hich she
only manages to extract grief and sadness, as I think. Such a gloom has
fallen over our wretched Virginian house of Castlewood, that we all
grew ill, and pale as ghosts, who inhabited it. Mountain told me, madam,
that, for nights, my mother would not close her eyes. I have had her at
my bedside, looking so ghastly, that I have started from my own sleep,
fancying a ghost before me. By one means or other she has wrought
herself into a state of excitement which if not delirium, is akin to
it. I was again and again struck down by the fever, and all the Jesuits'
bark in America could not cure me. We have a tobacco-house and some land
about the new town of Richmond, in our province, and went thither, as
Williamsburg is no wholesomer than our own place; and there I mended a
little, but still did not get quite well, and the physicians strongly
counselled a sea-voyage. My mother, at one time, had thoughts of coming
with me, but--" (and here the lad blushed and hung his head down)
"--we did not agree very well, though I know we loved each other very
heartily, and 'twas determined that I should see the world for myself.
So I took passage in our ship from the James River, and was landed at
Bristol. And 'twas only on the 9th of July, this year, at sea, as had
been agreed between me and Madam Esmond, that I put mourning on for my
dear brother."

So that little Mistress of the Virginian Castlewood, for whom, I am
sure, we have all the greatest respect, had the knack of rendering the
people round about her uncomfortable; quarrelled with those she loved
best, and exercised over them her wayward jealousies and imperious
humours, until they were not sorry to leave her. Here was money enough,
friends enough, a good position, and the respect of the world; a house
stored with all manner of plenty, and good things, and poor Harry
Warrington was glad to leave them all behind him. Happy! Who is
happy? What good in a stalled ox for dinner every day, and no content
therewith? Is it best to be loved and plagued by those you love, or to
have an easy, comfortable indifference at home; to follow your fancies,
live there unmolested, and die without causing any painful regrets or
tears?

To be sure, when her boy was gone, Madam Esmond forgot all these little
tiffs and differences. To hear her speak of both her children, you would
fancy they were perfect characters, and had never caused her a moment's
worry or annoyance. These gone, Madam fel