e
post of consul-general to Lisbon, where the climate seemed to him to
suit his condition, and there, sobered city that it now was, the two
again took up their residence. Only once more, in 1763, was Sir Harry to
be in Boston. Then he came for a visit, staying for a space in
Hopkinton, as well as in the city. The following year he returned to the
old country, and in Bath, where he was drinking the waters, he died
January 2, 1768, at the age of fifty-two.

Agnes almost immediately came back to Boston, and, with her sister and
her sister's children, took up her residence at Hopkinton. There she
remained, living a peaceful, happy life among her flowers, her friends,
and her books, until the outbreak of the Revolution, when it seemed to
her wise to go in to her town house. She entered Boston, defended by a
guard of six sturdy soldiers, and was cordially received by the officers
in the beleaguered city, especially by Burgoyne, whom she had known in
Lisbon. During the battle of Bunker Hill, she helped nurse wounded
King's men, brought to her in her big dining-room on Garden Court
Street. As an ardent Tory, however, she was _persona non grata_ in the
colony, and she soon found it convenient to sail for England, where,
until 1782, she resided on the estate of the Frankland family.

At this point, Agnes ceases in a way to be the proper heroine of our
romance, for, contrary to the canons of love-story art, she married
again,--Mr. John Drew, a rich banker, of Chichester, being the happy
man. And at Chichester she died in one year's time.

The Hopkinton home fell, in the course of time, into the hands of the
Reverend Mr. Nason, who was to be Frankland's biographer, and who, when
the original house was destroyed by fire (January 3, 1858), built a
similar mansion on the same site. Here the Frankland relics were
carefully preserved,--the fireplace, the family portrait (herewith
reproduced), Sir Harry's silver knee buckles, and the famous broadcloth
coat, from the sleeve of which the unfortunate lady had torn a piece
with her teeth on the day of the Lisbon disaster. This coat, we are
told, was brought back to Hopkinton by Sir Harry, and hung in one of the
remote chambers of the house, where each year, till his departure for
the last time from the pleasant village, he was wont to pass the
anniversary of the earthquake in fasting, humiliation, and prayer. The
coat, and all the other relics, were lost in April, 1902, when, for the
seco