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TEACH 2nd Edition Janice Koch Solutions Manual

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 FUNDAMENTALS OF
STRUCTURAL ANALYSIS

5th Edition

Kenneth M. Leet, Chia-Ming Uang, Joel T. Lanning, and Anne M. Gilbert

SOLUTIONS MANUAL

CHAPTER 9:
ANALYSIS OF INDETERMINATE STRUCTURES
BY THE FLEXIBILITY METHOD

9-1
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved.
No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.1. Compute the reactions, draw the shear and P = 36 kips

moment curves, and locate the point of A B C

maximum deflection for the beam in Figure
P9.1. EI is constant.
9ʹ 6ʹ

P9.1

ΔCO (Use Moment-Area)

1 324 17, 496
ΔCO = (9)´12 =
2 EI EI
See Table A.3
PL3 1(15)3 1125
δCC = = =
3E 3EI EI

Compatibility Equation
17496 1125
ΔC = 0; - + RC =0
EI EI
RC = 15,552 kips
RA = 36 - RC = 20.448k

1 90.72 93,312 (10.563)

θC = - (4.437) +
2 EI EI 2
291.57
θC =
EI

9-2
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved.
No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.2. For the beam in Figure P9.2, compute the w = 4 kN/m

reactions, draw the shear and moment curves,

and compute the deflection of the hinge at C.
4 A B C
Use E = 29,000 ksi and I = 180 in. .
8m 2m

P9.2

ΣFy = 0: RA + RB - 4(10) = 0 \ RA = 18.5 kN()

æ10 ö
ΣMA = 0: MA + 8RB - 4(10) çç ÷÷ = 0 \ MA = 28kN.m()

( +)
çè 2 ÷ø

Deflection at C
Select RB as the Redundant

M ( x ) = -2 x 2 + 18.5 x - 28
By integration method with boundary conditions
( δ(0) = 0, θ (0) = 0 )
1 æ 2 18.5 2 ö
θ ( x ) = çç- x 3 + x - 28 x ÷÷÷
EI èç 3 2 ø
At support B, θB = 0.00178 rad. ( x = 8 m)
1 æ 8 öæ 3 ö
ΔBO tC/B = (2) çç ÷÷çç ´ 2÷÷ = 0.534 mm
3 çè EI ÷øèç 4 ø÷
Use Moment–Area Method
(Moment-Area Method)
1 æ 200 ö÷
Δ BO = t B/A = (10) çç ÷ (7.5 - 2) ΔC = (2m)(θB ) - tC/B
3 ç
è EI ø÷
ΔC = 3.026 mm ()
1 æ 8 öæ 2 ö
- (2) çç ÷÷÷çç ÷÷÷
3 èç EI øèç 4 ø
3664
= ()
EI
PL3 1(8)3 512
Δ BB = = = ()
3EI 3EI 3EI
Compatibility Equation
Δ BO - δBB RB = 0 Shear
 RB = 21.5 kN ()

Moment

9-3
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved.
No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.3. Compute the reactions and draw the shear M = 30 kN m

and moment curves for the beam in Figure P9.3.

C
EI is constant. A B
5m 5m

P9.3

Select RC as the Redundant

ΔCO
Use Moment-Area Method
æ 30 ö 1125
ΔCO = tC/A = 5 çç ÷÷ (7.5) = ()
çè EI ø÷ EI
δCC
Use Moment-Area Method
1 æ 10 öæ 20 ö 1000
δCC = tC/A = (10) çç ÷÷çç ÷÷ =
çè EI ÷øèç 3 ø÷ 3EI ( )

2
Compatibility Equation
ΔCO + δCC RC = 0
1125 1000
+ R =0 \ RC = -3.375 kN ()
EI 3EI C
ΣFy = 0 : RA + RC = 0 \ RA = 3.375 kN ()
ΣM A = 0 : M A - 30 -10 RC = 0 \ M A = -3.75kN⋅m ( )
(+ )

Shear

Moment

9-4
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved.
No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.4. Compute the reactions for the beam in w = 3 kips/ft
Figure P9.4. EI is constant. Use support B as the
redundant. A C
B
7ʹ 7ʹ

P9.4

Selecting By as the redundant, the compatibility equation is:

0 = D BO + δBB X B

Using known relations for the resulting 3 kips/ft

released structure:
MA’ MC’
wL4 300.125 L3 14.292
D BO = = , δBB = = , ΔB = 0 A C
384 EI EI 192 EI EI

Compatibility equation: ΔBO δ BBXB = By

0 = Δ BO + δBB X B = 0

-300.125 14.292
0= + XB
EI EI
X B = By = 21 kips 

From symmetry: Ay = Cy
ΣFy = 0 = -3(14) + 21 + 2 Ay
Ay = C y = 10.5 kips 

The end moments can be determined via superposition:

wL
2 By L
M A = -MC = -
12 8 3 kips/ft
(3)(14)2 (21)(14)
=- + MA= 12.25 kip-ft MC= 12.25 kip-ft
12 8
A C
M A = -12.25 kip ⋅ ft 
By =21 kips
MC = 12.25 kip ⋅ ft 
Ay =10.5 kips Cy =10.5 kips

9-5
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved.
No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.5. Compute the reactions, draw the shear and M = 60 kip ft

moment curves, and locate the point of A B C

maximum deflection for the beam in
2I I
Figure P9.5. Repeat the computation if I is
constant over the entire length. E is constant. 6ʹ 9ʹ
Express answer in terms of E, I, and L.
P9.5

Case I Variable EI
Use Moment-Area to Compute deflections
ΔCO = tC/A
30 60
ΔCO = ´6(12) + ´ 9(4.5)
EI EI
4590
ΔCO =
EI
Select RC as the Redundant
1 æ9ö 4.5
δCC = 9 çç ÷÷´6 + ´6(9 + 3)
2 çè EI ÷ø EI
1 3
+ (6) (9 + 4)
2 EI
684
δCC =
EI
Compatibility equation
ΔC = 0 = ΔCC + δCC RC
4590 684
O= + R
EI EI C
RC = -6.71kips 
M A = 60 - 6.71´15¢ = 40.65 ft ⋅ kips
RA = 6.71 kips 

Case II Constant EI

This example shows that increasing the stiffness of an indeterminate structure in the region between points A & B
produces a 35% increase in the moment at support A.

9-6
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No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.6. Compute the reactions and draw the shear 15 kips 15 kips
and moment curves for the beam in Figure P9.6.
EI is constant. A B C

6ʹ 12ʹ 12ʹ 6ʹ

P9.6

Using Moment-Area determine Δ BO

æ 90 ö 1 æ 90 ö
Δ BO = t AB = 12 çç ÷÷÷ (12) + 6 çç ÷÷÷ 4
è EI ø 2 è EI ø
-14,040
Δ BO =
EI
PL3
δBB = See Figure 9.3
48EI
1k (36)3 972
δBB = =
48EI EI

Compatibility Equation
ΔB = 0
Δ BO + δBB X B = 0
14,040 972
- + X =0
EI EI B
X B = 14.444

9-7
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved.
No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.7. Recompute the reactions, draw the shear 15 kips 15 kips
and moment curves for the beam in Figure P9.6
if support B settles by 1.5 in.. Check and A B C
compare your answer to that obtained using
RISA-2D, and compare the change in reaction
when B settles by 0.75 in., 3.0 in. What do you
observe? 6ʹ 12ʹ 12ʹ 6ʹ

P9.6

(Assume E = 29,000 ksi and I = 100 in.4)

Selecting B as the redundant, the compatibility equation is:
Δ BO + δBB X B = Δ B

-Pa -15(6) -14,040

Δ BO = (3L2 - 4 a 2 ) = (3(36)2 - 4(6)2 ) =
24 EI 24 EI EI
(1) L3 363 972
δBB = = = 15 kips 15 kips
48EI 48EI EI
A C
Therefore:
-1.5 = Δ BO + δBB X B Ay =9.1
ΔBO
δ BBXB = By Cy =9.1
æ -14,040 972 ÷ö
-1.5 = ççç + X ÷1, 728 9.1
EI B ÷ø
5.9
è EI Shear (kips)
-1.5 + 8.37
XB =
0.58 -5.9 -9.1
X B = By = 11.8 kips
54.4 54.4
From symmetry: Ay = Cy Moment (kip-ft)
-16.7
ΣFy = 0 = -2(15) + 11.8 + 2 Ay
16
Ay = C y = 9.1 kips 
14 13.2
Reaction Magnitude (kips)

By 11.8
12
10.4
10 9.1
Using RISA to study the effect of settlement on the reactions: 8.4
8 9.2
As the settlement of B increases By decreases Ay = Cy
while Ay and Cy increase. 6

4
0 1 2 3 4
Settlement of Support B (in.)

9-8
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved.
No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.8. Determine the reactions for the beam in 0.003 rad
Figure P9.8. When the uniform load is applied, w = 4 kips/ft
the fixed support rotates clockwise 0.003 rad
and support B settles 0.3 in. Given: E = 30,000 A
2 4 C
kips/in. , I = 240 in. .
B
0.3ʺ
8ʹ 2ʹ

P9.8

Using Moment-Area determine Δ BO

RA + RB - 4 ´10 = 0
RA = 40 - 21.15 = 18.85
M A = 4 ´10 ´ 5 - 21.15´8
10 200 M A = 30.8 kip ⋅ ft
Δ BO = t BA = ´ (7.2 - 2)
3 EI
1æ 8ö 2
- çç2 ´ ÷÷´
ç
3 è EI ÷ø 4 I = 240 in 4 , E = 30,000 kips / in 2
3664 3664 (1728)
= = ´ = 0.879 ¢¢  Select RB as the Redundant
EI 30,000 240
PL3 1k (83 ) 512(1728)
δBB = = =
3EI 3EI 3´39000 ´ 240
δBB = 0.041k 
δROT = 0.003(8´12) = 0.288¢¢
Gap: Opens = .879 + 0.288
= 1.167k
Support Move = -.3
Gap = 0.867k
0.867
RB = = 21.15 kips
δBB = .041

9-9
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved.
No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.9. (a) Recompute the reactions, draw the 0.003 rad
shear and moment curves for the beam in w = 4 kips/ft
Figure P9.8 if segment AB has 1.5I. (b) Using
RISA-2D, recompute the reactions and generate A
C
the shear and moment curves when segment AB
B
has 2EI. (c) Repeat (b) if segment AB has 2.5EI. 0.3ʺ
8ʹ 2ʹ

P9.8

E = 30,000 ksi and I = 240 in.4

Selecting By as the redundant, the compatibility 0.003 rad
equation is:
A
(Δ BS + ΔBO ) + δBB X B = ΔB Δ BS

Δ BS = 0.003(8)12 = 0.288 in. B

3
8 113.78
δBB = =
3E (1.5 I ) EI δBB
Δ BO = t BA = xAM/EI B C
10(20) 2(8)
AM/EI = - = 661.33
3 3 4 kips/ft
10(20) æç 3 ö 2(8) æ 2 ö÷
ç 10 - 2÷÷ø÷ - çç ÷
3 èç 4 3 èç 4 ø÷
x= = 5.548 ft tBA = Δ BO
661.33 1.5EI
661.33 2446.05 EI
Δ BO = 5.548 = x
1.5EI EI

Therefore: 8 kip-ft

(Δ BS + Δ BO ) + δBB X B = Δ B 200 kip-ft

æ ö
çç-0.288 - 2446.05 (1728)÷÷ + 113.78 (1728) X B = -0.3
çè EI ø÷ EI
X B = By = 21.1 kips 

9-10
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No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
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P9.9. Continued

MA = 31.5 kip-ft 4 kips/ft

C
A B
1.5EI EI
Ay = 18.9 kips
By = 21.1 kips
18.9
8
B
Shear (kips)
A C
-13.1

13.3
2.166 ft

Moment (kip-ft)

-8
-31.5

As I of segment AB increases the moment reaction at A increases while the vertical reaction, By, decreases.

36
33.9
Reaction Magnitude (kips and kip-ft)

34 32.7
31.5
32 30.3
30 MA
28
26
24
22 21.2 21.1 20.9 20.8
By
20
0 1 2 3
Segment AB Moment of Inertia, xI

9-11
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No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.10. (a) Solve Problem P9.1 for the loading P = 36 kips
shown if support C settles 0.25 in. when the load
is applied. Use moment at support A as the A B C
2
redundant. Given: E = 30,000 kips/in. and
4
I = 320 in. . (b) Using RISA-2D, compare the
4
result if I = 640 in. .
9ʹ 6ʹ
P9.1

36 kips
Selecting Cy as the redundant, C
the compatibility equation is: A ΔC
B
(ΔCS + ΔCO ) + δCC XC = ΔC

153 1125
δCC = = δCC
3EI EI A
ΔCO = tCA = xAM/EI C
1 kip
1 324 17, 496
ΔCO = (6 + 6) 9=
2 EI EI
A B C
4
Therefore, with E = 30,000 ksi and I = 320 in. :
tCA = ΔCO
x
(ΔCS + ΔCO ) + δCC XC = ΔC
æ 17, 496 ö 1125
çç0 -
çè (1728)÷÷÷ + (1728) XC = -0.25
EI ø EI
324 kip-ft
XC = C y = 14.3 kips  MA = 109.2 kip-ft
36 kips
A
Locating maximum deflection, θ = 0: A B
ΔC
1 1 Ay = 21.7 kips
Δθ Ax = 0 = - 109.2(5.032) + 85.9(3.968) + θ=0
2 2
1 Cy = 14.3 kips
+ 14.3x + (85.9 x -14.3x 2 )
2 21.7
8
2
Shear (kips)
12.014 - 12.014 2 - 4(14.590)
-14.3
2
x = 1.37 ft 85.9
Moment (kip-ft)
With I = 640 in.4: Cy = 13.1 kip,
MA = ‒127.8 kip-ft, and x = 4.56 ft. x
-109.2
Δmax at 10.37 ft

9-12
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved.
No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.11. Assuming that no load acts, compute the P = 36 kips
reactions and draw the shear and moment curves
for the beam in Figure P9.1 if support A settles A B C
0.5 in. and support C settles 0.75 in. Given:
2 4
E = 29,000 kips/in. and I = 150 in. .

9ʹ 6ʹ
P9.1

E = 29,000 ksi, I = 150 m 4

PL3 1(153 )1728

δCC = =
3EI 3´ 29,000 ´150
δCC = 0.447

ΔCO + XC δCC = 0
0.25 + XC 0.447 = 0
XC = 0.559 kips

9-13
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved.
No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
 P9.12. Compute the reactions and draw the 18 kN
w = 4 kN/m
shear and moment curves for the beam in 3m
Figure P9.12. E is constant. A B C
D
2I hinge I

6m 3m 6m

P9.12

Evaluating the integral:

-549
ΔCO = 
EI
Indet to 1st Degree Compute δcc.
6 3 6
æ 2 x ö dx æ 2 x ö dx æ x ö dx
2 2 2
1kN ⋅ δCC = ò çç ÷÷÷ + ç- ÷ + ç ÷
è 3 ø 2 EI ò çè 3 ÷÷ø EI ò çè 3 ÷÷ø EI
Select RC as the Redundant
0 0 0

2 æ x2 ö 1
6
4 x3 x3
δCC = çç ÷÷÷
3 6
+ +
9 çè 3 ø÷0 EI 9 3EI 0 27 EI 0

28
Released structure with Redundant δCC =
EI
Compatibility Equation:
ΔC + RC δCC
ΔCO + RC δCC = 0
599 28
- + RC =0
EI EI
RC = 19.61 kN
Compute Reactions using FBD
Compute RD. Use BCD
Compute ΔCO :
dx + ΣM B = 0 = -19.61´3 + 18´6 - 9 RD
1kN ⋅ ΔCO = Σ ò M E M P
EI RD = 5.463kN
2 æç x ö dx æ 2 ö
6 3
dx
1⋅ ΔCO = ò x ç-6 x - 4 x ⋅ ÷÷÷ + ò çç- x ÷÷÷(6 x ) Shear & Moment Diagrams
3 ç
è 2 ø 2 EI ç 3 ø
è EI
0 0
3
x dx
3
æ 1 ö÷ dx
+ò - (12 x ) + ò çç- ÷ (3 + x )[12( x + 3) -18 x ]
3 EI ç
è 3ø ÷ EI
0 0
6
æ 4 x 2 ö÷ Dx
3
4 x 2 dx
3
dx
ΔCO = ò ççç-4 x 2 - ÷÷ +ò - + ò (-4 x 2 )
0
çè 3 ø÷ 2 EI 0
EI 0
EI
3
dx
+ò 2 x 2 - 6 x - 36
0
EI

9-14
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved.
No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
P9.13. Compute the reactions and draw the hinge
shear and moment curves for the beam in
Figure P9.13. EI is constant. The bolted web
connection at B may be assumed to act as a A B C
hinge. Use the shear at hinge B as the redundant. L L
Express answer in terms of E, I, L, and w.
P9.13

Compatibility Equation Δ B. REL = 0 Use Shear at Hinge as Redundant

Δ BO + 2δBVB = 0
WL4 EL3
- + [V ] = 0
8EI 3E B
3WL
VB =
16 Load Applied to Released Structure

[ VB ] Unit Value of Redundant Applied to Released

Structure

9-15
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No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
Other documents randomly have
different content
indicate their right to inherit and blazon on their escutcheon this
glorious, world-subduing title. "The name itself of Catholic keeps
me," says St. Augustine, the favorite doctor of the Presbyterians.
The divines of the assemblies are, therefore, compelled by the very
attitude they have taken, in justifying themselves as orthodox
believers before the holy see, to claim that appellation which was
the distinctive mark and sign of that ancient body whose faith is
acknowledged by both sides as the standard and criterion of
orthodoxy. This language is, however, evidently only adopted for the
occasion. It is not the natural, ordinary phraseology of Presbyterians,
who are not accustomed to teach and preach to their own adherents
the necessity of Catholic unity, communion in the Catholic Church,
agreement with the first six councils, or to call their doctrine the
Catholic faith. These words must have a definite meaning. They are
not mere phrases or pure synonyms of other words equally
significant of the same ideas. Catholic is not merely another name
for true, or scriptural, or apostolic. It will not do for one to give out a
system of doctrine which he has constructed by his own private
judgment upon the Scripture, or learned by a private illumination, or
taken from the writings of a particular set of religious teachers, and
call it Catholic because he thinks it is proved to be true, and ought to
be universally received. The term Catholic includes in its signification
completeness and integrity of truth; but its specific sense is
concrete, visible universality of outward profession, the quod
semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus, of Vincent of Lerins. This
universality in time and space is the mark and outward manifestation
of the integral, divine truth, and those who accept it and proclaim it
as such must necessarily hold that the indefectibility of the visible
church is guaranteed by Almighty God. It is unmeaning for those
who hold that the body of the visible church, as organized under its
legitimate pastors, can apostatize from the pure faith of the gospel,
and the line of true believers be continued invisibly, or in a small,
separated section of professed Christians, to make use of the word
Catholic, or pretend to agree with the fathers of the first six
centuries in their profession of Catholicity as opposed to heresy. The
marks of the church, unity, sanctity, catholicity, and apostolicity, if
they are really marks, as declared by all who profess to be Catholics
in the genuine, natural, commonly accepted sense of the word, must
be so burnt into the object they are intended to mark that they are
ineffaceable and easily read and known by all men. The young
Mohican hero Uncas was recognized by the aged Indian chief and
prophet Tamenund as the legitimate heir of the noblest and most
royal line of the northern sachems, by the figure of its sacred
emblem, the tortoise, tattooed upon his breast. The name Catholic
is, as it were, the totem which marks a peculiar ecclesiastical race,
descended from the ancient fathers, indelibly stamped upon its
breast as the sure sign of its legitimacy. It is in vain, therefore, that
the Presbyterian doctors vaunt their acceptance of the Catholic
symbol, the Apostles' Creed, including as one of its essential articles,
"I believe the holy, Catholic Church." They do not believe this article
in the Catholic sense, as understood by the whole ancient church,
namely, as designating a well-known, specific, visible body, and
implying a full belief of all the doctrines authoritatively proclaimed by
that body. Among a thousand others we take one text of St.
Augustine, which we have hit upon at random, expressing this
sense: "Catholica fides est autem hæc—constitutam ab illo matrem
ecclesiam, quæ Catholica dicitur, ex eo quia universaliter perfecta
est, et in nullo claudicat, et per totum orbem diffusa est." "The
Catholic faith is this—that the mother church was constituted by
him, which is called Catholic, because it is universally perfect, and is
diffused through the whole world."[50] Moreover, the profession in
general terms of holding the Catholic faith, or the avowal even of a
creed completely orthodox, avails nothing to those who are outside
the Catholic communion, and make their orthodox profession a
pretext for keeping up a separate organization in opposition to the
legitimate pastors. All the ancient separatists made a loud outcry
that they were true, genuine Catholics. The modern ones, from the
Greeks to the Presbyterians, imitate their example. There is a power
residing in that name which all acknowledge. They feel that their
claim to be truly apostolic, orthodox churches, holding the pure
doctrine and order established by the apostles and apostolic men,
will be utterly demolished if they yield the title to Catholicity. Hence
they have tried to arrogate it to themselves, and to affix nicknames
to the Catholic Church. But their efforts have always been in vain.
When they are divested of the disguises and borrowed raiment
which they throw around their own proper form, the sign on their
breast is wanting, and none of the black paint with which they strive
to smear it over can mar or cancel the indelible imprint which the
numberless lancets of persecution have cut and graven into the very
flesh of the majestic figure of the true body of the Son of God. Hear
once more St. Augustine: "The Christian religion must be held by us,
and the communion of that church which is Catholic, and is called
Catholic, not only by its own members, but also by all its enemies.
For, whether they will or no, the very heretics themselves and the
offspring of schisms, when they talk not with their own friends, but
with people outside, call the Catholic Church nothing else but
Catholic. For they cannot be understood unless they designate her
by that name by which she is denominated by the whole world."[51]
The profession of agreement with the first six councils is equally
fallacious. Why the first six and not the last twelve? The Catholic
Church receives all the eighteen councils with equal veneration, and
is now preparing herself to celebrate the nineteenth, which will have
equal authority with the first, because the fathers will be equally
congregated together in the Holy Ghost, with the presence of Christ
in the midst of them, and the inexhaustible virtue of his promise, Lo!
I am with you always, even to the consummation of the world. The
separated bodies of Christians are ranged in an ascending series of
protesters against these councils, who reject a greater or lesser
number according to the date or reason of the judgment
pronounced in them against their several errors. The Greeks reject
all but the first seven, the orthodox Protestants all but six; the
Monothelites rejected the sixth, the Eutychians the fourth, the
Nestorians the third, the Macedonians the second, the Arians the
first, in which they are followed by the modern Unitarians. It is
evident enough that there is a principle of consanguinity binding
together all these families, from those who reject the Council of Nice
to those who repudiate the Council of the Vatican. The Catholic
Church is marked by the unbroken continuity of œcumenical
councils. The other churches reject as many of these councils as
seems good in their eyes, and accept the decisions of the others
because they are in accordance with their own opinions. They do not
submit to the councils; they judge them, and ratify such of them as
they approve. The profession made by the Presbyterian doctors of
receiving six councils amounts, therefore, to nothing as a plea in
defence of their orthodoxy. Upon their own principle, they might just
as rightfully reject these six councils as the seventh. They really
reject and deny their authority as councils, they repudiate the very
principle on which they were constituted, and affirm their own
supreme right to judge. They acknowledge the truth of the doctrines
which they defined; but it is purely on the ground that these
doctrines agree with their own private opinions respecting the sense
of the New Testament. The whole of this portion of the letter, in
which the Presbyterian doctors attempt to use Catholic phraseology,
is evidently nothing but a piece of special pleading. They do not
venture the assertion that the church of the period of the six
councils—that is, the three centuries and a half between the years
325 and 680—was identical in doctrine or discipline with the
Presbyterian Church of the United States, which they represent.
Nevertheless, they seem to wish to leave the impression on the
minds of their readers that the fathers, the councils, the common
belief and practice of those ages sustain their cause. The editorial
comment in the Evangelist boldly asserts that such is the case. The
small number of scholars well read in patristic theology who are
found among the Presbyterian clergy will probably not risk their
reputation for learning or put at hazard the success of their cause by
any such rash statement. As a general rule, however, the
Presbyterian clergy and theological students, though well-educated
scholars in the college curriculum and certain special professional
branches taught at the seminaries, have not turned their attention to
ancient Christian history and literature. They know much more about
Turretin than they do about St. Augustine. It is quite probable,
therefore, that a very general impression prevails among them, that
they are really on the whole in conformity with the doctrine of the
great fathers of the ancient church. This is a delusion which a little
study of the original works of the fathers themselves would soon
dissipate. We could not desire any thing more efficacious for this
purpose than the study of St. Augustine, called by Luther the
greatest teacher whom God had given to the church since the days
of the apostles, and revered in a most remarkable way by all those
who follow the Lutheran and Calvinistic confessions.[52] The deeply
learned men and independent thinkers among Protestants
understand this well, and the notion of the half-learned sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries that Protestantism can take its stand on
the era of the first six councils is a mere remnant of mist that hangs
for a while over portions of the landscape, but is destined soon to
disappear before advancing light. St. Augustine is diametrically
opposed to the first principle of Presbyterianism and all
Protestantism, that principle which is the dominant idea of the
Presbyterian reply to the Pope.
He says, "Non crederem Evangelio nisi me commoveret Ecclesiæ
Catholicæ auctoritas," "I would not believe the gospel unless the
authority of the Catholic Church moved me to do it."[53] Prof. Reuss,
of the Protestant theological faculty in the University of Strasburg,
says that "St. Augustine's principles come to their result in this
famous saying, diametrically opposed to the fundamental principle of
all Protestant theology."[54] Julius Müller, another professor in the
same faculty, says of all the fathers: "This must be openly admitted
by every unprejudiced historical investigation, that not merely the
ecclesiastical theology of the middle ages, but even the patristic
theology of the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries, are, upon every
point that is a matter of dispute between Catholicism and
Protestantism, more on the side of the former than of the latter."[55]
Presbyterians cannot make any thing by an appeal from the Council
of Trent to the first six councils. They have no connection either by
continuity of thought or succession with historical Christianity, and
their only resource is to maintain that the true interpretation of the
gospel, which was lost before the Council of Nice assembled under
the auspices of Constantine, has been restored by Calvin, Luther,
and Knox. How they can account for the fact that the church which,
on their theory, had subverted the apostolic church, was unerring in
its definitions of the great dogmas of the Trinity, Incarnation,
Original Sin, and Grace, is only known to themselves. It is only by a
happy inconsistency that orthodox Protestants have preserved that
portion of the Catholic faith which they have received by tradition
from their ancestors. The true Protestant principle of individualism
necessarily tends to master the contrary principle of faith in the
minds of Protestants, and to produce the doubt, the denial, the
hostility to all positive dogmas which marks the most advanced
rationalism. All this was working in Luther himself, whose brain
contained the seeds of the bitter fruit which has ripened in the
minds of his followers in our day. He himself was the prey of doubt,
and gave utterance to the strongest expression concerning the
absurdity of the principal doctrines of his own system.[56] Thrown
upon the discussion of what the Scripture is, and what it means,
with nothing to appeal to but private judgment, Presbyterianism, or
any other form of Protestantism, has nothing to look forward to but
an endless shock and collision of conflicting opinions, which can
have no other effect than the resolution of the whole mass into its
component atoms.
We have concluded our remarks upon the reply of the Presbyterian
moderators to the pope's letter. While we have been forced to point
out distinctly that the principle of its protest against the doctrine and
authority of the Roman Church is totally subversive of all faith, yet
we willingly acknowledge that some of the most sacred and
fundamental dogmas of faith are held and professed by the
respectable bodies in whose name it was written. Their doctrine is
like a superb ancient torso to which plaster limbs and head have
been added. Although their principle is equally destructive of all faith
with that of the Arians, yet we by no means regard them in the
same light. The authors of heresies who mutilate the faith are very
different from those who receive and hold with reverence this
mutilated faith. Their intellectual and moral worth, their philanthropy
and zeal for God, the value of many most excellent works which they
have written in defence of the divine revelation, we fully appreciate.
That great numbers have been and are in the spiritual communion of
the Catholic Church we sincerely hope. We desire that the schism
which has separated them from our visible communion may be
healed, not only for their own spiritual good, but also that the
Catholic Church in the United States may be strengthened by the
accession of that intellectual and religious vigor which such a great
mass of baptized Christians contains in itself. Above all things, we
desire that all who acknowledge our Lord Jesus Christ as their Lord
and Sovereign should be united in mind, and heart, and effort, in
order that his universal kingdom over the nations of the earth may
be established as speedily and as completely as possible.
 A HERO, OR A HEROINE?
CHAPTER I.
A HERO.
"You say he is handsome?"
"No; I said he was nice-looking, and gentlemanly, as of course
Philip's cousin would be. But you know I judge only from a
photograph."
"How vain you are of your lover, Jessie! You would be just as proud
of him if he had not his handsome face, of course?"
"Of course I would."
"I will not marry a handsome man! However, tell me some more
about the cousin. Why should he bury himself at Shellbeach? I
should think a man of any aspiration could not endure such a
contracted life. I suppose he is as gossiping and weak-minded as a
country minister."
"My dear Margaret!"
"I know you think me uncharitable. The truth is, men exasperate
me; and then remember I am twenty-five and not engaged."
"You have no one to blame except yourself."
"I don't know about that. Is it my fault that young men are all alike,
and inexpressibly wearisome? Seriously, I am tired of being Miss
Lester, and mean to change my condition. Why do you look at me in
that peculiar manner?"
"I was wondering how you would suit the doctor."
"Does he want to be suited?"
"I should think so, from his letter."
"Jessie, give it to me this moment. I must see it."
"I will not give it to you. I will read you something he says. No, you
are not to look over my shoulder; sit down peaceably, or else I shall
put the letter in my pocket."
"Why Jessie, what is the matter with you? I never saw you so
dignified in all my life. I suppose the letter is all about Philip, and
that is why you choose to keep it to yourself. Well, here I am, meek
as a lamb, actually submitting to you. It is too absurd!"
With these words, Margaret, who had seated herself on a sofa near
her friend, jumped up, seized the letter and tore it open, while Jessie
held out her hands imploringly, but did not offer to resist her
impetuous companion. Margaret glanced at the first two pages.
"Philip, Philip. Don't be alarmed; I would not be hired to read it. Let
me see; what is this? 'Why was not I fortunate enough to have you
myself?' Aha! you have two irons in the fire, you artful little
creature?"
"Don't be silly, Margaret, but read on."
"I don't know about this; I shall not scruple to warn Philip, if you are
getting yourself into trouble. What comes next? 'But since so
charming a companion is beyond my reach, cannot you undertake to
find me some one as much like you as possible, or at least just as
nice, who would not be afraid of a quiet, hard-working life with a
poor doctor, in the dullest of country towns? A sweet temper is, of
course, the first requirement; moderate personal attractions; some
sense and experience, and a little money for herself. Of course I
want a great many more things, but these will do for the present. So
if you know of a young woman, strong and healthy—to think that a
doctor should have almost forgotten those important items!—send
her down here, will you? and I will marry her on the spot.' Well, I
will not read any more of your letter, unless there are any more of
this modest man's requirements. But seriously, Jessie, I think I
would do very well for him, and you may write and tell him I am
coming."
"Margaret, of course you are in fun? How can you look so sober?
You would not surely mean any thing so improper."
"I am in very earnest, and really it is quite refreshing to be so. I am
tired out with my third season of balls, operas, Germans, and all that
kind of nonsense, and I would like to see a little of real life. I have
not quite made up my mind what I will do; but I will go up-stairs for
an hour, and then I will tell you what to write to the doctor. My good
old aunty shall be favored with a long visit from her niece, whom she
has not seen for five years; and in the mean time, you are not to say
one word to your mother or to any one else. Do you hear, Jessie?
Come, promise me."
The promise was given, and Jessie was left in great perplexity for
nearly two hours, when a message was brought her that Miss Lester
would be glad to see her up-stairs. She found her friend at a little
writing-table, in a sort of boudoir between their rooms, where the
girls used to work and read in the mornings, and receive calls from
their intimate friends.
"There!" said Margaret, rising as she entered; "sit down there,
Jessie, and read what I have written; you are to copy it in your
answer to the doctor's letter. Read it aloud to me; I want to hear
how it sounds."
Jessie read as follows:

"I highly approve of your wish to marry, and think I can help
you in the matter. I have some one in my mind that comes
pretty well up to your different requirements—at least those you
have specified; for of course I cannot pretend to answer for the
'great many more things' which you want, but have not
mentioned. Moreover, this young woman is a dear friend of
 mine, and is willing to marry, if she can be satisfied. She says
she will go to Shellbeach and stay with a relation, in order to
see and to be seen, on condition that you will be at her disposal
to a reasonable degree during her visit, which she will limit to
six months, and that, at the end of that time, you will write her
a true statement of how you stand affected toward her. On her
part, she will promise to marry you, if by that time you both
desire it. I may as well tell you that her name is Margaret Lester,
and that she will stay with old Miss Spelman, with whom you
are on such friendly terms. This whole matter, you will
understand, is to rest between you, Miss Lester, and myself."

Jessie was too much accustomed to her friend's eccentricities to be

very much astonished by this unexpected termination to their
morning's conversation. She disapproved, however, of the whole
affair, and remonstrated as strongly as she dared; but she had
grown to defer to Margaret's stronger will, and now felt it impossible
to oppose her. "Besides," as Margaret said, "what could be more
natural than that she should go to stay with old Aunt Selina? It was
only what she ought to have done before." And, to crown all, Jessie
was informed that a letter had been already written and sent to Miss
Spelman, and Margaret intended to go, at any rate.
The discussion lasted some time, and ended by Jessie's unwillingly
placing herself at the desk and writing a letter, which, though it
contained the exact words of the copy given above, also enlarged, in
Jessie's own affectionate language, on her friend's good qualities,
attractions, and popularity, and had nearly alluded to the very
handsome income, which would so far exceed the doctor's not
unreasonable demand. But that Margaret cut short; it was enough,
she said, that he should believe her to have a little pin-money; for of
course he would expect to support the family, if he had any spirit,
and if he had not, she would have nothing to do with him. Poor
Jessie groaned over Margaret's downright speeches, but did not
attempt to change her decision. The letter was at last sealed and
sent, and Jessie could only wonder at Margaret's high spirits for the
rest of the day. She had never looked handsomer, or been more
amusing, or played more finely than on that evening, when Mrs.
Edgar gave a little party. She was so kind to the young men, that
they all were charmed with her and with themselves, and quite
expanded under the warmth of her bright smiles.
Jessie, on the contrary, was preoccupied and distressed. She felt
uncomfortable at what she had done, at the thought of the secret
she was keeping from her mother, and troubled when she
remembered the approaching separation from her friend. How she
wished Margaret were not so hard to please! Why could she not like
that pleasant Mr. Lothrop, who was so handsome, so rich, and who
would so gladly have availed himself of the smallest encouragement
to make her an offer? How kindly she smiled on him to-night! Why
couldn't she be satisfied with pleasing him? And then what was the
chance that this fastidious girl would take a fancy to Dr. James,
whom, though she had never seen, she believed to be plain and
unattractive? What could come of it, except trouble for the poor
man? Of course he would fall in love with Margaret, while she would
think of nothing but amusing herself. "And I shall have been the
instrument of bringing disappointment and unhappiness to Philip's
cousin and dearest friend."
All these thoughts kept Jessie in a very unenviable state of mind
during the evening, and she was thankful when she could escape to
her own room, and write a long letter, before going to bed, to her
absent lover; of course not disclosing Margaret's secret, but
disburdening her mind of many anxieties on her friend's account.
While the answers to the letters written in so impulsive a manner are
being expected with some impatience, a few words should be said
on the history and circumstances of Margaret Lester, about whom a
good deal is to be written in these pages.

CHAPTER II.
PRELIMINARY.
Margaret's mother died when she was about fourteen years old, and
her father, unwilling to take the direction of his daughter's education,
placed her at an excellent boarding-school, where no expense was
spared to give her every advantage, and where, being perfectly
happy, she remained until she was nineteen. It was at this school
that she formed the friendship with Jessie Edgar which was
afterward to be so great a benefit to her. Jessie was the second
daughter of a wealthy New York family, and it was at her home that
Margaret passed her first Christmas vacation, and all her succeeding
holidays.
Jessie's gentle, yielding nature found great enjoyment in Margaret's
boldness and self-reliance, and Margaret, who began by protecting
and supporting the other's timidity and shyness, ended by heartily
admiring and loving her sweet and unselfish room-mate. They
became "inseparables," in school-girl phrase, and when school-days
were over, and Mr. Lester thought that the best completion to his
daughter's education would be a little travelling, Jessie's mother
consented to her accompanying her dear friend. For two years they
visited beautiful places together, and felt their friendship drawn more
closely, as their sympathies became enlarged.
But this happy experience came to a sudden and sorrowful end. Mr.
Lester had a dreadful fall while they were coming down a mountain,
and, after lingering a few weeks in extreme suffering, died, leaving
the two girls quite alone in a foreign land. They had a sad journey
home; he had been the life and soul of their expedition, and, having
travelled a good deal before, had been able to be the pleasantest
kind of guide for them. It had been hard to prevail on Margaret to
leave the Swiss town where he lay buried in the little graveyard; but
Jessie's love prevailed, and they came safely back together to Mrs.
Edgar's hospitable house. Once there, the kind friends would not let
Margaret think of leaving them, and she had grown to consider the
pleasant house almost as her own home.
It was long before she recovered her high spirits, but at twenty-
three she was induced to go into society with Jessie, who had waited
for her. She was, from every point of view, a desirable match—
young, rich, and fine-looking; gay and good-humored. Pleased with
herself and her surroundings, she thoroughly enjoyed her first
season, and was unmistakably a belle. The next year, however, was
a disappointment; there was a sameness in her life and amusements
that became irritating to her. Jessie was engaged to be married, and
Margaret found herself jealous of her friend's divided confidence.
But, though she said to Jessie that she would like to follow her
example, "to be able to sympathize with lovers' rhapsodies," like the
princess in the fairy-tale, she found fault with all her admirers;
criticised them, nicknamed them, and discouraged their attentions as
soon as these became exclusive. A very gay summer at a
fashionable watering-place followed this wearisome winter, and
Margaret entered upon her third season disposed for any thing but
enjoyment. No one who saw her in society would have guessed her
real character. High-spirited, gay, liking to astonish and slightly shock
her friends by her behavior, a little of what is termed "a trainer,"
there lay underneath this careless exterior a depth of real sentiment
that only one or two people whom she truly loved were aware of. To
be loved for herself, and to love, were her aspirations.
First, she was perfectly aware of her own attractions, and believed
she could have almost any man of her acquaintance, if she should
choose to make herself agreeable to him; but she could not believe
in any one's disinterested attachment to her.
"They all know I am rich," she would say to Jessie; "they would not
take me and poverty. Now, I would be glad, if I were poor, to marry
a poor man; then I could believe in his love, and we could have
some trials to bear together."
Secondly, she earnestly wished to love; but this, with her, meant a
great deal. She wanted to look up to some one, to honor and believe
in him; she thought of this much more than of the sentiment; for
she knew she should find that with the rest. She was tired of taking
the lead, and of having her own way. How gladly would she submit
herself to a noble guide! She imagined herself almost as a queen
stepping down from her throne, resigning sceptre and authority, and
saying, with Miss Procter,
"Love trusts; and for ever he gives, and gives all."
"But these young men," she said to Jessie, "are so intensely matter-
of-fact! They would think my brain softening, if they knew what I
wanted and expected to find." At another time she said, "If I could
only find something a little different! I think I will go to Australia,
marry a squatter, and see all the queer animals. My money would be
worth while out there."
It has been said that Margaret had a maiden aunt living at
Shellbeach, her mother's only sister. This lady she had seen but once
since her return from abroad, when Miss Spelman came to New York
on purpose to take her niece home with her. Margaret, however, was
not willing to leave the Edgars, and so her aunt returned to
Shellbeach, a little offended by her niece's preferring strangers to
her own flesh and blood, but, on the whole, perhaps relieved that
her quiet home was not to be invaded by a person of so startling a
character as she conceived Margaret to be. A visit had been agreed
upon between them; but this had been declined and deferred so
many times that the old lady, again offended, had given up
proposing it. If it had not been for Margaret's curiosity about Jessie's
friend, Doctor James, she certainly would not have remembered her
duty to her mother's only sister; while it is equally true that, if it had
not been for that convenient relative, she could not for a moment
have entertained the idea of taking the lion (that is, the doctor) by
storm in his den. For of any likelihood of being captivated herself in
this adventure, it must be acknowledged, she had no thought. Her
curiosity, her strongest weak point, was thoroughly excited about
this doctor. That a man with a fine education, a profession, and
enough money to live respectably, (all which information she had
obtained from her friend,) should isolate himself in a stupid little sea-
side town, because he liked to do so and enjoyed it, was to her a
mystery which demanded to be cleared up at once. How she should
like to astonish this hermit! How she would dress! How she would
shock his ideas of propriety, if he had any! He would be surprised
and overpowered, of course, and then—well, then she would beat a
graceful retreat, and come back to Jessie's wedding in the best of
spirits.
"I shall take Cécile and the Marchioness and Jimmy, and you will see
that we shall have an exciting time. I shall make myself so delightful
to dear Aunt Selina that she will not hear of my staying less than six
months; and I shall study housekeeping, economy, and medicine,
and experiment on Cécile when she is sick."
"Why do you take the Marchioness?"
"How can you ask? I must have exercise; and who knows but I may
make myself useful by visiting the distant patients when the doctor's
horse is tired?"
"But why not take Lady Jane? She is much handsomer."
"She is too fine for my purpose. I don't want to seem wealthy, you
know; and the Marchioness goes mousing along, her head level with
her tail, in true Morgan style, and looks any thing but extravagant.
Then Jimmy will keep us awake, and bark at Aunt Selina's cats when
other excitement fails."
"How do you know she has any cats?"
"Of course she has cats! Half a dozen, I have no doubt. Who ever
heard of an ancient maiden living alone without cats? How I wish
the answers would come!"
They did come, in due time; Miss Spelman's first, cordially
welcoming her niece to Shellbeach for any length of time, or for
good and all. Margaret felt rather ashamed, as she saw how her
aunt had fallen into the trap, and how completely her own good faith
had been taken for granted. She mentally resolved that, if it
depended on her, Miss Spelman should not repent her generosity;
she would make herself as delightful as she could, cheerfully give up
her own convenience, if necessary, and make up for her long neglect
of so disinterested a relation.
This letter arrived on the third day of expectation; the doctor's, not
until a full week had elapsed. "A doctor's time is not his own, and
the number of invalids at Shellbeach has been greater than usual." It
would be well to give the letter in full, at least so much of it as
relates to Margaret and her proposition.

"If it were the first of April," wrote the doctor, "I should find no
difficulty in comprehending your letter; as it is not, I am inclined
to believe that I am being 'sold;' but I do not believe practical
jokes are in your line, and you write apparently in good earnest.
Therefore, if your original friend seriously recommends such an
experiment as this, I can but acquiesce, of course. Miss
Spelman also informs me that her niece 'is coming;' so I feel
that any opinion I may express on the subject is superfluous.
However, it seems to me that there should be an equality of
position in this matter, and I will say that I agree to Miss
Lester's terms, provided she agrees to mine. I have but one
condition, and it is her own: that at the end of the time she
appoints she will, simultaneously with me, that is, at a given
hour, write me 'a true statement of how she stands affected
toward me'—which means, of course, tell me honestly if she
loves me. I have a right to say that I think this plan doubtful in
its purpose, its practicability, and its probable results."

Not a word more was given to the subject; the letter spoke briefly of
Philip, of Jessie, and terminated.
Margaret of course saw this letter in the same forcible way that she
saw the other. Jessie thought she would be offended, and so she
was, but that did not have the result Jessie secretly hoped for.
"He is not well-bred, and evidently thinks a great deal of himself.
How I shall enjoy snubbing him!"
"You are going?"
"I should think so! Do you suppose I shall disappoint Aunt Selina for
such rudeness as this? But I will have no more second-hand
dealings." And so saying, she seized pen and paper, and wrote as
follows:

"Dr. James: I accept your condition. Six months from next

Monday, which will be July 18th, at eleven o'clock in the
evening, we will write our letters.
"Margaret Lester."

Jessie was not allowed to see this note, which was at once
dispatched to Shellbeach.
"And now," Margaret said, "comes the fun of arrangements. We will
go up-stairs and consult about my clothes, and all that I shall take
with me."

CHAPTER III.
PASSENGERS FOR SHELLBEACH.
Dr. James's letter had been received on Tuesday; the following
Monday, at about three o'clock on a bleak and gray January
afternoon, Margaret, accompanied by her maid and terrier dog,
arrived at the little way-station of Shellbeach, and ascertaining that
Miss Spelman's carriage had not arrived, walked into the little
waiting-room and to the airtight stove, which was, however, barely
warm. Her teeth chattered, and she stamped her feet and rubbed
her hands; the French maid followed, bearing bag and shawls,
shivering and casting forlorn glances around her. The little dog alone
seemed in good spirits, and ran about, inquiring into every thing,
and snuffled suspiciously at a man who sat wrapped in a shawl,
reading a book, and at two small boys, who were partaking of frost
which they scraped off the windows.
"Well, we're all frozen, so it's no use saying it's cold," said Margaret,
walking about the room; "but I'm famished, and as cross as a bear."
"O mademoiselle! it is terrible," cried Cécile, with a sort of little
shriek.
"It is a forlorn place, certainly; let me see if my provisions are
exhausted," Margaret said, taking the bag. The little boys at the
window became deeply interested, and paused in their
unsatisfactory repast.
"One seed-cake! How exciting! What! you want it, do you? Well, take
it," she said to the little dog, who jumped upon her, and while he
devoured it she watched him, saying reflectively, "Little pig! if I were
dying of starvation, and it were my last crumb, he would eat it. How
do I look, Cécile? I am all covered with cinders."
"Yes, mademoiselle; you look like a fright."
Margaret smiled, and returned to the platform, where she made
inquiries of a man who was looking helplessly at her trunks how they
were to be got to Miss Spelman's. Having arranged that matter, she
asked,
"Can't I have that buggy to drive up in? Does it belong to the man
inside there?"
"It belongs to him," said the driver, with a grin, and Margaret turned
away in despair.
"The train was early," said a boy standing by, "and perhaps the
young lady's team will be along soon."
Margaret, who had her purse in her hand, at once presented the boy
with twenty-five cents, as an acknowledgment for the ray of
encouragement he had volunteered. He bore it philosophically, and
she returned to the room.
"Cécile, it's only two miles to Miss Spelman's; suppose we walk; it
will be warmer than waiting here. Give me the bag, and you take the
shawls, and we will inquire the way."
She accompanied these words with a look of indignation at the man
who was fortunate enough to have a buggy at his command; but to
her great surprise, he rose, and, approaching her, said:
"The train was early, and I expected Miss Spelman's carryall; but it is
evidently not coming, and you must manage with my buggy."
"You are Doctor James?" said Margaret with an inquisitive look.
"You are right; and you are Miss Lester," he replied. "I am sorry you
have had to wait in the cold; but when I saw you had a companion,
I thought it would be wiser to wait for the carryall. Miss Spelman
said she should probably send; but asked me, at any rate, to meet
you. I will drive you home and come back for your maid."
"But it's so cold here, and Cécile feels the cold more than I. Could
we not possibly go three in the buggy? Would it be too much for the
horse?"
The doctor smiled for the first time; he was pleased by her thought
for her maid.
"You and I are good-sized people, but she is small. I think Rosanna
can stand the weight; but it will not do to start cold. I propose we
go over to the store and get thoroughly warmed."
"Oh! delightful," cried Margaret, "the thought of being warm again is
almost too much for me."
The doctor led the way across the railroad track to a kind of variety
store, where there was certainly no reason to complain of the cold.
The air was stifling, and conveyed to Margaret's sense of smell the
impressions of soap, molasses, peppermint drops, brown paper, and
onions, at one breath; but she was too grateful to be warm even to
make a face, which under other circumstances she would doubtless
have done. Seated in chairs before the energetic little stove, she and
Cécile toasted hands and feet while the doctor went for the horse.
When he returned, they were quite ready to start, and the bag being
stowed away in the box, they put on all their wrappings, by the
doctor's advice, and packed themselves into the buggy. Jimmy
curled himself under his mistress's feet, the buffalo robe was well
tucked in, and the sturdy-looking mare started with her load with a
willingness which showed she too was glad to have her face toward
home. It was cold enough in spite of their comfortable start, and, to
make matters worse, Margaret's veil blew away; but she would not
have alluded to it for the world. The doctor seemed absorbed in his
driving, and Cécile occupied with her aching toes; and allowing it to
escape seemed to her so feminine and weak-minded a proceeding
that she bore the cutting wind in silence rather than expose her
carelessness. Her gratitude to the doctor for rescuing her from her
uncomfortable situation, and the genial feelings produced by her
warming at the stove, now gave way to reflections on this man's
previous behavior, as he sat wrapped in his shawl, in the cold little
waiting-room. What a hard-hearted, outrageous monster he must
be! Why did he not speak at once, and be sympathetic and kind? Of
course he was studying her, and no doubt criticising her, at that
unfavorable moment. It chafed her to think to what an inspection
she had been exposed, and how utterly she had been at a
disadvantage. At last she broke the silence by saying abruptly,
"Does not extreme hunger add to one's capacity for being cold?"
She intended to embarrass him by reminding him of his profession,
but she was disappointed; for he answered at once, with a slight
movement of his mouth, not however a smile,
"Extreme hunger? Yes; especially such as the poor feel, who may
have tasted nothing for two or three days, nor meat for as many
months. How long is it since you breakfasted?"
"At eight," she replied shortly.
The doctor, remembering with a little compunction that he had both
breakfasted and dined, hastened to say,
"That is a long time for a person accustomed to regular meals. I am
quite sure you will find a better reception in the matter of dinner
than you experienced at the station."
"I do not understand why my aunt did not send for me."
"Nor I; she said to me, 'I shall send the carryall, if possible; but you
will oblige me by meeting my niece, and if any thing should happen
to prevent my man's being there, you will bring her home.' I am
sure only you and the dog were expected."
"Yes, I said my maid would probably come in a day or two; but she
was able to get ready to accompany me."
Then there was silence once more, till Dr. James drew up his horse
before a well-clipped, flourishing hedge, and, getting out, opened a
small brown gate, and carried the bag and shawls up the neat
gravelled path. The short afternoon had come to a close, though it
was scarcely four o'clock, and the firelight shone pleasantly out from
the windows, where the curtains were drawn aside. The doctor
deposited the wrappings on the steps, said hastily, "Good-by, Miss
Lester, I shall call on you as soon as possible," and was in his buggy
and driving quickly away before she had time to utter a word. She
had stood for a moment, expecting the door to be thrown open at
once; she even wondered that her aunt was not awaiting her on the
threshold; but as no one appeared, she gave the bell a rather
decided pull. Instantly the door was opened by the neatest of maids,
in a white apron, who beamed upon the guests while she took the
bag and shawls. Margaret walked at once toward the bright fire,
which shone out of an open door, and there in the middle of the
room stood a little lady, who met and embraced her, saying in an
agitated voice,
"Welcome, my dearest niece, a thousand times!"
"Thank you, aunt; I am almost perished! How pleasant the fire
looks!"
Miss Spelman was trembling in every limb, but Margaret's decided
tones, quite free from emotion of any kind, composed her. She drew
an easy-chair to the fire, and then turned to Cécile, who stood
hesitating in the hall.
"You brought your maid, did you not, dear Margaret? That is good; it
will make you more at home. Ann, I hope you will make Miss
Lester's maid quite comfortable. Her name, my dear? Oh! yes,
Cecilia." And as the woman disappeared, she continued, "I am glad
you have so respectable and steady an attendant, my dear; when I
heard she was French, I feared she might be very dressy and
flippant, and get restless in our quiet little household."
She gently helped Margaret to lay aside her things; then, as she
seated herself in the comfortable chair and held out hands and feet
to the grateful flame, the little lady once more placed her hand on
her shoulder, and kissed her forehead.
"For all the world like your poor father," she said softly. As Margaret
was silent, she continued, "But I must tell you why I did not send for
you. I beg your pardon, my dear child, for such apparent neglect.
The fact is, I have a new man, and dare not trust him alone with the
horses, and I have a cold and was afraid to go out this raw day. If it
had been milder, nothing should have kept me at home; but as I had
asked our good doctor to meet you, I knew you would really be
provided for. Then, I thought it would seem so uncourteous to let
him give his valuable time to going to the station for you, and then
disappoint him of the pleasure of bringing you home. You see, I did
not look for your maid. O dear! how very rude you must think me."
And the poor lady stopped short, quite appalled at her own conduct,
the impropriety of which for the first time impressed her.
"No matter now, aunt, I'm safely here."
"And thankful I am to have you, dear; but to think that I should
have allowed you to drive home alone with a strange young man!"
"I was not alone with him."
"But I did not know that; and, O dear me! how did you all get here?"
"Why, sandwiched, three in the buggy, of course; Cécile in the
middle; it was the shortest way. He wanted to bring first me and
then Cécile, but I would not let him. However, don't worry about it
now, aunty. I would like to go to my room, I think, and make myself
presentable; I am covered with cinders."
"Certainly. You will find a fire there, and, I hope, every thing you
want. If not, you must let me know." So saying, Miss Spelman led
the way up-stairs to a good-sized room, where a little wood fire was
burning and candles were lighted. The trunks were already there,
and Cécile was unpacking and laying out what her mistress would
want.
"We have tea, generally, at six; but I have ordered it to-day at five,
for I know you need both dinner and tea. Cecilia will find me down-
stairs if you want any thing." With these words, Miss Spelman
withdrew and closed the door.
"I have arrived at that period of starvation," remarked Margaret,
"when I am resigned to wait indefinitely for my food, provided it
comes at last." At that moment a knock announced Ann, who
brought in a waiter with cup and saucer and tea-things. "Miss
Spelman thought a cup of tea would be warming."
Very soon Margaret was sitting in her wrapper and slippers, in a little
rocking-chair, sipping her hot tea, while Cécile brushed and arranged
her hair. She began to feel fatigued; but that was rather a delightful
sensation, now that she had nothing to do but rest and be
comfortable. Before five, she went down to the parlor, where her
aunt once more received her with a little speech, and then came the
looked-for tea-dinner. It appeared that Miss Spelman knew what was
good as well as Mrs. Edgar, and Margaret, as she surveyed the well-
spread table, the spotless linen, the shining glass and silver, the
temptingly brown chicken before her, the spongy biscuit and delicate
cake, was glad to find that, at least, she would not starve.
"I begin to feel a sea-air appetite already," she exclaimed; "and O
aunty! how good every thing tastes."
Miss Selina was pleased, for she was a hospitable hostess; and when
she and Margaret were established before the fire, curtains drawn,
and the lamp shining brightly, there was a mutual good feeling
between them, which, from that time, nothing disturbed. Margaret,
as she leaned back in her chair, holding a little screen before her
face, had now time to examine her aunt more closely, and she
studied her with considerable curiosity. She was decidedly petite,
and so very neat and trim about her dress that she made Margaret
think of a fairy godmother. Her hair was white, although she was not
yet sixty; she wore a cap, and soft lace round her throat; her eyes
were dark and bright, and her smile very sweet and cheerful. She
must have been pretty, Margaret thought, and like that dear mother
so well remembered.
After answering a good many questions about her life in New York,
Mrs. Edgar, Jessie, and her lover, Margaret said rather abruptly,
"You see a good deal of Doctor James, don't you, aunt?"
"Oh! almost every day, my dear. He has to drive very often over to
Sealing, and my house is right on his way. He feels quite attached to
me, because, once when his sister was staying with him, she was
sick, and I used to go and sit with her; and at last, when she was
getting well, and was able to be moved, I got her to come and make
me a visit; for I thought it must be dull for her, with her brother
away so much. So he used to come every day to see about her, and
he got into the way of dropping in as if he belonged here, and he
has kept it up ever since."
"What sort of a girl was the sister?"
"Oh! she was a charming creature—pretty and picturesque; young,
too, and very clever for her age; and the doctor thought every thing
of her, though he used to find fault with her and try to improve her,
and was always bringing some hard book for Lucy to read, or asking
me to tell her this, or remind her of that, and not let her forget the
other, till I used to think the poor child would have been vexed with
both him and me; but she used to laugh and shake her pretty brown
curls, and make the best of it all. I grew to love that child, Margaret,
and I confess to you, if you had not come to me, I would very
probably have offered to adopt her, and do for her as if she were my
own. I did not suppose you needed any money, my dear," she added
in an apologetic tone.
"Don't mention your money, please," cried Margaret. "Dear aunty, I
can't manage what I've got now; why should I want any more? By
all means make the pretty Lucy an heiress, and let her come and live
here, near her brother."
Miss Spelman shook her head, and Margaret continued,
"But where does Lucy live, and where does the family come from
originally?"
"They have had a country-seat in Maine for years, and are very nice
people, I would think; the doctor, at least, is a perfect gentleman.
He has been in the war, was wounded two or three times; and when
it was all over, came here because the old doctor was about to move
away. They knew each other, and so Dr. James just quietly took the
other's place, and has a great deal more than filled it ever since."
"But why does he choose to live in a little place like this? Jessie told
me something of his benevolence; but that doesn't seem reason
enough to keep him here."
"That is the only reason, I am sure—that, and attachment to the
place and people. He does an immense amount of good, my dear;
why, he attends all the poor people, for miles around, for nothing!"
"But then what does he live on?"
"Certainly not on his fees. He has a little money of his own—enough
for such a place as this—and that leaves him free, as he says, to
have no hard money feelings between him and his patients. The
consequence is, he is worshipped by the poor, and, in fact, by almost
every one both here and at Sealing; they give him no peace, and he
has to work like a horse all the time."
"I hope he enjoys it."
"He says he does; but I think the life is too hard for him."
"And does he intend to live here indefinitely?"
"He never alludes to living anywhere else; but I hope he may marry
some day, and then, no doubt, he would go where his wife wished."
"Don't you think his wishes ought to be hers?"
"Certainly, my dear Margaret, I think so; but then, I believe I'm old-
fashioned." Miss Spelman was pleased, that was evident; and then
she said she knew her niece was a fine musician, but she was
perhaps "too tired to touch the instrument?"
Margaret smiled, and though she was tired certainly, and sleepy
besides, she went with a very good grace to "the instrument," which
she found to be an old piano, excellent in its day, but now out of
tune and jingling; the keys were yellow, and one pedal was broken,
but no speck of dust was to be seen inside or out, or on any thing
else in Miss Selina's house. Margaret, without thinking much about
it, played some very modern music, such as she generally played in
the evenings at Mrs. Edgar's, deep and difficult music, playing well
and carefully, without notes; till she began to realize how impossible
any execution would be on such a piano. When she paused, Miss
Spelman said rather plaintively,
"That is very fine, my dear; but my taste is not up to the present
standard. And—do you play from note, dear Margaret?"
On receiving an affirmative reply, she went into an adjoining closet,
and brought out one or two old music-books, marked on the covers,
"M. and S. Spelman," and with Margaret and Selina alternately
written on the music within. Margaret had never seen such a
collection of curious, old, simple music. She smiled as she played, to
see her aunt's hands beating time, and watched the absorbed
expression of her face, varying from a smile of content to a look of
sadness and regret. As she at last closed the piano, she said,
"I will play these pieces over when I am by myself, and then I shall
do them more justice when I play them for you again. Forgive my
many blunders."
Then came cake, fruit, and wine, at nine o'clock, and then Margaret
was glad to say "good-night" and go to her pleasant room, where
she found, to her great satisfaction, that she was soothed to sleep
by the breaking of the waves on Shellbeach.

CHAPTER IV.
A CONFIDENTIAL LETTER.
My Dearest Jessie: I have received your most welcome letter, and only
wish I could tell you how good it was to hear from you. It made me
long to see you, dear; but as I am resolved I will not be so weak as
to give up and go back to you yet, I will not sentimentalize now, nor
dwell on my feelings, which, I assure you, are unusually tender for
me.
I have now been here three whole days, and they seem as many
months; the snow-storm which began the night after my arrival,
lasted perseveringly till this morning, when there was a beautiful
clear-away, and my spirits, which were rather drooping, rose at
once. It was very cold, and Aunt Selina was afraid to go out, and I
was lazy, and passed the morning in the house. After dinner,
however, I became desperate, put on my shortest dress and rubber
boots, and went forth with Jimmy on an exploring expedition. The
snow was very deep; but I needed exercise, and enjoyed immensely
plunging about in the fresh drifts, and getting rid, at the same time,
if I must confess it, of a fair amount of wrath and resentment, of
which your paragon of a doctor was the cause. Only think, my dear,
of his allowing me to be three days here without calling! In such
weather, too, when he must have known I was penned up in the
house with nothing to amuse me, (not that I didn't amuse myself
very well, but he could not have known that.) How did he know that
I mightn't have caught a severe cold in that horrid waiting-room at
the station, or driving with him in his freezing chaise? And after
leaving me in that abrupt way, waiting on the steps here, without a
single polite word to me or Aunt Selina, as if he said, "I have been
dreadfully bored by having to bring you here; now let me get away
as fast as I can!" Well, I was provoked with him, and with myself for
caring; but I grew pleasanter every step I took; and when I at last
found myself on a high bank right over the sea, and the pretty little
beach with the dear, blue waves breaking and foaming below me, I
was in a state of exhilaration and delight that I can't describe. I
could hardly have torn myself away, except that I was very cold; and
the sunset light had almost faded when I got home. Then, my dear,
what do you think? Aunt Selina greeted me with, "O Margaret! what
a pity you went out; here Doctor James has been waiting nearly an
hour for you, and he wanted so much to see you, and was so sorry
that he couldn't come before! But, my dear, he has been away, and
only got home this morning." That was funny, was it not? "He looked
so nice," Aunt Selina said. "I wish you could once see him nicely
dressed; he doesn't take enough pains with himself generally." Now,
I know that aunty was as much surprised as I that this call had not
been made before, and a great deal more disturbed. She praises the
doctor on every occasion, and I am sure she wanted him to make a
favorable impression on me. She has been very curious about our
drive from the station; but I have said very little about it, except that
I thought we were all of us cold and cross.
Well, I was nicely wet from my snowy walk; but after I had changed
my dress and had my tea, I felt splendidly. At eight o'clock the bell
rang—a wonderful circumstance, so far—and after a little delay in
the hall, in walked the doctor. I suppose he could not bear that his
get-up should be thrown away, and he really looked very nice
indeed. I am sure he prides himself on his feet and hands, which are
small—not in themselves, but for his size—and well shaped. His
clothes were any thing but fashionable; but they fitted him well, and
looked as if he were at home in them, and something in his general
appearance made me feel that he had intended to do me honor, and
I was quite mollified toward him. Aunt Selina was enraptured. I was
—can you imagine it?—a little embarrassed, having been wholly
taken by surprise at his making his appearance; he was calm and at
his ease. He explained his apparent neglect of me, expressed regret
at finding me out this afternoon, and asked about my walk, etc. He
is provoking in many ways, Jessie, but in one especially: he is so
stingy of his smiles; I can express it in no other way. He is the most
serious person I ever saw; even when it would be polite to smile, he
will not; but moves the muscles round his mouth in a peculiar way
that makes me want to say to him, "Well, why don't you do it? It
won't hurt you!" His eyes are not particularly large, but gray, and
look as if they saw as much as mine, only he does not stare as I do,
but seems to take in every thing with one glance. I did not find him
difficult to talk to, as I imagined I should, but am surprised to find
how much he knows. He asked me to play, but did not like the
piece; and when I tried him with a little of Aunt Selina's music—
which I described to you in my first letter, you remember—he asked
for Beethoven. That he enjoyed, I believe, and a few of my little
French airs, one of which he recognized, and I discovered, to my
astonishment, that he had been abroad. He spoke of organ music,
and when I told him about my desire to learn to play on the organ,
said he thought I could do so here, as there were both a good organ
and organist at Sealing. And, if he arranges it so, I am to take
lessons once or twice a week, and practise in the little church here.
Well, dear Jessie, this letter must come to a close, as I am sleepy.
Give my best love to your dear mother; write soon and tell me all
about your own affairs and Philip.
Always your loving
Margaret.
Shellbeach, Dec. 21.
 CHAPTER V.
A SLEIGH-RIDE.
On the morning after Margaret had written the letter to her friend,
given above, she was finishing her breakfast at about nine o'clock,
while little Miss Spelman bustled about in her china-closet, and
around the room, when a jingle of bells was heard, and in a moment
more, Dr. James appeared at the dining-room door.
"Miss Lester, do you feel in the mood for a sleigh-ride? I have to go
over to Sealing, and shall be glad to take you."
"Oh! yes," cried Margaret, jumping up from the table, "of all things
what I would like best; but I must change my dress, I am afraid. I
will not be ten minutes, if you can wait."
"I have a call to make near here, and will come back for you."
In a short time Margaret appeared, dressed in a dark blue suit with
black dog-skin furs, and a very jaunty round cap to match on her
head.
"Will you be warm enough?" asked the doctor, surveying her.
"I have my cloak besides," said Margaret, displaying a very thick and
heavy mantle, of every color of the rainbow.
As they drove off, Doctor James remarked,
"You will set this quiet little place on fire, with your bright colors; we
don't see such brilliant things here very often."
"Gay colors are the fashion," said Margaret, "and I almost always
wear them. I get very tired of them, however, and wish my style
were not prononcé. I quite long sometimes to wear neutral tints,
and cool, delicate colors."
"Miss Edgar wears such shades, does she not? She is so perfectly
refined and lady-like."
Margaret glanced at him quickly and answered,
"She does, when she is willing to take the trouble; but I generally
have to insist upon her dressing becomingly. When we were in Paris,
we were both told about our different styles, and how we should
dress; and I think it is worth while to consider the subject, and
Jessie does not; that is all."
"Does not Miss Edgar care for dress?"
"I think she does; but for dress without any reference to herself. She
is very fond of pretty things, and would be quite contented to wear a
rose-colored bonnet, or a bird-of-paradise evening dress, if I did not
prevent it. You admire Miss Edgar very much, do you not, Dr.
James?"
"As much as I can admire a lady I have never seen. But why should
you think that I admire her?"
"And if she were not already engaged, you would like to marry her
yourself, would you not?"
Margaret spoke impulsively; and before she had uttered the last
words would gladly have swallowed the sentence whole, but it was
too late. The doctor's face flushed, and he said very slowly,
"Did Miss Edgar show you that letter?"
"Yes—I mean no; that is, I mean, Dr. James, that I took it away from
her and read it myself. She did not want me to see it; it was all my
fault. Jessie is gentle, and I am rough, and I tyrannize over her very
often."
Margaret's voice sounded remorseful, and the doctor softened.
"There was no reason why you should not have seen that letter, any
more than any other. I would not have Miss Edgar other than Philip's
wife for any thing in the world; and my saying I would have liked her
myself, was meant only as a joke, and I am sure she understood it
so. Indeed, I was far from being in earnest when I wrote that letter."
It was now Margaret's turn to change color, and her face burned; an
unusual and painful thing for her. She felt at that moment as if she
would like to find herself on the opposite side of the world. What an
absurd position she was in! This man must regard her as a fool, or
worse. What business had she to be at Shellbeach at all, or here in
this sleigh, beside one on whom she had not the smallest claim, and
who had no reason to think her any thing but a forward, unlady-like
girl, as she was? These, and many equally disagreeable thoughts
rushed through her mind, before Dr. James said pleasantly,
"Is it possible you keep up your city hours here, and breakfast at
nine o'clock? How luxurious your life must be!"
"Does nine seem late to you?" asked Margaret, making an effort to
speak carelessly; "it is early to me. When we used to come home
from parties at three or four in the morning, we breakfasted at
eleven or even twelve. But there is no excuse for sleeping late here,
I know; I might go to bed at eight o'clock in the evening, except
when we have a visitor, as we did last night. But you see there are
no bells; my room is dark, and Cécile never comes in till I ring for
her. Then, Aunt Selina says she does not mind."
"Miss Spelman is not a very early riser herself. But, Miss Lester, I
think a poor man's household ought to be up with the dawn." He
smiled at her in a friendly way as he spoke, and Margaret laughed.
"And the mistress of a poor man's household ought to call all the
members of the family, ought she not?"
"I think so; that is a very important matter. Yet I know few things in
our daily life which require more heroism than getting up in the
morning at the right time. Though I ought to be accustomed to
being called at any and every hour, I never find it grows easy to
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