Commodore Bainbridge

Excerpt from Commodore Bainbridge: From the Gunroom to the Quarter-Deck
John Taylor, Esq., of Monmouth County, New Jersey, was walking slowly along beneath the shade of the trees bordering the path that led from the turnpike up to the big white house, an odd-looking building begun by his fatherland completed by himself, in an entirely different style of architecture, a score of years previous to the time this story begins. It had an air of ponderous prosperity.
As the old gentleman walked slowly up the path he took from his pocket a letter, the seal of which had already been broken, and thrusting his gold-headed stick beneath his arm, he re-read the epistle for the second time.
Mr. Taylor was stamped with the unmistakable air of wealth, respectability, and importance. One could see that his was a mind that came to conclusions slowly, and in the Hues of his strongly marked old face a close student of character would have perceived firmness and resolution. He halted for an instant before he stepped out into the bright sunlight at the end of the row of trees, and finished his letter, reading the last words half aloud:
"I trust, my dear sir, that you will find our son tractable in disposition, willing and eager to meet your views, and obedient to your behests.
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