edge rose to take his leave, and my father had
so far rallied by the excitement of conversation that he already felt
himself restored to health; and his last words to his guest at parting
were,--

"I'll call and see you, Rutledge, before the week is over."

CHAPTER XII. SHOWING THAT "WHAT IS CRADLED IN SHAME IS HEARSED IN
SORROW."

Accustomed all his life to the flattery which surrounds a position of
some eminence, my father was not a little piqued at the coldness of
his friends during his illness. The inquiries after him were neither
numerous nor hearty. Some had called once or twice to ask how he was;
others had written brief excuses for their absence; and many contented
themselves with hearing that it was a slight attack, which a few days
would see the end of. Perhaps there were not many men in the kingdom
less given to take umbrage at trifles than my father. Naturally disposed
to take the bold and open line of action in every affair of life, he
never suspected the possibility of a covert insult; and that any one
could cherish ill-feeling to another, without a palpable avowal
of hostility, was a thing above his conception. At any other time,
therefore, this negligence, or indifference, or whatever it was,
would not have occasioned him a moment's unpleasantness. He would have
explained it to himself in a dozen ways, if it ever occurred to him to
require explanation. Now, however, he was irritable from the effects of
a malady peculiarly disposed to ruffle nervous susceptibility; while
the chagrin of the late Viceregal visit, and its abrupt termination, was
still over him. There are little eras in the lives of the best-tempered
men, when everything is viewed in wrong and discordant colors, and when,
by a perverse ingenuity, they seek out reasons for their own unhappiness
in events and incidents that have no possible bearing on the question.
Having once persuaded himself that his friends were faithless to him, he
set about accounting for it by every casuistry he could think of. I have
lived too long abroad; I have mixed too much in the great world, thought
he, to be able to conform to this small and narrow circle. I am not
local enough for them. I cannot trade on the petty prejudices they love
to cherish, and which they foolishly think means being national. My
wider views of life are a rebuke to their pettiness; and it 's clear we
do not suit each other. To preserve my popularity I should have lived at
home, and