“DEAR MOTHER:—I wrote to you a week ago, but I cannot await your answer, as I am in great haste. In naming this homestead ‘The Rialto,’ I presume they merely had an allusion to its locality above the river—but it is appropriate in its sadder association, too. This is, indeed, a ‘bridge of sighs.’ The house was sold to-day for taxes. Poor Hagar is up at last—but oh! such a wreck; her beautiful hair that I thought concealed under her cap, has been all cut off. She bears her new trials better than I expected. Like me, her one great sorrow has rendered her insensible to minor griefs. She wishes to return to her own home, Heath Hall. It is upon this matter that I write to you. Do, mother, have it made comfortable for her reception. She has sold all her own jewels to defray the expenses of her journey. There is a balance to the credit of Raymond Withers—perdition catch his soul!—at the bank, but Hagar will not draw it. Prepare to receive the stricken one kindly, mother, I entreat you, as you value my peace, mother! Your affectionate son, “A. W. MAY.” CHAPTER XXXV. THE RETURN. “Oh! if indeed to _part_ With the soul’s loved ones be a bitter thing, When we go forth in buoyancy of heart, And bearing all the glories of our spring, Is it less so to _meet_ When these are withered? Who shall call it sweet?” HEMANS. The 20th of March, 182-, was a day to be remembered for the terrible storm of wind, snow, and hail that visited the earth, and raged through these latitudes all that tremendous day and night! It was in the height of this furious tempest, that a packet might _not_ have been seen as it toiled against wind and tide, on its way down Chesapeake Bay,—might _not_ have been seen, for it was as difficult to _see_ through the dense fall of snow, as it was to _breathe_ against the driving, piercing sleet that struck into every pore of the skin and thorax like millions of needle points. Could you have discerned that packet boat through the shrouds of falling snow, you would have looked upon a bark apparently carved in ice. The deck was blocked up with drifting snow, freezing as it fell, and still increasing against all the efforts of the crew. The masts struck up like shafts of ice, between which the crossing ropes formed a crystal lattice-work. The sails were stiff, stark, and glittering with sleet. And all—ropes, masts, and sails, grew thicker every instant,—losing their distinctness of form as the snow fell fast, congealing on them, until the bark seemed the nucleus of an avalanche, or the skeleton upon which the body of an iceberg was being formed.