on a somewhat romantic incident connected with the first marriage of his mother.
The ceremony took place privately, when young Curtis was about to join the army, and for some time, while the secret was kept, his letters to her bore the appearance of a lover's letters, but between the lines, in sympathetic ink, were written the husband's words for her eye only.
At the end of the war he established himself as a physician in the south part of Boston, and with fair promise of success; but in 1784, when thirty-two years old, he died of an acute fever, leaving his widow with four children, the oldest of whom was only six years old, and without property, except a very good house in Essex, then Auchmuty, Street.
Mrs. Curtis, resuming her former occupation, opened in her own house a school for girls, which she found no difficulty in filling.
She went on with her work for several years, having among her pupils the daughters of some of the best families in town.
She always said that she