r it as
one of the saddest dinners; though Sterling talked copiously, and our
friends, Theodore Parker one of them, were pleasant and distinguished
men. All was so haggard in one's memory, and half consciously in one's
anticipations; sad, as if one had been dining in a will, in the crypt of
a mausoleum. Our conversation was waste and logical, I forget quite on
what, not joyful and harmoniously effusive: Sterling's silent sadness
was painfully apparent through the bright mask he had bound himself
to wear. Withal one could notice now, as on his last visit, a certain
sternness of mood, unknown in better days; as if strange gorgon-faces
of earnest Destiny were more and more rising round him, and the time for
sport were past. He looked always hurried, abrupt, even beyond wont; and
indeed was, I suppose, overwhelmed in details of business.

One evening, I remember, he came down hither, designing to have a
freer talk with us. We were all sad enough; and strove rather to avoid
speaking of what might make us sadder. Before any true talk had been
got into, an interruption occurred, some unwelcome arrival; Sterling
abruptly rose; gave me the signal to rise; and we unpolitely walked
away, adjourning to his Hotel, which I recollect was in the Strand, near
Hungerford Market; some ancient comfortable quaint-looking place, off
the street; where, in a good warm queer old room, the remainder of our
colloquy was duly finished. We spoke of Cromwell, among other things
which I have now forgotten; on which subject Sterling was trenchant,
positive, and in some essential points wrong,--as I said I would
convince him some day. "Well, well!" answered he, with a shake of
the head.--We parted before long; bedtime for invalids being come:
he escorted me down certain carpeted backstairs, and would not be
forbidden: we took leave under the dim skies;--and alas, little as I
then dreamt of it, this, so far as I can calculate, must have been the
last time I ever saw him in the world. Softly as a common evening, the
last of the evenings had passed away, and no other would come for me
forevermore.

Through the summer he was occupied with fitting up his new residence,
selecting governesses, servants; earnestly endeavoring to set his house
in order, on the new footing it had now assumed. Extensive improvements
in his garden and grounds, in which he took due interest to the
last, were also going on. His Brother, and Mr. Maurice his
brother-in-law,--especia