I think you must number among your acquaintances such a man as Mr.
William Beresford, whose wife I have the honour to be. Physically
the type is vigorous, or has the appearance and gives the impression
of being vigorous, because it has never the time to be otherwise,
since it is always engaged in nursing its ailing or decrepit
relatives. Intellectually it is full of vitality; any mind grows
when it is exercised, and the brain that has to settle all its own
affairs and all the affairs of its friends and acquaintances could
never lack energy. Spiritually it is almost too good for earth, and
any woman who lives in the house with it has moments of despondency
and self-chastisement, in which she fears that heaven may prove all
too small to contain the perfect being and its unregenerate family
as well.

Financially it has at least a moderate bank account; that is, it is
never penniless, indeed it can never afford to be, because it is
peremptory that it should possess funds in order to disburse them to
needier brothers. There is never an hour when Mr. William Beresford
is not signing notes and bonds and drafts for less fortunate men;
giving small loans just to 'help a fellow over a hard place';
educating friends' children, starting them in business, or securing
appointments for them. The widow and the fatherless have worn such
an obvious path to his office and residence that no bereaved person
could possibly lose his way, and as a matter of fact no one of them
ever does. This special journey of his to America has been made
necessary because, first, his cousin's widow has been defrauded of a
large sum by her man of business; and second, his college chum and
dearest friend has just died in Chicago after appointing him
executor of his estate and guardian of his only child. The wording