ed of the demon of vanity, the
ill-shaped evil monster, but was straightforward, and earnest, and
determined, and capable.

And Dexter, any one could see, was growing dreadfully proud of his
Columbia.

Silas Swift felt the sands moving under his feet. He dared not build on
a foundation so insecure. But, oh, he wished himself away from High
Street, ten thousand, thousand miles! He fell into dreaming moods that
did not leave him satisfied and cheerful. Surely, other quarters of the
globe had other circumstances than these which kept him to a life so
dull, under skies so leaden. Alas! the waving of the banners did not any
more uplift him, leading him on as a good soldier to battles and
victories. He tried to get the better of himself,--after the last visit
of this Alexander, he was tolerably successful; he studied hard,
ambitious to keep at least on an equality of learning with
Columbia,--and he went far ahead of her, for certain desperate reasons.
But when Dexter began to treat him with profound respect, as a man of
learning should be treated, according to his notions, the poor young
fellow, mortified and miserable, put away his books, and loathed his
false position.

The old time to which through all prosperity Silas clung with fond
fears, the dear old time was all over, he said to himself one day, when
Columbia called him up into the parlor, clapping her hands ever
suspecting that the theme might please another less,--there was but one
for him as if he had been a slave, a signal he well understood, and was
proud to understand,--when she asked him to bring the step-ladder, and
to help her, for the curtains must come down from the show-room, it was
going to be a parlor now, and no show-room again forever. With heavy
misgivings, with a feeling that they were hard on to "the parting of the
ways," Silas obeyed her.

Even so, according to her will was it that the drapery, the flags rich
in patriotic portraiture, the Washington, the Franklin, and the
Lafayette, must come down. Some pictures she had painted, some sketches
she had made, were to take their place: her father had insisted on
having them framed, and now they should hang on the walls.

He assisted Columbia without a word of comment. Now the room, she said,
would no longer look hot and uncomfortable. There would be less dust to
distract one on the walls. But Silas, the stickler for old things,
thought jealously, "There's always a reason ready to excuse every
ch