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The Scandinavian names in an unlettered community, soon become indistinguishable from those of the surrounding American's Jansen, Petersen, etc., being readily Americanized. It is therefore rarely that they show their parentage. MS. Journal of Matthew Clarkson, 1766. See also "Voyage dans les Etats-Unis," La Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, Paris, L'an, VII., I., 104.
Clarkson, and attempting to straighten his aching back and ease his suffering limbs, he added, "I am coming to the conclusion that woman's place is the home." George Eliot warned us somewhere not to expect Isaiah and Plato in every country house, and the warning was characteristic of the time when one really might have met Ruskin or Herbert Spencer. How uncalled for it would be now!
R. Robert Clarkson sat by his fire, smoking thoughtfully. His lifelong neighbour and successful rival in love had passed away a few days before, and Mr. Clarkson, fresh from the obsequies, sat musing on the fragility of man and the inconvenience that sometimes attended his departure. His meditations were disturbed by a low knocking on the front door, which opened on to the street.
"Terribly painful position for a woman!" said Mr. Clarkson. "Ill-advised," said the big man, shaking his head; "very ill-advised." "Good lesson for her," remarked Albert. "These shows teach the ugly ones to know their place. Improve the breed these shows do same as 'orse-racing." And having shouted "Ginger!" again, he added, "Bandy!"
It was a sheltered and placid old age, warm with much devotion; her mind remained firm until the end. Did the time come when she thought of Hamilton as one of the buried children of her youth? Troup, Fish, Wolcott, Gouverneur Morris, Rufus King, Bayard, Matthew Clarkson, some twenty of Hamilton's old friends, were admitted to the death room for a moment. He could not speak, but he smiled faintly.
And only yesterday Augustus Adolphus had played marbles with him. It was very good to be loved, to have a home, and not to be a little sunbeam any longer. Then his eyes met those of Miss Clarkson, fixed upon him sympathetically. "Would you like to go away, Ivan?" she asked, quietly. "Would you be happier somewhere else?" The eyes of Ivan widened with sudden fear.
"And just before he got too full to be afraid of anything," muttered the lieutenant. "Why don't he come out of that?" He glanced toward the conning-tower. Other officers had joined them. "We'll investigate," said Mr. Clarkson. The door on the level of the main-deck leading into the mast was found to be wedged fast by the blow of a projectile.
Little Molton is a small town and news travels fast, but it did not travel faster than Mr. Smithson as soon as he had heard it. He burst into Mr. Clarkson's room like the proverbial hurricane, and, gasping for breath, leaned against the table and pointed at him an incriminating finger. "You you've been running," said Mr. Clarkson, uneasily. "What what what do you mean by it?" gasped Mr. Smithson.
If Laurence began to find that he could get money out of me in that way, there would be no end to it. Mr. Clarkson would very soon be spending his spare time in my drawing-room. Good-bye, Mr. Finn. If Laurence says anything, just tell him that he'd better come to me." Then Phineas was left looking at the bill.
"Shows what waiting does, and patience," commented Mr. Smithson. "If you'd been like some chaps and gone abroad, where would you have been now? Where would have been the reward of your faithful heart?" Mr. Clarkson, whose pipe had gone out, took a coal from the fire and lit it again. "I can't understand him dying at his age," he said, darkly.
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