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The first is to regard the present process as inevitable and moving towards the elimination of weak and gentle types, to clear one’s mind of the prejudices of one’s time, and to contemplate a disintegration of all the realities of the family into an epoch of Free Love, mitigated by mercantile necessities and a few

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“I think he’s the finest figure in sight. He looks like a great general, a great soldier of fortune—in an old fresco, I mean.”

"He said nothing at all about it."

of this phenomenon; the newspapers and magazines re-echo “Race Suicide,” but there is no sign whatever in the statistical curves of the smallest decimal per cent. of response to these exhortations.

100

Miss Claire is horty agin, and she ses wid a cold look at me:

These two sons were Philip and William M. Ford (whose ages, in 1831, were respectively thirty-one and twenty-eight years). He had one daughter, the Cassandra who, February 5, 1827, married Dr. Charles H. Webb, as previously noted. The daughter was an accomplished and highly respected woman, and is so represented in Watt’s Chronicles. Her husband was all his life a model citizen. Ford’s first wife, it is said, was a Miss Miles, whose brother at one time ran a ferry where the village of Weston, Kentucky, now stands. After the death of his first wife, Ford, January 15, 1829, as shown by Livingston County marriage records, married Mrs. Elizabeth Frazer, a widow with three daughters. Mr. Frazer and his family, so runs the story, were coming down the Ohio in a flatboat and chanced to stop at Ford’s home. Mr. Frazer became ill while there, and a few days later died. In the course of a short time

[165]

shore far back from the edge of the water.

“Mrs. Havering sent me to fetch the police. Five miles to walk it was. They came back with me, and the constable he stayed all night, and this morning the police gentleman from London arrived.”

1.“Woman, why dost thou call me?”

2.

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We now settled down to continual skirmishing and manoeuvring and constant harassing of each other, with daily loss and daily distress on each side.

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The desk screen broke into life. The mottled jowls of Under-Secretary Sternwheeler appeared.

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Rafella Forte, the vicar's daughter, came out of the house this summer morning in a blue cotton frock that matched her eyes, wearing no hat on her yellow head. A coarse market basket was slung on her arm, and she carried a light pronged fork, since her object was not to cut flowers for

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