Mount Auburn Cemetery

Great Little WATERTOWN 68a One of Most Venerable Communities in Nation Still Suffers Adolescent 'Growing Pains'

By FRED C. GREEN

It is not often that an oldster gets tangled up with the ailments common to childhood but the fact is that Watertown, one of the most venerable of the nation's communities, has a severe case of growing pains.

When a populataion that has elbowed its way past the 38,000 mark is fitted into an area 4.16 square miles in extent, when its domiciles must share space with the manufacturing plants that make it America's largest industrial town, there is a[?] be bulging at the seams.

The 7300-odd homes that exist are far too few to meet the demand, but about the only way Watertown can expand is upward, which means apartment houses and, in the case of industry, additional stories in the plants, in view of the comparatively small amount of vacant land that remains.

The major headache created by the situation is suffered by the Board of Assessors which, year after year, must find the money which the town meeting appropriates to carry on as good municipal services as can be found.

The assessors begin their task with the proverbial two strikes (Continued on Page Four)

Legislature, is assured against taxation.

The last valuation of the community was $58,766,000. The 1948 tax rate was $42.10, which seems bound to be increased this year, despite the earnest desire of the finance committee to hold it in check. The reason is that the 400 town employes are demanding pay increases.

The assessors take the market value of property as their norm, with location an important factor. Necessarily, land that has been built upon rates a higher value than acreage used for gardens or farming. The matter of whether property is on an accepted street also has a bearing.

In the past four years the assessors have increased the town's valuation by approximately $8,000,000, though that amount includes the value of new property, but there are cases in which present valuations exceed what it cost to erect the buildings.

Recently, a precedent was established when Lawrence Maloney, chairman of the finance committee, invited industry to air its view about the approaching budget. It was the first time that representatives of the manufacturing firms had been given opportunityu to pass judgment on town spending. Those selected to speak were Alden C. Brett, treasurer of Hood Rubber Company; John Harwood, head of Lewandos; Malcolm McNeil, president of the Ark-Les Switch Corporation, and Jesse Mason, president of Haartz-Mason, Inc.

Burden on Plants They were united in agreeing that employes of the town should have a living wage, that industry should pay its share of the greater cost, but that the increased assessment on plants has become burdensome.

McNeil went so far as to say that higher taxes might drive his business out of Watertown; that he had been offered a location in Connecticut and another in the mid-West, whre the bulk of his product is used, both at far lower tax figures. He further informed the meeting that General Motors, which utilizes 27 articles which he manufactures, had gone so far as to send an emissary to his plant to scan the cost sheets, in an effort to work out a lower scale of prices.

Despite the financial hurdle to be surmounted, Watertown's future is

[photograph of Andrew Bradford smoking a cigar] CHAIRMAN OF ASSESSORS of Watertown, Andrew D. Bradford, who heads the annual "treasure" hunt.

[M?]ONDAY, JANUARY 31, 1949

[image of Watertown house] ABRAHAM BROWNE, JR., HOUSE, oldest house in Watertown. Built in 1663, it displays the "diamond" panes typical of 17th Century houses.

not a gloomy one. Thus, it is handicapped for space in which to expand the continuance of the good government it has enjoyed, and the top-notch municipal services provided will make it such a desirable place in which to live—and do business—that taxes will be swallowed as a necessary, though unpleasant, dose.

Since Watertown was settled, in 1630, it has been a community of homes. There still reside here descendants of settlers who built their cabins and later, homestalls under the eyes of some of John Eliot's Indians, who hiked over from what is now neighboring Newton to ladle out some of the abundance of fish that filled the Charles River.

It speaks well for those first arrivals that the history of old Pequosette contains no mention of trouble with the red men. One of the first gestures of friendship that endured is depicted on the town seal —a settler exchanging a loaf of bread for a bass proffered by an Indian.

First Selectmen As time passed, many small farms were operated but excepted for the grist mill, which was the first in the colony, and the necessary blacksmith shop, considerable time was to elapse before manufacturing began. The people were agriculturists, with no thought of the cod fisheries or trade.

The first inland town in Massachusetts Bay since Aug. 23, 1634, Watertown has been governed by a group of men chosen for the office, later to become known as selectmen. Thus history accords Watertown the honor of having had New England's first board of selectment and it can boast of a town meeting that is as old as any in the New World.

Had the town clung to its original area, there would be no crowding today. In 1638, when the bounds were definitely fixed, they included all of Waltham and Weston and most of Lincoln and Belmont.

G. Frederick Robinson, former selectman and unofficial historian of the town, compiled an interesting account of its history at the time of the tercentenary. He titled it "Great Little Watertown," an appelation that is fitting.

Before departing from the early history of the community, two items from the book will be interesting, in view of the present-day problems:

In 1648 the total tax was about one pound per family; the total of town expenditures was 69 pounds and the state tax paid by the community was 44 pounds. At about that time and through many later years, the bridge that spanned the Charles to link the south side with the main body of Watertown, was a source of expense and worry, as well as a standing grievance, because, then, as now, Watertown was the gateway to the territory west of Boston and was forced to maintain the bridge for the benefit of many who merely were passing through. Today, traffic between Boston and points west imposes a terrific burden upon Watertown.

Helped by State In 1760, David Bemis built a dam in West Watertown and erected a

mill for the manufacture of paper. In 1792, while the business was being operated by his sons, Luke and Isaac, fire destroyed the mill. Because of the advantage of a paper mill to the community as a whole, the General Court voted a loan of a thousand pounds to rebuild the factory. Try to get it today!

In 1803, Seth Bemis began the manufacture of cotton warp, so superior to the variety spun by hand that he could hardly supply the demand. In 1807 he turned to the manufacture of cotton duck for sails, a product that had become hard to obtain from abroad. During the war of 1812, when coastwise shipping was all but at a standstill, Bemis sent the duck and other goods overland to Baltimore and points further south in his own wagons, which brought back cotton and tobacco. It is recorded that in 1812-1813 he lighted his factory with gas which he manufactured from coal.

As a good example of labor's gains through the years, it is also in the records that he called his workers to their places at 5 o'clock on summer mornings and 7 o'clock in winter with blasts on a big horn. At 6:30 they were allowed half an hour for breakfast. At noon, threequarters of an hour was allowed and they worked until 7 P.M., except on Saturday, when the day ended at dusk.

The legend is that mill-owners of the period beginning in 1830 took what, at times, became an annoyingly personal interest in their workers and harbored the sincere belief that, especially in the case of women workers, long hours were necessary to keep the community on a safe moral keel.

Later, the Hollingsworth & Whitney paper mill sprang up just outside Watertown Square and grew to where it employed many hands.

Other Forerunners Other forerunners of today's busy scene also were entering the picture, so that in 1837, when Watertown still included Belmont, and had a population of 1719, there were, in addition to the Bemis and Whitney mills, three soap and candle manufacturers. These consumed 300 tons of tallow, 350 tons of barilla, 50 tons of palm oil, 1750 barrels of resin, 375 cords of fuel, 2000 casks of lime and 1000 bushels of salt.

Capital invested in the enterprises totalled $27,000. Also, there were 85,000 boxes manufactured, with a value of $14,000. On the south side of the river, Lewis B. Porter operated shops where laundry and mill machinery was manufactured.

In 1829 a French couple opened a dye house which still stands in the same location and is still operated as Lewandos.

In 1855, Miles Pratt opened his foundry, which later became the Walker & Pratt Manufacturing Company, makers of stoves and heaters.

The Arsenal has been in operation since 1816. When the Civil War began, without authorization from Washington, but with the consent of the Arsenal command-

[image of G. Frederick Robinson wearing a coat and hat] WATERTOWN HISTORIAN and former selectman, G. Frederick Robinson, a well known figure in the town.

ant, the foundry began molding cannonballs and shells to fit guns made at the neighboring ordnance plant.

At the time of the first World War, the Arsenal underwent a great expansion. considerable of which was not completed until long after the armistice. The recent global conflict saw it burgeon again, but this time it went too far, in the opinion of many citizens.

School street is one of Watertown's important traffic arteries and its southerly end, at that time, separated the Arsenal property from the Vose piano factory and other land and buildings. The War Department made no bones about grabbing what it considered necessary, which included land, buildings and street. It constructed an addition to the last structure within the former Arsenal bounds and ran it across School street to connect with the piano plant. Dwellings on the rest of the land were razed to make room for storage.

No Reimbursement Ever since then, traffic has to detour to get onto School street from North Beacon street, which is a part of U.S. Route 20. Nothing has been done toward reimbursing the town.

Chairman Andrew B. Bradford of the board of assessors points out that the property seized by Uncle Sam, under the rights implied by eminent domain, represents a tax potential of $400,000. It is claimed that Hull was taken care of by the government in the matter of land taken, and that Hingham also was rewarded, or, at least, recompensed, but Watertown has been ignored.

There are many outspoken critics of the arsenal. They assert the big plant brings little into the community, because only a handful of its employes live in Watertown. The only town service it pays for is water, of which it uses a comparatively small amount at a reduced price. Water for industrial use in the shops is drawn from the river.

The kickers say that when Frank Ahern, sealer of weights and measures, makes his rounds, it requires three weeks of his time to check on weights and balances used at the plant. They assert that what is done there can be done more efficiently and cheaply elsewhere and that if Uncle Sam would kindly move out, the plant would be ideal for small and diversified industries.

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his hands across his brow as if to clear his vision, and then waving his torch again for an instant, sped on and dashed it into the dry and withered grass.

"Quick as lighting the flames leaped up, swayed back and forward for an instant with with an uncertain motion, and then swept over the prairie with the speed of wind. The savages gave forth a yell of mingled rage and disappointment, and when the smoke cleared away were seen with scorched and half-naked bodies making off across the plain. Several of our party went out to meet the returning hero and brought him into camp.

"'I have received my death wound,' he observed, 'but I am not sorry. You have treated me with kindness, and I leave you all my blessing. You have more than once manifested a desire to learn the story of my life. I will tell it to you now, but first try to stop the flow of blood for a time that it may not rob me of my breath before you have heard me out. The wound is here,' he continued, laying this hand upon his breast.

"We removed the clothing from the place. The blood was flowing freely from the wound, and it was plain that though his life might be prolonged for a few hours, his mortal race was well-nigh run. All the aid that could be was afforded to the sufferer. We stanched the blood as soon as we were able; gave him some water which he desired, and placing him upon a couch formed from dry grass from the prairie overspread with a buffalo robe, he began the story of his life.

"'My father was a farmer of considerable property in England, and had a life lease of a productive and valuable farm. I was his only son. It was his intention to rear me to the same occupation, and until fifteen years ago I lived at home. Our landlord, a man of liberal and enlightened views himself, believing that an enlightened tenantry were happier among themselves and more profitable to the proprietor, exerted himself to afford the means of education of the children and to diffuse general knowledge amongst them as much as possible.

"'From my frist commencement as a pupil an earnest desire to acquire an education took possession of my mind; and in a very few years I became master of the branches taught in the common schools. I then solicited my father's permission to attend a grammar school kept in a neighboring village for the purpose of acquiring the rudiments of a classical education. He refused me for a long time, saying my education was sifficient for the station I was designed to fill; but at length finding my heart set upon it he yielded his consent. That was a joyful day for me, and a vision of future greatness danced before my eyes and mingled with my dreams.

"'With the humble wardrobe of a peasant's son I set out to place myself under the instructions of a clergyman who had charge of the sons of gentlemen residing in the vicinity, preparing themselves for college. It was a new thing to have the son of a yeoman mingling with them in the higher branches of learning, and they looked upon me with no favor. But the instructor, a man of honor and liberality, would not permit them to treat me with rudeness they desired.

"'After undergoing a satisfactory examination I entered upon my studies, and in a short time, notwithstanding the contempt with which my classmates had regarded me at first, I stood before them all. In two years' time I was prepared to enter college. It was no very difficult task after having gained my father's consent to enter the grammar school to prevail upon him to let me pursue my studies, backed as I was by the recommendation of my teacher.

"'"But," said he, "I see plainly enough it will spoil you for a farmer, and I fear the little I have saved by toil will be squandered by you in endeavoring to keep up the appearance of a gentleman."

"'His scruples, however, being overcome at last, I entered upon my collegiate course. It is unnecessary to dwell upon this portion of my life. My means were not sufficient to enable me to mingle much in the expensive pleasures of my fellow-students; and as a compensation I applied myself more diligently to my studies. At the end of the course it proved no loss, for it resulted with us as it ever will, that those who spend most time in idleness and dissipation hold the lowest place in the rank of scholars.

"'After having obtained a degree I determined to enter upon the study of law and went to the metropolis for that purpose. There was at that time a distinguished lawyer practising in the English courts, who, by superior powers of mind and indefatigable exertions had raised himself from obscurity as low as mine. He had been knighted by George IV. and had held uner him an important post in the British Cabinet. I made application to him and showed him my credentials from the university. He questioned me with vigorous severity, and being satisfied, consented to my studying with him.

"'It was stipulated that after the first year, a small salary should be allowed me in addition to his instruction, for various services he might wish me to perform. Though in many respects a man of fine feelings, ambition had become his god; the pursuit of fame and the enrolment of his name among the aristocracy of the realm, the all-absorbing purpose of his soul. He

had bent all the energies of his nature, and made all the prospects of earthly happiness subservient to the attainment of this end. He had married the younger daughter of a nobleman of distinguished family but decayed fortune, and though her dowry was small, her connection was in every respect honorable and she herself worthy of his love. Nevertheless his own success as a professional man, aided by the liberal salaries he had received in several lucrative public offices, yielded him in the course of a few years, a handsome private fortune. His wife possessed all the traits a man could hope or expect to find in woman; kind, benevolent and pure, and during her life exerted an influence over him like that of a guardian spirit. I need not say he loved her with devoted tenderness, but she died during the period of greatest usefulness, leaving him a widower with a daughter two years old.

""After the shock of his bereavement had passed away, he seemed to renew his favorite pursuite with increased intensity, and the end of his ambitious views were centred in his child. He attended most carefully to her education, and she was every way worthy of his care. She was not the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, but sufficiently so to attract attention at first sight; and her fascinating manners, intellectual and moral excellence, won the admiration and love of all who made her aquaintance. I was in my twenty-second year when I commenced the study of law, and she at that time was nearly seventeen.

"'It happened that I called at the residence of Sir John Temple, for that was the father's name, to settle some preliminaries upon the morning of my entrance as a student in his office, and was shown in by a servant, who, saying that his master would be in soon, left me along in the drawingroom. Whilst waiting there, his daughter came in. She evidently did not know that anyone was present, for she was bearing a vase of flowers; her bonnet was thrown carelessly back, and her rich and flowing tresses were waving loosely about her snowwhite neck. She was somewhat confused at first, but recovering herself, and placing the vase upon the marble mantelpiece, she saluted me, and removing her bonnet, took a seat. I told her I had called to see Sir John. She replied that he was in the library; that she had heard the servant announce my name, and supposed I had been shown up. I answered that the servant said he was engaged for a short time, but would soon be down. We conversed for a few moments before Sir John came in.

"'I had mingled very little in society, and had but few opportunities of conversing with females of rank and education, but I had formed for myself an ideal image of womanly grace, and I felt in a short time that all my imaginings were more than realized in her. Sir John coming in, interrupted our conversation, and his daughter, for from a personal resemblance I was convinced that she was such, immediately retired.

"'The preliminaries were soon arranged, and I entered upon the long and tiring study of the law. For a year or two I was called but rarely from my duties in the office, but as I began to master the mysteries of the profession I was occasionally employed to execute important legal transactions; and as a consequence, sometimes consulted Sir John at his own house. His daughter had in the meantime completed her education, and was mistress of her father's mansion. I was necessarily thrown into her society, and I need not say that she made a deep impression upon my mind.

"'The father's cares and business did not permit him to mingle much in fashionable society, and the retiring and reflective mind of the daughter induced her to follow his example in this respect. Still an heiress and daughter of so distinguished a man could not remain unknown; and many schemes were set on foot by fortune-hunters to obtain the prize. Sir John, imagining his daughter's happiness would be secrued and his own ambitious views realized by obtaining for her a name and rank, looked to gaining a titled suitor to her hand. Oh, how fatally; as many fathers have done before, did he mistake the happiness of his child!'"

Boston Evening Transcript

THE NAMELESS GRAVE [A Tale of Mount Auburn] PART II.

July 29/1905

"There was a young nobleman, by the name of Alfred—, who graduated in the same class with myself. He was a wild and reckless student while in college; of little moral principle, and often conducted himself so disgracefully that had it not been for family influence, he would have been expelled. Immediately after his college course was ended, being allowed free reins by the death of his father, he in a short time, by gaming and other extravagances, deeply embarrassed his pecuniary affairs.

"Finding at length that he had almost irretrievably ruined his fortunes, he suddenly pretended reform, dismissed his worthless associates, and looked around for the purpose of relieving his embarrassments by a

matrimonial alliance. The daughter of the eminent barrister, Sir John Temple, was regarded as affording an excellent opportunity for that purpose; for although his wealth was large, common report had magnified it, and the known ambition of the father, he was convinced, would second his suit. Accordingly he opened a negotiation with Sir John, who overcame his scruples of moral delinquencies by testimonials of reform, for with ambitious fathers titles cover a multitude of sins, and obtained his consent to address his daughter. This having been accomplished, he waited upon her with the greatest confidence of success, and offered himself a suitor for her hand. His character was not unknown to her, and he was the last one whose addresses she would have favored; consequently, although she endeavored to do so without wounding his pride, she firmly declined his offer. Chagrined beyond measure by his unexpected repulse, he resolved to gain his end or be revenged. He waited upon her father, reported his ill success, and declared that some villain unknown to them had stolen her affections. Sir John, naturally irritable and soured in his disposition by recent defeat in the acquisition of some political honor on which he had set his heart, was exasperated against his daughter. He pledged the nobleman that she should become his wife, and returning hom in a state of ex citement he accused her of receiving the addresses of some suitor without his knowledge; at the same time forbidding her to see him, whoever he might be, and commanding her to receive as a suitor the nobleman she had so lately refused.

She denied the accusations alleged against her, and pleaded with tears by the love he bore her mother, not to compel her to receive the addresses of a man whose moral character she detested—declaring that she would rather endure a life of poverty and want, and life down unknown in an unhonored grave, than to tread the marble halls of wealtht the wife of a libertine and a wretch.

Her father was softened by the appeal, and promised to giver her time to reflect. Meanwhile, my probation as a law student was rapidly drawing to a close. My calls at Sir John's house on professional business became more frequent, and I was happy in finding an excuse for doing so; for, though I had not even made the confession to myself, his lovely daughter and made a deep impression upon my mind. Strange as it may seem, Sir John had never suspected that such might be the result, and I was permitted to mingle in the society of his daughter frequently, although it might have easily been seen that it was at the hazard of both her peace and my own. But I was a student, of no family, and poor; she the daughter of a man high in the estimation of all distinguished men —and, viewing the disparity between us, he did not dream it would be forgotten by the ardent child.

The season passed away, and at the sitting of the court I was admitted to the bar. Sir John was deeply engaged in another political contest, and having confidence in my legal knowledge, he entrusted to me the management of an important suit, with the advantage of its fees in case of a successful termination. Most laboriously did I prepare myself for this, knowing well that success at the outset is all important to a successful professional career. The opposing counsel, when they learned who was to oppose the suit, did not even make the usual preparations, thinking a young practitioner could easily be led astray and confounded amidst the intricacies of the law; consequently they were thrown completely off their guard, and the result was a signal triumph on my part. I now considered my career as fairly begun, for two more cases were put into my hands before leaving the court, and in high spirits I called upon Sir John. He was not at home, but his daughter received and congratulated me upon my success. I was gratified that she was sufficiently interested to learn the result so soon, and taking courage from the circumstance, without thinking to consult her father as I ought to have done first, I unhesitatingly confessed my love, entreating her not to think me presumptive, but to give me hope, upon the achievement of professional eminence, to obtain a return of her affections. She was greatly agitated at my declaration, confessed the deep impression I had made upon her heart, but told me of her father's determination to marry her to the nobleman of whom we have spoken before.

"My God!" I exclaimed, "will he consign you over to such a wretch?"

"I will never consent," she answered. "I told my father I had rather die. Although I am pledged to receive the attentions of no one but him, yet I will live single for your sake." And she raised her eyes to mine with a look of confidence and affection that thrilled my inmost soul, and impelled me irresistibly to clasp her to my heart.

At that instant Sir John entered the room. A sudden suspicion that I was the cause of Count Alfred's rejection flashed across his mind like lightning and his face was pale with rage.

"Daughter, to your room," he said, and she hastened away overcome with confusion.

"And now, young man, this is the way you have repaid my kindness. You have entered my house, and, like a viper, stung the bosom that warmed you into life. This accounts for her dislike to my choice of

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Count Alfred, but I swear he shall have he[r?] now, or I'll banish her from my hous[e?] forever."

I pleaded with him, pleaded as I would not have done for my own life. I depre cated his anger, not on my own account but hers. God knows, if it had been for m[e?] alone, I would have given him taunt to taunt. He forbade me his house. I rented his office immediately and commenced the practice of my profession. Although I executed faithfully whatever was intrusted to my care, and though my business slowly increased, yet my anxiety of mind for the fate of Mary Temple did not permit me to take that active position necessary to insure success. Rumor began to be rife that Count Alfred was to be married soon to the daughter of Sir John Temple, and, driven almost to madness, I bribed a servant of the family to convey a letter to her. I besought her to tell me true if the rumor of her union with the count was unfounded. He brought back answer the next day stating that her father had endeavored to coerce her into the hated match, but though she would willingly undergo any suffering to gratify him, in this she felt she could never yield. The letter was blotted with tears, and closed by pledging eternal faithfulness to me. I wrote again begging an interview with her, and sent it back by the servant. As chance would have it, Count Alfred came around the corner of the street just as the servant was leaving my office, and, suspecting some plot, passed back unseen, where, waiting till the menial came up he took him into a private room in a hotel near by, and partly by promises and partly by threats, obtained possession of the letter. Then bidding him wait below until he called, he melted the wax before the grate, opened and read the epistle, then sealing it anew he called the servant, and giving him a sovereign bade him when he returned with an answer to call again. The servant did as directed, and after the count had read this as he had done the former one, he sent it to me. Mary stated in her letter that she had yielded, with many doubts as to its propriety, to my request; that she would see me once more, since our parting had been so sudden, at a bower in her father's garden that night at twelve, and then she must bid me farewell, perhaps forever. In the meantime Count Alfred called upon Sir John and revealed to him the secret of our meeting, inventing a falsehood to cover the meanness by which he had obtained the information, and declaring that we were frequently in the habit of meeting clandestinely.

"If what you say is true," Sir John replied in a passion, "she shall never enter my halls again. I will disown her before the world and cut her off without a shilling."

"You will be convinced tonight," replied the count.

We met at the hour appointed. The calm, full moon was shining through the latticework of the bower, her silver rays glistening in the dewdrops and sparkling like so many diamonds amidst the foliage of the grape and honeysuckle that twined around it, as I pressed the maiden to my heart, forgetful of everything but the bliss of the moment. It was a tearful meeting on her part. The thought of the risk of reputation that she ran, and the disobedience of her father's mandate, preyed upon her mind. We were engaged in a whispered consultation and vows of eternal constancy to each other when two shadows passed before the entrance of the bower, and, looking up, we beheld Sir John and Count Alfred standing before us. The rays of the moon fell directly upon their faces. That of the count was lit up with a smile of gratified malice; that of Sir John was calm and pale, but the quivering lip and flashing eye betokened the tempest in his soul.

"Take her," he said to me, "but take her with a father's curse. And now begone; you must not trespass upon my grounds."

"O spare me, father," exclaimed the daughter, sinking upon her knees before him. "It is my first transgression."

"Whom does she call?" inquired Sir John. "Her father? I am not her father. She is a stranger within my gates. Here, James," he called to a porter who was attending him, "thrust these intruders without the portal of the garden."

I entreated him to spare his child; declared the fault was mine, and pledged myself to relinquish all hope; but it was all in vain. Sir John was inexorable. Count Alfred himself approached to bear her out, but I placed myself before him, and, drawing a dagger that I happened to have about my person, I bade him approach at his peril. Although armed himself, he shrank back like a cowed hound, for he was as much a coward as he was a villain.

But it was useless to linger, and lifting the inanimate form of the lovely girl—for she had fainted—in my arms. I bore her through the portal, which was locked after us. I carried her to a public house which was near at hand, by no means a reputable one, but I thought not of that, for she was in a death-like swoom. A cordial soon restored her, and she inquired hastily what had been done and where she was. I told her all.

"I must see my father in the morning," she said; "but if he refuses to recognize me as his daughter! O God! where will this matter end?"

I persuaded her to rest, adding that I would call upon her father in the morning, and hoped that all might yet be well. She became more calm and sank to rest upon a sofa where she had been placed. Nature was completely exhausted, but the working of her countenance showed plainly that her mind was ill at ease. I watched by her couch until the dawn, when she awoke. She seemed a moment lost, but, soon collecting her thoughts, she rose and said:

"I must go home; surely my father cannot be so cruel as to cut me off."

I persuaded her to remain until I had first gone to see Sir John, and, having provided her with some refreshments, I hastened away. I rang at his door and received for answer that he was not at home; I tried to bribe the servant to admit me, but it was in vain, and with a heavy heart I returned to announce my ill-success.

"I will go myself," said she. "It is not possible that admittance will be denied to me." And putting on her bonnet she left the inn.

My mind was too much agitated to permit me to rest, so, leaving the inn after her, I passed down an adjoining street until I came to a position where I could watch the door of her father's house unseen. From there I saw her ring. A strange servant answered the summons, and, after staring at her some time in affected wonder, told her that Sir John had gone into the country. She attempted to pass in, but he thrust her back and shut the door in her face. She tried to open it, but it was locked, and then sitting down on the steps she gave way to an agony of despair. Persons going by gazed at her, some with curiosity and some with pity, for they thought her insane. The sight maddened me, and rushing to the spot:

"Mary," I said, "this is no place for you; it is plain that your unfeeling father has cast you off, and on my account. Would to God I had died before bringing this calamity upon your head."

"Do not reproach yourself as the cause," she replied, "nor make yourself unhappy for another's fault. Count Alfred is the one who had done it all. He is the wretch who has shut a father's house against his child."

"Come, then," I said, "and whilst Heaven spares my life, you shall not want. I will toil day and night, and esteem it happiness if I but receive your smile as a reward."

We returned from her father's mansion, never to go back. With difficulty I obtained a boarding-place for her in a respectable private family, for the rumor went abroad that I had ruined the lovely daughter of Sir John Temple, and that her father had disowned her in consequence. Rakes and libertines called me a brave fellow, but all honorable men regarded me with indignation. Mary was unwilling to become my wife, fearing it would make the estrangement between her and her father irremediable. Her jewels had been sent on the following day to the inn where I had carried her at first, but no message had accompanied them. She attempted to see her father several times, and wrote many letters protesting her innocence of the accusation, but all in vain.

The reports that went abroad prejudicial to my character ruined my prospects of success in my profession, and clients that had begun to crowd to my office fell off one by one—until absolute want began to stare me in the face. Many sad consultations were held between Mary and myself; and at length, when all hope of reconciliation with her friends were at an end, she consented to become my wife and embark with me for America. The marriage ceremony was solemnly performed by a clergyman of our mother church; and, being fully attested, was published to remove the stain that rested upon her character in public estimation. Then, having written a last epistle to her father, in which she sought his forgiveness for any undutiful steps she might have taken, we collected the little property remaining to us and embarked. With tearful eyes we beheld the white cliffs of our native land receding from our view, until all we had held dear in early life sunk below the horizon's verge. But we were left to each other, and we felt that was the greatest happiness of all.

Eight weeks from the time we left England, our vessel entered the harbor of New York and moored by one of the wharves of East River. I hastened on shore to seek employment, for my funds were beginning to run low. Bitter disappointment was in store for me, for nothwithstanding my professional skill and the long term of study in my native country, I could not be permitted to practise in the higher American courts until I became a citizen, and that required a residence of five years. I next tried to get employment in a mercantile establishment, but the city was crowded with young men from the country wishing to exchange the quiet labors of agriculture for the dusty and toilsome road of commercial life, and, moreover, the rascalities that had lately been perpetrated by swindlers from the Old World caused the mercantile community to regard all foreigners with suspicion. I went back to the vessel

unsuccessful, and we disembarked. I rented a small, comfortable house, and managed to pay the rent for two quarters as it came due, but after that we were obliged to change our residence of a couple of rooms in a large building inhabited by the poorer classes of citizens. Unable to find any employment in any business adapted to my abilities and education, I was driven at last to work as a common laborer in the street. Even in this I was unable to find steady employment, and all I could earn in addition to what Mary received from the proceeds of her needle, were scarcely sufficient to furnish the necessaries of life.

During the long weary winter that succeeded we were obliged to sell, one by one, the few articles of furniture, etc., that remained to us until finally my law library, which I had retained until the last, was disposed of for half its value to save us from hunger and from cold. Thus we passed a year. Mary was always cheerful, and in the deepest hours of my despondency when adversity seemed to be closing round with darker folds, her soothing words would quiet my troubled spirit and inspire me with fresh hope. Yet I could not but note the paleness of her cheek, and a consciousness that sorrow and privation were gnawing at her heart almost drove me mad. We had no news from home, and as spring came on we resolved to leave New York and try our fortunes in some of the manufacturing villages of New England. We had proceeded on our way as far as Boston when the want of funds and the illness of my wife compelled me to stop; and there, in a strange city, penniless and without a friend, we were left in the open street. I obtained a miserable room and removed our scanty furniture therein. We had not even a crust to eat and in despair I rushed into the street and wandered over the city. As I passed up one of the avenues I encountered a crowd of men elevating the heavy pillars of some building, and almost unconsciously I joined the group. The workmen had spirits furnished for their use, and as they passed around the fatal beverage I drank deep and madly, and as the shadows of evening fell, I crossed the miserable threshold o fmy sojourning place—for I will not call it home—a drunkard. The cup of my wife's misery was then full. She sank upon the bed, and for the first time gave way to a paroxysm of agony and despair. When I recovered myself in the morning shame and repentance took possession of my mind. I swore upon my knees beside her bed, that, come what might, I would never touch the fatal cup again, and then hastened out to obtain food and medical attendance for my wife. It happened that the first physician that I called upon was a humane man, and when he heard my story, procured me the necessary articles of food and medicine and went with me. Every provision was made for her comfort, and the physician departed, promising to call again the next day. A New York paper that he had in his hat happened to fall out unperceived, and was left upon the floor when he went away. Glancing over it, my eyes fell upon the list of advertised letters, in which were two directed to my wife. I instantly wrote to the postmaster to have them forwarded, and, on the second day after they came to hand. They were sealed with black and directed with a strange hand, but bore the impress of her father's arms. I hastily broke the seals and read them to her. The first was written by an attorney who said he was doing it at the dictation of her father on his dying bed: The Count Alfred, having been injured fatally by a fall from his horse, had, in a moment of remorse, confessed the villainous agency he had in alienating Sir John and his child; that Sir John had become convinced that he had done both her and me a deep wrong, for which he asked our forgiveness, and bestowed upon us his parting blessing; that he had made us joint heirs of his property, and desired us to return immediately and enjoy it. A postscript was added by the attorney stating that Sir John died soon after the letter was finished. The other was a bill of exchange on New York for £1000. Mary wept long and bitterly at her father's loss, for despite of his harshness, she loved him with all the fervor of a generous heart, but the recollections of his forgiveness and parting blessing restored her tranquillity of spirit. I obtained a discount of the bill at one of the Boston banks and had her conveyed immediately to as comfortable a place as could be obtained in the city, and the physician who first called upon her, and who was eminent in his profession, continued his attendance; but it was too late. Consumption, the fiend that never loses his grasp, had fastened upon her and in six short months laid her to rest in the quiet slumbers of the grave. But her last days were said to her only at the thought of my bereavement, and she cheered me with the hope of a happier meeting in another world. She sank to rest calmly as the summer sun was setting, with the certainty of rising another day. I buried her in Mount Auburn, under a plain gray slab that bears only the initials of her name and simple verse. The name registered upon the books is an assumed one, and none knows the history of her resting place but ourselves. Near the close