Citation
Home tales

Material Information

Title:
Home tales including The affectionate brothers ; The sisters ; The blind farmer and his children
Added title page title:
Mrs. Hofland's home tales
Spine title:
Hofland's home tales
Added title page title:
Affectionate brothers
Added title page title:
Sisters
Added title page title:
Blind farmer and his children
Creator:
Hofland ( Barbara ), 1770-1844
Orr, John William, 1815-1887 ( Engraver )
C.S. Francis & Co ( Publisher )
J.H. Francis & Co ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
New York
Boston
Publisher:
C. S. Francis
J. H. Francis
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
150, 192, 159 p., <3> leaves of plates : ill. ; 16 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Brothers -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Sisters -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Family -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Family Stories -- 1851 ( local )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1851 ( rbbin )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1851 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1851
Genre:
Family stories ( local )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) ( rbbin )
Publishers' advertisements ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- New York -- New York
United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Publisher's advertisements: 5 p. at end.
General Note:
Ill. engraved by J.W. Orr.
Funding:
Brittle Books Program
Statement of Responsibility:
by Mrs. Hofland.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
027231142 ( ALEPH )
07841765 ( OCLC )
ALK1130 ( NOTIS )

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Full Text
Loe

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The Baldwin Library




University
ne =
Florida





MRS. HOFLAND’S

HOME TALES.



HOFLAND’S HOME TALES,



; The Affectionate Brothers p. 36,



oro. Watlond’

go Ak



an ame SRM PED TM = + |
: 4;



\
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Publisned by C. 8. Franots & Co, New York.



HOME TALES:

INCLUDING

THE AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS; THE SISTERS;
THE BLIND FARMER AND HIS CHILDREN.

BY

MRS. HOFLAND,

AUTHOR OF THE OFFICER'S WIDOW; ELLEN THE TEACHER;
SON OF A GENIUS; THE CLERGYMAN’S
wIpow; ETc. ETO.



NEW YORK:
C. S. FRANCOIS & CO., 252 BROADWAY.

BOSTON:
J. H. FRANOIS, 128 WASHINGTON STREET.
Mi DOOC LIL



THE

AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.



CHAPTER I.




eale-R. HAREWOOD was
; ie the only son of an
\ officer, who died in
the service of his coun-
try about the time when
his son was bidding
adieu to a public school,
where he had received
A Je his education. The last efforts of
ahh Captain Harewood had been attend-
ed by singular success, and all his
military career distinguished by great person-
al bravery; while his private virtues, though
less conspicuous, were still more deeply en-
graven on the hearts of all who knew him.



6 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

Of these, some extended their friendship tor
wards him beyond the grave; they exerted
themselves to comfort his widow and assist
her son; to the former they ensured her
pension, and the arrears of what was due to
the deceased, and procured for the latter a
situation under government, which it well
became a grateful country to bestow on the
son of one of its gallant defenders.

These arrangements, however necessary
and advantageous, could not hastily wipe
away the tears which flowed for the memory
of an excellent husband, cut off in the prime
of his life, and the bereaved mourners wept
over their loss together.

Mrs. Harewood was an excellent mother,
a pious and enlightened woman, and she
took the opportunity this period presented,
of deeply impressing on the mind of her
son, those awful precepts and divine conso-
lations the impressive moment naturally
awakened; she taught him to look to re-
ligious comfort, to consider the eternal im-
portance of that state to which his father
was called; and so to form his own future



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 7

faith and conduct, that he might rejoice
in the well-grounded hope of meeting his
earthly father in the presence of his heav-
enly Father.

Charles did not forget her precepts; he
treasured them in his mind—they grew with
his growth; his piety he imbibed from his
mother—a high sense of honor and virtuous
integrity he had previously imbibed from
his father, and he grew up an honor to
both. Yet was there one thing wanting in
his character—he was deficient in prudence,
or at least that part of it which is combined
with foresight; for though his honesty pre-
vented him from a blamable extravagance,
still Charles was one who never provided
against a rainy day.

Mrs. Harewood only lived until her son
entered his twenty-second year. She had
for some time perceived in him a growing
attachment for a very amiable orphan, and
was aware that he had only been prevented
from soliciting her hand, from the fear of
disturbing his mother in her declining health.
She spoke to him on this interesting subject,



8 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

and entreated him to consider himself at
full liberty to follow the wishes of his heart,
adding, that it would be a consolation to her
to know, that when Providence removed
from him the parent who had so fondly
loved him, her place would be supplied by a
tender wife.

In consequence of this request, young
Harewood advanced his suit with the young
person to whom he was attached, and they
were married about two months before the
affectionate mother breathed her last; and
she had the satisfaction of perceiving that
the amiable daughter she thus gained was
of a disposition to make her husband happy,
and to manage his domestic concerns in the
way she desired. She endeavored to im-
press'on the minds of both, the necessity
for observing economy in their expenditure,
as they were both very young, and might
have a large family: and she knew that her
son was inclined to be too liberal in his ex-
penses. To this advice they promised to
attend, and she departed in peace, her last
words blessing them.



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 9

Mr. Harewood fully intended to obey the
injunctions of his beloved mother, but he
thought it was time enough to retrench ex-
penses when the expected family should
arrive; and was the more confirmed in this
idea, because he had no children for several
years. At length he became the father of a
fine boy, for whom he felt willing to make
any sacrifice, so delighted was he with the
endearing acquisition; but yet, when in
little more than a year his lady presented
him with another, he considered them as yet
too young to call for any abridgment of his
expenditure, but determined to put every
necessary system of economy in practice by
and by.

The eldest of these boys was called after
the father, Charles; the second, after his
maternal grandfather, Thomas. The former
was, from his birth, a healthy, handsome,
robust, high-spirited, and lively boy—the
latter, on the contrary, was subject to delicate
health, and was of that cast of features and
complexion which is usually styled “too
pretty for a boy ;” he was timid, but gentle



10 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

and engaging to those who knew him; and
though very apt to be overlooked by stran-
gers in the presence of his more showy and
attractive brother, never failed to make very
sincere friends amongst those with whom he
most frequently associated.

In consequence of the difference in the
health and the pursuits of these boys, one
became very naturally the associate of one
parent, and the other of the other. Charles
excelled in: all athletic exercises, and he was
soon taught to ride on a pretty pony, and
to accompany his father to town; whilst
Thomas was, as the phrase is, tied to his
mother’s apron-strings, either reading some
little book to her, or listening to her infor-
mation, as he watered her plants, or attended
to the wants of his favorite birds or rabbits.
Though his body was not strong, yet his
mind was active and penetrative, and from
very infancy he discovered that disposition
for study, and that perseverance in applica-
tion, which’ promised high attainments in
whatever branch of learning he should be
induced to follow.



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 11

Nothing could exceed the judicious care
and real tenderness with which Mr. and Mrs.
Harewood managed the different powers and
dispositions evinced by their children. Far
from each making a separate favorite of the
child who had, as it were, from the direction
of Nature herself, become their more im-
mediate companion, they endeavored to pay
more particular attention to the other party,
whenever they were together; and by this
impartiality led each to estimate whatever
was excellent in the other, and in a great
degree, through the force of pure fraternal
love, to rejoice most in the qualities of the
brother he loved.

Poor little Tom, mild and fearful in him-
self, was yet proud of the prowess of Charles,
and listened with delight to his praises, when
visitors and schoolfellows related his exploits;
and though he seldom spoke, yet his glisten-
ing eyes and glowing features showed to
every discerning eye how much was passing
in his heart; and, on the other hand, never
was any child spoken of as being clever and
forward at his book, but Charles would



12 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

eagerly advance with—‘I’m sure he can’t
be more of a scholar than my brother Tom—
Tl bet you what you like, I’ve a little fellow
will match him :” and if even the most tri-
fling exertion of bodily force was put in
effect against the stripling, on account of
his personal inability to punish the offender,
Charles, though the best-tempered fellow in
the world, (in cases where he was alone con-
cerned,) resented such insult with warmth,
and generally avenged it with only too much
promptitude, in poor Thomas’s opinion.

When these boys had attained their seventh
and eighth years, their expenses of course in-
creased: and the sensible resolution formed
by their father of giving them every advan-
tage of education, seemed to call for some
decided retrenchment in his establishment,
at which his wife had repeatedly, though
delicately, hinted very often of late.

Mr. Harewood declared seriously that he
would do it, although, as they were not
likely to have any more children, there was
not much necessity. Whilst, however, this
point was debating, he was presented with



-

AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 13:

an increase of four hundred pounds per
annum in his office, and all fears for the
future from that moment were unfortunately
banished from his mind.

It immediately struck Mrs. Harewood,
that it would be a happy thing for all par-
ties, if this new income were regularly laid
apart, in order to furnish fortunes for their
surviving children; but fearful that if she
mentioned such a scheme, her husband
might accuse her of selfishly endeavoring
to secure herself from want, she blamably
remained silent; and poor Mr. Harewood
indulged a less prudent way of showing
his affection, by purchasing an elegant car-
riage for her, and in various ways so far
increased his expenditure, that the acquisi-
tion of property thus attained proved event-
ually a misfortune, since every indulgence
only increases the number of our wants,
and renders us less able to submit to fature-
privations.

-The boys, even after they were sent to
school, and mingled with others in the same
general pursuits, still retained much of their



14 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

original character: each had separate excel-
lencies and separate deficiencies, but both
perfectly harmonized together; there was
mutual dependence in each on the other,
which ever strengthens affection; but there
was no point of rivalry, unless it was in the
affection they bore their parents.

Mr. Harewood, on examining them, found
at each vacation that Charles had those
properties which appeared to fit him for
active life; he wrote a beautiful hand—was
quick, if not profound, as an accountant—
had a pleasing address, fluent language, and,
considering his youth, a good deal of pene-
tration of character, and a steadiness of
judgment, and even principle, that seemed
to render him likely to sustain the character
of a liberal and enlightened merchant; but
along with this he found that he had not by
any means studied so deeply as he ought, to
enable him to be a sufficient linguist, and
he insisted on farther attention to this point,
which Charles readily promised, but was too
much inclined to forget, when any scheme
of pleasure presented itself, or any lighter



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 15

exercise could be substituted—he preferred
acting to thinking at all times.

On the other hand, Thomas was an excel-
lent Latin scholar, a very tolerable Grecian,
and understood French thoroughly; he had
no greater pleasure than solving a mathe-
matical problem, or a difficult question in
arithmetic; but the number of his external
accomplishments continued much the same ;
he could neither ride, dance, nor fence—he
was bashful and reserved to his friends, and
impenetrable to strangers; and although his
knowledge and good sense qualified him for
writing a good letter, yet he had been so ac-
customed to scribble his numerous exercises,
that his handwriting was become very in-
different; and he paid too little attention to
every thing which required neatness and
dispatch.

Mr. Harewood, with true parental anxiety,
endeavored to remedy the deficiencies of
both his sons, and render each emulous of
the merits of the other, without expecting
from either of them that absolute similarity
which it was perhaps impossible for them to

B



16 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

attain; and as they had now passed that
period of infancy when rivalry might have
been dangerous, they both adopted the line
of improvement which the wisdom and af-
fection of their beloved father pointed out.
Charles was taught to consider himself de-
signed for a merchant, and he looked forward
to the period when he should be placed in
some great counting-house with pride and
pleasure—while Thomas, with equal though
silent joy, contemplated the period when he
might be permitted to pursue his studies at
college, and in due time aspire to the honor
he most coveted—of becoming a worthy
clergyman.

“When I am a man,” the eldest would
say, ‘I will send ships, and take voyages
into every part of the world; and whatever
the people want in one place, I will supply
from another—thus all will become rich, and
civilized, and happy. Iwill have stores and
warehouses full of all kinds of property, and
a great number of clerks and porters em-
ployed to manage my business, and they too
shall all be improving and merry. Oh, I



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 17

love a great deal of bustle! and I don’t mind
how hard I work; I will get a great deal of
money, and give a great deal away.”
“Well, you are welcome to it all, dear
Charles. For my part, I only want just
enough to keep me in a little house, with
a good library, in a country place, where
the people around should know and love
me: I would pray with the sick, relieve the
poor, and try to persuade all to do their
duty, and that would satisfy me: indeed I
think it would be leading the life of heaven
on earth, especially if my dear mother were
with me,” was the observation of Thomas.
This dear mother, to the great surprise
of the boys, presented them with a little
sister, just as Charles completed his four-
teenth year; and on this occasion they were
sent for from school, about a fortnight
before the regular commencement of the
Midsummer vacation. ‘Their affectionate
hearts were delighted to receive this new
claimant on their love; and Tom especially
was never weary with examining its pretty

features and curious little hands; but
2



18 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

Charles, though equally warm-hearted, could
not bear confinement; and a pony, which
had been bought for him the preceding
Christmas, divided his attention with little
Emily: and he generally accompanied his
father to London, who was desirous of giv-
ing him some general notions of business,
as he only intended to keep him one year
longer at school, and was naturally proud
of showing such a boy among that circle
of friends where he intended eventually to
place him.

Meantime the heart of the mother was
full of care; her family was increased—the
period was again approaching when the
boys must be an additional expense; and
she was well aware that the many elegan-
cies of her present situation consumed the
whole of her husband’s income. The anx-
iety she felt affected her health; and Mr.
Harewood, ever most affectionately solici-
tous, pressed her so closely on the subject,
that at length she confided: to him all her
fears, and besought him to adopt some
plan to obviate the difficulties she foresaw;



. AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 19

observing, that even if he had interest to
provide for his boys, yet his girl would be
portionless, unless something were saved for
her future portion.

Mr. Harewood, smiling, kissed the babe,
and observed, that she was a very young
lady to want a portion; but, however, he
would do his best for her—he would that
very day secure her a dower, by paying an
annual sum, which he could do without
feeling the difference in his incomie—“ Or,”
added he, “if I should, surely the sweet
lamb will make me abundance of amends
for such a trifling privation.”

With much tenderness and sincere plea-
sure, Mrs. Harewood commended him for
the resolution, and continued to chat on
the inexhaustible subject of their children’s
welfare, until the fond father, starting up,
declared that he should be too late; he was
accustomed to the utmost regularity, and to
atone for his delay he set out at full speed.

It was now July, and the weather was
excessively hot. It was Mr. Harewood’s
custom to leave his horse at livery-stables



20 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

about a mile from the office; and on dis-
mounting at the stables, he found that a
messenger had been dispatched for him,
as his presence was particularly required.
Already heated, he now hastened forward
on foot, and just before he stepped into the
house, imprudently assuaged his thirst by
drinking a large glass of lemonade at a con-
fectioner’s near. Had he continued to walk,
perhaps he would not have suffered much
inconvenience from this; but as he now
took his pen, and sat down to business in a
cool retired room, the effects soon became
apparent. He was seized with terrible
pains, which he endured with resolution, on
account of the peculiar press of business,
which he did not leave until the excess of
his sufferings completely subdued him, and
he was carried in extremity to the nearest
coffee-housé.

From the bed on which this suffering
father and husband was now laid, he never
arose. It was found that inflammation had
arisen to a degree it was impossible to allay,
and in two days he was a corpse.



AFFEGFIONATE BROTHERS. a1

At the first intimation of danger, Mrs.
Harewood had flown to his assistance; and
she left him. not till torn from him insensible
and a widow. So overwhelmed was she by
the suddenness and severity of the stroke,
that those around her feared that her senses
were fled for ever; but when she beheld her
children, she showed that she was yet a
mother—that for them she could exert her-
self, and pray for her own return to a world
which had now been robbed of its most pre-
cious treasure.

The poor boys were, in the first instant,
stunned, in the next, agonized, by this terri-
ble stroke. Death had never visited their
home before; and that their father—that
dear, dear relative, whose goodness had been
the delight of their lives, whose will was
their law, whose smile was their reward,
should be thus unexpectedly snatched from
their eyes, in the full flower of manly strength
and activity, was an event so dreadful, so
overbearing, that they knew not how to com-
prehend or endure it; they flew into each
other’s arms shrieking and sobbing in the



22 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

bitterest transport of grief, and utterly un-
able to attend to the condolences and re-
monstrances of those around them.

But when they were permitted to behold
their mother—when they saw the deadly
paleness of her cheek, the fearful hollowness
of her eye, each felt at once convinced that
she suffered more than all, and each strove
so to command his own feelings, that he
might console the dear—the only parent he
had now left; and while large silent tears
stole down their innocent faces, they yet
sought to speak words of comfort to her.

But, alas! to weep over the memory of
their beloved father was a satisfaction only
too soon denied to this bereaved family;
with him had perished the means of their
support, and all that Mrs. Harewood had
often feared now indeed came upon her, and
she was soon called upon to exert herself,
and consider how she must provide for the
wants of future life, and the destination of
those unfortunate boys, who had till now
basked in the brightest sunshine of pros-
perity, and were strangers to the very name



AFFECTIONATE “BROTHERS. 23

of want, except when called upon to relieve
it.

/As the sight of her children never failed
to renew her distress too acutely, and the
education they had and might receive was
become their sole dependence, the friends of
Mrs. Harewood urged her to let them return
to school for the following half-year, in which
time she might be enabled to dispose of her
house and property, and consider on some
eligible plan for their future living. Ac-
cordingly they bade her a short adieu, with
streaming eyes, and tender assurances that
they would in every thing obey her advice,
which had particularly tended to impress on
their minds the necessity of attending more
carefully than ever on their studies, as it was
but too probable this would be the last op-
portunity of improvement they ever would
enjoy.





24 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

CHAPTER IL.

Mrs, HarEwoop, ever regular and econo-
mic in her own department, and religiously
just in her worldly concerns, had soon drawn
her affairs into a narrow compass; her car-
riage, horses, and furniture, were disposed
of—her debts paid to the uttermost farthing
—and a few hundred pounds were all that
remained to her in the wide world.

She had no near relations; but in the
first shock of her misfortunes, many of her
numerous friends, struck by the sudden fate
-of a companion they had loved and esteemed,
assembled round her, and by their friendly
counsel had assisted her in the sad scenes
which immediately succeeded her misfor-
tune; but as she was of too generous a
nature to tax the kind beyond their con-
venience, and too independent to solicit the
mercies of the overbearing, by degrees all



AFFECTIONATE SRROTHERS, 25

were dropped off, and she was left to make
the best of her melancholy situation. She
desired, with all a mother’s longings, to see
and enjoy the society of her beloved boys;
but she was too sincerely their friend to
abridge the advantages they enjoyed: and
in her letters she constantly assured them
of her returning health, and endeavored to
inspire them with cheerfulness, though far
from attaining herself the blessing she was
anxious to communicate.

But when the time approached, feeling
for the change they would experience, she
sought to break it to their minds, by inform-
ing them that she was now in a very humble
lodging in the city, and that the luxuries
and comforts they bad once known at their
dear and pleasant home must be relinquish-
ed: but yet the poor boys had formed no
idea of the place to which they were really
conducted; and the sorrow with which they
beheld their mother, once so waited upon
by numerous servants and a tender husband,
now nursing her own babe in a narrow dark
room, ill furnished, is indescribable. Oh!



26 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

how did they each wish and pray for the
means of relieving her—how earnestly did
they resolve that they would apply every
thing they could hereafter earn, for her and
the dear infant who was thus bequeathed to
their care!

Naturally sanguine, and of that age
when hope is easily kindled in the heart,
Charles soon admitted consolation; from
the observation of his mother, that he was
prodigiously grown—‘ Oh,” said he inter-
nally, “I shall soon be a man, and then I
can support them all.”

Poor Tom could not take comfort in this
way; for though he too was grown, yet he
was still so slim and delicate, that the mas-
ter of the lodgings observed that he looked
three years younger than his brother.

In a short time the very sting of poverty
seemed to enter the heart of the unhappy
mother; the school-bills for her sons had
not, in the distress of the time, been dis-
charged; on their return to school, of
course, a whole year was due, and in pay-
ing it she parted with more than two-thirds



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 27

of all her property; and the sense ‘of this,
together with the daily wants of two fine
growing boys, distressed her so much, that
she was shortly thrown upon a bed of
sickness, at that season of the year when
every species of assistance is most difficult
to procure, and disease most obstinate in its
stay.

The children had now but one pursuit,
one duty, one care, and most anxiously did
they fulfil it: poor Charles, so fond of
gayety and bustle, who lately rode about,
the smartest lad in his neighborhood, now
performed the part of a carrier himself
to his little sister, who, but for his exer-
tions, must have been utterly lost; whilst
Thomas, with the tenderest attention, and
most unwearied vigilance, sat by his mo-
ther’s bed, watched her every look, and
by her directions prepared her food or
medicine.

Blessed with such affectionate nurses,
the heart of the afflicted woman revived,
and her prayers ascended to the throne of
mercy; she besought strength from the



28 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

Most High to sustain her sorrows, and it
was given unto her.

But sickness is ever expensive, and the
little stock of money remaining now grew
deplorably small; yet from it two sons
were to be apprenticed, and a mother and
child subsisted, until the age of the latter
should in some measure relieve its parent
from the more immediate cares of a nurse,
and enable her to provide for it by personal
exertion.

As soon as Mrs. Harewood was conva-
lescent, she determined, for her children’s
sake, to conquer the repugnance she had
hitherto felt to calling on those who had
been the acquaintance of her happier
hours, and to request their advice and as-
sistance in placing her sons in some situa-
tion; and with this intention she set out
with Charles one morning, leaving the
infant with Thomas, who, for its sake,
could resign the books which were now his
sole consolation, and which appeared in a
great measure to atone for every other pri-
vation. The first person they called upon



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 89

was a Mr. Basset, a rich bachelor, who had
for several years been accustomed to spend
every Sunday at her house, and to profess
the sincerest regard for his dear friend
Harewood. On opening her mission, which
was simply to request his advice, he observed,
that really it was strange, very strange, that
Mr. Harewood had not provided better for
his family than he appeared to have done;
for his part, he knew nothing about the way
in which children were disposed of; thank
God he had no encumbrances of that kind,
and of course had never been led to consider
the subject.

“But have you not the power of recom-
mending my poor boys, Mr. Basset? Charles,
you see, is a great boy now, and would, I am
certain, be willing to exert himself for his
master to the uttermost, in order to make
up for the deficiency of an apprentice-fee.”

“As to that, ma’am, it is a delicate point
to recommend children brought up as yours
have been—you'll excuse me, ma’am—a
youth being a good rider, a good dancer,
&ec., is poor praise,”



80 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“But surely, sir, you know that my chil-
dren have been taught every thing essential;
that their father was a man of strict atten-
tion to business, of irreproachable integrity,
and———”

“Mother, mother!” exclaimed poor Charles,
“let us go away! I will work or beg for
you and Emily, but I cannot—cannot stay
and hear you talked to in this way; and
dear father too!—oh, let us go!”

The agony of tears which deluged the
face of Charles, awoke those of his unhappy
mother, in despite of all her resolution; but
yet making a violent effort for the sake of
attaining, by any means, an object so truly
desirable, she once more bent looks of in-
quiry towards the man who had so often
spoken far different language, at the hospi-
table board where she had been wont to
meet him, and said—“ Then you cannot
assist me in any way?”

“Why, ma’am, if my friend Charles there,
is, as he says, willing to work, I know a very
honest bricklayer, who would take him for
a trifle; and as poor little Tom was always



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 81

a puny child, I could recommend him to
my tailor—I know nothing else he is fit
for; so if you wish——”

Every trace of tears instantly fled the
countenance of Mrs, Harewood; she turned
a clear and steady eye upon the speaker,
and dropping him a silent courtesy, walked
out of his drawing-room, with an air of
greater dignity than she had ever worn in
her own, followed by Charles, whose in-
dignation glanced from his eyes in looks
of sovereign contempt, as he exclaimed—
“Was this person my father’s friend ?”

But, alas! the spirit thus awakened quick-
ly evaporated, and Mrs. Harewood found
herself so exhausted by the cruel disap-
pointment she had received, that she de-
termined to hasten home, and again hide
herself and her sorrows in oblivion: but
Charles, who, although more agitated at the
time, was sooner relieved, entreated her just
to call at Mr. Ludlow’s, whose sons he was
well-acquainted with, saying— Though they
came seldom to our house, yet they were
people you always liked, mother.”



$2 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“True, my dear; Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow
rarely visited us; for having a large family
to provide for, they did not think it prudent
to mix in so gay and expensive a circle as
our society then presented; they will not,
however, oppress the fallen, unless I am ag
much mistaken in them as I have been in
Mr. Basset; so I will call, although I am
aware they can do me no good in my pur-
suit.”

Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow were both at home,
as they happened to dine early, and they
received Mrs. Harewood and her son with
so sincere a pleasure in their countenances,
that, contrasting their manners with those
of the person she had quitted, she could
not help throwing herself into the nearest
chair, and weeping freely, while Charles en-
deavored, as well as his feelings would per
mit him, to relate the conversation that took
place at Mr. Basset’s,

Dinner was announced, and the good
couple quietly placing the widow and her
son at table, sought rather to soothe her
feelings than to argue her out of them;



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 83

but when the cloth was withdrawn, and the
children were gone, Mr. Ludlow thus ad-
dressed her—‘ Do not suffer any hard-heart-
edness which Basset may have displayed to
distress you, Mrs. Harewood; he probably
meant no harm; but bachelors have no idea
of the feelings of a parent, and they wound
without thought. ’Tis true, he has abun-
dance in his power, but he considers not the
wants of women and children, because they
slave never been objects of his care; had
your dear husband been himself in distress,
Basset would have felt it a duty, as well as
pleasure, to have relieved him. Unhappily,
we are all too much the creatures of habit,
even in our sympathies.”

“Not when we are taught of God,” said
Mrs. Ludlow; “religion gives a principle of
action which never fails.”

“True, my dear; it likewise inspires us
with a profound regard for integrity, as well
as benevolence, and I am therefore compelled
to say, that with three sons of my own to
place out, I cannot help my good friend as
I wish in this particular; but if she would

8



84 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

like, as she once hinted, to begin a day-
school, I will promise her our three little
girls, and do my best to procure her more.”

This proposal was instantly accepted with
thankfulness; and in a short time the af-
flicted mother procured a decent room, and
entered on the wearisome task of instructing
young children in the rudiments of educa-
tion, preferring the most slavish employ-
ment to placing her children in situations
derogatory to the education they had re-
ceived, and subversive of the views they
had so long entertained.

The boys were duly sensible of her kind-
ness, and labored by every means in their
power to assist her; and it was a truly af-
fecting sight to behold them nursing their
little sister, cooking their scanty dinner, or
in any way contributing to relieve their
mother; while at every opportunity they
strove to retain and increase the benefits of
their education, still fondly hoping to prove
it the means of future independence.

But not even the utmost care, and the
most unremitting exertion, could preserve a



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 85

family of this number from experiencing the
pressure of poverty under such circumstan-
ces; the boys’ clothes grew very shabby, and
to replenish them would encroach on the
little hoard reserved for still more important
services. This want was shown the most by
Charles, who felt as if he were ashamed to
walk out in his threadbare clothes and nap-
less hat; and one evening as he took a
solitary walk towards Hampstead, perceiving
a smart carriage coming down the hill, he
stood close up to the wall, as if to hide him-
self even from the passing look of strangers.

The carriage was a barouche, in which sat
a father and mother, with two little girls; a
youth, about twelve years old, was riding on
a pony close by the carriage, attended by a
servant; but at the moment of passing
Charles, the animal plunged, reared, and
refused, in the most decisive manner, to
obey his rider,

The lady screamed, the servant endeavored,
but in vain, to secure the boy from falling,
though he threatened a terrible revenge on
the pony, when, in the most terrible moment



86 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

of alarm, Charles stepping forward, cried, in
almost inarticulate accents— Pray—pray
don’t beat him!” and seizing the bridle, pat-
ted and stroked the grateful favorite, which
instantly stopped, and returned his caresses,
by rubbing its head against his shoulder, and
giving the most unequivocal proofs of affec-
tion and recognition.

“You appear acquainted with the pony,
my boy ?” said the gentleman, thankful for
his son’s relief, 4nd much struck with the
manner in which it was effected.

Charles turned to him an expressive
countenance, suffused with tears, and said
— Yes, sir, he was my own about a year
ago.”

“Are you the son of the late Mr. Hare-
wood ?”

Charles bowed; his eye glanced over his
shabby figure, and his trembling tongue was
unequal to pronouncing “ Yes.” .

The gentleman and his lady exchanged
looks of tender pity; their eyes glanced on
their own offspring, and, filled with tears,
they felt for the fatherless and the widow.



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 37

The gentleman, after a pause, observed—
‘You are a tall boy, and undoubtedly have
received a good education; but I apprehend
you are not at present in any employment?”

“Tt is my misfortune, sir, to be a burden
on my mother at present; but I would do
any thing to——”

“Do not stop; speak your wishes freely.”

“T believe, sir, I was wrong in saying I
would do any thing; I meant to say, I
would do any thing proper.

“Come to me in the city to-morrow,” said
the gentleman, giving him his card.

The carriage drove on; the servant led
the pony, which left its once-beloved master
with difficulty, and all was past as a dream,
save the card which remained in Charles’s
hand, and in contemplating which he en-
deavored to forget his four-footed friend, and
all those sorrowful remembrances the bitter
disappointments of his youth too frequently
Buggested; and returning home, he en-
deavored to cheer his dear mother with the
hope that this incident might lead to some:
thing eventually beneficial to them all.



88 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

CHAPTER II.

Tue following morning Charles did not
fail to make himself as neat as it was possi-
ble, and prepare to wait on the gentleman,
whom his mother knew, by name, as one of
the first merchants in the city.

Thomas was surprised at the courage he
manifested, in daring to go alone into the
counting-house; but such was his anxiety
and affection, that he could not forbear ac-
companying him to the outside of the house.
With great astonishment, within a quarter
of an hour he beheld him fly out of the
house, and run home with so much rapidity,
that it was impossible to arrest his progress
by calling: so poor Tom took likewise to
his heels, and being pretty nimble, arrived
there soon enough after him to hear his first
address to his mother, who was engaged



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 89

with a lady, who had brought her a new
pupil, at the moment of his entrance.

“Oh, mamma, I believe I have good news
at last; but it must all be just as you please
—I would not promise a word until I kiew
you would like it.”

‘But what is it, Charles?”

“Mr. Coulston will take me into his
counting-house, (he has seen me write and
cast up,) and he will give me thirty guineas
a year now, and more every year, if I de-
serve it. I doubt that is but litle, mamma;
but I will work so hard, he will, I trust,
give me twice as much next year.”

“Thank God!” cried the widow, clasping
her hands, and looking fervently grateful to
heaven; then turning to her sons, she said—
“It is a great deal, my dear children, to
give to such a boy as Charles, because it is
the custom to receive a large sum for in-
structing young people; therefore remem-
ber we are called upon for gratitude to our
Almighty Father for this blessing, and
bound to give every proof of it in our
power to Mr. Coulston; I say all of us, for

D



40 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

surely my dear boys know that our interest
is inseparable.”

The proof of this feeling was indeed giv-
en, when Charles was dressed in a new suit,
proper for his improved situation, and Tom
walked around him, with tears of delight
swimming in his eyes, at beholding him
look like himself again, unmindful of his
own appearance, and envying his beloved
brother nothing but the power of being use-.
ful to his mother.

Charles was now indeed happily situated ;
his employment was pleasant; his exertions,
however great, always brought the sweet
_ sense of their utility along with them, and
“inspired the hopes of independence, so nat-

ural to the sanguine heart of youth.

For some time poor Tom appeared to re-
joice in his joy, but by degrees he became
despondent and unhappy; he felt himself a
dead weight upon the parent he loved, and
whom he could have died to bless; no kind
hand was held out to help him, no voice
promised fim assistance; on the contrary,
he frequently heard his personal delicacy



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 41

alluded to, in terms of pity that bordered
on contempt; and he was aware that years
must pass ere any one would try whether
he were good for any thing, whilst those
peculiar studies he had been devoted to,
that line of pious tranquillity and modest
independence to which his imagination had
attached every idea of happiness, appeared
cut off from his hopes for ever.

Often would he take out his little sister,
under pretext of giving her air, and when
he got into the fields, throw himself on the
grass, unseen by any human eye, save that
of his innocent charge, and with flowing
eyes and aching heart, pour out his sorrows
to that throne of mercy, where alone he
could look for help and consolation; and
then return to his anxious parent with an
air of forced cheerfulness, and endeavor to
beguile the evening hour, by relating the
notices little Emily had made during her
ramble, and imitate the half-formed accents
so interesting to a mother’s ear. °

But as Emily’s power of language in-
creased, the unhappy mother learned but



42, AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

too soon the real state of her son’s mind;
the prattling cherub told, that— when
the sun shined ever so much, the rain
came down Tommy’s face; and when he
kiss her, rain comes on Emmy’s cheek
too.”

There were no means untried to obviate
this evil; but, alas! all seemed in vain, and
the afflicted boy inwardly pined away, the
victim of despondence, until one day Charles
came home with uncommon solicitude in his
countenance, having been desired to write a
French letter by his master, who declared,
that if it were well managed, he would in-
crease his salary, and remove him into the
department of a foreign clerk.

Now Charles felt and lamented his defi-
ciency, and saw that he had neglected the
close study necessary for acquiring real
knowledge; but Thomas’s countenance in-
stantly brightened up, and taking the pen,
he not only accomplished Charles’s task
with facility, but encouraged him by saying
that they would study together an hour or
two every evening, and he had no doubt



AFYECTIONATE BROTHERS. 48

but he would soon find himself equal to all
that was required of him.

Thus consoled, Charles copied his letter
with neatness, and presented it to his mas-
ter the day following, with a glowing face,
in which fear, hope, and a little shame, were
each striving for the mastery.

“You have managed this matter beyond
my hopes, I confess,” said Mr. Coulston;
“if I had not known your hand so well, I
should not have given you credit for the
knowledge of the language it evinces.”

Charles blushed excessively, as if in shame,
yet his eyes sparkled with pleasure.

“You wrote it all yourself, I presume ?”

“Oh, no, sir; I am sorry—I am ashamed
to say that it was done by my brother; he
is the best, the cleverest little fellow in the
world; he deserves your kindness more than
I do, sir, and if you were to take him in-
stead of me, I am sure I ought to—to—
to ”

“To submit to it.”

“Yes, sir, though I believe it would
break my heart too; but indeed. Tom is so



44 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

clever, sir; and he will teach me to be so
too.”

“T recommend you to try him; and when
he is a little bigger, I will see what I can do
for him. Does he write a good hand ?”

“‘He does every thing else well, sir.”

“Umph! that is certainly a very brotherly
way of saying no, Charles. Well, well,
while he improves you in French, remember
to give him a lesson with the pen, and thus
you will mutually assist each other; mean-
time, I shall order him a new jacket, as an

- encouragement to his industry.”

From this time every hour became doubly
precious to the brothers; and in the excite-
ment thus given to Tom’s mind, he overcame
the dreadful melancholy that had oppressed
him, for there is nothing so animating as the
sense of being useful; and in recovering his
powers in one respect, he regained them on
every other occasion.

It was customary with Mrs. Harewood to
provide needles, pins, and thread, for the use
of her little pupils, and she was accustomed
to send her youngest son to purchase them.



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 45

Partly from a sense of his shabby appemm
ance, and partly from his natural timidity
and habitual despondency, he had generally
run into the first little shop which presented
itself, although conscious that he might have
purchased them to more advantage at a
better. He now gained more spirit, for he
was decently dressed, and become of advan-
tage to his elder brother; and he therefore
plucked up his spirits, and ventured into the
smart shop of a haberdasher on Ludgate
Hill.

One day, having purchased a variety of
little matters, which came altogether to five-
and-threepence, he laid down six shillings,
and received from the shopman threepence
in change, he having made a mistake in the
calculation.

Thomas waited patiently until some ladies
were served, when he begged the young
gentleman to reckon over again, as he would
find he was wrong in the amount.

“No such thing,” said the man hastily;

“take your money, my boy, and get about
your business.”



46 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

Although Tom was the most gentle and
forbearing of human beings, he was not weak,
especially when a point of duty was con-
cerned, and it was undoubtedly his duty not
to waste or lose his mother’s money; he
therefore began patiently to cast up the
things to the person himself, but with an air
of firmness which indicated a determination
of being attended to. Whilst he did this,
the master of the shop, having made his
parting bow to some customers at the door,
stepped back, and stood unseen behind him.

“Tam sorry for you,” said a shopman to
him who had served Thomas; “you have
got a hard chap to deal with; that little fel-
low found fault with my reckoning last
Monday, I remember.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, calmly; “you had
cheated yourself, and I brought you back a
shilling.” ,

The master now interfered, and not only
justified the little purchaser, but made the
two young men completely ashamed of
themselves, especially the last speaker, whom
he discharged from his service, saying—



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“That though an act of error might be par-
doned, the ingratitude indicated by his con-
duct to the boy could not;” and taking two
sixpences from the drawer, he added one to
the change, and giving Tom the other, said
—‘ Here, my little fellow, take this, and
buy yourself something you like with it as
you go home; and be sure you come to me
to-morrow morning at eight o’clock.”

Encouraged by this kindness, the tender-
hearted youth wished to have spoken a word
for the crest-fallen shopman; but he was cut
short by the answer—“ You are a good-
natured little fellow, I am certain; but you
must allow my head is older than yours.”

Tom went away. His steps were mechan-
ically directed to a book-stall, where he had
several days seen an old Latin Horace, on
the back ‘of which was inscribed, ‘‘ Price 8d.”
Twopence had long lurked in the corner of
his pocket, which was saving towards this
price ; no wonder, therefore, that he hastened
with celerity to secure it.

But at the very moment he laid his hand
upon the book, a boy passed him, bawling:



48 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

— Fresh Prawns!” and Tom withdrew his
grasp. ‘My mother likes prawns,” said he
internally, “and she never buys herself any
thing she likes; if I took her some home,
she would perhaps eat them heartily.”

He stopped the prawn-boy, but even then
could not prevail upon himself to lay down
the book. Standing thus with the fish-boy
and his basket, he unwittingly obstructed
the path to a gentleman, who being in no
particular haste, allowed himself to scan the
pale, intelligent face, and the singular action
of the boy before him. With a deep sigh
Tom laid down the book, and placed the
sixpence in the hand of the prawn-seller.

“So you prefer the prawns to learning, do
you, my lad?” said the gentleman, en passant;
“don’t you remember the proverb, “that
tis better than house or land?”

“Not better though than my mother,”
said Tom, with another sigh, and in a tone
80 low, that the last word alone caught the
gentleman’s ear.

“Then you do not purchase these things
for your own eating? though, if you did,



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 49

I could not blame you, now I look at
you.”

“T never could eat them, sir, unless—I
mean, unless I was forced to it.”

“You are a very odd boy—here, take
your book, I will pay for it—why, ‘tis
Horace, I see! this is the strangest thing I
ever met with.”

As the gentleman spoke, he offered the
book to Thomas, but at the same moment
turned into the shop, intending to buy him
a better; but Tom, with a few words of
sincere but rapid thanks, had clasped his
prize to his bosom, and hurried away, hap-
piest of the happy; little dreaming that he
had excited a warm interest in one who had
the power and inclination to render that
happiness permanent.

After feasting on his mental treat, Tom
recollected his engagement with the haber-
dasher, which his mother was extremely
anxious he should keep; and as her school
was not opened at the early hour of appoint-
ment, she accompanied him to Mr. Preston’s,
the person in question.



50 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

‘The business was, as she had already
hoped, a desire to engage her son as an ap-
prentice, on account of the evident honesty
of his principles, and the quickness with
which he could cast up accounts in his mind;
and he offered to take him for the next seven
years without an apprentice-fee, which was
an offer that, in the present circumstances of
the family, might be considered extremely
valuable, and as such was most gratefully
received by Mrs. Harewood.

Thomas said, he was indeed much obliged,
but his heart sunk at the prospect of being,
for seven long years, shut out of all hopes
of attending to his learning; and as he re-
turned with his mother, he said—‘ Mr,
Preston says I must get up at six o’clock
and keep in the shop till after nine, and

‘ give my whole mind to my business—shall I
be able to do this for seven whole years,
mother ?”

“Undoubtedly, my dear boy; if you can
do this for one year, you can do it for seven;
and that exertion which is at first somewhat
painful, as being simply anexertion of duty



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 61

rather than inclination, will become, long
before the expiration of that period, a great
pleasure to you.”

Tom did not answer; he resolved in his
own mind, to be a good servant, in every
sense of the word to his future master, and
to be, through his conduct, a blessing to his
mother; but at night when he retired with
his brother, he could not help lamenting
the entire annihilation of all his hopes, and
weeping bitterly over the books which he
saw for the last time, as friends with whom
he must now part for ever.

“But, my dear fellow,” cried Charles, “I
am sure you need not fret in this way;
every Sunday you will come home, and
then you may read all the hours except
church-time. I am sure I think you will
have a very pleasant, bustling sort of a life,
- in a gay shop, seeing so many peeple, and
doing so many things; and you will be
always clean and smart, and never do any
thing dirty, or unlike a gentleman’s son, you
know.”

“True; but to stand for seven years



52 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

behind a counter, folding ribbons and count-
ing cotton buttons, is strange employment
for a young man whose mind is equal
to ”

“ Making Latin verses, or writing foreign
letters; very true, dear Tom; you shall not
be bound, no, that you shan’t: long within
that time I shall be able to help you, and
when I am, dear Tom, you shall see what I
will do.”

The kind brother drew the mourning boy
to his breast, and, encouraged by his assur-
ances, he slept in comfort on the bosom he
now felt to be that of a parent, though there
had been recently many hours in which he
had acted as an instructor to the brother
who now supported him. This is the dis-
position which ought always to operate
among members of the same family, who
ought to’ give and receive, with equal affec-
tion and humility, assistance from each
other.

Although Charles was not only a lively,
but really a modest boy, he was not op-
pressed by that timidity which obscured the



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 58

manners, and frequently wounded the feel-
ings of Thomas; and on the following morn-
ing he laid the case of his brother before the
good merchant, his own master, who heard
him with attention; and being well aware,
from his own knowledge, that the little boy
did really possess talents not called for in
the line to which he was destined, he very
kindly called upon Mr. Preston, and advised
him to take the child for a year or two
without binding; and the latter, willing to
oblige a gentleman of his connections, and
to supply the vacancy in his house by the
late dismissal, consented immediately; on
which Thomas removed with great satisfac-
tion, although tears would spring into his
eyes when he bade adieu to his mother, and
kissed little Emily for a week’s absence.
From the time this excellent boy entered
on this new service, he determined, with re-
ligious resolution, to devote himself to his
duty, and not suffer even desires otherwise
laudable to divert him from it; and finding
that when there was no immediate claim on
their time, some young men were fond of



4 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

hiding a newspaper or a book in a corner,
which led their minds from their pursuits,
and prevented them from paying due atten-
tion to the customers who happened to
interrupt them, and instead of receiving
them with pleasant countenances, looked as
if they wished them a hundred miles off, he
denied himself every gratification of that
kind, and never saw a book except on a
Sunday evening.

This sacred day was indeed very precious
to this little family; for although Thomas
did not join his mother until after the morn-
ing-service, it being the laudable custom of
Mr. Preston to take all his family together

‘to church, yet after that time they were in-

deed a united family—together they wor-
shipped God, and together considered the
situation of each party, as if the feelings,
comforts, and sorrows, peculiar to every
individual, belonged alike to all—they-waé-
fered and enjoyed together.

It is true, poor Thomas had some troubles
he could not sufficiently conquer himself to
reveal, even to those whom he loved so



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 55

dearly. These arose from the ill-humor, or

other bad qualities, of his fellow-shopmen,

who used to call him a bookworm, a learned -
gentleman, and, with increased opprobrium
of look and gesture, a quiz. For some time
he bore these things in patience, hoping that
his quiet and inoffensive manners could not
fail to disarm malevolence, and reprove with-

out offending the parties who tormented
him; and it appeared that this would have
been the case, if his good conduct, and calm,

unobtrusive civility, had not rendered him
such a favorite with the more regular custo-

mers, that ladies would frequently step past
the dashing beaux who were bowing for their
commands, and address the quiet little fellow,

who, with equal simplicity and civility, at-

tended to their wishes, and gave his opinion,

when asked, with gentlemanly propriety of

speech, and the most undeviating integrity
of principle. .

Thomas was aware that if Charles had
known of these insults, he would either have
ridiculed them as too trifling to merit notice,
or have resented them in some very decided



56 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

manner, being as willing to fight a battle in
behalf of his brother now, as when they
were schoolboys; and he disliked either of
these methods of getting rid of a present
trouble, since they were equally sure of in-
creasing it—‘‘Should Charles,” he would
say, internally, “laugh at me, I should be
hurt and resent it; and God forbid that any
breach should happen between us, happy as
we are in each other! and if he should come
to our house, and quarrel with any of them
on my account, that will disturb Mr. Pres-
ton, and set the young men a great deal
more against me; or perhaps, as I am not
bound, I shall be sent home again, and then
what will become of my poor mother? no,
no, I will bear it a little while longer at
least; they must see their error some time,
and use me better.”

The young man whose error had been
detected by poor Tom was the most invete-
rate of his tormentors, and to the utmost of
his power tried to render his situation un-
comfortable, even by laying upon him more
than his share of work, whenever the mas-



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 57

ter’s back was turned. Yet there was scarce-
ly a day passed in which he did not claim
the assistance of his talents, in reckoning
up the various petty sums usually called for
in articles so varying and minute as those in
a shop of this description, and all his de-
mands of this kind were ever attended to
with avidity; but when they were no longer
engaged in business, Tom had the steadiness
~sither to submit to his orders, nor cringe
to his insolence. This person, during the
winter, was very subject to the toothache;
and as he slept in the same room with
Thomas and a young apprentice, they fre-
quently heard him moaning. One night,
being worse than common, the good-tem-
pered boy, who forgot every act of enmity
in compassion, said—‘‘T have been told, Al-
sop, that a pill made of pepper and butter,
put into the tooth, will give ease; and if you
will try it, I will strike a light, and go down
and make you one.”

“T will try any thing,” said the other.

Thomas immediately fulfilled his promise,
and was so happy as to give immediate re-



58 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

lief, which procured him the first good-na-
tured word he had ever uttered to him since
his arrival.

After this his services were but too often
called for in the night, but he had the satis-
faction of reaping much benefit from his
kindness; for Alsop was not only ashamed
of his past ill-behavior, but by his example
influenced the rest; so that his situation be-
came much more tolerable, and his spirits
rose to cheerfulness, while his activity and
exertion in business became much more con-
Spicuous; and it was remarked by every
one how amazingly he was improved in his
person and carriage. In fact, the first year
he was in business, he grew more than he
had done the three preceding ones; for
being continually upon his feet, and obliged
to stretch his limbs by reaching down par-
cels, and running errands, these exercises
produced the happiest effect upon him, and
he found himself now quite equal to any
boy of his age; and though extremely slen-
der, he was yet perfectly free from disease,
and his complexion, though fair, was cured



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 59

of that peculiar delicacy which had pre-
viously obtained him the nickname of
“Miss Nancy;” and Alsop was now eager
to insist upon that term being dismissed
for ever.

But with all these improvements in his
situation, poor Tom still sighed in vain for
that learned leisure which, in his opinion,
far excelled all other benefits; and he often
wished for a crust of bread in a garret with
books, and the advantage of instruction and
study. Charles, on the contrary, found every
day delightful, for every day initiated him.
still farther in the business he loved; and
the attention he paid to every part of the
affairs intrusted to his care, bespoke him
likely to succeed in time to an honorable
and lucrative employment. In the mean
time his salary was nearly doubled; and he
had the delightful satisfaction of knowing
that his earnings supplied all his wants, and
saved his dear mother from all cares and
exertions on his account.



60 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

CHAPTER IV.

‘WHEN Tom had remained at Mr. Preston's
about fifteen months, he was one day called
to assist Alsop, who was waiting upon some
ladies that did not choose to quit their car-
riage; and as he was only employed to hold
parcels, he very naturally cast his eye upon
the arms and the motto, and with a half-
sigh, read the words—spero meliora, (I hope
better times.)

Unconsciously he pronounced the words,
and in a tone which fully spoke that he not
only understood their meaning, but felt the
sentiment they expressed. At that moment
the lady who owned the carriage was step-
ping out, finding there was some things she
could look at to more advantage in the shop;
she cast her eyes on Tom with a look of
surprise, but his confusion was spared, for
he was still intent upon the arms.



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 61

The lady’s companion was a lively French-
woman, who could speak very little English;
she however hated to hold her tongue, and
therefore, without thinking of this deficiency,
put out her head, and asked the name of the
street, and how far it was from Grosvenor-
square? then recollecting herself, began to
consider how to translate her own question,
so as to procure an answer; but to her
infinite joy and relief, she was immedi-
ately answered, with great propriety, in her
own language, by the youth she address-
ed.

A multitude of questions followed: and
although they were too rapid for Tom’s com-
prehension, yet enough was said to satisfy
the lady that she was understood, and of
course she was delighted; and when her
friend returned, she found her in raptures
with her late companion. All the way home
she could speak of nothing but le pawvre
garcon, le cher garcon, le beau gargon, (the
poor boy, the dear boy, the handsome boy,)
till at length her companion began sing-
ing—



He
62 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“Oh this boy, this boy,
Of this boy I'm weary !”
and was repeating the words, when on their
alighting in the hall of her house in Grosve-
nor-square, she was met by her husband,
who informed her that his brother, Doctor
Ecclestone, had arrived during her absence.

On this joyful intelligence the lady forgot
alike Madame and the boy in question, for
her brother-in-law was justly very dear to
her. He was a clergyman of small prefer-
ment, but handsome private fortune, and
remarkable for his profound erudition, un-
affected piety, and affable manners; to which
might be added his extensive charities and
universal benevolence; but these qualities
were exercised in so retired a manner, that
they rarely met the public eye.

After the first salutations were passed, and
mutual inquiries after the respective families
of each party had taken place, Madame was
introduced to the doctor as the friend of lig
sister; and the moment she began to speak,
she recurred to what she considered an ex-
traordinary circumstance, that un petit gar



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 63

gon had spoken to her in the purest French
she had heard since her arrival, and endeay-
ored to quote the great English poet on the
occasion—" Dat it was strange, dat it was
pitiful.”

“Tn truth, my dear Madame, it is neither
one nor other,” said Mr. Ecclestone; “al-
most every child learns French now-a-days ;
in a respectable shop, like the one you men-
tion, I should expect every youth employed
there to possess some knowledge of the lan-
guage; yet it is a fact, that in that particular
we are far inferior to the Dutch, the Danes,
and other continental neighbors. If you
go a-wonder-hunting in London for a week,
I persuade myself you will meet many better
than votre joli gargon.”

Madame was too true a Frenchwoman to
give up her point; she was willing to grant

-many young people had a smattering of her
language, but few understood it like her
protégé: and Mrs. Ecclestone added her as-
surance that the youth in question understood
Latin also; and that she was sure he was a
boy of feeling and education, and not quite

F



64 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

in the situation he wished to be, or ought to
be, in her opinion.

Her spouse good-naturedly laughed at this
idea, and said he had little doubt but the
youth in question was one of those would-
be-wits, who too frequently forsake the sober
duties of the citizen, to recite bad verses,
murder good ones, make speeches for deba-
ting societies, and seek to “strut their hour
upon the stage,” in some itinerant company
of comedians.

The ladies protested against this; he was
silent and modest, they declared to a fault;
and withdrew, protesting against such a false
conclusion. With the ladies the subject
vanished.

But the following morning, as the good
Doctor went into the city, this conversation
crossed his mind, and the recollection of an
incident which occurred to him the last visit
he paid to the metropolis, added to this,
made him determine on seeing thé- youth
thus spoken of; he recollected the shep, and
entering asked for some gloves. The mas-
ter was near, and called to Harewood to



of
tr

AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 66

reach them, who immediately obeyed; but
on approaching the gentleman, he was ob-
served to color highly, and his eyes sparkled
with intelligence and pleasure.

“JT think, young man, we have seen each
other before ?” said Doctor Ecclestone.

“Oh yes, sir, [ remember your kind pres-
ent perfectly ; I have it by me yet.”

“Indeed! "twas a very shabby one; but
you have ceased to study now, I presume.”

Tears struck into poor Tom’s eyes, as he
answered hesitatingly— Mr. Preston has
been kind enough to take me, sir; and my
duty—yes, I believe I am right in saying my
duty, forbids me to pursue studies of that
kind.”

“You are certainly right in saying your
duty, for it would ill-become you to forget
@ positive duty by neglecting his business;
but if your love of learning could be ren-
dered consistent with your duty, have you
resolution enough to pursue even its difficul-
ties with the ardor and perseverance neces-
sary for a great end?”

“Oh yes, sir, indeed I have.”

5



66 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“But have you considered that spare
meals, a scanty purse, the contempt of the
worldly-minded, poor reward, and even that
long procrastinated, are too frequently the
lot of him who devotes himself to study,
and to the service of the church, and that
wisdom and piety are to seek rewards from
within and not from without?”

“T have considered it all, sir; and so far
as I am myself concerned, I know that I
could be happy with the barest means of
existence, were I so devoted; but I have a
mother, who has a right to direct me: I
could not expect the blessing of God on any
line of life she did not sanction.”

The Doctor took Mrs. Harewood’s ad-
dress, and left poor Thomas to ruminate on
this singular conversation, which filled his
mind with many wandering thoughts, and
rendered him almost unable to attend to
any thing; and for the first time he heard
the voice of his master directed to him with
reproof on his lips. Every one by this time
had learned his real worth, and the foreman
observed, that it was something the clergy-



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 67

man had said in the morning which had be-
wildered him, he believed, for he had never
been himself since.

“He is the first I ever saw in my shop;
and though I honor the profession, I hope
he will be the last, if he has spoiled Hare-
wood,” said Mr. Preston, somewhat tartly.

Thus recalled to himself, Tom endeay-
ored, by double diligence, to erase the un-
favorable impression his wandering thoughts
and abstracted air had occasioned; but
though he rolled and unrolled many pieces
of gay ribbons, and folded various trim-
mings and tapes, still his mind wandered
afar into the regions of learned research, and
rested rather on the tombs of the ancients
than the shelves which contained haber-
dashery.

The following day he became somewhat
better able to pursue his stated avocations;
but the chord which the stranger, with ap-
parent kindness, but real mischief, had thus
touched, would not suddenly cease to vi-
brate; and another and another day passed

_ on, and saw the youth despondent and anx-



68 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

ious, hoping for he knew not what of pro-
mised good, that still eluded his grasp, and
took from him the power of enjoying the
actual comforts he possessed, and the power
of improving himself in that line of life
which it appeared to be his duty to pur-
sue.

The evening of this day, however, called
him to a new source of anxiety, and he soon
eeased to recollect even the subject most
dear to his contemplations.

On the morning of this day, the good
master of Charles had informed him that
he had resolved on sending a large cargo
of goods to Buenos Ayres and Monte Video,
which he should intrust to the conduct of
Mr. Hinckley, his confidential clerk, who
had been many years in his service, and to
one of the junior assistants; “and,” added
he, “as it is an office of importance and
trust, so it shall be made one of profit;
and, with your mother’s consent, I appoint
you to it.”

Charles, naturally sanguine and ardent,
most thankfully embraced the proposal, and



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 68

flew to acquaint his mother, who, seeing
at once the advantages it would procure to
her son, and the high praise it conveyed
to his past conduct, suppressed the pain
she naturally felt at parting with him, and
declared her grateful concurrence with the
pleasure of the generous merchant.

Poor Tom was next acquainted with the
chasm likely to take immediate place in
their little circle, and forgot, in this mo-
mentous change, every other source of re-
gret and solicitude. Attached to his en-
dearing home, naturally averse to changes,
and constitutionally unfitted to encounter
evident danger, though he possessed much
patient resolution and calm courage, he was
unable to endure hazardous enterprise, or
seek distant good by perilous adventure;
he therefore considered his brother as a
species of martyr to the necessities of his
family, and embracing him with tearful
eyes, applauded at once and deplored his
determination, until he perceived that it
was of a truth perfectly agreeable to him,
when he became anxious, to the utmost of



70 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

his power, to prepare him for the voyage;
and this he justly considered would be best
effected, by again brushing up his knowl-
edge of the languages he had been taught,
and engrafting upon his memory those radi-
cal roots of words which might fit him for
assisting himself, during the voyage, in ac-
quiring the Spanish tongue.

For this good purpose, Mr. Preston had
the goodness to spare him, whenever the
press of business allowed him an unoccupied
hour. It was an affecting and delightful
sight to see these amiable brothers thus
employed in forming, as it were, mutual
strength out of mutual treasures, for a great
occasion, and to perceive than an elder
brother, whose bodily strength and personal
appearance (aided by a powerful though not
equally-cultivated mind) seemed to mark
him the superior, could yet patiently listen
to the instructions of the younger, and even
good-humoredly submit to the mild reproofs
which he felt were given only in love, and
necessary for his improvement.

One evening, when they were thus em-



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. T1

ployed, with more than common vigilance,
from the knowledg@'that it would be nearly
the last, they were interrupted by the en-
trance of a visitant, respecting whom Thomas
had never yet ventured to make inquiry—
this was Doctor Ecclestone.

The situation of the boys spoke for itself,
and the tears rose to the good man’s eyes, as
he looked round the humble dwelling, and
beheld a mother diligently sewing for her
son, at the very time when her fond heart
was beating with a thousand tender fears,
and that son thus preparing his mind for the
noblest purpose, that of fulfilling his duties
ably and gratefully; but his chief attention,.
as well as admiration, was placed on him for:
whose sake he paid this visit.

After a slight apology for his intrusion, lie-
sat down, still looking in Tom’s face, who.
feeling all that tide of indistinct hopes and
undefined desires which a few days before:
had swelled his heart and glowed in his face,
return now with increased force, became un-
able to bear even the looks he loved,. and he
therefore hastily closed the exercise book he:

G



72 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

was correcting, and slid out of the room in
breathless agitation.

“T remember,” said Doctor Ecclestone,
addressing Mrs. Harewood, “ that the author
of Sir Isaac Newton’s life informs us that his
mother was a widow, and as there were sev-
eral younger children, she designed, with
great propriety, to bring him up to his
father’s business, which she prudently con-
tinued to hold in her own hands, looking to
the time when Isaac would be able to assist
ther and the rest of the family. I have fre-
‘quently thought how greatly the poor woman
must have been disappointed, when the youth
was found averse to wool-stapling and attach-
-ed to books; what do you think, Madam?”

“T think she was not only a good but
wise mother, to struggle forward without his
assistance, because she saw in him the princi-
ples which would reward her cares: and al-
though it was impossible for her to prophesy
his future greatness, yet she had a right to
expect a considerable portion of the good
conduct she afterwards found in her excel-
lent son.”



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 78

“Then if I were to take your younger
son, place him at the University, and sup-
port him until he were able to support him-
self, you would, I trust, make no objec-
tion ?”

“Objection, sir! God forbid! I should
regard you as a benefactor sent from Heav-
en to help me.”

As Doctor Ecclestone made this proposal,
Tom had re-entered the room ; he heard all
that passed, and for a moment gazed in as-
tonishment on all around him, then rushed
to his mother, flung himself in her arms, and
burst into a flood of tears, which mingled
with hers.

Not less happy, but more eloquent, Charles,
turning to their unknown but revered visi-
tant, thanked him fervently for his promised
patronage, declaring, with all the sincerity
of affection and truth, that one of the great-
est blessings, the sweetest recompense he had
expected from his present undertaking, had
arisen from the hope it held out, of rendering
him able thus to provide for his beloved
brother.



74, AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“My good boy,” replied the Doctor, “so
fally am I persuaded that the bread we earn
is the sweetest we ever taste, and that the
pleasure of giving is infinitely increased
when the gift has cost us the denial of some
luxury, that I would not, for the world,
either prevent your brother from doing his
utmost to help himself, or prevent you from
the pleasure of assisting him, whenever it is
in your power. My assistance must be
necessarily very circumscribed, and of course
each of you must by turns experience this
satisfaction; but the great point to be ac-
complished at present is the relief of your
mother, by providing for her sons entirely.”

The good man rose to depart, and then
first the grateful and overwhelmed boy,
whom he had rendered so happy, and in-
tended to serve so essentially, made an ef-
fort to thank him; but the words he meant
to have uttered died on his lips: he could
only touch the kind hand held out to him;
and casting his eyes to heaven, prayed si-
lently for that blessing his full heart sought
for his benefactor.



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 76

When the Doctor was really withdrawn,
the sweet voice-of the infant was the only
one in the little circle capable of comment-
ing on his appearance, for the generous and
important mission on which he had visited
them fully absorbed the thoughts of every
other person; though in itself most desira-
ble, and welcomed with the most devout
gratitude, yet the destination of Thomas de-
prived the widowed mother of the society
of that son which had been her more pecu-
liar solace, at the very time when she looked
to it as of double value, and it was not pos-
sible for even the joy she experienced in
his welfare to render her insensible of the
privation; tears and smiles would combat
in her countenance, and her affectionate
children deeply sympathized in her emo-
tions.

Charles, fixing his eyes for a moment on
the playful child, seemed to look from her to
his mother, as if silently offering her a com-
panion.

“Sweet lamb,” said Tom, observing him,
“what a pity it is you are go little!”

te
‘fs



76 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

“But she is very engaging, and she will
have more sense every day,” added Charles.

Tom could not reply; his lip quivered,
the tears strayed down his cheeks; the
mother read their hearts, and made an effort
to recover her spirits—‘‘Be assured, my
dear boys,” said she, “that this dear child
will supply your places to me in a great
measure, since she is indeed every day more
interesting, and more capable of lessening
the weight of my burden; do not let the
thoughts of me oppress your hearts and in-
jure your spirits; love me with fervor, but
do not hang upon me with regret, since that
would eventually injure us all, by rendering
you incapable of performing your duty in
the way you are called upon to exert your-
selves; ever remember, that sensibility is
only excellent as it is the handmaid of Reli-
gion and Virtue—that to feel properly, not
inordinately, is alone desirable. I am not
afraid of your forgetting me, nor your dear
little sister, whom Providence has thrown
upon you, for the cares and love she would
have received from her father; let us there-



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, TT

fore restrain our feelings, and show them by
our future actions, rather than our present
sensations.”

The brothers had for a moment thrown
themselves, weeping, round the neck of their
mother; they now gently withdrew, and
silently resolved to emulate alike her reso-
lution and her tenderness, and began to
speak, with the satisfaction their altered
circumstances inspired, of their different
destinations, and arrange their future cor-
respondence.

There were some things, nevertheless,
which this affectionate little family, small
as its number was, could talk of better
apart then together. In the absence of her
sons, Mrs. Harewood could best consider
what was necessary for the personal com-
fort and respectable appearance of her sons,
in the situation they were happily called to
move in, and she then drew from her scanty
store the means of fitting them out agreeable
to these views.

At the same time, the sons themselves
laid their heads together, and comforted



78 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

each other with the hopes that when they
were gone, their poor mamma would be able
to live better, and treat herself and the child
with many little comforts they had, with
aching hearts, beheld her deprived of for a
long melancholy period: every concluding
period with Charles was filled up by—
“When I come back, she shall have a house
of her own—when I come back, I will buy
her so and so,” as if, poor fellow! his voy-
age must necessarily procure every blessing;
and so much did his sanguine hopes of suc-
cess alleviate the pains of parting, that Tom
thought it would be cruel to remind him that
it was possible that his voyage could be un-
prosperous, or his expectations @isappointed;
but he did at length venture to say—‘ My
dear Charles, you are going out on an ex-
pedition of great hazard, and subject to
many difficulties, but remember, that you
must take out, keep with you, and bring
back, one thing, which is very different
from all other merchandise—it can neither
be bartered nor sold without infinite loss;
if you gain the whole world without it, you



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 79

will be still a poor wretch; and if you lose
all, yet preserve 7, you will be happy and
respectable.”

“JT dare say you mean a good con-
science ?”

“Indeed I do; the conscience of a true
Christian.”

“Well, my dear Tom, I hope I shall al-
ways preserve my principles—God grant I
may! but you did not need to have made a
long speech about it; only, to be sure, it is
your line to preach.”

“At least I hope it will be,” said Tom,
with a smile; “and if the world is so wick-
ed as people say it is, who knows but it
may be a good thing for you that you
have a brother who is placed in a sacred
profession? You may perhaps have occa-
sion to say to yourself sometimes—‘ No,
I won't do this, for it will be a disgrace
to my brother, the clergyman; or ‘I will
avoid this, for it would break poor Tom’s
heart.’”

“Never, never,” cried Charles, sobbing, as
he clasped his brother in his arms, “ will I



80 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

break that dear good heart by any evil ac-
tion; for I will think on you Tom; I will
consider, on every occasion, how you would
look, what you would say, and how I ima-
gined. you were likely to feel; so shall my
little brother be still the guardian of my
actions, as much as I hope to be the builder
of his future comforts.”

Soon after this conversation, the youths
parted from each other, and from their
mother, Charles going on board only one
day before Thomas accompanied his noble
friend to the University of Oxford, being
first previously introduced to his patron’s
brother, at whose house he was joyfully rec-
ognized as le bon gargon of the good-humored
Frenchwoman, who prophesied that he would
honor her judgment, by proving himself un
homme savant et sage.

From Mr. Preston he parted on the best
terms, though the family were all loth to
part with him; and he was followed, by all
who knew him, with good wishes, which his
heart deeply acknowledged; but his sensa-
tions were tinged with that tender melan-



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 81

choly natural to the feelings of a son and
a brother, parted, for the first time, from
objects so long and justly endeared to
him,





82 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

CHAPTER V.

THE life now led by Thomas was as con-
sonant to his wishes, and as conducive to
his improvement, as that enjoyed by his
more fortunate brother had hitherto been to
him ; not that it was without trials, for in
every state of existence, people of the best
disposition and most prudent conduct are
liable to them; and in every place where
many are assembled, some will be found
inimical to the wiser views and more exalted
propriety of the rest; and there were not
wanting many who ridiculed the quiet
manners and severe studies of our young
friend, and some who, cruelly mean, insult-
ed his poverty, jested on his dependence,
and presumed on his good temper.

The strong understanding, not less than
the excellent disposition of this youth,
taught him.in a short time to appreciate the



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 88

various attacks of the profuse, weak, and
vicious, in a proper manner, and to repel
every insinuation, and damp every sneer, by
that calm dignity, which shows the weak
where true strength is to be found; and al-
though there were times when he really
suffered, he had sufficient self-possession to
hide his pangs; by which means his tor-
mentors were led to doubt their own power,
and therefore ceased to tease him.

A more serious cause of anxiety, how-
ever, soon interfered with his studies, and
rendered him indeed the melancholy being
his enemies loved to depict him; this was
the bad weather poor Charles encountered
on his voyage, which was dreadfully tedious,
and at times highly dangerous: they heard
of him twice in the course of it, and became
extremely impatient to learn from himself
his state of health and prospects; but, alas!
when at length the long-looked-for letter ar-
rived, they were but too well convinced
that they had underrated his past sufferings
considerably, and that the trials of the voy-
age had far outrun their fears, although dis-



84 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

guised by his considerate kindness as much
as possible in relating the facts.

The wearisome and dangerous voyage of
poor Charles was not compensated for, on
his arrival, by those golden harvests he had
often in imagination reaped for his beloved
master, and after him for his own dear fam-
ily, whose fortunes he was ever solicitous to
increase. On the arrival of the ship in
which he sailed at Monte Video, it was found
that the state of political affairs was consider-
ably changed; that an action had taken
place which had filled every place that
offered an asylum with wounded and dying
soldiers, and that instead of store-houses
where British Merchants could offer goods
for sale, British soldiers were expiring, in
want of every assistance required by their
unhappy state.

The generous heart of Charles, ever alive
to the dictates of humanity, was deeply
wounded by the situation of his countrymen,
and every hour when Mr. Hinckley, the
senior clerk, could spare him from the neces-
sary arrangements of their goods, he flew to



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 85

the distressed sufferers, and to the utmost of
his power contributed to their comfort, by
attending to their wants, procuring food or
medicine as it was needed, and not unfre-
quently bathing and binding their wounds,
under the direction of the few medical men
that remained to help them.

Several Spaniards, inhabitants of the
place, were amongst the wounded, and being
too ill for removal, partook necessarily the
fate of these soldiers. One of these, a most
respectable merchant, shared, in a peculiar
manner, the attention of Charles, because he
wasenabled to converse with him freely in
the French language, and because he was,
like himself, a stranger to those around him,
as his residence was at a considerable dis-
tance in the interior of the country ; he spoke
of himself as a husband, and the father of
two children, then waiting in anxiety for his
return; and on this account he became still
more an object of interest with Charles, who
beheld with pleasure the progress of his re-
covery, which might in a great measure be
imputed to his own care.



86 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

But the attentions paid to this temporary
hospital were shortly to be turned to another
channel; various arrivals from England,
with choice collections of her best manufac-
tures, rendered it matter of difficulty to dis-
pose of the goods they had brought over to
the advantage they wished; and the pains
taken by Mr. Hinckley, who was somewhat
advanced in years, together with the heat of
the climate, sensibly affected his health.
Charles endeavored, by every means in his
power, to relieve him, and to this purpose,
studied the language of the country with
double diligence, and soon became enabled
to understand it sufficiently for all purposes
of commerce, and even society; so that Mr.
Hinckley, rejoicing in his powers, and reas-
sured in his own hopes, proposed removing
farther up the country, where the market
would be less stocked, and of course the
prices be more adequate to the trouble and
risk of the venture; and this was accom-
plished as speedily as the nature of the
country, and its present state of warfare,
admitted.



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 87

Knowing that all their rivals were bent
on going to Buenos Ayres, they preferred
visiting the towns on the northern side of
La Plata; and embarking on that river with
the best part of their merchandise, they in
a short time fell in with the Uraguay, by
which they were taken to Cordelaria, where
they landed safely, and endeavored to bestow
their goods; but the inhabitants appeared
suspicious, and inimical to their wishes,
treating them rather as enemies, who would
bring destruction, than merchants who of-
fered them useful commodities in the way of
open trade and honest barter. Under these
circumstances they were wretchedly accom-
modated, and the intolerable heat and toil
arising from the stowage of goods, amongst
people who added ill-humor to idleness, and
would not be tempted to work for those they
fancied it a duty to oppose, rendered Mr.
Hinckley seriously ill, with one of those fe-
vers to which the country peculiarly subjects
strangers. Happily Charles had learned, in
his attendance at the hospital, how to treat
this complaint, and he seriously set himself

H



88 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

to officiate both as nurse and doctor to
his sick friend, whom he never left for a
single moment, until he was completely out
of danger, attending him with all the love
of a relation, the obedience of a servant, and
the skill of a physician; for solicitude and
humanity teach many important lessons to
those who are willing to learn them.

From this conduct Charles did not only
reap the immediate advantage of saving that
friend’s life, who in this far-distant country
was at once a father, master, and tutor to
him, but he found that his conduct excited
the attention and elicited the good-will of
the inhabitants, who in his private virtue be-
held the way to benefit both themselves and
the visitors they approved; they therefore
readily visited the stores, and bought with
avidity the articles agreeable to their choice,
and suited to their situation.

Still tenderly careful of the delicate health
of his friend, Charles would not suffer him
to use any exertion he could save him from,
and he became himself the only medium
through which business was transacted; and



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 89

as he now spoke the language fluently, was
handsome in his person and manners, he was
goon as much courted by the native residents
as he had been despised; and every house
in Cordelaria was soon open to his recep-
tion, with an hospitality he had never wit-
nessed in Europe, and which therefore was
more flattering and engaging to him.

After staying as long as appeared likely
to answer their purpose, they removed to
Assumpcion; but the journey again produ-
cing bad symptoms in Mr. Hinckley’s health,
it was agreed that he should become station-
ary at this place, where their chief magazine
should remain, whilst Charles should make
such excursions as appeared consistent with
the object of their journey.

In this town they had the mortification
and sorrow to hear of the defeat of the British
army, and to learn that all hopes of establish-
ing trade on a permanent footing were gener-
ally abandoned by those adventurers who,
like themselves, had sought to establish it.
They found, to their great mortification, that
many had parted with goods for less than



90 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

they bought them in England; and othera
had, in seeking personal safety, abandoned
them altogether; and that though a con-
siderable party in favor of the English
actually existed in the country, they were
at present afraid to show their heads; all
was dark and gloomy; if they attempted to
return, they would undoubtedly be taken
prisoners, and their goods confiscated; if
they presumed to proceed, they only placed
themselves in a situation of equal peril, as,
if apprehended, they would have less chance
of escape.

Tn this dilemma, the most advisable plan
appeared that of consolidating the property
they had taken as much as possible, and
making the best remittances to England they
were able; and as they had no doubt but
numerous vessels were then sailing for En-
gland, Charles determined to disguise him-
self as a Spaniard, and return as speedily as
possible to Monte Video.

Here he found all the confusion and dis-
tress incident to a retreating and suffering
army; and in witnessing the disgrace of his



AFFROTIONATE BROTHERS, 91

beloved countrymen, he partook their feel-
ings so much as to excite suspicion, and
many eyes were turned upon him with
threatening import. Happily for both him-
self and all whom he served, he was ever
prompt in the dispatch of whatever he took
in hand; and although he experienced a
great deal of that lassitude consequent on a
warm climate, and was frequently tempted
to partake the indulgence of an afternoon
nap, or to yawn away a valuable morning,
yet he never yielded to his wishes, until he
could say to himself— My work is finished ;
I may repose without injury to my busi-
ness.”

Under this salutary spirit of industry, he
lost no time in effecting his purpose, and
very soon placed his bills and other property
in the hands of a British officer on whom he
could rely. He was unable, from the pres-
sure of business, to write even a line to his
dear family; but he engaged the gentleman
whom he intrusted to see his mother in
London, and assure her of his safety: alas!
while he spoke the words that safety was



92 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

lost—he was seized in the presence of his
kind messenger as a spy, and ignominiously
dragged away, and lodged in a close and
gloomy prison.

Such had been the hurry and trepidation
of his late transactions, that for some time
poor Charles could hardly believe the reality
of what was passing around him, but was
ready to fancy that an uneasy dream op-
pressed him. Too soon he awoke to a full
conviction of the wretchedness of his situa-
tion, the failure of his hopes, and the fearful
nature of the captivity in which he found
himself, He was well aware that he was in
a land ill-provided with laws, and still worse
provided with administrators, in the best of
times, and rendered infinitely worse at pres-
ent, from the terrible confusion which ever
attends the seat of recent warfare; and al-
though he could not regret a disguise which
had enabled him to remit that money so
dearly obtained to his master, he yet abhor-
red every thing which rendered him a likely
object of suspicion to the people amongst
whom he had lately resided as a friend.



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 98

Day after day passed on, and he could
neither obtain from his surly and silent
jailer, either information as to the duration
of his imprisonment, or its probable con-
sequence; he merely learned, and his heart
sickened at the idea, that the English had
evacuated the place, and that the remainder
of the goods which he had deposited on his
arrival had been carried away. For some
time he flattered himself that Mr. Hinckley,
alarmed by his stay, would come and search
for him, and either by interest or money,
procure his release; but by degrees this
hope forsook him also, and he began to fear
that the good old man had again fallen into
bad health, or perhaps deprived of his care,
and in a state of mind conducive to disease,
become its victim.

His own health now began seriously to
suffer from his close confinement and ex-
treme anxiety, to which might be added, the
scantiness and badness of the food, which,
at unequal and frequently far-distant periods,
was allotted to him. Often did he now
acknowledge, that the narrow means and



94 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, |

poor fare to which his misfortunes since his
father’s death had subjected him, were real
blessings, since they had paved the way for
the severer privations he now suffered, and
which he could never have endured, had he
been a stranger to this painful initiation.
Often would the thoughts of his dear
home, and all the beloved faces which mem-
ory had faithfully pictured on his mind,
now rise and fill his heart with anguish al-
most too great to be endured. He would
behold his mother, with pale and breathless
expectation, look over every page of the
newspaper, inquire by every means of his
safety, and shrink, with looks of anguish,
from the barren informer, which could tell
her no news of her first-born. He heard, in
idea, the infantine inquiries of his little sister,
and her fond lamentations for dear “‘ Broder
Charley,” whose presence was ever to her
the signal of mirth and the harbinger of
joy; but on the sorrows of his brother he
dwelt, if possible, with intenser sorrow, and
in feeling for him he forgot even his own
misfortunes, as if the woes of sympathy ex-



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 95

ceeded those of reality, and that in his sor-
rows Tom was the principal sufferer.

But although these soul-sinking moments
at times triumphed over him, yet his mind
was too firm and manly to yield to despond-.
ency ; and the more he found that grief un-
nerved his spirits, the more he resolved to
oppose it with vigor; and to this end he
began seriously to meditate the possibility
of escape from the place of his cruel con-
finement, where it appeared now that he had
been placed rather from the caprice and in-
dignation of the moment, than from any
regular charge, since none was since then
exhibited against him.





96 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

CHAPTER VI.

THE room, or fort, in which Charles was
now confined, consisted of four high walls,
with a strong covered roof, from which it
was lighted by a single square hole, which
‘appeared so indifferently grated, that he was
cassured that if he could once reach it, he
-could easily break his way out of the top;
cand as his guard was far from vigilant, he
-entertained hopes, from time to time, of thus
-escaping his prison, which was rendered only
the more terrible, as he was the less watched,
since his guard never came near, except to
bring him food ; and there were many times
when, in addition to all other horrors, he
had that of fearing lest he should perish for
want of it.

But, alas! all his means of attaining this
wished-for end consisted of one low stool,
.and a deal board with two sticks, which was



AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 97

his substitute for a table. Many a time in
the day, and still oftener in the night, did
he, by the rays of the moon, or some benig-
nant star, place these in every possible
direction, so to stand upon them as to be
near the little opening; but he was still at
too great a distance for the least probability
of escape. One night, however, stung by
disappointment of food, in addition to every
other suffering, he again mounted on his
crazy pedestal, and giving a high leap, ac-
tually caught hold of the bars, which in-
stantly gave way, and he fell back into his
prison with the iron lattice-work in his hand,
falling on his little scaffolding, which broke
all to pieces under him, and added to his
troubles that of bruising him terribly.

Hope was now apparently exchanged for
despair, since the situation in which the
keeper found him sufficiently explained the
design he had nurtured, and showed the
opening he had made to the exterior of the
building. The lazy Spaniard did not, how-
ever, give himself the trouble of repairing
the breach; he contented himself with ob-

1



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MRS. HOFLAND’S

HOME TALES.
HOFLAND’S HOME TALES,



; The Affectionate Brothers p. 36,
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Publisned by C. 8. Franots & Co, New York.
HOME TALES:

INCLUDING

THE AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS; THE SISTERS;
THE BLIND FARMER AND HIS CHILDREN.

BY

MRS. HOFLAND,

AUTHOR OF THE OFFICER'S WIDOW; ELLEN THE TEACHER;
SON OF A GENIUS; THE CLERGYMAN’S
wIpow; ETc. ETO.



NEW YORK:
C. S. FRANCOIS & CO., 252 BROADWAY.

BOSTON:
J. H. FRANOIS, 128 WASHINGTON STREET.
Mi DOOC LIL
THE

AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.



CHAPTER I.




eale-R. HAREWOOD was
; ie the only son of an
\ officer, who died in
the service of his coun-
try about the time when
his son was bidding
adieu to a public school,
where he had received
A Je his education. The last efforts of
ahh Captain Harewood had been attend-
ed by singular success, and all his
military career distinguished by great person-
al bravery; while his private virtues, though
less conspicuous, were still more deeply en-
graven on the hearts of all who knew him.
6 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

Of these, some extended their friendship tor
wards him beyond the grave; they exerted
themselves to comfort his widow and assist
her son; to the former they ensured her
pension, and the arrears of what was due to
the deceased, and procured for the latter a
situation under government, which it well
became a grateful country to bestow on the
son of one of its gallant defenders.

These arrangements, however necessary
and advantageous, could not hastily wipe
away the tears which flowed for the memory
of an excellent husband, cut off in the prime
of his life, and the bereaved mourners wept
over their loss together.

Mrs. Harewood was an excellent mother,
a pious and enlightened woman, and she
took the opportunity this period presented,
of deeply impressing on the mind of her
son, those awful precepts and divine conso-
lations the impressive moment naturally
awakened; she taught him to look to re-
ligious comfort, to consider the eternal im-
portance of that state to which his father
was called; and so to form his own future
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 7

faith and conduct, that he might rejoice
in the well-grounded hope of meeting his
earthly father in the presence of his heav-
enly Father.

Charles did not forget her precepts; he
treasured them in his mind—they grew with
his growth; his piety he imbibed from his
mother—a high sense of honor and virtuous
integrity he had previously imbibed from
his father, and he grew up an honor to
both. Yet was there one thing wanting in
his character—he was deficient in prudence,
or at least that part of it which is combined
with foresight; for though his honesty pre-
vented him from a blamable extravagance,
still Charles was one who never provided
against a rainy day.

Mrs. Harewood only lived until her son
entered his twenty-second year. She had
for some time perceived in him a growing
attachment for a very amiable orphan, and
was aware that he had only been prevented
from soliciting her hand, from the fear of
disturbing his mother in her declining health.
She spoke to him on this interesting subject,
8 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

and entreated him to consider himself at
full liberty to follow the wishes of his heart,
adding, that it would be a consolation to her
to know, that when Providence removed
from him the parent who had so fondly
loved him, her place would be supplied by a
tender wife.

In consequence of this request, young
Harewood advanced his suit with the young
person to whom he was attached, and they
were married about two months before the
affectionate mother breathed her last; and
she had the satisfaction of perceiving that
the amiable daughter she thus gained was
of a disposition to make her husband happy,
and to manage his domestic concerns in the
way she desired. She endeavored to im-
press'on the minds of both, the necessity
for observing economy in their expenditure,
as they were both very young, and might
have a large family: and she knew that her
son was inclined to be too liberal in his ex-
penses. To this advice they promised to
attend, and she departed in peace, her last
words blessing them.
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 9

Mr. Harewood fully intended to obey the
injunctions of his beloved mother, but he
thought it was time enough to retrench ex-
penses when the expected family should
arrive; and was the more confirmed in this
idea, because he had no children for several
years. At length he became the father of a
fine boy, for whom he felt willing to make
any sacrifice, so delighted was he with the
endearing acquisition; but yet, when in
little more than a year his lady presented
him with another, he considered them as yet
too young to call for any abridgment of his
expenditure, but determined to put every
necessary system of economy in practice by
and by.

The eldest of these boys was called after
the father, Charles; the second, after his
maternal grandfather, Thomas. The former
was, from his birth, a healthy, handsome,
robust, high-spirited, and lively boy—the
latter, on the contrary, was subject to delicate
health, and was of that cast of features and
complexion which is usually styled “too
pretty for a boy ;” he was timid, but gentle
10 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

and engaging to those who knew him; and
though very apt to be overlooked by stran-
gers in the presence of his more showy and
attractive brother, never failed to make very
sincere friends amongst those with whom he
most frequently associated.

In consequence of the difference in the
health and the pursuits of these boys, one
became very naturally the associate of one
parent, and the other of the other. Charles
excelled in: all athletic exercises, and he was
soon taught to ride on a pretty pony, and
to accompany his father to town; whilst
Thomas was, as the phrase is, tied to his
mother’s apron-strings, either reading some
little book to her, or listening to her infor-
mation, as he watered her plants, or attended
to the wants of his favorite birds or rabbits.
Though his body was not strong, yet his
mind was active and penetrative, and from
very infancy he discovered that disposition
for study, and that perseverance in applica-
tion, which’ promised high attainments in
whatever branch of learning he should be
induced to follow.
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 11

Nothing could exceed the judicious care
and real tenderness with which Mr. and Mrs.
Harewood managed the different powers and
dispositions evinced by their children. Far
from each making a separate favorite of the
child who had, as it were, from the direction
of Nature herself, become their more im-
mediate companion, they endeavored to pay
more particular attention to the other party,
whenever they were together; and by this
impartiality led each to estimate whatever
was excellent in the other, and in a great
degree, through the force of pure fraternal
love, to rejoice most in the qualities of the
brother he loved.

Poor little Tom, mild and fearful in him-
self, was yet proud of the prowess of Charles,
and listened with delight to his praises, when
visitors and schoolfellows related his exploits;
and though he seldom spoke, yet his glisten-
ing eyes and glowing features showed to
every discerning eye how much was passing
in his heart; and, on the other hand, never
was any child spoken of as being clever and
forward at his book, but Charles would
12 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

eagerly advance with—‘I’m sure he can’t
be more of a scholar than my brother Tom—
Tl bet you what you like, I’ve a little fellow
will match him :” and if even the most tri-
fling exertion of bodily force was put in
effect against the stripling, on account of
his personal inability to punish the offender,
Charles, though the best-tempered fellow in
the world, (in cases where he was alone con-
cerned,) resented such insult with warmth,
and generally avenged it with only too much
promptitude, in poor Thomas’s opinion.

When these boys had attained their seventh
and eighth years, their expenses of course in-
creased: and the sensible resolution formed
by their father of giving them every advan-
tage of education, seemed to call for some
decided retrenchment in his establishment,
at which his wife had repeatedly, though
delicately, hinted very often of late.

Mr. Harewood declared seriously that he
would do it, although, as they were not
likely to have any more children, there was
not much necessity. Whilst, however, this
point was debating, he was presented with
-

AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 13:

an increase of four hundred pounds per
annum in his office, and all fears for the
future from that moment were unfortunately
banished from his mind.

It immediately struck Mrs. Harewood,
that it would be a happy thing for all par-
ties, if this new income were regularly laid
apart, in order to furnish fortunes for their
surviving children; but fearful that if she
mentioned such a scheme, her husband
might accuse her of selfishly endeavoring
to secure herself from want, she blamably
remained silent; and poor Mr. Harewood
indulged a less prudent way of showing
his affection, by purchasing an elegant car-
riage for her, and in various ways so far
increased his expenditure, that the acquisi-
tion of property thus attained proved event-
ually a misfortune, since every indulgence
only increases the number of our wants,
and renders us less able to submit to fature-
privations.

-The boys, even after they were sent to
school, and mingled with others in the same
general pursuits, still retained much of their
14 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

original character: each had separate excel-
lencies and separate deficiencies, but both
perfectly harmonized together; there was
mutual dependence in each on the other,
which ever strengthens affection; but there
was no point of rivalry, unless it was in the
affection they bore their parents.

Mr. Harewood, on examining them, found
at each vacation that Charles had those
properties which appeared to fit him for
active life; he wrote a beautiful hand—was
quick, if not profound, as an accountant—
had a pleasing address, fluent language, and,
considering his youth, a good deal of pene-
tration of character, and a steadiness of
judgment, and even principle, that seemed
to render him likely to sustain the character
of a liberal and enlightened merchant; but
along with this he found that he had not by
any means studied so deeply as he ought, to
enable him to be a sufficient linguist, and
he insisted on farther attention to this point,
which Charles readily promised, but was too
much inclined to forget, when any scheme
of pleasure presented itself, or any lighter
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 15

exercise could be substituted—he preferred
acting to thinking at all times.

On the other hand, Thomas was an excel-
lent Latin scholar, a very tolerable Grecian,
and understood French thoroughly; he had
no greater pleasure than solving a mathe-
matical problem, or a difficult question in
arithmetic; but the number of his external
accomplishments continued much the same ;
he could neither ride, dance, nor fence—he
was bashful and reserved to his friends, and
impenetrable to strangers; and although his
knowledge and good sense qualified him for
writing a good letter, yet he had been so ac-
customed to scribble his numerous exercises,
that his handwriting was become very in-
different; and he paid too little attention to
every thing which required neatness and
dispatch.

Mr. Harewood, with true parental anxiety,
endeavored to remedy the deficiencies of
both his sons, and render each emulous of
the merits of the other, without expecting
from either of them that absolute similarity
which it was perhaps impossible for them to

B
16 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

attain; and as they had now passed that
period of infancy when rivalry might have
been dangerous, they both adopted the line
of improvement which the wisdom and af-
fection of their beloved father pointed out.
Charles was taught to consider himself de-
signed for a merchant, and he looked forward
to the period when he should be placed in
some great counting-house with pride and
pleasure—while Thomas, with equal though
silent joy, contemplated the period when he
might be permitted to pursue his studies at
college, and in due time aspire to the honor
he most coveted—of becoming a worthy
clergyman.

“When I am a man,” the eldest would
say, ‘I will send ships, and take voyages
into every part of the world; and whatever
the people want in one place, I will supply
from another—thus all will become rich, and
civilized, and happy. Iwill have stores and
warehouses full of all kinds of property, and
a great number of clerks and porters em-
ployed to manage my business, and they too
shall all be improving and merry. Oh, I
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 17

love a great deal of bustle! and I don’t mind
how hard I work; I will get a great deal of
money, and give a great deal away.”
“Well, you are welcome to it all, dear
Charles. For my part, I only want just
enough to keep me in a little house, with
a good library, in a country place, where
the people around should know and love
me: I would pray with the sick, relieve the
poor, and try to persuade all to do their
duty, and that would satisfy me: indeed I
think it would be leading the life of heaven
on earth, especially if my dear mother were
with me,” was the observation of Thomas.
This dear mother, to the great surprise
of the boys, presented them with a little
sister, just as Charles completed his four-
teenth year; and on this occasion they were
sent for from school, about a fortnight
before the regular commencement of the
Midsummer vacation. ‘Their affectionate
hearts were delighted to receive this new
claimant on their love; and Tom especially
was never weary with examining its pretty

features and curious little hands; but
2
18 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

Charles, though equally warm-hearted, could
not bear confinement; and a pony, which
had been bought for him the preceding
Christmas, divided his attention with little
Emily: and he generally accompanied his
father to London, who was desirous of giv-
ing him some general notions of business,
as he only intended to keep him one year
longer at school, and was naturally proud
of showing such a boy among that circle
of friends where he intended eventually to
place him.

Meantime the heart of the mother was
full of care; her family was increased—the
period was again approaching when the
boys must be an additional expense; and
she was well aware that the many elegan-
cies of her present situation consumed the
whole of her husband’s income. The anx-
iety she felt affected her health; and Mr.
Harewood, ever most affectionately solici-
tous, pressed her so closely on the subject,
that at length she confided: to him all her
fears, and besought him to adopt some
plan to obviate the difficulties she foresaw;
. AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 19

observing, that even if he had interest to
provide for his boys, yet his girl would be
portionless, unless something were saved for
her future portion.

Mr. Harewood, smiling, kissed the babe,
and observed, that she was a very young
lady to want a portion; but, however, he
would do his best for her—he would that
very day secure her a dower, by paying an
annual sum, which he could do without
feeling the difference in his incomie—“ Or,”
added he, “if I should, surely the sweet
lamb will make me abundance of amends
for such a trifling privation.”

With much tenderness and sincere plea-
sure, Mrs. Harewood commended him for
the resolution, and continued to chat on
the inexhaustible subject of their children’s
welfare, until the fond father, starting up,
declared that he should be too late; he was
accustomed to the utmost regularity, and to
atone for his delay he set out at full speed.

It was now July, and the weather was
excessively hot. It was Mr. Harewood’s
custom to leave his horse at livery-stables
20 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

about a mile from the office; and on dis-
mounting at the stables, he found that a
messenger had been dispatched for him,
as his presence was particularly required.
Already heated, he now hastened forward
on foot, and just before he stepped into the
house, imprudently assuaged his thirst by
drinking a large glass of lemonade at a con-
fectioner’s near. Had he continued to walk,
perhaps he would not have suffered much
inconvenience from this; but as he now
took his pen, and sat down to business in a
cool retired room, the effects soon became
apparent. He was seized with terrible
pains, which he endured with resolution, on
account of the peculiar press of business,
which he did not leave until the excess of
his sufferings completely subdued him, and
he was carried in extremity to the nearest
coffee-housé.

From the bed on which this suffering
father and husband was now laid, he never
arose. It was found that inflammation had
arisen to a degree it was impossible to allay,
and in two days he was a corpse.
AFFEGFIONATE BROTHERS. a1

At the first intimation of danger, Mrs.
Harewood had flown to his assistance; and
she left him. not till torn from him insensible
and a widow. So overwhelmed was she by
the suddenness and severity of the stroke,
that those around her feared that her senses
were fled for ever; but when she beheld her
children, she showed that she was yet a
mother—that for them she could exert her-
self, and pray for her own return to a world
which had now been robbed of its most pre-
cious treasure.

The poor boys were, in the first instant,
stunned, in the next, agonized, by this terri-
ble stroke. Death had never visited their
home before; and that their father—that
dear, dear relative, whose goodness had been
the delight of their lives, whose will was
their law, whose smile was their reward,
should be thus unexpectedly snatched from
their eyes, in the full flower of manly strength
and activity, was an event so dreadful, so
overbearing, that they knew not how to com-
prehend or endure it; they flew into each
other’s arms shrieking and sobbing in the
22 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

bitterest transport of grief, and utterly un-
able to attend to the condolences and re-
monstrances of those around them.

But when they were permitted to behold
their mother—when they saw the deadly
paleness of her cheek, the fearful hollowness
of her eye, each felt at once convinced that
she suffered more than all, and each strove
so to command his own feelings, that he
might console the dear—the only parent he
had now left; and while large silent tears
stole down their innocent faces, they yet
sought to speak words of comfort to her.

But, alas! to weep over the memory of
their beloved father was a satisfaction only
too soon denied to this bereaved family;
with him had perished the means of their
support, and all that Mrs. Harewood had
often feared now indeed came upon her, and
she was soon called upon to exert herself,
and consider how she must provide for the
wants of future life, and the destination of
those unfortunate boys, who had till now
basked in the brightest sunshine of pros-
perity, and were strangers to the very name
AFFECTIONATE “BROTHERS. 23

of want, except when called upon to relieve
it.

/As the sight of her children never failed
to renew her distress too acutely, and the
education they had and might receive was
become their sole dependence, the friends of
Mrs. Harewood urged her to let them return
to school for the following half-year, in which
time she might be enabled to dispose of her
house and property, and consider on some
eligible plan for their future living. Ac-
cordingly they bade her a short adieu, with
streaming eyes, and tender assurances that
they would in every thing obey her advice,
which had particularly tended to impress on
their minds the necessity of attending more
carefully than ever on their studies, as it was
but too probable this would be the last op-
portunity of improvement they ever would
enjoy.


24 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

CHAPTER IL.

Mrs, HarEwoop, ever regular and econo-
mic in her own department, and religiously
just in her worldly concerns, had soon drawn
her affairs into a narrow compass; her car-
riage, horses, and furniture, were disposed
of—her debts paid to the uttermost farthing
—and a few hundred pounds were all that
remained to her in the wide world.

She had no near relations; but in the
first shock of her misfortunes, many of her
numerous friends, struck by the sudden fate
-of a companion they had loved and esteemed,
assembled round her, and by their friendly
counsel had assisted her in the sad scenes
which immediately succeeded her misfor-
tune; but as she was of too generous a
nature to tax the kind beyond their con-
venience, and too independent to solicit the
mercies of the overbearing, by degrees all
AFFECTIONATE SRROTHERS, 25

were dropped off, and she was left to make
the best of her melancholy situation. She
desired, with all a mother’s longings, to see
and enjoy the society of her beloved boys;
but she was too sincerely their friend to
abridge the advantages they enjoyed: and
in her letters she constantly assured them
of her returning health, and endeavored to
inspire them with cheerfulness, though far
from attaining herself the blessing she was
anxious to communicate.

But when the time approached, feeling
for the change they would experience, she
sought to break it to their minds, by inform-
ing them that she was now in a very humble
lodging in the city, and that the luxuries
and comforts they bad once known at their
dear and pleasant home must be relinquish-
ed: but yet the poor boys had formed no
idea of the place to which they were really
conducted; and the sorrow with which they
beheld their mother, once so waited upon
by numerous servants and a tender husband,
now nursing her own babe in a narrow dark
room, ill furnished, is indescribable. Oh!
26 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

how did they each wish and pray for the
means of relieving her—how earnestly did
they resolve that they would apply every
thing they could hereafter earn, for her and
the dear infant who was thus bequeathed to
their care!

Naturally sanguine, and of that age
when hope is easily kindled in the heart,
Charles soon admitted consolation; from
the observation of his mother, that he was
prodigiously grown—‘ Oh,” said he inter-
nally, “I shall soon be a man, and then I
can support them all.”

Poor Tom could not take comfort in this
way; for though he too was grown, yet he
was still so slim and delicate, that the mas-
ter of the lodgings observed that he looked
three years younger than his brother.

In a short time the very sting of poverty
seemed to enter the heart of the unhappy
mother; the school-bills for her sons had
not, in the distress of the time, been dis-
charged; on their return to school, of
course, a whole year was due, and in pay-
ing it she parted with more than two-thirds
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 27

of all her property; and the sense ‘of this,
together with the daily wants of two fine
growing boys, distressed her so much, that
she was shortly thrown upon a bed of
sickness, at that season of the year when
every species of assistance is most difficult
to procure, and disease most obstinate in its
stay.

The children had now but one pursuit,
one duty, one care, and most anxiously did
they fulfil it: poor Charles, so fond of
gayety and bustle, who lately rode about,
the smartest lad in his neighborhood, now
performed the part of a carrier himself
to his little sister, who, but for his exer-
tions, must have been utterly lost; whilst
Thomas, with the tenderest attention, and
most unwearied vigilance, sat by his mo-
ther’s bed, watched her every look, and
by her directions prepared her food or
medicine.

Blessed with such affectionate nurses,
the heart of the afflicted woman revived,
and her prayers ascended to the throne of
mercy; she besought strength from the
28 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

Most High to sustain her sorrows, and it
was given unto her.

But sickness is ever expensive, and the
little stock of money remaining now grew
deplorably small; yet from it two sons
were to be apprenticed, and a mother and
child subsisted, until the age of the latter
should in some measure relieve its parent
from the more immediate cares of a nurse,
and enable her to provide for it by personal
exertion.

As soon as Mrs. Harewood was conva-
lescent, she determined, for her children’s
sake, to conquer the repugnance she had
hitherto felt to calling on those who had
been the acquaintance of her happier
hours, and to request their advice and as-
sistance in placing her sons in some situa-
tion; and with this intention she set out
with Charles one morning, leaving the
infant with Thomas, who, for its sake,
could resign the books which were now his
sole consolation, and which appeared in a
great measure to atone for every other pri-
vation. The first person they called upon
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 89

was a Mr. Basset, a rich bachelor, who had
for several years been accustomed to spend
every Sunday at her house, and to profess
the sincerest regard for his dear friend
Harewood. On opening her mission, which
was simply to request his advice, he observed,
that really it was strange, very strange, that
Mr. Harewood had not provided better for
his family than he appeared to have done;
for his part, he knew nothing about the way
in which children were disposed of; thank
God he had no encumbrances of that kind,
and of course had never been led to consider
the subject.

“But have you not the power of recom-
mending my poor boys, Mr. Basset? Charles,
you see, is a great boy now, and would, I am
certain, be willing to exert himself for his
master to the uttermost, in order to make
up for the deficiency of an apprentice-fee.”

“As to that, ma’am, it is a delicate point
to recommend children brought up as yours
have been—you'll excuse me, ma’am—a
youth being a good rider, a good dancer,
&ec., is poor praise,”
80 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“But surely, sir, you know that my chil-
dren have been taught every thing essential;
that their father was a man of strict atten-
tion to business, of irreproachable integrity,
and———”

“Mother, mother!” exclaimed poor Charles,
“let us go away! I will work or beg for
you and Emily, but I cannot—cannot stay
and hear you talked to in this way; and
dear father too!—oh, let us go!”

The agony of tears which deluged the
face of Charles, awoke those of his unhappy
mother, in despite of all her resolution; but
yet making a violent effort for the sake of
attaining, by any means, an object so truly
desirable, she once more bent looks of in-
quiry towards the man who had so often
spoken far different language, at the hospi-
table board where she had been wont to
meet him, and said—“ Then you cannot
assist me in any way?”

“Why, ma’am, if my friend Charles there,
is, as he says, willing to work, I know a very
honest bricklayer, who would take him for
a trifle; and as poor little Tom was always
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 81

a puny child, I could recommend him to
my tailor—I know nothing else he is fit
for; so if you wish——”

Every trace of tears instantly fled the
countenance of Mrs, Harewood; she turned
a clear and steady eye upon the speaker,
and dropping him a silent courtesy, walked
out of his drawing-room, with an air of
greater dignity than she had ever worn in
her own, followed by Charles, whose in-
dignation glanced from his eyes in looks
of sovereign contempt, as he exclaimed—
“Was this person my father’s friend ?”

But, alas! the spirit thus awakened quick-
ly evaporated, and Mrs. Harewood found
herself so exhausted by the cruel disap-
pointment she had received, that she de-
termined to hasten home, and again hide
herself and her sorrows in oblivion: but
Charles, who, although more agitated at the
time, was sooner relieved, entreated her just
to call at Mr. Ludlow’s, whose sons he was
well-acquainted with, saying— Though they
came seldom to our house, yet they were
people you always liked, mother.”
$2 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“True, my dear; Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow
rarely visited us; for having a large family
to provide for, they did not think it prudent
to mix in so gay and expensive a circle as
our society then presented; they will not,
however, oppress the fallen, unless I am ag
much mistaken in them as I have been in
Mr. Basset; so I will call, although I am
aware they can do me no good in my pur-
suit.”

Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow were both at home,
as they happened to dine early, and they
received Mrs. Harewood and her son with
so sincere a pleasure in their countenances,
that, contrasting their manners with those
of the person she had quitted, she could
not help throwing herself into the nearest
chair, and weeping freely, while Charles en-
deavored, as well as his feelings would per
mit him, to relate the conversation that took
place at Mr. Basset’s,

Dinner was announced, and the good
couple quietly placing the widow and her
son at table, sought rather to soothe her
feelings than to argue her out of them;
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 83

but when the cloth was withdrawn, and the
children were gone, Mr. Ludlow thus ad-
dressed her—‘ Do not suffer any hard-heart-
edness which Basset may have displayed to
distress you, Mrs. Harewood; he probably
meant no harm; but bachelors have no idea
of the feelings of a parent, and they wound
without thought. ’Tis true, he has abun-
dance in his power, but he considers not the
wants of women and children, because they
slave never been objects of his care; had
your dear husband been himself in distress,
Basset would have felt it a duty, as well as
pleasure, to have relieved him. Unhappily,
we are all too much the creatures of habit,
even in our sympathies.”

“Not when we are taught of God,” said
Mrs. Ludlow; “religion gives a principle of
action which never fails.”

“True, my dear; it likewise inspires us
with a profound regard for integrity, as well
as benevolence, and I am therefore compelled
to say, that with three sons of my own to
place out, I cannot help my good friend as
I wish in this particular; but if she would

8
84 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

like, as she once hinted, to begin a day-
school, I will promise her our three little
girls, and do my best to procure her more.”

This proposal was instantly accepted with
thankfulness; and in a short time the af-
flicted mother procured a decent room, and
entered on the wearisome task of instructing
young children in the rudiments of educa-
tion, preferring the most slavish employ-
ment to placing her children in situations
derogatory to the education they had re-
ceived, and subversive of the views they
had so long entertained.

The boys were duly sensible of her kind-
ness, and labored by every means in their
power to assist her; and it was a truly af-
fecting sight to behold them nursing their
little sister, cooking their scanty dinner, or
in any way contributing to relieve their
mother; while at every opportunity they
strove to retain and increase the benefits of
their education, still fondly hoping to prove
it the means of future independence.

But not even the utmost care, and the
most unremitting exertion, could preserve a
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 85

family of this number from experiencing the
pressure of poverty under such circumstan-
ces; the boys’ clothes grew very shabby, and
to replenish them would encroach on the
little hoard reserved for still more important
services. This want was shown the most by
Charles, who felt as if he were ashamed to
walk out in his threadbare clothes and nap-
less hat; and one evening as he took a
solitary walk towards Hampstead, perceiving
a smart carriage coming down the hill, he
stood close up to the wall, as if to hide him-
self even from the passing look of strangers.

The carriage was a barouche, in which sat
a father and mother, with two little girls; a
youth, about twelve years old, was riding on
a pony close by the carriage, attended by a
servant; but at the moment of passing
Charles, the animal plunged, reared, and
refused, in the most decisive manner, to
obey his rider,

The lady screamed, the servant endeavored,
but in vain, to secure the boy from falling,
though he threatened a terrible revenge on
the pony, when, in the most terrible moment
86 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

of alarm, Charles stepping forward, cried, in
almost inarticulate accents— Pray—pray
don’t beat him!” and seizing the bridle, pat-
ted and stroked the grateful favorite, which
instantly stopped, and returned his caresses,
by rubbing its head against his shoulder, and
giving the most unequivocal proofs of affec-
tion and recognition.

“You appear acquainted with the pony,
my boy ?” said the gentleman, thankful for
his son’s relief, 4nd much struck with the
manner in which it was effected.

Charles turned to him an expressive
countenance, suffused with tears, and said
— Yes, sir, he was my own about a year
ago.”

“Are you the son of the late Mr. Hare-
wood ?”

Charles bowed; his eye glanced over his
shabby figure, and his trembling tongue was
unequal to pronouncing “ Yes.” .

The gentleman and his lady exchanged
looks of tender pity; their eyes glanced on
their own offspring, and, filled with tears,
they felt for the fatherless and the widow.
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 37

The gentleman, after a pause, observed—
‘You are a tall boy, and undoubtedly have
received a good education; but I apprehend
you are not at present in any employment?”

“Tt is my misfortune, sir, to be a burden
on my mother at present; but I would do
any thing to——”

“Do not stop; speak your wishes freely.”

“T believe, sir, I was wrong in saying I
would do any thing; I meant to say, I
would do any thing proper.

“Come to me in the city to-morrow,” said
the gentleman, giving him his card.

The carriage drove on; the servant led
the pony, which left its once-beloved master
with difficulty, and all was past as a dream,
save the card which remained in Charles’s
hand, and in contemplating which he en-
deavored to forget his four-footed friend, and
all those sorrowful remembrances the bitter
disappointments of his youth too frequently
Buggested; and returning home, he en-
deavored to cheer his dear mother with the
hope that this incident might lead to some:
thing eventually beneficial to them all.
88 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

CHAPTER II.

Tue following morning Charles did not
fail to make himself as neat as it was possi-
ble, and prepare to wait on the gentleman,
whom his mother knew, by name, as one of
the first merchants in the city.

Thomas was surprised at the courage he
manifested, in daring to go alone into the
counting-house; but such was his anxiety
and affection, that he could not forbear ac-
companying him to the outside of the house.
With great astonishment, within a quarter
of an hour he beheld him fly out of the
house, and run home with so much rapidity,
that it was impossible to arrest his progress
by calling: so poor Tom took likewise to
his heels, and being pretty nimble, arrived
there soon enough after him to hear his first
address to his mother, who was engaged
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 89

with a lady, who had brought her a new
pupil, at the moment of his entrance.

“Oh, mamma, I believe I have good news
at last; but it must all be just as you please
—I would not promise a word until I kiew
you would like it.”

‘But what is it, Charles?”

“Mr. Coulston will take me into his
counting-house, (he has seen me write and
cast up,) and he will give me thirty guineas
a year now, and more every year, if I de-
serve it. I doubt that is but litle, mamma;
but I will work so hard, he will, I trust,
give me twice as much next year.”

“Thank God!” cried the widow, clasping
her hands, and looking fervently grateful to
heaven; then turning to her sons, she said—
“It is a great deal, my dear children, to
give to such a boy as Charles, because it is
the custom to receive a large sum for in-
structing young people; therefore remem-
ber we are called upon for gratitude to our
Almighty Father for this blessing, and
bound to give every proof of it in our
power to Mr. Coulston; I say all of us, for

D
40 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

surely my dear boys know that our interest
is inseparable.”

The proof of this feeling was indeed giv-
en, when Charles was dressed in a new suit,
proper for his improved situation, and Tom
walked around him, with tears of delight
swimming in his eyes, at beholding him
look like himself again, unmindful of his
own appearance, and envying his beloved
brother nothing but the power of being use-.
ful to his mother.

Charles was now indeed happily situated ;
his employment was pleasant; his exertions,
however great, always brought the sweet
_ sense of their utility along with them, and
“inspired the hopes of independence, so nat-

ural to the sanguine heart of youth.

For some time poor Tom appeared to re-
joice in his joy, but by degrees he became
despondent and unhappy; he felt himself a
dead weight upon the parent he loved, and
whom he could have died to bless; no kind
hand was held out to help him, no voice
promised fim assistance; on the contrary,
he frequently heard his personal delicacy
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 41

alluded to, in terms of pity that bordered
on contempt; and he was aware that years
must pass ere any one would try whether
he were good for any thing, whilst those
peculiar studies he had been devoted to,
that line of pious tranquillity and modest
independence to which his imagination had
attached every idea of happiness, appeared
cut off from his hopes for ever.

Often would he take out his little sister,
under pretext of giving her air, and when
he got into the fields, throw himself on the
grass, unseen by any human eye, save that
of his innocent charge, and with flowing
eyes and aching heart, pour out his sorrows
to that throne of mercy, where alone he
could look for help and consolation; and
then return to his anxious parent with an
air of forced cheerfulness, and endeavor to
beguile the evening hour, by relating the
notices little Emily had made during her
ramble, and imitate the half-formed accents
so interesting to a mother’s ear. °

But as Emily’s power of language in-
creased, the unhappy mother learned but
42, AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

too soon the real state of her son’s mind;
the prattling cherub told, that— when
the sun shined ever so much, the rain
came down Tommy’s face; and when he
kiss her, rain comes on Emmy’s cheek
too.”

There were no means untried to obviate
this evil; but, alas! all seemed in vain, and
the afflicted boy inwardly pined away, the
victim of despondence, until one day Charles
came home with uncommon solicitude in his
countenance, having been desired to write a
French letter by his master, who declared,
that if it were well managed, he would in-
crease his salary, and remove him into the
department of a foreign clerk.

Now Charles felt and lamented his defi-
ciency, and saw that he had neglected the
close study necessary for acquiring real
knowledge; but Thomas’s countenance in-
stantly brightened up, and taking the pen,
he not only accomplished Charles’s task
with facility, but encouraged him by saying
that they would study together an hour or
two every evening, and he had no doubt
AFYECTIONATE BROTHERS. 48

but he would soon find himself equal to all
that was required of him.

Thus consoled, Charles copied his letter
with neatness, and presented it to his mas-
ter the day following, with a glowing face,
in which fear, hope, and a little shame, were
each striving for the mastery.

“You have managed this matter beyond
my hopes, I confess,” said Mr. Coulston;
“if I had not known your hand so well, I
should not have given you credit for the
knowledge of the language it evinces.”

Charles blushed excessively, as if in shame,
yet his eyes sparkled with pleasure.

“You wrote it all yourself, I presume ?”

“Oh, no, sir; I am sorry—I am ashamed
to say that it was done by my brother; he
is the best, the cleverest little fellow in the
world; he deserves your kindness more than
I do, sir, and if you were to take him in-
stead of me, I am sure I ought to—to—
to ”

“To submit to it.”

“Yes, sir, though I believe it would
break my heart too; but indeed. Tom is so
44 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

clever, sir; and he will teach me to be so
too.”

“T recommend you to try him; and when
he is a little bigger, I will see what I can do
for him. Does he write a good hand ?”

“‘He does every thing else well, sir.”

“Umph! that is certainly a very brotherly
way of saying no, Charles. Well, well,
while he improves you in French, remember
to give him a lesson with the pen, and thus
you will mutually assist each other; mean-
time, I shall order him a new jacket, as an

- encouragement to his industry.”

From this time every hour became doubly
precious to the brothers; and in the excite-
ment thus given to Tom’s mind, he overcame
the dreadful melancholy that had oppressed
him, for there is nothing so animating as the
sense of being useful; and in recovering his
powers in one respect, he regained them on
every other occasion.

It was customary with Mrs. Harewood to
provide needles, pins, and thread, for the use
of her little pupils, and she was accustomed
to send her youngest son to purchase them.
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 45

Partly from a sense of his shabby appemm
ance, and partly from his natural timidity
and habitual despondency, he had generally
run into the first little shop which presented
itself, although conscious that he might have
purchased them to more advantage at a
better. He now gained more spirit, for he
was decently dressed, and become of advan-
tage to his elder brother; and he therefore
plucked up his spirits, and ventured into the
smart shop of a haberdasher on Ludgate
Hill.

One day, having purchased a variety of
little matters, which came altogether to five-
and-threepence, he laid down six shillings,
and received from the shopman threepence
in change, he having made a mistake in the
calculation.

Thomas waited patiently until some ladies
were served, when he begged the young
gentleman to reckon over again, as he would
find he was wrong in the amount.

“No such thing,” said the man hastily;

“take your money, my boy, and get about
your business.”
46 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

Although Tom was the most gentle and
forbearing of human beings, he was not weak,
especially when a point of duty was con-
cerned, and it was undoubtedly his duty not
to waste or lose his mother’s money; he
therefore began patiently to cast up the
things to the person himself, but with an air
of firmness which indicated a determination
of being attended to. Whilst he did this,
the master of the shop, having made his
parting bow to some customers at the door,
stepped back, and stood unseen behind him.

“Tam sorry for you,” said a shopman to
him who had served Thomas; “you have
got a hard chap to deal with; that little fel-
low found fault with my reckoning last
Monday, I remember.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, calmly; “you had
cheated yourself, and I brought you back a
shilling.” ,

The master now interfered, and not only
justified the little purchaser, but made the
two young men completely ashamed of
themselves, especially the last speaker, whom
he discharged from his service, saying—
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“That though an act of error might be par-
doned, the ingratitude indicated by his con-
duct to the boy could not;” and taking two
sixpences from the drawer, he added one to
the change, and giving Tom the other, said
—‘ Here, my little fellow, take this, and
buy yourself something you like with it as
you go home; and be sure you come to me
to-morrow morning at eight o’clock.”

Encouraged by this kindness, the tender-
hearted youth wished to have spoken a word
for the crest-fallen shopman; but he was cut
short by the answer—“ You are a good-
natured little fellow, I am certain; but you
must allow my head is older than yours.”

Tom went away. His steps were mechan-
ically directed to a book-stall, where he had
several days seen an old Latin Horace, on
the back ‘of which was inscribed, ‘‘ Price 8d.”
Twopence had long lurked in the corner of
his pocket, which was saving towards this
price ; no wonder, therefore, that he hastened
with celerity to secure it.

But at the very moment he laid his hand
upon the book, a boy passed him, bawling:
48 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

— Fresh Prawns!” and Tom withdrew his
grasp. ‘My mother likes prawns,” said he
internally, “and she never buys herself any
thing she likes; if I took her some home,
she would perhaps eat them heartily.”

He stopped the prawn-boy, but even then
could not prevail upon himself to lay down
the book. Standing thus with the fish-boy
and his basket, he unwittingly obstructed
the path to a gentleman, who being in no
particular haste, allowed himself to scan the
pale, intelligent face, and the singular action
of the boy before him. With a deep sigh
Tom laid down the book, and placed the
sixpence in the hand of the prawn-seller.

“So you prefer the prawns to learning, do
you, my lad?” said the gentleman, en passant;
“don’t you remember the proverb, “that
tis better than house or land?”

“Not better though than my mother,”
said Tom, with another sigh, and in a tone
80 low, that the last word alone caught the
gentleman’s ear.

“Then you do not purchase these things
for your own eating? though, if you did,
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 49

I could not blame you, now I look at
you.”

“T never could eat them, sir, unless—I
mean, unless I was forced to it.”

“You are a very odd boy—here, take
your book, I will pay for it—why, ‘tis
Horace, I see! this is the strangest thing I
ever met with.”

As the gentleman spoke, he offered the
book to Thomas, but at the same moment
turned into the shop, intending to buy him
a better; but Tom, with a few words of
sincere but rapid thanks, had clasped his
prize to his bosom, and hurried away, hap-
piest of the happy; little dreaming that he
had excited a warm interest in one who had
the power and inclination to render that
happiness permanent.

After feasting on his mental treat, Tom
recollected his engagement with the haber-
dasher, which his mother was extremely
anxious he should keep; and as her school
was not opened at the early hour of appoint-
ment, she accompanied him to Mr. Preston’s,
the person in question.
50 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

‘The business was, as she had already
hoped, a desire to engage her son as an ap-
prentice, on account of the evident honesty
of his principles, and the quickness with
which he could cast up accounts in his mind;
and he offered to take him for the next seven
years without an apprentice-fee, which was
an offer that, in the present circumstances of
the family, might be considered extremely
valuable, and as such was most gratefully
received by Mrs. Harewood.

Thomas said, he was indeed much obliged,
but his heart sunk at the prospect of being,
for seven long years, shut out of all hopes
of attending to his learning; and as he re-
turned with his mother, he said—‘ Mr,
Preston says I must get up at six o’clock
and keep in the shop till after nine, and

‘ give my whole mind to my business—shall I
be able to do this for seven whole years,
mother ?”

“Undoubtedly, my dear boy; if you can
do this for one year, you can do it for seven;
and that exertion which is at first somewhat
painful, as being simply anexertion of duty
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 61

rather than inclination, will become, long
before the expiration of that period, a great
pleasure to you.”

Tom did not answer; he resolved in his
own mind, to be a good servant, in every
sense of the word to his future master, and
to be, through his conduct, a blessing to his
mother; but at night when he retired with
his brother, he could not help lamenting
the entire annihilation of all his hopes, and
weeping bitterly over the books which he
saw for the last time, as friends with whom
he must now part for ever.

“But, my dear fellow,” cried Charles, “I
am sure you need not fret in this way;
every Sunday you will come home, and
then you may read all the hours except
church-time. I am sure I think you will
have a very pleasant, bustling sort of a life,
- in a gay shop, seeing so many peeple, and
doing so many things; and you will be
always clean and smart, and never do any
thing dirty, or unlike a gentleman’s son, you
know.”

“True; but to stand for seven years
52 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

behind a counter, folding ribbons and count-
ing cotton buttons, is strange employment
for a young man whose mind is equal
to ”

“ Making Latin verses, or writing foreign
letters; very true, dear Tom; you shall not
be bound, no, that you shan’t: long within
that time I shall be able to help you, and
when I am, dear Tom, you shall see what I
will do.”

The kind brother drew the mourning boy
to his breast, and, encouraged by his assur-
ances, he slept in comfort on the bosom he
now felt to be that of a parent, though there
had been recently many hours in which he
had acted as an instructor to the brother
who now supported him. This is the dis-
position which ought always to operate
among members of the same family, who
ought to’ give and receive, with equal affec-
tion and humility, assistance from each
other.

Although Charles was not only a lively,
but really a modest boy, he was not op-
pressed by that timidity which obscured the
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 58

manners, and frequently wounded the feel-
ings of Thomas; and on the following morn-
ing he laid the case of his brother before the
good merchant, his own master, who heard
him with attention; and being well aware,
from his own knowledge, that the little boy
did really possess talents not called for in
the line to which he was destined, he very
kindly called upon Mr. Preston, and advised
him to take the child for a year or two
without binding; and the latter, willing to
oblige a gentleman of his connections, and
to supply the vacancy in his house by the
late dismissal, consented immediately; on
which Thomas removed with great satisfac-
tion, although tears would spring into his
eyes when he bade adieu to his mother, and
kissed little Emily for a week’s absence.
From the time this excellent boy entered
on this new service, he determined, with re-
ligious resolution, to devote himself to his
duty, and not suffer even desires otherwise
laudable to divert him from it; and finding
that when there was no immediate claim on
their time, some young men were fond of
4 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

hiding a newspaper or a book in a corner,
which led their minds from their pursuits,
and prevented them from paying due atten-
tion to the customers who happened to
interrupt them, and instead of receiving
them with pleasant countenances, looked as
if they wished them a hundred miles off, he
denied himself every gratification of that
kind, and never saw a book except on a
Sunday evening.

This sacred day was indeed very precious
to this little family; for although Thomas
did not join his mother until after the morn-
ing-service, it being the laudable custom of
Mr. Preston to take all his family together

‘to church, yet after that time they were in-

deed a united family—together they wor-
shipped God, and together considered the
situation of each party, as if the feelings,
comforts, and sorrows, peculiar to every
individual, belonged alike to all—they-waé-
fered and enjoyed together.

It is true, poor Thomas had some troubles
he could not sufficiently conquer himself to
reveal, even to those whom he loved so
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 55

dearly. These arose from the ill-humor, or

other bad qualities, of his fellow-shopmen,

who used to call him a bookworm, a learned -
gentleman, and, with increased opprobrium
of look and gesture, a quiz. For some time
he bore these things in patience, hoping that
his quiet and inoffensive manners could not
fail to disarm malevolence, and reprove with-

out offending the parties who tormented
him; and it appeared that this would have
been the case, if his good conduct, and calm,

unobtrusive civility, had not rendered him
such a favorite with the more regular custo-

mers, that ladies would frequently step past
the dashing beaux who were bowing for their
commands, and address the quiet little fellow,

who, with equal simplicity and civility, at-

tended to their wishes, and gave his opinion,

when asked, with gentlemanly propriety of

speech, and the most undeviating integrity
of principle. .

Thomas was aware that if Charles had
known of these insults, he would either have
ridiculed them as too trifling to merit notice,
or have resented them in some very decided
56 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

manner, being as willing to fight a battle in
behalf of his brother now, as when they
were schoolboys; and he disliked either of
these methods of getting rid of a present
trouble, since they were equally sure of in-
creasing it—‘‘Should Charles,” he would
say, internally, “laugh at me, I should be
hurt and resent it; and God forbid that any
breach should happen between us, happy as
we are in each other! and if he should come
to our house, and quarrel with any of them
on my account, that will disturb Mr. Pres-
ton, and set the young men a great deal
more against me; or perhaps, as I am not
bound, I shall be sent home again, and then
what will become of my poor mother? no,
no, I will bear it a little while longer at
least; they must see their error some time,
and use me better.”

The young man whose error had been
detected by poor Tom was the most invete-
rate of his tormentors, and to the utmost of
his power tried to render his situation un-
comfortable, even by laying upon him more
than his share of work, whenever the mas-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 57

ter’s back was turned. Yet there was scarce-
ly a day passed in which he did not claim
the assistance of his talents, in reckoning
up the various petty sums usually called for
in articles so varying and minute as those in
a shop of this description, and all his de-
mands of this kind were ever attended to
with avidity; but when they were no longer
engaged in business, Tom had the steadiness
~sither to submit to his orders, nor cringe
to his insolence. This person, during the
winter, was very subject to the toothache;
and as he slept in the same room with
Thomas and a young apprentice, they fre-
quently heard him moaning. One night,
being worse than common, the good-tem-
pered boy, who forgot every act of enmity
in compassion, said—‘‘T have been told, Al-
sop, that a pill made of pepper and butter,
put into the tooth, will give ease; and if you
will try it, I will strike a light, and go down
and make you one.”

“T will try any thing,” said the other.

Thomas immediately fulfilled his promise,
and was so happy as to give immediate re-
58 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

lief, which procured him the first good-na-
tured word he had ever uttered to him since
his arrival.

After this his services were but too often
called for in the night, but he had the satis-
faction of reaping much benefit from his
kindness; for Alsop was not only ashamed
of his past ill-behavior, but by his example
influenced the rest; so that his situation be-
came much more tolerable, and his spirits
rose to cheerfulness, while his activity and
exertion in business became much more con-
Spicuous; and it was remarked by every
one how amazingly he was improved in his
person and carriage. In fact, the first year
he was in business, he grew more than he
had done the three preceding ones; for
being continually upon his feet, and obliged
to stretch his limbs by reaching down par-
cels, and running errands, these exercises
produced the happiest effect upon him, and
he found himself now quite equal to any
boy of his age; and though extremely slen-
der, he was yet perfectly free from disease,
and his complexion, though fair, was cured
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 59

of that peculiar delicacy which had pre-
viously obtained him the nickname of
“Miss Nancy;” and Alsop was now eager
to insist upon that term being dismissed
for ever.

But with all these improvements in his
situation, poor Tom still sighed in vain for
that learned leisure which, in his opinion,
far excelled all other benefits; and he often
wished for a crust of bread in a garret with
books, and the advantage of instruction and
study. Charles, on the contrary, found every
day delightful, for every day initiated him.
still farther in the business he loved; and
the attention he paid to every part of the
affairs intrusted to his care, bespoke him
likely to succeed in time to an honorable
and lucrative employment. In the mean
time his salary was nearly doubled; and he
had the delightful satisfaction of knowing
that his earnings supplied all his wants, and
saved his dear mother from all cares and
exertions on his account.
60 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

CHAPTER IV.

‘WHEN Tom had remained at Mr. Preston's
about fifteen months, he was one day called
to assist Alsop, who was waiting upon some
ladies that did not choose to quit their car-
riage; and as he was only employed to hold
parcels, he very naturally cast his eye upon
the arms and the motto, and with a half-
sigh, read the words—spero meliora, (I hope
better times.)

Unconsciously he pronounced the words,
and in a tone which fully spoke that he not
only understood their meaning, but felt the
sentiment they expressed. At that moment
the lady who owned the carriage was step-
ping out, finding there was some things she
could look at to more advantage in the shop;
she cast her eyes on Tom with a look of
surprise, but his confusion was spared, for
he was still intent upon the arms.
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 61

The lady’s companion was a lively French-
woman, who could speak very little English;
she however hated to hold her tongue, and
therefore, without thinking of this deficiency,
put out her head, and asked the name of the
street, and how far it was from Grosvenor-
square? then recollecting herself, began to
consider how to translate her own question,
so as to procure an answer; but to her
infinite joy and relief, she was immedi-
ately answered, with great propriety, in her
own language, by the youth she address-
ed.

A multitude of questions followed: and
although they were too rapid for Tom’s com-
prehension, yet enough was said to satisfy
the lady that she was understood, and of
course she was delighted; and when her
friend returned, she found her in raptures
with her late companion. All the way home
she could speak of nothing but le pawvre
garcon, le cher garcon, le beau gargon, (the
poor boy, the dear boy, the handsome boy,)
till at length her companion began sing-
ing—
He
62 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“Oh this boy, this boy,
Of this boy I'm weary !”
and was repeating the words, when on their
alighting in the hall of her house in Grosve-
nor-square, she was met by her husband,
who informed her that his brother, Doctor
Ecclestone, had arrived during her absence.

On this joyful intelligence the lady forgot
alike Madame and the boy in question, for
her brother-in-law was justly very dear to
her. He was a clergyman of small prefer-
ment, but handsome private fortune, and
remarkable for his profound erudition, un-
affected piety, and affable manners; to which
might be added his extensive charities and
universal benevolence; but these qualities
were exercised in so retired a manner, that
they rarely met the public eye.

After the first salutations were passed, and
mutual inquiries after the respective families
of each party had taken place, Madame was
introduced to the doctor as the friend of lig
sister; and the moment she began to speak,
she recurred to what she considered an ex-
traordinary circumstance, that un petit gar
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 63

gon had spoken to her in the purest French
she had heard since her arrival, and endeay-
ored to quote the great English poet on the
occasion—" Dat it was strange, dat it was
pitiful.”

“Tn truth, my dear Madame, it is neither
one nor other,” said Mr. Ecclestone; “al-
most every child learns French now-a-days ;
in a respectable shop, like the one you men-
tion, I should expect every youth employed
there to possess some knowledge of the lan-
guage; yet it is a fact, that in that particular
we are far inferior to the Dutch, the Danes,
and other continental neighbors. If you
go a-wonder-hunting in London for a week,
I persuade myself you will meet many better
than votre joli gargon.”

Madame was too true a Frenchwoman to
give up her point; she was willing to grant

-many young people had a smattering of her
language, but few understood it like her
protégé: and Mrs. Ecclestone added her as-
surance that the youth in question understood
Latin also; and that she was sure he was a
boy of feeling and education, and not quite

F
64 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

in the situation he wished to be, or ought to
be, in her opinion.

Her spouse good-naturedly laughed at this
idea, and said he had little doubt but the
youth in question was one of those would-
be-wits, who too frequently forsake the sober
duties of the citizen, to recite bad verses,
murder good ones, make speeches for deba-
ting societies, and seek to “strut their hour
upon the stage,” in some itinerant company
of comedians.

The ladies protested against this; he was
silent and modest, they declared to a fault;
and withdrew, protesting against such a false
conclusion. With the ladies the subject
vanished.

But the following morning, as the good
Doctor went into the city, this conversation
crossed his mind, and the recollection of an
incident which occurred to him the last visit
he paid to the metropolis, added to this,
made him determine on seeing thé- youth
thus spoken of; he recollected the shep, and
entering asked for some gloves. The mas-
ter was near, and called to Harewood to
of
tr

AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 66

reach them, who immediately obeyed; but
on approaching the gentleman, he was ob-
served to color highly, and his eyes sparkled
with intelligence and pleasure.

“JT think, young man, we have seen each
other before ?” said Doctor Ecclestone.

“Oh yes, sir, [ remember your kind pres-
ent perfectly ; I have it by me yet.”

“Indeed! "twas a very shabby one; but
you have ceased to study now, I presume.”

Tears struck into poor Tom’s eyes, as he
answered hesitatingly— Mr. Preston has
been kind enough to take me, sir; and my
duty—yes, I believe I am right in saying my
duty, forbids me to pursue studies of that
kind.”

“You are certainly right in saying your
duty, for it would ill-become you to forget
@ positive duty by neglecting his business;
but if your love of learning could be ren-
dered consistent with your duty, have you
resolution enough to pursue even its difficul-
ties with the ardor and perseverance neces-
sary for a great end?”

“Oh yes, sir, indeed I have.”

5
66 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“But have you considered that spare
meals, a scanty purse, the contempt of the
worldly-minded, poor reward, and even that
long procrastinated, are too frequently the
lot of him who devotes himself to study,
and to the service of the church, and that
wisdom and piety are to seek rewards from
within and not from without?”

“T have considered it all, sir; and so far
as I am myself concerned, I know that I
could be happy with the barest means of
existence, were I so devoted; but I have a
mother, who has a right to direct me: I
could not expect the blessing of God on any
line of life she did not sanction.”

The Doctor took Mrs. Harewood’s ad-
dress, and left poor Thomas to ruminate on
this singular conversation, which filled his
mind with many wandering thoughts, and
rendered him almost unable to attend to
any thing; and for the first time he heard
the voice of his master directed to him with
reproof on his lips. Every one by this time
had learned his real worth, and the foreman
observed, that it was something the clergy-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 67

man had said in the morning which had be-
wildered him, he believed, for he had never
been himself since.

“He is the first I ever saw in my shop;
and though I honor the profession, I hope
he will be the last, if he has spoiled Hare-
wood,” said Mr. Preston, somewhat tartly.

Thus recalled to himself, Tom endeay-
ored, by double diligence, to erase the un-
favorable impression his wandering thoughts
and abstracted air had occasioned; but
though he rolled and unrolled many pieces
of gay ribbons, and folded various trim-
mings and tapes, still his mind wandered
afar into the regions of learned research, and
rested rather on the tombs of the ancients
than the shelves which contained haber-
dashery.

The following day he became somewhat
better able to pursue his stated avocations;
but the chord which the stranger, with ap-
parent kindness, but real mischief, had thus
touched, would not suddenly cease to vi-
brate; and another and another day passed

_ on, and saw the youth despondent and anx-
68 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

ious, hoping for he knew not what of pro-
mised good, that still eluded his grasp, and
took from him the power of enjoying the
actual comforts he possessed, and the power
of improving himself in that line of life
which it appeared to be his duty to pur-
sue.

The evening of this day, however, called
him to a new source of anxiety, and he soon
eeased to recollect even the subject most
dear to his contemplations.

On the morning of this day, the good
master of Charles had informed him that
he had resolved on sending a large cargo
of goods to Buenos Ayres and Monte Video,
which he should intrust to the conduct of
Mr. Hinckley, his confidential clerk, who
had been many years in his service, and to
one of the junior assistants; “and,” added
he, “as it is an office of importance and
trust, so it shall be made one of profit;
and, with your mother’s consent, I appoint
you to it.”

Charles, naturally sanguine and ardent,
most thankfully embraced the proposal, and
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 68

flew to acquaint his mother, who, seeing
at once the advantages it would procure to
her son, and the high praise it conveyed
to his past conduct, suppressed the pain
she naturally felt at parting with him, and
declared her grateful concurrence with the
pleasure of the generous merchant.

Poor Tom was next acquainted with the
chasm likely to take immediate place in
their little circle, and forgot, in this mo-
mentous change, every other source of re-
gret and solicitude. Attached to his en-
dearing home, naturally averse to changes,
and constitutionally unfitted to encounter
evident danger, though he possessed much
patient resolution and calm courage, he was
unable to endure hazardous enterprise, or
seek distant good by perilous adventure;
he therefore considered his brother as a
species of martyr to the necessities of his
family, and embracing him with tearful
eyes, applauded at once and deplored his
determination, until he perceived that it
was of a truth perfectly agreeable to him,
when he became anxious, to the utmost of
70 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

his power, to prepare him for the voyage;
and this he justly considered would be best
effected, by again brushing up his knowl-
edge of the languages he had been taught,
and engrafting upon his memory those radi-
cal roots of words which might fit him for
assisting himself, during the voyage, in ac-
quiring the Spanish tongue.

For this good purpose, Mr. Preston had
the goodness to spare him, whenever the
press of business allowed him an unoccupied
hour. It was an affecting and delightful
sight to see these amiable brothers thus
employed in forming, as it were, mutual
strength out of mutual treasures, for a great
occasion, and to perceive than an elder
brother, whose bodily strength and personal
appearance (aided by a powerful though not
equally-cultivated mind) seemed to mark
him the superior, could yet patiently listen
to the instructions of the younger, and even
good-humoredly submit to the mild reproofs
which he felt were given only in love, and
necessary for his improvement.

One evening, when they were thus em-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. T1

ployed, with more than common vigilance,
from the knowledg@'that it would be nearly
the last, they were interrupted by the en-
trance of a visitant, respecting whom Thomas
had never yet ventured to make inquiry—
this was Doctor Ecclestone.

The situation of the boys spoke for itself,
and the tears rose to the good man’s eyes, as
he looked round the humble dwelling, and
beheld a mother diligently sewing for her
son, at the very time when her fond heart
was beating with a thousand tender fears,
and that son thus preparing his mind for the
noblest purpose, that of fulfilling his duties
ably and gratefully; but his chief attention,.
as well as admiration, was placed on him for:
whose sake he paid this visit.

After a slight apology for his intrusion, lie-
sat down, still looking in Tom’s face, who.
feeling all that tide of indistinct hopes and
undefined desires which a few days before:
had swelled his heart and glowed in his face,
return now with increased force, became un-
able to bear even the looks he loved,. and he
therefore hastily closed the exercise book he:

G
72 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

was correcting, and slid out of the room in
breathless agitation.

“T remember,” said Doctor Ecclestone,
addressing Mrs. Harewood, “ that the author
of Sir Isaac Newton’s life informs us that his
mother was a widow, and as there were sev-
eral younger children, she designed, with
great propriety, to bring him up to his
father’s business, which she prudently con-
tinued to hold in her own hands, looking to
the time when Isaac would be able to assist
ther and the rest of the family. I have fre-
‘quently thought how greatly the poor woman
must have been disappointed, when the youth
was found averse to wool-stapling and attach-
-ed to books; what do you think, Madam?”

“T think she was not only a good but
wise mother, to struggle forward without his
assistance, because she saw in him the princi-
ples which would reward her cares: and al-
though it was impossible for her to prophesy
his future greatness, yet she had a right to
expect a considerable portion of the good
conduct she afterwards found in her excel-
lent son.”
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 78

“Then if I were to take your younger
son, place him at the University, and sup-
port him until he were able to support him-
self, you would, I trust, make no objec-
tion ?”

“Objection, sir! God forbid! I should
regard you as a benefactor sent from Heav-
en to help me.”

As Doctor Ecclestone made this proposal,
Tom had re-entered the room ; he heard all
that passed, and for a moment gazed in as-
tonishment on all around him, then rushed
to his mother, flung himself in her arms, and
burst into a flood of tears, which mingled
with hers.

Not less happy, but more eloquent, Charles,
turning to their unknown but revered visi-
tant, thanked him fervently for his promised
patronage, declaring, with all the sincerity
of affection and truth, that one of the great-
est blessings, the sweetest recompense he had
expected from his present undertaking, had
arisen from the hope it held out, of rendering
him able thus to provide for his beloved
brother.
74, AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

“My good boy,” replied the Doctor, “so
fally am I persuaded that the bread we earn
is the sweetest we ever taste, and that the
pleasure of giving is infinitely increased
when the gift has cost us the denial of some
luxury, that I would not, for the world,
either prevent your brother from doing his
utmost to help himself, or prevent you from
the pleasure of assisting him, whenever it is
in your power. My assistance must be
necessarily very circumscribed, and of course
each of you must by turns experience this
satisfaction; but the great point to be ac-
complished at present is the relief of your
mother, by providing for her sons entirely.”

The good man rose to depart, and then
first the grateful and overwhelmed boy,
whom he had rendered so happy, and in-
tended to serve so essentially, made an ef-
fort to thank him; but the words he meant
to have uttered died on his lips: he could
only touch the kind hand held out to him;
and casting his eyes to heaven, prayed si-
lently for that blessing his full heart sought
for his benefactor.
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 76

When the Doctor was really withdrawn,
the sweet voice-of the infant was the only
one in the little circle capable of comment-
ing on his appearance, for the generous and
important mission on which he had visited
them fully absorbed the thoughts of every
other person; though in itself most desira-
ble, and welcomed with the most devout
gratitude, yet the destination of Thomas de-
prived the widowed mother of the society
of that son which had been her more pecu-
liar solace, at the very time when she looked
to it as of double value, and it was not pos-
sible for even the joy she experienced in
his welfare to render her insensible of the
privation; tears and smiles would combat
in her countenance, and her affectionate
children deeply sympathized in her emo-
tions.

Charles, fixing his eyes for a moment on
the playful child, seemed to look from her to
his mother, as if silently offering her a com-
panion.

“Sweet lamb,” said Tom, observing him,
“what a pity it is you are go little!”

te
‘fs
76 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

“But she is very engaging, and she will
have more sense every day,” added Charles.

Tom could not reply; his lip quivered,
the tears strayed down his cheeks; the
mother read their hearts, and made an effort
to recover her spirits—‘‘Be assured, my
dear boys,” said she, “that this dear child
will supply your places to me in a great
measure, since she is indeed every day more
interesting, and more capable of lessening
the weight of my burden; do not let the
thoughts of me oppress your hearts and in-
jure your spirits; love me with fervor, but
do not hang upon me with regret, since that
would eventually injure us all, by rendering
you incapable of performing your duty in
the way you are called upon to exert your-
selves; ever remember, that sensibility is
only excellent as it is the handmaid of Reli-
gion and Virtue—that to feel properly, not
inordinately, is alone desirable. I am not
afraid of your forgetting me, nor your dear
little sister, whom Providence has thrown
upon you, for the cares and love she would
have received from her father; let us there-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, TT

fore restrain our feelings, and show them by
our future actions, rather than our present
sensations.”

The brothers had for a moment thrown
themselves, weeping, round the neck of their
mother; they now gently withdrew, and
silently resolved to emulate alike her reso-
lution and her tenderness, and began to
speak, with the satisfaction their altered
circumstances inspired, of their different
destinations, and arrange their future cor-
respondence.

There were some things, nevertheless,
which this affectionate little family, small
as its number was, could talk of better
apart then together. In the absence of her
sons, Mrs. Harewood could best consider
what was necessary for the personal com-
fort and respectable appearance of her sons,
in the situation they were happily called to
move in, and she then drew from her scanty
store the means of fitting them out agreeable
to these views.

At the same time, the sons themselves
laid their heads together, and comforted
78 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

each other with the hopes that when they
were gone, their poor mamma would be able
to live better, and treat herself and the child
with many little comforts they had, with
aching hearts, beheld her deprived of for a
long melancholy period: every concluding
period with Charles was filled up by—
“When I come back, she shall have a house
of her own—when I come back, I will buy
her so and so,” as if, poor fellow! his voy-
age must necessarily procure every blessing;
and so much did his sanguine hopes of suc-
cess alleviate the pains of parting, that Tom
thought it would be cruel to remind him that
it was possible that his voyage could be un-
prosperous, or his expectations @isappointed;
but he did at length venture to say—‘ My
dear Charles, you are going out on an ex-
pedition of great hazard, and subject to
many difficulties, but remember, that you
must take out, keep with you, and bring
back, one thing, which is very different
from all other merchandise—it can neither
be bartered nor sold without infinite loss;
if you gain the whole world without it, you
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 79

will be still a poor wretch; and if you lose
all, yet preserve 7, you will be happy and
respectable.”

“JT dare say you mean a good con-
science ?”

“Indeed I do; the conscience of a true
Christian.”

“Well, my dear Tom, I hope I shall al-
ways preserve my principles—God grant I
may! but you did not need to have made a
long speech about it; only, to be sure, it is
your line to preach.”

“At least I hope it will be,” said Tom,
with a smile; “and if the world is so wick-
ed as people say it is, who knows but it
may be a good thing for you that you
have a brother who is placed in a sacred
profession? You may perhaps have occa-
sion to say to yourself sometimes—‘ No,
I won't do this, for it will be a disgrace
to my brother, the clergyman; or ‘I will
avoid this, for it would break poor Tom’s
heart.’”

“Never, never,” cried Charles, sobbing, as
he clasped his brother in his arms, “ will I
80 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

break that dear good heart by any evil ac-
tion; for I will think on you Tom; I will
consider, on every occasion, how you would
look, what you would say, and how I ima-
gined. you were likely to feel; so shall my
little brother be still the guardian of my
actions, as much as I hope to be the builder
of his future comforts.”

Soon after this conversation, the youths
parted from each other, and from their
mother, Charles going on board only one
day before Thomas accompanied his noble
friend to the University of Oxford, being
first previously introduced to his patron’s
brother, at whose house he was joyfully rec-
ognized as le bon gargon of the good-humored
Frenchwoman, who prophesied that he would
honor her judgment, by proving himself un
homme savant et sage.

From Mr. Preston he parted on the best
terms, though the family were all loth to
part with him; and he was followed, by all
who knew him, with good wishes, which his
heart deeply acknowledged; but his sensa-
tions were tinged with that tender melan-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 81

choly natural to the feelings of a son and
a brother, parted, for the first time, from
objects so long and justly endeared to
him,


82 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

CHAPTER V.

THE life now led by Thomas was as con-
sonant to his wishes, and as conducive to
his improvement, as that enjoyed by his
more fortunate brother had hitherto been to
him ; not that it was without trials, for in
every state of existence, people of the best
disposition and most prudent conduct are
liable to them; and in every place where
many are assembled, some will be found
inimical to the wiser views and more exalted
propriety of the rest; and there were not
wanting many who ridiculed the quiet
manners and severe studies of our young
friend, and some who, cruelly mean, insult-
ed his poverty, jested on his dependence,
and presumed on his good temper.

The strong understanding, not less than
the excellent disposition of this youth,
taught him.in a short time to appreciate the
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 88

various attacks of the profuse, weak, and
vicious, in a proper manner, and to repel
every insinuation, and damp every sneer, by
that calm dignity, which shows the weak
where true strength is to be found; and al-
though there were times when he really
suffered, he had sufficient self-possession to
hide his pangs; by which means his tor-
mentors were led to doubt their own power,
and therefore ceased to tease him.

A more serious cause of anxiety, how-
ever, soon interfered with his studies, and
rendered him indeed the melancholy being
his enemies loved to depict him; this was
the bad weather poor Charles encountered
on his voyage, which was dreadfully tedious,
and at times highly dangerous: they heard
of him twice in the course of it, and became
extremely impatient to learn from himself
his state of health and prospects; but, alas!
when at length the long-looked-for letter ar-
rived, they were but too well convinced
that they had underrated his past sufferings
considerably, and that the trials of the voy-
age had far outrun their fears, although dis-
84 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

guised by his considerate kindness as much
as possible in relating the facts.

The wearisome and dangerous voyage of
poor Charles was not compensated for, on
his arrival, by those golden harvests he had
often in imagination reaped for his beloved
master, and after him for his own dear fam-
ily, whose fortunes he was ever solicitous to
increase. On the arrival of the ship in
which he sailed at Monte Video, it was found
that the state of political affairs was consider-
ably changed; that an action had taken
place which had filled every place that
offered an asylum with wounded and dying
soldiers, and that instead of store-houses
where British Merchants could offer goods
for sale, British soldiers were expiring, in
want of every assistance required by their
unhappy state.

The generous heart of Charles, ever alive
to the dictates of humanity, was deeply
wounded by the situation of his countrymen,
and every hour when Mr. Hinckley, the
senior clerk, could spare him from the neces-
sary arrangements of their goods, he flew to
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 85

the distressed sufferers, and to the utmost of
his power contributed to their comfort, by
attending to their wants, procuring food or
medicine as it was needed, and not unfre-
quently bathing and binding their wounds,
under the direction of the few medical men
that remained to help them.

Several Spaniards, inhabitants of the
place, were amongst the wounded, and being
too ill for removal, partook necessarily the
fate of these soldiers. One of these, a most
respectable merchant, shared, in a peculiar
manner, the attention of Charles, because he
wasenabled to converse with him freely in
the French language, and because he was,
like himself, a stranger to those around him,
as his residence was at a considerable dis-
tance in the interior of the country ; he spoke
of himself as a husband, and the father of
two children, then waiting in anxiety for his
return; and on this account he became still
more an object of interest with Charles, who
beheld with pleasure the progress of his re-
covery, which might in a great measure be
imputed to his own care.
86 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

But the attentions paid to this temporary
hospital were shortly to be turned to another
channel; various arrivals from England,
with choice collections of her best manufac-
tures, rendered it matter of difficulty to dis-
pose of the goods they had brought over to
the advantage they wished; and the pains
taken by Mr. Hinckley, who was somewhat
advanced in years, together with the heat of
the climate, sensibly affected his health.
Charles endeavored, by every means in his
power, to relieve him, and to this purpose,
studied the language of the country with
double diligence, and soon became enabled
to understand it sufficiently for all purposes
of commerce, and even society; so that Mr.
Hinckley, rejoicing in his powers, and reas-
sured in his own hopes, proposed removing
farther up the country, where the market
would be less stocked, and of course the
prices be more adequate to the trouble and
risk of the venture; and this was accom-
plished as speedily as the nature of the
country, and its present state of warfare,
admitted.
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 87

Knowing that all their rivals were bent
on going to Buenos Ayres, they preferred
visiting the towns on the northern side of
La Plata; and embarking on that river with
the best part of their merchandise, they in
a short time fell in with the Uraguay, by
which they were taken to Cordelaria, where
they landed safely, and endeavored to bestow
their goods; but the inhabitants appeared
suspicious, and inimical to their wishes,
treating them rather as enemies, who would
bring destruction, than merchants who of-
fered them useful commodities in the way of
open trade and honest barter. Under these
circumstances they were wretchedly accom-
modated, and the intolerable heat and toil
arising from the stowage of goods, amongst
people who added ill-humor to idleness, and
would not be tempted to work for those they
fancied it a duty to oppose, rendered Mr.
Hinckley seriously ill, with one of those fe-
vers to which the country peculiarly subjects
strangers. Happily Charles had learned, in
his attendance at the hospital, how to treat
this complaint, and he seriously set himself

H
88 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

to officiate both as nurse and doctor to
his sick friend, whom he never left for a
single moment, until he was completely out
of danger, attending him with all the love
of a relation, the obedience of a servant, and
the skill of a physician; for solicitude and
humanity teach many important lessons to
those who are willing to learn them.

From this conduct Charles did not only
reap the immediate advantage of saving that
friend’s life, who in this far-distant country
was at once a father, master, and tutor to
him, but he found that his conduct excited
the attention and elicited the good-will of
the inhabitants, who in his private virtue be-
held the way to benefit both themselves and
the visitors they approved; they therefore
readily visited the stores, and bought with
avidity the articles agreeable to their choice,
and suited to their situation.

Still tenderly careful of the delicate health
of his friend, Charles would not suffer him
to use any exertion he could save him from,
and he became himself the only medium
through which business was transacted; and
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 89

as he now spoke the language fluently, was
handsome in his person and manners, he was
goon as much courted by the native residents
as he had been despised; and every house
in Cordelaria was soon open to his recep-
tion, with an hospitality he had never wit-
nessed in Europe, and which therefore was
more flattering and engaging to him.

After staying as long as appeared likely
to answer their purpose, they removed to
Assumpcion; but the journey again produ-
cing bad symptoms in Mr. Hinckley’s health,
it was agreed that he should become station-
ary at this place, where their chief magazine
should remain, whilst Charles should make
such excursions as appeared consistent with
the object of their journey.

In this town they had the mortification
and sorrow to hear of the defeat of the British
army, and to learn that all hopes of establish-
ing trade on a permanent footing were gener-
ally abandoned by those adventurers who,
like themselves, had sought to establish it.
They found, to their great mortification, that
many had parted with goods for less than
90 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

they bought them in England; and othera
had, in seeking personal safety, abandoned
them altogether; and that though a con-
siderable party in favor of the English
actually existed in the country, they were
at present afraid to show their heads; all
was dark and gloomy; if they attempted to
return, they would undoubtedly be taken
prisoners, and their goods confiscated; if
they presumed to proceed, they only placed
themselves in a situation of equal peril, as,
if apprehended, they would have less chance
of escape.

Tn this dilemma, the most advisable plan
appeared that of consolidating the property
they had taken as much as possible, and
making the best remittances to England they
were able; and as they had no doubt but
numerous vessels were then sailing for En-
gland, Charles determined to disguise him-
self as a Spaniard, and return as speedily as
possible to Monte Video.

Here he found all the confusion and dis-
tress incident to a retreating and suffering
army; and in witnessing the disgrace of his
AFFROTIONATE BROTHERS, 91

beloved countrymen, he partook their feel-
ings so much as to excite suspicion, and
many eyes were turned upon him with
threatening import. Happily for both him-
self and all whom he served, he was ever
prompt in the dispatch of whatever he took
in hand; and although he experienced a
great deal of that lassitude consequent on a
warm climate, and was frequently tempted
to partake the indulgence of an afternoon
nap, or to yawn away a valuable morning,
yet he never yielded to his wishes, until he
could say to himself— My work is finished ;
I may repose without injury to my busi-
ness.”

Under this salutary spirit of industry, he
lost no time in effecting his purpose, and
very soon placed his bills and other property
in the hands of a British officer on whom he
could rely. He was unable, from the pres-
sure of business, to write even a line to his
dear family; but he engaged the gentleman
whom he intrusted to see his mother in
London, and assure her of his safety: alas!
while he spoke the words that safety was
92 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

lost—he was seized in the presence of his
kind messenger as a spy, and ignominiously
dragged away, and lodged in a close and
gloomy prison.

Such had been the hurry and trepidation
of his late transactions, that for some time
poor Charles could hardly believe the reality
of what was passing around him, but was
ready to fancy that an uneasy dream op-
pressed him. Too soon he awoke to a full
conviction of the wretchedness of his situa-
tion, the failure of his hopes, and the fearful
nature of the captivity in which he found
himself, He was well aware that he was in
a land ill-provided with laws, and still worse
provided with administrators, in the best of
times, and rendered infinitely worse at pres-
ent, from the terrible confusion which ever
attends the seat of recent warfare; and al-
though he could not regret a disguise which
had enabled him to remit that money so
dearly obtained to his master, he yet abhor-
red every thing which rendered him a likely
object of suspicion to the people amongst
whom he had lately resided as a friend.
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 98

Day after day passed on, and he could
neither obtain from his surly and silent
jailer, either information as to the duration
of his imprisonment, or its probable con-
sequence; he merely learned, and his heart
sickened at the idea, that the English had
evacuated the place, and that the remainder
of the goods which he had deposited on his
arrival had been carried away. For some
time he flattered himself that Mr. Hinckley,
alarmed by his stay, would come and search
for him, and either by interest or money,
procure his release; but by degrees this
hope forsook him also, and he began to fear
that the good old man had again fallen into
bad health, or perhaps deprived of his care,
and in a state of mind conducive to disease,
become its victim.

His own health now began seriously to
suffer from his close confinement and ex-
treme anxiety, to which might be added, the
scantiness and badness of the food, which,
at unequal and frequently far-distant periods,
was allotted to him. Often did he now
acknowledge, that the narrow means and
94 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, |

poor fare to which his misfortunes since his
father’s death had subjected him, were real
blessings, since they had paved the way for
the severer privations he now suffered, and
which he could never have endured, had he
been a stranger to this painful initiation.
Often would the thoughts of his dear
home, and all the beloved faces which mem-
ory had faithfully pictured on his mind,
now rise and fill his heart with anguish al-
most too great to be endured. He would
behold his mother, with pale and breathless
expectation, look over every page of the
newspaper, inquire by every means of his
safety, and shrink, with looks of anguish,
from the barren informer, which could tell
her no news of her first-born. He heard, in
idea, the infantine inquiries of his little sister,
and her fond lamentations for dear “‘ Broder
Charley,” whose presence was ever to her
the signal of mirth and the harbinger of
joy; but on the sorrows of his brother he
dwelt, if possible, with intenser sorrow, and
in feeling for him he forgot even his own
misfortunes, as if the woes of sympathy ex-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 95

ceeded those of reality, and that in his sor-
rows Tom was the principal sufferer.

But although these soul-sinking moments
at times triumphed over him, yet his mind
was too firm and manly to yield to despond-.
ency ; and the more he found that grief un-
nerved his spirits, the more he resolved to
oppose it with vigor; and to this end he
began seriously to meditate the possibility
of escape from the place of his cruel con-
finement, where it appeared now that he had
been placed rather from the caprice and in-
dignation of the moment, than from any
regular charge, since none was since then
exhibited against him.


96 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

CHAPTER VI.

THE room, or fort, in which Charles was
now confined, consisted of four high walls,
with a strong covered roof, from which it
was lighted by a single square hole, which
‘appeared so indifferently grated, that he was
cassured that if he could once reach it, he
-could easily break his way out of the top;
cand as his guard was far from vigilant, he
-entertained hopes, from time to time, of thus
-escaping his prison, which was rendered only
the more terrible, as he was the less watched,
since his guard never came near, except to
bring him food ; and there were many times
when, in addition to all other horrors, he
had that of fearing lest he should perish for
want of it.

But, alas! all his means of attaining this
wished-for end consisted of one low stool,
.and a deal board with two sticks, which was
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 97

his substitute for a table. Many a time in
the day, and still oftener in the night, did
he, by the rays of the moon, or some benig-
nant star, place these in every possible
direction, so to stand upon them as to be
near the little opening; but he was still at
too great a distance for the least probability
of escape. One night, however, stung by
disappointment of food, in addition to every
other suffering, he again mounted on his
crazy pedestal, and giving a high leap, ac-
tually caught hold of the bars, which in-
stantly gave way, and he fell back into his
prison with the iron lattice-work in his hand,
falling on his little scaffolding, which broke
all to pieces under him, and added to his
troubles that of bruising him terribly.

Hope was now apparently exchanged for
despair, since the situation in which the
keeper found him sufficiently explained the
design he had nurtured, and showed the
opening he had made to the exterior of the
building. The lazy Spaniard did not, how-
ever, give himself the trouble of repairing
the breach; he contented himself with ob-

1
98 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

serving he could never reach it, and with
casting a contemptuous look on the broken
stool and table, which lay shivered on the
floor.

Poor Charles, ever sanguine, endeavored,
by the help of the iron bars, to put these to-
gether; and used to active life, he found his
spirits return, and even the pain and stiffness
of his joints relieved by this employment.
In doing this, he naturally cast his eyes
towards the place from whence he had
fallen, and which, from the removal of the
bars, admitted a freer view of the sky, on
which alone he could now feast his sight.
To view one star after another, shine in the
blue expanse, became to him a sweet em-
ployment; and his early lessons in astrono-
my, though at the time but little attended to,
he now sought to recollect; and he recalled
with avidity to his mind many conversations
he had held with his brother on this sublime
study.

As he was thus employed one solitary
night, comforting himself with that most
blessed relief which either subdues misfor-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 93

tune, or gives us strength to bear it—that
the same Almighty hand which ruleth those
shining orbs and their attendant worlds,
likewise ordereth all lesser things in heaven
and earth, and can deliver those who trust
in him from the lowest depths of adversity
~—he perceived something twice pass over
the opening, which slightly impeded his view,
and seemed like the waving of feathers.

To a being cut off from all intercourse
with all created nature, the visit of a mouse,
a fly, or even a spider, has been found of the
most interesting and even endearing nature,
as the sad memoirs of many prisoners have
informed us. It struck Charles that this
aérial guest was either a flamingo, or some
other of those tropical birds whose brilliant
plumage had frequently attracted his admi-
ration since his arrival in this country.
Eagerly he watched for its return, and was
not disappointed ; ina few moments it again
hovered over the orifice in the roof, and
then began to descend gradually towards
him.

As it approached, he perceived with sur-
100 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

prise that it was not a bird, but one of those
immense plumes of feathers which are, in
this country, frequently hung from the roofs
of houses, being commonly suspended over
the dining-tables, and bandied to and fro
between two servants, for the purpose of
clearing away the numerous flies which
settle on the meat.

As soon as Charles became aware of this,
his heart began to throb with expectation
those only can form an idea of who have
been in similar situations; some unknown,
but friendly hand, was doubtless held out to
help him—on the present moment was prob-
ably suspended not only all the good or evil
of his future life, but life itself! Parent,
brother, and country, swam before his sight,
and in terrible agitation he seized, and even
embraced the descending plume, listening
for some voice, and examining for some
letter which might be concealed among the
feathers to direct him.

All was silent as the grave, nor could he
find the direction or information he sought ;
but he observed that the plume was fastened
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 101

to a silken cord of so strong a quality, that
it never could have needed such a one for
any purpose to which it could be commonly
put, and he therefore conceived that some
person without was waiting to drag him up
by its means. He pulled the cord several
times, and became convinced that it was held
by firm and friendly hands; and being ever
a lad of courage, notwithstanding his late
bruises, he did not hesitate to bind it firmly
around him, and make a signal, by gently
pulling, to inform those without that he was
ready. His signal was understood. In a
moment he began gently to ascend, and was
soon at the top of his prison, where he found
no great difficulty in sliding from the roof
to the edge of the building, where he per-
ceived an English gentleman and his servant,
who had been his deliverers thus far, and
who, now holding an open blanket, made a
signal for him to jump into it, and pointed
to a saddled horse at a little distance, which
was provided to insure his safety.

In a moment Charles found himself in
the arms of his liberator, and heard himself,
102 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

in a low but most welcome voice, and in the
dear language of his native country, assured
of his safety. Falling on his knees, he
thanked the Almighty devoutly for this
unlooked-for mercy; then rising, readily
accepted the clothes this generous friend
had provided for him; and while dressing,
eagerly whispered inquiries after Mr. Hinck-
ley, by whom, he supposed, this deliverance
had been brought about.

“Alas?” replied the young man, “T
grieve to tell you that the poor old man
sickened and died at Assumpcion soon after
you left him. The property he had with
him there was, I apprehend, disposed of by
him; but I believe all is perfectly safe
which you stowed in Cordelaria, and thither
I would advise you to go immediately.”

Poor Charles was sincerely afflicted to
hear of the death of his friend, so far from
his native land and from every comfort;
but he had no time to indulge his feelings,
and finding this gentleman’s humanity had
been the sole cause of his interference in his
behalf, awoke his gratitude in the most live-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 108

ly manner; and although his tears flowed to
the memory of the dead, his words rapidly
showed what he felt due to the living.

“My dear fellow,” said the stranger, “I
hope to gain a friend in you, and that will
surely repay, a thousand times, the exertions
I have at length happily made to terminate
your captivity, which has, I know, been
continued, rather from the obstinacy and
idleness of your confiners, than any remain-
ing malice against your country, or suspicions
of yourself. However, to provide against
contingencies, set out, as I direct, for Cor-
delaria; there claim your property, and dis-
pose of it in your own character. It is
probable that I shall see you in the course
of a fortnight at that place; and in the mean
time think of Edward Mainwaring as your
English friend and liberator, and one ever
happy to serve you.”

Charles was precisely at that age, and
under those circumstances, when a friend so
newly found, and of such engaging manners
as Edward possessed, was likely to make the
most lively impression ; and with all the ar-
104 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

dor of gratitude, and the romantic fervor of
youth, he protested that he would ‘never
cease to love and thank him, and that he
should wait with impatience for the day that
should unite them; he then hastily mount-
ed, and was just pricking his horse into a
gallop, when Edward checked him, to pre-
sent him a well-stocked purse, and a brace
of pistols, both of which, he observed, were
necessary to a traveller.

The day was now dawning, and for some
miles the only care of Charles was that of
speed; but when he had proceeded far
enough to insure safety, he became sensible
of the want of food and repose, and was look-
ing anxiously around for both, when his at-
tention was drawn towards a man who sat
under a shrub near him, who appeared sick
and in distress. He turned to him imme-
diately, and with some concern perceived
that he was an English sailor.

The poor man was endeavoring to get to
Monte Video, in order to procure a passage
for England or the West India Islands; but
he had suffered so much from extreme pov-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 105

erty, that he sat down here literally to
breathe his last, and but for the cheering
voice of his countryman, would probably
have finished his mortal existence, without a
human being to speak peace to his departing
soul.

Charles, though extremely solicitous to do
him every kind office, yet saw that it waa
absolutely impossible to return to Monte
Video, on the very day he had escaped from
thence as a prisoner; he therefore proposed
to him to return up the country with him
until his health should be re-established, to
which the sailor readily consented; and ac-
cordingly Charles mounted him on his own
horse, and by his direction they proceeded
to a village near the place, where he imme-
diately procured refreshment ; and after some
hours’ repose, they were both so much re-
freshed as to proceed on their journey, the
sailor riding, and Charles walking beside
him, often leading his horse over rugged
places, which the tar declared he could not
navigate.

The night was beautifully serene, and as
1086 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

our young hero gazed on the wide expanse
of scenery around, and the glorious arch of
heaven above him, he felt all the sweets of
liberty, and with rapture inhaled the pure
breeze, which appeared to renovate his
strength, and restore to him that portion of
life he had spent in the close vapors of his
cheerless prison. Never had he experienced
such delightful sensations. Home, and joy,
and wealth, and friends, and honor, swam
before his eyes, while gratitude to the great
Giver of all, awoke in his bosom that ecstasy
which springs from true devotion.

While enjoying these sublime emotions,
his actions naturally partook the fervor of
his heart, and from time to time he sprung
forward with light and bounding steps, until
recalled by the wants or the entreaties of his
companion. In this situation they entered
a woody glen, where it became necessary to
explore the path, and reconsider the instruc-
tions they had received, which had particu-
larly recommended silence; for this pass,
though short, was dangerous, from being
infested with wild beasts.
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 107

They proceeded in silence, but without
fear; for one was too happy to entertain de-
spondence—the other, relieved from death
and inured to danger, thought not of it, and
repeated not his warning, though the young
man had proceeded again beyond his view.
Charles had, in fact, heard a rushing sound
among the brushwood, for which he could
not account, and stepping forward, he caught
the glare of what appeared two twinkling
diamonds of astonishing magnitude. In a
moment the coppice shook, some terrible
animal, whose gleaming eyes he had beheld,
sprung forth towards an object he did not
see, by reason of the overshadowing trees,
but which uttered a faint cry in a human
voice, as the terrible destroyer advanced. to-
wards him.

Humanity, courage, and even the terror
of the scene, gave instant energy to Charles,
he flew after the bounding steps of the tiger
—he was on the spot at the very instant
when he seized the cloak of a solitary Span-
iard, and grasping his pistols firmly, he
advanced to the very head of the ferocious
108 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

beast, and with a well-nerved arm, fired im-
mediately at his head; but he knew not the
extent of his danger—the ball wounded but
did not kill the monster, who turned with
fury on his antagonist. But for his self:
command, he would have been an immediate
victim ; he fired the next pistol, and the ti-
ger fell; whilst the Spaniard, reassured,
arose, and presented his preserver with a
dagger, which the sailor, now arrived, took
in his hand, and observing that his young
master was not accustomed to such things,
used it to dispatch him.

The enemy thus defeated, the little party
endeavored to give and receive congratula-
tions ; but they were too sensible of remain-
ing danger to say much. Reloading the
pistols, each took one, while the sailor,
whose name was Humphrey, still brandished
the dagger, and they proceeded in silence,
and forming a close phalanx, until they
emerged into a more populous district, stop-
ping together at the first house that would
receive them.

Signor Francisco, the Spaniard thus provi-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 109

dentially rescued, had the appearance of a
poor old man, but his language bespoke him
a man of education, and his manners were
far superior to his appearance. In his con-
versation he expressed a great sense of the
obligation laid upon him by the courage and
promptitude of Charles, and confessed him-
self exceedingly to blame for travelling with-
out servants through such a country. From
this he concluded that the signor had ser-
vants, but otherwise he would not have
guessed it; he treated him, however, with
deference, as an elderly man; and from that
natural regard we all have to those whom we
have benefited, he could not bid him adieu
on the day following, without showing the
sensibility of a heart which ever abounded
in kindness to its fellow-creatures; and al-
though the signor was not a man apparently
of “ melting mood,” he yet evidently felt no
common attachment towards the youthful
stranger, who had been his deliverer from a
horrible death.
110 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

CHAPTER VIL

ON arriving at Cordelaria, he was imme-
diately recognized as the proprietor of the
stores, which were given up to him without
loss; and many of those who had become
acquainted with him on his first visit to that
place, welcomed him with cordiality, and
were willing to purchase the remainder of
his cargo, which he was anxious to part
with, being extremely desirous of returning
to his own country, so soon as he could do .
it with advantage to his employers. He be-
came again the man of business, and com-
pared the months he had spent in confine- _
ment to a fever, which had deprived him of
the use of his limbs, which, now he was re-
stored, must be used with double diligence;
his first care being to dispatch letters to
England, although he trusted to reach his
beloved friends almost as soon as they
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 111

would, it being probable that their route
would be extremely circuitous. The great-
est trouble he now felt was the loss he una-
voidably had sustained, of all his own letters
during the period of his confinement, and
the utter impossibility of inquiring for them
at Monte Video, until his escape and his un-
just confinement should be completely blown
over, as he had learned, from bitter experi-
ence, that people will often persist in wrong,
merely because they have commenced in it.

One morning, as he was busied in ar-
ranging his stores, he was most agreeably
surprised by a visit from the wounded mer-
chant, whom he had attended in the hospital
on his first arrival at Monte Video, and who,
having long lost sight of him, had concluded
that he had left the country with the principal
body of English adventurers; he embraced
him with the greatest affection, and gave
him a pressing invitation to his house, which
was not many miles distant, assuring him
that his family would receive him as a
friend and benefactor.

Before Charles could resolve to accept

K
112 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

this invitation, his friend, Edward Main-
waring, arrived; and as he was included,
and as Don Lopez, the merchant, could be
not only his hospitable entertainer, but like-
wise his best assistant in the disposal of the
remaining stock, he no longer hesitated to
accept his kind proposal; and accordingly
they all departed together.

The house of Don Lopez was situated on
the banks of the river Uruguay, and com-
manded a delightful prospect. It was adorn-
ed with all the elegance that wealth can pro-
cure under the dominion of taste; and our
young traveller was received by the amiable
and delighted family with gratitude, polite-
ness, and esteem. Every luxury now courted
his acceptance, and the pomp of Asiatic
luxury and indulgence now supplied the
lonesome days and scanty meals under
which he had so long suffered; his care-
worn looks and half-famished cheeks soon
returned to their usual health and beauty ;
and the daily improvement in his appear-
ance so delighted the worthy family, that
they were unwearied in their efforts to please
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 113

and amuse him. Costly banquets were suc-
ceeded by sprightly music and gay dances,
or sometimes they made parties on the river,
where, seated in light vessels, whose splendid
awnings tempered the refulgent light, they
amused themselves with fishing, or sketching
the beauteous creeks and woody promon-
tories that skirted this noble branch of the
Plata, or in listening to the soft guitar and
sweet airs sung by Signora Angela, the ac-
complished daughter of Don Lopez, and her
friends.

But in all this round of pleasure, no other
circumstance was so endearing to Charles
as the enjoyment of Edward’s society, who
being just of his own age, being his own
countryman, and, above all, being his lib-
erator from a loathsome prison, had gained
a hold on his affections above all other ties,
and appeared to stand him in stead of all
that he had lost in his own country. From
his earliest recollection, the unbounded confi-
dence he had enjoyed with his brother, had
been a source of high enjoyment and pure
consolation to him, and this pleasure was
114 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

now restored, at a time when the long priva-
tion he had suffered rendered it doubly
valuable. No wonder he gave his mind up
to it with too great facility, and suffered it
to steal him even from the memory of those
who had far stronger claims upon him; for
it was ever poor Charles’s error to act too
much without reflection, although he had in
a great measure overcome the propensity.

One evening, as he was walking with his
new friend, enjoying the cool breeze in the
veranda, Mainwaring observed that Don
Lopez was a good customer to Charles; he
had given him bills to a considerable amount
that morning.

“He is every way good,” returned Charles;
“but I wish he had paid me in cash, as I
want to return you the twenty ducats you
had the goodness to lend me the night you
rescued me.”

“Never mind them; money is nothing
between you and me; I did not know how
many there were in the purse, I am sure.”

“You might not; but it would have ill
become me not to have observed, being
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 115:

brought up as I have been in regular atten-
tion to money matters, and being under a
just necessity of considering the means of
repayment.”

“Well, my dear fellow, I will confess to
you, now we are on the subject, that I want
money: and if you will give me one of Don
Lopez's bills, it will convenience me greatly ;
I will get it made into ducats to-morrow.”

Immediately Charles took out his pocket-
book, and presenting him a bill for one
hundred ducats, said he was happy in accom-
modating him, and no more passed on the
subject; but within a few days some com-
pany arriving at the house of Don Lopez,
Mainwaring got the bill cashed, but did not
mention any thing of returning the change
to his friend, who was a little surprised, as
nothing less than a positive want of cash
would have made him so long the debtor of
Edward as he had been. He concluded that
the same cause would have operated in his
case; but so dearly did he love him, that
had the money been his own, he would
have given it him freely ten times over.
116 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

One morning he arose early to arrange his
accounts, and consider of a proposal made to
him by the merchant the day before, respect-
ing the entire exchange of his remaining
stock for oxen, with which the country
abounded, and which he was well assured
would find an excellent market in the West
India Islands. He was seriously revolving
this in his mind, when Edward, entering
abruptly, asked him if he could lend him a
little cash ?”

“T have got a few dollars.”

“Dollars! nonsense! I want a hundred
pounds or two, for a speculation which I
think will turn out very profitably by and
by.”

“Tt is utterly out of my power; I have
not so much in the world, my dear friend.”

Edward burst into a loud laugh, and
pointed to the notes on the table, which
amounted to many hundreds.

“My dear fellow, these are not mine—
they are my employer’s; and although I am
at this moment considering how to engage
in a profitable speculation for him, yet I am
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 117

sure you will think as I do, that I could not
sport his money on my own account or
yours.”

Edward sat down; his face assumed a
serious cast, and with a tone of tenderness
and playful familiarity, which was peculiar
to him, he addressed Charles thus—“ My
dear fellow, at the risk of your life, and to
the loss of your liberty, you ventured to
send a large sum to England for your em-
ployer, and which he doubtless has received
long ago; this sum will indemnify him
from all loss, which is as much as he has
any right to expect in the affair, since not
one adventurer in twenty has escaped so
well; make yourself easy, therefore, as to
the rest. This is the country for enjoying
life; in this family you are idolized; assume
the property as your own, and there is no
doubt but you may marry the beautiful An-
gela, become the partner of her rich father,
and, without injury to yourself, make the
fortunes of that man to whom you have
vowed eternal friendship.”

Charles was silent.
118 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

The tempter continued—“ Should you re-
turn to England, what chance have you in
life, but to remain a servant all your days?
for your master, having sons of his own,
cannot with propriety take you into partner-
ship, and will think he rewards you for all
your sufferings, by advancing you to a place
of a paltry hundred a year, probably; where-
as here you will at once live in luxury and
acquire riches; you will be able to transmit
your mother an income that will render her
as comfortable as she has ever been, and
make your pretty sister a match for a gentle-
man; or perhaps they will all come over to
you here, when they know how you are
situated ; even your brother, the little parson
elect, will lay down his Latin and Greek, to
share the gold of this land of Ophir.”

‘‘ Never, never !” exclaimed Charles, rising
suddenly on his feet; “no, my dear Tom, I
will not break thy heart for the riches of all
this hemisphere! May God forgive me that
I have even listened for a moment to pro-
posals that would dye thy honest cheek with
blushes, my brother, my friend !”
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 119

The violent agitation Charles experienced
at this moment, forced the tears freely from
his eyes, and when he cast them on him to
whom he had become so much attached, and
esteemed so highly, his anguish rose to very
agony—“ Ah, Edward!” he cried, “is it you
who would betray me—you, to whom my
grateful heart has given a brother’s place,
and for whom I would have sacrificed all
my worldly prospects? Itremble to think
how great your power was over my heart
only a few moments ago; but I thank you
for naming my brother—it has restored me
to myself—it has been the talisman by which
a merciful Providence has torn the veil from
my eyes, and shown me the gulf into which
I was plunging.”

Shrunk and ashamed, Edward stood be-
fore him, a guilty and self-condemned crea-
ture; in vain, for some minutes, he endeav-
ored to parry the words and looks of his
friend, which he felt to speak, even in their
mildest accents, daggers of reproach: at.
length, overwhelmed, he sunk on a sofa, and,.
hiding his face, declared himself utterly

L
120 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

ruined, and protested that nothing less than
his extreme distress would have induced him
to make such dishonorable proposals to
Charles, exclaiming, in great affliction, that
there had been a time when he too should
have spurned the idea of fraud, like that
which he recommended so lately to anoth-
er.

Charles now looked upon him with pity,
and earnestly entreated him to return to the
path of integrity he had quitted: he now
learned that Edward had been, like himself,
intrusted with goods for an English house,
which he had sold to very little profit; and
during the time he was thus engaged at
Buenos Ayres, he had been drawn into com-
pany which enticed him into gaming, and
thus paved the way to a total depravation of
character. This led him to determine on
remaining in a country which he thought
would prove to him a golden harvest; he
had found himself deceived in his hopes, and
was about to return to England, when learn-
ing the situation of Charles, he determined
‘to release him, and then claim his gratitude ;
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 121

but the undeviating propriety of his victim
had hitherto frustrated his wishes, and he
had waited the development of his schemes,
until he supposed long absence had weakened
Charles’s attachment to his native country,
and luxurious living should have enervated
his mind, and rendered him liable to seduc-
tion.

When Edward had finished this confes-
sion, the humiliation of which he appeared
severely to feel, Charles thus addressed him
—‘ Wounded as I am by your proposal,
and shocked as I must be with knowing
how closely I have associated with one
whose conduct has been so diametrically
opposed to all that a young man in my
situation ought to approve, yet I can neither
tear you wholly from my affections, Ed-
ward, nor forget my own obligations to
you; leave me for one hour, during which
I will calculate my own wages, and I pro-
mise you faithfully to give you to the
amount of the last shilling I am worth in the
world; in the mean time, consider if there
is any other way in which I can serve you,
122 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

and be assured I will do it to the very ut-
most in my power. Oh, my friend, if you
can resolve to be worthy of that name, how
happy would it make me!”

When Edward was gone, Charles serious-
ly took his own heart to task, and examined
how far he had been accessary to the con-
duct of Edward; and he acknowledged that
he had been imprudent in giving the reins
too much to his affections; and that even a
demand on gratitude cannot, in all cases,
warrant unbounded confidence and esteem
— Alas!” said he, “it is hard to doubt,
when it is sweet to love:” he perceived that
this fascinating stranger had won him, in a
great measure, from those natural ties which
were so justly dear to him—had weakened,
though imperceptibly, his sense of religious
observances, and the punctualities necessary
in business; and that, if it had not been for
the presence and interference of Don Lopez,
all business would have been neglected; he
now bent his knee with deep humility to the
Author of his being, lamenting his unwor-
thiness, and entreating that support and gui-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 123

dance which cometh from God alone, and
arose refreshed and inspirited.

Having fulfilled his promise, he found
that forty pounds were due to him, over and
above the hundred ducats that he had al-
ready advanced to Edward, and with this in
his hand, he now sought this unhappy and
guilty young man. The moment he beheld
him he would have fled; but Charles spoke
to him with kindness, and entreated him to
accept his money, as a debt due for a service
of the last importance, and as money which
he had honestly earned.

At these words, Edward, flinging himself
on his neck, declared solemnly, that such
was his deep contrition, and utter abhorrence
of his past conduct, that he would now give
the whole world to be placed in any situa-
tion where he could indeed honestly earn his
living by suitable exertions,

Willing to believe, and anxious to serve
him, Charles lost not a moment in recom-
mending him to the service of Don Lopez,
who engaged him as a foreign clerk, in
which he could be respectably employed,
124 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

without any money, save his own, ever
passing through his hands—a circumstance
that might have been hazardous both to him
and his employer. This business settled,
Charles lost not another hour in expediting
his own concerns; he felt that the house of
Don Lopez had but too many attractions for
him, and he resolved to tear himself away
whilst yet it was in his power: but a new
and different trial yet awaited him.

Don Lopez had become much attached to
the amiable young man who had so kindly
attended him in the day of his trouble, and
further acquaintance had increased his at-
tachment; he had seen for some time a mu-
tual tenderness stealing over the minds of
his daughter and their young guest; and as
money was no object with him in a case of
so much moment, he resolved that the want
of it on Charles's side should not prove an
obstacle; but though the generous Spaniard
could waive all claims of fortune, he could
not think of giving his daughter to a heretic;
he therefore took occasion one day to lay be-
fore him all the doctrines and advantages
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 125

which he believed to belong to his own
mode of faith exclusively; and at length
concluded with saying, that in case Charles
could embrace it, he would gladly receive
him as a son.

Angela was dear to Charles as the light
of day; she was beautiful, innocent, and af-
fectionate, and he thought she loved him;
this was indeed a trial, and the young man
nearly sunk under it—‘‘T have not,” said he
mentally, “considered much on this subject;
I have no doubt but the Catholic religion
has many excellent members, and if I am
really a Christian, what does it signify what ©
name I bear? Thomas is, to be sure, of a
different persuasion, and———”

At the thoughts of Thomas, every idea
of reconciling himself to the Catholic faith
vanished; he saw again clearly that it was
his duty to tear himself from the contem-
plation of a subject at once so dear and so
dangerous; and professing himself unable
to comply with the requisition, he pressed
the good merchant to his heart, and hast-
ily departed, attended by Humphrey, not
126 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

trusting himself with another view of An-
gela.

Having settled all his affairs in the best
manner possible, he once more bent his steps
to Monte Video, being furnished with letters
to the magistrates, who received him now
with kindness, and honorably acquitted him
of all designs against the state, ascribed his
captivity to his disguise, and the necessary
vigilance the times then required. Here he
embarked for the West India Islands, taking
a large cargo on board, intended for the
markets of those islands; and having a fair
' wind, though a somewhat sad and divided
heart, we will leave him to recover his spirits,
and exert them in useful employment, whilst
we inquire after his long-lost family in En-
gland.


AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 127

CHAPTER VIII.

WHEN the public papers had announced
the sad news of the British defeat at Buenos
Ayres, and the arrival of different vessels
without any tidings of Charles, both Mrs.
Harewood and her youngest son felt the
greatest alarm for the safety of this beloved
object; but when the officer arrived with
remittances, they were in some measure
relieved, as they were thence assured of his
life and health, especially as although the
officer mentioned the arrest which he wit-
nessed to Mr. Coulston, he kept it from those
whom it would have alarmed so much.

From this time no information of the ab-
sent one reached them, until some letters
from Mr. Hinckley arrived, lamenting the
absence of the excellent young man, who
had been to him as a son and brother, and
128 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

inquiring whether he had not himself been
obliged to embark with the property he had
in charge at Monte Video. Next followed
an account of the death of this gentleman;
after which no news of any kind arrived, as
the ship was unfortunately lost by which the
letters written by Charles on his liberation
had been sent.

Month after month rolled heavily away;
and as no further tidings were heard, either
of Charles or the remaining investments,
there were not wanting those about Mr.
Coulston, who insinuated that Charles had
converted them to his own use, and would
never be heard of again. These inuendoes
the good merchant would never endure; he
maintained stoutly his good opinion of
Charles, and determined to wait yet a little
longer. .

Sometimes buoyant in hope, sometimes
afflicted with fear, Thomas continued to pay
the most unremitting attention to his studies,
and attained not only praise from his kind
patron, but rewards from the University, and
was thereby enabled greatly to help himself,
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 129

and even his mother, as the good Doctor
persisted in making him the same allowance
he had first presented him with, until his
brother should return, or some permanent
salary should be allotted him.

The life of a studious man is given in few
words; it is rich in effect, but barren in in-
cident, and nearly as monotonous as poor
Charles had found his prjson-hours; and al-
though melancholy for his brother’s doubt-
ful fate tinged the days of poor Thomas,
yet he seldom attempted a change of action,
or experienced-a diversity of feeling, until
his arrival in London, in consequence of a
sudden summons from his mother, just after
he had been presented with a new honor
from the college to which he belonged, with
the prospect of a lucrative situation.

But from this interview the calm tenor
which had hitherto “ possessed his soul in
peace” was known no more; the whispers
and conjectures which had hitherto been
scarcely breathed against the fair fame of his
brother, were now publicly spoken; they

had reached even his mother, and had
9
‘180 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

pierced her heart with a pang she had never
felt till now.

Letters had been received from a respecta-
ble merchant, in which mention was made
of Charles as residing in the interior of the
country, and carrying on business on his
own account as a merchant, being closely
connected with one Mainwaring, a known
gamester, and a man of disreputable charac-
ter; and it was added that Harewood was
about to renounce his religion, for the sake
of marrying a merchant’s daughter in the
country, as he never could return to his own.

On the hearing of this cruel and yet too-
probable account, being apparently upheld
by circumstances, a new and energetic spirit
appeared at once to inform the soul of
Thomas; he insisted on his brother's inno-
cence, with all the vehemence of affection,
and the decision of innate and uncontrollable
conviction; he spoke of his early education,
the principles instilled from early life, his
own native generosity, and above all, his
sense of moral justice and religious obliga-
tion; but finding that he convinced only
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 131

himself and his mother, and really believing
that at least so much of the tale was true
as related to his dear brother’s existence,
he at length determined to set out him-
self for that country, which had proved
so fatal to the peace of the members of a
family who knew no happiness but in each
other.

Mrs. Harewood naturally remonstrated
against it—“If I am bereaved of both my
children,” cried she, with the patriarch,
“surely it will bring down my gray hairs
with sorrow to the grave !”

“But, my dear mother, should Charles be
innocent, ought he not to be drawn out from
this cloud of calumny, and brought to meet
his accusers ?”

“Certainly, my dear boy.”

“And if he is guilty, which God forbid!
ought he not to be sought and reclaim-
ed?”

“Oh yes !—at any price I would reclaim
him.”

“ And, who, dear mother, is so likely to
effect either as myself—the brother he al-
182 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

-ways loved so tenderly, and one who is de-
voted to the sacred office of calling sinners
to repentance ?”

A faint consent, breathed in a sigh that
proved how deeply the mother’s heart was
wrung, decided this projected expedition ;
and as Doctor Ecclestone could not help ap-
proving the determination of his amiable
and virtuous protégé, Thomas speedily em-
barked on board a vessel bound for Rio
Janeiro, where he hoped to obtain informa-
tion of his brother’s residence.

When he was really gone, the spirits of
‘poor Mrs. Harewood sunk to the lowest ebb,
and all the tender endearments of her lovely
girl, now in her seventh year, and a most
promising child, were unequal to raising
them. But from one of those incidents
which continually cross us in life, it so hap-
pened that within a week after Thomas had
sailed, Humphrey, the companion of her
eldest son’s voyage to the West Indies, ar-
rived in London, accompanying an invest-
ment of West India produce, sent by the
industrious and successful Charles, to the
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 138

master whose interest he had protected to:
the uttermost.

Here then was proof of his honesty,
which refuted every calumny ; and the wid-
owed heart of his mother was enabled not
only to rejoice in his innocence, but also in
the near prospect of beholding him, as he
was only waiting for certain payments in
Martinique, when he intended to embark on
board the packet, and might therefore be ex-
pected every day, as it was probable that it
would sail much quicker than the heavy-
laden vessel of the faithful Humphrey. “Be
happy, my dear madam,” said Mr. Coulston ;
‘you have been long an anxious and labori-
ous mother, but I trust the evening of your
life will be spent in ease; for from the mo-
ment your son arrives, he shall become my
partner. In giving such an assistant and
example to my children, I render them the
highest good I can bestow.”

Tears of delightful gratitude and delight-
ful hope coursed down the cheeks of the
fond mother; but her joy was suddenly
checked on remembering her youngest son.
134 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

—" Alas!” cried she, “what hours of sad
solicitude, what wearisome wanderings, and
heart-breaking disappointments, must he not
experience! and strange as he is to the world,
averse from its bustling pursuits, and new to
the habits and manners of those around him,
how great must be his disgust, how unhappy
his situation |”

But even the fears of the tender mother
did not paint the sufferings of her youngest
son; they arose not from the novelty and
disagreeableness of his situation, for although
that was very unpleasant to him, he was too
much engrossed by one great source of an-
guish to think of himself, or his convenience
and comfort; Charles, dear Charles, alone
occupied his mind; on him he thought—for
him he prayed incessantly; and though the
gentleness of his manners and the benignity
of his countenance insured him from giving
offence to those around him, he yet con-
tinued as much a stranger to them as if he
was still studying in his college, so entirely
was he occupied with the engrossing object
of his affectionate solicitude.
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 185

He had been only five days at sea, how-
ever, when he was aroused by an object that
could not fail to awaken the energies and
fix the attention of every man on board; a
French privateer was sailing towards them,
having already captured an English packet,
and evidently designing to seize their vessel:
as another prize.

Although far inferior in force, yet the
sailors, to a man, and even the passengers,
bravely determined to defend their floating
castle; and Tom not only caught their
enthusiasm, but blended it with that higher
species of courage natural to a mind ac-
customed to continual reflection; but in a
short period all powers of abstraction, even
in him, were suspended; the action was
begun, and life and death, freedom and cap-
tivity, hung on the decision ; the fear of the
latter was almost equal to the former, in the
thoughts of the affectionate brother, who
felt as if more than mortality depended on
his beholding and regaining Charles.

Tn ashort time the captain of the vessel

became aware of his own power, and dis-
M
186 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

covered that the Frenchman had not taken
his other prize without a contest which had
in part disabled him; on making this known
to the crew they pressed their advantages
with renewed vigor, and the consequence of
their determined valor was not only their
own security, but the capture of their
eneniy.

“You have fought bravely, sir,” said the
Captain to Thomas; “and as fighting is not
your profession, I esteem it the more noble
in you; and as a reward for your exertion,
I commission you to give liberty to our
brave countrymen now under the hatches of
that packet.”

Tom, with his sword still in his hand, and
all the glow of recent toil and exultation on
his cheek, most gratefully accepted the per-
mission, although a wound in his shoulder
was bleeding freely. He flew to the vessel,
and cried aloud—“ Liberty! liberty!”

He was answered by a shout from within,
and one voice seemed to vibrate on his ear
in tones that reached his heart; he was un-
equal to the performance of the office he had
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 187

undertaken, and in breathless agitation he
sunk back into the arms of the sailor who
was nearest to him.

His faintness was imputed to his wound,
and he was carried immediately upon deck.
In a few moments the lately imprisoned
party swarmed around like bees escaping
from their hive. The buzz of voices again
broke on his ear; he was sensible of a
close pressure around him, and one, distinct
from all the rest, exclaimed—‘“' For Heaven's
sake stanch that wound! Oh that my
blood could flow for his!”

Tom opened his eyes, and, kneeling at his
feet, with anxiety marked in every feature,
beheld the object of his search—his brother!

For a moment he gazed upon him; it was
tndeed Charles—honest, affectionate, open-
hearted Charles—the brother of his infancy,
the friend of his heart; they were clasped in
each other’s arms, and every care and every
sorrow in that blessed moment were over-
paid to each.

Mutual inquiries succeeded; the surprise
of Charles was particularly excited on seeing
188 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

Tom’s situation; how did that surprise give
way to gratitude, and melt into even femi-
nine tenderness, when he learned that for
him the studious youth had left the “clois-
ters pale,” to dare the unknown deep, and
wander beneath the torrid zone, to seek, and,
were it needful, to reclaim him!

But, oh! how happy was Tom to find
that his brother had proved as worthy of his
pride as of his love, and that he, though far
distant, had been the means of holding him
steady in the path of virtue! and though he
wept bitterly over the long sufferings of his
painful captivity, he yet observed, with
honest exultation, that there was no dun-
geon so dark as a guilty conscience—no
state so degrading as a dishonored mind.

After the captain had made proper ar-
rangements with his prize, the packet was
appointed to convey her into port—an honor
she well merited, from the noble, though in-
effectual resistance she had made, and of
course the brothers returned to London to-
gether.

As Charles was aware that his mother
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 189

would be then expecting him, from the arri-
val of Humphrey, he made his appearance
first, and was welcomed by her with all the
delight which a mother so situated could feel
towards her first-born son, now become a
fine young man, equal to being the guardian
and support of his widowed parent and her
helpless daughter; that daughter next
claimed his attention—a lovely flower, that
sought his protecting tenderness to rear it to
maturity, as a brother and a father; with
what pleasure did he gaze—how did his
kind heart repeat a thousand kind promises
he could not utter!

“But, dear heart!” said the mother, “ our
poor Tom is not here to share our pleasure.”

“Yes, indeed, my dear mother, he is very
near us.”

With unmixed pleasure the happy ren-
counter was now related, and in a few min-
utes both the sons stood before their mother ;
and although the younger, to the surprise of
many of his acquaintance, bore witness that
“he had been in the wars,” yet he was evi-
dently but little the worse for it.
140 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

The happy party were broken in upon
by Humphrey, who had proved himself to
Charles a good and faithful servant, and as
such had been rewarded by Charles's master,
and who now beheld what he had long
wished for, the young man who had literally
been the good Samaritan to him, in posses-
sion of health and happiness in his own
country, and surrounded by his own family;
but this happiness was further increased,
when Mr. Coulston arriving, warmly wel-
comed the wanderer, and with a countenance
that said, in the language of Holy Writ—
‘Welcome, thou good and faithful servant,”
informed him of the intention he had previ-
ously expressed of taking him into partner-
ship.— Besides this,” added Mr. Coulston,
“T find Tam commissioned by poor Hinck-
ley, whose papers have only just come to
hand, to pay you a legacy of five hundred
pounds, or failing your life, he has given it
to your mother.”

“Then be it hers, my dear sir,” said
Charles; “it will furnish her a house, in
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 141

-which, through your kindness, I hope to
maintain her in comfort.”

With sentiments of approbation Mr. Coul-
ston now took leave. The conversation be-
came more regular; and even Emily took
a share in it, inquiring, with all the lively
curiosity of youth, and particularly with that
awakened by her reading, of all the wonder-
ful things that her brother had seen during
an absence which had lasted more than half
of her whole life.

Charles replied to all her inquiries with
the most endearing kindness, and lamented
that he had been able to bring her but few
proofs of his remembrance, and those by no
means valuable. In adverting to this, he
was induced to speak of his obligations to
Mainwaring; and thus fully and satisfac-
torily explained to his family how his un-
fortunate connection with that young man
had arisen.

As Emily did not find this very entertain-
ing, she had skipped down stairs to Hum-
phrey, who had delighted her with the
wonderful story of her brother rescuing an
142 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

old Spaniard from the very jaws of the most
terrible tiger that was ever heard of; and
when she came back, she repeated the won-
derful tale so as greatly to affect the nerves
of her mother, and call forth the admiration
of her younger brother.

“There was nothing particular in that
part of the story,” said Charles, eager to
silence his own praises; “but there was un-
doubtedly something very singular in the
circumstance of my meeting with the same
person in Martinique.”

“Oh dear, how was that?” cried Emily,
eagerly, as she pressed up to take the offered
place on his knee.

“Tt was thus, my little inquisitor. One
evening, at the time when I was exceedingly
busy, preparing for the departure of Hum-
phrey, we were returning home from the
ship, and in crossing the quay, perceived
some Portuguese sailors hustling, and, as we
apprehended, il]-using an old man, dressed
in the habit of their own. country.

, “My man, who is rather subject to using
a word and a blow as a conclusive argument,
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 148

soon laid about him, in such a manner as to
rescue the man, but not till one wretch had
‘plunged his knife in his side. Humphrey
knocked the offender down. I took the sick
man in my arms, and being, as you see,
pretty strong, carried him fairly away, and
would have conveyed him to my lodgings,
but in a faint voice he requested to be car-
ried to his own; and accordingly I took him
there, being now followed by Humphrey,
who at the first glance of his face exclaimed
-—‘ Well, if this isn’t Signor Francisco, I'll
be flogged; the sailors swore he was a
famous miser—the lying scoundrels !’

“The wounded man now recollected us
both, and lamented that his countrymen,
more cruel than the tiger, had proved mortal
to their prey; but he admitted that they
had spoken only the truth, and lamented
‘that his avaricious disposition made all the
world his enemies.”

“And did he really die?” cried Emily.

“Indeed he did, my dear, on the following
day, about two hours after Humphrey em-
barked, I was with him at the last, and

N
144 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

shall never forget his earnest adjuration, that
I would remember that ‘God abhorreth the
covetous man.’ Indeed he gave me a little
book, which, he said, contained the history
of his life, and which, some winter evening,
we will all read together. I packed it up
carefully with the rest of my papers, though,
like its owner, it was pretty well battered
and weather-worn.”

‘Oh, how I should like to look at it!”

“Well, if you can get Humphrey to un-
cord that box, and will be very careful how
you remove the contents, your curiosity may
be satisfied.”

Emily was soon in possession of the ex-
pected prize, and like many other possessors,
found herself sadly disappointed at an old
vellum case, on which was written only—
“The dying bequest of him who during his
life gave too little, in order that he might
leave too much behind him.”

“Dear brother, this is no history at all,
but only loose papers. Look at them—I
can make nothing of them—I suppose it
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS. 146

was not intended that little girls should un-
derstand them.”

Charles took them from her hand, and
beheld with astonishment securities for ten
thousand pounds in the English funds, all
legally presented and appropriated to his
use.

“Look! look! you have dropped one
paper,” said the child.

The one paper was a loose envelope of
four bank bills of fifty pounds each, directed
to Humphrey by the trembling hand of the
expiring donor.

The sight of these bills awoke inquiry in
all, and all, with equal delight, beheld the
magnificent reward of Charles’s courage and
kindness—the recompense of his virtue and
industry, and congratulated him upon it with
tears of joyful satisfaction.

“To make it indeed a blessing,” said
Charles, ‘ Tom must consent to share it with
me; one-half of this, employed with my
late excellent master, will form a rich in-
come for my mother and myself—the other,

placed in government funds, will be a small
10
146 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

but permanent and sufficient income for you,
my dear brother; and added to that fellow-
ship you will, I doubt not, soon enjoy, render
you as easy in your circumstances as a man
whose wealth is books would wish to be.”

“Freely have you given, and freely will I
take,” answered Thomas; “for in doing it, I
know I give you happiness: I ask only out
of this same income, sometimes to share my
mother with you.” .

The mother turned to reply, her eyes
swimming with pious tears; but before she
could speak, the entrance of a stranger
obliged her suddenly to wipe them from her
cheeks; for there was nothing in the gentle-
man’s appearance that argued sympathy with
such a scene as this,

“T presume, madam,” said he, “that you
are the mother, and therefore natural guardi-
an, of this infant, by name Emily Harewood,
daughter of the late Charles Harewood and
Louisa his wife ?”

Mrs. Harewood coldly answered she was.

“Then, madam, it is my duty and busi-
ness forthwith to inform you, that by the
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 147

will of the late John Basset, Esq., deceased,
said infant becomes possessed of ten thou-
sand pounds three per cent. consols, so soon
as she arrives at the age of twenty-one years,
interest, ad interim, payable to you for her
board and education; which interest ceasing,
you shall receive three hundred per annum
for remainder of your natural life.”

Joy again chained every faculty of the
happy group, who perceived, in this delay-
ed kindness to the family of his friend, a
proof that Mr. Basset had been infected with
Signor Francisco’s easy-besetting sin; but
although delayed thus, it was still heartily
welcome, and awoke the most devout grati-
tude to that Almighty Protector who had
thus filled their cup of mercy full to over-
flowing, and had led them, through the
thick clouds of poverty and sorrow, to the
blessings of independence and prosperity.

The lessons of adversity were too deeply
and early written on their hearts to lose
their first and best impressions; they have
taught them still to tread the path of virtue
with humility, industry, and integrity, and
148 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS,

with especial gratitude acknowledge the
kindness of all those who looked upon them
in their low estate. Charles is at this time
not only the partner but the son-in-law of
his beloved master, one of the sweet girls
who pitied him as she sat in her father’s ba-
rouche, while he wept over his pony, having
become the wife of his bosom.

Thomas has lately become possessor of a
pleasant rectory in the romantic county of
Derby, where he is blessed by the society of
that dear mother, whose presence was ever
so peculiarly dear to him, and who hopes to
spend the evening of life with him in joyful
contemplation of a future. He is beloved
and revered by his rustic parishioners, and
admired and esteemed by their superi-
ors. He enjoys an extensive acquaintance
amongst great literary characters, and is
himself an approved author; but his higgest
praise is that of being a useful shepherd of
his flock—an upright and zealous minister
of the gospel he preaches.

Free from all affectation, and awake to
every social feeling, in the happy and grate-
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS, 149

ful intercourse he holds with his first learned
patron, he does not forget the kindness of
the worthy haberdasher, who is proud of
having once possessed him, and with whom
he holds the most friendly intercourse, fre-
quently owning that during his service
under him, he gained many essential bene-
fits, in those lesser improvements which
studious men are too apt to neglect, but
which are great advantages in the general
progress of life, since without them a man of
knowledge may appear foolish, and a wise
man prove disgusting.

As too great a regard to externals degen-
erates into coxcombry, and exhibits vanity
and weakness, so does the opposite extreme
descend to degrading slovenliness and soul-
subduing laziness, which equally destroy all
the finer action of the mental powers.

It will be perceived from this little his-
tory, that prudence is absolutely essential to
happiness, and that it is not enough for a
man to be honest; for duty demands that he
shall be likewise careful even in the day of
prosperity, though he is never called upon
150 AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.

to be mean and avaricious; and secondly,
that the cultivation and exercise of domes-
tic affection is at once the sweetest con-
solation in distress, the most delightful addi-
tion to joy, and the surest preservative to
virtue, without which there is no happiness
in life, or comfort in death.

Think of these things, my dear young
friends, and imitate the conduct, so shall you
deserve the pleasures experienced by the
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS.


THE SISTERS.
THE SISTERS.



CHAPTER I.

To Bristol's fount I bore, with trembling care,
Her faded form—she bow’d to taste the wave,
And died. Mason.

“Do not go so near to the edge of the
rocks, Olivia; a false step might produce
the most terrible consequences,” said Mra,
Mortimer to her daughter, as, with the rest
of a gay party, they clambered up the
neighboring mountains, to gain a more per-
fect view of the beautiful lake of Derwent-
water, near Keswick.

“My dear mother, there is not the least
danger: you are so used to the flat pave-
ments in London, that you fancy every stone
a rock, and every hillock a mountain: in
this place we can have nothing to dread:
had you seen the really terrible drive I took
yesterday, with Mr. St. Faire, what would
you have said then ?”

“T should have said then, what I say now,
6 THE SISTERS.

Olivia, that where danger is very apparent,
it induces care, which seldom fails to prove
@ preservative; but in trifling cases, where
less caution is necessary, we frequently suf-
fer from our entire neglect —a rule that will
apply, perhaps, as much to the path of life
in general, as to that we are pursuing.”
Olivia Mortimer, to whom this was ad-
dressed by her kind mother, had perhaps as
good an excuse for those light and buoyant
spirits, which urged her to pursue unheed-
ingly a slippery path, as any young person
-could possibly have. She was the only
‘child of amiable and wealthy parents, who
fondly loved and indulged her; she pos-
.seased uncommon beauty, agility, and grace:
“was just turned of eighteen, and was now
-on.a tour of pleasure to the northern lakes,
“with parents for whom she had the tender-
-est affection, friends for whom she felt the
‘warmest esteem, and a worthy youth, of most
_prepossessing manners, whom, with the sanc-
.tion of her father, and the truest regard of
her own heart, she had lately admitted to
consider himself as a received lover; his
happiness on that account considerably aug-
mented her own, since it accorded not only
with the increasing partiality she felt for
him, but with the general sympathy of her
gentle and benevolent disposition, which,
THE SISTERS. 7

though very sprightly, was ever alive to the
feelings and wishes of those around her.

Perhaps human happiness, in all the va-
rious scenes and modifications in which it
is enjoyed, presents nothing more truly ex-
cellent than that which must be enjoyed
by a young person so situated, “when all
things charm, for life itself is new ;” there is
an elasticity in the spirits, a spring in the
heart, which gives power to seize on every
form of beauty, and follow every vision of
the imagination to their utmost limit of en-
joyment. On the path of Olivia shone light
without a cloud, roses unmingled with
thorns; admired by all eyes, commended by
all tongues, and, in appearance at least, be-
loved by all hearts, without one wish ungrat-
ified for the present, or one fear for the fu-
ture, whose promises were those of love and
hope, no wonder that her light foot, like her
still lighter heart, scarcely pressed the turf
it trod upon, and called for the caution of
her mother, whose solicitude kept pace with
her affections, a peculiar characteristic of
maternal love, seldom estimated by the
young and lively

“Too much care is a very bad thing, my
dear mother,” said Olivia, in reply to Mrs.
Mortimer’s last observation: “look at the
children of the peasantry; they skip and
8 THE SISTERS.

ran like mountain goats, and gain by their
activity the bloom of health, and the power
of varying their pleasures. Before I return
to London, you will see me able to outdo all
the urchins, I hope.”
In order to convince Mrs. Mortimer more
fully, Olivia had turned round, and with a
layful smile, her eyes fixed on her mother's
ed and her hands extended in aid of her
words, was thus giving her reasons, stepping
of course backwards. She was the foremost
of the party, her lover had given his arm to
her mother, Mr. Mortimer was some dis-
tance below, assisting the mother and sister
of Mr. St. Faire, when just as she had pro-
nounced the last words, she set her foot on
-some loose gravelly sand, and instantly fell
backwards with great force, but for so short
a space, that, although the alarmed mother
screamed, the rest of the party had all the
inclination possible to laugh at her, and rally
her on the vain boast. Their emotion was
quien changed when they perceived, on
t. Faire springing to her assistance, that
she was utterly unable to rise; and when
they endeavored to move her, she shrieked
in such agonies, as to alarm all who heard
er
Mr. St. Faire in distracted haste flew back
to Keswick for a carriage and a surgeon;
THE SISTERS, $

during his absence, poor Olivia had fallen
into a degth-like swoon, from which she
only recovered to complain of most acute
pain. Yet it plainly appeared that she had
not fractured any limb, and her head was
perfectly uninjured; but on raising her, it
was discovered that she had fallen upon an
obtruding stone, and there was reason to
fear the pain she experienced arose from
some injury to the spine, and 4 surgical ex-
amination proved this to be the fact.

To describe the affliction of her parents is
impossible: Mrs. Mortimer for many weeks
hung over the sick-bed of her suffering dar-
ling, scarcely hoping for life, nor knowin
what she ought to desire, as there appeared
no prospect in protracted existence but that
of protracted suffering. Perhaps the ex-
treme distress of Mr. St. Faire for a time
exceeded even that of her mother, for grief,
as a passion, is felt violently in youth. He
was scarcely two-and-twenty, and like his
betrothed Olivia, was affluent and happy in
his connections, and had never felt a sorrow
till now, for the only loss he had sustained,
which was that of his father, had taken

lace too early in life to be remembered by
im with any regret; this sudden affliction
therefore overwhelmed him the more as it
was unexpected.
10 THE SISTERS.

During a considerable period, tne great
and continual pain in which poor Olivia
lay, induced the medical attendants to ad-
minister so much opium, that the operation
of her reason was in a great measure sus-
pended, and when she ceased to complain,
she was in perpetual stupor; and the fine
features that were one hour writhing in
agony, were the next vacated by thought—
what were the feelings of the mother, who
was wont to see them so full of intelligence,
vivacity, and sensibility ? how felt the proud
father, whose hopes were crushed by such a
stroke of wretchedness ?

At length Mrs. St. Faire, her son, and
daughter, were obliged to return to London,
some affairs there needing their presence;
and as Olivia was recovering, though slowly,
it was hoped that the Mortimers would be
able to follow before winter; being anxious,
to the greatest degree, to secure for their
darling that higher medical help, to be found
only in the metropolis. St. Faire departed,
still nourishing that hope which youth
nurses in despite of probability, and vowing
eternal fidelity to one, whose sufferings only
rendered her still dearer to his heart, and
whom he felt if possible more engaging,
more fondly and tenderly endeared, stretch
ed pale and helpless on the bed of sickness,
THE SISTERS.

than she had been in all the bloom of beauty
and gayety of health.

A degree of amendment was at length
perceptible, and the fears of death were re-
moved; but alas! a dreadful and cureless
deformity had taken place; and that grace-
ful form so full of animation, and so long
remarked as the very standard of elegance,
was warped, as it appeared, beyond all res-
toration, thoughe the pain to which it sub-
jected her admitted of alleviation ;—her
color was entirely gone, and a cold and
livid paleness overspread her features; and
hei sunken eyes, robbed of their brilliance,
seen.ed to mourn over the wreck of that
beauty, which had fled with the more valu-
able enjoyment of health

In this situation was Olivia Mortimer, the
late envied belle, whose form had attracted
the admiration of all, brought back to the
circle which had so lately considered her
person the model of beauty, and her dress
the standard of taste; who had extolled
her accomplishments, sought her friendship,
copied her manners, and in every possible
way flattered her self-love, and won her
good-will. The tender compassion they
evincéd, for a time soothed and affected
her; but she was soon condemned to see
that envy could exult in her affliction, and
12 THE SISTERS.

carelessness forget her solitude; and that
now she had ceased to be worshipped as an
idol, she also ceased to be remembered as a
friend—that many who had hung round her
as the companion of a ball-room, with adu-
lation on their lips, ceased to make an in-
quiry, or sit an hour beside her couch. No
more the harbinger of pleasure, or the direc-
tor of fashion, she was no longer consulted
about a gala dress, or advised with on a
card of compliments; but, compassion ex-
hausted, and ceremony satisfied, was allow-
ed to remain in her isolated apartment, a
lonely and forsaken sufferer, to wear out
the tedious day in lamentations for past
pleasure, and vague hopes for the future,
over which the heart sickened whilst it fed.

Every medical man of eminence was con-
sulted, various means were resorted to, and
many painful experiments made, but all to
very little purpose; some degree of general
health was restored, but no essential altera-
tion effected. Watering-places were then
tried with as little success; though the sea
did prove in a considerable degree bene-
ficial, yet it failed to produce any change
in that unhappy shape, which now became
confirmed deformity, including certain ail-
ments, which, though not immediately de-
structive to life, must effectually check all
THE SISTERS. ‘13

enjoyment of it, and confirm the unhappy
Olivia an invalid for the rest of a life, which,
nevertheless, might be a long one.

For two long years St. Faire continued to
hope, and fear, and doubt, and feel ; deter-
mined never to renounce the connection,
though urged to it by every argument the
purest love and friendship could adduce—
alas! it was in these two years St. Faire
became most sensible of the value of the
jewel thus wrested from his grasp, but
which probably could never have shone
with equal brightness, if it had not been
thus purified in the fire of affliction. But
whatever were his sufferings, how bitter
soever his tears, or strong and unabating
his regard, it fell far, far short of the sor-
rows necessarily felt by the mother, who, in
perpetually chaining herself to the apart-
ment of her daughter, in watching every
indication of pain in her countenance, and
anticipating every thing she was about to
suffer from expected operations, and above
all, in sympathizing with her mental dis-
tress, might be truly said to suffer so much
with her, and for her, that she bore the
greater part of this heavy calamity; and it
was observed, that as poor Olivia regained
some degree of strength, her mother’s pro-
portionably wasted, and that at the time I
14 THE SISTERS.

speak of, Mrs. Mortimer was evidently in a
ecline.

Mrs. Mortimer, to all those virtues which
render a woman truly estimable and be-
loved, added a deep sense of religion; or I
might say with more propriety, being really
a religious woman, all those virtues and
qualities, which render a character amiable
and valuable, naturally sprang up in her, as
the fruits of that celestial plant in her soul.
Mr. Mortimer, though a worthy, sensible,
generous, and accomplished man, possessing
what is called a “ sense of religion,” was not
equally excellent with herself, and being
proud of Olivia’s person and accomplish-
ments, had been inclined to prevent her
from partaking of what he chose to consider
the gloomy side of his lady’s mind; though
it is certain, that Mrs. Mortimer possessed
more steady cheerfulness than himself, and
had on many occasions proved, by her
resignation to the Divine will, that she was
enabled to extract peace, even from the
hand of sorrow, and support him at times
when he was called to support her.

These trials had consisted of the sickness
and death of three fine boys, who had been
at different times taken from them in in-
fancy, and whose loss had been the more
lamented, as a considerable estate now in
THE SISTERS, 15

Mr. Mortimer’s possession, was entailed on
the male heir, a very distant relation, per-
sonally unknown to the present possessor,
who was very naturally led to desire that a
child of his own might inherit the estate he
had received from his father. As, however,
the all-wise Disposer thought good to rob
him of this hope, he did not therefore sit
down in sullen discontent, but animated by
the example of his wife, when his first sor-
row had subsided, he consoled himself with
the treasure he had still left from the wreck
of his family; and in the personal accom-

lishments, and amiable disposition of his
daughter, found comfort for the loss he had
sustained; when all his fondest hopes were
overthrown by this fatal stroke. Poor Mrs,
Mortimer had not only to sustain her own
severe affliction, in beholding the sufferings
of her only child, and to give her continual
attention and support, but she had likewise
perpetual calls on her patience and condo-
lence from her husband, whose spirits and
temper were affected by this unlooked-for
misfortune, in a manner the most painful to
his meek and religious wife, who beheld,
with infinite concern, that the heart of her
dear partner in suffering did not yield that
resignation to the Divine will he had hith-
erto manifested; being ready to cry out
16 THE SISTERS.

with the rebellious Cain—‘ Behold | my
punishment is greater than I can bear.”

o obviate this increase of her sorrow, Mrs.
Mortimer endeavored, by the most unre-
mitting exertion, to bend his mind to the
Divine will, and by her own fortitude to
excite his; she was cheerful in her manners,
though her heart was torn with anguish,
and she endeavored alternately to excite
hope, and guard against disappointment ;
so as to enable him to cast his cares upon
the Omnipotent hand that thus allotted
them, and yet to excite him to perpetual
exertion to obtain the means Providence
has appointed for relief; well knowing, that
when every effort proves inefficacious, there
is still a consolation left in the heart, from
the sense of having done our best for the
benefit of thoge we love. Thus circum-
stanced, Mrs. Mortimer might be said to
have two beings, both infinitely dear to her,
hanging upon her for comfort and help, at
the very time when her frame, enfeebled by
past suffering and present exertion, really
called for the help she was bestowing; and
it was therefore no wonder, that although
her mind was enabled to draw succor from
above, by the continual exercise of faith
and prayer, that her frame sunk beneath
the conflict and silently sought for reat in
THE SISTERS. 17

the tomb; of her sufferings it might be said
truly—

“The saint sustained them, but the woman died.”

So fearful was this tender mother of adding
to her daughter’s sorrow, that she could not
bear to reveal to her the gradual decline she
felt in her health, until concealment was no
longer practicable; and the medical attend-
ants on Olivia had declared that they con-
sidered her mother in much more danger
than she had ever been, so far as her life
was concerned. Mr. Mortimer awoke as
from a dream of despondency to a sight of
horror; and found, when too late, that in
lamenting his child, he had neglected his
wife—and Olivia saw that the purchase of
her remaining life, and circumscribed com-
forts, was paid with the loss of her invalu-
able mother: both, alarmed and tenderly
affected, insisted on removing immediately
to Bristol, in the faint hope that those cele-
brated wells might stop the progress of
decline ; and with Divine assistance, restore
to them the amiable and exalted being,
whose worth was most truly estimated in
the hour when she was about to be taken
from them ; for though ever fondly beloved,
and highly estimated, yet never so very
dearly, so very tenderly, as now.
18 THE SISTERS,

The journey, and the waters, produced
their usual effects, a partial amendment,
which, contrary to the common rule, de-
ceived all but the patient, who grew every
day more conscious of the awful change
that awaited her, and became the more
solicitous to improve the precious moments,
so quickly approaching to their final close.
She perceived, with gratitude to Heaven,
that the heart of her child was now so
fondly drawn towards her, that every word
she uttered was treasured as a precious
deposit, and every proof,she gave of resig-
nation to the Divine will, was considered by
Olivia as containing this advice, “go thou
and do likewise ;” and she seized on these
moments of meekness and tender sorrow, to
impress on the ductile mind of the youthful
sufferer, with new interest and power, all
the leading truths of the gospel, the invalu-
able precepts it conveys, and the gracious
promises it contains. She led her so to
store her mind with the virtues, and so to
fortify her heart with the faith and hope
Christianity alone inspires, that whenever
she should be called away, Olivia would
not sink under the affliction, deeply as she
would feel it, but would be enabled, not-
withstanding the melancholy privation to
which she was subject, to lead a life happy
THE SISTERS. 19

to herself, beneficial to her fellow-creature
and glorious to that God, whose hand ha

- chastened her so severely; but who never
faileth to help those who trust in Him, and
who “giveth the garment of praise for the
spirit of heaviness,” even in cases so deepl
and incurably afflictive, where the heart is
so torn from all its fondest hopes and most
allowable expectations, as to preclude all
earthly comfort, and justify the mourner in
saying, “behold and see, if there is any
sorrow like unto my sorrow, with which the
Lord afflicteth me.”

Mrs. Mortimer had not wept and prayed
in vain; she lived to “see the travail of
her soul, and was satisfied ;” for every step.
which brought her nearer to the grave,
brought the child of her hopes nearer to:
the character she so anxiously desired to see-
her attain; and reconciled her to exchang-.
ing the sweet dream of felicity that she had:
once indulged, of beholding her daughter a.
happy wife and mother, lovely and beloved,
to considering her that isolated being, an
ailing, ordinary, old maid, unblest by natu-
ral connections, necessarily bereft of the
man she still tenderly loved, and probably
forsaken by her youthful acquaintance, and
deserted by an ill-judging world. She:
knew, that in every situation of life, a

P
20 THE SISTERS.

Christian can find the sweetest enjoyment
in the exercise of benevolence towards
others; and that, although our heavenly
Father “chastiseth every child whom he
receiveth,” yet “he strikes with pity, and
but wounds to heal.”

Thus consoled, her last moments were
spent in giving comfort to her comforters,
by strenuously pointing out, to both her hus-
band and child, the blessings each enjoyed
in the other, and what both might enjoy in
possessing themselves more fully of that
religion, which is the stay of the afflicted,
:and which she felt more excellent, the nearer
she approached that awful bourne, where
only it can be duly estimated. As Mr. St.
Faire had come to the hot-wells for the ex-
press purpose of once more seeing a lady for
whom he had entertained a truly filial re-
gard, she admitted him into her apartment,
as if he were indeed her son, and at length
prevailed on her poor Olivia to meet him by
her bedside. This she had not yet accom-
plished, owing, perhaps, to some little re-
maining vanity in the poor girl, who could
not hitherto be prevailed upon to expose her
altered person, and withered features, to the
eye of him who was wont to gaze upon them
with delight, and who had by many an
affectionate epistle sought to renew the con-
THE SISTERS. 21

nection so fatally suspended. This meetmg
was extremely affecting; it served at once to
annihilate hope and cement. friendship, to
give a death-blow to that youthful passion
which still lurked in the breast of St. Faire,
and establish that higher regard which
Olivia now merited, more than before. Mrs.
Mortimer read the feelings of both parties,
and happy to see her daughter obtain more
composure in the company of this young
man, than she had once expected she woul
have enjoyed, she earnestly recommended to
him a steady observance of the advice one
so attached to him, and who knew the
nature he possessed so well, might from time
to time be enabled to give. On the other
side, she requested Olivia ever to treat him
with the openness and confidence of a sister,
saying that the time might probably come
when she would need a counsellor and
friend; and that although misfortune had
put them asunder, Providence might yet,en-
able them, in many ways, to assist and help
each other, if each resolved so to conquer
their own wills, as to subdue sorrow for the
past by friendship for the present. Finding
erself much exhausted by speaking, she
desired Mr. Mortimer might be called:
when he entered, he perceived a considerable
change had taken place since he had left the
22 THE SISTERS.

room, and flew towards her, with alarm pic-
tured on his countenance. She took his
hand, and endeavored to relate what she had
said to St. Faire; but finding herself unable
to proceed, beckoned the young man nearer
to ber—she took his hand, and joining it
to Mr. Mortimer’s, then made a motion for
Olivia’s also: the poor girl drew near, trem-
bling, but offered her hand; alas! at what a
moment did it meet that of her once-be-
trothed lover! Mrs. Mortimer took them
all together, and for some minutes bent over
them in silent, but fervent prayer—then ex-
erting herself, by a last effort, she audibly
blessed them all; when, overcome by the
exertion, she feebly commended her own
soul to Heaven, smiled on them, and ex-
pired.



CHAPTER IL

————— Ere you choose,
Pause, ponder, sift, deliberate, and weigh.
Youne.

WHEN the last awful duties were paid to

the beloved remains of this excellent woman,

the father and daughter mutually endeavored

to console each other for the severe loss they

had sustained, drawn to this by their mutual
THE SISTERS. 23

affection, and conscious that it would meet
the approval of that blessed spirit, who, if it
were possible, was still watching over their
happiness, and increasing their love. They
did not, according to the usual custom, fly
from the scene of their sorrow, but found a
kind of pensive satisfaction from still linger-
ing near the loved remains, and in retracing
the steps of her who was so dear to them ;
and as there was at present very little com-

pany, and poor Olivia was naturally desirous - ~:

of remaining unseen, she prevailed on her
father to take lodgings for the winter—which
he willingly did, under the idea, that the air
and waters might help to restore that health
to her which they could not give her more
debilitated mother

Tn the course of the winter several patients
were brought to the wells, whose extreme
weakness rendered it unlikely they should
ever leave it; and both they, and the friends
who attended them, naturally excited much
interest and sympathy, in a family 4who
knew so well how to appreciate their afflic-
tion ; and although Olivia never appeared in
public, except at divine service, she was
ever ready to perform the office of the good
Samaritan for all who needed it. It so hap-
pened, that during the following spring, just
as they were about to leave the hot-wells, in
24 THE SISTERS.

consequence of the great accession of com-
pany, a part of their lodging-house was
taken by a widow lady, who was so far ad-
vanced in a decline, that she died the day
after her arrival—an event so singularly dis-
tressing, that Mr. Mortimer and his daughter,
finding that she was attended by a daughter
and a niece, felt it their duty to offer any
assistance in their power to two young peo-
ple so painfully situated. They were the
more inclined to do this from learning that
the poor lady who was dead, having sub-
sisted principally on an annuity, her daughter
was now called upon to cope, not only with
the affliction of losing her only parent, but
of encountering comparative poverty, her
own fortune being very small: her niece
was understood to be only a visitant, drawn
from motives of humanity to accompany the
ladies on this melancholy occasion.

The kind offer of Miss Mortimer to wait
spon them was thankfully accepted: but it
was*impossible for poor Olivia not to per-
ceive, that even the affliction of Miss Bol-
ton, the daughter, did not prevent her from
eyeing the person of her visitant with looks
of contempt, rather than pity, and a kind of
manne which said—‘‘If you were not a
woe of large fortune, I would not speak
to you.” The amiable visitant had entered
THE SISTERS, 25

the room, with a heart beating with every
tender emotion towards a young woman
suffering under the first shock of the same
bereavement, which she herself yet deeply
deplored: her heart was warm, and her hand
liberal, and as she was just coming of age,
and would then take possession of her
mother’s jointure, she was revolving in her
mind in what manner she could assist the
dependant orphan, without wounding her
delicacy, at the very time when the chill:
reception she met with fell like an ice-bolt
on her warm and benevolent heart. She did
not, however, suffer the impression to re-
main; she reflected that her form was in-
deed altered, and that allowance must be
made for the feelings of a stranger, who had
evidently consulted her glass, even in the
midst of her distress, and who had seen
there a form of uncommon grace, and was
therefore not prepared for one of the appear-
ance hers now wore. es
While thus correcting in herself dat
proneness to anger, the best of human beings
are but too apt to indulge under such cir-
cumstances, the entrance of Emily Lewis,
the niece of the deceased lady, relieved her
feelings in the most agreeable way, by the
endearing suavity and unaffected kindness
of her manners, the gratitude that she ex-
26 THE SISTERS.

pressed, and the piety with which she
adverted to the awful circumstance which
had now occasioned them to meet. For her
sake Olivia determined to renew her visits,
as her benevolence towards the cousin was
not merely governed by her feelings, being
equally the result of her principles and her
sensibility. She would not have done less
real good to Miss Bolton, had an opportunity
occurred, because she thought herself an
unpleasant visitant to her; but without the
motive she now possessed, it is hardly likely
that she would have ventured again to ex-
pose herself to the same conduct; though
she had engaged to perform offices of friend-
ship, for one who certainlv needed it,
whether she merited it or not.

On the following day, Mr. Mortimer ac-
companied his daughter, and Miss Bolton
received both with such improved manners,
and such thankful expressions, that Olivia
rejoiced that she had not mentioned her first
fears respecting this young lady to her father,
conscious that he would have condemned her
for indulging in an unfair conclusion. She
now felt as if she must have mistaken the
apparent coldness of Miss Bolton, and not
remembered as she ought, that grief affects
people in very different ways, and that the
sympathizing interest she had really taken
THE SISTERS. 27

for her, might have appeared to that lady
affectation or intrusion. She perceived that,
although yet a very fine woman, Miss Bolton
was at least thirty, that she had lived much
in the world, and Olivia’s mother had told
her an intercourse of that kind seldom failed
to plant suspicion, and eradicate ingenuous-
ness from the heart; she therefore concluded
they had not understood each other at first,
but might prove more assimilated on further
acquaintance. On the other hand, Emily
Lewis was younger than herself, and, like
herself, untaught to repel affection, or better
taught than to value exterior alone; she
turned towards the sweet girl with a smile
of sisterly affection, and in a short time con-
firmed all the kind predilections she had felt
for her. Having dismissed the prejudice she
had allowed to creep in upon her mind, re-
specting her cousin, it was no wonder that
from this time the families became as inti-
mate as possible, every circumstance con-
tributing to unite them; and when Mr.
Mortimer and his daughter set out for Lon-
don, a pressing invitation was given to both
the strangers, to visit them there the follow-
ing winter, which Miss Bolton accepted im-
mediately ; Miss Lewis conditionally, as she
must consult her parents, to whom she was
now returning with her cousin, who would
28 THE SISTERS.

remain with them till she had considered
how to dispose of herself.

The late Mrs. Bolton was the widow of ¢
physician, who had died too early in life to
make any provision for his wife and daughter,
beyond the furniture of a large handsome
house in which he had lived, and an annuity
secured to his lady at the time of his mar-
riage, by sinking her fortune. If, with this
annuity, and the property arising from the
sale of his effects, she had retired into the
country, and lived prudently, she might not
only have enjoyed every convenience de-
sired in respectable society, but have insured
them to her daughter, who was entering her
fourteenth year at the time of her father’s
decease. Unfortunately Mrs. Bolton feared
there was no happiness to be found in this
life, except in a certain circle, into which she
had been, ever since her marriage, endeavor-
ing to push herself, with various success:
being sometimes very graciously received,
as “a, pretty, obliging woman, whom no one
need be ashamed of introducing;” at others,
looked down upon as an impertinent intruder,
who must be stared out of countenance, or
contemptuously neglected. At the time of
the doctor's death, the last state appeared in-
evitable, and it is difficult to say whether the
widow wept the most for the loss of her hus-
THE SISTERS. 29

band, who was really a very worthy man,
or the loss of that station in society which
she had begun to consider her own ;—her
grief was, however, checked by the con-
sideration that her daughter gave the prom-
ise of being a beauty, and that if she could
manage, by any means, to keep up her
present establishment in society for two or
three years, and improve the advantages of
person which her daughter possessed, by
those accomplishments now so generally
called for, it was possible that her marrage
with some wealthy, and perhaps titled man,
would at once place her on a permanent
footing, in the position she so much wished
to retain.

Full of this scheme, Mrs. Bolton shook
off her sorrows, curtailed her expenses in
private, increased them in public, and took
especial pains to improve the person and
charms of her daughter, who was a haughty
spoiled child, but possessed of sufficient
adroitness and vanity to enter into all the
ideas her foolish mother wished to inspire.
From this time the life of both parent and
child was a continual struggle to keep up
appearances, which is, of all other kinds of
slavery, the most to be shunned by those who
seek happiness—despised by those who pos-
sess integrity; and while it never fails to be
30 THE SISTERS,

seen through, meets the contempt and de-
Tision of those who observe it. Ever in
debt, the life of Mrs. Bolton consisted in
giving entertainments which made her heart
ache; feasts, which were the prelude to
fasts; and promises to creditors, which
were meant to be broken, or fulfilled only for
the purpose of doubling the debt, her spirits
supported, from time to time, by the vague
hope of seeing her daughter beloved as
much as she was admired, and that some
one of the many danglers who attended her
in public, as a fine fashionable girl, whom
Lord Dashwell admired, and Sir Harry
swore was enchanting, would really seek her
in marriage

But year after year rolled on, and the
beauteous, charming, fascinating, bewitch-
ing Caroline Bolton, dressed and undressed,
sighed and laughed, flirted with one, senti-
mentalized with another, and angled for all,
without ever catching a husband. The poor
mother, worn down with long expectation,
saw her error, when too late; disappointed
in her hopes, harassed by her creditors, and
even reproached by the daughter whom she
had ever fondly loved, and to whose aggran-
dizement she had sacrificed all her comforts,
she sunk into a decline, which increased
with rapidity. The necessity of the case at
THE SISTERS. 31

length obliged her to take cognizance of her
affairs, and by disposing of her furniture, to
settle the more immediate claims on her

urse; her journey to Bristol having ex-
fansted her little strength, and shown her
that another state of existence was opening
to her view, for which she was wholly un-
prepared; that the gulf of poverty was
yawning beneath the feet of her idolized
Caroline ;—she was at once overwhelmed
with the prospect, and sunk the day after
her arrival, as we have already related;
leaving her daughter the possession of her
faults, without any portion of her repentance
for them. She was, in fact, more proud and
thoughtless towards others, and extravagant
for herself, than her mother had ever been;
having learnt no other lesson from strug-
gling with difficulties, but that of affecting
principles when it suited her convenience,
disguising native haughtiness by specious
dissimulation, and substituting politeness of
manners for gentleness of temper and be-
nevolence of heart.

Such was the person who, at the appointed
time, became a visitant at the house of Mr.
Mortimer; her taste for dissipation and ex-
travagance was now checked by habit, as
well as necessity; having been for several
months resident with Mr. Lewis, who was a
32 THE SISTERS.

country gentleman, the half-brother of Dy.
Bolton, a worthy good man, who had in
vain endeavored to check the follies of rela-
tives who never sought his society, except
in some season of difficulty or distress, and
whose good-nature induced him to forget
their faults in the hour of their sufferings.
He accompanied Caroline to the house of
Mr. Mortimer, that he might satisfy his own
mind as to the propriety of allowing his
daughter to visit there; and when properly
assured, he sent her over from his house in
Berkshire, about a week after Miss Bolton.
Olivia received her with joy, and their
friendship became as permanent as sincere.
Olivia discovered in Emily the temper and
disposition which she thought most calcula-
ted to make Mr. St. Faire happy, and she
spared no pains to instruct her in those
things which she knew to be most agreeable
to him. When she thought the improved
state of Emily’s mind warranted her in the
affectionate plan she had formed for their
mutual happiness, she introduced them to
each other; and placed her young friend in
such an engaging point of view, that St.
Faire could not fail to be pleased with one
who so much resembled, in the most essential
qualities, the person he had once so tenderly
loved. In time the friendship he had con-
THE SISTERS. 33.

ceived increased into affection, but he did
not disclose his feelings until Olivia had
made known to him her opinion and wishes:
he heard her not unmoved, for it was pain-
ful to him to believe she could resign him ;
even while he felt grateful for the strong in-
terest she so evidently took in his happiness.
For awhile they mourned over their mutual
misfortune; but after this distressing con-
versation St. Faire explained his feelings to
Emily, who already felt a great regard for
him, for his own sake, as well as that of the
dear friend whom they alike esteemed; and,
sensible that she could conscientiously de-
vote herself to soothing his early sorrows,
she referred him to her father, who soon
learnt sufficient of his character to be thank-
ful to Providence for having led his daughter
to a connection which not only advanced her
situation in life, but placed her under the
protection of a good man, which is the high-
est title humanity can aspire to.

Olivia had scarcely time to rejoice in a
union so agreeable to her wishes, when she
discovered the advances of another, which
cost her many sighs, that of her father with
Miss Bolton, though she was at this time
happily ignorant of those circumstances in
that lady’s character, which, if known, would
have overwhelmed her with wretchedness.
34 THE SISTERS.

During the hours which Olivia had dedicated
to the instruction of Emily, this lady had
devoted herself to Mr. Mortimer; and by,
encouraging him to repose his sorrows on
her sympathy, had learnt that his first great
affliction was the death of his sons. This
sorrow she had taken care so to renew and
keep alive in his mind, that at length it pos-
sessed it wholly, and it was by her care con-
fided only to her ear, lest it should wound
the bosom of Olivia; from this subject it
was easy to advert to the possibility of pre-
serving the family by a second marriage.
Mr. Mortimer was only forty-five, and a
very handsome man; this was delicately
hinted, and such hints thrown out by a very
handsome woman, who was herself no longer
a girl, could not be disregarded. Mr. Mor-
timer loved his daughter, but alas! all hope
of her perpetuating his family was over, and
every man wishes to live in his offspring;
and though the memory of his excellent
wife was still very dear to him, he flattered
himself he should be happy with another.
So attached was he to old feelings and con-
nections, that he never would have stepped
aside to find a new one; but an imprudent
acquaintance had wound a toil round him,
which promised too much to be broken,
even though it was not wholly consented to
THE SISTERS. 35

in the heart; and with a species of reluctant
willingness, Mr. Mortimer at length resigned
himself to Miss Bolton, as if he could not
help it; while his daughter, with extreme
solicitude for the future, regretted that the
past had eluded her notice, till it was too
late for her to help it.



CHAPTER ITI.

—-----— each mother void of grace,

Asks for her child the dowry of a face;

Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring,

And Sediey curse the form that charm’d a king.

JOHNSON.
Mrs. Mortimer had weighed too well the
character of her husband, to believe it pos-
sible that even her attractions, however
highly she estimated them, would enable her
to return all at once to the gay world, with
that appearance of splendor which she con
sidered the best gift of wealth, and the only
harbinger of respect. She therefore set out
in life with a propriety that divested Olivia
of her fears, and awakened the love and
confidence of her husband exceedingly,
which heightened on his finding that she
was likely to present him with an heir; but,
alas! in proportion as she perceived his re-
Q
36 THE SISTERS.

gard for her increase, she became less desi-
rous of meriting it, and made use of every
means in her power to induce him to extend
the circle of his acquaintance, enlarge his
establishment, and live up to the very limits
of his fortune. When he was inclined to
remonstrate on the folly of such proceeding,
especially when the probability of a young
family coming in the course of a few years
called for increased prudence, conceiving
herself ill-used, she became either so angry
or so sorrowful, that he was generally in-
duced to drop the subject, and accede to her
proposition. Being of too humane .a dis-
position to do any thing which might affect

er health at such a juncture, and so totally
unused to domestic altercation, he hesitated
to enter into it, without a necessity more
pressing than yet appeared; for although

rs, Mortimer’s encroachment on his purse,
and the good order of his family establish-
ment, were many, they presented themselves
in such plausible shapes, as to be rather in-
trusive than alarming.

Mrs. Mortimer’s first child was a girl,
whom she named Caroline, after herself, but
to whom she did not devote any of her time
and attention—a conduct that greatly dis-
pleased her husband, who had been used to
see such very different manners adopted by
THE SISTERS. 37

his late wife towards her offspring, at a
eriod when she was much younger, and in
is eyes much prettier than his present lady.

He would certainly have urged her to pursue

a very different system, if he had not hoped

that the birth of a son would recall her to

those duties as a mother, which she had not
shown‘ towards her little girl, and thereby
check the passion for dissipation which, to his
extreme regret, he now perceived had arisen
to an alarming height. She was never hap-
py at home, except when she was either re-
ceiving company, or projecting some plan
for their entertainment, in which all domes-
tic comfort was sacrificed to some scheme of
show or parade, and an infinite number of
petty improyements made, which were equal-
y ridiculous and expensive, and, in Mr.
Mortimer’s opinion, derogatory to the house
they affected to embellish. He had already
found the inconvenience of having his win-
dows made down to the ground; his com-
fortable stoves supplanted by more elegant
ones; and the little sun which visited his
windows, ever excluded by verandas. He
had exhausted all his rhetoric in vain, to
prove that an English climate neither needs
the assistance of Italian shades, nor endures
the exclusion of artificial heat; his house,
like his lady, was fashionable; and he now
38 THE SISTERS.

often saw the difference between a fashion-
able wife, with no principles, and an un-
affected obedient wife, swayed by religious
principles; but he comforted himself with
the hopes, that his son would make amends
to him for all the vexations he felt from the
misconduct of the mother.

Disappointment followed this anxious de-
sire; Mrs. Mortimer again had a daughter,
who was named Emily; and as, after the
temporary confinement this circumstance in-
duced, she rushed into the gay world with
more avidity than ever, her health became
so injured, that in the course of a year or
two, Mr. Mortimer lost all hopes of ever
seeing himself the father of ‘gson—a dis-
appointment he felt the ce be-
cause the extravagance of his Widy rendered
it more necessary than ever, that the estate
should be kept in his family, as the only
means of providing for his wife and daugh-
ters in case of his death, which was too
likely to be hastened by the continual
anxiety to which he was subjected.

My young readers may think that Mr.
Mortimer, as a sensible man and a good
father, ought to have exerted himself to
oblige his wife to abandon that mode of con-
duct which he deemed so highly reprehensi-
ble, and felt to be so injurious to his family,
THE SISTERS. 39

and they are right in their conception of his
duty; but they cannot be aware of the diffi-
-culty of this undertaking: Mr. Mortimer
was now at a period of life when every man
wishes for ease on the one hand, and is flat- «.
tered by attention on the other. He suffered
many things to pass unnoticed for the sake
of the @t, and his lady possessed too much
art not to practise the other, so far as it
answered the ends she had in view: she
was not only extravagant, but selfish to
the greatest degree, as most extravagant
people are; for though they will frequently
give profusely, it is either for the gratification
of their pride, or the temporary compassion
of the moment; yet their own happiness, or
their own character, is in fact at the bottom
of the action.’ Hence Mrs. Mortimer, though
she never consulted the true happiness of
her husband, or the future welfare of her
children, yet exhibited a great degree of
fondness towards Aim, and indulgence for
them. She had, while she and her mother
hung round the great, and sought their
smiles, become initiated into the art of flat-
tering the foibles of every one with whom
she conversed; and as we have all some
weak place accessible to those who are well
acquainted with our characters, and would
rather encourage our errors than subdue
40 THE SISTERS.

them, it was no wonder that a person who
was naturally penetrating, and habitually
fawning, shoald be enabled, from time to
time, to overcome ithe wiser resolutions of a
man who was more inclined to repent his own
folly for marrying one so much younger
than himself, and to whose real disposition
and habits he was a stranger, than to blame
her for squandering a fortune to which she
had been imprudently raised.

If we did not see every day examples of
similar conduct, we should be ready to con-
clude that Mrs. Mortimer was a singularly
weak woman, when we consider how she
was situated ; for it must be evident to every
one, that if she spent more than her hus-
band’s income, which income arose princi-
ally from an estate which departed with
is life, that herself and her daughters must
be exceedingly reduced, whenever that
event took place; that common sense, and
a common regard for herself, would point
out a conduct directly the reverse: but,
alas! the lady never considered any gratifi-
cation but her own immediate indulgence,
and the dictates of her ambition; and al-
though her youth had been subject to num-
berless disappointments, yet having in the
long run obtained an excellent establishment,
she determined that her two daughters
THE SISTERS. 41

should retrace her steps, and provide them-
selves with husbands, who did not require
fortunes, For this purpose, she resolved, if
possible, to make them great beauties, and

ive them all those accomplishments, which

t young women to attract characters as
frivolous as their own. From their earliest
infancy, the care of their complexions and
their forms was made an object of the first
consequence with their mother, and was, in
fact, the only thing about them to which she
attended at all; it might be said with Lord
Lyttleton,

“ By her, hands, lips, and eyes, are put to school,
And each instructed feature has its rule :”

so that these poor children were apparently
condemned from their earliest years, to for-
get all the higher ends of their existence, in
the acquirement of external graces; not
blamable, or despicable in themselves, but
rendered so when they are substituted for
that course of virtuous instruction, which
prepares the ductile mind for the exercise
of duties in this life, and heavenly enjoy-
ment in that which is to come.

This deplorable system was happily coun-
ter-balanced by the constant care and affec-
tionate vigilance of Olivia, who, being ever
on the spot, and influenced by the most
tender regard, and the most conscientious
42 THE SISTERS.

motives, interposed between them and the
destruction that awaited them, those salutary
counsels which operated as a shield to their
young minds, and prevented at least a con-
siderable portion of the bad effects taking
place which might have been expected ;

ow far the evil and good operated by turns
in their character, in proportion as the dif-
ferent conduct of their instructors prevailed,
will be traced in the following pages.



CHAPTER IV.

To foreign glory, foreign bliss they roam,
No thought of joy or happiness at home.
Pore.

At the time when Caroline had attained
her eighth, and Emily her seventh year,
Mrs. Mortimer had arrived at the completion
of her hopes, and the zenith of her great-
ness; she had established an acquaintance
with many persons of high rank, and great
celebrity in the fashionable world; and
though she was near forty, by dint of fash-
ionable dress, and great pains in the use of
cosmetics, her person still retained much
beauty ; so that she was admired, and her
entertainments crowded, which was pretty
THE SISTERS. 43

nearly all she wished for in this world. Her
house, was, for this reason, rendered ex-
tremely unpleasant to Olivia, who, having
a handsome independent fortune, had fre-
quently resolved to seek some home more
congenial to her feelings, where she might
enjoy unmolested her inclination for reading,
and the company of a few associates to her
own taste. At this time there was a small
estate, with a neat house, to be disposed of,
in the neighborhood of Mr. Lewis, and as
his family, together with that of Mr. and
Mrs. St. Faire, were especially dear to her,
she resolved on the purchase, and mentioned
her intention to the family

Miss Mortimer. had regularly paid her
father two hundred and fifty pounds per an-
num for her board, which money his lady
had ever received from her hands, and

laced to her own use; she did not like the
idea of resigning it, and made many objec-
tions to parting with one whom she had
found the most convenient creature in the
world, as she not only took all essential care
of the children off her hands, but kept Mr.
Mortimer in good humor, by being his con-
stant companion, when she was engaged,
and nursing him when he was poorly; she
therefore requested her “dear Olivia” not
to think of leaving them, with great earnest~

R
44 ' THE SISTERS.

ness, looking to her husband to furnish her
with new persuasives.

“When I consider,” said Mr. Mortimer,
“how much more suitably and happily
situated Olivia will be in the country, I
cannot be so selfish as to offer her one mo-
tive to urge her stay: I can only say, I am
thankful that she has remained with us so
long.”

“ But who,” cried Caroline, “will teach
us geography, and instruct us in history,
and teach us to draw, when my sister is
gone ?”

“You must have a governess, child,” said
cher father.—‘ That will be fifty pounds a
year more out of my pocket,” thought Mrs.

ortimer ; and although she seldom cal-
‘culated her own, she was pretty accurate in
‘estimating the expense of every other per-
son; but her thoughts were interrupted by
Emily, who said, in a desponding tone—
“ But will the governess take us to see poor
‘people, and explain the Bible to us, and tell
us stories about good people, and pray with us,
as Olivia does? and can we love her as well,

papa? will she be as patient, and as kind ?”

“T hope she will do her duty, child, but
she will not be exactly what your sister has
‘been to you,” said the father. Emily droop-
‘ing withdrew.
THE SISTERS. 45

“Hold up your head, child,” said the
mother; “ you want somebody to make you
use the backboard more constantly, that is
evident.”

“Ts this my reward?” said Olivia, inter-
nally, for she well knew that the wishes of
the mother had been carefully attended to in
this respect, as she had herself, for more than
two years, performed the office of governess,
with the utmost solicitude, to her younger
sisters. She saw plainly, that as her father’s
approbation of her scheme had induced Mrs.
Mortimer to conclude that she would not be
prevailed upon to resign it, she now in a
moment dismissed from her mind all obliga-
tion for the past, and could in an instant
forget, that for eight years, her income, her
time, her talents, and Aer comforts, had been
expended, or lost in her service. Though
her heart was still as warm as ever towards
the children, yet the sense of their mother’s
ingratitude, together with the idea that this
purchase might, in a few years, become an
asylum for these very children, induced her
hastily to conclude her bargain, and in a
short time depart, in order to take possession
of it, and furnish it as her future residence.

Although Olivia went through this affair
with steadiness and propriet , She was not
sensible how very dear the children were to
46 THE SISTERS.

her heart, till the time of parting with them
actually arrived; but, whatever might be
the loss she felt, it was greatly exceeded by
that which her absence occasioned, and more
than all the inconveniences foreseen by Mrs.
Mortimer, were soon experienced in every
department of her household. Two of the
old servants who still remained, and had
with great difficulty been prevailed upon by
Olivia to bear the innovations in the family
manners, and the insults of the new race,
introduced by the present lady, instantly
abandoned situations they deemed no longer
tenable, and their places were not easily
supplied. The children wandered about
dissatisfied and unhappy; and Mr. Morti-
mer appeared absolutely disconsolate, though
he uttered not a word of complaint: the
house resembled a complicated piece of
machinery, that is by some untoward acci-
dent deprived of its principal spring; some’
pars stood still, others went wrong, and all
ad lost their direction.

Mrs. Mortimer was rather angry than
sorry for this, and the more so, as she had
no one to blame but herself; for she could
not lay any fault upon Miss Mortimer, whose
“ill health,” “too rigid morality,” or “little
peculiarities,” had ever been considered the
cause of every domestic trouble, since she
THE SISTERS. 47

had first entered the family. She was un-
willing to see, what she could not avoid
jeeling, that a dissipated woman of fashion
never is, or can be, mistress of her own
household ; for where such a person is either
always out of her house, or appears in it but
as a visitor, servants, children, strangers,
govern it by turns; while the nominal
sovereign seldom has any share of the actual
government.

During the time when Mr. Mortimer was
really searching for a governess for his
daughters, and his lady talking about it, in
order to pass the time, as their mother could
not bring herself to stay at home with them,
she took them out with her. Handsome

oung mothers often wish to keep their girls
in the nursery, lest they should make them
look old ; but those who marry at thirty are
equally wishful to exhibit their children,
under the idea of a contrary effect. Mrs.
Mortimer, pleased with this idea, and not
considering the pernicious effects of it to her
children, hurried them from one place of
public resort to another; and thus gave
them a taste for pleasures, as destructive to
the habits and simplicity of youth, as detri-
mental to the beauty she was so anxious to
cherish. In the course of a short time they
wercs so much altered, that when Olivia re-
48 THE SISTERS,

turned to London for the purpose of finally
settling her affairs there, she found them
both looking so ill, that she could not help
expressing her grief at their appearance.

“We have had a great deal of pleasure,
sister,” said Caroline; “mamma has taken
us out every evening, and we have been so
much admired, you cannot imagine.”

“But we have not been happy for all
that,” added Emily. ‘“‘ That is very possible,
my love,” said the affectionate sister ; “when
the mind is over-fed, it loses the relish for
the common occupations and simple sweets
of life; and in time, even the higher sources
of amusement become equally vapid to the
taste. In order to preserve our appetite, we
should take these things seldom ; plays, balls,
and operas, are like high-seasoned made
dishes, which we may eat once or twice in a
season with safety, but are ruin to the con-
stitution that feeds on them; and can sel-
dom be administered at your age in any way
with propriety, in my opinion.”

‘Mamma does not think so,” said Caroline.

This was the rock on which it was almost
impossible for these children not to split.
Olivia had often found how difficult it was
to teach a child how to avoid the error of a
parent, and yet not expose that parent to
the contempt of the child; but however dif-
THE SISTERS. 49

ficult the task, she found herself again im-
pelled to undertake it. She could not bear
to see the blossoms of virtue implanted by
her own hand, thus prematurely nipped in
the bud, without making further efforts to
snatch them from impending oblivion. Mrs.
Mortimer had admitted, that the personal
appearance of her children was impaired by
their late habits, and on this she formed the
hope of weaning them from it, and even of
prevailing upon their mother to permit them
to pass some time with her in the country.
This scheme, to her great mortification, she
found opposed by the children themselves,
who appeared to have contracted a horror
at the very mention of the word, and, you
as they were, expressed themselves in
the fashionable jargon of the day, declaring
the country must be “‘a horrid bore, infinitely
disagreeable, prodigiously stupid, monstrous-
ly dull, quite a quiz, and enough to kill one
with ennut.” To this cant they added all
the affectation of suffering, when they were
not immediately engaged in some scheme of
amusement, and imitated the ladies whose
dissipation had injured their health ; so that
Olivia was continually sickened with hearing
that Caroline was dying with “ nervous affec-
tion,” and little Emily was sometimes “ ve:
languid,” and at others “ quite in a tremor;”
‘
50 THE SISTERS.

instead of playing, or reading, they were
continually talking of “ becoming colo
fashionable waists, new steps, and celebra
beauties.” ‘La, what a charming creature
Lady Douglas is, especially when she dresses
& la Greque!” cried Caroline; “she really
looked enchantingly at the opera.” “Still,”
said Emily, “I do not think her so fascinating
as the Duchess of Derby ; there is something
bewitching in her manners—she is a divinity
in my eyes.”

“What will these children be,” said
Olivia to herself, ‘when they have doubled
their present age ?—‘ To dress, to dance, to
roll the languid eye,’ will be the business of
their existence; «nd all the labor my heart
has hitherto bestowed upon them, will be en-
tirely lost; surely it is my duty to devote my-
self, in every possible way, to the restoration
of their minds to the simplicity of nature, and
the pursuits of useful life; to count every
sacrifice cheap, which can purchase such a
blessing!” Agreeably to this generous con-
clusion, she consented to remain some time in
London; but she found that it is difficult to
restrain habits once entered upon, especially
when they have the sanction of a mother;
and that the lessons once received from her
hands with gratitude, were now poured into
unwilling ears. The dear sister, whom they
THE SISTERS. 51

had once fondly loved, was now considered
an austere friend, whose person accounted
for the severity of her manners, and the in-
tenseness of her piety ; every way in which
she worked was evidently against the grain ;
she was considered the bugbear to whose
society they were condemned for punish-
ment. Their mother was looked to as the
kind and generous being, who soothed their
pains, rewarded their toils, and dispensed
their pleasures ; and it was the more difficult
to point out with effect any error in her
system, because she had of late adopted
more gentle and conciliating manners to
Olivia herself, than she had ever shown be-
fore, and affected to treat every plan of hers
with the greatest deference, only alleging her
own excessive love of the children, as her
reason for breaking perpetually upon the
rules Olivia had with so much more wisdom
rescribed for their conduct. The reason
or this alteration, or rather improvement in
Mrs. Mortimer’s manners, arose from the fol-
lowing circumstance.

When Miss Mortimer left her father’s
house, her step-mother not only felt the want
of her board in her common expenditure,
but likewise the convenience of applying to
her for the loan of small sums, which ought
to have been paid out of the liberal, and in-
52 THE SISTERS,

deed extravagant ones intrusted by her hus-
band. In order to supply this deficiency,
she had recourse to the gaming-table—a vice
she had not before indulged in, knowing it
was one which her husband held in the most
decided contempt; the result was, as might
have been expected, she was involved beyond
the possibility of paying her debts of honor,
without assistance; and she was now en-
deavoring to obtain money from Olivia, who
she hoped would be led to comply with her
wishes, partly from love to her children, and
partly as the means of saving her father
from the severe mortification of paying
gaming debts, to which she well knew he
had an insuperable aversion. Mr. Mortimer
had frequently lamented the little affection
his lady had shown for her offspring during
their infancy, and she now trusted that her
show of fondness would be satisfactory ; and
that the love they displayed to her would
satisfy Mr. Mortimer as to the tenderness of
her conduct, and induce him more readily to
comply with requisitions for money. Thus,
from various causes, none of which were
really the effects of maternal love, these ill-
fated girls were subject to all the inconve-
niences which result from blind indulgence;
their pride was nurtured, their vanity infla-
ted, their love of truth injured, their devotion
THE SISTERS. 58

chilled, and every favorable circumstance in
their disposition destroyed or perverted,
even under the eye of a judicious and affec-
tionate friend; and a father, who had been
to that friend the kindest and wisest instruc-
tor, but who now, become weary of con-
tending to no purpose, and struggling to no
end, resigned the reins of government into
the hands of one who held it to her own de-
struction. Thus were they all situated when
the following circumstance occurred.



CHAPTER V.

What are our woes, but mercies in disguise 3

On returning from a children’s ball about
two o'clock in the morning, Emily com-
lained of intense thirst, and a violent pain
in her temples, of which Mrs. Mortimer did
not take any further notice, than to say she
would be better when she got to bed. Olivia
had long since retired to her own apartment,
meditating as usual on the possibility of
benefiting her younger sisters; and, as the
child did not know any other person who
would listen to her complaints, she went to
bed immediately, but in about an hour be-
64 THE SISTERS.

came so ill, that she arose, and creeping to
Olivia’s room as well as she was able, awoke
her, and described the sensations she felt;
from which it appeared that she had every
symptom of approaching fever.

Miss Mortimer immediately arose, rung
for her own maid, put the child into her
own bed, and administered every thing she
thought likely to be of use; but finding the
disorder increasing, she sent for a physician
before daylight, who pronounced poor Emily
seized with the scarlet fever, which at present
appeared of a very malignant nature.

Mr. Mortimer was exceedingly alarmed,
for he was very fond of his children; and
he went up into his lady’s room to inform
her of it himself, fearful that any other per-
son might alarm her too much; on his way
to her chamber, he met Caroline coming
down stairs, and taking her hand he led her
into the chamber of her mother.

“And what have you done, Mr Morti-
mer?” said the mother, when she had heard
this account.

“Done, my dear! I believe every thing
Dr. Murray ordered is now doing, to the best
of our power; Olivia is with Emily, and
will not leave her.”

“ But, I mean, have you ordered the coach ?
have you sent to take lodgings at Hamp-
THE SISTERS. 85

stead, or Kensington, or anywhere, for me?
But, Caroline, how came you into the room ?”
added she, raising her head out of bed, and
as instantly laying down again—“ run away,
run away, this instant; how do I know but
that you may have the fever? you slept in
the same room with Emily—fiy, child! fly!
and order the chariot—I won't ride in the
coach, for Emily was in it last night.” .

In half-an-hour the tender mother, who
had so lately declared she had no pleasure
on earth unless it was shared by the darlings
of her soul, was on the road to Hampstead,
putting her head first out of one window,
and then out of another, to inquire for ele-
gant lodgings. Emily was raving in de-
lirium, and Caroline weeping in her father's
arms; afraid to go near her sister’s apart-
ment, and yet not desiring to accompan
her mother, whose unkind repulse still felt
heavy on her heart, and forced her to con-
sider the difference between the conduct of
her sister Olivia, now watching the sick-bed
of Emily, with the tenderest concern, and
that of her mother, who had fled from her
own child, on the first appearance of danger.
She began now to find there was indeed a
difference between the pursuit of pleasure
and happiness—of that love which offers the
gratification of an hour, and that affection
56 THE SISTERS,

which is ever seeking the permanent advan-
tage of its object; she felt conscious how
much she had lately slighted that good sister,
to whom she could look in the hour of dis-
tress, and to whom she might shortly be
driven for those kind offices her sister now
experienced. The longer her heart contem-
plated this picture, the more she was melted
and overcome by it; her personal fears
vanished before her sense of virtuous hu-
manity, as exhibited by Olivia, whom she
now thought handsomer, and more engaging
than any other person in the circle of her
acquaintance; and as the minds of youth
frequently dart from one extreme to another,
being governed by impulse rather than rea
son, she sat down the moment her father left
her, and wrote a note to Olivia, in which she
requested permission to visit Emily, and
share in the task of waiting upon her.

The considerate sister did not permit
Caroline to endanger her health, by acce-
ding to this request; but she failed not to
praise the offer, in such a way as to awaken
the sisterly affections of Caroline, well aware
that nothing has a greater tendency to eradi-
cate the seeds of selfishness and vanity, than
the exercise of good-will towards others
She was extremely anxious to turn this
affliction to the benefit of these dear chil-
THE SISTERS. 57

dren in every possible way ; they were both
blessed with good understandings and pleas-
ant tempers, although the eldest was rather
too volatile; but it was evident, that im-
proper indulgence had already tended to de-

ase the one, and would doubtless pervert
the other, since pride and vanity have a
natural tendency to make the possessor sel-
fish; and selfishness is the mother of ingrati
tude, unkindness, disobedience, and dis-
honesty—faults which render us not only -
unamiable, but wicked, and are alike offen-
sive to God and man.

In the course of a few days, Mrs. Morti-
mer, finding that her eldest daughter showed
no symptoms of her sister’s disorder, wrote
a line to Mr. Mortimer, indicating her per-
mission that Caroline might come to her at
Hampstead, provided she did not come near
her apartment for the first day or two. The
father instantly acquainted her with the con-
tents of this note, thinking it would give
her great satisfaction; but, to his surprise,
she answered—“ I am much obliged to
mamma for her permission, but I had rather
stay at home, for I can hear how Emily is
going on every hour of the day here; and
I hope I am of some little use to you, papa.”

““My dear child,” said the delighted
father, ‘‘ you are indeed of great use to me,
58 THE SISTERS.

for you enliven my ,evening hours very
much but I am afraid you are dull without
your mother, as you have lately been in the

bit of seeing so much company, and we
have no visitors now: there is a fever in the
house, you see, Caroline.”

“That is true indeed,” returned she, with
a sigh, “and after the first day, when I was
too much alarmed to feel any thing but fear
for myself, and sorrow for Emily, I did sup-

ose | should be wretchedly weary; but I
pon’t know how it is, somehow what with wri-
ting notes to Olivia, and reading her answers,
which always contain something that renders
me a little busy, or sets me thinking, the
time passes on till I see you, and then I have
company, you know, papa.”

As Caroline spoke the last words, she
blushed, from the consciousness that she
never had considered her father company till
lately ; yet now she found more pleasure in
his society, than any she had experienced of
late ; for hike all other children brought pre-
maturely forward, she had been treated one
hour with flattery, and the next with neglect,
She had observed that in those very circles
where the “dear young ladies” were most
admired by some, there were others, who
wished Mrs. Mortimer had kept her girls at
home; and in more instances than one had
THE SISTERS. 59

perceived that the same face which had wel-
comed with a smile when she was presented
by mamma, had surveyed her with a sneer
the moment her mother’s back was turned.
Although she had been taught by that
mother to impute this mode of conduct
either to caprice or envy, she had too much
sense not to feel that the approbation of her
father, who loved her, was more valuable
than the flattery of people, who admired
her one minute and despised her the next.
During this happy cessation of frivolous
pursuits, Caroline recovered in some measure
the use of her understanding, and the habits
of exertion so necessary for young people,
under the management of a sister who divi-
ded her cares between the two, though she
still remained in the apartment of one only.
Emily, by a more severe process, was weaned
from frivolous and baneful pursuits, by a
disorder which did not in her case assume
its most menacing form, but was particularly
painful and tedious, as she had several dis-
tressing relapses: her eldest sister bestowed
apon her such unremitting care, such tender
attention, that her whole heart was won by
her goodness, The kind lessons imbibed
previous to their separation, regained their
influence in her heart; and she desired
recovery more for the sake of telling Caro-
s
‘60 THE SISTERS.

line how much they had both been mistaken
in attributing unnecessary austerity to their
affectionate sister, than any other thing.
But the poor invalid was deprived of this
satisfaction, as Mrs. Mortimer, having soon
exhausted the pleasures of her new situation,
sent again for Caroline, saying that she
wished for her company ; and her indulgent
husband therefore desired the child would
set out immediately. She found her mother
wearied and disgusted with every thing
around her, impatient and fretful at the pro-
tracted illness of her child, rather than sorry
for her lengthened sufferings, and appearing
to think herself the only person who was
really to be pitied in the case. When Caro-
line witnessed this conduct in her mother,
and felt the effects of it in the ill-temper she
assumed towards her, even when she was
doing her best to amuse her, she could not
help contrasting it with the conduct of her
father, under similar circumstances, and con-
fessing to her own heart, that it was so
much pleasanter to live with the one than
the other; that the old adage of Olivia was
verified, which said, it was better to be good
than handsome ; for love is far preferable to
admiration.
.THE SISTERS. 61

CHAPTER VI

Delightful task to rear the tender thought.
THoMPeox.

Wuen Emily at length arose from the
bed of sickness, she was ordered by her
physicians a long residence in the country,
as the only means of restoring her health;
and thus the wishes of Olivia were in a great
measure accomplished; for Mrs. Mortimer
gladly accepted the offer of Olivia of taking
the invalid into Berkshire, as she was still
fearful of infection, and wished them to leave
her house in London, before she returned
thither.

This request struck Emily as being very
unkind ; but Olivia made the best excuse for
it in her power, only lamenting that poor
Caroline was included in the prohibition;
being convinced from her letters that her
heart yearned to embrace her sister. It was,
however, happy for both that the desired in-
terview did not take place; for Emily, still
very languid, and fearful of what she con-
sidered a species of banishment, would have
met with a bad counsellor in Caroline, whose
temporary abode at Hampstead, imbittered
by her mother’s ill-humored dejection, which
she had concluded arose from the country,
62 THE SISTERS.

would have taught Emily to dread leaving
the metropolis more than she did, lest the
same effect should follow—so pernicious is
the idea produced in the youthful mind by
an improper association, and by substituting
artificial pleasures for the simple and natural
gratifications of peace and innocence.

“My dear sister,” said Emily, when she
had resided a few days at her new abode,
“how many months do you think it will be
necessary for me to remain here, in order to
regain my strength ?”

“Not many, my dear, for you look better
already.”

“ Then we shall return, I hope, in August
or September.”

“Tf you wish to leave this place in July,
I dare say you may do it with safety, but I
shall not accompany you, for I am partial to
the country.”

“How very odd that is!” said Emily,
with a sigh, for she felt as if it were impos-
sible to quit one to whom she owed so much,
and yet more impossible to live in a place
where, when her tasks were ended, she had
nothing to do.

Olivia read the sigh—she ordered the car-
riage, (for, principally on Emily's account,
she had hired one for the summer,) and they
set out for an airing, saying, she had not yet
THE SISTERS. 68

shown her the beauties of the neighborhood,
which she now endeavored to do in the most
agreeable manner.

“ Yes—very pretty—all very pretty, cer-
tainly,” said Emily, yawningly; “it puts
one in mind of the Panorama, and I have
seen paintings in the British Gallery, of
rocks, ‘and trees, and streams, like these; but
there is nobody here to admire them—no-
body at all.”

e “ We shall see living creatures by and by,
Emily.”

“Ah! they are the best pictures: I re-
member Lady Gamboge talking a great deal
about cottage scenery, and being quite in
raptures with the interior of a hut; and
mamma said she was an elegant creature,
and all she said was the rage; so I have
wished to see the inside of a hut ever since,
though, if she had not said so much about
it, I should have thought the interior of
York Cathedral a much finer thing, which
hung close beside it.”

“And I am certain, as an object of beauty,
I should have agreed with you, Emily ; but
I am really glad that you adopted her lady-
ship’s taste, as I can gratify you in the one
case, and could not in the other. See, there
are three cottages, very picturesque ones too,
for they are nearly in ruins; we will go into
64 THE SISTERS.

them, and remember that although Lady
Gamboge is not here to direct your admira-
tion, or extol your taste, though no crowds
are standing round of well-dressed people,
before whom you might be glad to exhibit
admiration, or affect feeling, yet there is an
eye upon us, Emily, before whom all these
gay people, however decked by fashion, or
distinguished by rank, are of no more im-
ortance than the inhabitants of these hum-
le cottages.” e

Emily had just risen from the bed of
sickness, and her heart readily acknowledged
this truth, as she followed the steps of her
sister, who alighted as soon as she beheld the
cottages, and walked towards them.

Some children were playing at the door
of the first, who said their mother was gone
into the second, because their neighbor was
very bad that morning ; the third was in too
ruinous a condition to be inhabited.

Miss Mortimer, seeing the door of the
middle house half open, ventured to enter
it, and there beheld a poor man nearly ready
to faint, supported between two women,
who appeared to have raised him from a
wretched bed in the corner; he was pale and
emaciated, worn down by sickness. A girl
about nine years old was holding the door
open in the inside for air, for the sick man;
THE SISTERS. 65

and another about seven, stood near the fire-
side with two little brothers, whom she
endeavored to pacify, lest their complaints
loudly expressed, should disturb the suffer-
ing father. One of the women was evidently
the wife of the sick man, from the paleness
and solicitude of her countenance; on that
of the other was impressed the most gener-
ous compassion, blended with an air of de-
jection which seemed to say—‘‘I have the
will, but not the power to help you.”

Emily shuddered— Is this,” said she,
“the interior of a cottage? I thought the
people were ruddy laughing rustics; but
this poor man is sick and ill, just as I have
been; but, alas! how differently situated |”
Her compassion overcame every other sensa-
tion—she rushed past Olivia, and inquired
“what was the matter with the poor man,
and whether he had had the scarlet fever ?”

The neighbor informed her, he had been
long suffering under a fever, which the
doctor called nervous; but the fever had
left him now, and he was sinking for want
of support.

“He should take a great deal of port
wine,” said Emily, with the air of a per-
gon whom experience had given a right to
judge.

“Wine, Miss! Lord love you, where can
66 THE SISTERS.

we get wine? a little good broth, or a drop
of ale now and then, would quite set him
up; but, dear heart, I cannot get that now.”

As the poor woman thus spoke, a little
boy of three years old pulled her gown ve-
hemently, crying, ‘‘ Mother, mother, I want
my porridge,” while his brother, a little
older, struck by the appearance of the stran-
ger, appeared anxious to restrain him. The
sick man gave a look of such bitter anguish,
as he looked towards the child, that it spoke
a volume of suffering; and Emily’s heart
smote her for the words she had uttered—
she burst into tears.

Olivia had slipped out unperceived to the
carriage, in which, with her usual care, she
had placed a bottle of cordial julap, which
Emily was in the habit of taking occasional-
ly, and some biscuits which she had intend-
ed for a lunch, in case they prolonged their
ride ;—she immediately gave the poor man
a dose of this restorative medicine; while
Emily, snatching the biscuits, distributed
them to the boys, who seized them with the
eagerness of extreme hunger. Whilst she
was doing this, Olivia had drawn a bottle of
eau-de-luce from her pocket, and was rub-
bing the temples of the invalid with it ;—he
became much revived, and turning to his

wife, said, “My dear Sally, I thought all
THE SISTERS. 67

was over, but this good lady has brought
me back to thee again.”

“May God for ever bless her!” said the
woman, bursting into tears of sincere tender-
ness and gratitude.

Olivia now inquired more particularly into
the nature of the case, and was informed by
the good-natured neighbor that poor John
Saunders, the person in distress, was a wor-
thy industrious man, who not only had
maintained his own family in comfort ever
since his marriage, but his parents also, who
had resided in the adjoining cottage until
lately. His father had been paralytic many
years, and had only died the preceding
autumn; and his mother, in waiting upon
him, during his last sickness, had contracted
a painful illness, which had doubled the bur-
den of her son, as he could not bear to see
her want any relief in his power to ‘procure;
in consequence of which he had contracte
debts, and in order to pay them, had worked
so hard, and so far abridged himself of his
accustomed food, that his disorder became
the natural consequence of his exertion:
that his poor wife had been incessantly em-
ployed in waiting on their afflicted mother,
till within the last month, when her death
had left her the still more melancholy task
of nursing her husband, who, during that.

T
68 THE SISTERS,

time, had lingered on the scanty provision
made by the parish officers, which was not
equal to find food for his infants,

This melancholy detail was scarcely fin-
ished, when Olivia’s servant entered with a
large basket of necessaries, for which she
had dispatched him:—the sight of delicate
and nutritive food, a warm blanket, and
clean linen, seemed to revive the patient
into new life, whilst his fond and grateful

artner could scarcely refrain from throwing
herself in ecstasies at the feet of her benefac-
tress, though she was utterly unable to ex-
gpress her gratitude otherwise than by tears
and gesticulations. But their voluble and
delighted companion broke out into the
Strongest expressions of joy, and exclaimed
in admiration of every thing she saw and
. found in the precious basket.

“Well, I declare, here be a loaf, and but-
‘ter, and coffee, John: here, children, take
- each. a piece of this fine bread, and scamper
. away with you: don’t touch the basket.
. Sally, child, wipe that chair—perhaps madam

will please to sit down, and get the stool for
Miss! Betsy, girl, what beest thee thinking
of? thee standest stock still in the corner
staring-so!”

“TT wae thinking,” said the little girl,
elasping her hands, and turning her fine
THE SISTERS. 69

blue eyes upwards as she spoke, “TI was
thinking what a beautiful angel that pale
lady will be when she gets to heaven.”

he boys stopped short as they were going
out, and fixed on their benefactress looks in-
dicative of admiration, as intense as if her
form were already angelic in their eyes;
while their parents were surveying her with
more delicate, but not less fervent feelings ;
and Emily so far partook their enthusiasm,
as to be sensible how much more worthy
Olivia was of these sentiments than any of
the splendid triflers to whom she had been
accustomed to apply the epithets of charm-
ing, fascinating, and exquisitely beautiful.

She felt how awful goodness is,
Virtue in her own form how lovely!

and as she approached Olivia, and with a
mixture of love and reverence drew near to
her side, and took her hand, she felt that in
thus claiming the protection, and acknowl-
edging her near relationship to this exalted
woman, she enjoyed a greater honor than
rank could confer, or the world of fashion,
in its most glittering moments, could bestow.
Though her memory presented many similar
instances, when the benevolence of Olivia
had struck her as great and amiable when
bestowed in her father’s house, yet she felt
it the more at this moment, because her
70 THE SISTERS,

heart had been previously penetrated with
the sufferings she had actually witnessed.

The little boy to whom she had given bis-
cuits, felt as if the gratitude which, though
not expressed by words, yet forcibly con-
veyed, was unfairly divided ; he slipped up
to Emily, as she was gazing on her sister,
and holding up the bread he had just re-
ceived, said, “Arid you shall be an angel
too some time.”

Emily would not at this moment have
shrunk from any circumstance which assimi-
lated her with Olivia; she sunk into her
arms, and in broken accents thanked her for
having made her the witness of a scene she
should never forget, and lamented that she
had hitherto been unworthy of her excellent
preceptress.

All violent feelings must necessarily soon
subside, so far as they are violent; but the
judicious nurse of virtue in the breast, will
not suffer the impression to be lost. On
their return home, Olivia busied herself in
cutting out clothes—not only for the chil-
dren of John Saunders, but those of his
worthy neighbor, and Emily made them.
Her heart was engaged in the work; she
pursued it with avidity, proportioned to the
ardent benevolence excited, every means
proving how deeply she was interested—and
THE SISTERS. 71

from this time, not only forgot that the
country was dull, but found innumerable
beauties spring around her, which she impu-
ted to the advancing season; but might
with more justice have been placed to the
advancing state of her own awakened feel-
ings, and improved perception of excellence,
There are many links in the chain of virtue,
and one is wound firmly, though often im-
perceptibly, round another; charity in ac-
tion, leads to charity of feeling—teaches us
to repress whatever would wound the sensi-
bility of another, and to be as delicate as we
are kind ; this brings correction of our own
tempers—suppression of our vanity—study
of the character of others—allowance for
their failings, and self-examination of our
own: in proportion as our moral feeling re-
fines, so will mental taste become purified,
and intellectual pleasures increase. Emily,
as her heart softened and expanded towards
her fellow-creatures, became more amused
and interested in whatever concerned them;
she read with delight now, what had former-
ly been a task; and every accomplishment
which gave pleasure to Olivia, or was re-
quired by her parents, became an object of
animated pursuit to her; for she no longer
lived for herself, and her exertions rewarded
themselves.
72 THE SISTERS.

Her studies were enlivened by an acquain-
tance she had formed with the curate’s
second daughter, a sweet-tempered, docile
girl, of her own age. Mr. Berryl, the wor-
thy man who officiated as minister in the
village nearest to Miss Mortimer’s residence,
on the pitiful stipend of sixty pounds per
annum, contrived, with the assistance of vis
excellent wife, to bring up five children.
The first two were daughters; and the el-
dest being of great use to her mother, Mr.
Berryl did not think it right to take her
from the domestic course of life in which
Mrs. Berryl generally employed her; but
the second he wished to educate in such a
manner as to enable her to provide for her-
self by teaching others. As he had not the
“means of procuring masters in music and
drawing, his plan was nearly frustrated,
when the arrival of Miss Mortimer revived
his scheme, and gave it effect beyond his
most sanguine hopes; for she soon formed
an intimate acquaintance with Mrs. Berry],
which led to a thorough knowledge of the
wants and wishes of the family. Olivia left
no means in her power untried to contribute
to their comfort—grieved to observe how
scantily they were provided with even the
necessaries of life, at a time when the in-
creasing wants of their young family were

ss
THE SISTERS. 73

making the strongest claims upon their
care.

Mr. Berry] resided at the parsonage-house ;
the incumbent of the living permitting this
for his own convenience, as he regularl
came down once a year; but he was far ad-
vanced in life, and became almost unequal
to this exertion. On his annual visit this
year, Miss Mortimer was treated by him
with the most marked respect, as a lady
whose father moved in the first circles. The
old gentleman appeared to attach high con-
sequence to people of rank, and all who were
any way connected with them; which for a
short time revived the dormant vanity of
Emily, who was observed by Olivia to treat
Maria Berry! with less politeness, or rather
less kindness, than she was accustomed to
use before the arrival of the vicar.

“T am afraid, Emily,” said she, ‘that,
notwithstanding the just admiration and re-
gard you have so often professed for your

oung companion, if you return to London,
her modest virtues, and even her talents, will
be no longer remembered, when you form ac-

uaintance with girls of a different rank in life,
though far her inferiors in true excellence.”

“Why should you think so, sister? I
love Maria very dearly, I am sure; I do not
profess more than I feel now-a-days.”
74 THE SISTERS.

“Probably; but you have lately allowed
yourself to encroach upon her good-nature
for many little services, which you have re-
ceived, rather as a matter of course than ob-
ligation, as if to remind her of the difference
between you in point of fortune—a proof
that you are admirably prepared for yielding
implicit deference yourself to the capricious
dictates of those above you; for the mind
that is capable of taking advantage in one
case, is apt to be pliable in the other; I am
sure you must have observed this, in the lit-
tle intercourse you have had with the world:
pray recollect whether I am right or not.”

“T remember very well, that I thought
Mrs. Wallingford behaved with great inso-
lence to every body near her at a rout, and
that I had just said so to Caroline when the
Countess of Ancaster came in; and then she
turned all at once so fawning and cringing,
that I could not help quite despising her
then, as much as I had been angry with her
before; but I am certain I never can become
like Mrs. Wallingford, drawing up her long
neck, and turning up her nose, as if nobody
was good enough to sit near her; surely,
sister, you cannot think it possible ?”

“ Tadved, my love, it is but too possible ; for
errors steal upon our hearts by such imper-
ceptible advances, that unless we watch over
THE SISTERS. 15

them continually, and look up to Divine as-
sistance in the guardianship, they are very
apt to betray us into conduct, for which we
may afterwards bitterly reproach ourselves;
you know, Emily,

‘A small unkindness is a great offence.’”

“But I do not think I have been unkind:
you allow sometimes, there is a deference
due to rank; and besides, it is natural to
make a little free with one’s friends.”

“The latter part of this observation goes
to prove, that you rank Maria as your equal,
and of course some deference is due to her
as your friend, because all frieudship presup-
poses equality; you are kind to inferiors,
obliging to superiors, but only friendly with
your equal, to whom, of course, you have
no right to assume the airs of a superior.”

“ But 7s Maria my equal, Olivia?”

“ Has she less virtue than you ?—by which
I mean less duty to her parents—less affec-
tion to her kindred—less benevolence to the

oor (according to her power)—less activity
in their service, or less general suavity of
manners, and meekness of temper ?”

“Oh, no! she has more of all these; but
then she is a clergyman’s daughter, you
know, and both her father and mother have
been teaching her how to be good ever since
76 THE SISTERS.

she was born; so that all these things are
become quite easy to her.”

“ Are her talents inferior to yours, or her
attainments less, when the scanty means of
instruction she has enjoyed are considered ?”

“‘ No—she can do many things better than
I can; but then she learns with a view of
getting her living by it; and mamma always
says, there is nothing in the world that sharp-
ens people’s wits so much as necessity.”

Olivia could scarcely suppress a smile;
but her determined habit of treating Mrs.
Mortimer with respect before her children
prevailed, and she only remarked—“ Though
there may be great truth in your observation,
my dear, yet, as it appears from your ac-
count that Maria is your superior in both
heart and mind, I am willing that the causes
and motives of this superiority should so far
detract from her merit, as to render her only
your equal, because I wish you to continue
to enjoy the pleasure and benefit of her
friendship: the adventitious circumstance of
fortune being on your side, is an advantage
in which you may reasonably rejoice, but
must never presume; for the moment you
do, the scale will mount amazingly on the
side of Maria, inasmuch as virtue and talents
must ever have a decided superiority over
fortune and situation.”
THE SISTERS. 77

“Well, Olivia, I won't pretend to argue
with you, but I can’t help observing, that in
all disputes that lies as it were between the
rich and the poor, you always take the side
of the poor, just as if you thought rich peo-
ple could not be Zood ; I don’t think that
fair, I confess.”

“Perhaps, my dear child, I should not do
this to the same degree, if I did not seek to
bend your mind from a too contrary direc-
tion ; for, be assured that I have no preju-
dices against rank or fortune, as such; but
am ready to own, that where the temptations
to folly, which they present, are withstood,
the character becomes more perfect than can
be presented by any in a station of mediocrity,
though that is the situation of life where we
must generally look both for virtue and hap-
piness. All I wish to guard you against is,
the possibility of being so dazzled by the
exterior of greatness, as to lose a sense of the
vices by which its splendor is too frequently
upheld; and so to cultivate a love for simple
duties, that the trials to which you will in-
evitably be exposed in your future inter-
course with life, may never have the power
to warp your judgment, or mislead your
conduct—you see, I do not treat you as a
child, Emily, for as you have been prema-
turely pushed into the follies of life, it is
78 THE SISTERS.

surely fair that you should be early initiated
in the power of reflecting on those follies.”

Emily had often been hurt with the idea,
that her sister, in endeavoring to restore her
to the simplicity of childhood, had not placed
a sufficient value on her understanding; she
was gratified, therefore, by this address, and
with great alacrity begged her to point out
whatever she thought would be beneficial
for her to guard against.

“T would have you, my dear, be fully
aware of this important truth, that a consist-
ent Christian, whose faith and practice go
hand in hand, is in reality the highest char-
acter you can ever contemplate, however he
may be situated; and that, in proportion as
any person advances or recedes from this
character, he becomes more or less worthy
of your admiration, respect, and imitation ;
or your pity, and, in most cases, blame.
Every situation in life has its appropriate
temptations to error and incitements to vir-
tue; it is therefore unfair to judge any one,
without taking into our consideration, as far
as we are able, all the particulars which ex-
tenuate little faults, or improve little virtues ;
and having done this, we are then called
upon to estimate the real character, stripped
of the tinsel with which wealth and rank
may decorate it, to allure our vanity on the
THE SISTERS. 79

one hand, or its poverty and misfortune may
claim from our compassion on the other.
You see, Emily, I am as willing to give wu
my poor friends as to take away your wich
ones; laudable feelings frequently lead to
false conclusions; and though it is better to
view objects through one mist than another,
yet it is best of all to see clearly.”

“T should like to believe every body good
and amiable; but I never was able to think
so for more than a week ata time, till I came
into the country, I confess.”

“Nor would you do it in the country, per-
haps, if every moment of the lives of even
those you most esteem were exposed to your
view ; for every human being is a weak and
fallen creature, liable to perpetual errors of
judgment and temper; still there are certain

rinciples of action to be traced in the con-
Tact of most people, which should form the
basis of our esteem or regret; and it is of the
utmost importance that we judge fairly, for,
depend upon it, that which we really ap-
prove, will ever be the standard of our imi-
tation.”

“ Yes, [am sure of that myself; for before
I had the fever, I used to imitate Harriet
Dashwell in every thing, because I thought
she was a girl of the first fashion, and I thought
every thing she did became her ; and of late
80 THE SISTERS.

I wished to imitate Maria Berryl; for though
not fashionable, I loved her, and saw that
every body else loved her; and you had
taught me that goodness was better than
show: indeed, dear Olivia, I had found that
out before, from your conduct to me, and
many other little things; but every now and
then my old feelings come over me, I find.
Yes, I see what all this leads to; if virtue
and goodness are of all other things the most
estimable, it is equally foolish and wicked
not to show our esteem of them in the per-
sons of those who possess them. I have not
behaved kindly to Maria; I will, if you please,
go and call on her this evening; the vicar
was to leave them this morning, which is, I
suppose, the reason why we have not seen
her to-day.”

“We will go in the first place and see
John Saunders, for I find he has been at
work again, and I am afraid of his venturing
out too soon: our conversation has been des-
ultory; but if it serve to set your mind to
work, salutary effects may be expected, for
it is almost impossible to think, without
thinking to some valuable purpose. For
that reason, I am always surprised that any

erson should dispute the good that may
be derived from the silent meetings of the
Friends, or Quakers, as they are foolishly
THE SISTERS. 81

called; I have frequently sat a few hours in
their meeting-houses in town, and found them
even at those times very edifying.”

“But,” said Emily, hesitatingly, ‘do young
Quakers think, Olivia? I am sure I always
find it very difficult to think, without speak-
ing on the subject of my thoughts.”

“They speak after they have thought, in-
stead of before, which is the reason they gener-
ally express themselves with so much ability
and eloquence, and frequently with so much
wit.”

“ Ability, wit, eloquence, in a Quaker! dear
Olivia, how you surprise me! I never heard
one speak, but I concluded, from their prim
dress, that they were amazingly stupid,
though I always thought them very good,
since you told me how Mrs. Fairbank went
about to seek poor children to put them into
the school of industry, and relieved their
parents at the same time; that Mrs. Smith,
though so pretty and clean, nursed a sick
family with her own hands, and dressed the
poor dirty babies in linen of her own ma-

ng.

“You shall hear, Emily, bow far I am
right: this very Mrs. Fairbank was requested
one day in my hearing, by a woman of for-
tune, to put a little girl, who was taken to
help her maid, into the school of industry,
82 THE SISTERS.

which this benevolent Quaker had instituted ;
——turning to the lady, with a look in which
firmness and gentle complacency were ad-
mirably blended, she replied thus:—' The
school was instituted for the relief of the
miserably poor, the wretchedly ignorant; I am
persuaded no human being under thy protec-
tion can be so situated; of course thy servant
is inadmissible.’ Now, Emily, can you con-
ceive reproof to palpable meanness more del-
icately administered, or denial given in a
more acceptable form ?”

“Certainly not; but the Quakers study
the art of denial, both to themselves and
others, I have a notion, except where charity
is concerned,”

“You are a prejudiced child; but I will
now give you a specimen of compliment in
a Quaker, and in a case where its sincerity
could not be doubted. I was one day pres-
ent when Mrs. Smith was apologizing to a

erson, whom she had promised to visit, for
Fela ing her engagement. She had hold of
her husband’s arm at the time, and on part-
ing from the lady in question, he said to her—
‘Farewell! I am sorry for thy disappoint-
ment, friend, for as I best know the value of
my wife’s company, I can most justly esti-
mate thy loss,’ Pray, Emily, did you ever
hear a better-turned eulogium, en passant,
THE SISTERS. 83

from any man of fashion at our house in town
all last winter ?” ;

“No, indeed. I confess Mr. Liffington
himself, nor even lord Strondale, who makes
all the new songs, could not have said a
prettier thing in effect; but how odd to think
of your being with such people, when we
were perhaps having a rout at home! Iam
glad you are not always shut up in your own
dressing-room, Olivia, however.”

“Tt is a rare case that I am not; but even
there, I have the best of company; so never
mourn for me, my dear.”

“Books, I suppose you mean, sister.”

“Yes, books and thoughts, which have at
least the negative merit of not exposing me
to the stares of insolence, the sneers of con-
tempt, and the accusation of intruding my-
self, as the daughter of a private gentleman,
into the company of my superiors, nor of
running me into debt, and thereby denyin
me, not only the power of assisting my suf-
fering fellow-creatures, but the indulgence of
those rational amusements to which my for-
tune, properly expended, entitles me, and
that independence which is its best gif.
Every creditor, whatever his rank in life, has
always a hold on the comforts of those in-
debted to him, which is extremely irksome

to a delicate mind, and an honest heart.
U
84 THE SISTERS.

Nor am I obliged to witness gambling, which
is a species of avaricious pursuit, for which I
have a decided contempt; or listen to scan-
dal, for which I have an utter detestation.
Thus, you see, my dear Emily, I escape from
quite as much as I lose, and am by no means
entitled to the compassion vou have so use-
lessly bestowed on me.”

Emily, after a long pause, in which she
appeared to think on some painful subject,
said—“T always thought running in debt a
very disagreeable thing; Caroline and I
used to have many conversations about it ;
because creditors are very troublesome and
hard-hearted ; and I find you think it not
only unpleasant, but almost wicked; yet
many genteel peovle do it—now this puzzles
me, Olivia.”

“It is very natural to be puzzled at your
age, Emily, for the madness and folly of such
conduct appear unaccountable at mine; I
must, however, correct your ideas with re-
spect to the notion of creditors being hard-
hearted. Amongst people of fashion, the
hard-hearied are decidedly of the other party,
who, to gratify short-sighted selfishness, by
a vain display of splendor to which they have
no pretensions, or to pursue some project of
ambition, or even avarice, to rival a friend,
out-show an enemy, or indulge in the grosser
THE SISTERS 85

appetites, will distress without mercy the un-
happy manufacturer, or the industrious arti-
san, by taking such credit as he is utterly
unable to bear. By that means they force
him to distress the people who are dependent
upon him for bread, for their starving fami-
lies; many a fine lady thus ‘ grinds the faces
of the poor,’ as the Scripture terms it, who
would be quite shocked at the idea of want-
ing sensibility ; and there have been instances
of compassionate women of quality, visit-
ing the abodes of wretched objects, that have
been recommended to their notice, and found
on inquiry that they had actually been re-
duced entirely by their own means.”

“ But, however shocking the circumstance, .
as it is evident they were ignorant of the
mischief they had done, one cannot think
them exceedingly to blame, Olivia: I dare
say they were ladies who were perpetually
engaged, and therefore never looked into
these affairs at all.”

““Wilful ignorance is no excuse for sins of
this, or any other kind, Emily; no human
being is ever so lifted above the common
cares of life, as not to know so nearly their
actual income, as to be under a necessity of
proportioning their expenditure to such in-
come. Women of the first rank have done
it; and, in fact, many are doing it at this
86 THE SISTERS.

very time, with a propriety that fully proves,
wherever there is a true sense of justice, an
upright intention, and virtuous principle,
there will be a conformity of character.
Such people will find time for the discharge
of their duties, however various and multi-
form ; nor will they think that giving asum
of money in a fit of generosity, or even feel-
ing compassion at the sight of distress, will
exonerate them from the claims which com-
mon honesty ought to have upon them in the
first place, for justice is paramount to every
other claim, although charity treads hard
upon its heels. So long as a man is in debt,
he has nothing to give, till his creditors are
‘satisfied, since in doing so he robs them of
what is justly theirs; he is obliged to repress
the yearnings of compassion in his own heart,
and the solicitations of his distressed brethren,
in order that he may fulfil his duty to those,
whose sufferings are probably either nearly,
or remotely, as great as those he is called on
to pity. If he does not do this, however we
may refine on the matter, he is a dishonest,
unjust man, and an unworthy, mischievous
member of society; his sensibility is per-
verted, his example bad, and his conduct to
be deprecated the more, because it is ex-
tremely apt to mislead the young and in-
experienced, who are subject to mistake daz-
THE SISTERS. 87

zling actions for solid virtues. The widow's
mite, given to one poorer than herself, when
she has paid honestly for her poor lodging,
and her scanty morsel, is worth ten thousand
such offerings at the shrine of either pub-
lic or private feeling; for it is not only the
gift of compassion, but self-denial, which is
the touchstone of virtue.”

Emily reflected deeply on these words, and
they fell as good seed on her heart, for she
dearly loved the speaker, who always deliv-
ered her sentiments, however decidedly, yet
with a look of so much benignity, and in a
tone of so much persuasive mildness, and
whose actions so perfectly accorded with
her words, that it was impossible not to be
impressed with their importance, and at least
form a temporary resolution to abide by
their direction. In fact, all resolution in
outh must be temporary; they must have
ne upon line, an Precept upon precept;
and it must be readily believed, that this
was neither the first nor last conversation
Olivia held on these subjects, on which her
life was the best lecture; but I merely give
it to show, that, although she avoided, with
great delicacy, finding fault with the conduct
of Mrs. Mortimer, she yet felt it her duty
to guard her child from those quicksands,
88 THE SISTERS.

which were at this very time involving her
own happiness and that of her family.

en

CHAPTER VIL

Is priviloged beyond the common walk”
Of virtuous life, Youna.

THE conversation related in the last chap-
ter brought the sisters to the house of poor
Saunders, which they entered without cere-
mony; and found the “ interior of a cottage”
made so very different by their prompt and
judicious benevolence, that every trait of
solemnity was instantly banished from the
face of Emily, who gazed with delight on the
scene before her: on the one side sat the
good woman of the house spinning, with her
youngest daughter knitting beside her; the
eldest was preparing the supper for the fam-
ily. The late invalid, though still pale and
thin, wore the looks of convalescence: his
oungest boy stood between his knees, learn-
ing his alphabet, whilst the elder sat on the
floor by his feet, making a spindle for his
mother; all wore looks of cheerfulness and

health—all were employed and happy.
The family were all moved with the sight
of their benefactress, who had been prevent-
HOFLAND’s HOME TALES.

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THE SISTERS. 89

ed, by the general delicacy of her health, and
the badness of the weather, from visiting
them in person for several weeks; the chil-
dren gave a cry of joy, the master of the
house rose respectfully, with delight in his
eyes; whilst his wife, after several unsuccess-
ful efforts to welcome them, burst into tears
of joy, and wept aloud.

The honest husbandman apologized for his
good woman, by saying, “she had not quite
recovered from the weakness brought on by
their state of long suffering, previous to the
time the good lady first found them, and it
made her spirits rather “ticklish loike.”

“T be sure,” said the poor creature, sob-
bing, “so Ibe, that I be happy past all things
to see madam here again; but sumhow, when
I think what a condition she found us in, all
dying for want, and that she came, sent b

od himself, to raise us all up again, as it
were, my heart feels ready to break wi’ joy
and thankfulness to see her blessed face again ;
and sweet Miss Emmy looking so brave too,
just as if she was rewarded with health for
er goodness to us.”
hen Emily recollected how feeble she
was when she first entered this cottage, com-
pared to the strength which now braced her
imbs, and bloomed in her cheeks, she ac-
corded gratefully with the idea, and joined
90 THE SISTERS.

with the humble inhabitants, in giving praise
to Him who had bestowed to them alike the
“garment of praise for the spirit of heavi-
ness:” some of the sweetest moments of her
existence were again spent in this cottage,
and she departed with a heart deeply im-
pressed with that sense of Divine goodness,
which arises from compassion and devotion,
blended in the bosom of unaffected feel-

ing.
‘They left this family, followed by its
blessings and prayers, and bent their steps to
the parsonage, which was very little out of
their way; they felt some little surprise that
Maria did not meet them, as she was wont,
at the gate of the garden which led to the
house; and Emily had more than ever a
degree of pain for having cooled the warm
heart of her companion. Her sensations
were rendered more poignant, when, on en-
tering the house, she found that Maria’s ab-
sence was occasioned by the indisposition of
her father, who was seated in a great chair,
laboring under a severe cold and sore throat,
which threatened to prove a quinsy of the
most malignant kind; and surrounded by his
anxious family, whose silent motions, and
trembling glances, bespoke the extreme anx-
fety under which they labored,
r. Berryl was a man of such sincere
THE SISTERS. 91

piety, so fitted, not only by religious knowl-
edge and moral excellence, for the station
he held in society, but even by nature itself,
which had formed him at once meek and ac-
tive, gentle and vigilant, that no person could
be found more likely to conciliate the good-
will and reverence of all around him, and
“run with patience the race that was set be-
fore him.” Accordingly he was held in the
most affectionate esteem by all his flock, and
in his own family beloved to enthusiasm ;
especially by his faithful partner, who was
every way worthy of Aim, and calculated to
fulfil the arduous duties assigned to her in
the management of their scanty store. She
was now in a state of agitation she was ill
able to suppress; and sincerely rejoiced to
see Miss Mortimer, whose powers, as a vil-
lage doctress, were well known; for although
the apothecary had just left her, she was,
with the solicitude all must feel for an object
of so much moment, anxious to hear every
prescription, and listen to every one’s advice,
yet looking continually to God for his bless-
ing on every means pointed out for the re-
lief of her beloved husband.

Olivia gave the best direction in her power,
and having done so, withdrew, conscious that
as she could not benefit the patient, it was bet-
ter not to crowd his room, and entreated the

Ww
92 THE SISTERS.

children not to go into it more than was
necessary.

To do nothing in a case of this kind, is the
only task which friendship finds severe, until
it has learned to forego its own wishes.
Emily loved Mr. Berryl; he had been her
instructor in many things, and her kind
friend in every thing ; and she really wished
that she might have been permitted to assist
Maria and her eldest sister in nursing him;
so that she returned home very reluctantly,
regretting every step that she was not of an
age to be useful to one she so highly valued.
‘Olivia, though sorry to see her suffer, was
yet pleased with her humility and sympathy ;
and did not seek to interrupt a course of
feeling natural and beneficial to her.

The next morning they were distressed
‘to find that Mr. Berryl continued extremely
il; towards noon Miss Mortimer went over
herself, and found that the accounts, she
had received were not exaggerated. The
disease, with that rapidity for which it is
remarkable, had assumed its most terrible
-aspect.; a physician had been sent for, and
-arrived during her visit, and confirmed the
fears expressed by the apothecary, that un-
less relief was obtained in the course of the
evening, death would inevitably ensue—a
sentence which ran through the distracted
THE SISTERS. 93

family like the stroke of lightning ; and the
horror and distress which pervaded every
mind was beyond conception. He only on
whom it was passed, and who read it in the
distressed looks and wild distress of his wife
and children, was enabled to endure the aw-
ful shock ; and casting all his cares for them
and for himself at the feet of his Divine
Master, say, “ behold thy servant—be it un-
to me according to thy will.”

Miss Mortimer could not think of leaving
poor Mrs. Berry] till the arrival of her sister,
for whom she dispatched her servant. On her
arrival she returned home, desiring them to
consider her every way at their service, though
it was evident to all, that the shock her kind
heart had sustained in its sympathy with
them, had rendered her unequal to any per-
sonal exertion. On her return she found
that society, which of all others was best cal-
culated to restore her tranquillity; this was
the family of the St. Faires, who, having ar-
rived the day before at Mr. Lewis’s, had rode
over to see her, accompanied by their son, a
fine boy about three years older than Emily,
named Alfred. He was the godson of Olivia,
but had not been seen by her for several
years ; a Mr. Monson, who was the visitant
of Mr. Lewis, had likewise come over; so
that Emily, on her sister’s arrival at home,
04 THE SISTERS.

was surrounded with company, and doing
the honors of the house, in a manner so at-
tractive to Mr. Monson, who was a mere
country gentleman, that he was quite de-
lighted with her, and paid her so many com-
pliments, as almost to overset poor Emily's
new-gained wisdom—so much mischief may
be done in a little time by foolish people.
When, however, Emily perceived by the
pale cheeks and red eyes of her sister, how
things were going on at the parsonage, her
heart instantly sunk, and vrith a tremblin
voice she asked her what the physician had
said. On learning the state of the good man,
and the distress of his family, she burst into
tears, and left the room to which she did not
return till dinner was announced, when, fear-
ful of grieving Ohvia by her absence, she
crept into the room robbed of all the vivacity
she had before displayed, and sat down
with the air of one who is struggling to as-
sume cheerfulness for the sake of those
around her; and fancying she cut a sad fig-
ure with her swollen cheeks, felt somewhat
surprised, at finding herself addressed with
great kindness by Alfred St. Faire, whom
she had hitherto considered little better
than a country booby, because he had taken
so little notice of her at the time when Mr.
Monson had evidently admired her so much.
THE SISTERS. 95

Mr. Monson was one of those people who
are very fond of relating long, tedious tales,
especially any thing in which he had borne
a part himself; and when the cloth was
drawn, prepared to indulge himself in his fa-
vorite amusement; but Miss Mortimer and
her old friends had not met for so long a time,
that he found it in vain to gain any audience
but the young ones, to whom he therefore
addressed himself thus :—

“T am quite sorry, my pretty dear, to see
you take on, and fret so about this poor par-
son of yours, who, I don’t doubt, will do
very well in time, or if he dies, you may get
as good a one in his stead; but, however,
that’s neither here nor there; I dare venture
to lay my chestnut mare to a blind jackass,
that, when I was in Wales last year, I hada
worse sore throat than his,”

“And what cured you, sir?” said Emily,

eagerly.

“ Why, Miss, that’s the very thing I was
going to tell you.”

He then proceeded, in the most circum-
stantial manner, to give all the particulars of
his case to Emily, concluding with a declara-
tion, that the application of hops*, in large
quantities, produced suppuration in his throat,

* The hops, thus applied, should be those which have been used,
and have partly spent their strength.—uthor’s Note.
06 THE SISTERS.

at a time when he was in the most 1mminent
danger, and describing the method of fomen-
tation, with a minuteness that would have
been disgusting to a person less interested.
than Emily; but she heard him with such
rapt attention and profound deference to the
end' of his story, that he was convinced she
was a paragon of good sense; but just as he
opened his mouth to tell her so she vanished
from his sight.

It struck Emily, that in returning from the
parsonage the night before, she had passed a

ouse where the maid was preparing her
brewing vessels at the door; she therefore
hastened out of the house by the back door,
and flew to the spot, and was regaled with
the sight of a large sieve of smoking hops:
she instantly bade the servant carry them to
the house of Mr. Berryl, and running for-
ward herself in great agitation, related what
the stranger had said, and requested their
immediate application; declaring, that if she
were permitted, she could apply them her-
self.

The drowning catch at straws; Mrs. Berryl
and her sister eagerly embraced a prescrip-
tion which, at all events, could not hurt the
patient, whose breathing now became ever
moment more laborious, and to whom all
speech had been denied some hours, but
THE SISTERS. 97

whose upraised eyes and placid countenance
bespoke that communion with Heaven,
which was opened when all earthly comfort
was closed upon him, and which sustained
him in this trying hour.

In answer to Emily's urgent entreaties, she
was admitted to his bedside, and assisted Mrs.
Berryl and her daughter to apply the fomen-
tations; her heart beat with quickness, and
she trembled with alternate hope and appre-
hension. Every thing around her contribu-
ted to excite this feeling in the most vivid
manner; the revived hopes of the children,
the despair of their aunt, who had learnt
more from the medical attendant than he
would confide to the family; and the agonies
depicted in the speaking countenance of a
wife, at such a dreadful period, when more
than life was suspended on the present mo-
ment; and who beheld her one moment as
the herald of hope, and the next with dismay ;
who struggled for resignation, but found only
misery, altogether pressed upon her mind in
such a manner, as to make this a scene of
much greater interest than she had ever been
engaged in before. Hven whilst she bent
beneath the pain it inflicted, she felt as if her
life had been bestowed for the express pur-
pose of enduring it. In silent and breathless
expectation she sat waiting for the issue,
98 THE SISTERS.

endeavoring by mental prayer to gain cour-
age to endure the worst, while in humble
faith she supplicated for the life of one so in-
estimable to all around him.

An hour elapsed in this situation, and in
that time the patient’s breathing was evi-
dently worse, and his pain much greater.
Mrs, Berry!’s sister, conceiving that all relief
was impossible, proposed to discontinue an
application which evidently had done no
good, and which might, by increasing the in-
flammation, add to the pain of the patient;
to this Mrs. Berry] consented, with a look of
such extreme despondency as bespoke the
bitterness of her disappointment, and fell on
the sinking heart of Emily asa tacit reproach.
She recollected, just at this moment, that Mr.
Monson had told her, that he felt much worse
just before the quinsy broke, and she men-
tioned this circumstance, entreating them by
all means to renew the application. Mrs.
Berryl would have taken her advice, but the
other attendants positively rejected it. Hm-
ily was in agonies; she entreated, she be-
sought them to apply it but once again; her
distress became vociferous; it attracted the

atient, who made signs that he would have
itagain. Emily saw that this was the last time
that she should be indulged, and she deter-
mined one minute that she would run for her
THE SISTERS, 99 .

sister and Mr. Monson, who might persuade
them to persist in it, but she durst not quit
the room, lest her favorite prescription should
be banished with her presence, as she saw
very plainly that Mr. Berryl exposed himself
to increased pain, rather in answer to her
entreaties than from any faith in her medi-
cine; and this condescension rendered him
more dear to her heart. She exhorted him,
as well as she was able, to endure it;
told him over and over, all that Mr. Monson
had said; and became, in her extraordi-
nary and agitated solicitude, so noisy and
clamorous, that Mrs. Berryl and her friends
deemed it highly improper to permit her con-
tinuance in the room, and at length insisted
on her leaving it.

Emily could not endure this; she had so
worked up her imagination, that she believed
Mr. Berryl’s life entirely depended on her
stay; and though she had, in the first in-
stance, been severely afflicted with the sor-
row of those around her, yet, since they had
opposed her wishes, she had persuaded her-
self that they were not as desirous to save
him as she was. It was now night, and
several messages had been sent from her
sister, but they were rather inquiries after the
patient than her ; for Olivia had considerable
reliance on her prudence, and could not doubt
100 THE SISTERS.

her delicacy, as she was naturally a modest,
retiring child, and had lately in a great mea-
sure resumed her native manners, especially
when her heart was affected. She now de-
termined, ifshe must leave him, to fetch her
sister immediately, as one who would have
more authority ; but the dread of what might
occur during her absence affecting her exces-
sively, just as she was leaving the room she
cast a look of bitter anguish towards the bed,
accompanied with a motion of her arms, cry-
ing—“ Oh, my dear sir, give me your bless-
ing!” The patient, deeply affected, threw
out Ais arms also, and making a violent effort
to speak, the ulcer instantly broke in his
throat, and for a few moments he was strug-
gling with suffocation.

Mrs. Berry] dropped senseless on the floor;
her sister sprung to her relief, while Emily,
who was the only child that had been per-
mitted to stay so long in the room, spran
upon the bed, and giving him a blow wit
all her little strength between his shoulders,
he was instantly relieved by a copious dis-
charge of the matter, and in a few moments
breathed freely.

Conscious of extreme weakness, notwith-
standing the spring given to his spirits by
sudden ease, Mr. Berry] durst scarcely allow
himself to whisper words of congratulation
THE SISTERS. 101

to his scarcely-recovered spouse, and accents
of thankfulness to his God, ere he sought the
repose so long denied him; but he was con-
scious whose was the hand appointed for his
deliverance, and his eye looked in quest of
her, followed by that of his wife. Shrouded
by the curtain at the foot of the bed, Emily
was how pouring out her full heart at the
mercy-seat of Divine grace, in silent adora-
tion. Her hopes, her fears, and her anger,
were forgotten; one sweet and holy sensa-
tion of calm and awful joy pervaded her
heart, and shed a sweet tranquillity over her
agitated bosom; and though abundant tears
rolled down her cheeks, they appeared neither
the immediate offspring of joy nor sorrow,
but of an emotion hallowed, though unde-
finable.

When Mrs. Berry] clasped her to her
bosom, and thanked her by looks and kisses,
and when the children below crowded round
her, ere her return, to bless and thank her,
she repelled not their tenderness by cold-
ness; but she was unable to reply to them,
for the action of her mind on this eventful
night appeared to have almost robbed her
body of its usual strength. On arriving at
home, she found all the party remaining with
her sister, except Mr. Monson, who was, in
fact, the only person she now wished to see,
102 THE SISTERS.

as she felt the greatest desire possible to
felicitate him upon the excellence of his pre-
scription; she contented herself therefore
with briefly informing Olivia, that there was
now every thing to hope for their dear friend ;
and without referring to her share in his
amendment, she retired to her pillow, under
the happiest consciousness that could tran-
quillize the heart, and sweeten the slumbers
of any human being.



CHAPTER VIIL

It may be laid down as an unfailing and universal axiom, that “ all
pride is abject and mean.” JOHNSON,
EmILy did not awake till late on the follow-
ing morning; and as Miss Mortimer was
very early by the bedside of the invalid, and
there learnt all that she had done the pre-
ceding evening, and perceived, that with
care, there was no doubt of his speedy re-
covery, on her return she gave orders that
Emily should not be disturbed, and gave
her guests an account of the beneficial exer-
tions the dear girl had made the preceding
evening, during her absence from home.
Alfred St. Faire listened with great inter-
est to this detail; he was now a tall unform-
ed boy of about fourteen, with an intelligent
THE SISTERS. 103

countenance, warm heart, and excellent
understanding, which having been cultivated
at home by his parents, was advanced be-
yond his years; but as he had seen very little
company, he did not appear to advantage on
a first view, his manners being rather nega-
tively inoffensive than prepossessing, until
his affections were won upon, when he was
found frank and engaging in no common de-
gree. The conduct of Emily, when with a
self-possession uncommon, and in fact un-
natural at her age, she had welcomed his
mother and party with the manners of a
finished woman, had amused him as a piece
of acting, though it entirely failed in pleasing
him; but when he saw the girl he had re-
garded as an automaton exhibit marks of
real feeling, his genuine sympathy was ex-
cited towards her; and the further account
he heard of her, could not fail to awaken his
more perfect approbation. Alfred was often
accustomed to express his feelings in verse,
and being well read in the Scriptures, and
uniting with his poetical taste that fine reli-
gious sense which is generally combined with
it, he could not help comparing the late situ-
ation of Kmily and her simple prescription,
to Naaman’s cure, and was thence led to
write the following lines, which he left upon
the breakfast-table, addressed to Emily.
104 THE SISTERS.

Not by the mouth of Judah’s king,
Did God reveal the blest command,
Which bade the illustrious Pagan wing -
His steps to Zion’s haliow’d land;
And humbly, at Elisha’s door,
The promised boon of health implore,
No! to a little maid was given,
The mission of distinguish’d grace,
Thus made the ambassadrees of Heaven,
The patriot of her chosen race ;
Taught in a stranger’s land to raise,
Her country’s fame, her Maker’s praise,

Thrice happy Emily, to you

Was given, like honors from above,
The life of virtue to renew,

And crown the pious prayer of love:
A special herald from the skies,
To snatch from death hie sacrifice.

When Emily read these lines, she felt
gratified and thankful; but her pleasure was
of a very different kind from that feverish
vanity which once actuated her. By mingling
even her self-satisfaction with reference to
religious feelings, she was taught to recon-
sider the affair, to see how much of human
weakness had mingled with the better parts
of her conduct, and to learn humility, even
in the moment of exultation.

In a few days Mr. Berry] was enabled to
see his friends, and converse freely on the
subject of his illness; and though his heart
naturally overflowed with love and gratitude
towards his “ village doctress,” as he called
Emily, yet he was too sincerely interested in
her welfare to suffer himself to bestow any
praise upon her, which was either exagger-
THE SISTERS, 105

ated in itself, or had not an immediate refer-
ence to that providential interposition in his
favor, of which she had become the happy
instrument. This salutary conduct promoted
every desirable effect in her mind; it taught
her gratitude to Heaven, and love to all
around her, inspiring the consciousness of
having attained such consequence in the
career of virtue, as to lessen all other fame in
her eyes; combined with such a sense of
frailty, that she dreaded to lose the little
already attained, and to press forward with
trembling, though not feeble steps, to higher
virtues.

The family of St. Faire left Miss Morti-
mer’s house with the most favorable impres-
sions of a child, for whom they had, in the
first instance, received those of a very differ-
ent nature. They remained the rest of the
summer at Mr. Lewis's, and the two families
were frequently together—the sincere esteem
and warm regard which had so long subsist-
ed between Olivia and Mr. St. Faire was a
source of happiness to both; he was grateful
to her for directing his views to his present
lady, with whom he passed a life of as per-
fect happiness as human nature is permitted
to enjoy. This happiness had met, in the
earlier part of their union, with much alloy,
from the sickness and death of their three
106 THE SISTERS,

youngest children; but time, and, still more,
submission to the Divine will, had now ena:
bled them to resign their precious babes;
and in the health and promising virtues of
their eldest son, they enjoyed the sweetest
satisfaction. Under such circumstances, it
was no wonder that they had not hitherto
prevailed upon themselves to part with him;

ut at the close of this summer, they re-
solved, that in a short time, they would con-
fide him to the care of a tutor, and permit
him to pursue his studies at college, previous
to which they intended to visit the metropo-
lis, and wished to prevail on Olivia to accom-
pany them thither, a wish in which Emily
very naturally joined.

Loth to exchange the quiet of her own
abode, and still more to endanger the stability
of Emily’s improving character, Miss Morti-
mer wrote to her father a full account of her
present situation, and determined to be
guided entirely by his answer, which answer
accorded with her wishes; as Mr. Mortimer
declared that he was so entirely of opinion
that Emily was not only much better, but
much happier in her present situation, that
however earnestly he wished to see both his
daughters, he could not desire their removal,
except for Caroline’s sake. But she, he ob-
served, having a good governess, and being
THE SISTERS. 107

‘permitted by her mother to attend to her
Tessons, because it was fashionable for girls
to be completely secluded for a year or two,
previous to their coming out, as it is called,
all was going on in that quarter pretty well
at present, and would only be interrupted by
a change.

Under these circumstances, Emily was
happily left for the two following years, in
which time Mr. Mortimer had three different
times paid Olivia visits in the country, being
at one time accompanied by his lady, who
with great difficulty prevailed on herself to
stop one week on her road to Bath, partly
for the purpose of seeing her daughter, and
partly to obtain from Olivia aloan of money,
or more properly a gift, since she never
thought of repaying it. She fancied that the
retirement in which she lived must have ena-
bled Miss Mortimer to lay up a little sum,
which might have been very agreeably ex-
pended by her in the fashionable watering-
place whither she was hastening ; but
unluckily for the lady’s calculation, Miss
Mortimer had no such sum; for although her
establishment was within the limits of her
fortune, and her pleasures not expensive, yet
they were of a nature to employ the remain-
der of her income, and seldom left her more

than a small sum of ready money by her;
x
108 THE SISTERS.

and when Mrs. Mortimer, after giving many
gentle hints, at length spoke her wants more
fully, this was explained to her by Olivia.

“T can’t conceive,” said Mrs. Mortimer,
pettishly, “what pleasure you can have in
the country, to swallow up the remainder of
your income; excuse me, Olivia, but you
must have some mode of extravagance that
has never entered my head; I am sure I
cannot perceive it, either in your dress, or
that of Emily.”

When Mrs. Mortimer was first married, it
will be remembered that Olivia was scarcel
of age; she then united to a naturally fran
and generous heart, much of that liberality so
common to her age, and gave with a profu-
sion, more suited to the rapacity of her
mother-in-law’s wishes, than her own cir-
cumstances, and would, in fact, have thrown
her whole fortune into her father’s lap, if his
generosity had permitted it. This he hap-
pily opposed; and in the course of a very
short time, she was so fully convinced of the
extreme extravagance and meanness of Mrs.
Mortimer, that she began to direct her wealth
into other channels, and by following the
dictates of her benevolence, sometimes in the
presence of Mrs. Mortimer, proved to her,
that she had some methods of disposing of
money as well as herself. When the lady
THE SISTERS. 109

made this speech, she knew perfectly well
what those amusements and pleasures were
which Olivia enjoyed, but of which she chose
to appear ignorant, that she might have an
opportunity of ridiculing each particular in-
stance of benevolence which came before her,
and point out the stale doctrine, eternally
broached by the mean and unfeeling, that
“every person of this country is supported
by the parish laws; it is very wrong to en-
courage vagabonds, it is filling the country
with thieves and beggars,” or, “taking peo-
ple out of their proper spheres in life, ever
oes mischief,” &c., &c.; and all these wise
saws were already on the tongue of this ex-
travagant gamestress, who had many a time
betted as much money on the turn of a card,
or the throw of a die, as would have found
Olivia in charity-money for a twelvemonth,
when she was a little disappointed by her
answering thus:—'‘ You know I am fond of
books, and being desirous of placing the best
authors before Emily, now she is of age to
understand history and natural philosophy,
T have lately bought the best editions now
publishing ; besides, the expense of her mas-
ters is very considerable, for as we reside at
a great distance from any large town, I am
obliged of course to pay for their journeys.”
‘A music-master is the ,only thing she
110 THE SISTERS.

needs,” said Mrs. Mortimer, “just to teach
her a few graces, and they can be got only in
town, you know, and she must of course
learn to dance there; so both may be taken
together; all other knowledge is quite super-
fluous to girls: to be sure these things are
absolutely necessary, because they get them
invited everywhere, and help them off. Sev-
eral girls of our acquaintance are married
since you left London, with no other recom-
mendation than good faces, fine voices, and a
tolerable knowledge of music; to be sure
there are a much greater number left on
hand, poor things; but I don’t know how it
is, girls now-a-days don’t understand the style
that suits them: I hope my dear girls won't
be such dolts when they get out—I’m sure I
took pains enough to initiate them.”

“T do not know what you mean by the
siyle that suits them?” said Olivia, question-
ingl

ey dare say not, for you are as completely
rusticated here as if you were living among
the Hottentots; and I should be entirely
wretched about Emily, if I had not lately
seen an instance of a fine handsome girl
quite as outré as she, and as full of grand-
mother notions, come up from the country;
and whilst all the women were laughing at
her, actually ran away with a young noble-
THE SISTERS. 111

man, and twenty thousand a-year: at pres-
ent, novelty is all the rage. The youn
beautiful Duchess of Leeds nurses her chil-
dren, and says her prayers. Lady Caroline
Wriothesley, whose face rivals the portrait of
her famous predecessor, resides at the family
seat down in Yorkshire, pays her tradesmen
with her own hands, and amuses herself with
helping her husband to improve his estate,
and assisting her housekeeper to make caudle
for all the sick in the village; but these are
odd fancies, and may suit rich beauties of
rank, who are privileged beings, and may do
any thing they like; but what I mean by
style, is this—girls ought to study what suits
them best, who have their fortunes to make,
and not indiscriminately to adopt either
Vallegro, or il penseroso ; still less should they
venture on being romps, or philosophers, un-
less they are well aware that it suits them
exactly: it is the duty of prudent mothers
to point it out to them; but some women
are too careless to attend to these proprieties,
and others err from false judgment. Now,
how do you think Lady Tasteless brought
out her two girls, at Mrs. Stanton’s assembly
last week ?”

“T have no idea that sne could bring them
out improperly, if they were well dressed,
and respectably introduced.”
112 THE SISTERS.

“Bless me, Olivia, you have no sense of
these things at all. Who could believe you
had ever been a beauty, with twenty thou-
sand pounds, which twenty years ago was a
monstrous pretty thing, and entitled a pretty
woman to a place in society. Had I had it,
I should have been in a very different situa-
tion to what I now fill; but, however, I don’t
mean to reflect on your father—he’s a wor-
thy man, only too close; and covetousness is
the natural vice of age. We were speaking
of Lady Tasteless; you must know fer two
girls are both handsome, but very different;
Ellen takes after her father, is plump, round-
faced, with funny eyes, and a mouth that
gives animation to her whole countenance,
from its playful dimples. Her form is short,
and most grievously en bon point: on the
other hand, Louisa 1s tall, slender, with fine
laughing eyes, and a pale complexion, quite
fit for a tragic muse; and yet did their silly
mother bring out these girls precisely the re-
verse of what nature and common sense in-
tended. The gay Ellen was armed with a
fine cambric handerchief, and a smelling-
bottle, and performed the whole evening, the
character of. ‘a pensive nun devout and pure,’
under pretext of a distressing headache, in
order to look interesting; while poor Louisa,
who is really laboring under a trifling indis-
THE SISTERS. 118

osition, was under orders to shake the ‘light
Fntastic toe’ in every corner of the room,
and to look smilingly ‘with all her might,
by way of being charming. The conse-
quence of this was just what might have
been expected; at the very moment when
Sir Hugh Dashwell was condoling with Ellen,
and she ought to have answered him with
dying softness, she burst into a horse-laugh
at the grimaces of old Lord Hobbledown; and
when Louisa, with extreme fatigue, having
got down the fourth dance, was assuring her
partner that she ‘trod on air,’ she dropt on
the floor in a fainting-fit, and the thing bein
really a fit, you know, they were all oblige
to go home together, and left every body
behind to laugh at them.”

“Well, my dear ma’am, I hope your
daughters will never run the risk of equal
shame, by assuming any character at all, but
such as really belongs to them—those of un-
pretending girls, with knowledge enough to
understand their duty, and principle enough
to practise it.”

“These are subjects I never talk on, either
to you or your father, Miss Mortimer; all I
want to say is this, that if you discharge
Emily’s masters, and give me a draft on your
banker for the money they would cost you,
it will really be of service to me, now I am
114 THE SISTERS.

going to Bath; and I think, considering the
society I have introduced your father to, and
the pains I take for the future establishment
of your sisters, by forming the jirst con-
nections, ought to give my wants and wishes
some consideration in your eyes.”

Olivia had been too much, and too justly,
offended by the manner in which her father’s
name had been introduced, to accede to the
demands of a woman, who, at the very mo-
ment she was abusing his liberality, wasting
his fortune, and beggaring his children, could
reflect upon him for a fault it was his misfor-
tune to be entirely devoid of; she therefore
answered this appeal with a calm firmness
she had never assumed before; and empty-
ing the contents of her pocket-book upon the
table, said—“ Here are notes, ma'am, to the
amount of about twenty pounds—they are
all I have by me at present, and I am willing
to divide them with you, if so small a sum
will be of any use to you.”

‘“T apprehend,” said Mrs. Mortimer, rising
with great dignity, “you have mistaken me
for one of your village paupers, Miss Morti-
mer, and are presenting me with the means
of purchasing winter blankets, or a fat pig
for Christmas.”

The color rose to Olivia’s cheek, and the
recollection how thankfully even such a sum
THE SISTERS, 115

as this had been received by this lady before
her marriage, rushed to her memory; and
she was about to speak in terms perfectly
just, but not consistent with the respect she
now deemed due to her. She therefore
checked herself again, and observing—“‘ That
she was certain it was more wise to apply the
money in the way Mrs. Mortimer had point-
ed out, than send it after the many larger
sums which had preceded it,” coolly put it in
her pocket; and by so doing completely
quenched the rising anger of the lady, who
had merely meant to frighten her into com-
pliance with her wishes. Considering her a
poor delicate little woman, whose nerves
shrunk from contention of all kinds, she
thought, what could not be gained by fair
means might be exacted by foul ones—that
fear might grant what care denied; and be-
ing aware that a sum of money might soon
be obtained by Olivia, whose credit gras as
good as her own was bad, she determined
not to relinquish her point, so long as it was.
tenable. Having lately lost a larger sum of
money than she had ever lost before, she was.
exceedingly anxious to obtain a fresh supply,.
in order that she might possess the means of
playing for the recovery of the last; such is
the eternal round of folly and vice necessity
prescribes to the gambler, who, of all other:
Â¥
116 THE SISTERS.

sinners, seems the least able to say to his
temptation, “hitherto shalt thou go, but no
farther.”

Mrs. Mortimer found, however, to her in-
finite chagrin, that she had passed the rubicon
of Olivia’s generosity, as she termed it; for
Olivia herself never called it by any other
name than weakness, nor reflected upon it
with any other feelings than as money mis-
applied or misspent; as, although it had
saved her father’s pocket in some individual
instances, it had not lessened his general ex-
nditure; the wants of extravagance being
e those of the horse-leech, which crieth
continually—" Give, give ;” and itis not only
impossible to supply them, but generally
found that every indulgence adds fuel to the
fire

When Mrs. Mortimer found that nothing
was to be gained from the firm, though mild
-and peysevering, refusal of Olivia, she be-
-eame impatient to commence her journey;
and after bestowing many severe sarcasms
upon Sunday schools, a village Lady Bounti-
fal, learned ladies, petticoat reformers, and
solitary blue stockings, not without great ex-
pressed pity, and implied contempt, for poor,
tle, crooked old maids, all of which fell
harmless on the wise and gentle being for
whom they were designed, she set off When
THE SISTERS. 117

the tears were forgotten which the father
justly claimed, the little family resumed their
avocations, until the period already spoken
of, when they were summoned to London by
Mr. Mortimer, who, having had a severe at-
tack from an inflammatory disorder, and be-
ing aware that it was but too likely to return,
was desirous of seeing his children about
him; and without informing Olivia how in-
different his health really was, yet desired
her so to arrange her affairs in the country,
as to permit her residence in town for the
ensuing year.

Olivia, in this requisition, saw plainly that
the heart of her poor father was even worse
at ease than she Rad believed; and as Emily
was now at an age when this might be
spoken of with propriety, Olivia gave her so.
far to understand what was the cause of an
uneasiness she could not conceal, as to inter-
est her much for her suffering parent, and
induce such a train of reflections, as would,
she hoped, operate as a shield to her young
heart, on her return to that scene of apparent
gayety and splendor.

Although Emily was delighted with the
idea of seeing her dear Caroline again, and
naturally pleased with the thoughts of re-
visiting home, yet she was sensibly affected
with parting from friends whose virtues had
118 THE SISTERS.

endeared them to her, and objects to whom
benevolence had endeared her. She was
known and beloved by every person in the
immediate neighborhood, and all lamented
her departure as that of a daughter or a ben-
efactress; for as the gifts of her sister gene-
rally passed through her hands, she was held
by the poor in the light of a ministering
- angel. At the parsonage, the loss of the sis-
ters was most feelingly deplored, and especi-
ally by Maria, who, although she had now
attained such a degree of improvement as
enabled her to go on with each branch with-
out immediate assistance, could not see the
dear companion of her studies, and the gen-
erous friend who had assisted her in them,
now divided from her, without the most sen-
sible grief; she had, in fact, almost resided
under the same roof with them for so long a
time, that she appeared to be leaving a second
home; and she was well aware that when
they should return, she would probably be
herself removed to a considerable distance.
But the sorrow of Mrs. Berryl appeared
still greater than that of her daughter; and
as her eye glanced from Emily to her hus-
band, it spoke all that was passing in her
heart, of affection towards both. “Oh, m
dear Miss Emily,’ she exclaimed, “ tell me
before you go, that you forgive my unkind-
THE SISTERS, 119

ness to you, on that dreadful night when you
were sent by Heaven to save us. I knowI
was unkind to you, though I never had the
courage to speak of it before—but you knew
my distress.”

Emily burst afresh into tears, and clasping
Mrs. Berry! close to her heart, whispered, as
well as she was able—‘‘ That she only was to
blame—and that she had wondered many a
time they did not turn her out an hour be-
fore,” added she; “but that is so long ago,
we have, I am sure, mutually forgiven each
other ever since—why should we name it
now ?”

“Only to prove,” said Mrs. Berry], with a
smile, ‘how necessary it is to be ever watch-
ful over our conduct towards those we love,
since it is plain that though they may, and
do forgive us, yet if-we are really worth
and affectionate, we are not able in suc
cases to forgive ourselves,

—_————————

CHAPTER IX.

Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth, before the evil
ys draw nigh, Soromon,
ON arriving in London, the two sisters

were shocked to observe the great change

visible in their father’s appearance, and glad
120 THE SISTERS,

their journey had not been longer delayed ;
for although there was no symptom of any
particular disease remaining in Mr. Mortimer
at present, there was an appearance of age
and debility of the most threatening aspect,
and which was more perceptible to strangers
than those on whom it had stolen by slower
degrees.

Caroline and Emily were both grown so
much, that they gazed on each other as
strangers; they were much improved in their
persons, but their countenances exhibited
very different traits; discontent had warped
the fine features of the once lively Caroline;
and happiness relieved the bashfulness of the
too timid Emily. On further examination it
was found, that, by an error in education,
common to those who commune much with
the world, and little with their children, their
own hearts, or the dictates of common feel-
ing and common sense, Mrs. Mortimer had
for the last eighteen months entirely changed
her system of careless government, for one
of severe restriction. Caroline and her ill-
fated governess had endured a privation
amounting to imprisonment; for under the
idea of education becoming quite the rage,
she had been doomed to have a succession of
masters, and a variety of employment, to
which common talents and exertions are ut-
THE SISTERS. 121

terly unequal; since whatever else might en-
gage her attention, she was commanded to
practise music at least four hours a-day ; be-
sides which, she had for some months received
lessons from French, Italian, and German
masters; she was attended thrice a-week by
an artist of eminence, and twice by a posture-
master, to teach graceful attitudes; a subor-
dinate actor taught her the graces of elocu-
tion, and a drill-sergeant the art of walking;
and her governess had received various
lectures on the necessity of writing poetry,
in order to become perfectly fashionable and
fascinating—a term Mrs. Mortimer never for-
got in her list of requisitions.

Many times had the good old father inter-
ceded for the poor jaded girl, whose health
and spirits sank beneath the intolerable toil ;
but he was always answered with an assur-
ance, that nobody could appear in the world
without all this string of learning and graces
being attached to their names, as a title to
public admiration. Though he sometimes
seriously remonstrated against it, as an effec-
tual means of damping all power of rational
improvement, at others he endeavored to
laugh at it, maintaining that the best and
cheapest way of procuring these manifold
attainments, would be to send Caroline to the
seminary for young ladies in Tottenham
122 THE SISTERS.

Court-road, where thirteen accomplishments
‘may be had for thirty pounds per annum.
But all would not avail; Caroline was to be
educated now, not only for a beauty, but a
bel-esprit ; she must not merely be a clever
girl, but “a divine performer, an exquisite
warbler, an enchanting dancer, and a painter
of most exuberant genius.” Though not
quite mistress of the executive part of the art
to all these graces, she was condemned to add
the vocabulary of botany, chemistry, and
zoology; and without a knowledge of any
thing, the boldness of pretending at every
thing, which ‘makes the learned smile, and
the unlearned stare.”

The mind of poor Emily was absolutely
bewildered by the Herculean labors of her
sister’s system of education, and for some
days she stood an admiring spectatress of the
awful process of the school-room; but when
her first terrors had abated, and she was
enabled to exercise her cooler judgment on
the subject, she perceived that poor Caroline,
with much learning, gained little knowledge,
and that the necessity of flying from one
thing to another, in order to accommodate
her various attendants, the dislike she had to
many branches of study, and her general
weariness of all, had prevented: her from
really advancing in any, save music, in which
THE SISTERS. 128

ehe had attained. great proficiency, and a sort
of mechanical excellence, the necessary re-
sult of practice. This was purchased by
such a prodigious expenditure of time, that
her mind was, after all, unfurnished with an
essential knowledge, her imagination berek
of vivacity, her language spiritless and bar-
ren, her heart unaffected, cold, and devoid of
attachments.

Over this piteous picture the affectionate
Olivia sighed deeply, but not hopelessly;
she perceived that vanity was abated by the
intenseness of application, and pride subdued
from the difficulty of finding it food; and
though she foresaw that both would be
speedily rekindled, when, bursting from
these trammels, Caroline should be present-
ed to the world in the character of an ac-
complished beauty, and: taught by her dis-
cerning, though ill-judging mother, to display,
in the “style most suitable,” the kind of
attractions she sought to possess, yet she
trusted, before that period arrived, some
means might be found, by which attentive
friendship might awaken the dormant seeds
of virtue in her heart, and by turning the
little knowledge she possessed to proper ac-
count, save her from becoming that useless
thing—a “heartless beauty.” In the mean
time, her attentions seemed to be more par-
124 THE SISTERS.

ticularly devoted to Emily, in whom she
naturally appeared to possess a prescriptive
right, and whose person, at least, it was al-
lowed, had improved so much under her
care, that even Mrs. Mortimer suffered Caro-
line to follow every means of health pointed
out by Olivia, who, thus authorized, stole
many of those hours unwillingly devoted to
useless employment, in regaining blooming
looks and supple limbs; and invigorating a
constitution naturally good, but at this time
sinking into lassitude, and laying the foun-
dation for future suffering.

Mrs. Mortimer had not considered, in the
plan she adopted with equal rashness and
pertinacity, that had she at an early period
designed her daughter for a literary charac-
ter, and given her habits of application, those
things which were now a severe task, would
have become mere play to her; instead of
which, she took her from the salutary and
useful routine of school business, dictated by
Olivia, just at the time when it was most
necessary to enforce it; made her a prema-
ture fine lady for a year or two; and then
thrust her back into the nursery, to contend
with all the ignorance of childhood, and the
vanity of youth; and condemned her to run
through a course of instruction in the three
following years, which ought to have occu-
THE SISTERS. 125

pied at least a dozen, during that period
when the mind is most disengaged.

Olivia took advantage of the liberty given
her for the improvement of Caroline’s health,
to study that of her mind also; she led her
to the abodes of wretchedness—she awoke in
her apparently torpid heart the feelings of
humanity; and although the sorrow witness-
ed in the metropolis was too often blended
with proofs of guilt, and exhibited in char-
acters of depravity, yet, as she was now of
an age capable of being reasoned with, Olivia
thought it right, for a good purpose, to show
her the world as it really is, rather than to
suffer her to remain a stranger to the great
ends of her existence, until that period when
she would be plunged into a scene, where
her passions, called at once into action, might,
by concentrating her affections, for ever de-
stroy her happiness, and ruin all that was
excellent in her character.

From the contemplation of human wretch-
edness and the meltings of compassion, which
naturally soften the heart for the admission
of divine truths, Olivia led her dear pupil to
the contemplation of the Holy Scriptures,
which had been, during her residence in the
country, little better than a sealed book in
the house, as Mr. Mortimer pursued his
studies in the library, and Mrs. Mortimer in-
126 THE SISTERS.

sisted on the practice of sacred music occu-
pying the regular time. Olivia. conversed
with her of the Redeemer, and the fitness of
a faith in him for the present relief, and eter-
nal welfare of beings so lost in misery, and
prone to sin, as all around her appeared to
e; she expatiated, with all the feeling
warmth of one who “knows on whom she
hath believed,” on the value of the Scripture
promises, and the superior excellence of the
hristian character: she taught her to see
how immediately pure faith is connected with
perfect morality; that the dignity of consci-
ous integrity towards man, which exalts him
above all meanness and servility, giving him
a rank amongst his fellow-creatures, com-
pared to which all other distinctions are as
the “dust in the balance,” was perfectly com-
patible with that deep humiliation towards
God, prescribed by his word, which considers
man ‘as a fallen and sinful being,” indebted
solely to Divine mercy, as displayed in re-
deeming love, for grace to support him
through the trials and temptations of this
world, and bestow upon his imperfect ser-
vices the meed of unfading glory in the next,
Happily these lessons were not bestowed
in vain: as Caroline received them under
an impression of renovated health and hap-
piness, they formed a part of the important
THE SISTERS. 127

comforts now bestowed upon her, and de-
manded her gratitude, as much from the
pleasurable emotions combined with them,
as the high sense of importance every rea-
sonable being must attach to the doctrines of
“eternal life, offered by the Gospel.” Caro-
line was conscious that she had been unhap-

y, not only from the burdening nature of

er employments, but the petulance with
which she had borne them; she received re-
lief from the one, through the medium of
religious instfuction, which disposed her to
subdue the other. This happy association
for ever preserved its influence in her mind;
and whenever she felt unhappy afterwards,
she looked to Heaven for that consolation
which first flowed to her from thence—had
they been given in the moment of hilarity,
in the hour of exulting vanity, whether ex-
cited from personal or mental accomplish-
ments, their impression would have been far
more painful, and of course more slowly
made upon her mind, and never could have
attained the same hold on her affections; so
valuable is a discerning preceptor to youth,
since it is of the last importance, not only
that good should be instilled, but instilled at
the period when it is most likely to bring
forth fruits meet for instruction.

Mrs. Mortimer now wore a face of much

e
128 THE SISTERS.

anxiety, was seldom at home, and when
there, seldom visible till a late hour; so
abstracted, dull, and frequently peevish, that
the affairs of the school-room, to which the
sisters were confined, were permitted to take
their own course. Miss Harewood, the gov-
erness, was an amiable and intelligent youn

woman, perfectly equal to the task she ha

undertaken, so far as related to the mechan-
ical part of teaching; but as this was the
first time she had engaged in such a situation,
and she was still very young, she had suffer-
ed Mrs. Mortimer to encroach too much upon
her time, in the intolerable application she
had demanded, in order to make up the loss
of that time foolishly squandered in exhibit-
ing her “little dears” to the world, when they
ought to have been conning their lessons,
dressing their dolls, or planting their tin

gardens. This young person, of course, felt
truly grateful for the beneficial change pro-
duced in her department, as she partook not
only of that liberty which benefited her
health, the sight of that active benevolence
which enlarged her knowledge of human
nature, and awakened the sweetest emotions
of her heart, but of those lessons which,
flowing naturally through the actions and
conversation of Olivia, became the “savor of
life to her also.” She was an orphan, and
THE SISTERS. 129

her little fortune had been wisely expended
by her friends in procuring for her those
means of instruction by which she might
hereafter procure a genteel subsistence; and
she had with this view most industriously
possessed herself of every advantage offered
to her, at a great school in the vicinity of the
metropolis; but, alas! save the mere form of
words, the routine of family prayer, and the
necessity of going to church perfectly neat
and in good order, she had till now heard
nothing respecting that higher knowledge
which maketh wise unto salvation. Her
heart was tender, her capacity excellent, and
her habits so regular, that in her the good
seed found the happiest soil, and produced
the happiest effects; she became now cheer-
ful, animated, and attached; she felt a charm
in existence she had never known before;
active good humor and vivid compassion
sparkled in her countenance, and a conscious

ignity, resulting from a sense of Divine pro-
tection, was discernible in her deportment,
which heretofore evinced an air of dejection
and bashfulness, unworthy of her real merits.
She once drooped, as if she deemed herself
at best an accomplished slave; she now rose
to the sense of an elegant and virtuous wom-
an, as blest with “the liberty wherewith
Christ had made her free.”
130 THE SISTERS.

Mr. Mortimer, in the happy society and
the cheerful faces which now surrounded his
table, seemed, in a great measure, to forget
the cares which at times pressed heavy upon
his mind, and which, it was evident, preyed
upon his constitution. He was much troubled
with bilious attacks, which during the time
they lasted, were so severe as to attract even
the attention of Mrs. Mortimer, who ever
appeared in the greatest alarm when the life
of her husband was threatened, though the
moment her fear was removed, she resumed
a line of conduct that could not fail to render
that life miserable; a proof of selfishness that
deeply disgusted Olivia, and naturally ex-
cited remarks, even from her own daughters.
The silence of Olivia imposed a due restraint
upon her sisters; and Mrs. Mortimer con-
tinued to enjoy so much apparent deference
and affection from her family, as to cause a
considerable impression in her favor, upon
those visitants who knew her conduct, in
some respects, to be highly improper, but
were willing to believe she had some latent
good qualities which they had not dis-
cerned, little thinking that the poor deformed
woman, sometimes seen at the dinner-table,
at Mr. Mortimer’s elbow, but who rarely
spoke in large parties, was the spring of

that appeared respectable. in her char-
THE SISTERS. 131

acter, or was really estimable in her estab-
lishment.

A few years before this period, Olivia had
enjoyed the pleasure of a select and truly
valuable society in her father’s mansion, the
friends of his late lady and himself, who
loved Olivia, both for her own sake and that
of her excellent mother. Time, and still
more, the changes which had gradually dis-
placed them, under Mrs. Mortimer’s manage-
ment, had now left her, without one face in
which she could recognize a friend, in the
large circles which now occasionally sur-
rounded a board, which could no longer be
deemed either social or plentiful; and where
she never would have made her appearance
at all, but in compliance with the earnest
solicitation of her father. He protested that
he was ashamed of sitting down to hel
people to pitiful ragouts and Frenchifie
cookery, and which only served to remind
him of those times when he was accustomed
to see noble sirloins and fat turkeys smokin
on his table, surrounded by ladies in go
satin gowns, and gentlemen who had a plea-
sure in waiting upon them; “instead of
which,” he would add, “I now see a parcel
of misses of all ages, gliding into their chairs
like so many spectres, in muslin winding-
sheets, surmounted with heads fresh painted

Z
132 THE SISTERS.

from the hair-dresser’s shop; and these are
intermixed with staring fellows in Brutus
wigs, emulating the dress of grooms, and the
language of cooks and coachmen, while they
seize the fricando and whirligigs, drink wine
and call for bread, without any mercy at all
on the poor starving ghosts at their elbows,
who are thankful when an old gentleman of
the old school, like myself, happens to be
near enough to relieve their distress, by offer-
ing them an apology for a dinner, in the
shape of a stewed oyster, or a bit of fricasseed
aweetbread. Fine times, truly, when girls
of sixteen, and matrons of six-and-twenty,
must look to men turned sixty for common
politeness; not only the age of chivalry, but
that of compassion, is gone; in fact, the for-
wardness of the women set the men at ease
in the first place, and now they are making
use of their power with a witness; and the
worst of it is, that the modest and worthy
suffer by it; for there is always a set, from
fifteen to fifty, who are not only equal to
helping themselves in all sorts of difficulties,
butare, in plain English, so obtrusively impu-
dent and assuming, that I heartily hope they
will never be helped by any body else: when
I look at these women, I am thankful that I
have no son; when I see the men, I tremble
to recollect that I have two daughters.”
THE SISTERS. 138

“You had better,” said Mrs. Mortimer,
with a sneer, when she had listened to one
of these philippics one day, “advertise for a
Quaker’s son, in a new broad-brim, for one
of your daughters; and that of a country
squire, armed with boots and spurs for the
conquest of some blooming villager, for the
other.”

“T trust that my girls, if ever they marry,
will not advertise for their husbands, though
the thing is extremely common; girls being
now offered to market with as much publicity
as any other commodity, and generally sold
in the auction style to the highest bidder;
though it sometimes happens that many years
elapse, in which the friends of the parties
puff her in vain, and the mother exclaims,
to little purpose—‘ Going, gentlemen !—go-
ing! with all her beauty, her playing, her
fortune, going, going, going’—before she is
enabled to add that little emphatic word,
gone! For my own part, I wonder the ladies
take the trouble they do in those cases; for
I think, putting their daughters into Christie’s
hands at once would answer much better, as
of course the goods might be viewed like
pictures and estates, before the day of sale,
and be allowed to show off their persons and
their talents in the sale-room, under proper
restriction and examination. This would
134 THE SISTERS.

allow a man the fair chance of comparison,
and the power of bidding up to the propor-
tionate value of each: I think, all things
considered, it would be the fairest mode of
election, since the study of private worth,
fixed principles, suavity of temper, and simi-
larity of disposition, are now dispensed with
in a wife.”

“You may be as satirical as you please on
the times, my good sir; but I know—”

“So do I know; that is my only privilege,”
said Mr. Mortimer, endeavoring to laugh at
his misfortunes.

“What I was going to say, Mr. Mortimer,
is of consequence for you to know; that is,
I am determined to marry Caroline well at
least, for she has had an education that en-
titles me to expect it: as to Emily, I am
‘more easy ; for as Olivia has brought her up,
I expect she will give her a fortune, and that
will enable her to marry at any time, especi-
ally as she is really pretty, notwithstanding
the air of rusticity that vile trick of blush-
ing still gives her.”

“T am as anxious my daughters should
marry well, as you, my dear; but as our
ideas, as to what is well, differ widely, and as
the more I see of the fashionable world, the
less I like it, I should not be sorry to see
your threat, under certain modifications,
THE SISTERS, 135

turned into a Prophec ; for although a coun-
try squire, and a rigid sectarian, are not pre-
cisely the men with whom such girls as ours
might be happy, yet in this age of liberal
improvement, it is very possible that their
sons might be such as I could perfectly ap-
prove. But it is folly to speculate on such

istant projects, though the girls begin to
grow very womanly in their appearance
now; however, we will drop the subject; I
hope they will marry honest, prudent men,
who love them; the rest we must leave to
Heaven.”

“ Heaven / you and Olivia have such no-
tions! I wonder what Heaven has to do
with the establishment of a woman of fashion.”

“Very little, I can most conscientiously
venture to affirm, Mrs. Mortimer,” replied
the husband, with a look which spoke more
than any other language, how fully he ap-
plied and felt the truth of the observation.



CHAPTER X.

With mean compliance ne’er betray your trust,
f Po:

Nor be so civil as to be unjust. PE.

THE period was now past which Mrs.
Mortimer had prescribed as necessary for the
seclusion of her daughters, previous to their
136 THE SISTERS.

entry into the world, for the purpose men-
tioned by their father in fact, though not in
words. This purpose was not, however, per-
mitted to sully their ears, as Mrs, Mortimer’s

olicy supplied the place of delicacy ; for she
Tenew that a girl taken into public for the
avowed purpose of catching a husband, must
necessarily either droop under a bashfulness
that would obscure her graces, or possess a
confidence that would destroy them. The
girls were therefore merely given to under-
stand, that at a convenient time, they should
go into company and visit public places, as
other young women did at their period of
life

To the great satisfaction of Olivia, this
period had been protracted a full year, for
the purpose of introducing both sisters at a
time. livia promoted this scheme, because
she thought they would be mutual guardians
of each other’s virtues; Mrs. Mortimer, be-
cause she flattered herself that the superior
attractions of Caroline would receive a foil
from Emily in the first outset; and that
Emily, so foiled, would afterwards emulate
ner more fashionable sister, which (being six-
teen months younger) she would be enabled
to do with great effect before the following
winter. Her reason for delaying their ap-
pearance so long, arose, indeed, from a motive
THE SISTERS, 137

still more opposed to that which actuated the
truly maternal bosom of their elder sister;
she had expended so much money, and ob-
tained so much credit on her own account,
as to be utterly unable to provide them
necessary dresses for the occasion, and having
again had recourse to the purse of Olivia,
who, she justly observed, “was quite an
altered woman in respect of giving,’ she
made a virtue of necessity, and consented to
that which she could not avoid, by post-

oning their appearance, apparently at Oliv-
la’s request, until the following winter.

As the good sister, however, knew that
the time must inevitably come when the pru-
dence and virtue of her darling charge must
be tried, when the appointed time drew near,
she relieved the solicitude of the still poor
and somewhat disconcerted Mrs. Mortimer,
by presenting the girls in her presence with
each a bill of fifty pounds. This she re-

uested them to lay out, in such additions to
their wardrobe as their mother deemed neces-
gary—adding, not for their government so
much as that of the mother herself— If,
my dear girls, this should not be found suffi-
cient for the purchase of such things as are
really necessary for the débit of gentlewomen,
do not stint yourselves to a few pounds, in
the purchase of such things as are really
138 THE SISTERS,

worth the money; but remember that you
immediately apply to me for what is defi-
cient; since I shall make it a very positive
point, in this case, to see the receipts from
your tradesmen before you wear the article.

am an old maid, and have a right to be ex-
act, you know; and according as I find you
follow my advice and example in this par-
ticular, so you will find me considerate for
your wants; remember, I lay no embargo on
your taste; but I must be positive as to the
direction of your principles.”

The eyes of Mrs. Mortimer, with the true
spirit of a gambler, had already devoured the
bills, and was casting about on the possibility
of transferring at least a portion of the pre-
cious paper into her card-purse, when this
speech of Olivia’s entirely frustrated her
plans in the first instance; but being a per-
fect adept in the art of turning all things to
account, she contrived, on the strength of ‘her
daughters’ ready money, to procure credit for
an expensive dress for herself, hinting most
Bagacious|y the independence of the young
ladies, and her power of influencing their
future expenditure. The last hint being
given to the milliner, and the first being in-
tended, through the medium of her various
customers, to be freely circulated through the
circle of fashion, to operate as an antidote to
THE SISTERS, 139

the whisper, which had reached even her
ears, of “poor Mr. Mortimer breaks ve
fast; he will be dropping off soon, and his
estate goes with him; his widow has taken
good care of his personalities; the girls will
have but a trifle, except what his daughter
may give them, and she may live these
thirty years; nay, it is possible she may
marry, for old maids with money often do
foolish things.”

Mrs. Mortimer was surprised, and almost
vexed, to find her girls were so far from
taking advantage of Olivia’s permission to
draw further upon her bounty, that, notwith-
standing various temptations in the shape of
Mechlin lace and glittering ornaments, they
actually went home with each several guineas
‘im their pockets, though they had so judi-
ciously expended the rest, that a lady of ac-
complished taste, who had been present by
chance, stamped by her‘decided approbation
the propriety and taste of their selection ; for
it is very possible at this time for women to
be really elegant in their dress, for a much
less sum than was necessary in the days of
their grandmothers ;* though, if they pre-
tend to run after every new whim, and vie
with every splendid belle, the expenditure of

* This remark, though true in the year when the book wa.
written, is not now quite so applicable.
AA
140 THE SISTERS,

a dozen grandmothers will by no means suf-
fice them. Olivia, from her retirement, had
seen and noticed these things, and without
leaving higher and more important points of
conduct unattended, had yet found time to
descant, in her usual way of blending ex-
ample with precept, on every minutiz of
female conduct; knowing it but too frequent-
ly happens, that even enlightened minds and
pure intentions are subject to petty derelic-
tions in trivial matt@&s, which tend essentially
to prevent their utility in society, and injure
their own happiness, if they are not early
habituated to a vigilant watchfulness over
their conduct, a perpetual reference to the
higher principles of action: that fine moral
sense of rectitude, taught by our religion,
should resemble the blood, that not only
circulates through the veins and arteries, in-
vigorating and sustaining the frame, but con-
descends to visit the smallest vessel, and
Tenovates every part of the system.

_ At length the important day arrived, and
at the fashionable assembly of the honorable
Mrs. Albin, the sisters made their first ap-
pearance, and were received with more at-
tention than their mother had predicted ; for,
to her great mortification, she had discovered
within the last week, that Caroline’s educa-
tion had been thrown away upon her in a
THE SISTERS. 141

great measure, “since she had got no man-
ners at all;” she was merely pretty, well
shaped, and polished; there was no peculi-
arity of style to attract attention, no affecta-
tion of sentiment,-of knowledge, or even of
rudeness; she was neither a hoyden nor a
heroine, nor in fact any thing at all, but a
handsome, sensible young woman, with too
much merit to need the assumption of an
character but her own, and with too muc
honesty and ingenuousness to attempt it.
This case poor Mrs. Mortimer thought de-
plorable, till she perceived that in spite of
these defects, her daughter was really prefer-
red to the languishing Miss Simkins, the in-
sipid Miss Smirk, and, even to the staring
Lady Bell Jolter, who each possessed a de-
gree of notoriety ; so true is it, that unaffect-
ed simplicity, which asks for nothing beyond
its due, generally obtains every thing; for in
every circle there will be found some sensible
and even worthy people, whose suffrages
have weight even with those who are neither,
and who imperceptibly lead them right, for
a certain period at least; such is the natural
command of superior character.

Among the number of visitants announced
was Lord Littledale—the moment his name
was mentioned, Emily’s cheek was suffused
with so deep a blush, that it was impossible
142 THE SISTERS.

for her mother not to perceive it; and she
hastily inquired, “ where she had seen Lord
Littledale ”

“T have never seen him, but I would just
a-this time give the world to be introduced
to him,” said she, hastily.

“That is very likely—so would half the
girls in the room; but it does not quite ac-
- cord with your education, to be impatient to
be introduced to a handsome young noble-
man ;—though I don’t know but it may be
styled natveté, and go off pretty well, as a
new stroke of interesting rurality : I will see
what can be done for you, child; you really
carry yourself more az fat than Caroline
after all, I must acknowledge that.”

“My dear mother, I thought he had been
an old man, quite an old man, indeed I did!”

“ Ridiculous! how could you blush for an
old man? you must have seen the old lord’s
death in the paper of course :—never affect
disguise with me, child; ‘tis absurd—we
ought to understand each other in these
cases.”

“‘But, my dear mother, I did not see that
in the paper, I assure you; but I saw some-
thing of much more consequence in my eyes.”

At this moment Mrs. Albin advanced to
introduce a friend of hers to Caroline, and
catching Emily's last words, inquired who
THE SISTERS, 143

was of consequence in her eyes? to which
she innocently answered, “ Lord Littledale,
madam,” adding, “for I have a great favor
to ask of him.”

At this moment, two remarkably hand-
some young men advanced to Mrs. Albin;
one of them she instantly saluted as Lord
Littledale, the other was introduced by him
as his college friend, Mr. Arlington.

That he was young, handsome, fashionable,
and a nobleman, were not the things which
now rushed rapidly through the mind of poor
Emily, and dyed her cheeks with the deepest
crimson ; it was the look of perfect compla-
cency and good humor which he wore, and
which, in the eagerness of her wishes, made
her forget every lesser consideration, though
trembling with modest confusion, yet the
consciousness that the motive justified the
deed, stepped up to Mrs. Albin, saying—‘‘I
have seriously a reason for the wish I just
now expressed, of being introduced to Lord
Littledale; I must speak with him for a mo-
ment.”

Mrs. Albin, extremely surprised, had no
time either to remonstrate or reflect—“ I be-
lieve,” @id she, “your lordship hears the
wish expressed by Miss Emily Mortimer.”

A significant look passed between the
young men, which tended to disconcert poor
144 THE SISTERS.

Emily exceedingly, and she was so over-
powered as to be only able to pronounce
these words:—‘‘I beg pardon—but really,
my lord, Mr. Berry] is—is—indeed he is a
truly good man.”

His lordship, with an air of the most re-
assuring respect, begged to know “ who Mr.
Berryl was?” and he spoke so slowly, and
with such attentive consideration for the evi-
dent flutter of the poor girl, that Emily re-
covered her self-possession, and with all her
native dignity and grace, said, in a tone
tremulous, but sweet and intelligent—‘ Mr.
Berryl, my lord, is the curate of Whitechapel,
where he has resided many years ;—the death
of the incumbent is announced in the Morn-
ing Post to-day, and my extreme solicitude
to entreat your attention to this excellent
man, who was the friend of my earliest years,
has induced me to intrude upon you in a
manner perhaps too abrupt, or probably im-
proper. She hesitated, receded, and again

lushed exceedingly. Lord Littledale, taking
her hand, led her to a seat, and placing him-
self beside her, observed, that he considered
himself extremely obliged by the ingenuous
manner in which she had directed his choice
in so important a subject, and assuring her
that he was particularly glad that she had
spoken to him so soon, as it was probable
THE SISTERS. 145

that he might be importuned on the subject
that very evening; he was therefore hap
in giving her his word of honor, that the
living should be immediately transferred to
her friend, which would save all further
trouble to him, and he trusted would be very
grateful to her.
“ Grateful! oh, my lord, I cannot tell you
how happy you have made me!” said the de-
lighted idan y, her eyes glistening with tears,
and her whole countenance glowing with
animation, as artlessly she held out both her
hands towards his lordship, with that motion
of thankfulness with which she had been ac-
customed to receive the favors of her sister
and father; but as quickly, by an intuitive
sense of propriety, withdrawing them.
At this moment a genteel-looking man ad-
vancing, exclaimed, “Surely I have the hap-
iness of seeing Emily Mortimer; I cannot
e mistaken in your features, though it is

five years since I had the pleasure of seeing
ou.

‘What is more extraordinary, St. Faire,”
said an old officer, who was standing near,
“there is no change in the character of the
young lady for the last five years, I will aver,
though I did not know her five minutes ago.”

With the exception of her sister Olivia,
there was not one person in the world whom
146 THE SISTERS.

Emily could have seen with more pleasure,
at this moment, than Alfred St. Faire; she
received him with the frankness which she
felt his due, not only as an old acquaintance,
but as a person particularly dear to Miss
Mortimer, whose Pabits of correspondence
with his parents frequently led her to speak
of their son, as a young man of whom she
entertained the highest opinion. She inform-
ed him with rapidity of the acquisition she
had just made for her worthy preceptor, Mr.
Berryl, which led him to remark, “that the
first evening he saw her, she had preserved
the life of that excellent man, and on this,
which he trusted was the renewal of their
long-suspended acquaintance, she had made
that life more. comfortable ;” this observation
led the surrounding group very naturally to
inquire after the anecdote to which he al-
luded.

“ Come, come, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Albin,
just as St. Faire had concluded his little
story, “I cannot allow this monopoly in Miss
Emily; you cannot all dance with her, and I
want partners for my young friends.”

“Dance!” exclaimed they all at once, as
if they only just now recollected it.

“Yes, dance ; have you, Lord Littledale,
engaged this fair advocate as your part-
ner
THE SISTERS. 147

“Not yet; but I shall be most happy to
do it.”

St. Faire appeared extremely disappointed,
and engaged Emily for the two next dances;
as she withdrew, Mr. Arlington protested he
was ignorant of the art, and if he stood up,
should doubtless put the whole set out, a fact
Lord Littledale attested also: Mrs. Albin
was disappointed, as he was unquestionably
the finest man in her rooms, being taller and
handsomer than his noble friend. St. Faire,
however, complied with her wishes, and was
led by her to a partner.

At the first pause in the dancing, which
was viewed with exultation by Mrs. Morti-
mer, who already fancied herself the mother
of a countess, as Emily was taking her seat
by the side of Caroline, Mr. Arlington ap-
proaching, said—‘T will be much obliged to
thee to introduce me to thy sister.”

Emily started, at what she considered an
address so uncouthly free, as to be unwar-
rantable on so slight an acquaintance; but on
looking in the intelligent countenance of the
speaker, she did not perceive any expression
which could warrant her resentment: her in-
quisitive glance did not however escape him,
and he instantly added—‘I ought to ask
pardon, Miss Mortimer, for an address made
very inadvertently, since my appearance in
148 THE SISTERS.

e
a ball-room of course prevents you from sus-
pecting a fact I have no difficulty in explain-
ing. My mother is, or rather was, a Quaker;
my father is of the Established Church, and
I have been educated agreeably to his pro-
fession ; but the habit of conversing with my
mother, and a sister of hers, to whose society
I am particularly attached, occasions me to
be much in the habit of using their language,
whenever I feel very easy with the person
with whom I converse; in other words, when
I sincerely esteem them, as friend Littledale
here can testify. Now as it happens that I
have seen further into your heart in two
hours than one generally sees in two years, I
have been led into a freedom as uncommon
to you, as your character appears to me.
Excuse my sincerity, and consider it as a
humor which my mother gave me, or rather
my aunt Smith, whose name ought to be a
passport to your favor, since I know she is
most truly attached to Olivia Mortimer, who
is, I have understood, a person of singular
worth.”
The eyes of both the sisters shone with de-
light and approbation on the speaker, as he
ronounced these words; and Caroline soon
ound herself more easy with Mr. Arlington,
and more amused by his society, than with
any thing she had hitherto met with: she de-
THE SISTERS. 149

clined dancing any more, a circumstance that
drew upon her so many pointed remarks,
that Mr. Arlington, with much delicate con-
sideration, advised her to resume it. “ Young
women,” said he, “‘must not dare to think
for themselves in cases of this kind; it is the
exclusive privilege of men to be odd; and to
do the present race of my cotemporaries jus-
tice, they act up to all their rights of bein
disagreeable; formerly, when a man affecte
singularity, it was done on the strength of
having genius or wit; but it is now sufficient
to have selfishness and effrontery; the one
teaches you to consult your own convenience
at every one’s expense, and the other to stare
every one in the face whilst you are doing
it.”

Caroline, exceedingly amused by his con-
versation, which recalled more of that play-
ful vivacity she was once remarkable for,
into her countenance and manners than had
appeared for a long time, took his advice;
but she did not meet with any thing, in the
further amusements of the evening that could
in any manner compensate her for the loss of
his conversation.

Alfred St. Faire, from this evening, be-
came a constant visitor at the house of Mr.
Mortimer ; his parents had, unknown to him,
contrived this introduction to Mrs. Albin’s,
150 THE SISTERS.

being desirous that he should form an ac-
quaintance, and indeed a predilection, for a
sister of Miss Mortimer, whom they so highl
esteemed. She was well acquainted with
their wishes, and had Contributed her share
to this meeting, but well knowing the con-
tradiction too natural to the human heart,
they all had forborne mentioning either party
to the other, in more than general terms of
praise, which, in Emily’s case, they were
enabled to do to Alfred, as he was partial to
her since the time of their childhood. They
likewise wished to submit in this, as in all
other cases, the direction of their son’s con-
nection to an overruling Providence, and no
further interfere than as their wisdom and
love dictated just and honest means of influ-
encing him; observing the due mean betwixt
that carelessness which provides for no con-
tingence, and that overweening solicitude,
which too frequently influences the conduct
of parents who are providing for their only
child.

The visits of St. Faire were by no means
agreeable to Mrs. Mortimer, who, perceiving
that his attentions were directed to Emily,
rather than Caroline, (for whom, as a young
man of excellent family and fortune, she
would have been glad to have engaged hira,)
felt that he thwarted her views, as she ha
THE SISTERS. 151

persuaded herself that her youngest daughter
might, with a little management, completely
captivate Lord Littledale. She confessed that
she was foiled in rendering Caroline the more «
fascinating, and owned that Olivia had some
way bestowed “a charm beyond the reach of
art,” in the interesting rusticity of Emily;
but asked, exultingly, if she did not see that
the superior attention she had excited, was
owing to having understood her own style of
bewitching naiveté ?

“So far from that,” replied Olivia, “I con-
ceive it to be merely the effect of an accident,
which, by chance, placed Emily in a more
striking point of view, and which, though a
matter of mere chance, ought to teach us the
necessity of cultivating the virtues of the
heart, as well as the beauties of the mind;
and will, I hope, help you, my dear madam,
to consider the girls as they really are, sen-
sible, amiable, and pious; more calculated
for the wives of worthy religious men, than
dashing, idle, dissipated men of fashion, whose
frivolous minds and corrupted hearts may
delight in that parade of sentimental non-
sense and voluptuous excitation the misses
of the present day exhibit, when they pre-
tend to be cnteresting, fascinating, and charm-
tng, but who cannot have one princi le or
feeling in common with our girls, and who
152 THE SISTERS.

are, at the present moment, equally worthy,
equally well-informed, and equally well-in-
clined, though they may differ in some very
trifling points of character.”

“Good Heavens, Olivia, how you talk!—
marry mere worthy men indeed! not that I
have any objection to worthy young men,”
added Mrs. Mortimer, bridling her passion
and condescending to smile; ‘in some cases,
it is all very well; now as you think the
girls equally good, suppose we were to lay our
heads together, as friends certainly ought to
do, in matters of such moment, and contrive
that young St. Faire should fall in love with
Caroline, who is certainly after all a more
elegant girl than Emily: what do you think
of it?”

“T think it a very desirable connection ;
but I will own, I should cease to think so, if
St. Faire were a man subject to falling in love
with any girl for her person. I must how-
ever decline all interference in this case, be-
cause I perceive that he is already attached
to Emily; and although there was a period
in my life, when I own I did, for a very ex-
cellent purpose, join in a little match-making,
yet you must do me the justice to say, that I
did not exert my talents in match-breaking.”

Mrs. Mortimer, thus foiled, did not, how-
ever, despair; she consoled herself by push-
THE SISTERS. 159

ing her daughters as far as possible into every
party where they were likely to meet Lord
Littledale, notwithstanding the modest op-

osition they frequently made to her wishes.

he was successful in her pursuit; his lord-
ship was pleased with Emily, but, not liking
the character of her mother, did not choose,
for a considerable time, to commit himself so
far as to make proposals to the daughter: in
the course of the winter, he became acquaint-
ed with Mr. Mortimer; and as he liked his
character, as much as he disapproved of that
of his lady, he at length spoke his wishes
with regard to his youngest daughter. The
old gentleman referred his lordship to Emily,
without encouraging him in the hope that his
wishes would meet due reward; though he
expressed himself highly grateful for the
honor of the offer, which was doubly gratify-
ing, from the worth, as well as rank and for-
tune, of him who made it.

Lord Littledale was modestly refused by
Emily, yet she did not plead engagement as
her reason; he was somewhat piqued; yet
the air of humility which she wore softened
his anger, and he determined to renew ad-
dresses which appeared rather declined from
timidity than dislike.

Conscious that she could not offer a reason,
though she felt that she Aad one, which ought
154 THE SISTERS.

in conscience to prevent her from accepting
him, she endeavored to speak more explicit-
ly; in doing so, she convinced his lordship
rof the purity of her intentions, while she an-
‘nihilated his hopes; he saw that she was in
some way delicately situated, and he was
convinced that she had an esteem for him,
which might be further improved if she was
relieved from her present embarrassment;
he therefore determined so far to obey her
wishes, as to accept her dismissal, without
entirely abandoning his pursuit.

Mrs. Mortimer was not at home when these .
things took place ; and on being informed of
them, her rage was for some minutes in-
describable; but it was succeeded by a con-
sternation which subdued even her passion;
and to the utter astonishment of all who be-
held her, she wept in very agony ; declaring
that “the dismissal of his lordship woul
not only be the ruin of the mad fool who
had done it, and whom she never more
would regard as her daughter, but would
bring destruction on her house.” Her fam-
ily regarded these sayings as the burst of
grief arising from disappointment, and only
sought to soothe the sorrow it was too late
to prevent.
THE SISTERS, 155

CHAPTER XL

In the midst of life we are in death.
Sr. Pav.

Wuen Mrs. Mortimer recovered some
degree of composure, she took refuge from
the inquiring eyes of her family (who, not-
withstanding their belief that her words were
dictated by passion, could not help desiring
some kind of explanation) by shutting her-
self in her own room, and resolutely deny-
ing all admittance to every one.

For two or three days, every person ob-
served that retirement which hers seemed to
impose upon them ; though each endeavored
in turn to comfort Mr. Mortimer, whose agi-
tation on this account, and from other latent
causes, brought on a bilious attack: when he
found himself somewhat better, he insisted
upon their going out as usual, and as the Roy-
al Academy was about to close, Olivia and
Caroline agreed to pay it a farewell visit;
but Emily, who considered herself as particu-
larly called to soothe her father’s troubles at
this time, would not leave him.

While they were in the exhibition, they
were agreeably surprised by meeting Mr.
Arlington, who was with his mother and
aunt, and they, as well as he, expressed

BB *
156 THE SISTERS.

great satisfaction in this accidental meeting ;
on which Caroline observed, that she had
been rather surprised at never seeing Mr.
Arlington in a place of public resort, since
the time she first met him.

“T seldom put my head into vanity fair,”
replied he; ‘but I have no objection to do it
sometimes, especially when I have a chance
of seeing new faces, and reading, or fancying
I read, the way in which the novel scene
affects them; I had a great treat at Mrs. St.
Albin’s, from witnessing the genuine benev-
olence and modest confusion of your sister
Emily.” :

Caroline’s eyes sparkled with pleasure, and
she said, with great vivacity, “You saw
only a portion of that excellent temper and
disposition which have been for several years
continually presented to my contemplation
in Emily’s daily conduct, I assure you, sir.”

“This will do.” said Mrs. Arlington, in a
whisper to her son, which was audible to
Olivia; “there are not many

© Who can hear,
A sister’s praises with unwounded ear.’”

“ But Caroline can do more,” returned the
young man, with an air of proud exultation,
that spoke how much he was interested in all
that she could do or say.

‘They conversed on pictures and painters,
THE SISTERS. 157

and subjects connected with them, in a man-
ner which showed how much the minds of
all had been improved by reading and study,
and how generally assimilated they were with
each other; Caroline evincing, more by her
looks and manner than words, how much
more a treat of this nature was in unison
with her taste, than the more noisy entertain-
ments commonly preferred by young women.
Mr. Arlington justly observed, she had the
rare quality of ‘seeing an exhibition, with-
out being an exhibition,” a thing not often
found, especially amongst those who have a
smattering of the art, who are anxious to
display talents they would be thought to
possess; and while real artists are silentl
walking round the rooms, observing the vari-
ous works with the most scrupulous attention,
or fixed admiration, seeking to form a just
judgment on their comparative merits, these
are flippantly deciding, pertly condemning,
or loquaciously extolling, what in fact they
neither feel nor understand. Arlington saw
all this on every side of him; in his young
companion he saw none of it; “She will,” sai
he, imternally, ‘“‘ please both my parents—she
has the frankness of my father, and the mod-
esty of my mother, and I don’t dislike her
myself.”

- The last conclusion appeared indisputable
158 THE SISTERS,

to all parties, for both his mother and aunt
told him, after they had parted with the
ladies, that his attentions to Caroline had
been too marked, and evidently distressed
her ; and that unless he meant to follow them
by a declaration of affection, he had been
much to blame; but this reproof had been
given with such mildness, that except where
it glanced on the pain he had given Caroline,
it was received without any on his part. The
idea of wounding her delicacy hurt him ex-
ceedingly; and he declared that he would
leave nothing undone to convince both them
and her of the sincerity of his regard, and
the high esteem in which he held the uncom-
mon merit of the young lady.

In fact, though Caroline had not met Mr.
Arlington in public, yet she had been the
object of his continual attention, through the
medium of Lord Littledale, who, seeing her
with the eyes of a friend, not a lover, had, in
the opinion of Arlington, been a much more
impartial judge of her character than he could
have been himself. From him he had ob-
tained information, which, perfectly according
with the accounts he had received from his
aunt, who had frequently met her with Olivia
on schemes of charity, enabled him to con-
clude that he might yield to the predilection
he had conceived for her, but which he had
THE SISTERS. 159

thought it his duty to check in himself, from
an idea that it was but too probable that she
partook, in some measure, the errors of her
mother; scarcely deeming it possible, that
the cares of her elder sister could entirely
have warded off the evil.

Whilst this young man retired, indulging
alternately those expectations which support:
ed hope, and those fears which are inherent
to the truly and worthily attached, the sisters
were returning to a scene most dreadfully
different.

On alighting, to their surprise, the door of
the house was open; and the servants were
seen flying about in all directions, and to the
repeated inquiries of Olivia, no answer was
given; the footman who attended them ran
into the kitchen, and returning with a face
indicative of equal alarm and compassion,
cried out—“ Oh, miss! my master! my poor
master |”

Caroline sprang towards her father’s apart-
ment, but Olivia, trembling with apprehen-
sion, was scarcely able to move or Preathe ;
before she had recovered herself sufficiently
to proceed, two men she had never seen be-
fore, entered the breakfast-room, addressing
each other as they advanced, making obser-
vations on the furniture.

On perceiving Olivia, the men made un-
160 THE SISTERS.

couth bows, and stood awkwardly at the
threshold, as if about to recede, but yet with
that air of vulgar consequence which claims
its right to proceed.

“Have you any business in this apart
ment?” said Olivia, with an air of distressful
doubt.

“Why, yes, ma’am,” said the elder of the
two, “we have business enough; we have
got an execution in the house, for a good
round sum; but ifso be as you choose for to
take the matter up, as they do say you be
Tich, that is nothing to us—the sooner we're
dismissed the better.”

“My father, my poor father!” said Olivia,
sinking into the nearest chair.

“Why, to be sure, ma’am,” said the man,
with an air of increased respect, for sorrow
ever exacts this from the lowest of mankind,
where the heart is not hardened by vice; “to
be sure, it is very hard upon his honor, be-
cause ’tis a plain case as how he has been
disseeved as it were, you see, (for I takes it
you be disseeved too.) Madam Mortimer,
she goes and gets all the money she can out
of his honor, to pay tradesmen’s bills, and
there, what dves she do, but spends it all on
cards and dice, and such like sinfulness; and
then she goes about to all the tradesfolks,
and first she scolds ’em, and says as how they
THE SISTERS. 161

ought to be patient, because his honor was
used to be most particular in paying them
Jimself so long as he had health—well! when
their gratitude was quite worn out, as you
know needs must in time, then she goes and
says, a3 how yn was coming home again,
and you would bring a power of money and
pay them all:—when you comes, things are
never the better, but she gives them a trifle,
and so puts on from time to time, till last
Christmas; then she gives out that her
daughter be going to marry a great lord, and
she would pay every body: but people were
tired quite out, and she has had a deal to do
to keep ’em quiet these last three months;
howsomdever, they did find out that there
was something in it, so they held off a bit
longer, when Jo and behold! it came out that
miss had ’scarded the great lord, or he’d
‘scarded her, one of the two, and so they
hadn’t any patience left; and Mr. Hind, the
grocer, have got an execution in the house,
and there be eleven writs taken out for his
honor.”

Olivia groaned for very anguish.

“Don't fret, miss,” said the other man;
“take my word, he’ll not suffer long: if ever
T seed death in any man’s face, I seed it in
his this very morning, as they were ‘sisting
him up stairs.”

u
162 THE SISTERS.

At this moment Olivia’s maid entered, and
she seized the opportunity of retiring ; in her
way to her father’s room, she had the mis-
fortune to hear not only all the man had said
fully confirmed, but likewise that Mrs. Mor-
timer had made great depredations on her
husband’s property within a very short time,
by drawing on his banker, who had answer-
ed her drafts, under the idea of Mr. Mortimer
being prevented writing by return of his
periodical bilious attacks. The person added,
that this complaint had now returned upon
him, with such unprecedented violence, the
physician, who was called in about half an

our before, had declared he must either be
soon relieved, or he would not survive it.

Under the dreadful impression occasioned
by these words, Olivia entered her father’s
‘apartment; he was now laid on his bed, and
supported by his two youngest daughters,
“whose care and tenderness appeared to re-
lieve him. Mrs. Mortimer was in the room,
but on Olivia’s entering it, averted her face;
she advanced to the bedside, and her un-
happy parent instantly saw that she was al-
ready in possession of those fatal facts which
were now destroying him ; but his impatience
to speak with her was intolerable; he there-
fore instantly desired Emily and Caroline to
leave the room, and putting out his trembling
THE ‘([STERS. 163

hand to Olivia, drew her close to him, and
commanding all the courage he was able,
thus addressed her :—

“My dear girl, you frequently have offer-
ed to assist me; but that I never claimed
your kindness any further than as it was ex-
tended to the advancement of my children’s
comfort, and within the limits of your fortune,
has ever been my consolation; the time is
however come, when my sense of delicacy to-
wards you is subdued by strong necessity ;
and I must now, Olivia, become your debtor,
in such a way as may suit our general con-
veniency, so as not eventually, I trust, to in-
jure you materially. I rejoice that a part of
your fortune is secured equally beyond my
power and your own, for at such a time as
this, I know you would offer too much, and
perhaps I should accept ail, for want is a ter-
Tible trial to the principles.”

Mrs. Mortimer wept aloud.

“We will not anticipate evil,” said Mr.
Mortimer, in a softened tone; “TI trust that
after our creditors are all paid, sufficient will
remain to enable you to provide for my
family in your country house; but immediate
relief is my present object; you used to offer
me the loan of two thousand pounds, which
you had at Hammersley’s, and I must borrow:
that of you this very day.”

ce
164 THE SISTERS.

“T have sunk that, some time ago,” said
Olivia.

“ Sunk it, Olivia!” exclaimed the father,
in a voice of terror—‘I am astonished to
hear that—but you have fifteen hundred
pounds in bank stock, which may be turned
Into money immediately.”

“ Alas! that cannot be commanded; I
have purchased an annuity with it.”

Mrs. Mortimer fell senseless on the floor ;
Olivia flew to her assistance, and conveying
her to another room, summoned her daugh-
‘ters, who soon recovered her ; but whilst the
‘were endeavoring to restore her, Miss Morti-
-mer hastened back to her father, anxious to
relieve the painful surprise she had awakened,
and to concert with him on the best way of
‘turning such other parts of her property as
she could command to his more immediate
relief; the anxiety visible in his eager looks,
in which reproach was somewhat blended
with confidence, induced her not to delay
-another moment to explain her conduct; and
after briefly informing him that she had left
Mrs. Mortimer recovering, she thus began :—

“The day Caroline was seven years of age,
I placed one of the two thousand pounds you
mention out at interest, to accumulate till she
was of age; and on Emily’s attaining the
same age, did the same for her; the rest of
THE SISTERS. 165

the ready money I could command, went,
with a trifling exception, to the purchase of
my estate in Berkshire, which was a cheap
purchase, and where we can live comfortably
all together, until your income shall have
paid off your debts, as with the surplus I
mentioned I not only furnished it decently,
but provided a plain carriage you know ; 80
that, my dear father, your affairs may, with
a little management, doubtless be comfortably
arranged.”

“Then so far from having injured your
fortune, you have improved it : ten thousand
thanks for your care of my poor girls—they
are now off my mind; but still I wish for a
little ready cash. How happened you to sink
the fifteen hundred pounds? but I suppose it
was to make up the deficiency in your in-
come.”— No, it was to purchase a life an-
nuity for Mrs. Mortimer on very good terms
—I have only just settled it: the first pay-
ment will be made next Michaelmas; she is
by it entitled to one hundred and twenty
pounds per annum for life ; and as I mean to
double my gift to each daughter on their
coming of age, they may help her, you
know; but in case of their marriage, I will
further promise her such assistance as may
be requisite.”

“My daughter, my more than daughter,”
166 THE SISTERS,

exclaimed the father, “thou hast done all
things well! my children are provided for;
and though I still trust my affairs may be
brought about, if this stroke should be fatal,
so far as all mortal things are concerned, thou
hast robbed death of its sting, and may God
abundantly reward this thy labor of love to-
wards me and mine, dear child of my beloved
- Olivia !”

“ But, my dear father, this does not satisfy
me; point out to me the manner in which [
can more immediately assist you: had it not
better be by the mortgage, than the sale of
my estate ?—allow me to send for your at-
torney.”

“T will allow you, my dear Olivia, to do
every thing your own way; but I must not
deceive either you or myself—I feel at this
moment I am a dying man—the stroke of
this morning was too much for me, and even
the comfort you have given me, by causing
agitation of a different kind, has its share in
destroying my weakened frame.”

Olivia, in extreme alarm, again dispatched
the servant for the physician, for she saw the
grievous prognostic but too fully verified, in
the altered countenance of the invalid, who
with great difficulty suppressed the anguish
of his bodily pain.

“Olivia,” said he, when the severity of his
THE SISTERS. 167

paroxysm had somewhat abated, “’tis in vain
you send for help—the Physician of souls is
the only one to whom I can look; pray jor
me, my child, and pray with me.”

Happy is the father who, in such an hour,
can lean on the bosom of his daughter, and
through her pious life, seek for consolation

‘from above; more happy that daughter, who

is deputed to the blessed office of smoothing
the rugged passage of death to her departin
parent, and being to him that “rod an
staff,” so much wanted to every human being,
as it approaches the awful hour of dissolution.
The mind of Mr. Mortimer had experi-
enced so much relief, when his attendants
were permitted to re-enter his room, that they
flattered themselves he was regaining ease
and strength; but it was in fact far other-
wise, as severe inflammation was every mo-
ment increasing upon him. Whilst this was
doubtful, he had, as we have seen from his
first address to Olivia, been anxious for a
supply of ready money, in order to insure his
personal liberty, conscious that if he retired
to the country, his income, which he deter-
mined immediately to make over to his cred-
itors, must in the course of a short time
satisfy: their demands; but as his increasing
ains threatened him with immediate death,
bis fears naturally took a different turn, and
168 THE SISTERS.

he became only anxious to save his wife and
children, but especially the latter, from pos-
itive want, or absolute dependence. His wife
had confessed, in the first moments of her
anguish, when the execution entered the
house, that she had had many sums from
Olivia; and having found himself so grossly
deceived by her, his fears outwent the reality,
for he knew the extent of his Olivia’s gener-
osity, but was not aware either of her firm-
ness or her foresight. His consciousness of
comfort from the burden withdrawn was in
proportion to the severity of the overwhelm-
ing stroke which preceded it, and which,
though often suspected in part, and often
deprecated in sorrow, had been such as com-
pletely to crush hope, confidence, and (feeble
as his constitution was become) even life
itself.

Before Mrs. Mortimer or her children re-
turned into the room, Mr. Mortimer, writh-
ing under severe pains, again drew Olivia
towards him, and requested her, in the most
earnest manner, not to relate any circum-
stance of what had passed in this conversa-
tion to any human being, until the time when
Mrs. Mortimer should be entitled to receive
the income she had so kindly provided, when
it would be no longer possible to conceal it.

Olivia wept; she could not promise to
THE SISTERS. 169

Keep back any thing which would contribute
to the consolation of those who were afflicted.

“This is not a time in which it would be-
come me to inflict an unnecessary pain,” said
Mr. Mortimer; “but I have the strongest
reasons for making this requisition: so per-
fect is the love and reliance of the children
upon you, Olivia, that they will not find any
difference in the idea of being dependent on
you for immediate comforts, or receiving
them at a more distant period from your
hands; but as I am convinced that the cred-
itors will be much better satisfied, and more
honorably dealt with by you than by Mrs.
Mortimer, I wish you to exert yourself, after
my death, and settle all my affairs, which I
am certain you will not be permitted to do,
unless my wife conceives herself more de-
pendent on you than she really is; promise
me, therefore, Olivia, that you will conceal it
one month at least, or rather till you have
settled all my affairs, which I shall forthwith
enable you to do; my advice and request is
immediately connected with the welfare of
paany, and can injure none.”

Olivia promised hastily, for the attorney
was now entering the room. He added a
short codicil to the will, which Mr. Mortimer
had had by him for some years, by which
himself and Olivia were left sole arbiters of
“170 THE SISTERS.

his affairs; and then withdrew, for the in-
valid was anxious now to compose himself, as
far as he was able, for the awful change he
was about to experience.

When the poor girls learnt the state of
their father, for a time their distress knew no
bounds: to have parted with him at any
time would have been a severe trial; but to
see him precipitated into the grave, by the
shameless extravagance and covert duplicity
of their mother, was a stroke of such tenfold
affliction, as appeared too much for them to
endure. They were not yet at that period of
life which reasons much for the future, how-
ever appalling its aspect; but they were pre-
cisely at that time, when the present is felt
most acutely, and they found need of every
lesson they had learnt, to endure their afflic-
tion, as becometh those who have been taught
to believe it “ springeth not from the ground,
but is the work of Him who doth not ‘ cause-
lessly afflict the children of men.’”

At Olivia’s earnest exhortation, they so far
commanded themselves as to obtain the re-
quisite composure for again visiting their

ying parent. The complacency with which
he received, and the fervent manner in which
he recommended them to Heaven, deceived
them, and they flattered themselves that he
was better. On hearing this, Mrs. Mortimer
THE SISTERS. 171

came to his bedside, for she had dreaded ap-
proaching him as a dying man, from that
childish terror which is the perpetual weak-
ness of those who have suffered luxury to
subdue their native energy, and are unblest
with hope, which looketh beyond the grave:
her humbled countenance—her pallid and
fearful looks, which seemed to sue for pity
and protection from all around her, awoke
the tender compassion of her injured but for-
giving husband; and he tenderly recom-
mended her to the dutiful kindness of her
children, and particularly to the bounty of
Olivia. He had held out his hand to her in
token of perfect amity; but whilst he yet
spoke, was observed to be convulsed; and
before the surrounding group had time to
remark on this alarming appearance, a uni-
versal tremor seized him, and a few short
convulsive sobs terminated his mortal exist-
ence.



CHAPTER XIL
The real satisfaction which praise can afford, is by repeating aloud

the whispers of conscience, and by showing us that we have not
endeavored to deserve well in vain. JOHNSON.

THE sight of her husband’s death com-
pletely overwhelmed the little spirits Mrs.
172 THE SISTERS.

Mortimer had preserved, and she was again
conveyed to her room in a state of insensi-
bility. Olivia alone, she who had longest
known, and best loved her father, she alone
preserved the composure to be expected from
a true Christian, which is so peculiarly called
for on such an occasion.

When the funeral was over, she obeyed
the wishes of her father, by undertaking her-
self the complete settlement of his affairs;
but in order to save Mrs. Mortimer and her
daughters from the pain and mortification to
which she must necessarily subject herself,
she sent them all down together to her coun-
try house, and then commenced the painful
task of selling the house, furniture, and car-
riages of her father ; and collecting such little
property as still remained from the fortune

e enjoyed, and which was of a nature to be
easily disposed of. She had the satisfaction
at length to settle with every creditor, and
to find a surplus of between three and four
thousand pounds remaining, with which she
hastened to revive the hearts of the mourn-
ers at Whitechapel.

The absence of Miss Mortimer had been
protracted in London, and she was impatient
to break the painful silence she had promised
to observe, though many little circumstances
had occurred, which proved that her father
THE SISTERS. 178

had been perfectly right in imposing it, and
she now saw a new proof of his wisdom in
the conduct of his daughters, which proved
that “sweet are the uses of adversity.

When Olivia arrived at her much-loved
country residence, she found her sisters
walking in the garden in close conversation
with Maria Berryl; they sprung forward to
meet her, with sincere pleasure, though
many tears were shed on both sides.

hen Maria had departed, and the first
impulse of their feelings had subsided,
Caroline, said to Olivia,—“ My dear sister,
we are all well aware of the distressing
business you have gone through in London
for us; we wish to tell you, that the letter
which informed us that all oux debts were
completely paid, was very welcome; and
has so far relieved our spirits, that we have
now formed a plan for our future subsistence,
which we trust you will approve.”

“But I told you, my dears, that there
would be a remaining surplus, and I] am
happy to say it is more than I once had rea-
gon to expect.”

“Then we will apply it to my mother’s
use,” said Emily, ‘in some way which will
secure it; but Caroline was going to tell you
our scheme, sister—it is that of joining Ma-
ria Berryl in opening a boarding-school, as
174 THE SISTERS,

soon as we are any of us at an age to be
trusted with so important a charge.”

“In doing this, you will be subjected to
many difficulties, the most painful of which
will be that of seeing those people, and being
probably obliged to them for encouragement,
who have known you in a different situation.
Mrs. St. Faire and Mrs. Arlington will, I
dare say,do their best to assist you, but
would you choose to consult them ?”

The girls blushed exceedingly, but Caroline
soon recovering, said—‘‘In time we shall
conquer every feeling that is inimical either
to our happiness or usefulness, sister; our
heavenly Father will assist us: we have con-
sidered the nature of all our difficulties; and
though we feel them to be such, yet we trust
we are equal to encountering them. Emily
has another piece of information for your
ear, but she entreats you to keep it from our
mother, who is now at Mr. Berryl’s, whose
kindness to her is of a piece with the rest of
his character.”

“Well, Emily, but what is your piece of
information ?”

“Lord Littledale has written me a very
kind letter, renewing his addresses.”

“Well, that is kindly, though premature-
sone in one sense—have you replied to
it
THE SISTERS. 175

“Certainly, and declined it with many
thanks.”

“ You are very determinate on that point,
since a change so great as you have ex-
perienced would have altered the sentiments
of most young women.”

“Tt has confirmed mine; if I refused Lord
Littledale when I thought myself independ-
ent, and hoped I had a fortune to give him,
still more ought I to decline his hand, now
I have nothing, since it was always impossi-
ble for me to love him as he merits.”

“You might learn to love him in time;
women are naturally grateful to the man
who distinguishes them, and this principle is
the best foundation for attachment in our
sex, and perhaps the only one a truly modest
woman can avow: we will not, however,
distress your feelings by any further exami-
nation at present. I am by no means sorry
that the affair is so settled; not because you
had not a romantic attachment for his lord-
ship, but because I can hardly conceive it
possible, that two people so situated would

ave been happy; great disparity in fortune
rarely fails to produce constraint, jealousy,
and mistrust in both parties, especially be-
tween people of delicate sensibility. We
will now talk on pleasanter subjects, pre-
viously observing, that the pious fortitude
178 THE SISTERS.

you have shown in your change of cifcum-
stances, and the admirable plan of utility
and independence you are willing to adopt,
has my sincerest approbation, since it is, un-
der the divine blessing, the fruits of those
very principles I have endeavored to insti}
into you, and not from any mistrust of my
love towards you, and care of you; no, my
sisters—my children | you cannot have doubt-
ed my love.”

“Doubted, oh no!” exclaimed they, both
hanging weeping round her neck; “ we al-
ways looked to you for every help that we
might want; but with such educations as we
have had, we thought it a duty to help our-
selves, and prove we were worthy of sucha
sister.”

Olivia saw how justly her father had judg-
ed, in making this time of temporary poverty
the finishing stroke of his children’s educa-
tion, the touchstone of their characters;
and with thankful heart she inwardly praised
God, for even the sorrow these beloved ones
had experienced. When she recovered
sufficient serenity, she informed them of
the circumstances with which the reader is
already acquainted, and their tears of grati-
tude now succeeded those of affection; when
informed that their dear father’s last mo-
ments were soothed and consoled by this
THE SISTERS, 177

knowledge, their tenderness was still more
awakened; they rushed into each other’s
arms, and for a moment, in speechless
emotion, looked up to heaven, then, sinking
on their knees at the feet of Olivia, besought
the divine Father, whose mercies they 80
largely experienced, to shower his choicest
blessing on the head of her, who was to them
the ministering angel of his goodness. Whilst
thus engaged, their minds were too much
absorbed to attend to lesser things; and
they were surprised by the abrupt entrance
of Mrs. Mortimer, leaning on the arm of Al-
fred St. Faire.

Emily arose in confusion, and hastily
withdrew, followed by the eyes of the young
man, in which deep respect and tender re-
gard were depicted; he apologized for his
abrupt entrance, by saying, that his parents
being now at Mr. Lewis’s, he had rode over
to inquire after the family, and being seen
by Mr. Berryl from his window, he had
intercepted him by the information that
Mrs. Mortimer was then in the house.

“ You can never come at a wrong time,”
said Olivia, giving him her hand, “though
you did arrive at the moment when our |
meeting had naturally produced so much
agitation, that I am sure you will excuse my
saying, come again fe-morrow, and bring
178 THE SISTERS.

your dear parents with you; we are too old
friends to have any concealments with each
other, and to-morrow will be a day of ex-
planation.”

Alfred colored deeply, and respectfully
withdrew, much affected. Mrs. Mortimer
looked exceedingly distressed; she could
not meet the eyes of Olivia, and she dreaded
the very word explanation; it had produced
her so much mortification of late, that there
was not one in the vocabulary, to which she
had so decided an aversion.

Caroline read her thoughts, and hastened
to relieve them; she ran rapidly through all
that Olivia had detailed, and concluded with
saying, that Emily and herself had no wish
so near their hearts, as that of contributing
to her comfort in the disposal of every thing.

Mrs. Mortimer’s heart was too selfish not
to feel more unmixed joy from the ac-

uisition of property than either of her

aughters but her understanding was too
good, much as she had abused it, not to see
the extent of her obligations to Olivia, and
feel, for a time at least, the sense of grati-
tude, which, it was hoped by all around,
would operate to her lasting advantage, as
her heart, now melted by sorrow, and
humbled by mortification, was predisposed
to feel the value of such a character.
THE SISTERS. 179

Tt is a fact, in which the experience of
many widows coincide, that Mr. Mortimer
was much more dear to his lady since she
had lost him, than ever he had been before;
and although the principal part of the sorrow
she had felt since his death had arisen from
her own altered situation in society, the
prospect of an old age of poverty, or de
pendence on a person who might accord her
the boon of charity, but never could grant
her that of esteem, yet she had undoubtedly
felt much real grief, from the recollection of
one who had taken her from want, endowed
her with affluence, treated her with generous
confidence and kindness for more than
twenty years, and had at length sunk under
the stroke of shame and sorrow, to which
her vices had subjected him. The remorse
it was impossible for her not to feel, was
heightened by the recollection, that she had
ever seen the best example before her eyes
in the conduct of her cousin, Mrs. St. Faire,
who, though much younger, had ever con-
ducted herself with the most perfect pro-
priety, and was at this hour as happy in the

ractice of piety and virtue, as she was ren-

ered miserable by her opposite conduct,

which, on reflection, she and had never

afforded her the triumph of even a single

hour, without. some distressing drawback,
DD
180 THE SISTERS.

and of late had burdened her with such
severe and harassing sensations, such con-
tinual anxiety and distressing solicitude, as
to be scarcely exceeded by her present
troubles. When she thought of the security
of her present income, and her entire freedom
from debt, the sense of ease she enjoyed
almost repaid her for the splendor whose
fictitious joys were vanished for ever; and
carried with them her hopes, her fears, and
her occupations, for the long period of her
past life.

Mark how the world its votaries rewards—
A youth of folies, an old age of cards.

a

CHAPTER XIIL

Such are the blest rewards of virtuous love,
And thus their moments pass.
THomson.

Waewn Mr. St. Faire and his lady arrived
at Miss Mortimer’s the next day, their meet-
ing was joyful, but affecting; and the young
people withdrew, that it might be more un-
restrained: after the first effusions of feeling
were somewhat subsided, Mr. St. Faire
said— ‘In giving me my beloved Emily,

ou bestowed on me a blessing which I
have proved inestimable, my friend; but
THE SISTERS. 181

I must now beseech you to allow me to
hope you will give another Emily to my
son; you have a parent’s right in her, and
must not deny us your influence. Alfred
knew that Lord Littledale loved her, for his
own affection rendered him quick-sighted ;
and though he cultivated her acquaintance,
perhaps farther than he ought to have done,
under that idea, yet he had at length the
resolution to tear himself from London, and
leave his lordship an undisputed field. We
have learnt this morning from Mr. Berryl,
on whom we called, that Emily has refused
him: we apprehend this is the explanation
you meant to give us; but my impatience
could not wait to receive it; remember I am
pleading for my only son.”

“Then you are willing to take my Emily,
unportioned, to be your daughter ?”

“Ts she not your daughter, Olivia ?—the
child nurtured by your love—blessed by
your example—the beloved too of our ex-
cellent Alfred! Oh, she is more than por-
tioned!—she will bring to our hearts a
dower beyond all price.”

“T must, however, rob you of the generous
exultation you feel, to substitute my own—
by saying that she will have a very hand-
some fortune on the whole; but I will never
forget that you were willing to accept her
182 THE SISTERS.

without one, as the child of your Olivia; and
I have no doubt but Alfred will meet in her
all that is desirable in a companion for this
world, and that which is to come.”

Alfred had in the mean time pleaded his
own cause with equal success; but he felt
somewhat mortified, rather than rejoiced,
when he found his Emily was yet compara-
tively rich; for he was so proud both of her
virtues and her preference, that he wanted
no more; and as he received this news from
Mrs. Mortimer, to whom Emily very prop-
erly referred him, he could not help ex-
pressing a momentary disappointment, which
showed her how entirely her child was
beloved for her own sake; and convinced
her that an affection like this was not to be
obtained by the art of dress, or the affecta-
tion of manners.

Tenderly attached to a virtuous, amiable
young man, for whom she had felt regard
from her very infancy, and surrounded by
the approving smiles of all she loved, Emily
did not suffer her present happiness to
seduce her into forgetfulness of im whose
memory still claimed her tender respect;
and she resolutely refused the solicitations of
St. Faire, to marry before the expiration of
her mourning: for several succeeding months

he resided at Mr. Lewis's, and the family
THE SISTERS, 183

enjoyed a constant intercourse, which rea-
dered them all more dear to each other, and
enabled them to lay plans for future life,
consistent with their several situations.

It was resolved that Mrs. Mortimer, whose
love for the world revived as her means
of even partial enjoyment returned, should
take a house for herself and Caroline, in a
neighboring town, where genteel society
might be enjoyed at a small expense, and
where she still hoped to be queen of a little
circle; as, with the addition of Caroline’s
fortune, and the interest of that left by her
husband, together with Olivia’s provident
annuity, she would be deemed rich amongst
her contemporaries. Poor Caroline sub-
mitted with cheerfulness to an arrangement
she could not like, since she naturall
wished to be near Olivia or Emily; but as it
was agreed that she should reside with the
latter for some time after her marriage, she
was the more willing to submit to this
privation.

When the house was taken and furnished
in N , Mrs. Mortimer was about to re-
move; she became impatient to go thither,
and Olivia did not oppose her determination.
She accordingly departed with her eldest
daughter, who, although the distance was
short, felt the separation ‘from her sisters a


184 THE SISTERS.

severe affliction,-and could not help envying
Emily, who remained behind, the enjoyment
of such agreeable society, as an affianced
husband and an inestimable friend.

Caroline’s head was laid back in the
chaise, in mournful contemplation of the
past and the future, endeavoring to reconcile
her mind to the arduous duties which she
foresaw must attend a residence with her
mother, since their inclinations aad pursuits
could seldom coincide, and must in her case
be perpetually conceded, when she was
roused from her painful reverie by the voice
of the post-boy, who desired the ladies to
alight, as he had just discovered, in following
the chaise up the hill, that the linch-pin was
broken, and it would be safer for them
to walk, till their arrival at the next bar
should enable him to procure another.

Mrs. Mortimer blamed him for being so
careless, just as Caroline was praising him
for his attention; but they had scarcely
begun to feel the inconvenience of ascending
the remainder of a long hill, when a
travelling coach overtook them, and an
elderly gentleman looking out, perceived
their situation, and with equal politeness
and humanity requested them to use his
carriage, saying—“ We are three at present;
but I am certain my son will have pleasure
THE SISTERS. 185

in taking a seat in the barouche box, for
your accommodation.”

“My daughter is so slender,” said Mrs.
Mortimer, “that she can easily sit between
two gentlemen ;” and with proper thanks for
the kindness, she entered the coach. Caro-
line followed, and was quietly seating herself
by the only person of the party whose
face she had yet seen, when two voices
exclaimed at once—‘ Miss Mortimer! are
we indeed so happy ?—Do we indeed receive

ou, Miss Caroline?” and with extreme trep-
idation, not unmixed with pleasure, she
perceived Mrs, Arlington and her son, who
immediately introduced her to his father, to
whom the incident appeared to be extremely
gratifying.

The family were at this time on their way
to Bath, a place which Mrs. Arlington
visited every year, finding benefit to her
health from its medicinal waters: it had
been the intention of the younger gentleman
to pay a visit to Olivia, during his mother’s
stay there, for the purpose of further in-
forming himself of the situation, affections,
and character of Caroline, which inquiry he
had the full consent of his father to pros-
ecute, in such a manner as he should find
expedient. Although he, like Mr. St. Faire,
was ignorant of the fortune of the young
186 THE SISTERS,

ladies, and had heard only of the general
breaking up of Mr. Mortimer’s affairs, yet
such was his reliance upon the wisdom of
his son and his wife, and his firm belief that
the “ price of a virtuous woman was above
rubies,” that he submitted to their wishes in
this respect, though he frequently expressed
a desire to see Caroline, before the affair was
concluded.

This desire was now most happily ful-
filled; for on their arrival at N. , Mrs.
Mortimer, who felt proud of making her
first entrance into the place a little in her
old style of travelling, pressed the party
to her house with such cordiality, that they
willingly accepted an invitation so agreeable
to their wishes. Their visit was even
prolonged for several days; and before its
conclusion, such an explanation was made
of the sentiments of the young gentleman,
that a correspondence was entered into,
which soon ripened into the most perfect
confidence; and placed the happy Caroline
in the same situation with Ver beloved
Emily, to whom she speedily related every
particular attending this interesting event, .
and who rejoiced in it, as the only cir-
cumstance which was hitherto wanting to
complete her own felicity.

At the appointed time, Mr. Berry] joined


THE SISTERS. 107

the hands of Emily and Alfred St. Faire—
Caroline and young Arlington; and this
double union made Olivia as happy as
any of the party. She was now enabled
to rejoice, not only in the good, but the evil
of her past life; since her personal sufferings
had been the means, under the Divine
dispensation, of enabling her to devote her
time, her talents, and her fortune, to two
dear, amiable, and virtuous sisters, who
were sensible of her goodness, and returned
her love with the most ardent affection; and
whose virtues in one instance increased
the happiness of a person long endeared
to her; and in the other, diffused the bless-
ing a good and tender heart never fails:
to communicate to a worthy family, who
fully estimated the good they had received.
our years have now elapsed since this.
double union, and the characters of the
sisters in married life have evinced the
soundness of their principles, the govern-
ment of their tempers, and the excellence.
of their understanding: as mothers, they
avoid whatever was erroneous in their
own education, and follow whatever was
beneficial ;—considerate to their servants,
charitable to the poor, hospitable to their
neighbors, and kind to all, their husbands
justly consider them as “crowns of re-
EE
188 THE SISTERS.

joicing” to their heads, as the: tried and
faithful friends of their bosoms.

Olivia still resides at her country house,
where she is frequently visited by her
sisters, or their children. During the first
year of their absence, Maria Berry] resided
with her; but she was comfortably settled
in life about that time, by her marriage with
a respectable attorney, who had seen her
at Miss Mortimer’s, in the course of settling
her affairs. Since then, she has been re-
peatedly visited by Mrs. Smith and Miss
Harwood, who is at this time the governess of
a flourishing school, for which she was indebt-
‘ed to Olivia’s kind assistance, and where she
endeavors to implant in the minds of her
pupils those blessed truths inculcated in her
own heart by this generous benefactress.—.
By every person in her own village, Olivia
is held in the estimation she so truly de-
serves; to her, the rich look for advice, the
oppressed for protection, and the poor for
help—when “the eye seeth ‘her, it blesseth
her,” as one “that maketh the heart of:
the widow to rejoice,” and ‘that comforteth
the mourners.”

It would be wrong to say that affliction
has not produced a salutary effect upon Mrs.
Mortimer, since she now for the most part
‘confines herself to her income, and is content
THE SISTERS. 189

to be the oracle of a little circle, who con-
sider her as a lady who once graced a higher
sphere; and blame the imprudence which
sent her down to them. It has been ob-
served, that the sight of her grandchildren
affected her much; and that she has been
careful to repress in them any propensity to
that over-weening, and yet short-sighted
selfishness, which, joined to vanity and am-
bition, was the source of all her errors; and
it is therefore still to be hoped, that she will,
through Divine goodness, be enabled to
pluck still further from the heart, the “ filthy
garment” in which it has so long been
enshrouded. But she affords a melancholy
proof to misguided mothers, that if a child is
brought up, ‘in the way he should not
go, when he is old he will not depart
from it;” and that, as “many waters cannot
quench love,” neither can many sorrows ex-
tinguish folly. We have no right to set
bounds to that Almighty Power, which,
in the soul of man, no less than in the chaos
of nature, could call light out of darkness;
yet we have no right to expect a miracle
to be wrought in our own favor, or that
of our children and relatives: to those who
expect that a vain, frivolous, fantastic educa-
tion, may, either by time or circumstance,
lead to a rational and pious conduct, bringing
190 THE SISTERS.

forth the “ peaceable fruits of righteousness,”
we would say, in the language of the apostle,
“be not deceived, for whatsoever a man
soweth, that also shall he reap.”

I conclude this simple tale, with begging
my dear young readers to consider what
an inestimable blessing it is to have good,
pious, and careful parents; and duly to
cherish their counsels, and value their
benefits; and next to their parents, all those
“who are put in authority over them,”
either from necessity or love, since experience
must have given them a power of judging
and comparing, unknown to young people,
whatever may be the advantages modern
education allows them in other respects. It
is particularly desirable, that young women
should attend to this doctrine, since in every
station of life, they are more peculiarly
called upon to practise submission and
obedience to the will of others, and resigna-
tion and patience under various sufferings to
which the very condition of their being sub-
jects them, and which it is their highest
honor and their greatest advantage to endure
with uncomplaining meekness and cheerful
fortitude, as those who enjoy immediate
assistance from him, whose “strength is
made perfect in their weakness,” and “ who
never faileth those who trust in him.”
THE SISTERS. 191

To those young people who are less happy
in the guides of their youth, who are
ensnared to folly by the hand that should
lead them to virtue, and seduced to error by
the example, personal affection, and natural
inclination alike tempt them to follow, I
would most earnestly and tenderly recom-
mend the frequent study of the Divine
writings of the New Testament, as the
guardian of their wandering steps, the
purifier of their hearts, and the only means
of preserving in their minds those principles
of humility towards God, and integrity
towards man, which can render them either
estimable or happy—can sustain them
through the sorrows of this mortal state,
which is ever fluctuating and trying, and
give them that Divine hope for the future,

Which builds a bridge across the gulf of death,
And leads us safely on the farther shore.

The little history here transcribed is too
short for the purpose of extensive instruction
or entertainment; but it is humbly presumed
that it will not be found wholly deficient in
either, since it affords traits of character,
as they really exist in the world, and advice
which may be profitably acted upon, arising
from the imperfect, but faithful delineation
of them. If one afflicted Olivia be taught
from the perusal to estimate her own powers
192 THE SISTERS.

of usefulness, and renovated happiness; or
one thoughtless little girl, or inexperienced
young woman, be led from it to woo the
counsel, and return the affections of their
maiden aunts or cousins, and stop in the
career of fashionable gayety, or desponding
sorrows, to consider the value, and pursue
the dictates of that blessed religion, which
alone can correct the former, and enable us
to support the latter, I shall not have in-
troduced the Sisters to their acquaintance in
vain.

THE END.
THE BLIND FARMER

AND HIS CHILDREN.
ADVERTISEMENT.

Tuk approbation which the former works of
the author have met with from the first
rank and talents in the country—particu-
larly from that father and daughter* who
are a ‘host,’ since their judgments is as
indisputable, as their genius is rare—in-
duces her to venture another simple story
to the rising generation, which she trusts
will not be less acceptable than those
which have preceded it, since it is govern-
ed by the same principles, and dictated by
the same feelings.

* Mr. and Miss Edgeworth.
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HOFLANDS HOME TAI,ES.

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The Blind Farmer and his family
i858

BLIND FARMER.

‘J nap an excellent tenant offered to me last
night for the Greenhow farm, but they com-
plain of its being too small,’ said Sir Harry
Eustace to his groom one morning, as he
watched the operation of saddling his steed.
‘Your honor may make it larger ; farmer
Norton’s lease is out at Michaelmas, and if
you join Lea meadows to Greenhow, it will
be one of the finest things in the county.’
‘I wlll speak to old Grey about it.’
‘Never speak to him, your honor—what’s
the use of your honor coming to age, and
having all your leases out, and every thing
tumbling as it were, into your hands, if so
be you go to consult your steward about
8 THE BLIND FARMER.

every thing—it ben’t his way to give in to
these great farms, but being as how all the
quality do it, why should’nt your honor ?’
‘ But perhaps farmer Norton may be as
little willing to go, as old Grey to send him.’
‘ Who’s to ask him I wonder? besides to
my mind, your honor, he’s altugether an un-
proper man ; he’s a house full of children
that keeps him poor; his wife, ’tis true,
is a handy body, but she’s not over and
above strong. Last week he had two
cows died, and that makes a hole in his
stock, I takes it; but, what is more than
all, he’s got crackertons in his eyes, and is
as near blind as the old coach-horse, and
he wants shooting, every body knows.’
During the principal part of thisspeech the
young baronet was whistling and patting
the sleek sides of his courser, but at the last
blunder, he burst into a fit of laughter, at
last saying—‘ Cataracts you mean, Joey.’
The groom answered sulkily—‘I mean
he’s blind, and that’s enough.’
The baronet was thoughtless and good-
natured ; he wasconvinced, both from reason
THE BLIND FARMER. 9

and feeling, that he had no right to indulge
his risibility at the expense of his servant,
in a point where ignorance was no reproach,
since it was not to be expected that such a
person was correctin all the words he might
happen to catch; he therefore atoned to
Wilkins the groom, by taking his advice in
opposition to that of Mr. Grey, his old
steward, a man of great respectability and
knowledge in his own department.

In this hasty compromise with his feel-
ings, Sir Harry, though a good-tempered
man, was guilty of an ill-tempered action:
we cannot positively call it a bad action,
because he broke no law, but the effects of .
his resolution involved injury and ruin to
a worthy man and promising family.
There is nearly as much mischief done in
the world by thoughtlessness as wicked-
ness, and it is every man’s duty to exam-
ine his own conduct, and act from some
motive of more importance than the whim
of the hour, or the suggestion of an inad-
equate or unworthy adviser, more especial
ly when he is rich, and therefore powerful.
10 THE BLIND FARMER.

Farmer Norton succeeded his father on
the Lea Meadows about twelve years be-
fore the period of which we speak; he
being then the father of two children, his
father turned over the farm to him, on
condition that himself and his wife should
end their days in the house. This was not
only readily agreed to on the part of the
young couple, but most religiously observ-
ed, as henceforward poor old Norton and his
good dame found no other change in their
house, than that increase of ease and com-
fort which their age rendered desirable;
and they lived early life over again, in the
society of their grandchildren, with much
more pleasure than they had done whilst
raising their own numerous family, because
they had less anxiety respecting them, and
more leisure for attending to them.

Farmer Norton was a sensible man; he
perceived that in the progress of society,
more was expected from men in his station
than used to be; and as he had but little
property, his father having brought up
eight children, every one of whom had en-
THE BLIND FARMER. 11

joyed a little portion, he endeavored to,
increase his stock of knowledge, and to
give his children such educations, as, with-
out either increasing their ambition or
refinement beyond its due bounds, should
yet give them that power which can alone
spring from knowledge, and which is found
the only balancing influence against wealth
in a great commercial country.

Agreeably to this desire, he placed his
eldest son at the grammar school of the
neighboring village when he was very
young, and as he was a very good, indus-
trious boy, he was remarkably forward ;
so that even when he got to be of an age
in which he could be useful at home, he
was still induced to prolong his stay,
which he was the better enabled to do, as
his second son, though likewise quick at
his book, was of a remarkably active dis-
position, exceedingly fond of the country,
and not partial to close study: the third
child was a girl, who partook the disposi-
tions of both her brothers; she was thought-
ful, observing, and acute, yet active and
12 THE BLIND FARMER. -

lively, and soon became a person of im-
portance in the household; she could knit
stockings, skim the milk, dress the young
child, or read a sermon to her grandfather,
as well as any woman in the parish, at
nine years old. The next was a boy two
years younger, who followed her lead in
every thing; and below him were two
little girls in regular gradation. The names
of these children were John, Francis, Eliz-
abeth, William, Mary, and Susan.

Our young readers cannot remember, but
their parents can inform them from painful
recollection, that many years ago, the har-
vest, in some parts of the country, failed
very much; but the failure was by no
means so general as it was at first suppos-
ed. In consequence of this, many new
laws and regulations took place, in order
to protect the farmer; but, unfortunately
they only enabled those who were rich to
become the means of oppressing the people,
and rendering themselves. independent ;
while the poor farmer, who was really:in-
jured, sunk under his misfortune. This
THE BLIND FARMER. 13

was the case with farmer Norton, whose
crops entirely failed; and what rendered
his trouble the greater, was the illness of
his father, whose complaint was of such a
nature as to call for the best medical help,
which his duteous son was desirous of pro-
curing him, whatever might be the ex-
pense ; his mother had been long an inva-
lid, and his wife, by doing more for the old
people than her strength allowed, was
reduced to a sick-bed; and this state of
affliction continued more than a year, in
which time his finances were reduced from
a flourishing to a declining state, for sick-
ness is always expensive, but theirs was
particularly so.

At last the good old man died, and it
was ever a comfort to his excellent son,
‘that he died in ignorance of the great ex-
pense he had caused him. Poor Mrs.
Norton began to get about again, but she -
now discovered that the affliction of which.
her husband said little, but thought much,
had indeed come upon him; his eyes were
very dim, and although he could go about

FF
14 THE BLIND FARMER.

his business in the fields, he was utterly
unable to write or discern figures, and it
appeared that he had made several unfor-
tunate mistakes in calculation, which he
detected when too late, having erred
through his sight, which he now never
dared to trust.

It was just at the time when the expense
of his father’s funeral was come upon him,
together with the loss of his two finest
cows, and the melancholy certainty that
he was verging to total blindnes, that he
was informed that he must quit his farm,
as it was promised to anothor tenant.

Sir Harry was that night dancing at a
ball, given by a neighboring gentleman in
honor of his daughter’s birth-day ; little
did he think, as he tripped away in the
gay circle, how much misery his cruel
mandate had caused to a family of inferior
tank in life, but equal in virtue, and equal
in sensibility, with that which now sur-
rounded him. The bitter agony this infor-
mation gave, was such as entirely to over-
turn all the strength even of farmer Nor-
THE BLIND FARMER. 15

ton’s mind for a short time; it was there-
fore no wonder that the minds of his aged
mother his ailing wife, and his helpless in-
fants bent beneath it, and wept the expected
change in all the bitterness of sorrow.

The farmer walked several times up and
down the large room, which was a kind of
hall and upper kitchen, where his family
usually sat, struggling with his feelings,
and determining to support himself like a
man; but unfortunately, one of the younger
children, who were of course unconscious
of the affair, placed it’s chair in his way,
and in stepping forward, he stumbled over
it: this circumstance completely overcame
him—‘ God help me!’ said he, ‘1 cannot
see my way; my afflictions are all fallen
upon me at once.’

With these words he sank down on a
long bench, and hiding his face with his
hands, actually burst into tears. His af-
fectionate family, far more moved with his
sorrow than any change that could happen
to themselves, crowded around him. His
wife sitting down by him, gently put her
16 THE BLIND FARMER.

arm round his neck, and leaned his head
upon her bosom, drying her own tears, and
whispering to him—‘ Take comfort, my
love, something will be done; let us trust
in God, who never forsakes those who seek
to do His will.’

“My dear wife, if I had my sight I
would fear nothing; but to think that you
and my poor children should want bread,
while I am in the prime of life, with
strength to work, yet not the means of do-
ing it, this breaks my heart—it will kill
me, I feel it will.’

The poor children, on hearing this, all
burst into an agony of weeping, and clung
round their parents; of poverty they had
entertained comparatively little fear, be-
cause they had no idea of it, yet they had
but too just an idea of death. Much had it
grieved their little affectionate hearts to
part with their dear grandfather; but the
thoughts of losing their beloved father,
whom they felt to be the fountain of all
their comforts, was too much for them, and
THE BLIND FARMER. 17

they sobbed with equal grief and terror at
the idea. Farmer Norton was quite shock-
ed to perceive the effect his desponding
speech had upon them, but he was too
much affected to speak again; the more
they loved and depended upon him, the
more terrible appeared the melancholy sit-
uation in which he stood.

Happily for him, his wife was a woman
of strong mind, whose excellent understand-
ing and sound principles were but exem-
plified in the hour of trial—‘My dear
children,’ said she, ‘you all love your
father dearly, and you will, I trust, prove
your love, by subduing your sorrow now,
since it adds to his affliction—by and by
you must do more than express it in words
and tears, you must all learn to work for
him as he has worked for you.’

They all, with one voice, declared they
would most thankfully work every day,
and all day long for their dear father and
her; and with the eager spirit of youth,
they dried their tears, and stood around

B
18 THE BLIND FARMER,

her, as if expecting that she would imme-
diately set them a task.

‘Poor lambs, what can they do?’ said
the fond father, ‘or what can you do, my
dear, out of a farm.’

‘Many things,’ replied Mrs. Norton,
with a smile, though tears ran down her
cheek ; ‘ you know, my dear John, you al-
ways say the back is fitted to the burthen,
and I doubt not but God will have mercy
upon us, and make rough places plain be-
fore us; all I desire is, that you will keep
up your spirits, and take care of your
health. While I have you to look at in
the corner, I can do any thing—but oh,
my dear husband, without you——’

The idea of that affliction the heart of
a tender wife is indeed least able to endure ;
the poor woman suddenly stopped, and in
her turn wept bitterly ; while her husband,
drawing her to his bosom, declared he
would, for her sake, endure without
repining, the misfortunes which it might
please Heaven to afflict him with, confident
THE BLIND FARMER. . 19

that they would, in due time, be removed
by his Heavenly Father.

Just at this time, the schoolmaster of
the village, who was likewise the curate,
entered, and as he was always an intimate
friend, and a truly kind-hearted good man,
they did not hesitate to inform him what
was the occasion of the grief he saw. He
was sincerely sorry to learn the cause of
their distress, the more so, as he was
aware that there was no help for the more
immediate evil; for he had already been
informed that Sir Harry was going to make
all his farms larger ones, and that many
of the lesser tenants were likely to be re-
duced to being servants on the very places
where they had formerly been masters;
he therefore applied himself to giving con-
solation in the only place where it was
admissible, and in that where poor Norton
seemed to feel misfortune the most acutely.
He examined his eyes, informed him that
the complaint in them admitted of relief,
and that so far from being as he appre-
hended, entirely decayed and lost, they
20 THE BLIND FARMER.

were, in fact, incrustated with a thick
film, which a skilful operator could re-
move, and by that means restore him to a
more perfect sight than he had enjoyed for
several years.

As all the party were accustomed to
place implicit credit on all their pastor
assured them, although this appeared little
short of a miracle, they did not doubt it;
and the poor man and his wife only beg-
ged to know how such a blessing could be
obtained.

The good curate told them he believed
it was only in London that such skilful
people lived, and he was afraid a large
sum would be required in payment; but
yet he doubted not that the operator would
proportion his charge to the circumstances
of the patient.

From this time, all the consideration of
the parties was, how to insure the good
in question ; and as it appeared not only
particularly necessary, to the farmer’s indi-
vidual comfort, but also sound policy,
for the sake of his family, it was deter-
THE BLIND FARMER. 21

mined that it should be the first thing
attended to; and as they could not heat
of any farm in the country, small enough
to suit their reduced stock and scanty
means, they agreed to sell whatever they
had, and then consider how to dispose
of themselves; in the humble hope that,
with sight, the power of some provision
could not fail to be afforded them.

One thing, above all, the farmer deter-
mined on, which was, to sink such a sum
as would provide for his poor mother
for her life, and in this resolve his wife
heartily acquiesced.—‘ It will,’ said she,
‘take a load from my mind.’ Though
the good old woman was thankful for
their care, yet she opposed this proof of
their Be: for some time, saying, ‘she
was affaid in doing it they would tie their
own hands;’ which was indeed too true;
but the hopes of regaining sight made the
poor farmer spurn at all other difficulties ;
and his wife, owing to his reasonings,
had set all her hopes and wishes on

this single stake, and of course, theit
GG
22 THE BLIND FARMER.

poor children thought in all things with
them.

But in despite of all their fortitude,
though it was of the best kind, being
implanted by humility and religious hope,
when the fatal day came, which tore
them from their beloved home, and the
dwelling where they had so long enjoyed
plain comfort, and exercised modest hos-

pitality, their affliction was very bitter;
and as the dumb animals, which had so
‘long constituted a part of their family,
‘were consigned to other masters, the little
‘boys wept aloud, and poor Betsy felt her

very heart wrung, as the poultry it had

‘been her province to feed, were dealt out
to different purchasers; but this sensible,

good child, endeavoring to ‘imitate the

-conduct of her mother, suffered not a sigh

to escape her, lest it should wound her
father’s heart, although many a silent tear
stole down her rosy cheek, which she
wiped .off with the corner of her apron,
almost envying her poor father his blind-

‘ness, .which saved him from witnessing
THE BLIND FARMER. 23

the d€solation which now marked the
spot where he was born, and which was
so long his happy and abundant home,
since its owners had once possessed all
that their wants, and even their wishes,
required.’
24 THE BLIND FARMER.

CHAPTER II.

As soon as the sale was over, the children
and their grandmother removed to the
house of 'a neighbor, who agreed toaccommo-
date them ata small expense, for they were
sincerely sorry for their situation, whilst
the poor farmer and his faithful partner
pursued their way to London. Grief had
so greatly increased the complaint of the
poor man, that he was now utterly unable
to see his way at all; and never having
been in a stage coach, where he was liable
to meet all kinds of curious and disagree-
able company, he thought it the best way
to go up in a post-chaise, as the difference
in the expense was not so great as the dif-
ferent comfort it promised ; and he felt as
if he could make it up a thousand ways,
when he was once restored to his sight, of
which he did not entertain a doubt.
THE BLIND FARMER. 25

But alas! travelling a hundred and fifty
miles became a much more expensive thing
than he had reckoned upon ; and when he
arrived in the metropolis, money appeared
to fly with double wings. He had got no
friend to inform or advise him how to pro-
ceed, for the good curate’s directions were
vague and indefinite; in consequence of
which, his expenses were amazingly in-
creased, and his expectations from day to
day disappointed, as his applications were
made to wrong people.

At length he obtained an interview with
the great oculist he sought; and he then
learnt to his infinite disappointment, that
distressing as his state was, it was yet not
bad enough to admit of that operation
which was required for his emancipation
from blindness. It appeared strange to the
poor man, that he must necessarily become
worse than he was, being already so bad;
but the gentleman to whom he applied did
not disdain to explain the necessity to him;
and poor farmer Norton became convinced
that there was indeed no hope, until he
26 THE BLIND FARMER.

was totally blind, which might yet be a
period of some years.

This grievous disappointment he endeav-
ored to bear with Christian fortitude, being
supported still by his wife; but of course,
common prudence dictated the necessity of
embracing the very cheapest method of re-
turn, which was the outside of a stage-
coach ; and accordingly on this vehicle he
mounted, with the faithful partner of his
cares, and for some time they proceeded
more comfortably than could have been ex-
pected; but alas! before they arrived at
the town of Birmingham, through which
their road lay, another coach happened to
overtake them, and the coachmen, with
that utter disregard of the lives and limbs
of their respective passengers, which dis-
tinguishes this race of men, entered into a
contest, which terminated in the overthrow
of the unfortunate farmer, who being una-
ble to assist himself, by guarding in any
measure against the shock, was taken up.
half dead, and conveyed to the nearest
THE BLIND FARMER. 27

public-house, with little hopes of his re-
covery.

Poor Mrs. Norton was likewise much
hurt, but she exerted herself to the utmost
for his sake; but the length of his illness,
and the nature of his complaints, exhaust-
ed all their little property, and they knew
not how to obtain redress, and before he
was able to walk, their children were sent
to them, as the person who had kept them,
began to fear that he never should be paid,
atlhough a very small portion remained
due. Of these children, however, the eldest
remained behind, for the good curate, con-
sidering himself as in some measure the
cause of their last misfortune, and aware
that the eldest boy was capable of being
made very useful to him, agreed to keep
him in his service, as an usher in his school,
which he was more inclined to, because he
thought it wrong to subject a boy of con-
siderable attainments to the coarse employ-
ments, the present extreme poverty of his
parents might subject him to.

John was a good boy, and uncommonly
.
28 THE BLIND FARMER.

steady and reflective for his years; the line
of life thus chosen for him, was precisely
what he could have desired ; but such was
his affection for his parents, and his sense
of duty towards them, that he could not
help desiring to be actively employed in
their immediate service; and it was not
until he had received a letter from his
mother, informing him that providing for
himself was in fact a great assistance to
them, that he could feel reconciled even to
accepting that good for which he yet felt
sincerely grateful.

When the poor children again saw those
dear parents from whom they had never
been separated before, bitter tears bedewed
their innocent faces, on perceiving that
their poor father was now not only blind
but lame, and that their mother, who used
to be the handsomest and neatest woman
in the parish, looked pale, and old, and
shabby ;—nor were the feelings of the pa-
rents less painfully awakened, especially
when they found the children were accom-
panied by their grandmother, as they
THE BLIND FARMER. 29

would willingly have kept their distress
from her ; but the good old woman insisted
on sharing with them the little stipend
with which their duty and love had so kind-
ly supplied her, insisting upon it, that al-
though weak and infirm, she could help to
wait on her poor son and the young
children.

Mrs. Norton, aware, from her own sad
experience, that weeping is neither the way
to mend that which is bad in our situation,
nor evince faith in the goodness of God,
cheered up the hearts of her little house-
hold, and observed to them, ‘that the worse
their father was, the more they were all
called upon to comfort him ;’ and the poor
children with great truth declared, that if
they might live with him, and talk to him,
they would work constantly, and fare
sparingly ; their only dread was, lest they
should be taken away to the workhouse,
as many people in their own country had
lately prophesied.

The bare idea was heart-breaking to the
mother, and she lost not an hour in guard-
se
30 THE BLIND FARMER.

ing against it. Well aware that a pure
air was above all things necessary for
them, and they were all capable of taking
a great deal of exercise, her first care was
to procnre them all a lodging in the out-
skirts of the town of Birmingham, and she
was so fortunate as to meet with a place
where there was only a man and his wife,
with one child, so that they could spare
the best part of their house, which they
let with as much furniture as there hap-
pened to be in it; the rest they endeavored
to supply by a sale of some few articles
which they had hitherto deemed sacred,
which were an old family silver tankard,
the tea-spoons and sugar-tongs bought on
their marriage, and the bright copper tea-
kettle, which was wont to shine like gold
on a high shelf.

The next house was inhabited by a tai-
lor, and to this man Mrs. Norton looked as
a sheet anchor, for her new plan of getting
her livelihood: she had ever been very
active and clever in working for her sons
and her husband, and she knew that in
THE BLIND FARMER. 3l

proportion to the difficulty of any pursuit,
must be the profits accruing from it. She
therefore entreated employment for men’s
ware, in preference to women’s; and the
gentleness and even the superiority of her
manners, induced the tailor to trust her
with a little work, which she executed so
well, that he soon trusted her with more ;
but he could not fulfil her wishes by giving
any to her little daughter, because he con-
sidered that as wronging the people whom
he already employed.

Alas! work hard as she would, she
could not pay for their lodgings and feed so
many mouths, although they wished for
nothing besides bread and potatoes; the
plump ruddy cheeks of the once smiling
little train, grew pale and thin, and the
loud voice of sportive play was no longer
amongst them. Betsy and Frank, who
were the oldest, were frequently in deep
consultation as to the possibility of doing
something, but what that something could
be was the question: they had no object
or plan, for all around them was new, and
32 THE BLIND FARMER.

the very manners of the people discouraged
them from offering their services.

One day, when Mrs. Norton took her
work home, she found her employer in
great distress for some buttons, which the
manufacturer had neglected to send, and
she offered to send Frank to fetch them,
for he was a very sharp boy, and had al-
ready found out every place about the
town ; so his services were quickly accept-
ed. When Frank arrived at the button
manufactory, he was obliged to wait some
time, during which he observed several
women sitting at a long table, rubbing the
buttons with the palms of their hands to
polish them. It appeared to him very
easy work, and as he surveyed them with
an earnestness that indicated the interest
he felt, one of the women said—‘ Do you
think you should like to do this ?’

‘T think,’ said Frank, ‘1 could soon
learn to do it.’

The women all broke into a sneering
laugh, which greatly disconcerted poor
Frank ; but the master of the place, who
THE BLIND FARMER. 33

was making up the parcel, said to him
with a good-natured smile—‘ If you have
a mind to try, my boy, you may begin as
soon as you like; I will give you three
and sixpence a-week, and more as you
improve yourself.’

Tears of gratitude gushed into the eyes
of the poor boy, and he ran home in great
delight to tell his parents, whose circum-
stances were now at so low an ebb, that
this was a great relief to them: besides,
they justly thought that any mode of in-
dustry was preferable to idleness; and they
encouraged the poor boy to exertion, by
assuring him that this would be a great
assistance to them.

Poor Frank accordingly began to polish
buttons the very next day, but he found
it very different work from what he had im-
agined. The sharp edges of the buttons
continually cut his hand, and then the
blood spoiled the buttons ; and poor Frank
was still more vexed to see his labor lost,
than to feel the pain in his hands. His

c
34 THE BLIND FARMER.

greatest care was to hide his sufferings
from his mother; but she, poor woman,
was only too well aware of them; and
often when he was asleep, she crept to his
bedside, and kissed those hands which
were wounded, being well aware that noth-
ing but habit would remove this trouble.
She encouraged him, however; and as he
was too manly to yield to difficulty, in
the course of a few weeks his hands be-
came perfectly smooth and yet hard, and
the women gave over laughing at him,
which had galled his spirit more than any
thing else; so that every thing went on
very well, and even his wages were a lit-
tle raised.

As this manufactory was a great distance
from his own house, sometimes Mrs. Nor-
ton would send Betsy with his dinner, in
order to save time; and one day as she
was standing to speak with him, a gentle-
man, who was a manufacturer of the pa-
per tea-trays, asked her if she would like
to work for him; the poor child blushed
and curtsied, but durst not speak, so
THE BLIND FARMER. 35

Frank answered for her—‘ That she would
be glad to do any thing in her power,’ so
the person told her to come to a certain
place on the following morning. Accord-
ingly Betsy went, accompanied by her
mother, who was surprised to see what a
number of people were working in close
workshops, where it appeared scarcely pos-
sible to breathe; some were pasting one
sheet of paper upon another, until it be-
came as strong as board; others were cut-
ting and sawing these boards, and nailing
them together in different forms, such as
tea-trays, bread-baskets, snuffer-trays, &c.,
and after them came people who covered
them with a beautiful japan. They then
went into another place, where a number
of women were drawing upon them all
sorts of flowers and borders, which they
did with a kind of cement, and then they
laid gold leaf upon it. The leaf stuck to
the cement, and only to it; so then they
took a very delicate brush, and rubbed it
over, and the drawiag appeared covered
with gold, &c., looking very beautiful.
36 THE BLIND FARMER.

Little Betsy was quite delighted with
this, and thought she would like to learn
it prodigiously, and it was not hard work ;
her mother was very glad to engage with
the master, who promised to have her
taught; and finding from her first efforts
that she had a very good notion, he agreed
to give her a trifle, which was to be in-
creased in proportion as she improved; so
from this time she went regularly to work
every morning with Frank; and poor Mrs.
Norton, having disposed of two of her
children, began to hope that in a little time,
something might be done by every one to
contribute to the general welfare, and that
her poor husband’s heart would be relieved
of that load of anxiety which still pressed
him to the earth.

William, the fourth child, was about ten
years old; he had been very delicate, and
was still little of his age, so that his mother
could not think of consigning him to a
manufactory, as she was too well aware
that the close air and the confinement
would be ruin to his health; but yet she
THE BLIND FARMER. 37

took care that he should be ever employed,
and he became the errand-goer and princi-
pal servant of the family.—Mrs. Norton
soon discovered that the people with whom
they lodged, although very good to them,
had all the vices which too frequently be-
long to the poor of manufacturing towns;
they earned as much money as would have
kept her large family in comfort, and even
secure to them all the blessings of educa-
tion ; yet they experienced all the miseries
of poverty, through want of management.
It was their custom to buy a fine joint of
meat, of which they used to cut slice after
slice, and boil and frizzle it all away, so
that there was little support given at a
great expense. All their best clothes were
worn out, without care or mending, and
their poor child was always sickly, be-
cause it was crammed with improper food,
and never kept cleanly in its person. Mrs.
Norton was a woman of too much real
benevolence to see this sad waste unmov-
ed; and after she got a little more free

with them, she ventured to inform them
HH
338 , THE BLIND FARMER.

in what they erred respecting the child,
proposing that when the mother went to
her work, the little one should be left to
the management of her mother, who would
watch its steps with her own little one,
which was of the same age, about two
years old, but nearly twice as big.

In consequence of this plan, the poor
child soon became quite a different crea-
ture; and the parents observing the gen-
eral propriety, and even comfortable ap-
pearance of their lodgers, notwithstanding
their poverty, did everything in their pow-
er to follow their advice, and prove their
gratitude; and were in a short time sur-
prised to find that they were much more
comfortable, and that they actually lived
better, and yet saved money. They had
a bit of ground belonging to the house as
a garden, which they now determined to
enclose; and poor Norton, on hearing this,
once more lifted up his dejected head, and
declared that with his son William’s help,
he had no doubt but he should be able to
cultivate it for the use of both families.
THE BLIND FARMER, 39

‘Never say that,’ said the landlord, ‘ for
it is quite at your service, neighbor; you
have made my child thrive as I never ex-
pected to see it, and my purse thrives too
under your management, and itis as little
as I can do to give you this bit of rough
land, so pray make the most of it in any
way you please.’

Poor Norton, once roused, began to feel
his faculties return; he soon learnt to
grope about and dig very well, while little
Billy, doing exactly as he bade him, put
the plants and seeds into the ground, and
found health as well as profit and pleasure
from the employment; when, after great
labor, (for the poor man had done his
work often over, from his want of seeing
what was finished), the garden was done,
they commenced, at the instigation of the
provident mother, building a pig-sty, and
over that they made a little hen-coop.

When all was completed, Mrs. Norton
sold the only silk gown she had ever pos-
sessed, and with it she bought two little
pigs; while she encouraged the two chil-
40 _ THE BLIND FARMER.

dren, who worked out, by purchasing for
them two hens and a cock, which she de-
clared should be considered their property,
and little Mary was appointed to take care
of them; and every Saturday night, when
they received their wages, a certain portion
was appropriated for food, and at the same
time they received the money for which
their eggs had been sold to the neighbors.

‘ But, dear father,’ said Billy, ‘ how will
the pigs be fed, they are such greedy
things ?”

‘My dear,’ replied the farmer, ‘ we must
give them a little food and a great deal of
cleaning; they are naturally a filthy ani-
mal, but they always thrive when they
are kept clean.’

“Then I will take care of that, dear
father, for I want very much to be good
for something, the same as Frank and
Betsy are.’

‘In order to do this, my child, you must
collect from all the houses in this row, the
wash which they are accnstomed to throw
away; you may collect from the gentle-
THE BLIND FARMER. Al

man’s gardener many valuable vegetables
which are useless to him, and by picking
them clean, and sometimes boiling them,
you will fatten the pigs; so, while your
brother and sister get money, you will
save money, and be equally beneficial
to me.’

‘In this manner, by unremitting indus-
try, though with very small profits, the
distressed family made shift to support
themselves; but what was more extraor- |
dinary, they not only preserved to their
minds the knowledge they had acquired,
and so far from sinking into an ignorance
fatal to their future advancement in life,
they also contrived to improve their minds
even in a situation which afforded so little
apparent help; for when the poor farmer
got them all round him on the Sabbath-
day, he never failed to repeat to them, in
the most impressive manner, all the know]-
edge he had acquired in the course of his
life ; and as their veneration for him was
really increased by his misfortune, it was
imprinted on their affectionate hearts in
a THE BLIND FARMER.

the strongest manner. To this may be
added the cares and kindness of their eldest
brother, who wishing them to enjoy similar
advantages with himself, and not being
able to afford postage, used to write it
down in a little book whatever he thought
most desirable for them to know, and now
and then these books were transmitted by
a neighbor; and these little tracts being
written by the brother they dearly loved,
failed not to be duly observed and carefully
recollected; and seeing he took so much
pains for them, put them on taking pains
with each other; so that they taught even
their little sisters to read and write, when-
ever they had an opportunity, and in do-
ing this, greatly improved themselves.

If it had not been for this mental exer-
cise, the life of poor Frank would have
been very dull and cheerless, for he was
naturally a fine lively lad, and to sit rub-
bing buttons twelve hours a-day, may well
be supposed to be a very stupid occupation.
On the contrary, Betsy’s employment,
although an unhealthy one, from its close-
THE BLIND FARMER. 43

ness, was really amusing; amd Frank
would very frequently wish he were en-
gaged in it, for he was very fond of draw-
ing, and whenever she showed him any
new pattern, he would practise it with a
bit of chalk or a pen, until he had got it to
such perfection as to be frequently able to
improve her; and when he had exhausted
this, he would turn to any other object,
and especially the plants in the garden, or
even the pigs, which he used to draw to
please poor Billy, who had the pleasure of
seeing them grow up as fine as his heart
could wish.

When the poor farmer heard his wife
speak of this talent in their son, he would
sometimes sigh over the loss of sight, which
forbade him witnessing either his work or
Betsy's; but every proof of faculty they
displayed, only made him more anxious to
embue their ardent minds with knowledge.
He described to Frank every forest tree,
and directed him to get little specimens of
them : during his Sunday evening’s walks
he taught him how to look at animals so
44 THE BLIND FARMER.

as to distinguish their anatomy, and to ob-
serve all the most striking characteristics
of plants and grains. Whatever had been
connected with his own profession, poor
Norton thoroughly understood, and in
relating his observations to his children,
he felt the only consolation his melancholy
state admitted; he saw that he did not
live in vain.
THE BLIND FARMER, 45

CHAPTER III.

Wun the pigs had attained to the size the
farmer wished, he directed his son William
to drive them to the market, where they
were usually sold; and having felt and
examined them, informed him what price
he must ask for them. The poor boy did
not know whether he was most glad or
sorry for this order; in the first place, he
had so constantly tended and fed these
animals, that, disagreeable as they are by
nature, yet they had become so endeared
to him, that he felt as if he could not bear
to see them killed: in the second, he real-
ly wished his dear parents to have a side
of bacon as they used to have, especially
as they had now a prospect of plenty of
beans and peas from their own little gar-
den; and as he drove them away, the tears

stood in his eyes as he thought of the plea-
iI
46 THE BLIND FARMER.

sure he had often promised himself in see-
ing this.

The affectionate mother, who read all
his thoughts, said—‘ My dear boy, if you
sell your pigs well, you shall buy a little
porker, and fatten it for your father; but
we cannot afford such a great pig as either
of these. I will walk up and down near
the place, and if you have a good offer,
you must come and tell me.’

Thus assured and happy, poor Billy set
out on an errand he justly considered hon-
-orable and useful; and on arriving at the
‘market he had the proud satisfaction of
‘showing the very finest pigs in the place;
‘and on hearing the prices asked by other
‘people, he found that his dear father had
considerably underrated them. He had
not stood long, when a gentleman and his
‘bailiff came, and having examined the ani-
‘mals, inquired the price, when William,
in ahesitating voice, asked him that which
‘he had himself set upon them.

‘*So, young one, you have a conscience,
TYR BLIND FARMER. 47

I see,’ said the bailiff; ‘you thought of
asking more, didn’t you.’

‘No,’ said William, ‘I thought of ask-
ing less.’

The gentleman laughed—‘ Come,’ said
he, ‘that is honest, however; we must
make no words on this subject; Johnson,
pay the lad and drive home his pigs.’

Johnson pulled out a yellow canvas
bag, well stocked with golden guineas,
and Willy’s heart for a moment danced
with joy, at the thoughts of taking some of
them to his dear father and mother; but
as he cast his eye down towards his grunt-
ing companions, his countenance fell, and
he gave a deep sigh.

‘ You seem sorry to part with your pigs,
my boy,’ said the gentleman.

‘I fed them ever since they were taken
from the sow, sir.’

‘Well, they do you credit; they are the
show of the market.’

‘Yes, sir: but it was cleaning that
made them what they are.’
48 THE BLIND FARMER.

‘They are remarkably clean: I thought
they were washed for the occasion.’

‘So they were, sir; I used to wash them
every day, and curry them too very often ;
because I had not much food to give them,
and father said cleanliness would supply
the want of food.’

‘ Your father is a sensible man, and you
are a good boy for observing his direction.’

‘Pll be hoynd,’ said the bailiff, ‘ the fa-
ther saw him do it; but I wonder he trusts
him here so young as he is, to take money.’

‘My poor father couldn’t see me,’ said
the boy, reddening.

‘QO, couldn’t he? what, is he blind ?’

‘Yes,’ said the boy, bursting into tears.

The bailiff was heartily sorry for what
he had said, and the gentleman was much
affected; but before he had time to speak,
Billy darted away to a very decent woman
on the pavement, and dragging her towards
them, she comprehended that he wanted
her to receive the money which the bailiff
still held in his hand.

Mrs. Norton took the money in silence,
THE BLIND FARMER. 49

but finding a guinea and a half more was
given to her than her husband had named
as the sum he expected, she said—‘ Here
isno mistake, I hope.’

‘None at all, ma’am, your son asked
that, and I gave it—his pigs are the finest
in the market, and he has a right to the
best price.’

Mrs. Norton curtsied to the gentleman,
and saying she hoped they would prove
excellent bacon, was taking Billy’s hand
and going, when the gentleman, who was
much struck with the propriety of her
manners, and the respectability of her ap-
pearance, which was indeed that of a de-
cayed farmer’s wife, not that of shabby
finery, stopped her, saying—‘I am a per-
son, ma’am, who lose no opportunity of
gaining knowledge on agricultural subjects;
my name is Appleby.’

Mrs. Norton knew the name well; he
was a resident within ten miles of her
once-happy home, and she felt well aware
that had her husband been Ais tenant, he

D
50 THE BLIND FARMER.

would never have been expelled his farm;
her heart rose to her throat, and though
by her movement she assured the gentle-
man that she recognised him, yet she was
unable to speak.

‘ Well, ma’am,’ continued Mr. Appleby,
‘ your little man here has given me infor-
mation, on which I shall act with respect
to the management of pigs, and I wish to
reward, by presenting him with one that
shall be his own property ; the young ones —
are in the lower part of the market, and,
with your permission, he shall go back,
and my bailiff shall choose one for him.’

Both mother and son heard this with
glistening eyes; and in a very short time
poor Billy, with a thankful heart, drove
home his pretty porker, thanking and bless-
ing the good gentleman, and determining
to feed and clean it even better than before,
and then present it to his parents. The
children heard of their brother’s good luck
with great joy; and Frank promised,
when days were a little longer he would
draw the pig, which was all he could do;
THE BLIND FARMER. 5k

he sighed when he thought how long he
might rub the buttons, before he got money
enough to buy a pig ; but his mother, going
to the cupboard, brought out the money
which had been saved for him and Betsy,
out of the profits of their poultry, and they
saw with delight that it amounted to seven-
teen shillings, and they both desired that
it might be laid out in something that she
and their father would like.

‘No, my dear children,’ said the kind
mother, ‘ we must put it by a little longer,
that we may get you a few clothes, for
you are now scarcely fit to be seen at
church.’

The children did not recollect this, in
their eagerness to assist their parents, but
they now looked wistfully towards the
sum of money which was in their father’s
hands, and even he was sensible of the
direction of their heads towards him.

‘ My dear children,’ said the farmer, ‘I
am indebted to the person where you
lodged in the country during my unfortu-
nate journey, for all this sum, save three
52 THE BLIND FARMER.

pounds, and my reason for selling the pigs
was to set my heart at ease by paying it,
although I ain not pressed to doit. I trust
you will all feel with me, that it is better
to live on dry bread and roots a little
longer, and have a clear conscience in this
respect; it grieves me to deprive you of
any comfort, because you are good chil-
dren ; but I wish you from your infancy
to show yourselves capable of suffering
any thing, rather than debt, which, to an
honest mind, is a perpetual torment.’

All the children, with one voice, declared
that they wanted nothing for themselves ;
and the little one, who knew not of what
they spoke, but saw in their eager affection-
ate looks that they meant to be particularly
kind, climbing upon his knee and clasping
his neck, said, ‘ me want nothing but dad-
dy;’ and as the poor father kissed 1t, as
the representative of all the rest, he lifted
up his sightless eyes to heaven, and thank-
ed God that he was blessed with such a
family, and such an excellent mother for
them.
THE BLIND FARMER. 53

In time the pig grew, was killed, and
the half of it, together with a portion of
the produce of the garden, paid for their
lodging ; and from the joint savings of the
family, another was purchased; and as
Mrs. Norton improved in her work, she
gained a little more money, and was now
enabled to employ her daughter Mary
likewise, as the little one could take care
of itself, and old Mrs. Norton contrived to
cook for them :—but, alas! though a little
more money was thus gained, yet the con-
sumption of increasing growth in a family
of this description, kept pace with it; and
' Betsy alone could be said to maintain her-
self, as, her work being the finest, she was
paid the best. Yet about her, the mother
was the most unhappy, for the poor child
pined for want of air, and the people
among whom she worked were by no
means proper company for her; so that
the anxious mother was continually cast-
ing about for the means of providing her a
more suitable situation.

Between all the children there existed
54 THE BLIND FARMER.

the most cordial affection, but especially
with Frank and Betsy, whose pursuits
and taste were exactly similar in every
leisure moment; and through her, Frank
had now attained a ready method of copy-
ing any little pattern he saw, and from
native talent went generally far beyond
her, although she was considered the clev-
erest girl of her age in her own manufac-
tory. One day, as poor Frank was going
on with his usual hundrum employment,
a gentleman was showing his employer a
new pattern of a button he had brought
from abroad—‘O dear,’ said the master,

“how I wish I could draw! I would take ©

it in my pocket-book—bless my life, is
there nobody about the place, I wonder,
that can do it ?’

Poor Frank looked up, and very mod-
estly offered to do his best.

‘You !’ said the master in astonishment.

‘Let him try,’ said the gentleman;
‘there is no harm in trying.’

Frank tried, and so far succeeded, as to
give all that was required ; and the master
THE BLIND FARMER. 55

observed that he really thought the lad
had a notion above his years, and that he
would move him into a more lucrative
line of employment; and he said, ‘as you
have evidently a taste for these things,
some day when you are clean and smart,
you may call at Mr. Bloomfield’s, the artist,
in Crescent-road, and give my compli-
ments, and beg he will let you look at his
paintings; it will be a great treat to you.’
Poor Frank knew too well that when
he was made as clean as he could be, he
was yet not smart enough for such a visit
as this; for his well-worn jacket was
patched until the original was scarcely
visible; he therefore sighed to think that a
sight, which would have been indeed a
treat, was effectually denied to him.
Although this little circumstance ran
much in his head, he did not mention it to
any one save Betsy, lest the pain -he felt
on account of his shabby clothes should
extend itself to his parents; but one Sat-
urday afternoon, when his wages were
paid sooner than common, on going home,
56 THE BLIND FARMER.

which he always did with great speed, on
this occasion he found his mother so busy,
finishing a waistcoat, that she could not
even take his money.—‘ Here, child,’ said
she, ‘run in with this to Mr. Brown’s; |
know he is waiting for it.’

Frank did as he was bid.

‘QO,’ said Brown, the tailor, ‘ here comes
the waistcoat; I am never disappointed by
Mrs. Norton ; come, make haste with the
coat, and then whip away with them
to Mr. Bloomfield’s, for he is all impa-
tience, and it is a good step to the Cres-
cent-road.’

Frank’s heart beat quick; he thought
he might get a peep at the place, so he
said—‘ Sir, it is Saturday night, and you
are busy; I will carry the clothes for you
as soon as I have washed my face, if yon
please.’

‘Thank you, my good boy, you cannot
oblige me more—we shall be ready in five
minutes.’

Poor Frank ran home in a great bustle,
put on the clean shirt his mother had pro
THE BLIND FARMER. 57

vided for the morrow, and making him-
self as decent as he could, ran away with
the coat to the painter’s; when he got
there, the servant said her master was in a
great passion because the clothes were not
come, and was then under the hairdresser’s
hands.

‘I am to wait, and see if the coat fits,’
said Frank.

‘Then you may go in there,’ said the
girl, opening the door of a room that seem-
ed all in confusion.

But the moment Frank entered the place,
it presented to his delighted eye the won-
ders he most desired to behold; on every
side were beautiful views of the country,
and pictures in every stage of progress
were laid about on every side. The taste
and ability displayed by the artist, the
various kinds of material for forming his

colors, his pencils, oils, and palette, were
all objects of attention to Frank, whose
eye ran eagerly over every thing he saw,
till at last a large picture, in which a
group of cattle were seen naturally
58 THE BLIND FARMER.

charmed it most; and he was kneeling
before it in mute wonder and _ pleasure,
when a loud and angry voice was heard to
say—‘ You put the tailor’s boy in the
painting-room, did you?—how dare you
do such a thing, you impudent slut? I
will be bound he has done me fifty pounds’
worth of damage already—a tailor’s ’pren-
tice in a painting-room—worse than a
blind horse in a china-shop !—what a fool!
~—what a fool !’

Frank was so terrified by this ebullition
of passion that he durst not move, and he
began to think that even his pleasure was
too dearly purchased, and he dreaded see-
ing the speaker, quite as much as, not a
moment before, he had wished to see the
painter; when therefore he flounced into
the room, as if to take vengeance for im-
agined injury, the boy still knelt before
the picture, and continued to gaze from
terror as intently as he had lately done
from admiration.

The moment the painter beheld Frank,
his hasty passion evaporated, for who can
THE BLIND FARMER. 59

be angry with the compliment expressed
by profound attention to his own works ?
But in addition to this, a thought struck
the artist—‘ Kneel where you are, my
boy,’ said he; and taking up a pencil, he
immediately proceeded to sketch him on a
panel. ‘There, you may go,’ said he, in
a few minutes.

Frank rose, really desirous of thanking
him for the pleasure he had enjoyed, but
he could find no words adequate to express
his feelings; he therefore simply inquired
if the coat which he had brought suited
him.

‘O, the coat! yes, it will do very well;
here, you may take the old one; it may be
of use to you, my boy—this is a good
sketch—umph. I must finish it; come
again in a day or two, will you ?—I will
pay you for your time.’

Frank went home, delighted with his
visit ; and as his mother failed not to make
up the painter’s gift for him, the very first
hour he could be sparedhe repaired thither ;
and Mr. Bloomfield, happening to be en-
60 THE BLIND FARMER.

gaged, he put him into the painting-room
himself, telling him he might take a pencil
and paper, and employ himself in copying
any thing he saw.

The fact was, that the master with
whom Frank worked was at this very
time speaking of him to the artist, who
thus gave him an opportunity of proving
whether he really had those talents of
which his employer spoke. Poor Frank
was so desirous of making good use of his
time, that he began so many things with-
out finishing one, that he could not be said
to do himself justice : nevertheless, when
Mr. Bloomfield looked at his paper, he was
much pleased, and said—‘I want a boy to
grind my paint, clean my palette,:go my
errands, and, in short, do any thing and
every thing for me, and in return I will do
every thing for him in the way of instruc-
tion—would you like to be that boy ?’

With eager haste Frank replied he
should be most thankful for the situation,
and he was sure his parents would be
so too.
THE BLIND FARMER. 61

‘Then we are agreed, for you have taste
for the art, and I hate to have a numb-
skull about me; but mark me, you will
have something to go through.’

Frank only smiled—he began indeed to
conceive that his new master was an od-
dity, and he thought that probably his tem-
per would cause him some trials; but so
delighted appeared to him a change that
would afford him continual employment for
his mind, and that in the precise way to
which he had lately applied all his powers,
that he felt as if no hardship or difficulty
could affright him from the pursuit : and:so
happy did the prospect render him, thatit was
with difficulty he related the offer to his
parents, and besought their consent.

‘I give it,’ returned the farmer, ‘on one
condition only, which is, that you regular-
ly spend the Sabbath-day with us at home;
—your regularity and good conduct, your
affection to your parents and family, is of
the iast importance; and this can only be
insured by our continuing to associate to-

gether, and spending our time in service of
KK
62 THE BLIND FARMER.

God ; for although you are now, my dear
Frank, a very good child, yet you are
so volatile and enthusiastic, that 1 know
it is necessary to watch over you, and
give you all the protection my sad situa-
tion allows.’

All this was readily agreed to by the
artist. Frank was immediately removed,
and his place at the manufactory for a
short time supplied by William; but it
was soon found that his health could not
bear it; the master, however, did not
withdraw his assistance from the family,
as he frequently employed them in going
errands; and, on learning that they kept
poultry, he desired his wife to purchase
all they could spare, so that they were en-
abled to increase their stock; she likewise
gave work to little Mary, and the young-
est child began to weave cabbage-nets, be-
ing taught by her poor father, who, not-
withstanding his affliction, was always
employed ; and it was a melancholy spec-
tacle to behold him, as he sat at work,
listening to his poor old mother, who often
THE BLIND FARMER. 63

read in the Bible to him, while his wife
and the little ones, as still as mice, were
all busy around them.

When Frank came home on a Sunday,
it was a time of great rejoicing ; and this
was much increased, when, at the Mid-
summer vacation, they had the great felic-
ity of receiving their eldest son, whom
they had not seen for two years, but who,
as a reward for his good behavior, was
treated by his master with a journey. It
was delightful to them, that he did not
find them in the extreme poverty they had
so long struggled with, as they knew it
would have broken his tender heart to
have reflected upon it; and yet his grief
could have answered no good end, as it
was not possible for him to do more than
he did. He was now getting on, a fine
handsome youth, and exceedingly improv-
ed in every respect; so that the poor far-
mer was charmed with every word he
uttered, and felt one of the earliest wishes
of his heart fulfilled, in the learning and
knowledge of his son, who was likewise
64 THE BLIND FARMER.

modest, humble, and of the most obliging
and affectionate disposition possible.

This visit was of very great use to
Frank, who, although one of the best boys,
in point of disposition, that could be met
with, had yet evinced of late a considera-
ble disposition to domineer over his broth-
ers and sisters at home; and in his sincere
and proper desire for imitating his master
in some things, had been led to do it in
others, and Mr. Bloomfield was a passion-
ate, hasty, thoughtless man, although he
possessed many estimable qualities; so
that Frank had frequently been inclined
to give himself airs, as a person suddenly
lifted into consequence; but when he saw
how meek and gentle, condescending and
kind, his brother was, he became so too,
and really learned to distinguish between
that which was to be esteemed and that
which was to be lamented, in a master
whom he truly loved, and whom he ad-
mired even to veneration.

One day he asked leave to bring his
brother to see the pictures, which was
THE BLIND FARMER. 65

readily granted: all the way as they went,
they lamented that poor Betsy could not
go with them; and John, with great feel-
ing and propriety, deplored that she was
shut up in such a disagreeable place, and
among such a set of dissolute, or at least
ignorant companions; and Frank, who
dearly loved her, lamented it also; and the
poor boys tried to arrange various plans
for improving her prospects, but with little
real chance of success. On arriving, they
found Mr. Bloomfield painting a landscape,
in which he introduced a group of hay-
makers, and he was glad to have them to
stand for the figures, because they under-
stood the proper positions. ‘ But,’ said he,
‘what can I do for a girl? servant maids
are like any thing but haymakers now-
a-days.’ ,
Frank eagerly offered to fetch his sister,
at which John was shocked, as he did not
like her to be seen in her working-dress,
for he had not been long enough acquaint-
ed with it to be reconciled; when, how-
E
66 THE BLIND FARMER.

ever, poor Betsy came, he perceived that
the painter took no other notice of her
than to direct her how to stand; and as
he found her tractable and sensible, he
had soon done with her, and she soon de-
parted with John. Yet Frank, who knew
his master, was in hopes that he would
some way do her good; he was therefore
a little disappointed, when, after a long
silence, he called to him, saying, ‘ Come
and look at these cattle, and this drove of
pigs, and tell me what you think of them.’

‘I like the cattle very much, sir; they
are just like cows.’

‘ And the pigs ? don’t you like the pigs?’

* Not so well, sir, I confess.’

‘That’s a sign you don’t understand
them.’

Frank thought, in his own mind, he un-
derstood them best; but he thought like-
wise it would be presumptuous in him to
say so. His master being vexed, and at
the bottom not satisfied with his own per-
formance, went out of the house; and
Frank having nothing else to do, began to —
THE BLIND FARMER. 67

revive his ideas on the subject, and hav-
ing various early sketches of poor Billy’s
first favorite pigs, he began drawing them
in various points of view, till at length he
had got a small group of pigs, and being
much interested in them, he worked till it
was quite dark, when his master suddenly
entered, and being perfectly cured of his
ill-temper, caught the paper from him, and
examined it with great good humor, asking
various questions, as to the color of the
animals, and observing upon their forms ;
and finally, he took out his own from the
landscape and adopted those of Frank’s,
who, with great pride, saw them trans-
planted into the beautiful picture,

A few days after this, when Frank re-
turned from an errand, his master put a
five pound note into hishand. ‘Here, my
boy,’ said he, ‘I have sold my picture,
and as your pigs really made a singular
impression on the gentleman, I give you
this as a reward for them; if I were you,
I would appropriate it to the use of your
pretty sister, who is really a deal too good
68 THE BLIND FARMER.

and handsome to be trusted in the public
manufactory where she now works.’

With many thanks, Frank hied home
with his prize, being indeed very willing
to appropriate it to the use of his beloved
sister; but his mother was rather desirous
that it should be laid by as the medium of
procuring his father’s sight, when the time
came, that the operation could be safely
performed. Poor Frank heartily wished
he could du every thing with it; but as
John, who was now departing, still leaned
towards Betsy, because he deemed his
father’s case a hopeless one, she agreed to
purchase her clothes with it; but she durst
not venture to take her immediately from
her employment, though quite as anxious
to do it, unless she could put little Mary for
a few years into it.

The gentleman who had purchased Mr.
Bloomfield’s picture invited him to his
house, in order to paint another to hang
pendant with it, from a view in his own
grounds, and one day while he was there,
his lady lamented to the artist that she
THE BLIND FARMER. 69

was at a loss for a proper person to attend
her two youngest daughters.—‘ I want a
person,’ said she, ‘a little above a servant,
and yet not a perfect governess, for they
are too young to require that. I want a
respectable girl about fourteen, who would
always reinain with them in the nursery,
and not run junketing with the other ser-
vants; a good-principled, modest girl, is
all I ask for; but the better her education.
the more valuable she would be to me.’

‘I can find you the very thing, madam,’
said Mr. Bloomfield, ‘and will answer for.
her character myself.’

As soon as he got home, he kindly in-
formed Mrs. Norton of this, and told her
to lose no time in preparing her daughter ;
she was very thankful to hear it, but when.
informed that it was Mrs. Appleby, of
Primrose Hill, who wanted her child, her
joy was exceedingly great, as she knew
her to be a lady of high character, and she
reminded Billy of the gentleman who
bought his pigs, saying, she did not doubt

but seeing them represented in the picture,
LL ne
70 THE BLIND FARMER.

had been one reason why Mr. Appleby had
boughtit, as it was connected withacircum-
stance of his benevolence, which could not
fail to awaken pleasure in his own heart.
Betsy was very timid, and she began
now to fear, that having been in a manu-
factory would be a disadvantage to her in
the eyes of the family to which she was
going, and her heart sunk at the thoughts
of having no mother to whom she could
every evening relate the occurrences, or
‘vent the sorrows of the day. But her fa-
ther encouraged her by saying—‘ My dear
child, as you have really gained no bad
habit at the manufactory, never allow
yourself to suppose that you can be the
worse for having been there; seeing that
you have attained a certain art, which will
always be useful, and one whith is perfect-
ly compatible with even the most elegant
-occupations of your sex; and though you
have not your dear mother to speak to, yet
you have one infinitely more able to listen
to your wants, and redress your griev-
ances. Go then, my dear child, in the
THE BLIND FARMER. 7

humble assurance that so long as you trust
in God, and exert yourself, you will find a
present help in the hour of need.’

With many a kind kiss, and some ten-
der tears on all sides, Betsy took her leave,
and went down in the coach to Primrose
Hill, where she was received with kind-
ness by her future mistress, and pleasure
by the little ladies.
72 THE BLIND FARMER.

CHAPTER IV.

Tue family of Mr. Appleby consisted of
two daughters, who were approaching to
womanhood, two sons, who were at a
boarding-school, and two little girls, who
were at a considerable distance in point of
age from their brothers, as they had had
the misfortune to lose a son and daughter
between them.

Mrs. Appleby was an active, clever wo-
man in her family, and although her for-
tune was very large, she was only the
more anxious to spend it properly, and
render her large establishment a blessing
to that part of the community among whom
she was placed. She was both feared and
loved by all her dependants ; but the awe
which Betsy at first felt of her was soon
converted into the warmest attachment ;
and she felt that in the countenance of
THE BLIND FARMER. 73

such a good and clever woman, there was
a protection which would effectually shel-
ter her from all other fears; and her only
care became that of attending to her young
charge, and improving her own mind, so as
to enable her to improve theirs.

The eldest of these children was between
five and six, and the youngest between
three and four years of age, and she soon
brought them to read very prettily; and
being generally a very silent girl, she had
not contracted any provincial accent in the
manufactory, so that she might be trusted
to talk with them; she had gained a little
knowledge of geography from her brother
John, and all that she knew she imparted.
Sometimes the young ladies would come
into the nursery for an hour or two, to
assist her in teaching the eldest to write,
and this greatly improved Betsy as well as
her pupil. One day, they came in, pre-
pared to make some paper quadrille-boxes,
but after several efforts they were going to
give it up; but as Betsy was perfectly
mistress of the proper method, she felt it
74 THE BLIND FARMER.

was her duty to show them how; yet the
fear of thereby betraying her late employ-
ment, prevented her for some time; but at
length gaining courage, she ventured to
offer her services.

The young ladies were of course delight-
ed with the progress they now made; and
in the course of their chat, she learned that
when the young gentlemen came home at
the next vacation, they were to bring a
youth who was their teacher, with them,
and whom they wished to accompany
them to Oxford.—‘ Yes,’ said Louisa, the
younger, ‘and I suppose somebody else
will be coming about the same time.’

The eldest blushed, but was silent—
‘Yes, yes,’ said Louisa, ‘ we shall have Sir
Harry Eustace here before then, I'll an-
swer for it.’

At the name of Sir Harry Eustace, Bet-
sy felt all the blood rush into her face, for
she could not help associating with his
name the idea of all her misfortunes ; the
sisters looked at her and asked her if she
knew him; to which she truly answered—
THE BLIND FARMER. 75

‘No, ma’am,’ but the tears were in her
eyes, therefore they said no more; and be-
coming soon engaged with their employ-
ment, thought no more about it.

About a month afterwards, Sir Harry
actually arrived at the house ; and poor
Betsy, who had ever associated with her
idea of him every thing that was hideous,
beheld with surprise a handsome, agreea-
ble-looking young man. Conscious that
she might be frequently obliged to see him,
she endeavored to conquer the emotion
which might lead her into difficulties, and
which could do her dear parents no good ;
but when she found that he was consid-
ered in the family as the lover of Miss
Appleby, her heart ached exceedingly, for
she dearly loved the young lady, who was
a most amiable creature, and she thought
it would be a thousand pities for her to
marry a man who could have acted so cru-
elly by a worthy family as he had done.

One day, as she was walking in the park
with her young charge, the ladies and Sir
Harry overtook and joined them, for the
76 THE BLIND FARMER.

children were very fond of Sir Harry ; and
as they were now near the gates, one of
them said—‘ Look, look, here is company
coming.’

Two young men, very well mounted,
and dressed in the height of jockey fashion,
just then pulled off their hats to Sir Harry
who touched his in return with a cold air;
but this did not repress them; the eldest,
addressing the ladies—‘ Hoped ’squire Ap-
pleby was well.’

Miss Appleby made a stately courtesy,
and they rode on—‘ Pray who are those
people ? their dress and address seem very
different.’

‘ They are the sons of a tenant of mine,’
returned the baronet.

‘Upon my word,’ said Louisa, laughing,
‘they cut a better figure than the land-
lord; but indeed one sees nothing like
farmers now-a-days; father says I shall
marry a farmer, that I may live in plenty,
knowing I have a taste for the good things
of life.—I suppose these are the people who
THE BLIND FARMER. 77

live on one of your great overgrown farms,
hey, Sir Harry?’

‘Yes, like a fool, I made three in one,
to oblige old Reynolds, the father, who
was represented to me as a rich man, a
great agriculturist, and nobody knows
what ; the two first years he made a mon-
strous deal of money, and spent it as fast;
the last two seasons have been worse, but
he still goes on spending; and whether he
will pay his rent or not, is a matter of
great doubt, I assure you.’

‘Has he any other children ?’

‘O! plenty; the farm, they tell me,
never lacked them: the last proprietor
had half a dozen at least, (poor Betsy
turned her head away)—yes, there is Ju-
liana and Sophia Matilda, just come from
boarding-school; Orlando and Charles,
who still go thither, and another sprig, who
is preparing for the army ; those whom we
have just seen being contented to dash in
scarlet, only on huuting days, and along
with the yeomanry cavalry.’

‘I hope the ladies are accomplished.’
73 THE BLIND FARMER.

‘O! prodigiously ; while their old grand-
mother, who has the sense of the whole
house, is trotting about at the age of sev-
enty to skim the milk-pail, or turn a
cheese, they play duets on the piano-forte,
jabber execrable French, and draw more
execrable flowers; while their mother
broils herself over the fire to make cosmet-
ics for the complexions of the family, of
which she takes such care, that the men
and maids rob the pigs of their rights in
butter and milk, in order to preserve their
own skins from the effect of hay-making.’

‘You forget, my dear Sir Harry, that
these are the very people in whose favor
you quarrelled with father about two years
ago, and with whom you were going to
dine en famille.’

‘ Well, Louisa, and in those two circum-
stances you have surely given two very
good reasons for an alteration in my opin-
ion—never shall I forgive myself for dar-
ing, young and inexperienced as I then
was, to dissent so decidedly from your
THE BLIND FARMER. 79

father—and the dinner!—O geminy, the
dinner !

‘Do tell us about it—I love to laugh,
you know.’

‘But surely you ought not to laugh,
Louisa, merely because you love to do it,’
said Miss Appleby.

‘Yes, Maria, I may do it safely at up-
start airs and affectation: every body is
respectable in their own places, nobody out
of them; and I don’t see why one may not
enjoy a laugh at the expense of those who
are perpetually trying to elbow us out of
ours, in order to intrude their own vulgar
consequence and new-fangled importance.’

‘Well,’ said Sir Harry, ‘in the first
place, I was assailed by the young ladies,
one of whom, having good teeth, kept in
a perpetual grin, by way of playing the
pretty rustic; the other, armed with a
cambric handkerchief, exhibited sentimen-
tals; the old man, however, would scarce-
ly let them perform, so anxious was he to
talk about the funds, of which he knew
nothing ; while his sons were equally de-
80 THE BLIND FARMER.

sirous of taking my opinion on the ‘bit of
blood which each could exhibit. If I
were astonished with this display of wealth
in the old-fashioned parlor, now converted
into a drawing-room, how much more was
I surprised with the poverty of the dining-
room, for such I deemed it! Instead of the
plump barn-door fowl and gammon of
home-fed bacon, I beheld a whole farrago
of what should have been made dishes,
ill-cooked and worse served ; one solitary
dish did I espy which I could eat, and for
this an apology was made, as being the
‘bad taste of my grandmother’ but to this
I applied with all my powers, not less to
appease hunger, than to show a proper con-
tempt for the intended treat.—Juliana cast
up her languishing eye in astonishment,
and her fair sister ‘grinned a gaping
smile,’ and quoted Walter Scott, and the
‘ Miseries of Human Life,’ on which the
farmer sagaciously observed, the books
‘were well enough for women ;’—the youth
who is intended for the army, said ‘He
had no objection to reading of battles and
THE BLIND FARMER. 81

those things; he remembered about Alex-
ander the Great and Skippio; they had a
famous tug for it when they landed in
Britain ; but, for his part, Hannibal was
the man for his money,’—‘ I adore Annibal
Scratchy myself,’ said Juliana.—‘I never
knew that was his surname,’ said the
youth, ‘and I can’t say I admire it at all
—but pray now, Sir Harry, do you read
at all?’—‘a little.’—‘ Little enough,’ quoth
the farmer, ‘ I’ll be bound—but, Sir Harry,
I shall be glad to pledge you; my Ma-
deira is, I think, tolerable.’

‘Madeira !’ cried Louisa.

‘True, my good girl, such is the style of
farmers, as times go—but you will observe,
though I got my dinner, I got no rent, and
one can’t press gentlemen, you know—
when my steward applied, he was answered
—‘ That it was really not convenient, and
between gentlemen——’

‘Well,’ said Louisa, smiling archly at
her sister, ‘and between ladies, he was
rightly served.’

F
82 THE BLIND FARMER.

‘Well, well, seven years is no long
time; by and by the lease will be out, and
I shal! then——’

‘What will you do then 2’

‘ Seek a tenant, Maria, and I hope find
a little better thing in consequence.’

From the looks that passed between the
parties, Betsy might have perceived that
the baronet hoped to find a wife, but she
had been too much thrown on the recollec-
tion of her own father and family to think
of any thing else; and she returned to the
house full of solicitude for the future, which
seemed to present a kind of vague prom-
ise for better days.

The following day the baronet took his
departure; he said that he would only
just stay till the boys arrived, and having
shook hands with them, set out. For the
purpose of meeting these dear branches, all
the family were drawn out before the
house, and of course Betsy was with her
young ladies, who, when the carriage ar-
rived, joyfully clapped their little hands,
and hailed their brothers; but how was
- THE BLIND FARMER. 83

she astonished, when the third person that
descended was her own John, who now
appeared to be the young tutor in question !

As his surprise was not less than hers,
no wonder that they instantly darted into
each other’s arms ; and as every body had
caresses to give and receive, it was some
moments before their situation was per-
ceived, when the relationship was inquired
into; and it was observed by Sir Harry,
that their eyes were so exactly alike, he
could have known them for brother and
sister any where.

The elder of the little girls, kindly lay-
ing hold on the baronet’s coat, said in a
whisper—‘ Pray don’t talk about eyes be-
fore Betsy, for her poor father is blind, and
she often cries about him, because she has
not money to pay the doctor for couching
him.’

‘Poor girl,’ said the baronet, with great
sympathy, ‘I pity her from my heart.’

Seizing the opportunity when the family
were busy with the new comers, he took
Betsy aside, and putting a twenty pound
84 THE BLIND FARMER.

bank bill into her hand, said—‘ Take
this, my good girl, for your father; tell
him that at this very time the first oculist
in the kingdom is at Oxford, and I will
request his attendance on him; this for his
expense—hush! not a word!’

In a moment he was mounted and
galloping away, and Betsy precipitately
retired to weep her thanks, and pray for
blessings on the head of the donor, who
appeared now an object worthy her un-
bounded gratitude; but she felt it her du-
ty, in obedience to his wishes, not to pro-
claim her feelings. The first time, how-
ever, that she could get a few words with
John, she delighted him with the informa-
tion ; and he agreed with her, that no time
should be lost in conveying this noble
present to their father, and urging him to
set out without delay for Oxford, for the
purpose of obtaining relief from the cele-
brated man whose visit to the University
would probably be short.

All the time when this letter reached the
little family, poor farmer Norton had, in-
THE BLIND FARMER. 85

deed, become aware that he was perfectly
blind: no form, however dimly, glanced
before his darkened orbs, no misty sub-
stance suffused his sight, but all was dark,
impenetrable night. Although this was
precisely the state he had been taught to
desire, yet still it doomed him to such
entire dependence, that it was impossible
to rejoice in it, more especially as he had
not the means of procuring the assistance
he wanted so much; and his spirits, in
despite of his better hopes and wishes,
were exceedingly low, and all his family
partook his emotions.

It will be readily conceived what a
change was made by the receipt of this
letter from their dear children, and how
greatly it added to their pleasure, to find
that they were now together in the house
‘of so good a gentleman, and one who had
the will and power to assist them so effec-
tually. But when they learned that the
means of obtaining sight was furnished by
the very hand which had doomed them to

such a severe trial, they were still more
MN
86 THE BLIND FARMER.

surprised ; and not knowing that he was
perfectly ignorant of the person whom he
assisted, they too conceived that he intended
them some future good, which therefore
added to their present enjoyment.

When poor Norton kissed his old mother
at parting, he ventured to promise himself
the pleasure of once more beholding her ;
and she declared that it was her only pray-
er that she might know him restored to
sight, and then depart in peace; for she
was become very infirm and full of pain;
so that, although she had every care and
comfort which kindness could procure, she
was yet desirous of departing and joining
her beloved husband. The farmer and his
wife earnestly recommended their grand-
mother to their children, who faithfully
promised to be very good and attentive tp
her, and fulfilled that promise to the utter-
most. Francis also took his share of the
charge, by sleeping at home every night,
and spending every hour he could spare
with her, which was a great comfort both
to her and the young ones, as Frank, from
THE BLIND FARMER. 87

seeing a great deal of good company, who
came to converse with his master, and
from reading the books with which he had
kindly furnished him, was exceedingly im-
proged, and become not only clever in his
profession, but every way a sensible and
well-informed youth. And poor William,
who had enjoyed less benefit either of edu-
cation or society than the rest, was eager
to imbibe from him some knowledge which
might atone for his deficiencies.

Never was boy happier than Frank,
when he had got his grandmother on one
side, and the children on the other, to read
to them a letter from his mother, giving an
account of their safe arrival at Oxford, and
their expectation that in a week’s time the
long wished-for operation would be per-
formed ; but yet, when they thought of
the pain he must endure, their counte-
nances fell, and their hearts trembled, but
each ascended in silent prayer to God on
his behalf, nor did they ascend in vain.
88 THE BLIND FARMER.

CHAPTER V.

Wuen farmer Norton and his faithful wife
arrived at the ancient city of Oxford, they
felt almost as much ata loss as they had
felt in London some years before; but, as
here they had much less ground to traverse,
they soon found out the temporary residence
of the gentleman they sought. But, alas!
they attended in vain for several days, un-
fortunately not understanding that they
had a right to use the name of Sir Harry
Eustace. One morning as they were, ac-
cording to custom, standing in the anti-
room, a gentleman passing happened to see
Mrs. Norton’s face, and stopping he said, ‘I
think I know you, good woman; if Iam not
mistaken, you are one of my parishioners.’

Mrs. Norton answered, ‘That she had
enjoyed the comfort of attending his church
at Birmingham a considerable time.’
THE BLIND FARMER. 89

‘I remember you both, and likewise
your little family, and perceive that you
are come with your husband for the pur-
pose of consulting Sir I will try
to'gét you in. I heartily hope he will be
of“use to you, for I am certain you are
régular, respectable people.’

The gentleman passed, and very soon re-
turned to conduct them forward. Poor Mrs.
Norton was pale as death when she enter-
ed, but she was relieved when informed
that the operation could not be performed
for two days, during which time some pre-
paration must be used: finding that the
oculist treated them as objects of charity,
she told him with great candor her means
of payment, adding, ‘that it was furnished
by the bounty of Sir Harry Eustace.’

The gentleman smiled—‘ I am sorry you
did not say this before; I have been ex-
pecting the persons mentioned by my young
friend some days; however, there is little
time lost—1 shall give orders for your ad-
mittance on Thursday.’

Till that time arrived, prayers and tears


90 THE BLIND FARMER.

occupied continually the affectionate wife ;
but the farmer himself attained the com-
posure, which, as a man and a Christian,
under such circumstances, he should pos-
sess; and when the time arrived, he walk-
ed, taking hold of his trembling partngg,
with a firmer step and stouter heart thee
he had done for many months before.

When they arrived at the place, the
oculist said—‘ You must observe, that al-
though I hope and doubt not that I shall
restore your sight, yet I must absolutely
forbid your using it for several days; on
this depends the real restoration of sight ;
for remember, if it is lost after the opera-
tion, the case is hopeless.’

‘I will gladly submit to whatever re-
strictions you impose, sir,’ said‘the farmer,
‘if you will only permit me to look once
at my wife, at that kind, good woman,
who has supported me in all my affliction,
and been to me as a guardian angel—with
one look I will be content.’

‘Iam sorry to deny you, but indeed I
dare not trust you, and I must beg your
THE BLIND FARMER. 91

wife to quit the apartment; the more affec-
tionate you are to each other, the more
necessary in such a moment do I find it to
part you.’

‘I have great resolution, sir,’ said Mrs.
Norton.

‘I believe you, ma’am; but though I
can trust your fortitude, I had rather not
try my own.’

Mrs. Norton immediately withdrew, and
as she re-entered the anti-room, she was
struck by the appearance of a man in very
great agitation, who kept incessantly walk-
ing up and down, and muttering half sen-
tences between his teeth ; she concluded he
was a fellow-sufferer with her, for some,
one very dear to him; but, alas! in this
dreadful moment even her sympathy was
frozen, for her whole heart was wound up
in expectation, and she hardly dared to
breathe, Jest she should disturb the opera-
tion within.

In a very short time she was convinced
that it was a very happy thing that she
was not present, for her solicitude amounted
92 ‘THE BLIND FARMER.

to an agony, that shook her convulsively,
and at the moment when the servant of the
oculist announced that ‘ the operation was
over and all was well,’ she sunk back in
faintness, as if she were really expiring.
When Mrs. Norton came to, she found
herself in the arms of that stout man, whom
she had seen so much agitated, and who
was now blubbering, as it appeared, for
joy; but the mild voice of her beloved
husband was her best restorative, and on
hearing him near her, she exerted herself
to raise and offer him that kind, though
trembling arm, which had so long befriend-
ed him. But she could not set out till she
had beheld the skilful man, whose hand had
been the providential means of restoring this
invaluable blessing, and she hastily left
even her husband to seek and thank him.
When, however, she beheld him, she was
as much overpowered by her gratitude, as
he had before been by anxiety, and she
was nearly fainting at his feet; he raised,
consoled and re-assured her; and being
well aware that her strength was reduced
THE BLIND FARMER. 93

by poor living, and working above her
power, he positively refused to accept of
any money, but insisted upon it, that she
should spend it all after defraying the ex-
penses of her journey, in providing the
means of re-establishing her own consti-
tution.

Sobbing the thanks she was utterly un-
equal to express, Mrs. Norton now return-
ed to the door where her husband was
standing, supported by the stranger who
appeared to take so great an interest in him >
endeavoring to collect herself, she said—.
‘Really, friend, I am much obliged to you
for your great kindness to me and my
husband.’

‘Not at all, not at all; I have been a
great enemy, but I ama poor friend.’

‘Enemy! really, I did not know we
had any enemies,’ said the farmer.

‘I dare say you did not, nor was I your
enemy from any ill will I bore you, God
knows ; but yet, just for pride, and in or-
der to be clever and fussy, I edged on
my master, Sir Harry Eustace, till he let

NN
94 THE BLIND FARMER.

the Lea Meadows over your head, that 1
did, may God forgive me, and you too, for
I am now grieved to the heart.’

‘I do forgive you, friend,’ said Norton,
with great solemnity ; ‘it was indeed a sad
thing, for both me and mine; but God for-
bid I should stain this hour of joy and grat-
itude, by retaining anger in my heart against
any one; doubtless all is for the best.’

‘ And can you forgive Sir Harry too ?’

‘Forgive him! I am his debtor beyond
~what tongue can tell; to him I owe my
restoration to sight, for he sent me hither.’

‘Indeed !—that’s more than he knows,
Tamsure.” ‘How then came you to
know I was here?’

‘IT saw you by chance, inquired your
errand, and became anxious about you to
the greatest degree—aware that wherever
you had been, you had been all this time
a sufferer.’

By this time the Nortons had reached
their lodgings, and recollecting that Sir
Harry had commanded Betsy to be silent,
‘they desired Wilkins to say nothing on the
THE BLIND FARMER. 95

subject, which he promised, but with little
intention of long keeping. It was several
days before the farmer was permitted to
use his newly-recovered faculty ; but at
last he once more beheld his wife, and
gazed on those features he was wont to
behold with so much pleasure; while she,
with rapture that amounted to pain, once
more saw his honest countenance illu-
mined with the light of heaven, and be-
held the fulness of joy beam from those
orbs so long consigned to darkness.

‘You are sadly altered, dear Elizabeth,
for the worse, since I beheld you,’ said
Norton.

‘Yes, my dear, but now youcan look at
me, I shall soon regain all 1 have lost,’
said she; ‘before winter comes, you will
think me quite handsome enough.’

‘That you are now, for goodness and
affection give a beauty that never fades.’

They now journeyed homewards, still
veiling those precious eyes, lest any dust

should annoy the still delicate sense ; but
when he was actually in his own apart-
96 THE BLIND FARMER.

ment, the grateful happy wife tore from
his sight every bandage, and he beheld
again his mother and his children.

It is impossible to describe the joy and
thankfulness with which they all beheld
each other; the good old woman could
now truly use the words of Simeon, and
say, ‘ Now let me depart in peace.’ The
farmer was surprised to see how much his
children were grown, and he confessed
that he had formed no idea of it, not hav-
ing attained that accuracy of feeling which
is frequently remarkable in those who
are blind from infancy, which was prob-
ably owing to his having had some trifling
perception of objects until within a short
time. With what delight did* they gather
round him! how many things had they
to show him! and in how many points to
woo his approbation, or seek his advice!
although he had been only three weeks
absent, yet it appeared as if he had been
raised from the dead, both to himself and
his family, so many wonders were on all
sides presented to him.
THE BLIND FARMER. 97

But if little Mary was gratified in show-
ing her work, Susan in saying her lesson,
and poor Billy in exhibiting his neat gar-
den, poultry, and pigs, how much higher .
was the gratification of Frank, when he
unfolded all the treasures of his portfolio
to his affectionate, admiring father, who,
although a plain man, had ever beheld the
productions of nature with a tasteful and
discerning eye, and was capable of appre-
ciating the talents and perseverance of his
son, and rewarded them now by compar-
ing him with his eldest brother, which
Frank felt to be the highest compliment
his father could possibly pay him; being
well aware that there was not only an in-
tenseness of application and superior facul-
ty in his brother, but likewise a solidity
of understanding, in which there had been
once too much reason to fear he would re-
main unrivalled in his family.

The still anxious wife was obliged to
check their enjoyment, by again refusing
the exercise of sight ; but as he now gain-

@
98 THE BLIND FARMER.

ed strength every day, in the course of a
week he undertook to write a letter him-
self to Betsy, who was still in a state of
solicitude respecting him, because he had
from the first been anxious to make this
extraordinary exertion, especially while
John was at Mr. Appleby’s, under the idea
that the dear children would feel their
pleasure heightened by sharing it with
each other. It was indeed a sensible
drawback to the felicity of the present
party, to feel the want of these beloved
children in such a season of rejoicing,
especially poor Betsy; for as she had
shared in all the severe sorrow they had
known, as her little hands had helped to
procure bread for the family, and her kind-
ness and unceasing love and duty softened
many a tedious hour, so the good farmer
felt a particular desire that she should
witness his present comfort; but Frank
justly observed, that all was made up to
her by the sweet reflection, that her hand
was the medium of administering this
blessed relief.
THE BLIND FARMER. 99

The letter of farmer Norton to his daugh-
ter was like himself, sensible, pious, unaf-
fected, and full of gratitude to God and
man; but it was necessarily short, for he
was ever attentive to the tender exhorta-
tions of his wife, and careful to preserve
that sense by which he now hoped to pro-
vide for her and his younger children. Of
course this subject was continually in his
mind; and as he thought himself too old a
man to enter a manufactory, and his heart
sighed for the country, to which his wife
was equally inclined, he began now to bend
his mind to that state of servitude which
in such a case seemed inevitable, and be-
gan to inquire for a situation as the bailiff
or overlooker of a farm, to any person who
might happen to need one.
100 THE BLIND FARMER.

CHAPTER VL

Wnurn Betsy really perceived that the letter
we have mentioned was indeed written
by the hand of her dear father, she was so
overwhelmed with joy, as to be unable to
contain herself; her innocent and ingen-
uous heart, conceiving that all ought and
must partake her raptures, especially her
excellent lady, she ran straight to her
dressing-room, where all the female part
of the family happened to be assembled.
The ladies were looking over some old
dresses, for the purpose of giving the trim-
mings to their little sisters for them to dress
heir dolls with, so that they did not im-
mediately perceive Betsy, and a conscious-
ness that she had no right to intrude, and
perhaps that even her information would
lead to infringing the baronet’s injunction,
at once struck upon her mind, and checked
her speech ; just at this moment, Miss Ap-
pleby said laughingly—‘ How smart I
thought myself when I wore this frock,
THE BLIND FARMER. 101

five years ago! I was fourteen, and we
had a ball, you know, in honor of my
birthday.’

‘O, yes; I remember perfectly,’ said
Louisa, ‘and so I dare say does Sir Har-
ry; the 9th of August, 1804, will never be
forgotten by him.’

Poor Betsy was then scarcely twelve
years old, yet she, too, well remembered
that day, and happy as she now felt, the
contrast only made her more sensible of
its sorrows: she made a sudden ejacula-
tion and a deep sigh, which startled the
party, and Mrs. Appleby said, ‘ Are you
there, Betsy ? come forward, child; what
did you want?’

Betsy, with many blushes, ventured to
say ‘I am so—so very happy, madam,
that—’

‘I am glad to hear it, for 1 thought from
your sighing, you were unhappy.’

Betsy’s confusion increased excessively;
she felt as if she could account for both
sensations too well, but in both she must
be called upon to avoid one person’s name,
102 THE BLIND FARMER.

who was yet the most prominent character
in the history of her joys and her sorrows ;
she tried to collect herself, and as every
eye was fixed upon her, she looked how to
begin her story, so as to avoid his name,
and she said to herself, ‘I will tell every
thing without naming Sir Harry Eustace.’

Unfortunately the latter words passed
not only her thoughts but her lips, and
though pronounced exceedingly low, they
caught the quick ear of Miss Appleby,
who, becoming as pale as death, caught
hold of her mother, and said, ‘She speaks
of Sir Harry—O, mother !’

‘What did you say of Sir Harry Bus-
tace, child ?’

‘Nothing—nothing, indeed, madam; I
shall never blame him as long as I live—
he has made full amends for every thing.’

Every exclamation of Betsy’s seemed to
inflict a distinct pang on the heart of Miss
Appleby, who changed color with every
word that was uttered ; and Louisa, who
dearly loved her sister, and was of a warm
and rather high temper, though possessing
THE BLIND FARMER. 103

many estimable qualities, instantly became
angry with Betsy.—‘ My dear mother,’
said she, ‘ pray question that girl closely ;
I fear we have been deceived in her from
the first : a creature taken from a Birming-
ham manufactory was never likely to bring
any thing but disgrace and mischief into
a gentleman’s family : for Heaven’s sake
send her home again, and directly too.’

At this moment Mr. Appleby entered,
and seeing Betsy, who was close by the
door, he said, without noticing the confus-
ion and distress which were now visible in
many countenances—' Betsy, I have just
now dispatched a letter in behalf of your
brother, to Sir Harry Eustace who will,
through the medium of his friends, procure
him a very advantageous situation at Ox-
ford, as a servitor; and I mean to pay such
a sum to him for his attendance on my
sons, as will enable him to appear respecta-
ble, and with his learning and good con-
duct there can be no doubt of his doing
extremely well.’

Betsy turned a countenance towards him
104 THE BLIND FARMER.

full of gratitude, but blended with confusion
and covered with tears; and his eye at the
same moment caught those of his own
daughters, one pale with fear, the other
red with rage—he looked inquiringly to-
wards his lady.

‘I am pnzzled as much as you can be,
my dear,’ said Mrs. Appleby; ‘but I am
glad you are come in, to help me to inves-
tigate the matter. It appears from some-
thing that has just slipped from Betsy, that
she has some kind of clandestine commun-
ion with Sir Harry Eustace, which we
ought to inquire into, not only for our own
sakes, but hers.’

‘O no, indeed! not clandestine!’ cried
Betsy, bursting into an agony of tears,
which suffocated her.

Mr. Appleby, with an air of great alarm,
gazed on the poor girl, who stood with the
letter in her hand, and perceiving his eye
fall upon it, with a glance of suspicion, she
instantly offered it to him, again recollect-
ing that the baronet’s name was not ac-
tually mentioned.
THE BLIND FARMER. 105

The gentleman took the letter, and read
it aloud: the simplicity of the language,
the devotion and affection of the senti-
ments, and the air of sound sense that
pervaded it, struck them all, and fell like
oil upon the raging deep; and Mrs. Apple-
by, by a single look, gave her daughter
Louisa to understand, that such a father
and such a daughter were incapable of the
deceit she feared; as, however, Louisa
still shook her head, the lady addressed
Betsy—‘ Your father mentions a great ben-
efactor—does he mean Sir Harry Kustace ?’

‘O, yes, madam, it was he who——’

‘Then why did you not say he had ben-
efited Aim, and was therefore entitled to
your gratitude ?’

‘ Because he forbade me.’

‘That he did,’ said the elder of the two
children, ‘ for I heard him say so when he
gave her the paper, and so J never said
any thing about it neither; but it was all
owing to me that ever he knew her father
was blind, and ever gave her the money—
that it was.’
106 THE BLIND FARMER.

This little artless, but effectual advocate,
in pleading Betsy’s cause, unconsciously
developed another. Mr. Appleby’s eyes
twinkled, he glanced towards his eldest
daughter, who, catching the expression of
his countenance, rushed forward and flung
herself into his arms—he kissed her cheek
—‘My dear girl,’ said he, ‘I feel it all;
Harry has behaved very well in this affair
—very well indeed.’

Mrs. Appleby unfortunately durst not yet
share in the pleasure this eclaircissement
gave them. Seeing Betsy a little more
composed, she fixed upon her a keen and
scrutinizing eye, such as she had seen her
use towards others, but which she had
never felt herself subjected to before ; sen-
sible, however, that she had nothing now to
fear, she met it with humility, but calmness.

‘ Although it is plain, Elizabeth, that
you have much to thank Sir Harry Eus-
tace for, yet it strikes me, that you have
also something to forgive, or something
which is in its own nature reprehensible—
you may be sorry, now your father is so
THE BLIND FARMER. 107

much benefited, that you let this blame
slip, but since you have done so, it is your
duty to explain; if it is of a lature which
you can mention to me alone, I will step
with you into the next room.’

‘O, no, madam, all the world knows
what I meant; his honor did no wrong;
every body has a right to do what they
please with their own; but just hearing
Miss Louisa mention the very day when all
our troubles began, as it were, made me fret.’

‘What day, my good girl? what do you
allude to ?’

‘The day, sir, when Sir Harry turned
my father off the Lea Meadows Farm,
where we all lived so happily.’

In a moment the whole party crowded
round poor Betsy, and the words, ‘ turned
you off the farm ?’—‘ Was it your father
who lived on the farm ?’—‘ Are your pa-
rents really living?’ were heard on every
side; and the confused, distressed girl,
turning on either hand, and not knowing
what to say, again burst into tears.

‘There are nothing but lies in the
108 THE BLEND FARMER.

world!’ exclaimed Louisa. ‘ We were told
that your father was thrown from the top
of a coach, and almost killed—that he spent
all his money in getting cured, and after
leaving the public house, was supposed to
sink into the most abject poverty, some-
where in Birmingham ; and father was so
hurt at what he conceived the improper
conduct of Sir Harry, that he took a rash
oath that he should never marry my sister,
_ till your father or his family were again in
‘their own farm; and he has been wishing
to find you all from that hour to this: and
now it turns out to be all a story, and poor
dear Harry has suffered for nothing, since
it was not his fault.’

‘ Alas, all our poverty and wretchedness
was all too ¢rue,’ said Betsy ; ‘ but I grieve
sincerely that Sir Harry, or any other per-
son, should have suffered in any degree on
our account.’

‘Where can you have been living, and
how, child?’ said Mrs. Appleby. ‘That
you have never applied to your parish, we
know.’
THE BLIND FARMER. 109

‘We lived in a little lodging, madam, at
Ashted, near Birmingham; my grand-
mother had a little bed, so had my father,
but the rest of us slept on straw ; but after
a time we sewed it up in a sacking, and
when we had got that and a blanket, we
thought ourselves well off; we all worked
very hard, and my mother managed so well,
that she generally got a little bit of meat
for grandmother and father, but the rest of
us lived on potatoes and a certain portion.»
of oat-cake. We never told my father how
dear things were, nor how little money we
got, and so, poor man, his good, kind heart
was never grieved with thinking, that
while he picked his mutton-bone, the wife
and children he doted on were eating dry
crusts around him.’

As Betsy recapitulated this, the tears
flowed down her cheeks, which were pale
with recent agitation. Mr. Appleby took
her hand, and placed her in a chair— Sit
down, Miss Norton, sit down, my good
girl.’ Louisa took hold of her with an air

of uncommon tenderness and self reproach
00
110 THE BLIND FARMER.

—‘Go on, go on, my dear girl—I deserve
the pain this sad story gives me.’

Betsy continued, but repressed, from
this moment, all that she thought most
painful—

‘ At length, from the sale of my poor mo-
ther’s clothes, we purchased two pigs, and
my poor little brother exerted himself won-
derfully to feed them; he succeeded, and
had the happiness of selling them to a gen-
erous buyer, as you, sir, know.’

‘Bless my life! I remember very well
how I was struck with the boy and his
mother; and it was after coming from that
very purchase, that I quarrelled with Sir
Harry, because the blindness of that boy’s
father reminded me of the blindness said to
threaten farmer Norton, whom by charac-
ter, but not by person, I knew; it was my
only association, as I never heard the name
of my little chapman, and I have often
blamed myself for not inquiring.’

‘Well, sir, from that time we did a little
better, and with the money we took from
you, we discharged the last debts due in
THE BLIND FARMER. 11}

our own parish ; and as the good curate
left it soon after, taking my brother with
him to the new school he entered upon, 1
suppose nothing more was known about us
in our own dear country. Besides, the
Birmingham people pronounce the name
long, as it were spelt Noreton, and ourown
neighbors very short, as if it were Nerton,
so that accounts for the difference in your
mind between us and the unhappy family,
for whom you so generously interested
yourself.’

‘I never heard your name, my dear, un-
til the day when your brother arrived, and
there was nothing in the appearance or
manners of either, which I could associate
with extreme poverty.’

‘My poor mother always did her en-
deavors to put the best side outward ; and
when we were almost without victuals, we
went all clean and neat to church on Sun-
days, until our shoes were worn, and then
we took it by turns to wear the best pair;
and my poor father always took care to
keep up and improve the little education
112 THE BLIND FARMER.

we had, and we did our best to improve
eachother. A kind neighbor lent us many
books, for which we used to give her a
few new-laid eggs, or a cauliflower; for in
the worst of times my mother taught us
all to be honest and grateful—and I hope,
sir, madam—yes, I do hope we shall all
be found still so.’

The poor girl, who had never said half
so much all the time she had lived in the
house, except to her young charge, now
humbly courtseying, and overcome with
her feelings, slowly withdrew; and, pene-
trated as they all were with her sad but
instructive story, and desirous as they were
of doing her any possible good, they yet
clearly saw that she would recover her
serenity best in retirement. Mr. Appleby
therefore said only—‘ One word, Betsy, and
you shall go. What do you suppose your
father now thinks of doing ?’

‘He tells me in the postscript, sir, that
he wishes to procure a situation as a bail-
iff, provided he is not wanted to reside in
THE BLIND FARMER. - 118

the house; my mother will be glad to as-
sist, and she has hands for any thing.’

‘So it appears. Well, tell him from me,
that I will inquire for him, and I will like-
wise answer any references he may make.’

Betsy, conscious of the high character
and the great value of Mr. Appleby’s re-
. commendation, half sobbed, half smiled her
thanks, and withdrew; and composed her
agitated spirits, by writing a most welcome,
congratulatory epistle to her dear parents,
including the kind message of her true
friend and excellent master.

———

CHAPTER VIL

Ir will be naturally supposed thatthe ladies

of Mr. Appleby’s family, who were all

much attached to the young baronet, lost

no time in requesting him to inform Sir

Harry of the circumstance just related,

which he was very willing to do; but as
H
114 THE BLIND FARMER.

he was afraid that in his anxiety to rein-
state poor Norton, he might be guilty of
some other error, and he had reason to ex-
pect him in the neighborhood shortly, he
preferred informing him himself; and as
they all thought it was impossible to re-
move the present proprietors till the lease
had expired, they were the more patient on
that account.

In the mean time Sir Harry had received
the letter Mr. Appleby had written to him
on John’s account, and lost no time in
placing him in the situation to which he
was recommended; and on bidding him
adieu, had made him a very handsome
present, so that John was now very com-
fortable on his own account; but was soon
rendered far more so, by receiving the
news of his father’s restoration to sight,
which was all his heart could wish for,
except the knowledge that he was got into
some line of life; for his heart would often
ache with the thoughts of what they were
suffering at home, while he lived in the
possession of that plain plenty to which he
THE BLIND FARMER. 115

had been born, and which satisfied his de-
sires. He now, however, looked forward,
with all the enthusiasm of hope, to some
period which should enable him to help
and support them all.

As Sir Harry was now in that uneasy
frame of mind which a state of probation
usually excites, it was no wonder, that as
soon as he had settled all the business
which his benevolence had imposed upon
him, he should betake himself to another
journey ; he had been on a little tour to
Matlock, in Derbyshire, during the period
when farmer Norton had been in Oxford ;
but he heard with great satisfaction that
the patient he recommended had been cured,
and made a handsome present to the ocu-
list; but as he had no desire to blazon his
own good deeds, little more than was nec-
essary passed, and no more transpired. It
was during his absence, that Wilkins, who
‘was left in charge of his horses, had seen
poor Norton as we have related; he now
attended his master, and had all the incli-
nation in the world to talk to him on the
116 THE BLIND FARMER.

subject, but the baronet was by no means
so communicative as he used to be, and the
journey passed in silence.

The sight of the natural beauties of Mat-
lock had given the baronet a revived taste
for scenes of a picturesque kind, and he
nourished it the more, because it was the
taste of her he loved; he therefore bent his
way towards the Leasowes, and as he ar-
rived at Hales Owen at night, the next
morning he strayed into those delightful
grounds, which the genius of Shenstone
had consecrated.

Sir Harry had not rambled far, when he
saw a young man sketching a view, that
was in itself very pleasing, and which he
thought he should like to sketch also. He
therefore joined the youth, and after some
general preliminary conversation, he bor-
rowed from him the necessary materials.
After working about an hour, he perceived
the young man moving his seat, and he
arose to compare his own sketch with that
of the youth’s.’ be

‘Yours is decidedly the best,’. said Sir
THE BLIND FARMER. li7

Harry, ‘ and that isa shame, for you are
much my junior, and most probably have
not enjoyed my advantages.’

The youth smiled. ‘I apprehend, sir,
that I have had a spur which never goad-
ed you; to perfect the present sketch, I
had ¢wo—necessity is aided by gratitude
in the work before you.’

‘You are professionally an artist then ?’

‘T have only this week ceased to be a
pupil—this is my first attempt without a
master.’

‘I am happy in having met with you; a
friend of mine is in possession of a picture
I wish you to copy for me; if you will
meet me at the Bull Inn, in the village of
——, I will conduct you to his house, and
we will arrange the matter.’

As Sir Harry held the sketch, the young
man had been doing, in his hand, he was
surprised on seeing his own name written
with a pencil in a corner; he therefore con-
cluded he was known, and did not give his
address, saying only—‘ This day fortnight
I will expect you.’

PP
118 THE BLIND FARMER.

Frank (for, as the reader may imagine,
it was no other) was surprised that the
gentleman said no more; but, as he soon
after saw him on the road attended by a
well-dressed servant, he concluded that he
was somebody whom he ought to attend;
and having completed his sketch to his sat-
isfaction, he put it up along with the
stranger’s and returned home to his parents,
as the Leasowes is only seven or eight
miles from Birmingham.

When Frank arrived at home, he found
the family inearnest consultation; his father
afew days before had heard of a place
which he thought would suit him, and he
applied for it to the gentleman that had
‘the disposal, who was an attorney in the
‘town. This person had questioned poor
Norton closely, and, as he thought, rather
roughly, respecting his qualifications ; but,
on mentioning Mr. Appleby as the person
to whom he could refer for a character, he
had treated him with much civility, and
had advised him to go down thither, and
meet his future master, whom he spoke of
THE BLIND FARMER. 119

as a neighbor, and probably a friend of Mr.
Appleby’s—‘ You had better go,’ said he,
‘on Michaelmas-day, and as there is no
doubt but you will be hired, you can ar-
range your affairs accordingly.’

Under these circumstances they were
once more in a state of considerable con-
fusion, as there were many things of im-
portance to contrive and arrange. Frank,
taking possession of the garret which he
shared with William, began, under every
possible disadvantage, to paint his first
picture ; but his master, who was really a
kind-hearted, though very odd-tempered
man, lent him an easel, gave him instruc-
tions, and encouraged him to go on; so
that in the course of a week there was
really much progress, and by the end of-
another, what appeared to the farmer and
his family a prodigious clever landscape;
and as his road lay the same way with his
son’s, though unconscious that they were
going to the same place, they set out to-
gether; the artist taking his picture with
him as a proof of his abilities.
120 THE BLIND FARMER.

Mrs. Norton had in the mean time been
exceedingly puzzled as to the most prudent
plan to be adopted with her remaining
children. She felt little doubt but that her
husband could always put work into the
hands of William, but she was afraid that
the cottage where they were now to reside,
would never contain them all; and the
poor girls were at once too big to be taken,
and too little to be left; they were too
young for any kind of service, yet their
father’s wages would not be sufficient to
maintain them—‘ Tis true,’ said she, ‘ they
are very handy, and in a gentleman’s
house there are many occupations; we
must see what can be done;:in the worst
of times the poor lambs can spin and knit,
they have been used to hard fare, and can
struggle a little longer.’

Norton was so elated with the recovery
of sight, that he could not doubt but, when
he once got into the country, all would
* be well with him. His kind and prudent
_ wife, during the long period of his afflic-

tion, had carefully concealed from him
THE BLIND FARMER. 121

every thing that could add ¢o his uneasi-
ness, and make him sensible of the burthen
he was upon his family ; so that he never
knew till now the dearness of provisions,
nor the expense of lodgings in a town.
Little did he imagine, when she brought
him a cup of beer, that water was her own
portion after many a long day’s work,
but now he began to discover all; and as
he never knew want till he knew the
town, he concluded rather hastily that
when he left it, he should know it no more.

His wife was, however, well aware that
she left certain profits, as well as certain
expenses, and like a wise woman, she
calculated on every possible means of pro-
viding for them. Besides, she felt, that,
in leaving even an abode in which she had
experienced much sorrow, she left some
things to regret; the people with whom
they lodged were most fondly attached to
them, the child was almost like their own,
and the good tailor for whom Mrs. Norton’
had worked so long, declared that he never
could supply her place for regularity, neat-
122 THE BLIND FARMER.

ness, honesty, exertion, and thankfulness.

On inquiry, it was found that a waggon
set out the night before Michaelmas-day,
for the village nearest to Mr. Appleby’s,
and in this conveyance Mrs. Norton deter-
mined to travel, with her mother, her little
girls, and the property which remained to
them from the miserable wreck to which
they had at one time been reduced. It
was decided, that after disposing of their
live stock, which was still all their worldly
riches, William should follow; but know-
ing the value of these, they afterwards con-
sidered that he should bring them with
him, trusting to the kindness of their future
master to provide them the means of keep-
ing this little semblance of the life they
once enjoyed, and which they naturally
clung to still.

As the morning rose upon our travellers,
which was one of the finest a late autumn
could exhibit, every thing they beheld a-
woke sensations of the most exquisite en-
joyment, and the poor old woman seemed
to inhale returning life and strength with
THE BLIND FARMER. 123

every breath of air which she drew. The
song of the redbreast, the crow of the cock,
the cackling of geese, the lowing of the
cows waiting to deliver their rich burthen,
and the barking of sheep-dogs, were all to
them sounds like the voice of friends after
long absence ; they awoke the most delic-
ious emotions of the heart, and brought
tears of delight into their eyes, and pre-
sented visions of promised happiness to
their minds.

If such were the feelings of the females,
in the close vehicle in which they were
confined, still more highly did the father
and his son Frank enjoy their journey,
part of which they took on foot, and the
rest on the top of a stage-coach ; their hearts
ascended ‘ from nature up to nature’s God.
They retraced those feelings with which
they were wont to tend the calf, the lamb-
kin, and the playful foal, in the days of
their infancy, and declared that man could
never be so happy as when he felt himself
at once the lord and the father of the de-
pendent world.
124 , “THE BLIND FARMER.

With conversation like this, no wonder
- the road appeared short which brought
them to the Bull Inn, which was the end
of Frank’s journey. The Red Lion, where
the waggon stopped, was a little further,
and thither the farmer hied, anxious to see
his beloved wife, and inquire after those
feelings which he was well aware were in
unison with his own, and which appeared
a foretaste of pleasure which the country
promised them, even under the situation
in which they were compelled to revisit it.

CHAPTER VIII.

Tue farmer had proceeded but a little way
from the inn, when he perceived a car-
riage draw up toit, and a gentleman wrapt
in a travelling coat, alight. The officious-
ness of the landlord and waiters, who came
running to the door, showed the person to be
aman of great importance, yet it was plain
that he saluted his son Frank with an air
THE BLIND FARMER. 128

of courtesy, and they walked into the
hotel together.

The heart of the father swelled with a
little pardonable vanity, as he said to him-
self—'F rank is no lout, he knows how to
address a gentleman. I see he is neither
bold nor sheep-faced, but just what an
honest man’s son ought to be. Well, well,
allis for the best; who knows but my
poor children have got as much in the day
of my adversity, as they would have got in
my prosperity ?—God’s will be done!’

This soliloquy brought him to his fam-
ily, whose hearts were elated by their little
journey, and they hailed him with more
than common affection and pleasure; and
his wife taking from her pocket a new
silk and cotton handkerchief, bought for
the occasion, folded and tied it round his
neck.—‘ You are going,’ said she, ‘ where
you will see our precious child, and I
would have you look creditable by all
means, for Betsy’s sake.’

* Bless her,’ said the farmer ; ‘ but,’ add-
ed he, with somewhat faltering voice, ‘I
126 THE BLIND FARMER.

am likewise going where I am to be hired
as a servant, and that must keep down all
proud thoughts both in her and me.’

‘Remember, dear John,’ said his wife,
‘remember, you owe nobody a shilling,
and that when you had bread to give, you
never turned the poor and hungry from
your door, and let this support you.’

‘Remember, too, that you helped to pay
your sisters their portions, and that you
kept your poor old mother like a lady,’
said the good old woman, wiping the mist
from her spectacles.

Norton smiled, and kissing them all
round, set out to Primrose Hill, whither
he was directed by the landlord. He
hemmed stoutly, and buttoned his coat to
his chin, and tried to feel as he was wont,
but he was sensible that his walk had
been too much for him; a little lameness
had ever hung over him, in consequence of
his fall from the coach, and it now affected
him so much, that he found he could not,
have got forward without the stout stick
on which he leaned. He was thin, and
THE BLIND FARMER. 127-

he felt thin, and being at that period of
life when flesh becomes a man, he was
sensible of looking older than he was, and
perhaps older than his new master expect-
ed, and this disheartened him.

Desirous of rendering his walk as short
as possible, he called to a man who was
engaged in cutting hay for fodder, inquir-
ing—‘If he could cross the next field to
Primrose Hill ?’

The man started, and turned suddenly
round, but on sight of him dropped the hay-
knife from his hand, and turned as pale
as ashes.

‘Bless me, is not that Thomas—my
Thomas ?’

*Ye-e-e-s, I was him sure enough. God
Test your poor soul, you were a good man
once.’

‘Why, Thomas, you do not take me for
a ghost, surely? I thought I had cured
you of that nonsense ; here is my hand,
my honest fellaw,’

‘My de-dear mister, why be it you
ralely? I declare it-be, and your eyes be
128 THE BLIND FARMER.

quite pure—dang it, I am so glad to se yo,’
—Thomas drew the back of his red rough
hand across his eyes as he spoke, wonder-
ing what was the matter with him, and,
in spite of his joy, still shocked to see his
worthy master so thin and pale, when the
farmer said—‘I was in hopes, Thomas,
you would have staid at the old place; I
left you a character that should have se-
cured you a service there.’

‘ Ay, sur, and they tuk me, but I stayed
till ’d had enough of they; and as I took
it into my head to marry Nance, I com
into the nighbirhud where she happened
to be servin, for you see, sur, it were time
for sic as I to com away, bein by no means
used to gentility.’

‘You were used to decency, Thomas,
and that is enough for a farm-house, ia
my opinion.’

‘ Ay sur, one may see you ha bin living
in a town; times are finely changed since
you left off farmin ; why, we were so get
teel at my last master’s, we kept hunters
and musical tables; the ladies went pretty
THE BLIND FARMER. 129

well neaked, except their hands, and they
were always covered; then they had bells
to ring servants with—tinkle, tinkle, when
th’hay were down, even to get a cup of
tea, or bring madam her clogs; and all
they could do was to take a paddy sol,
and com nim, as if they was treading on
eggs, and say—‘Is it going to rain, Tim-
mis?’ and turn up their noses, as if they
had honored a poor body too much by
breathing the same air as he did.’

‘Poor young creatures! they have been
improperly brought up.’

‘Unproper! ay, sur, unproper enough,
for they be as different from rale ladies, as
alamb fro a filly—look at Miss Appleby
for that ; but the young men were never a
bit better—duce a dung-fork ever I seed
the hands a one of them.—‘ Saddle my
horse, fellow’—‘ feed my pointer’—‘ ride
over to my tailor for my regencies,’ and
‘bring a new pudding for my throat.’

‘Why, Thomas, you are quite a wag;
I never knew you were so satirical before.’

I
130 ' THE BLIND FARMER.

‘ Me sisterical ; I leave that to the ladies,
sur; but when they paid my wages with
a bill, I hopes you would allow it was time
to be flirtical, and so I hopped off, and |
ha niver seen a penny for my bit a paper,
fro that day to this’n; more shame say I’

‘Indeed you are right there, Thomas.
Well, good bye; I shall see you again
soon; in the mean time, you will find my
wife and mother at the little ale-house a-
bove, if you like to see them, and can spare
half an hour.’

‘ If, O maister! yo know there is no if
to that; I would go barefoot fifty miles to
see my mistress any day. Did not she
make a mon of me, teaching me to read?
and little John setting me copies too? and
when J had a leam leg, doctoring it with
her own hands—if, indeed, I say if’

The farmer walked forward briskly,
though his ear loved to linger on the praises
of his wife, but he felt that he should be
beyond his hour; and alas! he had no
longer the great round silver watch which
once graced his fob. He soon, however,
THE BLIND FARMER. 131

came in view of the house, and, struck
with its beauty, and the neatness of the
surrounding domain, he was nearly loiter-
ing again.

His first inquiry was naturally for his
daughter, and a respectable-looking servant
showing him into a little parlor, ran to call
her; but when, soon after, a handsome
genteel young woman entered the room,
the honest man, still forgetting the lapse ot
time, stood up to bow, as he imagined, to
one of the ladies of the house. How was
he astonished when, catching him round
the neck, gazing at him, kissing him wild-
ly, she called him again and again her
father, her own dear father—‘ And can you
see, my father ? see quite well ?’

‘Yes, my child, for I can see that you
are the image of your mother, when I first
saw her a young creature at Himley
Church. But, dear me, you are quite
grown out of knowledge, my little Betsy !’

‘But my mother, how is she, and—’

‘They are all at the village hard by,
and longing to see you, my love.’
132 THE BLIND FARMER.

Betsy flew to Mrs. Appleby, told her of
her father’s arrival, and asked leave to
visit her family ; which was not only in-
stantly granted, but refreshments were
ordered to be taken to the farmer; and
Mrs. Appleby, stepping into the room
where he was, bade him welcome, and in-
quired in the kindest manner after his sight,
and the health of his family; and then
proceeded to inform him of the great satis-
faction she had in the conduct of those
children of his who were placed under her
protection.

The farmer, moved with her kindness,
and affected by the events of the day, look-
ed the thanks he could not utter.

‘ And so,’ continued the lady, ‘you have
got a situation, I understand : well! ser-
vitude is rather hard at your time of day,
Mr. Norton, but keep up your spirits—be
assured it will not last long.’

‘Alas! madam, I have no other chance,
for my little property is all gone, except 2
trifle that comes at my mother’s death,
and a little matter that my wife’s unele
THE BLIND FARMER. 133

may leave her; but there are no small
farms now-a-days, suited for small folks
like me, so we must submit.

The lady had not time to reply, for a
servant entered to say a gentleman was in
the drawing-room, she therefore withdrew,
thinking that Mr. Appleby was engaged ;
but it so happened that they both entered
the room together.

‘My name is Reynolds, sir,’ said a fat,
vulgar, consequential man ; ‘I wait upon
you to inquire the character of a man who
has applied to be my bailiff. I live—I dare
say you know where I live, you being
acquainted with the estate of Sir Harry
Eustace ; I hold a pretty snip of his land,
I may say, Green How, Lea Meadows,
and so on.

‘So I have understood, sir.’

‘Well, Mr. Appleby, the person in ques-
tion, is he all fate, as my girls say? will
he suit a man of business, like me ?’

Mr. Appleby felt really distressed for .
farmer Norton, and could not immediately

QQ
134 THE BLIND FARMER.

answer ; at length he said, ‘ you hold the
Lea Meadows farm, you say ?’

‘I do, sir; a pretty farm it is, and in
pretty condition—far the best bit in the
baronet’s estate, I take it.’

‘The person who now offers to be your
servant, held the farm before you—of
course you have a right to judge of his
knowledge as a farmer.’

‘True, sir!—well said, sir!—but you
will excuse me, what age may he be }—is
he stout ?’

‘I have never seen him,’ said Mr. Ap-
pleby, ordering a servant to show the far-
mer up Stairs.

The farmer did not look very stout,
when Mr. Appleby announced that Mr.
Reynolds was the person who wanted his
services ;—the recollection of serving in the
house once his own, was indeed bitter, and
his face became of an ashy paleness, but
he bowed and spoke not; internally he
lifted up his heart to Him who readeth its
most secret thoughts, and the aid he sought
was granted to his humble prayer.
THE BLIND FARMER. 135

‘It seems you know the land, honest
man,’ said Reynolds, ‘so far it is well;
—you have had experience too—that is
good; but you look ill—seem a little lame
—I fear you can’t run about; I am all for
business; a very dragon at business ;
bustle, bustle’s my word—hey, Mr. Ap-
pleby ?”

Poor Norton answered, ‘that he was
naturally active, and when his strength
was restored, he had little doubt but that
he should give satisfaction, and his en-
deavors—’

‘Ay, ay, endeavors are all very well;
but they will not do for me—wages is no
object with me, none at all; therefore I
want a smart active man for my money,
hey, Mr. Appleby ?—but however, sir, I
have a great regard for you, sir, a very
great regard, sir; and you can do me a
good turn with Sir Harry; and therefore,
sir, Just to oblige you, 1 will take the poor
fellow in tow—you understand, sir.’

- Yes, sir, I understand that you want
to oblige me; to which I answer, that I
136 THE BLIND FARMER.

will not be obliged by you, and by the
same rule I say, that neither can I oblige
you.’

‘Sir! Mr. Appleby ;—but what will be-
come of the poor man ?~I mean to make
him my servant, upon my honor I do.’

‘ But upon my honor you never shall,
while there is a rood of land, or a cottage
on the Primrose estate. I have heard
much of you, Mr. Reynolds, but in this
interview I have seen still more; and I
must beg leave to say, that as this is the
first, so 1 hope it will be the last time, you
and I shall meet.’

Farmer Norton, relieved of an intolera-
ble weight on his spirits, was now retiring,
but the room was suddenly entered by a
large party, who blockaded the door; and .
as there were ladies in the first place, he
stood aside with an air of courtesy and
natural politeness, which though alike
untaught and unstudied, was very pleas-
ing. He was surprised to see his son
Frank enter with the rest, as if in conver-
sation with them. In order to account for
THE BLIND FARMER. 137

a circumstance which puzzled the farmer,
we must go back to the inn where he was
left, and then return to the drawing-room
and the present party, including Mr. Rey-
nolds, who beheld, amid the youthful
group, the form of one whose eye appalled
him more than that of the basilisk, al-
though it had a very different effect on a
delicate and timid young lady.

CHAPTER IX,

Sm Harry Eustace arrived at the inn, as
we have seen, and, supposing he was
known, did not announce himself, nor could
Frank take the liberty of inquiring. When
the baronet asked Ais name, Frank observ-
ed that the gentleman gave a kind of un-
easy shrug; but as he instantly began to
ask a multitude of questions respecting
his progress in the art he professed, the
circumstance immediately vanished from
his mind.
138 THE BLIND FARMER.

The truth of the case was this :—Sir
Harry was desirous of having a handsome
excuse for a visit to Primrose Hill, and he
knew no better than the gaining a copy of
a picture, of which Mr. Appleby was very
fond, and which was likely to be some
time in progress. He therefore was glad
to meet with a modest young man of mer-
it whom he could introduce properly ; and
although he was pleased with the view of
the Leasowes, which Frank exhibited to
him, yet such was his impatience to arrive
at Primrose Hill, that he hastily rolled it
up again, saying—‘ Come along—we will
get a frame for it, when we get to my
friend’s house :’ and with these words he
returned to the carriage, desiring Frank to
follow him.

As they drove forward, Sir Harry in-
quired if he had ever heard of the Appleby
family.

‘O, yes,’ replied Frank, ‘I have heard
a great deal.’

‘Indeed ! what may you have heard ?’

‘That they are very worthy people—
THE BLIND FARMER. 139

Indeed I know it, for some very dear to
me have benefited by their goodness very
greatly.’

‘The young ladies—did you hear any
thing of them ?’

‘They are very handsome, I believe,
and highly accomplished, especially the
eldest, I understand.’

‘What a clever young fellow this is !—I
‘am determined to patronize him,’ said the
baronet internally—while he called to his
postilion to stop, and in a moment he
found himself in the park, with the very
ladies of whom they were speaking; but
he did not introduce Frank, for the name
of Norton would not sit easy on his lips;
he wished the youth had any other.

The young ladies were very fond ot
drawing, and the eldest was very profic-
ient in that charming art. On seeing
Frank’s portfolio, they sat down on the
grass to examine its contents, and looked
over a number of things, till at length they
came-to a sketch of the pigs, which resem-
bled those in their father’s picture; and,
140 “THE BLIND FARMER.

in order to prove they did, they hastily
rose and went towards the house to exam-
ine them and compare them, but ere they
entered it, they encountered the two sons
of Mr. Reynolds, who, being as remarka-
ble for their impudence, as the sons of
Norton were for their modesty, thought
they had an apology for entering a great
house, in order to call upon their father:
this was therefore the motley group
which now entered the drawing-room of
Mr. Appleby.

The young ladies, wishing to repel the
impertinent advances of these - forward
youths, eagerly ran to their father, show-
ing him the drawing, which he approved ;
and on pointing out the young artist, he
honored him wjth an obliging notice.

Vexed that a person, whom he consider-
ed far his inferior, should be preferred to
him, the elder of the two Reynoldses push-
ed forward, and looking radely at the
drawings, said—‘ Well, young one, if you
draw pigs, it is my belief you brother
drives pigs, for we passed a boy on the
THE BLIND FARMER. 141

road a bit since that was driving three,
and a basket of poultry was on his arm;
mayhap you have that among the rest of
your thingumbobs.’

‘That boy was my brother, sir, I dare
say,’ said Frank, with an air of modest
firmness, that completely disconcerted the
insolent attacker.

‘I wish I had seen him,’ said Mr. Ap-
pleby. ‘I should have recognised him
with pleasure; for I now see clearly that
I was right in supposing that my prize pigs
which gained such honor to the country,
are indeed the originals in that picture,
and that you are the pupil to whom Mr.
Bloomfield gave the praise so truly merit-
ed, as the original drawer of them.’

Frank bowed and colored, and, retiring
from the eyes which were naturally turned
to him on all sides, he beheld his father,
who had given way till he had got literally
behind the door, and was only pressing
forward a little at the moment when Frank
beheld him.

Catching hold of his son’s hand, he was
RR
142 THE BLIND FARMER.

looking his congratulations, when Sir Har-
ry unrolled the view of the Leasowes, and
held it up within a frame, which of course
was a great improvement ; and they spoke
so highly of it, that on dismounting from
the chair, he said in a low tone—‘I think
I will purchase ¢his.’

‘You will—you mean you have,’ said
Louisa, ‘for your name is written on the
back of it already.’

Sir Harry was surprised, and rather vex-
ed, as he thought the young man had
presumed on his intentions. He hastily
asked Frank—‘ What was meant by that
name being upon it ?’

‘Iam under the highest obligations to
that gentleman, sir, and I desired to pre-
sent to him the first picture I ever painted
on my own account; and I went to the
Leasowes on purpose to get a sketch,
where I had the honor of meeting with
you.’

‘It is very curious, but yet I now see
it very possible, that you do not know
THE BLIND-PARMER: ~~ 143

till now that you address Sir Harry
Eustace.’

Frank bowed exceedingly low, but his
countenance was open and unembarrassed.

At that moment Farmer Norton advane-
ed.—‘ Permit me, the father of this youth,
and more immediately benefited by you,
Sir Harry, to say how sincerely I thank
you.’

‘IT do not understand this: did you not
say your name was Norton ?’—If you are
the Norton of Lea Meadows—I, I—~’

‘I am the Norton whom your bounty
enabled to procure the restoration of sight,
the most invaluable of human blessings—
I am the Norton whose son you have
placed at Oxford in a situation which will
eventually procure him the means of hon-
orable subsistence; and, with the conscious-
ness of possessing such gifts from your be-
nevolence and compassion, I am enabled to
forget that I am the Norton who was
obliged to leave Lea Meadows.’

‘I am still at a loss to understand this,’
said Sir Harry, apprehensively.
144 ‘THE BLIND FARMER.

‘Yet, surely, you have a pleasure in
knowing that Providence has enabled you,
though ignorant of the persons, to apply
remedies to the evils your thoughtlessness
inflicted; or rather given assistance in
cases which called for atonement. I assure
you, dear Sir Harry, that, so gratifying has
your conduct been to me, I shall look for-
ward with almost as much impatience as
yourself to an event which will doubtless
happen in the due order of things,’ said
Mr. Appleby.

‘The Reynoldses, perceiving the at-
tention paid to the Nortons, now crowded
round Frank, and began to admire his
drawings; and the younger said—‘ He
would get him to paint his horse; he
should not mind paying handsome, if the
thing pleased him. I do not think I can
do better than have it done; can I, Miss ?
said he to Louisa.

‘Yes, a great deal better, in my opinion.’

‘As how, Miss?’

‘By selling it.’
THE BLIND FARMER. 145

‘That’s a good one! why it isa bit of
the best blood in the country.’

‘Then it ought to belong to the oldest
blood, and the best fortune in the country.’

‘Lord, Miss; you be prouder than peo-
ple would think; yet you take notice of
those Nortons, and they are very different
to us, I can tell you that.’

‘So can I—the Nortons make no preten-
sions; they do not set themselves up, of
‘course there is no need to pull them down;
besides, they have what you want, and
what neither money nor blood can pur-
chase, for either rich or poor.’

‘Indeed! pray what is it ?’

‘Virtues and talents.’

While this conversation was going on,
Sir Harry held a very short one with Mr.
Appleby, after which he turned hastily to
Frank, and said, in a voice which every
person might hear—‘ Mr. Francis Norton,
I accept your present with much pleasure,
but request that you will paint me a pair
to hang on each side of it, for which I beg

J
146 THE BLIND FARMER.

you to accept this bill of a hundred pounds.
Do not refuse me; artists are a poor race,
and being paid beforehand is no disgrace to
them, nor, I believe, at all uncommon.’

The latter words were spoken with such
a smile of amenity, a tone of such friendly
jocularity, yet not familiar freedom, that
obligation was rendered sweet to one par-
ty, yet the distinctions of society were not
confounded by the other; and never had
Frank felt such pure enjoyment as in tak-
ing from the hand of the baronet, that
which Ae put into the hand of his father.

Far different was the air with which
Sir Harry accosted Mr. Reynolds, yet it
was neither angry nor vindictive; for the
baronet was too much humbled by the
view of the subject which his much-im-
proved character now gave him, to omit
his own share in the folly of the trans-
action.

‘Mr. Reynolds, you hold more land
than you know ‘what to do with; at least
much more than you find it convenient
to pay rent for; yet if I may judge
THE BLIND FARMER. 147

from appearances, your farms are pretty
profitable.’

‘Why, as to that, Sir Harry, I don’t
complain.’

‘But I do, sir, and I have a right to
complain, as you well know; and that
complaint would be differently expressed,
if I had not myself to blame as well as
you: I therefore inform you in one word,
that I require from you immediately the
lease of the Lea Meadows Farm, on which
condition I will release you from the ar-
rears of rent due upon it. As you have
two houses, you cannot think it a hard-
ship if I desire you to evacuate the one in
question in the ensuing week. When you
have drawn your affairs into a smaller
compass, you will perhaps be able to visit
my steward to a better purpose, than by
offering long bills which you are compelled
to dishonor.’

‘Mr. Reynolds, with a low obsequious
bow, declared—' That every thing must
be as his honor pleased; he hoped his
honor would consider that he had a large
148 THE“SYENDPARMEN.

family to provide for, and when the time
came to renew the lease of Green How
Farm, he should be thankful to take that
alone.’

‘I make no promises,’ replied Sir Har-
ry, ‘nor do I utter any threats, for in the
space of two years, you will have time
for reforming your family, and taking ex-
ample from your neighbors. I have suf-
fered too much for the fault of expelling
an old tenant, to be subject to inflicting
punishment of the same nature on a new
one; but Iam decided in calling for a rad-
ical reform, and am happy that your sons
hear me as well as yourself: my future
conduct will be regulated by my observa-
tion on yours.’

The Reynoldses, with humble looks
that alinost amounted to terror, yet a con-
sciousness that they were not only fairly
but kindly dealt with, bustled out of the
room; and the moment their feet were
heard at the bottom of the stairs, the Nor-
tons, father and son, were retiring also,
when Sir Harry, addressing the farmer,
THE SLID PERE. 149

said—‘ Mr. Norton, you are, I trust, aware
that the agreement I have just made is for
the purpose of offering you the farm, of
_which I thoughtlessly deprived you, and
which I now promise you for a term that
shall make you easy for yourwwn life, and
that of your wife at least. The rent will
be raised, for the farm will bear it; but it
will not bear the extravagance your pre-
decessor and his family have adopted. In
order to enable you to stock it, I will ad-
vance you money, which I consider secured,
not less by the legacy your wife is heir to,
than by your good conduct, and that of
your amiable and promising family.’

With few, but heartfelt thanks, the
joyful, happy farmer, leaning on his equal-
ly happy and thankful son, withdrew;
and as they closed the door of the draw-
ing-room, Sir Harry ventured to take
the hand of Miss Appleby, saying to her
father—‘ My dear Sir, may I now claim
the prize—the reward for which I have
sought so long.’

‘You may, my dear Sir Harry; you
150 THE BLIND FARMER.

have my full consent ; I am truly satisfied
with your conduct, and gratified by your
preference of my daughter.’

In this sentiment, Mrs. Appleby concur-
red with the most affectionate cordiality.

‘And surfly,’ said Sir Harry, ‘my
Maria is also satisfied. ‘Tis true, the gen-
tleman-farmer’s ‘style,’ and the poor far-
mer’s ‘ wants,’ will take a few pearls from
those bright ringlets, but they will add to
the best jewels a country gentleman’s wife
can display—a respectable and happy
tenantry.’

Miss Appleby, with a smile and a tear,
was beginning to express her entire appro-
bation and delight, when the door was
suddenly thrown open, and her brothers
from Oxford rushed in, their first term be-
ing just completed. They were all life
and spirits, and appeared full of some par-
ticular satisfaction ; for they kissed their
mother, and danced about their father
with all their school-day eagerness of de-
light, declaring they had come as fast as
THE BLIND FARMER. 151

the mail-coach, though they had only a
pair of horses.

‘ But where is your tutor, boys ?’

‘QO, he’s got it! he’s got it! beat all the
rest hollow, father—I knew he would.’

‘Got what? Where is he?’

‘ Got the prize, to be sure! that’s what
we're so glad about. As to where is he?
I believe he is growing to his father’s neck,
for I left him in the hall, crying over him
with joy, and if 1 had stayed I should
have cried too, I believe.

In truth, the farmer was at this moment
enjoying the purest pleasure of which his
heart was capable, in the presence of his
eldest son, who was to him a still greater
wonder than his daughter had been, in
the improvement of his person; so that,
if in the morning he had felt himself a
feeble man, he had the satisfaction before
night to find the somewhat decayed and
shattered stock, surrounded by strong and
sightly branches. Mrs. Appleby, on hear-
ing her son’s information, immediately
descended, and after welcoming John, and
152 THE BEIND FARMER.

congratulating them on this happy meet-
ing, she desired Mr. Norton to take pos-
session of the little parlor where she had
first seen him, telling him that it was at
his service until he removed to the Lea
Meadows, and that she had ordered beds
to be prepared for him and his family.
To this kindness it appeared soon that
a still greater was added; for in a very
short time Betsy returned from the inn,
whither she had gone to visit her mother,
bringing with her the remainder of the
family, all of whom assembled now in the
room, which, with so much kind consid-
eration, had been appropriated to their use,
and where they could, with equal ease and
pleasure, descant on the happiness of their
future prospects. When the farmer be-
held his wife and mother enter, those
worthy and successive mistresses of that
house, where he so soon hoped to see the
one resume her situation, the other repose
from her labors, he became sweetly but
affectingly agitated, and kissing his wife,
he hailed her as ‘the mother of his chil-
“ST-DLND..AET, 153

dren, the partner of his heart, the manager
of Lea Meadows.’

The good woman, perceiving he was
overcome with pleasure, which she im-
puted to the presence of his children, and
the kindness of the good family, began to
fear that squire Appleby’s good ale had
got into his head, and she looked for
an explanation of his words to Frank and
John.

‘Tis all very true, mother,’ said the
former, ‘ for Sir Harry has bargained that
you shall be in the house in a week, and
he will give a lease for both your lives
—and what is more, my father has at
this moment a hundred pounds in his
pocket, for which I shall be able to give
satisfaction.’

‘And to this,’ said John, ‘I can add
fifty, for which I have given satisfaction.’

‘And I,” said Betsy, ‘have got thirty,
dear mother, to add to the stock.’

‘And we have three pigs, and fine pigs
too,’ said Bill, ‘to begin with.’

‘True,’ observed Frank, ‘and to your
154 SRMIALIND FARMER.

feeding, my dear Billy, we are in a great
measure indebted for all this good fortune ;
for the pains you took, little and weakly
as you were, to do your duty to those
creatures, put me upon observing them
closely, and sketching them in a way
which afterwards became serviceable: it
was the first link in a chain, the last of
which endues us with the means of re-
suming our situation in life, and all its
comforts.’

Little Mary hoped ‘father would take
her hens for his new farm ;’ and Susan
promised to feed them.

‘T will take all,’ said the farmer, ‘and
thank God for all; but above every thing
else, for this, that my family are united
and industrious, and that they are pre-
served, through a situation of extreme
trial, that desire of mental improvement,
that taste for knowledge, and that power
of self-cultivation, which, as it gives the
highest pleasure the rich can know, so it
sheds comfort on the lowest state the poor
can suffer.’
THE. BLIND FARMER. 155

It will be readily conceived, that few.
houses could -boast so many happy per-
sons beneath their roof, as that of Prim-
rose Hill, on this memorable evening,
since it would be difficult to say whether
the inhabitants of the parlor or the draw-
ing-room were more happy. On the follow-
ing day, the happiness of each party
ceased to be of the quiescent kind, for all
the lively bustle of business commenced ;
and it was found expedient for the far-
mer’s family, with the exception of his
eldest son and danghter, whose duties
held them at the house of their kind patron
and benefactor, to adjourn to some place
in the immediate neighborhood of their
former and future residence, in order that
they might purchase such things as were
necessary. Farmer Norton and his wife
possessed too much native feeling, and
real -delicacy, to intrude upon the vain,
but humiliated family who were departing
from the house; but, on receiving an
intimation that they would be glad to
sell them a few necessaries, they were
156 THE pei FARMER.

happy to avail themselves of the conven-
ience this offered. :

Mrs. Norton was surprised to find her
once plain abode converted into the recep-
tacle of much frippery and useless refine-
ment; but yet she found likewise some
conveniences and comforts, of which she
was glad to avail herself; and as the
farmer's money was forthcoming for the
things he purchased, they were glad to
oblige him. And on the following Satur-
day, he once more slept in a house of his
own; and on the next morning, Betsy
and John came over to visit him, and he
once more proceeded to his own-parish
church, and, with all his family about
him, took possession of. his own seat, and
with a heart deeply penetrated with a
sense of the Divine goodness, joined in
the pious exercises of the day. When he
came out of the church, all his old nefgh-
bors flucked about him, and: welcomed
him, and among the rest came their old
servants, Thomas and Nancy, whom they
THE BLIND EARMER. 157

took home to share their plain, but plenti-
ful dinner.*

But very different guests awaited them;
and on Monday Betsy let out the impor-
tant secret, that on the following morning
Sir Harry Eustace would obtain his lovely
bride ; and as his road lay immediately
past the Lea Meadows Farm, it was his
intention to stop and take a little refresh-
ment there, as he conducted his amiable
and long-loved lady to the seat of his an-
cestors ; and that thus far it was the inten-
tion of Mr. and Mrs. Appleby to escort
their happy daughter.

It will be readily believed, that every
body and every thing was put into requisi-
tion for this grand occasion. Little Mary’s
chickens were roasted, Mrs. Norton made
a dish of her best curds, and even the old
woman tried her hand at a custard, while
Betsy and Frank arranged the parlor with
white drapery and evergreens, in a man-
ner that did honor to the taste of the one,
and the neatness of the other. John,
though far retired, was more employed

ss
158 THE BLIND.RARMER,

than either, for he composed a short but
ingenious epithalamium in honor of the
marriage; while William made the farm-
yard and all about it as neat and respec-
table as the shortness of the time admit-
ted, being assisted in every thing by his
father, who already had recovered ten
years of health in his happy countenance.

Joyful greetings, ‘raptures deep, not
loud,’ met the youthful couple as they
alighted at the farmer’s door; and joy,
hope, and gratitude, beamed on every
countenance ; Lady Eustace declaring that
no mode of rest or refreshment could have
been devised equally agreeable to her, since
it presented, along with a great many good
things provided for her palate, a feast also
delightful to her heart.’

We now take leave of farmer Norton
and his children, hoping that their history
will prove advantageous to those who
have much to suffer, and that the part
their landlord bears in it, will not be less
so to those who have much to give; and
who, holding great power in their hands,
THE BLIND FARMER 159

are called to exersise it with discretion
and knowledge, wisdom and benevolence;
and we conclude with entreating our
young readers to consider, that next to
honesty and industry, piety and duty, un-
assuming modesty, and propriety of man-
ners, insured the success of the Blind Far
mer and his Children.

THE END.
’ PUBLISHED BY C. S."F# AND CO., NE RK.

NEW AND VALUABLE BOOK FOR FAMILIES & SCHOOLS.

Sd

m1 .

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Na



Sa Chings.

A GUIDE TO THE SCIENTIFIC KNOWL-
EDGE OF THINGS FAMILIAR. By the Rev. Dr.
Brewer, Head Master of King’s College School, Nor-
wich. Carefully revised and adapted for use in Fami-
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volume, Price 624 cents.

This Volume contains about 2,000 Questions and Answers,
explaining, in the most concise and intelligible manner, the
phenomena of every-day occurrence. It contains an amount
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Extract From Prerace.—“ No science is generally more interesting than that
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ealled ‘ very foolish for asking such ry! questions!’ The object of the present book
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ility ; and has Snduced the author to s' — neither labor nor expense to a
* Guide to the Scientific Knowledge of Things Familiar’ instructive and anwuaing
the young, as well as to those of maturer life.”


PUBLISHRD,_BY_0, 9, FRAMOTS AND CO., NEW-YORE.

The following extracts, from afew of the notices of tp Guide
to Science” in some of the leading journals of the day, will show
the estimation with which it has been received :-

Dr. Brewer's Guide to Science. English Journal of Education.

“ We most heartily thank Dr. Brewer for this valuable con-
tribution to our educational literature, and asaure our readers that
the ‘Guide to Science’ is a good teachable book, and should be in
the hands of every teacher.”



Dr. Brewer’s Guide to Science.— Hogg’s Instructor.

“ Some books, like certain men, are of such a class by general
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Dr. Brewer’s Guide to Science— Magazine of Science.

* Asa book of reference, its worth is extreme ; as a school-book,
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ters an amount of useful information never before conveyed in
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makes a vast number of the most interesting facts of chemis
and natural philosuphy so plain, that a mere child can understan
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'2011-11-25T02:43:25-05:00'
describe
'26547960' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAN' 'sip-files00002.tif'
b3712a2d5ca8bd25d2f273d2121ca4db
e35e94daa5d0c4c837e0307dca4d45607828af0b
'2011-11-25T02:40:40-05:00'
describe
'214' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAO' 'sip-files00002.txt'
893bd6d97c402fd8f770420278c7ba8f
fd40b327b46f24e100809e0f9cb96658ff70c2f5
'2011-11-25T02:34:54-05:00'
describe
'48873' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAP' 'sip-files00002thm.jpg'
568f128ab923f6e89bf66fb7bad639ea
7036a2ac786923a053ad629dbc769e9c0d202cf9
'2011-11-25T02:38:10-05:00'
describe
'8237' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAQ' 'sip-files00003.jp2'
2815f2cef3d173ab0b702b8d25e1290d
679a1bae2ada4ea0ad3c272f83c1c14a3a9c3a22
'2011-11-25T02:41:21-05:00'
describe
'57396' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAR' 'sip-files00003.jpg'
cfb99b887123f2aebc80f1fd82ae4706
0cf290416d61bb050e1e29011c607e430d599ee9
'2011-11-25T02:36:53-05:00'
describe
'1257' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAS' 'sip-files00003.pro'
4a2bb3b15d0c7b810bb7f9ad81a05ef9
e3c9ac948adae73b32db662b102a980410c1133c
'2011-11-25T02:47:23-05:00'
describe
'26754' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAT' 'sip-files00003.QC.jpg'
692656cd7d400ca8831c7ab10926223b
dd02fc9c13e1ae97b0adb5225b505b9b397e1b2b
'2011-11-25T02:40:33-05:00'
describe
'263444' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAU' 'sip-files00003.tif'
e6f3f36d09663843b3807833726cd08b
b53a4802a40101053f908f9b4ce955f05f2b4474
'2011-11-25T02:45:40-05:00'
describe
'63' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAV' 'sip-files00003.txt'
965fdc26f9cefb499f8ce464571bf4a8
9287dd4ccf89ce4c5e18a0883bf09bde087a947c
'2011-11-25T02:46:50-05:00'
describe
'16590' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAW' 'sip-files00003thm.jpg'
9fba83bdec44065be36df3e0d4f8509c
4812f9888b23db3e5aef5aa97ebcc11928070895
'2011-11-25T02:38:35-05:00'
describe
'972648' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAX' 'sip-files00004.jp2'
e72801661523dcff4619749347b40a58
64bbad20796864319da34654b92e0be6d272cf62
'2011-11-25T02:43:02-05:00'
describe
'405752' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAY' 'sip-files00004.jpg'
eab2b4137e53ea565d0a8c4fd81da1e9
13e402217bfc443b4c70a953eca5d784a2266b6c
'2011-11-25T02:51:33-05:00'
describe
'1780' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAAZ' 'sip-files00004.pro'
0f59b82991e008631c992e7df2179212
cd3bddc6d379101512249b823a792caa0627cd99
'2011-11-25T02:33:45-05:00'
describe
'127180' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABA' 'sip-files00004.QC.jpg'
5bd7abdd5d7c2f17f26c2bfc417b4fde
2eb84e77bb3530a077bb427a88e7f7880311be3c
'2011-11-25T02:34:18-05:00'
describe
'7794312' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABB' 'sip-files00004.tif'
4ccdb763babf568ea4b254bbc277e59d
715311e9f40f424eadbc2e819cd4ac8b14d28567
'2011-11-25T02:41:52-05:00'
describe
'86' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABC' 'sip-files00004.txt'
89cbceb05873b9dd8452c799d7117066
840f3800c91cf7d13ccac0e3cce54991d20e1049
'2011-11-25T02:46:38-05:00'
describe
'48140' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABD' 'sip-files00004thm.jpg'
7eb4f4c4eaf53b556ef543396c74f85c
a883b63e8720108e0a6c4c1cc1a30e17cf7b37ac
'2011-11-25T02:36:52-05:00'
describe
'976233' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABE' 'sip-files00005.jp2'
9345f19ecda18cd4f6aa35825759fdc8
ba7552e14c8a14b20526e060a5441da1bd3a8d47
'2011-11-25T02:38:16-05:00'
describe
'293556' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABF' 'sip-files00005.jpg'
3bdae8a4a66a1dace6a448f135f8d7c8
b9822333ed91c871a7a946d2f40f8e1eca252898
'2011-11-25T02:45:38-05:00'
describe
'5943' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABG' 'sip-files00005.pro'
e8f3cf94acada832bb0cafec5c90341e
55f5853bc3e7014b338df2d2fadc024bf14c2cde
'2011-11-25T02:38:05-05:00'
describe
'95851' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABH' 'sip-files00005.QC.jpg'
5e999e8945bfb08d86ce207e6ac8932b
fd53e50f85a7796fff9dfb2f1c2b8a40e5a26b58
'2011-11-25T02:44:24-05:00'
describe
'7821068' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABI' 'sip-files00005.tif'
12f746c559a83f47871051a9ecf2ec73
a7974bf675d42af1ab400737d265de44b841ac11
'2011-11-25T02:47:28-05:00'
describe
'440' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABJ' 'sip-files00005.txt'
a0ed0216beb55f7198f4090d1c822380
3e7b6fa24a2e3e238568853091682eb00a2cbc98
'2011-11-25T02:36:21-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'38266' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABK' 'sip-files00005thm.jpg'
97a1663927e82cfc0bd5cf972a5ad84c
0d7e066be9f8a7e2afa436630a29ca69c77eb97d
'2011-11-25T02:32:55-05:00'
describe
'27502' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABL' 'sip-files00007.jp2'
97bc6a687536fa261bd3a6740233569d
3d582cb8ab2c7436188d2c5ac2c45babb6dcd182
'2011-11-25T02:43:27-05:00'
describe
'156791' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABM' 'sip-files00007.jpg'
0f721bc6062de2d69a33f14845589b7e
e8b9924f62e0fd497913b1eb710b04b553dea823
'2011-11-25T02:47:48-05:00'
describe
'8326' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABN' 'sip-files00007.pro'
22b0f2cf5cd199c79b83b5e3d5f70f15
ca5882e6327596d0ff9a57cbf7ec2e5cf39f96be
'2011-11-25T02:29:09-05:00'
describe
'65663' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABO' 'sip-files00007.QC.jpg'
d6cbdf4e62d194f9fca00b5857369b65
a292aeb9aa9d750fd1aa660b1b05bb31df5bb385
'2011-11-25T02:29:35-05:00'
describe
'258808' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABP' 'sip-files00007.tif'
8d8da258d0de288271ce5867d167b31e
7a414ea461e48e4abbdf3b89b31ac226e51954d8
'2011-11-25T02:43:20-05:00'
describe
'479' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABQ' 'sip-files00007.txt'
ed142b4a296e558a716d144cd2a2b94a
8483d9f8c6f3b5c27b231790ecc6455c6fdcc9a4
'2011-11-25T02:43:34-05:00'
describe
'31225' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABR' 'sip-files00007thm.jpg'
cf9822f9fe5dec21d95f8aab124f4af6
f5138d31c3bbe106330ede447e88d3345a8dcc05
'2011-11-25T02:32:21-05:00'
describe
'5311' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABS' 'sip-files00009.jp2'
84402a105e856c1dfc6832a670fd787f
c32c9f6bbe248732092796e128ed8b68928a9075
'2011-11-25T02:36:54-05:00'
describe
'35513' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABT' 'sip-files00009.jpg'
3e124501759ec4c916dce13580622bc3
b1cb2d9da0a540e5591b88990f79d642cb3b5371
'2011-11-25T02:33:32-05:00'
describe
'949' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABU' 'sip-files00009.pro'
786d2a1cd32d0345bb4a472ea22b0f6f
e35724857eebdd0a889c4720948feb9f0c118e2a
'2011-11-25T02:49:07-05:00'
describe
'19496' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABV' 'sip-files00009.QC.jpg'
2fa2a4d346909ee925588e0c1b2a394d
03897d83febc9e06630dcb86b3c379c34bcbf735
'2011-11-25T02:52:18-05:00'
describe
'269756' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABW' 'sip-files00009.tif'
89291e932dae10186b9fe2991f2a0b8d
8cc59358a0fedf63a186e46bc5489f1149a50f8d
'2011-11-25T02:34:42-05:00'
describe
'78' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABX' 'sip-files00009.txt'
53b9c1e5edf01bdae6d685676605702e
c7e01b06f93263f17e51502c408cd4328342add7
'2011-11-25T02:40:22-05:00'
describe
'14061' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABY' 'sip-files00009thm.jpg'
f0920c0e3ed5f080c86536a54113378f
df14b0e09f04ff127e2f504bae474af5a5fad26f
'2011-11-25T02:41:48-05:00'
describe
'841195' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAABZ' 'sip-files00011.jp2'
d0fcada6592b541af28cc9d07dd7cb95
190e04a8eae88d5bcc6daaa2319d3a71bccbbdd2
'2011-11-25T02:50:23-05:00'
describe
'359112' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACA' 'sip-files00011.jpg'
dccc6a4ea5269afe444a9c164a256a77
697c3f5bfb2f1ddce31c7fd16bee152aa670df67
'2011-11-25T02:50:50-05:00'
describe
'13393' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACB' 'sip-files00011.pro'
7033cb61f3cfe0174f59f8a2c58aa772
234956e37b7016d3058db5900b7cdf66daca1f90
'2011-11-25T02:46:06-05:00'
describe
'128484' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACC' 'sip-files00011.QC.jpg'
390e396cfcbf7988acd898dc9287d936
45651a54cc42dc2181fa3b4974623425735dc7e8
'2011-11-25T02:30:51-05:00'
describe
'6742252' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACD' 'sip-files00011.tif'
2ef29a56fff32520dd8cddde662c4ef6
ddc064d4b49d8104885b10f26ce3663ca9c17896
'2011-11-25T02:43:36-05:00'
describe
'744' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACE' 'sip-files00011.txt'
a3139767b501bcf0ccd099d66b437143
7635c4fff99b7c49215ad2fc5fa393f3cdab8e76
'2011-11-25T02:43:59-05:00'
describe
'47358' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACF' 'sip-files00011thm.jpg'
39ce4215fa2876eeb59b9ae0e9533f73
80fe14be47e879448956b5bfff387e3578114490
'2011-11-25T02:45:02-05:00'
describe
'59284' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACG' 'sip-files00012.jp2'
5ff056e2e61da467a6126e1f3fe4ab8e
66fda25d1e81e142723c19d12297b0da7ded8e0e
'2011-11-25T02:32:19-05:00'
describe
'334574' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACH' 'sip-files00012.jpg'
d63a4061a17e894077c4763fbdca2d0c
9a6f2f5f530b29b1e003f69fb29e54598d8e39e9
'2011-11-25T02:34:50-05:00'
describe
'27919' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACI' 'sip-files00012.pro'
51376591746d1dd274dbb2a3fa4f2268
dcf75bef3c7afec473506616b35b99d39ad17d0f
'2011-11-25T02:50:54-05:00'
describe
'138589' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACJ' 'sip-files00012.QC.jpg'
6b1470d662d73302c11aca582efeb80c
4e30b846e54559428543f74afc25ebc3103dc029
'2011-11-25T02:34:23-05:00'
describe
'276532' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACK' 'sip-files00012.tif'
0520b19de3a3257f6b71575f2a1086a3
a30024f0f688eab10f8e46c2c7c761e1724741e1
'2011-11-25T02:41:41-05:00'
describe
'1109' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACL' 'sip-files00012.txt'
0b7845e8fa1a32a9db04dfbece67e53c
6b6aecab62115de24762700cb63289d7be6c379a
'2011-11-25T02:39:28-05:00'
describe
'53474' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACM' 'sip-files00012thm.jpg'
6c5e072420902c9ffa980953ac00820f
05b32240d95781228059887dc1296da05598c673
describe
'58256' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACN' 'sip-files00013.jp2'
0b0237bbfede2102f2ba174108ea558c
5f53c0558249395aeefe67f84f7ea80e486f810b
'2011-11-25T02:33:49-05:00'
describe
'348069' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACO' 'sip-files00013.jpg'
f281a562c7396dc28bdb777c8b142f09
1e33f1e15aa583ea5d67b2231ae25a4a063a7feb
'2011-11-25T02:43:46-05:00'
describe
'26891' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACP' 'sip-files00013.pro'
e677a99f67516a04d7a6340d3c2f40c1
323efa714692f6fa6c2a6b37a36bf05caf163063
'2011-11-25T02:30:15-05:00'
describe
'140911' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACQ' 'sip-files00013.QC.jpg'
2855d4e0c6f1861bd188a3bd024fe6f2
d551629fad697d6c0f7bad4056f9854566ced066
'2011-11-25T02:46:57-05:00'
describe
'267560' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACR' 'sip-files00013.tif'
fefb076c7eac11fa2a1e9b4dd6472eeb
fee86577025f71aa00abd653a8ac8a5d6f20574d
'2011-11-25T02:45:32-05:00'
describe
'1067' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACS' 'sip-files00013.txt'
6ae80e8dd3b6861c4be29597fcf57d8c
ca75542d5ca03232f328d74572512bc079915392
'2011-11-25T02:42:39-05:00'
describe
'53615' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACT' 'sip-files00013thm.jpg'
3f4d5ef89596f9ee33c806566b502844
d09c5ad002ca3c05bbd857841add3a55a418c925
'2011-11-25T02:46:12-05:00'
describe
'58268' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACU' 'sip-files00014.jp2'
6e9b7ea73b5b3e02d20bc85a973ebe96
15c906cc538c21d11181c992a8a6a1b318b20014
'2011-11-25T02:35:00-05:00'
describe
'351725' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACV' 'sip-files00014.jpg'
d5a8e9a39eb2a9ddbff74fb734b6909a
15c8cb451f1e4ce5da1f5eb6b8bf389f48551024
'2011-11-25T02:51:22-05:00'
describe
'27056' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACW' 'sip-files00014.pro'
04a3a525bdf52c03efeca1705b38a462
17a137aadeaefee913e0f107b4df5bdc3945a5d7
'2011-11-25T02:32:34-05:00'
describe
'146362' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACX' 'sip-files00014.QC.jpg'
24f574c9c681caaacaad12d03c137c98
1aa9652bd732c52fbf249ebf83970b1ca92d373f
'2011-11-25T02:41:24-05:00'
describe
'258640' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACY' 'sip-files00014.tif'
bcb63bbbce209b2bc040db803dcaa3d5
48a6c92d38a6b0edb4b0a439cdea7f01eb287e6a
'2011-11-25T02:45:26-05:00'
describe
'1076' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAACZ' 'sip-files00014.txt'
f8a0f62e07905508051bbc6a529351ae
b047dee1140e1d03ddba086e21c65edf6a240c77
'2011-11-25T02:44:15-05:00'
describe
'54767' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADA' 'sip-files00014thm.jpg'
7d075b395597f411554d3033b84d790d
f6162d1e627a5582aec07cf022565628a073b4cb
'2011-11-25T02:35:16-05:00'
describe
'59630' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADB' 'sip-files00015.jp2'
2c207f48a21a754bc5043b087ea940a4
ea6df988bdf3fc1b22d1d5d7b875a72262e1653c
'2011-11-25T02:44:55-05:00'
describe
'358824' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADC' 'sip-files00015.jpg'
5db93f7e8421a4e407dbb30182a94f02
dd93c695d94298bf03f4ebed726455f3d6634c64
'2011-11-25T02:36:13-05:00'
describe
'27667' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADD' 'sip-files00015.pro'
a92597c24277ba444695dd639079764a
71f42d57b44370658b0a5c54a018b98bf0a4215b
'2011-11-25T02:42:22-05:00'
describe
'142767' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADE' 'sip-files00015.QC.jpg'
39d1ff006c6026e5cd5e204f0c506bd7
53063bc7bcd3b360bc5b61ca617b275f95d0ea61
'2011-11-25T02:37:12-05:00'
describe
'253104' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADF' 'sip-files00015.tif'
28d0bc2bace7447b34a5eba92d15b4fa
c61d54b6c79bbf070b768598bb6e1f1e4ba6f808
'2011-11-25T02:30:56-05:00'
describe
'1100' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADG' 'sip-files00015.txt'
87b2e111977f6a1ff78b0dc99ed11c1e
a0bba4a7975cd2688ccd58e7a6524477ea309c6f
'2011-11-25T02:52:26-05:00'
describe
'57111' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADH' 'sip-files00015thm.jpg'
eea3d31d02aa89cebf4593f732a0802c
c52c9da237c118515ac570b2a3321bc67fe05c1d
'2011-11-25T02:47:25-05:00'
describe
'58585' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADI' 'sip-files00016.jp2'
c4e4b7ccf0bdb5e26e49c29ffeedceb6
89260c1172265a749fe1f83a137ea13780150d04
'2011-11-25T02:43:26-05:00'
describe
'354012' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADJ' 'sip-files00016.jpg'
050ef0adcc529e3d4c206d659b5660e3
6040b7bbf4bd3b753f06a1389810ad050448fa77
'2011-11-25T02:47:07-05:00'
describe
'27939' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADK' 'sip-files00016.pro'
ce077c915de7a024c673affb6f27dec2
64f0ef1396664b37c14ff72530129ce9ee923afb
'2011-11-25T02:48:57-05:00'
describe
'145537' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADL' 'sip-files00016.QC.jpg'
c2c7af012e1a58230b34ae83abe83672
abd04df6080292a26bbb68988e5b734d0e7a7645
'2011-11-25T02:30:23-05:00'
describe
'258688' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADM' 'sip-files00016.tif'
3d0ae6d2ce7492af0ad2c6cca98fa5bb
2449f309ff26faf22b28d1aefde56bc79c65534b
'2011-11-25T02:51:05-05:00'
describe
'1106' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADN' 'sip-files00016.txt'
688efe5f75628767987f9bf5dc886009
90f3dea3955ef0f2b0c8647c4f9a5f89901f64f7
'2011-11-25T02:34:55-05:00'
describe
'55042' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADO' 'sip-files00016thm.jpg'
5dde821547060135792b7e6b32ede490
12e2491b9be6abc5c614d01d6bc4e9b88e71e6b3
'2011-11-25T02:43:33-05:00'
describe
'60929' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADP' 'sip-files00017.jp2'
9e0f5a14a999788165a37e5027149ece
8ec21c89a7aa6a24b6103dc4cc25aea6399b22d9
'2011-11-25T02:29:24-05:00'
describe
'359921' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADQ' 'sip-files00017.jpg'
942106c9360555c4c7c81772a1effbf5
a24cd8a022c9e1e5614a27096ffed060e82b9b89
'2011-11-25T02:44:06-05:00'
describe
'28495' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADR' 'sip-files00017.pro'
752741bcdc6d0dab886885f2eefd75dd
d9646296d8f773d191e25f575dc340a08cf7c8fd
'2011-11-25T02:44:36-05:00'
describe
'142670' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADS' 'sip-files00017.QC.jpg'
50c7a5d52cbc84d19f3c24fcf6657510
472bdea35104b471a922af80816b6bf256a32bbd
'2011-11-25T02:48:05-05:00'
describe
'264792' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADT' 'sip-files00017.tif'
c61135a3d66f2774e1ae45db59ee8d4f
b90e3239e885d6905e3c52bb291c1890474e8e96
'2011-11-25T02:47:01-05:00'
describe
'1128' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADU' 'sip-files00017.txt'
4b00d4b33366f7d44eeaaedcf2eb1976
639e00b3e807434cac11372afae71d10b04c9c95
'2011-11-25T02:52:15-05:00'
describe
'54972' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADV' 'sip-files00017thm.jpg'
56b027a0f5e382734690d917379fa438
ba4f70d7f667c9f6d11a6e85ec8dc62ea9e6692b
'2011-11-25T02:35:29-05:00'
describe
'60595' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADW' 'sip-files00018.jp2'
4e64cd2b9659e26e1984cf80ba6124cb
e4550446b416d8a9bdc5c5cb0c21553de80626ab
'2011-11-25T02:48:58-05:00'
describe
'340998' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADX' 'sip-files00018.jpg'
1e30337fb8282892eefe469a49c84a24
0240784ad9b6180e3660327c5bc4c5d62062c03f
'2011-11-25T02:38:55-05:00'
describe
'28959' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADY' 'sip-files00018.pro'
bfb465085f6862e4ebe5c90625505166
a93cca3c7c139bf375934d5ffe156df7b41c7617
'2011-11-25T02:46:18-05:00'
describe
'139542' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAADZ' 'sip-files00018.QC.jpg'
a770563e998b9f6175d32a2ad7b57ee4
6c96ea258bd923056d33f2aad15a046c02216b93
'2011-11-25T02:41:09-05:00'
describe
'287476' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEA' 'sip-files00018.tif'
bfaecf78255f3b64cf4df322566aefbd
bdf5cc38daef5dd6656e5b8d4bb01e6799363753
'2011-11-25T02:45:14-05:00'
describe
'1149' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEB' 'sip-files00018.txt'
2ac7aa96338482df9a98fb8b61811f6f
ee2be5a47adb88a6f37c53f2212171477e10e3c0
'2011-11-25T02:43:49-05:00'
describe
'53092' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEC' 'sip-files00018thm.jpg'
c7fd85bd3b5c739389a7ddb859c40b8c
b27c0e8ace8242239b330bff5fbe87f254d419cc
'2011-11-25T02:35:21-05:00'
describe
'58079' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAED' 'sip-files00019.jp2'
eaaded9f2d8f84da65680136f59d8b64
678b214741803f4b6b5a00ff76e9aa3a1e10136d
describe
'350972' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEE' 'sip-files00019.jpg'
31524d9712d29474e3c8120fbd2d2297
457cbb4f55babe281c73744383da87228f5024c0
'2011-11-25T02:32:44-05:00'
describe
'27053' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEF' 'sip-files00019.pro'
39661ec2cc9ffbdb7fa0be9616e6ca0e
53ef8230ff57f93a1b7365bf085340549fad678c
'2011-11-25T02:34:35-05:00'
describe
'143458' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEG' 'sip-files00019.QC.jpg'
03c23c94ae66c3e60342c6f5bb771c65
87c3786eabd79a9e37c5591043c0c97716d6e717
'2011-11-25T02:46:34-05:00'
describe
'252948' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEH' 'sip-files00019.tif'
f9c4b823f4471f4a0c87a76394b8fd89
113006db69cd8fd1b515302426cb624d9c8e9700
'2011-11-25T02:43:44-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEI' 'sip-files00019.txt'
4996138f8ae152c449b089c076961938
a825d2bd91efb4663559b5862604dd5d76bd7523
'2011-11-25T02:48:23-05:00'
describe
'56622' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEJ' 'sip-files00019thm.jpg'
44d14e872f5884df13443bc00c7de85b
dd3c5ac5b10961716cbcaa0f86d599c8f9079f93
'2011-11-25T02:37:25-05:00'
describe
'61011' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEK' 'sip-files00020.jp2'
75a8a909e3e4b9c018e5e7cdc66003f1
1b84a4de35fff7b78d42564ec437d7bd861bece5
'2011-11-25T02:51:49-05:00'
describe
'370447' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEL' 'sip-files00020.jpg'
bf2848bafa0ba8407107f3600a027e3a
07203e33e1065e4ce2dde7d6bc0ec5bbb21bd0f4
'2011-11-25T02:46:14-05:00'
describe
'28917' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEM' 'sip-files00020.pro'
07cf6ba974f5e34156c5046240414734
d2a088cf31c45e62cdd283a42f04c6b8fc53f8c6
'2011-11-25T02:29:22-05:00'
describe
'151138' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEN' 'sip-files00020.QC.jpg'
a8a634dc93ed01cfc1de89e4ba39fd0d
383592d9989a93812dd79ca6dea5c3e8d3453c95
'2011-11-25T02:36:43-05:00'
describe
'261504' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEO' 'sip-files00020.tif'
3940c8f87a8727e7b7f4db0ae137cd3b
95b59900faf419962b79dab9b8fd292222940087
'2011-11-25T02:50:44-05:00'
describe
'1145' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEP' 'sip-files00020.txt'
79e46a0e891b693de45e5630c6b842d3
0dda2e080b1aa0bc07c22f55870c92fb058fb6fc
'2011-11-25T02:42:32-05:00'
describe
'56498' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEQ' 'sip-files00020thm.jpg'
54a41d15ac6ed0a5cc7a968ce831af81
0803cfef0234177356333d007ec894cb75c79f82
'2011-11-25T02:37:58-05:00'
describe
'58766' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAER' 'sip-files00021.jp2'
e6388f034beaa36313f8028df72f9da5
15d7dfce0a971ee83aaadc35d85930333de1ef53
'2011-11-25T02:29:56-05:00'
describe
'353945' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAES' 'sip-files00021.jpg'
38ab7361e1df85ed90f54a25bca9cd92
960e385d0151c06d160c45324c408afc6a196f84
'2011-11-25T02:36:19-05:00'
describe
'27746' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAET' 'sip-files00021.pro'
a7f896f3d9402ad172a53a9d74dcdd6e
5a19721e6488aebdc9f7068d952aa0dd9da04438
'2011-11-25T02:32:47-05:00'
describe
'143288' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEU' 'sip-files00021.QC.jpg'
ef23548a125c82e201fb3ecef99a58bc
2e6610496e846d448b7a99ade2dcf0050cd06577
'2011-11-25T02:46:37-05:00'
describe
'259812' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEV' 'sip-files00021.tif'
8f26fe73d164beda6480cbf6c5f8ec24
1cee24542b89090981ba28fcecccdf6d964b24c9
'2011-11-25T02:42:09-05:00'
describe
'1112' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEW' 'sip-files00021.txt'
ef234fc4a227c6888ad419977fcc5858
2b7acd61a264e8d4c49b8b3d91fbc1a8a309b7c8
'2011-11-25T02:30:01-05:00'
describe
'56103' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEX' 'sip-files00021thm.jpg'
88e358b72c78a5d159b911b05e2537f0
0b8f560bf1d527603d1dc0f1b126c3cf0b02adf1
'2011-11-25T02:41:28-05:00'
describe
'59256' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEY' 'sip-files00022.jp2'
6ab7a224ef5505744c3567d15aa47712
18dea88fc597281269dcb1dae42f878cc34eef45
'2011-11-25T02:29:06-05:00'
describe
'332697' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAEZ' 'sip-files00022.jpg'
ea42e601eff593c66622cf12461a8be0
f056c07016c2b06fe0756f10f8bc347bd2643fb0
'2011-11-25T02:45:58-05:00'
describe
'27761' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFA' 'sip-files00022.pro'
dc25e817448f25e94cf4773c86eea049
21552c28e86e5da0beffff0979f12445c38608c8
'2011-11-25T02:38:19-05:00'
describe
'135716' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFB' 'sip-files00022.QC.jpg'
02781a57ab791e7cbc80860e90a74fef
f74de32d45401cc8f476aa34085b33ae95b7156d
'2011-11-25T02:46:33-05:00'
describe
'273548' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFC' 'sip-files00022.tif'
9acc86c9a59970862ca43157ab45979d
7f38c3f3fd00d84509ae891ee59620d1f369fa19
'2011-11-25T02:37:08-05:00'
describe
'1103' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFD' 'sip-files00022.txt'
5cb4458b09c1d5563d701bb8cce2ad2d
b97c8d9d17b6007f1159080aa252350a3b433ffb
'2011-11-25T02:52:06-05:00'
describe
'55530' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFE' 'sip-files00022thm.jpg'
49b390250244dc966988e9fd4ea4fc87
ad73b7b4f2fd3b77c1ec8a0074d3f40958a0b9fe
'2011-11-25T02:32:56-05:00'
describe
'58437' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFF' 'sip-files00023.jp2'
0f117451c9e474cbb85a1758cefd2ba3
237e9cae403b048ea7d1b16068da2e5979d8f981
'2011-11-25T02:42:46-05:00'
describe
'351259' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFG' 'sip-files00023.jpg'
a6424a8ec66004ab7a299f92320e70ff
348bc63267bb38d4522fa6825016766be262cd02
'2011-11-25T02:32:59-05:00'
describe
'28042' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFH' 'sip-files00023.pro'
86733ae74e08bdbefc5559fd88c70f33
585692bdb929ac6c14efdd8c3ea45b0e87d9a4d7
'2011-11-25T02:37:00-05:00'
describe
'147780' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFI' 'sip-files00023.QC.jpg'
bc595c374620ec381dda3cbb8f6906ff
a8c71046cc590d6d93f26fb21b65289418bfcd43
'2011-11-25T02:31:42-05:00'
describe
'262676' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFJ' 'sip-files00023.tif'
7f8aed4b818b2e6047540f4c7c4f19bc
b54ccfe17f2698757be4bb2135f6602535c39c3c
'2011-11-25T02:46:24-05:00'
describe
'1135' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFK' 'sip-files00023.txt'
5433f050378bf4a173c6ac59f4eb7014
2022fd12f7b35f8fe57ca1b72b560415eebca8fe
'2011-11-25T02:31:10-05:00'
describe
'56030' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFL' 'sip-files00023thm.jpg'
e16ac7c64d88ec7af59d4050c3404ab4
bd32aab918864e2153b79cec7f0c887663a3605c
'2011-11-25T02:36:59-05:00'
describe
'58249' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFM' 'sip-files00024.jp2'
2729251de373b4434f91102021c8b629
90b936269ea172e0a454b9ac1b755759ec380622
'2011-11-25T02:51:16-05:00'
describe
'342921' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFN' 'sip-files00024.jpg'
58a04010671a6d4297515a1f2ec03b54
80c63dd133f3eef7b15389cbbb0a310ae44a4ea4
'2011-11-25T02:38:06-05:00'
describe
'27258' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFO' 'sip-files00024.pro'
4e6956244b19821006ae61ba931d226d
1ce5546d87adb760ef6d7a836b487a17bdcff9e2
'2011-11-25T02:32:14-05:00'
describe
'142724' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFP' 'sip-files00024.QC.jpg'
160cedf03810b75b288c40b85a639301
be8a45921dcb54a2925a35965d2424b5ba7a8478
'2011-11-25T02:41:08-05:00'
describe
'273996' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFQ' 'sip-files00024.tif'
bdb8f46f83f3c064e6ab1dba55cf3907
7f22779c1b8dcde8a3a6303e8bf1334be6b67a87
'2011-11-25T02:29:45-05:00'
describe
'1082' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFR' 'sip-files00024.txt'
f92148e0241ed40a97e582f7ad6e34db
8d0a9512d9999183d66eb8b4e54d60c2f3140024
'2011-11-25T02:35:11-05:00'
describe
'53780' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFS' 'sip-files00024thm.jpg'
2c392d67bffa8c97da41d2f530aa3acd
cc91af0b10f09fe61b9d1c6e19b384f6d1a48b63
'2011-11-25T02:33:42-05:00'
describe
'56982' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFT' 'sip-files00025.jp2'
ecaee362ea83b19621dfec1a9e89b472
1883157f23832056176661969daf4831d8907923
'2011-11-25T02:34:06-05:00'
describe
'344329' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFU' 'sip-files00025.jpg'
2dc04f350b468442ed0a2958d3d6fa66
8e29bb758123614b6a144b648f9435932997562b
'2011-11-25T02:37:55-05:00'
describe
'27070' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFV' 'sip-files00025.pro'
12e303bbf187a7482aec7d7479728cf4
ede2803df3680983ffcbf27b0636a81708f7fdd5
'2011-11-25T02:41:58-05:00'
describe
'144596' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFW' 'sip-files00025.QC.jpg'
ed1d0d74b13cc2cafa042fd7603941bf
b4848e97689af5b7df0bc0c2626b8155d1b6e725
'2011-11-25T02:42:42-05:00'
describe
'260080' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFX' 'sip-files00025.tif'
e4acbd64dde0ed7e777230c70db5ce73
db8ac7178d94ab1ba3ca8babe1a6c09b048ddaff
'2011-11-25T02:50:32-05:00'
describe
'1077' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFY' 'sip-files00025.txt'
7d549f2c23ee05d41c3742811a8d58f6
601a11fdad00b1cb5e69c617a7ac6c988186c696
'2011-11-25T02:42:11-05:00'
describe
'54958' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAFZ' 'sip-files00025thm.jpg'
a8edd7af0020a19322c678b9b219b690
af388599e1b60258e783e7735aee1aa36850e7de
'2011-11-25T02:44:09-05:00'
describe
'58206' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGA' 'sip-files00026.jp2'
5bf23c7b90b4ba15d55c5ba05762c4f6
302dc16ed5e3747c3fa0feb40d10d9bc3ba049db
'2011-11-25T02:39:45-05:00'
describe
'355828' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGB' 'sip-files00026.jpg'
cd551ae6175873744bc2286e0a53d3ce
59fe309412134270a7da4c5285ecf00ca71e748e
'2011-11-25T02:40:54-05:00'
describe
'27287' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGC' 'sip-files00026.pro'
716d01931a3e2424cd2b313f0fedc730
e657804966417851ece43f00ce89fc0b4cd0e3ab
'2011-11-25T02:45:41-05:00'
describe
'153455' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGD' 'sip-files00026.QC.jpg'
6a553541fec478c112ee197a230473f3
a47eae16635d479001ec3f1ca15255d205f75df0
'2011-11-25T02:34:48-05:00'
describe
'244592' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGE' 'sip-files00026.tif'
c1d6750f62f2d8414ec5e064a808d5b6
b4287b821aac93d5f64cf58c2335a59cd48f288f
describe
'1092' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGF' 'sip-files00026.txt'
7f34d1cb946df28307eb7bf7473589c1
e9f433ab012993695ad63fdb78ba0705d46fa8fa
'2011-11-25T02:44:51-05:00'
describe
'58017' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGG' 'sip-files00026thm.jpg'
21e1f2ef6835153282bd0e9b057ac2b6
7576b3aa706cfa2022f2e74a4e8721cf6ddea42f
'2011-11-25T02:31:14-05:00'
describe
'58591' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGH' 'sip-files00027.jp2'
5a8d168bac7f33017e95db097bc8820f
093236151901963b164180dbadf5d13092a55b48
'2011-11-25T02:47:41-05:00'
describe
'350184' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGI' 'sip-files00027.jpg'
20627dfb6ec6c39460e3d229054c33a7
d0f541ed66cca2fd2e11304ef3730b879d81f5af
'2011-11-25T02:47:57-05:00'
describe
'28088' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGJ' 'sip-files00027.pro'
8a32e80f6ea78991ebc22993906f6612
efe30415c088b1a16613df14ae3545e559827bbc
'2011-11-25T02:43:32-05:00'
describe
'145777' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGK' 'sip-files00027.QC.jpg'
da7039a673e7024bb4369213857eeb45
239aa6ddaf584d80098cd9c22edd8b44feaa074a
'2011-11-25T02:41:26-05:00'
describe
'267644' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGL' 'sip-files00027.tif'
d98a3439b1700a8893ea534e10733c5d
0512440e231ee07c1944979428fb4e95b1a64998
describe
'1113' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGM' 'sip-files00027.txt'
9911370a7aa15d1ed328067eb261f2da
847f3eada26e6680e422a2fca257db0653c5215f
'2011-11-25T02:45:29-05:00'
describe
'56634' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGN' 'sip-files00027thm.jpg'
98e1a1b3298521dd4202a6fa1972d635
f5783d2e91f28a1e6f5eeeedf2c9bc4ffad3a262
'2011-11-25T02:45:49-05:00'
describe
'60045' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGO' 'sip-files00028.jp2'
dcd73223dc3e47370fac17c25eb349fb
0e4bfb4fd92f2e5da619ab94dc46bdae98763d94
'2011-11-25T02:47:38-05:00'
describe
'367158' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGP' 'sip-files00028.jpg'
d3a89f3d897f7737b1653ba9e0dcdeb4
661771b225a74efb3ae25d0ebbc32bc44b7aa428
describe
'28162' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGQ' 'sip-files00028.pro'
66c828abdca9a13171205bd41e49359c
588fd7877a23b72045a5858cb32c313fbac03785
'2011-11-25T02:33:47-05:00'
describe
'148466' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGR' 'sip-files00028.QC.jpg'
218594ec0d3130686a8481d527303504
092a949c99bc48573d93c18ec5015d68bd174502
'2011-11-25T02:33:23-05:00'
describe
'244936' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGS' 'sip-files00028.tif'
ef49f896feea706937190d4b697a310d
8e9d204ff96ede8d99348044799812ec383a110f
'2011-11-25T02:42:51-05:00'
describe
'1121' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGT' 'sip-files00028.txt'
7bab5aa330dfd60d906ac844556390e3
25c314aa3b51b9458bf6af0162a1f7d29f63a73f
'2011-11-25T02:37:18-05:00'
describe
'60446' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGU' 'sip-files00028thm.jpg'
8b0f1c61c3df0eee4b119cc525e49543
60beba986147227c045c254c44af62c4570b3a43
'2011-11-25T02:46:05-05:00'
describe
'838412' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGV' 'sip-files00029.jp2'
6095fa70db2cad7a81e4a1b464026a39
25bff4011cbd12c600ba0d60dc523f11b82fb3ca
'2011-11-25T02:50:47-05:00'
describe
'388843' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGW' 'sip-files00029.jpg'
a98ead62264ea677bdf646e7b7bd47e9
7d0c90b0f47cb177e0d3a7869b3dbc54a22b0cbd
'2011-11-25T02:45:28-05:00'
describe
'21552' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGX' 'sip-files00029.pro'
05a47a8907259981ecf85cf8531a2c20
87045198a9e83ca4744b0d07f45b2767e013e4ee
'2011-11-25T02:42:31-05:00'
describe
'142796' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGY' 'sip-files00029.QC.jpg'
86bb515ede84d4a9e6b1b55549672998
60ea28c13996e44bbb09228d893601baadba7d76
'2011-11-25T02:35:24-05:00'
describe
'6719776' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAGZ' 'sip-files00029.tif'
455aab543dfddb294f0c035442503566
59f4863663c76461aceb579e84135c7eb4940632
'2011-11-25T02:29:50-05:00'
describe
'866' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHA' 'sip-files00029.txt'
33a1e9b442f46045d94cc1411ce7b3f0
a1fae4fdb2aa42060a88ebf1a8f5d129c11c92d5
'2011-11-25T02:29:14-05:00'
describe
'50235' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHB' 'sip-files00029thm.jpg'
6b9d073e5b803bf6eca7ae4fbe36f90a
b16dbc80a1b1e8d2c9e65fe149faeb226a0211fb
'2011-11-25T02:42:01-05:00'
describe
'48363' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHC' 'sip-files00030.jp2'
87603eaf4ce53f802fda82de40582b9b
4d21a4b9758d58a5497582cd00185ca8dad723c8
describe
'292733' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHD' 'sip-files00030.jpg'
869998d21d21b5d3c4921fcc6a6c4c40
22bd13f059c8fcee8bef56db2c1ad4dbe1c7bf46
'2011-11-25T02:43:23-05:00'
describe
'22018' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHE' 'sip-files00030.pro'
4060e4d721fad39957d9d687a37e6c9e
ba747f86b6bfe60126b54d44f76dd8459ca5faea
'2011-11-25T02:33:58-05:00'
describe
'125384' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHF' 'sip-files00030.QC.jpg'
d498ba35da315800aa85a99588c9c512
be1a6912375ffff35a2508bdd7cc807fc8691e8e
'2011-11-25T02:34:14-05:00'
describe
'248272' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHG' 'sip-files00030.tif'
2ee607ac5c75bc4c9386f49c3278e8df
2537821d5e7e625c0502614766aed795910357c2
'2011-11-25T02:37:17-05:00'
describe
'890' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHH' 'sip-files00030.txt'
40399b545ee4c1575053e2bb179ee417
26c4eb2fc6824c0bf29640560683a192a1dbbbff
'2011-11-25T02:44:23-05:00'
describe
'47247' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHI' 'sip-files00030thm.jpg'
93113fbf53839f1aaea7ebb7174523c9
ca292e429b88557530080c2c91df7860f3783717
'2011-11-25T02:43:14-05:00'
describe
'60597' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHJ' 'sip-files00031.jp2'
e49f325140c7531eaa42d60384be2538
6810e6255c55f42dd86bc627f2f3d0b6ac2a5d8f
'2011-11-25T02:40:31-05:00'
describe
'359076' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHK' 'sip-files00031.jpg'
779ce25a5df8bd3d4da4ba96b0867657
c5c6b4955c817a5d9ccfcee2f3d650c416e62be8
'2011-11-25T02:32:26-05:00'
describe
'28112' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHL' 'sip-files00031.pro'
2a53cd233a92c8a34fd6e91e69646614
06906bc8ae03fe5c784d1e44dbc27fa1e8f627c6
'2011-11-25T02:33:52-05:00'
describe
'143479' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHM' 'sip-files00031.QC.jpg'
c2bc8edefe19211e1c1b817c807e12a5
d27aff6f1feb288229dddfee6e33e78aabdc068a
'2011-11-25T02:51:37-05:00'
describe
'273016' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHN' 'sip-files00031.tif'
ad065e2ebbe2241ea26519c32e0dd87b
62b04ed01c7c02b272fbfdfe4a8a903783606a71
'2011-11-25T02:33:37-05:00'
describe
'1110' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHO' 'sip-files00031.txt'
f14e49d9c5fd43107161c0c5381d7c93
9785cca36b567f7e68dc8c0e16d153771f12fa1a
'2011-11-25T02:44:01-05:00'
describe
'54211' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHP' 'sip-files00031thm.jpg'
a06b738c294d3d730fcec68290360767
88791395d3aad643633552ac59bc5892063ef89c
'2011-11-25T02:43:37-05:00'
describe
'57238' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHQ' 'sip-files00032.jp2'
8a427a4669249dd17d2fa9c9757ff250
65c1c3af705d821158756ed74bba615929a21754
'2011-11-25T02:38:15-05:00'
describe
'349297' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHR' 'sip-files00032.jpg'
8b83f3fdd807886e888bde485802e60c
0e94cd31270006bcd9a065ebe8435df194bddab4
'2011-11-25T02:41:51-05:00'
describe
'26817' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHS' 'sip-files00032.pro'
dc8435496325730914a80d70031b4d12
2255da8f0fb7715c284bb1da555a1ca100dabdbe
'2011-11-25T02:40:25-05:00'
describe
'143167' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHT' 'sip-files00032.QC.jpg'
20298f3f525af0cc5c2dd13a46dce2de
c64d93c0896ac410b52a43a0cd8a5ed47c5af3eb
'2011-11-25T02:40:00-05:00'
describe
'256376' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHU' 'sip-files00032.tif'
3c5639e25560c11d5aa50f60a3caa6c1
6acebf4676f555f8f4babe9d6307be489c469db0
'2011-11-25T02:52:25-05:00'
describe
'1070' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHV' 'sip-files00032.txt'
525f0fa4107beee26a3bdd4afbfde45a
ff4203e9a20abb3ea5f88d4e3da64ab436e712be
'2011-11-25T02:31:00-05:00'
describe
'54756' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHW' 'sip-files00032thm.jpg'
8e72be1732762693a397b6d633d944d5
5b1bb7c4661eb2c961ebdecb8ddee240204b1a43
'2011-11-25T02:50:42-05:00'
describe
'56574' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHX' 'sip-files00033.jp2'
09a146beedc7214c321abf090d0bd8d5
fe3c23115b0e39a62f49b09bc5caa4249c7b82bd
describe
'324865' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHY' 'sip-files00033.jpg'
3a9334507abf74696594a733132dcd42
e69cb7c5b963bac9f4cadef34eff0acc07577725
'2011-11-25T02:49:27-05:00'
describe
'26227' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAHZ' 'sip-files00033.pro'
691d6c712b7c14299c16d80f50e4a752
c2cd5ce64ded6c734b9c831de239679ade9eace2
'2011-11-25T02:43:54-05:00'
describe
'133114' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIA' 'sip-files00033.QC.jpg'
8094c496b7d6e2ec20d650c06be105d7
660aa70e773183903f8aa4dc71f291e59932b5af
'2011-11-25T02:40:21-05:00'
describe
'272316' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIB' 'sip-files00033.tif'
cf20e71f5700372c1a7a75b730ab143f
13ec9c71b67665e70ac94d6b59a605c267bcb069
'2011-11-25T02:29:51-05:00'
describe
'1041' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIC' 'sip-files00033.txt'
adf575bed2252ee77d62d9c989cea7e0
a4c12fd9b21350311a33f8469189df5a2937eb2d
'2011-11-25T02:31:15-05:00'
describe
'52827' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAID' 'sip-files00033thm.jpg'
bad3062c4f10fb55a212fa0481a3391f
caf118fcf3f2f8f0d1e593119dc4e63c9d7a40d3
'2011-11-25T02:34:33-05:00'
describe
'57091' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIE' 'sip-files00034.jp2'
06304629568a9f946db84ace3a4d5b20
6047585d40548a314ed348bb6023112c3818c05b
'2011-11-25T02:43:40-05:00'
describe
'342925' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIF' 'sip-files00034.jpg'
e559ba24f040622123f35c8595c7b3cc
da3ed569c7fe3acc4996a2f40d0e4844a35a5024
'2011-11-25T02:51:39-05:00'
describe
'26664' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIG' 'sip-files00034.pro'
81cc04061eb77f6703ecee11f73058e0
5d014200d31c85526fa3b21a60deeae86b39d7f4
'2011-11-25T02:40:04-05:00'
describe
'143286' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIH' 'sip-files00034.QC.jpg'
e7992e70f743f3984a3d7012a223c674
29554fcb79f333140fcc5afbb4e5a43810aa2bdd
'2011-11-25T02:47:15-05:00'
describe
'264064' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAII' 'sip-files00034.tif'
e02689f9b955c4fd7c41f38b8eb54d1e
99623d79644aded26b6ec8593c1a9d4f451e48c5
'2011-11-25T02:37:51-05:00'
describe
'1063' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIJ' 'sip-files00034.txt'
1b38375d280912ea1e9ceeb0880009f0
1a662d9173f2ea89ef83ea7d24d25cfe51020952
'2011-11-25T02:29:28-05:00'
describe
'55653' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIK' 'sip-files00034thm.jpg'
cc4d76577ffa22fef8a1a42ac53b50b8
af4ba1424317c600830a881d6508a034ad02c277
'2011-11-25T02:46:07-05:00'
describe
'58993' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIL' 'sip-files00035.jp2'
c805a33dcc2fcea057fb11b03b440554
ac3c6a9401747b92835ecd5c45febff02020ac20
'2011-11-25T02:52:08-05:00'
describe
'353172' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIM' 'sip-files00035.jpg'
534a8aab653ad1a18a93961c8bf4adba
b9febb568cc1e27cae87d588655b1e2fba8b2a5b
'2011-11-25T02:38:12-05:00'
describe
'27125' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIN' 'sip-files00035.pro'
793af758c5604f7f8f5a1e2a7d55bcd5
30cc28789afe8a110ef905c143c18d7dd44588d6
'2011-11-25T02:50:46-05:00'
describe
'143850' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIO' 'sip-files00035.QC.jpg'
a3619f755ec897dc9e36a10fc59a1c58
9284b4502c04545e3f614f6f9debcaa2940eef10
'2011-11-25T02:29:10-05:00'
describe
'262916' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIP' 'sip-files00035.tif'
2d7a1072bc48a47d1a0d29b8ad81356e
a243bc7dbfa3577f3ab194e57a00f2cd60a482cb
'2011-11-25T02:38:38-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIQ' 'sip-files00035.txt'
efeb3dd0a26067ede69a971f0828f2eb
c7d3cf2df05391ec9c05afea56e81ca3ab377477
'2011-11-25T02:43:55-05:00'
describe
'54274' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIR' 'sip-files00035thm.jpg'
c01e6efb6aac46eb524c8d0b93edb9f6
62070bf81de4deff5e478db33136e55fcf5c7b1f
'2011-11-25T02:32:41-05:00'
describe
'57878' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIS' 'sip-files00036.jp2'
a080825feeca7832e9223841d7f54e27
63c981d4d9df00686aa1f7d7c2db4ddb76cf5ba6
'2011-11-25T02:39:29-05:00'
describe
'353988' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIT' 'sip-files00036.jpg'
cb76eb5170f58863aa1e50221508a584
fe3a3464299a0d754dcfb22ed928da4aec8769e0
'2011-11-25T02:37:34-05:00'
describe
'26873' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIU' 'sip-files00036.pro'
e18ab3dc45c708f93506ddb822067043
f8eb1efc0216a8787f16d3df754ff05ed627f5e8
'2011-11-25T02:45:47-05:00'
describe
'148037' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIV' 'sip-files00036.QC.jpg'
b7254e12a2b37874bde59afe571ea1a9
b0f258ac5066f9242d06b359d2d7b70b188f2974
'2011-11-25T02:39:43-05:00'
describe
'244644' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIW' 'sip-files00036.tif'
fbba1dc804090589bf91afe9728a7b21
4310e1c1b8ce3e02f6fd5be1fe2e11c3561cf261
'2011-11-25T02:30:25-05:00'
describe
'1081' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIX' 'sip-files00036.txt'
fdb100c4fe06043fc0d2d8000711fbd7
ff0f67e56bc612babda39b1080b0aaefb81fe247
describe
'58137' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIY' 'sip-files00036thm.jpg'
1543a3ff93fd2b273f2c03dc53ea8593
a7d30b60aead45db2f160bfb135dc808420de9eb
'2011-11-25T02:31:12-05:00'
describe
'58028' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAIZ' 'sip-files00037.jp2'
c556c8ff8abdaf65013246b8945b841c
4606c29d94a7d8b03922f4931af9de61277afed6
'2011-11-25T02:39:42-05:00'
describe
'343779' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJA' 'sip-files00037.jpg'
c98145eda832f6791915c8202694e049
dc36170912e63047855c9d52ec457cf456e2513d
'2011-11-25T02:48:03-05:00'
describe
'27027' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJB' 'sip-files00037.pro'
9b76dea644cc30c43c163956a679c1f0
5ab518755a855e6ecebba5ba39823bb0acea4660
'2011-11-25T02:36:45-05:00'
describe
'139774' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJC' 'sip-files00037.QC.jpg'
b7b5c3d9e69245620f4b4ad6d30606ed
cb8f005b37a882ad95256c560feb4e75af6472ab
'2011-11-25T02:48:43-05:00'
describe
'272892' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJD' 'sip-files00037.tif'
7e54a58ecbacf806b61b028ea5db2828
c5a887a74d5e6d2c3cbc0c35dce2886055e89b91
'2011-11-25T02:33:31-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJE' 'sip-files00037.txt'
41ea1e52680c670b50c6fb6a1ea316a5
673fbee814e140a1a390dc703149f6c85aaa0da3
describe
'53613' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJF' 'sip-files00037thm.jpg'
f29d4e0b3f2433f818232db274100f29
95202d3be6be9360c73f37d1411dfd1559e1cda4
'2011-11-25T02:31:27-05:00'
describe
'57739' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJG' 'sip-files00038.jp2'
546caf9c6bad18758c48043ee542087c
34b47a1aa6ac49bc973ca771860ebe9c647a4bdd
'2011-11-25T02:40:05-05:00'
describe
'354994' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJH' 'sip-files00038.jpg'
f9ae476ec26b55ad9089a5f08e2ca7b8
27118b949e1fb2e2e4912645075c54faa6b1c1aa
describe
'26669' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJI' 'sip-files00038.pro'
521d007b634ec76d587e6922f8a93f25
f557b3b6a90c82a1d55b74a315b4e2a0866c0d30
'2011-11-25T02:36:03-05:00'
describe
'143535' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJJ' 'sip-files00038.QC.jpg'
b2ba4942a94d6f7eccf8713f943b612e
d509ae516db7a7021c1150b58da20bdd5e68689a
'2011-11-25T02:41:55-05:00'
describe
'244628' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJK' 'sip-files00038.tif'
4e0c04f897b0b5dc28ee52a3bd7875f2
fee87263d9e92b5b034dcaf82685e4b102470351
'2011-11-25T02:31:24-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJL' 'sip-files00038.txt'
46c57aa8b25f656823b9141be03a8534
5ef1866fc94747765ab7d60a16eea8bea2c6175c
describe
'59411' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJM' 'sip-files00038thm.jpg'
0d7bd158ea53a134aa189efa7108994d
97e82877b40fdb6e396e682af1b49ae0276c6eb1
'2011-11-25T02:36:51-05:00'
describe
'58763' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJN' 'sip-files00039.jp2'
33f3b3a6a433bf877a0f3a9c778d9bd6
6eef5b2983479101197621c8b16366e85c23524c
'2011-11-25T02:29:53-05:00'
describe
'350720' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJO' 'sip-files00039.jpg'
a4abbc13437b819ad83b69f4313696b9
89a694f75007b2c89c13aed5520e1c00e96858b7
'2011-11-25T02:29:34-05:00'
describe
'27734' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJP' 'sip-files00039.pro'
347ec9e2acc9e350738db0fdfdcf290a
f8d68e0eb82b9738277853a7916b55dab21aa805
'2011-11-25T02:34:39-05:00'
describe
'141027' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJQ' 'sip-files00039.QC.jpg'
ae1a44cc1b9b6ac2270f52a1d10b7fed
ffaeafbd407e887d8c8e0a2501003b18bc304215
'2011-11-25T02:45:30-05:00'
describe
'262868' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJR' 'sip-files00039.tif'
b9dbb2af60144198059b7df589665df7
1e0550c6031f0e7011420a4a07adeb0b80b34c29
'2011-11-25T02:32:46-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJS' 'sip-files00039.txt'
6435f74c04458e287c1ddc95642e050a
0647a4589627b9775c312f3f3063f63b2b8fc3ac
'2011-11-25T02:45:53-05:00'
describe
'54067' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJT' 'sip-files00039thm.jpg'
55ebe8405ef04203a23d6dc5a494e282
e5726bfd681b4ae10217ddd0a23325ad3be4ba2e
'2011-11-25T02:31:33-05:00'
describe
'59052' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJU' 'sip-files00040.jp2'
68792bea2e680f9d92abbea2bd46cc00
af026e5d172f89e0887bc42dafde6d110b15de0d
'2011-11-25T02:34:41-05:00'
describe
'358613' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJV' 'sip-files00040.jpg'
a4f0f63f566114f17034460fdd5da70c
e2db2f81da9f0f2ac2680b2227dd77f0bc6188ff
'2011-11-25T02:47:50-05:00'
describe
'28045' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJW' 'sip-files00040.pro'
d0e70f98442b37c05798c0aaa5f269e9
71929a724ded8babf538d9b17e3cbd0a3b7fdb2b
'2011-11-25T02:39:15-05:00'
describe
'147965' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJX' 'sip-files00040.QC.jpg'
9551fb67cbacb6822d7550d6e3c745d4
711c07b2807316a1f04fe1440b2f9231ee3371ec
'2011-11-25T02:49:56-05:00'
describe
'259220' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJY' 'sip-files00040.tif'
746aab6af8c2e518509c516d98ee00f4
da2db204176204fddcb9c4e2e2a667492f9a5231
'2011-11-25T02:41:01-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAJZ' 'sip-files00040.txt'
725f1eb0955d3828bd0cf937b863e5e2
5ebd98c2899847bdc123e89b0ed03ac776236023
describe
'55347' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKA' 'sip-files00040thm.jpg'
a8f5bb7dd17fa68497adbdaa74b1cf9c
1992bc635d12e6ef7c1eba84c8202105d4a57ccb
'2011-11-25T02:47:46-05:00'
describe
'60234' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKB' 'sip-files00041.jp2'
1ed8d6cd8675aa0e6c3d373bbca66f26
0b874b057a73b618437e1d6579707e43e1da38b1
'2011-11-25T02:49:00-05:00'
describe
'353696' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKC' 'sip-files00041.jpg'
60f7228db223c10d0701a26dcfb28419
9bfa652ec9ebac8deefbec2b7afebf9816af6325
'2011-11-25T02:34:25-05:00'
describe
'28305' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKD' 'sip-files00041.pro'
7d29bb86ebf6e41c365cd141106549c2
3792e14ee16760294e8d228147e8f2dc20a0b2bc
'2011-11-25T02:47:49-05:00'
describe
'143376' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKE' 'sip-files00041.QC.jpg'
af7f2f92e4402c99771597c02711748c
f62b0ac8db8d9d2bc8adee401c50f5e201bb362c
'2011-11-25T02:48:22-05:00'
describe
'272852' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKF' 'sip-files00041.tif'
d85c0e8fa5165ce2c50e69f6ca854ceb
a9c019b30310967d567af4fa211fe86273031c5c
describe
'1120' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKG' 'sip-files00041.txt'
1daf7f27cd43f663918c3bef6780844e
cbd2af91f67ada8ef31af99c7948fbd77ebe7714
'2011-11-25T02:52:35-05:00'
describe
'53582' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKH' 'sip-files00041thm.jpg'
ad66894e8520dcfb8d3cef7cf18f9575
8ac7c3c43b593786ed311e1ea64b43fa6c3b152b
'2011-11-25T02:46:42-05:00'
describe
'56327' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKI' 'sip-files00042.jp2'
44357724f70edbe3d271b69c6b180f0e
4339b8fcbb2705e759504d8367c21e2cb7bc6ff3
'2011-11-25T02:32:01-05:00'
describe
'342195' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKJ' 'sip-files00042.jpg'
5c3892e7730b55b2feaaec7f1725f88f
6b044a033d8f6f3d51b7ba37861ab89809ef7dd8
describe
'25645' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKK' 'sip-files00042.pro'
b45eae5efe9d6c32dfd037d96aeda826
dcb7b3af7fc813bfc1023b3b03cfd550fd8e141d
'2011-11-25T02:48:02-05:00'
describe
'138631' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKL' 'sip-files00042.QC.jpg'
a7017b4deb3cc430e35022bc24db89a4
5658ed2b87a1d69c232942548b1af9f288d449c6
'2011-11-25T02:47:10-05:00'
describe
'249688' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKM' 'sip-files00042.tif'
e6e606ef872c13cd5b47c912b2e3babb
a34d40e2dad71daa738923b3796354c0ec34c1a6
'2011-11-25T02:44:13-05:00'
describe
'1033' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKN' 'sip-files00042.txt'
cd8a135a1c5e61ef65d1ae56da4ff52c
10852f082b0e0d286026b2b23870612fedfd11e8
describe
'55060' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKO' 'sip-files00042thm.jpg'
1f8c97800f950c0517f1d18b0568616a
d3968668a6e6b56e779c9ad1a0e5a319ac7697ac
describe
'57900' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKP' 'sip-files00043.jp2'
694fa6bfc06aa873a178a371a1bd92d5
7952f00017a2f4fa4c5c08a42763d1f5eaf10c66
'2011-11-25T02:31:21-05:00'
describe
'336931' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKQ' 'sip-files00043.jpg'
575ec6dbcf8731cbee0ebaaa9281baea
4d628af97911952984bc7d3702f621614f832ba6
'2011-11-25T02:35:18-05:00'
describe
'27124' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKR' 'sip-files00043.pro'
219e20fc93ccf55f9ede7e562998d8b4
d18336826936bb2199d12f23f6f8ddc01bed3883
describe
'138203' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKS' 'sip-files00043.QC.jpg'
00275439b80661c2f46cd313f5a75b9e
b668c7a16c5bfe7187e35dc73caa392f5da7f327
'2011-11-25T02:48:06-05:00'
describe
'276976' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKT' 'sip-files00043.tif'
35687363f0ef06469294cf5818a41022
30e57d4469e58dc009b1f1275faac39e191f0713
'2011-11-25T02:34:44-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKU' 'sip-files00043.txt'
3b4602243d9d05563c934a8f3d3bb816
e6f34815aaaf586f972c7a8cb4485f41a3c6e40e
'2011-11-25T02:36:29-05:00'
describe
'51963' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKV' 'sip-files00043thm.jpg'
5948fb91eae0d9778241718651a15d46
5deeac69ddd6b2f63ade2383accaa86c856418af
'2011-11-25T02:45:45-05:00'
describe
'46173' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKW' 'sip-files00044.jp2'
9f7b6e1fb91711268827739d1ff95d28
54fc0f51a46692080374a226309bfe1d69bce582
'2011-11-25T02:29:36-05:00'
describe
'293022' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKX' 'sip-files00044.jpg'
8465dab2ff9ef172222629434194e698
42b481c8696203b02685dc6888ea83b384ba9387
describe
'21003' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKY' 'sip-files00044.pro'
b756182ae7f0f6c8d6557fa60c75c989
6e5ef5a432d02f683bf591145abf9ddb146c6769
'2011-11-25T02:37:06-05:00'
describe
'111360' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAKZ' 'sip-files00044.QC.jpg'
cbff57433cc52a819e33faf0073944d2
b94c5ed8d4752a588c40e37ac3973f41c517f5e6
'2011-11-25T02:44:17-05:00'
describe
'252616' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALA' 'sip-files00044.tif'
2966add4a33a3faa7d7c127ce14507f6
16e65a2331a324452dd91122741c88a0cc1e4bdb
'2011-11-25T02:31:19-05:00'
describe
'850' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALB' 'sip-files00044.txt'
a0914bd1a2b5ce90d79ac67498f0b0a2
9fc61762f4aa10d4a6d39a238b6c6690e0f34933
'2011-11-25T02:39:01-05:00'
describe
'44463' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALC' 'sip-files00044thm.jpg'
a326ec91c5dabd84d9fd5b10270c1565
0215cd214d8990a3e4b4500fd36f684d176dc803
describe
'56746' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALD' 'sip-files00045.jp2'
0b351110e20b3e80012a1417a2d3ea8a
42804829fe1932da8c7a34e144c17603fb326424
'2011-11-25T02:37:49-05:00'
describe
'361402' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALE' 'sip-files00045.jpg'
2b1689fb972a0ab2aede4c521b3316d9
79023135884f934b494214a94ffaf950d7eaa172
'2011-11-25T02:37:30-05:00'
describe
'27009' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALF' 'sip-files00045.pro'
138921f346de25635046ac8b4c38d45d
38010309e668883b8195735c727f8840e1e6848b
'2011-11-25T02:31:36-05:00'
describe
'152865' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALG' 'sip-files00045.QC.jpg'
8b219384cf6c85d0c2a208ea96fdec31
b04f0942b567243cd83b065a34cca2361cab8c89
'2011-11-25T02:34:09-05:00'
describe
'257776' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALH' 'sip-files00045.tif'
4976a502424af7dc8cc35ca2a6c1396b
f75a74b2264d46b756ccd168ad3f8f70fa9de1f9
'2011-11-25T02:48:50-05:00'
describe
'1084' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALI' 'sip-files00045.txt'
64b76ecda83170a9977ec9ca6937ba35
1cf77540d87890ddc5c464904010dd5b165b8894
'2011-11-25T02:41:34-05:00'
describe
'55175' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALJ' 'sip-files00045thm.jpg'
3fbebec177791626374105bd9e6da394
58471cd1cf3ed301be9fe3b61351597f335163f7
'2011-11-25T02:34:45-05:00'
describe
'58402' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALK' 'sip-files00046.jp2'
e0f11c50e73f9834ba3e47fd3e6aa4da
98ed4a5c781de86be022e0fe25d4509d996d6225
'2011-11-25T02:39:34-05:00'
describe
'373288' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALL' 'sip-files00046.jpg'
3d5d07f31d390deffd1837faa2e7a343
d5def6a8128e3432fec582d59f922e684c3374ed
'2011-11-25T02:39:52-05:00'
describe
'26719' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALM' 'sip-files00046.pro'
88c7aaa148a0b29f3df19e9a0b1c10d9
a384ff65944f8d13bb17d5c6bc2c761f6e2199c4
describe
'166177' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALN' 'sip-files00046.QC.jpg'
c31ec8e97c17b21f0bf3957d30f9a9fd
6ffb57f4e7b884d168b53e1d244898f1f6d46944
describe
'235300' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALO' 'sip-files00046.tif'
ebba219ba366bed0e6d870cef77d9fdd
7f910053114573f8c668817972835b36cb82e8e3
'2011-11-25T02:36:31-05:00'
describe
'1071' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALP' 'sip-files00046.txt'
9c2c8cb2d8b6b48d4ca037724b9efafa
01cef5413520d01693d17ae1422869d15867fdf0
'2011-11-25T02:51:55-05:00'
describe
'61397' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALQ' 'sip-files00046thm.jpg'
eb4e5aeb9a9b0bbfe4cf36729b71b400
170c4609fd95b47527c7a5563cd5b32c76dd2573
'2011-11-25T02:39:40-05:00'
describe
'59329' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALR' 'sip-files00047.jp2'
a56617895cc2130bf9f2b163132f5ef5
c9be79a3eb21d84f8ec8673e36a82b828f2e1cc1
'2011-11-25T02:44:04-05:00'
describe
'370668' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALS' 'sip-files00047.jpg'
5f28fde799ddff86bfe6882331fc9c37
9434dc36363577a89929be6de6af023bcb1def91
'2011-11-25T02:32:00-05:00'
describe
'27557' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALT' 'sip-files00047.pro'
4f44b71e50c011bc9c3e77a256d3ba83
87a96ac87f7c25b6d0c45f43651771030f492b7e
'2011-11-25T02:51:34-05:00'
describe
'157437' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALU' 'sip-files00047.QC.jpg'
cb9624ca8231b9e0586ff9f595dddac2
5b9f25f26d6fe401ce06e5cc8fc599b526266646
'2011-11-25T02:46:49-05:00'
describe
'250448' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALV' 'sip-files00047.tif'
0fbb86dac567d53ce6855344f5fe241a
568a86985674649447c238cbc6863a6aa658d945
'2011-11-25T02:31:01-05:00'
describe
'1096' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALW' 'sip-files00047.txt'
8bedb5fbbb0f62bf39466f12a24c3ae0
bbbd87ff8f0b85646b3060f8f808627ef5c5d152
describe
'57600' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALX' 'sip-files00047thm.jpg'
b61cd5b801e4f7086660138fc5d26ff0
ec62bb7a8a96ad878d98d8874371665897c3b0b3
'2011-11-25T02:44:35-05:00'
describe
'57745' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALY' 'sip-files00048.jp2'
3b8f731889d14fe47cea1c37682a40c5
2498e14960fd9204c0d15971e9a624c2d6213b8f
'2011-11-25T02:52:27-05:00'
describe
'368715' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAALZ' 'sip-files00048.jpg'
49a442c8f5c8d236d4ff4b0a26b5bdda
c0b4d9b5fa13cfaf1f2d06c8e1caa5dc676ec7a4
'2011-11-25T02:43:43-05:00'
describe
'26556' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMA' 'sip-files00048.pro'
acb6a0e2a0bcc02e83e5bde824097315
13c1ff0f9231e7794aa1e92d20db25e42ca0eacf
'2011-11-25T02:36:07-05:00'
describe
'144871' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMB' 'sip-files00048.QC.jpg'
822920cc73d94179019ce514381222ac
12c4f8e2835181b6c7045e8ff3938b7f43bf1799
'2011-11-25T02:41:29-05:00'
describe
'236920' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMC' 'sip-files00048.tif'
659c8bc314a8c16ad599bf11b5543cf0
6bc4c3b05c495d2110570e3a7e5dc714374128a9
'2011-11-25T02:43:38-05:00'
describe
'1062' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMD' 'sip-files00048.txt'
08cde4688e74c3ba903d2aefa3f5003e
271929f92032f710be131f602c01f8e421dc8b51
describe
'58646' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAME' 'sip-files00048thm.jpg'
35aac5ed79764e0b87a5dd9a965de933
55b3b044c972052546f70ddf9fa442b77e7d06ee
'2011-11-25T02:34:17-05:00'
describe
'54253' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMF' 'sip-files00049.jp2'
28104b43a10d83845907157f9f5d79e4
bdadc61d0e093656f679a421461cc8f31b0f9795
'2011-11-25T02:44:45-05:00'
describe
'336372' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMG' 'sip-files00049.jpg'
f7217ff7d78ed6ac5d3f4f2c7e5b3429
51a7f954713a71cd1e0d325ad2628a454335b44d
describe
'25693' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMH' 'sip-files00049.pro'
316905ca07198c6477a2a75df8b84873
577a65d189f753113bf109daebfee111005c8f3c
'2011-11-25T02:30:54-05:00'
describe
'139680' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMI' 'sip-files00049.QC.jpg'
7aafe440de8e765b15a953b9a4daee7b
5579558bd5f4901ce888e930fd3cffad43a27de0
'2011-11-25T02:33:29-05:00'
describe
'264824' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMJ' 'sip-files00049.tif'
906854adbf73e382926a6efb6bbfba81
d734ee6a16500f7ff1c37ff7d3fafded1bfaf8fb
describe
'1035' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMK' 'sip-files00049.txt'
8bc6d3c91db91a4cc4b921b4b6049a56
a723bdce921e0ccf281d775c42fd54f07f1f85b4
'2011-11-25T02:43:22-05:00'
describe
'52927' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAML' 'sip-files00049thm.jpg'
ae82c1ccab3c5108ddec78eaf32f42c1
32eee06c908ec3bac43941ee5a735ab8ad9cfb5d
'2011-11-25T02:42:28-05:00'
describe
'56509' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMM' 'sip-files00050.jp2'
b0c50409250b3bfdc52e109f1c037098
3e039e0f9877964313cb501cdf901bb845e1def6
'2011-11-25T02:44:11-05:00'
describe
'332085' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMN' 'sip-files00050.jpg'
71f1411824fd93d2399b50d3f022c8a8
53b30ac71cd243cbe8eee4d6722c7c6326ed60a7
'2011-11-25T02:38:41-05:00'
describe
'26963' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMO' 'sip-files00050.pro'
3f8604957ff4b26385c10bff64e75713
2cf5a801f8be1f1347260b6845f148d1ee3afcd4
'2011-11-25T02:45:27-05:00'
describe
'131004' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMP' 'sip-files00050.QC.jpg'
1f24468b2d9962cc8333ca5a8f27d702
992d8619708ed493014c571b280855668b4525ed
'2011-11-25T02:49:59-05:00'
describe
'250272' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMQ' 'sip-files00050.tif'
73467dec26a1b22662c89efc913a38ec
ab921e2dc9b51de71d55513793b39e7b5e4867a4
describe
'1080' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMR' 'sip-files00050.txt'
0add97a2adcf6977d0429365b4132306
31a5a5357a8d9ca23ddfeb169c94c58619bee7b8
describe
'54191' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMS' 'sip-files00050thm.jpg'
719eb9a85d48e21b63718d444772279c
a94774ccd34d94bd6a9703da1504e056786edb12
'2011-11-25T02:41:20-05:00'
describe
'56175' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMT' 'sip-files00051.jp2'
2a7cf23f413f5003e8f34b1b71d3a856
e29b9152a888484c9e9cc976d81c6b449ac05595
'2011-11-25T02:35:53-05:00'
describe
'346425' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMU' 'sip-files00051.jpg'
c185641c1e69410e4ec44f741ef15345
b9213deb64aadf074b8b2dec0b6138983cbad33a
'2011-11-25T02:51:11-05:00'
describe
'25779' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMV' 'sip-files00051.pro'
f2cb6ecc390414b27efa46cc77b06cbc
181963014ab3694517f15ef3ce25afc6ca087945
describe
'142035' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMW' 'sip-files00051.QC.jpg'
47bdff8b10abbaa5694baa8abdde0bed
e222911fa34576b82b49bcf1b9b5e41a2b45aa98
'2011-11-25T02:32:32-05:00'
describe
'266744' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMX' 'sip-files00051.tif'
536a0dcdf853227f1856e59ed50481c0
39da224c40b9929b07fdcf19a685abcbc48001d7
'2011-11-25T02:33:34-05:00'
describe
'1026' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMY' 'sip-files00051.txt'
04ae1dc69910d6c4fefc21e78e6e6b71
4eb0482d8c5b1341467c7482a6f902d29a427bcd
'2011-11-25T02:39:39-05:00'
describe
'52145' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAMZ' 'sip-files00051thm.jpg'
6fd9ef614b8b8e1ed653bf48f0324760
32e358a1882ad2e5e4333788c9ad21c1956cde1f
'2011-11-25T02:45:57-05:00'
describe
'57621' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANA' 'sip-files00052.jp2'
a53c980ccdbe7b568ccf8786e5062e92
a4c56982bb862d22add23ea50c3dbd3cc5d81e84
describe
'380966' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANB' 'sip-files00052.jpg'
350a0ec2481aecb1ec3b7ed328f856f8
875679e708f526dabc9bdbe72e48ceb31d6487ec
'2011-11-25T02:38:54-05:00'
describe
'26689' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANC' 'sip-files00052.pro'
cb8b768f8a57cb74c2209b9d02d4286a
52b21b4c099519ec5ab22d4377c016a52c9bc7d4
describe
'142260' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAND' 'sip-files00052.QC.jpg'
2795f523b9a74f97004a914f35beb6ff
da02911a21be11b813bc8b7d8b8a8fac0445a18e
'2011-11-25T02:34:16-05:00'
describe
'250424' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANE' 'sip-files00052.tif'
d1edbd9e942ec79e01a567313bd5f8f9
231622b09efd0638e0c29cd885eb430c9ea25cbc
'2011-11-25T02:43:17-05:00'
describe
'1068' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANF' 'sip-files00052.txt'
be9008b1fc4c7f6a1c3048153fbf1946
27ccb2c91918311852424f416bd80323321d0991
'2011-11-25T02:38:53-05:00'
describe
'55779' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANG' 'sip-files00052thm.jpg'
c334106481985910f9ab3c66aa70fcd2
feff1e5bd0c9a314f642318f4529cfce57d22368
'2011-11-25T02:30:26-05:00'
describe
'59136' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANH' 'sip-files00053.jp2'
35007da2eb39607ffd74147585325373
2af26ffe455add973cd206c6788ce0c604e868f8
'2011-11-25T02:49:42-05:00'
describe
'373713' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANI' 'sip-files00053.jpg'
9491ca7f03a51d672316341ecdbfa2ec
792eceeba12fd70c6e6b963b2aa97b1f0491db68
'2011-11-25T02:29:07-05:00'
describe
'28120' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANJ' 'sip-files00053.pro'
8f837b69c60c18d43906ff5e6c2b5a97
6091a915735bb63144d6acc28a5b10c63ff3b809
'2011-11-25T02:40:46-05:00'
describe
'151492' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANK' 'sip-files00053.QC.jpg'
ab69871a238bb31d2bcc43111d37b334
7ba1a2f7a45193f2a60eb782bd18ffcfb639e7dc
describe
'269192' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANL' 'sip-files00053.tif'
e99615167ba4083938c0a08c266b1c80
0b7b1afe1d4b2261a05456904e9d061f5749a2f6
'2011-11-25T02:31:34-05:00'
describe
'1124' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANM' 'sip-files00053.txt'
3b1d98240cf4b4a3fbc6eb9f5900521e
6cb80a563c0fbe0160ff720ae03c0b6a790a4f9e
'2011-11-25T02:50:45-05:00'
describe
'54294' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANN' 'sip-files00053thm.jpg'
7502e85a3e5ec39f2e18ebde182db8aa
9707695b7039eade0b065b0a00bd7be14d92526f
'2011-11-25T02:29:52-05:00'
describe
'58869' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANO' 'sip-files00054.jp2'
9bd4833599123153a19ef64113aba1f8
21a5804e83c3a374883bb90ab2717a523ea5f810
describe
'378115' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANP' 'sip-files00054.jpg'
fc16e5e4ee23e6ee1a19f3435a8b7bde
2b2b81a7e17a2dcd1899def473a496376b340105
describe
'27218' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANQ' 'sip-files00054.pro'
8cb638caecbae0584ceb3a1f166bb9e7
bf879283d77ea61f6bdfa5697bd5a45ff3f499b2
'2011-11-25T02:52:11-05:00'
describe
'147656' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANR' 'sip-files00054.QC.jpg'
931a33999de99f5138fbf25bcddcbe3b
3c70a829212db679ed320fa8e654218bc301f583
'2011-11-25T02:48:30-05:00'
describe
'250880' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANS' 'sip-files00054.tif'
f93ccc29195e07994bf2cbd5f2d57117
4c816d036282bedaf32cc6410cc992381fc8d1ad
describe
'1093' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANT' 'sip-files00054.txt'
92dab7ac8c2b905943522fb444feae9b
d56067a618deb306725599f5b56d4c3b81e82c59
'2011-11-25T02:41:00-05:00'
describe
'56683' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANU' 'sip-files00054thm.jpg'
cdc17f46edc5b20b540d313618417f04
615469c378d1d1a315cbc5eade0f31f50a7792b0
'2011-11-25T02:51:44-05:00'
describe
'53356' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANV' 'sip-files00055.jp2'
e01aa2cee573fa95d05b30e65df1ff84
d7f68616aff344f169c8f44c3255701ef75acdb3
describe
'325360' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANW' 'sip-files00055.jpg'
cbcfc9546d3b190e5bf655b9dca81e58
916c662fabe2ef7dbf25c269a893e21cd8881d6c
'2011-11-25T02:31:50-05:00'
describe
'24929' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANX' 'sip-files00055.pro'
0581c15a36836c4f4987161dc063dbe7
bdf42da3995447ec9eff880783425b4f52156789
'2011-11-25T02:33:59-05:00'
describe
'137291' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANY' 'sip-files00055.QC.jpg'
f15182218fb2d983bd58a95c12a64ea5
74ba5785844ed4051f0e246c863f55a34932616c
'2011-11-25T02:29:21-05:00'
describe
'262620' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAANZ' 'sip-files00055.tif'
360ceb9b59979dc769c691a72cb9a0c6
7d1be7d87347053f596c5e629cd4ac777cda2b3c
'2011-11-25T02:49:11-05:00'
describe
'993' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOA' 'sip-files00055.txt'
03f02c73171b1456882021891debb693
dd588ff9db82aee15c4eca058688710c802b6007
'2011-11-25T02:40:47-05:00'
describe
'53241' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOB' 'sip-files00055thm.jpg'
853fc36b773eb1f73131fc4e45df3fb2
e0450ec75b555706d4998c9ce52b819c0b8e65dc
'2011-11-25T02:42:19-05:00'
describe
'58261' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOC' 'sip-files00056.jp2'
47e52d41e37aa571486cab37f7db9481
f19d9d40af9c61f18f5fe21a9b29f61f142dae32
'2011-11-25T02:45:50-05:00'
describe
'365071' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOD' 'sip-files00056.jpg'
29a843d3ae307179f41057cd5c01d279
0be865ec04a73d5b3a9e34112c127a99978e923b
'2011-11-25T02:46:11-05:00'
describe
'27615' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOE' 'sip-files00056.pro'
caa43961830731d69a91dd1cee013f98
8b40522369810e5449488e3106d967d5463c1262
describe
'150354' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOF' 'sip-files00056.QC.jpg'
c0dda52f30948447ee7f77dd928450e7
7db399bb2bc1f4ce5a138c811509f6447325f0d9
'2011-11-25T02:52:34-05:00'
describe
'262372' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOG' 'sip-files00056.tif'
e5d79a667d288b66810f3221176b1816
83d68e298ad0aa4ed88aea97cb1c9055efa63ee5
'2011-11-25T02:48:48-05:00'
describe
'1097' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOH' 'sip-files00056.txt'
7e3fa4cefa531b011116bc4c0b8ba83e
9802e488f94ef2896baffcc83d981ebd27a943d4
'2011-11-25T02:33:39-05:00'
describe
'54644' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOI' 'sip-files00056thm.jpg'
39e98c5adf98e361f8063a76ac8a3723
0c3ff525adc9ac0795e7dd6ffbf3217a8c32eb85
'2011-11-25T02:34:11-05:00'
describe
'54987' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOJ' 'sip-files00057.jp2'
1c75db5652b9a92f72d3150e21cc4f56
31955aa99562c4b1240ac99e914bfdd8dab15eed
'2011-11-25T02:49:12-05:00'
describe
'350470' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOK' 'sip-files00057.jpg'
3dff60d40f9685dcd6a88e6d267017f3
a699cb5664fe2ba06edb6a147ee3748e0e44e996
'2011-11-25T02:43:51-05:00'
describe
'26131' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOL' 'sip-files00057.pro'
03590003eb1621cb9370d6b3e6cb21d3
008cad78e3e4f8ed612d70eabbea8aba2a9ea896
'2011-11-25T02:35:26-05:00'
describe
'151488' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOM' 'sip-files00057.QC.jpg'
7b7490ae792728ed535c2fdc65a95138
54a5075ec3bb9714fc662847135058e936191a13
'2011-11-25T02:50:06-05:00'
describe
'257320' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAON' 'sip-files00057.tif'
6b2619b8495beb1035061bbf1e22ec24
168ed51fc04a778283d8aa5a82b92c7cbabac5e4
describe
'1055' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOO' 'sip-files00057.txt'
c5b654a48f2c04e71adbc977ae07070a
dc0d713d62f5ba81958576a63fccfa1bfc4e310f
describe
'55393' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOP' 'sip-files00057thm.jpg'
386c47fbd9df5b27d60818f542fdfb91
bacb7015d8f8d8884bc2c1fd8de88dfe2829f799
'2011-11-25T02:35:36-05:00'
describe
'54637' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOQ' 'sip-files00058.jp2'
255134db3d7b4691a4b901b5347dc662
89949ef901c9bf987f0ca3721ad1c4d264571bc7
describe
'343132' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOR' 'sip-files00058.jpg'
424838a55ced8fe89c37944d23e34e15
6a44de058ef88fbd59ac0b02bab74b5160b637ad
'2011-11-25T02:44:08-05:00'
describe
'25490' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOS' 'sip-files00058.pro'
2d695501501fab740063ed0fe9b160d3
f43b0bcd04661ac6912f77ac652a499c25b00b5a
'2011-11-25T02:36:06-05:00'
describe
'143634' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOT' 'sip-files00058.QC.jpg'
82b78ddd847a953e8d30baa0d3c7ce26
88ee5ca05a364882aad19efba0e6d100d617e580
describe
'258120' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOU' 'sip-files00058.tif'
f4b3bbfa353e58d6c6d802e0d791e8f8
133723ebb3e7a6a02b0313208b97ec4a61f1d5a7
'2011-11-25T02:31:58-05:00'
describe
'1020' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOV' 'sip-files00058.txt'
11e9201847c040c09a51d0d6ef3d4cf3
2a394b236fab50bf2f7e69a54fa531c06d42afcf
'2011-11-25T02:38:45-05:00'
describe
'53955' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOW' 'sip-files00058thm.jpg'
c6a6fedcbd40379f8cbaaa51234c5f02
73e124984a66523276bb73f27fa417a43755350a
'2011-11-25T02:39:56-05:00'
describe
'60525' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOX' 'sip-files00059.jp2'
b1f82a426746e49567d52ce5d7a17390
723141d8f892fcf50ae51e43f358c9fc43f4a8fd
describe
'387954' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOY' 'sip-files00059.jpg'
1f9e28cb58561800cdd77f2b3135649b
34088496cb3af6c6d9ed9aca7c15c6c5f74625c9
'2011-11-25T02:38:21-05:00'
describe
'28753' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAOZ' 'sip-files00059.pro'
f6e24ec4e0d393fe5bc01d2a56753c0f
887205694886639e1b286d13c9cf0b55e66d6bd3
'2011-11-25T02:35:58-05:00'
describe
'159090' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPA' 'sip-files00059.QC.jpg'
bcaa174978e6fb897f62b7365ceb4d41
090560d8621ea13cf6f23d6359d88bb89740f3a4
'2011-11-25T02:42:04-05:00'
describe
'254484' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPB' 'sip-files00059.tif'
f94647158d3c258dc4c03f4258d7aefc
57595b44b502d92d26a4efe06fb7b42e6c6d80db
'2011-11-25T02:52:20-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPC' 'sip-files00059.txt'
58e6056c7b6cc5d292d2c146ee061188
3c224c1beb3c49d13cf5c962f4f09e9fc491a5fe
'2011-11-25T02:40:01-05:00'
describe
'57286' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPD' 'sip-files00059thm.jpg'
5459eff8acd5359d7673cb95610bd444
bd65a01838ab6a3d166bf7f5142dec78c7d20218
'2011-11-25T02:45:18-05:00'
describe
'58145' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPE' 'sip-files00060.jp2'
74cc43d6d29e55090ea1f65b8c9ef236
e54e0017f1f5946c9493f6026c8ac6a8a25def41
'2011-11-25T02:49:58-05:00'
describe
'367059' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPF' 'sip-files00060.jpg'
e30ab0dcf118264e4e4a01501ee10b98
a2e5bc6b37f9e9ca2bd600a2ab9970b309bafb40
'2011-11-25T02:34:27-05:00'
describe
'27422' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPG' 'sip-files00060.pro'
877a6d067cde5eb1edb1e50c2df4f3dc
99dfc60418bef868b8586f28d29942274a80737f
describe
'151448' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPH' 'sip-files00060.QC.jpg'
2b7464c5def22d848561742f4003d6ae
d8a869500124d68690143be2ccc7d9ab51ebc1c1
'2011-11-25T02:52:33-05:00'
describe
'241208' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPI' 'sip-files00060.tif'
306affd97d3dfb55d26bccfce73abf0b
3527e6e902fb74b8a87600ac4b615ae7fc3b5b9d
'2011-11-25T02:31:04-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPJ' 'sip-files00060.txt'
fac0f081a96846b46c4bc33eedd5e542
e4753c364d67d097557a5d088363a0907284ea78
'2011-11-25T02:43:30-05:00'
describe
'60792' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPK' 'sip-files00060thm.jpg'
f2c682411a7372d3b77326ed39331c8c
96f80dc716916990d81f1dcecc877ee61b52c256
describe
'60609' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPL' 'sip-files00061.jp2'
410cd303f77fa4ae07725ab4c31bfe27
ac63c343eaa68054db9d3d24f38078ea6f3b7520
'2011-11-25T02:49:32-05:00'
describe
'376512' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPM' 'sip-files00061.jpg'
233bf197e5574f68f6ed567834f3a39d
5e046d1dd5558f74c4c11d41c664b8911f64ca2f
'2011-11-25T02:49:04-05:00'
describe
'28526' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPN' 'sip-files00061.pro'
babe7c0b833d9b04ce1747f95353dd14
e61686009679136a20c1e223300e1a369ea7d576
'2011-11-25T02:52:21-05:00'
describe
'155752' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPO' 'sip-files00061.QC.jpg'
8f8abb0a2892edf3f831afeb1b74550c
5bfaa3967c727f6b4a7f36186251927695ffc592
'2011-11-25T02:51:30-05:00'
describe
'267372' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPP' 'sip-files00061.tif'
989ebadb6624e308a4e5e9e44a29c954
d0b4320ede85947cda0a903e5b00fa6dc1d7670f
'2011-11-25T02:31:22-05:00'
describe
'1130' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPQ' 'sip-files00061.txt'
bf02c734c47bb85f42cc026b5478c268
9191c1c66904db68382d45f5d186c7bfa8e01101
'2011-11-25T02:46:29-05:00'
describe
'55418' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPR' 'sip-files00061thm.jpg'
bea277e43ccc5307fd3cb937e342870d
b963ac27f0b0633c3c5bcbf38eeb0f334e16925c
'2011-11-25T02:38:18-05:00'
describe
'58673' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPS' 'sip-files00062.jp2'
99b183dc232c973d4bce3bc64a42cee3
9b493dc78486e0beb492aa7ebd88c0679c1e91e9
'2011-11-25T02:36:42-05:00'
describe
'374928' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPT' 'sip-files00062.jpg'
df4467704f38ddeb01ba53a14bb4c78c
194c362496048d7fb66533ec42ea553fe2646c4a
'2011-11-25T02:42:34-05:00'
describe
'27882' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPU' 'sip-files00062.pro'
fa5cd11ad9d717e9e6ea2cb34244791b
264587ccf5609f0f230553a6cfe976fbe1dfb53b
'2011-11-25T02:33:07-05:00'
describe
'150767' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPV' 'sip-files00062.QC.jpg'
324c2e6ac201b14b9de34fbd49f8a264
fa308badcf118d5180e15b11897a6e9482b139fb
describe
'247112' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPW' 'sip-files00062.tif'
0d671e35a5c0a4b7944ded59358c1752
e72fb77e8fc05f804e34bab89877c09f12c8f105
'2011-11-25T02:33:20-05:00'
describe
'1108' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPX' 'sip-files00062.txt'
53a94a2352dc55a2f92d49acafe3cbfb
e31a8617458f2acbfdbf501e3a3ace825eebdd7d
describe
'58499' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPY' 'sip-files00062thm.jpg'
4bfd161e9103b76ddc72694edb4e7a38
efeb8c7a9b0f87104c21eda0f811d255160b076f
describe
'59051' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAPZ' 'sip-files00063.jp2'
23abbe63e60253310bfd1b02f8c0ccf6
486f4feb805134a4d5b8e4b64f8d7b6c833ba568
'2011-11-25T02:44:20-05:00'
describe
'363892' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQA' 'sip-files00063.jpg'
95cd2ec7efddbdd786a4caae5c97dc51
6075eef208de9bf14819fd43d0bfadcd366aea00
'2011-11-25T02:45:34-05:00'
describe
'28140' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQB' 'sip-files00063.pro'
8d1c46c833a463685824150c876c15fd
3e43885132d6bc914fa4b70bbc465c916674cc83
'2011-11-25T02:42:47-05:00'
describe
'146976' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQC' 'sip-files00063.QC.jpg'
a2c1c8d6dd6b98c25761334bd1729e37
1dfc87b0cfcc2e2d5ce4dca4cffad6c0529c4771
'2011-11-25T02:30:20-05:00'
describe
'261644' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQD' 'sip-files00063.tif'
23c7a35f24748f4ebcfd824a7db1c55e
852e327cd95e7b301cb5223dea15249460f3d31a
'2011-11-25T02:29:15-05:00'
describe
'1117' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQE' 'sip-files00063.txt'
8b794a0a116f6536312b6169285ab4e3
b042ab3280fecfa6dfcb1efca28876ce2cbd23fb
'2011-11-25T02:50:12-05:00'
describe
'53846' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQF' 'sip-files00063thm.jpg'
76ca83944e47409e1641db3f2b776128
ba1c8a800d8a8267e63ee021e36f42a311d91dbf
'2011-11-25T02:34:29-05:00'
describe
'59271' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQG' 'sip-files00064.jp2'
7b17eafb0cae756e907a3f78d187edef
9d1f637278300f4a7c7becabe7cc3758913cf926
describe
'365728' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQH' 'sip-files00064.jpg'
4b3ed667b73452dcb1e8cbb42b5ea156
3a912a65e8e0c95de4b41104a8f9cc1c170c797d
'2011-11-25T02:36:48-05:00'
describe
'28124' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQI' 'sip-files00064.pro'
b4cb90544ae23b3189cfa1fc4112233a
cee876e452baea4ce33d3adbe57a01fe168c93d3
'2011-11-25T02:41:47-05:00'
describe
'149020' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQJ' 'sip-files00064.QC.jpg'
138f2e96915a66a3dace92a9b2cd413e
55437adcf46fbdaebcce8cb2464cbae655aa1eaf
'2011-11-25T02:29:05-05:00'
describe
'260108' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQK' 'sip-files00064.tif'
bb26af992d5824a7d4e165174234813e
45795adb96fc619e8baabd6603fad0d9b8fed466
'2011-11-25T02:49:53-05:00'
describe
'1116' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQL' 'sip-files00064.txt'
bf8eadd324ee0c0bdefabffc89b5af9a
03515cfd25985637d5ff75815dcd87342758195a
describe
'54242' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQM' 'sip-files00064thm.jpg'
c55aa429486c7efb8ddb6bd61b0efe94
7bd1faec432609e78e3c7019708ae125659b4d08
'2011-11-25T02:50:38-05:00'
describe
'53107' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQN' 'sip-files00065.jp2'
61b63935ba6abc3fd1defc3cedeb188e
46f4eb0b1416b5964df0fe400981a534e225ded6
'2011-11-25T02:38:01-05:00'
describe
'332589' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQO' 'sip-files00065.jpg'
2d37ad967e181221223af0ff9c41b4b7
95c87c814a0d9b29b32976979d2df1c897b49c01
'2011-11-25T02:29:37-05:00'
describe
'25048' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQP' 'sip-files00065.pro'
4b2c012d6443caacc209118ced0e8189
3bc6c7ca5df64ef1d581c416c711853def86c84c
'2011-11-25T02:39:41-05:00'
describe
'137632' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQQ' 'sip-files00065.QC.jpg'
bf810a3d4653cb1bbdc768d9bc156ccf
13b2cc0b59379bacf5eb205b2cae86a8e28ad343
'2011-11-25T02:29:59-05:00'
describe
'261592' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQR' 'sip-files00065.tif'
e962432c9a7ce05bdea4512ba5804914
0ef304faa80bacbdda1087e4805f944979f15e9c
'2011-11-25T02:36:02-05:00'
describe
'990' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQS' 'sip-files00065.txt'
c514ca5e9de30186e8c36b5bf3a51e1f
01018f63a277c2eddb78cd709769c50a9f7671da
'2011-11-25T02:45:13-05:00'
describe
'51225' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQT' 'sip-files00065thm.jpg'
3bfb285ba441e861b13df8e2ad3229d4
7595e942fecedd89158ae62e34cab52deac158a6
'2011-11-25T02:30:24-05:00'
describe
'46318' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQU' 'sip-files00066.jp2'
0f35007570ec5e43309e27bfef2b92e8
bad8ee298dafe8096125d0b730eb5d0862d1d727
'2011-11-25T02:32:31-05:00'
describe
'316882' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQV' 'sip-files00066.jpg'
8e89c21c880384b8b6d52938b9a9a12f
8f1e5c7bfbc95bef479d2edfd2d9d018b5e905e0
describe
'21463' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQW' 'sip-files00066.pro'
bab6916d88d9e0e3df99daedf437aa94
f020012a11f21d9bc42bc5eaa694b41861d5067f
'2011-11-25T02:44:19-05:00'
describe
'124642' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQX' 'sip-files00066.QC.jpg'
2c29c6051a0aa069230e3030bfa4a0ba
d89eb19d9c102bc8fa68a118ec9b0c9dd89ccb35
'2011-11-25T02:49:57-05:00'
describe
'230028' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQY' 'sip-files00066.tif'
1908a9b1a7bfeeb9913ea7661df2d0f3
465e8c68b699a18d566639967b779be6913d4bc3
'2011-11-25T02:35:34-05:00'
describe
'875' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAQZ' 'sip-files00066.txt'
8d5706c3971c4f672029eb7401066a02
20c739f1f488570320d52b94494163af46816de1
'2011-11-25T02:48:35-05:00'
describe
'52037' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARA' 'sip-files00066thm.jpg'
8cb974adcafe28b955114fbd0fb448e6
3b14fcde67f73ddc47b8883bcb2d91b9fd9e0f9d
'2011-11-25T02:37:37-05:00'
describe
'57407' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARB' 'sip-files00067.jp2'
207269528f61df5e5e347d314b890126
8d906808669b29891e00b500c7f3b019c8d96efa
'2011-11-25T02:36:17-05:00'
describe
'349098' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARC' 'sip-files00067.jpg'
0540541f1e3a97fe17389ea59e225457
3206e88a363048c2de07fa93a79b2b8d93137029
'2011-11-25T02:48:24-05:00'
describe
'26456' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARD' 'sip-files00067.pro'
4cab5291b9d7f6590e2a2cb7ccbe4e74
6e5b887cedd8a7731c047e62306c94c294336792
describe
'145580' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARE' 'sip-files00067.QC.jpg'
4cfc7deef3c7b734167ecb0f825d69eb
3f35d2b4dd882b7c451655b1ce4bbc9ae44e3800
'2011-11-25T02:40:41-05:00'
describe
'247152' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARF' 'sip-files00067.tif'
9f749d7e686f2328885b16d2288c0ebc
a77d4c3750de67f7e1d8f0c0f3718fb7311f0271
'2011-11-25T02:45:19-05:00'
describe
'1052' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARG' 'sip-files00067.txt'
2851a4f39a4bc06ed8581863b189c12c
659dfba23dc2c6b4b53c5ab3c7c3cbbb2e0311db
describe
'55619' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARH' 'sip-files00067thm.jpg'
f5b3311fb52abbe7b670e06c6545c2d9
08bd5b9473220f87d2fa125618d363d8f93242c1
'2011-11-25T02:35:14-05:00'
describe
'58601' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARI' 'sip-files00068.jp2'
d0e0b06fe31b94ace7bbc7197dceda4f
cdf7b66969ed94096b8e41e467207e6a78b11846
'2011-11-25T02:33:01-05:00'
describe
'360682' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARJ' 'sip-files00068.jpg'
a9b588bde5dd7036f6a542b8fb5fe5c2
b3e0fa90adaa42304862bb25b6463aa773da75a8
'2011-11-25T02:43:48-05:00'
describe
'27982' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARK' 'sip-files00068.pro'
d10c5f0315457b623312c4f4cd14befb
ff1870bd451770e0b93bf44a73fb076056167a89
'2011-11-25T02:38:51-05:00'
describe
'150151' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARL' 'sip-files00068.QC.jpg'
0e6e3d62f0c0d53cd4060dcd9dd43e98
f45a708a4fbd0a0060c6bd40a97c85e2f34dd393
'2011-11-25T02:31:07-05:00'
describe
'257880' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARM' 'sip-files00068.tif'
d0f925fafd92a1d0c9e2ea945a6f602e
3262e243ac2c7ae22cb754107061247f2f341596
'2011-11-25T02:42:07-05:00'
describe
'1134' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARN' 'sip-files00068.txt'
94555899e289d888d41e16e99f083fe2
8ed8bb7997d57c9e0072d568eb92ac01fad4e0cb
'2011-11-25T02:43:57-05:00'
describe
'52196' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARO' 'sip-files00068thm.jpg'
eca47aff04c3d256707a32e6b0c5de92
95bf78b3e0852a4a14fb207724203e2e48e58529
'2011-11-25T02:46:43-05:00'
describe
'57579' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARP' 'sip-files00069.jp2'
3a59f686e45d392608836fa1e445ba00
9fb02ab8f98e7adf64fadf843fb88d19e882b0f5
describe
'380451' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARQ' 'sip-files00069.jpg'
71d9dbe81ff8468ce37e4a76b1741e17
668fcb72bc7910aa93c6d319d04e6a7cc9027463
'2011-11-25T02:33:05-05:00'
describe
'27462' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARR' 'sip-files00069.pro'
148a82111b0bcfb66fc96753067c8eb5
6089017a1a4fb057f7cc985c81f02a2a591fd57d
describe
'151467' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARS' 'sip-files00069.QC.jpg'
c940e3d8ed59fb434b5cb6a51344ada3
88f8a2346d51eb45195d4930a655c570f8e2138a
'2011-11-25T02:33:06-05:00'
describe
'228180' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAART' 'sip-files00069.tif'
8ea51d9292a6c516a7e643b55b34401e
54a355cf3254eddd80ffc1a0c584ae84076650f6
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARU' 'sip-files00069.txt'
63c043e6b7b994469099b60eee6dc43a
7122195ef66af4693b5807849fc4a9c5257dda0b
'2011-11-25T02:29:16-05:00'
describe
'63742' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARV' 'sip-files00069thm.jpg'
50b5857da70b0638b401e000ab9c13be
6858d8a567e1a0a61bfb5db2704a3eb758217306
'2011-11-25T02:46:25-05:00'
describe
'57622' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARW' 'sip-files00070.jp2'
f1f6c6c24ff4c84cde77514f903dcb4d
2fd8d466e522634a7791f058ad4e84edd3351031
'2011-11-25T02:40:24-05:00'
describe
'325257' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARX' 'sip-files00070.jpg'
cc2fb29ca54125bce3ed210a5a2cacd3
8e90c2dd31afc3a6d311874c8c4f9e48723b1e39
'2011-11-25T02:35:40-05:00'
describe
'26970' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARY' 'sip-files00070.pro'
9882e9557d1bb6e6a18dbfea7d726575
2c57ec0745ac1fb2b8501108b6370be708fcb5f3
'2011-11-25T02:29:49-05:00'
describe
'130198' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAARZ' 'sip-files00070.QC.jpg'
674709f7dacbea2e90eb5d2d89833170
744b185d6b13730ad5d07b93711bc4cb1c5cba38
'2011-11-25T02:44:34-05:00'
describe
'288644' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASA' 'sip-files00070.tif'
670117d8f8f2e328d3ca0d699665beea
f078177c3fe1165856b4ed702a61578adb1e1a80
'2011-11-25T02:36:47-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASB' 'sip-files00070.txt'
4c096b89e0918512c58b68e72a652c57
90b8191770ab464d594fcc42304604e78a9b421e
'2011-11-25T02:47:47-05:00'
describe
'52181' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASC' 'sip-files00070thm.jpg'
1889e437ed82e4a164791d831b4b3844
b84c7cd44b82a1028a7ea78fa243548ed7da8ce4
'2011-11-25T02:51:00-05:00'
describe
'55883' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASD' 'sip-files00071.jp2'
27ec931d155f53ad071bcd5211bf39e7
6dc99ef0ca685c4a59cb7eea4a1e7b63217e69af
'2011-11-25T02:34:56-05:00'
describe
'319439' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASE' 'sip-files00071.jpg'
f31cecbb42631dab3194272639eb3865
1cf0761c7f133299702fd9c6bae9ab678ee9e9e7
'2011-11-25T02:44:27-05:00'
describe
'26295' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASF' 'sip-files00071.pro'
19254e5a5c555fc5d90b0bce5269a868
426cef32dd148affdbdc8de494f5bdf6c1c46b24
'2011-11-25T02:45:17-05:00'
describe
'127940' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASG' 'sip-files00071.QC.jpg'
70ac7ebd0a232f4d76eaf2a5dc80ff30
c9ba3d09c57c3254dca693a7ab22d7af314c6f21
'2011-11-25T02:37:52-05:00'
describe
'277332' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASH' 'sip-files00071.tif'
560e04bd3e99a9f8b4f2abd0716ea778
afb96f609af0e491251eb5aa323f259dab7f3697
'2011-11-25T02:39:23-05:00'
describe
'1072' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASI' 'sip-files00071.txt'
3f25bf66cc2dcc79727c62148b3ab194
29a949667bd081e4e43962b2d6bf49cb9a259d1b
'2011-11-25T02:50:59-05:00'
describe
'52736' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASJ' 'sip-files00071thm.jpg'
f94ae4ec3e0636d3aeff7fb2861d7e7f
b200a42a6cb7066d17c91f37e791a06c8842064f
'2011-11-25T02:42:06-05:00'
describe
'59115' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASK' 'sip-files00072.jp2'
54634aebf1169c74bfe66d40c242ffe9
618852b3f5ce4417ee81064caea0d4306eb0f720
'2011-11-25T02:43:10-05:00'
describe
'333978' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASL' 'sip-files00072.jpg'
3f2d2c5f485ef6de3a6217214d3282c2
d9d38f2d77e7ceecd174ab49d6b906b68bf4ab27
'2011-11-25T02:38:29-05:00'
describe
'27896' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASM' 'sip-files00072.pro'
976c8df1ea0e63f75edfbf9674565448
dea278a03ba76a0cdf324dff42b7019d0a72f3fc
describe
'137413' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASN' 'sip-files00072.QC.jpg'
c83e5614629927c1bbe9694608986d64
e6cbd66ab19a69cb6edee6cd631ae9f15631babd
'2011-11-25T02:30:14-05:00'
describe
'296896' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASO' 'sip-files00072.tif'
29377216397e2d8622d6667583ce101a
a902a88cff2b26a4843761d932371a445205961c
'2011-11-25T02:29:29-05:00'
describe
'1111' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASP' 'sip-files00072.txt'
816281beeae3ee7a7b145a6c4717447b
fea6c82705eb2854ccf1c92efd3182344b1d38fd
'2011-11-25T02:34:21-05:00'
describe
'51761' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASQ' 'sip-files00072thm.jpg'
8ec011f871ffb74a5b9e1c4591a04d91
2e8c9c035cf9eb5805d1e0049c0d5b3721b2cf7d
describe
'58065' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASR' 'sip-files00073.jp2'
1edbfa16e7d30fb590a9b3acc66da66d
a925a8a09654b0dd34c8597be4570e3bd62605a0
describe
'323298' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASS' 'sip-files00073.jpg'
811eedc8df5a3a59688557b289663944
935e41999976ecd5ecda035432da5b30c23160e5
'2011-11-25T02:50:37-05:00'
describe
'26808' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAST' 'sip-files00073.pro'
39d0dd90e9284d82be95a4492ab11a37
5576490cf440df7d89557fb3e17c9916f2b50fa5
'2011-11-25T02:38:32-05:00'
describe
'133450' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASU' 'sip-files00073.QC.jpg'
679d429014dc77fbcace2d60dcb0563a
c7edacae9864c0ceefcd2d630c72efb392acd212
describe
'277708' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASV' 'sip-files00073.tif'
cf30db0afac9eaf0fd697bc61870adff
14274c0825a076d1f69825282a6c58359fef027c
'2011-11-25T02:46:28-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASW' 'sip-files00073.txt'
18124d7b3653449df6c48bc82e8139dd
0a3af3227c35756a184f9d7f5b1549a3702da0cf
'2011-11-25T02:44:21-05:00'
describe
'53858' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASX' 'sip-files00073thm.jpg'
abdab38903604f0d37a2a999158c7ddb
b86e47db9e5d6432cb00843c5807858993304b88
'2011-11-25T02:51:10-05:00'
describe
'56519' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASY' 'sip-files00074.jp2'
c921efb1e7548a6a1720da665ef03b69
4a6ab7927bfa661110df7c6a7e47895d6f824e90
describe
'318445' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAASZ' 'sip-files00074.jpg'
5f3e43e21547a26c0ed94779459deb01
191db73b67556e89577c3c3e4dd6a5ac7616a0b1
'2011-11-25T02:29:44-05:00'
describe
'26094' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATA' 'sip-files00074.pro'
7bab501c8e65bac0eb863ee990888516
6bead55af99bcde87b52639349661b5163a0607c
'2011-11-25T02:52:01-05:00'
describe
'132205' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATB' 'sip-files00074.QC.jpg'
6408f987e76dba5aeac4f9f0e1f975e2
f42b545a411588859f0c39182f5617a4b54e2bfe
'2011-11-25T02:30:10-05:00'
describe
'273952' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATC' 'sip-files00074.tif'
cf78bc736e31a1f38902b3f505df44db
76040228e3fec3a373dc168332b6a398f4239284
'2011-11-25T02:39:22-05:00'
describe
'1042' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATD' 'sip-files00074.txt'
defc6132a44994b279397a1573ae2900
429a39c4a8736f1898e917d8ef34820c741eb770
'2011-11-25T02:29:11-05:00'
describe
'54892' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATE' 'sip-files00074thm.jpg'
557c68b21807a06fe8d838b9e041a682
fe6f4ec986f2a0fd4289ce7cb184c46258fd660a
describe
'59521' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATF' 'sip-files00075.jp2'
766c278f3e3b3aceb1b837cca20a24f0
2c52e5f1bcd8056cc7769ea58ec92ceea9761f08
'2011-11-25T02:29:38-05:00'
describe
'343400' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATG' 'sip-files00075.jpg'
548ffd553e6b38bd6273313cdbda84d4
61daf00dfb4e145d242d26539ca7b577c455719d
describe
'27959' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATH' 'sip-files00075.pro'
11f1e00363e5a00265e42bf456f9acb2
9f2a2d961c7a1db482983d4b5f973b5e7dce7d58
'2011-11-25T02:52:00-05:00'
describe
'140755' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATI' 'sip-files00075.QC.jpg'
d91b5fa24086b938598695ba6381e49c
1b5518e98cca6357932ce937fa46e81325c945e0
describe
'268256' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATJ' 'sip-files00075.tif'
abef00fd59b015bc1802e7ae674dea21
2e159b5bea4657fc5cb696a3f99086747576f1b0
'2011-11-25T02:41:27-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATK' 'sip-files00075.txt'
f5fad678fac4a1057760a1efb24e2269
7fd0af92f6d75197d4e4c5d3f77953dfb0d28011
'2011-11-25T02:46:27-05:00'
describe
'56281' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATL' 'sip-files00075thm.jpg'
69998d5fe3ed26fa1ce18795088a02a0
3618b32cc73218753f3c38b5e97b2ddc9af63493
'2011-11-25T02:45:24-05:00'
describe
'60193' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATM' 'sip-files00076.jp2'
3b84ce953c65223058c80a0d4a9361d5
80b979ebed5c0732336de2118d771862818def92
'2011-11-25T02:45:11-05:00'
describe
'342081' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATN' 'sip-files00076.jpg'
494184d297bfd02644eb78d47cd94fe3
96b8338c21e93ea758d65f360ec2533c80c9ea9d
'2011-11-25T02:30:47-05:00'
describe
'27881' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATO' 'sip-files00076.pro'
6021b5495f2d6f83184e3e57791364e9
e97eef852d8eeb394ce41b29f64b33727efb04fc
'2011-11-25T02:45:05-05:00'
describe
'135391' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATP' 'sip-files00076.QC.jpg'
96ede63465eee6ae4dd8a48ea59a33d7
71b62c9b51b939bcd77fabd73ba88b9c6a7b8acf
'2011-11-25T02:51:03-05:00'
describe
'284500' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATQ' 'sip-files00076.tif'
823b8d87ebbec1f1c6b5dd3922bdb82c
f0a4126fe1ca38666cd76cc9638d93f3a468a36a
'2011-11-25T02:39:59-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATR' 'sip-files00076.txt'
4bafa9449d4be2b8ab043bed2d9750e0
b76a2a49e4ad64f0bd186b9c330137ebb729d5a9
'2011-11-25T02:45:51-05:00'
describe
'52934' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATS' 'sip-files00076thm.jpg'
ae4be7855b5f078c5762c1e870908f72
4db5486e6e70b24e22a019a5d4ab1f7c217c2ec6
'2011-11-25T02:37:31-05:00'
describe
'60430' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATT' 'sip-files00077.jp2'
ec9abc58dad998fcf61950bfc3759c56
065e0a6841fd200cb2492265c535b33147f1e0a8
'2011-11-25T02:32:30-05:00'
describe
'349947' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATU' 'sip-files00077.jpg'
8b70bd7ccf7ecf5c22ab58abcd40e858
29d5170405f248af2a116e833836abfbdb98da55
'2011-11-25T02:48:55-05:00'
describe
'28699' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATV' 'sip-files00077.pro'
5b048ab4d4098eaae14e5b60e4f38722
670e4965d36c9bf012d04a73aa785a51a3d4a6b9
describe
'138417' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATW' 'sip-files00077.QC.jpg'
e62069db6b66b7515118eee695951d7e
9f1623a4e58712018936509a8a719dba74f7195a
'2011-11-25T02:41:12-05:00'
describe
'264472' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATX' 'sip-files00077.tif'
356ab2ecfad8519607e6970de950222d
0a629a98bcbb71e1d3653cc6dc17f4264216d093
describe
'1150' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATY' 'sip-files00077.txt'
0d55025e8d595720c3f09736cc7dd5e2
45b1cd9197ebf33b8604548cbddc4a9658d6c603
'2011-11-25T02:49:34-05:00'
describe
'56435' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAATZ' 'sip-files00077thm.jpg'
36ccd263752b06ca30d4eeb79d8e93bc
6496f8f0fa95a2ca1e94dbc9399899ba4cadb584
'2011-11-25T02:50:26-05:00'
describe
'57903' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUA' 'sip-files00078.jp2'
626421c430adf1cae12ffc5818bc1863
0293719b71ca22be2bd4871cb939484b93e48b03
'2011-11-25T02:37:24-05:00'
describe
'334699' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUB' 'sip-files00078.jpg'
36944479eb3930a7eee2334845051ffa
3c882d576ccd7637bc84ea1cea1e62cdeb278485
describe
'27778' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUC' 'sip-files00078.pro'
54737881184336bd82fc2a647c01c855
2db32181ab959dadb1d17e7e6add42ec745916b7
describe
'136521' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUD' 'sip-files00078.QC.jpg'
f0b0d363c021475071562123c627a521
e1a13395930a31a6cb87b38a53235d25a9edf4e6
'2011-11-25T02:50:00-05:00'
describe
'268272' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUE' 'sip-files00078.tif'
e274c748454bc86f86cad7dd5b7cc926
cd83f321d94a1d85e48f8adaeb1ca88f56309ec7
'2011-11-25T02:38:26-05:00'
describe
'1115' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUF' 'sip-files00078.txt'
c8648ffa755a17abdaff001130febc1e
5e0555b268503652a4c1dc12c87f79750fe22aac
'2011-11-25T02:41:30-05:00'
describe
'53763' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUG' 'sip-files00078thm.jpg'
6d32faa88852e6fde2f86149d82b0f6e
d3d98c7b2de1c1bf879d8f83e755a77e37f8cd0f
'2011-11-25T02:37:09-05:00'
describe
'53392' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUH' 'sip-files00079.jp2'
0ac68eeb671b67a4651a31cc90f09874
77a0d82437d1c5b78c0cc10efd0105ba82089092
'2011-11-25T02:46:17-05:00'
describe
'307764' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUI' 'sip-files00079.jpg'
133145cc657ac71b1201ffb3562c2f6c
cfacc4b02348186ac1c09231d1023e03e203b3cd
'2011-11-25T02:52:31-05:00'
describe
'25559' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUJ' 'sip-files00079.pro'
ed5a90763afd8624299b5d35ea817442
e6785b847de26c0e0e3b778856a1b8b86e5e31b6
'2011-11-25T02:38:39-05:00'
describe
'124980' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUK' 'sip-files00079.QC.jpg'
1f5e66fe9f2336ebc92255d20543d32b
26435c1dbeaefae8226e9758e136e498cfea2853
'2011-11-25T02:49:33-05:00'
describe
'275152' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUL' 'sip-files00079.tif'
ad693bf91e08ff805a23b7eb18fa0997
606d6541ea8e84137e796630a6fc3787c2f90d4d
describe
'1019' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUM' 'sip-files00079.txt'
c54912df02f23fc1008fedc2c21915c5
e30b69b2e511ca5209be2e46293f8a344b91ea2b
'2011-11-25T02:35:23-05:00'
describe
'50860' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUN' 'sip-files00079thm.jpg'
07974e06dc64ec69226608406560ff6c
783c4635fdc4782dad1252f753dbdf692967bb25
'2011-11-25T02:29:13-05:00'
describe
'58548' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUO' 'sip-files00080.jp2'
eea0854b8b4f6d31f706c843fd6c25a9
eafb8d5bd3eda5b916cd2dcad833ffcee42a53a7
describe
'335621' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUP' 'sip-files00080.jpg'
dd8ee8f5424d66fda9e841e57fd18133
6ed00aebb29cf9176cd23fc59cca0fa72d39085c
'2011-11-25T02:30:48-05:00'
describe
'28229' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUQ' 'sip-files00080.pro'
606d2f39a7d4c91188da3fc09e46268e
bb819a138ee550708059eaced80dfdf6a678573b
'2011-11-25T02:35:51-05:00'
describe
'135850' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUR' 'sip-files00080.QC.jpg'
565e8c844034ea75045663df6e5b274a
2f2c6900c641a998cb665e962181fa799be0b3a3
'2011-11-25T02:36:30-05:00'
describe
'290768' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUS' 'sip-files00080.tif'
91416ea0fa2cac376dc6642729b4225f
fb2cc6f6344dbf88a866e93b764a2d8a0b6687a2
'2011-11-25T02:38:28-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUT' 'sip-files00080.txt'
65ed412b41bdcb5354923e84c45146c6
1494f1299b15af548628ba00a0e483f74647b7f0
describe
'49594' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUU' 'sip-files00080thm.jpg'
7b2bde07fbcb400e0b11cf293aacd6b7
95181915ab94dfb2539965b4c052336e8d22c20f
describe
'56309' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUV' 'sip-files00081.jp2'
6e2a8683ec03a9ecf4adb4fda94561ac
e3a7a3521ab7bc8188abd73cb4224bd1ba309735
describe
'316578' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUW' 'sip-files00081.jpg'
938a02368d73f7104c378c899650d2d5
5ddc3c219b2089d31e5131ff1dc8c4168a0cee91
'2011-11-25T02:33:25-05:00'
describe
'26752' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUX' 'sip-files00081.pro'
6c32d8ae3cd88d5eaebf805f754ee4e2
f21adeaf163c93b6551775320711f92f3211f016
describe
'126494' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUY' 'sip-files00081.QC.jpg'
d7bfd5f2c8bd315cdb4a21f0e10f2c23
214c7d816cb0070fdc951736a79dee00fb72ee7d
'2011-11-25T02:41:32-05:00'
describe
'281168' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAUZ' 'sip-files00081.tif'
1baa8e0de9ad8dfe7ba1187c5e1dcfba
335d3d333fa4f8c25f72c7da1a03b79838e58871
'2011-11-25T02:30:17-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVA' 'sip-files00081.txt'
613add399257c083793b0b488a25bdd0
e88a78ad07e770317778d00273074842e1460533
'2011-11-25T02:52:23-05:00'
describe
'52541' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVB' 'sip-files00081thm.jpg'
5b1ec88e6abe6c1fd1c15e70b99b7298
15b3065e718005858771571c17b128bc5bde24a2
'2011-11-25T02:30:07-05:00'
describe
'59649' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVC' 'sip-files00082.jp2'
4f7c4d37f02b878465edf6d399e6e88c
41bd69abc02461c99a90b854e2945b3824dd8ace
'2011-11-25T02:30:45-05:00'
describe
'347563' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVD' 'sip-files00082.jpg'
a320d9e066c6eaa818b4681617d451a9
69837f5659cf31e9fe7905d7b5733a1a50cd2515
describe
'28849' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVE' 'sip-files00082.pro'
be78f8bb51a8883387d6627c59d69c4b
6ba45dc6304423dbedb4417d4adfea771375909b
describe
'140268' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVF' 'sip-files00082.QC.jpg'
42573c8dfe9b14cd929db960d58a318d
920789e81470e92594866cc6cfc5921b917c9f61
'2011-11-25T02:50:36-05:00'
describe
'274688' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVG' 'sip-files00082.tif'
a1f6ee25869a60fcf6f04e2922c126ad
0525252b49328e4f0e6317d619efac43d49dc7cd
'2011-11-25T02:43:45-05:00'
describe
'1146' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVH' 'sip-files00082.txt'
e8e6c47aafaf958fdb06f2aa1e881588
d47807ac633d53321e71c79769d8691d4015b4c2
'2011-11-25T02:52:05-05:00'
describe
'54687' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVI' 'sip-files00082thm.jpg'
1305c827251639b160910b4db1f2688a
f6d5e68b4a5e7ce1019ef46f51a7f412ed1d8e95
describe
'56256' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVJ' 'sip-files00083.jp2'
ceda3d084ba50b02961e6ecafc1fcc6a
751f6554fbf4dc32711ee51dd18f33c396be28e0
'2011-11-25T02:48:10-05:00'
describe
'314544' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVK' 'sip-files00083.jpg'
d8307a2ed02f45ab09bb6e27e6e6c1f6
0e2db231000fc4e507227ed0dd688036b054a85a
'2011-11-25T02:51:07-05:00'
describe
'26089' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVL' 'sip-files00083.pro'
80cb2ffc9d79c6ee6f5c101b47bc5c59
0c189e42eca0eb5a3b88bb95211a369fb3c2f138
'2011-11-25T02:31:20-05:00'
describe
'126778' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVM' 'sip-files00083.QC.jpg'
df8f23fc46045dd41f002416c959761f
76f1a8142a0de1084988dead323508168bddb849
'2011-11-25T02:46:40-05:00'
describe
'275332' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVN' 'sip-files00083.tif'
7c22716ae53cf116ff7c162eed168fa8
0e52eccc767cea53644fac8602cd1b1fd9e2a5e9
describe
'1037' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVO' 'sip-files00083.txt'
7b265d37198c7780a864d31cba5ca7af
ab05408152ef56f7fd8bc6414e0e2e4492f4435c
'2011-11-25T02:32:48-05:00'
describe
'52968' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVP' 'sip-files00083thm.jpg'
40999129a93e0b4b6472d5ced77baf9d
7229a2f97a85ba48fb45befce6189c391c3036ca
'2011-11-25T02:43:41-05:00'
describe
'60419' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVQ' 'sip-files00084.jp2'
5898974b0fbc17e0e4726c1593e291ff
f7db35b312d634838987365ba5cf5c872d4e4c57
describe
'347203' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVR' 'sip-files00084.jpg'
ba29b42e91d3fa0678cbcd8449854880
6859b07a2f759d986a304f80d5412b6418c3bcea
describe
'28807' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVS' 'sip-files00084.pro'
8d42b1496d01c81dba71e7fb87d93718
86c4df38ad0b8a258e330e8c57c2d577e649a99b
describe
'137904' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVT' 'sip-files00084.QC.jpg'
5e4d6d27f35066abe1fcf351ba494fbd
0b8b3f6bd3995f0835c3b85ab4bd39d004265471
'2011-11-25T02:40:43-05:00'
describe
'268492' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVU' 'sip-files00084.tif'
96467679c70ec100a9d3f6fa0b9ad357
ac7910b5870e01989d0a6e919eb30f55f363f6c8
'2011-11-25T02:29:48-05:00'
describe
'1142' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVV' 'sip-files00084.txt'
2aa775b306ea1b1c652045971bc9f4be
5bec866d0209357228383256be6f5a6c87fa537c
'2011-11-25T02:42:45-05:00'
describe
'56791' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVW' 'sip-files00084thm.jpg'
2eaab466db27d25be38ef06986732bc3
15a88dd44be198fce7fc2f7a2ab313572725bf7c
'2011-11-25T02:34:03-05:00'
describe
'51045' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVX' 'sip-files00085.jp2'
ade01769fa17e03d80d7924790f87e5f
e282f61df0c1d1d9eb04f0c703f5821d79c74641
describe
'291076' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVY' 'sip-files00085.jpg'
890d2060b97014ffa2408b9aa46eb0f7
a1825ec268446afbfe6b3f0ad86b88fd00ecb634
'2011-11-25T02:45:07-05:00'
describe
'24189' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAVZ' 'sip-files00085.pro'
43eab52974edb24d1d9bce5f7c909b97
325dd6929ba72ec2763cd72b39698d732b1b0059
describe
'121794' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWA' 'sip-files00085.QC.jpg'
06ff5da56d88bb91f9ca6e316795401b
74d55b9a6e1d02edb5bb89908a5bfe6040594d50
describe
'270744' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWB' 'sip-files00085.tif'
b9ae050aedff17a1b3ce083f0302b6b4
5945523dfe90e9501925de838a1250b1ab3ca18f
describe
'968' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWC' 'sip-files00085.txt'
1d582b9ef5ef870418b24840a63a6cce
8f99f311daf0652a0a849fbe936c68939a437821
'2011-11-25T02:39:11-05:00'
describe
'50248' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWD' 'sip-files00085thm.jpg'
a16d895401c84f15aa17092057553ef3
d66a28f4c5e4fb87d422be0945a2906565a88ce9
'2011-11-25T02:37:40-05:00'
describe
'58565' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWE' 'sip-files00086.jp2'
0fe110f1d208def1e2c7472485b4def9
ae065a9a1aa4bf42887acb2b58ae090dcb00501d
describe
'330712' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWF' 'sip-files00086.jpg'
1d97a9bb723420dc39d11932ea5c9f94
646d1fa539ec3a953a927288947cf2ec83e1cf54
describe
'27424' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWG' 'sip-files00086.pro'
183fe087f3dcef6520ae1ee54de06085
d81bc96a187255a1a08277c5830ea893979f2bd8
'2011-11-25T02:32:39-05:00'
describe
'131812' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWH' 'sip-files00086.QC.jpg'
cac8cf446ae46e931d7170ddd90d467d
68468c67d6a60ec91f7786956651a8e39499318b
'2011-11-25T02:35:52-05:00'
describe
'270108' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWI' 'sip-files00086.tif'
264a69d4c2a4e6fa3fbcc708a2d77500
7327a28ed25697b0540df25560d811f4b8eac00f
'2011-11-25T02:41:50-05:00'
describe
'1091' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWJ' 'sip-files00086.txt'
96df2634f0942d1fcf45fd58d9f96a32
da88c2cdd0cac61e7c14ec86c67205ebbec6f6ee
'2011-11-25T02:40:51-05:00'
describe
'54421' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWK' 'sip-files00086thm.jpg'
72eabe52bf9d240930e938048bae06fd
83ac2e7ee6333b22e8cc237f824d6aca28948fe8
'2011-11-25T02:47:05-05:00'
describe
'914595' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWL' 'sip-files00087.jp2'
6d9a2fe4016a2aa18d22241595ad4ff9
a318ba2eda6ecaf05bbc03ed20d088a189ddeb1b
'2011-11-25T02:48:37-05:00'
describe
'284452' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWM' 'sip-files00087.jpg'
904f693d46622e1aabba3e197fdfc577
462bbcae242b91efb6949a3f3ff6498ede5491fe
'2011-11-25T02:31:31-05:00'
describe
'4254' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWN' 'sip-files00087.pro'
723587bbdda599cb47aa02054cf8313f
dbf2f64139a8fb881043f03a361827d65f99e205
'2011-11-25T02:41:16-05:00'
describe
'92006' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWO' 'sip-files00087.QC.jpg'
cc4a3a355a9089431c4e91be587fe6cf
24f5764357013e33438bff3820a06da9740c865e
'2011-11-25T02:49:15-05:00'
describe
'7326932' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWP' 'sip-files00087.tif'
83e3a7fd19378565608cbb6a68dde8bc
ecab02d798173f240424a7ac3fd3ea909f817612
'2011-11-25T02:29:27-05:00'
describe
'188' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWQ' 'sip-files00087.txt'
cd6fe67ef14d25cca32b92c640d2e6e1
abe4eaa22f05e1423df935aa3e36bfd4cc6a7b59
'2011-11-25T02:52:19-05:00'
describe
'35090' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWR' 'sip-files00087thm.jpg'
da6ecf60217a1fd8ba6a8b7d9483d7d1
482d58f5156445041b0095f6e98c3b57b8e965fb
'2011-11-25T02:40:37-05:00'
describe
'47283' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWS' 'sip-files00088.jp2'
75bb615f720c9b11430994f5387db846
dc3f34156180e4544f699b340884bed2c56f6331
'2011-11-25T02:43:15-05:00'
describe
'262501' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWT' 'sip-files00088.jpg'
08477f73cd5e8c381fc58f21ecdb5851
a587abb590bfacf1fdb40fe1abcf7d0a0e216b5c
'2011-11-25T02:30:30-05:00'
describe
'21709' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWU' 'sip-files00088.pro'
4b75d54c8edf6628e31e1fc099c8963d
3d0f15d8ec5dc008139561831bd77cfc7eacc6db
describe
'109434' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWV' 'sip-files00088.QC.jpg'
89565256741c9bb3efc93421c96c15cd
2c07ce3006e3cb99107153eb853c2cbaee134849
'2011-11-25T02:35:15-05:00'
describe
'274608' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWW' 'sip-files00088.tif'
8cbc29cc2a79f3529d698c5e7feee486
afd16b617c9e87f289b1c9cea1197bda6fd7ce8a
'2011-11-25T02:52:24-05:00'
describe
'882' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWX' 'sip-files00088.txt'
f1125c56c6c5aab1c9193a193c5a12e4
5a9a0e693a4a9536ce8a795bd63bcfd77b0af39e
'2011-11-25T02:37:21-05:00'
describe
'44856' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWY' 'sip-files00088thm.jpg'
9897646044417b17db0e18766730a1fc
fca3caa27f77e7dec8d651fae54a2dda3e635e07
'2011-11-25T02:42:08-05:00'
describe
'60920' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAWZ' 'sip-files00089.jp2'
26ade066c5425471871333a3f7233a75
d5aa883cc8ed1b45f1965282aeeab4cc332983f6
'2011-11-25T02:33:19-05:00'
describe
'346184' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXA' 'sip-files00089.jpg'
fdf76723a66c85b3209463e8ca20cf49
d59a604cffe9b9349ee1970970ab97f59cebf42a
describe
'28524' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXB' 'sip-files00089.pro'
3197bb8f520e464bf6362892f4b98b11
3a5237b4f242e9435a5b6a50e277a36ae920a664
'2011-11-25T02:42:35-05:00'
describe
'140825' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXC' 'sip-files00089.QC.jpg'
d836b9badbe23bc9830920b1d708ada6
3ab522937fdb9afe3c9a58ad4ca97af03f9ad595
'2011-11-25T02:37:54-05:00'
describe
'263740' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXD' 'sip-files00089.tif'
18658ba33dd315fc112047de43918b3a
3373225eb6614bf093122f09204242e08a6b76a8
'2011-11-25T02:46:21-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXE' 'sip-files00089.txt'
adae8bae8ce240e95e43517b8915094b
e3600da2c72c9c96308d68a9ca5a72a10d89f1b0
describe
'58327' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXF' 'sip-files00089thm.jpg'
ea42802eb8d83b6e8893c6f90e38b5c8
329ef8b1acf8276c69ae199ec8b93711a019a387
'2011-11-25T02:37:36-05:00'
describe
'59210' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXG' 'sip-files00090.jp2'
fbd852e1c587a333ea0d0e33f82dd5e0
945296982747aa8bb7e4e1d0e04a2c57f56be20a
'2011-11-25T02:43:04-05:00'
describe
'337715' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXH' 'sip-files00090.jpg'
222ac80ce3f26df83dd3fead60620f6f
7521780864c0a91046c8c7b80377382e2eb26422
'2011-11-25T02:45:39-05:00'
describe
'27957' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXI' 'sip-files00090.pro'
f647fe1230f595ad0898e69daf5f4d12
28f535ce9e58dd0e8e2804c7d587c06ae673250a
describe
'133426' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXJ' 'sip-files00090.QC.jpg'
46f907685fdeea1433d69e46c2ec8809
98c52bc99039f1423ffa69cc1e171f8cad146402
'2011-11-25T02:31:45-05:00'
describe
'272360' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXK' 'sip-files00090.tif'
d4fb0ef3406be981b824a3fe3427cdb7
a1745d7bc284f3be2882304696af63634e870df5
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXL' 'sip-files00090.txt'
f07599de709f593b611d9be5d2fec57e
71a08fa5266e78bb631c517db0e47cc85e58ae35
'2011-11-25T02:36:14-05:00'
describe
'53532' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXM' 'sip-files00090thm.jpg'
8f97ca9efac8b65264fa0c39a1b7f0c7
43358b7be9aa4b0867a7740ede2ee2fe75604f60
describe
'59691' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXN' 'sip-files00091.jp2'
ab21a44c63f89694c4f72ae3281885de
c14c10193a802a83564fc03d621c09610753110f
'2011-11-25T02:45:10-05:00'
describe
'341369' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXO' 'sip-files00091.jpg'
bd6ba1364a04b6ae38e527a02c3a9bd8
4fd7f0a8fdc64daca7232ab623819295a33ba07b
'2011-11-25T02:31:59-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXP' 'sip-files00091.pro'
774286940bb25e80d57957ba2788f389
474c384c52cacb241bce60d4fd650159cde2ff3b
'2011-11-25T02:34:38-05:00'
describe
'136674' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXQ' 'sip-files00091.QC.jpg'
610e341342603d319329ade0b74c0e3f
9a54e52c5e9257d12d8211113135e34c6aa857cb
'2011-11-25T02:41:07-05:00'
describe
'278936' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXR' 'sip-files00091.tif'
32225ee0c2f556a56bd39d617353ba8c
20a5a4410685650ac3bd5ae8b2635d98d8a10245
'2011-11-25T02:36:09-05:00'
describe
'1126' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXS' 'sip-files00091.txt'
6e6d2188c306471a6d6c73070ac05b61
a191b9ebf898d15cb514783f342acfa35afe551c
describe
'52907' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXT' 'sip-files00091thm.jpg'
ea975e9e7a680b80157ae373bb9d603d
e33394f4807b3a0ff044d01587c8acb92d0bc558
describe
'59247' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXU' 'sip-files00092.jp2'
0f66a534179c353b7a5fffeb8b5c7ecd
86562e1d4f32213de5269fcc7a10115cea09bfdb
describe
'335754' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXV' 'sip-files00092.jpg'
f7a3815f58b6c1d3880c2c3e262e3a4e
39bb480b7092e62dce38565c4e1b74e820cea9c1
describe
'28057' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXW' 'sip-files00092.pro'
71de5eb4f1940f0bcb1f53ef841b5bf2
cb117b6da1015a3856345eee2d029dfc13c441d7
'2011-11-25T02:31:48-05:00'
describe
'134326' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXX' 'sip-files00092.QC.jpg'
64d37f13b2829bc4f35baa9b4b752c94
3660693a616b31d6f91eada2ca28668bb32d6bfd
describe
'269452' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXY' 'sip-files00092.tif'
54c797e560facabbe67499b6bcd324b3
9530d90d1201af729f03b0ab288bd35f5931c74d
'2011-11-25T02:35:17-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAXZ' 'sip-files00092.txt'
346b137a15a567906ac95e324dd13674
128878581bb5da096241d424192e0698e21f1cd6
'2011-11-25T02:35:05-05:00'
describe
'53790' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYA' 'sip-files00092thm.jpg'
2848334c827bba60506bbb5fa7079094
76d542ff705ce6a0f712172b9c3e5cca65c0d9be
'2011-11-25T02:51:36-05:00'
describe
'62604' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYB' 'sip-files00093.jp2'
656c87e1bb6d2f48aadf5aab04d3776d
7f164c951ab60760703ce7bf76da5a9fdd331f0a
'2011-11-25T02:40:27-05:00'
describe
'359053' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYC' 'sip-files00093.jpg'
e616285f5c4e3adbbb62a70258166c9f
4d08407d594765d3523a448594c841ac704c9665
describe
'29068' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYD' 'sip-files00093.pro'
ffb48829d39893f74afc31203b9b8934
1c10aa5d08d9157606eb3854248bee05f6a40172
describe
'144763' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYE' 'sip-files00093.QC.jpg'
3f14cf2045bd5425065b5eb363e4778a
3b7704921e7e316d76417fff172efd7b8e2a55ca
'2011-11-25T02:29:54-05:00'
describe
'279844' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYF' 'sip-files00093.tif'
7a6356643621674d8872385b773b9d59
7d7b551cd0421051f239b53f53c3fc17d864d9b4
'2011-11-25T02:42:25-05:00'
describe
'1161' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYG' 'sip-files00093.txt'
b5f922fc1824d326a4e722f2e0bbd49c
50ff3aea6dbe0912e79d3f1bde1a808ca81d2743
'2011-11-25T02:44:29-05:00'
describe
'55357' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYH' 'sip-files00093thm.jpg'
129df6bef7606177d77d3006a8f6f331
78882ff0813850154355969b51f14fcfccfaa172
describe
'59975' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYI' 'sip-files00094.jp2'
7e913403e8816db5493af081cb91f783
c22a21f089d7e62c8f6cf7152af229b7600dfaf6
describe
'350257' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYJ' 'sip-files00094.jpg'
ad932fd47ae60f98a840f9336da4cd99
b28b2b8c90e0e5db55bb8643dca73947250bace8
'2011-11-25T02:32:37-05:00'
describe
'28915' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYK' 'sip-files00094.pro'
84baab5816789a34de5ca4e2188ed33e
8d0c0b2251d6c5d0e57de21c347cf2c37f05d35e
'2011-11-25T02:43:13-05:00'
describe
'142030' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYL' 'sip-files00094.QC.jpg'
f8e4cd95707ed130224e7a0ad982f3ed
88fd42fd706bb130e70963edb4cd0305f5898b2b
describe
'277932' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYM' 'sip-files00094.tif'
3fa6b9cbd6783719fbb31a309377b5ef
35d317331200dd0aa6a23bce53e07ed9376c978f
'2011-11-25T02:51:02-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYN' 'sip-files00094.txt'
1ff2f14e576e55afb64e391ab9dd7db4
821de8ac5ecfe9f54f2023c2952123a65ea7e54b
describe
'54487' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYO' 'sip-files00094thm.jpg'
168aeb17577eb4fd4aa0cb182f85fea5
b504da4fc7ab94f27746bc05d73075485e3227c2
'2011-11-25T02:34:31-05:00'
describe
'60702' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYP' 'sip-files00095.jp2'
bdce4a63c455934ecdb059a934f75fea
ee5c80bfae8c42dd5eedd64d87a364e16bad8cd7
describe
'338833' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYQ' 'sip-files00095.jpg'
3758a92515ad6908927fc68cacdb022a
3696047f625c8416678fa291e8284e2ce8c68a83
describe
'28679' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYR' 'sip-files00095.pro'
39d8380ad7fb267801858f7f4f85705a
18520098d7f1f758f27b72a66ec7826bc66fb100
'2011-11-25T02:40:18-05:00'
describe
'135136' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYS' 'sip-files00095.QC.jpg'
3699df35ad4d838d403e3bcb4e026aa9
03e0be1847eb215a61d7897bbd0f0318f73a3b2e
'2011-11-25T02:31:41-05:00'
describe
'282872' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYT' 'sip-files00095.tif'
d06c801ca58ca07e8ae7413999c326c1
1d2a1298dbc251272fc1b376ae5ffb61a4e481f8
describe
'1137' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYU' 'sip-files00095.txt'
9ced112459d8a044f6374ff00ad29f63
b7e0247cbb1f6e6d00cf29dba4893c1cd1156b1f
'2011-11-25T02:41:25-05:00'
describe
'54140' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYV' 'sip-files00095thm.jpg'
0fbc93b53ccc1b89381432b4bcd8a331
07797ba7120afbbb59205a92cfc32ae3004edaed
'2011-11-25T02:50:20-05:00'
describe
'59127' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYW' 'sip-files00096.jp2'
59a62539aacecf884817fb6d82824183
532c08c4b5bf470fddda566dbbc91fb58ee4eb32
'2011-11-25T02:38:25-05:00'
describe
'337165' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYX' 'sip-files00096.jpg'
3c3265dc1835bb342c8f9fa3990f08d1
53b066f7a7e865a87d759a007a70d7060149e582
describe
'27345' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYY' 'sip-files00096.pro'
2f3f2c7e7fbe1bd65e3f4dd119e74b82
4b58864d2dd463c029ffce4563ba414c96b81f83
'2011-11-25T02:39:25-05:00'
describe
'139715' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAYZ' 'sip-files00096.QC.jpg'
c1481b1aaad08b6a262f400781c2f1f1
0f19064daf58aebd84f8179bd75f428628b2639b
'2011-11-25T02:49:26-05:00'
describe
'269944' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZA' 'sip-files00096.tif'
a26fb7565a89f07379e5f3f5a862f63c
6585e80e4aec80c06aef3b95086abc55df9f8ed1
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZB' 'sip-files00096.txt'
28d9d7e53b810162b7442f108fa95353
9504b8eb0cfe5a6cf871a7c03e3da0eb0c592b90
'2011-11-25T02:45:03-05:00'
describe
'54386' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZC' 'sip-files00096thm.jpg'
55520cefe92ddf82d68a52c6a4c79d91
5e14e0d370dba083b02101cdf59713357f765425
'2011-11-25T02:48:26-05:00'
describe
'59034' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZD' 'sip-files00097.jp2'
9ca9be03019b943698985037205e5634
4469552f83c86392efefecbe7bc6f53a50df514f
describe
'342763' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZE' 'sip-files00097.jpg'
06419488fc5928c04ed7ce83def1c6c5
98defbdb31bb4e497c1a62f9c9b3267e7c931f8d
describe
'27444' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZF' 'sip-files00097.pro'
cf8c5ed9e124d14260c18502fc8a3178
af88341bc1e2f353580ef5ba28f0d0e308751f26
'2011-11-25T02:40:19-05:00'
describe
'141093' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZG' 'sip-files00097.QC.jpg'
af577ebecfcb6c5a42d374ebb24349c3
ef6e994fefcb847d1436053b49e0f564c68c0639
'2011-11-25T02:46:58-05:00'
describe
'267076' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZH' 'sip-files00097.tif'
4b0bc5d8321a74da92cba43d3ef7a149
a4d0f653c9112f88567516d26ec0670df5bc8914
'2011-11-25T02:45:04-05:00'
describe
'1087' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZI' 'sip-files00097.txt'
ad22c510771b1cb7182131d1d8973b1e
a2f7bfce9aa18c52f52563933009b2be87d59da8
describe
'55502' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZJ' 'sip-files00097thm.jpg'
7b27750b1bb9929bc6e0297c845960a5
ca746de6ed5fa7354f5ca4df7d8cef34b47bb268
describe
'59709' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZK' 'sip-files00098.jp2'
9af10d19f711f28f64594163be4d748f
a979f5318c181787235628b451b7c8ebd45b1771
'2011-11-25T02:45:09-05:00'
describe
'343268' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZL' 'sip-files00098.jpg'
77b67a55fbc5f470a0e639d4564b3140
70cb8d1f1a8a1b828a75f138c12fb7fa2675b9e6
describe
'28321' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZM' 'sip-files00098.pro'
2a03a43f9162827d2a3b2440b94a3f90
f4f4f58c90cabe7b63d65f9ec6f1937fe4516ed2
'2011-11-25T02:45:15-05:00'
describe
'139681' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZN' 'sip-files00098.QC.jpg'
ac62d63cfbee2acb0fc8a6b49c244c25
b4348b4750244ed97872f31bf72187900c5f6baf
describe
'270464' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZO' 'sip-files00098.tif'
2e1644594cfc9f22a86818758f8aa905
ad7a6ab83a600ad427894269b20bc8538beb8e71
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZP' 'sip-files00098.txt'
22a75ad25b2cf89b225157b6d05e622b
6b302e3dd8213c1bd3c9081d8f8c288502f8fa9e
'2011-11-25T02:43:53-05:00'
describe
'55117' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZQ' 'sip-files00098thm.jpg'
e7c33ab87eb2d8fd302083f274a0f858
063d185d3cb298796b8d4f64eaa751a8cbdc2e6d
'2011-11-25T02:37:59-05:00'
describe
'59344' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZR' 'sip-files00099.jp2'
bb7fd95bab65895224028db958b679f0
45137211a73a90b816422e338927b585202adc00
'2011-11-25T02:42:43-05:00'
describe
'349305' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZS' 'sip-files00099.jpg'
2d3c91d4c91e779df88093ff85acc452
1f13f0e19422abab2306c414e14918cb4e98e254
'2011-11-25T02:42:10-05:00'
describe
'27909' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZT' 'sip-files00099.pro'
89f309d83ef6439e9bf6bb22d3f7a809
ca41d1c12a06695a1d1df921e4a902e4e0778142
'2011-11-25T02:38:04-05:00'
describe
'142657' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZU' 'sip-files00099.QC.jpg'
67cc662d1eeb37e4ea5dead0cb2e06fb
94000c65704ea9485e60c2440a7e06f7ec6dce78
describe
'267816' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZV' 'sip-files00099.tif'
b209856f3ed3c5f08788e6cd90769888
0de405714ccbdf7da9c3ff350d0d1766b8bd5b1f
'2011-11-25T02:48:11-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZW' 'sip-files00099.txt'
aea73b9e395aacb4225228ee90e532e6
c4e1f0d4103b0a8647508c5002b319ae46b7cd67
'2011-11-25T02:31:28-05:00'
describe
'55450' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZX' 'sip-files00099thm.jpg'
941ce8b409563609f3b87eb10a71fb31
e0c5a1cd6d1f5f158037c24bcfe7f40008601398
'2011-11-25T02:30:59-05:00'
describe
'60797' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZY' 'sip-files00100.jp2'
7ee84551728a6ae89dc71a2881a23a27
b52043267a11f894425adb74e13c2d234330ccb2
describe
'354637' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAAAZZ' 'sip-files00100.jpg'
65ccf3bf2a6b1b9548809658df20133b
635542999525f9c850a71ac1855d43df80d6f1aa
'2011-11-25T02:49:31-05:00'
describe
'28979' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAA' 'sip-files00100.pro'
4ced34f8de55da67b9156c3b600cd1af
0defc8726c5ad218c6893fa9583659212eda1cbd
'2011-11-25T02:47:39-05:00'
describe
'142180' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAB' 'sip-files00100.QC.jpg'
92ee5f366443c23bae2f2996227f827f
61a4d4e96dab3bf0fa467b34ab07e7d5ebd1c297
'2011-11-25T02:38:34-05:00'
describe
'271376' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAC' 'sip-files00100.tif'
08e06614fba6f62a48c08da6075b2552
8dabf5c8c413da4f913c045042a963c1b14bb423
'2011-11-25T02:40:42-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAD' 'sip-files00100.txt'
11dbe1073447f6f425980c8f6e4c9884
30868688a8a1aab7ad64b7cb7592b2789efae6d6
'2011-11-25T02:33:21-05:00'
describe
'56036' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAE' 'sip-files00100thm.jpg'
906b2a5bf893e3df06763d1c053c4fd5
ac11be75f582afe62993340d07fbd0b41177da82
'2011-11-25T02:46:30-05:00'
describe
'951854' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAF' 'sip-files00101.jp2'
089f10e845e335cc8bc276c766166a1d
fc2ae8578ebc8b0a78a00fc0006561c8ed10534b
'2011-11-25T02:50:30-05:00'
describe
'360533' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAG' 'sip-files00101.jpg'
e9315f1d895457331bba8238952fe34d
195a263d688959771e1ab03b90873a668f3f35bb
describe
'16901' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAH' 'sip-files00101.pro'
a8002581a9d61a1bd49039418cd68226
495fc0f4a124d93bca28a07f655261ef56015130
'2011-11-25T02:31:16-05:00'
describe
'126002' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAI' 'sip-files00101.QC.jpg'
2f09413441932a7b7166d470a44b0a73
04657d7eea37f520c6766692812b3825b2a41f5f
'2011-11-25T02:37:44-05:00'
describe
'7626912' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAJ' 'sip-files00101.tif'
ede079b02c4a7193279451e9e09d2e5b
e4d3572e227cf4e3216edefd6f581b55b1dbb96f
'2011-11-25T02:32:58-05:00'
describe
'677' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAK' 'sip-files00101.txt'
61f2c0d35e52724b81ecb2cd04e48c64
b461809d5c35be494007e67c0909ba75d880e17c
describe
'45874' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAL' 'sip-files00101thm.jpg'
1105705189d10798f68ca73da37b6c02
a2d42f666622c1deb5ca426226e4baeb9bbd2bf7
'2011-11-25T02:32:42-05:00'
describe
'47773' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAM' 'sip-files00102.jp2'
b393a41b854e6a903af6c2f5b6886408
aeae839caacdb9dc599a540536a8073cc3e152ff
'2011-11-25T02:41:11-05:00'
describe
'268242' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAN' 'sip-files00102.jpg'
64b4fb64d7ae36cc3c33b3c31026e126
15bf4d51595bc916758f75995930a5c039e8ec13
'2011-11-25T02:37:22-05:00'
describe
'22269' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAO' 'sip-files00102.pro'
465a8458758122f4ec7f5b37b7bf6b47
d3aae9c7752ef3ce53b5cc853cd7482b026b7ec8
describe
'111164' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAP' 'sip-files00102.QC.jpg'
bedb0d5a8e643302de2f01a78fa13670
06b011838a953f445d19213d1c3da6d2bb628d98
describe
'289560' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAQ' 'sip-files00102.tif'
0b4ecf56917737823255738f0701db3d
30f44d4b2522ef2faed227bca472419996254a60
'2011-11-25T02:51:48-05:00'
describe
'912' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAR' 'sip-files00102.txt'
a05fb675f51a05ca46f9d1ea3e8d2397
430ef2b1916bd7750d0c15a84327b1175b3db875
'2011-11-25T02:39:27-05:00'
describe
'44233' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAS' 'sip-files00102thm.jpg'
d7df83f400eb8d1ef6d334e1cef5d9f0
b36d1c607f58d828013344738b4846092d8d8212
'2011-11-25T02:35:20-05:00'
describe
'60742' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAT' 'sip-files00103.jp2'
0c3a99bc7cb5b189c7a405a4682f6710
e31fab55b627512060e2e8e1e7ec018c34caa1bb
describe
'349272' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAU' 'sip-files00103.jpg'
8326ecbcf73dff774078da920c254895
34d90cc096023c892f3867bba9e217b022f10bc9
'2011-11-25T02:32:40-05:00'
describe
'28828' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAV' 'sip-files00103.pro'
11ed277a1d581dbd3c966b8e369572da
4ba626c2c1ebcdbfa27ca2b0079429013f415a63
'2011-11-25T02:30:39-05:00'
describe
'141295' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAW' 'sip-files00103.QC.jpg'
5cf9ca4b66756ea2d13fd913e8252cbb
05df7ef23e1159bb2cc63314cad5778121391338
describe
'276552' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAX' 'sip-files00103.tif'
01a62a53237ab057a4ab7d5d361c5f06
7a60e428f783aa6f6f1773085bff76bea9481ed2
'2011-11-25T02:41:44-05:00'
describe
'1139' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAY' 'sip-files00103.txt'
999032ddc8f49437d3d875a74ca9e4e6
40a4558ced991c83e4986ff1446f1eb944adf482
describe
'54293' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABAZ' 'sip-files00103thm.jpg'
786cdc947fba1df1d0f0ec4859fb7ea1
e41d8677d3dcd61d05de4f42ed873d89f5c3c52e
'2011-11-25T02:31:06-05:00'
describe
'57350' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBA' 'sip-files00104.jp2'
055251653800ba71419655b885f3ace3
084780b41da9259343dea2081533d86acc14e855
'2011-11-25T02:38:02-05:00'
describe
'328787' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBB' 'sip-files00104.jpg'
aa9ab10d4719c0aaa1258c9d84344cee
d0c4dc45c06632d41ef710aaa488f3524c7d9e4f
'2011-11-25T02:49:55-05:00'
describe
'27149' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBC' 'sip-files00104.pro'
2b7ca8090ffaeabab5a75554755e1443
d32dadb06aed4fc793e5d5d4ba484b20ece53c66
'2011-11-25T02:44:56-05:00'
describe
'135078' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBD' 'sip-files00104.QC.jpg'
823a46251c30b0a364aad58a321477fa
879369b42d54a772b2a7de85ea5ccd51b5250149
describe
'272144' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBE' 'sip-files00104.tif'
b6fc2b81c274f81c56f68f570d92c85e
8ee3a7192e78e8bc6694e2a8f78850732972df4d
'2011-11-25T02:47:18-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBF' 'sip-files00104.txt'
1569685e52c6d7828d330d8b481a876d
63db46a0f8a6cf221adaefa6af1ad8752a7a5ff1
'2011-11-25T02:32:35-05:00'
describe
'54057' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBG' 'sip-files00104thm.jpg'
eb5b9f9c40bf8942be59931f36905ec5
d77986d5b99eb8f6963b862d88ce1c8dd44a8b10
'2011-11-25T02:42:00-05:00'
describe
'59380' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBH' 'sip-files00105.jp2'
7fccdef55b4df03bf35a605f2ed7c2dd
c4f4d9b477542f30052e0afff056110aac1d52b0
describe
'340211' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBI' 'sip-files00105.jpg'
334d5d9abf2928ec378d80685661b15c
1f87fe7ab54c1c91b729f5399664717686cb180a
'2011-11-25T02:31:23-05:00'
describe
'27739' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBJ' 'sip-files00105.pro'
974f1bf4fa5d41886e2bafbe692cecf9
ab9258c5c4a6aa7f3de05f43d4d5ba85d0d1adcb
'2011-11-25T02:37:01-05:00'
describe
'135536' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBK' 'sip-files00105.QC.jpg'
6267abc2a0abdf29d9e2258399843006
85b7e7e0ff2b0ec35cb0338dd591f9e17d2398b8
describe
'264888' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBL' 'sip-files00105.tif'
19844613d902f4f432c4d2d0afbd5d6d
6bda8a6f328da08bc662eaef46df1b7616882023
'2011-11-25T02:46:04-05:00'
describe
'1102' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBM' 'sip-files00105.txt'
ca2cba9cd46523fee3bd2cbd162e63df
77e63f3a0ee498540f09158c715cef5eda2e6ed3
'2011-11-25T02:29:30-05:00'
describe
'55180' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBN' 'sip-files00105thm.jpg'
14028b876a1b889f6b5e54bc25c9a4ef
587be78ff21bff5481b68da9b75f86da8005f1b9
describe
'58956' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBO' 'sip-files00106.jp2'
d01ed9627d256dbd6bbf2e520be1550c
bb08435cf0b87ca705b103155b23ae2739c91c27
describe
'344471' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBP' 'sip-files00106.jpg'
e4c9fce0c3199830143ab5b413d4f788
94b754af7d913ac809c6008052bbed4bc3b960b3
describe
'27745' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBQ' 'sip-files00106.pro'
34123441174cece11d8a7ea4f45a76bf
9ffe021ef8d42c0bd53f1d0b7488c4b51ceb7b36
describe
'137417' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBR' 'sip-files00106.QC.jpg'
5bb76ced628151e617908f85cef87096
e20fa324f745e3cf86dafddcc3681558bed52a7d
describe
'263868' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBS' 'sip-files00106.tif'
8a60606d7700e046b8db2d97160bbbac
f53221cca904204453ca8fa0e74591cd6557af25
'2011-11-25T02:31:43-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBT' 'sip-files00106.txt'
43d48ad5f0934ad23c882ada57af1786
91ec5ddfe71111eced6fbeb2741af84713ecda5e
'2011-11-25T02:45:22-05:00'
describe
'54920' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBU' 'sip-files00106thm.jpg'
f6a2c261401bdabf2208d3e716e793f4
d2bf865dbca6f0b0b3d487a7b7fa1bd4b88dfd32
describe
'60686' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBV' 'sip-files00107.jp2'
20ea72db09ffd84c712d53a0dfa303a9
cdcd154b432e2808bdd396e83b936ae93a2f29f4
'2011-11-25T02:30:34-05:00'
describe
'354803' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBW' 'sip-files00107.jpg'
54896ee5422d6439955577269a5acc33
9ba79373dad8055c817178d767b5952e9c008dbd
'2011-11-25T02:38:58-05:00'
describe
'28723' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBX' 'sip-files00107.pro'
3f89358d74196f7958f0e5f8dd0abc2a
cced9249601af77a4ff66dec8dcc8a3a89985d48
'2011-11-25T02:44:38-05:00'
describe
'141611' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBY' 'sip-files00107.QC.jpg'
834896e043d1d479c2711372c52aebf5
680fab8daa387eab224ea587dc3259ec31a8cb9f
describe
'270344' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABBZ' 'sip-files00107.tif'
d2f4e00dcd5c886b8f7a2e3b7dcc0c28
2746f5c745d7eee1c193a18e479db1acbb636bd0
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCA' 'sip-files00107.txt'
33b2f436a5d09b7d76df9f9f08528314
791b114da53af18880926f0058ce90bcfb18dd35
'2011-11-25T02:39:20-05:00'
describe
'55687' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCB' 'sip-files00107thm.jpg'
6b0403e84c4f49e6331967ef26a10a6c
4b24d9a27c29b6204ddb3bbcd584b53b9d5f91d1
describe
'59762' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCC' 'sip-files00108.jp2'
70a8a036bd8449213d05b70b5214fa72
8c4882fd23685db807c1800e2f620931f4c9a4a8
describe
'344624' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCD' 'sip-files00108.jpg'
e33d147d293ba68fff162e2e4473e3cf
e8415f343030f887a52df47f1f57e5f732cb8628
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCE' 'sip-files00108.pro'
f1a80fadb0098b40dc6e8734aa88cc86
6f154083f9968105b3d0ee95f680443c03167111
describe
'143225' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCF' 'sip-files00108.QC.jpg'
5e127f88db2b0dba6e6a5044e531b339
c2ca6702fc5c5cc1e27c889b5e98303d79df59cb
'2011-11-25T02:46:08-05:00'
describe
'280084' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCG' 'sip-files00108.tif'
6f0441d1234b9e2b7876cf1aefc7df91
749c14ca316987952bae9b123f0740b6319541c6
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCH' 'sip-files00108.txt'
8f5399154247f8f217eb35029ddb19e1
78e220593a6f62d966e1c4afea8f5168c4beb74d
describe
'53709' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCI' 'sip-files00108thm.jpg'
d404769379a71108ca38457091c341b2
2b0c7b078a3aa436b883337aa824f05f052523ff
'2011-11-25T02:33:08-05:00'
describe
'59993' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCJ' 'sip-files00109.jp2'
e43c3f90c232cf6b99e252a4e2bd79ea
e09f77f2681385817a9f419cd69d937ec99f594c
describe
'345648' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCK' 'sip-files00109.jpg'
ed01080abd534b2ff4e0cc26e507e0cc
cd8f806f3bf1b808ad3ae9b90978a496ab9d3ce8
describe
'28295' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCL' 'sip-files00109.pro'
819eb1d81bbfda604c3c3187f40e2d42
a6e61dec2c76b5181f11b7b76e2fe36c8625b682
'2011-11-25T02:48:29-05:00'
describe
'140619' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCM' 'sip-files00109.QC.jpg'
06585cb792a025c65a6052dd3895e0aa
5d9143c6be574de61aade7770d0a109f88f59780
'2011-11-25T02:47:00-05:00'
describe
'280060' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCN' 'sip-files00109.tif'
a3bd233b1fa6045857ab3f3af09f7daa
87de2e978f87646d184588bcf560e6e864e5e04a
'2011-11-25T02:34:00-05:00'
describe
'1119' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCO' 'sip-files00109.txt'
a27a2d7b890593689dab576480aac2c4
6e56a9cbc5a4b4d0eba3b98e37653a49a07bd8d5
'2011-11-25T02:49:22-05:00'
describe
'53166' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCP' 'sip-files00109thm.jpg'
89fe7d586a900e0450f8467193e97523
f02256afe846a7f3c0229ef6a0e6310e314266a7
'2011-11-25T02:32:23-05:00'
describe
'59126' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCQ' 'sip-files00110.jp2'
3a86a260eb820281716268e72b39d0ef
bbdde200ae3f42837fd8f1d334c3f9e74b7ac7d4
describe
'330992' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCR' 'sip-files00110.jpg'
f116c370d6a0c6c81b3f4824288b75aa
f9562708a08d6a514622ec3d2fe1fa47fe6c7d5e
'2011-11-25T02:42:15-05:00'
describe
'27789' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCS' 'sip-files00110.pro'
5611c297449996a7b0e3e1d741cb6592
40bb719a06d95673adb142c3b0cd764d7ac33430
describe
'136415' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCT' 'sip-files00110.QC.jpg'
02bf75fb337673444286457ba0cfd215
349d3e0cdc7214c2290b9f5fc1acb0969a744ab8
'2011-11-25T02:31:51-05:00'
describe
'282332' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCU' 'sip-files00110.tif'
7d85b6079d8b14f1d6b01910d58e5cde
3a99fd8a78589a304e0a1021f0ad6f78bfb88784
describe
'1107' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCV' 'sip-files00110.txt'
af2b5cfa4771002d6e9796de6153f025
8b581e7c02b863df7ed25e00378154f231bc7cbf
'2011-11-25T02:29:20-05:00'
describe
'53785' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCW' 'sip-files00110thm.jpg'
de2ea54244cc7a3d4dbb4e2a05c77939
93c0c9c5bdb1af1b8c161dff6bfa618f8f13ffec
'2011-11-25T02:33:22-05:00'
describe
'57509' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCX' 'sip-files00111.jp2'
1adfe9d8608b1af40b31bf2a668f37b9
cb93a99ee93915d1e8ef404d4a8e691699d70b32
'2011-11-25T02:51:25-05:00'
describe
'327887' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCY' 'sip-files00111.jpg'
780312a7377b98ec760b85fa7c87b982
4f89eb6b47a381dec06309bfc216608245c12c29
'2011-11-25T02:50:35-05:00'
describe
'27154' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABCZ' 'sip-files00111.pro'
f2f174ce44bc375a1d17c49a8f16c4d6
ac3ade4b48d60a9fcae5007fba4ffaae55146bc4
'2011-11-25T02:47:09-05:00'
describe
'133217' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDA' 'sip-files00111.QC.jpg'
e595ffe21a63ad6a1d98111e820ee838
7f2d9d55cab8a96e65d4de86f9b3f4029574947e
'2011-11-25T02:40:35-05:00'
describe
'282180' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDB' 'sip-files00111.tif'
d3c3c8400ab6d4761d26277575b06cb0
4f8f9a9f13378670bab94bad5807743ae526fa18
'2011-11-25T02:43:29-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDC' 'sip-files00111.txt'
33ecb11b6badf5504b182d8820d199b4
d067c2273ea1ac174721e354791c4d697c2d6b5d
'2011-11-25T02:40:23-05:00'
describe
'53075' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDD' 'sip-files00111thm.jpg'
f5a035f62b8ff1ec5e961696981d0605
cecc96676ed341be4cce40e377b58a4539fcec4f
'2011-11-25T02:50:28-05:00'
describe
'59965' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDE' 'sip-files00112.jp2'
9507cd67ffe99a27af7c3e658fe3e79a
7cb39fa864de5cb3f40c8cb8d634f69fbb36f387
'2011-11-25T02:42:24-05:00'
describe
'334920' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDF' 'sip-files00112.jpg'
a84eb6916d3343fd8899fda08fc68dcf
589f3ff87612101c1d839f6312093900bd776c7c
'2011-11-25T02:37:42-05:00'
describe
'28615' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDG' 'sip-files00112.pro'
d328e8c8b70ce6209234fb259624b8f2
1151e82af80dac71bd3fd2bf3739443163b98ba6
describe
'134226' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDH' 'sip-files00112.QC.jpg'
272697c391564809086ffc4004efd3ac
a74ee6c9e3d7e1fe44ba367f7007bf012817908c
'2011-11-25T02:44:25-05:00'
describe
'292476' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDI' 'sip-files00112.tif'
d060bc09a0757dcd5382065aa4dacb14
c3ef63ed673fc2dd9ec838080bb6a2ed1f71e28c
describe
'1131' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDJ' 'sip-files00112.txt'
7a3c3e04486d30586dedcbd594448b8b
3963131594662cf3ec3f1c082724126deae19db4
'2011-11-25T02:32:10-05:00'
describe
'48127' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDK' 'sip-files00112thm.jpg'
64fb3cb47b2a01c11b00cc442d639c05
c475a86e3a9e0d5b53dfc7d6a1fef8c8ffff0953
describe
'59464' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDL' 'sip-files00113.jp2'
2c5f0bab6d8cb62a1ee645323df3aee1
3d15c7195768c1a4ea4dc9a5e7c5936bfd58b07f
'2011-11-25T02:43:07-05:00'
describe
'334591' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDM' 'sip-files00113.jpg'
d3a6024c2461088587d1ea3daa37d8ff
445f3d767caf5565e6333a684e27e055929d1444
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDN' 'sip-files00113.pro'
7fb8e68a1ab86f577961ccc7d54b07f7
853f36c6bc522ad0985b4b9f4bc2207717a3ab45
'2011-11-25T02:46:48-05:00'
describe
'132854' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDO' 'sip-files00113.QC.jpg'
9aa386761856604057e6c31ea19a084b
f909ea405ad7a79051decdbaf6cbdeee4a4218e7
describe
'278840' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDP' 'sip-files00113.tif'
f9696401f600f895f7dad4daeeb9f943
4af8a9ec688e85f78054c8f38b27bb69e78914d3
describe
'1099' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDQ' 'sip-files00113.txt'
50b5f2d44c730e84cf6e200a30788afb
310ca0080d367b29a19e9ff06b16dcec6a2a14e0
describe
'53650' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACEfileF20080827_AAABDR' 'sip-files00113thm.jpg'
6e33786e01b130ce905ff7eed038ff50
f383dd1a2e838221e3be527373a5cb59b3552e98
'2011-11-25T02:31:37-05:00'
describe<