There was little going into society, comparatively, for people in
our station,--solemn dinner-parties from time to time--two a year,
did we give, and then the house was turned upside down,--and now and
then my father dined out, or brought a friend home to dinner; and
there were so-called morning calls in the afternoon, but no tea-
drinking. For the most part the heads of the family dined alone at
six, and afterwards my father read aloud some book of biography or
travels, while we children were expected to employ ourselves
quietly, threading beads, drawing, or putting up puzzles, and listen
or not as we chose, only not interrupt, as we sat at the big,
central, round, mahogany table. To this hour I remember portions of
Belzoni's Researches and Franklin's terrible American adventures,
and they bring back tones of my father's voice. As an authority
'papa' was seldom invoked, except on very serious occasions, such as
Griffith's audacity, Clarence's falsehood, or my obstinacy; and then
the affair was formidable, he was judicial and awful, and, though he
would graciously forgive on signs of repentance, he never was
sympathetic. He had not married young, and there were forty years
or more between him and his sons, so that he had left too far behind
him the feelings of boyhood to make himself one with us, even if he
had thought it right or dignified to do so,--yet I cannot describe
the depth of the respect and loyalty he inspired in us nor the
delight we felt in a word of commendation or a special attention
from him.
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