en my tale
commences.

He, too, had married young--such, indeed, was the custom of his
house--and had survived his wife, by whom he had two fair daughters,
but no heir; and this was a source of vexation so constantly present
to his mind, that in the end it altered the whole disposition of the
man, rendering him irritable, harsh, stern, unreasonable, and unhappy.

Fondly attached to the memory of his lost wife, whom he had loved
devotedly while living, it never entered his mind to marry a second
time, even with the hope of begetting an heir by whom to perpetuate
the honors and principles of his house; although he was continually on
the fret--miserable himself, and making others miserable, in
consequence of the certainty that he should be the last of his race.

His only hope was now centered in his daughters, or to speak more
correctly, in his eldest daughter--for her he had determined to
constitute his heiress, endowing her with all his landed property, all
his heirlooms, all that could constitute her the head of his house; in
return for which he had predetermined that she should become the wife
of some husband of his own choosing, who should unite to a pedigree
as noble as that of the Howards, all qualifications which should fit
him to represent the house into which he should be adopted; and who
should be willing to drop his own paternal name and bearings, how
ancient and noble soever, in order to adopt the style and the arms of
Fitz-Henry.

Proud by nature, by blood, and by education--though with a clear and
honorable pride--he had been rendered a thousand times prouder and
more haughty by the very circumstances which seemed to threaten a
downfall to the fortunes of his house--his house, which had survived
such desperate reverses; which had come out of every trial, like pure
gold, the better and the brighter from the furnace--his house, which
neither the ruin of friendly monarchs, nor the persecutions of hostile
monarchs, nor the neglect of ungrateful monarchs, had been able to
shake, any more than the autumnal blasts, or the frosts of winter, had
availed to uproot the oak trees of his park, coeval with his name.

In the midst of health and wealth, honor and good esteem, with an
affectionate family, and a devoted household around him, Allan
Fitz-Henry fancied himself a most unhappy man--perhaps the most
unhappy of mankind.

Alas! was it to punish such vain, such sinful, such senseless, and
inordinate repinings?