Every village, however small, has its aristocrat, and
so had the little village at the foot of the mountain. At
the upper end of the principal street stood a large, handsome
building, whose high white walls, long green shutters,
granite steps, and huge brass knocker, seemed to
look down somewhat proudly upon their more humble
neighbors. To the casual visitor or passing traveler,

[figure description] Page 252.[end figure description]

this dwelling was pointed out as belonging to Squire
Herndon.

Squire Herndon was a man on whose head the frosts
of sixty winters had fallen so heavily that they had
bleached his once brown locks to a snowy whiteness. He
was one who seemed to have outlived all natural affections.
Long years had passed since he had laid the gentle wife
of his youth to rest beneath the green willow, whose
branches are now bent so low as almost to hide from view
the low, grassy mound. By the side of that grave was
another, the grave of Squire Herndon's only daughter.
She was fair and beautiful, but the destroyer came, and
one bright morning in autumn, just as the hoar frost was
beginning to touch the foliage with a brighter hue, she
passed away, and the old man's home was again desolate.
Some of the villagers said of him in his affliction, “It's
surely a judgment from heaven, to pay him for being so
proud, and may be it will do him good;” but Squire
Herndon was one whose morose nature adversity rendered
still more sour.

He had yet one child left, Ira, his first-born and only
son. On him his hopes were henceforth centered. Ira
should marry some wealthy heiress, and thus the family
name would not become extinct. Squire Herndon belonged
to an English family, which was probably descended
from one of those “three brothers who came
over from England” long time ago! He was proud of
his ancestors, proud of his wealth, his house, servants,
and grounds, and had been proud of his daughter, but
she was gone; and now he was proud of Ira, whom he
tried to make generally disagreeable to the villagers.

But this he could not do, for Ira possessed too many
of the social qualities of his mother to be very proud
and arrogant. At length the time came when he entered

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college at Amherst. During his collegiate course, he became
acquainted with a beautiful and accomplished girl,
named Mary Calvert. That acquaintance soon ripened
into love, and Squire Herndon was one day startled by a
letter from Ira, saying that he was about to offer himself
to a Miss Calvert, with whom he knew his father would
be pleased.

This so enraged Squire Herndon, that, without stopping
to read more, he threw the letter aside, and for the next
half hour paced his apartment, stamping, puffing, and
foaming like a caged lion. At last it occurred to him that
he had not read all his son's letter, so catching it up, he
read it through, and found added as a postscript, the following
clause: “I forgot to tell you that Mary's father is
very wealthy, and she is his only child.”

This announcement changed the old squire at once;
his feelings underwent an entire revolution, and he now
regretted that Ira had not written that he had proposed
and was accepted. “But,” thought the squire, “of
course she 'll accept him; she cannot refuse such a boy as
Ira.”

And yet she did! With many tears she confessed her
love, but said that far away over the seas was one to
whom she had been betrothed almost from childhood; he
was kind and noble, and until she saw Ira Herndon, she
had thought she loved him. Said she, “I have given him
so many assurances that I would be his, that I cannot recall
them. I love you, Ira, far better, but I esteem Mr.
S., and respect myself so much that I cannot break my
word.” No argument of Ira's could induce her to
change her resolution, and a few days before he was
graduated, he saw his Mary, with a face white as marble,
pronounce the vows which bound her to another.

p598-259

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