Reverend Morgan Dix


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Civil War Harper's Weekly, December 13, 1862

Welcome to our collection of Civil War Harper's Weekly newspapers. This site allows access to all the Harper's Weekly that were printed during the Civil War. These newspapers show incredible details of the war you wont find anywhere else.

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Generals in the Army of the Potomac

Army of the Potomac Generals

The president's Message

The President's Message

Contrcator Cartoon

Contractor Cartoon

Banks Expedition

Banks's Expedition

Union Generals

Biographies of Union Generals

Drury's Bluff

Drury's Bluff

Drury's Bluff

Drury's Bluff

Morgan Dix

Morgan Dix

Long Island

Long Island, New York


Petersburg, Virginia


The Road to Fredericksburg

Brother Jonathan

Brother Jonathan




DECEMBER 13, 1862.]




WE publish herewith a portrait of REVEREND MORGAN L. DIX, the new Rector of Trinity Church, New York. Mr. Dix is a son of Major-General John A. Dix. He was born in New York about the year 1830, was educated at Columbia College, and entered the ministry on the completion of his studies. He was elected some years ago Assistant-Rector of Trinity, and was recommended by the late Dr. Berrian as the best man to succeed him. Mr. Dix is widely known as a faithful and laborious servant of Christ. He devotes his time and his means to the relief of the poor and afflicted, and among this class enjoys a popularity not surpassed by that of any other clergyman in the metropolis. His elevation to the rectorship of Trinity at his age foreshadows a great future for his in the Episcopal Church. Mr. Dix is an unmarried man.

[Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1862, by Harper & Brothers, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York.]





Printed from the Manuscript and early Proof-sheets purchased by the Proprietors of "Harper's Weekly."




"WESTMORLAND HOUSE, Jan. 3, 1848. DEAR MR. PENDRIL,—I write, as you kindly requested, to report how Norah is going on, and to tell you what changes I see for the better in the state of her mind on the subject of her sister.

"I can not say that she is becoming resigned to Magdalen's continued silence—I know her faithful nature too well to say it. I can only tell you that she is beginning to find relief from the heavy pressure of sorrow and suspense in new thoughts and new hopes. I doubt if she has yet realized this in her own mind; but I see the result, although she is not conscious of it herself. I see her heart opening to the consolation of another interest and another love. She has not said a word to me on the subject, nor have I said a word to her. But as certainly as I know that Mr. George Bartram's visits have lately grown more and more frequent to the family at Portland Place, so certainly I can assure you that Norah is finding a relief under her suspense which is not of my bringing, and a hope in the future which I have not taught her to feel.

"It is needless for me to say that I tell you this in the strictest confidence. God knows whether the happy prospect which seems to me to be just dawning will grow brighter or not as time goes on. The oftener I see Mr. George Bartram—and he has called on me more than once—the stronger my liking for him grows. To my poor judgment he seems to be a gentleman, in the highest and truest sense of the word. If I could live to see Norah his wife, I should almost feel that I had lived long enough. But who can discern the future? We have suffered so much that I am afraid to hope.

"Have you heard any thing of Magdalen? I don't know why or how it is, but since I have known of her husband's death my old tenderness

for her seems to cling to me more obstinately than ever.—Always yours truly,



"SERLE ST., Jan. 4, 1848.

"MY DEAR MISS GARTH, — Of Mrs. Noel Vanstone herself I have heard nothing. But I have learned since I saw you that the report of the position in which she is left by the death of her husband may be depended on as the truth. No legacy of any kind is bequeathed to her. Her name is not once mentioned in her husband's will.

"Knowing what we know, it is not to be concealed that this circumstance threatens us with more embarrassment, and perhaps with more distress. Mrs. Noel Vanstone is not the woman to submit without a desperate resistance to the total overthrow of

all her schemes and all her hopes.—The mere fact that nothing whatever has been heard of her since her husband's death is suggestive to my mind of serious mischief to come. In her situation and with her temper the quieter she is now the more inveterately I, for one, distrust her in the future. It is impossible to say to what violent measures her present extremity may not drive her. It is impossible to feel sure that she may not be the cause of some public scandal this time which may affect her innocent sister as well as herself.

"I know you will not misinterpret the motive which has led me to write these lines; I know you will not think that I am inconsiderate enough to cause you unnecessary alarm. My sincere anxiety to see that happy prospect realized to which your letter alludes has caused me to write far less reservedly than I might otherwise have written. I strongly urge you to use your influence, on every occasion when you can fairly exert it, to strengthen that growing attachment, and to place it beyond the reach of any coming disasters, while you have the opportunity of doing so. When I tell you that the fortune of which Mrs. Noel Vanstone has been deprived is entirely bequeathed to Admiral Bartram—and when I add that Mr. George Bartram is generally understood to be his uncle's heir—you will, I think, acknowledge that I am not warning you without a cause.

"Yours most truly, "WILLIAM PENDRIL."


"ST. CRUX, Jan. 10, 1848.

"MRS. DRAKE,—I have received your letter from London, stating that you have found me a new parlor-maid at last, and that the girl is ready to return with you to St. Crux, when your other errands in town allow you to come back.

"This arrangement must be altered immediately, for a reason which I am heartily sorry to have to write.

"The illness of my niece, Mrs. Girdlestone—which appeared to be so slight as to alarm none of us, doctors included—has ended fatally. I received this morning the shocking news of her death. Her husband is said to be quite frantic with grief. Mr. George has already gone to his brother-in-law's to superintend the last melancholy duties, and I must follow him before the funeral takes place. We propose to take Mr. Girtllestone away afterward, and to try the effect on him of change of place and new scenes. Under these sad circumstances I may be absent from St. Crux a month or six weeks at least—the house will be shut up—and the new servant will not be wanted until my return.

"You will therefore tell the girl, on receiving this letter, that a death in the family has caused a temporary change in our arrangements. If she is willing to wait you may safely engage her to come here in six weeks' time—I shall be back then if Mr. George is not. If she refuses, pay her what compensation is right, and so have done with her.




"Jan. 11.

"HONORED SIR,—I hope to get my errands done, and to return to St. Crux to-morrow, but write to save you anxiety in case of delay.

"The young woman whom I have engaged (Louisa by name) is willing to wait your time; and her present mistress, taking an interest in her welfare, will provide for her during the interval. She understands that she is to enter on her new service in six weeks from the present elate—namely, on the 25th of February next. "Begging you will accept my respectful sympathy

under the sad bereavement which has befallen the family,

"I remain, Honored Sir,

"Your humble servant,



"THIS is where you are to sleep. Put yourself tidy, and then come down again to my room. The admiral has returned, and you will have to begin by waiting on him at dinner to-day."

With those words Mrs. Drake the housekeeper closed the door; and the new parlor-maid was left alone in her bedchamber at St. Crux.

That day was the eventful 25th of February. In barely four months from the time when Mrs. Lecount had placed her master's private Instructions in his Executor's hands, the one combination of circumstances against which it had been her first and foremost object to provide was exactly the combination which had now taken place. Mr. Noel Vanstone's widow and Admiral Bartram's Secret Trust were together in the same house.

Thus far events had declared themselves, without an exception, in Magdalen's favor. Thus far the path which had led her to St. Crux had been a path without an obstacle. Louisa—whose name she had now taken—had sailed three days since for Australia with her husband and her child: she was the only living creature whom Magdalen had trusted with her secret, and she was by this time out of sight of the English land. The girl had been careful, reliable, and faithfully devoted to her mistress's interests to the last. She had passed the ordeal of her interview with the housekeeper, and had forgotten none of the instructions by which she had been prepared to meet it. She had herself proposed to turn the six weeks' delay, caused by the death in the admiral's family, to good account by continuing the all-important practice of those domestic lessons, on the perfect acquirement of which her mistress's daring stratagem depended for its success. Thanks to the time thus gained, when Louisa's marriage was over and the day of parting had come, Magdalen had learned and mastered, in the nicest detail, every thing that her former servant could teach her. On the day when she passed the doors of St. Crux she entered on her desperate venture, strong in the ready presence of mind under emergencies which her later life had taught her—stronger still in the trained capacity that she possessed for the assumption of a character not her own—strongest of all in her two months' daily familiarity with the practical duties of the position which she had undertaken to fill.

As soon as Mrs. Drake's departure had left her alone she unpacked her box and dressed herself for the evening.

She put on a lavender-colored stuff gown—half mourning for Mrs. Girdlestone; ordered for all the servants under the admiral's instructions—a white muslin apron, and a neat white cap and collar with ribbons to match the gown. In this servant's costume—in the plain gown fastening high round her neck, in the neat little white cap at the back of her head—in this simple dress, to the eyes of all men, not linen-drapers, at once the most modest and the most alluring that a woman can wear, the sad changes which mental suffering had wrought in her beauty almost disappeared from view. In the evening costume of a lady, with her bosom uncovered, with her figure armed, rather than dressed, in unpliable silk—the admiral might have passed her by without notice in his own drawing-room.


In the evening costume of a servant no admirer of beauty could have looked at her once and not have turned again to look at her for the second time.

Descending the stairs, on her way to the housekeeper's room, she passed by the entrances to two long stone corridors, with rows of doors opening on them; one corridor situated on the second and one on the first floor of the house. "Many rooms!" she thought, as she looked at the doors. "Weary work, searching here for what I have come to find!"

On reaching the ground-floor she was met by a weather-beaten old man, who stopped and stared at her with an appearance of great interest. He was the same old man whom Captain Wragge had seen in the back-yard at St. Crux at work on the model of a ship. All round the neighborhood he was known, far and wide, as "the admiral's coxswain." His name was Mazey. Sixty years had written their story of hard work at sea and hard drinking on shore on the veteran's grim and wrinkled face. Sixty years had proved his fidelity, and had brought his battered old carcass, at the end of the voyage, into port in his master's house.

Seeing no one else of whom she could inquire, Magdalen requested the old man to show her the way that led to the housekeeper's room.

"I'll show you, my dear," said old Mazey, speaking in the high and hollow voice peculiar to the deaf. "You're the new maid—eh? And a fine-grown girl, too! His honor the admiral likes a parlor-maid with a clean run fore and aft. You'll do, my dear—you'll do."

"You must not mind what Mr. Mazey says to you," remarked the housekeeper, opening her door, as the old sailor expressed his approval of Magdalen in these terms. "He is privileged to talk as he pleases; and he is very tiresome and slovenly in his habits—but he means no harm."

With that apology for the veteran Mrs. Drake led Magdalen first to the pantry, and next to the linen-room, installing her with all due formality in her own domestic dominions. This ceremony completed the new parlor-maid was taken up



Reverend Morgan Dix




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