Chapter 2

TOUCHING MYSELF AND TEN THOUSAND POUNDS.

Although my ancestor was much too wise to refuse to look back upon
his origin in a worldly point of view, he never threw his
retrospective glances so far as to reach the sublime mystery of his
moral existence; and while his thoughts might be said to be ever on
the stretch to attain glimpses into the future, they were by far too
earthly to extend beyond any other settling day than those which
were regulated by the ordinances of the stock exchange. With him, to
be born was but the commencement of a speculation, and to die was to
determine the general balance of profit and loss. A man who had so
rarely meditated on the grave changes of mortality, therefore, was
consequently so much the less prepared to gaze upon the visible
solemnities of a death-bed. Although he had never truly loved my
mother, for love was a sentiment much too pure and elevated for one
whose imagination dwelt habitually on the beauties of the stock-
books, he had ever been kind to her, and of late he was even much
disposed, as has already been stated, to contribute as much to her
temporal comforts as comported with his pursuits and habits. On the
other hand, the quiet temperament of my mother required some more
exciting cause than the affections of her husband, to quicken those
germs of deep, placid, womanly love, that certainly lay dormant in
her heart, like seed withering with the ungenial cold of winter. The
last meeting of such a pair was not likely to be attended with any
violent outpourings of grief.

My ancestor, notwithstanding, was deeply struck with the physical
changes in the appearance of his wife.

"Thou art much emaciated, Betsey," he said, taking her hand kindly,
after a long and solemn pause; "much more so than I had thought, or
could have believed! Dost nurse give thee comforting soups and
generous nourishment?"

My mother smiled the ghastly smile of death; but waved her hand,
with loathing, at his suggestion.

"All this is now too late, Mr. Goldencalf," she answered, speaking
with a distinctness and an energy for which she had long been
reserving her strength. "Food and raiment are no longer among my
wants."

"Well, well, Betsey, one that is in want of neither food nor
raiment, cannot be said to be in great suffering, after all; and I
am glad that thou art so much at ease. Dr. Etherington tells me thou
art far from being well bodily, however, and I am come expressly to
see if I can order anything that will help to make thee more easy."

"Mr. Goldencalf, you can. My wants for this life are nearly over; a
short hour or two will remove me beyond the world, its cares, its
vanities,