COMPLETE

[The foregoing review of the great work of G. Ragsdale McClintock is

liberally illuminated with sample extracts, but these cannot appease

the appetite. Only the complete book, unabridged, can do that.

Therefore it is here printed.—M. T.]

_THE ENEMY CONQUERED; OR, LOVE TRIUMPHANT_

Sweet girl, thy smiles are full of charms,

Thy voice is sweeter still,

It fills the breast with fond alarms,

Echoed by every rill.

I begin this little work with an eulogy upon woman, who has ever been

distinguished for her perseverance, her constancy, and her devoted

attention to those upon whom she has been pleased to place her

_affections_. Many have been the themes upon which writers and public

speakers have dwelt with intense and increasing interest. Among these

delightful themes stands that of woman, the balm to all our sighs and

disappointments, and the most pre-eminent of all other topics. Here the

poet and orator have stood and gazed with wonder and with admiration;

they have dwelt upon her innocence, the ornament of all her virtues.

First viewing her external charms, such as are set forth in her form and

her benevolent countenance, and then passing to the deep hidden springs

of loveliness and disinterested devotion. In every clime, and in every

age, she has been the pride of her _nation_. Her watchfulness is

untiring; she who guarded the sepulchre was the first to approach it,

and the last to depart from its awful yet sublime scene. Even here, in

this highly-favoured land, we look to her for the security of our

institutions, and for our future greatness as a nation. But, strange as

it may appear, woman’s charms and virtues are but slightly appreciated

by thousands. Those who should raise the standard of female worth, and

paint her value with her virtues, in living colours, upon the banners

that are fanned by the zephyrs of heaven, and hand them down to

posterity as emblematical of a rich inheritance, do not properly

estimate them.

Man is not sensible, at all times, of the nature and the emotions which

bear that name; he does not understand, he will not comprehend; his

intelligence has not expanded to that degree of glory which drinks in

the vast revolution of humanity, its end, its mighty destination, and

the causes which operated, and are still operating, to produce a more

elevated station, and the objects which energise and enliven its

consummation. This he is a stranger to; he is not aware that woman is

the recipient of celestial love, and that man is dependent upon her to

perfect his character; that without her, philosophically and truly

speaking, the brightest of his intelligence is but the coldness of a

winter moon, whose beams can produce no fruit, whose solar light is not

its own, but borrowed from the great dispenser of effulgent beauty. We

have no disposition in the world to flatter the fair sex; we would raise

them above those dastardly principles which only exist in little souls,

contracted hearts, and a distracted brain. Often does she unfold herself

in all her fascinating loveliness, presenting the most captivating

charms; yet we find man frequently treats such purity of purpose with

indifference. Why does he do it? Why does he baffle that which is

inevitably the source of his better days? Is he so much of a stranger to

those excellent qualities, as not to appreciate woman, as not to have

respect to her dignity? Since her art and beauty first captivated man,

she has been his delight and his comfort; she has shared alike in his

misfortunes and in his prosperity.

Whenever the billows of adversity and the tumultuous waves of trouble

beat high, her smiles subdue their fury. Should the tear of sorrow and

the mournful sigh of grief interrupt the peace of his mind, her voice

removes them all, and she bends from her circle to encourage him onward.

When darkness would obscure his mind, and a thick cloud of gloom would

bewilder its operations, her intelligent eye darts a ray of streaming

light into his heart. Mighty and charming is that disinterested devotion

which she is ever ready to exercise towards man, not waiting till the

last moment of his danger, but seeks to relieve him in his early

afflictions. It gushes forth from the expansive fulness of a tender and

devoted heart, where the noblest, the purest, and the most elevated and

refined feelings are matured, and developed in those many kind offices

which invariably make her character.

In the room of sorrow and sickness, this unequalled characteristic may

always be seen, in the performance of the most charitable acts; nothing

that she can do to promote the happiness of him who she claims to be her

protector will be omitted; all is invigorated by the animating sunbeams

which awaken the heart to songs of gaiety. Leaving this point, to notice

another prominent consideration, which is generally one of great moment

and of vital importance. Invariably she is firm and steady in all her

pursuits and aims. There is required a combination of forces and extreme

opposition to drive her from her position; she takes her stand, not to

be moved by the sound of Apollo’s lyre, or the curved bow of pleasure.

Firm and true to what she undertakes, and that which she requires by her

own aggrandisement, and regards as being within the strict rules of

propriety, she will remain stable and unflinching to the last. A more

genuine principle is not to be found in the most determined, resolute

heart of man. For this she deserves to be held in the highest

commendation, for this she deserves the purest of all other blessings,

and for this she deserves the most laudable reward of all others. It is

a noble characteristic, and is worthy the imitation of any age. And when

we look at it in one particular aspect, it is still magnified, and grows

brighter and brighter the more we reflect upon its eternal duration.

What will she not do, when her word as well as her affections and _love_

are pledged to her lover? Everything that is dear to her on earth, all

the hospitalities of kind and loving parents, all the sincerity and

loveliness of sisters, and the benevolent devotion of brothers, who have

surrounded her with every comfort; she will forsake them all, quit the

harmony and sweet sound of the lute and the harp, and throw herself upon

the affections of some devoted admirer, in whom she fondly hopes to find

more than she has left behind, which is not often realised by many.

Truth and virtue all combined! How deserving our admiration and love!

Ah! cruel would it be in man, after she has thus manifested such an

unshaken confidence in him, and said by her determination to abandon all

the endearments and blandishments of home, to act a villainous part, and

prove a traitor in the revolution of his mission, and then turn Hector

over the innocent victim whom he swore to protect, in the presence of

Heaven, recorded by the pen of an angel.

Striking as this trait may unfold itself in her character, and as

pre-eminent as it may stand among the fair display of her other

qualities, yet there is another, which struggles into existence, and

adds an additional lustre to what she already possesses. I mean that

disposition in woman which enables her, in sorrow, in grief, and in

distress, to bear all with enduring patience. This she has done, and can

and will do, amid the din of war and clash of arms. Scenes and

occurrences which, to every appearance, are calculated to rend the heart

with the profoundest emotions of trouble, do not fetter that exalted

principle imbued in her very nature. It is true, her tender and feeling

heart may often be moved (as she is thus constituted), but still she is

not conquered, she has not given up to the harlequin of disappointments,

her energies have not become clouded in the last moment of misfortune,

but she is continually invigorated by the archetype of her affections.

She may bury her face in her hands, and let the tear of anguish roll,

she may promenade the delightful walks of some garden, decorated with

all the flowers of nature, or she may steal out along some gently

rippling stream, and there, as the silver waters uninterruptedly move

forward, sheds her silent tears, they mingle with the waves, and take a

last farewell of their agitated home, to seek a peaceful dwelling among

the rolling floods; yet there is a voice rushing from her breast, that

proclaims _victory_ along the whole line and battlement of her

affections. That voice is the voice of patience and resignation; that

voice is one that bears everything calmly and dispassionately; amid the

most distressing scenes, when the fates are arrayed against her peace,

and apparently plotting for her destruction, still she is resigned.

Woman’s affections are deep, consequently her troubles may be made to

sink deep. Although you may not be able to mark the traces of her grief

and the furrowings of her anguish upon her winning countenance, yet be

assured they are nevertheless preying upon her inward person, sapping

the very foundation of that heart which alone was made for the weal and

not the woe of man. The deep recesses of the soul are fields for their

operation. But they are not destined simply to take the regions of the

heart for their dominion, they are not satisfied merely with

interrupting her better feelings; but after a while you may see the

blooming cheek beginning to droop and fade, her intelligent eye no

longer sparkles with the starry light of heaven, her vibrating pulse

long since changed its regular motion, and her palpitating bosom beats

once more for the mid-day of her glory. Anxiety and care ultimately

throw her into the arms of the haggard and grim monster, Death. But, oh,

how patient, under every pining influence! Let us view the matter in

bolder colours; see her when the dearest object of her affections

recklessly seeks every bacchanalian pleasure, contents himself with the

last rubbish of creation. With what solicitude she awaits his return!

Sleep fails to perform its office—she weeps while the nocturnal shades

of the night triumph in the stillness. Bending over some favourite book,

whilst the author throws before her mind the most beautiful imagery, she

startles at every sound. The midnight silence is broken by the solemn

announcement of the return of another morning. He is still absent: she

listens for that voice which has so often been greeted by the melodies

of her own; but, alas! stern silence is all that she receives for her

vigilance.

Mark her unwearied watchfulness, as the night passes away. At last,

brutalised by the accursed thing, he staggers along with rage, and,

shivering with cold, he makes his appearance. Not a murmur is heard from

her lips. On the contrary, she meets him with a smile—she caresses him

with her tender arms, with all the gentleness and softness of her sex.

Here, then, is seen her disposition, beautifully arrayed. Woman, thou

art more to be admired than the spicy gales of Arabia, and more sought

for than the gold of Golconda. We believe that woman should associate

freely with man, and we believe that it is for the preservation of her

rights. She should become acquainted with the metaphysical designs of

those who condescend to sing the siren song of flattery. This, we think,

should be according to the unwritten law of decorum, which is stamped

upon every innocent heart. The precepts of prudery are often steeped in

the guilt of contamination, which blasts the expectations of better

moments. Truth, and beautiful dreams—loveliness, and delicacy of

character, with cherished affections of the ideal woman—gentle hopes and

aspirations, are enough to uphold her in the storms of darkness, without

the transferred colourings of a stained sufferer. How often have we seen

it in our public prints, that woman occupies a false station in the

world! and some have gone so far as to say it was an unnatural one. So

long has she been regarded a weak creature, by the rabble and

illiterate—they have looked upon her as an insufficient actress on the

great stage of human life—a mere puppet, to fill up the drama of human

existence—a thoughtless inactive being,—that she has too often come to

the same conclusion herself, and has sometimes forgotten her high

destination, in the meridian of her glory. We have but little sympathy

or patience for those who treat her as a mere Rosy Melinda—who are

always fishing for pretty compliments—who are satisfied by the gossamer

of romance, and who can be allured by the verbosity of high-flown words,

rich in language, but poor and barren in sentiment. Beset, as she has

been, by the intellectual vulgar, the selfish, the designing, the

cunning, the hidden, and the artful—no wonder she has sometimes folded

her wings in despair, and forgotten her _heavenly_ mission in the

delirium of imagination; no wonder she searches out some wild desert, to

find a peaceful home. But this cannot always continue. A new era is

moving gently onward, old things are rapidly passing away; old

superstitions, old prejudices, and old notions are now bidding farewell

to their old associates and companions, and giving way to one whose

wings are plumed with the light of heaven, and tinged by the dews of the

morning. There is a remnant of blessedness that clings to her in spite

of all evil influence—there is enough of the Divine Master left, to

accomplish the noblest work ever achieved under the canopy of the

vaulted skies; and that time is fast approaching, when the picture of

the true woman will shine from its frame of glory, to captivate, to win

back, to restore, and to call into being once more, _the object of her

mission_.

Star of the brave! thy glory shed,

O’er all the earth, thy army led—

Bold meteor of immortal birth!

Why come from Heaven to dwell on earth?

Mighty and glorious are the days of youth; happy the moments of the

_lover_, mingled with smiles and tears of his devoted, and long to be

remembered are the achievements which he gains with a palpitating heart

and a trembling hand. A bright and lovely dawn, the harbinger of a fair

and prosperous day, had arisen over the beautiful little village of

Cumming, which is surrounded by the most romantic scenery in the

Cherokee country. Brightening clouds seemed to rise from the mist of the

fair Chattahoochee, to spread their beauty over the thick forest, to

guide the hero whose bosom beats with aspirations to conquer the enemy

that would tarnish his name, and to win back the admiration of his

long-tried friend. He endeavoured to make his way through Sawney’s

Mountain, where many meet to catch the gales that are continually

blowing for the refreshment of the stranger and the traveller.

Surrounded as he was, by hills on every side, naked rocks dared the

efforts of his energies. Soon the sky became overcast, the sun buried

itself in the clouds, and the fair day gave place to gloomy twilight,

which lay heavily on the Indian Plains. He remembered an old Indian

Castle, that once stood at the foot of the mountain. He thought if he

could make his way to this, he would rest contented for a short time.

The mountain air breathed fragrance—a rosy tinge rested on the glassy

waters that murmured at its base. His resolution soon brought him to the

remains of the red man’s hut: he surveyed with wonder and astonishment

the decayed building, which time had buried in the dust, and thought to

himself, his happiness was not yet complete. Beside the shore of the

brook sat a young man, about eighteen or twenty, who seemed to be

reading some favourite book, and who had a remarkably noble

countenance—eyes which betrayed more than a common mind. This of course

made the youth a welcome guest, and gained him friends in whatever

condition of life he might be placed. The traveller observed that he was

a well-built figure which showed strength and grace in every movement.

He accordingly addressed him in quite a gentlemanly manner, and inquired

of him the way to the village. After he had received the desired

information, and was about taking his leave, the youth said, ‘Are you

not Major Elfonzo, the great musician—the champion of a noble cause—the

modern Achilles, who gained so many victories in the Florida War?’ ‘I

bear that name,’ said the Major, ‘and those titles, trusting at the same

time, that the ministers of grace will carry me triumphantly through all

my laudable undertakings, and if,’ continued the Major, ‘you, sir, are

the patroniser of noble deeds, I should like to make you my confidant,

and learn your address.’ The youth looked somewhat amazed, bowed low,

mused for a moment, and began: ‘My name is Roswell. I have been recently

admitted to the bar, and can only give a faint outline of my future

success in that honourable profession; but I trust, sir, like the Eagle,

I shall look down from lofty rocks upon the dwellings of man, and shall

ever be ready to give you any assistance in my official capacity, and

whatever this muscular arm of mine can do, whenever it shall be called

from its buried _greatness_.’ The Major grasped him by the hand, and

exclaimed: ‘O! thou exalted spirit of inspiration—thou flame of burning

prosperity, may the Heaven-directed blaze be the glare of thy soul, and

battle down every rampart that seems to impede your progress!’

The road which led to the town presented many attractions. Elfonzo had

bid farewell to the youth of deep feeling, and was now wending his way

to the dreaming spot of his fondness. The south winds whistled through

the woods, as the waters dashed against the banks, as rapid fire in the

pent furnace roars. This brought him to remember while alone, that he

quietly left behind the hospitality of a father’s house, and gladly

entered the world, with higher hopes than are often realised. But as he

journeyed onward, he was mindful of the advice of his father, who had

often looked sadly on the ground, when tears of cruelly deceived hope

moistened his eye. Elfonzo had been somewhat of a dutiful son; yet fond

of the amusements of life—had been in distant lands—had enjoyed the

pleasure of the world, and had frequently returned to the scenes of his

boyhood, almost destitute of many of the comforts of life. In this

condition he would frequently say to his father, ‘Have I offended you,

that you look upon me as a stranger, and frown upon me with stinging

looks? Will you not favour me with the sound of your voice? If I have

trampled upon your veneration, or have spread a humid veil of darkness

around your expectations, send me back into the world where no heart

beats for me—where the foot of man has never yet trod; but give me at

least one kind word—allow me to come into the presence sometimes of thy

winter-worn locks.’ ‘Forbid it, Heaven, that I should be angry with

thee,’ answered the father, ‘my son, and yet I send thee back to the

children of the world—to the cold charity of the combat, and to a land

of victory. I read another destiny in thy countenance—I learn thy

inclinations from the flame that has already kindled in my soul a

strange sensation. It will seek thee, my dear Elfonzo, it will find

thee—thou canst not escape that lighted torch which shall blot out from

the remembrance of men a long train of prophecies which they have

foretold against thee. I once thought not so. Once I was blind; but now

the path of life is plain before me, and my sight is clear; yet,

Elfonzo, return to thy worldly occupation—take again in thy hand that

chord of sweet sounds—struggle with the civilised world, and with your

own heart; fly swiftly to the enchanted ground—let the night-owl send

forth its screams from the stubborn oak—let the sea sport upon the

beach, and the stars sing together; but learn of these, Elfonzo, thy

doom, and thy hiding-place. Our most innocent as well as our most lawful

desires must often be denied us, that we may learn to sacrifice them to

a Higher will.’

Remembering such admonitions with gratitude, Elfonzo was immediately

urged by the recollection of his father’s family to keep moving. His

steps became quicker and quicker—he hastened through the piny woods,

dark as the forest was, and with joy he very soon reached the little

village of repose, in whose bosom rested the boldest chivalry. His close

attention to every important object—his modest questions about whatever

was new to him—his reverence for wise old age, and his ardent desire to

learn many of the fine arts, soon brought him into respectable notice.

One mild winter day, as he walked along the streets towards the Academy,

which stood upon a small eminence, surrounded by native growth—some

venerable in its appearance, others young and prosperous—all seemed

inviting, and seemed to be the very place for learning as well as for

genius to spend its research beneath its spreading shades. He entered

its classic walls in the usual mode of Southern manners. The principal

of the Institution begged him to be seated, and listen to the

recitations that were going on. He accordingly obeyed the request, and

seemed to be much pleased. After the school was dismissed, and the young

hearts regained their freedom, with the songs of the evening, laughing

at the anticipated pleasures of a happy home, while others tittered at

the actions of the past day, he addressed the teacher in a tone that

indicated a resolution—with an undaunted mind. He said he had determined

to become a student, if he could meet with his approbation. ‘Sir,’ said

he, ‘I have spent much time in the world. I have travelled among the

uncivilised inhabitants of America. I have met with friends, and

combated with foes; but none of these gratify my ambition, or decide

what is to be my destiny. I see the learned world have an influence with

the voice of the people themselves. The despoilers of the remotest

kingdoms of the earth refer their differences to this class of persons.

This the illiterate and inexperienced little dream of; and now if you

will receive me as I am, with these deficiencies—with all my misguided

opinions, I will give you my honour, sir, that I will never disgrace the

Institution, or those who have placed you in this honourable station.’

The instructor, who had met with many disappointments, knew how to feel

for a stranger who had been thus turned upon the charities of an

unfeeling community. He looked at him earnestly, and said: ‘Be of good

cheer—look forward, sir, to the high destination you may attain.

Remember, the more elevated the mark at which you aim, the more sure,

the more glorious, the more magnificent the prize.’ From wonder to

wonder, his encouragement led the impatient listener. A strange nature

bloomed before him—giant streams promised him success—gardens of hidden

treasures opened to his view. All this, so vividly described, seemed to

gain a new witchery from his glowing fancy.

In 1842 he entered the class, and made rapid progress in the English and

Latin departments. Indeed, he continued advancing with such rapidity,

that he was like to become the first in his class, and made such

unexpected progress, and was so studious, that he had almost forgotten

the pictured saint of his affections. The fresh wreaths of the pine and

cypress had waited anxiously to drop once more the dews of Heaven upon

the heads of those who had so often poured forth the tender emotions of

their souls under its boughs. He was aware of the pleasure that he had

seen there. So one evening, as he was returning from his reading, he

concluded he would pay a visit to this enchanting spot. Little did he

think of witnessing a shadow of his former happiness, though no doubt he

wished it might be so. He continued sauntering by the road-side,

meditating on the past. The nearer he approached the spot, the more

anxious he became. At that moment, a tall female figure flitted across

his path, with a bunch of roses in her hand; her countenance showed

uncommon vivacity, with a resolute spirit; her ivory teeth already

appeared as she smiled beautifully promenading, while her ringlets of

hair dangled unconsciously around her snowy neck. Nothing was wanting to

complete her beauty. The tinge of the rose was in full bloom upon her

cheek; the charms of sensibility and tenderness were always her

associates. In Ambulinia’s bosom dwelt a noble soul—one that never

faded—one that never was conquered. Her heart yielded to no feeling but

the love of Elfonzo, on whom she gazed with intense delight, and to whom

she felt herself more closely bound because he sought the hand of no

other. Elfonzo was roused from his apparent reverie. His books no longer

were his inseparable companions—his thoughts arrayed themselves to

encourage him to the field of victory. He endeavoured to speak to his

supposed Ambulinia, but his speech appeared not in words. No, his effort

was a stream of fire, that kindled his soul into a flame of admiration,

and carried his senses away captive. Ambulinia had disappeared, to make

him more mindful of his duty. As she walked speedily away through the

piny woods, she calmly echoed: ‘O! Elfonzo, thou wilt now look from thy

sunbeams. Thou shalt now walk in a new path—perhaps thy way leads

through darkness; but fear not, the stars foretell happiness.’

Not many days afterwards, as surrounded by fragrant flowers, she sat one

evening at twilight, to enjoy the cool breeze that whispered notes of

melody along the distant groves, the little birds perched on every side,

as if to watch the movements of their new visitor. The bells were

tolling, when Elfonzo silently stole along by the wild wood flowers,

holding in his hand his favourite instrument of music—his eye

continually searching for Ambulinia, who hardly seemed to perceive him,

as she played carelessly with the songsters that hopped from branch to

branch. Nothing could be more striking than the difference between the

two. Nature seemed to have given the more tender soul to Elfonzo, and

the stronger and more courageous to Ambulinia. A deep feeling spoke from

the eyes of Elfonzo—such a feeling as can only be expressed by those who

are blessed as admirers, and by those who are able to return the same

with sincerity of heart. He was a few years older than Ambulinia, she

had turned a little into her seventeenth. He had almost grown up in the

Cherokee country, with the same equal proportions as one of the natives.

But little intimacy had existed between them until the year

forty-one—because the youth felt that the character of such a lovely

girl was too exalted to inspire any other feeling than that of quiet

reverence. But as lovers will not always be insulted, at all times and

under all circumstances, by the frowns and cold looks of crabbed old

age, which should continually reflect dignity upon those around, and

treat the unfortunate as well as the fortunate with a graceful mien, he

continued to use diligence and perseverance. All this lighted a spark in

his heart that changed his whole character, and like the unyielding

Deity that follows the storm to check its rage in the forest, he

resolves for the first time to shake off his embarrassment, and return

where he had before only worshipped.

It could not escape Ambulinia’s penetrating eye, that he sought an

interview with her, which she as anxiously avoided, and assumed a more

distant calmness than before, seemingly to destroy all hope. After many

efforts and struggles with his own person, with timid steps the Major

approached the damsel, with the same caution as he would have done in a

field of battle. ‘Lady Ambulinia,’ said he, trembling, ‘I have long

desired a moment like this. I dare not let it escape. I fear the

consequences; yet I hope your indulgence will at least hear my petition.

Can you not anticipate what I would say, and what I am about to express?

Will you not, like Minerva, who sprung from the brain of Jupiter,

release me from thy winding chains, or cure me——’ ‘Say no more,

Elfonzo,’ answered Ambulinia, with a serious look, raising her hand as

if she intended to swear eternal hatred against the whole world,

‘another lady in my place would have perhaps answered your question in

bitter coldness. I know not the little arts of my sex. I care but little

for the vanity of those who would chide me, and am unwilling, as well as

ashamed to be guilty of anything that would lead you to think “all is

not gold that glitters:” so be not rash in your resolution. It is better

to repent now, than to do it in a more solemn hour. Yes, I know what you

would say. I know you have a costly gift for me—the noblest that man can

make—_your heart_! you should not offer it to one so unworthy. Heaven,

you know, has allowed my father’s house to be made a house of solitude,

a home of silent obedience, which, my parents say, is more to be admired

than big names and high-sounding titles. Notwithstanding all this, let

me speak the emotions of an honest heart—allow me to say in the fulness

of my hopes that I anticipate better days. The bird may stretch its

wings towards the sun, which it can never reach; and flowers of the

field appear to ascend in the same direction, because they cannot do

otherwise: but man confides his complaints to the saints in whom he

believes: for in their abodes of light they know no more sorrow. From

your confession and indicative looks, I must be that person: if so,

deceive not yourself.’

Elfonzo replied, ‘Pardon me, my dear madam, for my frankness. I have

loved you from my earliest days—everything grand and beautiful hath

borne the image of Ambulinia: while precipices on every hand surrounded

me, your _guardian angel_ stood and beckoned me away from the deep

abyss. In every trial—in every misfortune, I have met with your helping

hand; yet I never dreamed or dared to cherish thy love, till a voice

impaired with age encouraged the cause, and declared they who acquired

thy favour should win a victory. I saw how Leos worshipped thee. I felt

my own unworthiness. I began to _know jealousy_, a strong guest indeed,

in my bosom; yet I could see, if I gained your admiration, Leos was to

be my rival. I was aware that he had the influence of your parents, and

the wealth of a deceased relative, which is too often mistaken for

permanent and regular tranquillity; yet I have determined by your

permission to beg an interest in your prayers—to ask you to animate my

drooping spirits by your smiles and your winning looks; for, if you but

speak, I shall be conqueror, my enemies shall stagger like Olympus

shakes. And though earth and sea may tremble, and the charioteer of the

sun may forget his dashing steed; yet I am assured that it is only to

arm me with divine weapons, which will enable me to complete my

long-tried intention.’ ‘Return to yourself, Elfonzo,’ said Ambulinia,

pleasantly, ‘a dream of vision has disturbed your intellect—you are

above the atmosphere, dwelling in the celestial regions; nothing is

there that urges or hinders, nothing that brings discord into our

present litigation. I entreat you to condescend a little, and be a man

and forget it all. When Homer describes the battle of the gods and noble

men, fighting with giants and dragons, they represent under this image

our struggles with the delusions of our passions. You have exalted me,

an unhappy girl, to the skies—you have called me a saint, and portrayed

in your imagination an angel in human form. Let her remain such to

you—let her continue to be as you have supposed, and be assured that she

will consider a share in your esteem as her highest treasure. Think not

that I would allure you from the path in which your conscience leads

you; for you know I respect the conscience of others, as I would die for

my own. Elfonzo, if I am worthy of thy love, let such conversation never

again pass between us. Go, seek a nobler theme; we will seek it in the

stream of time, as the sun set in the Tigris.’ As she spake these words,

she grasped the hand of Elfonzo, saying at the same time, ‘Peace and

prosperity attend you, my hero; be up and doing.’ Closing her remarks

with this expression, she walked slowly away, leaving Elfonzo astonished

and amazed. He ventured not to follow or detain her. Here he stood

alone, gazing at the stars;—confounded as he was, here he stood. The

rippling stream rolled on at his feet. Twilight had already begun to

draw her sable mantle over the earth, and now and then the fiery smoke

would ascend from the little town which lay spread out before him. The

citizens seemed to be full of life and good humour; but poor Elfonzo saw

not a brilliant scene. No, his future life stood before him, stripped of

the hopes that once adorned all his sanguine desires. ‘Alas!’ said he,

‘am I now Grief’s disappointed son at last!’ Ambulinia’s image rose

before his fancy. A mixture of ambition and greatness of soul moved upon

his young heart, and encouraged him to bear all his crosses with the

patience of a Job, notwithstanding he had to encounter with so many

obstacles. He still endeavoured to prosecute his studies, and reasonably

progressed in his education. Still he was not content; there was

something yet to be done before his happiness was complete. He would

visit his friends and acquaintances. They would invite him to social

parties, insisting that he should partake of the amusements that were

going on. This he enjoyed tolerably well. The ladies and gentlemen were

generally well pleased with the Major, as he delighted all with his

violin, which seemed to have a thousand chords—more symphonious than the

Muses of Apollo, and more enchanting than the ghost of the Hills. He

passed some days in the country. During that time Leos had made many

calls upon Ambulinia, who was generally received with a great deal of

courtesy by the family. They thought him to be a young man worthy of

attention, though he had but little in his soul to attract the

attention, or even win the affections of her whose graceful manners had

almost made him a slave to every bewitching look that fell from her

eyes. Leos made several attempts to tell her of his fair prospects—how

much he loved her, and how much it would add to his bliss if he could

but think she would be willing to share these blessings with him; but,

choked by his undertaking, he made himself more like an inactive drone

than he did like one who bowed at beauty’s shrine.

Elfonzo again wends his way to the stately walls and new-built village.

He now determines to see the end of the prophecy which had been foretold

to him. The clouds burst from his sight; he believes if he can but see

his Ambulinia, he can open to her view the bloody altars that have been

misrepresented to stigmatise his name. He knows that her breast is

transfixed with the sword of reason, and ready at all times to detect

the hidden villainy of her enemies. He resolves to see her in her own

home, with the consoling theme: ‘I can but perish if I go. Let the

consequences be what they may,’ said he, ‘if I die, it shall be

contending and struggling for my own rights.’

Night had almost overtaken him when he arrived in town. Colonel Elder, a

noble-hearted, high-minded, and independent man, met him at his door as

usual, and seized him by the hand. ‘Well, Elfonzo,’ said the Colonel,

‘how does the world use you in your efforts?’ ‘I have no objection to

the world,’ said Elfonzo, ‘but the people are rather singular in some of

their opinions.’ ‘Aye, well,’ said the Colonel, ‘you must remember that

creation is made up of many mysteries: just take things by the right

handle—be always sure you know which is the smooth side before you

attempt your polish—be reconciled to your fate, be it what it may, and

never find fault with your condition, unless your complaining will

benefit it. Perseverance is a principle that should be commendable in

those who have judgment to govern it. I should never have been so

successful in my hunting excursions, had I waited till the deer by some

magic dream had been drawn to the muzzle of the gun, before I made an

attempt to fire at the game that dared my boldness in the wild forest.

The great mystery in hunting seems to be—a good marksman, a resolute

mind, a fixed determination, and my word for it, you will never return

home without sounding your horn with the breath of a new victory. And so

with every other undertaking. Be confident that your ammunition is of

the right kind—always pull your trigger with a steady hand, and so soon

as you perceive a calm, touch her off, and the spoils are yours.’

This filled him with redoubled vigour, and he set out with a stronger

anxiety than ever to the home of Ambulinia. A few short steps soon

brought him to the door, half out of breath. He rapped gently.

Ambulinia, who sat in the parlour alone, suspecting Elfonzo was near,

ventured to the door, opened it, and beheld the hero, who stood in an

humble attitude, bowed gracefully, and as they caught each other’s

looks, the light of peace beamed from the eyes of Ambulinia. Elfonzo

caught the expression; a halloo of smothered shouts ran through every

vein, and for the first time he dared to impress a kiss upon her cheek.

The scene was overwhelming; had the temptation been less animating, he

would not have ventured to have acted so contrary to the desired wish of

his Ambulinia; but who could have withstood the irresistible temptation?

What society condemns the practice, but a cold, heartless, uncivilised

people, that know nothing of the warm attachments of refined society?

Here the dead was raised to his long-cherished hopes, and the lost was

found. Here all doubt and danger were buried in the vortex of oblivion;

sectional differences no longer disunited their opinions; like the freed

bird from the cage, sportive claps its rustling wings, wheels about to

Heaven in a joyful strain, and raises its notes to the upper sky.

Ambulinia insisted upon Elfonzo to be seated, and give her a history of

his unnecessary absence; assuring him the family had retired,

consequently they would ever remain ignorant of his visit. Advancing

towards him, she gave a bright display of her rosy neck, and from her

head the ambrosial locks breathed divine fragrance; her robe hung waving

to his view, while she stood like a goddess confessed before him.

‘It does seem to me, my dear sir,’ said Ambulinia, ‘that you have been

gone an age. Oh, the restless hours I have spent since I last saw you,

in yon beautiful grove! There is where I trifled with your feelings for

the express purpose of trying your attachment for me. I now find you are

devoted; but ah! I trust you live not unguarded by the powers of Heaven.

Though oft did I refuse to join my hand with thine, and as oft did I

cruelly mock thy entreaties with borrowed shapes: yes, I feared to

answer thee by terms, in words sincere and undissembled. O! could I

pursue, and you had leisure to hear the annals of my woes, the evening

star would shut Heaven’s gates upon the impending day, before my tale

would be finished, and this night would find me soliciting your

forgiveness. ‘Dismiss thy fears and thy doubts,’ replied Elfonzo. ‘Look

O! look: that angelic look of thine—bathe not thy visage in tears;

banish those floods that are gathering; let my confession and my

presence bring thee some relief.’ ‘Then, indeed, I will be cheerful,’

said Ambulinia; ‘and I think, if we will go to the exhibition this

evening, we certainly will see something worthy of our attention. One of

the most tragical scenes is to be acted that has ever been witnessed,

and one that every jealous-hearted person should learn a lesson from. It

cannot fail to have a good effect, as it will be performed by those who

are young and vigorous, and learned as well as enticing. You are aware,

Major Elfonzo, who are to appear on the stage, and what the characters

are to represent.’ ‘I am acquainted with the circumstances,’ replied

Elfonzo, ‘and as I am to be one of the musicians upon that interesting

occasion, I should be much gratified if you would favour me with your

company during the hours of the exercises.’

‘What strange notions are in your mind?’ inquired Ambulinia. ‘Now I know

you have something in view, and I desire you to tell me why it is that

you are so anxious that I should continue with you while the exercises

are going on; though, if you think I can add to your happiness and

predilections, I have no particular objection to acquiesce in your

request. Oh, I think I foresee, now, what you anticipate.’ ‘And will you

have the goodness to tell me what you think it to be?’ inquired Elfonzo.

‘By all means,’ answered Ambulinia; ‘a rival, sir, you would fancy in

your own mind; but let me say to you, fear not! fear not! I will be one

of the last persons to disgrace my sex, by thus encouraging every one

who may feel disposed to visit me, who may honour me with their graceful

bows and their choicest compliments. It is true that young men too often

mistake civil politeness for the finer emotions of the heart, which is

tantamount to courtship; but, ah! how often are they deceived when they

come to test the weight of sunbeams, with those on whose strength hangs

the future happiness of an untried life.’

The people were now rushing to the Academy with impatient anxiety; the

band of music was closely followed by the students; then the parents and

guardians; nothing interrupted the glow of spirits which ran through

every bosom, tinged with the songs of a Virgil and the tide of a Homer.

Elfonzo and Ambulinia soon repaired to the scene, and, fortunately for

them both, the house was so crowded that they took their seats together

in the music department, which was not in view of the auditory. This

fortuitous circumstance added more to the bliss of the Major than a

thousand such exhibitions would have done. He forgot that he was man;

music had lost its charms for him; whenever he attempted to carry his

part, the string of the instrument would break, the bow became stubborn,

and refused to obey the loud calls of the audience. Here, he said, was

the paradise of his home, the long-sought-for opportunity; he felt as

though he could send a million supplications to the throne of heaven for

such an exalted privilege. Poor Leos, who was somewhere in the crowd,

looking as attentively as if he was searching for a needle in a

haystack; here he stood, wondering to himself why Ambulinia was not

there. ‘Where can she be? Oh! if she was only here, how I could relish

the scene! Elfonzo is certainly not in town; but what if he is? I have

got the wealth, if I have not the dignity, and I am sure that the squire

and his lady have always been particular friends of mine, and I think

with this assurance I shall be able to get upon the blind side of the

rest of the family, and make the heaven-born Ambulinia the mistress of

all I possess.’ Then, again, he would drop his head, as if attempting to

solve the most difficult problem in Euclid. While he was thus

conjecturing in his own mind, a very interesting part of the exhibition

was going on, which called the attention of all present. The curtains of

the stage waved continually by the repelled forces that were given to

them, which caused Leos to behold Ambulinia leaning upon the chair of

Elfonzo. Her lofty beauty, seen by the glimmering of the chandelier,

filled his heart with rapture, he knew not how to contain himself; to go

where they were would expose him to ridicule; to continue where he was,

with such an object before him, without being allowed an explanation in

that trying hour, would be to the great injury of his mental as well as

of his physical powers; and, in the name of high heaven, what must he

do? Finally, he resolved to contain himself as well as he conveniently

could, until the scene was over, and then he would plant himself at the

door, to arrest Ambulinia from the hands of the insolent Elfonzo, and

thus make for himself a more prosperous field of immortality than ever

was decreed by Omnipotence, or ever pencil drew or artist imagined.

Accordingly he made himself sentinel, immediately after the performance

of the evening—retained his position apparently in defiance of all the

world, he waited, he gazed at every lady, his whole frame trembled; here

he stood until everything like human shape had disappeared from the

Institution, and he had done nothing; he had failed to accomplish that

which he so eagerly sought for. Poor, unfortunate creature! he had not

the eyes of an Argus, or he might have seen his Juno and Elfonzo,

assisted by his friend Sigma, make their escape from the window, and,

with the rapidity of a racehorse, hurry through the blast of the storm,

to the residence of her father, without being recognised. He did not

tarry long, but assured Ambulinia the endless chain of their existence

was more closely connected than ever, since he had seen the virtuous,

innocent, imploring, and the constant Amelia murdered by the

jealous-hearted Farcillo, the accursed of the land.

The following is the tragical scene, which is only introduced to show

the subject matter that enabled Elfonzo to come to such a determinate

resolution, that nothing of the kind should ever dispossess him of his

true character, should he be so fortunate as to succeed in his present

undertaking.

Amelia was the wife of Farcillo, and a virtuous woman; Gracia, a young

lady, was her particular friend and confidant. Farcillo grew jealous of

Amelia, murders her, finds out that he was deceived, _and stabs

himself_. Amelia appears alone, talking to herself.

_A._ Hail, ye solitary ruins of antiquity, ye sacred tombs and silent

walks! it is your aid I invoke; it is to you, my soul, wrapt in deep

meditation, pours forth its prayer. Here I wander upon the stage of

mortality, since the world hath turned against me. Those whom I believed

to be my friends, alas! are now my enemies, planting thorns in all my

paths, poisoning all my pleasures, and turning the past to pain. What a

lingering catalogue of sighs and tears lies just before me, crowding my

aching bosom with the fleeting dream of humanity, which must shortly

terminate! And to what purpose will all this bustle of life, these

agitations and emotions of the heart, have conduced, if it leave behind

it nothing of utility, if it leave no traces of improvement? Can it be

that I am deceived in my conclusion? No, I see that I have nothing to

hope for, but everything to fear, which tends to drive me from the walks

of time.

Oh! in this dead night, if loud winds arise,

To lash the surge and bluster in the skies,

May the west its furious rage display,

Toss me with storms in the watery way.

(_Enter Gracia._)

_G._ Oh, Amelia, is it you, the object of grief, the daughter of

opulence, of wisdom and philosophy, that thus complaineth? It cannot be

you are the child of misfortune, speaking of the monuments of former

ages, which were allotted not for the reflection of the distressed, but

for the fearless and bold.

_A._ Not the child of poverty, Gracia, or the heir of glory and peace,

but of fate. Remember, I have wealth more than wit can number; I have

had power more than kings could encompass; yet the world seems a desert;

all nature appears an afflictive spectacle of warring passions. This

blind fatality, that capriciously sports with the rules and lives of

mortals, tells me that the mountains will never again send forth the

water of their springs to my thirst. Oh, that I might be freed and set

at liberty from wretchedness! But I fear, I fear this will never be.

_G._ Why, Amelia, this untimely grief? What has caused the sorrows that

bespeak better and happier days, to thus lavish out such heaps of

misery? You are aware that your instructive lessons embellish the mind

with holy truths, by wedding its attention to none but great and noble

affections.

_A._ This, of course, is some consolation. I will ever love my own

species with feelings of a fond recollection, and while I am studying to

advance the universal philanthropy, and the spotless name of my own sex,

I will try to build my own upon the pleasing belief that I have

accelerated the advancement of one who whispers of departed confidence.

And I, like some poor peasant fated to reside

Remote from friends, in a forest wide.

Oh, see what woman’s woes and human wants require,

Since that great day hath spread the seed of sinful fire.

_G._ Look up, thou poor disconsolate; you speak of quitting earthly

enjoyments. Unfold thy bosom to a friend, who would be willing to

sacrifice every enjoyment for the restoration of that dignity and

gentleness of mind which used to grace your walks, and which is so

natural to yourself; not only that, but your paths were strewed with

flowers of every hue and of every order.

With verdant green the mountains glow,

For thee, for thee, the lilies grow;

Far stretched beneath the tented hills,

A fairer flower the valley fills.

_A._ Oh, would to heaven I could give you a short narrative of my former

prospects for happiness, since you have acknowledged to be an

unchangeable confidant—the richest of all other blessings! Oh, ye names

for ever glorious, ye celebrated scenes, ye renowned spot of my hymeneal

moments; how replete is your chart with sublime reflections! How many

profound vows, decorated with immaculate deeds, are written upon the

surface of that precious spot of earth, where I yielded up my life of

celibacy, bade youth with all its beauties a final adieu, took a last

farewell of the laurels that had accompanied me up the hill of my

juvenile career! It was then I began to descend towards the valley of

disappointment and sorrow; it was then I cast my little bark upon a

mysterious ocean of wedlock, with him who then smiled and caressed me,

but, alas! now frowns with bitterness, and has grown jealous and cold

towards me, because the ring he gave me is misplaced or lost. Oh, bear

me, ye flowers of memory, softly through the eventful history of past

times; and ye places that have witnessed the progression of man in the

circle of so many societies, aid, oh aid my recollection, while I

endeavour to trace the vicissitudes of a life devoted in endeavouring to

comfort him that I claim as the object of my wishes!

Ah! ye mysterious men, of all the world, how few

Act just to Heaven and to your promise true!

But He who guides the stars with a watchful eye,

The deeds of men lay open without disguise;

Oh, this alone will avenge the wrongs I bear,

For all the oppressed are his peculiar care.

(_F. makes a slight noise._)

_A._ “Who is there—Farcillo?

_G._ Then I must be gone. Heaven protect you. Oh, Amelia, farewell, be

of good cheer.

May you stand, like Olympus’ towers,

Against earth and all jealous powers!

May you, with loud shouts ascend on high,

Swift as an eagle in the upper sky.

_A._ Why so cold and distant to-night, Farcillo? Come, let us each other

greet, and forget all the past, and give security for the future.

_F._ Security! talk to me about giving security for the future—what an

insulting requisition! Have you said your prayers to-night, Madam

Amelia?

_A._ Farcillo, we sometimes forget our duty, particularly when we expect

to be caressed by others.

_F._ If you bethink yourself of any crime, or of any fault, that is yet

concealed from the courts of Heaven and the thrones of grace, I bid you

ask and solicit forgiveness for it now.

_A._ Oh, be kind, Farcillo, don’t treat me so! What do you mean by all

this?

_F._ Be kind, you say; you, madam, have forgot that kindness you owe to

me, and bestowed it upon another; you shall suffer for your conduct when

you make your peace with your God. I would not slay thy unprotected

spirit. I call to Heaven to be my guard and my watch—I would not kill

thy soul, in which all once seemed just, right, and perfect; but I must

be brief, woman.

_A._ What, talk you of killing? Oh, Farcillo, Farcillo, what is the

matter?

_F._ Aye, I do, without doubt; mark what I say, Amelia.

_A._ Then, O God, O Heaven, and Angels, be propitious, and have mercy

upon me!

_F._ Amen to that, madam, with all my heart and with all my soul.

_A._ Farcillo, listen to me one moment; I hope you will not kill me.

_F._ Kill you, aye, that I will; attest it, ye fair host of light;

record it, ye dark imps of hell!

_A._ Oh, I fear you—you are fatal when darkness covers your brow; yet I

know not why I should fear, since I never wronged you in all my life. I

stand, sir, guiltless before you.

_F._ You pretend to say you are guiltless! Think of thy sins, Amelia;

think, oh think, hidden woman!

_A._ Wherein have I not been true to you? That death is unkind, cruel,

and unnatural, that kills for loving.

_F._ Peace, and be still while I unfold to thee.

_A._ I will, Farcillo, and while I am thus silent, tell me the cause of

such cruel coldness in an hour like this.

_F._ That _ring_, oh that ring I so loved, and gave thee as the ring of

my heart; the allegiance you took to be faithful, when it was presented;

the kisses and smiles with which you honoured it. You became tired of

the donor, despised it as a plague, and finally gave it to Malos, the

hidden, the vile traitor!

_A._ No, upon my word and honour, I never did; I appeal to the Most High

to bear me out in this matter. Send for Malos, and ask him.

_F._ Send for Malos, aye! Malos you wish to see; I thought so. I knew

you could not keep his name concealed. Amelia, sweet Amelia, take heed,

take heed of perjury; you are on the stage of death, to suffer for _your

sins_.

_A._ What, not to die I hope, my Farcillo, my ever beloved?

_F._ Yes, madam, to die a traitor’s death. Shortly your spirit shall

take its exit; therefore confess freely thy sins, for to deny tends only

to make me groan under the bitter cup thou hast made for me. Thou art to

die with the name of traitor on thy brow!

_A._ Then, O Lord, have mercy upon me; give me courage, give me grace

and fortitude to stand this hour of trial!

_F._ Amen, I say, with all my heart.

_A._ And, oh, Farcillo, will you have mercy, too? I never intentionally

offended you in all my life; never _loved_ Malos, never gave him cause

to think so, as the high court of Justice will acquit me before its

tribunal.

_F._ Oh, false, perjured woman, thou dost chill my blood, and makest me

a demon like thyself. I saw the ring.

_A._ He found it, then, or got it clandestinely; send for him, and let

him confess the truth; let his confession be sifted.

_F._ And you still wish to see him! I tell you, madam, he hath already

confessed, and thou knowest the darkness of thy heart.

_A._ What, my deceived Farcillo, that I gave him the ring, in which all

my affections were concentrated? Oh, surely not.

_F._ Aye, he did. Ask thy conscience, and it will speak with a voice of

thunder to thy soul.

_A._ He will not say so, he dare not, he cannot.

_F._ No, he will not say so now, because his mouth, I trust, is hushed

in death, and his body stretched to the four winds of heaven, to be torn

to pieces by carnivorous birds.

_A._ What, is he dead, and gone to the world of spirits with that

declaration in his mouth? Oh, unhappy man! Oh, insupportable hour!

_F._ Yes, and had all his sighs and looks and tears been lives, my great

revenge could have slain them all, without the least condemnation.

_A._ Alas! he is ushered into eternity without testing the matter for

which I am abused and sentenced and condemned to die.

_F._ Cursed, infernal woman! Weepest thou for him to my face? He that

hath robbed me of my peace, my energy, the whole love of my life? Could

I call the fabled Hydra, I would have him live and perish, survive and

die, until the sun itself would grow dim with age. I would make him have

the thirst of a Tantalus, and roll the wheel of an Ixion, until the

stars of heaven should quit their brilliant stations.

_A._ Oh, invincible God, save me! Oh, unsupportable moment! Oh, heavy

hour! Banish me, Farcillo—send me where no eye can ever see me, where no

sound shall ever greet my ear; but, oh, slay me not, Farcillo; vent thy

rage and thy spite upon this emaciated frame of mine, only spare my

life!

_F._ Your petitions avail nothing, cruel Amelia.

_A._ Oh, Farcillo, perpetrate the dark deed to-morrow; let me live till

then, for my past kindness to you, and it may be some kind angel will

show to you that I am not only the object of innocence, but one who

never loved another but your noble self.

_F._ Amelia, the decree has gone forth, it is to be done, and that

quickly; thou art to die, madam.

_A._ But half an hour allow me, to see my father and my only child, to

tell her the treachery and vanity of this world.

_F._ There is no alternative, there is no pause; my daughter shall not

see its deceptive mother die; your father shall not know that his

daughter fell disgraced, despised by all but her enchanting Malos.

_A._ Oh, Farcillo, put up thy threatening dagger into its scabbard; let

it rest and be still, just while I say one prayer for thee and for my

child.

_F._ It is too late, thy doom is fixed, thou hast not confessed to

Heaven or to me, my child’s protector—thou art to die. Ye powers of

earth and heaven, protect and defend me in this alone. (_Stabs her,

while imploring for mercy._)

_A._ Oh, Farcillo, Farcillo, a guiltless death I die.

_F._ Die! die! die!

(_Gracia enters running, falls to her knees weeping, and kisses

Amelia._)

_G._ Oh, Farcillo, Farcillo! oh, Farcillo!

_F._ I am here, the genius of the age, and the avenger of my wrongs.

_G._ Oh, lady, speak once more; sweet Amelia, oh, speak again! Gone,

gone—yes, for ever gone! Farcillo, oh, cold-hearted Farcillo, some evil

fiend hath urged you to do this, Farcillo.

_F._ Say you not so again, or you shall receive the same fate. I did the

glorious deed, madam—beware, then, how you talk.

_G._ I fear not your implements of war; I will let you know you have not

the power to do me harm. If you have a heart of triple brass, it shall

be reached and melted, and thy blood shall chill thy veins and grow

stiff in thy arteries. Here is the ring of the virtuous and innocent

murdered Amelia; I obtained it from Malos, who yet lives, in hopes that

he will survive the wound given him, and says he got it

clandestinely—declares Amelia to be the princess of truth and virtue,

invulnerable to anything like forgetting her first devotion to thee. The

world has heard of your conduct and your jealousy, and with one

universal voice declares her to be the best of all in piety; that she is

the star of this great universe, and a more virtuous woman never lived

since the wheels of time began. Oh, had you waited till to-morrow, or

until I had returned, some kind window would have been opened to her

relief. But, alas! she is gone—yes, for ever gone, to try the realities

of an unknown world!

(_Farcillo leaning over the body of Amelia._)

_F._ Malos not dead, and here is my ring! Oh, Amelia! falsely, falsely

murdered! Oh, bloody deed! Oh, wretch that I am! Oh, angels, forgive me!

Oh, God, withhold Thy vengeance! Oh, Amelia, if Heaven would make a

thousand worlds like this, set with diamonds, and all of one perfect

chrysolite, I would not have done this for them all, I would not have

frowned and cursed as I did. Oh, she was heavenly true, nursed in the

very lap of bright angels! Cursed slave that I am! Jealousy, oh! thou

infernal demon! Lost, lost to every sense of honour! Oh!

Amelia—heaven-born Amelia—dead, dead! Oh! oh! oh!—then let me die with

thee. Farewell! farewell! ye world that deceived me! (_Stabs himself._)

Soon after the excitement of this tragical scene was over, and the

enlisted feeling for Amelia had grown more buoyant with Elfonzo and

Ambulinia, he determined to visit his retired home, and make the

necessary improvements to enjoy a better day; consequently he conveyed

the following lines to Ambulinia:

Go tell the world that hope is glowing,

Go bid the rocks their silence break,

Go tell the stars that love is glowing,

Then bid the hero his lover take.

In the region where scarcely the foot of man hath ever trod, where the

woodman hath not found his way, lies a blooming grove, seen only by the

sun when he mounts his lofty throne, visited only by the light of the

stars, to whom are entrusted the guardianship of earth, before the sun

sinks to rest in his rosy bed. High cliffs of rock surround the romantic

place, and in the small cavity of the rocky wall grows the daffodil

clear and pure; and as the wind blows along the enchanting little

mountain which surrounds the lonely spot, it nourishes the flowers with

the dewdrops of heaven. Here is the seat of Elfonzo; Darkness claims but

little victory over this dominion, and in vain does she spread out her

gloomy wings. Here the waters flow perpetually, and the trees lash their

tops together to bid the welcome visitor a happy muse. Elfonzo, during

his short stay in the country, had fully persuaded himself that it was

his duty to bring this solemn matter to an issue. A duty that he

individually owed, as a gentleman, to the parents of Ambulinia, a duty

in itself involving not only his own happiness and his own standing in

society, but one that called aloud the act of the parties to make it

perfect and complete. How he should communicate his intentions to get a

favourable reply, he was at a loss to know; he knew not whether to

address Squire Valeer in prose or in poetry, in a jocular or an

argumentative manner, or whether he should use moral suasion, legal

injunction, or seize and take by reprisal; if it was to do the latter,

he would have no difficulty in deciding in his own mind, but his

gentlemanly honour was at stake; so he concluded to address the

following letter to the father and mother of Ambulinia, as his address

in person he knew would only aggravate the old gentleman, and perhaps

his lady.

‘Cumming, Ga., January 22, 1844.

‘MR. AND MRS. VALEER,—

‘Again I resume the pleasing task of addressing you, and once more

beg an immediate answer to my many salutations. From every

circumstance that has taken place, I feel in duty bound to comply

with my obligations; to forfeit my word would be more than I dare

do: to break my pledge, and my vows that have been witnessed,

sealed, and delivered in the presence of an unseen Deity, would be

disgraceful on my part, as well as ruinous to Ambulinia. I wish no

longer to be kept in suspense about this matter. I wish to act

gentlemanly in every particular. It is true the promises I have made

are unknown to any but Ambulinia, and I think it unnecessary to here

enumerate them, as they who promise the most generally perform the

least. Can you for a moment doubt my sincerity or my character? My

only wish is, sir, that you may calmly and dispassionately look at

the situation of the case, and if your better judgment should

dictate otherwise, my obligations may induce me to pluck the flower

that you so diametrically opposed. We have sworn by the saints—by

the gods of battle, and by that faith whereby just men are made

perfect, to be united. I hope, my dear sir, you will find it

convenient as well as agreeable to give me a favourable answer, with

the signature of Mrs. Valeer as well as yourself.

‘With very great esteem,

Your humble servant,

J. I. ELFONZO.’

The moon and stars had grown pale when Ambulinia had retired to rest. A

crowd of unpleasant thoughts passed through her bosom. Solitude dwelt in

her chamber—no sound from the neighbouring world penetrated its

stillness; it appeared a temple of silence, of repose, and of mystery.

At that moment she heard a still voice calling her father. In an

instant, like a flash of lightning, a thought ran through her mind, that

it must be the bearer of Elfonzo’s communication. ‘It is not a dream!’

she said, ‘no, I cannot read dreams. Oh! I would to Heaven I was near

that glowing eloquence—that poetical language,—it charms the mind in an

inexpressible manner, and warms the coldest heart.’ While consoling

herself with this strain, her father rushed into her room almost frantic

with rage, exclaiming: ‘O, Ambulinia! Ambulinia!! undutiful, ungrateful

daughter! What does this mean? Why does this letter bear such

heartrending intelligence? Will you quit a father’s house with this

debased wretch, without a place to lay his distracted head; going up and

down the country, with every novel object that may chance to wander

through this region? He is a pretty man to make love known to his

superiors, and you, Ambulinia, have done but little credit to yourself

by honouring his visits. O wretchedness! can it be that my hopes of

happiness are for ever blasted? Will you not listen to a father’s

entreaties, and pay some regard to a mother’s tears? I know, and I do

pray that God will give me fortitude to bear with this sea of troubles,

and rescue my daughter, my Ambulinia, as a brand from the eternal

burning.’ ‘Forgive me, father. Oh! forgive thy child,’ replied

Ambulinia. ‘My heart is ready to break, when I see you in this grieved

state of agitation. Oh! think not so meanly of me, as that I mourn for

my own danger. Father, I am only woman. Mother, I am only the templement

of thy youthful years; but will suffer courageously whatever punishment

you think proper to inflict upon me, if you will but allow me to comply

with my most sacred promises—if you will but give me my personal right,

and my personal liberty. Oh, father! if your generosity will but give me

these, I ask nothing more. When Elfonzo offered me his heart, I gave him

my hand, never to forsake him; and now may the mighty God banish me

before I leave him in adversity! What a heart must I have to rejoice in

prosperity with him whose offers I have accepted, and then, when poverty

comes, haggard as it may be,—for me to trifle with the oracles of

Heaven, and change with every fluctuation that may interrupt our

happiness,—like the politician who runs the political gauntlet for

office one day, and the next day, because the horizon is darkened a

little, he is seen running for his life, for fear he might perish in its

ruins. Where is the philosophy; where is the consistency; where is the

charity; in conduct like this? Be happy, then, my beloved father, and

forget me; let the sorrow of parting break down the wall of separation

and make us equal in our feeling; let me now say how ardently I love

you; let me kiss that age-worn cheek, and should my tears bedew thy

face, I will wipe them away. Oh, I never can forget you; no, never,

never!’

‘Weep not,’ said the father, ‘Ambulinia. I will forbid Elfonzo my house,

and desire that you may keep retired a few days. I will let him know

that my friendship for my family is not linked together by cankered

chains; and if he ever enters upon my premises again, I will send him to

his long home.’ ‘Oh, father! let me entreat you to be calm upon this

occasion; and though Elfonzo may be the sport of the clouds and winds,

yet I feel assured that no fate will send him to the silent tomb until

the God of the Universe calls him hence with a triumphant voice.’

Here the father turned away, exclaiming: ‘I will answer his letter in a

very few words, and you, madam, will have the goodness to stay at home

with your mother: and remember, I am determined to protect you from the

consuming fire that looks so fair to your view.’

‘Cumming: January 22, 1844.

‘SIR,—In regard to your request, I am as I ever have been, utterly

opposed to your marrying into my family; and if you have any regard

for yourself, or any gentlemanly feeling, I hope you will mention it

to me no more; but seek some other one who is not so far superior to

you in standing.

‘W. W. VALEER.’

When Elfonzo read the above letter, he became so much depressed in

spirits, that many of his friends thought it advisable to use other

means to bring about the happy union. ‘Strange,’ said he, ‘that the

contents of this diminutive letter should cause me to have such

depressed feelings; but there is a nobler theme than this. I know not

why my _military title_ is not as great as that of _Squire Valeer_. For

my life I cannot see that my ancestors are inferior to those who are so

bitterly opposed to my marriage with Ambulinia. I know I have seen huge

mountains before me; yet, when I think that I know gentlemen will insult

me upon this delicate matter, should I become angry at fools and

babblers who pride themselves in their impudence and ignorance? No. My

equals! I know not where to find them. My inferiors! I think it beneath

me: and my superiors! I think it presumption: therefore, if this

youthful heart is protected by any of the divine rights, I never will

betray my trust.’

He was aware that Ambulinia had a confidence that was, indeed, as firm

and as resolute as she was beautiful and interesting. He hastened to the

cottage of Louisa, who received him in her usual mode of pleasantness,

and informed him that Ambulinia had just that moment left. ‘Is it

possible?’ said Elfonzo. ‘Oh, murdered hour! Why did she not remain and

be the guardian of my secrets? But hasten and tell me how she has stood

this trying scene, and what are her future determinations.’ ‘You know,’

said Louisa, ‘Major Elfonzo, that you have Ambulinia’s first love, which

is of no small consequence. She came here about twilight, and shed many

precious tears in consequence of her own fate with yours. We walked

silently in yon little valley, you see, where we spent a momentary

repose. She seemed to be quite as determined as ever, and before we left

that beautiful spot she offered up a prayer to Heaven for thee.’ ‘I will

see her, then,’ replied Elfonzo, ‘though legions of enemies may oppose.

She is mine by foreordination—she is mine by prophecy—she is mine by her

own free will, and I will rescue her from the hands of her oppressors.

Will you not, Miss Louisa, assist me in my capture?’ ‘I will certainly,

by the aid of Divine Providence,’ answered Louisa, ‘endeavour to break

those slavish chains that bind the richest of prizes; though allow me,

Major, to entreat you to use no harsh means on this important occasion;

take a decided stand, and write freely to Ambulinia upon this subject,

and I will see that no intervening cause hinders its passage to her. God

alone will save a mourning people. Now is the day, and now is the hour

to obey a command of such valuable worth.’ The Major felt himself grow

stronger after this short interview with Louisa. He felt as if he could

whip his weight in wild-cats—he knew he was master of his own feelings,

and could now write a letter that would bring this litigation to _an

issue_.

‘Cumming, January 24, 1844.

‘DEAR AMBULINIA,—

‘We have now reached the most trying moment of our lives; we are

pledged not to forsake our trust; we have waited for a favourable

hour to come, thinking your friends would settle the matter

agreeably among themselves, and finally be reconciled to our

marriage; but as I have waited in vain, and looked in vain, I have

determined in my own mind to make a proposition to you, though you

may think it not in accordance with your station, or compatible with

your rank; yet, “sub hoc signo vinces.” You know I cannot resume my

visits, in consequence of the utter hostility that your father has

to me; therefore the consummation of our union will have to be

sought for in a more sublime sphere, at the residence of a

respectable friend of this village. You cannot have any scruples

upon this mode of proceeding, if you will but remember it emanates

from one who loves you better than his own life—who is more than

anxious to bid you welcome to a new and a happy home. Your warmest

associates say, come; the talented, the learned, the wise and the

experienced say, come;—all these with their friends say, come.

Viewing these, with many other inducements, I flatter myself that

you will come to the embraces of your Elfonzo; for now is the time

of your acceptance and the day of your liberation. You cannot be

ignorant, Ambulinia, that thou art the desire of my heart; its

thoughts are too noble, and too pure, to conceal themselves from

you. I shall wait for your answer to this impatiently, expecting

that you will set the time to make your departure, and to be in

readiness at a moment’s warning to share the joys of a more

preferable life. This will be handed you by Louisa, who will take a

pleasure in communicating anything to you that may relieve your

dejected spirits, and will assure you that I now stand ready,

willing and waiting to make good my vows.

‘I am, dear Ambulinia,

‘Yours truly and for ever,

‘J. I. ELFONZO.’

Louisa made it convenient to visit Mr. Valeer’s, though they did not

suspect her in the least the bearer of love epistles: consequently, she

was invited in the room to console Ambulinia, where they were left

alone. Ambulinia was seated by a small table—her head resting on her

hand—her brilliant eyes were bathed in tears. Louisa handed her the

letter of Elfonzo, when another spirit animated her features—the spirit

of renewed confidence that never fails to strengthen the female

character in an hour of grief and sorrow like this; and as she

pronounced the last accent of his name, she exclaimed, ‘And does he love

me yet? I never will forget your generosity, Louisa. Oh, unhappy and yet

blessed Louisa! may you never feel what I have felt—may you never know

the pangs of love! Had I never loved, I never would have been unhappy;

but I turn to Him who can save, and if His wisdom does not will my

expected union, I know He will give me strength to bear my lot. Amuse

yourself with this little book, and take it as an apology for my

silence,’ said Ambulinia, ‘while I attempt to answer this volume of

consolation.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Louisa, ‘you are excusable upon this

occasion; but I pray you, Ambulinia, to be expert upon this momentous

subject, that there may be nothing mistrustful upon my part.’ ‘I will,’

said Ambulinia, and immediately resumed her seat and addressed the

following to Elfonzo:—

‘Cumming, Ga., January 28,1844.

‘DEVOTED ELFONZO,—

‘I hail your letter as a welcome messenger of faith, and can now say

truly and firmly, that my feelings correspond with yours. Nothing

shall be wanting on my part to make my obedience your fidelity.

Courage and perseverance will accomplish success. Receive this as my

oath, that while I grasp your hand in my own imagination, we stand

united before a higher tribunal than any on earth. All the powers of

my life, soul, and body, I devote to thee. Whatever dangers may

threaten me, I fear not to encounter them. Perhaps I have determined

upon my own destruction, by leaving the house of the best of

parents; be it so, I flee to you, I share your destiny, faithful to

the end. The day that I have concluded upon for this task is

_Sabbath_ next, when the family with the citizens are generally at

church. For Heaven’s sake let not that day pass unimproved: trust

not till to-morrow, it is the cheat of life—the future that never

comes—the grave of many noble births—the cavern of ruined

enterprise: which like the lightning’s flash is born, and dies, and

perishes, ere the voice of him who sees can cry, _Behold! behold!!_

You may trust to what I say; no power shall tempt me to betray

confidence. Suffer me to add one word more.

I will soothe thee, in all thy grief,

Beside the gloomy river:

And though thy love may yet be brief,

Mine is fixed for ever.

Receive the deepest emotions of my heart for thy constant love, and

may the power of inspiration be thy guide, thy portion, and thy all.

In great haste,

‘Yours faithfully,

‘AMBULINIA.’

‘I now take my leave of you, sweet girl,’ said Louisa, ‘sincerely

wishing you success on Sabbath next.’ When Ambulinia’s letter was handed

to Elfonzo, he perused it without doubting its contents. Louisa charged

him to make but few confidants; but, like most young men who happened to

win the heart of a beautiful girl, he was so elated with the idea, that

he felt as a commanding general on parade, who had confidence in all,

consequently gave orders to all. The appointed Sabbath, with a delicious

breeze and cloudless sky, made its appearance. The people gathered in

crowds to the church—the streets were filled with the neighbouring

citizens, all marching to the house of worship. It is entirely useless

for me to attempt to describe the feelings of Elfonzo and Ambulinia, who

were silently watching the movements of the multitude, apparently

counting them as they entered the house of God, looking for the last one

to darken the door. The impatience and anxiety with which they waited,

and the bliss they anticipated on the eventful day, is altogether

indescribable. Those that have been so fortunate as to embark in such a

noble enterprise, know all its realities; and those who have not had

this inestimable privilege, will have to taste its sweets, before they

can tell to others its joys, its comforts, and its Heaven-born worth.

Immediately after Ambulinia had assisted the family off to church, she

took the advantage of that opportunity to make good her promises. She

left a home of enjoyment to be wedded to one whose love had been

justifiable. A few short steps brought her to the presence of Louisa,

who urged her to make good use of her time, and not to delay a moment,

but to go with her to her brother’s house, where Elfonzo would for ever

make her happy. With lively speed, and yet a graceful air, she entered

the door and found herself protected by the champion of her confidence.

The necessary arrangements were fast making to have the two lovers

united—everything was in readiness except the Parson; and as they are

generally very sanctimonious on such occasions, the news got to the

parents of Ambulinia before the everlasting knot was tied, and they both

came running, with uplifted hands and injured feelings, to arrest their

daughter from an unguarded and hasty resolution. Elfonzo desired to

maintain his ground, but Ambulinia thought it best for him to leave, to

prepare for a greater contest. He accordingly obeyed, as it would have

been a vain endeavour for him to have battled against a man who was

armed with deadly weapons; and, besides, he could not resist the request

of such a pure heart. Ambulinia concealed herself in the upper story of

the house, fearing the rebuke of her father; the door was locked, and no

chastisement was now expected. Squire Valeer, whose pride was already

touched, resolved to preserve the dignity of his family. He entered the

house almost exhausted, looking wildly for Ambulinia. ‘Amazed and

astonished indeed I am,’ said he, ‘at a people who call themselves

civilised, to allow such behaviour as this. Ambulinia, Ambulinia!’ he

cried, ‘come to the calls of your first, your best, and your only

friend. I appeal to you, sir,’ turning to the gentleman of the house,

‘to know where Ambulinia has gone, or where is she?’ ‘Do you mean to

insult me, sir, in my own house?’ inquired the confounded gentleman. ‘I

will burst,’ said Mr. V., ‘asunder every door in your dwelling, in

search of my daughter, if you do not speak quickly, and tell me where

she is. I care nothing about that outcast rubbish of creation, that

mean, low-lived Elfonzo, if I can but obtain Ambulinia! Are you not

going to open this door?’ said he. ‘By the Eternal that made heaven and

earth! I will go about the work instantly, if it is not done.’ The

confused citizens gathered from all parts of the village to know the

cause of this commotion. Some rushed into the house; the door that was

locked flew open, and there stood Ambulinia, weeping. ‘Father, be

still,’ said she, ‘and I will follow thee home.’ But the agitated man

seized her, and bore her off through the gazing multitude. ‘Father,’ she

exclaimed, ‘I humbly beg your pardon—I will be dutiful—I will obey thy

commands. Let the sixteen years I have lived in obedience to thee be my

future security.’ ‘I don’t like to be always giving credit, when the old

score is not paid up, madam,’ said the father. The mother followed

almost in a state of derangement, crying and imploring her to think

beforehand, and ask advice from experienced persons, and they would tell

her it was a rash undertaking. ‘Oh!’ said she, ‘Ambulinia, my daughter,

did you know what I have suffered—did you know how many nights I have

whiled away in agony, in pain, and in fear, you would pity the sorrows

of a heartbroken mother.’

‘Well, mother,’ replied Ambulinia, ‘I know I have been disobedient; I am

aware that what I have done might have been done much better; but oh!

what shall I do with my honour? it is so dear to me; I am pledged to

Elfonzo. His high moral worth is certainly worth some attention;

moreover, my vows, I have no doubt, are recorded in the book of life,

and must I give these all up? must my fair hopes be for ever blasted?

Forbid it, father; oh! forbid it, mother; forbid it, heaven.’ ‘I have

seen so many beautiful skies overclouded,’ replied the mother, ‘so many

blossoms nipped by the frost, that I am afraid to trust you to the care

of those fair days, which may be interrupted by thundering and

tempestuous nights. You no doubt think as I did—life’s devious ways were

strewed with sweet-scented flowers; but ah! how long they have lingered

around me and took their flight in the vivid hope that laughs at the

drooping victims it has murdered.’ Elfonzo was moved at this sight. The

people followed on to see what was going to become of Ambulinia, while

he, with downcast looks, kept at a distance, until he saw them enter the

abode of the father, thrusting her, that was the sigh of his soul, out

of his presence into a solitary apartment, when she exclaimed, ‘Elfonzo!

Elfonzo! oh, Elfonzo! where art thou, with all thy heroes? haste, oh!

haste, come thou to my relief. Ride on the wings of the wind! Turn thy

force loose like a tempest, and roll on thy army like a whirlwind over

this mountain of trouble and confusion. Oh, friends! if any pity me, let

your last efforts throng upon the green hills, and come to the relief of

Ambulinia, who is guilty of nothing but innocent love.’ Elfonzo called

out with a loud voice, ‘My God, can I stand this? Arouse up, I beseech

you, and put an end to this tyranny. Come, my brave boys,’ said he, ‘are

you ready to go forth to your duty?’ They stood around him. ‘Who,’ said

he, ‘will call us to arms? Where are my thunderbolts of war? Speak ye,

the first who will meet the foe! Who will go forward with me in this

ocean of grievous temptation? If there is one who desires to go, let him

come and shake hands upon the altar of devotion, and swear that he will

be a hero; yes, a Hector in a cause like this, which calls aloud for a

speedy remedy.’ ‘Mine be the deed,’ said a young lawyer, ‘and mine

alone; Venus alone shall quit her station before I will forsake one jot

or tittle of my promise to you; what is death to me? what is all this

warlike army, if it is not to win a victory? I love the sleep of the

lover and the mighty; nor would I give it over till the blood of my

enemies should wreak with that of my own. But God forbid that our fame

should soar on the blood of the slumberer.’ Mr. Valeer stands at his

door with the frown of a demon upon his brow, with his dangerous weapon

ready to strike the first man who should enter his door. ‘Who will arise

and go forward through blood and carnage to the rescue of my Ambulinia?’

said Elfonzo. ‘All,’ exclaimed the multitude; and onward they went, with

their implements of battle. Others, of a more timid nature, stood among

the distant hills to see the result of the contest.

Elfonzo took the lead of his band. Night arose in clouds; darkness

concealed the heavens; but the blazing hopes that stimulated them

gleamed in every bosom. All approached the anxious spot; they rushed to

the front of the house, and with one exclamation demanded Ambulinia.

‘Away, begone, and disturb my peace no more,’ said Mr. Valeer. ‘You are

a set of base, insolent, and infernal rascals. Go, the northern star

points your path through the dim twilight of the night; go, and vent

your spite upon the lonely hills; pour forth your love, you poor,

weak-minded wretch, upon your idleness and upon your guitar, and your

fiddle; they are fit subjects for your admiration, for, let me assure

you, though this sword and iron lever are cankered, yet they frown in

sleep, and let one of you dare to enter my house this night and you

shall have the contents and the weight of these instruments.’ ‘Never yet

did base dishonour blur my name,’ said Elfonzo; ‘mine is a cause of

renown; here are my warriors, fear and tremble, for this night, though

hell itself should oppose, I will endeavour to avenge her whom thou hast

banished in solitude. The voice of Ambulinia shall be heard from that

dark dungeon.’ At that moment Ambulinia appeared at the window above,

and with a tremulous voice said, ‘Live, Elfonzo! oh! live to raise my

stone of moss! why should such language enter your heart? why should thy

voice rend the air with such agitation? I bid thee live, once more

remembering these tears of mine are shed alone for thee, in this dark

and gloomy vault, and should I perish under this load of trouble, join

the song of thrilling accents with the raven above my grave, and lay

this tattered frame beside the banks of the Chattahoochee, or the stream

of Sawney’s brook; sweet will be the song of death to your Ambulinia. My

ghost shall visit you in the smiles of Paradise, and tell your high fame

to the minds of that region, which is far more preferable than this

lonely cell. My heart shall speak for thee till the latest hour; I know

faint and broken are the sounds of sorrow, yet our souls, Elfonzo, shall

hear the peaceful songs together. One bright name shall be ours on high,

if we are not permitted to be united here; bear in mind that I still

cherish my old sentiments, and the poet will mingle the names of Elfonzo

and Ambulinia in the tide of other days.’ ‘Fly, Elfonzo,’ said the

voices of his united band, ‘to the wounded heart of your beloved. All

enemies shall fall beneath thy sword. Fly through the clefts, and the

dim spark shall sleep in death.’ Elfonzo rushes forward and strikes his

shield against the door, which was barricaded, to prevent any

intercourse. His brave sons throng round him. The people pour along the

streets, both male and female, to prevent or witness the melancholy

scene.

‘To arms, to arms!’ cried Elfonzo, ‘here is a victory to be won, a prize

to be gained, that is more to me than the whole world beside.’ ‘It

cannot be done to-night,’ said Mr. Valeer. ‘I bear the clang of death;

my strength and armour shall prevail. My Ambulinia shall rest in this

hall until the break of another day, and if we fall, we fall together.

If we die, we die clinging to our tattered rights, and our blood alone

shall tell the mournful tale of a murdered daughter and a ruined

father.’ Sure enough, he kept watch all night, and was successful in

defending his house and family. The bright morning gleamed upon the

hills, night vanished away, the Major and his associates felt somewhat

ashamed that they had not been as fortunate as they expected to have

been; however, they still leaned upon their arms in dispersed groups;

some were walking the streets, others were talking in the Major’s

behalf. Many of the citizens suspended business, as the town presented

nothing but consternation. A novelty that might end in the destruction

of some worthy and respectable citizens. Mr. Valeer ventured in the

streets, though not without being well armed. Some of his friends

congratulated him on the decided stand he had taken, and hoped he would

settle the matter amicably with Elfonzo, without any serious injury.

‘Me,’ he replied, ‘what, me, condescend to fellowship with a coward, and

a low-lived, lazy, undermining villain? No, gentlemen, this cannot be; I

had rather be borne off, like the bubble upon the dark blue ocean, with

Ambulinia by my side, than to have him in the ascending or descending

line of relationship. Gentlemen,’ continued he, ‘if Elfonzo is so much

of a distinguished character, and is so learned in the fine arts, why do

you not patronise such men? why not introduce him into your families as

a gentleman of taste and of unequalled magnanimity? why are you so very

anxious that he should become a relative of mine? Oh, gentlemen, I fear

you yet are tainted with the curiosity of our first parents, who were

beguiled by the poisonous kiss of an old ugly serpent, and who, for one

_apple, damned_ all mankind. I wish to divest myself, as far as

possible, of that untutored custom. I have long since learned that the

perfection of wisdom and the end of true philosophy is to proportion our

wants to our possessions, our ambition to our capacities; we will then

be a happy and a virtuous people.’ Ambulinia was sent off to prepare for

a long and tedious journey. Her new acquaintances had been instructed by

her father how to treat her, and in what manner, and to keep the

anticipated visit entirely secret. Elfonzo was watching the movements of

everybody; some friends had told him of the plot that was laid to carry

off Ambulinia. At night, he rallied some two or three of his forces, and

went silently along to the stately mansion; a faint and glimmering light

showed through the windows; lightly he steps to the door, there were

many voices rallying fresh in fancy’s eye; he tapped the shutter, it was

opened instantly, and he beheld once more, seated beside several ladies,

the hope of all his toils; he rushed towards her, she rose from her

seat, rejoicing: he made one mighty grasp, when Ambulinia exclaimed,

‘Huzza for Major Elfonzo! I will defend myself and you, too, with this

conquering instrument I hold in my hand; huzza, I say, I now invoke

time’s broad wing to shed around us some dewdrops of verdant spring.’

But the hour had not come for this joyous reunion; her friends struggled

with Elfonzo for some time, and finally succeeded in arresting her from

his hands. He dared not injure them, because they were matrons whose

courage needed no spur; she was snatched from the arms of Elfonzo, with

so much eagerness and yet with such expressive signification, that he

calmly withdrew from this lovely enterprise, with an ardent hope that he

should be lulled to repose by the zephyrs which whispered peace to his

soul. Several long days and nights passed unmolested, all seemed to have

grounded their arms of rebellion, and no callidity appeared to be going

on with any of the parties. Other arrangements were made by Ambulinia;

she feigned herself to be entirely the votary of a mother’s care, and

said, by her graceful smiles, that manhood might claim his stern

dominion in some other region, where such boisterous love was not so

prevalent. This gave the parents a confidence that yielded some hours of

sober joy; they believed that Ambulinia would now cease to love Elfonzo,

and that her stolen affections would now expire with her misguided

opinions. They therefore declined the idea of sending her to a distant

land. But oh! they dreamed not of the rapture that dazzled the fancy of

Ambulinia, who would say, when alone, youth should not fly away on his

rosy pinions, and leave her to grapple in the conflict with unknown

admirers.

No frowning age shall control

The constant current of my soul,

Nor a tear from pity’s eye

Shall check my sympathetic sigh.

With this resolution fixed in her mind, one dark and dreary night, when

the winds whistled and the tempest roared, she received intelligence

that Elfonzo was then waiting, and every preparation was then ready, at

the residence of Dr. Tully, and for her to make a quick escape while the

family were reposing. Accordingly she gathered her books, went to the

wardrobe supplied with a variety of ornamental dressing, and ventured

alone in the streets to make her way to Elfonzo, who was near at hand,

impatiently looking and watching her arrival. ‘What forms,’ said she,

‘are those rising before me? What is that dark spot on the clouds? I do

wonder what frightful ghost that is, gleaming on the red tempest? Oh, be

merciful and tell me what region you are from. Oh tell me, ye strong

spirits, or ye dark and fleeting clouds, that I yet have a friend.’ ‘A

friend,’ said a low, whispering voice. ‘I am thy unchanging, thy aged,

and thy disappointed mother. Oh, Ambulinia, why hast thou deceived me?

Why brandish in that hand of thine a javelin of pointed steel? Why

suffer that lip I have kissed a thousand times, to equivocate? My

daughter, let these tears sink deep into thy soul, and no longer persist

in that which may be your destruction and ruin. Come, my dear child,

retrace your steps, and bear me company to your welcome home.’ Without

one retorting word, or frown from her brow, she yielded to the

entreaties of her mother, and with all the mildness of her former

character she went along with the silver lamp of age, to the home of

candour and benevolence. Her father received her with cold and formal

politeness—‘Where has Ambulinia been, this blustering evening, Mrs.

Valeer?’ inquired he. ‘Oh, she and I have been taking a solitary walk,’

said the mother; ‘all things, I presume, are now working for the best.’

Elfonzo heard this news shortly after it happened. ‘What,’ said he, ‘has

heaven and earth turned against me? I have been disappointed times

without number. Shall I despair? Must I give it over? Heaven’s decrees

will not fade; I will write again—I will try again; and if it traverses

a gory field, I pray forgiveness at the altar of justice.’

‘Desolate Hill, Cumming, Geo., 1844.

‘UNCONQUERED AND BELOVED AMBULINIA,—

‘I have only time to say to you, not to despair; thy fame shall not

perish; my visions are brightening before me. The whirlwind’s rage

is past, and we now shall subdue our enemies without doubt. On

Monday morning, when your friends are at breakfast, they will not

suspect your departure, or even mistrust me being in town, as it has

been reported advantageously that I have left for the west. You walk

carelessly towards the academy grove, where you will find me with a

lightning steed, elegantly equipped to bear you off where we shall

be joined in wedlock with the first connubial rights. Fail not to do

this—think not of the tedious relations of our wrongs—be invincible.

You alone occupy all my ambition, and I alone will make you my happy

spouse, with the same unimpeached veracity. I remain, for ever, your

devoted friend and admirer,

‘J. I. ELFONZO.’

The appointed day ushered in undisturbed by any clouds; nothing

disturbed Ambulinia’s soft beauty. With serenity and loveliness she

obeys the request of Elfonzo. The moment the family seated themselves at

the table—‘Excuse my absence for a short time,’ said she, ‘while I

attend to the placing of those flowers which should have been done a

week ago.’ And away she ran to the sacred grove, surrounded with

glittering pearls that indicated her coming. Elfonzo hails her with his

silver bow and his golden harp. They meet—Ambulinia’s countenance

brightens—Elfonzo leads up his winged steed. ‘Mount,’ said he, ‘ye

true-hearted, ye fearless soul—the day is ours.’ She sprang upon the

back of the young thunderbolt, a brilliant star sparkles upon her head,

with one hand she grasps the reins, and with the other she holds an

olive branch. ‘Lend thy aid, ye strong winds,’ they exclaimed; ‘ye moon,

ye sun, and all ye fair host of heaven, witness the enemy conquered.’

‘Hold,’ said Elfonzo, ‘thy dashing steed.’ ‘Ride on,’ said Ambulinia,

‘the voice of thunder is behind us.’ And onward they went, with such

rapidity that they very soon arrived at Rural Retreat, where they

dismounted, and were united with all the solemnities that usually attend

such divine operations. They passed the day in thanksgiving and great

rejoicing, and on that evening they visited their uncle, where many of

their friends and acquaintances had gathered to congratulate them in the

field of untainted bliss. The kind old gentleman met them in the yard:

‘Well,’ said he, ‘I wish I may die, Elfonzo, if you and Ambulinia

haven’t tied a knot with your tongue that you can’t untie with your

teeth. But come in, come in; never mind, all is right—the world still

moves on, and no one has fallen in this great battle.’

Happy now is their lot! Unmoved by misfortune, they live among the fair

beauties of the South. Heaven spreads their peace and fame upon the arch

of the rainbow, and smiles propitiously at their triumph, _through the

tears of the storm_.

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