I know not from what source you obtained the strange advice that her Father did amass his fortune in the African Slave Trade. I have never wounded her tender heart by inquiry as to the source of her Fathers wealth (tho’ ’tis a calling & trade has been followed by many citizens apparently much respect^{ed}). But the thought of his “ill-gotten gold” need no further trouble you. Thro’ ill advice and knavery, her fortune has dwindled to a thousand dollars, and now her wealth is only in her beauty and her amiable disposition. She has however much good furniture and china which will grace well our home. I regret much to hear that my bills and debts in College have cost you so much, and that the Farm is so run behindhand. This, with the debts my Father left behind him, make it most advisable for me to give up my intention to practice as a lawyer, and have decided me to return to manage your Farm. It is quite opportune and most Providential that your Farmer is dead, since he managed so ill. With your wise instructions and counsels, we can no doubt retrieve the money that has been lost, and carry out my Grandfathers plans to make our house and name one of the most powerful in the State. Thus shall I assume the position in town and county that you always wished me to take. We shall leave by coach for Ringe in a week, our household goods and furnishings to follow us in waggons. I know, D^r Mother, that you will admire and praise my Oriana, as who could do otherwise? I have talked much to her of your aspirations and ambitions, and she hopes most Respectfully to help to carry out any plans you may have. With most affectionate greeting from Oriana and myself, I am Your Loving and Honour^{ed} Son GEORGE HARTINGTON. In due time the table was scraped, cleaned, and polished, and with its cheerful mottled golden color and shining brass handles, was most thoroughly attractive and satisfying. The pretty Lowestoft china cups were set on it and used for petty toilet purposes. An old canopied mirror was hung over it, and every night after I had lighted the candles in the repaired and resilvered candelabra, I sat there looking at the china, thinking of the blue-fringed gentians, the old house, of the lonely empty rooms, the poverty, the dreariness; then of the high hopes and ideas of George Hartington, and ambitions of his mother, and, above all, the strange familiarity I had had with my old home.