IV.
OLD ESTHER DUDLEY.
Our host having resumed the chair, he, as well as Mr.
Tiffany and myself, expressed much eagerness to be
made acquainted with the story to which the loyalist had
alluded. That venerable man first of all saw fit to moisten his
throat with another glass of wine, and then, turning his face
towards our coal fire, looked steadfastly for a few moments into
the depths of its cheerful glow. Finally, he poured forth a great
fluency of speech. The generous liquid that he had imbibed,
while it warmed his age-chilled blood, likewise took off the chill
from his heart and mind, and gave him an energy to think and
feel, which we could hardly have expected to find beneath the
snows of fourscore winters. His feelings, indeed, appeared to
me more excitable than those of a younger man; or, at least, the
same degree of feeling manifested itself by more visible effects
than if his judgment and will had possessed the potency of meridian
life. At the pathetic passages of his narrative, he readily
melted into tears. When a breath of indignation swept across
his spirit, the blood flushed his withered visage even to the roots
of his white hair; and he shook his clinched fist at the trio of
peaceful auditors, seeming to fancy enemies in those who felt
very kindly towards the desolate old soul. But ever and anon,
sometimes in the midst of his most earnest talk, this ancient
person's intellect would wander vaguely, losing its hold of the