It was supposed by Julia and certain of her friends that an event

so solemn, so impressive, and so unexpected, as the death of Mr.

Clifford, would reasonably affect the mind of his widow; and the

concessions which I had meditated to address to herself and her

late husband were now so varied as to apply solely to herself. I

took considerable pains in preparing my letter, with the view to

soften her prejudices and asperities, as well as to convince her

reason. There was one suggestion which Julia was disposed to insist

on, to which, however, I was singularly averse. In the destitution

of Mrs. Clifford, her diminished and still diminishing resources,

not to speak of her loneliness, she thought that I ought to tender

her a home with us. Had she been any other than the captious,

cross-grained creature that she was--bad her misfortunes produced

only in part their legitimate and desirable effects of subduing

her perversity--I should have had no sort of objection. But I knew

her imperious and unreasonable nature; and I may here add, that,

by this time, I knew something of my own: I was a man of despotic

character.

The constant conflicts which I had had from boyhood,

resulting as they had done in my frequent successes and final

triumph, had, naturally enough, made me dictatorial. Sanguine in

temperament, earnest in character, resolute in impulse, I was

necessarily arbitrary in mood. It was not likely that Mrs. Clifford

would forget her waywardnesses, and it was just as unreasonable

that I should submit to her insolences. Besides, one's home ought

to be a very sacred place. It is necessary that the peace there

should compensate and console for the strifes without. To hope for

this in any household where there is more than one master, would

bo worse than idle. Nay, even if there were peace, the chances are

still great that there would be some lack of propriety. Domestic

regulations would become inutile. Children and servants would

equally fail of duty and improvement under conflicting authorities;

and all the sweet social harmonies of family would be jarred

away by misunderstandings if not bickerings, leading to coldness,

suspicion, and irremediable jealousies. These things seemed to

threaten me from the first moment when Julia submitted to me her

desire that her mother should be invited to take up her abode with

us. I reasoned with her against it; suggested all the grounds of

objection which I really felt; and reviewed at length the long

history of our connection from my childhood up, which had been

distinguished by her constant hostility and hate. "How," I asked,

"can it be hoped that there will be any change for the better now?

She is the same woman, I the same man! It is not reasonable to think

that the result of our reunion will be other than it has been."

But Julia implored.




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