Al. Melissa. [A pause ensued.]

Mel. See that ship, Alonzo, coming up the sound; how she ploughs through

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

the beams of the sun.

Al. Yes, it is almost down.

Mel. What is almost down?

Al. The sun. Was not you speaking of the sun, madam?

Mel. Your mind is absent, Alonzo; I was speaking of yonder ship.

Al. I beg pardon, madam. O yes--the ship--it--it bounds with rapid

motion over the waves.

A pause ensued. They walked leisurely around the hill, and moved toward

home. The sun sunk behind the western hills.--Twilight arose in the

east, and floated along the air. Darkness began to hover around the

woodlands and vallies. The beauties of the landscape slowly receded.

"This reminds me of our walk at New-London," said Melissa. "Do you

remember it?" enquired Alonzo. "Certainly I do," she replied, "I shall

never forget the sweet pensive scenery of my favourite rock." "Nor I

neither," said Alonzo with a deep drawn sigh.

The next day Alonzo returned to his studies; but, different from his

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

tended to depress them. He doubted whether Melissa was not already

engaged to Beauman. His hopes would persuade him that this was not the

case; but his fears declared otherwise.

* * * * *

It was some time before Alonzo renewed his visit. In the interim he

received a letter from a friend in the neighbourhood of Melissa's

father; an extract from which follows:

"We are soon to have a wedding here; you are acquainted with the

parties--Melissa D---- and Beauman. Such at least is our opinion from

appearances, as Beauman is now here more than half his time.--You will

undoubtedly be a guest. We had expected that you would have put in your

claims, from your particular attention to the lady. She is a fine girl,

Alonzo."

"I shall never be a guest at Melissa's wedding," said Alonzo, as he

hastily paced the room; "but I must once again see her before that event

takes place, when I lose her forever." The next day he repaired to her

father's. He enquired for Melissa; she was gone with a party to the

shores of the sound, attended by Beauman. At evening they returned.

Beauman and Alonzo addressed each other with much seeming cordiality.

"You have deceived us, Alonzo, said Melissa. We concluded you had

forgotten the road to this place."

"Was not that a hasty conclusion?" replied Alonzo. "I think not, she

answered, if your long absence should be construed into neglect. But we

will hear your excuse said she, smiling, by and by, and perhaps pardon

you." He thanked her for her condescension.

The next morning Beauman set out for New-London. Alonzo observed that he

took a tender leave of Melissa, telling her, in a low voice, that he

should have the happiness of seeing her again within two or three weeks.

After he was gone, as Melissa and Alonzo were sitting in a room alone,

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

Alonzo. For what, madam?

Mel. For neglecting your friends.

Alonzo. I hope it is not so considered, madam.

Mel. Seriously, then, why have you stayed away so long? Has this place

no charms in the absence of my brother?

Al. Would my presence have added to your felicities, Melissa?

Mel. You never came an unwelcome visiter here.

Al. Perhaps I might be sometimes intrusive.

Mel. What times?

Al. When Beauman is your guest.

Mel. I have supposed you were on friendly terms.

Al. We are.

Mel. Why then intrusive?

Al. There are seasons when friendship must yield its pretensions to a

superior claim.

Mel. Perhaps I do not rightly comprehend the force of that remark.

Al. Was Beauman here, my position might be demonstrated.

Mel. I think I understand you.

Al. And acknowledge my observation to be just?

Mel. (hesitating.) Yes--I believe I must.

Al. And appropriate?

Melissa was silent.

Al. You hesitate, Melissa.

She was still silent.

Al. Will you, Melissa, answer me one question?

Mel. (confused.) If it be a proper one you are entitled to candour.

Al. Are you engaged to Beauman?

Mel. (blushing.) He has asked me the same question concerning you.

Al. Do you prefer him to any other?

Mel. (deeply blushing, her eyes cast upon the floor.) He has made the

same enquiry respecting you.

Al. Has he asked your father's permission to address you?

Mel. That I have not suffered him yet to do.

Al. Yet!

Mel. I assure you I have not.

Al. (taking her hand with anxiety.) Melissa, I beg you will deal

candidly. I am entitled to no claims, but you know what my heart would

ask. I will bow to your decision. Beauman or Alonzo must relinquish

their pretensions. We cannot share the blessing.

Mel. (her cheeks suffused with a varying glow, her lips pale, her voice

tremulous, her eyes still cast down.) My parents have informed me that

it is improper to receive the particular addresses of more than one.

I am conscious of my inadvertency, and that the reproof is just. One

therefore must be dismissed. But--(she hesitated.)

A considerable pause ensued. At length Alonzo arose--"I will not press

you farther," said he; "I know the delicacy of your feeling, I know your

sincerity; I will not therefore insist on your performing the painful

task of deciding against me. Your conduct in every point of view has

been discreet. I could have no just claims, or if I had, your heart must

sanction them, or they would be unhallowed and unjustifiable. I shall

ever pray for your felicity.--Our affections are not under our

direction; our happiness depends on our obedience to their mandates.

Whatever, then, may be my sufferings, you are unblameable and

irreproachable." He took his hat in extreme agitation, and prepared to

take his leave.

Melissa had recovered in some degree from her embarrassment, and

collected her scattered spirits. "Your conduct, Alonzo, said she, is

generous and noble. Will you give yourself the trouble, and do me the

honour to see me once more?" "I will, said he, at any time you shall

appoint."--"Four weeks then, she said, from this day, honour me with a

visit, and you shall have my decision, and receive my final answer."

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

* * * * *

Alonzo's hours now winged heavily away. His wonted cheerfulness fled;

he wooed the silent and solitary haunts of "musing, moping melancholy."

He loved to wander through lonely fields, or along the verge of some

lingering stream, "when dewy twilight rob'd the evening mild," or

"to trace the forest glen, through which the moon darted her silvery

intercepted ray."

He was fondly indulging a tender passion which preyed upon his peace,

and deeply disturbed his repose. He looked anxiously to the hour when

Melissa was to make her decision. He wished, yet dreaded the event.

In that he foresaw, or thought he foresaw, a withering blight to his

budding hopes, and a final consummation to his foreboding fears. He had

pressed Melissa, perhaps too urgently, to a declaration.--Had her

predilection been in his favour, would she have hesitated to avow it?

Her parents had advised her to relinquish, and had permitted her to

retain one suitor, nor had they attempted to influence or direct her

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

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

ultimate decision would be in favour of Beauman?

While Alonzo's mind was thus agitated, he received a second letter from

his friend in the neighbourhood of Melissa. He read the following clause

therein with emotions more easily to be conceived than expressed:

"Melissa's wedding day is appointed. I need not tell you that Beauman is

to be the happy deity of the hymeneal sacrifice. I had this from his own

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

soon. You will undoubtedly, however, have timely notice, as a guest. We

must pour a liberal libation upon the mystic altar, Alonzo, and twine

the nuptial garland with wreaths of joy. Beauman ought to devote a rich

offering to so valuable a prize. He has been here for a week, and

departed for New-London yesterday, but is shortly to return."

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

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

had, it is true, no positive assurance that Melissa would favour my

addresses. But why did she ever receive them? Why did she enchantingly

smile upon me? Why fascinate the tender powers of my soul by that

winning mildness, and the favourable display of those complicated and

superior attractions which she must have known were irresistible?--Why

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

attentions were untimely and improper? And now she would have me dance

attendance to her decision in favour of Beauman--Insulting! Let Beauman

and she make, as they have formed, this farcical decision; I absolutely

will never attend it.--But stop: I have engaged to see her at an

appointed time; my honour is therefore pledged for an interview; it must

take place. I shall support it with becoming dignity, and I will

convince Melissa and Beauman that I am not the dupe of their caprices.

But let me consider--What has Melissa done to deserve censure or

reproach? Her brother was my early friend: she has treated me as a

friend to her brother. She was unconscious of the flame which her charms

had kindled in my bosom.--Her evident embarrassment and confusion on

receiving my declaration, witnessed her surprise and prior attachment.

What could she do? To save herself the pain of a direct denial, she had

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

manner--and I must meet it."

At the appointed day, Alonzo proceeded to the house of Melissa's father,

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

summer house at the end of the garden; a servant conducted Alonzo

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

with a deep fringe lace. Her hair hung loosely upon her shoulders; she

was contemplating a bouquet of flowers which she held in her hand.

Alonzo fancied she never appeared so lovely. She arose to receive him.

"We have been expecting you some time, said Melissa; we were anxious to

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

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

complains of your not writing to him lately so frequently as usual."

Alonzo thanked her for the information; said that business prevented

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

particular in future.

"We have been thronged with company for several days, said Melissa. Once

a year my father celebrates his birth day, when we are honoured with so

numerous a company of uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews and nieces, that

were you present, you would suppose we were connected with half the

families in Connecticut. The last of this company took their departure

yesterday, and I have only to regret, that I have for nearly a week,

been prevented from visiting my favourite hill, to which you attended me

when you was last here. It is much improved since then: I have had a

little arbour built under the large tree on its summit: you will have no

objection to view it, Alonzo?" He assured her he accepted the invitation

with pleasure, and towards evening they resorted to the place and seated

themselves in the arbour.

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

fading charms of nature. The withering forest began to shed its decaying

foliage, which the light gales pursued along the russet fields. The low

sun extended the lengthening shadows; curling smoke ascended from the

surrounding cottages. A thick fog crept along the vallies; a gray mist

hovered over the tops of the mountains. The glassy surface of the sound

glittered to the sun's departing ray. The solemn herds lowed in

monotonous symphony. The autumnal insects in sympathetic wafting,

plaintively predicted their approaching fate. "The scene is changed

since we last visited this place, said Melissa; the gay charms of summer

are beginning to decay, and must soon yield their splendors to the rude

despoiling hand of winter."

"That will be the case, said Alonzo, before I shall have the pleasure of

your company here again."

Mel. That probably may be, though it is nearly two months yet to winter.

Al. Great changes may take place within that time.

Mel. Yes, changes must take place; but nothing, I hope, to embitter

present prospects.

Al. (peevishly.) As it respects yourself, I trust not, madam.

Mel. (tenderly.) And I sincerely hope not, as it respects you, Alonzo.

Al. That wish, I believe, is vain.

Mel. Why so ominous a prediction?

Al. The premises, from which it is drawn, are correct.

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

Shall we return?

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

returning: You know the occasion of my being here.

Mel. For the purpose of visiting your friends, I presume.

Al. And no other?

She made no reply.

Al. You cannot have forgotten your own appointment, and consequent

engagement?

She made no answer.

Al. I know, Melissa, that you are incapable of duplicity or evasion.

I have promised, and now repeat the declaration, that I will silently

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

time you have appointed. The pains of present suspense can scarcely be

surpassed by the pangs of disappointment. On your part you have nothing

to fear. I trust you have candidly determined, and will decide

explicitly.

Mel. (sighing.) I am placed in an exceedingly delicate situation.

Al. I know you are; but your own honour, your own peace, require that

you should extricate yourself from the perplexing embarrassment.

Mel. I am sensible they do. It must--it shall be done.

Al. And the sooner it is done the better.

Mel. That I am convinced of. I now know that I have been inadvertently

indiscreet. I have admitted the addresses of Beauman and yourself,

without calculating or expecting the consequences. You have both treated

me honourably, and with respect. You are both on equal grounds as to

your character and standing in life. With Beauman I became first

acquainted. As it relates to him, some new arrangements have taken place

since you were here, which----

Al. (interrupting her, with emotion.) Of those arrangements I am

acquainted.

Mel. (surprised.) By what means were you informed thereof?

Al. I received it from a friend in your neighbourhood.

A considerable pause ensued.

Al. You see, Melissa, I am prepared for the event.--She was silent.

Al. I have mentioned before, that, whatever be your decision, no

impropriety can attach to you. I might not, indeed, from various

circumstances, and from the information I possess, I perhaps should not,

have given you farther trouble on the occasion, had it not been from

your own direction and appointment. And I am now willing to retire

without further explanation, without giving you the pain of an express

decision, if you think the measure expedient. Your declaration can only

be a matter of form, the consequence of which I know, and my proposition

may save your feelings.

Mel. No, Alonzo; my reputation depends on my adherence to my first

determination; justice to yourself and to Beauman also demand it. After

what has passed, I should be considered as acting capriciously and

inconsistently, should I depart from it. Beauman will be here to-morrow,

and----

Al. To-morrow, madam?

Mel. He will be here to-morrow, and you must consent to stay with us

until that time; the matter shall then be decided.

Al. I--yes--it shall be as you say, madam. Make your arrangements as you

please.

Evening had now spread her dusky mantle over the face of nature. The

stars glistened in the sky. The breeze's rustling wing was in the tree.

The "slitty sound" of the low murmuring brook, and the far off

water-fall, were faintly heard. The twinkling fire-fly arose from the

surrounding verdure and illuminated the air with a thousand transient

gleams. The mingling discordance of curs and watch-dogs echoed in the

distant village, from whence the frequent lights darted their palely

lustre thro' the gloom. The solitary whippoorwills stationed themselves

along the woody glens, the groves and rocky pastures, and sung a requiem

to departed summer. A dark cloud was rising in the west, across whose

gloomy front the vivid lightning bent its forky spires.

Alonzo and Melissa moved slowly to the village; she appeared enraptured

with the melancholy splendours of the evening, but the other subject

engaged the mental attention of Alonzo.

Beauman arrived the next day. He gave his hand to Alonzo with seeming

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

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

Melissa: her conversation, as usual, was sprightly and interesting.

After dinner she retired, and her father requested Alonzo and Beauman to

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

gentleman thus addressed them:

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

daughter, and as a friend to you. You are both suitors to Melissa; while

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

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

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

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

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

make, in her name, this decision. The following are my terms:--No

quarrel or difficulty shall arise between you, gentlemen, in consequence

of her determination. Nothing shall go abroad respecting the affair;

it shall be ended under my roof. As soon as I have pronounced her

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

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

present: after that period I shall be happy to receive your

visits."--Alonzo and Beauman pledged their honour to abide implicitly by

these injunctions. Her father then observed--"This, gentlemen, is all I

require. I have observed that I considered your pretensions equal: so

has my daughter treated them. You have both made professions to her; she

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

inform you that she has decided in favour of--Alonzo."

* * * * *

The declaration of Melissa's father burst upon the mental powers of

Beauman, like a sudden and tremendous clap of thunder on the deep and

solemn silence of night. Unaccustomed to disappointment, he had

calculated on success. His addresses to the ladies had ever been

honourably received.

Melissa was the first whose charms were capable of rendering them

sincere. He was not ignorant of Alonzo's attention to her: it gave him

however but little uneasiness. He believed that his superior

qualifications would eclipse the pretensions of his rival. He considered

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

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

obsequiously bowed to the minutia of female volatility. He considered

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

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

to sue and to conquer. He had frankly offered his hand to Melissa, and

pressed her for a decisive answer. This from time to time she suspended,

and finally appointed a day to give him and Alonzo a determinate answer,

though neither knew the arrangements made with the other.

Finding, however, the dilemma in which she was placed, she had

previously consulted her parents. Her father had no objection to her

choosing between two persons of equal claims to affluence and

reputation; this choice she had made, and her father was considered the

most proper person to pronounce it.

When Beauman had urged his suit to Melissa, he supposed that her

hesitations, delays and suspensions, were only the effects of maiden

diffidence and timidity. He had no suspicions of her ultimately

rejecting it; and when she finally named the day of decision, he was

confident she would decide in his favour. These sentiments he had

communicated to the person who had written to Alonzo, intimating that

Melissa had fixed a time which was to crown his happiest wishes.

He had listened therefore attentively to the words of Melissa's father,

momentarily expecting to hear himself declared the favourite choice of

the fair.

What then must have been his disappointment when the name of Alonzo was

pronounced instead of his own! The highly finished scene of pleasure and

future prosperity which his ardent imagination had depicted, had

vanished in a moment. The rainbow glories which gilded his youthful

horizon, had faded in an instant--the bright sun of his early hopes had

set in mournful darkness. The summons of death would not have been more

unexpected, or more shocking to his imagination.

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

He had not even calculated on a decision in his own favour. He believed

that Beauman would be the choice of Melissa. She had told him that the

form of decision was necessary to save appearances: with this form he

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

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

Melissa's father with that eagerness which favourable anticipations

commonly produce. But when his name was mentioned; when he found he was

the choice--the happy favourite of Melissa's affection, every tender

passion of his soul became interested, and was suddenly aroused to the

refinements of sensibility. Like an electric shock, it reanimated his

whole frame, and vibrated every nerve of his heart. The glooms which

hung about his mind were dissipated, and the bright morning of joy broke

in upon his soul.

Thus were the expectations of Alonzo and Beauman disappointed--how

differently, the sequel has shown.

Melissa's father retired immediately after pronouncing the declaration;

the two young gentlemen also soon after withdrew. Alonzo saw the tempest

which tore the bosom of his rival, and he pitied him from his heart.

A fortnight passed, and Alonzo felt all that anxiety and impatience

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

thousand excuses to visit Melissa, yet he feared a visit might be

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

part of the country, after which he resolved to see Melissa. He

performed his business, and was returning. It was toward evening, and

the day had been uncommonly sultry for the autumnal season. A rising

shower blackened the western hemisphere; the dark vapour ascended in

folding ridges, and the thunder rolled at a distance. Alonzo saw he

should be overtaken. He discovered an elegant seat about one hundred

yards distant from the road; thither he hastened to gain shelter from

the approaching storm. The owner of the mansion met him at the door,

politely invited him to alight and walk in, while a servant stood ready

to take his horse. He was ushered into a large room neatly furnished,

where the family and several young ladies were sitting. As Alonzo

glanced his eyes hastily around the room, he thought he recognized a

familiar countenance. A hurried succession of confused ideas for a

moment crossed his recollection. In a moment he discovered that it was

Melissa. By this unexpected meeting they were both completely

embarrassed. Melissa, however, arose, and in rather a confused manner,

introduced Alonzo, as the classmate of her brother, to the family of Mr.

Simpson and the company.

The rain continued most part of the afternoon. Alonzo was invited, and

consented to stay all night. A moon-light evening succeeded the shower,

which invited the young people to walk in an adjoining garden. Melissa

told Alonzo that Mr. Simpson was a distant relative of her father; his

family consisted of his wife, two amiable daughters, not far from

Melissa's age, and one son, named William, about seventeen years old.

She had been invited there to pass a week, and expected to return within

two days. And she added, smiling, "perhaps, Alonzo, we may have an

opportunity once more to visit the bower on my prospect hill, before

winter entirely destroys the remaining beauties of the summer." Alonzo

felt all the force of the remark. He recollected the conversation when

they were last at the place she mentioned; and he well remembered his

feelings on that occasion.

"Great changes, indeed, he replied, have taken place since we were last

there: that they are productive of unexpected and unexampled happiness

to me, is due, Melissa, to you alone." Alonzo departed the next morning,

appointing the next week to visit Melissa at her father's house.

Thus were the obstacles removed which presented a barrier to the united

wishes of Alonzo and Melissa. They had not, it is true, been separated

by wide seas, unfeeling parents, or the rigorous laws of war; but

troubles, vexations, doubts and difficulties, had thus far attended

them, which had now disappeared, and they calculated on no unpropitious

event which might thwart their future union. All the time that Alonzo

could spare from his studies was devoted to Melissa, and their parents

began to calculate on joining their hands as soon as Alonzo's

professional term of study was completed.

The troubles which gave rise to the disseveration of England from

America had already commenced, which broke out the ensuing spring into

actual hostilities, by the battle at Lexington, followed soon after by

the battle at Bunker Hill. The panic and general bustle which took place

in America on these events, is yet well remembered by many. They were

not calculated to impress the mind of Melissa with the most pleasing

sensations. She foresaw that the burden of the war must rest on the

American youth, and she trembled in anticipation for the fate of Alonzo.

He, with others, should the war continue, must take the field, in

defence of his country. The effects of such a separation were dubious

and gloomy. Alonzo and she frequently discoursed, and they agreed to

form the mystic union previous to any wide separation.

One event tended to hasten this resolution. The attorney in whose office

Alonzo was clerk, received a commission in the new raised American army,

and marched to the lines near Boston. His business was therefore

suspended, and Alonzo returned to the house of his father. He considered

that he could not long remain a mere spectator of the contest, and that

it might soon be his duty to take the field; he therefore concluded it

best to hasten his marriage with Melissa. She consented to the

proposition, and their parents made the necessary arrangements for the

event. They had even fixed upon the place which was to be the future

residence of this happy couple. It was a pleasantly situated village,

surrounded by rugged elevations, which gave an air of serenity and

seclusion to the valley they encircled. On the south arose a spacious

hill, which was ascended by a gradual acclivity; its sides and summit

interspersed with orchards, arbours, and cultivated fields. On the west,

forests unevenly lifted their rude heads, with here and there a solitary

field, newly cleared, and thinly scattered with cottages. To the east,

the eye extended over a soil, at one time swelling into craggy

elevations, and at another spreading itself into vales of the most

enchanting verdure. To the north it extended over a vast succession of

mountains, wooded to their summits, and throwing their shadows over

intervales of equal wilderness, till at length it was arrested in its

excursions by the blue mists which hovered over mountains more grand,

majestic and lofty.[A] A rivulet which rushed from the hills, formed a

little lake on the borders of the village, which beautifully reflected

the cottages from its transparent bosom. Amidst a cluster of locusts and

weeping willows, rose the spire of the church, in the ungarnished

decency of Sunday neatness. Fields, gardens, meadows, and pastures were

spread around the valley, and on the sides of the declivities, yielding

in their season the rich flowers, fruits and foliage of spring, summer

and autumn. The inhabitants of this modern Auvernum were mostly farmers.

They were mild, sociable, moral and diligent. The produce of their own

flocks and fields gave them most of their food and clothing. To

dissipation they were strangers, and the luxuries of their tables were

few.

[Footnote A: Some who read this description will readily recognize

the village here described.]

Such was the place for the residence of Alonzo and Melissa. They had

visited the spot, and were enraptured with its pensive, romantic

beauties. A site was marked out whereon to erect their family mansion.

It was on a little eminence which sloped gradually to the lake, in the

most pleasant part of the village. "Here, said Alonzo one day to

Melissa, will we pass our days in all that felicity of mind which the

chequered scenes of life admit. In the spring we will rove among the

flowers. In summer, we will gather strawberries in yonder fields, or

whortleberries from the adjacent shrubbery. The breezes of fragrant

morning, and the sighs of the evening gale, will be mingled with the

songs of the thousand various birds which frequent the surrounding

groves. We will gather the bending fruits of autumn, and we will listen

to the hoarse voice of winter, its whistling winds, its driving snow,

and rattling hail, with delight."

The bright gems of joy glistened in the eyes of Melissa. With Alonzo she

anticipated approaching happiness, and her bosom beat in rapturous

unison.

Winter came on; it rapidly passed away. Spring advanced, and the

marriage day was appointed.

* * * * *

The spring opened with the din of preparation throughout America for

defensive war. It now was found that vigorous measures must be pursued

to oppose the torrent which was preparing to overwhelm the colonies,

which had now been dissevered from the British empire, by the

declaration of independence. The continental army was now raising, and

great numbers of American youth volunteered in the service of their

country. A large army of reinforcements was soon expected from England

to land on our shores, and "the confused noise of the warriors, and

garments rolled in blood," were already anticipated.

Alonzo had received a commission in a regiment of militia, and was

pressed by several young gentlemen of his acquaintance, who had entered

the army, to join it also. He had an excuse. His father was a man in

extensive business, was considerably past the prime of life, had a

number of agents and clerks under him, but began to grow unable to

attend to the various and burthensome duties and demands of a mercantile

life.

Alonzo was his only son; his assistance therefore became necessary

until, at least, his father could bring his business to a close, which

he was now about to effect. Alonzo stated these facts to his friends;

told them that on every occasion he should be ready to fly to the post

of danger when his country was invaded, and that as soon as his father's

affairs should be settled, he would, if necessary, willingly join the

army.

The day now rapidly approached when Alonzo was to make Melissa his own.

Preparations for the hymeneal ceremony were making, and invitations had

already gone abroad. Edgar, the brother of Melissa, had entered the army

in the capacity of chaplain. He was soon expected home, where he

intended to tarry until the consummation of the nuptials, before he set

out for the camp. Letters recently received from him, informed that he

expected to be at his father's in three or four days.

About three weeks previous to the appointed marriage day, Alonzo and

Melissa one afternoon rode out to the village which had been chosen for

their future residence. Their carriage stopped at the only inn in the

place, and from thence they walked around this modern Vaucluse, charmed

with the secluded beauties of its situation. They passed a little time

at the spot selected for their habitation; they projected the structure

of the buildings, planned the gardens, the artificial groves, the walks,

the mead, the fountains, and the green retreat of the summer house, and

they already saw, in anticipation, the various domestic blessings and

felicities with which they were to be surrounded.

They took tea at the inn, and prepared to return. It was at the latter

end of the month of May, and nature was adorned in the bridal ornaments

of spring; the sun was sunk behind the groves, which cast their sombre

shades over the valley, while the retiring beams of day adorned the

distant eastern eminences with yellow lustre.

The birds sung melodiously in the groves, the air was freshened by light

western breezes, bearing upon their wings all the entrancing odours of

the season. Around the horizon, electric clouds raised their brazen

summits, based in the black vapour of approaching night.

They slowly ascended the hill south of the town, where they paused a few

moments to enjoy the splendours of the evening scene. This hill, which

commanded a prospect of all the surrounding country, the distant sound,

and the adjacent towns and villages, presented to the eye, on a single

view, perhaps one of the most picturesque draperies painted by nature.

Alonzo attended Melissa to her father's, and the next day returned home.

His father had been absent for three or four days to one of the

commercial seaports, on business with some merchants with whom he was

connected in trade. He returned the next day after Alonzo got home:--his

aspect and his conversation were marked with an assumed and unmeaning

cheerfulness. At supper he ate nothing, discoursed much, but in an

unconnected and hurried manner, interrupted by long pauses, in which he

appeared to be buried in contemplation.

After supper, he asked Alonzo if it were not possible that his marriage

with Melissa could be consummated within a few days. Alonzo, startled at

so unexpected a question, replied, that such a proposal would be

considered extraordinary, perhaps improper: besides, when Melissa had

fixed the day, she mentioned that she had an uncle who lived near

Charleston, in South Carolina, whose daughter was to pass the summer

with Melissa, and was expected to arrive before the appointed day. It

would, he said, be a delicate point for him to request her to anticipate

the nuptials, unless he could give some cogent reasons for so doing; and

at present he was not apprised that any such existed. His father, after

a few moments hesitation, answered, "I have reasons, which, when

told"--here he stopped, suddenly arose, hastily walked the room in much

visible agony of mind, and then retired to his chamber.

Alonzo and his mother were much amazed at so strange a proceeding. They

could form no conjecture of its cause or its consequence. Alonzo passed

a sleepless night. His father's slumbers were interrupted. He would

frequently start up in the bed, then sink in restless sleep, with

incoherent mutterings, and plaintive moans. In the morning, when he

appeared at breakfast, his countenance wore the marks of dejection and

anguish.

He scarcely spoke a word, and after the table was removed, he ordered

all to withdraw except his wife and Alonzo; when, with emotions that

spoke the painful feelings of his bosom, he thus addressed them:

"For more than forty years I have toiled early and late to acquire

independence and ease for myself and my family. To accomplish this,

I became connected with some English importing merchants in a seaport

town, and went largely into the English trade. Success crowned our

endeavours; on balancing our accounts two years ago, we found that our

expectations were answered, and that we were now sufficiently wealthy to

close business, which some proposed to do; it was, however, agreed to

make one effort more, as some favourable circumstances appeared to

offer, in which we adventured very largely, on a fair calculation of

liberal and extensive proceeds.

"Before returns could be made, the war came on, embarrassments ensued,

and by indubitable intelligence lately received, we find that our

property in England has been sequestered; five of our ships, laden with

English goods, lying in English harbours, and just ready to sail for

America, have been seized as lawful prizes. Added to this, three vessels

from the Indies, laden with island produce, have been taken on their

homeward bound voyage, and one lost on her return from Holland. This

wreck of fortune I might have survived, had I to sustain only my equal

dividend of the loss: but of the merchants with whom I have been

connected, not one remains to share the fate of the event; all have

absconded or secreted themselves. To attempt to compound with my

creditors would be of little avail; my whole fortune will not pay one

fourth of the debts; so that, compound or not, the consequence to me is

inevitable ruin.

"To abscond would not secure me, as most of my remaining property is

vested in real estate. And even if it would, I could not consent to it:

I could not consent to banish myself from my country; to flee like a

felon; to skulk from society with the base view of defrauding my

creditors. No, I have lived honestly, and honestly will I die. By fair

application and long industry my wealth has been obtained; and it shall

never justly be said, that the reputation of my latter days was stained

with acts of baseness and meanness. I have notified and procured a

meeting of the creditors, and have laid the matters before them. Some

appeared favourable to me; others insinuated that we were all connected

in fraudulent designs, to swindle our creditors. This I repelled with

becoming spirit, and was in consequence threatened with immediate

prosecution. Whatever may be the event, I had some hopes that your

happiness, Alonzo, might yet be secured. Hence I proposed your union

with Melissa, before our misfortunes should be promulgated. Your parents

are old; a little will serve the residue of their days. With your

acquirements you may make your way in life. I shall have no property to

give you; but I would still wish you to secure that which you prize far

above, and without which, both honours and emoluments are unimportant

and worthless."

At this moment a loud rap at the door interrupted the discourse, and

three men were ushered in, which proved to be the sheriff and his

attendants, sent by the more inexorable creditors of Alonzo's father and

company, to level on the property of the former, which orders they

faithfully executed, by seizing the lands, tenements and furniture, and

finally arresting the body of the old gentleman, which was soon released

by his friendly neighbours becoming bail for his appearance; but the

property was soon after sold at public vendue, at less than half its

value, and Alonzo's father and mother were compelled to abandon the

premises, and take shelter in a little hut, belonging to a neighbouring

farmer, illy and temporarily furnished by the gratuitous liberality of a

few friends.

We will not stop the reader to moralize on this disastrous event. The

feelings of the family can better be conceived than detailed. Hurled in

a moment from the lofty summit of affluence to the low and barren vale

of poverty! Philosophy came to the aid of the parents, but who can

realise the feelings of the son! Thus suddenly cut short of his

prospects, not only of future independence, but even of support, what

would be the event of his suit to Melissa, and stipulated marriage? Was

it not probable that her father would now cancel the contract? Could she

consent to be his wife in his present penurious situation?--And indeed,

could he himself consent to make her his wife, to make her miserable?

In this agitated frame of mind he received a letter from his friend in

Melissa's neighbourhood, requesting him to come immediately to his

house, whither he repaired the following day. This person had ever been

the unchanging friend of Alonzo; he had heard of the misfortunes of his

family, and he deeply sympathized in his distress. He had lately married

and settled in life: his name was Vincent.

When Alonzo arrived at the house of his friend, he was received with the

same disinterested ardour he ever had been in the day of his most

unbounded prosperity.--After being seated, Vincent told him that the

occasion of his sending for him was to propose the adoption of certain

measures which he doubted not might be considered highly beneficial as

it respected his future peace and happiness. "Your family misfortunes,

continued Vincent, have reached the ears of Melissa's father. I know the

old gentleman too well to believe he will consent to receive you as his

son-in-law, under your present embarrassments. Money is the god to which

he implicitly bows. The case is difficult, but not insurmountable. You

must first see Melissa; she is now in the next room. I will introduce

you in; converse with her, after which I will lay my plan before you."

* * * * *

Alonzo entered the room; Melissa was sitting by a window which looked

into a pleasant garden, and over verdant meadows whose tall grass waved

to the evening breeze. Farther on, low vallies spread their umbrageous

thickets, where the dusky shadows of night had begun to assemble.

On high hills beyond, the tops of lofty forests, majestically moved by

the billowy gales, caught the sun's last ray. Fleecy summer clouds

hovered around the verge of the western horizon, spangled with silvery

tints or fringed with the gold of evening.

A mournfully murmuring rivulet purled at a little distance from the

garden, on the borders of a small grove, from whence the American wild

dove wafted her sympathetic moaning to the ear of Melissa. She sat

leaning on a small table by the window, which was thrown up. Her

attention was fixed. She did not perceive Vincent and Alonzo as they

entered. They advanced towards her. She turned, started, and arose. With

a melancholy smile, and tremulous voice, "I supposed, she said, that it

was Mrs. Vincent who was approaching, as she has just left the room."

Her countenance appeared dejected, which, on seeing Alonzo, lighted up

into a languid sprightliness. It was evident she had been weeping.

Vincent retired, and Alonzo and Melissa seated themselves by the window.

"I have broken in upon your solitude, perhaps, too unseasonably, said

Alonzo. It is however, the fault of Vincent:--he invited me to walk into

the room, but did not inform me that you were alone." "Your presence was

sudden and unexpected, but not unseasonable, replied Melissa. I hope

that you did not consider any formality necessary in your visits,

Alonzo."

Alonzo. I once did not think so. Now I know not what to think--I know

not how to act. You have heard of the misfortunes of my father's family,

Melissa?

Mel. Yes; I have heard the circumstances attending that event--an event

in which no one could be more deeply interested, except the immediate

sufferers, than myself.

Al. Your father is also acquainted with my present situation?

Mel. He is.

Al. How did he receive the intelligence?

Mel. With deep regret.

Al. And forbade you to admit my addresses any longer?

Mel. No, not absolutely.

Al. If even in an unqualified or indirect manner, it is proper I should

know it.

Mel. It certainly is. Soon after we received the intelligence of your

family misfortunes, my father came into the room where I was sitting;

"Melissa, said he, your conduct has ever been that of a dutiful child;

mine, of an indulgent parent.--My first, my ultimate wish, is to see my

children, when settled in life, happy and honourably respected. For this

purpose, I have bestowed on them a proper education, and design suitably

to apportion my property between them. On their part, it is expected

they will act prudently and discreetly, especially in those things which

concern their future peace and welfare.--The principal requisite to

ensure this is a proper connexion in marriage." Here my father paused a

considerable time, and then continued--"I know, my child, that your

situation is a very delicate one. Your marriage day is appointed; it was

appointed under the fairest prospects; by the failure of Alonzo's

father, those prospects have become deeply darkened, if not totally

obliterated.

"To commit your fortune through life, to a person unable to support you,

would be hazardous in the extreme. The marriage day can at least be

suspended; perhaps something more favourable may appear.--At any rate,

I have too much confidence in your discretion, to suppose that you will,

by any rash act, bring either poverty or reproach upon yourself or your

connexions." Thus spake my father, and immediately withdrew.

"In our present dilemma, said Alonzo, what is proper to be done?"

"It is difficult to determine, replied Melissa. Should my father

expressly forbid our union, he will go all lengths to carry his commands

into effect. Although a tender parent, he is violent in his prejudices,

and resolute in his purposes. I would advise you to call at my father's

house tomorrow, with your usual freedom. Whatever may be the event,

I shall deal sincerely with you. Mr. and Mrs. Vincent are now my only

confidants. From them you will be enabled to obtain information, should

I be debarred from seeing you. I am frequently here; they told me they

expected you, but at what day was not known. Mrs. Vincent has been my

friend and associate from my earliest years. Vincent you know. In them

we can place the utmost confidence. My reliance on Providence, I trust,

will never be shaken; but my future prospects, at present, are dark and

gloomy."

"Let us not despair, answered Alonzo; perhaps those gloomy clouds which

now hover around us, will yet be dissipated by the bright beams of joy.

Innocence and virtue are the cares of Heaven. There lies my hope.

To-morrow, as you propose, I will call at your father's."

Melissa now prepared to return home; a whippoorwill tuned its nightly

song at a little distance; but the sound, late so cheerful and

sprightly, now passed heavily over their hearts.

When Alonzo returned, Vincent unfolded the plan he had projected.

"No sooner, said he, was I informed of your misfortunes, than I was

convinced that Melissa's father would endeavour to dissolve your

intended union with his daughter. I have known him many years, and

however he may dote on his children, or value their happiness, he will

not hesitate to sacrifice his other feelings to the acquirement of

riches. It appeared that you had but one resource left. You and Melissa

are now united by the most solemn ties--by every rite except those which

are merely ceremonial. These I would advise you to enter into, and trust

to the consequences. Mrs. Vincent has proposed the scheme to Melissa;

but implicitly accustomed to filial obedience, she shudders at the idea

of a clandestine marriage. But when her father shall proceed to rigorous

measures, she will, I think, consent to the alternative. And this

measure, once adopted, her father must consent also; or, if not, you

secure your own happiness, and, what you esteem more, that of Melissa."

"But you must be sensible of my inability to support her as she

deserves, replied Alonzo, even should she consent to it."

"The world is before you, answered Vincent; you have friends, you have

acquirements which will not fail you. In a country like this, you can

hardly fail of obtaining a competency, which, with the other requisites,

will ensure your independence and felicity."

Alonzo informed Vincent what had been agreed upon between Melissa and

himself, respecting his visiting her on the morrow; "after which, he

said, we will discourse further on the subject."

The next day Alonzo repaired to the house of Melissa's father. As he

approached he saw Melissa sitting in a shady recess at one end of the

garden near which the road passed. She was leaning with her head upon

her hand, in a pensive posture; a deep dejection was depicted upon her

features, which enlivened into a transient glow as soon as she saw

Alonzo. She arose, met him, and invited him into the house.

Alonzo was received with a cool reserve by all except Melissa. Her

father saluted him with a distant and retiring bow, as he passed with

Melissa to her room. As soon as they were seated, a maiden aunt, who had

doubled her teens, outlived many of her suiters, and who had lately come

to reside with the family, entered, and seated herself by the window,

alternately humming a tune, and impudently staring at Alonzo, without

speaking a word, except snappishly, to contradict Melissa in any thing

she advanced, which the latter passed off with only a faint smile.

This interruption was not of long continuance. Melissa's father entered,

and requested the two ladies to withdraw, which was instantly done. He

then addressed Alonzo as follows:----"When I gave consent for you to

marry my daughter, it was on the conviction that your future resources

would be adequate to support her honourably and independently.

Circumstances have since taken place, which render this point extremely

doubtful. Parental duty and affection demand that I should know your

means and prospects before I sanction a proceeding which may reduce my

child to penury and to want."

He paused for a reply, but Alonzo was silent. He continued--"You

yourself must acknowledge, that to burthen yourself with the expense of

a family; to transfer a woman from affluence to poverty, without even an

object in view to provide for either, would be the height of folly and

extravagance." Again he paused, but Alonzo was still silent. He

proceeded--"Could you, Alonzo, suffer life, when you see the wife of

your bosom, probably your infant children, pining in misery for want of

bread? And what else have you to expect if you marry in your present

situation? You have friends and well wishers; but which of them will

advance you four or five thousand pounds, as a gratuity? My daughter

must be supported according to her rank and standing in life. Are you

enabled to do this? If not, you cannot reasonably suppose that I shall

consent to your marrying her. You may say that your acquirements, your

prudence, and your industry, will procure you a handsome support. This

well may do in single life; but to depend on these for the future

exigencies of a family, is hazarding peace, honour and reputation, at a

single game of chance. If, therefore, you have no resources or

expectation but such as these, your own judgment will teach you the

necessity of immediately relinquishing all pretensions to the hand of

Melissa"--and immediately left the room.

Why was Alonzo speechless through the whole of this discourse?--What

reply could he have made? What were the prospects before him but penury,

want, misery, and woe! Where, indeed, were the means by which Melissa

was to be shielded from poverty, if connected with his fortunes. The

idea was not new, but it came upon him with redoubled anguish. He arose

and looked around for Melissa, but she was not to be seen. He left the

house, and walked slowly towards Vincent's. At a little distance he met

Melissa, who had been strolling in an adjoining avenue. He informed her

of all that had passed; it was no more than they both expected, yet it

was a shock their fortitude could scarcely sustain. Disappointment

seldom finds her votaries prepared to receive her.

Melissa told Alonzo, that her father's determinations were unchangeable;

that his sister (the before mentioned maiden lady) held a considerable

influence over him, and dictated the concerns of the family; and that

from her, there was nothing to hope in their favour. Her mother, she

said, was her friend, but could not contradict the will of her father.

Her brother would be at home in a few days; how he would act on this

occasion she was unable to say: but were he even their friend he would

have but feeble influence with her father and aunt. "What is to be the

end of these troubles, continued Melissa, it is impossible to foresee.

Let us trust in the mercy of heaven and submit to its dispensations."

Alonzo and Melissa, in their happier days, had, when absent,

corresponded by letters. This method it was now thought best to

relinquish. It was agreed that Alonzo should come frequently to

Vincent's, where Melissa would meet him as she could find opportunities.

Having concluded on this, Melissa returned home, and Alonzo to the house

of his friend.

Vincent, after Alonzo had related the manner of his reception at

Melissa's father's, urged the plan he had projected of a private

marriage. Alonzo replied, that even should Melissa consent to it, which

he much doubted, it must be a measure of the last resort, and adopted

only when all others became fruitless.

The next morning Alonzo returned to the hut where his aged parents now

dwelt. His bosom throbbed with keen anguish. His own fate, unconnected

with that of Melissa, he considered of little consequence. But their

united situation tortured his soul.--What was to become of Melissa, what

of himself, what of his parents!--"Alas, said Alonzo, I now perceive

what it is to want the good things of this life."

Alonzo's father was absent when he arrived, but returned soon after.

A beam of joy gleamed upon his withered countenance as he entered the

house. "Were it not, Alonzo, for your unhappy situation, said he, we

should once more be restored to peace and comfort. A few persons who

were indebted to me, finding that I was to be sacrificed by my unfeeling

creditors, reserved those debts in their hands, and have now paid me,

amounting to something more than five hundred pounds. With this I have

purchased a small, but well cultivated farm, with convenient tenements.

I have enough left to purchase what stock and other materials I need;

and to spare some for your present exigencies, Alonzo."

Alonzo thanked his father for his kindness, but told him that from his

former liberality he had yet sufficient for his wants, and that he

should soon find business which would amply support him. "But your

affair with Melissa, asked his father, how is that likely to terminate?"

"Favourably, I hope, sir," answered Alonzo. He could not consent to

disturb the tranquillity of his parents by reciting his own

wretchedness.

A week passed away. Alonzo saw his parents removed to their little farm,

which was to be managed by his father and a hired man. He saw them

comfortably seated; he saw them serenely blest in the calm pleasures of

returning peace, and a ray of joy illuminated his troubled bosom.

"Again the youth his wonted life regain'd,

A transient sparkle in his eye obtain'd,

A bright, impassion'd cheering glow, express'd

The pleas'd sensation of his tender breast:

But soon dark glooms the feeble smiles o'erspread;

Like morn's gay hues, the fading splendours fled;

Returning anguish froze his feeling soul,

Deep sighs burst forth, and tears began to roll."

He thought of Melissa, from whom he had heard nothing since he last saw

her.--He thought of the difficulties which surrounded him. He thought of

the barriers which were opposed to his happiness and the felicity of

Melissa, and he set out for the house of Vincent.

* * * * *

Alonzo arrived at the residence of Vincent near the close of the day.

Vincent and his lady were at tea with several young ladies who had

passed the afternoon with Mrs. Vincent. Alonzo cast an active glance

around the company, in hopes to find Melissa, but she was not there. He

was invited and accepted a seat at table. After tea Vincent led him into

an adjoining room. "You have come in good time, said he. Something must

speedily be done, or you lose Melissa forever. The day after you were

here, her father received a letter from Beauman, in which, after

mentioning the circumstance of your father's insolvency, he hinted that

the consequence would probably be a failure of her proposed marriage

with you, which might essentially injure the reputation of a lady of her

standing in life; to prevent which, and to place her beyond the reach of

calumny, he offered to marry her at any appointed day, provided he had

her free consent.

"As Beauman, by the recent death of his father, had been put in

possession of a splendid fortune, the proposition allured her father,

who wrote him a complaisant answer, with an invitation to his house.--He

then strove to extort a promise from Melissa, that she would break off

all connexion with you, see you no more, and admit the addresses of

Beauman.

"To this she could not consent. She urged, that by the consent of her

parents she was engaged to you by the most sacred ties. That to her

father's will she had hitherto yielded implicit obedience, but that

hastily to break the most solemn obligation, formed and sanctioned by

his approbation and direction, was what her conscience would not permit

her to do. Were he to command her to live single, life might be endured;

but to give her hand to any except you, would be to perjure those

principles of truth and justice which he himself had ever taught her to

hold most inviolable.--Her father grew outrageous; charged her with

disobedience, with a blind inconsiderate perverseness, by which she

would bring ruin upon herself, and indelible disgrace upon her family.

She answered only with her tears. Her mother interposed, and endeavoured

to appease his anger; but he spurned her from him, and rushed out of the

room, uttering a threat that force should succeed persuasion, if his

commands were not obeyed. To add to Melissa's distress, Beauman arrived

at her father's yesterday; and I hope, in some measure to alleviate it.

Edgar, her brother, came this morning.--Mrs. Vincent has dispatched a

message to inform Melissa of your arrival, and to desire her to come

here immediately. She will undoubtedly comply with the invitation, if

not prevented by something extraordinary. I should have written you had

I not hourly expected you."

Mrs. Vincent now came to the door of the room and beckoned to her

husband, who went out, but immediately returned, leading in Melissa

after which he retired. "Oh, Alonzo!" was all she could say, and burst

into tears. Alonzo led her to a seat, gently pressed her hand, and

mingled his tears with hers, but was unable to speak.--Recovering at

length, he begged her to moderate her grief. "Where, said he, is your

fortitude and your firmness, Melissa, which I have so often seen

triumphing over affliction?" Her extreme anguish prevented a reply.

Deeply affected and alarmed at the storm of distress which raged in her

bosom, he endeavoured to console her, though consolation was a stranger

to his own breast. "Let us not, Melissa, said he, increase our flood of

affliction by a tide of useless sorrow. Perhaps more prosperous days are

yet in reserve for us;--happiness may yet be ours." "Never, never! she

exclaimed. Oh, what will become of me!" "Heaven cannot desert you, said

Alonzo; as well might it desert its angels. This thorny and gloomy path

may lead to fair fields of light and verdure. Tempests are succeeded by

calms; wars end in peace; the splendours of the brightest morning arise

on the wings of blackest midnight.----Troubles will not always last.

Life at most is short. Death comes to the relief of the virtuous

wretched, and transports them to another and better world, where sighing

and sorrows cease, and the tempestuous passions of life are known no

more."

The rage of grief which had overwhelmed Melissa began now to subside, as

the waves of the ocean gradually cease their tumultuous commotion, after

the turbulent winds are laid asleep. Deep sobs and long drawn sighs

succeeded to a suffocation of tears. The irritation of her feelings had

caused a more than usual glow upon her cheek, which faded away as she

became composed, until a livid paleness spread itself over her features.

Alonzo feared that the delicacy of her constitution would fall a

sacrifice to the sorrow which preyed upon her heart, if not speedily

alleviated;--but alas! where were the means of alleviation?

She informed him that her father had that evening ordered her to become

the wife of Beauman. He told her that her disobedience was no longer to

be borne.--"No longer, said he, will I tamper with your perverseness:

you are determined to be poor, wretched and contemptible. I will compel

you to be rich, happy, and respected. You suffer the _Jack-a-lantern_

fancy to lead you into swamps and quagmires, when, did you but follow

the fair light of reason, it would conduct you to honour and real

felicity. There are happiness and misery at your choice.

"Marry Beauman, and you will roll in your coach, flaunt in your silks;

your furniture and your equipage are splendid, your associates are of

the first character, and your father rejoices in your prosperity.

"Marry Alonzo, you sink into obscurity, are condemned to drudgery,

poorly fed, worse clothed, and your relations and acquaintances shun and

despise you. The comparison I have here drawn between Beauman and Alonzo

is a correct one; for even the wardrobe of the former is of more value

than the whole fortune of the latter.

"I give you now two days to consider the matter; at the end of that time

I shall expect your decision, and hope you will decide discretely. But

remember that you become the wife of Beauman, or you are no longer

acknowledged as my daughter."

"Thus, said Melissa, did my father pronounce his determination, which

shook my frame, and chilled with horror every nerve of my heart, and

immediately left me.

"My aunt added her taunts to his severities, and Beauman interfered with

his ill-timed consolation. My mother and Edgar ardently strove to allay

the fever of my soul, and mitigate my distress. But the stroke was

almost too severe for my nature. Habituated only to the smiles of my

father, how could I support his frowns?--Accustomed to receive his

blessings alone, how could I endure his sudden malediction."

Description would fail in painting the sensations of Alonzo's bosom, at

this recital of woe. But he endeavoured to mitigate her sorrows by the

consolation of more cheering prospects and happier hours.

Vincent and his lady now came into the room. They strenuously urged the

propriety and the necessity of Alonzo and Melissa's entering into the

bands of wedlock immediately. "The measure would be hazardous," remarked

Melissa. "My circumstances"--said Alonzo. "Not on that account,

interrupted Melissa, but my father's displeasure----" "Will be the same,

whether you marry Alonzo, or refuse to marry Beauman," replied Vincent.

Her resolution appeared to be staggered.

"Come here, Melissa, to-morrow evening, said Mrs. Vincent; mean time you

will consider the matter, and then determine." To this Melissa assented,

and prepared to return home.

Alonzo walked with her to the gate which opened into the yard

surrounding her father's house. It was dangerous for him to go farther.

Should he be discovered with Melissa, even by a domestic of the family,

it must increase the persecutions against her. They parted. Alonzo stood

at the gate, gazing anxiously after Melissa as she walked up the long

winding avenue, bordered with the odour-flowing lilac, and lofty elm,

her white robes now invisible, now dimly seen as she turned the angles

of the walk, until they were totally obscured, mingling with the gloom

and darkness of the night. "Thus, said Alonzo, thus fades the angel of

peace from the visionary eyes of the war-worn soldier, when it ascends

in the dusky clouds of early morning, while he slumbers on the field of

recent battle."--With mournful forebodings he returned to the house of

Vincent. He arose after a sleepless night and walked into an adjoining

field. He stood leaning in deep contemplation against a tree, when he

heard quick footsteps behind him. He turned, and saw Edgar approaching:

in a moment they were in each other's arms, and mingled tears. They

returned to Vincent's and conversed largely on present affairs. "I have

discoursed with my father on the subject, said Edgar. I have urged him

with every possible argument to relinquish his determination: I fear,

however, he is inflexible.

"To assuage the tempest of grief which rent Melissa's bosom was my next

object, and in this I trust I have not been unsuccessful. You will see

her this evening, and will find her more calm and resigned. You, Alonzo,

must exert your fortitude. The ways of Heaven are inscrutable, but they

are right.

"We must acquiesce in its dealings. We cannot alter its decrees.

Resignation to its will, whether merciful or afflictive, is one of those

eminent virtues which adorn the good man's character, and ever find a

brilliant reward in the regions of unsullied splendour, far beyond

trouble and the tomb."

Edgar told Alonzo that circumstances compelled him that day to depart

for the army. "I would advise you, said he, to remain here until your

affair comes to some final issue. It must, I think, ere long, be

terminated. Perhaps you and my sister may yet be happy."

Alonzo feelingly expressed his gratitude to Edgar. He found in him that

disinterested friendship, which his early youth had experienced. Edgar

the same day departed for the army.

In the afternoon Alonzo received a note from Melissa's father,

requesting his immediate attendance. Surprised at the incident, he

repaired there immediately. The servant introduced him into a room where

Melissa's father and aunt were sitting.----"Hearing you were in the

neighbourhood, said her father, I have sent for you, to make a

proposition, which after what has taken place, I think you cannot

hesitate to comply with. The occurrence of previous circumstances may

lead you to suppose that my daughter is under obligations to you, which

may render it improper for her to form marriage connections with any

other. Whatever embarrassments your addresses to her may have produced,

it is in your power to remove them; and if you are a man of honour you

will remove them. You cannot wish to involve Melissa in your present

penurious condition, unless you wish to make her wretched. It therefore

only remains for you to give me a writing, voluntarily resigning all

pretensions to the hand of my daughter; and if you wish her to be happy,

honourable, and respected in this life, this I say you will not hesitate

to do."

A considerable pause ensued. Alonzo at length replied, "I cannot

perceive any particular advantage that can accrue from such a measure.

It will neither add nor diminish the power you possess to command

obedience to your will, if you are determined to command it, either from

your daughter, or your servant."----

"There, brother," bawled the old maid, half squeaking through her nose,

which was well charged with rappee, "did'nt I tell you so? I knew the

fellow would not come to terms no more than will your refractory

daughter. This love fairly bewitches such foolish, crack-brained

youngsters. But say Mr. ----, what's your name, addressing herself to

Alonzo, will love heat the oven? will love boil the pot? will love

clothe the back? will love----"

"You will not, interrupted Melissa's father, speaking to Alonzo, it

seems, consent to my proposition? I have then, one demand to make, which

of right you cannot deny. Promise me that you will never see my daughter

again, unless by my permission."

"At the present moment I shall promise you nothing," replied Alonzo,

with some warmth.

"There again, said the old maid, just so Melissa told you this morning,

when you requested her to see him no more. The fellow has fairly

betwattled her. I wish I had him to deal with. Things wasn't so when I

was a girl; I kept the rogues at a distance, I'll warrant you. I always

told you, brother, what would come of your indulgence to your daughter.

And I should not wonder if you should soon find the girl had eloped, and

your desk robbed in the bargain."

Alonzo hastily arose: "I suppose, said he, my presence can be dispensed

with."

"Well, young man, said Melissa's father, since you will not comply with

any overtures I make; since you will not accede to any terms I propose,

remember, sir, I now warn you to break off all communication and

correspondence with my daughter, and to relinquish all expectations

concerning her. I shall never consent to marry my daughter to a beggar."

"Beggar!" involuntarily exclaimed Alonzo, and his eyes flashed in

resentment.--But he recollected that it was the father of Melissa who

had thus insulted him, and he suppressed his anger. He rushed out of the

house, and returned to Vincent's. He had neither heard nor seen any

thing of Melissa or Beauman.

Night came on, and he ardently and impatiently expected Melissa. He

anticipated the consolation her presence would bestow. Edgar had told

him she was more composed. He doubted whether it were proper to excite

anew her distress by relating his interview with her father, unless she

was appraised of it. The evening passed on, but Melissa came not. Alonzo

grew restless and uneasy. He looked out, then at his watch. Vincent and

his lady assured him that she would soon be there. He paced the room.

Still he became more impatient. He walked out on the way where she was

expected to come. Sometimes he advanced hastily; at others he moved

slowly; then stood motionless, listening in breathless silence,

momentarily expecting to discover her white form approaching through the

gloom, or to hear the sound of her footsteps advancing amidst the

darkness. Shapeless objects, either real or imaginary, frequently

crossed his sight, but, like the unreal phantoms of night, they suddenly

passed away, and were seen no more. At length he perceived a dusky white

form advancing in the distant dim obscurity. It drew near; his heart

beat in quick succession; his fond hopes told him it was Melissa. The

object came up, and hastily passed him, with a "good night, sir."

It was a stranger in a white surtout. Alonzo hesitated whether to

advance or to return. It was possible, though not probable, that Melissa

might have come some other way. He hastened back to Vincent's--she had

not arrived. "Something extraordinary, said Mrs. Vincent, has prevented

her coming. Perhaps she is ill."--Alonzo shuddered at the suggestion. He

looked at his watch; it was half past eleven o'clock. Again he hastily

sallied out, and took the road to her father's.

* * * * *

The night was exceedingly dark, and illuminated only by the feeble

glimmering of the twinkling stars. When he came within sight of the

house, and as he drew near no lights were visible--all was still and

silent. He entered the yard, walked up the avenue, and approached the

door. The familiar watch-dog, which lay near the threshold, fawned upon

him, joyfully whining and wagging his tail. "Thou still knowest me,

Curlow, said Alonzo; thou hast known me in better days; I am now poor

and wretched, but thy friendship is the same." A solemn stillness

prevailed all around, interrupted only by the discordance of the nightly

insects, and the hooting of the moping owl from the neighbouring

forest.--The dwelling was shrouded in darkness. In Melissa's room no

gleam of light appeared. "They are all buried in sleep, said Alonzo,

deeply sighing, and I have only to return in disappointment."

He turned and walked towards the street; casting his eyes back, the

blaze of a candle caught his sight. It passed rapidly along through the

lower rooms, now gleaming, now intercepted, as the walls or the windows

intervened, and suddenly disappeared. Alonzo gazed earnestly a few

moments, and hastily returned back. No noise was to be heard, no new

objects were discernible.--He clambered over the garden wall, and went

around to the back side of the house. Here all was solemn and silent as

in front. Immediately a faint light appeared through one of the chamber

windows; it grew brighter; a candle entered the chamber; the sash was

flung up, and Melissa seated herself at the window.

The weather was sultry, she held a fan in her hand; her countenance,

though stamped with deep dejection, was marked with serenity, but pale

as the drooping lily of the valley. Alonzo placed himself directly under

the window, and in a low voice called her by name. She started wildly,

looked out, and faintly cried, "Who's there?" He answered, "Alonzo."

"Good heavens, she exclaimed, is it you, Alonzo? I was disappointed in

meeting you at Vincent's this evening; my father will not suffer me to

go out without attendants. I am now constantly watched and guarded."

"Watched and guarded! replied Alonzo: At the risque of my life I will

deliver you from the tyranny with which you are oppressed."

"Be calm, Alonzo, said she, I think it will not last long. Beauman will

soon depart, after which there will undoubtedly be some alteration.

Desire Mrs. Vincent to come here to-morrow; I believe they will let me

see her. I can, from time to time, inform you of passing events, so that

you may know what changes take place. I am placed under the care of my

aunt, who suffers me not to step out of her sight. We pass the night in

an adjoining chamber--from whence, after she had fallen asleep, I stole

out, and went down with a design of walking in the garden, but found the

doors all locked and the keys taken out. I returned and raised this

window for fresh air. Hark! said she; my aunt calls me. She has waked

and misses me. I must fly to her chamber. You shall hear more from me

to-morrow by Mrs. Vincent, Alonzo." So saying, she let down the window

sash, and retired.

Alonzo withdrew slowly from the place, and repassed the way he came.

As he jumped back over the garden wall, he found a man standing at its

foot, very near him: after a moment's scrutiny he perceived it to be

Beauman. "What, my chevalier, said he to Alonzo, such an adept in the

amorous science already? Hast thou then eluded the watchful eyes of

Argus, and the vigilance of the dragon!"

"Unfeeling and impertinent intruder, retorted Alonzo, seizing hold of

him; is it not enough that an innocent daughter must endure a merciless

parent's persecuting hand, but must thou add to her misery by thy

disgusting interference!"

"Quit thy hold, tarquin, said Beauman. Art thou determined, after

storming the fortress, to murder the garrison?"

"Go, said Alonzo, quitting him; go sir, you are unworthy of my anger.

Pursue thy grovelling schemes. Strive to force to your arms a lady who

abhors you, and were it not on one account, must ever continue to

despise and hate you."

"Alonzo, replied Beauman, I perceive thou knowest me not. You and I were

rivals in our pursuit--the hand of Melissa. Whether from freak or

fortune, the preference was given to you, and I retired in silence. From

coincidence of circumstances, her father has now been induced to give

the preference to me. My belief was, that Melissa would comply with her

father's will, especially after her prospects of connecting with you

were cut off by the events which ruined your fortune. You, Alonzo, have

yet, I find, to learn the character of women. It has been my particular

study. Melissa, now ardently impassioned by first impressions, irritated

by recent disappointment, her passions delicate and vivid, her

affections animated and unmixed, it would be strange, if she could

suddenly relinquish primitive attachments founded on such premises,

without a struggle. But remove her from your presence for one year, with

only distant and uncertain prospects of seeing you again, admit me as

the substitute in your absence, and she accepts my hand as freely as she

would now receive yours. I had no design--it was never my wish to marry

her without her consent. That I believe I shall yet obtain. Under

existing circumstances, it is impossible but that you must be separated

for some considerable time. Then, when cool deliberation succeeds to the

wild vagaries, the electric fire of frolic fancy, she will discover the

dangerous precipice, the deadly abyss to which her present conduct and

inclinations lead. She will see that the blandishments, without the

possessions of life, must fade and die. She will discriminate between

the shreds and the trappings of taste. She will prefer indifference and

splendour to love and a cottage.

"At present I relinquish all further persuit; to-morrow I return to

New-London. When Melissa, from calm deliberation and the advice of

friends, shall freely consent to yield me her hand, I shall return to

receive it. I came from my lodgings this evening to declare these

intentions to her father: but it being later than I was aware of, the

family had gone to rest. I was about to return, when I saw a light from

the chamber window, which soon withdrew. I stood a moment by the garden

wall, when you approached and discovered me." So saying, he bade Alonzo

good night, and walked hastily away. "I find he knows not the character

of Melissa," said Alonzo, and returned to Vincent's.

The next day Alonzo told the Vincents of all that had passed, and it was

agreed that Mrs. Vincent should visit at Melissa's father's that

afternoon. She went at an early hour. Alonzo's feelings were on the rack

until she returned, which happened much sooner than was expected; when

she gave him and Vincent the following information:

"When I arrived there, said she, I found Melissa's father and mother

alone, her mother was in tears, which she endeavoured to conceal. Her

father soon withdrew. After some conversation I enquired for Melissa.

The old lady burst into tears, and informed me that this morning

Melissa's aunt (the old maid) had invited her to ride out with her.

A carriage was provided, which, after a large trunk had been placed

therein, drove off with Melissa and her aunt; that Melissa's father had

just been informing her that he had sent their daughter to a distant

part of the country, where she was to reside with a friend until Alonzo

should depart from the neighbourhood. The reason of this sudden

resolution was his being informed by Beauman, that notwithstanding his

precaution, Melissa and Alonzo had an interview the last evening. Where

she was sent to, the old lady could not tell, but she was convinced that

Melissa was not apprised of the design when she consented to go. Her

aunt had heretofore been living with the relatives of the family in

various parts of the state."

Alonzo listened to Mrs. Vincent's relation with inexpressible agitation.

He sat silent a few moments; then suddenly starting up, "I will find her

if she be on the earth!" said he, and in spite of Vincent's attempts to

prevent him, rushed out of the house, flew to the road, and was soon out

of sight.

Melissa had not, indeed, the most distant suspicion of the designs of

her father and aunt. The latter informed her that she was going to take

a morning's ride, and invited Melissa to accompany her, to which she

consented. She did not even perceive the trunk which was fastened on

behind the carriage. They were attended by a single servant. They drove

to a neighbouring town, where Melissa had frequently attended her father

and mother to purchase articles of dress, &c. where they alighted at a

friend's house, and lingered away the time until dinner; after which,

they prepared, as Melissa supposed, to return, but found, to her

surprise, after they had entered the carriage, that her aunt ordered the

driver to proceed a different way. She asked her aunt if they were not

going home. "Not yet," said she. Melissa grew uneasy; she knew she was

to see Mrs. Vincent that afternoon; she knew the disappointment which

Alonzo must experience, if she was absent. She begged her aunt to

return, as she expected the company of some ladies that afternoon. "Then

they must be disappointed, child," said her aunt.--Melissa knew it was

in vain to remonstrate; she supposed her aunt was bent on visiting some

of her acquaintance, and she remained silent.

They arrived at another village, and alighted at an inn, where Melissa

and her aunt tarried, while the servant was ordered out by the latter on

some business unknown to Melissa. When they again got into the carriage

she perceived several large packages and bundles, which had been

deposited there since they left it. She enquired of her aunt what they

contained. "Articles for family use, child," she replied, and ordered

the driver to proceed.

They passed along winding and solitary paths, into a bye road which led

through an unfrequented wood, that opened into a rocky part of the

country bordering on the Sound. Here they stopped at the only house in

view. It was a miserable hut, built of logs, and boarded with slabs.

They alighted from the carriage, and Melissa's aunt, handing the driver

a large bunch of keys, "remember to do as I have told you," said she,

and he drove rapidly away. It was with some difficulty they got into the

hut, as a meagre cow, with a long yoke on her neck, a board before her

eyes, and a cross piece on her horns, stood with her head in the door.

On one side of her were four or five half starved squeaking pigs, on the

other a flock of gaggling geese.

As they entered the door, a woman who sat carding wool jumped up, "La

me! she cried, here is Miss D----, welcome here again. How does madam

do?" dropping a low curtsey. She was dressed in a linsey woolsey short

gown, a petticoat of the same, her hair hanging about her ears, and

barefoot. Three dirty, ragged children were playing about the floor, and

the furniture was of a piece with the building. "Is my room in order?"

enquired Melissa's aunt. "It hasn't been touched since madam was here,"

answered the woman, and immediately stalked away to a little back

apartment, which Melissa and her aunt entered. It was small, but neatly

furnished, and contained a single bed. This appendage had been concealed

from Melissa's view, as it was the opposite side of the house from

whence she alighted. "Where is John?" asked Melissa's aunt. "My husband

is in the garden, replied the woman; I will call him," and out she

scampered. John soon appeared, and exhibited an exact counter part of

his wife. "What does madam please to want?" said he, bowing three or

four times. "I want you John," she answered, and immediately stepped

into the other room, and gave some directions, in a low voice, to him

and his wife. "La me! said the woman, madam a'nt a going to live in that

doleful place?" Melissa could not understand her aunt's reply, but heard

her give directions to "first hang on the teakettle." This done, while

John and his wife went out, Melissa's aunt prepared tea in her own room.

In about an hour John and his wife returned, and gave the same bunch of

keys to Melissa's aunt, which she had given to the servant who drove the

carriage.

Melissa was involved in inscrutable mystery respecting these

extraordinary proceedings. She conjectured that they boded her no good,

but she could not penetrate into her aunt's designs. She frequently

looked out, hoping to see the carriage return, but was disappointed.

When tea was made ready, she could neither eat nor drink. After her aunt

had disposed of a dozen cups of tea, and an adequate proportion of

biscuit, butter and dried beef, she directed Melissa to prepare to take

a walk. The sun was low; they proceeded through fields, in a foot path,

over rough and uneven ways, directly towards the Sound. They walked

about a mile, when they came to a large, old fashioned, castle-like

building, surrounded by a high, thick wall, and almost totally concealed

on all sides from the sight, by irregular rows of large locusts and elm

trees, dry prim[A] hedges, and green shrubbery. The gate which opened

into the yard, was made of strong hard wood, thickly crossed on the

outside with iron bars, and filled with old iron spikes. Melissa's aunt

unlocked the gate, and they entered the yard, which was overgrown with

rank grass and rushes: the avenue which led to the house was almost in

the same condition. The house was of real Gothic architecture, built of

rude stone, with battlements.

[Footnote A: The botanical name of this shrub is not recollected.

There were formerly a great number of prim hedges in New-England,

and other parts of America. What is most remarkable is, that they

all died the year previous to the commencement of the American

war.]

The doors were constructed in the same manner as the gate at which they

entered the yard. They unlocked the door, which creaked heavily on its

hinges, and went in. They ascended a flight of stairs, wound through

several dark and empty rooms, till they came to one which was handsomely

furnished, with a fire burning on the hearth. Two beds were in the room,

with tables and chairs, and other conveniences for house keeping. "Here

we are safe, said Melissa's aunt, as I have taken care to lock all the

doors and gates after me; and here, Melissa, you are in the mansion of

your ancestors. Your great grand father, who came over from England,

built this house in the earliest settlements of the country, and here he

resided until his death. The reason why so high and thick a wall was

built round it, and the doors and gates so strongly fortified, was to

secure it against the Indians, who frequently committed depredations on

the early settlers. Your grandfather came in possession of this estate

after his father's death: it fell to me by will, with the lands

surrounding it. The house has sometimes been tenanted, at others not. It

has now been vacant for a few years. The lands are rented yearly. John,

the person from whose house we last came, is my overseer and tenant.

I had a small room built, adjoining that hut, where I generally reside

for a week when I come to receive my rents. I have thought frequently of

fitting up this place for my future residence, but circumstances have

hitherto hindered my carrying the scheme into effect, and now, perhaps,

it will never take place.

"Your perverseness, Melissa, in refusing to comply with the wishes of

your friends, has induced us to adopt the method of bringing you here,

where you are to remain until Alonzo leaves your neighbourhood, at

least. Notwithstanding your father's injunctions and my vigilance, you

had a clandestine interview with him last night. So we were told by

Beauman this morning, before he set off for New-London, who discovered

him at your window. It therefore became necessary to remove you

immediately. You will want for nothing. John is to supply us with

whatever is needful.--You will not be long here; Alonzo will soon be

gone. You will think differently; return home, marry Beauman, and

become a lady."

"My God! exclaimed Melissa, is it possible my father can be so cruel!

Is he so unfeeling as to banish me from his house, and confine me within

the walls of a prison, like a common malefactor?" She flung herself on

the bed in a state little inferior to distraction. Her aunt told her it

was all owing to her own obstinacy, and because she refused to be made

happy--and went to preparing supper.

Melissa heard none of her aunt's observations; she lay in a stupifying

agony, insensible to all that passed. When supper was ready, her aunt

endeavoured to arouse her. She started up, stared around her with a wild

agonizing countenance, but spoke not a word. Her aunt became alarmed.

She applied stimulants to her temples and forehead, and persuaded her to

take some cordials. She remained seemingly insensible through the night:

just at morning, she fell into a slumber, interrupted by incoherent

moanings, convulsive startings, long drawn sighs, intermitting sobs, and

by frequent, sudden and restless turnings from side to side. At length

she appeared to be in a calm and quiet sleep for about an hour. About

sunrise she awoke--her aunt sat by her bed side. She gazed languidly

about the room, and burst into tears. She wept a long time; her aunt

strove to console her, for she truly began to tremble, lest Melissa's

distress should produce her immediate dissolution. Towards night,

however, she became more calm and resigned; but a slight fever

succeeded, which kept her confined for several days, after which she

slowly recovered.

* * * * *

John came frequently to the house to receive the commands of Melissa's

aunt, and brought such things as they wanted. Her aunt also sometimes

went home with him, leaving the keys of the house with Melissa, but

locking the gate and taking the key of that with her. She generally

returned before sunset. When Melissa was so far recovered as to walk

out, she found that the house was situated on an eminence, about one

hundred yards from the Sound. The yard was large and extensive. Within

the enclosure was a spacious garden, now overrun with brambles and

weeds. A few medinical and odoriferous herbs were scattered here and

there, and a few solitary flowers overtopped the tangling briars below;

but there was plenty of fruit on the shrubbery and trees. The out

buildings were generally in a ruinous situation. The cemetery was the

most perfect, as it was built of hewn stone and marble, and had best

withstood the ravages of time. The rooms in the house were mostly empty

and decaying: the main building was firm and strong, as was also the

extended wall which enclosed the whole. She found that although her

aunt, when they first arrived, had led her through several upper rooms

to the chamber they inhabited, yet there was from thence a direct

passage to the hall.

The prospect was not disagreeable. West, all was wilderness, from which

a brook wound along a little distance from the garden wall. North, were

the uneven grounds she had crossed when she came there, bounded by

distant groves and hills. East, beautiful meadows and fields, arrayed in

flowery green, sloped to salt marshes or sandy banks of the Sound, or

ended in the long white beaches which extended far into the sea. South,

was the Sound of Long Island.

Melissa passed much of her time in tracing the ruins of this antiquated

place, in viewing the white sails as they passed up and down the Sound,

and in listening to the songs of the thousand various birds which

frequented the garden and the forest. She could have been contented here

to have buried her afflictions, and for ever to retire from the world,

could Alonzo but have resided within those walls. "What will he think

has become of me," she would say, while the disconsolate tear glittered

in her eye. Her aunt had frequently urged her to yield to her father's

injunctions, regain her liberty, and marry Beauman; and she every day

became more solicitous and impertinent. A subject so hateful to Melissa

sometimes provoked her to tears; at other her keen resentment. She

therefore, when the weather was fair, passed much of her time in the

garden and adjoining walks, wishing to be as much out of her aunt's

company as possible.

One day John came there early in the morning, and Melissa's aunt went

home with him. The day passed away, but she did not return. Melissa sat

up until a late hour of the night, expecting her; she went to the gate,

and found it was fast locked, returned, locked and bolted the doors of

the house, went to bed and slept as soundly as she had done since her

residence in the old mansion. "I have at least, she said, escaped the

disgusting curtain-lecture about marrying Beauman."

The next day her aunt returned. "I was quite concerned about you, child,

said she; how did you sleep?" "Never better, she answered, since I have

been here." "I had forgotten, said her aunt, that my rents become due

this week. I was detained until late by some of my tenants; John was

out, and I dare not return in the night alone. I must go back to-day. It

will take me a week to settle my business. If I am obliged to stay out

again I will send one of John's daughters to sleep with you."----"You

need not give yourself that trouble, replied Melissa; I am under no

apprehension of staying here alone; nothing can get into or out of these

premises."----"Well, thou hast wonderful courage, child, said her aunt;

but I shall be as frequently here as possible, and as soon as my

business is settled, I shall be absent no more." So saying, she bade

Melissa good morning, and set off for her residence at the dwelling of

John.

She did not return in two days. The second night of her absence, Melissa

was sitting in her chamber reading, when she heard a noise as of several

people trampling in the yard below. She arose, cautiously raised the

window, and looked out. It was extremely dark; she thought she might

have been discovered.

Her aunt came the next day, and told her she was obliged to go into the

country to collect some debts of those to whom she had rented lands: she

should be gone a few days, and as soon as she returned should come

there. "The keys of the house, said she, I shall leave with you. The

gate I shall lock, and leave that key with John, who will come here as

often as necessary, to assist you, and see if you want any thing." She

then went off, leaving Melissa not dissatisfied with the prospect of her

absence.

Melissa amused herself in evenings by reading in the few books her aunt

had brought there, and in the day, in walking around the yard and

garden, or in traversing the rooms of the antique building. In some,

were the remains of ancient furniture, others were entirely empty.

Cobwebs and mouldering walls were the principal ornaments left.

One evening as she was about retiring to rest, she thought she heard the

same trampling noise in the yard, as on a former occasion. She stepped

softly to the window, suddenly raised it, and held out the candle. She

listened and gazed with anxious solicitude, but discovered nothing more.

All was silent; she shut the window, and in a short time went to bed.

Some time in the night she was suddenly awakened by a sharp sound,

apparently near her. She started in a trembling panic, but endeavoured

to compose herself with the idea, that something had fallen from the

shelves. As she lay musing upon the incident, she heard loud noises in

the rooms below, succeeded by an irregular and confused number of

voices, and presently after, footsteps ascending the stairs which led to

her chamber. She trembled; a cold chilly sweat run down her face.

Directly the doors below opened and shut with a quick and violent

motion. And soon after she was convinced that she distinctly heard a

whispering in her room. She raised herself up in the bed and cast

inquisitive eyes towards her chamber door. All was darkness--no new

object was visible--no sound was heard, and she again lay down.