man. And 
 so he had ever kept his place. He could not realize that the once 
 generous, good man was dependent upon others to a great extent, 
 living upon tolerance, as it were, and his wife, like a good angel, 
 assisting and encouraging him. 
 
 Endura, the angel of his dreams, she, too, was obliged to do 
 menial work in order to obtain the little comforts which before had 
 come unasked. He wrote the family from time to time; sometimes 
 to the General, and now and then to Mrs. Ivers, but usually to 
 Endura. 
 
 It was in the month of May, nearly two years after the time when 
 he wrote the General to know if he would let him come and work 
 for him, that the mail brought another letter with his familiar hand 
 writing upon the back. But it bore a foreign post-mark, and was 
 dated many days before. Was ever a letter more welcome? The 
 family received quite a number of letters from the office at the same 
 time, among them one for Endura, post-marked New Orleans, which 
 the dear young lady opened almost immediately. But when the 
 General announced a letter from Donald, all others were laid aside 
 while he read the interesting epistle. 
 
 Donald was then in the south of France, where he had been for 
 some months trying to secure some information, which seemed next 
 to impossible. He had been looked upon with suspicion from the 
 time he first landed until the time of his writing. He had tried to 
 induce the authorities to assist him, but with small success. He was 
 sure he was on the right track, but not an opening could he find 
 through which he could enter upon his great work with any apparent 
 chances of success. 
 
 It may be well enough to accompany him in his travels up and 
 down through the country from the time of his landing in La Belle, 
 France, up to the time of his writing the letter, more than twenty 
 months after; some of which facts had been communicated to his 
 princioals and friends from time to time, as they transpired. Other 
 
1 90 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 incidents and matters of interest had never been mentioned, and 
 they will require a separate chapter. 
 
 When the "Europa" entered the Mersey, Donald really felt that the 
 heavy part of his work was over, and when he set foot upon English 
 soil, as we have seen he was almost happy. In reality his work was 
 not yet begun. 
 
 After a few days spent in seeing the sights in the great English sea 
 port, he went on to London, stopping at Birmingham, Oxford and 
 two or three other cities on the way. 
 
 He remained in the metropolis a few days, and then crossed over 
 to France. It was not until he found himself upon French soil, that 
 he realized to any extent the magnitude of the business he had under 
 taken. 
 
 He had gone out of his world, away from friends and kindred; he 
 heard another language spoken, a language with which he imagined 
 himself familiar, and yet, as spoken there, he seemed to understand 
 so little. 
 
 How welcome was the sight of an Englishman; one who could 
 speak and understand his mother tongue ! Everything around him 
 was so strange; the very buildings were different; the conveyances 
 were different; the sun itself appeared in the wrong quarter traveling 
 in the wrong direction. 
 
 Donald Kent had never known what it was to be lonely before. 
 He had come to a strange country upon business of which he knew 
 little or nothing, with scarcely a clew to help him to unravel it. 
 
 He went directly to Paris, determined to spend a few days in the 
 gay capital before going South to enter in earnest upon the. real 
 business which he had undertaken. 
 
 France has been emphatically a military nation, but it has not 
 been all glory; there have been civil wars and internal commotions, 
 besides disasters in foreign lands; among the snows of Russia; upon 
 the Libian desert; in Egypt among the pyramids; and finally at 
 Waterloo, where the idol of the French people met his first defeat. 
 To be captured and doomed to a lingering existence upon the lone 
 isle that was his empire and his tomb; but monuments of the great 
 warrior are to be seen all over France. 
 
 Notwithstanding the various changes in the government and the 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 19 1 
 
 bitter feelings of the rival factions, Napoleon Bonaparte left behind 
 him an immortal name. No matter what the government may be, 
 an empire or a republic, the people will always reverence the name of 
 Napoleon the Great. 
 
 Paris is, without doubt, the most attractive city in Europe, if not 
 in the world; and the nation as a whole is the most remarkable, as 
 the people are the most polished and polite. 
 
 All this availed Donal Kent naught. He had gone there for a 
 purpose, and he was too ambitious and too proud to return to his 
 native land without accomplishing something. He remained in Paris 
 about one week, visiting its great objects of interest; among them 
 the Louvre, said to be and doubtless is, one of the finest galleries in 
 the world; the famous Arc de 1 Etoile, Column Vendome, churches, 
 theaters, etc., all of which interested our hero, but they did not give 
 him half the pleasure they would have done, had the great object 
 for which he came been accomplished. 
 
 When Donald set out from Paris his objective point was Mar 
 seilles. To reach that celebrated French city he was obliged to 
 travel almost the entire length of France. He did not go as direct 
 as he might have done, being as he was so anxious to visit certain 
 portions of the Empire, he very naturally concluded that there could 
 be no better opportunity. 
 
 His first stopping place was the old city of Orleans; from there he 
 went to Nevers, stopping but a short time; next to Lyons on the 
 river Rhone; from thence he went by steamer down the beautiful 
 river to a place by the name of Aries; thence by sail to Marseilles. 
 Immediately upon his arrival he presented his letters to the United 
 State Consul at that place, who received him politely and promised 
 him any assitance which he might be able to render him. 
 
 Donald had profited by his journey through the beautiful country. 
 One thing he noticed more than another, and that was the peculiar 
 sites selected for the castles and chateaux usually some high point 
 or abrupt promontory, oftentimes apparently quite inaccessible. 
 
 Sometimes quite a village of small, picturesque houses would sur 
 round the chateau which had itself formed the nucleus of the settle 
 ment hundreds of years ago, built by some feudal chieftain, who 
 
192 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 selected the site for his castle where it would be most difficult for an 
 enemy to approach it. 
 
 Looking from these eminences, one might behold the grandest 
 panorama that it is possible for the eye to rest upon. Miles and miles 
 of beautiful valleys combed and cultivated to perfection, beautified 
 and burnished as it were, until the sun of the morning looked upon 
 no more perfect landscape. And when the shades of evening came, 
 nature seemed loth to drop the curtain upon a scene so beautiful. 
 
 Life and beauty everywhere. Miles of beautiful trees planted by 
 the roadside. Miles and miles of hedges pruned to perfection, as if 
 they were moulded in unbroken moulds. Grand castles crowning the 
 hill-tops and beautiful homes in the valleys ; antique and unique cot 
 tages everywhere. Every nook was like a charmed spot. Every field 
 was finished, every roadway seemed to be polished, so smooth and 
 level it was. Here and there the iron horse shot through a tunnel or 
 crossed a viaduct. Diligences could be seen upon the full tilt, and 
 queer looking little vehicles like insects, were creeping here and there 
 in the highways and about the fields. The hillsides were vine-clad, 
 or ornamented with beautiful trees and shrubbery, with fountains and 
 lakes where least they were looked for. 
 
 And this is France ! The country that has gone through more 
 trials within a century than almost any land under the sun. It is a 
 country made great and respected by the indomitable will of the 
 people. What nation except the French could have paid their recent 
 war debt with the unheard of indemnity, which was demanded by 
 Germany, and exist ? We venture the assertion that not another 
 on the globe with the same territory would or could have accom 
 plished the same results. 
 
 One author describes it with the short sentence, "It is a pleasant 
 land," and he adds, " No word describes it so felicitously as that 
 one." And no one comes forward to contradict him. 
 
 As the south of France is to be the place where Donald Kent ex 
 pects to secure proof that will establish his client s claims to the vast 
 wealth which has been locked up for a generation, it may be well to 
 describe the country, and especially that particular section about 
 Marseilles and up the Rhone for at least one hundred miles. There 
 is a deep indentation of the Mediterranean Sea called the Gulf of 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 193 
 
 Lyons. Around its shores you may skirt the Pyrenees range of 
 mountains and pass into Spain, the great raisin-producing country of 
 the world. The grape and the olive abound on both sides of this 
 lofty range of mountains. The product of the vine has enriched 
 the country for ages, and the favorable position which France occu 
 pies on the map of the world, has made it, for a thousand years, one 
 of the most powerful kingdoms of Christendom, and her vineyards 
 have been one of her greatest sources of wealth. 
 
 About seventy-five miles in a northwesterly direction from Mar 
 seilles, arises one of the tributaries of the Rhone. Its head-waters 
 are in the broken range of mountains, which seem to culminate in 
 Mt. Lazere, for which the province was doubtless named. It is a 
 stream, beautiful even in its incipiency, when first it comes bubbling 
 from the ground, and then as it gurgles on it meets another brooklet. 
 Merrily they run on together, blending their liquid music until they 
 meet another and another, as joyous and as happy as themselves, 
 which gladly join them in their seaward course. Anon, their waters 
 cease to sing, and move silently but rapidly along, as if in haste to 
 mingle with the noble Rhone, and lose themselves in the ocean far 
 beyond. 
 
 Directly south of Mt. Lazere, some forty kilometers, or say ten 
 leagues, which would be in the neighborhood of thirty English miles,, 
 there is an arm of the province of Card which occupies the entire 
 space between the mountains north and south, stretching away on a 
 southeasterly direction some forty miles on either side of the river 
 described above. This tract of land, which is, as we have said y 
 about forty miles in length, by something near half that in breadth, 
 making, as will be seen, about eight hundred square miles of terri 
 tory, once the estate of the Marquis de Brue, one of the oldest and 
 most loyal of all the nobles of France, at the time of the Revolution, 
 when Napoleon laid hands upon everything and everybody who did 
 not join his standard. M. de Brue came under the ban, was ostra 
 cized and fled the country. His magnificent estate was forfeited to 
 the crown and turned over to one of the Emperor s favorites, to be 
 in turn restored to the Bourbon and his adherents. But the original 
 owner of this magnificent estate was never heard of after. 
 
 Every effort was made to find a clew, which would lead to his dis- 
 
194 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 covery, but without avail. The most that could be learned was that 
 he gathered his most valuable movables and suddenly departed for 
 parts unknown. Rumor had it that he sailed for America with his 
 wife and infant daughter, then scarcely two years of age. There 
 being no legitimate heirs, the crown took possession of the estate 
 until those whose title was better could be found, at the same time 
 using every means to find the rightful owner to restore to him his 
 property. With that end in view, advertisements were ordered put 
 in the most prominent papers in Marseilles and in Paris, which ad 
 vertisements were left standing in said papers for years. 
 
 In the meantime the property was cultivated and managed in the 
 interest of the State, correct accounts being kept, so that should the 
 owner ever come to his own, it would be easy to show just what be 
 longed to him. 
 
 The soil was kept under a high state of cultivation, and the build 
 ings generally in good repair. There was a single exception, and 
 that was the chateau itself, which had never been occupied since M. 
 de Brue took his hasty leave. But little or nothing had been done 
 to the ancient pile for half a century, when Donald Kent s attention 
 was first called to it as one of the abandoned castles in that part of 
 the country. Our young lawyer was naturally inquisitive, and here 
 his Yankee characteristic stood him well in hand. 
 
 He had remained in the province for some months, gathering such 
 information as he could, but nothing had been accomplished other 
 than the discovery that the vast estate was without an owner, or, at 
 least, that it was claimed by the crown in the absence of its more 
 legitimate heirs. 
 
 When told that the chateau had never been inhabited since the re 
 volution, and that but few, if any changes, had been made inside or 
 out, he was naturally curious to see and learn more of its history, 
 which was given him pretty much as it has been given above. He ex 
 pressed a wish to visit and go through the building with such a his 
 tory, which after some time and trouble he was enabled to do. 
 
 The great room was damp and cheerless, and the few remaining 
 pieces of furniture were mouldy with age and lack of care. Some 
 bits of tapestry hung rotting here and there against the walls. Some 
 elaborate frames, which had once held portraits, stood in the corners 
 
THREE GENERATIONS 195 
 
 or were piled up with other rubbish as good for nothing. One or 
 two richly carved old cabinets tilted against the wall, minus one or 
 two of the carved feet upon which it had formerly rested. A massive 
 table with two legs stood, or rather lay, upon the floor where it seemed 
 to have fallen from sheer old age. Some dusty, old papers were 
 kicked hither and thither about the rotten floors, as yellow as dirt 
 and age could make them, were not without interest to our astute 
 young lawyer. 
 
 When the keeper of the castle had admitted Donald to the musty 
 old den he was only too glad to leave him to himself, with instruc 
 tions for him to return the key to his cottage which was near by. Be 
 it known that many strangers had been permitted to view the interior 
 of the imposing structure, during the time the present keeper had 
 had it in charge. He received a gratuity of a few francs, and sold an 
 extra bottle of wine to those who were curious enough to wish to enter 
 the dilapidated old house. 
 
 Donald Kent pressed a five franc piece into the hand of the old 
 man, as he went back to the cottage leaving him in undisputed pos 
 session of the keep and all its decaying treasures. 
 
 In going from room to room something new to Donald came to 
 view : here a nameless piece of furniture once doubtless much in use; 
 there some antique carvings upon oaken panels ; again some rude 
 etchings without meaning or beauty, but not without interest ; mas 
 sive oaken doors standing ajar that had not been closed for many 
 years ; great gothic windows with colored glass through which the 
 light struggled to tinge the mouldy walls; the high arched hall-way 
 damp and dark as a tomb, with scarce one ray of light ; the massive 
 stair-way with griffins for posts, whose wings, black with age, were 
 partially raised as if in an attitude of defense. They seemed to say 
 go no farther, seek no longer for the mystery that you may never 
 solve. 
 
 Donald might have fancied that the fabled animals, half eagle, 
 half lion said this to him, but he remembered that they had been say. 
 ing the same to visitors for more than two centuries, but the visitors 
 had gone on regardless of the admonition, and he proposed to do 
 likewise. He passed the winged lions up the huge stairs, step by 
 step, each foot-fall echoing from foundation to roof-tree. Upon reach- 
 
196 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 ing the second floor another scene of desolation and decay presented 
 itself. In one great hall stood a huge bedstead without mattress or 
 coverlid. The once rich canopy was in tatters and dropping piece 
 meal from the elaborately carved and massive cornice. A mirror 
 that had once reflected truthfully the beauties that surrounded it, now 
 refused to tell its old tale through the damp and cobwebs that cov 
 ered and spoiled it. 
 
 What curious carving is that upon the top of the frame, which is 
 supported by two enormous storks. The combination is what is called 
 a cheval, or a mirror upon a horse. Mirrors upon frames are still 
 much used for full-length views in ladies dressing rooms, as well as by 
 tailors, milliner?, etc. 
 
 The top of the frame of which the storks were the base, was sur 
 mounted by an elaborately engraved monogram which had originally 
 been gilded, but age and dampness had tarnished fine gold even, so 
 that little more remained than the outlines of the mystical letters. 
 Donald was enabled to trace an L and a B which appeared to 
 be tied together by two small indistinct characters, which he could 
 not quite make out. 
 
 Hanging just above the head board of the bedstead was a moth-eaten 
 piece of tapestry, upon which had been wrought in silk the same mys 
 terious characters. Said characters remained distinct and alone, the 
 moths having nearly devoured all of the wool of which the fabric was 
 chiefly composed, so that the monogram, if monogram it was, was 
 like the fibers of a skeleton leaf; but it shone, if possible, more plainly 
 than it did at the time the cunning hand placed it there. It was a 
 rare and beautiful sight to see characters so distinctly left while the 
 substance of the drapery was entirely gone. 
 
 The singular phenomenon arrested the attention of our savant, and 
 he was led to scrutinize it more closely than he otherwise would have 
 done had not the ghostlike skeleton attracted him. He had an in 
 distinct recollection of having seen something very like the monogram 
 before. Not only the letters for all monograms are somewhat alike 
 but the very material seemed to have been duplicated somewhere or 
 other. But then many samples had been made and many patterns 
 taken, so for the time being he dismissed the matter from his mind 
 and wandered on through the old mansion. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 197 
 
 He went from room to room until tired of seeing, and yet with 
 interest unabated, until admonished by gathering darkness that night 
 approached. He descended the stairs and stood once more in the 
 dimly lighted hall. Opening the great door which creaked and grated 
 like the door of a tomb, he once more saw daylight unobstructed, and 
 inhaled once more the pure country air. 
 
 It was getting late and Donald did not like to drive so far through 
 a strange country, so he determined to try and bribe the old keeper 
 to let him stay in his cottage, which at first the old man positively 
 refused to do ; but a couple of five franc pieces finally overcame his 
 scruples. 
 
 Donald had become accustomed to the French style of living by 
 this time, and he could now take his bottle of claret and hard baked 
 bread with just as good a relish as he formerly took his tea and warm 
 biscuit. He did not expect much in the humble quarters where he 
 found himself, and he was not mistaken. He was shown into a snug 
 little room with a low ceiling, hung around with a few cheap pictures, 
 with chintz curtains, much faded, at the small window, which sufficed 
 for both light and ventilation. 
 
 The young lawyer was in no hurry to retire, but seating himself he 
 conversed freely with his host, who gave him much valuable informa 
 tion. What the old man said was more of the nature of hearsay than 
 authenticated facts, and yet to Donald every word appeared like a 
 revelation. 
 
 Indeed, chance seemed to have thrown in his way what historical 
 research had denied him. It gave him new grounds to work on. It 
 gave him quite another theory upon which to proceed. It opened 
 new fields, and the renewed prospect of success gave him new life and 
 energy, and from that day he prosecuted his researches with fresh 
 vigor, satisfied in his own mind that his undertaking was about to be 
 crowned with at least partial success. 
 
ENDURA ! OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 YELLOW FEVER. 
 
 The storm for Bertram ! And it hath been with me, 
 Dealt with me, branch and bole, and bound me to the roots; 
 And where the next wave bears my perished trunk, 
 In its dread laps I neither know nor reck of. 
 
 Matusins Bertram. 
 
 WHILE Donald Kent was about starting upon a new lead in the 
 strange land to which he had been exiled, matters of great 
 moment to those he loved were transpiring at home. 
 
 General Ivers continued to work on mechanically as he had done 
 since his misfortunes overtook him. His crops grew, but he seemed 
 to have lost all interest in them. 
 
 Endura was made happy from time to time by a letter from Rod 
 ney; and, at long intervals, one would be received with a foreign 
 stamp, which was the signal for a general rejoicing. 
 
 It was midsummer. The inhabitants were fleeing from the cities. 
 There had been a number of cases of cholera in New York and 
 othern Northern cities, and great alarm began to be felt for the South. 
 There were rumors that the yellow fever had broken out in New 
 Orleans. 
 
 Of course, everybody who had friends there were anxious, and let 
 ters were looked for with increased anxiety. Endura was no excep 
 tion to the rule. 
 
 The last letter she received was cheerful. Rodney wrote that there 
 had been, and were still, some cases of cholera, and also of yellow 
 fever, but nothing like as serious as the Northern papers made it. 
 As for himself, he was well and working hard to get his affairs fixed 
 up so that he could leave for the North where his thoughts constantly 
 were. 
 
 He wrote, " It will be but a few days before I shall be able to leave, 
 when I shall fly away to be with those I love. 
 
 "True," he continued, "I have some excellent friends here some 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 199 
 
 whom I shall be proud to introduce you to when we come here on our 
 wedding trip next winter, as some matters will require my attention 
 here by that time, and I am sure you would be glad to accompany 
 me." 
 
 The letter was full of hope and breathed affection in every line, as 
 all those precious missives did which Endura received from her faith 
 ful lover. 
 
 They were all treasured up by her, and each one read and re-read 
 many times in the interim between them. The last had been espe 
 cially interesting for the precious promises which it gave. 
 
 It was full time another of those love tokens should come to hand. 
 It had been due the day before ; so that day s mail was the second 
 that had arrived without the anxiously looked-for letter. 
 
 The third day came, still no letter from New Orleans. General 
 Ivers was getting so anxious for himself, as well as for Endura, that 
 he drove to the village to learn if Mr. Haywood had been more fort 
 unate. 
 
 The gentleman would not come from the city until the day follow 
 ing, when it was hoped he would bring good news. General Ivers 
 could scarcely bear to tell his daughter that nothing had been heard, 
 but he said Mr. Haywood would be home the next day and they 
 would certainly have some news from Rodney. How long to wait! 
 Suspense prolonged the hours. The very minutes were counted ; by 
 one at least. She would fain have slept ; but the blessed boon was 
 not for her. 
 
 At length the shadows stretched away to the East, and the sun set 
 upon the day which had been an age to Endura. 
 
 General Ivers was at the village to meet his friend as soon as he 
 should arrive. He came, and it needed no words from the mer 
 chant s lips to tell that calamity had overtaken him. The bitter 
 reality must be made known, but the wretched man could not frame 
 words to tell it. 
 
 Taking a dispatch from his pocket he placed it in the hand of 
 General Ivers, saying he received it just before leaving his office in 
 the city. The following words had been sent by telegraph: 
 
2OO ENDURA : OR, 
 
 NEW ORLEANS, Aug. i, 18, - 
 
 To GEORGE HAYWOOD ESQ., No. 200 Essex St., L : It 
 
 is our painful duty to inform you that your son died this morning of 
 yellow fever. He was taken four days ago, but supposed he was 
 getting better until last evening, when he had a relapse and died at 
 9:50 this A. M. The remains will be buried immediately. Further 
 particulars by letter. FIBER & Co. 
 
 The great poet says, "The hand of little appointment hath 
 the daintier sense." Thereby meaning that custom hardens and 
 destroys our finer feelings. 
 
 There are many cruel things that we may become accustomed to, 
 but the removal of a dear friend by death, is not calculated to 
 prepare us for the easier parting with another. 
 
 The last sorrow is the greatest until another comes. How many 
 have said to themselves, "It is more than I can bear." But they 
 have born it and when the next great sorrow comes, they look back 
 and think how small the other, compared to this. 
 
 We may loose father, mother, brother and sister, but until our 
 own children bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh, are taken 
 from us, we have not known the real sorrow death can bring 
 into a household. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Haywood had lost near and dear friends, and they 
 have mourned, as others have mourned who have lost friends. 
 
 When Bernard Ivers died, the shock was great, not alone the 
 sudden taking off of the young man, but the sorrowing sympathy for 
 those dear friends who were left behind, was almost as great as the 
 realizing of the loss itself. 
 
 But what was that to them in comparison to the death of their own 
 dear son? 
 
 And such a death, at such a place and at such a time. Could it 
 be possible was it not a horrible dream ? No, sad sorrowing hearts, 
 it was not a dream. And yet you shall awake and smile again. 
 Time that blunts the lion s claws shall heal your wounds. The dark 
 clouds shall disperse, and you shall behold the glorious sunlight once 
 more. 
 
 General Ivers was speechless when he read the terrible news. He 
 seemed dazed, and clung to the dispatch as though he would read 
 more. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 2OI 
 
 His actions were so strange, that Mr. Haywood took him gently 
 by the arm and led him into the house. The doctor was sent for 
 immediately, and soon came; he pronounced it an attack of paralysis, 
 superinduced by great mental excitement. Mrs. Ivers and Endura 
 were sent for at once, and the messenger was instructed to say that 
 Rodney Haywood had died of yellow fever, and that upon reading 
 the dispatch, General Ivers lost his speech. But it was believed he 
 would recover. 
 
 It was a sorrowful errand to be sent upon, but the messenger was 
 soon on his way. When he reached the Ivers mansion he had not 
 even to make known his errand. 
 
 Endura opened the door and her first words were, "Where is 
 father? What has happened him ?" The man then said what he had 
 been told to say. Upon which the poor- young lady staggered, but 
 recovering herself, she called her mother who came at once, and 
 comprehended at a glance almost the exact situation. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers assisted Endura to the lounge, and told the man that 
 they would return with him in half an hour. 
 
 It was but little more than thirty minutes, before they were in the 
 wagon, and on the way to the village, where they found truly a house 
 of mourning. 
 
 Whether it was the ride or the open air, or whether the indomitable 
 will of Mrs. Ivers and her daughter that prepared them for the ordeal, 
 may never be known; but certain it was both Mrs. Ivers and Endura 
 were calm and collected, and at once set about caring for and 
 comforting those who needed their good offices. 
 
 The General appeared to recognize his wife and daughter, but of 
 course could utter no word. Mrs. Haywood and Clara were 
 prostrated, sobbing and fainting by turns. 
 
 To Endura was intrusted their welfare, while Mrs. Ivers attended 
 her husband. 
 
 Mr. Haywood was cool and collected, but from time to time his 
 emotions would so overcome him that he would sit down and bow 
 his head until tears came to his relief; then he would arise and 
 attend to his duties deliberately, as if they had been the routine of his 
 every day life. Some of the more sensible of the village people 
 offered to assist in anything which they could do. 
 
ENDURA: OR, 
 
 Even those who would have thought it almost sacrilegous to have 
 had Mr. Haywood enter their house, or tempting the devil to have 
 entered his, felt it a duty to go just because General Ivers was there 
 with no one but his wife to take care of him, whom they believed to 
 be a Christian woman. 
 
 Some of the ignorant, bitter bigots did not hesitate to say that it 
 was a visitation of God ; that God in his mercy had seen fit to step 
 in and remove young Haywood so that he might not be the means of 
 leading one away from the true God to worship false ones ; and they 
 insisted that had not General Ivers gone to meet that wicked man he 
 would not have been struck dumb. 
 
 Ignorance and superstition so abounded, and, in some portions of 
 the country, so abounds to-day. 
 
 There were some, however, who were independent enough to defy 
 such bigotry, and fly to the assistance of those in need. It would 
 not have mattered what might have been their religious belief, or if 
 they had none at all ; they might have been Mormons or Mohamed- 
 ans ; that they were in distress would have been sufficient reason for 
 them to lend a helping hand. Some of them were uncouth, but 
 really good-hearted people, coarse and profane as they appeared. 
 
 The second day following the General s attack, it was thought ad 
 visable to have him removed to his home which was done without ac 
 cident. 
 
 The good man appeared to realize that he was home, but further 
 signs of reason seemed to have left him. There had been a consul 
 tation of physicians in his case, but no satisfactory conclusion had 
 been reached, but the general impression was that he could not re 
 cover. 
 
 There was no lack of attention to the afflicted man. Endura de 
 voted all her time to her father, and the neighbors and friends from 
 far and near were constantly coming and going, some with the view 
 of assisting the family, but others out of idle curiosity or something 
 worse. 
 
 Joe Tartar called frequently to know if he could do anything for 
 them. They usually thanked him saying there was nothing. 
 
 For two weeks the man remained in that comatose state without 
 any apparent change. He had not been able to take any solid food 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 
 
 and there appeared to be a constant sinking. On the eighteenth day 
 there was a marked change and it was evident to all that the good 
 man could not live many hours. 
 
 He would open his eyes at times and look longingly and lovingly 
 upon his wife and daughter, and then close them and drop into the 
 stupor which had been from the first. 
 
 Upon the twientieth day he rallied, but soon after sank back and 
 breathed his last. 
 
 The death of General Ivers was not unlocked for nor unexpected. 
 Mrs. Ivers and her daughter were as much prepared as it was 
 possible for them to have been for such a calamity, for death is a 
 calamity. 
 
 We may call philosophy to our aid and say that death is a necessity. 
 That it is for the best that we die when we do. But it is hard to 
 reconcile our feelings with philosophy. 
 
 There may be instances when philosophy may agree with our 
 reason, though at variance with our feelings. The case of General 
 Ivers was one in point. There was a feeling of relief and thankfulness 
 when he was taken away, since he was dead to all even while he lived. 
 When a strong man becomes helpless and in distress, with no 
 possible chance for his recovery; when he is a burden to himself and 
 his friends; when stripped of all his earthly possessions, and the 
 means that made life a pleasure, when he is doomed to look want 
 and suffering in the face as long as he lives it is no wonder he is 
 anxious to go, and it is a mercy when he is taken and set free from 
 all the ills which flesh is heir to, and admitted to that rest which is 
 eternal. 
 
 When a child dies how much he is missed in his accustomed 
 place! What then must be the void when the good man himself is 
 taken away! 
 
 It had been scarcely three weeks since General Ivers enjoyed his 
 usual health, and now he lay near the son he loved so much, in the 
 little plot set apart for the final resting place of the Ivers family 
 the little snug nook in the corner of the meadow where three, 
 generations were laid down together to sleep the peaceful sleep of 
 death. 
 
 Three days after the dispatch, announcing the death of Rodney 
 
204 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 Hay wood, came a letter from Messrs. Fiber & Co., with the 
 particulars of his sickness and death. He had seated himself to 
 write a letter to his affianced, and had written a few lines which were 
 forwarded to Endura, inclosed in Mr. Haywood s letter. They were 
 but the preliminary lines to one of his affectionate epistles. 
 
 The last words ever traced by his stricken hand was characteristic 
 of the man. After the usual prelude he continued: 
 
 "I am feeling quite ill at this moment, but knowing that you will 
 expect a letter ere this can reach you, I felt that I must write a few 
 lines. I can scarcely hold my pen, and the words are so confused 
 remember, love, remember." 
 
 That was the last word which the dying young man could write. 
 
 The next day he was somewhat better, and the third day 
 he believed he was convalescing. When sudden unfavorable 
 symptoms showed themselves and in a few hours he was dead. 
 
 After the letter had been received there was nothing more to be 
 done but to bow in silence to the inevitable. Mr. Haywood set a 
 day upon which prayers would be offered, and an eulogy pronounced 
 upon his son. When the day arrived a minister came from the city 
 to officiate. He read several passages of Scripture, among others he 
 read the thirty-first psalm. 
 
 "In thee, O Lord do I put my trust; let me never be ashamed : 
 deliver me in thy righteousness." 
 
 The most of the chapter was read, the reader omitting such portions 
 as did not appear applicable to the present sorrowing appeal. 
 
 There were the usual comments by the rabid orthodox in the 
 neigborhood. 
 
 The general tenor was unfavorable to universalists and to Mr. 
 Haywood in particular. 
 
 The very idea of applying those beautiful words to any one with 
 his belief was almost sacrilege. 
 
 "But I trusted in thee, O Lord, I said Thou art my God." 
 
 There were some not as radical, who could see nothing wrong or 
 inconsistent in a universalist even saying he trusted in the Lord, or 
 in his asking forgiveness for his sins. Some intimated that there 
 was need enough for men who believed in such a doctrine to 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 205 
 
 seek for light. And there was no better place to find it than in the 
 Scriptures which we are commanded to search. 
 
 The Haywoods visited the widow Ivers and her daughter, and they 
 mingled their sorrows as in former days they were wont to blend 
 their joys. Mr. Hay wood undertook to assist the brave but sorrowing 
 woman in the farm work which began to require attention. When the 
 harvest was ended, Endura, through the influence of some of her 
 father s friends, secured the position of teacher in the district school, 
 where she had attended as a child, and where the kind offices of 
 Donald Kent first began, which were gratefully remembered by 
 her. The form of the kind brave boy would rise up before her in her 
 solitude, and she would wonder if she would ever see him again. 
 
 Endura applied herself closely to her duties, and made an excellent 
 record. At times she was almost happy. She sat at the same desk, 
 read the same books, and looked upon the same scenes that she had 
 looked upon when Donald was with her. 
 
 In those far off sunny days, all was bright and the ideal was truly 
 real. 
 
 Then she was happy, with father, mother, brother and friends; 
 with unclouded youth and no thought of sorrow. 
 
 What was she to-day ? A chastened woman, who had been tried 
 in the world s crucible. One who had suffered much and was ready 
 to say, "What next? I can suffer more. What more can befall me 
 that I have not endured ? " 
 
 Anon a shadow would flit past, and her affianced husband would 
 stand before her with his accustomed smile, and she could seem to 
 hear his voice as he uttered those endearing words, which were ever 
 on his tongue when he spoke to her, and then that last word written 
 upon the very threshold of death, "remember." 
 
 How could she forget ? And yet the reality of life was with her. 
 She must work, necessity demanded it, and what ever her feelings 
 might be, work she must. 
 
 Work is often a blessing. So with her when her hands were 
 occupied her thoughts were diverted from that channel, which had 
 been worn deep by sorrow. She had her mother to think of and to 
 work for. Her mother who after all had been her best friend. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers was indeed a noble woman, she had never been heard 
 
206 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 to complain of their misfortunes. Once or twice she had been heard 
 to say: 
 
 "If we could get what belongs to us, we would not suffer." 
 
 The words had little significance for any one who heard them, but 
 it occured to Endura one day to ask her mother what she meant. 
 She was then told one of the great secrets of her life, and who her 
 father was. And how he had been banished or rather banished him 
 self from his native country. And how his estate had been confis 
 cated because he refused to join the Standard of Napoleon. 
 
 Some writings were brought to light which seemed to corroborate 
 all that Mrs. Ivers had said. There were also some relics which she 
 had preserved which would be additional, if not incontrovertible 
 proofs of what she had asserted. 
 
 Endura had seen those curios from time to time, but she had 
 never supposed that they had any significance beyond other keep 
 sakes and heirlooms. She had also seen among the neighbors some 
 articles of vertu or bric-a-brac, which had been purchased at the auc 
 tion sale of her grandfather Dubrow s effects. Some of the articles 
 were of intrinsic value, such as for instance, one or two silver cups, 
 beautifully engraved with an elaborate monogram, as well as some 
 odd pieces of china, which were also marked with like characters. 
 
 There were two or three pieces of antique tapestry, one of which 
 had the same monogram wrought in silk and exquisitely shaded, 
 which Mrs. Ivers had preserved with great care and which was of 
 especial interest to her lady friends as a sampler to work after, for 
 which purpose it had often been loaned, with injunctions not to soil 
 or loan it, as it was about the only thing that she possessed which 
 showed her mother s handiwork. 
 
 Endura gave it no more than a passing thought as something 
 beautiful in execution, but beyond that of no value whatever. It 
 could not be used for a bedspread or for a tablecloth, nor was it food 
 or raiment ; simply some exquisite needlework done by her grand 
 mother. 
 
 Spring came, and as Mrs. Ivers did not intend to keep the farm, 
 it was turned over to the bank to be disposed of as they might think 
 proper ; they, as will be remembered, having a mortgage upon the 
 same upon which the interest had not been paid, which together with 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 2OJ 
 
 the principal would be fully as much as the place would bring if sold 
 under the hammer. The bank could not do less than take the farm 
 and give up the note, which had been given by General Ivers when 
 he set his son up in business. 
 
 The place was offered immediately for rent and was taken by a 
 neighboring family to be cultivated upon shares, said farmer to occupy 
 one-half of the Ivers mansion. The other half with the garden and 
 hay enough for one cow, was reserved by the bank for the widow, for 
 which, in consideration of her husband s having been a director of 
 the bank and of their great misfortune, the rent was nominal. 
 
 Small as the rent was, it would have been more than she could 
 have paid except for the sale of some cattle and movables which a 
 little more than paid another of the General s notes of hand. After all 
 debts had been paid the widow had the furniture in the house, one 
 cow and some poultry and a few dollars in ready money. And so the 
 third spring opened with the Ivers family after the departure of 
 Donald Kent upon his difficult and uncertain mission. Mrs. Ivers 
 and her daughter received frequent letters from their faithful friend 
 across the water. 
 
 Of late quite a different tone had been noticed in his correspon 
 dence. It really did seem as though his long search was about to be 
 rewarded. The last letter which he had written was more encour 
 aging than any which he had written. 
 
 He wrote Mrs. Ivers that he was in that part of France where her 
 father and mother were supposed to hail from, and that possibly some 
 clue might be found which would lead to the discovery of her people 
 if she could but forward him some written documents, with any fam 
 ily relics or heirlooms of which they might be possessed. He also 
 sent an order on Messrs. Stern & Strong of Boston, for $100 with 
 which Mrs. Ivers was to secure any of those articles which had been 
 sold at the auction sale of her father s effects. The articles so pur 
 chased, with written documents in her possession, as well as her own 
 affidavit as to who she was, with such facts as could be proven with 
 the further account of the shipwreck and loss of her father and 
 mother; all of which could be proven by the newspapers of the day, 
 as well as by other documentary evidence, such as the identical letter 
 which Mr. Dubrow had received from France advising him of the 
 
2o8 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 change in the government and of the almost certainty of his reinstate 
 ment in his possessions. 
 
 This letter was the first indication that was had of an unclaimed 
 estate in France, and came in possession of the man who first under 
 took to secure the property in a very mysterious manner, which he 
 did not even wish to disclose to Stern & Strong. The man never 
 supposed that any one survived who could lay claim to the estate. 
 
 He never for a moment supposed that de Brue could have been 
 tortured into Dubrow, and besides all that, nearly a quarter of a cen 
 tury had elapsed and no one had come forward to lay claim to the 
 property. When the individual laid the matter before the great law 
 firm, he was supposed to be acting in behalf of the heirs of " Luis de 
 Brue," which he claimed to have found. 
 
 Messrs. Stern & Strong first required a retaining fee, which was not 
 small, and then all expenses were to be paid during the investigation, 
 should it take one year or five to accomplish the work, all of which 
 conditions were agreed to by the party claiming to represent the heirs. 
 The man who negotiated with the lawyers did not pretend to be an 
 heir, but simply acted for the heirs as counsellor and adviser. 
 
 He pretended that it was left in his hands to do with as he might 
 think proper. And as he knew that Stern & Strong had correspon 
 dents in France, and besides that they were particular friends of the 
 United States minister, resident there, he very naturally concluded that 
 they would be the best lawyers he could interest in the case. Who 
 shall say his reasoning was not good? 
 
 When Mrs. Ivers received Donald s last letter, she sent to Stern 
 Strong for the money, which they forwarded to her immediately. 
 Upon the receipt of this she went to Mr. Haywood and made ar 
 rangements for him to purchase at any reasonable rate, as many of 
 the desirable articles as could be found which had been sold by her 
 father. 
 
 Mr. Haywood, well knowing the characters with whom he had to 
 deal, used considerable strategy in accomplishing his purpose. At last 
 the coveted articles were secured. The beautiful silver tankard from 
 old Mrs. Tartar was purchased, for which the peddler had to pay a 
 good round price. For although she was very old and childish she 
 knew the value of money ; besides a beautiful pair of silver-bowed 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 209 
 
 spectacles, presented to her by the astute peddler, assisted to over 
 come her scruples about parting with the treasure. 
 
 When Joe Tartar came home, the peddler was gone, and with him 
 the highly prized tankard. Joe was almost wild; he cursed his 
 mother, and told her she had ruined him; he said that tankard to him 
 was like the magic lamp to Aladdin. 
 
 The old lady told him what a large price she had got for it, besides 
 the kind hearted man had given her a new pair of silver-bowed spec 
 tacles, with which she could see to thread the finest needle. The 
 old woman could not understand why her son was so angry and 
 abused her so, just because she had sold the tankard, when he never 
 seemed to care for it. 
 
 Since the return of Joe Tartar from his long exile no one knew 
 where, he had, from time to time, received letters from the city, and 
 it was but fair to conclude that they were from his old associates. 
 On two or three occasions he had made trips to the city, when he 
 would be absent for quite a long time, but as it was no one s business, 
 very little was thought of it. On two occasions he had been visited 
 by a strange man with a foreign accent. The dress of the stranger 
 was somewhat peculiar and quite marked; his hair was black and 
 fell to his shoulders; smooth-shaven, except a moustache which was 
 very black and very heavy; his hands were white and delicate, and 
 showed no signs of ever having done any work. 
 
 Upon one occasion, Joe drove the man around the country and 
 over the old Dubrow place. The reader will remember that when 
 Mr. Dubrow s effects were disposed of, people came from 
 far and near; some from motives of mere curiosity, and some 
 with a view of purchasing something at the sale. Among 
 the others who attended, was Mrs. Tartar and Joe, who was 
 then an overgrown and vulgar boy. One after another, the 
 pieces of bric-a-brac were disposed of. They were purchased by 
 the neighbors for the most part. Mrs. Tartar bid on a silver tankard 
 which was elaborately engraved with a coat of arms and a monogram. 
 She being the highest bidder it was knocked down to her; the auc 
 tioneer passed it to Joe who accidentally lifted the top which fitted 
 closely into the base, leaving a space between the top and bottom, 
 into which was jammed a paper with some writing on it. No sooner 
 
210 
 
 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 did Joe discover the paper than he pushed the top hard down and 
 turned suddenly away. Sliding up behind a door as though forced 
 there by the crowd against his will, he pulled up the top and took out 
 the paper unobserved, immediately replacing the top as if it had not 
 been moved, and then with considerable apparent impatience he told 
 his mother to take her old pot herself, for he did not want to take 
 care of it any longer. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE LAST DOCUMENT. 
 
 Oft what seems 
 
 A trifle, a mere nothing, by itself 
 
 In some nice situation turns the scale 
 
 Of fate, and rules the most important actions. 
 
 Thompsons Taucred and Sigismanda. 
 
 MRS. Tartar relieved her much abused boy of his responsibility 
 by taking charge of the treasure herself. When the sale was 
 concluded, Joe went home with his mother and scolded her all the 
 way for buying the old trumpery. He said it was nothing but pew 
 ter, just washed over any way, and that she had paid twice what it 
 was worth. The poor old woman almost felt sorry she had attended 
 the sale at all, to be so imposed upon. 
 
 The next day Mr. Dubrow called upon Mrs. Tartar and told her 
 that there was a paper in the bottom of the tankard of some value 
 to him, and he wished she would allow him to take it as it could not 
 be of any possible use to her. 
 
 She immediately went for the article and gave it into his hands. 
 He opened it, but much to his surprise found no paper. Mr. 
 Dubrow was greatly puzzled, and Mrs. Tartar called Joe, who 
 was about the house. She asked him if he saw any paper in the 
 bottom of the tankard. Joe, thinking that possibly some one might 
 have noticed him when he took it out and secreted it, put a bold 
 face on the matter and promptly answered yes. He said there 
 was an old crumpled piece of paper, with some writing on it, 
 which he took out and threw in the fire. He noticed the effect 
 that his information had on Mr. Dubrow, which more than ever con 
 firmed him in the belief that he had secured a treasure, though he 
 could not read a single word of its contents. 
 
 Of course Mr. Dubrow was very much shocked, and regretted his 
 loss beyond measure, while Mrs. Tartar said it was too bad, and Joe 
 said he was sorry. Joe Tartar did not allow that paper to leave his 
 
212 ENDURA I OR, 
 
 possession until he made the acquaintance of Mons. Trecher, who 
 pretended to be a professor of music. Joe first knew him as a 
 patron of the stable, while he was a hanger-on there. Their ac 
 quaintance ripened into friendship, and finally he became Joe s most 
 confidential friend, one to whom he trusted all his secrets, and was 
 apparently honored by having the professor confide some of his 
 affairs to him. 
 
 Joe was foolish enough to let his smooth-tongued friend into the 
 little arrangement he had with old Bogus Smith, as he was called, 
 and although Joe did not realize it at the time, that act put him com 
 pletely in the power of Mons. Trecher. 
 
 Joe always supposed the Professor had plenty of money. He 
 even gave Joe a dollar, now and then, when he was particularly 
 prompt in bringing his horse, or doing any other favor for him, which 
 Joe was at all times ready to do. Joe had really become a great 
 admirer of his long-haired friend. He had told him of some of his 
 little escapades, which appeared to amuse the Professor, who would 
 adroitly draw him out until he knew enough of him, according to his 
 own words, to send him to the penitentiary. Gradually it dawned 
 upon Joe that his friend, of whom he thought so much, was a con 
 fidence man and a gambler, one of the most dangerous kind, 
 smooth, oily and debonair, but wily, cunning and dangerous to 
 the very last degree. 
 
 Gamblers are not always flush, and Mons. Trecher was no excep 
 tion to the rule. A time came when he must have money, and in 
 such quantities as his precarious winnings would not supply. The 
 police had made raids upon his haunts and broken them up. But, 
 as usual, the Professor was not to be found; or, if almost taken in 
 the act, he would turn and assist the officers to run the thieves to the 
 ground, usually managing to get the officers upon the wrong track, 
 while he advised the real culprits what to do, and how to escape. 
 
 Business had been dull. There were no games running, and 
 Mons. Trecher was hard up, as were all of his friends. In his strait 
 he applied to Joe Tartar, who was as hard up as himself. The Pro 
 fessor pretended great distress, and he told Joe that unless he had a 
 very large sum of money immediately, he was liable to go to prison, 
 and if he did go, there were others who were sure to go with him. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 2 13 
 
 But he said if he could get a few hundred dollars he could defy 
 the law and go to a distant city and open a game upon his own 
 account ; and, for that matter, Joe could go with him and share his 
 fortunes. Joe protested that he did not have so much money, and 
 did not know how he could raise it. 
 
 At last the Professor suggested that Joe write to his mother for the 
 amount. Joe said she did not have so much, upon which the heart 
 less scoundrel insisted that she must sell enough of her property to 
 raise the amount. Joe protested that he could not write to his mother 
 for money in that way. 
 
 " Very well," says the villain, " then I will write for you " ; saying 
 which he took a pen and wrote as follows : 
 
 "L , Aug. 15, 1 8 . 
 
 " DEAR MOTHER : 
 
 I am in great distress. I have been robbed and am now con 
 fined by the same robbers until I can ransom myself. The amount 
 they demand is eight hundred dollars, which if they do not receive 
 within ten days my life will be forfeited. I beg of you to raise it 
 at once, but do not mention it to any one. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 JOSEPH TARTAR." 
 
 The heartless scoundrel read it over to Joe and jestingly said he 
 guessed that would bring the old woman to terms. He then ordered 
 Joe to sign it, which the cowardly wretch finally did. 
 
 In due time the money came, and then Monsieur Trecher invited 
 Joe to go with him to New York to open business, which at last Joe 
 consented to do ; and so he spent most of his time during his long 
 absence from home, when his whereabouts was known to no one but 
 his mother. 
 
 The game which Mrs. Tartar s money started proved a paying one. 
 Joe was of great assistance in roping in the unwary. And when 
 ever he succeeded in making a big haul he would have an extra allow 
 ance, which he would forward to his mother, until the poor old 
 woman had received back most of the money which she had sent to 
 secure, as she supposed, her son s release. In the meanwhile Mon 
 sieur Trecher had become rich, and had, if possible, more influence 
 than ever over Joe. 
 
 It was at about this time that Joe produced the letter which he 
 
214 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 found in the tankard, and which he had kept very close, not even 
 showing it to his good friend, the Professor, until now. 
 
 That worthy glanced over it and said it was in French, so badly 
 written that he would be obliged to study it some before he could 
 make it all out and he requested Joe to let him take it for a day or 
 so until he could decipher it, when he would translate it to Joe. 
 
 He kept it for several days and then, as Joe supposed, returned it 
 to him. After reading to him its contents, which proved to be 
 according to his translation, some sort of a scandal in which the 
 Dubrows were concerned. 
 
 In fact the scandal was about themselves. In connection with 
 what purported to be an adopted daughter, of whom the wife became 
 jealous. The very story which Joe had told his friend years before, 
 which fact had entirely escaped Joe s memory, but he did remember 
 hearing something about some scandal of the kind when he was 
 quite young. And so there really was some foundation for the 
 rumor of Annette Dubrow being an adopted child, as well as her 
 having been the mistress of Dubrow at the time they were on the 
 farm as well as afterwards. 
 
 The letter had the appearance of being the same one which Joe 
 gave the professor. It was broken and crumpled, the paper was the 
 same and the ink was the same. 
 
 But the letter was quite different, though the contents were 
 doubtless just as interesting to Joe as would have been that of the 
 real letter. Joe was delighted to be in possession of such a 
 document. Something that he could hold over the heads of the 
 I ver s whenever he should choose. 
 
 The wily professor intended to put the real letter to quite a 
 different use. 
 
 Be it known he did not make any pretentions to being himself an 
 heir to the estate which he was working so to secure. But being as he 
 claimed the attorney, in fact for the heirs, and knowing of the 
 influence which could be brought to bear upon the French Gov 
 ernment by Messrs. Stern & Strong through the U. S. Minister and 
 consul at Marseilles, he thought it advisable to give the case into 
 their hands. 
 
 In the meantime he was to secure such testimony as would be 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 215 
 
 important in the case, with such family heirlooms as he might be 
 able to find. 
 
 Joe Tartar was to assist him in hunting up things that had been 
 sold at the Dubrow sale, which will account for the mortification and 
 chagrin of Joe when he learned that a peddler had gone off with the 
 tankard, the very thing upon which he had relied most, and one 
 which he had promised Mons. Trecher should be forthcoming at the 
 proper time. What then must have been the feelings of a cowardly 
 soul like his when he went before his master and told him of 
 the loss. He was well berated by the Professor and told that his 
 stupidity might lose them the case yet. 
 
 Joe made every effort to repair the loss, and hurriedly went from 
 place to place where he knew some of the coveted articles had been 
 purchased. But strange enough, the peddler had been there before 
 him and secured the articles, so that Joe was compelled to report 
 non-success to his principal, which so enraged Monsieur Trecher that 
 he could not find words to abuse his confederate sufficiently. He 
 told him that he believed that he and that d d peddler were in 
 league against him. 
 
 " But," said he, " if I catch you at it, the lives of either of you will 
 not be worth a d m." 
 
 Joe was considerably frightened as he felt he alone was left to take 
 the curses, while the peddler had gone no one knew where, and was 
 perfectly safe. 
 
 When he went home that night, the poor old woman, his mother, 
 came in for an extra share of abuse ; and when she tried to remon 
 strate with him in her feeble way, he tipped her chair over and threw 
 her upon the floor and went out, slamming the door behind him, 
 without waiting to see whether his mother would be able to rise or 
 not. 
 
 He went to the village and hung around the saloon all day until 
 dark, when he returned to his home. 
 
 He saw no light, which somewhat surprised him. Opening the 
 door softly he looked in. What a sight met his eye ! There lay his 
 mother just as he had thrown her out of her chair, face downward 
 upon the floor cold in death. 
 
 Joe was shocked and immediately gave the alarm. Soon some of 
 
216 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 the neighbors came in and the natural conclusion was that the old 
 woman had had a fit and fallen out of the chair and died. 
 
 Joe seemed very much affected and said what a good mother he 
 had lost. He was anxious that everything should be done that could 
 be to show his reverence and love for his mother. 
 
 The old lady s body was placed in a beautiful casket, and laid 
 away with many marks of respect by the neighbors and friends of the 
 deceased. 
 
 After the death of Mrs. Tartar Joe appeared very much changed. 
 He attended church regularly, and people began to say what a good 
 man Mr. Tartar had turned out to be. 
 
 Joe had become a constant visitor to the Widow Ivers ; and, all 
 things considered, his calls were not disagreeable to the amiable widow 
 and her charming daughter. At least, not to Mrs. Ivers, who con 
 sidered it very kind of him to call and see if he could be of any as 
 sistance to them. 
 
 Endura had somewhat different feelings. She was inclined to 
 avoid him ; always treating him with chilling politeness, nothing more. 
 
 Of course Joe could not help feeling that he was no favorite with 
 the daughter, whatever he might be with the mother, which fact made 
 him all the more anxious to secure her favors than he otherwise 
 would have been. 
 
 Upon a number of occasions he had been left alone with Endura, 
 which had given him an opportunity to make known his feelings 
 toward her. 
 
 She would change the subject very adroitly, but he would return to 
 it almost immediately. 
 
 He asked her why she treated him so coldly. Why she could not 
 love him. He said he would be her slave and he, knew he could 
 make her happy. She thanked him for the honor, but made all sorts 
 of excuses. 
 
 He told her he had a good home which should be hers and her 
 mothers as long as they lived. But it was of no use. She could not 
 love him, and she told him so. 
 
 That voluntary assertion on her part cast the die. From that day 
 he was her enemy and began to torment her. He put the report in 
 circulation that her mother was a bad woman ; that she had been 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 2 17 
 
 the mistress of her adopted father, and of her own father General 
 Ivers, before she married him. 
 
 He showed the bogus letter as a proof of what he said. True 
 enough the letter was in French, but there were plenty who had read 
 it, and all translated it the same, and not a few of the older in 
 habitants of the town remembered hearing some such talk when they 
 were young, which seemed to strengthen the rumor. Even those 
 who had been intimate with the family and liked them very much, 
 thought there might be something in the rumor. Still they did not 
 believe but what she was a true noble woman, and retained her as 
 their friend. Among her most staunch reliable friends was Mr. 
 Haywood and his family, notwithstanding that persistent endeavors 
 had been made to poison their minds against them. 
 
 On one occasion Joe Tartar had waylaid Endura in the woods 
 and openly insulted her; at the same time he defied her and dared 
 her to expose him. 
 
 Endura told her mother who advised her daughter to say nothing 
 about it, as some of the neighbors would not believe it, and it would 
 only lead to a controversy which would in no way benefit her. 
 
 At another time he went to the house when he knew she was alone, 
 and made indecent proposals to her, and finally assaulted her person, 
 and attempted to commit further outrages which she succeeded in 
 preventing. 
 
 Endura could not but inform her mother of his insults and attempts 
 at outrage. Which so incensed the good woman against him that 
 she wrote him a note, and threatened him with the punishment which 
 the law meted out for such offences. This rather frightened the bully, 
 and he took his leave for parts unknown. They supposed he had 
 gone to the city to mingle with his boon companions. At all events 
 he was not seen in S for a long time after. 
 
 When Joe Tartar left the town where his presence had become 
 intolerable to some of the people at least, he went directly to see his 
 friend, the professor, who did not appear especially delighted to see 
 him, but who was glad to get any information which Joe had to give, 
 which, at that time, was quite meagre. 
 
 One thing, however, interested the unprincipled voluptuary ; and 
 that was that he had accomplished his purpose with the , young lady 
 
218 
 
 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 whom they met upon their last visit to S , and for whom they 
 
 expressed such admiration. 
 
 The feelings of the accomplished scroundel were conflicting. One 
 was to kick the low-bred villian who would make such a boast, and 
 another was to learn more that he might gratify his own lecherous 
 passions. 
 
 Joe was very anxious to know how the matter was getting on. He 
 did not have any distinct idea of what the Professor was doing, but 
 doubtless he thought Monsieur Trecher intended to get something 
 by blackmail, or in some other disreputable manner. 
 
 When told that his neglect to secure the relics had about ruined 
 their chances for getting anything, as an unsubstantiated letter assert 
 ed that, and so was very poor evidence. 
 
 Joe s stupid brain would seem to comprehend that much, but he 
 had some slight suspicions of his Frenchy friend. He longed to tell 
 him what he thought. But his cowardly nature shrank from the 
 result as from a pestilence. 
 
 Monsieur Trecher had not been idle during all this time. True, 
 as he had said, an unsupported letter could have but little weight in 
 a matter of such vast importance. 
 
 He had not been able to secure certain articles which would have 
 been of great value as adjuncts in connection with the letter, but he 
 had found an heir, or rather, had improvised one, in the person of a 
 young French woman who had been his mistress, and who had a 
 daughter by him then living, about four years of age. The 
 woman had been taught her lesson well, and told that a successful 
 terminaton of the matter would make her rich beyond compare. 
 
 Although the wretch had long since abandoned her for another, he 
 had now a use for her and pretended to rekindle the old flame in 
 order to better accomplish his ends. 
 
 Being an expert penman, any documents that might throw light 
 upon the matter were readily produced in such a manner and on 
 such paper as to all appearances made them genuine. Such accumula 
 ted documentary evidence was handed over to Messrs. Stern & Strong, 
 for them to use as they saw fit. 
 
 So much additional evidence coming in so late had a suspicious 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 219 
 
 look about it which did not escape the shrewd lawyers. But the 
 originals were all forwarded to Donald Kent for his examination and 
 use, as were also the family heirlooms and articles of vertu which the 
 peddler had secured, as well as the articles sent. 
 
220 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 OLD LETTERS. 
 
 Letters admit not of a half renown, 
 They give you nothing, or they give a crown. 
 
 Young. 
 
 Why, how now, gentlemen ! 
 What see you in those papers that you lose 
 So much complexion? 
 
 Henry V. 
 
 WE left Donald Kent in the cottage of the keeper of the Chateau 
 Vieux. He had passed an excited and restless night, and was 
 glad when the sun came forth to smile upon the landscape and blaze 
 in varied flames upon the colored windows of the old castle. He 
 had agreed with the old keeper to have another look at the ruin 
 before he should leave the neighborhood. The old man had some 
 duties to perform in the village below the bluff, and as he would like 
 to do his errands in the cool of the morning, he requested Donald 
 to take the key himself, and when he would be through looking, to 
 return the key to its place, which Donald promised to do, but said 
 he hoped to see his friend again, at the same time slipping a small 
 gold coin into the old man s hand, and bidding him good-bye. 
 
 It was not long before Donald Kent found himself in the damp 
 old castle, which now appeared more lonely than before, as he 
 knew he was the only human being in or about the ivy-shrouded old 
 pile. He had plenty of time to study the architecture, and peer into 
 dark closets. But the first thing which claimed his attention was the 
 old papers and letters, yellow with age and covered with the ac 
 cumulated dust of years. He was there for the purpose of getting 
 information, and what more likely to give him the information he 
 wanted than these same old letters, which had been kicked about un 
 heeded for more than half a century. 
 
 The letters were mostly written to the former lord of the castle, 
 some upon political matters, and some pertaining to personal affairs. 
 Donald read a great many, until it became somewhat tiresome. Still 
 
THREE GENERATIONS 221 
 
 he persevered, which he would not have done had he not had strong 
 hopes that something would develop to his advantage. No one had 
 ever visited the castle before with the same incentive, not even the 
 officers of the law who went to arrest the occupant so many years 
 before, and who carelessly pulled over the papers, expecting, no 
 doubt, to find proof of his disloyalty among them. 
 
 All of a sudden the word " Boston " arrested his attention. Seiz 
 ing the dirty old scrap, he tried to read what was written upon it, and 
 with difficulty made out that the writer was living not far from Bos 
 ton, and advising his friend, Marquis de Brue, to come directly to 
 that place with his wife and child. 
 
 The writer continued, saying it was a fearful thing to be driven 
 forth to suffer so much just because one happened to think and feel 
 differently upon political matters. It was especially cruel for his wife 
 and daughter, poor little Annette, who could know nothing of what 
 it was for; to be deprived of their beautiful home and cast out upon 
 the world. Still it would be better to lose his property than lose 
 his head. "For," said the writer, "the property may be restored, 
 but it would be difficult to furnish a new head to the same body." 
 
 The signature was torn off, but the letter itself was of great im 
 portance. That, with a number of others, were secured by Donald, 
 who wrote a note and left it for the keeper, saying that he had taken 
 some old scraps of paper and one or two old letters which, if it 
 would be agreeable, he would be glad to keep as mementoes. Thank 
 ing the old man for his kindness, he signed his name and took his 
 departure. 
 
 When Donald Kent reached his hotel in town that night, he found 
 two quite large packages marked with his name, which the express 
 had delivered in his absence. They had been sent all the way from 
 Boston, United States of America. He ordered the packages sent 
 to his room, and there with a hammer and chisel he opened them. 
 
 The first thing that arrested his attention was the silver tankard, 
 which he had seen several times at Mrs. Tartar s. Then came some 
 more relics which had been purchased at the Dubrow sale, and lastly 
 came the letter which was found in the bottom of the tankard, with a 
 note from Messrs. Stern & Strong, stating just the particulars as to 
 how it was found and by whom, giving no names, but saying that it 
 
ENDURA : OR, 
 
 was discovered by the son of the woman who had purchased the 
 article, which to Donald Kent was equivalent to telling name and 
 all. 
 
 But it was something of a mystery to Donald as to how the tankard 
 and the letter could have been secured, knowing the parties so well. 
 Upon reading Messrs. Stern & Strong s letter the whole mystery was 
 solved. 
 
 They wrote Donald that a certain Frenchman who claimed to be 
 acting for the heirs, who was none other than their client, had 
 furnished the money in the beginning and up to the present time to 
 make the researches ; this same man who had promised so much had 
 only been able to produce the letter, saying all the other articles, 
 which would be strong, corroborative, proof had been stolen. 
 
 The lawyers further wrote that in their opinion a great fraud was 
 being attempted, that their client was the perpetrator, and 
 that he was trying to make them a party to it. As a proof that it 
 was so, they forwarded two or three letters which they said they had 
 every reason to believe were forgeries. 
 
 "Furthermore," wrote they, "the man has never brought forward the 
 pretended heirs until within a few days, which is very suspicious to 
 say the least. The manner of securing the letter was against him, 
 which was evidently placed in the tankard as the safest place to keep 
 it ; no one for a moment supposing that the article had a false bottom 
 unless they handled it, and it happened to fall out, as was in reality, 
 the case." They wrote that while they had acted in good faith thus 
 far with the man whom they now believed to be a bad and dangerous 
 person, they felt like abandoning his case, now that they were so 
 well convinced that he was an impostor. 
 
 They wished to know if any new developments had been made 
 which promised speedy solution of the matter. If not, perhaps, it 
 would be better to give up and return home. Certainly one letter 
 with no corroborative proofs was rather a weak reed to rest upon in a 
 case of such magnitude, where there was so much at stake. They 
 also gave him some good legal advice pertaining to inter 
 national law ; also the law of tenure and recovery. 
 
 Donald had already given these matters much thought and study, 
 and the conclusions he had come to did not differ greatly from theirs. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 223 
 
 But he was in no wise inclined to abandon a matter that was so near 
 a favorable termination as was the case he had in hand. Besides he 
 thought that something was due a community. That instead of let 
 ting such villians go unpunished, simply because they had found out 
 too late that they were attempting to commit a great wrong and fraud 
 not only upon good, worthy people, but upon a friendly nation. 
 
 He wrote his principals that as ready as he might be to abandon 
 the suit, as far as their original client went, he could not think of giving 
 it up in the interest of the bona fide heirs; that they might withdraw 
 from the case as hopeless, as far as their client was con 
 cerned, and join him in contesting it for another party, or they might 
 abandon it altogether. He then told them of the new discoveries 
 which he had made, and concluded by saying that with what he had 
 gathered in his three years residence there, with recent new develop 
 ments, and the important proofs which he had received from them, he 
 felt safe in going ahead and making his demand. And with that 
 view of the matter, if they thought it advisable, he would communi 
 cate with the United States minister plenipotentiary to the empire, and 
 also to the Consul at Marseilles, immediately upon receipt of letters 
 from them signifying their concurrence. 
 
 He said that he was just as sure as he could be that their client was 
 a disreputable adventurer as well as a villain. But he had uninten 
 tionally put them in possession of facts, whereby honest, worthy peo 
 ple might get what rightfully belonged to them. Though his plan was 
 to rob unwittingly, he might become a benefactor, and it was but just 
 and honorable that his pretended claim should be properly represented. 
 
 He believed with them that a single letter, unsupported by any 
 other facts, no matter how important as an adjunct, would be of but 
 little account in a case like the one they had in charge. He was well 
 satisfied that the other letters and documents which he presented, 
 were frauds, and that if they produced them before any Court of Jus 
 tice or commission they would injure the case and perhaps make him 
 appear ridiculous. 
 
 He said one thing was certain, and that was that the genuine letter 
 had been stolen, and in his opinion it had been twice stolen, for he 
 did not believe Mons. Trecher was the original thief. But just how 
 the latter individual obtained it, it was hard to say. 
 
224 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 Perhaps it might be well for them to try to ascertain that fact be 
 fore proceeding farther. Even before they should write, which he 
 hoped might be by the " Belgic " on her return trip. He then 
 gave them his theory, and advised them to have Joe Tartar inter 
 viewed in regard to the truth or falsity of it, which he said they could 
 easily do by putting a shrewd detective at work. He urged upon 
 Messrs. Stern & Strong the great importance of prompt action. As 
 he said, the iron was now hot and they must strike immediately. 
 
 When the great Boston lawyers read his letter, they were more than 
 ever satisfied that they had the right man in the right place, and 
 they determined to see him through at all hazards. 
 
 Their first move was to put a detective on the track of Joe Tartar, 
 and for that purpose they sent for their old friend Sharp, who had 
 worked up cases for them before. They selected Mr. Sharp because 
 they had confidence in his tact^ and ability, and because he had been 
 long in the business and had a great deal of experience, and lastly 
 they knew him to be honest and trustworthy. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 JOE TARTAR AWAKENED. 
 
 His air, his voice, his looks, and honest soul 
 
 Speak all so movingly in his behalf, 
 
 I dare not trust myself to hear him talk. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 MR. SHARP was soon in communication with Mr. Tartar, and 
 without telling him who he was or what he wanted the infor 
 mation for, he asked him what became of the letter which he found in 
 the tankard which his mother purchased at the Dubrow sale so many 
 years ago. Joe said he had burned it up. 
 
 " If that is the case," said Mr. Sharp, " how is it that Mons. Trecher 
 has the same letter in his possession ? " 
 
 This sudden flank movement had the desired effect. Joe asked 
 the detective how he knew Mons. Trecher had the letter. 
 
 Mr. Sharp told him that it did not matter. He had not come to 
 him to give information without getting some in return. The truth 
 seemed to dawn upon Joe all at once that he had been duped, 
 and his first impulse was to make a clean breast of it. So he 
 
 blurted out, " I thought that the d d scoundrel was playing me !" 
 
 when it suddenly occurred to him to try a little parley. 
 
 Mr. Sharp had seen and heard enough to convince him that he was 
 on the right scent. When he very coolly asked Joe if he did not 
 know what kind of a man Mons. Trecher was. And he went on to 
 tell him things which astonished the unwary Joe and caused him 
 to open his mouth and ventilate some of his bad English against the 
 Professor. 
 
 Mr. Sharp said he was surprised that knowing him as he supposed 
 he, Mr. Tartar, did that he should place such an important document 
 in his hands. 
 
 Joe then admitted that he had preserved the paper, and as he 
 could not read French he handed it to the Professor to translate it 
 for him, which he did, and returned it to him some days after. 
 
226 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 Mr Sharp asked if he was quite sure that it was the same letter 
 which he gave Trecher that was returned to him. Joe seemed very 
 much disturbed and changed color suddenly, and then he asked the 
 detective if he could read French writings. 
 
 Mr. Sharp said he could make out a letter, when Joe promptly 
 produced his letter carefully wrapped in several thicknesses of paper. 
 The document was somewhat worn and a little discolored, but the 
 keen eye of the detective noticed some certain peculiarities which he 
 remembered to have observed in the letters then in possession of 
 Messrs. Stern & Strong, written by Mons. Trecher, as well as others 
 which were pretended to have been written in France. At all events 
 thought he, the letter theory of the lawyers is correct. 
 
 The interview of the detective with Joe Tartar was quite satisfac 
 tory. He had learned that what had been suspected was really true; 
 that the gullible Joe, who had attempted to steal the letter and had 
 done so from the owner, had in turn been adroitly robbed of the 
 same himself by his trusted, but too cunning, confederate. The above 
 facts he communicated to his employers, which information gave 
 them great satisfaction. It tallied so well with the theory advanced 
 by Donald Kent. 
 
 The next time Trecher called, which was within a day or two, they 
 told him that they had heard from their agent in France. That he 
 had received the letters which they had forwarded to him, which 
 he, Trecher, had handed them to present as evidence in the case, and 
 that their correspondent wrote that only one of all the letters appeared to 
 be genuine, and that he would not dare place them before a court or 
 commission, as they would prove an injury rather than strengthen 
 their case. And farther, that their agent was getting impatient, and 
 unless the other proofs which had been so long promised were forth 
 coming immediately he should- withdraw from the case, as he did 
 not wish to appear ridiculous by presuming to contest a case of such 
 importance upon such slender evidence. 
 
 This information was apparently taken quite coolly. But the ex 
 perienced lawyers could see that the cunning rascal was acting a 
 part. In spite of his self-control and cool appearance, he was evi 
 dently much annoyed. He said he had furnished a great deal of 
 money for carrying on the case, and that he had been led to believe 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 
 
 227 
 
 that it was progressing favorably, and that the letters which he had 
 placed in their hands, and the woman and her daughter, which were, 
 without doubt, the legal heirs, had been brought before them. And 
 now, at this late day, all his hopes were to be dashed to the ground, 
 and all the money he had furnished might as well have been thrown 
 into the sea. 
 
 They reasoned with him, and told him that he had not fulfilled his 
 agreement, which was to furnish some articles of plate, and other 
 family relics, which would have been strong supporting proof to the 
 letter, which had been decided to be genuine. The interview of the 
 lawyers with their client ended, but not to the satisfaction of all 
 parties concerned. 
 
 Mons. Trecher did not contemplate the discharge of his counsel, 
 for well he knew the whole thing would have to be gone over again, 
 which would require a fresh supply of cash, an article that he was 
 not overstocked with just at that time. 
 
 Messrs. Stern & Strong had come to the conclusion that their 
 case, as far as Mons. Trecher was concerned, was as good as closed; 
 and yet, as honorable gentlemen, having used his money in the prose 
 cution of the suit, they believed it was due him to give him a fair 
 hearing. So, in their next letter, they advised Donald to make a 
 strong push to get a hearing, and report to them immediately, as 
 their client was becoming impatient and might possibly withdraw the 
 business from their hands. 
 
 Thus far, Mons. Trecher did not know who the agent of Messrs. 
 Stern & Strong was, not even his name. Nor was Joe Tartar 
 allowed to know who the lawyers were that had his business in charge. 
 The Professor pretended that he had an agent and counsel in France 
 looking after the matter. But recently he had said but little about it 
 to his confederate. In fact, those two worthies did not appear to 
 seek each others society any more. The Professor could barely tol 
 erate Joe, and Joe in turn had become so well convinced that he 
 had been deceived and defrauded by Trecher, that he avoided him. 
 And, it might as well be admitted, the coward was afraid of the cun 
 ning gambler. 
 
 Matters had come to that pass that an open rupture between the 
 two rascals was imminent. That Joe could do nothing more for 
 
228 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 Trecher was certain, and it was equally true that Trecher would not 
 do anything more for Joe since he could not hope for return favors. 
 
 Joe had threatened that he would kill the man that had robbed 
 him, and his threat had been communicated to Trecher, who was 
 advised to be on his guard, and for that reason he had gone well 
 armed of late, and was fully prepared to meet the cowardly assassin 
 upon any ground. Joe Tartar, it was well known, had long carried 
 a pistol, and swore he would use it if ever an occasion offered. 
 
 The opportunity was not long deferred. They met on the street 
 face to face. Each drew and fired simultaneously. Both shots took 
 effect. Joe Tartar was alone; the Frenchman had a friend with him. 
 
 Joe was taken to the nearest drug store where his wound was 
 examined and pronounced dangerous, if not fatal. He was told that 
 he might not live and asked if he wished to make any statement. 
 The knowledge that death stared him in the face, entirely unnerved 
 him at first, but finally he signified his wish to make a statement. 
 Being as he believed about to meet his Maker, he unbosomed himself, 
 and told all of that which the reader knows already, besides some 
 other dark deeds which the world is not particularly interested in 
 knowing. 
 
 He gave the full history of his connection with Mons. Trecher. 
 He also told of some dark deeds which that worthy had committed 
 of which he was cognizant. 
 
 He said that he was the last of his family, and the property which 
 he had inherited from his mother he would give to those whom he had 
 attempted to wrong. And he was anxious to make a will to that 
 effect. The will was accordingly written out by a notary, and 
 signed by him in a bold strong hand, in which he bequeathed his 
 entire property to Mrs. Annette Ivers and her daughter Endura, 
 share and share alike. 
 
 For the next day or two his symptoms were quite unfavorable, and 
 the wretched man begged to live. Hope dimly dawned upon him 
 and he longed for the fruition. 
 
 But on the third day his case took an unfavorable turn and he suc- 
 umcbed to the grim messenger. 
 
 His remains were laid near his mother s, and it is to be hoped that 
 in the progression that is supposed to occur after death, that he may 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 229 
 
 atone for the sorrow he caused her here, and dwell with her in peace 
 through all eternity. 
 
 The Frenchman up to the time of the death of his antagonist was 
 reticent. His wound had been much the same, both being desperate 
 and determined, aimed at a vital spot. 
 
 When told that Joe was dead, he seemed to give up hope, and 
 sent for Messrs. Stern & Strong. 
 
 Mr. Stern came, and when he entered the room, the sick man burst 
 into tears and sobbed so hard that the physician in attendance was 
 fearful of hemorrhage and administered an opiate which soon took 
 effect. 
 
 Mr. Stern remained until the effect of the medicine had passed off, 
 and then approached his bed. Mons. Trecher was now quiet. He 
 appeared to be growing weaker rapidly. Mr. Stern asked him if he 
 wished to make any statement under oath. 
 
 He asked his doctor what the chances were of his recovery. The 
 doctor told him that he had strong hopes until within twenty-four 
 hours, but that he had grown quite weak and it was his duty to inform 
 him that his case was alarming. And that if he had any thing 
 that he wished to say or do, that it would be well to say it or do it at 
 once. Upon this hint he told Mr. Stern that he wished to make a 
 statement under oath. 
 
 A notary was therefore sent for, who witnessed what he had dic 
 tated for Mr. Stern to write. He said that he had no property left 
 and but few trinkets. He had a valuable gold watch and chain, 
 two diamond studs, two diamond rings, and considerable other 
 jewelry not as valuable, besides about one hundred dollars in cash. 
 If he died he wished to be decently buried and the rest of the 
 money should go to his physician. As for his watch and jewelry, he 
 wished it to go to Marie Margnot and her daughter, whom he acknowl 
 edged to be his child. He said he had nothing else to leave them 
 and if Mr. Stern would see that whatever effects he might leave over 
 and above enough to pay all honest claims against him would be 
 handed over to the said Marie Margnot, he would be thankful, and if 
 anything should be realized on account of the claim then being con 
 tested in France, he wished that as much money as he had advanced 
 
2 3 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 to prosecute the claim, might be returned to the same Marie Margot, 
 and not a dollar more, as he could not justly or honestly claim it. 
 
 The letter then in the hands of his attorneys, he gave them to use 
 as they thought best, acknowledging there before witnesses that he or 
 his heirs had no just claim to it. With a few more requests he 
 ceased speaking and seemed to be sinking fast. 
 
 He dropped into a quiet slumber and appeared to be resting well 
 for more than an hour, when he opened his eyes and said in a low 
 voice that he felt better. He expressed a wish to see a clergyman. 
 They asked him of what denomination, he said it did not matter, 
 for he had never attended any church more than half a dozen times. 
 The nearest minister of the gospel was a methodist, a very good, 
 conscientious Christian, who visited the dying man and prayed with 
 him and read a chapter from the Bible, that gave promise even to 
 those who entered the vineyard at the eleventh hour. 
 
 The sick man sank rapidly until the sun went down, and then forgiv 
 ing all, as he wished to be forgiven, he breathed shorter and shorter and 
 finally ceased, when his spirit took its flight and the once cunning, 
 dangerous man was but inanimate clay. 
 
 In the letter which Messrs. Stern & Strong forwarded to their agent 
 in France, they advised him of the tragic end of their client, and of 
 his antagonist ; also of the particulars of his antemortem statement, 
 which they said had providentially relieved them from an annoying 
 dilemma to say no more. 
 
 They further advised him to secure assistant counsel immediately, 
 the best that could be had. But they suggested that it would be bet 
 ter to make arrangements for them to serve for a contingency if pos 
 sible. As the money for the prosecution of the case from that time 
 forward would have to be furnished by themselves, they instructed 
 him to confer with the United States Consul at Marseilles, and try to 
 enlist him in the case with them, for which he might stipulate to pay 
 a moderate fee. 
 
 As the matter seemed to be well in hand with the addition of 
 strong, legal talent, which they expected him to secure, they could see 
 no reason why a speedy termination of the case might not be effected. 
 If a commission was to be appointed they could certainly deter 
 mine the facts at once. It need not be long at farthest before a hear- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 23! 
 
 ing could be had, and they could anticipate but one result, which 
 would be in favor of the claimants. 
 
 They forwarded him their draft for $1,000, a portion or all of 
 which he might find it necessary to use in connection with the case. 
 And they wrote him that if he thought it advisable one of the part 
 ners would go over to assist him. Still their belief was that one or 
 two good attorneys, who were natives and to the manor born, would 
 be preferable. 
 
 He was cautioned against men of small calibre, and urged to try 
 and secure men with a national reputation. 
 
 Donald was very glad to receive his letters and advices, and opened 
 them eagerly. Among them was a letter in Endura s handwriting. 
 He had many letters to be read, and some of great importance, but 
 he could not help opening and reading Endura s first. 
 
 We have no right to divulge its contents, further than that portion 
 which appertained to the forwarding of the family relics to Boston as 
 per his advice. 
 
 She said her mother and herself were at a loss to know what he 
 wished them for, but they concluded he knew best. She wrote that 
 her mother thought so much of his judgment and advice that should 
 he write for them to walk over and see him, she thought, perhaps, her 
 mother would try to do it; so he had best be careful. 
 
 Since we caught a glimpse of the contents of Endura s letter, and 
 she will not mind now if we tell what we saw, we will repeat a few 
 lines of it in this connection. 
 
 She began with, " My dear Friend," which was quite proper, wrote 
 what was mentioned above, and a few lines about the wretched man 
 who had brought sorrow to his poor old mother, and lived such an im 
 moral life ; and finally upon his death-bed bequeathed all he possessed 
 to her mother and herself. For what, she did not know, but she be 
 lieved it was for some imaginary wrong which he said he had done 
 them. 
 
 " Poor Joe," said she, " I despised him while he lived, but 
 since he is dead and can do no more mischief, I think, perhaps, I 
 was unjust and feel sorry for it. Mother says she could never accept 
 anything as coining from him in that way, and I am sure I will not 
 as long as I can help myself, so I suppose the town will take charge 
 
232 
 
 of the property which he left, and it may be of some benefit to some 
 one. 
 
 " I am still teaching school in the old schoolhouse where we used 
 to romp together there, I ought not to have written that since it 
 makes me so sad. Oh, Donald, how I long to see you ! To see my 
 dear brother once more ! For you are my brother my only brother 
 I had another but he is in Heaven, and you seem to me almost as far 
 away. Shall we never, never meet? Have you forgotten your boy 
 ish life ? Have you forgotten your adopted sister ? Have you for 
 gotten our rambles ? Have you forgotten the great rock in the 
 meadow where we sat together on that beautiful summer day so long 
 ago, when you told me you were almost happy ? You told me some 
 thing else. O, Donald, your words were like arrows ! They pierced 
 my very soul. Do you remember what you told me then ? < That 
 should misfortune overtake me I might fly to thee. And, Donald, 
 the tears which filled your eyes told me you mean t every word you 
 said. And I believed and would again were you here to tell me 
 the same story. And, Donald, I kissed you, and I would kiss you 
 again for saying such kind words, and I dare not write what else I 
 would do were you here. But, O ! Donald you are across the ocean 
 
 So far, so far away, 
 Your stars are not the stars I see 
 So far, so far away. " 
 
 " How little I thought that we were to be separated so long when 
 you left to return to Boston ! And to think of the years that have 
 gone by since then ! But I dare not think of what has occurred 
 within those years. It is a horrible dream from which I have awak 
 ened, and yet, alas ! Alas ! it is too too true. Why was I left ? 
 Why was not my poor, dear mother taken and I would have prayed 
 to have gone with her. But it was not to be. Doubtless we were 
 suffered to live for some wise purpose which we cannot know. 
 
 "I must not make you unhappy by telling you more of my troubles, 
 which I feel are almost past. I have been sad, who has not? I have 
 suffered, but others have suffered more. And who shall say I have 
 not been happy? I will try to be happy still, and I will try to make 
 happy those who are around me. And above all, Donald, I will try 
 to do what I can to add to your happiness, to whom I am indebted 
 for so much." 
 
 The letter was a long one, and as we were not supposed to read any 
 part of it which did not have something to do with the business upon 
 which Donald was engaged, we have overstepped the bounds already. 
 Begging pardon for our transgression, we must decline reading any 
 more, though we might tell how she closed her sisterly epistle. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 233 
 
 When Donald had finished reading Endura s letter, he sat for 
 some minutes with his head upon his hand, with his eyes fixed as 
 though he were gazing into vacancy. He was alone and yet he 
 could seem to hear voices, but what was it that touched his fore 
 head ? What soft breath upon his cheek ? 
 
 He rose and walked up and down the room, and as he came past 
 the table the second time, he awoke from his reverie. There lay his 
 correspondence before him, unread. He seated himself and rapidly 
 opened his letters and read with avidity what they contained. They 
 were all important and he felt that the crisis was near, and from that 
 moment no more romance, nothing but stern reality was to be the 
 order of his life. 
 
 He set himself to work to carry out if possible the suggestions of 
 his superiors, and with that object in view, he wrote to two of the 
 most celebrated lawyers in France, to know if they would consent to 
 take hold of a matter which there was every reason to believe would 
 pay them very largely in case of success, and said he, " As it now 
 appears, there is scarcely a possibility of failure." 
 
 He referred them to the United States Minister and also to several 
 wealthy and substantial citizens then in that country, as to the re 
 liability of the gentlemen with whom he was associated. One of 
 the lawyers accepted at once and agreed to accept a cer 
 tain per cent, of the enormous amount due, in case it was recovered, 
 or nothing if they were unsuccessful. The other, to whom he wrote, 
 declined but referred him to a friend who had been very successful 
 in a similar case, which upon inquiry, Donald found to be quite true, 
 and he wrote him immediately stating that he had been recom 
 mended as a proper person to confer with upon a matter of great 
 importance. He stated the name of the other counsel and the terms 
 upon which he undertook the case and offered him the same condi 
 which in the end were accepted. 
 
 Leaving Donald Kent for a time to work out his plans, we will 
 
 turn again to the quiet town of S , where most of the characters 
 
 in this story belonged, when they were first introduced to the 
 reader. 
 
 We have seen the pioneer, a prudent, persevering, hard working man, 
 lay the foundation of a fortune. We have seen it grow with him and 
 
2 34 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 become considerable, while he himself has been crowned with honors 
 and became great in the land. 
 
 But man cannot live always. He died, and his son took his place, 
 assuming his responsibilities, and wearing his honors. He too filled 
 the place assigned him, acceptably, honorably, and enjoyed the good 
 things which he had inherited; and lived to do good, when he, too, 
 died; not as his father had done before him, surrounded by peace and 
 plenty, leaving a son to take up his honors. He had made a 
 mistake and poverty and distress was the result, and premature 
 death. His son a good young man had gone before him, a victim of 
 too much love and confidence, he was like an unskilled mariner 
 that allowed his ship to drift, instead of grasping the helm and 
 steering it safely into port. 
 
 Walter Ivers had confidence in his son, and why not? Had he 
 not given him every advantage of education and society. 
 
 Was he not naturally talented and smart to precosity? Was not 
 the opportunity a good one to give him a start ? Placed as an equal 
 partner in an old, well established business, with a large capital 
 and a good trade, it would almost appear that a business so well 
 organized might run itself. Bernard had the benefit of the 
 experience of the elder Wheat; who had general supervision over the 
 business, though his son was a partner and active business man. 
 The younger Wheat had always had the teaching of a practical man of 
 business, from the time when his father gave him a few pennies and 
 required an account of just how he spent them. When he wanted a 
 little thing from the store, he was obliged to pay for it, as another 
 customer would be obliged to do. And so at school he was 
 allowed so much a week and no more. If he contracted any debts, 
 except for some unforseen accident, they must be paid out of the 
 next week s allowance, and consequently he had so much less to 
 spend. 
 
 Vacations he was put at work to earn a few dollars that he might 
 know the value of money. He was taught practical book-keeping, as 
 he was taught to be practicable in everything. He was made responsi 
 ble and compelled to give an account of his doings, whether at school 
 or at home in the store, which made him careful and at the same 
 time self-reliant. In short, Charles Wheat was educated for a mer 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 235 
 
 chant from the time he played marbles to the time he assumed con 
 trol of his father s business, at which time he was well calculated to 
 be entrusted with its management. 
 
 How different it was with Bernard Ivers, a precocious child, petted 
 and flattered by everybody, his parents included. Beloved for his 
 many generous, noble qualities, he reigned the favorite of the neigh 
 borhood. At school all looked upon him as a youth of noble in 
 stincts and great promise. His fellow students accepted him as a 
 model, and his teachers were proud of him and honored him. 
 Mothers of refractory boys pointed to him as a pattern, and young 
 ladies thought him almost divine. What wonder that his parents 
 were proud of him, or that his father was willing to trust his fortune 
 in his hands ! That was his mistake and a serious mistake it was, to 
 cast his son into a sea and command him to swim ashore without first 
 teaching him how, trusting too much to his natural abilities. But the 
 young man sank, and with him went down his father s hopes and 
 fortune, and we may say, his life. 
 
 It does not take long for deterioration and decay to show their 
 ravages. There is a wonderful difference whether a thrifty farmer 
 owns and takes care of his farm himself, or whether it be leased for 
 the lessee to get the most from it that is possible within a given time. 
 The Ivers place began to show neglect within one year from the time 
 the poor man s heart was broken and he had died. 
 
 The walls would tumble down and be allowed so to remain. Gates 
 were hanging by a single hinge. Barn doors that had been wrenched 
 from their positions were lying upon the ground, or leaning against a 
 fence or stone wall. Panes were broken in the windows, and replaced 
 by old rags or pieces of boards. The land was not thoroughly culti 
 vated. Great patches were left unplowed here and there, where it 
 was somewhat difficult to get without extra exertion. Tools and 
 implements were left in the fields to rot and rust. In short, nothing 
 was done as it was formerly. 
 
 The neglect and slovenly appearance was noticeable to all who saw 
 it, that had known it in the days of its prosperity. It was painful to 
 Mrs. Ivers to contemplate the great change. The beautiful home, 
 upon which she had prided herself so much, almost in ruins, and so 
 soon! 
 
236 ENDURA ! OR, 
 
 But the master s hand had lost its cunning and the active brain was 
 dust. The vital spark that we call life, had long since gone out, and 
 all that lingered near was the bodiless spirit of the good man that still 
 hovered around the hallowed spot, where mouldered its tenement of 
 clay beneath the mound in the meadow. 
 
 This spot was held sacred, and the lonely widow would often visit 
 it and sit by the grave of him who in life she had so dearly loved. They 
 had taken all from her. She was as a stranger within her own gates, 
 but this one spot had remained inviolate. It had been set apart and 
 consecreted as the Ivers resting place. This was the poor widow s 
 only earthly inheritance, and this could not be taken from her. She 
 might go away, but the graveyard would still be there, and around it 
 would cling the sweet and bitter memories of the past. 
 
 Mr. Haywood had removed to the city. He had suffered insult 
 upon insult by the ignorant bigots of the town and village. He final 
 ly had an opportunity to sell his place, the lovely spot that he had 
 purchased so many years before, and where he hoped to enjoy so 
 much with his family growing up around him. Amid such rural 
 scenes, he had hoped to make friends of the villagers ; and by affilia 
 ting with them he expected that they would gradually forget their pre 
 judice and be tolerant at least of him and his religion, which he did 
 not wish them to believe or listen to; as in all cases he was careful 
 not to intrude his doctrines upon them, but he had utterly failed in 
 his hopes and expectations. The people of the village were much as 
 they had been when first he went there to reside. 
 
 The prejudice of the parents seemed to have been inherited by the 
 children. If possible, more bitter in the second than in the first gen 
 eration. So narrow-minded had they become that no new or ad 
 vanced belief would be tolerated. And eventhe old orthodox beliefs 
 that had been promulgated for hundreds of years, if they, in any way, 
 clashed with their contracted and somewhat unreasonable religion 
 were discountenanced and cried down. A town or village that ex 
 pects to live entirely within itself must not expect to flourish. 
 
 Certain sects like the Shakers, and perhaps two or three others, have 
 tried the experiment of sectarianism. They have built their villages 
 separate and apart from the rest of the world, and have governed 
 them according to their own peculiar ideas. They have been very 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 237 
 
 consistent and exceedingly moral citizens. But who ever heard of a 
 Shaker village becoming a city ? 
 
 The village of W could never be expected to flourish, no mat 
 ter what might be its natural advantages, so long as bigotry, ignorance 
 and intolerance existed, as they did at the time George Haywood 
 went there to live. 
 
 To-day the result is apparent, in the place that was then suffi 
 ciently attractive in its natural surroundings to induce gentlemen of 
 taste and refinement to settle in for their country homes, to-day it is 
 emphatically a deserted village. People and capital shun it as 
 though it were infected. 
 
 The splendid stream now runs to waste that was wont to turn a 
 thousand wheels, which gave employment to scores of worthy people 
 who made their homes upon its banks, and were as happy as it is 
 possible for those in their condition in life to be. 
 
 The new blood which from time to time was infused into the body 
 politic was soon absorbed, and so mingled with the old, that a 
 stranger could not distinguish the one from the other. 
 
 To-day the houses are abandoned and locked up with padlocks, 
 while the tooth of time is fast doing its work. One by one they are 
 torn, or tumble down, and taken away piecemeal, so that the once 
 pleasant, thriving village is fast disappearing. 
 
 It may not be all due to the selfishness of the inhabitants, or to the 
 narrowness of their religious belief, but it is evident that the old 
 Puritanical doctrines must be modified, or give way to the more gen 
 erous and Christian-like sentiment of modern times. The Christian 
 religion is not what it was a century ago. There have been made 
 long strides since then. Christians have become more liberal. 
 There is less mystery about religion than there used to be. There 
 was a time when faith had a great deal to do with it. We were 
 asked to have faith when we scarcely knew the meaning of the word. 
 Everything was construed literally, until a literal construction could 
 go no farther, when we were told that God did not intend we should 
 know any more, and that it was wicked to attempt it. We were not 
 allowed to reason. Fanatics never reason. 
 
 Of two things they were certain, that we were born, and that we 
 must die. After death, if we lead a godly life and join the church, 
 
238 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 we would be allowed to walk the golden streets of the new Jerusalem. 
 Whatever that meant was hard to say; but it was intended as a kind 
 of metaphor illustrating something entirely unearthly. Streets paved 
 with gold, and eternal day, would not be half so inviting to us as 
 would be earth, and flowers, and green fields, and quiet nights, when 
 the angels harps would be silent, and we could rest. 
 
 But there are so many kinds of heavens. To the untraveled na 
 tive of the tropics, the icebound regions of the north are dreamed of 
 as an ideal heaven. The Icelander builds him a heaven with ever 
 lasting summer, with delicious fruits and fragrant flowers. Either 
 might reach his paradise, but somehow very few voluntarily set out 
 upon the journey. 
 
 The orthodox Christian tells us that heaven is such a delightful 
 place. He claims to have faith, and fully believes what he says; and 
 yet the most positive rarely wish to change the questionable happi 
 ness of this world for the assured bliss of the next. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 239 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ONE WAY TO HEAVEN. 
 
 For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, 
 His can t be wrong, whose life is in the right. 
 
 Pope s Essay on Man. 
 
 Yet some there are of men I think the worst, 
 Poor imps! unhappy, if they can t be cursed. 
 
 Dr. WolcoVs Peter Finder. 
 
 THE wretch who suffers almost beyond endurance here in body or 
 mind, says to himself, " The other world cannot be worse, and 
 it may be better," he alone is anxious to try it; but the puritanical 
 doctrine would not allow them to escape so easily. The chances 
 were that they might go to hell anyhow; but if they dared to shorten 
 their misery in order the sooner to enjoy the paradise which they have 
 had pictured to them so graphically, they were sure to miss their aim 
 and be cast into a lake of fire and brimstone, to burn forever. 
 
 Such was the doctrine preached in New England fifty years ago 
 twenty years ago ten years ago five years ago and such is the 
 doctrine preached there to-day, and in some portions of New Eng 
 land they will not listen to any other. Their argument is, that if any 
 one ventures another and less revolting belief, that they are trying to 
 get into heaven an easier way, for which they must be punished 
 much the same as the boy who climbs a barbed wire fence to steal 
 apples, rather than go around and ask the farmer to allow him to pick 
 them. He has no right to try to get in except by the route laid down 
 by themselves. 
 
 We do not wish to be understood to say that the most unreason 
 able, are not conscientious in their belief ; on the contrary, we think 
 they are, and it is only their lack of knowledge of the world, that 
 makes them the bigots that they are. " The fool is wise in his own 
 conceit," and the more ignorant the people of a community are, the 
 more difficult it is to appeal to their reason. They are effected by 
 supernatural things, simply because they cannot be made to under- 
 
24 ENDURA: OR. 
 
 stand them; when they become enlightened, they admit the truth and 
 pity those who cannot be made to understand it, just as much as 
 they formerly disputed and despised those who in the end taught it to 
 them. 
 
 They worship the incomprehensible, as the heathen worships 
 the snow-capped mountain, or the ocean, or the sun or fire, just be 
 cause they cannot approach them. They magnify what is afar off 
 and despise the things which are near. They overlook mankind to 
 dwell with the gods, while they cannot rise above the earth. Such is 
 bigotry; such is the religion of the ignorant; such is the result of 
 the teachings of to-day, in the old homes of New England. 
 
 The two lawyers which Donald Kent enlisted in his case proved 
 to be the best that could possibly have been selected. 
 
 They took hold of the matter in earnest and it was not long before 
 it was brought before the proper tribunal, which in the end rendered 
 a decision in favor of the claimants by which the heirs of Louis de 
 Brue were awarded the entire estate with every thing appertaining 
 thereunto, including the title s which the owner had been deprived 
 of at the time of the confiscation. The castle and all of the lands 
 and buildings and hereditaments, were to be turned over to the heirs 
 immediately; while the net income of the estate, since the Government 
 had had it in charge being in bonds and national security, was easily 
 convertible into cash. 
 
 The attorneys who had been engaged by Donald were more than 
 satisfied with their commissions. And the Consul at Marseilles had 
 the largest fee that had ever been paid to any Consul at that place, 
 before or since. The business was soon settled sufficiently for our 
 young friend to take his leave, and return once more to his native 
 land. But he did not forget his old friend, the. keeper of the Castle 
 When all had been settled and he had been put in possession as agent 
 of the heirs, he visited the old chateau and called upon the old man 
 who was still to be left in charge. The old soldier appeared to be 
 ready to march as soon as he saw the agent of the new owners. He 
 had already been informed of the decision and of the transfer of the 
 property ; and he expected to be sent off at once. What must have 
 been his surprise, then, when told by Donald that he wished him to 
 remain at an increased salary, at the same time placing in his 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 24! 
 
 hands a package containing one thousand francs as a present! That 
 to the poor, old man was a fortune itself, and his gratitude knew no 
 bounds. He would have kissed Donald, who promised to come and 
 see him again at no very distant day. But he appeared timid in the 
 presence of one grown suddenly so great. The young man was con 
 gratulated by the many friends he had made during his long sojourn 
 among them. All appeared to see much more in the handsome young 
 American than they had been able to see before. And there was 
 little wonder, for, had he not managed and brought to a successful 
 termination a great suit? 
 
 Had he not secured to worthy people their rights and titles ? The 
 modest lady, beyond the sea, living in obscurity, had suddenly 
 become the Marchioness of Vieux ; and they looked forward to the 
 time when the old castle should be restored to its pristine glory, and 
 the abandoned or neglected cottages in the village and the vine-clad 
 homes in the valley would be repaired and reinhabited. 
 
 The Chateau Vieux has been alluded to as an old castle which had 
 been allowed to crumble away from year to year, and fromdecade to 
 decade, until it was fast becoming an irreparable ruin. Great fissures- 
 were seen in the walls, while here and there portions of the projec 
 tions and ornamental work had fallen off, leaving ugly gapes over 
 which the ivy had thrown its mantle of green as if to shield the 
 mound from the fiery sun or threatening tempest. The heavy embra 
 sures and merlons, which formed the cornice at the top, had, one by 
 one, broken away and fallen to the ground. The main tower was 
 much cracked but appeared upright and firm. 
 
 The second tower, which had formerly had a dome-shaped top, 
 was much disfigured. A portion of the arch had fallen in, which 
 left an unsightly hole which had been boarded up temporarily to 
 prevent the storms beating in and ruining the ceilings and floors of 
 the different stories ; but the repairs were made too late, for much 
 damage had been done, and a great deal of the once beautiful fresco 
 ing was little more than mould blots, devoid of all the tints of 
 beauty that once characterized it. The great arch over the main 
 entrance was badly cracked and looked threatening. The windows 
 were small, except that in the main tower and one in the end of 
 the Gothic wing which joined it upon one side. The other wing 
 
24 2 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 which appeared to have been built first was much cracked and dis 
 figured ; but it was so well covered with ivy that but little of the bare 
 wall was to be seen. 
 
 Indeed, the whole structure, or more properly structures, were vast 
 ruins, imposing and picturesque. The grounds surrounding the 
 castle had once been beautifully kept, and choice shrubbery had 
 been planted which had struggled and clung to life for more than 
 two score years. Each tree and shrub and flower seemed to say, 
 " Help, or I perish ! " Many had already done so, and others were 
 lingering in the throes of death, pleading for life. 
 
 The chateau was beautifully situated, overlooking the valley and 
 the river which wound through it. The site was commanding, se 
 lected as well for the view it gave of the valley as for its position for 
 defense, which, at the time the first portion was erected, was an im 
 portant consideration. The river which ran parallel with one side of 
 the castle suddenly turned and ran in front of it. There had for 
 merly been a moat surrounding it, which had been spanned in front 
 by a bridge, with a rude stone arch, which appeared to have withstood 
 the ravages of time wonderfully. In fact, it seemed as strong and 
 safe as it was when it was fiist constructed. The moat itself had 
 gradually been filled with accumulating mould, until in some places 
 there was scarcely any depression to show where it had once been. 
 Some indigenous trees and bushes had taken root upon the embank 
 ments, and grew in place of the once choice exotics which had been 
 cultivated with so much care by the former tenants. The driveway 
 that led up to the chateau could be indistinctly made out as it wound 
 up the acclivity. But vegetation had so overgrown it that in many 
 places it appeared like the field by its side. 
 
 There had formerly been at the entrance of the grounds a porter s 
 lodge, but it had been torn down long since and carried away piece 
 meal to repair the cottages or other buildings ; so that there were but 
 slight indications that it had ever been there at all. The storehouses 
 were generally in good repair as well as the cottages which have been 
 referred to before. In short, everything except the chateau and the 
 grounds surrounding it appeared to have been kept in good repair. 
 
 The tenants were assured by the course of the agent that he would 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 243 
 
 be kind and considerate. Having his praises constantly sounded in 
 their ears, they believed him almost a saint. 
 
 Donald succeeded in arranging everything to his satisfaction before 
 taking his departure. After many pleasant adieus he set out for 
 Havre, where he was to take the steamer for America. After an 
 absence of more than three years, he found himself on board of that 
 magnificent specimen of naval architecture, the "Ville de Tours," 
 on his way to New York. 
 
 Who can realize his feelings as each stroke of the piston forced 
 the great ship onward toward that land of all lands the best, his 
 native land the land of the Golden West ! A feeling of gratitude 
 swelled within him as the good ship bore him on. He realized the 
 difference between his feelings then and the time when he set out 
 upon his great quest. 
 
 He did not forget to look to Him who had guided and pro 
 tected him through the years of labor and anxiety ;to Him whose finger 
 had been visible in the mercies and blessings which he had enjoyed, 
 and he silently prayed for His guidance still. He colud not help but 
 acknowledge the intervention of Providence in his behalf which made 
 possible a settlement which he considered so favorable ; and now he 
 was bearing the glad tidings to those who little dreamed of the 
 wealth and honors which awaited them. 
 
 Every evolution of the great screw brought him nearer and nearer 
 home, the land of his birth, the home of his childhood, the pleasant 
 land of his dreams. 
 
 Upon reaching New York, he attended to some matters which 
 were of importance, and then left directly for Boston, where he arrived 
 the next morning, and a more welcome visitor never entered the 
 office of the great lawyers in Berwick square than Donald Kent up 
 on that bright autumn morning. 
 
 He was treated like a great hero who had returned from the wars,, 
 covered with glory. It was early in the week when he reached the 
 office of Stern & Strong ; that day and the day following was occu 
 pied in his accounting for his stewardship. The third day he left 
 for S , where the wonderful news had not yet been told. 
 
 In order that there might not be any delay and that he might be 
 entirely independent to go and come when he should choose, he en- 
 
244 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 gaged an elegant turnout and drove out instead of going by railroad 
 and stage coach. 
 
 It was Friday afternoon as he came around a bend in the road, 
 the old school-house came in full view, that same old school-house 
 where he had been both pupil and teacher. 
 
 His heart leaped to his throat as the past came so vividly before 
 him. How well he remembered the dear old home and the paths 
 that diverged from its door steps ! How well he remembered his 
 trials aud his triumphs there and the scholars now scattered far and 
 near ! And then of his sweet little charge, dear little Dura ! What 
 if she were there now ! 
 
 He drove slowly along, lost in reverie, until he found himself 
 halting in front of the house. The door was closed and all was still. 
 His first impulse was to get out and hitch his horses, just to look 
 around to see what changes three summers had made about the once 
 familar nooks, but he concluded to drive on. He had driven but a 
 short distance when he discovered a lady walking in the middle of the 
 road. She had no hat on but carried a sunshade. She appeared to be 
 deep in thought, when hearing a carriage coming behind her, she glanced 
 around and stepped aside to let it pass. 
 
 At first Donald was dumb; but recovering himself he spoke in an 
 assumed voice, asking her if she would be kind enough to tell him if 
 the widow Ivers lived near there. She said it was but a short dis 
 tance ahead; indeed, it was just then brought in full view. Donald 
 said he was commissioned to deliver her a message. 
 
 Endura told him she was Mrs. Ivers daughter, and would be 
 happy to take any message to her mother, if it was not a disagree 
 able one. Or he could call; she had no doubt but that her mother 
 would be in. 
 
 Donald changed the tone of his voice, saying one word, "En- 
 dura," when quick as thought he dismounted and clasped her in his 
 arms. He kissed her forhead, her cheeks, and her lips, while she 
 clung to him speechless. He embraced her and she clung closer 
 still, as though she would awake and her exceeding joy prove but an 
 illusory dream. Finally, lifting her eyes, she said: 
 
 " O, Donald, is it really you ? If I dream, let me dream on. To 
 awake and find you gone would be terrible." 
 
 " Fear not, Endura, it is I. It is your old friend Donald; brother, 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 245 
 
 if you will; or call me by a dearer name. But we must not remain 
 standing here. I will assist you into the carnage and take you home." 
 
 " No, thanks; it is so short a distance that I would rather you 
 drive on alone to see if mother will be more wise than I. I think 
 she will know you in spite of your beard and altered voice." 
 
 It was settled that Donald should go ahead, while she lingered by 
 the way. He drove up and hitched his horses, and walked up the 
 path through the lawn. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers, expecting Endura, happened to glance out of the win 
 dow just as he was about coming up. Something seemed to tell her 
 it was Donald. It might have been his step; or she might have 
 been thinking of him, for certainly his personal appearance had so 
 changed within three years, with beard all over his face, and the style 
 of dress so different that he would scarcely have recognized his own 
 picture. It must have been instinct that told her it was he. Hurry 
 ing to the door she spoke his name, and, like Endura, could say no 
 more. But welcome tears came to her relief as he clasped her in 
 his arms and kissed her so lovingly. He held her thus but a mo 
 ment, while she sobbed upon his breast as though he were her own 
 son come back from the spirit world. 
 
 He assisted her to the sofa and sat down beside her, while she 
 laughed and cried at the same time, scarcely uttering a word. All at 
 once her senses seemed to return, and she thought of Endura and 
 how she would meet him. She spoke her name, and said she ex 
 pected her every minute and wondered if she would know him. 
 
 Then Donald began to tell her of his meeting with Endura, when 
 the door opened and she came in. Donald had her sit down upon 
 the other side, while he sat between mother and daughter, and it 
 would have been difficult to have told which were the more happy of 
 the trio. They sat thus until he thought of his neglected team, 
 which now claimed his attention. It was well that he understood 
 the care of horses; now it served him. The faithful animals were 
 soon in their stalls, well provided for, while the carriage was hauled 
 in out of the weather. He then put his harness and wraps away, 
 where he had many times before put others not as elegant. When 
 everything was attended to, he took his satchel and some newspapers 
 and entered the house. 
 
246 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 Endura awaited him impatiently in the parlor, while Mrs. Ivers 
 set herself about getting something nice for his supper. Donald s 
 face beamed with joy unspeakable, and Endura s wore that sweet, 
 sad smile that was almost heavenly. She had on her school dress 
 with a neat, plain collar and cuffs. On her bosom were fastened 
 some Autumn flowers, among which were sprigs of myrtle and golden 
 rod "love in absence," and "encouragement." How appropriate, 
 yet how unstudied! 
 
 She said there was no use for her to apologize since she did not 
 expect visitors, and, above all, such a visitor. She said she had been 
 thinking of him all day, and had actually commenced a letter to him, 
 but he was certainly the very last person she expected to see. 
 
 It would be impossible to tell all that was said ; but, reader, put 
 yourself in his or her place as the case may be, and think what you 
 would say or do. 
 
 Endura sat beside him, and no word or whisper escaped her ready 
 ear. She hung upon his words as though her soul feasted. And he 
 could scarcely speak, her beauty and lovliness so entranced him. 
 And so the hour went by, when the good mother came and said tea 
 was ready and she knew he must be almost famished. 
 
 They all sat down together, and, notwithstanding he had eaten 
 nothing since early in the day, he seemed to prefer talking to eating ; 
 and so an hour was spent in pleasant conversation. 
 
 They talked of the past and of the many changes that had taken 
 place since he had been away. 
 
 Donald said they had been with him in foreign lands, and he saw 
 them as they then were sitting together. He said he had antici 
 pated that very minute. "But," said he, " the reality is more de 
 lightful than my dream could have been, for I bring you good news, 
 so good that I cannot tell it myself ; so I will read from a newspaper 
 I brought with me :" 
 
 A MARCHIONESS AMONG US. 
 
 The latest sensation is that an immense estate in the south of 
 France has just been secured to the heirs in this country. 
 
 The widow and daughter of the late General Walter Ivers of S , 
 
 are sole heirs to fabulous wealth, which they inherited from Louis de 
 Brue, the father of Mrs. Ivers, who, with his wife and daughter, were 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 247 
 
 ostracised at the time Bonaparte was in power, and escaped 
 to this country to save their heads. His estate was confis 
 cated to the Empire, and so held until the fall of Napoleon and 
 after, until the rightful heirs could be discovered. 
 
 When the Marquis de Brue, known in this county as Mr. Dubrow, 
 was advised of the downfall of Bonaparte, he made preparations to 
 return to France immediately and claim his titles and estates. 
 
 As soon as he could dispose of what little personal property he had 
 left, he, with his wife and daughter, took passage on the ill-fated 
 packet-ship "King Phillip," which foundered at sea and went down. 
 
 Only two of the passengers were saved his daughter, now the 
 widow Ivers, and a man who has not since been heard from. 
 
 About five years ago, some papers came to light, which, if genuine, 
 would establish the claims of certain parties to his estate. An inves 
 tigation was accordingly made, which resulted in a complete victory, 
 not for the pretended heirs, who were put forward by scheming and 
 dishonest parties to further their own ends. 
 
 But the fraud was discovered in time to save the property to its 
 rightful and worthy owners. Messrs. Stern & Strong of Boston, are 
 the attorneys for the claimants ; and their agent and co-worker, the 
 one to whom great credit and honor is due, is a gentleman who has 
 long been associated with them, by the name of Donald Kent, who has 
 given the matter his personal attention, and brought it to its successful 
 issue. Mr. Kent has resided in France for three years and he has done 
 himself and his country great credit by his diplomacy in the manage 
 ment of the great case, as well as for his geniality, high sense of honor 
 and generous hospitality, for which he was ever noted, and which 
 has marked his conduct during his sojourn among them. 
 
 Mr. Kent secured the services of two prominent French attorneys, 
 who, with the assistance of the consul at Marseilles, did much to 
 bring about the result. Altogether it was a most remarkable case. 
 The amount involved was enormous, estimated by some as high as 
 one hundred millions of francs, equal to twenty millions of dollars. 
 It will make all those rich who have been concerned in it, and leave 
 a colossal fortune to the heirs, of which there are but two. 
 
 No greater compliment can be paid Mr. Kent than has been given 
 him by Messrs. Stern & Strong, with whom he will be associated here 
 after as a law partner; and we learn that he will be the active 
 partner, as both the senior partners have signified their intention of 
 shifting some of their responsibilities upon younger shoulders, and 
 none more worthy or capable upon which their mantle should fall 
 could be found than their junior partner. 
 
 Donald said he thought the article gave him more credit than he 
 deserved. He said he was but an instrument in the hand of Providence, 
 
248 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 who had been permitted to ri^ht a great wrong, for which he had al 
 ready received his reward. 
 
 He said: " It was accidental that I was selected to undertake the 
 mission. Had it so happened that another had been appointed, I 
 suppose the result would have been the same. I take nothing to my 
 self. I did my duty. Providence did the rest. It was accidental 
 that I was commissioned to investigate the case; accidental that I 
 stumbled upon certain relics and papers, which first awakened my in 
 terest in your behalf; accidental that the letter of most importance 
 was found ; accidental that it fell into the hands which it did ; acci 
 dental that Mons. Trecher employed Messrs. Stern & Strong ; ac 
 cidental that Joe Tartar placed the letter with one who comprehended 
 its importance, and it was accidental that the cunning rascal never 
 knew who had his matter in charge. I might mention many more 
 accidents, all tending to happy results. 
 
 " But I will change the word. Instead of accidental I will rever 
 ently say providential. For I can seem to see the finger of Providence 
 in it all, and whatever good may have come of it is due to a higher 
 power than mine. I am grateful for the flattering compliments which 
 have been paid me everywhere, but I am sure you will believe me 
 when I tell you that your approval of my actions gives me greater 
 pleasure than all the others." 
 
 Mrs. Ivers said he appeared to have been raised up by the Al 
 mighty to be her benefactor, and smooth the path of her life s decline. 
 When he was but a boy she recognized in him those sterling qualities 
 which had since made him great. She had always told her husband 
 that Donald Kent would make his mark, but she little dreamed in 
 what direction or what would be the result. 
 
 " I am sure we can never repay you, but if the love and everlast 
 ing gratitude of a poor, lonely woman can be any recompense, you 
 have it. And I am sure I speak the sentiments of my dear daughter, 
 who has heen my stay and my staff since her father s death. 
 
 " If we love you too much you cannot blame us, for do we not owe 
 everything to you ? And now that you have become great we hope 
 you will not forget us." 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Ivers," said Donald, "you are the one who has 
 become great. Are you not a marchioness of France ? And think 
 
THREE GENERATIONS 249 
 
 of your chateau and your great possessions ! You are to-day one of 
 the richest ladies in the land." 
 
 " And Donald, I would willingly give it all, if you were my son, 
 or if you will promise me to remain with us and take care of it for 
 me. But you will not. Misfortunes have come in such rapid suc 
 cession since you left us that I feel that I have nothing else to expect 
 in the future. As you have ever been our good angel, I beg that you 
 will remain with us, and we will do all we can to make you happy. 
 You say we have enough. Take it all and stay with us." 
 
 Donald attempted to say that duty called him elsewhere, but that he 
 should see them often and assist them in every way they might wish. 
 
 Endura, who had hitherto remained silent, said, "Must you indeed 
 leave us? Have you just come to make us happy for an hour, and 
 then to leave us again in our loneliness ? If you go I am afraid you 
 will never return." 
 
 "If I thought that," said Donald, "I would never leave you." 
 
 The evening passed in pleasant conversation, Donald inquiring 
 after this, that and the other one of his old-time friends and acquaint 
 ances. But amid all his joy, he did not forget that he had other 
 pleasant duties to discharge, other friends to see. His own family 
 were much scattered. His father and mother lived a considerable 
 distance off in the adjoining county, working hard, it was said, trying 
 to make both ends meet. 
 
 His brothers and sisters were employed in different places, also 
 eking out a precarious living, each assisting the old people as much 
 as their slender means would allow. Donald determined to go and 
 see his father and mother the next day, and it was arranged that 
 Endura should accompany him, which to her was a promise of more 
 happiness in store. And so the evening passed. They were all very 
 tired, but they seemed to find no place to leave off the pleasant con 
 versation. 
 
 Donald was admonished by the lateness of the hour, and sug 
 gested that they had better retire. So, bidding them good night, he 
 went to his room, and it seemed as though it was but yesterday since 
 he occupied the room before so natural were all the surroundings. 
 Everything was just the same. The flowers were in the same vases, 
 and little mementoes were scattered around. True, the flowers were 
 
ENDURA ! OR, 
 
 not those of spring, but autumn s glories were there in their stead. 
 If their perfume was less, their beauty was enhanced; and, like him 
 self, they were hardy and represented the season of maturity and ful 
 ness. Their foliage was tipped with autumnal tints, so mellow and 
 so lovely. 
 
 The morning came when the happy pair were to take an early 
 start, expecting to return the same day. As they drove along, scene 
 after scene was brought to view, where Donald had spent so many 
 happy days ; but no spot appeared to have the charm for him as did the 
 school-house and its pleasant surroundings. The diverging paths, 
 he knew them all, and whereunto they led. 
 
 He could seem to see the boys and girls coming across the fields 
 and over the hills, just as they did years and years ago, when he so 
 diffidently undertook to be their teacher. 
 
 How times were altered, and how changed he was himself ! changed 
 from the modest unsophisticated boy to the experienced traveled 
 gentleman ; changed to Endura, who then felt no restraint or fear, but 
 who now was guarded and timid ; who looked upon him as one far 
 above her in intellect and experience one whom she could almost 
 fall down and worship for what he had been to her in the past, and 
 was to her then. She knew that she loved him, and she remembered 
 the loving words he had once spoken to her when she bade him be 
 silent. She felt that he remembered her rebuke, and wondered if he 
 would not tell her of it. 
 
 As they were passing those well-remembered scenes, Donald said : 
 "I was happy here, Endura; and you were with me. Were you not 
 happy then ? " 
 
 It was on Endura s lips to say to him, "Not more happy than I 
 am to-day "; but she checked herself and let her looks, which were 
 the index to her heart, speak for her. 
 
 Donald continued : "How vividly this scene has been imprinted 
 on my mind ! How often I have wondered whether we should ever 
 be together again upon this spot ! I am now enjoying that blessed 
 privilege, which, to me, is like the realization of heaven itself. How 
 often I led you as a child along this highway and through these 
 paths ! Would you not love to ramble with me again, as in the days 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 251 
 
 of yore ? Would you not love to be the same little girl that you then 
 were dependent upon your big, boy friend and protector ? " 
 
 "No, Donald; I could not possibly be happier than I am to-day, 
 with that same friend and benefactor." 
 
 "You loved your Donald then at least you told me so." 
 
 "And you believed me?" 
 
 " Yes, I believed you ; I never doubted you. Do you now ?" 
 
 " You have not said you loved me." 
 
 Endura looked down and nervously fingered the hem of her hand 
 kerchief, but could find no words. Her impulse was to clasp him 
 around the neck and tell him all, but she dared not ; the place 
 was unpropitious and the act too bold. 
 
 They drove on together, now and then meeting this or that neigh 
 bor who, of course, did not recognize the strange-looking and 
 strangely-dressed gentleman with the favorite school-teacher. Endura 
 accosted them pleasantly and asked them if they did not know the 
 gentleman ; upon their answering in the negative she would say, 
 " This is Mr. Kent," upon which the rough old farmer would reach 
 out his hand to grasp Donald s and say, "You don t say that this is 
 Donald Kent ? I thought he was in some furrin country, so I heerd 
 a long time ago. Waal, I swan, I m real glad to see ye ; but you du 
 look a kinder Frenchified and no mistake. How Ve you been, and 
 when did ye git back ? I s pose your father and mother is well ; and. 
 Dura, how is your mother? My old woman ses she is gwine to see 
 her pretty soon ; but I won t stop ye. Call and see us. Good-day." 
 
 And so they drove on, meeting another and another with each of 
 whom something like the same conversation would occur. 
 
 A portion of the way was through a long, dark wood, where the 
 remains of the horse of the missing peddler, were discovered so 
 many years before. 
 
252 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE LONG DRIVE. 
 
 Tis a goodly scene 
 
 Yon river, like a silvery snake, lays out 
 His coil i th sunshine lovingly it breathes 
 Of freshness in this lap of flowery meadows. 
 
 Sir A. Hunts Julian. 
 
 EACH new scene was a new theme which was not exhausted until 
 another came in view. Here was a long stretch of sandy road 
 and there a steep hill. At last the old house came in sight, where 
 they were .told old Mr. Kent and his wife lived. The house was 
 without paint, with a little door toward one end, and two small windows 
 with panes scarcely larger than a sheet of note paper; the sides and 
 roof were shingled the same, and the great stone chimney was left en 
 tirely out in the cold, it being built close up to one end of the 
 house, forming fully one-third of the entire surface of that side of the 
 bjilding. 
 
 There was a rough barn or shed near by, with a single roof sloping 
 to the north, while the only opening was on the southerly side, form 
 ing a kind of shelter or break wind during the severe winter. The 
 corn house, or "crib," was somewhat nearer the house than the barn. 
 It appeared to be smaller at the base than at the top where the 
 plates projected considerably beyond the side so as to be sure that 
 the corn might always be kept dry. 
 
 Around the crib were a great number of turkeys and geese and 
 chickens, as if they were expecting soon to be treated to a portion of 
 the contents of the storehouse. As Donald drove up there was a 
 great commotion. The gobblers set up such a gobbling that it 
 seemed they would never stop. Mrs. Kent hearing a great distur- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 253 
 
 bance among the poultry went to the window where she caught sight 
 of the elegant carriage which had just driven up, and the lady and gen 
 tleman getting out. She thought it was Endura but she could not 
 make out the gentleman. Of course she saw that they were coming 
 in, so as quick as thought she changed her cap and put a clean 
 handkerchief around her neck and went directly to the door, getting 
 there almost as quick as her visitors who had scarcely knocked^before 
 the door was opened. Endura being nearest, accosted her first, say 
 ing, " How do you do, Mrs. Kent ! " 
 
 "Howde do, Dura. I thought twas you ; walk in, and your friend 
 
 Mr. " 
 
 Donald clasped her in his arms, and as he kissed her said : 
 " Don t mister me, mother. So you don t know your great big boy?" 
 He sat down and took her on his lap, while tears of joy coursed 
 down their cheeks, expressing more surely than words the happiness 
 
 they felt. 
 
 Soon Donald asked after his father. His mother said she ex 
 pected him every minute, as it was getting towards dinner time, 
 and he had some chores to do before dinner. Donald 
 suggested that he had better take out his horses, and put 
 them in the stable, and Endura volunteered to assist Mrs. Kent with 
 her dinner. " No, no, child, I can do it jest as well, and you 
 must be tired after riding so far." 
 
 Endura assured her that she was not the least bit tired, and in 
 sisted upon going into the kitchen with the old lady, who finally said 
 sh e might, as she would like to talk with her. 
 
 Donald had taken care of his horses, and was on his way back to 
 the house when his father came up. They recognized each other im 
 mediately, and clasped each other heartily by both hands, Donald 
 saying at the same time, "You see I have not forgotten how to make 
 myself at home." 
 
 " And why not?" said the old man, "as long as I have a place to 
 lay my head, it shall be the home of my children. It is but a poor 
 home, but perhaps, as good as I deserve. God has been good to 
 me. Though I am not rich, I have much to be thankful for. I have 
 good children. * Not one of them has given me any sorrow or anxiety, 
 except you, Donald, and I have only been anxious for fear something 
 
254 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 might happen you when you were on the sea and so far away from us. 
 Your mother has always been fearful that something would befall you 
 in the city. She thought that possibly you might go to the bad, as 
 did your old friend Bernard Ivers. I told her that you had too much 
 of your father s Scotch blood to go that way. I had never any fears 
 for your morals, but accidents will happen, and there is no reason 
 why my boy should be exempt more than any one else s. By this time 
 they had reached the house. The old gentleman upon entering met 
 Endura who greeted him cordially. He hesitated for a moment and 
 then said: "I seem to be surprised every way I turn, but I m real 
 glad to see you, Dura. How did it happen ? Did you come with 
 Donald, or was it just by chance you met him here ? " 
 
 Endura said : " I came with Donald, or I might never have 
 seen you. The distance is too long to walk, and you know we can 
 not afford to ride now-a-days, but I have thought of you^ often, Mr. 
 Kent, and often wished that I might see you. It was such a surprise 
 when Donald came yesterday, and so kind of him to ask me to come 
 with him to-day." 
 
 " I am sure it was very sweet of you to come on so long a ride 
 after our late hours last night," said Donald. 
 
 "How far do you call it, Mr. Kent," said Endura, "from here to 
 S ?" 
 
 "It is about eighteen miles," said the old gentleman. "Just a pleasant 
 ride if you have a good horse. You ought to drive it in two hours 
 easily with two horses, such as you came with." 
 
 "Yes," said Donald, "but how about the ride back?" 
 
 " That will be just as easy to-morrow," said Mr. Kent. 
 
 " Ah ! but we expect to return to-day. Is it not so Endura ? " 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so. I am sure mother will expect us." 
 
 Mrs. Kent said she could not let them go, for she could scarcely 
 see Donald at all. 
 
 "I do feel that it is making a short stay, mother, and if Endura 
 will consent to stay it would please me." 
 
 "Do you suppose mother will be alarmed if we do not return? 3 
 
 "I think not, but if you have fears that she will, we had better go, 
 and I will come again very soon," said Donald. 
 
 Endura said she would leave it all with him. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS 255 
 
 " I am sure mother will believe me safe as long as Donald is with 
 me. She always did when he was a boy and took me to school." 
 
 It was arranged that they should stay all night, but Donald said he 
 would like to return in time for church the next day. It had been 
 so many years since he had attended church at the old meeting 
 house, that he thought he should like to go and see the old faces 
 once more. 
 
 So Mrs. Kent had a good afternoon and evening with her boy, 
 during which time the fact was made known that Mrs. Ivers had 
 come in possession of an immense fortune. 
 
 The rascality of Joe Tartar, and his half French confederate, was 
 talked about, and their final violent but natural ending after the life 
 they had led. It was also made known, for the first time, to Mr. 
 Kent and his wife that Joe Tartar gave everything to Mrs. Ivers and 
 Endura at the time of his death. 
 
 It took some time for the old people to realize that Donald had 
 been the one to bring about the favorable results which had been 
 attained. When they had every assurance that it was even so, they 
 almost doubted their senses. Before they retired that night, 
 Donald told his father and mother that they had done work 
 enough, and that their remaining days should be days of 
 comfort and rest. He told them that they might select the 
 best farm in the State, and he would purchase it and make them 
 a present of it ; and he proposed to give another to each of his 
 brothers if they should prefer it to a business in the city, which he 
 hoped they would, as he was not quite sure that it would be best for 
 them to go to the city to enter business in competition with shrewd 
 men of experience. 
 
 One of his sisters was married to a good mechanic, which Donald 
 said he thought he could keep employed as long as he lived, at such 
 a salary as would make him independent. His youngest sister, he 
 said, should share his home until she found some one who would be 
 able to do better by her, or one with whom she would rather live. 
 When that time came, if it ever did, she should be well provided 
 for. 
 
 Of course all this seemed like a dream to the old people. It was 
 impossible for them to realize that their son, Donald, was a million- 
 
256 ENDURA: OP, 
 
 aire, and could do all that he said, and much more. They looked 
 at each other and then at Donald. 
 
 Finally the good old mother said, " God is good, and, my dear boy, 
 he has prospered you beyond Joseph, whom he made to reign in 
 Egypt, that he might be the means of saving his father and his 
 brethren. Your reward is great, and may you not forget your Crea 
 tor and the bounties he has bestowed upon you. My son, who in all 
 the world has been more blest than you ? While others have lost their 
 all and their lives, your life has been preserved, and you have been 
 made rich, beloved and honored, and your poor old mother is to-day 
 more than happy. I can almost say with good old Simeon, Mine 
 eyes have seen the coming of the glory of the Lord. It almost 
 seems that we have a savior in our son. May God bless you as your 
 mother blesses you, and keep you to fulfill the great destiny for which 
 you were doubtless created, which you have so nobly begun !" 
 
 When Donald s mother was through speaking, tears moistened the 
 eyes of all present. Donald arose and went to his mother. He kissed 
 her on her forehead and said : 
 
 " My dear mother, how could I help being what I am ? It has been 
 no effort since you first taught me to do right. I never thought I 
 could do anything that was not right and honest. So you see, my 
 good mother has had much to do with my success, and my prayer 
 shall be that you may live long to watch over me. I always believed 
 what you told me ; and if you told me it was wrong to do a thing I 
 felt just as sure it was wrong as I could have been after I had proved 
 it to be so. I owe much to both my father and my mother. The 
 old Scotch blood which I inherited from my father has shown itself 
 upon more than one occasion. My strong frame and iron constitu 
 tion I owe to both of you and the hardships of my early life, for 
 which hardships, as I have called them, I am now thankful. 
 
 " In short, I seem to have been fitted for the work I was destined 
 to be called upon to perform. And I have done it to the best of my 
 abilities, and to the satisfaction of all concerned." 
 
 When they had all retired but Mrs. Kent, she knelt down and 
 prayed fervently, thanking God for his goodness in giving her such 
 a son, and she seemed to feel that God heard and answered her in a 
 still, small voice which seemed to whisper, "Thou art worthy ! " 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 257 
 
 With Endura it seemed good she stayed; not that what she 
 had heard had raised Donald in her estimation. Indeed, nothing 
 could have made her think more of him than she thought 
 before, but it gave her an insight into an humble, puritanical family s 
 ideas of right and wrong, and of their gratitude for blessings received. 
 Of course Donald was in her dreams. Awake she thought if he would 
 only say as much to her again as he said so long ago, how she would 
 respond and bless him ! 
 
 She felt that he remembered what she said on that occasion and 
 held it against her. How she wished he could be made to under 
 stand the matter as she did. Had she not just plighted her troth 
 to another? She knew she loved Donald even then, for which 
 she felt guilty, but she could not trifle with the love of another. 
 It was a night of wakefulness to Endura, and when the morning 
 came she looked sad, but oh, so sweetly sad! 
 
 Donald asked her if she was ill. She said she did not sleep quite 
 as well as she could have wished. Donald replied he was very 
 sorry she had remained all night, thinking perhaps it might distress 
 her mother. She said she did not believe her mother would mind 
 her staying. 
 
 Mrs. Kent was up betimes as was the old gentleman ; the father 
 to look after the horses, and the mother to prepare breakfast that 
 the young folks might have an early start. Donald knew that his 
 horses would require feeding very early in order to be ready to leave 
 immediately after breakfast ; but his father was at the barn before 
 him, and the animals were eating their cut feed with plenty of Indian 
 meal. 
 
 "You see, Donald, I have not forgotten how to get up in the 
 morning," said Mr. Kent. 
 
 "Well," said Donald, "you cannot say I was much behind you." 
 
 Breakfast was soon over, and our hero and his lovely charge were 
 
 on their way to S , intending to stop at the meeting-house in the 
 
 village on their way, as Donald had decided the night before. 
 
 As they drove along, both were too happy to speak, yet neither 
 knew that the other was so. Donald, that he was once more alone 
 with his soul s idol, and Endura, sadly happy to be with one she 
 loved so dearly, though she fully believed that Donald did not return 
 
258 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 that love, at least, not the same kind of love which she gave he might 
 love her as a brother he had promised her to do that years before, 
 but she longed for something more. Not the love of a brother, not 
 even the love of the angels could satisfy her. 
 
 Donald felt that to tell her how much he loved her and to ask her 
 to be his, would appear mean and mercenary. Perhaps she would 
 say to herself, " My fortune attracts him." Perhaps she would tell 
 him as she had once done before when he asked her to be his 
 "Never." 
 
 Well, at least, he would not give her that opportunity again ; he would 
 do as he had promised her so long ago. He would be her brother, 
 and there his cogitations ended. 
 
 How often would the whole current of one s life be changed if we 
 could know each other s thoughts ! But would there be more happi 
 ness? Perhaps there might be ; but it would be greatly neutralized 
 by the disagreeable things we would know. 
 
 There are a class of sympathetic thinkers, and they number millions, 
 whose doctrine was unknown forty years ago. They claim to com 
 mune with unseen spirits, and hold pleasant conversation with de 
 parted friends. They are happy in their belief, which is rapidly 
 spreading. Not only do they converse with them through a 
 medium which would not be quite satisfactory to us, but they sit 
 with them for their pictures taken by Spirit artists, which, we confess, 
 strains our credulity somewhat to believe that a soulless instrument 
 can discover things which do not exist, and produce a shadow where 
 there is no substance. 
 
 Still such things are, and there are sound, able men and women 
 whom we believe to be honest and upright, who are strong in the faith, 
 and we have no disposition to try to discourage them. If they are 
 happy in the belief let them enjoy it. There has never been a belief 
 that has spread more rapidly, and there can be little doubt but 
 that it is destined to be the nucleus of a new religion, which at no 
 distant day will become vastly popular in the sympathetic, thinking 
 world. 
 
 It would have been of small moment for either Endura or Donald 
 to have been Spiritualists. The spirits which they would have mater- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 259 
 
 ialized were too palpable. Perhaps if they had been invisible to each 
 other, they could better have solved the problem. 
 
 They reached the village in time for church. They drove directly 
 to the meeting-house which was just at the edge of the village. Don 
 ald assisted Endura to alight upon the steps of the meet 
 ing-house, where she remained until he had hitched and covered 
 his horses ; for he was never known to neglect them. He then 
 returned and entered the building with Endura. 
 
 The pews in those old village churches are nearly all free. The 
 stranger as well as the citizen walks in and seats himself. Endura, 
 being more at home than Donald, led the way to a pew, and they 
 placed themselves together. 
 
 There was quite a stir in the church when they came in, and not a 
 few heads were turned to see who the handsome gentleman was 
 with Endura. The sermon was after the same order of those 
 preached there from time immemorial. A text was read, and two or 
 three allusions made to it during the discourse. 
 
 The remainder of the sermon was little more than an exhoitation, 
 in which the minister took occasion to allude to "the stranger within 
 their gates," hoping that he might be benefited by the downdroppings 
 from the sanctuary. 
 
 It was whispered around that the gentleman was none other than 
 Donald Kent, who formerly lived with General Ivers. 
 
 They had lost run of him for some time. True, they had heard 
 that he had gone off somewhere, and they supposed that would be 
 the last of him. 
 
 As Donald went out of the church he was accosted by one or two 
 who knew him as a boy. The number soon increased, so that soon 
 he was quite surrounded by his old-time friends and acquaintances, 
 which was very pleasant. 
 
 At last Donald succeeded in bringing his carriage to the door 
 where Endura was awaiting him. He assisted her to get in, and they 
 drove off, neither of them sorry to be free again. They drove direct 
 ly to Mrs. Ivers , where quite a number had already called to see 
 Donald. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers was expecting them, but said she should not have 
 been worried if they had not returned for three days. Upon the 
 
260 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 whole she was glad they stayed one night with the old people, 
 and would have thought it strange if they had not. 
 
 She had prepared a good, old-fashioned Yankee dinner, with pump 
 kin pies and apple pudding for dessert, and both Donald and En- 
 dura were ready to do it justice, having eaten nothing since 
 early that morning, it being then about four o clock. 
 
 After dinner Donald proposed to take a ramble to which Endura 
 readily assented. Donald suggested that they visit the graveyard 
 where two new graves had been made since he was there before. 
 Upon approaching the spot he noticed that no new stones had been 
 erected since his last visit, but he was too considerate to speak of it, 
 simply remarking that it looked familiar. 
 
 Endura said her father had intended to have a monument for 
 Bernard, but he had been so embarrassed that he was not able to pay 
 for it, so it had never been done. She said her mother had 
 saved about half as much as would be required to erect one 
 that would answer for the family, and she hoped soon to have it. 
 Donald made no comments, and they passed on. They went 
 as far as the house in which the widow Tartar formally lived. 
 The house was vacant, and looked very lonely, remembering, as they 
 both did, the sad ending of the poor, old lady, and the final exit of 
 her ungrateful son. 
 
 On their way back they were walking side by side when they 
 neared the great rock upon which they sat more than three years be 
 fore. Donald said: "Do you remember that rock, Endura?" 
 
 She answered that she could not forget it ; that she had visited it 
 often alone, and sat upon it for hours thinking of the past, "And, Don 
 ald, you have ever been with me when I have visited this spot. We 
 have sat together as we did years ago, and I have almost felt you as I 
 did then. I am no Spiritualist, but it must have been something 
 nearly approaching it to have brought you so vividly before me, while 
 upon this rock I have rested and ruminated. " 
 
 " It must have been a kind of spiritual intercourse, for I have 
 been with you here so often," said Donald. 
 
 In the meanwhile they had seated themselves upon about the same 
 spot where they had been seated when Donald said he was almost 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 261 
 
 happy. Donald took Endura s hand in his, just as he had done 
 upon that well-remembered day. 
 
 " How long it is, Endura, since we sat thus before, when I held 
 your hand as I do now ! I said I had something to say to you. I 
 remember that I said, < Will you hear it now ? and you bade me 
 speak. I then told you how much I loved you, when you rebuked 
 me and forbade my saying more. I did not blame you, I could 
 not blame you. But, Endura, you did something more, for which I 
 blessed you. Have you forgotten what it was ? " 
 
 Endura put her arm around his neck and kissed him upon his 
 brow as she had done in that far-off time. Donald leaned his head 
 upon her bosom and was silent. At last he remembered what he 
 had said when he aroused from that sweet oblivion. Was it a 
 dream ? Looking up, he said : 
 
 "That was, indeed, a delicious dream; but this is a blissful real 
 ity. I have felt your soft lips again upon my forehead. Was it a 
 sister s kiss ? Am I still your brother ? " 
 
 It was now Endura s turn to express what she so long had felt. 
 She clasped his hand and kissed it, and said : " O Donald, Donald ! 
 what are you not to me ! brother, friend, benefactor I almost 
 said god. I cannot be sacrilegious, but have I not worshiped you 
 as few men are worshiped ? Tell me, Donald, can a woman love 
 too fondly ? Is it wicked to love with one s whole soul ? " 
 
 Donald clasped her in his arms and rained kisses upon her cheeks 
 and lips ; then, lifting her from the rock and putting his arm around 
 her, they walked on together. Too happy for earth, they deemed 
 themselves in heaven. 
 
 When they reached the house, their joy was too great to be hid 
 den. Donald told Mrs. Ivers of his great love for her daughter, and 
 he said : "I am sure Endura loves me." 
 
 The good woman said : " You cannot be more sure of it than I 
 have been for years. But I am not sure that you know even now 
 how much she loves you. How much we all loved you ! My dear 
 husband thought there was never a young man like you; so he was 
 always telling Endura. And I felt toward you as a mother feels 
 toward her son ; for you have always been like a son to me. We have 
 always been so proud of our Donald." 
 
262 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 "And I will be your son ; and if Endura consents, our plighted 
 vows shall be consummated here. She already has all I can give, but 
 my hand, and that only awaits her acceptance. All is a poor offer 
 ing for such a treasure, but what more can I give? " 
 
 "Do not mock me, Donald. What am I, to deserve such love, 
 such goodness ? It appears to me that I am too happy. Can it 
 last ? Will not the nectar turn to gall ? " Reaching out her hand to 
 Donald, she said : " Stay with me ; I cannot have you go, I may 
 never see you again, and that would kill me." 
 
 Donald embraced her and kissed her, and assured her that he 
 would not leave her. Then, kissing her mother, he said : 
 
 "I have just now concluded that it will be well for both of you to 
 go to Boston with me, for you can board for a time, and in the 
 spring we can go to Europe together, a trip it will be necessary 
 for me to make, and it will be such a pleasure to have you go with 
 me." 
 
 Mrs. Ivers could not express her great joy. Words were but fee 
 ble echoes of her beating heart. At last she said : 
 
 " I am too much blest. I fear I have more thrust upon me than 
 I deserve. I have had so many trials and heartaches of late that I 
 almost despaired of any more happiness this side the grave, except 
 that which I have enjoyed in the society of my darling girl; but the 
 Lord has blessed me above my deserts, and, at a time when all 
 looked gloomy, with no light ahead ; He has flooded my pathway 
 with transcendent joy, and my dear son, for so I would like to call 
 you, you have been the instrument in the hands of the Almighty, 
 whic * has secured these great blessings. We have much to thank 
 you for. More than words can express. All that we can bestow 
 upon you will but poorly recompense you for what you have done for 
 us. But we must not forget our Heavenly Father, who has tempered 
 the wind to the shorn lamb, who has not made our burdens greater 
 than we could bear ; to Him is due everlasting praise and thanksgiving." 
 
 Donald thanked her for her good opinion of him, and at the same 
 time he told her that her uniform kindness and consideration for 
 him, when he first came there as a boy, had had much to do with 
 the success which he had met with in life. He could not have done 
 a mean thing in her presence, and when he was away from her the 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 263 
 
 recollection of her many kindnesses would have rebuked him if he 
 had attempted anything wrong. 
 
 " My own mother, ever good and considerate, lacked that fascina 
 tion which you had for me. I was never allowed to feel that I was 
 dependent during all the time I was in the family, and when I went 
 away and returned, nothing was too good for me. How could I 
 hope to repay such disinterested friendship ; but there was a way 
 marked out by an All-wise Creator, by which I was allowed to re 
 turn a portion of your many kindnesses. I did not seek the knowl 
 edge which was destined to change the current of our lives. It was 
 thrust upon me, and I profited by the hints which another might 
 have done as well ; And that should teach us there s a divinity that 
 shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will. " 
 
 It was the evening of the Sabbath, the day following would bring 
 its cares. 
 
264 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 I AM YOURS, HEART AND SOUL. 
 
 When gratitude o erflows the swelling heart 
 And breathes in free and uncorrupted praise 
 For benefits receiv d: Propitious heaven 
 Take such acknowledgements as fragrant incense, 
 And doubles all its blessings. 
 
 Lille? s " Elmerick." 
 
 IT would be necessary for Endura to go to the school-house as usual. 
 She was under an engagement, and nothing could induce her 
 to break faith with those who had been so kind to her in her ad 
 versity, or to shrink from duty or responsibility. She would fulfill 
 her obligations. It would be but a short time before the term would 
 end and she would be free. 
 
 With what different feelings she entered the school-room, the next 
 morning ! Donald walked over with her, and then took occasion to 
 ramble about, visiting one or two of the neighbors before returning to 
 the house, which he reached in time for dinner, which was always on 
 the table promptly at twelve o clock. After dinner he hitched up his 
 horses, and taking Mrs. Ivers, he drove around the country. She 
 expressed a wish to visit her old home, where her father lived; where 
 she first met her husband. As little incidents came to mind, pleas 
 ant or otherwise, tears flowed so freely that her handkerchief was in 
 constant use, absorbing the grateful drops. 
 
 When they returned, Endura was there waiting for them. Tea was 
 ready to put on the table, and they were all in humor to enjoy it. 
 As the drive had given Mrs. Ivers and Donald appetites, and as En- 
 dura had waited some time since getting the tea ready, she enjoyed it 
 quite as much as they. 
 
 Donald remained two days longer, and not an hour but he was as 
 happy as it is possible for a man to be. 
 
 The night before he was to return to Boston, he was alone with 
 Endura in the parlor. They were sitting upon the sofa. Donald put 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 265 
 
 his arm around her and drew her gently toward him, while she in 
 clined her head upon his breast, but said nothing. 
 
 Donald said: "Has it then come to this? The great boy that 
 your father gave bread and schooling to, as a compensation for ser 
 vices; the one he so kindly treated as a boy, and after as a guest; 
 the one who took care of his little daughter, and toted her to school 
 so many times; the one whom she said should be her brother 
 What is he to-day ? Remember, Endura, you have not yet said you 
 would be my wife." 
 
 " And you have not yet asked me, Donald. Think you I could re 
 fuse you anything, and above all, refuse to be made happy myself ? 
 Have I not said you were all in all to me ? What more can I say ? " 
 
 " Say ! say you will be mine forever, and never tire of loving me 
 and I will bless you." 
 
 U I am yours, heart and soul; I will promise to be your wife, and 
 love you forever, as I do now; and, if my poor heart is capable, I 
 will learn to love you better still, even as your merits deserve." 
 
 Donald raised her lips to his and fervently kissed them. Then 
 holding her from him while he looked into her tear-filled eyes, he 
 reverently said, " God bless you, my darling, and may I never bring 
 you a sorrow ! " 
 
 The day following Donald took his leave. He returned to Boston, 
 and entered in earnest upon his profession. There were some im 
 portant suits then pending which his partners were determined he 
 should manage. Among the rest was a man to be tried for murder. 
 The case excited a great deal of interest at the time. It will be re 
 membered as the case where a man murdered his mistress through 
 jealousy. 
 
 The case finally came to trial after several postponements. The 
 public interest in it had somewhat abated, but so bitter had been the 
 feeling against the prisoner that it was found difficult to secure twelve 
 men who were competent to serve as a jury. At last the panel was 
 completed and the trial began. The proofs were so strong that it 
 would have been absurd to have attempted a denial. What was to 
 be done then ? 
 
 The attorneys had been retained to defend the prisoner, and it was 
 their duty to do their best for him. The District Attorney opened the 
 
266 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 case, stating the fact as he understood them. He said a foul murder 
 had been committed, and that the prisoner was the perpetrator of 
 the bloody deed there could be no doubt. He said he did not know 
 what the defense would claim, but it appeared to him that if ever 
 there was a case with but one side to it, this was the one. 
 
 When Donald opened for the prisoner, he said that the District 
 Attorney seemed to have tried the man before he entered the court 
 room, which was about equal to the judge who condemned a man to 
 be hung and tried him afterwards. 
 
 " The honorable gentleman has told you he did not know what our 
 line of defense would be. We could have informed him had he ap 
 plied to us. He doubtless expects us to say that the prisoner was 
 not there, or being there, we may be expected to attempt to prove that 
 our client sat by while some ruffian came in and murdered his friend; 
 or that, perhaps, we might attempt to show that the prisoner shot the 
 woman in self defense, something as the wolf we read of in the fable 
 defending himself against the lamb that attempted to bite him. We 
 do not propose to offer any such defense. That there has been a 
 murder committed will admit of no doubt. And there could 
 scarcely be a doubt but that the prisoner at the bar had perpetrated 
 the bloody deed. The question that would naturally arise, then, 
 would be the cause which led to the fearful tragedy. 
 
 " We all remember the Moor of Venice when he entered the bed 
 chamber of the woman he loved better than his own life. There she 
 lay upon her couch sleeping so sweetly, dreaming, it might have been, 
 of the dusky Moor. He takes off his sword and almost relents. But 
 he remembers the great wrong which she has done him. Fancied or 
 real, it mattered not to one frenzied with jealousy as was Othello. His 
 breast was aflame : 
 
 It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, 
 Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars, 
 It is the cause 
 
 " The cause seemed to burn into his very soul ! Think you not 
 that the Moor was full of horror at the cruel action which he was 
 about to perpetrate ? But to him the cause justified it. That was the 
 greatness of the provocation. When the deed was done how he 
 
THREE GENERATIONS 267 
 
 groaned as he hung over her, kissing her unresponding lips, crying 
 out in his agony: 
 
 O Desdemona ! Desdemona ! Dead ? and when he says to 
 Lodovico : 
 
 When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, 
 Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
 Nor set down aught in malice ; 
 Then must you speak of one who loved not wisely, but too well. 
 
 " We expect to prove that our client had, as he believed, a just 
 cause for committing the murderous act. Not that murder can be 
 justified upon any ground or pretext, but deranged minds cannot look 
 upon that which has unsettled them with coolness and philosophy. 
 
 " We expect to show that upon several occasions the prisoner has 
 been entirely irresponsible for his acts ; that once, in particular, he 
 fired a shot which happened to miss the person for whom it was in 
 tended. When he came to himself the realization of what he had 
 attempted filled him with horror and blanched his cheeks. Think 
 you that the prisoner was in his right mind when he committed the 
 bloody deed ? If you do, he is convicted already. If you do not, 
 he must be acquitted ; for you would not send to the gallows a man 
 insane and irresponsible. 
 
 "We sincerely hope you will listen to the testimony pro and con, 
 dispassionately, and we feel sure that you will say by your verdict, 
 Send this man to the asylum, and not to the scaffold. " 
 
 The trial lasted a number of days, and certain facts came out that 
 gave a coloring of truth to what Donald had said in his opening. 
 In fact, it was proven that the prisoner was subject to fits of despon 
 dency and desperation. At such times he had made threats against 
 the life of some of his best friends. It was proved that he had 
 strong passions, whether of love or hate ; that he was generous and 
 self-sacrificing, but hot tempered and jealous, and when in his mel 
 ancholy moods he was considered dangerous. 
 
 When the testimony was all in, and it became Donald s duty to 
 sum up, he made one of the most eloquent and convincing arguments 
 ever listened to in the old court-house. He met every argument of 
 counsel upon the other side. Logic with logic, satire with satire, 
 and reason with reason ; and when it came to closing, every breath 
 
268 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 seemed bated or hushed, as he repeated Portia s words to Shylock : 
 
 " The quality of mercy is not strained ; 
 It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath ; it is twice blessed ; 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes ; 
 Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
 It is the attribute to God himself ; 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God s, 
 When mercy seasons justice." 
 
 The Judge gave his charge not unfavorable to the prisoner, im 
 pressing upon their minds that he was entitled to any doubts which 
 might arise. Suffice it to say the jury did give him the benefit of a 
 doubt which was that he was not in his right mind at the time the 
 deed was committed ; and so he was acquitted. But, at the same time, 
 they suggested that he be restrained of his liberty for fear that, in 
 the heat of passion, he might commit another act like the one for 
 which he had been tried for his life. 
 
 The Judge took the matter under advisement, and, in the end, 
 Donald s client was sent to an asylum where he grew worse, and 
 died in less than a year. 
 
 Four weeks had passed since Donald returned to Boston, during 
 most of which time he had been engaged in the great trial which 
 crowned him with so much glory for the able manner in which he 
 had conducted the case. He had found time, however, to promptly 
 answer all of the loving letters which he had received from Endura, 
 who in the meanwhile had closed her school, and was getting ready 
 to go with her mother to Boston where arrangements had been per 
 fected for their comfort during the winter. It was understood that 
 the marriage of Donald and Endura was to take place at an early 
 day, for which extensive preparations were to be immediately made. 
 By this time it became generally known that the famous young law 
 yer, Donald Kent, was to lead to the altar the beautiful daughter of 
 the late General Ivers, the heiress, to a princely estate in the south of 
 France, whither the young couple were to go upon their wedding 
 tour, accompanied by Mrs. Ivers, the mother of the bride, now the 
 marchioness of Vieux. 
 
 The announcement created quite a stir in social circles and the 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 269 
 
 guests at the hotel were on the qui vive to see the bride elect, the 
 heiress to such fabulous wealth, when she should arrive. 
 
 The day came at length, when the mother and daughter made 
 their appearance, escorted by the handsome Mr. Kent. 
 
 Great preparations had been made for their accommadation ; 
 nothing less than the best the hotel afforded. Their rooms were 
 elegantly fitted up, expressly for them, and rare exotics filled the 
 magnificent vases which adorned the superb pedestals that supported 
 them. The suite of rooms were so arranged that they connected 
 one with another; both of the bedrooms opening into the parlor, 
 which was the common room. 
 
 All of the rooms were plainly but richly furnished ; but upon the 
 parlor the upholsterer had exhausted his skill. 
 
 The furniture was elegant, of the very latest patterns, upholstered in 
 exquisite style. The lambrequins and draperies were gems of art, 
 and the lace curtains were eleborate and tastefully draped. The 
 pictures were the finest steel engravings selected for their appropri 
 ateness for the place and occasion. 
 
 Everything was done that could be done for the comfort and 
 happiness of Mrs. Ivers and her daughter. Occasionally she would 
 be called "marchioness," but she told them she preferred to be 
 called Mrs. Ivers. 
 
 Endura was the great attraction of the hotel, and Donald Kent 
 was often complimented and congratulated for having won the heart 
 of the peerless beauty. 
 
 Thus the winter passed. Donald Kent winning golden opinions 
 in his profession by his eloquence and masterly skill in managing the 
 important cases which were intrusted to the firm, while Mrs Ivers 
 and Endura were winning the friendship of all who were introduced 
 to them, by their gentleness and refinement. Donald was in corre 
 spondence with his agents in France. He wrote them that he should 
 visit the chateau during the following spring and summer with the 
 marchioness and her daughter, who, he wrote, would be before then 
 his wife. 
 
 He gave directions about repairing and restoring certain portions of 
 the chateau, especially the bed-chamber of the marchioness as well 
 as two or three of the guest-chambers and the dining-room ; also 
 
270 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 for the painting and refurnishing of some other rooms besides the grand 
 hall, which was to be restored to its pristine beauty, so that the 
 marchioness might feel at home, upon her first entering, and that En- 
 dura might fully realize the elegance by which her mother was sur 
 rounded when she was a child. 
 
 The day of the marriage was announced. The ceremony was to 
 be performed by an Episcopal clergyman, according to the rites of 
 his church. And although both Endura and Donald would have pre 
 ferred to have been married in their own quiet home, it was thought 
 advisable to be married in church, which was beautifully decorated 
 for the occasion. 
 
 There were upwards of one hundred invitations issued, nearly all 
 of which honored them with their presence. And all declared that a 
 more elegant couple never entered the church. 
 
 The bride was lovely beyond compare, in her beautiful robes of 
 white satin, with her gauzy vail and wreath of orange blossoms resting 
 upon her golden hair. Fit emblems beauty and innocence crowned 
 with garlands of fragrant flowers. 
 
 The bride did not require elegant dresses to make her beautiful. But 
 tasteful dressing is a powerful adjunct to a woman s beauty, while too 
 much dressing detracts in the same proportion. Endura chose that 
 happy medium, so that each flower set off a counter charm, yet so 
 blending, that critics were at loss to know which was the more beauti 
 ful, or if the picture would not have been ruined if a single shade 
 had been omitted. 
 
 It was a proud day for Donald Kent, when he led to the altar En- 
 dura Ivers, and first called her wife, a consummation he could not 
 have hoped for three years before. And yet he loved her then, as few 
 are loved; all the while distrustful of himself, and feeling that she was 
 so far above him socially, that it would be useless for him to attempt to 
 reach the plain, upon which she stood. He had worshiped her from 
 afar, without the least expectation of ever coming nearer to her. As we 
 look upon a beautiful star so far above us, so Donald Kent looked 
 up to Endura, and loved the more he looked, And who shall say 
 that love, that adoration had not something to do with Donald s rapid 
 rise in the world. He was a remarkable lad of the sternest integrity 
 As a boy, he was not considered brilliant, rather the reverse. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS 271 
 
 While Benard Ivers was remarkable for his keen perception and ready 
 application, and could scarcely be taught any more in the district 
 school, Donald could hardly read a sentence correctly. 
 
 When Donald Kent first took Endura to school, she could read 
 better than himself. The scholars, at first, were disposed to make a 
 butt of him, which he did not appear to resent until the ruffian, Jack 
 Young, broke his sled, when he showed what stuff he was made of. 
 Every minute seemed to count with him while in the school-house, 
 and at home when the chores were done, he would sit beside En- 
 dura, teaching and being taught ; so that in three years he was selected 
 to teach the very school where three years before he entered as a 
 novice. Was it natural abilities alone that so soon placed him in the 
 front rank, or had he some assisting incentive ? True he had a re 
 markable capacity, and his splendid physique made it possible for 
 him to apply himself much more closely than he otherwise could have 
 done. But did not love lend wings to ambition ? Was not the deter 
 mination to be something more than a mere plodder, the first step 
 toward the accomplishing the purpose? And who first inspired him? 
 General Ivers was kind and considerate; Mrs. Ivers was gentle and 
 motherly; Endura was an angel of beauty and innocence, whose 
 childish caresses soothed him in his trials, and encouraged him in his 
 labors. Fortune favored him in all his undertakings, which appeared 
 to have been conceived and carried out wisely, and at the time he led 
 Endura to the altar he was to be envied if ever a man was to be, and 
 he felt that he was blessed above his merits. 
 
 The wedding was spoken of in the papers as an event of unusual 
 importance, extolling the beauty of the bride, and promising a 
 grand future for the groom, who had succeeded so well in whatever 
 he had undertaken. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers was spoken of as a remarkable lady for one of 
 her years. Many declared that she did not look forty, and some be 
 lieved that she must have been Endura s step-mother instead of her 
 own mother, she appeared so young and sprightly. 
 
 There were many beautiful and appropriate presents offered the 
 bride, which were pleasantly acknowledged. The most simple with 
 the same feelings as were the costly and beautiful. There was not 
 a present given where the heart did not go out with it, to meet a 
 
272 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 heart as warm. Some little mementoes from her late pupils were 
 most treasured. Two or three in particular, insignificant in them 
 selves, were. counted above silver or gold for their pathetic import. 
 
 We will now leave the bride and groom to enjoy their honeymoon, 
 while we look up some who have almost been forgotten. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 273 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 Love is not to be reason d down or lost 
 In high ambition, or a thirst of greatness. 
 Tis second life, it grows into the love, 
 Warms ev ry vein, and beats in ev ry pulse. 
 
 Addisorfs Cato. 
 
 IT will be remembered that when Mr. Charles Wheat first visited 
 S he met among others Clara Haywood, who won his heart 
 
 at first sight. From that time forth he anticipated visiting that por 
 tion of the country with far more pleasure than when called upon to be 
 the bearer of the sad tidings which first took him thither. 
 
 Mr. Haywood soon after sold his place in W , and removed 
 
 to the city, where he purchased a beautiful home upon one of the 
 fashionable streets, and Charley Wheat was doubtless very glad of 
 the change, as it brought his lady-love so much nearer to him. He 
 did not restrict himself to one evening in the week, but went often and 
 stayed long, and his companions voted him very much in love. He 
 finally concluded to have her nearer to him still. He asked her to 
 be his wife, and she, nothing loth, consented ; so they were married and 
 both made happy, and the next year the sign over the door of the 
 great establishment read : 
 
 HAYWOOD & WHEAT, 
 IMPORTERS. 
 
 Brother Spooner had been ordained a minister of the gospel, and 
 
 occasionally visited W and preached to the faithful ; but he never 
 
 told them anything new. In fact, he had nothing new to tell them. 
 He preached the same old doctrine, in the same, meaningless, stupid 
 manner. He made long prayers, claiming to have faith, and, doubt 
 less, he tried to remove mountains by faith. But the smallest cobbles 
 would not move an inch by all the faith he could bring to bear upon 
 them 
 
274 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 He exhorted them to love one another, and in that he set them an 
 example, by loving all the pretty young ladies of his flock. He said 
 he was sure of going to heaven, and ready and anxious to enter in 
 through the pearly gates into the New Jerusalem, and leave this world 
 of care and sorrow. But when he grew sick, and apparently the time 
 approached when he might have an opportunity of trying the realities 
 of that heavenly country, he always voted to stay a little longer. 
 He was a good adviser, and if people would do as well as he told 
 them they would be very good, and deserve about all he promised 
 them. 
 
 Donald Kent purchased the Ivers place, and had his father and 
 mother move there, and one of his sisters went with them. The 
 neighbors all liked them and did all they could to make them con 
 tented and happy. That they succeeded there could have been no 
 doubt, for they lived on the very best terms with all of them. 
 Donald also did as he had promised his mother, with the rest of the 
 family. In fact, the generosity and kindness of Donald Kent was 
 talked of everywhere through the country. While in Boston his great 
 abilities were admitted by those in and out the profession. 
 
 The winter passed rapidly and pleasantly. Spring came, when it 
 
 was proposed to make a flying trip to S . In order to be entirely 
 
 independent and at liberty to go and come at his pleasure, Donald 
 concluded to drive there instead of going by rail and stage. When 
 he reached his father s they were in the midst of spring work. But, 
 of course, everything was laid aside for the visitors. 
 
 Donald was reminded of the time when he first came there as a 
 boy, and of the great changes which had taken place. He went to 
 the little room which he occupied, so near the roof that every rain 
 drop could be distinctly heard. He laid down upon the little 
 bed where had slept, and tried to realize the wonderful changes 
 which had taken place. He had not lain there long when the gen 
 tle rain-drops began to patter, faster and faster, until he felt as though 
 it were a dream, and, being tired, he fell asleep. 
 
 He was missed in and about the house, and inquiry was made for 
 him, but no one appeared to know where he had gone. He had been 
 absent for an hour perhaps, when Mrs. Ivers in looking over the house 
 came to his room, as it was always called. Stepping in she saw him up- 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 275 
 
 upon the bed She did not disturb him, but went and told 
 Endura, who could scarcely bear to have him out of her sight. His 
 wife went to him immediately, and putting her lips to his forehead kiss 
 ed him fervently. Opening his eyes, he saw an angel of beauty an 
 loveliness leaning over him. It was the spirit of his dream clothed in 
 flesh. 
 
 He clasped her to his breast and said : " My darling wife ! God 
 bless you! I thought it was a dream." 
 
 " So it is, Donald, and I am the spirit of it more substantially 
 clothed. So you may dream on ; I will still be near you. " 
 
 The rain continued to fall, and Donald enjoyed it now all the 
 more, since the reality of his beautiful dream was with him. As they 
 sat there together listening to the steady patter upon the shingled roof, 
 Donald, putting his arm lovingly around her, kissed her and said: 
 
 "Shall I tell my little one a story? " 
 
 Endura looked at him scarcely knowing what to say. At last, ap 
 parently recovering herself, she said, " Anything, dear, from you cannot 
 but be interesting. But you must not hide from me again." 
 
 Donald began: "Years ago, I came to this house an awk 
 ward boy. I slept upon this bed. Upon this very pillow I rested 
 my tired head. The rain pattered upon the roof as it does now. I 
 was very lonely. I knew there was work for me to do. At night I 
 came to bed dreading the morrow. The rain soothed me and I slept; 
 I might have dreamed as I dreamt just now; but, like the sailor-boy s 
 dream of home, awaking dispelled it. I went forth to labor. 
 
 " I was kindly treated, and I gave kindness for kindness, which 
 created in me something better and more noble. Whatever I did 
 that was good and kind came back to me an hundred fold, which 
 stimulated me to do better and better until I was astonished at my 
 self. But I saw no way to lift myself above the position of a depen 
 dent, a servant to be commanded. Through your father s kind in 
 tercession and influence, I was selected and engaged to teach the 
 district school. I improved every opportunity. I studied hard; I read 
 Greek and Latin, and French and Spanish. To what purpose I did 
 not know; I was anxious to learn and everything seemed to favor my 
 doing so. New fields opened to me, one after another. I was offered 
 positions. My friends tried to push me ahead. I went to Boston with 
 
276 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 a letter from your father to Mr. Stern, who had formerly been a class 
 mate with him. 
 
 " I presented the letter, and well I remember his words. He 
 looked to me curiously and said : The General speaks well of you, 
 and we will see what we can do for you. I was told to call the next 
 day, which I did not fail to do, and was put at work writing some 
 receipts. I did some copying and then I was given some compara 
 tively unimportant matters to attend to, all of which I did to the ap 
 parent satisfaction of my principals. I was then intrusted with more 
 important business which I discharged to the best of my abilities. My 
 health gave way and I wrote to your father to know if I might come 
 and work for him as I used to do. I came; you know what followed. 
 I was very ill. Your mother cared for me as for her own son. 
 
 " I recovered and returned to Boston to find awaiting me an impor 
 tant mission which I was at first reluctant to undertake ; but, being 
 pressed to do so, I finally agreed, with many misgivings, to do my 
 best. 
 
 " I crossed the ocean, left behind me all my friends and the scenes 
 so dear to memory, to become for a time an exile in a strange land. 
 Fortune still favored me. I met and made other friends. New 
 scenes opened before me. A new life began. 
 
 "Providentially, and I say it with reverence, my eyes were 
 opened as by a miracle, and I saw, or thought I could see, the end as 
 it finally was. Through it all, one sweet angel hovered near, and 
 smiled approvingly upon every success. I was flattered by the great 
 and entertained by the wealthy. I was courted and favored wherever . 
 my success became known. Beautiful ladies entertained me and 
 showed me great preference. I felt proud of their respect. I felt 
 honored by their attentions ; but farther they had no effect upon me. 
 There was one loved face and form that was ever with me ; one 
 which I could not forget. I did not try to forget her, but, on the 
 contrary, my greatest happiness was in keeping her constantly with 
 me. 
 
 " During this time your lover and affianced was taken from you. I 
 knew him to be honorable and worthy, and my heart bled for you 
 Your father s death followed close upon that of your affianced hus 
 band. It was then that my whole being went out to you in love and 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 277 
 
 sympathy. Hope sprang up again within my breast. I pictured you 
 in distress, alone with your widowed mother, and I longed to be with 
 you. I could scarcely wait ; but matters which I had in hand must 
 be carried out. So I stayed on and labored until complete success 
 crowned my efforts, when I bade my friends and colleagues good bye 
 and sailed for New York, where I arrived, after a very short passage. 
 I went immediately to Boston to render my accounts to my superiors, 
 which was done in the shortest possible time, and then I hastened 
 here, and darling, you know the rest. 
 
 "Was it any wonder that I slept, with the soothing patter of the 
 rain, with such pleasant reminiscenses. I have lived it all over again 
 the bitter has been less bitter and the sweet far more sweet. I 
 have had a lovely sleep, and, instead of waking to sorrow and disap 
 pointment, my sweetest dream is a delicious reality. It is not your 
 spirit, but the substance that I look upon and clasp in my arms. I 
 feel your soft lips upon mine, and your golden hair is beside my 
 cheek. Why should I not be happy ? Am I not supremely blessed ? " 
 
 Endura listened until he concluded without speaking. She then 
 said : 
 
 " I, too, have a story to tell. Ever so many years ago when I was 
 a child, a great good-natured boy came to live in our family." 
 
 " Yes ; you have told me all about him." 
 
 " He was my protector, my friend, my teacher, my lover and is 
 now my darling husband. I cannot remember when I did not love 
 you. At first, as a child loves one who is kind to her, then as a sis 
 ter loves a brother. I felt that I could do nothing without you. You 
 could not have known how dependent I was upon you. At first my 
 mother chid me for being so babyish, as she called it. 
 
 " But nothing changed my feelings. Father was constantly telling 
 of your noble qualities in my hearing, and I repeated what he said to 
 others, sometimes adding something which I knew myself. I was 
 once told that I might marry you yet. Indeed, I heard it talked of 
 often, but nothing was further from my thoughts. When you went 
 away I was so lonely that I cried a great part of the time for two 
 weeks, and when you came to see us you little dreamt how happy 
 you made me. Not even the visit of Bernard pleased me so much. 
 You were so kind, so generous, so good and so noble that I could 
 
278 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 not help loving you. And I should have continued to love you to 
 the end. 
 
 " Then came your visit when you told me your love and asked me 
 to be yours, when I had already promised my hand to another. 
 What could I do ? My heart was rent in twain. I was distressed, 
 and when you told me that I refused you because of the difference 
 in our positions, I was almost distracted. O, Donald, you can never 
 know the heart-rending agony of that moment. I thought that if you 
 had but told me before, how different would have been the situation. 
 I loved Rodney Haywood. I learned to love him for his many good 
 qualities, for his generous nature and gentlemanly characteristics. I 
 believed he was no common man ; and he told me how much he 
 loved me and how much his people thought of me. 
 
 "He pictured the future so bright that I thought nothing could sur 
 pass it. My love for him increased until his death, and then I al 
 most reproached myself for thinking so much of you. My love for 
 you was so different ; it was vigorous from the first. I never schooled 
 myself to love you, it was spontaneous, and I could no more help it 
 than I can help breathing. Was it unnatural then, that my thoughts 
 should turn to you almost as soon as I had recovered from the 
 shock given me by the news of Rodney s death ? Was it wicked that 
 my whole soul and being turned to you ? In a distant land as you 
 were, I felt that I might never see you again and that it would not be 
 wrong for me to love you. I argued with myself that it was godlike 
 to love anyone or anything worth loving, and I almost worshiped you, 
 believing that you were possessed of all the attributes ascribed to 
 man. 
 
 " I received your letters and treasured every word they contained. 
 I tried in vain to discover something indicating a renewal of your 
 old love. I hoped you would think of me as in the past, possibly 
 your love might return, and the thought almost paralyzed me per 
 haps I might yet be your wife. You returned, and we met, you 
 know how. I had fears even then, that you might not have forgiven 
 me for refusing you ; but I felt that if you did but know all, you 
 would relent. When we walked out together and sat down upon 
 that great rock, my heart stood still. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 279 
 
 " I trembled as you spoke, and when you repeated those well- 
 remembered words my happiness knew no bounds. I could have 
 fallen down and worshiped you. But, my dear husband, I am hap 
 pier to-day by far. I feel that I never knew half your noble qualities 
 before. Now, tell me, dear, are not our stories very like ? " 
 
 Donald kissed her and said : 
 
 " My darling wife, God has been very good to us. We have much 
 to be thankful for, much more than often falls to the lot of man. I 
 can seem to see the finger of Providence in guiding and directing 
 every action of my life, and I sincerely believe that my mission was 
 marked out for me from the first hour that I came under this roof. 
 And I as firmly believe that you were predestined to be my good 
 angel through it all. And since the great work has been accom 
 plished, the mission fulfilled, I am constrained to admit that you 
 have had equally as much to do with the final result as myself. You 
 have been ubiquitous, always with me, guiding and directing, en 
 couraging and flattering, admonishing and approving. In short, you 
 have been the ruling spirit in all that I have undertaken ; and, as I 
 said just now, to God, through you, Iowe all." 
 
 The rain still pattered, and they would have been glad to have 
 remained and listened to it. But they were called to dinner, as 
 from heaven to the grosser things of earth. 
 
 Early spring in New England is a most interesting season. 
 Every bud that shows itself is welcomed. The crocus and the 
 hyacinth are looked for daily ere they break the earth and come 
 forth to bloom in beauty and waft their early perfume over garden 
 and lawn. The trailing arbutus that has been hidden all winter 
 beneath the leaves and snow, now peeps out and seems to say, 
 "I am with you." The puss willows bear their silky buds and 
 tender leaves long ere the sturdy oak puts forth or the elm tree 
 shows its green. The violets peep out one by one until the fields 
 are like an ocean blue and undulating ; and so on, until nature 
 awakes from its long winter s sleep and comes forth in beauty 
 to bless mankind. 
 
 Donald enjoyed every moment of the time they were in S , 
 
 but scarcely more than did Endura, who was his constant com- 
 
280 
 
 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 panion. Mrs. Ivers seemed to partake of their pleasure, but it 
 pleased her most to see them so completely happy. 
 
 Thus the hours sped and the time came for their departure. 
 They returned to Boston and made preparation immediately for 
 their European trip. Their passage was engaged for the steamer 
 which was advertised to sail on the i5th of May, nearly four 
 years after Donald had made his first voyage. It was the first 
 time that Mrs. Ivers had been upon the water since her fearful ship 
 wreck, and it was not without some misgivings and feelings of 
 timidity that she embarked upon an ocean that had been so 
 treacherous before. But it was not long before her confidence 
 was restored and she felt as secure as if she had been in her own 
 home. 
 
 The passage proved to be a remarkably pleasant one. They went 
 direct to Havre. Spent a few days in Paris, which was like a dream 
 to Endura. They remained in Paris until they were really tired of 
 seeing, and almost willing to shut their eyes when some wonderful 
 thing was pointed out. Objects which would have created the greatest 
 interest two weeks before, were now passed unnoticed. The grand 
 buildings were looked upon as a matter of course, and the magnificent 
 monuments were but so much marble or bronze. The libraries, gar 
 dens, galleries of paintings or of statuary, the palaces and other public 
 edifices, were all looked upon alike, with comparative indifference. 
 Even the great Church of St. Genevieve, of which Endura had heard 
 so much and was so anxious to see, was passed and repassed unnoticed. 
 
 They visited Rheims and saw the grand cathedral, and several 
 other places whithin easy distance of Paris, before leaving for the 
 South. Finally they went to Lyons and on to Marseilles, which was 
 really the end of their great journey. After resting some days in 
 Marseilles, they set out for the Chateau Vieux, which they reached 
 the same day. Donald had instructed the agent to have everything 
 in order, and the arrival of the marchioness and her daughter was 
 made the occasion of a great demonstration. 
 
 The great castle was decked with flags and banners ; and the cot 
 tages, many of them were flying the tri-color. Floral emblems and 
 wreaths were everywhere to be seen. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 281 
 
 From the main tower of the castle floated the stars and stripes, 
 side by side with the royal ensign of France. 
 
 When the carriage drove up, containing the party of four the con 
 sul at Marseilles had consented to accompany them a rousing cheer 
 was given for the marchioness and her daughter; another for their old 
 friend, the Honorable Mr. Kent; and finally for the Honorable Mr. 
 Consul. Donald was welcomed by his old friends, as no man had 
 been welcomed for more than a generation. The old keeper met 
 him, hat in hand, and gave him the keys to the chateau. 
 
 The wives and daughters of the villagers were there, dressed in 
 their best, to do honor to the lady who had been so long kept out of 
 her inheritance. They were all much pleased to see the daughter 
 and granddaughter of the old master, whom some of the older ones 
 still remembered. 
 
 The great double doors of the castle were thrown open, when a 
 picture of rare beauty presented itself to the beholder. 
 
 Rows of hanging baskets, filled with rare and fragrant flowers, were 
 upon either hand; alternating with the baskets of flowers, were sing 
 ing birds, with banners suspended beneath them, bearing appropriate 
 mottoes in English and French. 
 
 The Marchioness was shown, at once, to her room, which had been 
 restored to its original appearance. And the transformation was 
 really wonderful since Donald saw it upon his former visit. The 
 draperies had been renewed, even to the monograms; and the old 
 pieces of furniture, which were but wrecks one year before, were now 
 restored to their pristine beauty. 
 
 To Mrs. Ivers it was like the grotto of enchantment. And when 
 told that that was the room in which she was born, she could but weep. 
 Seating herself in a luxurious chair, she did not appear to wish to 
 converse with anyone. Donald bent over, and kissing her upon her 
 forehead, said : 
 
 "Mother, dear, are you quite happy?" 
 
 She awoke, as it were, from sleep, and looked around. Seeing no 
 one but Donald, she said : 
 
 "Are you indeed my son? Thank God for such a son! I bless 
 you and pray that your life may be long spared, and that God, in his 
 great goodness, will continue to give you health and honors. But for 
 
282 
 
 ENDURA : OR 
 
 me my cup is full. What more can the earth give ? I have sounded 
 its depths and soared to its loftiest hights. I would bless all, as I 
 have been blessed. But amid all this splendor I can never be as 
 happy as I have been in my old home beyond the sea; and whenever 
 it shall please you to return, I shall be ready and only too happy to 
 accompany you. I know your business is in Boston, and I will be 
 contented to reside there, or anywhere you and Endura may wish, 
 so that I may be ever near you. All that I have I owe to you, and 
 it is all yours to do with as you may desire. So may you be blessed ! " 
 
 Donald thanked her and told her that he had enough, but that as 
 her steward he would continue to assist her to manage her estate; 
 and he hoped she might live many years to enjoy it. But that he 
 had duties to perform in the United States that would call him thither 
 at an early day, and inasmuch as he could not think of leaving his 
 wife behind him in France, it would be too much to expect that she 
 would be content to remain after he and his wife should go away, 
 even amid all the beauty and luxury which surrounded her. He said 
 he would arrange to remain for a few months, during which time they 
 would make the tour of France and Spain, and then cross over into 
 Italy and spend the winter. In the spring he would return to Amer 
 ica. But if Endura would rather remain at the chateau a few 
 months, while he should go to Boston and return, he would not seri 
 ously object. 
 
 Just then Endura came in and he told her somewhat of his plans. 
 She said that she could never consent to be separated from him again. 
 So long as he wished to remain in France she would be contented, 
 but nothing would please her more than to return to dear old New 
 England. The opportunity was too favorable to travel through 
 finished France and declining Spain to be omitted ; and then to visit 
 sunny Italy, which had been the dream of their life, would be a 
 lasting pleasure. The very thought of that bright land of song and 
 flowers, caused the blood in their veins to flow more free. 
 
 To think of visiting the Eternal City and standing beneath the 
 great dome of St. Peters together, to tread upon the sacred pave 
 where the pilgrims of centuries long past had trodden, was itself joy 
 in anticipation. To breath the air of Rome, to walk above the 
 buried thousands who long since mingled with the dust, those who 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 283 
 
 once lived to love, to honor, and be beloved and honored, but whose 
 names shall never more be recalled. They would behold the muddy 
 Tiber, still going on as of old. There was the great Coliseum and the 
 Vatican, a vast palace of the Pope filled with the finest works of the 
 great masters, Raphael and Michael Angelo. What a wonderful 
 city is Rome ! If wonderful to-day, what must it have been at the 
 hight of its ancient splendor, when it stood the empress of the world, 
 and the greatest honor was in being able to say, "I am a Roman 
 citizen." 
 
 All these thoughts arise in the minds of those who approach the 
 Eternal City, or of those who contemplate a journey thither. It was 
 no wonder then that Donald Kent determined to visit Italy, and his 
 wife and mother anticipated it as much as himself. But first, la belle 
 France, prosperous, happy France, must be visited. Her wonderful 
 monuments, her beautiful temples, her grand forests, her beautiful 
 vineyards, her castles and her cottages France, the favored of the 
 earth, the country of endless beauty and boundless resources, the 
 country that paid millions upon millions indemnity for a great war, 
 and lost vast territories which were given over to the conquerors ; 
 and yet grandly emerged, richer than the victors, and more glorious 
 far than ever she has been before. 
 
 Such is the France of to-day, and her star is still in the ascendant. 
 Independent France, Republican France, the mirror of civilization, 
 the pride of her sons, the finished garden of the world. May she 
 ever flourish as a Republic, growing wiser as time rolls on ! 
 
 What of Spain ? She gave Columbus to the world, and he gave 
 us America, which has far outstripped all lands under the sun. While 
 Spain has rapidly declined and shrunk, America has risen and ex 
 panded. In Spain we behold the monuments of past greatness 
 crumbling to dust the soil untilled, while rank weeds choke the 
 vine that struggles for life ; commerce is strangled ; agriculture, 
 neglected ; art, declining ; wealth, growing less ; education, at a stand 
 still in short, ruin and decay at every turn. And this is the land of 
 romance, once the peer of France, whose Armada awed and aston 
 ished the world. Misfortunes have overtaken her, her fleets were 
 destroyed, earthquakes leveled her cities, fell diseases struck down 
 her sons and her daughters, corrupt rulers stripped her of her apparel 
 
28 4 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 and robbed her of her gold, and left her, as she is to-day, bleeding 
 and naked, her people, as a whole, ignorant, superstitious and bigot 
 ed, without ambition and without aim. Pitied and despised Spain ! 
 Once the mother of the children of the sun ; now the decrepit dame 
 of a degenerate people. Although Spain appears to be in decline, 
 yet there is much to interest and instruct in poor old Spain. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 285 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE TIME WILL COME. 
 
 Give me my home, to quiet dear, 
 
 Where hours unfold, and peaceful move; 
 
 So fate ordain, I sometimes there 
 May hear the voice of him I love. 
 
 Mrs. Opic. 
 
 GOLDSMITH says in his Deserted Village " : 
 " If nature s bounties could satisfy the breast 
 The sons of Italy weres urely blessed." 
 
 But a sunny land alone cannot make a people happy. A country 
 which is oppressed cannot flourish. Slaves are not like free men. 
 Taxation may enrich a few, but it impoverishes many who become 
 discouraged and discontented, when they are no longer good citizens. 
 Intolerance is another kind of oppression, and where it exists the 
 country does not flourish. And, without doubt, this is one of the 
 causes of the decline of New England. For we cannot shut our eyes 
 to the fact that the agricultural portions of New England is not what 
 it was half a century ago. 
 
 It cannot all be attributed to bigotry, ignorance and intolerance. 
 But that these three agents have had much to do with its present 
 decay there can be little doubt. The productive soil of the far West 
 has been another weight to pull her down. So that to-day New Eng 
 land is driven to the strait of importing the operatives for her mills as 
 well as the bread to feed them with. But the time will come when the 
 whole eastern coast from Maine to Georgia, will be made beautiful and 
 inviting by new blood and new enterprises. But never again will the 
 corn and the flax be the staples to enrich her. Instead of raising 
 wheat and corn, and seeking a market for it abroad they will invite 
 the people from crowded cities to spend the summers with them, to 
 breath the fresh air and enjoy the pleasures of country life, for which 
 they will demand a moderate compensation. 
 
 It is already being done to a considerable extent. But upon the 
 
286 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 present plan the expense is too great for those in moderate circum 
 stances. To go to the country, as it is called, is but to go, as it 
 were, from one city hotel to another. The latter more luxurious and 
 extravagant than the former. Such are the watering places and 
 summer resorts of the present time. The time will come when good, 
 plain food at low prices, and pure country air will be what health 
 and pleasure seekers from the city will look for. Where they will not 
 be called upon to dress better than in their offices or work-shops, but 
 they can put on the worst clothes they have, and not be ashamed of 
 themselves. 
 
 Such will be the golden era for the over-worked poor of great cities, 
 and the well-to-do and moderately rich will hail the day when they 
 can take their families to the country to enjoy its blessings without 
 making preparations a month or two beforehand. 
 
 May the day soon come when such a prophecy shall be realized. 
 When New England will once more flourish, and our old homes be 
 brightened as they were wont to be with youth and beauty, and her 
 people be generous and polite. Christians of different creeds 
 will learn to tolerate each other by feeling that they are journey 
 ing to the same goal. The rich invalid will meet the happy, healthy 
 poor man with whom he would gladly exchange situations, and a gen 
 eral fellow-feeling will add to the happiness of all. 
 
 It is the fault of American travelers that they try to see too much. 
 They fly from town to town and from city to city, and so tire them 
 selves with expectation and worriment that they are unfitted to enjoy 
 or appreciate the wonderful and the beautiful. Instead of going about 
 it calmly in a methodical way, as they would to study a lesson that 
 they would learn well. They skim over it in haste as many read 
 books who know little or nothing of them when they are through. 
 
 What does a visitor know of the great art galleries of the world by 
 simply passing through them? Perhaps some celebrated statue or 
 painting which is well written up may detain him for a few minutes, 
 simply that he may be able to say that he had seen it, without know 
 ing any more about it than he did before. 
 
 Donald and his party did not travel in that way. They visited the 
 different places, and during their sojourn they learned all that it was 
 possible for them to learn. They studied the works of the old 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 287 
 
 masters, and compared them with the works of modern artists, and 
 often the latter received the most flattering compliments as against 
 the world-indorsed masterpiece of some great genius. The criticism of 
 such is honest to say the least, and inasmuch as such honest critics 
 are largely in the majority who shall say their opinion is not entitled 
 to weight ? 
 
 That person who simply echoes public opinion shows that he is not 
 capable of having an opinion of his own, and he is unworthy the 
 name of critic. There is often greater interest in the history of a 
 painting than in the painting itself. Under what circumstances was 
 it painted ? What was the incentive ? 
 
 If poets and painters are inspired, their works show it. 
 They inspire the beholder. There is an inexpressible something 
 which touches the heart and lifts us above ourselves. For the 
 moment we forget ourselves to mingle with the artist in his own 
 world. A painting without merit cannot so effect us. An inspired 
 poem thrills the soul. We seem to feel what the poet felt, indorsing 
 every line. Who that has read the sacred hymns of Doctor Watts 
 has not felt that the writer was inspired? Not only Dr. Watts, but 
 many other writers Burns beautiful poem, "To Mary in Heaven." 
 The poet approached his lost love as nearly as possible. He seemed 
 to converse with her, but he alone heard her responses. Moore and 
 Byron live to-day in their beautiful lines. So with the whole line of 
 poets from Homer down to Whittier, some portions of their writings 
 bear the stamp of inspiration and they will live when the great 
 mass of their labored writings shall be forgotten. The inspired poem 
 outlives the poet. 
 
 And so with the sculptor. Simply a beautiful figure does not 
 stamp him as an artist. There must be consistency and expression. 
 The soul must show in the marble as it was felt in the artist. One 
 scratch of the chisel may make or unmake perfection ; one cramped 
 or awkward limb will ruin the whole. The artist must make the 
 beholder feel what he felt, and see what he saw, or else his work is 
 love s labor lost. Why is not a copy as good as the original? Sim 
 ply because it lacks the soul which the original artist gave his work. 
 Visit a gallery where a great painting is on exhibition, a painting 
 which has run the gauntlet of critics and come out unscathed ; it will 
 
2 88 
 
 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 attract a crowd, and all will be hushed and still, every beholder 
 will be too busy with his own thoughts to break the charm by uttering 
 a loud word. Men sometimes sit for hours contemplating a statue 
 or a painting, measuring and comparing, looking for imperfections 
 which do not exist, and stumbling upon those which were not 
 thought of, and may not be imperfections at all, but the very coun 
 terpart of the artist s ideal, peculiarities which none but the artist 
 ever saw and which are often discredited. How often we hear the 
 critic say that the sunset is too brilliant or too sombre! Who saw the 
 sunset as the artist saw it ? He felt it in his soul and stamped it 
 upon the canvas. How often it is said, " What a magnificent sunset ! " 
 If it were painted, it would be said to be overdrawn. 
 
 We should remember that in nature there is nothing impossible ; 
 no sky too red and no clouds too black. The moon may be in the 
 full or in the quarter ; it is still the moon. The sun may dazzle us 
 with his fiery rays or look softly through a dimming cloud. It is still 
 the sun. And so with every freak of nature, it is nature still. 
 
 Donald Kent was well calculated to travel. He was well read and 
 observing, and very little escaped his observation; and Endura s 
 eagerness to see and learn enthused him all the more. Her profes 
 sion as a teacher made her familiar with the geography of the 
 different countries through which they passed, and her knowl 
 edge of the history of these same countries was of the greatest im 
 portance. She knew what was to be seen and where to see it. 
 Many things they could not help contrasting with similar things in 
 their own country and always greatly in favor of home. 
 
 Traveling under the most favorable circumstances is tiresome. 
 The very thought wearies the mind, which, in turn, effects us phys 
 ically. Going from place to place, staying for a few days, it may be, 
 and then packing up and departing, hurrying to meet a train or a 
 steamer, there is always anxiety and bustle until you are settled 
 again and your baggage secured. When you reach your destination 
 the same bustle and excitement must be gone through with again ; 
 and so on, until we finally anchor at home, when the relaxation is so 
 great that we almost wish we were still going. So it is during quiet 
 and rest ; we look forward to excitement, amid which we long for 
 rest. "Man never is but always to be blest." With Donald Kent 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 289 
 
 it was an opportunity not to be neglected, as it could scarcely occur 
 again, consequently, he determined to make the most of it. 
 
 The summer and autumn soon passed, and Donald Kent and his 
 wife and Mrs Ivers found themselves in Italy. They were enjoying 
 the wonderful and the beautiful to their heart s content. 
 
 Not satisfied to follow the beaten track of tourists, they ventured 
 upon new routes and into strange by-ways. And they were always 
 well repaid as they not unfrequently stumbled upon objects of inter 
 est, which those who followed the beaten track could know nothing of. 
 They visited the mountains and the wildest portions of the country 
 those romantic haunts of which so much has been written, but so 
 little really known. At one time the party had a narrow escape 
 from the banditti who infest those regions ; but they were admonished 
 and became more careful. 
 
 As the spring months approached they were ready to go north. 
 They left sunny Italy, not without some regrets, but the hope of being 
 soon in their own country made them willing to leave the land of 
 song and sunshine. 
 
 They remained a short time at the Chateau Vieux on their 
 return from Italy. Donald disposed of a portion of the estate in 
 subdivisions, and gave long leases of a part of the remainder. The 
 rest he placed in charge of a worthy and competent man who as 
 agent of the whole was to report directly to him. 
 
 The chateau was to be in his charge, with the express understand 
 ing that his old friend should still and forever hold his place as keep 
 er of the keys, with instructions to admit travelers, and especially 
 Americans, whenever they made application, if they appeared re 
 spectable. Donald made the old man a handsome present, and the 
 ladies were not forgetful of his many kind attentions to them and re 
 membered him generously. 
 
 When the affairs of the estate had been settled satisfactorily to all par 
 ties concerned, the trio gathered up their mementoes and a portion of the 
 furniture of the chateau, and shipped them to America with many 
 art treasures which they had secured during their sojourn abroad. 
 All of these were intended for their new home which Donald con 
 templated building near Boston. 
 
 Upon gathering their purchases together they found that 
 
290 ENDURA ! OR, 
 
 they had accumulated far more than they expected, and they could 
 scarcely believe that the scores of great boxes were full of articles 
 which they had purchased during their stay in France and Italy. 
 They were all shipped direct to Boston, in care of Stern, Strong & 
 Kent. 
 
 When everything had been packed and shipped, it was but the 
 work of a few hours for the anxious travelers to be ready to follow 
 them. How the exile s heart leaps at the word Home ! The 
 traveler who has had a surfeit of pleasure longs for home and rest. 
 " Homeward bound " there is a charm in the sound of the two 
 words. 
 
 It matters not if stormy seas are to be crossed, or if mountains 
 and rivers lie between. The desert may lie before us trackless and 
 barren. If home is beyond, we venture fearlessly upon the journey, 
 buoyed and cheered by hope, impatient, it may be, at the camel s 
 slow pace, or the breeze that wafts us onward. Even the speed of 
 the iron horse is not sufficient for impatient man. 
 
 " How fleet is the glance of the mind ! 
 
 Compared with the speed of its flight, 
 The tempest itself lags behind, 
 
 And the swift winged arrows of light." 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 29 1 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 "Bright is the beautiful land of our birth, 
 The home of the homeless all over the earth." 
 
 Street s Poems, 
 
 " I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft 
 
 In life s morning march when my bosom was young ; 
 I heard my own mountain goat bleating aloft, 
 
 And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung." 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 THE travelers have returned, welcomed by all. Beloved and hon 
 ored by their many friends, may they find that peace and rest they 
 have so well earned and so long hoped for ! 
 
 Another year has gone by. Another joy has been added to the 
 already over-flowing cup of Donald Kent. A son has been added to 
 the circle. Walter Ivers lives again in his daughter s child. The 
 three generations have matured, and the fourth, which shall do honor 
 to the past, now enters upon the scene. 
 
 The city of Boston proper is accredited with but about one half 
 of its real population. The suburban towns and villages take up the 
 rest. Every morning the influx is so great that conveyances are 
 crowded to their utmost with those whose business call them thither ; 
 and so in the afternoon and evening, when the merchant, the profes 
 sional man, the mechanic and the laborer turn their faces toward 
 home. 
 
 Beautiful villages invite the laborer to rest. Long, broad streets 
 lined with snug, comfortable cottages, explain where a great part of 
 the people of Boston live. Beautiful sites are selected by the 
 wealthy, the merchant prince, the successful professional man, the 
 fortunate speculator, the retired officer, the easy-going man who has 
 inherited a fortune, the aged millionaire seeking quiet in life s de 
 cline are a n here. Every hill-top is crowned with a mansion ; the 
 sunny declevity has its beautiful garden and lawn ; the highlands all 
 
292 ENDURA : OR, 
 
 appear to be taken up for the homes of the great and the wealthy. 
 One sightly eminence, in the immediate vicinity of Boston, is occu 
 pied by a very peculiar building. It is no less noticeable for its 
 commanding position than for its peculiar style of architecture. It 
 can be seen for miles away, and the stranger upon the train not un- 
 frequently asks what the castellated-looking building may be. If the 
 person of whom the question is asked be a citizen of Boston, the 
 answer is that it is the residence of the Honorable Donald Kent, one 
 of Boston s greatest lawyers. 
 
 The structure is of stone, with a broad, square tower, with two 
 wings which border upon the gothic style of architecture. It 
 really has the appearance of having been built at different periods of 
 time, with a generation or so intervening. Such is not the case, 
 however. Mr. Kent conceived the idea of erecting a building after 
 the exact design of the Chateau Vieux, and of arranging the in 
 terior precisely the same. And, with that view, he sent his architect 
 to France to study up the old castle, and the result is the counter 
 part upon the highlands, overlooking the city of Boston and the sur 
 rounding country for many miles. From the top of the tower 
 nearly thirty towns and villages may be seen, with the smoke of their 
 thousand tall chimneys, mingling with the clouds. The site was well 
 selected, and the structure eminently fitted to the sightly elevation it 
 occupies. There the stranger finds a welcome, and the needy is not 
 turned away empty handed. It is known far and near as the 
 Chateau. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers has been allotted the room corresponding with the one 
 in which she was born, in the old chateau in. France. In the east 
 wing is the reception room and the library, over which are the mag 
 nificent sleeping rooms of Mr. and Mrs. Kent, with the nursery adjoin 
 ing. They have found a place for every picture, as well as for the 
 furniture, which they collected while in Europe. Articles of vertu and 
 brie a brae are scattered all over the place. 
 
 The choicest flowers and shrubbery ornament the grounds, and 
 rare exotics fill the conservatories, which every spring are taken out 
 and transferred to the lawn and garden, so that to the stranger visiting 
 the place in summer, it has the appearance of a tropical garden. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 293 
 
 Adjoining the flower garden, is a fruit and vegetable garden, where 
 everything is raised that will grow in the New England climate. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers says, very truly, " There is nothing like picking your 
 peas and beans from your own vines." And she would not think 
 green corn fit to eat, that had been picked the day before. 
 Donald and his wife were of the same opinion, and there was nothing 
 that pleased them more, than to refer to the nice fresh vegetables, 
 which they could always have at S . 
 
 Donald was very fond of cattle and horses. Besides his carriage 
 horses, he had a pet horse that appeared to think it had not been well 
 treated if the master neglected it. 
 
 He had also a young Jersey cow, which was a great pet with the 
 family. They called her Daisy, and almost the first word little 
 Walter could speak was "dada," which so pleased them all, that they 
 declared that he must have a little "dada." So the first calf the 
 Jersey had after that was called Walter s. 
 
 When any of Donald s friends from the country visited him, he 
 took as much pleasure in showing them about the place as he had 
 taken, in being himself shown about fine places, when he first went 
 to live in Boston, when he little dreamed that one day he would own 
 a far grander place than any of them. But such is fortune; al 
 most anything is within the possibilities. 
 
 Donald used often to take his family and drive to S . 
 
 to remain over the Sabbath, when he and Endura would attend 
 church in the village; and they rarely missed a ramble across the 
 meadow, and a rest upon the great rock beside the path, which 
 brought back the bitter and sweet of life. And they realized to the 
 fullest extent how they had been blessed. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers had had a monument erected in the little grave-yard, 
 upon which was inscribed the name of her husband and that of her 
 son. The little spot was kept in beautiful order, with flowers and 
 choice shrubbery. Mr. and Mrs. Kent, Donald s father and mother, 
 took almost as much interest in the place, as did Mrs. Ivers. So it 
 was never neglected. 
 
 One day when Mrs. Ivers was visiting at her old home, an aged 
 man came to the gate, and was met by Mr. Kent Sr. 
 
 The stranger asked him if he had ever known a family in those 
 
294 ENDURA: OR, 
 
 parts, by the name of Dubrow; upon being answered in the 
 affirmative, he asked if he could give him any information, as to 
 what became of the daughter. Upon being told that the lady, he in 
 quired about, was then in the house, he manifested the greatest de 
 light, and said he would like much to see her. He did not wish to 
 give his name, but wanted to know if she would recognize an old ac 
 quaintance. 
 
 Mr. Kent invited him into the house and called Mrs. Ivers. He 
 told her there was a gentleman who wished to see her. 
 
 Upon her entering the parlor, the old gentleman arose and asked 
 if she was Mrs. Ivers, formerly Miss Dubrow. She told him she was 
 the same, upon which, he began to ask her questions which somewhat 
 annoyed and perplexed her. He asked her to relate some of the cir 
 cumstances attending the shipwreck when she and another passenger 
 only was saved. 
 
 She watched him closely, but was not able to determine whom he 
 could be. She had an indistinct recollection that she had met him be 
 fore, but when or where, she could not tell. She told him of the wreck as 
 she remembered it and of her miraculous escape with another passen 
 ger who was picked up at the same time as herself by the barque, 
 "Good Return," and brought back to New York, since when, she said 
 she had never seen or heard of him. 
 
 Here the old gentleman took out his handkerchief, wiped his 
 eyes and said, "I am he." 
 
 Mrs. Ivers approached him and took his hand. Looking him in 
 the face she said : 
 
 "Is it possible that this is Mr. Wade, my companion in that dire dis 
 tress ?" It did not take long for him to convince her that it was indeed 
 he. 
 
 The next thing was to learn where he had kept himself all these 
 years that she had never heard of him. He soon explained that he 
 went West almost immediately upon his return to New York, where 
 he had remained ever since. He had forgotten or lost her address 
 and all his efforts to ascertain her whereabouts, had been in vain, 
 until he happened to notice in the papers the story of the recovery of 
 property in France, when he learned her name and where she lived. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS. 295 
 
 He had been engaged in business in the West, where he had suf 
 fered by flood and by fire ; the latter had ruined him, destroying his 
 property, which was but partly insured, which insurance he had not 
 yet been able to collect, except about enough to pay his indebtedness. 
 He said he had tried to struggle on, but every effort had proved fu 
 tile, and to-day he found himself poor and helpless. 
 
 Mrs. Ivers asked if he had a family. He said he had never been 
 married, and he thanked God he had no family to make miserable. 
 
 She sympathized with him in his misfortunes and gave him 
 a substantial proof of her sympathy, which he acknowledged with 
 tears. 
 
 When he took his leave, he was invited to call on Mr. Kent, her 
 son-in-law in Boston, who would advise him of her whereabouts. 
 
 The parting was an affecting one, when the old man took her 
 hand and said fervently, " God bless you and yours !" They never 
 met again, but his parting blessing was never forgotten. 
 
 The greater part of the business of the firm of Stern, Strong & 
 Kent devolved upon the junior partner, which kept him very busy; 
 for their business had greatly increased since he first entered the 
 office. 
 
 They now had a number of clerks where Donald used to be able 
 to do all the copying and have plenty of time to spare. Those of the 
 clerks who showed any peculiar aptness, or determination to excel, 
 Donald took pride in encouraging, which was appreciated by them; 
 and it is not too much to say that with the new blood, which from 
 time to time will be added, the successors of the old firm will con 
 tinue to command that high esteem and unbounded confidence which 
 had been accorded to their predecessors. 
 
 Donald s father and mother make an occasional pilgrimage to the 
 city, when they witness the honors which are showered upon their son 
 and wonder how it comes about that the slow-going boy, called lazy 
 by some, should have developed into the great lawyer and business 
 man that he has. His brothers and sisters make him visits now and 
 then, and receive great honors and a cordial welcome as the relatives 
 of one they delight to honor. 
 
296 ENDURA: OR, THREE GENERATIONS. 
 
 When Donald visits S he takes great pleasure in wandering over 
 
 the fields through uncertain paths, over stone walls buried beneath the 
 debris and mould of ages, by the side of stream-beds that were once gur 
 gling brooks, through tangled brushwood and brambles where once the 
 smooth path led to a neighboring house- the path now choked and 
 lost, except to him whose childish feet were wont to stray therin. Near 
 this path was once a quaint old house, of which naught remains but a 
 pile of rough stones with plastered chinks a crumbling monument 
 of the builders, long since forgotten. This old chimney brings to 
 mind a long train of recollections some sweet, some bitter. 
 
 And many others, beside Donald Kent, delight to ruminate and live 
 over the past to return again to boyhood while their locks are thin and 
 gray; to be a child once more amid the scenes so dear to memory ; 
 to build air castles as we often build them in the past ; hunt for 
 bird s nests among the green leaves in summer, or skim on the frozen 
 lake in winter ; suffer again the imaginary hardships of youth, which 
 from the stand point of age, are but pleasant pastimes ; enduring 
 the winters cold, listening to the rain and hail as it was wont to beat 
 against the window panes in winter, or to the patter of gentle showers 
 in summer. 
 
 The dream has been a reality, and the man that has not known it, 
 has missed one of the greatest enjoyments of life. 
 
)M 
 
 313684 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY