less, romantic nature; and that the change in her manner was due to her discovery that they had produced an effect upon him which she had never contemplated.

It would not be true to say that this discovery gave Mr. Kendall no pain; but it pointed out the path of duty. He at once resolved to dismiss her from his heart, to treat her as he did other female friends, and never thereafter, by word or act, to indicate that he had ever entertained a partiality for her. Though there was occasionally a heart-rebellion against this resolution, it was faithfully kept, and in a short time her presence excited no peculiar emotion. For a time she maintained a studied reserve towards him; but this was soon overcome by his prudent conduct, and they remained as good friends as if Cupid had never maliciously amused himself with their mistakes.

In the mean time Mr. Kendall had become acquainted with the other sister, whom he found to be worthy of his highest regard. The incidents which had occurred did not break off his visits to the family, by whom he was always received with the utmost cordiality. It was perhaps natural that he should, under the circumstances, be inclined to transfer his affections from one sister, by whom they were not reciprocated, to another who might prove more appreciative. In this new attachment there was not that degree of romance which marked the former; but, perhaps for that very reason, it was more satisfactory. The object of it was older and better acquainted with the world, and possessed of all the qualities of head and heart necessary to make a man happy. Mr. Kendall had made up his mind to leave New England, and had no thought of marrying until he should be established in business, with an income adequate to the support of a family. Yet, having found that these affairs of the heart interfered very much with his studies and impaired his capacity for business, he became desirous to put an end to their distracting influence by an engagement which should settle the question of his future domestic relations, and leave his mind to pursue other objects undisturbed by restless passions. Entertaining these views, and satisfied that he should never find one better calculated to encourage and aid him in the rugged paths of life, he broached the subject to her, and was made quite happy by her reply. He told her frankly, that seeing no prospect of advancement in his profession in New England, he expected to settle somewhere in the South or West, and she

thought it would make no difference to her. Thus this interesting affair seemed to have reached a satisfactory adjustment.

But, alas! "the course of true love never did run smooth." While he was preparing for his journey to Washington the lady left home on a visit to her friends in Boston. He wrote to her there, and it seemed to him a long time before an answer came. And when it arrived at last, it announced her indisposition to engage herself to a young man who was about to leave for a distant land, where he must necessarily form new associations and perhaps new attachments. An animated correspondence ensued, in which both parties were equally inflexible. Avowing her partiality for him and her readiness to marry him if he would remain in New England, the lady firmly persisted in declining an engagement if he would not. On the other hand, he as firmly refused, for her sake, to remain in New England, where he could have but the faintest hopes of advancement. The affair ended in the exchange of tokens of friendship and mutual promises of correspondence, the bargain being sealed with a kiss, which was the first and the last. Romantic youngsters may think the love was not very ardent on either side, when neither would, for the sake of the other, give up the point of difficulty. Theirs was not an unreasoning love. The lady's decision was justified by prudence. Though his would

doubtless have been the same had he known that the separation was final, he had a strong hope that when he had established himself in business, no matter where, she would, if still single, be willing to marry him. Nor did he give up this hope until after he had begun business, when, at his request, his friend Woodbury put the question as if to satisfy his own curiosity, whether in case Kendall returned and addressed her, she would go with him to Kentucky, and received in reply a decisive "No!"

Time passed, and Mr. Woodbury was on the point of being married to the eldest of the three sisters, when she sickened and died. To him the shock was terrible. After several months Mr. Kendall advised him to turn his thoughts to the second sister, as one well calculated to fill the void in his heart occasioned by the loss of the elder. Though in his reply Woodbury scouted the idea of his ever marrying any one, not a year passed before he had acted upon Kendall's advice. In a few years, however, he died of consumption.

Mr. Kendall also married, and after five years was left a widower.

His thoughts reverted to the girl he left behind him, now the widow of his friend Woodbury, and in a letter he indicated his disposition to renew the relations which once existed between them. Perceiving his drift, she at once put an end to all hope by replying that she would never leave her aged mother, then under her care, and hinting that she had no desire again to enter the matrimonial state. And she died a widow, at an advanced age.

Another singular incident may be mentioned in this connection. Mr. Kendall had an only son, and the third sister to whom he was once so enthusiastically attached had an only daughter. They casually met, contracted a mutual attachment for each other, and were married.

CHAPTER IV.

On the 7th of February, 1814, there was a family meeting at Deacon Kendall's. The following is Mr. Kendall's account of it:

"This day, for the first and probably the last time, all my father's children dined together. The youngest was born since the oldest left home. Several incidents rendered the scene highly interesting. My three older brothers had their wives with them; my next younger, the girl whom he expects to marry; and, of all the near connections, my sister's husband alone was absent. While we were preparing drink, each for his partner, my mother observed to my sister, that as she had now no husband she must depend on me. My sister was so stung by the reflection, that she went away and wept bitterly. I, too, thought of another, but hushed my thoughts as well as I could.

"After dinner, our father addressed us. His voice was interrupted by the agitation of his feelings. Our mother attempted to speak; but tears choked her utterance. Our father continued. He advised us to cherish affection for one another, said we should probably never meet again in this world, and besought us to prepare for an interview in a better. Turning to me, he said they would probably see me no more, and bade me follow honesty in my profession, and, above all, seek for salvation through a Saviour.

64 'We were all drowned in tears. It was more like a scene of death than a meeting of joy. After some observations from my brother John, we sang together, and our father prayed with us. I was too much affected to be able to utter a word."

On the 18th he took leave of his father's family. On this occasion he says, "The parting was consecrated by abundance of tears; but we were too much affected to say anything more than 'farewell.'"

His mother was in such feeble health that there was little probability of his ever seeing her again. His father took him to Groton, and there they exchanged farewells. The same evening he

visited the family in which, during his residence in Groton, he had spent so many happy hours, and bade his friends there a painful adieu.

The next day he took leave of his other friends in Groton, and went to Boston, where he remained until the 21st, making parting calls and taking leave of his friends, among whom were Jonathan Fowle and his sisters, and the lady whom he still hoped to make his wife. The 20th was Sunday, in the record of which day he states that he attended church, and that "The young Mr. Everett was the clergyman, - a youth of great promise, lately ordained over the church in Brattle Square." This was Edward Everett, who afterwards became distinguished as a lecturer and statesman.

Extracts from Mr. Kendall's journal, with explanatory remarks, will best describe his journey.

"1814, February 21st. About nine o'clock set out from Boston. The stage was full, and I therefore took a seat with the driver. This I found the most pleasant seat. With the towns in the neighborhood of Boston, on the western road, I was disappointed. The soil generally is poor, with a mixed growth of hemlock, white-pine, and some hardwood. The effects of a late storm were apparent in the multitude of broken boughs strewed through the forests.

"On entering the stage I found my companions to be three speculating merchants, whose conversation related to their own business, two little girls lately from the West Indies, and one or two others.

"22d. It was one o'clock in the morning when we arrived at Ashford. I was sick with riding in the stage, and retired to bed. We were called about five o'clock, and, although not completely relieved, I set out with the rest. I had the precaution to take a seat with the driver, where I had a chance of viewing the country. The soil, as we advanced, grew better. We passed through Hartford, Wethersfield, etc., to New Haven, where we arrived about 11 P. M. No particular curiosity was observed to-day, excepting the rock down which the brave Putnam precipitated himself when pursued by the British. A road is now cut through the rock, a little to the left of the spot. "After attempting in vain to get our baggage carried to the packet, we retired to bed.

"23d.

Set out about six o'clock, and arrived at Rye, within twentysix miles of New York. In consequence of horrible roads we could proceed no farther, and put up for the night. I was very much fatigued, and retired immediately to bed.

"24th. Started about seven o'clock, and with great exertion arrived