“Pooh! I say there are others like her. They are born great—they live and die, and the world hears nothing of them. And talents that might have swayed the counsels of a monarch, and decided the destinies of an empire, have been employed to direct the household of a shepherd, and determine the fate of a sheep! Such is the order of society, and better, far better so, than that its boundaries should be thrown down, its ranks intermingled!” “There spoke a Clifton of Clifton!” said Frank. They were now at the top of the ridge, and entering upon a hard, stony, half-reclaimed farm, in the midst of which stood a rude, but substantial house, built of hewn rocks of every shade of gray, and surrounded by trees. Below them, all around, rose the forest-crowned hills; behind them the white cliffs concealed the mansion of Clifton from their sight, all around them lay fields of stunted corn. “This is Hardbargain,” said Captain Clifton, opening a rude farm gate, and holding it open, while his companion passed through. “Hardbargain! a most appropriate name! I should think it the hardest of all bargains, to receive this farm as a precious gift,” replied Frank, looking around upon the stony field and stunted corn. “Yes,” admitted Captain Clifton, “it is a well-merited title. It was once called Rocky Ridge. A poor man got a grant of it, and settled there first—spent all his health and strength in trying to bring the rugged soil under cultivation—failed—christened the place Hard_scrabble_, and sold it to my grandfather for thrice its value. My grandfather repented the purchase, re-christened the ill-starred farm Hard_bargain_, and, as the Clifton estate was entailed upon his eldest son, gave this farm as a portion to his younger son, my father. My father was then a subaltern officer in the Continental Army, and absent with Washington, at Valley Forge. My mother, with myself, then an infant, was a temporary sojourner at Clifton. No sooner had my grandfather made a gift to my father of this nearly barren farm, than my mother set all her faculties at work for its cultivation and improvement. My mother was nearly penniless, being the daughter of a family of decayed fortune. My father was unable to send her anything except the Continental notes, with which he himself was paid, but which would scarcely pass farther. But being determined not to eat the bread of dependence by remaining at Clifton after my grandfather’s death, my mother sold all her jewelry and plate, which had been left her by a deceased maiden aunt, and applied the proceeds of the sale to the improvement of Hardbargain. She hired laborers. There was a rude log hut, built by the first settler upon the land. She hired a woman, and placed her in that hut to keep house and cook for them. She read books on agriculture, and consulted my uncle’s overseer upon the same subject. And every morning she rode up and spent the day at Hardbargain, overlooking the laborers. She was her own overseer! Frank!