r Lilian's. She was their only child, and their poverty lost its
last sting when they saw her linked arm in arm with young Anna
Trevanion, the companion of her lessons and her sports. They could not
have borne to see her, so lovely in outward form, and with a mind so
full of intelligence, condemned either to the dreariness of a life
without companionship, or to the degradation of association with the
rude and uncultivated. That this feeling was wholly unconnected with any
false views of their own position, or vain estimation of the claims
derived from their birth and former condition, was evident from their
readiness to receive into their friendly regards those in their present
sphere in whose moral qualities they could confide, and who did not
repel their courtesies by a rude and coarse manner. There was one of
this latter class who held a place in their esteem not less exalted than
that occupied by Mr. Trevanion himself. This was a Scotchman, living
within two miles of Mr. Trevanion's seat, who found at once an agreeable
occupation and a respectable support in a garden, from which he supplied
the markets of New-York with some of their choicest vegetables, and its
drawing-rooms with some of their choicest bouquets. Mr. Grahame was one
who, in those early ages when physical endowments constituted the chief
distinction between men, might have been chosen king of the tribe with
which he had chanced to be associated. Even now, in this self-styled
enlightened age, his tall and stalwart frame, his erect carriage, his
firm and vigorous step, his broad, commanding brow, his bright, keen
eye, and the firm, frank expression of his whole face, won from every
beholder an involuntary feeling of respect, which further acquaintance
only served to deepen. With little of the education of schools, he was a
man of reading, and, what schools can never make, he was a man of
thought, and of that sober, practical good sense, and those firm,
religious principles which are the surest, the only true and safe guides
in life. Mrs. Grahame was a gentle and lovely woman, with an eye to see
and a heart to feel her husband's excellences. And a worthy son of such
a father was Michael Grahame, the only child of this excellent pair. He
was six years older than Lilian Devoe, and having no sister of his own,
had been her playfellow and protector from her cradle. Even Anna
Trevanion could not rival Michael in Lilian's heart, nor all the
luxuries of Trevanion