CHAPTER I.

Produced by Louise Hope

[The text of _Alida_ is given twice. First it is presented "straight",

as printed. This is followed by the same text, paragraph by paragraph,

quoting its sources where known; some significant errors of fact are

also noted.

Footnotes are in the original. Typographical errors are listed after the

first version of the text.]

* * * * *

* * * *

Having read the new work entitled "ALIDA," or Miscellaneous Sketches of

Occurrences during the late American War, which abounds with elegance of

language, sublime poetry, and useful lessons--as an American, I have a

pride in saying, that our press has seldom been honoured with a work as

improving and interesting to the reader, and as well written as any to

be found either among the older or modern authors.

J. H. HARDENBROOK.

It may be here proper to rectify a slight mistake in two of the

complimentary pieces written on the contents of Alida, in which the work

was innocently stated to have been expressly _written_ for the aid of

benevolent purposes; instead of which it should have read [expressly

_printed_] for the aid of benevolent purposes. The truth is, some part

was written as a journal of incidents, and to amuse leisure hours

somewhat usefully; other parts to commemorate some particular facts for

the gratification of the author and near relatives, not expecting any

other eye to meet a single line of it. But on being looked over by an

affectionate pious friend, the author was solicited to allow it to be

printed. It was at length acceded to, on the ground that the proceeds,

however little over the expenses attending it, should be appropriated to

charitable purposes.

It is but just to embrace this opportunity to express the reciprocal

kind feelings of the author, not only for the friendly and encouraging

encomiums above alluded to, with other kind approvals which have

appeared in print,--but for the _call_ of a third edition so soon, being

within the _first_ year of its appearance. The favourable reception

which the former editions of this work has met with from the public, in

these trying times (when so many valuable works are permitted to lay

useless on the shelves of the book-sellers,) encourages the editor to

attempt the publication of another edition. The author has embraced the

opportunity carefully to revise and correct the typographical mistakes

in the former editions, and to enlarge the work with additional prose

and poetry, which it is humbly hoped will be found both pleasing and

useful.

[Illustration:

ALIDA. "Optimum vitae genus eligito nam consuetudo faciet

jucundissimum."]

ALIDA:

or,

MISCELLANEOUS SKETCHES

of

INCIDENTS

During the Late American War.

Founded on Fact.

WITH POEMS.

By An Unknown Author.

If I could gain, howe'er so little, to improve,

I'd give it to the world for benefit.

Third Edition, revised and improved.

NEW-YORK:

Printed for the Author, and for sale by the Booksellers.

M DCCC XLI.

The proceeds of this work, over the expenses of publishing, to be

appropriated to charitable purposes.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1840,

BY HENRY LUDWIG,

In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.

H. LUDWIG, PRINTER,

72 Vesey-st., N. Y.

This Work

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED

To The

Amiable, Sensible, and Pious

MISS CAROLINE SISSON,

Niece to His Excellency,

Charles Collins, Governor Of Rhode-Island,

Whose Highly Exemplary Character,

With That of His

EXCELLENT LADY,

Must Deservedly Gain for Them Applause and Respect

Wherever They Are Known,

And From Personal Knowledge of This Most Worthy Family,

The Author Has Reason to Subscribe Herself

Their Very Much Obliged,

Affectionate Friend.

CONTENTS.

Chapter I.-- The Parentage of Alida .... A description of her father's

residence .... She is sent to the village school.

Chapter II.-- Alida loses her mother and one of her brothers.

Chapter III.-- Alida is removed to a female seminary in New-York to

finish her education .... A description of her only surviving brother.

Chapter IV.-- A war is meditated between the United States and Great

Britain .... Causes why it was expected to take place.

Chapter V.-- War declared in a manifesto by the President of the United

States against Great Britain .... Causes of the war stated.

Chapter VI.-- An indissoluble friendship .... Celebration of a birth-day

.... Description of a parish minister.

Chapter VII.-- Entrance of a gentleman on professional study with an

eminent attorney in New-York.

Chapter VIII.-- Meeting of two rivals.

Chapter IX.-- Disappointment of the rivals.

Chapter X.-- An unexpected meeting.

Chapter XI.-- Unexpected misfortune.

Chapter XII.-- A separation.

Chapter XIII.-- A second marriage .... Removal to New-York for the

winter .... A hero joins the army under Colonel Van Rensselaer .... The

battle of Queenstown-- He is taken by the British, and sent with other

prisoners to England .... Capture of York.

Chapter XIV.-- Melancholy reflections.

Chapter XV.-- Battle of Lake Erie and victory of Commodore Perry ....

Battle of Detroit and victory of General Harrison.

Chapter XVI.-- Passage in a steamboat from New-York to the village of

* * * * .... A band of military music.

Chapter XVII.-- Battle of Niagara-- Colonel Miller's achievement ....

Description of the President .... Description of Mrs. Madison ....

Battle of Bladensburgh.

Chapter XVIII.-- Battle of New-Orleans .... Battle on Lake Champlain

.... Hartford convention .... Conclusion of peace.

Chapter XIX.-- The joyful celebration of peace in New-York.

Chapter XX.-- A splendid entertainment to celebrate the event of peace.

Chapter XXI.-- Proposal of an elopement and a clandestine marriage.

Chapter XXII.-- Description of New-York .... Battery .... Castle Garden.

Chapter XXIII.-- Alida's return from the city to the country.

Chapter XXIV.-- Alida returns to New-York and joins a party to visit the

Falls of Niagara .... Scenery of the Hudson river .... Albany ....

Schenectady .... Union College.

Chapter XXV.-- Arrival at Utica .... Falls of Trenton .... Singular

excavation of the rocks of these Falls .... Return to Utica ....

Journey in a stage-coach .... Salt Lake .... Salt spring at Salina ....

Arrival at Auburn .... Cayuga Lake .... Seneca Falls .... Geneva ....

Canandaigua .... Arrival at Rochester .... Genessee river .... Arrival

at Lockport .... Journey in a dearborn .... Grand Island.

Chapter XXVI.-- Buffalo .... Arrival at Manchester .... Eagle Tavern

.... Falls of Niagara .... Goat Island .... Camera obscura .... Cross

from the Canada to the American side .... Forsyth's Hotel.

Chapter XXVII.-- Journey from Niagara to Lake Champlain .... Arrival

at Caldwell .... Hudson or Glenn's Falls .... Arrival at Saratoga ....

Congress Hall .... Introduction to the Governor .... American character

.... Journey from Saratoga to Albany .... Passage up the river to

Catskill .... Pine Orchard .... Passage from Catskill to Hudson ....

Passage from Hudson to West Point .... Military School at West Point

.... Fort Putnam .... Passage from West Point to New-York .... Alida's

return to her native residence.

Chapter XXVIII.-- Sickness and death of Alida's father .... Reflections.

Chapter XXIX.-- Albert, the only surviving brother of Alida, takes

possession of the paternal estate.

Chapter XXX.-- Effect of misrepresentation.

Chapter XXXI.-- Return of a friend .... The joyful meeting.

Chapter XXXII.-- Anticipated happiness.

Chapter XXXIII.-- A candid confession.

Chapter XXXIV.-- Restoration of former fortune.

POEMS.

Hymn .... Christian Institute .... Friendship .... To Maria .... The Sun

.... The Voice of Time .... In Memory of Mrs. William Richards ....

Invocation to Prayer.

Subscribers' Names.

ALIDA.

CHAPTER I.

"Rien n'est si contagieux qui l'exemple; et nous ne faisons jamais

de grand biens: ni de grand maux, qui n'en produisent de semblables."

The ancestry of Alida was of ancient date in English heraldry, some of

whom emigrated to America a short time before the revolution, and

settled in the southern provinces, while her father fixed his abode in

the state of New-York.

In the calm retirement of the country, at a considerable distance from

the bustle of the town, was situated his beautiful residence, which had

every advantage in point of prospect that luxuriant nature could give

when it is most lavish of its bounties.

The mind of its owner took particular delight in rural pleasures and

amusements; in dissipating a part of his time in the innocent scenes of

rustic life, and in attending to the cultivation of his estate, which

was large and extensive.

Here he would contemplate, in all their variety, the natural beauties of

creation, when arrayed in its richest attire; in the inimitable

splendour of the surrounding scenery; or amuse himself in attendance to

diversified employments, some of which, as pastimes, served the two-fold

purposes of recreation and amusement.

Thus his years glided on in the most harmonious tranquillity; where his

cares were dissipated alternately in the bosom of his family, and the

"tumults of life, real or imaginary, fleeted away in a mutual confidence

and unreserved friendship."

Here he would accustom himself to rise at early dawn, and dwell with

particular pleasure on the morning scenery. The dappled, rosy-fingered,

blushing morn, arrested his attention; those mild tints that

particularly express the break of day, just awakening from repose; when

the curtain of the night seems insensibly withdrawn, and the varied

landscape exhibits itself by degrees, while the colours of the

atmosphere yet seem doubtful, and the scene imperfect to the view; when

the darkness is not entirely fled, nor the light of the new day is fully

seen; when coolness sits upon the hills, and the dews hang trembling

upon every leaf; when the groves begin to resound with the murmurs of

warbling melody, and the valleys echo with reverberated sounds.

How pleasing at such a time to adore in his works the wonders of the

Creator. That period when the sun begins to diffuse his early rays, to

tip the mountains with light, and the breezes in the air mildly

prognosticate the soft blushes of the morning:

"For far beyond the pageantry of power.

He lov'd the realms of Nature to explore;

With lingering gaze Edenian spring survey'd--

Morn's fairy splendours--Night's gay curtain'd shade--

The heaven-embosom'd inn--the rainbow's dye,

Where lucid forms appear to Fancy's eye;

The vernal flower, mild Autumn's purpling glow.

The Summer's thunder, and the winter's snow."

Or, when the evening approached, he would observe the twilight hour,

which for a time hangs balanced between darkness and the pale rays of

the western sky, communicating a solemn pleasure to every thing around.

When evening began to throw her dusky mantle over the face of nature,

and the warm glow of the summer sun had departed; when the stars were

glistening in the heavens, and the moon had already risen, shedding its

pale lustre over the opposite islands "that appeared to float dimly

among the waves, the twinkling fire-fly arose from the surrounding

verdure, and illumined the meadow below with a thousand transient gems."

The rustling breezes played among the trees of the wood, while the air

was filled with the fragrance of various flowers, and the sound of

melodious music was wafted from the neighbouring village, rendered

apparently more soft and sweet by the distance.

The buildings on the estate consisted of a large mansion-house,

farm-house, and an ancient stone cottage that stood on the margin of the

water, shaded by willow trees, and surrounded by romantic scenery.

The charming appearance which nature threw around the place on which the

mansion-house was situated, was scarcely less interesting in winter than

in the more gay and verdant months of the summer season. The falling of

the snow and hail, and the sparkling icicles hanging upon the woods and

shrubbery, sometimes almost conveyed the idea of enchantment to the

imagination of the spectator.

The view on all sides was magnificent. The bay, gently winding, glided

into the river beyond, where ships, steamboats, and craft of every

description, floated upon the waters, and gave interest to the

appearance of several beautiful villages that were seen at a little

distance in the landscape.

This villa was separated about a mile from the flourishing village of

----, where the many white buildings, some of which might be called

magnificent, had a remarkably pleasing and picturesque appearance,

forming a lively contrast with the evergreen trees with which they were

interspersed.

The house of Alida's father was the seat of hospitality;--scenes of

festivity would sometimes have place within its walls;--"music and mirth

would occasionally echo through its apartments." He was kind, generous,

and benevolent; while his independence, assisted by a charitable

disposition, enabled him to contribute largely to the happiness of

others. His manners were highly pleasing, his conversation was

interesting, humorous, and instructive; and, although at this time he

was rather advanced in years, yet the glow of health still shone upon

his cheek and sparkled in his eye; and his fine expressive countenance

still gave lustre to a peculiar dignity and energy in his personal

appearance.

It was now many years since he had made this delightful spot his

residence. He had married early in life a lady of engaging manners, and

captivating beauty, who was amiable, sensible, and pious, and whose mind

was a pattern of every female excellence, combined with a taste and

judgment that had been properly directed by a suitable education; who

had been taught to esteem no farther all the acquirements and qualities

of which the human mind is capable than as they might be conducive to

enable us to excel in the duties of the Christian religion, and cause us

more fully to experience "the blessings of the truth."

These parents had reared up all their family except Alida, their

youngest child, who at this time was placed at a boarding-school, at the

village of ----, where she was taught, in addition to the different

studies belonging to a Christian education, the French and Italian

languages.

Their elder daughters had married, and were settled at some distance

from them, and their two sons were engaged in mercantile business in

New-York. It was their principal endeavour, as their thoughts often

revolved in anxious solicitude for the welfare and future happiness of

their children, to unite their efforts to persuade them, and inculcate

in their minds all that was praiseworthy, by the immediate influence of

their own example, considering that the precepts which they taught them,

however wise and good, would avail but little unassisted by the aid of

example.

"Le mauvais usage que nous faisons de la vie, la deregle, et la rend

malheureuse."

It was their first care to exercise the minds of their children, in all

the important moral and religious duties; to be careful in due time to

regulate their natural propensities; to render their dispositions mild

and tractable; to inspire them with the love, respect, and implicit

obedience due to parents, blended with a genuine affection for relations

and friends.

"To endeavour to form their first ideas on principles of rectitude,

being conscious of the infinite importance of first impressions, and

beginning early to adhere to a proper system of education, that was

principally the result of their own reflections and particular

observations."

Their children were assembled annually to celebrate the birthday of

their father, together with other social friends and acquaintances,

consisting chiefly of those whose beneficent feelings were in accordance

with their own, in testifying their gratitude to their Creator for daily

benefits, blended with a thankful cheerfulness, which is the offspring

of moral excellence.

O, Thou enthroned where perfect day,

In brightest beams of glory, play

Around thy radiant throne;

Where angels strike celestial lyres,

And seraphs glow with sacred fires,

Address'd to thee alone.

Still may thy providential care,

With blessings crown the circling year,

Each human ill restrain:

O, may thy truth inspire my tongue,

And flow through all my varying song,

And shine in every strain.

Give me the calm, the soft serene,

Of summer, when it glads the scene,

And scatters peace around;

Bless'd image of the happy soul.

That does the heav'n-born mind control,

While conscious joys abound.

That this may be my bounteous share,

Ascends my ever constant prayer

To Thee, all-perfect Mind!

O, aid me in the gen'rous strife,

Through each inconstant scene of life,

To all thy ways resign'd.

CHAPTER II.

The scenes that once so brilliant shone are past, and can return

no more to cheer the pensive heart; and memory recalls them with

a tear; some lowering cloud succeeds, and all the gay delusive

landscape fades.

While Alida remained at the village school, surrounded by the festive

scenes of childhood, and pursuing her studies with assiduous emulation,

with the hope of meriting, in future time, the praises of her fond

parents, an unforeseen misfortune awaited her that no human foresight

could have power to arrest.

The health of her mother had been long declining, and her illness at

this time increased so far as to render medical assistance useless, and

baffled the skill of the ablest physicians. A trial so new, so

afflicting, and so grievous to her youthful mind, to lose one of her

honoured parents, and to be unexpectedly summoned to her parental home

to receive the last benediction of a beloved mother, and at this early

period of her life to be deprived of her kind care and protection, was

unfortunate in the extreme.

Every anxious solicitude and responsibility now rested alone upon a

widowed father, who mourned deeply their common bereavement, while he

felt conscious that all his fatherly care and caresses could never

supply to Alida all the necessary requisitions that she had unhappily

lost in so dear and interested a friend. When he observed her spirits

languish, and the tear frequently starting in her eye, and her former

sprightly countenance shaded with the deep tinges of melancholy, he saw

that the cheerfulness and gaiety of her natural disposition had received

a powerful check, which promised to be lasting.

From this unhappy period she remained at home a long time with her

father. In kindred grief there was derived a congenial sympathy, and her

society contributed in some degree to allay his sorrow, as the deep

concern he felt in her welfare caused him sometimes to restrain the flow

of it in her presence. Self-exertion roused him in a measure from his

lethargy, and by thus assuming serenity, to become in reality something

more composed. Nevertheless, he would often witness the excess of

anguish which had taken place in the bosom of his child, and behold her

interesting face bathed in tears, and her youthful brow clouded with a

sadness that nothing seemingly could dissipate.

His situation now became more sequestered than ever; he roamed in

solitude, or pleased himself in ranging through silent glens in

loneliness. His thoughts were absorbed in the gloomy experience of the

misery of a painful separation from a dear and beloved object; he wept

for her whose mild and winning graces had power to soften and illuminate

the darkest shades of life, or alleviate the distressful scenes of

adversity.

His mind was wholly absorbed in those gloomy reflections that scarcely

admitted a ray of consolation, when the weekly newspaper arrived from

the neighbouring village; he took it up, hoping to find something to

amuse his thoughts; he opened it to read the news of the day; he ran his

eye hastily over it, and was about to lay it aside, "when the death list

arrested his attention by a display of broad black lines," and he, who

had not yet become reconciled to his present misfortune, was now about

to experience another equally severe.

What could equal his bitterness, his surprise and grief, when he read

the disastrous news that his youngest son (who had lately gone on a

foreign expedition) had died of a fever in a distant land a few weeks

previous!

The paper fell from his palsied hand,--a sudden faintness came over

him,--he fell back almost senseless in his chair,--exhausted by excess

of grief, he remained a long time in a stupifying anguish.

The tidings were so unlooked-for of the premature death of his

unfortunate son, who about this time was expected to arrive in New-York.

For him an only brother was inconsolable; and Alida, who had long been

accustomed to his kindness and caresses, was overcome with a dejection

that time alone could alleviate.

Her father observed her affliction in commisseration with his own,--he

was dejected and lonely, and the world appeared like a wilderness;

nothing could lessen his present evil, or soothe his afflicted mind.

The former peaceful serenity of his life was materially clouded; and in

his turn calamitous wo had overtaken him--the inalienable portion of

humanity,--and the varied and shifting scenery in the great drama of

time had brought with it disaster. His spirit was sunk in despondency,

and his sensations became utterly absorbed in melancholy; and all the

pious and philosophical reflections that he exerted himself to bring to

his remembrance, could scarcely afford even a transitory consolation in

this afflicting dispensation.

From foreign lands the tidings borne,

With pain to wake a parent's anguish,

O, brother dear, beloved of all,

For thee a brother's heart must languish.

"That eye of brightness glows no more,

That beaming glance in night is clouded;"

On Maracaibo's distant shore,

"In death's dark cell untimely shrouded."

Alas! for him no kindred near

In hopes to minister relief;

He sees no tear of pity shed,

He sees no parents' anxious grief.

And as still evening came on,

In saddest solitude and tears,

His thoughts would turn on distant home,

On peaceful scenes and happier years.

He thought, too, what a favour'd clime

His gallant bark had left behind;

He thought how science there, sublime,

Beam'd her full radiance on the mind.

Though destined in a stranger's land,

Detain'd from all he held most dear,

Yet one kind hand, benevolent,

Was found the gloomy hours to cheer.

O, how consoling is the eye

Of him who comes to soothe our woes;

O, what relief those cares supply

Which a kind, watchful friend bestows.

When from this hand full well he found

How much can lenient kindness do

The generous Briton strives with care

His drooping spirits to renew.

Yes, stranger, thou wast kind, humane,

With quick assistance prompt to move;

To ease the lingering hours of pain,

In pity's kind endeavour strove.

When sickness o'er thy pallid cheek

Had stole the lustre from thine eye,

When near the doubtful crisis drew,

And life approach'd its latest sigh,--

He moved thee to his own retreat,

In his own mansion watch'd thee there;

Around thy couch he still remained,

Thy drooping heart with hopes to cheer.

"Peace, wing'd in fairer worlds above,"

Has ta'en thy form away from this;

Has beckon'd thee to seats of glory,

To realms of everlasting bliss.

So rich in piety and worth,

Too soon, alas! lamented one,

Thou hast been call'd away from earth,

And heaven has claim'd thee for its own.

CHAPTER III.

"'T is by degrees the youthful mind expands; and every day,

Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm;

Then infant reason grows apace, and calls

For the kind hand of an assiduous care."

"Delightful task, to rear the tender thought,

To pour the new instruction o'er the mind,

To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix

The generous purpose in the glowing breast."

The period at length arrived, when it became necessary that Alida should

receive further instruction in the various branches of female

literature. With this view, her father thought proper to change the

place of her studies from the village school to the New-York Seminary.

It was his idea that nothing afforded so pleasing a prospect as the

graces of beauty, aided by wisdom and useful knowledge, and that care

should be taken that the mind should first be initiated in the solid

acquirements, before the embellishments of education should be allowed

to take up the attention or engross the thoughts; and that the first

purposes of the teacher should be directed to endeavour to cause the

mental powers of the scholar to be excited, in the first place, to

attain to whatever is most useful and necessary, and that suitable

application and industry was the only means whereby we may gain

celebrity in any art or science, or therein arrive at any degree of

perfection.

"His heart glowed with paternal fondness and interesting solicitude,

when he beheld the countenance of his child sparkling with intelligence,

or traced the progress of reason in her awakened curiosity when any new

object attracted her attention or exercised her imagination." Delightful

indeed were the sensations of a parent in the contemplation of so fair a

prospect, which in some degree recalled again to his bosom some

transient gleams of happiness.

The season was now far advanced in autumn, and the trees were nearly

stripped of their foliage; the radiant sun had in part withdrawn his

enlivening rays to give place to the approaching coldness of winter,

when Alida left her home, amid the innumerable regrets of her juvenile

companions, to accompany her father to the city to finish her education.

They journeyed in a stage-coach from the village of ----, which, in the

course of a few hours, conveyed them amid the tumultuous din of the busy

metropolis. The female seminary to which Alida repaired was pleasantly

situated in the western part of the town, where the refreshing and

salubrious breezes of the Hudson rendered it a healthy and desirable

situation at all seasons of the year.

Although her father had only performed his duty in placing his child

once more at school, yet it was at a greater distance from the paternal

roof than formerly, and when he returned again to his residence, he felt

his situation more lonely than ever, and he could scarcely reconcile

himself to the loss of her society.

All was novel-like in the city to Alida, where she at once saw so many

different objects to excite alternately her surprise, curiosity, and

risibility, and where she experienced so many different sensations,

arising from the sudden transition in being removed from scenes of

uninterrupted tranquillity to those of gaiety and pleasure, of crowded

streets and riotous entertainments, of obsequious beaux and dashing

petits maitres, and where all appeared to her one continued scene of

business and confusion, scarcely reconcileable.

In the meantime her mind became engrossed by various new occupations.

Among her favourite studies was the French language, which, at this

period, was considered as one of the necessary appendages to female

education, when scarcely any new work could be read without a regret to

those who did not understand it. Music, dancing, and drawing occupied

her time alternately, and while these different amusements afforded a

pleasing variety, they animated her mind anew with the powers of

exertion that had been excited by early impressions--that whatever she

attempted to learn, to be assiduous to learn it well, and that a mere

superficial knowledge, in any science or accomplishment, was by no means

desirable.

All her studies and amusements had their regular arrangements, and due

application gave her many advantages over those of her own age, while it

expanded her mind in a greater degree, and facilitated her progress in

learning, and gave more ready improvement to her understanding and

native capacities.

Her only surviving brother, whose name was Albert, had been a merchant

in the city a number of years, and he still continued to live amid its

perplexities, (although numbers had been unfortunate around him,) with

as good success as could be expected at this time, on account of the

restrictions on American commerce. One probable reason may be assigned

why he had been more successful in his business than many others: he was

guided in the management of his affairs by vigilance and industrious

perseverance, and he was not only endued with the best abilities to

fulfil the duties incumbent on his station in life, but was not remiss

in the exercise of them. His manners, generally, were reserved, though

he could be humorous and gay whenever occasion required; and when in

convivial society, he could make one among the number of those who

amused themselves in sallies of wit and pleasantry. He had acquired much

useful and general information in his commerce with the world at large,

which he employed at this time in various conversations on politics, as

he could not be able to render himself serviceable to his country in any

other way, being exempt from his childhood from performing military

duty. His personal advantages were only surpassed by the superior

qualifications of his mind, that had long been under religious influence

and impressions. In his public and private life he fully answered the

expectations of his numerous acquaintance and friends, as well as the

most sanguine wishes of an anxious and affectionate father, who yet

seemed disposed to indulge in melancholy reflections, while his friends

kindly endeavoured, by many pious and philosophical discourses, to

awaken him to a consideration of his former piety, and humble trust in

an all-wise Providence, reminding him that our greatest consolation

consists in resigned and devotional feelings of gratitude to our Maker,

even in the severest afflictions; who, although he may have thought fit

to deprive us of some, for the many remaining blessings we may still be

in possession of; and that a firm reliance on Providence, however our

affections may be at variance with its dispensations, is the only

consolatory source that we can have recourse to in the gloomy hours of

distress; and that such dependance, though often crossed by troubles and

difficulties, may at length be crowned with success in our most arduous

undertakings, and we may again meet with unlooked-for and unexpected

happiness.

"Afflictions all his children feel,

Affliction is the Father's rod;

He wounds them for his mercy sake,

He wounds to heal."

The clear, calm sunshine of a mind illumined by piety, and a firm

reliance upon Supreme wisdom, crowns all other divine blessings. It

irradiates the progress of life, and dispels the evils attendant on our

nature; it renders the mind calm and pacific, and promotes that

cheerfulness and resignation which has its foundation in a life of

rectitude and charity; and in the full exercise of Christian principles

we may find still increasing happiness.

CHAPTER IV.

Still may the soaring eagle's quenchless eye,

Watch o'er our favour'd country, brave and free,

Where the bright stars and stripes in honour wave,

The sacred emblems of our liberty.

Many disagreeable circumstances now combined to disturb the happy

tranquillity of the American government. "A war had for some time

existed between France and England. America had endeavoured to maintain

a neutrality, and peacefully to continue a commerce with both nations.

Jealousies, however, arose between the contending powers with respect to

the conduct of America, and events occurred calculated to injure her

commerce and disturb her peace.

"Decrees were first issued by the French government preventing the

American flag from trading with the enemy; these were followed by the

British orders in council, no less extensive than the former in design,

and equally repugnant to the laws of nations. In addition to these

circumstances, a cause of irritation existed sometime between the United

States and Great Britain. This was the right of search claimed by Great

Britain as one of her prerogatives. To take her native subjects,

wherever found, for her navy, and to search American vessels for that

purpose. Notwithstanding the remonstrances of the American government,

the officers of the British navy were not unfrequently seen seizing

native British subjects who had voluntarily enlisted on board our

vessels, and had also impressed into the British service some thousands

of American seamen.

"In consequence of the British and French decrees, a general capture of

all American property on the seas seemed almost inevitable. Congress,

therefore, on the recommendation of the president, laid an embargo on

all vessels within the jurisdiction of the United States.

"In a moment, the commerce of the American republic, from being, in

point of extent, the second in the world, was reduced to a coasting

trade between the individual states. The opposition to the act in

several of the states was so great that they unanimously declared

against it, and individuals throughout the whole seized every

opportunity of infringement; therefore Congress thought proper to repeal

the embargo law, and substituted a non-intercourse with France and

England."

It was now generally expected that the session in Congress, with the

decision of the president, would eventually terminate in actual

hostilities. The difficulties the chief executive had to encounter

were many and perplexing, being fully convinced, under existing

circumstances, that the Americans must engage in combat after all. He

therefore knew it to be necessary to rouse the feelings of the American

people, to realize, more clearly than they did, the true situation of

their country, that they might be prepared for the approaching crisis

that he believed unavoidable.

This period was full of anxiety and danger. A war was deprecated by all

the leading patriots of the day; they were fully persuaded that it must

take place; they therefore unitedly determined to prepare for the storm

in the best manner they were able. All material business was in a manner

suspended in New-York; the face of things wore a dismal aspect, and the

greater part of the community were in dismay. A heavy gloom hung over

the inhabitants generally, while all their affairs appeared in a

declining state, discouraging to the industry and best prospects of the

people.

Alida's father was no friend to political controversy, yet he passed

much of his time in conversing with his friends on the present affairs

of America. He knew that party spirit and animosity existed more or less

at this time, and that he must consequently often meet with those of

opposite opinions; yet his honest and patriotic zeal for the good of his

country still remained the same. He was attached to liberty from

principle; he had talents to discriminate and see into the justice of

the measures of government; his retirement gave him full opportunity to

reflect on them seriously, and solve them in his own mind, and see their

absolute necessity, in order to maintain the honour, freedom, and

independence of the American nation. Would the same wisdom in the

government continue that had so nobly preserved us since our

independence? But he had no reason at present to suppose otherwise, and

that he who now guided the helm of affairs, was one of steady and

uncorrupt principles, of stable character, altogether uninfluenced by

any sinister views, and was willing to sacrifice his individual repose

for the noble purpose, and with the hope of settling it again on the

nation, with a firmer basis, at some future period, when the expected

contest should be decided.

What feelings of commotion and deep anxiety must agitate the bosom of

the magnanimous hero who is labouring truly for the interest of his

country, and is actuated alternately by the claims of justice and

humanity, and on whom a whole community must depend for council in cases

of severe emergency, when his chief satisfaction consists in promoting

the interest and welfare of that community. When the hour of exigency

arrives, his mind, endued with the light of piety, feels its own

littleness, his weighty thoughts are big with the impending danger that

no human arm may be able to arrest. Impressed with religious awe, and

feeling conscious of his dependence for aid on the all-wise Disposer of

events, he bends in humble supplication to implore the favour of that

great and beneficent Being whose power alone can save, and in whose

mighty arm alone is victory.

The father of Alida received regular intelligence by the daily papers

respecting the political excitement in New-York; besides, he made

frequent visits to the city to see his several children, as one of his

daughters had resided there since her marriage. There was every kind of

conveyance at the neighbouring village suited to the accommodation of

travellers, both summer and winter, and the rapid improvement of the

town had long been a current topic of the inhabitants as well as

visiters, while they praised the proprietor of the new pavilion, in his

manner of conducting it, and his excellent accommodations; and it was

the general opinion that in the course of a few years this would become

a place of no small consideration.

CHAPTER V.

O, who that sighs to join the scenes of war?

If heaven-born pity in thy bosom glow,

Reject the impurpled wreath; the laurel crown

Can flourish only in the scenes of wo.

At length it became the unhappy fate of America to be a second time

involved in a war with Great Britain. "In a manifesto of the president,

the reasons of the war were stated to be the impressment of American

seamen, by the British; the blockade of the enemy's ports, supported by

no adequate force; in consequence of which the American commerce had

been plundered in every sea; and the British orders in council."

The declaration of war was a source of unavoidable regret to the good

and wise president,* which affected his mind with feelings approaching

to melancholy. No one possessed qualities more inclined to peace, and a

wish to settle all affairs of state in a pacific manner, more than he

did, if it were possible, and it could have been done without

sacrificing all the dearest rights and interests of the people; and

nothing but these repeated persuasions in his mind, founded on the

principles of justice and honour, caused him at length to be willing to

yield to the stern necessity of deciding the existing differences by

combat. He possessed the qualities of a statesman in an eminent degree;

he had well reflected on what he considered as inevitable. He was well

versed in political science, and now only saw the realization of

anticipated events, of which there had been sufficient warning. Although

he had to contend with innumerable difficulties, having once formed his

opinion of what was to be done, his patriotism was undeviating, and his

integrity inflexible.

[* James Madison.]

Since his country was again brought to a lamentable destiny, he now

became ardently active in its cause, and was prepared to carry to the

full extent such measures of defence and resistance as should be

necessary to repel every invasion of the just rights and privileges of

the Americans that they had long been in possession of since their

dear-bought independence, and could not therefore be willing to submit

to anything like oppression, even from the mother country.

This national calamity, that seemed to awaken feelings of hilarity to

some few among the multitude, but those of the deepest regret to so many

others, where the parties must at length become personally engaged and

animated against each other with an enthusiastic ardour, and with the

hope to signalize themselves by their bravery--where the impetuosity of

youth and the experience of age are called forth in open field to

execute the decided discussions of government, and to engage with

patriotic zeal in the common defence of their just rights and liberties;

impelled with ambitious impulse to enlist themselves under the proud

banners of their country, while the sound of martial music strikes a

feeling of enthusiasm and enterprise to the bosom of the patriot.

Thus, in the name and cause of honour, the youth, generous and brave,

with all those who are compelled to take arms, sally forth with the

ambitious hope to bear down at once all contending opposition, and give

themselves no time to reflect on the many disconsolate ones they leave

behind them, that, however deeply concerned, can neither engage or

assist in the shocking contest; while they go forward hastily to meet

the foe, and hosts are advancing to dispute with them the victory, and

they can indulge no thought concerning those who, when the battle is

over, may have to lament the loss of a father, brother, or some other

dear friend, and who mournfully await the decisive tidings, which

perhaps is to render them for ever disconsolate; while they remain a

prey to that incessant anguish which naturally awaits those who have

lost, in this manner, their dearest friends and relations.

Thick clouds were darkly pending

Above the battle fray,

And foemen were contending

For the fortune of the day.

And high in air the banner bright,

Waving o'er land and sea,

The potent symbol of their might,

The emblem of the free.

Brave hearts that stood amid the storm

That burst in fury round;

With many a stern and manly form,

Sunk powerless to the ground.

Deep gloom had settled round them,

And darkness veil'd the sky,

When Freedom, with her starry train,

Descended from on high.

When, at her bidding, lo, a chief

Amid the throng appear'd;

When, the goddess halted by his side,

And thus his spirits cheer'd:

"Oh, let not care oppress thee,

But banish far thy fears,

For, in blessing, I will bless thee,

And will wipe away thy tears;

"And a banner thou shalt still retain,

And a hand to lead the brave

To glory and to victory,

Or to the hero's grave."

Then fear not, honoured chieftain,

For yet again shall be,

Your flag shall wave o'er every land,

And float on every sea.

What though in foreign clime it waves,

Careering on the wind,

Whatever shore the ocean laves,

A due respect will find.

And the thunders of your ships of war

Along the deep shall roll,

While the canvas of your merchantmen

Shall sweep from pole to pole.

"And now, oh gallant chief," she cried,

"Hold fast the glorious prize;

The flag with blue and crimson dyed,

And stars that gemmed the skies,

"Have left their native spheres to shed

Their radiance o'er the field;

Then while it waves above your head,

To the foeman never yield.

"Bright forms shall hover o'er thee

In the midst of war's alarms;

And in triumph shall restore thee

To a nation's waiting arms.

"Then on to Freedom's stormy height,

Go forth in valour and in might,

And bear aloft this emblem bright,

Amid the battle fray."

Now around their chief they rally,

And with zeal their bosoms glow;

While the hoarse cannon bellows forth

Defiance to the foe.

The battle rages loudly,

A dreadful carnage flows;

When the messenger of victory

The clarion trumpet blows.

Now clap your wings, oh Liberty,

And upward take your flight;

And let the gladsome tidings ring

Throughout the realms of light.

And bid your eagle sound her cry,

Wide o'er the land and sea;

For patriot arms have triumphed,

And the nation still is free.

Once more the song of Victory

Shall spread the earth around,

And the freemen on a thousand hills

Re-echo back the sound.

And a banner long shall wave on high,

And long your children stand,

United, with a sacred tie,

To guard their native land.

CHAPTER VI.

And may each day returning, with it bring

That peace that o'er the weary senses fling

A calm content; where no alloy attends

The pleasing intercourse of happy friends.

Albert, the brother of Alida, during his residence in New-York, had

formed an indissoluble friendship with a young gentleman who had lately

graduated at Columbia College. His name was Theodore. He was about

twenty years of age: he had been esteemed an excellent student. His

appearance was manly, open, and free. His eye indicated a nobleness of

mind; he was naturally cheerful, although his aspect was tinged with

melancholy, and his disposition was rather of the romantic cast. His

father was an eminent merchant in the city, and had long been engaged in

the various scenes of commerce. His son was designed for the law; but as

the students were allowed some vacant time after their graduation before

they entered upon their professional studies, he thought to improve this

interim in mutual friendly visits, mingling sometimes with select

parties in the amusements of the day, and in travelling through some

parts of the United States.

The spring was advancing, and already began to shed its cheering

influences over the face of nature, when, after a long period of clouds

and darkness, the sun, with his illuminating beams, was chasing away the

gloomy remains of winter, and recalling again to life and animation the

innumerable beauties of creation.

The day was fixed on when Alida was to return to her native residence.

Albert was to attend her home, and he invited his friend Theodore to

accompany him. It was evening when they arrived at the house of Albert's

father, where they found considerable company collected, as was

customary on the celebration of his birth-day.

He received his children with gladness and joy, and Theodore with

friendly politeness.

"This meeting must be highly pleasing to you, miss," said Theodore to

Alida, "after your long absence from home." "It is so, indeed," replied

she, "and highly gratifying to my father, to meet here his children, and

relations, on the annual occasion of celebrating his birth-day, when we

are honoured with so numerous a company of uncles, aunts, cousins,

nephews, and nieces, that one would suppose we were connected with half

the families in the state. And sometimes they do not all leave us, in

several weeks afterwards, and regale themselves in riding about the

country and visiting the neighbours in the vicinity."

In the course of the evening they were joined by a number from the

neighbouring villages, and among the rest was the son of a gentleman who

had been long acquainted with the family. He was a gay young man; his

address was easy; his manners rather voluptuous than refined; confident,

but not ungraceful.

He led the ton in fashionable circles, and was quite a favourite with

the ladies generally. His name was Bonville. He had seen Alida long

before, but her additional graces since that time appeared far to exceed

his expectations.

Alida at sixteen displayed many pleasing attractions. Her height rose to

the majestic. She was tall and graceful, and her expressive features

were adorned with hair of light auburn, which hung about her neck in

natural ringlets; while her dark blue eyes, mingled at once the rays of

sprightly intelligence, and a pleasing affability.

She was arrayed on this occasion, in a dress of white muslin, richly

inwrought with needle-work. A silk embroidered sash surrounded her

waist, and she wore on her head a wreath of artificial flowers. Her

elder sisters manifested their pleasure in beholding the artless,

unadorned school-girl, metamorphosed to the interesting young lady of

fascinating manners and amiable deportment.

Social converse and rural amusements took up the greater part of the

evening, when the general conversation of the gentlemen turned upon a

topic in which they were all more or less interested, on what might be

the unhappy result of the present contest, in which the American nation

was engaged, which continued to engross their thoughts, and it was a

late hour when the company separated.

Those who remained behind accompanied Alida on the next Sabbath to the

village church, where they heard an able and sublime discourse delivered

by the parish minister; highly edifying to the understanding and

improving to the minds of the hearers.

This divine was fully competent in the possession of Christian

principles and knowledge for his arduous calling, and had a happy talent

of conveying them to others with effect, and communicating them in

persuasive eloquence, for the benefit and reformation of mankind.

His powers of intellect and sentiments were no less liberal and

enlarged, than they were ingenious and elegant. His aspect was serene,

and his manners were cheerful, and the unruffled calmness of his mind

bore the same character of exalted excellence, and gave testimony of a

peaceful bosom, rich in good works.

He manifested a lively interest in the welfare of his congregation, and

by his genuine goodness and pious example made many proselytes.

It was his endeavour to unite the minds of the people in one interest,

and excite them to be zealous in the common cause of Christianity, where

each individual, acting for the benefit of the whole, would find their

own happiness blended with that of society in general, and be blessed in

the reciprocal communication of charity and benevolence.

CHAPTER VII.

"Come, Friendship, twine a wreath for me,

And weave it with the choicest flowers,

To cheat the ling'ring steps of time,

And gladden all life's passing hours."

The time now arrived when Theodore was to enter upon his professional

studies, and he became engaged in the office of an eminent attorney in

New-York. He frequently absented himself, however, to accompany Albert

to visit his father's family, and since his acquaintance with Alida,

there was a charm that attracted him thither. If he had admired the

manly virtues of the brother, could he fail to adore the gentle graces

of the sister? If all the sympathies of the most ardent friendship had

been drawn forth toward the former, must not all the softer

sensibilities of the heart be attracted by the milder and more refined

excellencies of the other?

Bonville had become the admirer of Alida; of course he and Theodore

sometimes met. He had made no serious pretensions, but his particularity

indicated something more than fashionable politeness. His manners, his

independent situation, entitled him to respect. "It is not probable,

therefore, that he will be objectionable to her friends, or to Alida

herself," said Theodore, with an involuntary sigh, and as his visits

became more frequent, an increasing anxiety took place in his bosom. He

wished her to remain single; the idea of losing her by marriage, gave

him inexpressible regret. What substitute could supply to him the happy

hours he had passed in her company? What charm could wing the lingering

moments when she was gone?

How different would be the scene when debarred from the unreserved

friendship and conversation of Alida. And unreserved it could not be,

were she not exclusively mistress of herself. But was there not

something of a more refined texture than friendship in his predilection

for the company of Alida? If so, why not avow it? His prospects, his

family, and of course his pretensions might not be inferior to those of

Bonville.

But perhaps he was preferred. His opportunities: his prior acquaintance

with the lady. Distance was no barrier to his addresses. His visits

became more and more frequent. Was it not then highly probable that he

had gained her affections?

Thus reasoned Theodore, but the reasoning tended not to allay the

tempest that was gathering in his bosom. He ordered his carriage, and

was in a short time at the seat of Alida's father. It was summer, and

towards evening when he arrived. Alida was sitting by the window when he

entered the hall. She arose and received him with a smile. I have just

been thinking of an evening's walk, said she, but had no one to attend

me, and you have come just in time to perform that office. I will order

tea immediately, while you rest from the fatigues of your journey.

When tea was served up, a servant entered the room with a letter which

he had found in the yard. Alida received it. "'Tis a letter," said she,

which I sent by Bonville to a lady in the village, and the careless man

has lost it. Turning to Theodore, I forgot to tell you, that your friend

Bonville has been with us a few days; he left us this morning. "My

friend," replied Theodore, hastily. "Is he not your friend?" inquired

Alida. "I beg pardon, madam," said he "my mind was absent." "He

requested us to present his respects to his friend Theodore," said she.

Theodore bowed and turned the conversation.

They now walked out, and took a winding path which led through pleasant

fields until they reached the water, and continued to pursue their way

along the shore till they came to a beautiful and shady grove, where the

thick foliage afforded a delightful retreat from the warm rays of the

sun, and at the extremity of which was a sloping eminence, which

commanded an extensive prospect of the surrounding country, part of

Long-Island sound and the junction of the bay with the eastern river.

A soft and silent shower had descended. A thousand transitory gems

trembled upon the leafy foliage, glittering in the western ray. A bright

rainbow sat upon a southern cloud; the light gales whispered among the

branches, agitated the young harvest to billowy motion, and moved the

tops of the deep green forest with majestic grandeur; while flocks,

herds, and cottages were scattered over the resplendent landscape.

"This is a most delightful scene," said Alida. "It is, truly," replied

Theodore, "do you think that New-York can boast of so charming a

prospect?" "Yes, one," answered she, it is the walk on the battery, the

water prospect is similar to this, but the landscape is not so

variegated.

See that ship, Theodore, coming down the sound, how she ploughs through

the white foam, while the breezes flutter in the sails, varying with the

vivid rays of the sun. "Yes," said Theodore, it bounds with rapid

motions over the waves, and ere the day has departed it will probably

safely reach the wharf of the city.

They walked leisurely around the hill, and then moved slowly towards

home. The sun was sinking gradually behind the western horizon. Twilight

arose dimly in the east, and floated along the air. Darkness began to

hover around the woodlands and valleys. The beauties of the landscape

slowly receded; the breezes had gone down with the sun, and a perfect

calm succeeded.

"I shall never forget this charming promenade," said Theodore, as he

approached the threshold of the door, with a deep drawn sigh, "and the

remembrance of the sweet pensive scenery of this delightful spot, will

ever continue to haunt my memory."

CHAPTER VIII.

To lull affection's sigh,

And dry the tear of sensibility;

I'll think of thee, in all my lonely hours,

Though thou, perhaps, may ne'er remember me.

The next day Theodore returned to his studies; but different from his

former visits to Alida, instead of exhilarating his spirits, this had

tended to depress them. He doubted whether she was not already engaged

to Bonville. His hopes would persuade him this was not the case; but his

fears declared otherwise.

It was some time before he renewed his visits again. In the interim he

received a letter from a friend in the neighbourhood of Alida's father;

an extract from which follows: "We are soon to have a wedding here; you

are acquainted with the parties--Alida M. and Bonville. Such at least is

our opinion from appearances, as this gentleman is now there more than

half his time. You will undoubtedly be invited. We had expected that you

would have put in your claims, from your particular attention to the

lady. She is a fine girl, Theodore." I shall never be a guest at Alida's

wedding, said Theodore, as he hastily paced the room; but I must again

see her before that event takes place, when I shall lose her forever.

The ensuing day he repaired to her father's. He inquired for Alida; she

was gone with a party to the shores of the sound, attended by Bonville.

At evening they returned. Bonville and Theodore addressed each other

with much seeming cordiality. "You have deserted us, Theodore," said

Alida, "we concluded you had forgotten the road to this place." "Was not

that a hasty conclusion?" said Theodore. "I think not," she answered,

"if your long absence should be construed into neglect. But we will hear

your excuse," said she, smiling, "by and by, and perhaps pardon you."

He thanked her for her condescension.

The next morning Bonville set out to go to New-York. Theodore observed

that he took particular leave of Alida, telling her, in a low voice,

that he should have the happiness of seeing her again, within two or

three weeks certainly.

After he was gone, as Alida and Theodore were sitting in the room alone,

"Well," said she, "am I to hear your excuses, Theodore?" "For what,

madam?" "For neglecting your friends." "I hope it is not so considered,

madam." "Seriously, then, why have you stayed away so long? Has this

place no charms in the absence of my brother?"

"Would my presence have added to your felicity, Alida?" "You never came

an unwelcome visiter here." "Perhaps I might be sometimes intrusive when

Bonville is your guest." "I have supposed you were on friendly terms,"

said she. "We are, but there are seasons when friendship must yield its

pretensions to a superior claim."

"Will you answer me one question, Alida, are you engaged to Bonville?"

"He has asked me the same question concerning you," replied she,

(blushing.)

"Do you," continued Theodore, "prefer him to any other?" Alida,

(blushing deeply.) "He has made the same inquiries respecting you."

"I beg, madam, you will deal with me candidly," said Theodore, (taking

her hand with anxiety.) "I am entitled to no claims, but you know what

my heart would ask. I will bow to your decision. Bonville or Theodore

must relinquish their pretensions. We cannot share the blessing."

The cheeks of Alida were suffused with a varying glow, her lips were

pale, her voice tremulous, and her eyes cast down. "My father has

informed me," she said, "that it is improper to receive the particular

addresses of more than one. I am conscious of my inadvertency, and that

the reproof is just. One, therefore, must be dismissed." But, (she

blushed deeper,) and a considerable pause ensued.

At length Theodore arose. "I will not press you further," said he.

"I know the delicacy of your feelings; I know your sincerity; I will not

therefore insist on your performing the painful task of deciding against

me. Your conduct in every point of view has been discreet. I would have

no just claims, or if I had, your heart must sanction them, or they

would be unhallowed, and unjustifiable. I shall ever pray for your

felicity. Our affections are not under our direction; our happiness

depends on our obedience to their mandates. Whatever, then, may be my

sufferings, you are unblameable, and irreproachable."

He took his hat in extreme agitation, and prepared himself to take

leave. Alida had recovered in some degree from her embarrassment, and

collected her scattered spirits.

"Your conduct, Theodore," said she, "is generous and noble. Will you

give yourself the trouble, and do me the honour to see me once more?"

"I will," said he, "at any time you shall appoint."

"Four weeks, then," said she, "from this day, honour me with a visit,

and you shall have my decision, and receive my final answer." "I will be

punctual to the day," he replied, and bade her adieu.

Theodore's hours from this time winged heavily away. His wonted

cheerfulness fled; he wooed the silent and solitary haunts of musing,

moping melancholy. He loved to wander through lonely fields, when dewy

twilight robed the evening mild, or to trace the forest glen, through

which the moon darted her silvery intercepted rays. His agitated

thoughts preyed upon his peace incessantly, and deeply disturbed his

repose.

He looked anxiously to the hour when Alida was to make the decision. He

wished, yet dreaded the event. In that he foresaw, or thought he

foresaw, a withering blight to all his hopes, and a final consummation

to his foreboding fears. He had pressed Alida, perhaps too urgently, to

a declaration. Had her predilection been in his favour, would she have

hesitated to avow it? Her father had advised her to relinquish one, and

to retain the other, nor had he attempted to influence or direct her

choice. Was it not evident, then, from her confused hesitation and

embarrassment, when solicited to discriminate upon the subject, that her

ultimate decision would be in favour of Bonville?

While Theodore's mind was thus in agitation, he received a second letter

from his friend in the neighbourhood of Alida. He read the following

clause therein with emotions more easily to be conceived than expressed:

"Alida's wedding-day is appointed. I need not tell you that Bonville is

to be the happy deity of the hymenial sacrifice. I had it from his own

declaration. He did not name the positive day, but it is certainly to be

soon. You will undoubtedly, however, have timely notice, and receive an

invitation."

"We must pour out a liberal libation upon the mystic altar, Theodore,

and twine the nuptial garland with wreaths of joy. Bonville should

devote a rich offering to so valuable a prize. He has been here for a

week, and departed for New-York yesterday, but is shortly to return."

And why have I ever doubted this event? said Theodore. What infatuation

hath then led me on in the pursuit of fantastic and unreal bliss? I have

had, it is true, no positive assurances that Alida would be disposed to

favour my addresses. But why did she ever receive them? Why did she

enchantingly smile upon me? Why fascinate the soft powers of my heart by

that winning mildness, and the favourable display of those complicated

and superior attractions which she must have known were irresistible?

And now she would have me dance attendance to her decision in favour of

another--insulting; let Bonville and herself make it, as they have

formed this farcical decision. I absolutely will never attend it. Why

did she not spurn me from her confidence, and plainly tell me that my

attentions were untimely and improper?

But, I have engaged to see her at an appointed time; my honour is

therefore pledged for an interview; it must take place. I shall

endeavour to support it with becoming dignity, and I will convince Alida

and Bonville, that I am not the dupe of their caprices. But, let me

consider--What has Alida done to deserve censure or reproach? Her

brother was my early friend; she has treated me as a friend to that

brother. She was unconscious of the affection which her charms and

mental graces had kindled in my bosom. Her evident embarrassment, on

receiving my declaration, witnessed her surprise and prior attachment.

What could she do to save herself the pain of a direct denial? She has

appointed a day when her refusal may come in a more delicate and formal

manner--and I must therefore meet it.

CHAPTER IX.

The time draws near when I shall meet those eyes, that may

perchance look cold on me--"but doubt is called the beacon

of the wise, the test that reaches to the bottom of the worst."

On the appointed day, Theodore proceeded to the house of Alida's father,

where he arrived late in the afternoon. Alida had retired to a little

summer-house at the end of the garden. A servant conducted him thither.

She was dressed in a flowing robe of white muslin, richly embroidered.

Her hair was in dishevelled curls; she was contemplating a bouquet of

flowers which she held in her hand. Theodore fancied she never appeared

so lovely. She arose to receive him.

We have been expecting you for some time, said she; we were anxious to

inform you that we have just received a letter from my brother, in which

he desires us to present you his most friendly respects, and complains

of your not visiting him lately so frequently as usual. Theodore thanked

her for the information; said that business had prevented him; he

esteemed him as his most valuable friend, and would be more particular

in future.

"We have been thronged with company several days," said Alida. The last

of them took their departure yesterday. And I have only to regret, that

I have nearly a week been prevented from taking my favourite walk to the

grove, to which place you attended me when you were last here. "We will

walk there, then, if you have no objections, as no doubt it is much

improved since that time," said Theodore. They resorted thither towards

evening, and seated themselves in the arbour where they sat some time

contemplating the scenery.

It was the beginning of autumn, and a yellow hue was spread over the

natural beauties of creation. The withering forest began to shed its

decaying foliage, which the light gales pursued along the russet

fields;--the low sun extended its lengthening shadows;--curling smoke

ascended from the neighbouring village and the surrounding cottages;--a

thick fog crept along the valleys;--a grey mist hovered over the tops of

the distant hills;--the glassy surface of the water glittering to the

sun's departing ray;--the solemn herds lowed in monotonous

symphony;--the autumnal insects, in sympathetic wafting, plaintively

predicted their approaching fate.

The scene is changed since we last visited this place, said Alida; "the

gay charms of summer are beginning to decay, and must soon yield their

splendours to the rude despoiling hand of winter."

"That will be the case," said Theodore, "before I shall have the

pleasure of your company here again." "That may probably be, though it

is nearly two months yet to winter," said Alida.

"Great changes may take place within that time," said Theodore. Yes,

changes must take place, she answered, but nothing, I hope to embitter

present prospects.

As it respects yourself, I trust not, madam. "And I sincerely hope not,

as it respects you, Theodore." That wish, said he, I believe is vain.

Your feelings accord with the season, Theodore; you are melancholy.

Shall we return?

"I ask your pardon, madam; I know I am unsociable. You speak of

returning; you know the occasion of my being here. You cannot have

forgotten your own appointment and consequent engagement?" She made no

answer.

I know, Alida, that you are incapable of duplicity or evasion. I have

promised and now repeat the declaration, that I will silently submit to

your decision. This you have engaged to make, and this is the time you

have appointed. The pain of present suspense can scarcely be surpassed

by the pang of disappointment. On your part you have nothing to fear.

I trust you have candidly determined, and will decide explicitly.

"I am placed in an exceedingly delicate situation," answered Alida,

(sighing.) "I know you are, madam," said Theodore, "but your own honour,

your own peace, require that you should extricate yourself from the

perplexing embarrassment."

"That I am convinced of," replied she. "I know that I have been

inadvertently indiscreet. I have admitted the addresses of Bonville and

yourself, without calculating or expecting the consequences. You have

both treated me honourably and with respect. You are both on equal

grounds as to standing in life. With Bonville I became first acquainted.

As it relates to him, some new arrangements have taken place since you

came here."

Theodore interrupted her with emotion. "Of those arrangements I am

acquainted, I received the intelligence from a friend in your

neighbourhood. I am prepared for the event."

Alida remained silent. "I have mentioned before," resumed Theodore,

"that whatever may be your decision, no impropriety can attach to you.

I might add, indeed, from various circumstances, and from the

information I possess, I perhaps should not have given you further

trouble on the occasion, had it not been from your own direction. And I

am now willing to retire without further explanation, without giving you

the pain of an express decision, if you think the measure expedient.

Your declaration can only be a matter of form, the consequence of which

I know, and my proposition may save your feelings."

"No, Theodore," replied she, "my reputation depends on my adherence to

my first determination; justice to yourself and to Bonville also demand

it. After what has passed, I should be considered as acting

capriciously, and inconsistently, should I depart from it. Bonville will

be here to-morrow, and you must consent to stay with us until that time;

the matter shall then be decided." "Yes," said Theodore, "it shall be as

you say, madam. Make your arrangements as you please."

Evening came on, and spread around her sombre shades;--the breeze's

rustling wing was in the tree:--the sound of the low, murmuring brooks,

and the far-off waterfall, were faintly heard;--the frequent lights in

the village darted their pale lustre through the gloom:--the solitary

whip-poor-wills stationed themselves along the woody glens, the groves

and rocky pastures, and sung a requiem to departed summer;--a dark cloud

was rising in the west, across whose gloomy front the vivid lightning

bent its forky spires.

Theodore and Alida moved slowly towards home; she appeared enraptured

with the melancholy splendours of the evening, but another subject

engaged the mental attention of Theodore.

Bonville arrived the next day. He gave his hand to Theodore with seeming

warmth of friendship. If it was reciprocated, it must have been

affected. There was no alteration in the manners and conversation of

Alida; her discourse, as usual, was sprightly and interesting. After

dinner she retired, and her father requested Theodore and Bonville to

withdraw with him to a private room. After they were seated, the old

gentleman thus addressed them:

"I have called you here, gentlemen, to perform my duty as a parent to my

daughter, and as a friend to you. You have both addressed Alida; while

your addresses were merely formal, they were innocent; but when they

became serious, they were dangerous. Your pretensions I consider equal,

and between honourable pretenders, who are worthy of my daughter,

I shall not attempt to influence her choice. That choice, however, can

rest only on one; she has engaged to decide between you. I am come, to

make in her name this decision. The following are my terms: no

difficulty shall arise between you, gentlemen, in consequence of her

determination; nothing shall go abroad respecting the affair; it shall

be settled under my roof. As soon as I have pronounced Alida's

declaration, you shall both depart, and absent my house for at least two

weeks, as it would be improper for my daughter to see either of you at

present; after that period I shall be happy to receive your visits."

Theodore and Bonville pledged their honour to abide implicitly by these

injunctions.

He then further observed: "This, gentlemen, is all I require. I have

said that I considered your pretensions equal; so has my daughter

treated them. You have both made professions to her; she has appointed a

time to answer you. That time has now arrived, and I now inform

you--that she has decided in favour of Theodore."

These words from Alida's father, burst upon the mental powers of

Bonville like sudden and tremendous thunder on the deep and sullen

silence of night. Unaccustomed to disappointment, he had calculated on

assured success. His addresses to the ladies generally had been

honourably received. Alida was the first whose charms were capable of

rendering them sincere. He was not ignorant of Theodore's attentions to

her; it gave him, however, but little uneasiness. He believed that his

superior acquired graces would eclipse the pretensions of his rival. He

considered himself a connoisseur in character, especially in that of the

ladies. He conformed to their taste; he flattered their foibles, and

obsequiously bowed to the minutia of female volatility. He considered

himself skilled in the language of the heart; and he trusted that from

his pre-eminent powers in the science of affection, he had only to see,

to make use of, and to conquer.

He had frankly offered his hand to Alida, and pressed her for a decisive

answer. This from time to time she suspended, and finally named a day in

which to give him and Theodore a determinate one, though neither knew

the arrangements made with the other. Alida finding, however, the

dilemma in which she was placed, and she had previously consulted her

father. He had no objections to her choosing between two persons of

equal claims to affluence and respectability. This choice she had made,

and her father was considered the most proper person to pronounce it.

When Bonville had urged Alida to answer him decidedly, he supposed that

her hesitation, delay and suspensions, were only the effect of

diffidence. He had no suspicion of her ultimate conclusion, and when she

finally named the day to decide, he was confident her voice would be in

his favour. These sentiments he had communicated to the person who had

written to Theodore, intimating that Alida had fixed a time which was to

crown his sanguine wishes. He had listened, therefore, attentively to

the words of her father, momentarily expecting to hear himself declared

the favourite choice of the fair. What then must have been his

disappointment when the name of Theodore was pronounced instead of his

own! The highly-finished scene of pleasure and future happy prospects

which his ardent imagination had depicted, now vanished in a moment. The

bright sun of his early hopes was veiled in darkness at this unexpected

decision.

Very different were the sensations which inspired the bosom of Theodore.

He had not even calculated on a decision in his favour; he believed that

Bonville would be the choice of Alida. She had told him, that the form

of deciding was necessary to save appearances; with this form he

complied, because she desired it, not because he expected the result

would be in his favour. He had not, therefore, attended to the words of

Alida's father with that eagerness which favourable anticipations

commonly produce.

But when his name was mentioned; when he found that he was the choice,

the happy favourite of Alida's affection, every ardent feeling of his

soul became interested, and was suddenly aroused to the refinements of

sensibility. Like an electric shock it re-animated his existence, and

the bright morning of joy quickly dissipated the gloom which hung over

his mind.

CHAPTER X.

"Dark gathering clouds involve the threat'ning skies,

The billows heave with the impending gloom;

Deep hollow murmurs from the cliffs arise,

Ride on the blast, and urge the howling storm."

Several weeks passed away, and Theodore felt all that anxiety and

impatience which a separation from a beloved object can produce. He

framed a thousand excuses to visit Alida, yet he feared a visit might be

premature. He was, however, necessitated to make a journey to a distant

part of the country, after which he resolved to see her.

He performed the business he went on, and was returning. It was toward

evening, and the day had been uncommonly sultry for the autumnal season.

A rising shower blackened the western hemisphere; the dark vapours

ascended in folding ridges, and the thunder rolled at a distance.

Theodore saw he should be overtaken by the rain. He discovered an

elegant seat about a hundred yards distant from the road; thither he

hastened to gain shelter from the approaching storm.

The owner of the mansion met him at the door, and politely invited him

in, while a servant stood ready to take his horse.

He was ushered into a large apartment, genteelly furnished, where the

family and several young ladies were sitting. As he glanced his eye

hastily around the room, he thought he recognized a familiar

countenance. A hurried succession of confused ideas for a moment crossed

his recollection. In a moment he discovered that it was Alida.

By this unexpected meeting they were both completely embarrassed. Alida,

however, arose, and, in rather a confused manner, introduced Theodore to

the company as the friend of her brother.

The rain continued most part of the afternoon. Theodore was urged by the

family, and consented to stay the night. A moonlight evening succeeded

the shower, which invited the young people to walk in an adjoining

garden. Alida informed Theodore that the owner of the mansion was a

distant relative of her father, who had two amiable daughters, not far

from her own age. She had been invited there to pass a week, and

expected to return within two days. "And," she added, smiling, "perhaps,

Theodore, we may have an opportunity once more to visit our favourite

grove, before winter entirely destroys the remaining beauties of the

summer."

Theodore felt all the force of the remark. He recollected the

conversation when they were last at the place she mentioned; and he well

remembered his feelings on that occasion.

"Great changes, indeed," he replied, "have taken place since we were

last there;--that they are productive of unexpected and unexampled

happiness to me, is due, Alida, to yourself alone."

Theodore departed next morning, appointing the next week to visit Alida

at her father's house. Thus were the obstacles removed which had

presented a barrier to their united wishes. They had not, it is true,

been separated by wide seas, unfeeling parents, nor, as yet, by the

rigorous laws of war; but vexations, doubts, and difficulties had thus

far attended them, which had now happily disappeared, and they

calculated on no unpropitious event which might thwart their future

happiness.

All the hours that Theodore could spare from his studies were devoted to

Alida; and their parents began to calculate on joining their hands as

soon as his professional term of study was completed.

Hostilities that had previously commenced with England had been followed

by several battles. "The panic and general bustle which prevailed at

this time, will yet be remembered by many." These circumstances were not

calculated to impress the mind of Alida with the most pleasant

sensations. She foresaw that the burden of the war must rest on the

American youth, and she trembled in anticipation for the fate of

Theodore. He, with others, should it continue, must take the field in

defence of his country. The effects of such a separation were dubious

and gloomy. Theodore and herself frequently discoursed on the subject,

and they agreed to form the mystic union previous to any wide

separation. One event tended to hasten this resolution: The attorney in

whose office Theodore was engaged received a commission in the

new-raised American army, and marched to the lines near Boston. His

business was therefore suspended, and Theodore returned to the house of

his father. He considered that he could not remain long a mere spectator

of the contest, and that it might soon become his duty to take the

field, therefore concluded to hasten his marriage with Alida. She

consented to the proposition, and their parents made the necessary

arrangements for the event. The place was fixed upon which was to be

their future residence. It was a pleasantly situated eminence,

commanding an extensive prospect. On the west, forests unevenly lifted

their rude heads, with here and there a solitary field, newly cleared,

and thinly scattered with cottages. To the east, the eye extended over a

soil at one time swelling into woody elevations, and at another

spreading itself into vales of the most enchanting verdure. To the north

it extended to the palisades, wooded to their summits, and throwing

their shadows over intervals of equal wilderness, till at length the

eye, wandering far beyond, was arrested in its excursions by the blue

mist which hovered over the distant mountains, more grand, majestic, and

lofty. The inhabitants around were mild, sociable, moral, and diligent.

The produce of their own fields gave them the most of what was

necessary, and they were happily free from all dissipation and luxury.

Such was the site marked out for the residence of Theodore and Alida.

They visited the spot, and were enraptured with its pensive, romantic

beauties.

"Here," said Theodore, "we will one day pass our time in all the

felicity of mind which the chequered scenes of life will admit. In the

spring, we will roam among the flowers; in summer, we will gather

strawberries in yonder fields, or raspberries from the adjacent

shrubbery. The breezes of fragrant morning and the sighs of the evening

gale will be mingled with the songs of the various birds which frequent

the surrounding groves. We will gather the bending fruits of autumn, and

will listen with pleasure to the hoarse, murmuring voice of winter--its

whistling winds, its driving snow and rattling hail--with delight."

The bright gems of joy glistened in the eyes of Alida as Theodore

described this pleasing scene of anticipation.

Winter came on; it rapidly passed away. Spring advanced, and the

marriage day was appointed. Preparations for the hymenial ceremony were

making, and invitations had already gone abroad. Albert was particularly

sent for, and all was approaching to readiness for this happy event.

Theodore and Alida again promenaded to the spot which had been chosen

for their habitation; they projected the structure of the buildings,

planned the gardens, the artificial groves, the walks, and the green

retreat of the summer-house; and already they realized in imagination

the various domestic blessings and felicities with which they were to be

surrounded.

Nature was adorned with the bridal ornaments of spring; the radiant sun

was sinking behind the groves, casting his sable shades over the valley,

while the retiring beams of day adorned the distant eastern eminences

with yellow lustre; the birds sung melodiously in the grove; the air was

freshened by light western breezes, bearing upon their wings all the

entrancing odours of the season; while around the horizon clouds raised

their brazen summits, based in the black vapour of approaching night;

and as its darkening shades were advancing, Theodore and Alida returned

home. They seated themselves awhile on the piazza, to contemplate the

splendours of the evening, and to witness the beauties of one of the

most picturesque draperies painted in the landscape of nature.

CHAPTER XI.

The dreadful din of war is heard

Wide spreading o'er the land and sea;

The battle's shout and cannon's roar

Proclaim the nation shall be free.

The nodding plumes, like waving pines,

Are shaken by the morning breeze;

The gilded armour brightly shines,

And patriots sigh for victories.

The tumults of a second war with Great Britain still increased, and was

not only exhausting the finances of the country, but called for a still

greater sacrifice--all the bravest American youth. A large army of

reinforcements was shortly expected from England to land on our shores,

and the confused noise of the warriors, with more vigorous and intrepid

combat, were already anticipated.

Theodore had received a commission in a regiment of militia, and was

pressed by several young gentlemen of his acquaintance, who had enlisted

in the army, to join it also. He had an excuse: his father was a man in

extensive business, was considerably past the prime of life, had a

number of agents and clerks under him, but began to feel himself unable

to attend to the various and burthensome duties and demands of a

mercantile life. Theodore was his only son; his assistance, therefore,

became necessary, until, at least, his father could bring his business

to a close, which he was now about to effect.

Theodore stated these facts to his friends; told them that on every

occasion he should be ready to fly to the post of danger when his

country was invaded, and that as soon as his father's affairs became

settled, he would, if necessary, join the army.

The president was now active in making every exertion in his power, to

rouse the feelings of his countrymen to act their parts with honour in

the scene that was now before them. He knew that much of the

responsibility rested on himself. The capacity he was in with regard to

the nation, caused the most material and important business--of

directing and superintending the weighty affairs of government--to fall

upon his hands; and such was the situation of the country, that it not

only called for the exertion, the wisdom, sound judgment, and policy of

the presidential chair, but likewise of every patriotic bosom to

participate in their endeavours to oppose the depredations against it.

The chief executive was entered on a theatre in which he was to act a

conspicuous part in this war of America with Great Britain, and to

occupy a station in the page of history, where the interesting detail

will reach the ear of remotest ages in the dates of time.

In the mean time, the father of Theodore had been absent for three or

four days to one of the commercial seaports, on business with some

merchants with whom he was connected in trade. He returned the next day

after Theodore had got home; his aspect and his conversation were marked

with an assumed and unmeaning cheerfulness. At supper he ate nothing,

discoursed much, but in an unconnected and hurried manner, interrupted

by long pauses, in which he appeared to be buried in contemplation.

After supper he asked Theodore "if it were not possible that his union

with Alida could be concluded within a few days?" Theodore, startled at

so unexpected a question, replied, that such a proposal would be

considered extraordinary, perhaps improper; besides, when Alida had

named the day, she mentioned that she had an uncle who lived at a

distance, whose daughter was to pass the summer with her, and was

expected to arrive before the appointed time. It would, he said, be a

delicate thing for him to anticipate the nuptials, unless he could give

some cogent reason for so doing, and at present he was not apprised that

any such existed. His father, after a few moments' hesitation, answered,

"I have reasons which, when told,"--here he stopped, suddenly arose,

hastily walked the room in much visible agony of mind, and then retired

to his chamber.

Theodore and his mother were much amazed at so strange a proceeding.

They could form no conjecture of its cause, or its consequence. Theodore

passed a sleepless night. His father's slumbers were interrupted; he was

restless and uneasy: his sleep was broken and disturbed by incoherent

mutterings and plaintive moans. In the morning when he appeared at

breakfast, his countenance wore the marks of dejection and anguish. He

scarcely spoke a word; and after the cloth was removed, he ordered all

to withdraw except Theodore and his mother; when, with emotions that

spoke the painful feelings of his bosom, he thus addressed them:

"For more than thirty years I have been engaged in commerce, in order to

acquire independence for myself and my family. To accomplish this,

I became connected with some English importing merchants, in a seaport

town, and went largely into the English trade. Success crowned our

endeavours. On balancing our accounts, two years ago, we found that our

expectations were answered, and that we were sufficiently wealthy to

close business, which some proposed to do; it was, however, agreed to

make one effort more, as some favourable circumstances appeared to

offer, in which we adventured very largely, on a fair calculation of

liberal and extensive proceeds. Before returns could be made, the war

came on, embarrassments ensued, and by indubitable intelligence lately

received, we find that our property in England has been sequestered;

five of our ships, laden with English goods, lying in English harbours,

and just ready to sail for America, have been seized as lawful prizes;

added to this, three vessels from the Indies, laden with island produce,

have been taken on their homeward bound voyage, and one lost on her

return from Holland.

"This wreck of fortune I might have survived, had I to sustain only my

equal dividend of the loss; but of the merchants with whom I have been

connected, not one remains to share the fate of the event--all have

absconded or secreted themselves. To attempt to compound with my

creditors would be of little avail, so that the consequence to me is

inevitable ruin.

"To abscond would not secure me, as most of my remaining property is

vested in real estate; and even if it would, I could not consent to it.

I could not consent to banish myself from my country, with the view to

defraud my creditors. No: I have lived honestly, and honestly will I

die. By fair application and industry my wealth has been obtained, and

it shall never justly be said that the reputation of my latter days were

sullied with acts of meanness. I have notified and procured a meeting of

the creditors, and have laid the matter before them. Some appeared

favourable to me, others insinuated that we were all connected in

fraudulent designs to swindle our creditors. To this I replied with

becoming spirit, and was in consequence threatened with immediate

prosecution. Whatever may be the event, I had some hopes that your

happiness, Theodore, might yet be secured. Hence I proposed your union

with Alida before our misfortunes should be promulgated. Your parents

are old, a little will serve the residue of their days. With your

acquirements you may make your way in life. I shall now have no property

to give you; but I would still wish you to ensure to yourself that which

you prize far above, and without which, both honours and emoluments

would be unimportant and worthless."

At this moment a loud rap at the door interrupted the discourse, and

three men were ushered in, which proved to be the sheriff and his

attendants, sent by the more inexorable creditors of Theodore's father

and company, to levy on the property of the former, which orders they

faithfully executed by seizing the lands, tenements, and furniture. We

will not stop the reader to moralize on this disastrous event--the

feelings of the family can better be conceived than described.

Hurled, in a moment, from the lofty summit of affluence to the low vale

of indigence, Christian philosophy after a while came to the aid of the

parents, but who can realize the feelings of the son? Thus suddenly cut

short, not only of his prospects of future independence, but even

present support, what would be the event of his suit to Alida, and

stipulated marriage? Was it not probable that her father would now

cancel the contract? Could she consent to become his in his present

penurious situation? and could he himself be willing to make her

miserable?

In this agitated frame of mind he received a letter from a friend in the

neighbourhood of Alida, requesting him to come immediately to his house,

whither he repaired the following day.

This person had ever been the unchanging friend of Theodore; he had

heard of the misfortunes of his family, and he deeply sympathized in his

distress. He had lately married and settled near the residence of

Alida's father. His name was Raymond. When Theodore arrived at the house

of his friend, he was received with the same disinterested ardour he had

ever been before, in the day of his most unbounded prosperity. After

being seated, Raymond told him the occasion of his sending for him was

to propose the adoption of certain measures which he doubted not might

be considered highly beneficial, as it respected his future peace and

happiness. "Your family misfortunes," continued he, "have reached the

ear of Alida's father. I know old people, generally speaking, too well

to believe he will now consent to receive you as his son-in-law under

your present embarrassments. The case is difficult, but not

insurmountable. You must first see Alida; she is now in the next room;

I will introduce you in; converse with her, after which I will lay my

plan before you."

Theodore entered the room. Alida was sitting by a window which looked

into a pleasant garden, and over verdant meadows where tall grass waved

to the evening breeze; further on, low valleys spread their umbrageous

thickets where the dusky shadows of night had began to assemble. On the

high hills beyond, the tops of lofty forests, majestically moved by the

billowy gales, caught the sun's last ray. Fleecy summer clouds hovered

around the verge of the western horizon, spangled with silvery tints or

fringed with the gold of evening. A mournfully murmuring rivulet purled

at a little distance from the garden, on the borders of a small grove,

from whence the American wild dove wafted her sympathetic moaning to the

ear of Alida. She was leaning on a small table as she sat by the window,

which was thrown up. Her attention was fixed. She did not perceive

Raymond and Theodore as they entered. They advanced towards her; she

turned, started, and arose. With a melancholy smile she said she

supposed it was Mrs. Raymond who was approaching, as she had just left

the room. Her countenance was dejected, which, on seeing Theodore,

lighted up into a languid sprightliness. It was evident she had been

weeping. Raymond retired, and Theodore and Alida seated themselves.

"I have broken in upon your solitude, perhaps too unseasonably," said

Theodore. It is however the fault of Raymond; he invited me to walk into

the room, but did not inform me that you were alone.

"Your presence was sudden and unexpected, but not unseasonable," replied

Alida. I hope that you did not consider any formality necessary in your

visits, Theodore?

"I once did not think so," answered Theodore; now I know not what to

think--I know not how to act. You have heard of the misfortunes of my

father's family, Alida?

"Yes, I have heard the circumstances attending that event," said she; an

event in which no one could be more deeply interested, except the

immediate sufferers, than myself.

"Your father is also acquainted with my present situation," said

Theodore; and how did he receive the intelligence?

"With deep regret," replied Alida.

Has he forbidden you to admit my addresses any longer? if even in an

unqualified or indirect manner, it is proper I should know it.

"It certainly is," said Alida. Soon after we received the intelligence

of your family misfortunes, my father came into the room where I was

sitting: 'Alida,' said he, 'your conduct has ever been that of a dutiful

child,--mine, of an indulgent parent. My ultimate wish is to see my

children, when settled in life, happy and honourably respected. For this

purpose I have bestowed on them a proper education, and design suitably

to apportion my property among them. On their part, it is expected they

will act prudently and discreetly, especially in those things which

concern materially their future peace and welfare: the principal

requisite to insure this is a proper connexion in marriage.' Here my

father paused a considerable time, and then continued: 'I know, my

child, that your situation is a very delicate one. Your marriage-day is

appointed; it was named under the fairest prospects. By the failure of

Theodore's father, those prospects have become deeply darkened, if not

totally obliterated. To commit your fortune through life to a person in

his present circumstances, would be hazardous in the extreme. The day

named can at least be suspended; perhaps something more favourable may

appear. At any rate, I have too much confidence in your discretion to

suppose that you will, by any rash act, bring reproach either upon

yourself or your connexions.' Thus spake my father, and immediately

withdrew.

"In our present dilemma," said Theodore, "what is proper to be done?"

"It is difficult to determine," answered Alida. "Should my father

expressly forbid our union, or to see each other at present, it is

probable he will carry his commands into effect. I would advise you to

call on him to-morrow with your usual freedom. Whatever may be the

event, I shall deal sincerely with you. Mrs. Raymond has been my friend

and associate from my earliest years--Raymond you know. In them we can

place the utmost confidence. From them you will be enabled to obtain

information should I be prevented from seeing you. My reliance on

Providence, I trust, will never be shaken, but my future prospects, at

present, are dark and gloomy."

"Let us not despair," said Theodore; "perhaps those gloomy clouds which

now hover around us, may yet be dissipated by the bright beams of joy.

Worth and innocence are the care of Heaven,--there rests my hope.

To-morrow, as you propose, I will call at your father's. If I should be

debarred in future from seeing you, I will write as formerly, and direct

the letters to Raymond."

Alida now returned home, attended by Theodore. A whip-poor-will tuned

its nightly song at a distance; but the sound which had so late appeared

to them cheerful and sprightly, now passed heavily over their hearts.

CHAPTER XII.

"O, happiness, deceitful in thy dream,"

Though wreaths all blooming hang upon thy brow,

And quick dissolves the visionary gleam,

Succeeded soon by various scenes of wo.

When Theodore returned to the house of his friend, he unfolded the plan

he had projected.

"No sooner," said Raymond, "was I informed of your misfortunes, than I

was convinced that Alida's father (whom I have known for many years)

would endeavour to dissolve your intended union with his daughter. And

however he may doat on his children, or value their happiness, he will

not hesitate to sacrifice his better feelings to the accomplishment of

his wishes to see them independent. It appears that you have but one

resource left. You and Alida are now engaged by the most solemn ties, by

every rite except those which are ceremonial; these I would advise you

to enter into, and trust to the consequences. Mrs. Raymond has proposed

the scheme to Alida, but implicitly accustomed to filial obedience, she

shudders at the idea of a clandestine marriage; but when her father will

proceed to rigorous measures, she will, I think, consent to the

alternative. The world is before you, Theodore," continued he; "you have

friends, you have acquirements which will not fail you. In a country

like this you can scarcely help obtaining a competency, which, with the

other requisites you have in your power, will not fail to insure your

independence and felicity."

"But the times have changed," said Theodore, since the commencement of

the war, and probably I may yet have to join the army. After I have made

my visit on the morrow to Alida's father, we will discourse further on

the subject.

In the meantime, Theodore proceeded on the morrow, to make his intended

visit. As he approached the house, he saw Alida sitting in a shady

recess at one end of the garden, near which the road passed. She was

leaning with her head upon her hand in a pensive posture; a deep

dejection was depicted upon her features, which enlivened into a

transient glow as soon as she saw Theodore. She arose, met him, and

invited him into the house.

Theodore was received with a cool reserve by all except Alida. Her

father saluted him with a distant retiring bow, as he passed with her to

the parlour. As soon as they were seated, a lady who had lately come to

reside some time in the family, (who was a relative of her father's,)

entered the room and seated herself by the window, alternately humming a

tune and staring at Theodore, without speaking a word.

This interruption was not of long continuance. Alida's father entered,

and requested the two ladies to withdraw, which was instantly done; he

then addressed Theodore as follows:

"When I gave consent for your union with my daughter, it was on the

conviction that your future resources would be adequate to support her

honourably and independently. Circumstances have since taken place which

render this point extremely doubtful." He paused for a reply, but

Theodore was silent. He continued, "You, perhaps, may say that your

acquirements, your prudence, and your industry, will procure you a

handsome income; but to depend on these altogether for your future

exigencies is hazarding peace, honour, and reputation, at a single game

of chance. If, therefore, you have no resources or expectations but such

as these, your own judgment will teach you the necessity of immediately

relinquishing all pretensions to the hand of Alida, and from this time

to break off all communication with my daughter." He then immediately

left the room.

Why was Theodore speechless through the whole of this discourse? What

reply could he have made? What were the prospects before him but misery

and wo? Where, indeed, were the means by which Alida was to be shielded

from indigence, if connected with his fortunes?

The idea was not new, but it came upon him at this time with redoubled

anguish. He arose and looked around for Alida, but she was not to be

seen. He left the house and walked slowly towards Raymond's. At a little

distance he met Alida who had been strolling in an adjoining avenue. He

informed her of all that had passed; it was no more than they both

expected, yet it was a shock their fortitude could scarcely sustain.

Disappointment seldom finds her votaries prepared to receive her.

Alida told Theodore that she knew her father's determinations were

altogether unchangeable at present. Her brother, she said, would be at

home in a few days; how he would act on this occasion, she was unable to

say; but were he ever so far their friend, he would have but feeble

influence with her father. "What is to be the end of these troubles,"

continued she, it is impossible to foresee. Let us trust in the mercy of

Heaven, and submit to its dispensations.

Theodore and Alida, in their happier days, had, when absent from each

other, corresponded. This method it was now thought best to resume. It

was agreed, besides, that Theodore should frequently visit Raymond's,

and Alida would resort there also, as she should find opportunity.

Having concluded on this, Alida returned home, and Theodore to the house

of his friend.

The next morning Theodore repaired to the dwelling where his aged

parents now resided. His bosom throbbed with keen anguish when he

arrived there: his own fate unconnected with that of Alida. His father

was absent when he first reached home, but returned soon after. A beam

of joy gleamed upon his countenance as he entered the house. "Were it

not, Theodore, for your unhappy situation," said he, "we should once

more be restored to peace and happiness. A few persons who were indebted

to me, finding that I was to be sacrificed by my unfeeling creditors,

reserved those debts in their hands, and have now paid me, amounting to

something more than five thousand pounds. With this I can live as well

and conveniently as I could wish, and can spare some for your present

exigencies, Theodore."

Theodore thanked his father for his kindness, but told him that from his

former liberality, he had yet sufficient for all his wants. "But your

affair with Alida," asked his father, "how is that likely to terminate?"

"Favourably, I hope, sir," answered Theodore.

He could not consent to disturb the happy tranquillity of his parents by

reciting his own wretchedness. He passed a week with them. He saw them

once more comfortably seated at a calm retreat in he country; he saw

them serenely blest in the pleasures of returning peace, and a ray of

joy illumined his troubled bosom.

"Again the youth his wonted life regain'd,

A transient sparkle in his eye obtain'd,

A bright, impassion'd, cheering glow express'd

The pleas'd sensation of his tender breast:

But soon dark gloom the feeble smiles o'erspread;

Like morn's gay hues, the fading splendours fled;

Returning anguish froze his feeling soul;

Deep sighs burst forth, and tears began to roll!"

His memory dwelt on Alida, from whom he had heard nothing since he had

last seen her. He thought of the difficulties with which he was

surrounded. He thought of the barriers which were now opposed to their

happiness; and he immediately set out for the house of Raymond. He

arrived at his residence near the close of the day. Raymond and his lady

were at tea, with several young ladies that had passed the afternoon

there. Theodore cast an active glance at the company, in hopes to see

Alida among them, but she was not there. He was invited, and took a seat

at table.

After tea was over, Raymond led Theodore into an adjoining room. "You

have come in good time," said he. "Something speedily must be done, or

you lose Alida forever. The day after you were here, her father received

a letter from Bonville, in which, after mentioning the circumstances of

your father's insolvency, he hinted that the consequence would probably

be a failure of her proposed marriage with you, which might essentially

injure the reputation of a lady of her standing in life; to prevent

which, and to place her beyond the reach of calumny, he offered to marry

her at any appointed day, provided he had her free consent. As Bonville,

by the recent death of his father, had been put in possession of a

splendid fortune, the proposition might possibly allure the father of

Alida, to use his endeavour to bring his daughter to yield implicit

obedience to his wishes. Were he to command her to live single, it might

be endured; but if he should endeavour to persuade her to discard you

from her thoughts entirely, and to give her hand to a person she could

have no esteem for, would be to perjure those principles of truth and

justice, which he himself had ever taught her to hold most inviolable.

To add to Alida's distress, Bonville arrived there yesterday, and,

I hope in some measure to alleviate it, Albert, her brother, came this

morning. Mrs. Raymond has despatched a message to inform Alida of your

arrival, and to desire her to come here immediately. She will

undoubtedly comply with the invitation, if not prevented by something

extraordinary."

Mrs. Raymond now came to the door of the room, and beckoned to her

husband, who went out, but soon returned, leading in Alida, after which

he retired. "Oh, Theodore," was all she could say, her further utterance

was interrupted by her tears. Theodore led her to a seat, and overcome

by sadness was unable to speak. Recovering at length, he begged her to

moderate her grief.

"Where," said he, "is your fortitude, and your firmness, Alida, which I

have so often seen triumphing over affliction?" Her extreme anguish

prevented a reply. Theodore endeavoured to console her, though

consolation was a stranger to his own breast.

"Let us not," said he, "increase our flood of affliction by a tide of

useless sorrow. Perhaps more prosperous days are yet in reserve for us;

happiness may yet be ours. Heaven cannot desert Alida," said Theodore;

"as well might it desert its angels. This thorny path may lead to fair

fields of light and verdure. Tempests are succeeded by calms; wars end

in peace; the splendours of the brightest morning arise on the wings of

blackest midnight. Troubles will not always last."

The grief which had almost overwhelmed Alida, now began to subside, as

the waves of the ocean gradually cease their tumultuous commotion after

the turbulent winds are laid asleep. Deep and long drawn sighs

succeeded. The irritation of her feelings had caused a more than usual

glow upon her cheek which faded away as she became composed, until a

livid paleness spread itself over her features.

Raymond and his lady now came into the room. They strenuously urged the

propriety and necessity for Theodore and Alida to enter into the bands

of matrimony.

"The measure would be hazardous," remarked Alida. "My circumstances,"

said Theodore. "Not on that account," interrupted Alida, "but the

displeasure of my father."

"Come here, Alida, to-morrow evening," said Mrs. Raymond. "In the mean

time you will consider the matter and then determine." To this Alida

assented and prepared to return home.

Theodore attended her as far as the gate which opened into the yard

surrounding the dwelling. It was dangerous for him to go further, lest

he should be discovered even by a domestic of the family. He stood here

awhile looking anxiously after Alida as she walked up the avenue, her

white robes now invisible, now dimly seen, until they were totally

obscured, mingling with the gloom and darkness of the night, ere she

reached the door of her father's mansion.

"Thus," said Theodore, "fades the angel of peace from the visionary eyes

of the war-worn soldier, when it ascends in the dusky clouds of early

morning, while he slumbers on the field of recent battle." With mournful

forebodings he returned to the house of his friend. After passing a

sleepless night, he arose and walked out into an adjoining field; he

stood for some time, leaning, in deep contemplation, against a tree,

when he heard quick footsteps behind him. He turned around, and saw

Albert approaching. In a moment they were in each other's arms, and

mingled tears. They soon returned to Raymond's where they conversed

largely on present affairs.

"I have discoursed with my father on the subject," said Albert; "I have

urged him with every possible argument, to relinquish his determination

to keep you and Alida separate. I fear, however, he is inflexible."

"To endeavour to assuage the grief which rent Alida's bosom was my next

object, and in this I trust I have not been unsuccessful. You will see

her this evening, and will find her more calm and resigned. You,

Theodore, must exert your fortitude. The ways of Heaven are inscrutable,

but they are right. We must acquiesce in its dealings; we cannot alter

its decrees. Resignation to its will, whether merciful or afflictive, is

one of those eminent virtues which adorn the good man's character, and

will ever find a brilliant reward in the regions of unsullied

happiness."

Albert told Theodore that circumstances compelled him that day to return

to the city. "I would advise you," said he, "to remain here until your

affair comes to some final issue. It must, I think, ere long, be

terminated. Perhaps you and my sister may yet be happy."

Theodore feelingly expressed his gratitude to Albert. He found in him

that disinterested friendship which his early youth had experienced.

Albert the same day departed for New-York.

The shades of night came on almost insensibly, as Theodore was anxiously

expecting Alida. He anticipated the consolation her presence would

bestow. Albert had told him she was more composed. The evening passed

on, but she came not.

Raymond assured him she would soon be there. He paced the room, and then

walked out on the way whither she was expected to come. He hesitated

some time whether to advance or return. It was possible, though not

probable, that she might have come some other way. He hastened back to

the house of his friend; she had not arrived.

"Something extraordinary," said Mrs. Raymond, "has undoubtedly prevented

her coming. Perhaps she is ill." Theodore shuddered at the suggestion.

He looked at his watch: it was past twelve o'clock. Again he hastily

sallied out and took the road to her father's. The night was exceedingly

dark, being illuminated only by the feeble glimmering of the twinkling

stars. When he came within sight of the house, and as he drew near, no

lights were visible, all was still and silent. He entered the yard,

walked up the avenue, and approached the door. A solemn stillness

prevailed around, interrupted only by the discordance of nightly

insects. The dwelling was shrouded in darkness. In Alida's room no gleam

of light appeared.

"They are all buried in sleep," said Theodore, deeply sighing, and I

have only to return in disappointment.

Theodore now withdrew slowly from the place, and repassed the way he

came. As he went back through the garden, he found a person standing at

the foot of it, near the road. After a moment's scrutiny, he perceived

it to be Bonville.

"What, my chevalier, why are you here?" said he to Theodore. "Hast thou,

then, eluded the watchful eyes of Argus, and the vigilance of the

dragon?"

"Unfeeling and impertinent intruder!" retorted Theodore, "dost thou add

impudence to thy interference? Go," said he, "you are unworthy of my

anger. Pursue thy grovelling schemes. Strive to win to your arms a lady

who must ever continue to despise you."

"Theodore," replied Bonville, "You and I were rivals in the pursuit for

the hand of Alida. Whether from freak or fortune the preference was

given to you, I know not; and I retired in silence. From coincidence of

circumstances, I think she will now be induced to give the preference to

me, especially after her prospects of connecting with you are cut off by

the events which ruined your fortune. You, Theodore, have yet, I find,

to learn the character of woman. It has been my particular study. Alida,

now ardently impassioned by first impressions, irritated by recent

disappointment, her feelings delicate and vivid, her affections

animated, it would be strange if she could suddenly relinquish premature

attachments founded on such premises. But remove her from your presence

one year, with only distant and uncertain prospects of seeing you again,

admit me as the substitute in your absence, and she accepts my hand as

freely as she would now receive yours. I had no design. It never was my

wish to marry her without her free consent;--that I believe I shall yet

obtain. Under existing circumstances it is impossible but that you must

be separated. Then, when cool deliberation succeeds to the wild vagaries

of fancy, she will discover the dangerous precipice to which her present

inclinations lead. She will prefer indifference and splendour to love

and a cottage. At present I relinquish all further pursuit; to-morrow I

shall return home. When Alida, from calm deliberation, and the advice of

friends, shall freely consent to yield me her hand, I shall return to

receive it. I came from my lodgings this evening to declare these

intentions to her father; but it being later than I was aware of, the

family had gone to rest. I was about to return, but, looking back again

at the house, to see if I could descry a light, I stood a moment by the

garden gate, when you approached and discovered me." So saying, he bade

Theodore good night, and walked hastily away.

"I find he knows not the character of Alida," said Theodore, as he

pursued his way to Raymond's. When he arrived at the house of his

friend, he related all that had passed between himself and Bonville; and

from what he related, the Raymonds concluded that Alida must be watched

and guarded.

CHAPTER XIII.

Friendship! thou sovereign balm of every care.

When all serene and placidly appear;

Domestic happiness! of that possessed,

Then may we leave to Providence the rest.

The father of Alida now thought proper to enter into a second marriage.

A lady of worth and understanding had wrought upon his fancy, and won

his particular regards. Her elegance of manner and dignified deportment

engaged general attention; and although she was rather advanced in life,

yet "the remains of former beauty were still visible in her appearance."

She was honourably descended from English parents, who had resided in

New-York since the revolution. Her father had been actively engaged in

business there, which had been ultimately crowned with the successful

gifts of fortune.

Her education had been governed by the strictness of the English

discipline. A foundation laid in early piety continued to influence her

mind with unaffected ardour, blended with a generous benevolence, the

genuine effects of the inexhaustible goodness of her heart. She was one

who manifested to the world that a "doer of good" is far preferable to

any other character, and in a superlative degree above those who

maintain high principles in theory, without ever once reducing them to

practice.

This lady had an only sister, who married a native of Ireland, and after

the course of a few years went to reside there, where she had recently

died. The children returned to this country, having lost their father

long before, and several of her nephews now resided in the city. Having

been always accustomed to reside in town herself, where her many

excellent qualities had endeared her to numerous friends and

acquaintances, who would now feel themselves lost without her society,

therefore the parents of Alida formed the conclusion to pass their

winters in the city, and return to the country in the summer season.

In the mean time, Alida's father thought the event fortunate, and was

pleased at this time to remove his daughter from the place where the

late scenes appeared so trying and afflictive, with the hope that in

mingling her with the gay world she would in a while forget Theodore,

while he in his turn would be induced to leave the neighbourhood.

It was now at that season when weary summer had lapsed into the fallow

arms of autumn, and was approaching to the chilly breezes of winter. The

morning was clear, and the light gales bore invigorating coolness on

their wings as they tremulously agitated the foliage of the western

forest, or fluttered among the branches of the trees that surrounded the

mansion. The green splendours of the lawn had faded into a yellow

lustre; the flowery verdure of the fields was changed to a russet hue.

A robin chirped in a favourite tree in the yard; a wren chattered

beneath, while some few solitary birds still continued to warble their

notes among the leaves of the aspen.

The surrounding groves partially rung with melody; while deep in the

adjacent wilderness the woodpecker, hammering on some dry and blasted

trees, filled the woods with reverberant echoes.

The face of the Sound was ruffled by the lingering breezes, as they idly

wandered over its surface. Long Island was thinly enveloped in smoky

vapour; scattered along its shores lay the numerous small craft, with

larger ships, of the hostile fleet. A few skiffs were passing and

re-passing the Sound. Several American war-sloops lay on a point which

jutted out from the mainland into the river.

Alida walked leisurely around the yard, contemplating the various

beauties of the scene, the images of departed joys (that she was now

about to leave). The days when Theodore participated with her in

admiring the splendours of rural prospect, raised in her bosom the sigh

of deep regret. She entered the garden, and traced the walks, now

overgrown with weeds and tufted grass. The flower-beds were choked with

the low running brambles, and tall rushes and daisies had usurped the

empire of the kitchen garden. The viny arbour was principally gone to

decay, and the eglantine blushed mournfully along the fences.

Alida continued to walk the garden until the servant informed her that

the carriage was waiting to take her to the city.

Although they set out rather late in the day, they arrived in town some

hours before sunset. They drove immediately to their dwelling, which was

situated in a pleasant part of Greenwich-street, near the Battery.

Alida, after she had thrown off her travelling apparel, seated herself

by the window in silence. Her mind was absorbed in deep reflection and

thoughtfulness. She watched the slow declining sun, as it was sinking

beneath the horizon. Pensive twilight spread her misty mantle over the

landscape. The western sky glowed with the spangles of evening;

deepening glooms advanced. The last beam of day faded from the view, and

all was enveloped in night. Innumerable stars glittered in the

firmament, intermingling their quivering lustre with the pale splendours

of the milky way.

When Alida was summoned to tea, her parents made various observations to

endeavour to amuse her thoughts, and draw her from her taciturnity.

After tea she again returned to the window, where she sat till a late

hour, apparently in deep meditation, till at length growing weary and

restless, she retired to her room.

As she had for several nights in succession slept but little, she soon

fell into a slumber, and did not awake till near the dawn of day. She

did not close her eyes again to sleep. Daylight soon appeared, and the

cheerful sun darting his enlivening rays through the windows of this

antique mansion, recovered her exhausted spirits, and dissipated, in

some measure, the cheerless reflections that still continued to hover

about her imagination.

She arose, and went down to breakfast with spirits somewhat revived,

and changed to a temporary resignation to past events and recent

occurrences. A thought impressed her mind which gave her new

consolation.

"Who knows," said she, "but that the sun of peace may yet dispel the

glooms of these distressful hours, and restore this throbbing bosom to

its former serenity?"

In the meantime, Theodore remained in the neighbourhood of Alida until

he heard the family had left and gone to the city. He then prepared

himself to set out early the next day for the habitation of his parents.

He informed Raymond of his promise to write to Alida, and to transmit

letters through his agency for her inspection every convenient

opportunity.

After passing a weary watchful night, he arose at the first dawning of

day, and proceeded on his journey with a heavy heart and painful

reflections.

After he had passed through the neighbouring village, and gained the

bridge, he looked over and bade the residence of Alida a mournful

farewell. Fearful forebodings crossed his mind that they were separated

forever; then again those more consolatory, that, perhaps, after a long

delay, he and Alida might yet again meet and be happy.

Traits of glory had painted the eastern skies. The glittering day-star,

having unbarred the portals of light, began to transmit its retrocessive

lustre. Thin scuds flew swiftly over the moon's decrescent form. Low,

hollow winds murmured among the bushes, or brushed the limpid drops from

the intermingling foliage.

The dusky shadows of night fled to the deep glens and rocky caverns of

the wilderness. The American lark soared high in the air, consecrating

its matin lay to morn's approaching splendours.

The woodlands and forest tops on the high hills caught the sun's first

ray, which, widening and extending, soon gemmed the landscape with a

varying brightness.

It was late in the afternoon before Theodore arrived at his father's. He

found his parents contented and happy at their present residence, which

was extremely pleasant, and afforded them many accommodations.

"You have been long gone, my son," said his father: "I scarcely knew

what had become of you. Since I have become a farmer, I know little of

what is going on in the world, and we were never happier in our lives.

We live as independently as we could desire, and realize the blessings

of health and contentment. Our only disquietude is on your account,

Theodore. Your affair with Alida, I suppose, is not so favourable as you

could wish. But despair not, my son; hope is the harbinger of fairer

prospects; rely on Providence, which never deserts those who

submissively bow to its dispensations. Place entire confidence and

dependence on the Supreme Being," said his father, "and the triumph of

fortitude and resignation will be yours." His father paused. His

reasonings, however they convinced the understanding, could not heal the

wounds of Theodore's bosom. In Alida he had looked for as much happiness

as earth could afford, nor could he see any prospect in life which could

repair to him her loss.

Unwilling to disturb the serenity of his parents, he did not wish to

acquaint them with the whole affair of his troubles. He answered, that

perhaps all might yet be well; that, however, in the present state of

his mind, he thought a change of place and scene might be of advantage.

He said, moreover, that he no longer had an excuse, and that

circumstances now compelled him to join the army.

A sorrow unknown before seized upon the minds of his parents as Theodore

repeated these words. Sad and dreadful ideas crowded their imagination

at this gloomy period, when in the war's dread emergency they must risk

the life of an only son, to march to the field of battle. 'Tis true, he

might be again restored to them, but were there not a thousand chances

to one? They were overwhelmed with sorrow at these thoughts, till at

length they finally felt themselves obliged to consent to what they

considered his inevitable destiny, leaving the result of their united

wishes and prayers for his safe preservation to an over-ruling

Providence.

His father then offered him money he had on hand to defray his expenses.

Theodore refused, saying, his resources had not yet left him. He then

disposed of his horses and carriages, the insignia of his better days,

but now useless appendages.

After taking an affectionate leave of his parents, he set out the

ensuing day to join his companions on their route to meet the army,

which was far distant. When hostilities first commenced, Theodore had

said, that when it became actually necessary, and his father's affairs

were settled, he would enlist in the service of his country.

Nevertheless, he journeyed with a heavy heart and an enfeebled frame of

spirits, through disappointment, vexation, and fatigue. The scenes he

had so lately experienced moved in melancholy succession over his mind,

and his despondency had not abated, even in a small degree, when he

reached the army.

He now joined the forces under Colonel Van Renssalaer, "who, with a

detachment of about one thousand men, crossed the river Niagara, and

attacked the British on Queenstown heights. This detachment succeeded in

dislodging the enemy, but not being reinforced by the militia from the

American side, as was expected, they were ultimately repulsed, and

obliged to surrender. Eight hundred British soldiers now came to the aid

of the others, and pressed on to renew the attack. The Americans for a

time continued to struggle against this force, but were finally obliged

to surrender themselves prisoners of war."

The fate of war was hard for Theodore, on his first expedition. He was

taken, and carried among the rest on board a prison-ship, and sent with

a number of others to England.

This disastrous event, however, was shortly followed by one more

fortunate for the Americans. "General Dearborn embarked at Sackett's

Harbour, with sixteen hundred men, on an expedition against York, and

succeeded in the capture of that place.

"York was the seat of government for Upper Canada, and the principal

depot for the Niagara frontier. More naval stores were taken by the

Americans than could be carried away. The government hall was burned,

contrary to the orders of the American general."

CHAPTER XIV.

"See, winter comes," and boisterous on its way,

See darkening clouds obscure the cheerful day;

Its hollow voice is muttering in the gale,

While chilling hail and snow the earth assail.

Some length of time had elapsed since the family had been settled in the

city, and the cool breezes of autumn had changed to the hoarse murmuring

gales of winter. No sound scarcely was heard except blustering winds, or

their whistling murmurs around the angles of the mansion, blended with

the more slow, monotonous cadence of the advancing waves of the Hudson.

The evenings were cold, dark, and gloomy, except when the resplendent

rays of the moon's mild lustre was seen dispensing its light and

cheering influence, dissipating, in a material degree, the dreariness of

the evenings of this inclement season. Winter had commenced, "sullen and

sad, with all his rising train." "Vapours, and clouds, and storms,"

succeeded each other. Instead of copious showers of rain, snow and ice

were spread over the pavement in heavy masses.

One evening as a storm was approaching, and the winds blew tremendously,

and the snow began to fall in abundance, Where now, thought Alida, is

Theodore? though the cold may pierce and storms molest him, yet there is

no friend to sympathise with him in his distress, or to mitigate the

heaviness of his cheerless hours, and shed the rays of gladness over his

troubled mind.

How great the contrast is now with his former fortunes, how severe his

afflictions! He feels not so much the loss of wealth, but he sighs for

the smiles of former associates and friends. She looked upon her finger,

there was the ring he had given her in happier days. This she vowed to

keep and cherish, through every trial and affliction. It was Theodore's

last gift. Where was he now? What dangers he may have encountered, and

what hardships endured! and what might he not yet have to suffer, ere

she should behold him again, if indeed she ever should.

She had not heard from him in a long time. He had promised to write--why

was he not faithful to his promise?

Thus meditated Alida. At length she articulated in a calmer tone, and

her feelings became more composed.

Infinite Ruler of events! Great Sovereign of this ever-changing

world! Omnipotent Controller of vicissitudes! Omniscient Dispenser of

destinies! In thy hands are all things terrestrial, and the condition

of our lives are at thy disposal. The beginning, the progression, and

the end is thine. Unsearchable are thy purposes!-- mysterious thy

movements!-- inscrutable thy operations! Thy will must be done. To

bow in submission to thy decrees, is right:-- for we are unable to

scrutinize the past, and incompetent to explore the future.

Alida had lived retired since she had been in town, although in the

midst of gay scenes of every description. The acquaintance she had made

were few. Her second mother had no relatives there, except her sister's

children, which formed a principal part of her society.

Her oldest nephew was about twenty-five years of age. The personal

appearance of Mr. Bolton was highly prepossessing. He was particularly

distinguished for his genuine politeness, affability, and witticism.

He inherited a considerable patrimony from his grandfather, which proved

to be a disadvantage, as it prevented him from applying himself to any

particular occupation. Since his aunt's marriage, and his acquaintance

with Alida, his visits had become frequent, accompanied with partial

attention; though on her part, indifference was visible, as his earnest

assiduities, were altogether unexpected, and implied a thing she had not

thought of.

No one had as yet observed his growing fondness and predilection for

Alida, except her father, to whom it was by no means pleasing. The

habitual idleness of this young gentleman, caused him in a great measure

to pass over the consideration of his many excellent qualities.

Among those, with whom Alida had become acquainted during her residence

in the city, was the son of an old friend of her father's. This

gentleman had place among the merchants in Broadway, and who, by a long

course of industrious trading had amassed a handsome competency. There

was something peculiar in his air and manner, which distinguished him

among the men of business.

Speak of a person of commanding aspect, tall, slender, and majestic;

quick in step, fluent in speech, with large light blue eyes, and light

hair, approaching a little to the yellow. That was Mr. More. There was a

neatness and uniformity in his appearance and dress. He might have been

known by his blue suit, white vest, and cambric handkerchief. He was

polite and agreeable, and by his associates, he was much esteemed as an

acquaintance. His judgment was mature in regard to his business. He

managed his affairs with prudence and economy, and still stood firm amid

the shock of failures around him.

Though his means were ample, his expenditures were not extravagant;

every thing about him partook of the convenient and useful. Suitably

free from the fashion mania which sometimes attack young people like an

epidemic, he preferred rational pleasures, and the company of a few

young men of liberal views and sentiments, to the empty display and

unsubstantial show, which wins the smile of moneyed plebians.

His general deportment, his countenance and manner, discovered a mind

and disposition, that had always been accustomed to unremitting

indulgence. He was ardent in friendship; possessing a heart of the

keenest sensibility, with a scrupulous regard for the feelings of

others. He had been much in female society--in company with the amiable

and intelligent. Still he had never seen any one that he thought was

possessed of congenial feelings, or whose mind would assimilate with his

own.

When he became acquainted with Alida, his sensations were awakened to a

new influence;--that he did not attempt to banish from his mind. He

never before had seen any one he thought so worthy of esteem, or so

calculated to inspire him with lasting friendship. "The kindness, and

sincerity of her heart, speaks in her artless manner," said he, (as he

was one evening returning home from her father's.) "She delights the old

and captivates the young. Yet her beauty is not so dazzling at first

glance, but every day that she is seen, the more her features charm, the

more her manners please. Innocence dwells in the silvery curls of her

light auburn hair, that waves over her shoulders in simple elegance. She

has been reared with proper care and attention, and educated not to

shine in a ball-room, but with a soft soothing friendship, to dissipate

ennui and gloom, and make the happiness of the domestic circle."

CHAPTER XV.

Come, Contemplation, with thy boundless gaze.

Inspire my song, while I his merits praise,

A true description of his greatness name,

And fame's bright annals, shall record the same.

Many were at this time risking their lives in defence of American

liberty, and privileges;--nor were there at present any prospects of

conciliatory measures between the contending powers. It became necessary

for the people in the meantime, to call forth all their energies and

patriotism, with the utmost exertion on their parts--in support of their

country, in order to maintain the burden of the arduous conflict in

which it was engaged, and sustain the present contest with honour to

themselves, and with the hope that its final settlement might be to the

satisfaction of America, and the future prosperity of the nation.

Many heroes ventured forth to the field of battle, with the ardent

endeavour, still to preserve their independence; while at the same time

the hearts of many were failing them with fear. It was a time for the

patriot to use his influence to animate others anew to bravery, and

persuade them to be zealous, in a just cause; at this season of general

excitement, in which the feelings of the whole community had become

strongly interested. Party spirit, and the conflicting interests of the

different states were found to operate injuriously on many in their

commercial transactions. The people were impoverished by the expenses of

the war. Some were in debt. Creditors resorted to legal measures to

enforce a collection of their demands, which involved many families in

deep embarrassment. Peace was sighed for by the multitude, but there

were yet no signs of its realization. An engagement had just taken place

on Lake Erie. The American fleet was commanded by Commodore Perry,

a young officer; that of the British under Com. Barclay, an old and

experienced officer, who had served under Nelson. After a contest of

three hours the Americans gained a complete victory, and captured every

vessel of the enemy. Commodore Perry announced this victory in the

following laconic style: "We have met the enemy, and they are ours." The

Americans took six hundred prisoners, which exceeded their whole number

engaged in the action. This battle was succeeded, several weeks

afterwards, by another that was alike fortunate, between the American

army under General Harrison, and the British under Gen. Proctor, in

which they were defeated, and Detroit fell into the hands of the

Americans. The success of this action may be entirely attributed, (under

the favour of heaven,) to the abilities and military skill of General

Harrison.

After General Hull had tamely surrendered to the British this important

post, with the gallant force that composed the garrison, an event which

spread consternation far and wide throughout the western country, and

greatly increased the difficulty and arduous nature of Gen. Harrison's

duties, he immediately organized the brave troops under his command, and

commenced a course of rigid discipline, and military trainings, with the

confident hope of retrieving the consequent disasters of this

proceeding.

The American army advanced in order of battle, and were in the immediate

neighbourhood of the enemy; the reconnoitering parties brought in

intelligence of the dispositions Proctor had made, wherein he had

committed an irretrievable error in ranging his regular soldiers in

order, and extending his line by placing the files at a distance of

three or four feet from each other. Harrison, with the rapid decision of

an able general, instantly availed himself of the error of his opponent.

The extended and weakened line of the enemy, could offer but a feeble

resistance to the charge of his gallant troops, who dashed forward at

the earnest solicitation of the people of the territory,--and with the

public expression of the most flattering approbation, on the part of the

chief executive;--till at length they gained a complete victory.

The various and arduous duties of the governor of Indiana, required, for

this office, a man of very superior abilities--one possessed of stern

integrity and prudent moderation, accompanied by the most unwavering

firmness. Such a man Governor Harrison, in the long course of his

administration, fully proved himself to be. And in acting his part as a

general he merits no less the applauses of his countrymen, in training

and leading their armies to victory. The nervous and impassioned

eloquence, and classical felicity of illustration, with which he

enforced his arguments, gained him much applause and influence,--and

discovered his abilities to be of the highest order, blended with the

truest republican principles;--in which were manifested an ardent zeal

for the good of his country, and an earnest desire to serve her best

interests. Though vested with unusual powers, both as governor and

general, he was never known during the whole of his command, to exercise

his authority in an unjust or oppressive manner. His measures were

energetic but always qualified by his characteristic moderation and

humanity, joined with integrity, prudence, and capacity for civil

government. Many high encomiums were lavished upon him by those whose

friends and neighbours had participated in this campaign, and who were

consequently familiar with its details, and with the merits of their

commander.

And Detroit is destined to be remembered, as the place of the battle

ground of one of the most remarkable and decisive actions that took

place during the late war.

Shortly after this action was over, Bonville, who was one among the

soldiers, returned to New-York. He furnished plausible reason, and

obtained a furlough from his commanding officer, for leave of absence.

In the meantime, he thought again to visit Alida; he had at present a

double motive again to address her,--and if he should prove successful,

her expected fortune would make him ample amends for what he had

squandered away in scenes of folly. And if the father of Theodore had

become a bankrupt by misfortune, he had now almost become one by

dissipation and extravagance.

Albert had been extremely busy through the day, and was just returning

home from his store in Pearl-street one evening, when he met Bonville in

Broadway on his way to his father's. He accosted him in a very friendly

manner, and then interrogated him by numerous questions concerning the

family,--and very inquisitively with regard to his sister. Albert made

no reply that gave him any particular satisfaction. When they arrived at

the house, they found no company except Mr. More. Alida was truly

shocked and surprised at this unexpected visit from Bonville, who she

had no idea was in town. After making to her his compliments, and

expressing his pleasure at finding her well, he by degrees drew her into

a conversation which lasted the greater part of the evening. He offered

an ill-timed consolation for the absence of Theodore, and affected much

regret,--although he said his case was not as deplorable as that of many

others, as he was still among the living. That though he was a person he

could not esteem, still he had felt so far interested in his welfare, as

to make particular inquiries how the British were accustomed to treat

their prisoners. He then gave some dark intimations against his general

character, which could not fail to throw over the mind of Alida a deep

dejection.

She was now apprised of the fate of Theodore:--She was unable to

suppress the feelings of sorrow, that these words of Bonville had

excited. She remained silent; wholly engrossed by the confused thoughts

and sad ideas, that arose in succession in her mind, till at length she

became regardless of all around her.

The penetrating eyes of Mr. More were fixed upon her during this

conversation. He seemed wholly insensible to every other object. He was

apprehensive that her heart was insensible to the strong affection that

pervaded his own,--and he thought should she prove incapable of loving

like himself, and should become devoted to another, thoughts he could

scarcely endure,--though they sometimes impressed the idea that she

might never be interested in his favour. Hope would again flatter him

with the pleasing thought, that her bosom may have been fraught with

congenial feelings, and her heart beat with sensations even more fervent

than his own. Her image filled his waking thoughts, and disturbed with

visionary happiness his sleeping hours,--yet it seemed to his devoted

mind the love of merit alone; and he imagined that while she was happy,

he could never be altogether otherwise.

After Mr. More and Bonville had taken leave, and her parents had retired

to rest, Alida remained by the fire-side till a late hour. She was

meditating on recent circumstances, on the many late trying events which

had crowded so rapidly that they could scarcely be said to succeed each

other, and which had given so great variety to her life, that for years

had rolled on in the same peaceful, unvaried course. She felt displeased

at Bonville for his insinuations concerning Theodore, which were

ungenerous and ill-natured,--while he seemed to flatter himself with the

idea that she would become forgetful of him. He had hitherto yielded to

every selfish propensity, without once seriously reflecting on its

consequences to himself or others. His understanding, warped by

prejudice, and without control, often misled him, and the superiority an

elevated station gave him caused him to neglect to practice those better

principles of which his nature might have been capable. His pride would

suffer to see Alida united to another, therefore he was determined not

to relinquish her. He concluded that finally she would look upon

Theodore with indifference, and become favourably disposed towards

himself; while his regard for her should prove unchangeable. That,

unacquainted as she was with the world, she would at length be brought

to accede to his wishes. That his rhetoric operating on her inexperience

would ultimately influence her in his favour.

CHAPTER XVI.

"Dejection pales thy rosy cheek,

And steals the lustre from thine eye;

The minutes of each tedious hour,

Are mark'd by sad anxiety:

"And all thy soft, endearing smiles,

That spoke with such expressive grace,

Alas! are fled, and only care

Is seen upon that pensive face."

The sublime works of nature had shed abroad their cheering influences,

and the mild and salubrious breezes of spring had succeeded to the

blustering gales of winter. The parents of Alida made preparation to

return to the country. Alida's father was declining in health. He had

imparted to his son his wish for him to close and settle his mercantile

affairs in the city, (as the times were dreary,) and return to the

paternal estate. In the meantime, Albert's assistance was necessary to

alleviate his father, as he was now advanced in years, and had

principally relinquished all public business, except attending to its

calls only when requested in cases of emergency.

Mr. Bolton had been with the family several days, and attended them on

board the steamboat. One would scarcely suppose that so interesting an

exterior as his, blended with highly polished manners, should not have

made some impression on the mind of Alida if her heart had been

disengaged. Besides, he was a person too amiable not to be esteemed. His

ideas with regard to Alida were altogether sanguine. He believed, as

soon as he should ask the consent of her parents, he would easily obtain

his wishes. He considered his own fortune already sufficient, without

seeking more in the din of business. And he possessed many other

advantages which pleaded in his favour. With these hopes of assured

success, he made proposals to her father. The manner in which her father

replied to him was altogether discouraging, which excluded the hope of

his ever gaining the hand of his daughter by his consent. This denial

was a sensible cause of chagrin to Mr. Bolton, but yet it did not

discourage him.

The impatience sometimes of obtaining a thing which is refused to us,

renders it still more desirable, and the heart is never in a greater

flutter than when it is agitated with the fear of losing the object it

most wishes to gain. Moreover, he believed that Alida was already

interested in his favour, and he determined to suggest to her, the first

opportunity, the plan to elope with him, and thus put it out of the

power of her father to impede their happiness.

The day was calm and serene, and the air invigorating. The steam-boat

floated slowly upon the waters in monotonous movement. There was music

on board. A company of militia were going to the village of ----, where

they usually paraded the town for several hours, took dinner at the

hotel, and then returned again to the city.

Alida remained on deck nearly the whole way, to be a spectator of the

various, beautiful landscapes that presented themselves on the river,

particularly at this season of the year. A gentle breeze sprung up as

they passed the little islands at the entrance of the bay, on whose

glassy surface the sun shone with meridian splendour, illustrating the

peculiar beauty of the diversified scenery. In the course of a few hours

they arrived at the village of ----, where they obtained a conveyance to

take them on to their family residence, where they arrived some time in

the afternoon.

Although all nature was smiling around, and the variegated landscape

never appeared more enchanting, birds of every description were seen

chirping on the spray, and the trees resounded with their sportive

melody, and Alida might still have been happy if she had never become

acquainted with Theodore; yet while she had the appearance of serenity,

she still cherished a secret uneasiness. She had never received any

intelligence concerning him since they had last parted. She imagined

herself altogether forgotten, as Bonville had frequently suggested.

Besides, he had represented Theodore as worthless. Harrassed and

oppressed by a thousand different conjectures, she could scarcely

support herself under them with any degree of resignation.

In this frame of mind, in serious meditation, she took a seat by the

window. The sun was declining slowly beneath the horizon to gladden

other regions. The spire of the village church was tipped with gold, and

the resplendent rays reflected from the window dazzled the eye. Above

was the azure vault variegated with fleecy clouds; beneath was nature's

verdant carpet. The little songsters of the adjoining grove were paying

their tribute of praise in melodious strains. The bleating of the lambs,

and the lowing of the milky train, re-echoed from the fields and

valleys; while the gentle murmuring of the water-fall at the mill, with

its rumbling cadence over the dam, was heard at a little distance. "How

still is nature," said Alida. "The sun has withdrawn his radiance, yet

the gleam from yonder western sky bespeaks him still at hand, promising

to return with his reviving warmth when nature is refreshed with

darkness. The bay is already beginning to be silvered over by the mild

rays of the queen of night. Gently she steals on the world, while she

bestows on us her borrowed splendour. She lights the wandering

traveller, she warms the earth with gentle heat. She dazzles not the eye

of the philosopher, but invites him to contemplate and admire. Scarcely

a breeze is stirring; the shadow of each tree remains undisturbed; the

unruffled bay and river glide smoothly on, reflecting nature's face.

Again the attention is drawn, and the eye wanders to yon vast concave,

where the mind follows in silent wonder, wandering among the planets,

till, struck with beauty of the whole, it acknowledges 'the Hand that

made it is divine.'

"Surely," said Alida, "all nature conspires to calm the mind, to restore

tranquillity, to soften every care and corroding thought. But what can

ease the troubled mind, which, like the angry sea, after agitation by

blustering winds, 'tis still tumultuous?" Where now, thought she, is

Theodore? What sadness and difficulty may not his noble and generous

spirit have had to encounter! His tender sensibility, his serene and

pacific disposition, may have had numerous trials; and how unhappy he

may be, who was ever ardent in his endeavours to communicate peace and

happiness to others! When she reflected upon all his goodness, his

zealous piety, his religious sentiments the same as her own, and

recalled to her memory happier days, when she had listened with pleasure

to the powerful eloquence of a corresponding spirit. And her esteem for

him rose higher, while he commented on religious truths, and bade her

place a firm dependence on Divine Providence. Amid these uneasy

sensations, which filled the bosom of Alida with anxiety and grief, and

left her mind in a state of despondency, the period arrived for the

celebration of her father's birth-day, which brought with it, as usual,

much company from the city, from the neighbouring village, with the

parish minister and his family.

After her several sisters had arrived, and nearly all the company had

collected, Alida entered the drawing-room with spirits somewhat

re-animated. Bonville was already there. He arose and handed her to a

seat. He accompanied the first salutations with many flattering

compliments, but with all his endeavours to win her favour, he could not

awaken even a temporary regard in the bosom of Alida. In the meantime,

she had full leisure to observe his singular behaviour, to listen to his

insinuating address, to hear him mention the name of Theodore, and when

he observed her feelings were excited, to hear him suddenly change the

subject. He sometimes appeared to regard her with an eye of pity, but it

arose from a consciousness of his own errors, bordering on baseness. He

felt unhappy at his own want of integrity, and his heart reproached him

with injustice and treachery.

CHAPTER XVII.

A polished mien, with elegance of mind,

A winning grace, with taste and sense refined,

A kindly, sympathizing heart, sincere,

The gloomy scene, the pensive thought to cheer.

In a series of events, a period at length arrived, which manifested to

mankind, in a more melancholy degree, the shocking consequences and

devastation of war, the overwhelming sorrow that is brought on families

for the loss of friends, with the discouraging embarrassments attending

all kinds of business.

A severe engagement had recently taken place within half a mile of the

Niagara cataract. General Scott, on his arrival at Niagara Falls,

learned that the British were in force directly in his front, separated

only by a narrow piece of wood. He soon pressed through the wood, and

engaged the British on the Queenstown road. He advanced upon the enemy,

and the action commenced at six o'clock in the afternoon, and continued

with little intermission until twelve at night. The thunder of the

cannon, the roaring of the falls, the incessant discharge of artillery

during the six hours in which the parties were in combat, heightened by

the circumstance of its being night, afforded such a scene as is rarely

to be met with in the history of the wars of nations. The evening was

calm, and the moon shone with lustre when not enveloped in clouds of

smoke from the firing of the contending armies. Taking into

consideration the numbers engaged, few contests have ever been more

sanguinary. The battle was one of the most severe that had been fought

during the war. The British troops engaged in this action amounted to

5000 men; many of them were selected from the flower of Lord

Wellington's army. Colonel Miller's achievement, in storming the

battery, was of the most brilliant and hazardous nature, and entitled

him to the highest applause among the Americans.

The measures of the president relative to the war were of such a nature

as greatly to draw upon him the approbation and gratitude of the nation.

He early began to turn his mind to a contemplation of the general

politics of his country. He, therefore, became advanced in the requisite

qualifications to assume and maintain the important station he held over

it. He had imbibed an attachment for civil liberty almost from his

infancy, which influenced his every action. He was of a pacific

temperament, and pursued those measures as long as they would answer.

But when it became actually necessary for him to recommend to congress

to pursue a different course, it was then that the benefactor of his

country endeavoured to concert measures still to preserve America as an

asylum for civil and religious liberty. He possessed qualities well

calculated to fulfil the duties of his high station with honour to

himself and justice to the community. He was dignified in his

deportment, kind, generous, and condescending; a patron to science;

a uniform promoter of honourable enterprise, but an enemy to every thing

dishonest, hypocritical, and disingenuous. And, as a Christian, he

firmly adhered to the gospel, and regulated his life by its precepts and

injunctions, in a consistent and exemplary manner. This illustrious

president had the good fortune to be blessed with a consort whose

qualifications in her particular capacity were no less adequate to fill

with dignity her elevated station. The parents of Mrs. Madison were

natives of Virginia. Their daughter was educated in Philadelphia among

the Friends. She was, therefore, little indebted to acquired graces and

accomplishments for the admiration and regard which followed her

wherever she was known. To much personal beauty she added a warm heart

and a benevolent disposition--charms and attractions which won for her

not only admirers but friends, and exalted her to high eminence in the

public estimation. Her natural and acquired endowments she carried into

society with such pleasing manners and graceful demeanour, as produced

almost universally an impression highly favourable to herself among the

citizens of Washington. Her society was much esteemed in all the

companies she frequented. Her mental powers were of a superior grade,

and the effects of genuine piety and Christian benevolence distinguished

all her actions. To these she added an amiability of temper, the

polished address of a lady, with a conversation both pleasing and

instructive. Her deportment to all was prepossessing, by the

affectionate manner in which she addressed them separately, and the

interest she manifested in their welfare. In these she showed no

difference between the rich and the poor, and devoted much of her time

to the cause of charity. She was eminently distinguished for her amiable

qualities, and a peculiar versatility of talent in her conversation and

manners. She entertained the numerous friends and guests of the

president with cordial hospitality. She treated her husband's relatives

with regard and kindness; and in the president's house, whenever there

were female guests, Mrs. Madison always presided.

After the president's, the house of the secretary of state was the

resort of most company. The frank and cordial manners of its mistress

gave a peculiar charm to the frequent parties there assembled. All

foreigners who visited the seat of government, strangers from the

different states of the Union, the heads of departments, the diplomatic

corps, senators, representatives, and citizens, mingled with an ease and

freedom, a sociability and gaiety to be met with in no other society.

Even party spirit, virulent and embittered as it then was, by her

gentleness, was disarmed of its asperity.

Individuals who never visited the president's dwelling, nor met at the

other ministerial houses, could not resist the softening influences of

her conciliatory disposition, with her frank and generous manners. She

was constantly receiving and reciprocating civilities in the most kind

and friendly manner with the inhabitants of Washington. The president,

being wholly absorbed in public business, left to Mrs. Madison the

discharge of the duties of social intercourse. And never was woman

better calculated for the task. Exposed as she necessarily was, in so

conspicuous a situation, to envy, jealousy, and misconstruction, she so

managed as to conciliate the good-will of all, without offending the

self-love of any of the numerous competitors for her favour and

attention. Every visiter left her with the pleasing impression of being

an especial favourite, of having been the object of peculiar attention.

She never forgot a name she had once heard, nor a face she had once

seen, nor the personal circumstances connected with every individual of

her acquaintance. Her quick recognition of persons, her recurrence to

their peculiar interests produced the gratifying impression in each and

all of those who conversed with her that they were especial objects of

regard. The house was very plainly furnished, and her dress in no way

extravagant; and it was only in hospitality and charity that her

profusion was unlimited. The amiable and engaging qualities which have

been here described, characterized Mrs. Madison in her husband's public

life. In the midst of the bitterness of party spirit, and the violence

of political animosity, she was mild and courteous to all. The political

assailants of her husband she treated with a kindness which disarmed

their hostility of its individual rancour, and sometimes even converted

political enemies into personal friends, and still oftener succeeded in

neutralizing the bitterness of opposition.

At this period her courage and firmness were put to a severe test. In

August, 1814, the British troops landed forty miles below Washington,

and approached that city. The president left the city to hold a council

of war. Before his departure he anxiously inquired if she had courage or

firmness to remain in their house until his return on the morrow, or

succeeding day. She assured him she had no fear but for him and the

success of the army. When the president reached Bladensburgh he

unexpectedly found the two armies engaged. Meanwhile terror spread over

the city--all who could obtain conveyances fled to the adjoining towns.

The sound of the cannon was distinctly heard, and universal confusion

and dismay prevailed. Some personal friends who remained with Mrs.

Madison, strongly urged her to leave the city. They had her carriage

brought to the door, but could not persuade her to enter it till her

husband should return, and accompany her. And she did not finally depart

till several messengers had been despatched to bid her fly. Much as she

graced her public station, she was not less admirable in domestic life.

Neighbourly and companionable among her country friends, as if she had

never lived in a city, delighting in the society of the young, and never

better pleased than when promoting every youthful pleasure by her

participation;--she still proved herself the affectionate consort,

without neglecting the duties of a kind hostess, and a faithful friend

and relation. She smoothed and enlivened, occupied and appeased, each

varying scene of life. Her husband knew, appreciated, and acknowledged

the blessing which heaven had bestowed on him, in giving him such a

companion.

CHAPTER XVIII.

And many an aching heart at rising morn,

A sad memento of the day that's past,

From long protracted slumbers, slowly drawn;

From wearied spirits--with a gloom o'ercast.

All business of importance, at this time, was in a manner suspended in

New-York; the face of things wore a dismal aspect, and the greater part

of the community were in dismay; occasioned by the continuance of

hostilities with Great Britain. All appeared in a declining state,

discouraging to the industry and best prospects of the inhabitants;--and

although there had been some rumours of peace, it was not yet concluded.

A severe battle had lately taken place at New-Orleans, in which the

Americans were victorious. Another was fought some little time

afterwards on Lake Champlain. The British fleet, with 1050 men

approached Plattsburgh, while the American fleet were lying off that

place. The British fleet bore down upon them in order of battle,

commanded by sir George Prevost, Governor General of Canada. Commodore

Macdonough, the American commander, ordered his vessels to be cleared

for action, and gallantly received the enemy. The engagement was

exceedingly obstinate. After a contest of two hours, the British ships

and several sloops of war fell into the hands of the Americans. Before

sunset the temporary batteries of the enemy were all silenced, and every

attempt to cross from Plattsburgh to the American works was repelled. At

nine o'clock the object was abandoned, and the British general hastily

drew off his forces. Large quantities of military stores were left

behind, and fell into the hands of the Americans.

The people of the United States were at this time divided into two

political parties; one party condemned the war as unwise and

unnecessary; the other contending that the war was just, and necessary,

for the maintenance of national honour. The opposition to the war was

the greatest in the New England states, and during its continuance this

opposition was confirmed. Enlistments of troops were in some instances

discouraged, and dissentions arose between the general and state

governments, respecting the command of the militia, called out by order

of the former, to defend the sea-board. Accordingly the legislature of

Massachusetts appointed delegates to meet and confer with the delegates

from the states of New England, or any of them, upon the subject of

their public grievances and concerns. The delegates met at Hartford,

Connecticut, in 1815, and sat nearly three weeks with closed doors. This

convention consisted of delegates from the state of Massachusetts,

Connecticut, and Rhode Island; two members from New Hampshire, and one

from Vermont. After their adjournment, the convention published an

address, charging the nation with pursuing measures hostile to the

interest of New England, and recommended amendments to the Federal

Constitution. The report of the Hartford Convention concluded with the

resolution providing for the calling of another convention, should the

United States refuse their consent to some arrangements,--whereby the

New England States, separately, or in concert, might be empowered to

assume upon themselves the defence of their territory against the enemy.

The committee appointed to communicate these resolutions to Congress,

met at Washington the news of peace: and owing to this event, another

Convention was not called. And may it never be the fate of America, to

be again involved in hostilities with her mother country, from whence is

derived her revered religion;--each nation possessing towards the other

reciprocal fellow-feelings, becoming Christian brethren.

How shall we to his memory raise

A theme that's worthy to record;

The tribute of a nation's praise

In grateful accents sent abroad.

Let eloquence his deeds proclaim.

From sea-beat strand to mountain goal;

Let hist'ry write his peaceful name.

High on her truth-illumin'd scroll.

Let poetry and art through earth,

The page inspire, the canvass warm,

In glowing words record his worth.

In living marble mould his form.

A fame so bright will never fade,

A name so dear will deathless be;

For on our country's shrine he laid

The charter of her liberty.

Praise be to God: his love bestowed

The chief, the patriot, and the sage;

Praise God! to him our father owed

This fair and goodly heritage.

The sacred gift time shall not mar.

But wisdom guard what valour won,

While beams serene her guiding star,

And glory points to Madison.

CHAPTER XIX.

O, glorious prospect, see the smile benign,

Of heav'n-born peace, refulgent spread its rays;

To peace and concord, may the world incline,

And these our later be our happier days.

Some length of time had elapsed since the parents of Alida had taken up

their residence in the city for the winter, when the news of peace

reached New-York. The cries of peace resounded throughout the city at

these joyful tidings,--and the evening of this day was celebrated by a

splendid illumination. Transparencies, emblematical of the liberties of

the country, were exhibited at all the public edifices. The fine and

melodious music in the Park, drew the people together in crowds within

the inclosure, till scarcely another could enter,--and although the snow

had fallen profusely, and the walking was extremely bad, yet it seemed

as if all the inhabitants, generally, were out, parading on foot, to

witness the general rejoicing.

In the mean time, a visible change for the better took place almost

immediately, and these happy effects shed their benign influence

throughout all ranks of society, and among all classes of the people.

Those who had been in despair on account of the times, had now the

charming prospect before them of returning happiness and prosperity,

when the active scenes of life would again impel the multitude to the

exercise of laudable industry, whereby they might ultimately realize the

success and proceeds attending on an honest perseverance in business.

The country that had been unwillingly drawn into combat had been

victorious, and its inhabitants left in peaceful possession of the

warrior's field. An honourable peace had been concluded, and happy

tranquillity was once more the fate of the American nation.

The miseries and unhappy grievances occasioned by war, were again at an

end, and happily terminated. The cheering consequences of peace again

communicated their happy effects among the people, awakening to their

imagination new hopes and prospects, filling their minds with

exultation, and anticipations the most sanguine.

The painful, unpleasant effects of discord, animosity, and contention,

were now changed to the exercise of those better qualities and

dispositions, more pacific and praiseworthy. The scenes of fury, terror,

and confusion, were succeeded by those of placid serenity. The hours but

a short time before spent in moping melancholy and sadness, in

individual discouragement and wo, were now passed in listening to

musical serenades, in scenes of mirth and festivity. The people whose

independence had been gloriously won, nearly half a century before, by

the superior prowess of a renowned hero,* who, as a general, marshalled

the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence of

experience, and through the vicissitudes of a protracted conflict

displayed a magnanimity that defied misfortune, and a moderation that

ornamented victory.

[* Washington.]

America, already revered in the annals of fame, now saw her rights again

secured to her by the charter of her liberties. With the view before

her of witnessing again the subsequent advantages of free trade and

commerce; while her swelling canvass shall be spread over the seas of

distant nations, and her star-spangled banner shall proclaim to them her

liberty--glory and honour shall kindle in the bosom of the patriot at

the name of her Madison. While the wealth of her commerce, the renown

of her arms, the fame of her philosophy, the eloquence of her senate,

and the inspiration of her bards, shall cause her to emerge from her

horizon, and shine with splendour over the vast expanse of the universe,

claiming from remotest regions the respect due to her superiority. Happy

America! thy freedom is once more ensured to thee, and thy hero has

turned upon the vanquished only the retribution of his mercy.

CHAPTER XX.

Charmed by returning pleasure's gentle voice,

Each waken'd sense with new-born rapture beats;

The adverse heart the welcome stranger greets,

And bids each trembling nerve again rejoice.

The patriotic feelings of Alida's father partook in the general joy and

satisfaction of the community, and he soon turned his attention to

celebrate the event of the late peace with tokens of rejoicing. Numerous

were the company that collected at his house on the day set apart for

this purpose. The dwelling was illuminated, and the guests assembled at

an early hour in the evening on this joyful occasion.

Unaffected pleasure enlivened the scene, and presided throughout the

assembly; light-hearted wit broke forth in a thousand brilliant sallies,

while unfeigned joy heightened the flush on the cheek of youth, and

smoothed the furrows on the brow of age. Nor did the sprightly fair

ones, with the gay young gentlemen, fail to exert themselves to enhance

the present felicity of the company. The gaiety of the scene, the flow

of general joy, the sight of so many happy people, the countenances of

the happy parents in witnessing the innocent mirth of their children,

with the benevolent looks of the noble bestower of the entertainment,

formed altogether a scene which failed not to fill the heart with

sensations the most pleasing and satisfactory.

Mr. Bolton was occupied in attending the ladies generally, while a

genuine witticism occasionally mingling with his discourse, gave one no

mean opinion of his understanding, and increased their admiration of his

talents. He was well calculated to please; there was something

remarkably graceful in his exterior, and he exerted himself this evening

particularly to assist Alida to entertain the numerous visiters.

Bonville endeavoured in various ways to attract attention. He was

extremely humorous and gay, and the whole party was enlivened by his

vivacity. He described the folly of some of the prevailing fashions of

the town with sarcastic pleasantry, and related many anecdotes of the

gay world and fashionable life, interesting to those who had lived in

retirement. Alida could not but listen with some degree of pleasure to

his amusing conversation, and the pleasing allusions he frequently made

gradually drew the attention of the whole company.

Albert selected from the rest an interesting young lady, to whom he

directed the most of his attention, while she, pleased with his

politeness, exerted all her conversational powers to entertain him. His

father was much pleased to see his son endeavour to make himself

agreeable in ladies' society; he thought it augured a good sign, and

would be conducive to meliorate and refine his manners. He had long

wished him to close his affairs of business in the city, and settle

himself on the paternal estate. He was anxious that he should seek out

an amiable companion, of pious principles and exemplary manners, of

genuine goodness and benevolence, in whose deportment was mingled the

rays of mildness, amiability, and cheerfulness; well-meaning towards

all, blended with an unaffected ease and politeness, joined with the

usual accomplishments to complete the character of a lady.

An unusual degree of innocent amusement prevailed throughout the circle

on this evening of general joy, and all were more or less enlivened and

cheered by its salutary effects, except Mr. More, who, in the midst of

music and mirth, remained sad and melancholy; despondent reflections at

times deeply disturbed his tranquillity. In the midst of these scenes of

festivity, he was serious and thoughtful; gloomy ideas would in spite of

himself cloud his imagination, whenever his thoughts foreboded the fear

of losing the only object of his affection.

The elderly gentlemen had a long consolatory conversation on the present

affairs of the country, and their happy termination; the wisdom of the

government and its coinciding regulations, concluding that the late

peace, founded on principles of justice and honour, promised to be

lasting.

These festive scenes of gladness were concluded by a variety of music,

both vocal and instrumental; the powerful influence of which all must

acknowledge; which is alike visible in all places, and in every stage of

society. And while it flings its spell over the gay abodes of pleasure,

it produces likewise its sweet enchantment in the domestic dwelling. The

ladies alternately played the piano, while the gentlemen assisted in

singing, forming altogether a concert of melodious harmony that wakened

the mind to the softest raptures, and threw its bewitching influences

over the imagination, calming all former corroding sensations, and

animating anew all the soft and sympathetic emotions.

Music! wake thy heavenly numbers,

Queen of every moving measure,

When at thy voice all sorrow slumber,

Sweetest source of purest pleasure!

Who listens to thy varying strains,

Will find their bosoms gently sooth'd,

Lulled to repose all cares and pains,

And waked to sympathy and love,

That calms with soft persuasive air

The heart to harmony and peace.

If any grief yet linger there,

But touch thy chords and it will cease.

Who does not feel their bosoms glow,

When the full choir their voices raise,

To the Supreme of all below,

Pour forth their song of ardent praise?

Each heart by sacred impulse driven,

To high exalt his glorious name,

Loud hallelujahs raise to heaven,

And with one voice His praise proclaim.

Then music, queen of every art,

O still thy matchless powers employ;

Since none like thee can peace impart,

And none like thee awaken joy.

CHAPTER XXI.

'Tis true indeed, there's danger in delay,

Then let us speed, and hasten far away;

For what of fear, or what of doubts molest,

When deep affection reigns within the breast.

Several weeks now passed away without any material occurrence, and the

season of the year came round when the winter's snow was passing from

the face of nature, succeeded by heavy showers of rain, and the days had

become more pleasant, because they were something longer. The air was

more salubrious, and invited the citizens to inhale its healthful

draught without their dwellings, where they had been several months in a

manner shut up from the inclemencies of the cold season.

One morning after the family had taken breakfast, they sat talking over

late events and recent occurrences that had varied so materially within

the last three months. In this conversation, they were unmindful of the

hour, until Mr. Bolton, without ceremony, (as was his custom,) entered

the breakfast parlour. After the usual salutations to her parents, and

conversing some time with his aunt, he addressed Alida with his native

pleasantry, relating to her some stories of the satirical order as the

current news of the city. He afterwards informed her of the conversation

between himself and her father, and in what manner the latter had

replied. Alida remained silent, with her eyes fixed upon the floor, as

if revolving in her mind what to say. In the meantime, he did not await

her reply, but entreated her in the most pathetic language to consent to

elope with him, and at all events to unite her destiny with his; at the

same time telling her that implicit obedience to a parent's will, in an

affair that so materially concerned her happiness, could not be

expected, and that her father was much to blame in attempting to control

her liberty of choice; saying, moreover, that after their views should

be accomplished, that he had no doubt whatever of his reconciliation. He

had lately received intelligence of the death of an uncle in Savannah,

who had bequeathed to him his fortune. He was preparing for his

departure thence. He would not, therefore, give up his former project,

and thought to avail himself of this opportunity, (by all the rhetoric

he was master of,) to urge Alida to accept him and accompany him on his

journey. He even proposed whither they should escape from the eye of her

father for the performance of the marriage ceremony.

Alida was truly shocked and surprised at a proposition so unexpected

from Mr. Bolton, after he had known her father's decision. She had never

considered him in any other light than as a brother; and being a

connexion in the family, they had always been on terms of friendly

intercourse. She, therefore, would have avoided this meeting if she

could have had previously an idea of the result.

After he had made to her these several propositions, her displeasure

held her for some time silent, while it affected her mind sensibly.

Nevertheless, she endeavoured to recover herself to answer him in a

decided, and, at the same time, in a manner compatible with her present

feelings. She commenced urging him to endeavour to forget her in any

other light than as a friend. "Can you suppose, Mr. Bolton," said she,

"that I would set a parent's will at defiance, by committing so unwary

an action as to dispose of myself in a clandestine manner, nor could you

again imagine that I would give my hand where my heart has no particular

regard." She scarcely uttered this, and could say no more ere he

conjured her not to shut her heart against him for ever, and entreated

her to permit him still to hope that after a while her compassion might

become awakened to the remembrance of a sincere, true, and constant

heart, which would cause her to heave the sympathetic sigh for one who

could never eradicate her from his memory, even for a moment, or chase

from his bosom the esteem and love that time could neither weaken nor

extinguish. He was extremely sorrowful in taking leave of Alida and the

family, and set out the ensuing day on his journey.

Alida felt unhappy at the earnest importunities of a person she could

not but have some esteem for. She could not fail to admire the superior

powers of his mind. In his conversation, he was all that was agreeable,

entertaining, and improving, which abounded with sallies of wit and

humour, joined to a fund of erudition acquired by a collegiate

education. He was particular to associate only with young men of merit,

talents, and genius. He possessed a native vein of satire, which he

sometimes indulged with much effect; though, however, he had this

dangerous weapon under such thorough discipline, that he rarely made use

of it in a way which gave offence to any. He never accumulated any

wealth by his own exertion, as he thought what he already inherited was

more than sufficient for all his wants. He seemed not to seek for an

abundance, like many others, as necessary to his happiness, thinking

that, with contentment, the peasant is greater than the prince destitute

of this benign blessing, and that a competency, rather than a

superfluity, could convey real happiness to man. He thought, that to the

improper pursuit after happiness could be attributed much of the misery

of mankind; daily he saw dread examples of this serious truth, that

many, in grasping at the shadow, had lost the substance. A near relative

had now been bountiful to leave him a fortune. That, however, he was

thankful for, as it increased his fund for charitable purposes. His

intention was to get possession of this and return to the city of

New-York, to make it his permanent residence.

CHAPTER XXII.

Behold the beauteous scene, to fill the mind with wonder and

delight;--the varied land and water prospect;-- from whence the

arm of Commerce sends her store, to nations far remote;-- adjacent

to a city, that's wealthy, large, and flourishing.

The genial warmth of the air had now animated anew the magnificence of

nature's works, and the verdant scenery of spring decked the landscape

with all its resplendent colouring and variety. As the season advanced,

all classes of people had recourse to their favourite walk on the

Battery, either for pleasure, or as an alleviation from the toils and

cares of business. This healthy promenade drew together a number of the

citizens in the morning, but many more resorted there in the evening,

and a numerous throng here regaled themselves, and rested from the busy,

bustling occupations of the day;--and at the same time were spectators

of the most splendid scene imaginable. When the sun had gone down

beneath a clear horizon, and the moon had risen in silent majesty,

dispensing her light over the unruffled face of the Hudson, decorated

with a numerous sail, representing an inimitable landscape, sublime and

beautiful.

Alida walked out one evening, and repaired thither, attended by Mr.

More. It was six o'clock when they reached the Battery, and a numerous

concourse of people had already collected there. The mild rays of the

setting sun were just visible above the horizon, and cast a soft lustre

over the adjacent landscape, when they entered Castle-Garden to

contemplate more nearly the surrounding scenery.

They seated themselves here, while they discoursed on the beauties of

nature, and the wonders of creation,--descanting on the goodness and

bounty of that ineffable Being, from whom all our blessings flow;--the

continual succession of so many various objects, to fill the mind with

rapture and enthusiasm, and strike us with veneration and awe.

The beauty and mildness of the present season, the copious showers, that

caused the earth to abound with teeming verdure; all of which drew the

contemplative genius insensibly to consider the benevolent purposes, for

which all these varieties are called forth in such abundance, to excite

the gratitude of man, and furnish a perpetual source of pleasure and

delight. "And can we," said Alida, "who are conscious of deriving our

existence from a Being of such infinite goodness and power, properly

entertain other prospects than those of happiness, when we experience so

many blessings daily, to excite our thankfulness."

Mr. More expatiated on the pleasure there must be in passing a tranquil

life with a beloved object, turning his insidious eyes towards Alida as

he spoke; he seemed to say, that she was the being, with whom he could

be able to realize all the exalted ideas he entertained of such a life;

and to point out beauties, and furnish amusement, to a refined taste

like hers, would be to him one of the highest pleasures he could

possibly experience. When he declared to her his esteem and affection,

with his native sincerity, he seemed to be convinced, at the same time,

that she was favourably disposed towards him.

On the contrary, she was evidently much embarrassed at this declaration.

She remained silent, and looked upon him with a degree of pity mingled

with regret; then casting down her eyes, she appeared greatly confused.

She could not make any returns in his favour, and the amiable Alida felt

extremely sorry to give pain or uneasiness to the friend and school

companion of an only brother. She had received him with complacency on

that account, which had served to increase his ill-fated partiality. She

felt that she could not give one word of encouragement, yet she did not

wish to drive him to despair.

The band of music now began to play in the garden. They commenced with

the celebrated air of the Star-Spangled Banner, and continued playing

different pieces for the space of several hours.

As soon as the music ceased, they left the garden to return home, and

all the people now apparently thronged out of the gates with as much

avidity as they had entered them some hours before. When they arrived at

the dwelling of Alida, they found that the time had whiled away, and

that the evening had progressed to a late hour.

On his way home the mind of Mr. More was absorbed in the following

reflections. "When I told her my affection, the blush was diffused over

her cheek--and the tear of sensibility started in her eye. She evinced

her regard by silent expressions, which she has shown repeatedly in many

proofs of interested friendship, accompanied by the softness of her

winning manners, and the engaging mildness of her disposition. Bonville

is her declared admirer--but he may not be a favoured one. Should he

meet with her approbation at any future time, would not his own fate be

wretched, and the universe would become a blank deprived of the society

of Alida, shaded over with the deepest tints of darkness and

melancholy."

CHAPTER XXIII.

O let me view, in annual succession, my children, friends, and

relatives. Those that in friendship's bonds are linked together

by ties of dear remembrance.

The scene was highly animated, and the days were delightfully pleasant,

when Alida returned with her parents to the country. The showers of

April had cleared the atmosphere and revived the earth with a lively

gaiety. The ice in the bay and river had melted away, and the steamboat

had again began its course. The rumbling water-fall was again heard at

the mill, the pensive stream stole its way through the forest,

reflecting from its lucid bosom the light cloud which dwelt in the

air--floating on the gentlest zephyrs. The hills and mountains teemed

with verdure, and the serpentine valleys were shaded by a friendly

foliage. All nature flourished, grew, and expanded, calling forth

ejaculations of gratitude and piety, and boldly declaring that a

celestial Being overshadows us with his providence.

As soon as the family were settled in the country, the parents of Alida

made preparation to call the children together in commemoration of their

father's birthday. When the time arrived for the celebration of this

festive scene, the morning arose with every beauty that could bid fair

for a cheerful day, and the company assembled at an early hour. Bonville

was among those who arrived from the village. He appeared in excellent

spirits, as if some new thought had entered his mind, which had given

him new hopes of success. He informed Alida, in the course of the

afternoon, that he had received intimation from a friend in England,

that Theodore was now living in London. After hazarding many conjectures

respecting him, he then ventured to add that he hoped he had not met

there any new object, to cause him to become forgetful of former

friends. Displeasure was manifest in the countenance of Alida, at this

suspicion, although she feared it might be true. Theodore had promised

to be faithful in a correspondence, and he certainly might have found

opportunities, since the happy change of affairs in the country, to make

some communications to his friends, if he had been so disposed. Again

she thought, as they had been separated by parental authority, that it

might have its influence to cause him to become altogether forgetful;

and her spirits now sunk under the idea of Theodore's inconstancy.

Bonville continued to speak of him with indifference, observing

attentively how Alida was affected. He inquired earnestly if she had

ever received any intelligence from him, during his absence, (as he

thought he might have written to her brother.) She answered him in the

negative. He expressed his surprise, and after giving many dark

intimations of his perfidy, he changed the subject.

Alida was before this extremely pensive and thoughtful, and these

injurious insinuations of Theodore, increased her dejection. She once

firmly believed she had a friend she could lean upon under all

circumstances, and his falsity appeared to her now confirmed. A kind of

gloomy superstition pervaded her mind, an anxious foreboding of future

evil, which all her pious reflections and reasoning powers could not

wholly control. She endeavoured to repress these painful sensations,

when in the presence of her parents; but the eyes of her father

frequently rested on her in filial anxiety. Her brother likewise would

often observe her innate sadness, and whatever his thoughts might be as

to the cause, he was still reserved, and forebore to name any thing to

his sister.

Although Bonville was sometimes conscious of his injustice towards

Theodore, and felt ashamed of his conduct, he was still determined to

proceed with reiterated calumnies, to the ear of Alida, with the hope to

ensure to himself her hand before Theodore would probably return to

America.

L' innocenza a e costretta a sofferire, talvolta le piu crudeli

persecuzioni; ma, con vergogna e con danno della calumnia e della

malvagita, alla fine pur ne trionfa.

The appearance of Bonville was imposing to look upon, his countenance

illumined by seeming sincerity and candour, no one could retain an idea

for any length of time, that was altogether detrimental. To a

treacherous heart, he joined a frankness of manner which amused and

interested every one in his favour. Though no one was ever more careless

of his veracity, yet he carried the appearance of authenticity in all he

said. He had never been used to restraint or disappointment, by the

silly indulgence of his parents, and seemed confident that he should

succeed in all his particular wishes, and thought that all obstacles

could be surmounted by his own machinations and management.

The evening was drawing near its close by a round of innocent

amusements, when a letter was handed Alida from her father, that he had

received from a friend in the city. It contained the unwelcome and

unexpected news of the death of Mr. Bolton, who arrived at Savannah at

an unfavourable season of the year, at a period when an epidemic fever

prevailed. He caught the infection, and a few days terminated the

existence of this amiable and accomplished youth. He was pious,

benevolent and charitable. He possessed a wisdom firm and unchangeable,

strictly adhering to the principles of the church and the Christian

religion, and was steadfast in his opinions against all opposition. He

was deeply regretted by a numerous acquaintance. His aunt mourned the

loss of her favourite nephew, and Alida's father likewise deplored his

premature death, although he had thought proper to oppose his wishes.

CHAPTER XXIV.

There she might read in nature's page the wonders of Creation,

almighty power, infinite wisdom and unbounded might. There truths

that entertain, reward the searching mind, and onward lead

inquiring thought. The curious wonders still unfold, and rise

upon the view. The mind rejoicing, comments as she reads, and

raises still to the Almighty Power increasing homage.

The summer was past its meridian, and had shed abroad its warmest

influences, and enriched the various scenes of nature with the

luxuriance and beauty of its foliage. In the meantime, Alida departed

again from her father's house for the city, to join a party composed of

gentlemen and matrons, Albert her brother, with several young ladies,

who all left the port of New-York for the Falls of Niagara. Her pensive

mind became cheered and animated as the gallant steamer left the shores

of the city and moved majestically over the smooth face of the Hudson.

The morning was extremely beautiful, and she surveyed with a new and

alleviating pleasure, the various and extensive prospect of the

surrounding country. The scenery on the river at this season surpassed

all description, and exhibited a landscape worthy to relate in history.

The borders of the river beautifully interspersed with cottages,

villages, and large flourishing towns, elegant country-seats, with

grounds tastefully laid out, which afforded to the eye of the traveller

a novel and enchanting appearance. They arrived about sunset at the city

of Albany, and took lodgings at Cruttenden's boarding-house, on an

eminence near the Capitol or State-house.

This city, which is situated on the right bank of the Hudson, and stands

westward upon a rising ground, received its name, when in possession of

the English, in honour of James II., who was the duke of York and

Albany. On the following morning they took a walk through the city. In

consequence of its vicinity to the Ballston, Saratoga, and New Lebanon

Springs, in the fashionable season the hotel was so full of strangers

that no more could be accommodated.

Albany has received a new impulse, an increase of commerce, and expects

to reap the most happy results from the Erie canal, which commences

here, and runs a distance of three hundred and sixty-two miles to Lake

Erie. The company took a walk to the new basin, into which the canal

empties. It is separated from the Hudson by a dam which runs parallel

with the river.

On the morning of the 14th of August they took passage on board of the

Albany, one of the canal packet-boats, for Lake Erie. This canal, which

is three hundred and sixty-two miles in length, with eighty-three locks

between the Hudson river and Lake Erie, which lies six hundred and

eighty-eight feet above the level of the former river. The packet-boat

took them from thence to Schenectady. It was covered, and contained a

spacious cabin. On account of the great number of the locks, the

progress of their journey was but slow. The boat was drawn by three

horses, that walked upon a narrow path leading along the canal, and

beneath the numerous bridges which are thrown over it.

The distance from Albany to Schenectady by land is only fifteen miles,

and persons are enabled to travel it in a very short time in a stage

coach, but as they were anxious to see the canal, they preferred going

by water twenty-eight miles.

The city of Troy, five miles and a half above Albany, is pleasantly

situated on the left bank of the river, at the foot of several tolerably

high mountains, one of which is called Mount Ida. There is a branch

canal, which has two locks, and establishes a communication with Troy.

They soon arrived at a place where there were no less than nine locks,

with an ascent of seventy-eight feet. In front, and to the right of

this, is another canal, which unites with the Hudson and the canal from

Lake Champlain. At this place they left the Hudson, and directed their

course along the Mohawk river. During their ride, they observed a

covered wooden bridge, which extends over the latter river, a short

distance from its mouth, and is about six hundred feet in length,

supported by fifteen wooden piers. There was a fine view of the famous

Cohoes Falls of the Mohawk river, seventy-eight feet in height, and

about four hundred feet wide. In the spring, when these falls extend

over the entire bed of the Mohawk, they are said to be extremely

magnificent. During this season of dry weather, they presented a

handsome appearance, though they were very small, the river being almost

completely dried up. Finding great difficulty in continuing the canal on

the right bank of the Mohawk, they were obliged here to carry it to the

opposite side of the river by means of an aqueduct bridge one thousand

one hundred and eighty-eight feet in length. This bridge is supported by

twenty-six stone columns, on which account they have placed a

chevaux-de-frieze to keep off the ice in the river. The canal is cut

through the rocks almost the whole distance, where it runs along the

left bank of the Mohawk, and presents a very handsome appearance. Twelve

miles further on, it returns again to the right bank of the river, by a

similar aqueduct, supported by sixteen piers. Four miles farther on is

Schenectady, where they arrived after sunset. Between this town and

Albany they passed no less than twenty-seven locks. At this place they

left the packet-boat, and found excellent lodgings at Given's hotel,

which, after the great heat they had endured during the day, was

exceedingly agreeable. Early on the next morning they walked through the

town, and visited Union College, which consists of two large buildings

situated at a short distance from the town, upon a little eminence. From

this building there is a beautiful view of the town and of the Mohawk

valley. They left Schenectady early in the morning on board the

packet-boat, which had engaged to take them to Utica, eighty miles

distant, by an early hour the next day. The canal again ran along the

well cultivated valley of the Mohawk, and the prospect of the country,

on account of the foliage of the trees upon the heights, was beautiful.

The village of Amsterdam consists of a few neat houses. The canal is

carried over two rivers, called Schoharie, Canajoharie, from which it

receives the most of its water. At this place the horses were conveyed

to the opposite side of the two rivers by means of a ferry-boat. At the

first ferry is a small village, called Fort Hunter, where at the time of

the revolution there had been a fort, or rather a redoubt of the same

name. Towards evening they passed through a valley, which is formed by

two rocky mountains. There are twenty locks between Schenectady and

Utica. The day was intolerably warm, and the company very much oppressed

by the heat, but in the evening fortunately there was a thunder-shower,

which cooled the air. They passed over an aqueduct bridge during the

night, which stands over a solace called Little Falls. Towards morning

they passed through a well-cultivated region called German Flats, which

was settled by some Germans during the time of Queen Anne. At about ten

o'clock they arrived at Utica, which is intersected by the canal, and is

a large, flourishing town. In fact it is only here that a person begins

to admire the great improvements in cultivation, and gets perfectly new

ideas of the works of man and of his enterprising genius. Utica, on the

right bank of the Mohawk, has two banks and four churches. It has also

several taverns, the largest of which called Shepherd's hotel, they

found excellent accommodations. There were besides many large and

convenient stores, a bookstore, and printing office. The number of

travellers this summer were unusually great, especially from the

southern states.

CHAPTER XXV.

When first beside the lake thy turrets rose,

Extending far around in simple pride,

A novel beauty o'er the landscape throws,

Where gentle waters softly murmuring glide.

At Utica the gentlemen hired a stage to visit the Falls of Trenton,

distant fourteen miles. They were accompanied in this route by a number

of passengers from New-York and North Carolina. They crossed the Mohawk

upon a covered wooden bridge. After this the road gradually ascended to

a forest, which was in part cleared for new fields. At a little distance

from the falls is a tavern, where they left the carriage, and went on

foot through thick woods, from which a pair of stairs conducted to the

falls. The beautiful mass of green around, the azure sky, the large and

variegated rocks, and the three falls, produce a most happy effect. The

rocks of these falls are so excavated by the water, that they have the

form of a common kettle. The upper falls, which are about ninety feet

high, are the grandest. They dined at the tavern, and towards evening

returned to Utica.

The day was fine and pleasant. They regretted that it was too late, upon

their return thither, to visit a hydrostatic lock designed to weigh the

boats which pass on the canal. Having seen enough of the canal, and

being anxious to see the newly-settled country between this place and

Niagara, they continued their journey the next day in the stage coach.

With this intention they left Utica at four o'clock in the morning, and

the same day arrived at Auburn, distant seventy-three miles. They passed

through twelve villages on their route from Utica to Auburn. Between

Manchester and Vernon day dawned, and they found themselves in a rather

wild country, in the midst of a wilderness. Behind the village of

Oneida, the road led along a considerable hill, from which they had a

beautiful view of Oneida lake, which presented the appearance of a large

stream. Here there were a number of extensive prospects, which, however,

as there was but little cultivated land and few houses, were rather

uniform. Something further on, after they had left Oneida, they came to

a small lake, called Salt Lake, which is in the midst of a forest, and

has on its banks three picturesquely situated towns, Liverpool, Salina,

and Syracuse. At Salina are rich salt springs, the water of which is

collected in reservoirs, and it is evaporated by the heat of the sun to

procure the salt. Beyond Sullivan they passed through the village of

Chitteningo. A branch of the Erie canal forms a kind of harbour at this

place. They dined at Manlius, a new village. From the canal, which forms

an angle here, they drove in a southerly direction in order to keep on

the plains. The two Onondago villages are pleasant places.

Beyond Marcellus the night unfortunately closed in, which prevented

their seeing Skaneateles Lake, as well as the town of the same name.

About nine o'clock in the evening they arrived at Auburn, and found good

accommodations at one of the public houses.

At four o'clock next morning they again set out in the stage coach for

Rochester, distant sixty-nine miles. It was just day-light when they

arrived in the vicinity of Cayuga, on the lake of the same name. This

lake empties into the Seneca river, which afterwards unites with the

Mohawk. They crossed the lake, not far from its mouth, on a wooden

bridge one mile in length. On the opposite side of the lake is a large

toll-house. At a short distance from this they arrived at Seneca Falls,

so called in consequence of the little falls of the Seneca river, which

are close by, and are chiefly formed by a mill-dam. Beyond Waterloo the

road in some places was made of logs, so that the passengers were very

disagreeably jolted. Geneva is situated at the north point of Seneca

Lake. The town derives its name from its similarity of situation to

Geneva in Switzerland. The Franklin hotel, situated on the bank of the

lake, is both spacious and beautiful.

Canandaigua, which lies on the north point of the lake of the same name,

is an extremely pleasant town. The court was sitting here, and there was

a large collection of people, so that the town exhibited a very lively

appearance. At this place the road separates, the left goes through

Batavia and several small villages to Buffalo on Lake Erie; the right to

Rochester, and thence to Lake Ontario and the Falls of Niagara. And as

this road again approaches the Erie canal, it was said to be the most

interesting; on this account it was given the preference, though the

longest route. They left Canandaigua in the afternoon, and rode through

Victor, Mendon, and Pittsford, to Rochester. They arrived at Rochester

at half-past eight o'clock in the evening, and took lodgings at the

Eagle tavern. They crossed the Genessee river, which divides Rochester

into two parts, on a wooden bridge built firmly and properly, and the

next morning walked through the town. Several hundred yards below the

bridge the Genessee river is about two hundred yards wide, and has a

fall of ninety-five feet. Above the falls is a race which conducts the

water to several mills, and it again flows up into the river below the

falls, where it forms three beautiful cascades.

Rochester is one of the most flourishing towns in the state of New-York.

At this place the Erie canal is carried over the Genessee river by a

stone aqueduct bridge. This aqueduct, which is about one hundred yards

above the Genessee Falls, rests upon a slate rock, and is seven hundred

and eighty feet long.

The party now left Rochester at nine o'clock, and went on board the

canal packet-boat Ohio. The canal, between Lockport and Rochester, runs

the distance of sixty-three miles through a tolerably level country, and

north of the Rochester ridge. This ridge consists of a series of rocks,

which form the chain of mountains which commences north of Lake Erie,

stretches eastward to the Niagara river, confines it, and forms its

falls; then continues its course, and forms the different falls which

are north of Lake Ontario, and is at length lost in the neighbourhood of

the Hudson. The canal runs a distance through sombre forests, when they

reached Lockport on the 20th of August, about seven o'clock in the

morning. At this place the canal is carried over the ridge by five large

locks, through which the water is raised to the height of seventy-six

feet. The locks are ten in number, being arranged in two parallel rows,

so that while the boats ascend in one row, they may descend at the same

time in the other.

Lockport is an extremely pleasant place, and is situated just above the

locks. At Lockport they took a dearborn for Buffalo, where they were

anxious to go, in order to see the union of the canal with Lake Erie.

Though a good stage runs between Lockport and the Falls of Niagara, they

went in this bad vehicle five miles to the navigable part of the canal.

They then took passage in a boat at Cottensburgh. At this place also,

the canal is cut through a rock to the depth of about thirty feet. About

two or three miles farther on it terminates in the Tonawanta creek,

which serves as a canal for twelve miles. The creek is about fifty yards

wide, and runs through a dense and beautiful forest. At the new town of

Tonawanta, the creek unites with the Niagara river, where the sluice

leads off. At this place also Alida and her company had the first view

of the Niagara river, which conveys the waters of Lake Erie into Lake

Ontario, from the other extremity of which flows the St. Lawrence. In

this river they observed Grand Island. During the late war, the Niagara,

it is well known, formed the boundary line between the United States and

the British provinces in Upper Canada, and this island bore testimony of

the conflict.

CHAPTER XXVI.

From war's dread ravages again is seen,

A spacious town, and Buffalo the name,

Now rising from its ashes, spreads around.

Various new structures fill the empty ground.

From Tonawanta to Buffalo is eight miles, five of which they travelled

on the canal which runs along the bank of the Niagara river as far as

Black Rock.

Buffalo was burnt during the late war by the British, but it appeared to

be already rising from its ashes with increased beauty.

This town will soon become an important place, in consequence of its

situation near the mouth of the canal, and its harbour. At the entrance

of the harbour is a light-house, and on the lake were seen a number of

well-built vessels. A steam-boat called the Superior was ready to run

with fifty passengers to Erie, and thence to Detroit. There was an

amusing military spectacle. It consisted of a military parade,

consisting of thirty men, including seven officers and two cornets. They

were formed like a battalion into six divisions and performed a number

of manoeuvres.

On the following day, 21st August, the company left Buffalo for the

small village of Manchester, twenty-three miles distant, and situated on

the right bank of the Niagara, near the falls. As far as the village of

Tonawanta, the road passes along the canal. It was in a very bad

condition, cut through the forest, and the trees thrown on the road

side. On the left they had a view of the river and Grand Island. The

river is more than a mile wide below the island. On the Canada side is

the village of Chippewa. From this place, a distance of three miles,

they could already see the rising vapours of the falls. The water,

however, indicated no signs of the approach to the precipice. It is only

a short distance from Manchester, where you perceive the lofty trees on

Goat Island, with its heights situated in the midst of the falls, that

the river becomes rocky, and the rapids commence; these form a number of

small falls, which are nearly a mile long and the same in breadth,

running as far as where the two great falls are separated by Goat

Island.

At Manchester they took lodgings at the Eagle Tavern, and hastened

immediately to the Falls; their steps were guided by the mighty roaring.

In a few minutes Alida and her company stood near the precipice, and saw

before them the immense mass of water which rushes with a tremendous

noise into the frightful abyss below. It is impossible to describe the

scene, and the pen is too feeble to delineate the simultaneous feelings

of our insignificance on the one hand, with those of grandeur and

sublimity on the other, which agitate the human breast at the sight of

this stupendous work of nature, which rivals that of all other

countries, in grandeur, beauty and magnificence. We can only gaze,

admire and adore. The rocks on both sides are perpendicular, but there

is a wooden staircase which leads to the bed of the river. They

descended, but in consequence of the drizzly rain which is produced by

the foam of the water, they had by no means so fine a prospect from

below as they anticipated. On this account, therefore, they soon again

ascended and satisfied themselves by looking from above upon this

sublime and majestic sight. As they returned, full of these mighty

impressions, to the Eagle Tavern, they found to their great joy a fine

opportunity to speak of the grandeur and magnificence they had just

beheld. There was another party just arrived from New-York, to render

homage to this great natural curiosity.

In company with these gentlemen and ladies, they took a walk to

Goat-Island, by a convenient wooden bridge, thrown over the rapids about

seven years since. The first bridge leads to a small island called

Bath-Island, which contains a bath-house; the second to Goat-Island,

which is about one mile in circumference, and overgrown with old and

beautiful trees.

On Bath-Island a person may approach so near the American falls as to

look into the abyss below. From the foot of the falls you can see

nothing of the abyss, inasmuch as every thing is concealed by the smoke

and vapour. On Goat-Island a person may in the same manner approach the

Canadian falls in the centre of which is a semi-circular hollow, called

the Horse-shoe, and here the noise is still more tremendous than on the

other side. The vapour which rises from the Horse-shoe, forms a thick

mist, which may be seen at a great distance. To look into the Horse-shoe

is awful and horrible. Nor can this be done but at the instant when the

vapour is somewhat dissipated. You stand like a petrified being. The

level of Lake Erie is said to be five hundred and sixty-four feet above

that of the sea, and three hundred and thirty-four feet above the waters

of Lake Ontario. Lake Ontario is consequently two hundred and thirty

feet above the level of the sea. From Lake Erie to the rapids the water

has a fall of fifteen feet, in the rapids fifty-seven feet, and

according to a recent measurement, the falls on the American side are

one-hundred and sixty-two feet high. From this place to Lewistown the

river has a fall of one hundred and four feet, and thence to Lake

Ontario, of two feet.

The next morning they made another visit to Goat Island. They afterwards

descended the stairs to the river, which they crossed in a small boat,

at a short distance from both falls. The bed of the river is said to be

here two hundred and forty-six feet deep. The current passes beneath the

surface of the water, and does not again become visible till after a

distance of three miles. On the Canada side you have a much better view

of the falls than on the American, for you see both falls at the same

time. There is on the Canada side a covered wooden staircase, which they

ascended, and approached the falls, amidst a constant drizzling caused

by the falling water. The sun threw his rays upon the thick mist and

formed a beautiful rainbow. Another winding stair-case leads down the

rocks near the falls, under which you may walk to the distance of one

hundred and twenty feet; several of the gentlemen went in, but according

to their report, they could not see any thing. They were contented,

therefore, to behold the falls from Table rock, which almost overhangs

them. A part of this rock gave way several years ago and fell down the

precipice, and the remaining part is so much undermined by the water,

that it will probably soon follow. The whole distance from the American

to the British shore is fourteen hundred yards, of which three hundred

and eighty belong to the American falls, three hundred and thirty to

Goat-Island, and seven hundred to the Canada or Horse-shoe falls. On the

British side, opposite to the falls, are two taverns, in the larger of

which, Forsyth's Hotel, they took lodgings until the next day. During

the late war a bridge was thrown over the river about one mile above

this tavern, which, together with a mill, was burnt by the Americans on

their retreat from the battle of Lundy's Lane. A few years ago a burning

spring was discovered here. It is surrounded by a cask, and contains

cold water of a blackish appearance, and of a sulphurous taste. Within

this cask is a small vessel which has a pipe at the upper end. If a

lighted candle be held within a foot of the mouth of this pipe, it will

instantly produce a strong flame, similar to a gas-light. In the

neighbourhood of Forsyth's Hotel is the only point from which you have a

full view of both falls at the same time, which, however, is often

interrupted by the ascending vapour.

On their return to the American shore, they examined a camera obscura,

which is situated at the head of the American stair-case, and was built

by a Swiss. This gives a tolerably good view of the falls. Afterwards

they took a ride to the Whirlpool, which is three miles down the

Niagara, and is formed by a kind of rocky basin where the river runs

between narrow rocky banks. It is singular to see this confusion of

water, whose appearance cannot be better described than by comparing it

with the flowing of melted lead. The lofty rocks which form the banks of

the river, are beautifully covered with wood, and present a stately,

majestic appearance. In the evening they again went to Goat-Island in

order to view the falls by bright moonlight; in this light they produce

a peculiarly beautiful effect, which is greatly heightened by a

moon-rainbow.

The following day both parties went to the other side of the river, and

took lodgings at Forsyth's Hotel.

High on Hyria's rock my muse repose,

While I wild nature's direful scenes disclose,

Nor let wing'd Fancy's bold creative aid,

Paint beyond truth what nature's God has made;

Inspir'd by him let every flowing line,

Describ'd correctly, through the numbers shine.

Fed by a thousand springs and purling rills,

Ocean's internal, the wild torrent fills.

Lakes Michigan, Superior, there we see,

Concent'ring Huron's flood with proud Erie:

The awful stream its wond'rous course began,

Roll'd the rich flood before the date of man.

From Buffalo to Chippewa bends its course,

Full eighteen miles, with calm and rapid force,

By Grand Isle passes, where its stream divides,

Whose circling course, majestic, downward glides.

Meets then again a verdant island long,

Gathers the weeping brook, and swells more strong,

Widening the swift high-mounted torrent flies

Like lightning bursting from the thund'ring skies.

The time-worn cliffs, retiring to their source,

Shews countless ages it has run its course.

The Schlosser fall eight hundred ninety-two

Will count the feet how broad this current grew.

Two thousand with two hundred crescent line

Will the full breadth of Horse-Shoe Fall define.

The little fall, with width of seventy-three,

Will tell whence Neptune feeds his hungry sea.

Tumbling one hundred sixty feet, they all

Make one loud groaning in Niagara Fall.

Thick hov'ring mists in mountain vapours rise,

Bright colour'd rainbows gild the azure skies.

The dazzled eye, fill'd with the novel blaze

Beholds, astonished, their refracted rays.

Nor ends the awful scene, till down the view,

Through the dark gulf, these boiling floods pursue.

Their course 'tween mountain rocks, which form the shore,

Through which, tremendous raging billows roar.

Until they form a bay, where tide-worn trees,

In conflicts wild rage round the whirlpool seas:

Huge splintered logs here twisting round and round,

With many a turn before they quit the ground;

At length escaping from the circling tide,

Side-long slide off, and with a bouncing glide,

Head-long adown through rapid streams are toss'd,

Until in wide Ontario's lake are lost.

Neptune thus roused leaves now the wat'ry plain,

To seek the source from whence he holds his reign.

Full in the view of this tremendous scene,

Adjacent here, a table rock is seen;

Where love-sick swains in clambering groups repair,

Conducting tim'rous nymphs with anxious care:

'Dew'd with the spray, the wild'red eye surveys,

The rushing waters shout their Maker's praise.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Revolving years have since rolled on apace,

Since patriots here, convened to form we're told,

The school to train the military band,

And Putnam's fortress still we may behold.

The season was now far advanced. Alida and her brother felt uneasy at

being so long separated from their father. The rest of the party were

anxious again to see their friends in the city. After tarrying a few

days at Forsyth's Hotel, they determined to proceed on their way back

again to New-York without delay.

They therefore concluded to travel soon, and visit Lake Champlain to its

southern extremity, then to Saratoga, Albany, taking the Catskill

mountains by the way, and inspecting the famous military school of West

Point.

The greatest breadth of Lake Champlain, which contains several large

islands, is six miles. The shore on the right, belonging to the state of

New-York, is low and covered with trees; the other belongs to Vermont,

and is more mountainous. As night approached, they were prevented from

beholding this beautiful part of the country; and were also, with

regret, prevented from seeing the battle-ground of Plattsburgh, at which

town the vessel made a short stay during the night, and then proceeded

to Burlington, in Vermont, and towards morning passed by the ruins of

Fort Crown Point, which lie on a hill.

At this place the Lake is very narrow, and resembles a river. The shores

are generally covered with bushes and pine trees, are hilly, and afford

a pleasing prospect. They now pursued their journey as far as Lake

George, and arrived at the village of Caldwell. The shores of the Lake

are very hilly, the heights are all covered with trees, and are not

above eight hundred feet high. There are several islands in the lake,

generally covered with wood, and the scenery around is very handsome.

The level of the lake is about three hundred feet higher than that of

Lake Champlain. The stream which flows from the former into the latter

lake, forms, in its course, a succession of small cascades.

They left Caldwell at eight o'clock the next day, in two inconvenient

carriages, and passed through a very uninteresting, deep, sandy road, in

a hilly part of the country, covered with thorny trees, on their route

to Saratoga Springs, to which the whole fashionable world of the United

States repair in summer, and the fashionables have here the same mania

which prevails in other countries, to visit the baths in summer, whether

sick or well. The distance is twenty-seven miles. On their passage was

seen but one interesting object, the Hudson falls, which river they had

left at Albany, and reached again nine miles from Caldwell, coming from

the west.

These falls are, however, under the name of Glenn's Falls. A village of

the same name is built in their vicinity, on the rocky shores of the

river. The principal fall is forty feet high. These falls are not to be

numbered among the largest, but among the handsomest in the United

States. A constant mist arises from them, and, as the sun shone very

brilliantly, several rainbows were seen at the same time. In the rock,

as at Niagara, were some remarkable and deep cavities. At the base of

the small island which divides the chief fall into two parts,

a remarkable cave appears below the falls, leading to the other side of

the rock. The Hudson is partly navigable above Glenn's Falls, and two

miles farther up, feeds a navigable canal, with thirteen locks, which

runs seven miles north of the Hudson, and there joins Champlain canal.

The party arrived at Saratoga at two o'clock in the afternoon, and

stopped at Congress Hall. The greater part of the company had already

departed, among those who remained was the governor of the state of

New-York. They were introduced to his Excellency. The gentlemen

conversed with him freely, and found him intelligible and refined, and

scientific in his conversation.

In the evening the company assemble in the large hall in the lower

story, and pass away the time in music, dancing or conversation, where

they witness all the politeness, refinement, and hospitality that

characterize the Americans.

The waters of the different springs are generally drank, but baths are

also erected. High Rock spring flows from a white conical lime-stone

rock, five feet high. The water is seen in this spring in constant

agitation. So much fixed air escapes from it, that an animal held over

it, as in the Grotto del Cane, near Naples, cannot live above half a

minute.

In a few days they left Saratoga Springs, in a convenient stage, to go

to Albany, thirty-six miles distant. They passed through a disagreeable

and sandy country. The uniformity was, however, very pleasingly

interrupted by Saratoga Lake, which is eight miles long.

At the small town of Waterford they passed along the left shore of the

Hudson on a long wooden bridge, to avoid a bad bridge over the Mohawk.

They proceeded on their route in the night on a very good road, and

passed through Lansingburgh and Troy. The latter is very handsomely

built, and many stores were very well lighted up in the evening. Here

they returned to the right shore of the Hudson, and reached Albany at

ten o'clock at night.

At eight o'clock next morning they took passage on board the steam-boat,

to go down the river as far as the town of Catskill, at the foot of Pine

Orchard. The company ascended the mountain, which is twelve miles high,

in stages. They reached Pine Orchard a little before sunset. The

building on the mountain for the accommodation of visiters, is a

splendid establishment. Alida was truly delighted with the landscape it

presented in miniature; where large farms appeared like garden spots,

and the Hudson a rivulet, and where sometimes the clouds were seen

floating beneath the eye of the spectator.

The next morning they again took the steam-boat at Catskill to go to

Hudson, twenty-seven and a half miles from Albany, which they reached

about noon. This city appears very handsome and lively. On the opposite

side of the river is Athens, between which and Hudson there seems to be

much communication kept up by a team-boat. A very low island in the

middle of the stream between the two places, rendered this communication

somewhat difficult at first, as vessels were obliged to make a great

circuit. To avoid this inconvenience, a canal was cut through the

island, through which the team-boat now passes with ease and rapidity.

This place affords a very fine view of the lofty Catskill mountains.

They left the city of Hudson in the afternoon, and arrived at West Point

at eleven o'clock at night, on the right side of the Hudson, and landed

at a wharf furnished with a sentry-box. An artillerist stood sentinel.

They were obliged to ascend a somewhat steep road in order to reach the

house which is prepared for the reception of strangers. The building

belongs to the government, and is designed for the mess-room of the

officers and cadets. The purveyor for this table is bound by contract

with the government to keep several chambers with beds in order for the

reception of the relations of the cadets.

The morning after their arrival, the gentlemen paid an early visit to

lieutenant-colonel Thayer, superintendent of the military school, and

were received in a very friendly manner. He had presided over this

school several years. Colonel Thayer has entirely remodelled this

institution, and very much improved it.

The cadets, whose number may amount to two hundred and fifty, are

divided into four classes for the purposes of instruction. They are

received between the ages of fourteen and twenty, and must undergo an

examination before they enter.

Instruction is communicated gratuitously to the cadets, each of whom

receives monthly eight dollars from government as wages.

A public examination of the cadets takes place every year at the end of

June, by a commission appointed by the Secretary of War. This commission

consists of staff officers from the army and navy, members of Congress,

governors of states, learned men and other distinguished citizens. After

this examination, the best among those who have finished their course

are appointed as officers in the army.

The cadets live in two large massive buildings, three stories high, and

are divided into four companies. The institution possesses four

principal buildings. The two largest serve as barracks for the cadets,

a third contains the mess-room, and the fourth the church. A large level

space, consisting of several acres, lies in front of the buildings,

forming a peninsula, and commanding the navigation of the Hudson, above

which it is elevated one hundred and eighty-eight feet. Towards the

river it is surrounded by steep rocks, so that it is difficult to

ascend, unless by the usual way.

The party now ascended the rocky mountain on which are to be seen the

ruins of Fort Putnam. The way led through a handsome forest of oak,

beech, chestnut and walnut trees. The fort occupying the summit of the

mountain, was erected in an indented form, of strong granite, and is

altogether inaccessible on the side next the enemy. It had but a single

entrance, with very strong casemates. It was built on private property

during the revolution; the owner of the ground claimed it, and

government were obliged to restore it. The government afterwards

acquired the ground on which West Point stands, as well as the adjoining

heights.

A very fine view one may have from Fort Putnam of the plains of West

Point and of the Hudson river. The view to the north is particularly

handsome, in which direction Newburgh, lying on the river, is seen in

the back ground.

A band of music, paid by the government, belongs exclusively to the

cadets, and is said to afford the best military music in the United

States.

The party generally regretted leaving this agreeable place, where they

had been highly gratified during their short stay. They took passage on

board the steamboat Constitution, bound to New-York, sixty miles

distant.

They were now again on their way to one of the most flourishing cities

in the United States, which attracts a great part of the commerce of the

American nation. They came into the vicinity about sunset, and at eight

o'clock in the evening they landed in New-York. Leaving their friends in

the city, Albert and his sister took passage in a stage coach next

morning, and journeyed in a short time as far as the village of ----,

and from thence proceeded on to the residence of their father.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Ah! now again all my sensations move to see a parent, and I sigh

once more to meet the kind caresses of a father--and weeks seem ages

in this separation.

The feelings of Alida were those of boundless joy to meet again her

parents, after an absence from them which appeared long to her.

She was grieved to find her father had suffered much from indisposition

during her absence. She endeavoured in vain, by every soothing

attention, to recall him again to health and happiness. His malady

increased daily, and he became a prey to infirmities, which at length

confined him to his room.

The gladsome sensations of Albert were changed soon to those of

melancholy, when he saw that his father was affected with a serious

illness, and dejection supplied the place of more happy and animated

feelings.

Alida, for several weeks, scarce left the apartment. One morning she

perceived that he had altered very materially for the worse. It was only

at intervals he could converse with her, and then his conversation was

calculated to give her fortitude and resignation, and prepare her mind

for an approaching melancholy event, which, whenever she received the

least hint of, her grief was inexpressible.

Her father observed her emotion. "Alida, my dear child," said he, "do

not be alarmed, as I appear much worse than I am in reality at present;"

but she had drawn these words from the physician that morning, that his

malady had increased greatly since the day before. Perceiving a visible

change in his appearance, she scarcely left the room of her father till

a late hour, when he, perceiving her almost fainting with fatigue,

requested her to retire to rest. Albert supplied the place of his

sister, and remained with his father, while the affectionate care of his

only surviving son was grateful to the bosom of a fond parent.

The slumbers of Alida were broken, and fearing to leave her father too

long, she arose very early next morning to attend him. He was evidently

much worse next day, which was Sunday, and intimated that he wished all

the family sent for. He then requested Alida to read some passages in

the bible, as was his daily custom.

"'Leave thy fatherless children to me and I will be their father,' what

words of consolation are these," said he, "what transport do they convey

to the heart of a parent, burthened with anxiety. Yes, divine Disposer,"

he exclaimed, "I will, with grateful joy, commit my children to thy kind

care and protection."

When the physician made his morning visit, as he was going to take

leave, Alida asked his opinion. He shook his head, and seemed to give no

hopes of recovery.

Her father requested her to be seated by the bedside. "My child," said

he, "I wish to discourse a little with you. And could I again see

Theodore, how gladly would I now receive him. I have deeply injured

him," said he, "and my child too; and have inflicted a wound still

deeper in my own bosom. I have often considered his piety and worth. His

moral character was all that it should be. Superfluous wealth is not

necessary to ensure earthly felicity, but a competency and contentment

therewith, is all that is necessary to happiness."

"Do not renew your sorrows, dear father," said Alida, "what is past is

beyond recall. Let us confide in a just over-ruling Providence, that

disposes all material events for the wisest purposes." Her tears flowed

in abundance, as her looks rested upon the visage of her father, and

deep distress was depicted in her countenance.

"My dear child," said her father, "weep not for me, think that rest must

now be acceptable to the weary traveller, whose hopes are centred in the

Redeemer, (as the only name under Heaven, whereby we can be saved,) and

can leave the world in the joyful anticipation of receiving those

inestimable blessings, in a life to come, which the Gospel promises to

every true believer."

He had scarcely uttered these words, when he sunk almost senseless upon

his pillow. The greater part of the family now assembled round him. The

physician came and gave no hopes of recovery. He faithfully watched over

him the whole evening and a part of the night, and about twelve o'clock

his family had the sorrow and misfortune to witness the distressful and

trying scene. Their father was no more.

The distress, fatigue and agitation of Alida, could no longer be borne

with, and for many weeks she was confined to her room. The loss of her

parent and the terminating scene, had left her in deep affliction: all

repose seemed fled forever, and bitter anguish had succeeded, and taken

up its residence in her bosom. Reflections rose in her mind continually,

that her situation had been heretofore comparatively happy, to what it

at present afforded. An illness of short duration had suddenly deprived

her of a very dear father, and she now felt herself a lonely, dejected

orphan.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Could I trace back the time, a distant date, since my ancestors

traversed these fields, and held possession of this wide domain.

The melancholy event had taken place, and Albert had lost his father.

His heavy and heartfelt affliction could not at this time be alleviated,

and his mind was involved in gloom and sadness, which he endeavoured in

vain to dissipate.

He was now deprived of the kind hand of a parent, who had used his

endeavours to lead him in the way he should go, from his infancy: and

assisted him with a kindly advice, and supplied him with a timely

experience, and in the wisdom of whose salutary council, he could now no

longer repose.

He felt himself deprived of this kind assistant, whose precepts had been

his guide ever since the first dawning irradiations of reason had began

to appear, to enlighten his mind, and with the eye of vigilance watched

over him, endeavouring to trace out his good or evil propensities, and

to point to the particular advantages on the one hand, and the baneful

effects on the other, and to train his ideas to whatever was most

commendable, and praiseworthy.

Albert had ever evinced a disposition pleasing to parental hopes and

wishes, and flattering to a fond father's most sanguine anticipations.

He was ever cheerful in complying with whatever he considered his duty,

and conformable to the will of his interested parent.

He now revolved in his mind, and reflected what had heretofore been his

particular wishes. It had long been the wish of his parent, that he

should close his business in New-York, and settle himself on the

paternal estate. He, therefore, was diligent in his endeavours to do

this, as soon as his spirits would in any wise allow him to attend to

these affairs, and at the commencement of the ensuing spring, he happily

terminated his business in the city, and returned to the country.

The remembrance of his father for a long interval of time was in every

object around and about the mansion, in which he was established, and

reminded him of his bereavement, and he was affected with sorrowful

meditations, and a borrowed serenity was manifested in his appearance.

He reflected on his present condition,--he would say, how desultory is

the happiness of man, he lays plans of permanent felicity, when the

whirlwind of affliction arrives, and destroys the towering edifice of

creative hope, and his schemes of contentment are changed to

disappointment and wo.

He had taken possession of the paternal estate, which had for some years

been the wish of his father. Like him he was fond of rural pleasures and

amusements, and to dissipate care amid the diversified scenes of rustic

life, afforded him satisfaction and pleasure.

To contemplate the inimitable works of Creation, was to him no less

pleasing than instructive. Where so many objects arrest the attention,

and afford abundance of entertainment, equally calculated to raise in

the human breast the most unfeigned offerings of wonder, gratitude and

praise to the great Dispenser of benefits to mankind, and the Author of

universal existence.

The magnificence of the celestial, and the curiosity and variety of the

vegetable world, that have properties which, if accurately seen, yield

inconceivable astonishment to the eye of the beholder, and confess alike

the happy influence of the Deity. It charms in all the genial warmth and

softness of spring, when the earth teems with a matchless splendour,

when its green hues and universal verdure come forth in all their

pristine elegance and enchanting attractions, which constantly afforded

the contemplative mind of Albert, an inexhaustible variety of

entertaining and useful lessons.

In the meantime his new station in life called him to new

responsibilities, and a new field of action, unknown to him before,

presented itself, wherein he must act in many different capacities. He

was naturally of a domestic turn of mind, and had always declined

entering into the constant routine of engagements, to which the most

part of the fashionable world, more or less, subject themselves. He

avoided all excess and extravagance, in every respect, in which people

of this description lose the greater part of their time. He was

extremely fond of walking, as he considered gentle exercise the best

medicine of life, and he passed much of his time in strolling over the

fields or in the forest glen, amid the green wood shade, wrapped up in

solitary reflection.

When the sun was gilding the western hemisphere, and the day shone in

all the mildness of the season, enveloped in serious thought and

reverie, Albert walked forth among the surrounding shades. "Happy, ye

freeborn sons of Columbia," said he, "liberty and plenty now bless your

domestic retirements,--War, devastation and wide-wasting rapine have

fled your peaceful shores. No dread of destruction to disturb your

uninterrupted tranquillity; the exercise of laudable industry can again

bring home to each family competency and repose." The clear cerulean sky

added a soft beauty to the adjacent landscapes, as he listlessly

wandered along the beach. The idle murmuring of the waves upon the sandy

shore, the confused gabbling of the waterfowl, and the near view of the

full-spread vessel majestically advancing over the white-capped billows,

that advanced and receded in gentle monotony, tended to soothe the lone

bosom to calmness and quietude.

The day ended, and calm evening drew on. The silver rays of the

full-orbed moon shed a majesty on each surrounding object. The scene

appeared in solemn grandeur; the dusky forest reflected a yellow

radiance; and the rolling wonders of the heavens glittered over the

head, while awful stillness reigned, interrupted only by the strains of

the night-bird, whose melodious notes served to soothe the heart to

harmony.

Albert returned home with a leisurely step, his feelings were raised in

devotional gratitude to that beneficent Being, on whom we depend for

every present and future felicity, and who had surrounded us with so

many blessings, that conspire to compose the mind to calmness and

serenity.

CHAPTER XXX.

Ceux qui ne sont gens de bien qu'en apparence--sont obliges de

se contraindre, beaucoup, et de garder de grandes mesures, afin

de passer pour se qu'ils ne sont pas.

Alida ruminated on her lonely situation. She reflected on former days,

and the many happy hours that had gone by for ever, when the roses of

health had arrayed her cheeks, and gay thought had filled her fancy, and

every object was decked with the charms of fascination, when her heart

was unacquainted with sorrow, and experienced serenity and happiness

without alloy. She deplored the loss of a kind father; in him she was

deprived of a friend, who could never be again supplied to her, and in

whose society her mind was in a constant progressive state of

improvement. His filial affection, his kindness, his watchful endeavours

for her welfare, were evinced by a careful anxiety and pains to

enlighten her mind with those qualities and acquirements, that would be

most conducive to enlarge her sphere of usefulness in life, and furnish

her with the means of rational pleasure, and to blend with her personal

appearance the more fascinating charms of a well-improved understanding.

She mourned his loss at a residence where every object recalled him

continually to her remembrance. She was wholly absorbed in melancholy,

and amid these sad ideas that agitated her bosom alternately, Bonville

arrived from the neighbouring village, and her attention was for a time

diverted, and she was relieved from a train of painful reflections. Her

brother had a long conversation with him respecting Theodore, and

wondered how it happened that his friend Raymond had never received any

intelligence from him.

Bonville seemed much embarrassed at these observations of Albert, and it

was some length of time before he made any reply. Then biting his lips,

and putting on an air of displeasure, he said that he had actually

thought of going to England himself, to trace him out, and ascertain the

cause of his strange conduct. Then assuming a look of insignificance,

accompanied with several speeches in double entendre, he remained in

sullen silence.

The conduct of Theodore certainly, thought Alida, is mysterious and

singular, and his long silence is truly unaccountable, and the idea of

ever meeting him again with these different impressions, that at present

bore sway over her mind, agitated her greatly. In happier days, when her

hopes had rested on him in full confidence, she thought herself

sufficiently strong to bear every other evil; but to be assured of his

inconstancy, was an idea she could scarcely endure.

Although Albert might decidedly be called a person of discernment, still

he had not yet fully discovered the deceptive powers of Bonville, whose

many evil propensities were in a manner concealed, by a condescending

courtesy and affability; though his mind inherited ill-nature and

sarcasm in the extreme.

The sprightliness of his manners, mingled with a certain degree of

humour and generous sentiments, occasionally mingling with his

discourse, threw a veil over his imperfections, and excited one's

admiration.

Albert thought him ungenerous for many scandalous assertions concerning

Theodore, and he still hoped he might again arrive on his native shores,

and be able to answer all suggestions to his disadvantage.

Alida had never discerned his real character, therefore she reposed full

confidence in all he said. His behaviour to her was respectful, and his

exterior extremely prepossessing. He appeared all goodness and

benevolence, and ever expressed the most generous sentiments towards

those he pretended to censure.

These deceitful appearances were joined with a semblance of piety; and

he could at any time make himself appear to advantage, by the display of

a variety of superficial knowledge. He was proud to excess, as if he

really possessed qualities to be proud of. One would scarcely suppose

that such a person could be capable of true attachment, but so it

certainly was; that knowing the many imperfections of his own nature,

caused him more deeply to revere the opposite qualities in Alida, and

the idea of shortly gaining her hand, carried his senses to such a pitch

of enthusiasm, that it would not be thought strange to suppose, that the

disappointment of his pride would overwhelm him with lasting dismay.

The superior excellence of Theodore furnished a mark for the calumny of

Bonville, supposing his own success depended on the disparagement of the

other. Thus envy is usually led to asperse what it cannot imitate; and

the little mind scandalizes the pre-eminence of its neighbour, and

endeavours to depreciate the good qualities that it cannot attain to.

Thus the distempered eye is impatient of prevailing brightness, and by

attempting to observe the lucid object, inadvertently betrays its own

weakness; and persons of their unhappy complexion, regard all praises

conferred upon another, as derogatory from their own value. And a person

without merit may live without envy; but who would wish to escape it on

these terms!

CHAPTER XXXI.

May he again return, and with him bring

A soft serenity on pleasure's wing;

While anxious fears, and doubt, shall disappear,

The heavy mists of gloomy thought to clear.

The scenes of solitude were now more pleasing to Alida than ever. She

loved to wander through the shady grove and lonely valley, and adapt

their retirement to her own particular situation. She would often stray

as far as the cottage or the farmhouse, at a little distance, and would

sometimes take the winding path through a beautiful piece of wood which

led to Raymond's, where the thick foliage formed a grateful shade.

There she would indulge herself in solitary thought. "How changeable are

all things terrestrial," said she, "the varied year has its seasons, and

winter and summer are constantly in pursuit of each other. The elements

are frequently disturbed by storms and tempests, so, in like manner, is

the human breast at intervals troubled and discomposed, and often

remains overshadowed with pensive sadness and cheerless reverie; and

these desponding ideas must continue to have influence over the mind,

till the sunshine of reason and religion kindly dispels the gloom, and

awakens anew the feelings of the heart to the rays of hope and more

enlivening sensations." She had just returned home one afternoon from

Raymond's, when her brother, who had been absent on business to the

city, drove up the avenue, accompanied by Mr. More.

Albert informed his sister of the arrival of Theodore. She almost

fainted at the intelligence, so unexpected: and although she wished of

all things, to learn all the circumstances attending his absence, yet

she dreaded the event, to behold him again, fearing the truth of

Bonville's suggestions.

In the midst of these thoughts and fears, Theodore alighted at the

house, and was shown by the servant into the drawing-room.

Theodore, regardless of all around him, as soon as he beheld Alida, he

grasped her hand, exclaiming with rapture, "Has the period at length

arrived, and am I indeed once more so happy as to meet again my

much-esteemed and long-lost friend."

Alida gazed on him in silence. He saw her extreme agitation, and after

they were seated, he observed more particularly her altered appearance.

What surprise and grief was manifest in his countenance, when he saw the

paleness of her cheek, and the roses that once spread their healthy hue

over them, now seemed fled for ever. In a length of time, she became

somewhat more composed; but in what light to consider Theodore, she yet

did not know, and former ideas still clouded her imagination.

At length she assumed sufficient courage, to ask him, why he had not

thought proper to inform any of his friends of the circumstances

attending his absence.

Theodore could scarcely remain silent while Alida was speaking; he was

surprised beyond all description at what he heard. "Can it be possible,"

said he, "that you have missed of information concerning me, when I

delayed not to inform you of all my movements, every opportunity I had

to convey intelligence." He then informed her that the letters had been

sent to Raymond, and those for herself were enclosed, and committed to

his care; and through this channel, he had related minutely all the

various trials and circumstances attending his unexpected journey, and

the cause of his protracted stay. Alida was evidently convinced, and

appeared again assured of the truth of her lover. The energy with which

he spoke, his agitated feelings, joined to the distress visible in his

countenance, convinced her of his sincerity, at least caused her to

doubt, what a few moments before appeared so incontestible: and her

present happiness fully compensated for the lengthy period of distress

and anxiety she had experienced.

Albert was delighted at the return of Theodore, and highly gratified in

his hopes, to find in his early friend, still the man of honour he had

ever considered him. He had never once mentioned his name to Alida

during their separation; although his thoughts often revolved on the

unhappy result of their acquaintance, and the future welfare of his

sister.

Mr. More was a silent spectator of this joyful meeting. He now beheld

the person who had been so happy as to win the esteem and affections of

Alida, a person that he had heard spoken of, though it had appeared that

he never expected to see.

He witnessed the happy meeting. Sighs and tears from this time were his

only companions, while his aspect pourtrayed nought but anguish and

utter despair. He looked upon this happy pair as already united. He shed

tears of evident anguish, when he took leave of Alida, and his looks

told her it must now be forever.

The evening was not far advanced, when Bonville, who was altogether

ignorant of Theodore's arrival, unexpectedly made his appearance. Struck

with the utmost consternation at seeing him, he involuntarily receded a

few paces, then suddenly advancing, as if recollecting himself, he gave

him his hand with seeming cordiality.

The natural politeness and civility of the other supplied the place of a

more cordial reception.

Ten thousand fears at once agitated the bosom of Bonville, while he

appeared half frantic with grief and apprehension. Dismay threw a sudden

cloud over his understanding; he was confused in the extreme. He had

intercepted all the letters of Theodore; he secretly reproached himself

for his treacherous conduct.

He now saw the termination of all his hopes. Disappointment he could not

brook, his pride could never submit to it with any degree of

resignation, and the bitterness that pervaded his mind, almost bordered

on phrenzy.

His conscience reproved him for reiterated misrepresentations and

calumnies of Theodore, with which he had harrassed the mind of Alida. He

knew that a discovery must now be made of his perfidy, and on his return

home to the village, he was confined to his room with a sudden illness,

succeeded by a dangerous fever.

CHAPTER XXXII.

O, time! roll on thy wheels, and bring around the period, when

social joy shall smile before me; when in the vernal day of life,

or evening serene, I grow of one dear object more and more

enamoured; while my remembrance swells with many a proof of

interested friendship.

The present situation of Albert was happily independent. The prolific

soil of the estate, on which he lived, furnished him with an ample

abundance. The prospect that surrounded him was inimitably beautiful,

and the peculiar advantages of his eligible situation, was the

admiration of the stranger who frequented the vicinity, or resorted in

the summer season to the neighbouring village.

Albert had descended from an ancient family, he had an estate to

preserve, but not an entailed one, as was the case with many of his

family, at this time in England.

He was a gentleman, placid, humane and generous; altogether

unacquainted with that ambition which sacrifices every thing to the

desire of fortune, and the superfluous splendour that follows in her

train. He was unacquainted with love too, the supreme power of which

absorbs and concentrates all our faculties upon one sole object. That

age of innocent pleasure, and of confident credulity, when the heart is

yet a novice and follows the impulse of youthful sensibility, and

bestows itself unreservedly upon the object of disinterested affection;

then, surely, friendship is not a name. Albert, during his abode in the

city, had associated with ladies of rank, beauty and accomplishments. He

was a general favourite among them; he had been flattered, courted and

caressed, but none had the power to fix his attention. Since his return

to the country, he had been frequently invited to assemble among the

artless villagers, decorated in their own native beauty, assisted

sometimes for ornament with the spoils of Flora. Health, pleasure and

naivette, was in the air of these charmers, and all that was pleasing to

win his regard and esteem. These scenes of rural pleasure, these social

parties, were adapted to his taste. In comparison of which the gay

assemblages of the city had been formerly uninteresting; and he had been

heard to say, that whenever his mind should become fixed, his choice

would be some lady who resided in the country.

Although Albert experienced a degree of happiness and contentment

unknown to many, in his present situation, yet he sometimes felt himself

very lonely.

Alida was anxious that her brother should look out for a suitable

companion; if he could be fortunate enough to find one that was amiable

and sensible, and whose actions should be under the influence of genuine

piety; one who would be ambitious to preserve domestic sunshine, by the

goodness and equanimity of her disposition; who would have a tear for

distress, a heart for friendship and love, exerted in benevolence and

charity, and in the mean time have a care to the good order and

arrangement of domestic duties and economy.

Albert often descanted in conversation with his friends, on the general

neglect of female education, which consisted of a few trifling

embellishments, while those of the more substantial order were left out

of the question. He thought that young ladies generally were not

sufficiently learned in the solid branches, to exercise their mental

powers to advantage, or to be agreeable, intelligent companions.

"If it be true," said he, "that our pleasures are chiefly of a

comparative or reflected kind, how supreme must be theirs, who

continually reflect on each other the portraitures of happiness,

whose amusements

"Though varied still, are still the same

In infinite progression."

"How tranquil must be the state of that bosom, which has, as it were,

a door perpetually open to the reception of joy or departure of pain, by

uninterrupted confidence in, and sympathy with, the object of its

affection!" "I know of no part of the single life," said Albert, "more

irksome than the privation we feel by it, of any friendly breast wherein

to pour our delights, or from whence to extract an antidote for whatever

may chance to distress us."

"The mind of a good man is rather communicative than torpid. If so, how

often may a person of even the best principles, expose himself to very

disagreeable sensations, from sentiments inadvertently dropped, or a

confidence improperly reposed. What but silence can be recommended,

since, in breaking it, so much danger is incurred among those who are

little interested in our welfare? A good heart, it is true, need not

fear the exposition of its amiable contents. But, is it always a

security for us, that we mean well, when our expressions are liable to

be misconstrued by such as appear to lay in wait only to pervert them to

some ungenerous purpose?"

"The charms, then, of social life, and the sweets of domestic

conversation, are pre-eminent. What more agreeable than the converse of

an intelligent, amiable, interesting friend; and who more intelligent

than a well educated female? What more engaging than gentleness and

sensibility itself? Or what friend more interesting, than one we have

selected from the whole world, as a companion in every vicissitude of

life?"

"If either party be versed in music, what a tide of innocent pleasure

must it prove, to be able to soothe in adversity, to humanize in

prosperity, to compose in jargon, and to command serenity in every

situation? How charming a relaxation from the necessary avocations of

business on the one hand, and the employments at home, in domestic

affairs, on the other! And as a finale, to chant the praises of the

Almighty in hymns of praise and thanksgiving."

Albert had lately made several visits at some distance from home, where

he had told his sister, were several young ladies, who were very

agreeable. Alida did not think this of any importance, as she knew her

brother heretofore had been difficult to please. She was one day rather

surprised, when he wished her to accompany him thither. She declined the

invitation, however, not thinking he wished it for any particular

reason.

In the course of a few days he pressed her again to go with him. Alida

now thought she would accompany him, if it was only out of curiosity.

When they arrived at the house of Albert's new acquaintance, several

ladies were introduced one after the other, and Alida soon found, that

one of them had arrested the attention of her brother particularly. She,

however, thought him rather premature, as he had so recently become

acquainted with the family. On their return home, he gave her to

understand, that his affections were engaged, and in the course of a few

months, she was called on to attend their nuptials.

The appearance of Eliza was interesting; she was tall and graceful. Her

large dark hazel eyes sparkled beneath a beautiful arched eyebrow, and

her transparent complexion was shaded and adorned by profuse locks of

dark brown hair.

In the meantime Albert appeared perfectly happy, that he had at length

found a fair one to please him, and shortly after he returned home with

his bride, with sanguine expectations before him, anticipating much

future happiness.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"On punit plus severement un ennemi par le mepris et par l'oubli,

que par les chatimens les plus rigorieux: c'est, pour ainsi dire,

le reduire au neant."

The disagreeable facts so long in detail, had now taken a new turn for

the better, and Theodore and Alida were again in possession of more than

former felicity, after their long separation. Alida soon began to

recover in some degree her native cheerfulness, soothing the bosom of

her lover with her grief-dispersing smile. The unpleasant fears that had

such a length of time harrassed her mind, were now happily terminated by

the return of Theodore and the clearing up of all doubts and suspicions

concerning him, to the utter confusion of Bonville. All her corroding

anxieties were now removed, and recent events had made her happy in

comparison to what she was a few weeks before, and her present

consolation fully compensated for all the preceding months of

unhappiness.

Theodore was again happy in the society of Alida, the pensive sweetness

of her manner, her innate goodness, and amiability, which had attracted

and secured the early affections of his heart, and made impressions that

could never be obliterated. He gave a minute account of all that had

happened, from the time they had parted until they had met again.

He had visited the merchants in England with whom his father had been

concerned in business, and he found as he expected, that he had been

overreached by swindlers and sharpers. The pretended failure of the

merchants with whom he was in company, was all a sham, as, also, the

reported loss of the ships in their employ. The merchants had fled to

England; he had them arrested, and they had given up their effects to

much more than the amount of their debts. He therefore procured a

reversion of his father's losses, with costs, damages and interests,

when legally stated.

Theodore then made his next visit to Raymond's. His friends were

joyfully surprised at his arrival. He stayed the night and related a

long narrative to his friend. Early next day he proceeded from thence to

his father's house, where he arrived after a considerable journey.

Theodore found his parents more happy than he expected. With abundant

joy they welcomed him whom they had given up for lost.

Theodore then related to his father all the incidents that had happened

in England, minutely particularizing his conduct with regard to the

merchants with whom his father had been connected, and then presented

him with the reversion of the estate.

The old gentleman fell on his knees, and with tears streaming down his

cheeks, offered devout thanks to the great Dispenser of all mercies.

In the meantime, the illness of Bonville had increased to an alarming

degree. He sent for Theodore. He thought it his duty to attend the

summons. When he arrived at the house of Bonville he was shown

immediately into his apartment. He was surprised to see him stretched on

a mattrass, his visage pale and emaciated, his countenance haggard, his

eyes inexpressive and glaring. He held out his hand and feebly beckoned

to Theodore, who immediately approached the bed-side.

"You behold me, Theodore," said he, "on the verge of eternity. I have

but a short time to continue in this world." He evidently appeared to

have suffered much from the remembrance of his ungenerous conduct

towards Theodore.

"I have caused much unhappiness between you and your Alida," said

Bonville, "to which you will scarcely think it possible that I was

designedly accessory." He then confessed to Theodore that he had

intercepted his letters, and begged his forgiveness. "I could say much

more on the subject would my strength admit," said he, "but it is

needless." Here Bonville ceased. Theodore found he wanted rest; medical

aid had been applied, but without effect. Theodore then left him,

promising to call again next morning.

He was startled at the confession of Bonville; he felt at first

indignant, and meditated what course to pursue. After due reflection,

he at length made the decision.

His devotions to Alida he did not wonder at. The pride of parental

attachment and nature had graced her with every charm and

accomplishment. He at length determined to cast a veil of pity over the

actions of Bonville, and not to upbraid him, but to treat his past

conduct with silent contempt, and endeavour as far as possible, to bury

the remembrance of his errors in oblivion. He called to see him next

morning; he perceived an alarming alteration in his appearance. He was

cold--a chilling sweat stood upon his face, his respiration was short

and interrupted, his pulse weak and intermitting. He took the hand of

Theodore and feebly pressed it. He soon fell into a stupor; sensation

became suspended. Sometimes a partial revival would take place, when he

would fall into incoherent muttering, calling on the names of his

deceased father, mother, and Alida. Towards night he lay silent, and

only continued to breathe with difficulty, when a slight convulsion gave

his freed spirit to the unknown regions of existence. Theodore attended

his funeral, and then journeyed on to the dwelling of Albert. He

informed Alida of the death of Bonville, and of his confession.

At the mention of Bonville's fate, she sighed deeply. "It is true," said

she, "he has perplexed me with many vain fears, by misrepresentation,

but could he have lived, I would freely have forgiven him."

He evidently fell a victim to disappointed pride and remorse at the

remembrance of his own baseness.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

In the Almighty Power he placed his trust,

Through all the changing scenes of deep distress;

His fortune now is better than before;

Again the Omniscient Hand has deigned to bless.

Theodore's father was soon in complete re-possession of his former

property. The premises from which he had been driven by his creditors,

were yielded up without difficulty, to which he immediately removed. He

not only recovered the principal of the fortune he had lost, but the

damages, with the interest; so that, although like Job, he had seen

affliction, like him, his latter days were better than the beginning.

Like him, he reposed faith and confidence in his Maker, who had secretly

supported him in his misfortunes; and who now, like a cheering sun

dispersing the surrounding gloom, again gladdened his heart with

returning peace and prosperity. Wearied of the business of life, he did

not again enter into its affairs, but placing his money at interest in

safe hands, he lived retired on his estate.

It was also the decided choice of Theodore and Alida to reside in the

country. The calm and serene pleasures of retirement were particularly

interesting to both, and they were now supremely blest in each other's

society.

The parents of Theodore rejoiced at their present happiness, and took

upon themselves the necessary preparations for their nuptials, which

were to take place as soon as all was in readiness for this happy event.

No cross purposes stood ready to intervene, to disturb their repose or

interrupt their tranquillity. It was at that season when nature was

arrayed in her richest ornaments, and adorned with her sweetest

fragrance. Silk-winged breezes played amidst the flowers, and birds of

every description carolled their song in varying strains. The air was

clear and salubrious, and the scene enchanting.

And now, reader of sensibility, indulge the pleasing sensations of thy

bosom, at the approaching union of Theodore and Alida. To our hero and

heroine, the rural charms of the country furnished a source of pleasing

variety. Spring, with its verdant fields and flowery meads--summer, with

its embowering shades--the fertility of autumn, with its yellow

foliage--winter, with its hollow blasts and snowy mantle, all tended to

fill their bosoms with sensations of pleasing transition.

Their religious principles were the same. They were a constant

assistance to each other in the fulfilment of their pious duties, truly

endeavouring to follow the life of the Redeemer, who taught by his

example and practice, what he required of us. Assiduously cultivating

those innate Christian principles and perfections, best calculated to

promote the praise and glory of God, and whereby we may obtain the

everlasting favour of that ineffable Disposer of all things, in whom we

live, and move, and have our being.

But soon a mournful shade was thrown over their peaceful tranquillity

and happy anticipations; and manifest was their grief, when they

received the dreadful intelligence that Mr. More had committed suicide.

At the news of this rash and sinful action, they were thrown into an

abyss of sorrow, the painful remembrance of which, for a long time,

threw a dark and melancholy cloud over their felicity.

It is to be regretted that a spirit of religion and philosophy had not

been more duly exercised in the mind of Mr. More, that at length by

patience and resignation, he might have been brought to see how vain and

transitory are all these things; and thereby have been led to look for

permanent happiness to a nobler source.

POEMS.

HYMN.

O Thou, Creator of my frame,

Thy righteous pow'r display;

May'st Thou direct my wand'ring ways,

Nor let me ever stray.

Thy mercy still to me impart,

And thy blest spirit give;

Kindly sustain my drooping hopes,

And all my strength revive.

Guide me by Thy protecting hand,

Incline the will to thee;

Endue me with Thy heav'nly grace,

From earth's allurements free.

May true devotion in my breast

Still fix my thoughts on heaven;

While I the song of tribute raise,

For every blessing given.

CHRISTIAN INSTITUTE.

"Be doubly blest th' auspicious day

The edifice was plann'd;

And may immortal gifts repay

The founder's lib'ral hand:"

Angels with joy beheld it rise,

To train immortals for the skies.

How sweet to mark the artless throng,

To hear the ingenuous youth,

Raise with one voice the infant song,

And learn the word of truth.

"Delightful work his path to trace,

Who died to save our ruined race."

"Now, Fancy, o'er life's little span

Glances her busy eyes,

And sees them bear the name of man,

Industrious, good, and wise:"

Bids them each useful art employ,

Anticipates their future joy.

With ardent zeal some students may

From hence arise and shine,

To wipe the orphan's tears away,

And heal with balm divine;

"With winning eloquence to tell,

What glories in Emmanuel dwell."

Some of the little ones may live

To adorn their country's name;

"Indulgent heav'n by them may give

Fresh lustre to her fame.

Some may the blessed Gospel bear,

To distant lands, and plant it there."

And many to this favour'd spot,

On God's eventful day,

O happy, enviable lot,

Grateful shall point and say,

"There--there--to us the bliss was given,

To seek and find the path to heaven."

FRIENDSHIP.

"Oh, give me the friend, from whose warm, faithful breast,

The sigh breathes responsive to mine;

Where my cares may obtain the soft pillow of rest,

And my sorrows may love to recline."

Not the friend who my hours of pleasure will share,

But abide not the season of grief;

Who flies from the brow that is darken'd by care,

And the silence that looks for relief.

Not the friend who suspicious of change or of guile,

Would shrink from a confidence free;

Nor him who with fondness complacent can smile,

On the eye that looks coldly on me.

"As the mirror that's just to each blemish or grace,

To myself will my image reflect;

But to none but myself will that image retrace,

Nor picture one absent defect."

To myself let my friend be a mirror as true,

Thus my faults from all others conceal,

Nor ever when absent those foibles renew,

"That from heav'n and from man he should veil."

TO MARIA.

If sense and complacence their charms combine,

To make each grace with double lustre shine--

If mind serene, and innocently gay,

Makes life compare with an unclouded day:

And piety thy guide, whose gentle pow'r,

To calm each thought, and brighten ev'ry hour;

Then thou, Maria, much esteem'd must be,

These happy traits are all combined in thee.

THE SUN.

Splendid orb of living light,

That wakes the world from silent night,

Still warm this dark opaque domain,

Thou brightest of the solar train.

"When the soft cooling show'r descends,

And to the earth its moisture lends."

When murky clouds obscure thy way,

And part exclude thee from the day,

Ah, yet again wilt thou revive,

And o'er the globe thy lustre give;

Yet shall thy beams "from day to day,

The great Creator's power display;"

And thy resistless radiant blaze,

"In silent fervour muse his praise."

THE VOICE OF TIME.

Did we e'er mark the budding rose,

And see its fragrant sweets disclose,

Observe it grow from day to day,

Till full perfection crowned the spray.

Then straight we see it fade apace,

And lose each vivifying grace;

And ev'ry balmy leaf we find,

Is shortly given to the wind.

Watch, then, says Time, each hour you live,

Nor with ill deeds my spirit grieve;

From first beginning is my birth,

And for your good, ye sons of earth;

O, fill the Father's high behest,

And lead the way to heav'nly rest;

For all below must soon decay,

And, like the rose, must pass away.

In Memory

of

MRS. WILLIAM RICHARDS.

Where late was gladness, when the morn arose.

And cheerful musing, on the evening's close,

Serenest pleasure dwelt with gentle sway,

And peaceful slumber closed the joyful day.

Where now, alas! affliction's deepest sigh,

Is heard around in mournful symphony;

A mother's tears are shed in bitter wo,

And in despondency her sorrows flow:

While sad vibrations agitate the breast,

And friendship's voice is heard in deep distress.

'Tis past--the sigh is breathed, the tear is shed,

And Anna's number'd with the silent dead.

She was all goodness--gen'rous was her mind,

Warm with benevolence to human kind:

O'er the dark mind to pour instruction's ray,

And lead the ignorant in wisdom's way;

With patient zeal the Christian's path to smooth,

And wide diffuse the genial light of truth.

One lonely bosom breathes a deeper sigh,

Connected by a near, and dearer tie:

With him she trod the late delightful road;

For him her heart with friendly fervour glow'd.

He'll ne'er forget how many social hours

Derived new joy from her soft, soothing pow'rs.

Can he upon the scenes look back unmoved,

When pious converse still the hours improved;

While fancy, led by hope, the theme pursued,

And future happiness in prospect view'd.

Fancy, where now are thy illusive dreams?

Faded thy visions bright, with golden gleams;

_Friendship_, thy hope's, untimely fled away,

And _this_ the last sad tribute we can pay.

Our _loss_ demands--_receives_ the mournful strain,

Let sounds of triumph celebrate her gain;

The spirit 'scaping from its bonds of clay,

Traces, with angel guides, the lucid way;

Exalted notes from harps celestial rise,

And kindred spirits hail her to the skies.

INVOCATION TO PRAYER.

Morning.

To prayer, to prayer; for the morning breaks,

And earth in her Maker's smile awakes.

His light is on all, below and above;

The light of gladness, and life, and love;

Oh, then, on the breath of this early air,

Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.

Evening.

To prayer; for the glorious sun is gone,

And the gathering darkness of night comes on:

Like a curtain, from God's kind hand it flows,

To shade the couch where his children repose;--

Then pray, while the watching stars are bright,

And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night!

Sabbath.

To prayer; for the day that God has blest,

Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest;

It speaks of creation's early bloom,

It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.

Then summon the spirit's exalted powers,

And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours!

Subscribers' Names

Allison, Mr.

Allison, Miss Elizabeth,

Allison, Miss Mary,

Allison, Henry,

Alfa, John,

Alfa, Miss Victorine,

Bradford, Hersey,

Blake, Mrs. Ira,

Burke, Miss Julia A.

Brooks, Miss Margaret,

Brown, T.

Belknap, J.

Belknap, Miss Anna,

Belknap, Miss Mary,

Brown, Miss Sarah B.

Blackwell, S.

Broom, Mr.

Bosworth, Mrs. Charlotte,

Bosworth, Miss Clementina,

Clayton, Mrs. Mary,

Clayton, Miss Emma,

Covert, Miss Mary,

Clarkson, Mr.

Colgate, Miss Catharine,

Crosby, Mrs. J.

Crosby, Mrs.

Clement, Miss Elizabeth,

Clement, Mrs. Mary,

Clement, Miss Sarah E.

Clement, Miss Mary,

Collins, Charles, Governor of Rhode Island.

Douglass, N. A.

Delaplane, Mr.

Ely, Mrs. Ann,

Everson, Miss,

Everson, Mrs.

Elliott, James,

Elliott, Mrs. Elizabeth,

Foster, Miss Martha C.

Filby, T. E.

Frances, Edward,

Frances, Miss Anna,

Ferris, J.

Ferris, Miss Ann Eliza,

Ferris, Miss Amanda,

Gracie, Mrs. Anna,

Gillett, Miss Mary L.

Garretson, G. R.

Griffin, Mrs. L.

Gracie, Mrs. William,

Greenoak, Samuel,

Goodwin, Rev. F. J.

Greenwood, Mrs.

Glover, Mrs.

Glover, Miss,

Hamilton, Miss M. T.

Hazard, Rowland R.

Herriman, James, Esq.

Hatfield, Mrs.

Higby, Washington,

Higby, Mrs. Washinaton,

Hobbs, Mrs. Helen M.

Hasell, Mrs.

Hackett, Mrs.

Hawks, Rev. Doct.

Howland, Mrs. Gardenfer,

Hardenbrook, Mr.

Hardenbrook, Miss Mary,

Hasbrook, Miss Caroline,

Halsey, A.

Howard, Mr.

Howard, Miss Ellen,

Hall, Edward,

Hurlbeck, Mrs. Eliza,

Hurlbeck, Miss Maria,

Hadden, Mrs. David,

Johnson, Rev. William,

Johnson, Mrs. Mary,

Johnson, Henry,

Jones, Mrs. Ann,

King, Mrs. John,

King, Miss Ellen,

Kimber, Miss Anna,

King, Mr.

Kissam, Dr. L. H.

King, Mrs. Joseph,

Lawrence, Mrs. Elizabeth,

Lawrence, William A.

Lawrence, Mrs. Catharine,

Lawrence, Mrs. H. S.

Lamberson, Judge David,

Lawrence, Mrs. Effingham,

Lowe, Miss Amelia,

Lanius, Mrs. Henry,

Limmor, William L.

Lyman, Mr.

Lyman, Miss Rebecca,

Laidlaw, Miss Elizabeth,

Mitchell, G. G.

Mitchell, Mrs. M. E.

Mills, Mrs. Sarah,

Mitchell, Mrs. M. A.

Mitchell, Wm. Augustus,

Miller, Miss Mary L.

Mikell, Mrs. J. C.

Maxwell, Mr.

Montgomery, J.

Mitchell, Miss Rosalie A.

Mitchell, Mrs. M. A.

Nicholls, Percival,

Penington, Mrs. Ann,

Pell, L. H.

Pell, Mrs. L. H.

Prescott, W.

Quarterman, Mrs. Elizabeth,

Rider, James, Esq.

Roe, George B.

Riker, Mr.

Riker, Miss Eliza,

Rayburg, Miss Sarah,

Reeve, Lorenzo,

Sisson, Miss Caroline,

Shelton, Dr. Nathan,

Shelton, Dr. Jolm D.

Smith, John, Esq.

Sandford, William,

Sandford, Mrs. William,

Smith, John C. Esq.

Stryker, Mrs. Elizabeth,

Silliman, Miss Sarah,

Smith, Mrs. Amelia T.

Savage, Mrs. William,

Sanford, Charles,

Schoonmaker, Rev. Dr.

Schoonmaker, Miss,

Southgate, Miss Emma,

Stevenson, Mr.

Stratton, Mrs. Robert M.

Torrey, Mrs. C. C.

Trulock, Mrs. Eliza,

Vanzandt, Mrs. L. B.

Volk, Mrs. John,

Vanzandt, Mrs. Mary L.

Welling, Miss Victoria,

Warren, A.

Walkling, Mrs. Anna,

Weeks, Miss Sarah Elizabeth,

Wells, Mrs., of Brooklyn,

Watrous, Charles L.

Winter, William,

Winter, Mrs. G.

* * * * *

* * * *

Errors and Inconsistencies

French and Italian quotations are shown as printed, including obvious

errors. Most English spellings are unchanged, including:

fulfil; mattrass; visiter; pourtray; Genessee; wo

The use of "filial" for "parental" and the random variation between

"meantime" and "mean time" are also unchanged. In Chapter XXVII,

"team-boat" is not an error. Larger-scale errors of fact are noted in

the parallel version of the text.

Title Page

... for sale by the Booksellers. [Rooksellers]

Chapter II

Her father observed her affliction in commisseration

[_spelling unchanged_]

Chapter III

scene of business and confusion, scarcely reconcileable.

[_text unchanged: the word "reconcileable" may be contamination

from end of preceding paragraph_]

Chapter V

O, who that sighs to join the scenes of war?

[_phrase "who that sighs" unchanged_]

When, the goddess halted by his side, [_comma in original_]

And a banner ...

[_open quote printed before fourth instead of first line_]

"Hold fast the glorious prize; [_open quote missing_]

Chapter IX

the test that reaches to the bottom of the worst

[_unchanged: standard reading is "tent that searches"_]

Chapter XII

his own fate unconnected with that of Alida.

[_text unchanged: see source_]

"to remain here until .... may yet be happy."

[_quotation marks missing_]

"Something extraordinary," said Mrs. Raymond [Mr.]

He now joined the forces under Colonel Van Renssalaer

[_spelling unchanged_]

Chapter XIV

One evening as ... began to fall in abundance, Where now

[_punctuation and capitalization unchanged: may be intentional_]

Omniscient Dispenser of destinies! [Omiscient]

the fashion mania which sometimes attack young people

[_text unchanged_]

Chapter XV

rigid discipline, and military trainings [_plural in original_]

Chapter XVI

... spring had succeeded to the blustering gales of winter

[_text unchanged: "to" may be an error_]

The day was calm and serene

[_paragraph at page break added by transcriber_]

Chapter XVII

Her natural and acquired endowments [_"and" missing: see source_]

Neighbourly and companionable [companiable]

Chapter XVIII

commanded by sir George Prevost [_capitalization unchanged_]

some arrangements,--whereby the New England States

[_punctuation unchanged_]

Chapter XXI.

He was preparing for his departure thence.

[_text unchanged: error for "thither"?_]

Chapter XXII.

turning his insidious eyes towards Alida [insiduous]

Chapter XXIII.

cleared the atmosphere and revived the earth [the the earth]

Chapter XXIV.

on which account they have placed a chevaux-de-frieze

[_unchanged: source has "frise"_]

several taverns, the largest of which called Shepherd's hotel

[_missing "at": see source ("at the largest...")_]

Chapter XXVI.

They were formed like a battalion [battallion]

Shews countless ages it has run its course.

[_archaic spelling unchanged_]

the wild'red eye surveys

[_text unchanged: may be error for "wilder'd"_]

Chapter XXIX.

When the sun was gilding the western hemisphere [gliding]

Chapter XXXII.

Health, pleasure and naivette [_spelling unchanged_]

... the object of its affection!" "I know ...

[_quotation marks unchanged_]

such as appear to lay in wait [_text unchanged_]

List of Subscribers

Lawrence, Mrs. Effingham [_. invisible_]

Weeks, Miss Sarah Elizabeth [_final , missing or invisible_]

* * * * *

* * * *

* * * * *

ALIDA: Details

[Transcriber's Note:

The following is a little more personal than the average Transcriber's

Note. Given the nature of the book, this may be inescapable.

In classical literature, there is a form called the _cento_. The word

does not mean a hundred of anything; it comes from the Greek word for

patchwork. In its original form, the cento takes small pieces of

familiar works such as the Aeneid and reassembles the segments--

anywhere from a few words to two full lines-- into a new text. As

rearranged, the content can be anything from saints' lives to outright

obscenity.

With rare exceptions, _Alida_ cannot be called a cento. While some

borrowings involve single phrases, most range from to paragraphs to

entire chapters. I (the transcriber) first stumbled across the book

while searching for the originals of some quoted passages in _Alonzo and

Melissa_. This novel turns out to have been one of _Alida_'s favorite

sources, contributing a solid six-chapter block as well as many shorter

segments. Appropriately, _Alonzo and Melissa_ was itself pirated; its

credited author did not actually write the book. Conversely, a number of

other sources were formally copyrighted-- sometimes in the same office

where the copyright of _Alida_ was filed.

Only about half the sources (by rough word count) have been identified.

Isolated phrases-- three or four significant words-- were disregarded

unless they were very unusual, or from a source quoted many other times.

Unidentified sources include:

-- most of the longer poetry

-- discussions of education (female and general)

-- religious material, probably from a then-new denomination such as

Baptist or Methodist

-- most references to the secondary character Mr. More (apparently

from a single source, possibly a subplot in some other book)

If you come across a long passage that you recognize, e-mail lucy2424

at sbcglobal dot net.]

Alida: The Author

One of the few things definitely known about Amelia Stratton Comfield,

the author of _Alida_, is what she looked like in 1852, when her

portrait was painted by David Rogers. A smaller form of the painting

is included with the HTML version of this file. At time of preparation

(mid-2010), the original was online at the Smithsonian collection:

http://siris-artinventories.si.edu/

Amelia Stratton Comfield was probably related to Southern writer and

educator Catherine Stratton Ladd (1808-1899), who wrote under a number

of pseudonyms--including "Alida".

Alida: Chronology

The chronology is internally consistent: that is, the passage of time

based on descriptions of seasons agrees with datable external events,

even in the part of the story that draws heavily on _Alonzo and

Melissa_. The war of 1812 began in mid-1812 and ended in December 1814;

evidently the news reached New York before it reached New Orleans.

1811 and earlier

Death of Alida's mother

Alida goes to seminary in New York:

"The season was now far advanced in autumn"

1812

Alida returns home:

"The spring was advancing"

[June 1812: War declared]

Father's birthday; Alida is sixteen

From Alonzo and Melissa:

"It was summer, and towards evening when he arrived."

"It was the beginning of autumn"

"... and sung a requiem to departed summer"

"... the day had been uncommonly sultry for the autumnal season"

"Winter came on; it rapidly passed away."

1813

"Spring advanced, and the marriage day was appointed."

"Nature was adorned with the bridal ornaments of spring"

"Fleecy summer clouds ..."

Theodore has not yet enlisted

"... weary summer had lapsed into the fallow arms of autumn"

After father's remarriage:

"the cool breezes of autumn had changed to the hoarse murmuring

gales of winter"

1814

"the mild and salubrious breezes of spring had succeeded to

the blustering gales of winter"

Father's birthday

[August 1814: burning of Washington]

[December 1814: Treaty of Ghent]

[December 1814-January 1815: Hartford Convention]

"... taken up their residence in the city for the winter"

1815

[January 1815: battle of New Orleans]

War is over; celebration of peace

"winter's snow was passing from the face of nature"

"verdant scenery of spring"

"showers of April had cleared the atmosphere"

Father's birthday

Alida leaves for tour of New York state:

"The summer was past its meridian"

"The number of travellers this summer were unusually great"

1816

After death of Alida's father:

"at the commencement of the ensuing spring"

Theodore returns

Alida: Sources

Abbreviated titles of the most frequently cited works are given here in

[brackets]. Unless otherwise noted, the quoted edition was picked simply

because it was the most readily available; it may or may not have been

the edition used by the author. All [_sic_] notations were added by the

transcriber; all brackets in _Alonzo and Melissa_ are in the original.

Sources that are used only once are identified as they occur in the

text.

_Non-Fiction_

Karl Bernhard, Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach: _Travels through North

America, during the years 1825 and 1826_. Translation published

1828. [Abbreviated "Travels"]

Chapters XXIV-XXVII inclusive, except the poetry, are taken from

this book. See beginning of chapter XXIV for more information.

John Warner Barber: _Interesting Events in the History of the United

States ..._ (exact title varies). First edition 1827; later editions

include 1828 and 1834, with reprints of each. Details of wording

point to the 1828 edition as the source.

The segments dealing with the war of 1812 are quoted extensively:

"Second War with Great Britain"; the battles of Queenstown, Lake

Erie, Niagara and Lake Champlain; Death of Tecumseh; the Hartford

Convention; "Piracies in the West Indies".

Nathaniel Dwight: _Sketches of the lives of the Signers of the

Declaration of Independence_. First Edition 1830; quotations from

1840 edition (reprint of 1830). [Abbreviated "Lives of Signers"]

Used primarily for character descriptions. Most are applied to

male characters in the novel, but one passage is inserted into a

description of Dolly Madison. With one exception, all selections

are taken from representatives of Northern states.

Mrs. James Madison. Here quoted from _The American Magazine of

Useful and Entertaining Knowledge_; the article was printed in

other publications.

Some parts of this article refer to the period when James Madison

was Secretary of State under Jefferson.

Much of the article quotes from the chapter on Dolly Madison

in a longer work: American Academy of the Fine Arts (James Herring

and James Barton Longacre), _The National Portrait Gallery of

Distinguished Americans_ (no later than 1834).

_A sketch of the life and public services of William H. Harrison,

commander in chief of the North-western army during the War of 1812,

&c._ Many editions from 1835 and later.

Charles Phillips: Speech at Dinas Island on George Washington.

Widely reprinted; the version published in the author's Collected

Speeches is different from earlier published versions quoted here.

Lindley Murray: _The Power of Religion on the Mind_. First edition

1836; many later editions and reprints. Quotations from 1863 (the

only edition available to me).

Not a religious work but a collection of short biographies with

character description. Except for the article on Job, attributions

are too short to be certain; _Alida_ may have found similar

phrases in a different source.

Francis Smith Eastman: _A history of the state of New York ..._

First edition 1828; later edition (with reprints) 1831. Details of

wording identify the 1831 edition (or a later one) as the source.

_Fiction_

Daniel Jackson/Isaac Mitchell: _Alonzo and Melissa_. For details,

see Project Gutenberg e-text 28112. Written 1804 by Mitchell; first

book publication (pirated by Jackson) 1811, with many reprints.

Wording in _Alida_ does not consistently correspond to any of the

editions used for the _Alonzo and Melissa_ e-text. Quotations are

generally from 1811 except where a different edition matches the

wording more closely. [Abbreviated "A&M"]

By word count, _Alida_'s favorite source: chapters VII-XII

inclusive, much of the adjoining chapters VI and XIII, most of

XXXIII-XXXIV (the final two chapters), and many other passages of

varying length. See beginning of chapter VI for more information.

Regina Maria Roche: _The Children of the Abbey_. First published

1796, reprinted throughout the following century. Quotations from

1877.

Mrs. (Mary Martha) Sherwood:

_The Broken Hyacinth_; _The Lady of the Manor_.

_Alida_ may contain other quotations from this author; most

phrases are too short to be unambiguous. Mrs. Sherwood's fiction

has a strong religious element, and she seems the kind of author

Amelia Comfield would have liked.

Robert Folkestone Williams: _Mephistophiles in England, or the

Confessions of a Prime Minister_. 1835.

_Alida_ only quotes one passage from this two-volume novel. The

episode may have been reprinted in some other text, or the novel

itself may have lifted it from an earlier source.

Amelia Stratton Comfield: _Alida_.

When all else fails, the book quotes itself. One passage appears

three times.

_Periodicals and Short Fiction_

_The New-York Weekly Magazine, Or, Miscellaneous Repository_: Volume

II, 1797. Reprinted as a single bound volume containing 52 8-page

issues (July 1796-June 1797). [Abbreviated "NY Weekly"]

Only two volumes of this periodical, and a few issues of the

third, were published; only volume II was available to me. At

least 30 separate pieces are quoted in _Alida_, so it is likely

that some unidentified sources are in volumes I or III.

Most essays were printed with minimal attribution, or none at all;

some can also be found in other sources. "The Nettle and the Rose"

also appears in _The Blossoms of Morality_ (1796) and in _New-York

Magazine_, N.S. II (1797). "On Education" is taken from the

writings of Vicesimus Knox; "Detraction" is by Nathaniel Cotton.

"Amelia, or the Faithless Briton". Here quoted from _The New-York

Magazine, or, Literary Repository_: Vol. VI (1795); the story also

appears in _The Lady's Weekly Miscellany_ (1810).

"The Merchant's Daughter". Here quoted from _The American Monthly

Magazine_, Vol. 3, 1834.

"The Story of an Unfortunate Young Lady". Here quoted from _The

Lady's Miscellany, or, Weekly visitor..._ Vols. 14-15 (1811)

_Poetry_

[Most poems are quoted only once, and will be identified as they appear.

The author of _Alida_ was obviously fond of poetry, especially obscure

poems found in periodicals or privately published books.]

James Thomson (d. 1748): _The Seasons_. The work was reprinted

many times. Quotations are from the 1829 Hartford edition.

There exists an 1842 edition of _The Seasons_ which also contains

Bloomfield's _Farmer's Boy_ (see chapter XIV). If similar

collections were published earlier, this might be the source for

both poems.

In _Alida_, passages from _The Seasons_ are almost always in

quotation marks.

Mary (Mrs. Henry) Tighe: _Psyche, with Other Poems_. Quoted from

1816 London edition.

Quoted works: _Verses Written at the Commencement of Spring_ (1802);

_Verses Written in Sickness_ (1804); _A Faithful Friend is the

Medicine of Life_.

* * * * *

* * * *

* * * * *

ALIDA: parallel version

[The prefatory material and list of subscribers have been omitted. Some

long paragraphs have been broken up for easier comparison. In the source

text, a set of three dots ... on a line of their own means that one or

more complete paragraphs or stanzas have been skipped.]

[Frontispiece Caption:]

"Optimum vitae genus eligito nam consuetudo faciet jucundissimum."

[[Attributed to Pythagoras in Diogenes Laertius viii; cited in

_Spectator_ 447.]]

[Title Page:]

Incidents / During the Late American War. / Founded on Fact.

[[The phrase "founded on fact" appears in the title of several of

_Alida_'s sources, notably _Alonzo and Melissa_. The opening words

of _Alonzo and Melissa_ are "During the late [American]

Revolution..."]]

[Dedication:]

His Excellency, / Charles Collins, Governor of Rhode-Island

[[Charles Collins was never Governor of Rhode Island. He was

Lieutenant Governor from 1824 to 1833.]]

CHAPTER I.

"Rien n'est si contagieux qui l'exemple; et nous ne faisons jamais

de grand biens: ni de grand maux, qui n'en produisent de semblables."

[La Rochefoucauld: _Moral Maxims_:

Rien n'est si contagieux que l'exemple, et nous ne faisons

jamais de grands biens ni de grands maux qui n'en produisent

de semblables.]

The ancestry of Alida was of ancient date in English heraldry, some of

whom emigrated to America a short time before the revolution, and

settled in the southern provinces, while her father fixed his abode in

the state of New-York.

In the calm retirement of the country, at a considerable distance from

the bustle of the town, was situated his beautiful residence, which had

every advantage in point of prospect that luxuriant nature could give

when it is most lavish of its bounties.

[_NY Weekly_: Essay No. I:

Their eyes wander with languor and indifference, over those scenes

in which nature has been most lavish of its beauties.]

The mind of its owner took particular delight in rural pleasures and

amusements; in dissipating a part of his time in the innocent scenes of

rustic life, and in attending to the cultivation of his estate, which

was large and extensive.

[_Alida_ page 207 (chapter XXIX):

Like him he was fond of rural pleasures and amusements, and to

dissipate care amid the diversified scenes of rustic life, afforded

him satisfaction and pleasure.]

Here he would contemplate, in all their variety, the natural beauties

of creation, when arrayed in its richest attire; in the inimitable

splendour of the surrounding scenery; or amuse himself in attendance to

diversified employments, some of which, as pastimes, served the two-fold

purposes of recreation and amusement.

[_Alida_ page 62 (chapter IX):

It was the beginning of autumn, and a yellow hue was spread over the

natural beauties of creation.]

[_Lives of Signers_: Thornton of New Hampshire:

where, in an attendance on his diversified employments, some of

which, as pastimes, served the twofold purposes of recreation and

amusement....]

Thus his years glided on in the most harmonious tranquillity; where his

cares were dissipated alternately in the bosom of his family, and the

"tumults of life, real or imaginary, fleeted away in a mutual confidence

and unreserved friendship."

[_A&M_ (describing Alonzo):

There his cares were dissipated, and the troubles of life, real or

imaginary, on light pinions fleeted away. How different would be the

scene when debarred from the unreserved friendship and conversation

of Melissa!]

Here he would accustom himself to rise at early dawn, and dwell with

particular pleasure on the morning scenery. The dappled, rosy-fingered,

blushing morn, arrested his attention; those mild tints that

particularly express the break of day, just awakening from repose; when

the curtain of the night seems insensibly withdrawn, and the varied

landscape exhibits itself by degrees, while the colours of the

atmosphere yet seem doubtful, and the scene imperfect to the view; when

the darkness is not entirely fled, nor the light of the new day is fully

seen; when coolness sits upon the hills, and the dews hang trembling

upon every leaf; when the groves begin to resound with the murmurs of

warbling melody, and the valleys echo with reverberated sounds.

[_NY Weekly_: On Landscape Painting:

The poets, of all ages and all languages, have dwelt with particular

delight upon the morning scenery, and the epithets of the dappled,

the rosy fingered, the saffron, and the blushing morn.... those

chaste and reserved tints that particularly express the break of

day, just awakening from repose; when the curtain of the night seems

to be insensibly withdrawn, and the landscape appears to open by

degrees, when the colours of the sky are yet doubtful, and the

landscape imperfect to the view; in short, when darkness is not

entirely fled, nor light distinctly seen....

When coolness sits upon the mountains, and freshness delights

the plains, when the dews hang trembling upon every leaf, and the

insects flutter on every thorn; when the groves begin to resound

with the murmurs of the dove, and the vallies to echo with the

twitterings from the spray....]

How pleasing at such a time to adore in his works the wonders of the

Creator. That period when the sun begins to diffuse his early rays, to

tip the mountains with light, and the breezes in the air mildly

prognosticate the soft blushes of the morning:

[_NY Weekly_: On Landscape Painting:

how pleasing at such a time are the feelings of anticipation to

those who adore in his works, the wonders of the Creator!

Of that period, when the sun begins to diffuse his early rays, to

tip the mountains with light, and.... those breezes in the air that

mildly prognosticate, the blushes of the morning....]

"For far beyond the pageantry of power,

He lov'd the realms of Nature to explore;

With lingering gaze Edenian spring survey'd--

Morn's fairy splendours--Night's gay curtain'd shade--

The heaven-embosom'd sun--the rainbow's dye,

Where lucid forms appear to Fancy's eye;

The vernal flower, mild Autumn's purpling glow,

The Summer's thunder, and the winter's snow."

[Timothy Dwight: _The Conquest of Canaan_ (1785), as quoted

in A&M:

"For far beyond the pride or pomp of power,

He lov'd the realms of nature to explore;

With lingering gaze Edinian spring survey'd;

Morn's fairy splendors; night's gay curtain'd shade,

The high hoar cliff, the grove's benighting gloom,

The wild rose, widow'd o'er the mouldering tomb;

The heaven embosom'd sun; the rainbow's die

Where lucid forms disport to fancy's eye;

The vernal flower, mild autumn's purpling glow,

The summer's thunder and the winter's snow."]

[_The Conquest of Canaan_, original text:

But far beyond the pride of pomp, and power,

He lov'd the realms of nature to explore;

With lingering gaze, Edenian spring survey'd;

Morn's fairy splendors, night's gay curtain'd shade;

The high hoar cliff; the grove's benighting gloom;

The wild rose, widow'd, o'er the mouldering tomb;

The heaven-embosom'd sun; the rainbow's die,

Where lucid forms disport to fancy's eye.]

[[The last two lines in the _Alonzo and Melissa_ version ("vernal

flower..." and "Summer's thunder...") do not appear to be in

Dwight's poem.]]

Or, when the evening approached, he would observe the twilight hour,

which for a time hangs balanced between darkness and the pale rays of

the western sky, communicating a solemn pleasure to every thing around.

When evening began to throw her dusky mantle over the face of nature,

and the warm glow of the summer sun had departed; when the stars were

glistening in the heavens, and the moon had already risen, shedding its

pale lustre over the opposite islands "that appeared to float dimly

among the waves, the twinkling fire-fly arose from the surrounding

verdure, and illumined the meadow below with a thousand transient gems."

The rustling breezes played among the trees of the wood, while the air

was filled with the fragrance of various flowers, and the sound of

melodious music was wafted from the neighbouring village, rendered

apparently more soft and sweet by the distance.

[_NY Weekly_: On Landscape Painting:

how extatic is the twilight hour, which, for a time, hangs

balanced between the dispersion of darkness, and the dapplings of

the east; and which gives a solemn pleasure to every thing around!]

[_A&M_:

Evening had now spread her dusky mantle over the face of nature.

The stars glistened in the sky. The breeze's rustling wing was in

the tree. The "stilly sound" of the low murmuring brook, and the far

off water fall, were faintly heard. The twinkling fire fly arose

from the surrounding verdure and illuminated the air with a thousand

transient gleams. The mingling discordance of curs and watch-dogs

echoed in the distant village, from whence the frequent lights

darted their pale lustre through the gloom.]

[_A&M_ (different passage):

The moon shone in full lustre, her white beams trembling upon the

glassy main, where skiffs and sails of various description were

passing and repassing. The shores of Long-Island and the other

islands in the harbour, appeared dimly to float among the waves. The

air was adorned with the fragrance of surrounding flowers; the sound

of instrumental music wafted from the town, rendered sweeter by

distance....]

The buildings on the estate consisted of a large mansion-house,

farm-house, and an ancient stone cottage that stood on the margin of the

water, shaded by willow trees, and surrounded by romantic scenery.

The charming appearance which nature threw around the place on which the

mansion-house was situated, was scarcely less interesting in winter than

in the more gay and verdant months of the summer season. The falling of

the snow and hail, and the sparkling icicles hanging upon the woods and

shrubbery, sometimes almost conveyed the idea of enchantment to the

imagination of the spectator.

[Mrs. Sherwood: _The Broken Hyacinth_:

The charming country in which our house was situated, was scarcely

less lovely when covered with snow than in the summer. The purity of

the snow, and the sparkling icicles which hung on the woods, almost

conveyed the idea of enchantment....]

The view on all sides was magnificent. The bay, gently winding, glided

into the river beyond, where ships, steamboats, and craft of every

description, floated upon the waters, and gave interest to the

appearance of several beautiful villages that were seen at a little

distance in the landscape.

This villa was separated about a mile from the flourishing village of

----, where the many white buildings, some of which might be called

magnificent, had a remarkably pleasing and picturesque appearance,

forming a lively contrast with the evergreen trees with which they were

interspersed.

The house of Alida's father was the seat of hospitality;--scenes of

festivity would sometimes have place within its walls;--"music and mirth

would occasionally echo through its apartments." He was kind, generous,

and benevolent; while his independence, assisted by a charitable

disposition, enabled him to contribute largely to the happiness of

others. His manners were highly pleasing, his conversation was

interesting, humorous, and instructive; and, although at this time he

was rather advanced in years, yet the glow of health still shone upon

his cheek and sparkled in his eye; and his fine expressive countenance

still gave lustre to a peculiar dignity and energy in his personal

appearance.

[_Lives of Signers_: Hart of New Jersey

his house was the seat of hospitality, charity, and piety.]

It was now many years since he had made this delightful spot his

residence. He had married early in life a lady of engaging manners, and

captivating beauty, who was amiable, sensible, and pious, and whose mind

was a pattern of every female excellence, combined with a taste and

judgment that had been properly directed by a suitable education; who

had been taught to esteem no farther all the acquirements and qualities

of which the human mind is capable than as they might be conducive to

enable us to excel in the duties of the Christian religion, and cause us

more fully to experience "the blessings of the truth."

[_A&M_ (describing Melissa):

Her mind was adorned with those delicate graces which are the first

ornaments of female excellence. Her manners were graceful without

affectation, and her taste had been properly directed by a suitable

education.]

These parents had reared up all their family except Alida, their

youngest child, who at this time was placed at a boarding-school, at the

village of ----, where she was taught, in addition to the different

studies belonging to a Christian education, the French and Italian

languages.

Their elder daughters had married, and were settled at some distance

from them, and their two sons were engaged in mercantile business in

New-York. It was their principal endeavour, as their thoughts often

revolved in anxious solicitude for the welfare and future happiness of

their children, to unite their efforts to persuade them, and inculcate

in their minds all that was praiseworthy, by the immediate influence of

their own example, considering that the precepts which they taught them,

however wise and good, would avail but little unassisted by the aid of

example.

"Le mauvais usage que nous faisons de la vie, la deregle, et la rend

malheureuse."

[Etienne Francois De Vernage (1690):

Le mauvais usage que nous faisons de la vie la deregle et la rend

malheureuse.]

It was their first care to exercise the minds of their children, in all

the important moral and religious duties; to be careful in due time to

regulate their natural propensities; to render their dispositions mild

and tractable; to inspire them with the love, respect, and implicit

obedience due to parents, blended with a genuine affection for relations

and friends.

"To endeavour to form their first ideas on principles of rectitude,

being conscious of the infinite importance of first impressions, and

beginning early to adhere to a proper system of education, that was

principally the result of their own reflections and particular

observations."

Their children were assembled annually to celebrate the birthday of

their father, together with other social friends and acquaintances,

consisting chiefly of those whose beneficent feelings were in accordance

with their own, in testifying their gratitude to their Creator for daily

benefits, blended with a thankful cheerfulness, which is the offspring

of moral excellence.

[_A&M_ (Melissa speaking):

once a year my father celebrates his birth day....]

O, Thou enthroned where perfect day,

In brightest beams of glory, play

Around thy radiant throne;

Where angels strike celestial lyres,

And seraphs glow with sacred fires,

Address'd to thee alone.

Still may thy providential care,

With blessings crown the circling year,

Each human ill restrain:

O, may thy truth inspire my tongue,

And flow through all my varying song,

And shine in every strain.

[Cunningham, "Ode to the New Year, 1769" (here from _Poems on

various subjects..._, ed. Thomas Tomkins 1780), stz. 5-6:

O thou! alike where perfect day

In bright refulgent glories play,

Around thy awful throne!

When seraphs glow with sacred fires,

When angels tune celestial lyres,

To hymn thy praise alone!

Still may thy providential care

With blessings crown the rising year!

Impending ills restrain!

Thy wisdom guide my youthful muse!

Thy sacred eloquence diffuse,

And consecrate my strain!]

Give me the calm, the soft serene,

Of summer, when it glads the scene,

And scatters peace around;

Bless'd image of the happy soul.

That does the heav'n-born mind control,

While conscious joys abound.

That this may be my bounteous share,

Ascends my ever constant prayer

To Thee, all-perfect Mind!

O, aid me in the gen'rous strife,

Through each inconstant scene of life,

To all thy ways resign'd.

[same, stz. 10-11:

Unlike its placid form, serene,

When Zephyr breathing o'er the scene,

Sheds balmy peace around;

Bless'd emblem of the conquering soul,

Whose every passion knows controul,

While conscious joys abound!

That this may prove my bounteous share,

Ascends my ever constant prayer,

To thee, all perfect mind;

O aid me in the arduous strife,

Through each perplexing maze of life,

To all thy ways resign'd!]