The conversation was terminated by the entrance of a fourth colloquist, in the person of Edward McBrain, M. D., who was not only the family physician, but the bosom friend of the lawyer. The two liked each other on the principle of loving their opposites. One was a bachelor, the other was about to marry his third wife; one was a little of a cynic, the other much of a philanthropist; one distrustful of human nature, the other too confiding; one cautious to excess, the other absolutely impetuous, whenever anything strongly interested his feelings. They were alike in being Manhattanese by birth, somewhat a novelty in a New Yorker; in being equally graduates of Columbia, and classmates; in a real love of their fellow-creatures; in goodness of heart, and in integrity. Had either been wanting in these last great essentials, the other could not have endured him.
CHAPTER II.
O change!—stupendous change!
There lies the soulless clod;
The sun eternal breaks—
The new immortal wakes—
Wakes with his God.
Mrs. Southey.
As Dr. McBrain entered the room, the two young men and Sarah, after saluting him like very familiar acquaintances, passed out into what the niece called her “garden.” Here she immediately set her scissors at work in clipping roses, violets, and other early flowers, to make bouquets for her companions. That of Michael was much the largest and most tasteful; but this her brother did not remark, as he was in a brown study, reflecting on the singularity of the circumstance that the Constitution of the United States should not be the “palladium of his political and religious liberties.” Jack saw, for the first time in his life, that a true knowledge of the constitution was not to be found floating about in society, and that “there was more in the nature of the great national compact than was dreamt of in his philosophy.”
“Well, Ned,” said the lawyer, holding out his hand kindly but not rising from his chair, “what has brought you here so early? Has old Martha spoilt your tea?”