down, and my reception from her was even more cordial than from the preceding friends. She was a woman of great warmth of feeling, and her heart was full to overflowing with the emotions my name had called up. She was the eldest of the family, and since our mother’s death she had been at once mother and sister to us all. Although I was the vagrant of the family, I still lived in her sisterly heart, and the supposition that my earthly career was closed had only hallowed my memory in her affections.
This was my second reception by my relatives after I had been supposed dead. One by my savage friends, who, in welcoming me as their long-lost child, exhibited all the genuine emotions of untutored nature; and this second by my civilized friends, who, if less energetic in their demonstrations of attachment, showed equal heartfelt joy, equal sincerity, and far superior decorum.
The following morning I visited the company's office and delivered my letters. I became too weak to walk home, and Mr. Chouteau very obligingly drove me back in his carriage. I was compelled to take to my bed, where I was confined for several days, under good medical attendance, and most assiduously attended by my relatives.
Their answers to my many inquiries confounded me entirely.
"Where is my father?"
"He went back to Virginia, and died there many years ago."
"Where are my brothers?"
"They are scattered about the country."
"Where is such and such a friend?"
"In his grave."
"Where is Eliza?"
"She was married a month ago, after receiving intelligence of your certain death."
I ceased my querying, and averted my eyes from my sister's gaze.
And this, I mused, is my return home after years of bright anticipations of welcome! This is my secure and sunshiny haven, after so long and dangerous a voyage! My father dead, my brothers dispersed, my friends in their graves, and my loved
