mysterious concrete tenacity which renders a family so formidable a unit
of society, so clear a reproduction of society in miniature. He has been
admitted to a vision of the dim roads of social progress, has understood
something of patriarchal life, of the swarmings of savage hordes, of the
rise and fall of nations. He is like one who, having watched a tree
grow from its planting--a paragon of tenacity, insulation, and success,
amidst the deaths of a hundred other plants less fibrous, sappy, and
persistent--one day will see it flourishing with bland, full foliage, in
an almost repugnant prosperity, at the summit of its efflorescence.

On June 15, eighteen eighty-six, about four of the afternoon, the
observer who chanced to be present at the house of old Jolyon Forsyte
in Stanhope Gate, might have seen the highest efflorescence of the
Forsytes.

This was the occasion of an 'at home' to celebrate the engagement of
Miss June Forsyte, old Jolyon's granddaughter, to Mr. Philip Bosinney.
In the bravery of light gloves, buff waistcoats, feathers and frocks,
the family were present, even Aunt Ann, who now but seldom left the
corner of her brother Timothy's green drawing-room, where, under the
aegis of a plume of dyed pampas grass in a light blue vase, she sat
all day reading and knitting, surrounded by the effigies of three
generations of Forsytes. Even Aunt Ann was there; her inflexible
back, and the dignity of her calm old face personifying the rigid
possessiveness of the family idea.

When a Forsyte was engaged, married, or born, the Forsytes were present;
when a Forsyte died--but no Forsyte had as yet died; they did not die;
death being contrary to their principles, they took precautions against
it, the instinctive precautions of highly vitalized persons who resent