 grace,
and spirit. What was birth to a Manchester manufacturer, many of whom glory, and
justly too, in being the architects of their own fortunes? And, as far as wealth
was concerned, judging another by himself, Jem could only imagine it a great
privilege to lay it at the feet of the loved one. Harry Carson's mother had been
a factory girl; so, after all, what was the great reason for doubting his
intentions towards Mary?
    There might probably be some little awkwardness about the affair at first:
Mary's father having such strong prejudices on the one hand, and something of
the same kind being likely to exist on the part of Mr. Carson's family. But Jem
knew he had power over John Barton's mind; and it would be something to exert
that power in promoting Mary's happiness, and to relinquish all thought of self
in so doing.
    Oh! why had Esther chosen him for this office? It was beyond his strength to
act rightly! Why had she singled him out?
    The answer came when he was calm enough to listen for it: Because Mary had
no other friend capable of the duty required of him; the duty of a brother, as
Esther imagined him to be in feeling, from his long friendship. He would be unto
her as a brother.
    As such, he ought to ascertain Harry Carson's intentions towards her in
winning her affections. He would ask him straightforwardly, as became man
speaking to man, not concealing, if need were, the interest he felt in Mary.
    Then, with the resolve to do his duty to the best of his power, peace came
into his soul; he had left the windy storm and tempest behind.
    Two hours before day-dawn he fell asleep.
 

                                   Chapter XV

                      A Violent Meeting between the Rivals

 »What thoughtful heart can look into this gulf
 That darkly yawns 'twixt rich and poor,
 And not find food for saddest meditation!
 Can see, without a pang of keenest grief,
 Them fiercely battling (like some natural foes)
 Whom God had made, with help and sympathy,
 To stand as brothers, side by side, united!
 Where is the wisdom that shall bridge this gulf,
 And bind them once again in trust and love?«
                                                                  »Love-Truths.«
 
We must return to John Barton. Poor John! He never got over his disappointing
journey to London. The deep mortification he then experienced (with, perhaps, as
little selfishness for its cause as mortification ever had) was of no temporary
nature; indeed
