Her mind was too much agitated and alarmed to sleep. She had evidently

heard sounds, footsteps and voices in the house, and whisperings which

appeared to be in her room. The yard gate was locked, of which John had

the key. She was confident that no person could ascend or get over the

wall of the enclosure. But if that were practicable, how was it possible

that any human being could enter the house? She had the key of every

door, and they were all fast locked, and yet she had heard them

furiously open and shut. A thought darted into her mind,--was it not a

plan which her aunt had contrived in order to frighten her to a

compliance with her wishes? But then how could she enter the house

without keys? This might be done with the use of a false key. But from

whence did the whisperings proceed, which appeared close to her bedside?

Possibly it might be conveyed through the key-hole of her chamber door.

These thoughts tended in some degree, to allay her fears;--they were

possibilities, at least, however improbable.

As she lay thus musing, a hand, cold as the icy fingers of death,

grasped her arm, which lay on the outside of the bed clothes. She

screamed convulsively, and sprang up in the bed. Nothing was to be

seen--no noise was heard. She had not time to reflect. She flew out of

the bed, ran to the fire, and lighted a candle. Her heart beat rapidly.

She cast timid glances around the room, cautiously searching every

corner, and examining the door. All things were in the same state she

had left them when she went to bed. Her door was locked in the same

manner; no visible being was in the room except herself. She sat down,

pondering on these strange events. Was it not probable that she was

right in her first conjectures respecting their being the works of her

aunt, and effected by her agents and instrumentality? All were possible,

except the cold hand which had grasped her arm. Might not this be the

effect of a terrified and heated imagination? Or if false keys had been

made use of to enter the rooms below, might they not also be used to

enter her chamber? But could her room be unlocked, persons enter,

approach her bed, depart and re-lock the door, while she was awake,

without her hearing them?

She knew she could not go to sleep, and she determined not to go to bed

again that night. She took up a book, but her spirits had been too much

disordered by the past scenes to permit her to read. She looked out of

the window. The moon had arisen and cast a pale lustre over the

landscape. She recollected the opening and shutting of the door--perhaps

they were still open. The thought was alarming--She opened her chamber

door, and with the candle in her hand, cautiously descended the stairs,

casting an inquisitive eye in every direction, and stopping frequently

to listen.--She advanced to the door; it was locked. She examined the

others; they were in the same situation. She turned to go up stairs,

when a loud whisper echoed through the hall expressing "_away! away!_"

She flew like lightning to her chamber, relocked the door and flung

herself, almost breathless, into a chair.

As soon as her scattered senses collected, she concluded that whatever

had been in the house was there still. She resolved to go out no more

until day, which soon began to discolour the east with a fainter blue,

then purple streaks, intermingled with a dusky whiteness, ascended in

pyramidical columns to the zenith; these fading slowly away, the eastern

horizon became fringed with the golden spangles of early morn. A spot of

ineffable brightness succeeded, and immediately the sun burst over the

verge of creation, deluging the world in a flood of unbounded light and

glory.

As soon as the morning had a little advanced, Melissa ventured out. She

proceeded with hesitating steps, carefully scrutinizing every object

which met her sight. She examined every door; they were all fast. She

critically searched every room, closet, &c. above and below. She then

took a light and descended into the cellar--here her inquisition was the

same. Thus did she thoroughly and strictly examine and search every part

of the house from the garret to the cellar, but could find nothing

altered, changed, or removed; no outlet, no signs of there having been

any being in the house the evening before, except herself.

She then unlocked the outer door and proceeded to the gate, which she

found locked as usual. She next examined the yard, the garden, and all

the out houses.

Nothing could be discovered of any person having been recently there.

She next walked around by the wall, the whole circle of the enclosure.

She was convinced that the unusual height of the wall rendered it

impossible for any one to get over it. It was constructed of several

tier of hewed timbers, and both sides of it were as smooth as glass.

On the top, long spikes were thickly driven in, sharpened at both ends.

It was surrounded on the outside by a deep wide moat, which was nearly

filled with water. Over this moat was a draw-bridge, on the road leading

to the gate, which was drawn up, and John had the key.

The events of the past night, therefore, remained inscrutable. It must

be that her aunt was the agent who had managed this extraordinary

machinery.

She found John at the house when she returned. "Does madam want any

thing to-day?" asked he. "Has my aunt returned?" enquired Melissa. "Not

yet," he replied. "How long has she been gone?" she asked. "Four days,

replied John, after counting his fingers, and she will not be back under

four or five more." "Has the key of the gate been constantly in your

possession?" asked she. "The key of the gate and draw-bridge, he

replied, have not been out of my possession for a moment since your aunt

has been gone." "Has any person been to enquire for me or my aunt, she

enquired, since I have been here?"--"No, madam, said he, not a single

person." Melissa knew not what to think; she could not give up the idea

of false keys--perhaps her aunt had returned to her father's.--Perhaps

the draw-bridge had been let down, the gate opened, and the house

entered by means of false keys. Her father would as soon do this as to

confine her in this solitary place; and he would go all lengths to

induce her, either by terror, persuasion or threats, to relinquish

Alonzo and marry Beauman.

A thought impressed her mind which gave her some consolation. It was

possible to secure the premises so that no person could enter even by

the aid of false keys. She asked John if he would assist her that day.

"In anything you wish, madam," he replied. She then directed him to go

to work. Staples and iron bars were found in different parts of the

building, with which he secured the doors and windows, so that they

could be opened only on the inside. The gate, which swung in, was

secured in the same manner. She then asked John if he was willing to

leave the key of the gate and the draw-bridge with her. "Perhaps I may

as well," said he; "for if you bar the gate and let down the bridge,

I cannot get in myself until you let me in." John handed her the keys.

"When I come," said he, "I will halloo, and you must let me in." This

she promised to do, and John departed.[A]

[Footnote A: Of the place where Melissa was confined, as described

in the foregoing pages, scarce a trace now remains. By the events

of the revolution, the premises fell into other hands. The mansion,

out houses and walls were torn down, the cemetery levelled, the

moat filled up; the locusts and elm trees were cut down; all

obstructions were removed, and the yard and garden converted into

a beautiful meadow. An elegant farm-house is now erected on the

place where John's hut then stood and the neighbourhood is thinly

settled.]

* * * * *

That night Melissa let down the bridge, locked and barred the gate, and

the doors and windows of the house: she also went again over all parts

of the building, strictly searching every place, though she was well

convinced she should find nothing extraordinary. She then retired to her

chamber, seated herself at a western window, and watched the slow

declining sun, as it leisurely sunk behind the lofty groves. Pensive

twilight spread her misty mantle over the landscape; the western horizon

glowed with the spangles of evening. Deepening glooms advanced. The last

beam of day faded from the view, and the world was enveloped in night.

The owl hooted solemnly in the forest, and the whippoorwill sung

cheerfully in the garden. Innumerable stars glittered in the firmament,

intermingling their quivering lustre with the pale splendours of the

milky way.

Melissa did not retire from the window until late; she then shut it and

withdrew within the room. She determined not to go to bed that night. If

she was to be visited by beings, material or immaterial, she chose not

again to encounter them in darkness, or to be surprised when she was

asleep. But why should she fear? She knew of none she had displeased

except her father, her aunt and Beauman. If by any of those the late

terrifying scenes had been wrought, she had now effectually precluded a

recurrence thereof, for she was well convinced that no human being could

now enter the enclosure without her permission. But if supernatural

agents had been the actors, what had she to fear from them? The night

passed away without any alarming circumstances, and when daylight

appeared she flung herself upon the bed, and slept until the morning was

considerably advanced. She now felt convinced that her former

conjectures were right; that it was her aunt, her father, or both, who

had caused the alarming sounds she had heard, a repetition of which had

only been prevented by the precautions she had taken.

When she awoke, the horizon was overclouded, and it began to rain. It

continued to rain until towards evening, when it cleared away. She went

to the gate, and found all things as she had left them: She returned,

fastened the doors as usual, examined all parts of the house, and again

went to her chamber.

She sat up until a late hour, when growing very drowsy, and convinced

that she was safe and secure, she went to bed; leaving, however, two

candles burning in the room. As she, for two nights, had been deprived

of her usual rest, she soon fell into a slumber.

She had not long been asleep before she was suddenly aroused by the

apparent report of a pistol, seemingly discharged close to her head.

Awakened so instantaneously, her recollection, for a time, was confused

and imperfect. She was only sensible of a strong, sulphureous scent: but

she soon remembered that she had left two candles burning, and every

object was now shrouded in darkness. This alarmed her exceedingly. What

could have become of the candles? They must have been blown out or taken

away. What was the sound she had just heard?----What the sulphureous

stench which had pervaded the room?----While she was thus musing in

perplexity, a broad flash like lightning, transiently illuminated the

chamber, followed by a long, loud, and deep roar, which seemed to shake

the building to its centre. It did not appear like thunder; the sounds

seemed to be in the rooms directly over her head. Perhaps, however,

it was thunder.

Perhaps a preceding clap had struck near the building, broken the

windows, put out the lights, and filled the house with the electric

effluvium. She listened for a repetition of the thunder--but a very

different sound soon grated on her ear. A hollow, horrible groan echoed

through her apartment, passing off in a faint dying murmur. It was

evident that the groan proceeded from some person in the chamber.

Melissa raised herself up in the bed; a tall white form moved from the

upper end of the room, glided slowly by her bed, and seemed to pass off

near the foot. She then heard the doors below alternately open and shut,

slapping furiously, and in quick succession, followed by violent noises

in the rooms below, like the falling of heavy bodies and the crash of

furniture. Clamorous voices succeeded, among which she could distinguish

boisterous menaces and threatenings, and the plaintive tone of

expostulation.--A momentary silence ensued, when the cry of "_Murder!

murder! murder!!_" echoed through the building, followed by the report

of a pistol, and shortly after, the groans of a person apparently in the

agonies of death, which grew fainter and fainter until it died away in a

seemingly expiring gasp. A dead silence prevailed for a few minutes, to

which a loud hoarse peal of ghastly laughter succeeded--then again all

was still. But she soon heard heavy footsteps ascending the stairs to

her chamber door. It was now she became terrified and alarmed beyond any

former example.----"Gracious heaven, defend me! she exclaimed; what am I

coming to!" Knowing that every avenue to the enclosure was effectually

secured; knowing that all the doors and windows of the house, as also

that which opened into her chamber, were fast locked, strictly bolted

and barred; and knowing that all the keys were in her possession, she

could not entertain the least doubt but the noises she had heard were

produced by supernatural beings, and, she had reason to believe, of the

most mischievous nature. She was now convinced that her father or her

aunt could have no agency in the business. She even wished her aunt had

returned. It must be exceedingly difficult to cross the moat, as the

draw bridge was up; it must be still more difficult to surpass the wall

of the enclosure; it was impossible for any human being to enter the

house, and still more impossible to enter her chamber.

While she lay thus ruminating in extreme agitation, momentarily

expecting to have her ears assailed with some terrific sound, a pale

light dimly illuminated her chamber. It grew brighter. She raised

herself up to look towards the door;--the first object which met her

eye, was a most horrible form, standing at a little distance from her

bedside. Its appearance was tall and robust, wrapped in a tattered white

robe, spotted with blood. The hair of its head was matted with clotted

gore. A deep wound appeared to have pierced its breast, from which fresh

blood flowed down its garment. Its pale face was gashed and gory! its

eyes fixed, glazed, and glaring;--its lips open, its teeth set, and in

its hand was a bloody dagger.

Melissa, uttering a shriek of terror, shrunk into the bed, and in an

instant the room was involved in pitchy darkness. A freezing ague seized

her limbs, and drops of chilling sweat stood upon her face. Immediately

a horrid hoarse voice burst from amidst the gloom of her apartment,

"_Begone! begone from this house!_" The bed on which she lay then seemed

to be agitated, and directly she perceived some person crawling on its

foot. Every consideration, except present safety, was relinquished;

instantaneously she sprang from the bed to the floor--with convulsed

grasp, seized the candle, flew to the fire and lighted it. She gazed

wildly around the room--no new object was visible. With timid step she

approached the bed; she strictly searched all around and under it, but

nothing strange could be found. A thought darted into her mind to leave

the house immediately and fly to John's: this was easy, as the keys of

the gate and draw-bridge were in her possession. She stopped not to

reconsider her determination, but seizing the keys, with the candle in

her hand, she unlocked her chamber door, and proceeded cautiously down

stairs, fearfully casting her eyes on each side, as she tremblingly

advanced to the outer door. She hesitated a moment. To what perils was

she about to expose herself, by thus venturing out at the dead of the

night, and proceeding such a distance alone? Her situation she thought

could become no more hazardous, and she was about to unbar the door,

when she was alarmed by a deep, hollow sigh. She looked around and saw,

stretched on one side of the hall, the same ghastly form which had so

recently appeared standing by her bedside. The same haggard countenance,

the same awful appearance of murderous death. A faintness came upon her;

she turned to flee to her chamber--the candle dropped from her trembling

hand, and she was shrouded in impenetrable darkness. She groped to find

the stairs: as she came near their foot, a black object, apparently in

human shape, stood before her, with eyes which seemed to burn like coals

of fire, and red flames issuing from its mouth. As she stood fixed a

moment in inexpressible trepidation, a large ball of fire rolled along

the hall, towards the door, and burst with an explosion which seemed to

rock the building to its deepest foundation. Melissa closed her eyes and

sunk senseless to the floor. She revived and got to her chamber, she

hardly knew how; locked her door, lighted another candle, and after

again searching the room, flung herself into a chair, in a state of mind

which almost deprived her of reason.

Daylight soon appeared, and the cheerful sun darting its enlivening rays

through the crevices and windows of the antique mansion, recovered her

exhausted spirits, and dissipated, in some degree, the terrors which

hovered about her mind. She endeavoured to reason coolly on the events

of the past night, but reason could not elucidate them. Not the least

noise had been heard since she last returned to her chamber: she

therefore expected to discover no traits which might tend to a

disclosure of those mysteries. She consoled herself only with a fixed

determination to leave the desolate mansion. Should John come there that

day, he might be prevailed on to permit her to remain at her aunt's

apartment in his house until her aunt should return. If he should not

come before sunset, she resolved to leave the mansion and proceed there.

She took some refreshment and went down stairs: she found the doors and

windows all fast as she had left them. She then again searched every

room in the house, both above and below, and the cellar; but she

discovered no appearance of there having been any person there. Not the

smallest article was displaced; every thing appeared as it had formerly

been.--She then went to the gate; it was locked as usual, and the

draw-bridge was up. She again traversed the circuit of the wall, but

found no alteration, or any place where it was possible the enclosure

might be entered. Again she visited the outer buildings, and even

entered the cemetery, but discovered not the least circumstance which

could conduce to explain the surprising transactions of the preceding

night. She however returned to her room in a more composed frame of

spirit, confident that she should not remain alone another night in that

gloomy, desolate, and dangerous solitude.

Towards evening Melissa took her usual walk around the enclosure. It was

that season of the year when weary summer is lapsing into the arms of

fallow autumn.--The day had been warm, and the light gales bore

revigorating coolness on their wings as they tremulously agitated the

foliage of the western forest, or fluttered among the branches of the

trees surrounding the mansion. The green splendours of spring had begun

to fade into a yellow lustre, the flowery verdure of the fields was

changed to a russet hue. A robin chirped on a neighbouring oak, a wren

chattered beneath, swallows twittered around the decayed buildings, the

ludicrous mocking bird sung sportively from the top of the highest elm

and the surrounding groves rung with varying, artless melody; while deep

in the adjacent wilderness the woodcock, hammering on some dry and

blasted trees, filled the woods with reverberant echoes. The Sound was

only ruffled by the lingering breezes, as they idly wandered over its

surface. Long Island, now in possession of the British troops, was

thinly enveloped in smoky vapour; scattered along its shores lay the

numerous small craft and larger ships of the hostile fleet. A few skiffs

were passing and repassing the Sound, and several American gun-boats lay

off a point which jutted out from the main land, far to the eastward.

Numberless summer insects mingled their discordant strains amidst the

weedy herbage. A heavy black cloud was rising in the north west, which

seemed to portend a shower, as the sonorous, distant thunder was at long

intervals distinctly heard.

Melissa walked around the yard, contemplating the varying beauties of

the scene: the images of departed joys--the days when Alonzo had

participated with her in admiring the splendours of rural prospects,

raised in her bosom the sigh of deep regret. She entered the garden and

traversed the alleys, now overgrown with weeds and tufted knot-grass.

The flower beds were choaked with the low running bramble and tangling

five-finger; tall, rank rushes, mullens and daisies, had usurped the

empire of the kitchen garden. The viny arbour was broken, and

principally gone to decay; yet the "lonely wild rose" blushed mournfully

amidst the ruins. As she passed from the garden she involuntarily

stopped at the cemetery: she paused in serious reflection:--"Here, said

she, in this house of gloom rest, in undisturbed silence, my honourable

ancestors, once the active tenants of yonder mansion. Then, throughout

these solitary demesnes, the busy occurrences of life glided in cheerful

circles. Then, these now moss-clad alleys, and this wild weedy garden,

were the resort of the fashionable and the gay. Then, evening music

floated over the fields, while yonder halls and apartments shone in

brilliant illumination. Now all is sad, solitary and dreary, the haunt

of spirits and spectres of nameless terror. All that now remains of the

head that formed, the hand that executed, and the bosom that relished

this once happy scenery, is now, alas, only a heap of dust."

She seated herself on a little hillock, under a weeping willow, which

stood near the cemetery, and watched the rising shower, which ascended

in gloomy pomp, half hidden behind the western groves, shrouding the low

sun in black vapour, while coming thunders more nearly and more awfully

rolled. The shrieking night hawk[A] soared high into the air, mingling

with the lurid van of the approaching storm, which widening, more

rapidly advanced, until "the heavens were arrayed in blackness."

[Footnote A: Supposed to be the male whippoorwill; well known in

the New-England states, and answering to the above peculiarity.]

The lightning broader and brighter flashes, hurling down its forky

streaming bolts far in the wilderness, its flaming path followed by the

vollying artillery of the skies. Now bending its long, crinkling spires

over the vallies, now glimmering along the summit of the hills.

Convolving clouds poured smoky volumes through the expansion; a deep,

hollow, distant roar, announced the approach of "summoned winds." The

whole forest bowed in awful grandeur, as from its dark bosom rushed the

impetuous hurricane, twisting off, or tearing up by the roots, the

stoutest trees, whirling the heaviest branches through the air with

irresistible fury. It dashed upon the sea, tossed it into irregular

mountains, or mingled its white foamy spray with the gloom of the turbid

skies. Slant-wise, the large heavy drops of rain began to descend.

Melissa hastened to the mansion; as she reached the door a very

brilliant flash of lightning, accompanied by a tremendous explosion,

alarmed her. A thunder bolt had entered a large elm tree within the

enclosure, and with a horrible crash, had shivered it from top to

bottom. She unlocked the door and hurried to her chamber. Deep night now

filled the atmosphere; the rain poured in torrents, the wind rocked the

building, and bellowed in the adjacent groves: the sea raged and roared,

fierce lightnings rent the heavens, alternately involving the world in

the sheeted flame of its many coloured fires; thunders rolled awfully

around the firmament, or burst with horrid din, bounding and

reverberating among the surrounding woods, hills and vallies. It seemed

nothing less than the crash of worlds sounding through the universe.

Melissa walked her room, listening to the wild commotion of the

elements. She feared that if the storm continued, she should be

compelled to pass another night in the lone mansion: if so, she resolved

not to go to bed. She now suddenly recollected that in her haste to

regain her chamber, she had forgotten to lock the outer door. The shock

she had received when the lightning demolished the elm tree, was the

cause of this neglect. She took the candle, ran hastily down, and

fastened the door. As she was returning, she heard footsteps, and

imperfectly saw the glance of something coming out of an adjoining room

into the hall. Supposing some ghastly object was approaching, she

averted her eyes and flew to the stairs. As she was ascending them,

a voice behind her exclaimed, "Gracious heaven! Melissa!" The voice

agitated her frame with a confused, sympathetic sensation. She turned,

fixed her eyes upon the person who had spoken; unconnected ideas floated

a moment in her imagination: "Eternal powers! she cried, it is Alonzo."

* * * * *

Alonzo and Melissa were equally surprised at so unexpected a meeting.

They could scarcely credit their own senses.--How he had discovered her

solitude--what led him to that lonely place--how he had got over the

wall--were queries which first arose in her mind. He likewise could not

conceive by what miracle he should find her in a remote, desolate

building, which he had supposed to be uninhabited. With rapture he took

her trembling hand; tears of joy choaked their utterance. "You are wet,

Alonzo, said Melissa at length; we will go up to my chamber; I have a

fire there, where you can dry your clothes."--"Your chamber; replied

Alonzo; who then inhabits this house?" "No one except myself, she

answered; I am here alone, Alonzo." "Alone! he exclaimed--here alone,

Melissa! Good God! tell me how--why--by what means are you here alone?"

"Let us go up to my chamber, she replied, and I will tell you all."

He followed her to her apartment and seated himself by the fire. "You

want refreshment," said Melissa--which was indeed the case, as he had

been long without any, and was wet, hungry and weary.

She immediately set about preparing tea and soon had it ready, and a

comfortable repast was spread for his entertainment.--And now, reader,

if thou art a child of nature, if thy bosom is susceptible of refined

sensibility, contemplate for a moment, Melissa and Alonzo seated at the

same table, a table prepared by her own hand, in a lonely mansion,

separated from society, and no one to interrupt them. After innumerable

difficulties, troubles and perplexities; after vexing embarrassments,

and a cruel separation, they were once more together, and for some time

every other consideration was lost. The violence of the storm had not

abated. The lightning still blazed, the thunder bellowed, the wind

roared, the sea raged, the rain poured, mingled with heavy hail: Alonzo

and Melissa heard a little of it. She told him all that had happened to

her since they parted, except the strange noises and awful sights which

had terrified her during her confinement in that solitary building: this

she considered unnecessary and untimely, in her present situation.

Alonzo informed her, that as soon as he had learned the manner in which

she had been sent away, he left the house of Vincent and went to her

father's to see if he could not find out by some of the domestics what

course her aunt had taken. None of them knew any thing about it. He did

not put himself in the way of her father, as he was apprehensive of ill

treatment thereby. He then went to several places among the relatives of

the family where he had heretofore visited with Melissa, most of whom

received him with a cautious coldness. At length he came to the house of

Mr. Simpson, the gentleman to whose seat Alonzo was once driven by a

shower, where he accidentally found Melissa on a visit, as mentioned

before. Here he was admitted with the ardour of friendship. They had

heard his story: Melissa had kept up a correspondence with one of the

young ladies; they were therefore informed of all, except Melissa's

removal from her father's house: of this they knew nothing until told

thereof by Alonzo.

"I am surprised at the conduct of my kinsman, said Mr. Simpson; for

though his determinations are, like the laws of the Medes and Persians,

unalterable, yet I have ever believed that the welfare of his children

lay nearest his heart. In the present instance he is certainly pursuing

a mistaken policy. I will go and see him." He then ordered his horse,

desiring Alonzo to remain at his house until he returned.

Alonzo was treated with the most friendly politeness by the family; he

found that they were deeply interested in his favour and the welfare of

Melissa. At evening Mr. Simpson returned. "It is in vain, said he, to

reason with my kinsman; he is determined that his daughter shall marry

your rival. He will not even inform me to what place he has sent

Melissa. Her aunt however is with her, and they must be at the residence

of some of the family relatives.--I will dispatch my son William among

our connections, to see if he can find her out."

The next morning William departed, and was gone two days; but could not

obtain the least intelligence either of Melissa or her aunt, although he

had been the rounds among the relations of the family.

"There is some mystery in this affair, said Mr. Simpson. I am very

little acquainted with Melissa's aunt. I have understood that she draws

a decent support from her patrimonial resources, which, it is said, are

pretty large, and that she resides alternately with her different

relatives. I have understood also that my kinsman expects her fortune to

come into his family, in case she never marries, which, in all

probability, she now will not, and that she, in consequence, holds

considerable influence over him. It is not possible but that Melissa is

yet concealed at some place of her aunt's residence, and that the family

are in the secret. I think it cannot be long before they will disclose

themselves: You, Alonzo, are welcome to make my house your home; and if

Melissa can be found, she shall be treated as my daughter."

Alonzo thanked him for his friendship and fatherly kindness. "I must

continue, said he, my researches for Melissa; the result you shall

know."

He then departed, and travelled through the neighbouring villages and

adjoining neighbourhoods, making, at almost every house, such enquiries

as he considered necessary on the occasion. He at length arrived at the

inn in the last little village where Melissa and her aunt had stopped

the day they came to the mansion. Here the inn-keeper informed him that

two ladies, answering his description, had been at his house: he named

the time, which was the day in which Melissa, with her aunt, left her

father's house. The inn-keeper told him that they purchased some

articles in the village, and drove off to the south. Alonzo then

traversed the country adjoining the Sound, far to the westward, and was

returning eastward, when he was overtaken by the shower. No house being

within sight, he betook himself to the forest for shelter. From a little

hilly glade in the wilderness, he discovered the lonely mansion which,

from its appearance, he very naturally supposed to be uninhabited.--The

tempest soon becoming severe, he thought he would endeavour to reach the

house.

When he arrived at the moat, he found it impossible to cross it, or

ascend the wall; and he stood in momentary jeopardy of his life, from

the falling timber, some of which was broken and torn up by the tornado,

and some splintered by the fiery bolts of heaven. At length a large

tree, which stood near him, on the verge of the moat, or rather in that

place, was hurled from its foundation, and fell, with a hideous crash,

across the moat, its top lodging on the wall. He scrambled up on the

trunk, and made his way on the wall. By the incessant glare of lightning

he was able to see distinctly. The top of the tree was partly broken by

the force of its fall, and hung down the other side of the wall. By

these branches he let himself down into the yard, proceeded to the

house, found the door open, which Melissa had left in her fright, and

entered into one of the rooms, where he proposed to stay until at least

the shower was over, still supposing the house unoccupied, until the

noise of locking the door, and the light of the candle, drew him from

the room, when, to his infinite surprise, he discovered Melissa, as

before related.

Melissa listened to Alonzo with varied emotion. The fixed obduracy of

her father, the generous conduct of the Simpsons, the constancy of

Alonzo, filled her heart with inexpressible sensations. She foresaw that

her sufferings were not shortly to end--she knew not when her sorrows

were to close.

Alonzo was shocked at the alteration which appeared in the features of

Melissa. The rose had faded from her cheek, except when it was

transiently suffused with a hectic flush. A livid paleness sat upon her

countenance, and her fine form was rapidly wasting. It was easy to be

foreseen that the grief which preyed upon her heart would soon destroy

her, unless speedily allayed.

The storm had now passed into the regions of the east; the wind and rain

had ceased, the lightning more unfrequently flashed, and the thunder

rolled at a distance. The hours passed hastily;--day would soon appear.

Hitherto they had been absorbed in the present moment; it was time to

think of the future. After the troubles they had experienced; after so

fortunate a meeting, they could not endure the idea of another and

immediate separation. And yet immediately separated they must be. It

would not be safe for Alonzo to stay even until the rising sun, unless

he was concealed; and of what use could it be for him to remain there in

concealment?

In this dilemma there was but one expedient. "Suffer me, said Alonzo to

Melissa, to remove you from this solitary confinement. Your health is

impaired. To you, your father is no more a father; he has steeled his

bosom to paternal affection; he has banished you from his house, placed

you under the tyranny of others, and confined you in a lonely, desolate

dwelling, far from the sweets of society; and this only because you

cannot heedlessly renounce a most solemn contract, formed under his eye,

and sanctioned by his immediate consent and approbation. Pardon me,

Melissa, I would not censure your father; but permit me to say, that

after such treatment, you are absolved from implicit obedience to his

rigorous, cruel, and stern commands.--It will therefore be considered a

duty you owe to your preservation, if you suffer me to remove you from

the tyrannical severity with which you are oppressed."

Melissa sighed, wiping a tear which fell from her eye. "Unqualified

obedience to my parents, said she, I have ever considered the first of

duties, and have religiously practised thereon----but where, Alonzo,

would you remove me?" "To any place you shall appoint," he answered.

"I have no where to go," she replied.

"If you will allow me to name the place, said he, I will mention Mr.

Simpson's. He will espouse your cause and be a father to you, and, if

conciliation is possible, will reconcile you to your father. This can be

done without my being known to have any agency in the business. It can

seem as if Mr. Simpson had found you out. He will go any just lengths to

serve us. It was his desire, if you could be found, to have you brought

to his house. There you can remain either in secret or openly, as you

shall choose. Be governed by me in this, Melissa, and in all things I

will obey you thereafter. I will then submit to the future events of

fate; but I cannot Melissa--I cannot leave you in this doleful place."

Melissa arose and walked the room in extreme agitation. What could she

do? She had, indeed, determined to leave the house, for reasons which

Alonzo knew nothing of. But should she leave it in the way she had

proposed, she was not sure but she would be immediately remanded back,

more strictly guarded, and more severely treated. To continue there,

under existing circumstances, would be impossible, long to exist. She

therefore came to a determination--"I will go, she said, to Mr.

Simpson's."

It was then agreed that Alonzo should proceed to Vincent's, interest

them in the plan, procure a carriage, and return at eleven o'clock the

next night. Melissa was to have the draw-bridge down, and the gate open.

If John should come to the house the succeeding day, she would persuade

him to let her still keep the keys. But it was possible her aunt might

return. This would render the execution of the scheme more hazardous and

difficult. A signal was therefore agreed on; if her aunt should be

there, a candle was to be placed at the window fronting the gate, in the

room above; if not, it was to be placed against a similar window in the

room below. In the first case Alonzo was to rap loudly at the door.

Melissa was to run down, under pretence of seeing who was there, fly

with Alonzo to the carriage, and leave her aunt to scrape acquaintance

with the ghosts and goblins of the old mansion. For even if her aunt

should return, which was extremely doubtful, she thought she could

contrive to let down the bridge and unlock the gate in the evening

without her knowledge. At any rate she was determined not to let the

keys go out of her hands, unless they were forced from her, until she

had escaped from that horrid and dreary place.

Daylight began to break from the east, and Alonzo prepared to depart.

Melissa accompanied him to the gate and the bridge, which was let down:

he passed over, and she slowly withdrew, both frequently turning to look

back. When she came to the gate, she stopped;--Alonzo stopped also. She

waved a white handkerchief she had in her hand, and Alonzo bowed in

answer to the sign. She then leisurely entered and slowly shut the

gate.--Alonzo could not forbear climbing up into a tree to catch another

glimpse of her as she passed up the avenue. With lingering step he saw

her move along, soon receding from his view in the gray twilight of

misty morning. He then descended, and hastily proceeded on his journey.

Traits of glory now painted the eastern skies. The glittering day-star,

having unbarred the portals of light, began to transmit its retrocessive

lustre. Thin scuds flew swiftly over the moon's decrescent form. Low,

hollow winds, murmured among the bushes, or brushed the limpid drops

from intermingling foliage. The fire-fly[A] sunk, feebly twinkling,

amidst the herbage of the fields. The dusky shadows of night fled to the

deep glens, and rocky caverns of the wilderness. The American lark

soared high in the air, consecrating its matin lay to morn's approaching

splendours. The woodlands began to ring with native melody--the forest

tops, on high mountains, caught the sun's first ray, which, widening and

extending, soon gem'd the landscape with brilliants of a thousand

various dies.

[Footnote A: The American lampyris, vulgarly called the

lightning-bug.]

As Alonzo came out of the fields near the road, he saw two persons

passing in an open chair. They suddenly stopped, earnestly gazing at

him. They were wrapped in long riding cloaks, and it could not be

distinguished from their dress whether they were men or women. He stood

not to notice them, but made the best of his way to Vincent's, where he

arrived about noon.--Rejoiced to find that he had discovered Melissa,

they applauded the plan of her removal, and assisted him in obtaining a

carriage. A sedan was procured, and he set out to return, promising to

see Vincent again, as soon as he had removed Melissa to Mr. Simpson's.

He made such use of his time as to arrive at the mansion at the hour

appointed. He found the draw-bridge down, the gate open, and saw, as had

been agreed upon, the light at the lower window, glimmering through the

branches of trees. He was therefore assured that Melissa was alone. His

heart beat; a joyful tremor seized his frame; Melissa was soon to be

under his care, for a short time at least.--He drove up to the house,

sprang out of the carriage, and fastened his horse to a locust tree: The

door was open; he went in, flew lightly up stairs, entered her

chamber--Melissa was not there! A small fire was blazing on the hearth,

a candle was burning on the table. He stood petrified with amazement,

then gazed around in anxious solicitude. What could have become of her?

It was impossible, he tho't, but that she must still be there.

Had she been removed by fraud or force, the signal candle would not have

been at the window. Perhaps, in a freakish moment, she had concealed

herself for no other purpose than to cause him a little perplexity. He

therefore took the candle and searched every corner of the chamber, and

every room of the house, not even missing the garret and the cellar.

He then placed the candle in a lantern, and went out and examined the

out-houses: he next went round the garden and the yard, strictly

exploring and investigating every place; but he found her not. He

repeatedly and loudly called her by name; he was answered only by the

solitary echoes of the wilderness.

Again he returned to the house, traversed the rooms, there also calling

on the name of Melissa: his voice reverberated from the walls, dying

away in solemn murmurs in the distant empty apartments. Thus did he

continue his anxious scrutiny, alternately in the house and the

enclosure, until day--but no traces could be discovered, nothing seen or

heard of Melissa. What had become of her he could not form the most

distant conjecture. Nothing was removed from the house; the beds, the

chairs, the table, all the furniture remained in the same condition as

when he was there the night before;--the candle, as had been agreed

upon, was at the window, and another was burning on the table:--it was

therefore evident that she could not have been long gone when he

arrived. By what means she had thus suddenly disappeared, was a most

deep and inscrutable mystery.

When the sun had arisen, he once more repeated his inquisitive search,

but with the same effect. He then, in extreme vexation and

disappointment, flung himself into the sedan, and drove from the

mansion. Frequently did he look back at the building, anxiously did he

scrutinize every surrounding and receding object. A thrill of pensive

recollection vibrated through his frame as he passed the gate, and the

keen agonizing pangs of blasted hope, pierced his heart, as his carriage

rolled over the bridge.

Once more he cast a "longing, lingering look" upon the premises behind,

sacred only for the treasure they lately possessed; then sunk backward

in his seat, and was dragged slowly away.

* * * * *

Alonzo had understood from Melissa, that John's hut was situated about

one mile north from the mansion where she had been confined. When he

came out near the road, he left his horse and carriage, after securing

them, and went in search of it.--He soon discovered it, and knew it from

the description given thereof by Melissa.--He went up and knocked at the

door, which was opened by John, whom Alonzo also knew, from the portrait

Melissa had drawn of him.

John started in amazement. "Understanding, said Alonzo, that you have

the charge of the old mansion in yonder field, I have come to know if

you can inform me what has become of the young lady who has been

confined there."

"Confined! answered John, I did not know she was confined."

Recollecting himself, "I mean the young lady who has lately resided

there with her aunt," replied Alonzo.

"She was there last night, answered John; her aunt is gone into the

country and has not returned."

Alonzo then told him the situation of the mansion, and that she was not

there. John informed him that she was there about sunset, and according

to her request he had left the keys of the gate and bridge with her:

he desired Alonzo to tarry there until he ran to the mansion.

He returned in about half an hour. "She is gone, sure enough, said John;

but how, or where, it is impossible for me to guess."--Convinced that he

knew nothing of the matter, Alonzo left him and returned to Vincent's.

Vincent and his lady were much surprised at Alonzo's account of

Melissa's sudden disappearance, and they wished to ascertain whether her

father's family knew any thing of the circumstance. Social intercourse

had become suspended between the families of Vincent and Melissa's

father, as the latter had taxed the former of improperly endeavouring to

promote the views of Alonzo. They therefore procured a neighbouring

woman to visit Melissa's mother, to see if any information could be

obtained concerning Melissa; but the old lady had heard nothing of her

since her departure with her aunt, who had never yet returned.--Alonzo

left Vincent's and went to Mr. Simpson's. He told them all that had

happened since he was there, of which, before, they had heard nothing.

At the houses of Mr. Simpson and Vincent he resided some time, while

they made the most dilligent search to discover Melissa; but nothing

could be learned of her fate.

Alonzo then travelled into various parts of the country, making such

enquiries as caution dictated of all whom he thought likely to give him

information;--but he found none who could give him the least

intelligence of his lost Melissa.

In the course of his wanderings he passed near the old mansion house

where Melissa had been confined. He felt an inclination once more to

visit it: he proceeded over the bridge, which was down, but he found the

gate locked. He therefore hurried back and went to John's, whom he found

at home. On enquiring of John whether he had yet heard any thing of the

young lady and her aunt; "All I know of the matter, said John, is, that

two days after you were here, her aunt came back with a strange

gentleman, and ordered me to go and fetch the furniture away from the

room they had occupied in the old mansion. I asked her what had become

of young madam. She told me that young madam had behaved very

indiscreetly, and she found fault with me for leaving the keys in her

possession, though I did not know that any harm could arise from it.

From the discourse which my wife and I afterwards overheard between

madam and the strange gentleman, I understood that young madam had been

sent to reside with some friend or relation at a great distance, because

her father wanted her to marry a man, and she wishes to marry somebody

else." From John's plain and simple narrative, Alonzo concluded that

Melissa had been removed by her father's order, or through the agency,

or instigation of her aunt. Whether his visit to the old mansion had

been somehow discovered or suspected, or whether she was removed by some

preconcerted or antecedent plan, he could not conjecture.--Still, the

situation in which he found the mansion the night he went to convey her

away, left an inexplicable impression on his mind. He could in no manner

account how the candle could be placed at the window according to

agreement, unless it had been done by herself; and if so, how had she so

suddenly been conveyed away?

Alonzo asked John where Melissa's aunt now was.

"She left here yesterday morning, he answered, with the strange

gentleman I mentioned, on a visit to some of her friends."

"Was the strange gentleman you speak of her brother?" asked Alonzo.

"I believe not, replied John, smiling and winking to his wife;--I know

not who he was; somebody that madam seems to like pretty well."

"Have you the care of the old mansion?" said Alonzo.

"Yes, answered John, I have the keys; I will accompany you thither,

perhaps you would like to purchase it; madam said yesterday she thought

she should sell it."

Alonzo told him he had no thoghts of purchasing, thanked him for his

information, and departed.

Convinced now that Melissa was removed by the agency of her persecutors,

he compared the circumstances of John's relation. "She had been sent to

reside with some friend or relation at a great distance." This great

distance, he believed to be New London, and her friend or relation, her

cousin, at whose house Alonzo first saw her, under whose care she would

be safe, and Beauman would have an opportunity of renewing his

addresses. Under these impressions, Alonzo did not long hesitate what

course to pursue--he determined to repair to New London immediately.

In pursuance of his design he went to his father's. He found the old

gentleman with his man contentedly tilling his farm, and his mother

cheerfully attending to household affairs, as their narrow circumstances

would not admit her to keep a maid without embarrassment. Alonzo's soul

sickened on comparing the present state of his family with its former

affluence; but it was an unspeakable consolation to see his aged parents

contented and happy in their humble situation; and though the idea could

not pluck the thorn from his own bosom, yet it tended temporarily to

assuage the anguish of the wound.

"You have been long gone, my son, said his father; I scarcely knew what

had become of you. Since I have become a farmer I know little of what is

going forward in the world; and indeed we were never happier in our

lives. After stocking and paying for my farm, and purchasing the

requisites for my business, I have got considerable money at command:

we live frugally, and realize the blessings of health, comfort, and

contentment. Our only disquietude is on your account, Alonzo. Your

affair with Melissa, I suppose, is not so favourable as you could wish.

But despair not, my son; hope is the harbinger of fairer prospects: rely

on Providence, which never deserts those who submissively bow to the

justice of its dispensations."

Unwilling to disturb the serenity of his parents, Alonzo did not tell

them his troubles. He answered, that perhaps all might yet come right;

but that, as in the present state of his mind he thought a change of

situation might be of advantage, he asked liberty of his father to

travel for some little time. To this his father consented, and offered

him a part of the money he had on hand, which Alonzo refused, saying he

did not expect to be long gone, and his resources had not failed him.

He then sold off his books, his horses, his carriages, &c. the

_insignia_ of his better days, but now useless appendages, from which he

raised no inconsiderable sum.--He then took a tender and affectionate

leave of his parents, and set out for New London.

Alonzo journeyed along with a heavy heart and in an enfeebled frame of

spirits. Through disappointment, vexation, and the fatigues he had

undergone in wandering about, for a long time, in search of Melissa,

despondency had seized upon his mind, and indisposition upon his body.

He put up the first night within a few miles of New Haven, and as he

passed through that town the next morning, the scenes of early life in

which he had there been an actor, moved in melancholy succession over

his mind. That day he grew more indisposed; he experienced an unusual

languor, listlessness and debility; chills, followed by hot flashes,

heavy pains in the head and back, with incessant and intolerable thirst.

It was near night when he reached Killingsworth, where he halted, as he

felt unable to go farther: he called for a bed, and through the night

was racked with severe pain, and scorched with a burning fever.

The next morning he requested that the physician of the town might be

sent for;--he came and ordered a prescription which gave his patient

some relief; and by strict attention, in about ten days Alonzo was able

to pursue his journey. He arrived at New London, and took lodgings with

a private family of the name of Wyllis, in a retired part of the town.

The first object was to ascertain whether Melissa was at her cousin's.

But how should he obtain this information? He knew no person in the town

except it was those whom he had reason to suppose were leagued against

him. Should he go to the house of her cousin, it might prove an injury

to her if she were there, and could answer no valuable purpose if she

were not.--The evening after he arrived there he wrapped himself up in

his cloak and took the street which led to the house of Melissa's

cousin: he stopped when he came against it, to see if he could make any

discoveries. As people were passing and repassing the street, he got

over into a small enclosure which adjoined the house, and stood under a

tree, about thirty yards from the house: he had not long occupied this

station, before a lady came to the chamber window, which was flung up,

opposite to the place where he stood; she leaned out, looked earnestly

around for a few minutes, then shut it and retired. She had brought a

candle into the room, but did not bring it to the window; of course he

could not distinguish her features so as to identify them.

He knew it was not the wife of Melissa's cousin, and from her appearance

he believed it to be Melissa. Again the window opened, again the same

lady appeared;--she took a seat at a little distance within the room;

she reclined with her head upon her hand, and her arm appeared to be

supported by a stand or table. Alonzo's heart beat violently; he now had

a side view of her face, and was more than ever convinced that it was

Melissa. Her delicate features, though more pale and dejected than when

last he saw her;--her brown hair, which fell in artless circles around

her lily neck; her arched eye-brows and commanding aspect. Alonzo moved

towards the house, with a design, if possible, to draw her attention,

and should it really prove to be Melissa, to discover himself. He had

proceeded but a few steps before she arose, shut the window, retired,

and the light disappeared. Alonzo waited a considerable time, but she

appeared no more. Supposing she had retired for the night, he slowly

withdrew, chagrined at this disappointment, yet pleased at the discovery

he had made.

The family with whom Alonzo had taken lodgings were fashionable and

respectable. The following afternoon they had appointed to visit a

friend, and they invited Alonzo to accompany them. When they named the

family where their visit was intended, he found it to be Melissa's

cousin. Alonzo therefore declined going under pretence of business. He

however waited with anxiety for their return, hoping he should be able

to learn by their conversation, whether Melissa was there or not.--When

they returned he made some enquiries concerning the families in town,

until the conversation turned upon the family they had visited. "The

young lady who resides there, said Mrs. Wyllis, is undoubtedly in a

confirmed decline; she will never recover."

Alonzo started, deeply agitated. "Who is the young lady?" he asked. "She

is sister to the gentleman's wife where we visited, answered Mr.

Wyllis;--her father lives in Newport, and she has come here for her

health." "Do you not think, said Mrs. Wyllis, that she resembles their

cousin Melissa, who resided there some time ago?" "Very much indeed,

replied her husband, only she is not quite so handsome."

Again was Alonzo disappointed, and again did he experience a melancholy

pleasure: he had the last night hoped that he had discovered Melissa;

but to find her in a hopeless decline, was worse than that she should

remain undiscovered.

"It is reported, said Mrs. Wyllis, that Melissa has been upon the verge

of matrimony, but that the treaty was somehow broken off; perhaps

Beauman will renew his addresses again, should this be the case."

"Beauman has other business besides addressing the ladies, answered Mr.

Wyllis. He has marched to the lines near New-York with his new raised

company of volunteers."[A]

[Footnote A: New-York was then in possession of the British

troops.]

From this discourse, Alonzo was convinced that Melissa was not the

person he had seen at her cousin's the preceding evening, and that she

was not there. He also found that Beauman was not in town. Where to

search next, or what course to pursue, he was at a loss to determine.

The next morning he rose early and wandered about the town. As he passed

by the house of Melissa's cousin, he saw the lady, who had appeared at

the window, walking in the garden. Her air, her figure, had very much

the appearance of Melissa; but the lineaments of her countenance were,

when viewed by the light of day, widely dissimilar. Alonzo felt no

strong curiosity farther to examine her features, but passing on,

returned to his lodgings.

How he was now to proceed, Alonzo could not readily decide. To return to

his native place, appeared to be as useless as to tarry where he was.

For many weeks had he travelled and searched every place where he

thought it probable Melissa might be found, both among her relatives and

elsewhere. He had made every effort to obtain some clue to her removal

from the old mansion, but he could learn nothing but what he had been

told by John. If his friends should ever hear of her, they could not

inform him thereof, as no one knew where he was. Would it not,

therefore, be best for him to return back, and consult with his friends,

and if nothing had been heard of her, pursue some other mode of enquiry?

He might, at least, leave directions where his friends might write to

him, in case they should have any thing whereof to apprise him.

An incident tended to confirm this resolution. He one night dreamed that

he was sitting in a strange house, contemplating on his present

situation, when Melissa suddenly entered the room. Her appearance was

more pale, sickly and dejected, than when he last saw her. Her elegant

form had wasted away, her eyes were sunk, her cheeks fallen, her lips

livid. He fancied it to be night, she held a candle in her hand, smiling

languidly upon him;--she turned and went out of the room, beckoning him

to follow: he thought he immediately arose and followed her. She glided

through several winding rooms, and at length he lost sight of her, and

the light gradually fading away, he was involved in deep darkness.--He

groped along, and at length saw a faint distant glimmer, the course of

which he pursued, until he came into a large room, hung with black

tapestry, and illuminated by a number of bright tapers. On one side of

the room appeared a hearse, on which some person was laid: he went up to

it--the first object that arrested his attention was the lovely form of

Melissa, shrouded in the sable vestments of death! Cold and lifeless,

she lay stretched upon the hearse, beautiful even in dissolution; the

dying smile of complacency had not yet deserted her cheek. The music of

her voice had ceased; her fine eyes had closed for ever. Insensible to

objects in which she once delighted; to afflictions which had blasted

her blooming prospects, and drained the streams of life, she lay like

blossomed trees of spring, overthrown by rude and boisterous winds. The

deep groans which convulsed the distracted bosom, and shocked the

trembling frame of Alonzo, broke the delusive charm: he awoke, rejoiced

to find it but a dream, though it impressed his mind with doleful and

portentous forebodings.

It was a long time before he could again close his eyes to sleep; he at

length fell into a slumber, and again he dreamed. He fancied himself

with Melissa, at the house of her father, who had consented to their

union, and that the marriage ceremony between them was there performed.

He thought that Melissa appeared as she had done in her most fortunate

and sprightly days, before the darts of adversity, and the thorns of

affliction, had wounded her heart. Her father seemed to be divested of

all his awful sternness, and gave her to Alonzo with cheerful freedom.

He awoke, and the horrors of his former dream were dissipated by the

happy influences of the last.

"Who knows, he said, but that this may finally be the case; but that the

sun of peace may yet dispel the glooms of these distressful hours!" He

arose, determined to return home in a few days. He went out and enjoyed

his morning walk in a more composed frame of spirits than he had for

some time experienced. He returned, and as he was entering the door he

saw the weekly newspaper of the town, which had been published that

morning, and which the carrier had just flung into the hall.----The

family had not yet arisen. He took up the paper, carried it to his

chamber, and opened it to read the news of the day. He ran his eye

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

arrested his attention, by a display of broad black lines. The first

article he read therein was as follows:

"Died, of a consumption, on the 26th ult. at the seat of her uncle, Col.

W. D--, near Charleston, South Carolina, whither she had repaired for

her health, Miss Melissa D----, the amiable daughter of J---- D----,

Esq. of *******, Connecticut, in the eighteenth year of her age."

The paper fell from the palsied hand--a sudden faintness came upon

him--the room grew dark--he staggered, and fell senseless upon the

floor.

* * * * *

The incidents of our story will here produce a pause.----The fanciful

part of our readers may cast it aside in chagrin and disappointment.

"Such an event," may they say, "we were not prepared to expect.--After

so many, and such various trials of heart; after innumerable

difficulties surmounted; almost invincible objects overcome, and

insuperable barriers removed--after attending the hero and heroine of

your tale through the diversified scenes of anxiety, suspense, hope,

disappointment, expectation, joy, sorrow, anticipated bliss, sudden and

disastrous woe----after elevating them to the threshold of happiness,

by the premature death of one, to plunge the other, instantaneously, in

deep and irretrievable despair, must not, cannot be right.--Your story

will hereafter become languid and spiritless; the subject will be

uninteresting, the theme unengaging, since the _genius_ which animated

and enlivened it is gone for ever."

Reader of sensibility, stop. Are we not detailing facts? Shall we gloss

them over with false colouring? Shall we describe things as they are, or

as they are not? Shall we draw with the pencil of nature, or of art? Do

we indeed paint life as it is, or as it is not? Cast thine eyes, reader,

over the ephemeral circle of passing and fortuitous events; view the

change of contingencies; mark well the varied and shifting scenery in

the great drama of time;--seriously contemplate nature in her

operations; minutely examine the entrance, the action, and the exit of

characters on the stage of existence--then say, if disappointment,

distress, misery and calamitous woe, are not the inalienable portion of

the susceptible bosom. Say, if the possession of refined feeling is

enviable----the lot of _Nature's children_ covetable--whether to such,

through life, the sprinklings of comfort are sufficient to give a zest

to the bitter banquets of adversity--whether, indeed, sorrow, sighing,

and tears, are not the inseparable attendants of all those whose hearts

are the repositories of tender affections and pathetic sympathies.

But what says the moralist?--"Portray life as it is. Delude not the

senses by deceptive appearances. Arouse your hero? call to his aid stern

philosophy and sober reason. They will dissipate the rainbow-glories of

unreal pleasure, and banish the glittering meteors of unsubstantial

happiness. Or if these fail, lead him to the holy fane of religion: she

will regulate the fires of fancy, and assuage the tempest of the

passions: she will illuminate the dark wilderness, and smooth the thorny

paths of life: she will point him to joys beyond the tomb--to _another

and a better world_; and pour the balm of consolation and serenity over

his wounded soul."

Shall we indeed arouse Alonzo? Alas! to what paths of grief and

wretchedness shall we arouse him! To a world to him void and

cheerless--a world desolate, sad and dreary.

Alonzo revived. "Why am I, he exclaimed, recalled to this dungeon of

torment? Why was not my spirit permitted to take its flight to regions

where my guardian is gone? Why am I cursed with memory? O that I might

be blessed with forgetfulness! But why do I talk of blessings?--Heaven

never had one in store for me. Where are fled my anticipated joys?

To the bosom, the dark bosom of the oblivious tomb! There lie all the

graces worthy of love in life--all the virtues worthy of lamentation in

death! There lies perfection; perfection has here been found. Was she

not all that even Heaven could demand?--Fair, lovely, holy and virtuous.

Her tender solicitudes, her enrapturing endearments, her soul-inspiring

blandishments,--gone, gone for ever? That heavenly form, that

discriminate mind--all lovely as light, all pure as a seraph's--a prey

to worms--mingled with incorporeal shadows, regardless of former

inquietudes or delights, regardless of the keen anguish which now wrings

tears of blood from my despairing heart!

"Eternal Disposer of events! if virtue be thy special care, why is the

fairest flower in the garden of innocence and purity blasted like a

noxious weed? Why is the bright gem of excellence trampled in the dust

like a worthless pebble?--Why is Melissa hurried to the tomb?"

Thus raved Alonzo. It was evident that delirium had partially seized his

brain. He arose and flung himself on the bed in unspeakable agony. "And

what, Alas! he again exclaimed, now remains for me? Existence and

unparalleled misery. The consolation even of death is denied me. But

Melissa! she--ah, where is she! Oh, reflection insupportable!

insufferable consideration! Must that heavenly frame putrify, moulder,

and crumble into dust? Must the loathsome spider nestle on her lily

bosom? the odious reptile riot on her delicate limbs? the worm revel

amid the roses of her cheek, fatten on her temples, and bask in the

lustre of her eyes? Alas! the lustre has become dimmed in death; the

rose and the lily are withered; the harmony of her voice has ceased; the

graces, the elegancies of form, the innumerable delicacies of air, all

are gone, and I am left in a state of misery which defies mitigation or

comparison."

Exhausted by excess of grief, he now lay in a stupifying anguish, until

the servant summoned him to breakfast. He told the servant he was

indisposed and requested he might not be disturbed. Mr. Wyllis and his

lady came up, anxious to yield him any assistance in their power, and

advised him to call a physician. He thanked them, but told them it was

unnecessary; he only wanted rest. His extreme distress of mind brought

on a relapse of fever, from which he had but imperfectly recovered. For

several days he lay in a very dangerous and doubtful state. A physician

was called, contrary to his choice or knowledge, as for most part of the

time his mind was delirious and sensation imperfect. This was, probably

the cause of baffling the disorder. He was in a measure insensible to

his woes. He did not oppose the prescriptions of the physician. The

fever abated; nature triumphed over disease of body, and he slowly

recovered, but the malady of his mind was not removed.

He contemplated on the past. "I fear, said he, I have murmured against

the wisdom of Providence. Forgive, O merciful Creator! Forgive the

frenzies of distraction!" He now recollected that Melissa once told him

that she had an uncle who resided near Charleston in South Carolina;

thither he supposed she had been sent by her father, when she was

removed from the old mansion, in order to prevent his having access to

her, and with a view to compel her to marry Beauman. Her appearance had

indicated a deep decline when he last saw her. "There, said he, far

removed from friends and acquaintance, there did she languish, there did

she die--a victim to excessive grief, and cruel parental persecution."

As soon as he was able to leave his room, he walked out one evening, and

in deep contemplation roved, he knew not where. The moon shone

brilliantly from her lofty throne; the chill, heavy dews of autumn

glittered on the decaying verdure. The _cadeat_[A] croaked hoarsely

among the trees; the _dircle_[B] sung mournfully on the grass.--Alonzo

heard them not; he was insensible to all external objects, until he had

imperceptibly wandered to the rock on the point of the beach, verging

the Sound, to which he had attended Melissa the first time he saw her at

her cousin's.[C] Had the whole artillery of Heaven burst, in sheeted

flame, from the skies--had raging winds mingled the roaring waves with

the mountains--had an instantaneous earthquake burst beneath his feet,

his frame would not have been so shocked, his soul so agitated!--Sudden

as the blaze darts from the electric cloud was he aroused to a lively

sense of blessings entombed! The memory of departed joys passed with

rapidity over his imagination; his first meeting with Melissa; the

evening he had attended her to that place; her frequent allusions to the

scenery there displayed, when they had traversed the fields, or reclined

in the bower on her favourite hill; in fine, all the vicissitudes

through which they had passed, were called to his mind. His fancy saw

her--felt her gently leaning on his arm, while he tremblingly pressed

her hand.--Again he saw smiling health crimsoning the lilies of her

cheek; again he saw the bright soul of sympathetic feelings sparkling in

her eye; the air of ease; the graces of attitude; her brown locks

circling the borders of her snowy robe. Again he was enraptured by the

melody of her voice.--Once more would he have been happy, had not fancy

changed the scene. But, alas! she shifted the curtain. He saw Melissa

stretched on the sable hearse, wrapped in the dreary vestments of the

grave; the roses withered; the lilies faded; motionless; the graces

fled; her eyes fixed, and sealed in the glaze of death! Spontaneously he

fell upon his knees, and thus poured forth the overcharged burden of his

anguished bosom.

[Footnote AB: Local names given to certain American insects, from

their sound. They are well known in various parts of the United

States; generally make their appearance about the latter end of

August, and continue until destroyed by the frost. The notes of

the first are hoarse, sprightly, and discordant; of the last,

solemn and mournfully pleasing.]

[Footnote C: See page 8. See also allusions to this scene in

several subsequent parts of the story.]

"Infinite Ruler of all events! Great Sovereign of this ever changing

world! Omnipotent Controller of vicissitudes! Omniscient dispenser of

destinies! The beginning, the progression, the end is thine.

Unsearchable are thy purposes! mysterious thy movements! inscrutable thy

operations! An atom of thy creation, wildered in the mazes of ignorance

and woe, would bow to thy decrees. Surrounded with impenetrable gloom,

unable to scrutinize the past, incompetent to explore the future----fain

would he say, THY WILL BE DONE! And Oh, that it might be consistent with

that HIGH WILL to call _this atom_ from a dungeon of wretchedness, to

worlds of light and glory, where his only CONSOLATION is gone."

Thus prayed the heart-broken Alonzo. It was indeed a worldly prayer; but

perhaps as pure and as acceptable as many of our modern professors would

have made on a similar occasion. He arose and repaired to his lodgings.

One determination only he had now fallen upon--to bury himself and his

griefs from all with whom he had formerly been acquainted. Why should he

return to the scenes of his former bliss and anxiety, where every

countenance would tend to renew his mourning; where every door would be

inscribed with a _memento mori_, and where every object would be

shrouded in crape? He therefore turned his attention to the army; but

the army was far distant, and he was too feeble to prosecute a journey

of such an extent.

There were at that time preparations for fitting out a convoy, at

private expense, from various parts of the United States, for the

protection of our European trade; they were to rendezvous at a certain

station, and thence proceed with the merchantmen under their care to the

ports of France and Holland, where our trade principally centered, and

return as convoy to some other mercantile fleet.

One of these ships of war was then nearly fitted out at New-London.

Alonzo offered himself to the captain, who, pleased with his appearance,

gave him the station of commander of marines.

Alonzo prepared himself with all speed for the voyage. He sought, he

wished no acquaintance. His only place of resort, except to his lodgings

and the ship, was to Melissa's favourite rock: there he bowed as to the

shrine of her spirit, and there he consecrated his devotions.

As he was one day passing through the town, a gentleman stepped out of

an adjoining house and accosted him. Alonzo immediately recognized him

to be the cousin of Melissa, at whose house he had first seen her. He

was dressed in full mourning, which was a sufficient indication that he

was apprised of her death. He invited Alonzo to his house, and he could

not complaisantly refuse the invitation. He therefore accepted it, and

passed an hour with him, from whom he learnt that Melissa had been sent

to her uncle's at Charleston, for the recovery of her health, where she

died. "Her premature death, said her cousin, has borne so heavily upon

her aged father, that it is feared he will not long survive."----"Well

may it wring his bosom, thought Alonzo;----his conscience can never be

at peace." Whether Melissa's cousin had been informed of the particulars

of Alonzo's unfortunate attachment, was not known, as he instituted no

conversation on the subject. Neither did he enquire into Alonzo's

prospects; he only invited him to call again. Alonzo thanked him, but

replied it would be doubtful, as he should shortly leave town. He made

no one acquainted with his intentions.

The day at length arrived when the ship was to sail, and Alonzo to leave

the shores of America. They spread their canvass to propitious gales;

the breezes rushed from their woody coverts, and majestically wafted

them from the harbour.

Slowly the land receded; fields, forests, hills, mountains, towns and

villages leisurely withdrew, until they were mingled in one common mass.

The ocean opening, expanded and widened, presenting to the astonished

eyes of the untried mariner its wilderness of waters. Near sunset,

Alonzo ascended the mast to take a last view of a country once so dear,

but whose charms were now lost forever. The land still appeared like a

simicircular border of dark green velvet on the edge of a convex mirror.

The sun sunk in fleecy golden vapours behind it. It now dwindled to

discoloured and irregular spots, which appeared like objects floating,

amidst the blue mists of distance, on the verge of the main, and

immediately all was lost beneath the spherical, watery surface.

Alonzo had fixed his eyes, as near as his judgment could direct, towards

Melissa's favourite rock, till nothing but sea was discoverable. With a

heart-parting sigh he then descended. They had now launched into the

illimitable world of billows, and the sable wings of night brooded over

the boundless deep.

* * * * *

A new scene was now opened to Alonzo in the wonders of the mighty deep.

The sun rising from and setting in the ocean; the wide-spread region of

watery waste, now smooth as polished glass, now urged into irregular

rolling hillocks, then swelled to

"Blue trembling billows, topp'd with foam,"

or gradually arising into mountainous waves. Often would he traverse the

deck amid the still hours of midnight, when the moon silvered over the

liquid surface: "Bright luminary of the lonely hour, he would say, that

now sheddest thy mild and placid ray on the woe-worn head of fortune's

fugitive, dost thou not also pensively shine on the sacred and silent

grave of my Melissa?"

Favourable breezes wafted them for many days over the bosom of the

Atlantic.--At length they were overtaken by a violent storm. The wind

began to blow strongly from the southwest, which soon increased to a

violent gale. The dirgy scud first flew swiftly along the sky; then dark

and heavy clouds filled the atmosphere, mingling with the top-gallant

streamers of the ship. Night hovered over the ocean, rendered horrible

by the intermitting blaze of lightnings, the awful crash of thunder,

and the deafening roar of winds and waves. The sea was rolled into

mountains, capped with foaming fire. Now the ship was soaring among the

thunders of heaven, now sunk in the abyss of waters.

The storm dispersed the fleet, so that when it abated, the ship in which

Alonzo sailed was found alone; they, however, kept on their course of

destination, after repairing their rigging, which had been considerably

disordered by the violence of the gale.

The next morning they discovered a sail which they fondly hoped might

prove to be one of their own fleet, and accordingly made for it. The

ship they were in pursuit of shortened sail, and towards noon wore round

and bore down upon them, when they discovered that it was not a ship

belonging to their convoy. It appeared to be of equal force and

dimensions with that of their own; they therefore, in order to prepare

for the worst, got ready with all speed for action. They slowly

approached each other, manoeuvering for the advantage, till the strange

ship ran up British colours, and fired a gun, which was immediately

answered by the other, under the flag of the United States. It was not

long before a close and severe action took place, which continued for

three hours, when both ships were in so shattered a condition that they

were unable to manage a gun.[A] The British had lost their captain, and

one half their crew, most of the remainder being wounded.----The

Americans had lost their second officer, and their loss in men, both

killed and wounded, was nearly equal to that of the enemy.

[Footnote A: The particulars of this action, in the early stage of

the American war, are yet remembered by many.]

While they lay in this condition, unable either to annoy each other

more, or to get away, a large sail appeared, bearing down upon them,

which soon came up and proved to be an English frigate, and which

immediately took the American ship in tow, after removing the crew into

the hold of the frigate. The crew of the British ship were also taken on

board of the frigate, which was no sooner done than the ship went down

and was for ever buried beneath mountains of ponderous waves. The

frigate then, with the American ship in tow, made sail, and in a few

days reached England. The wounded prisoners were sent to a hospital, but

the others were confined in a strong prison within the precincts of

London.

The American prisoners were huddled into an apartment with British

convicts of various descriptions. Among these Alonzo observed one whose

demeanor arrested his attention. A deep melancholy was impressed upon

his features; his eye was wild and despairing; his figure was

interesting, tall, elegant and handsome. He appeared to be about

twenty-five years of age. He seldom conversed, but when he did, it was

readily discovered that his education had been above the common cast,

and he possessed an enlightened and discriminating mind. Alonzo

sympathetically sought his acquaintance, and discovered therein a unison

of woe.

One evening, when the prisoners were retired to rest, the stranger, upon

Alonzo's request, rehearsed the following incidents of his life.

"You express, said he, some surprise at finding a man of my appearance

in so degraded a situation; and you wish to learn the events which have

plunged me in this abject state. These, when I briefly relate, your

wonder will cease.

"My name is Henry Malcomb; my father was a clergyman in the west of

England, and descended from one of the most respectable families in

those parts. I received a classical education, and then entered the

military school, as I was designed for the army, to which my earliest

inclinations led. As soon as my education was considered complete, an

ensign's commission was procured for me in one of the regiments destined

for the West Indies. Previous to its departure for those islands,

I became acquainted with a Miss Vernon, who was a few years younger

than myself, and the daughter of a gentleman farmer, who had recently

purchased and removed to an estate in my father's parish. Every thing

that was graceful and lovely appeared centered in her person; every

thing that was virtuous and excellent in her mind. I sought her hand.

Our souls soon became united by the indissoluble bonds of sincerest

love, and as there were no parental or other impediments to our union,

it was agreed that as soon as I returned from the Indies, where it was

expected that my stay would be short, the marriage solemnities should be

performed. Solemn oaths of constancy passed between us, and I sailed,

with my regiment, for the Indies.

"While there, I received from her, and returned letters filled with the

tenderest expressions of anxiety and regret of absence. At length the

time came when we were to embark for England, where we arrived after an

absence of about eighteen months. The moment I got on land I hastened to

the house of Mr. Vernon, to see the charmer of my soul. She received me

with all the ardency of affection, and even shed tears of joy in my

presence. I pressed her to name the day which was to perfect our union

and happiness, and the next Sunday, four days only distant, was agreed

upon for me to lead her to the altar. How did my heart bound at the

prospect of making Miss Vernon my own!--of possessing in her all that

could render life agreeable; I hastened home to my family and informed

them of my approaching bliss, who all sympathized in the anticipated joy

which swelled my bosom.

"I had a sister some years older than myself, who had been the friend

and inmate of my angel in my absence. They were now almost every day

together, so that I had frequent opportunities of her company. One day

she had been with my sister at my father's, and I attended her home. On

my return, my sister requested me to attend her in a private room. We

therefore retired, and when we were seated she thus addressed me:

"Henry, you know that to promote your peace, your welfare, and your

happiness, has ever been the pride of my heart. Nothing except this

could extort the secret which I shall now disclose, and which has yet

remained deposited in my own bosom: my duty to a brother whom I esteem

dear as life, forbids me to remain silent. As an affectionate sister, I

cannot tacitly see you thus imposed upon; I cannot see you the dupe and

slave of an artful and insidious woman, who does not sincerely return

your love; nor can I bear to see your marriage consummated with one

whose soul and affections are placed upon another object."

"Here she hesitated--while I, with insufferable anguish of mind, begged

her to proceed.

"About six or eight months after your departure, she continued, it was

reported to Miss Vernon that she had a rival in the Indies; that you had

there found an American beauty, on whom you lavished those endearments

which belonged of right to her alone. This news made, at first, a deep

impression on her mind, but it soon wore away; and whether from this

cause, from fickleness of disposition, or that she never sincerely loved

you, I know not; but this I do know, that a youth has been for some time

past her almost constant companion. To convince you of this, you need

only tomorrow evening, about sunset, conceal yourself near the long

avenue by the side of the rivulet, back of Mr. Vernon's country-house,

where you will undoubtedly surprise Miss Vernon and her companion in

their usual evening's walk. If I should be mistaken I will submit to

your censure; but should you find it as I have predicted, you have only

to rush from your concealment, charge her with her perfidy, and renounce

her forever."

"Of all the plagues, of all the torments, of all the curses which

torture the soul, jealousy of a rival in love is the worst. Enraged,

confounded and astonished, it seemed as if my bosom would have

instantaneously burst. To conceal my emotions, I left my sister's

apartment, after having thanked her for her information, and proceeded

to obey her injunctions. I retired to my own room, and there poured out

my execrations.

"Cursed woman! I exclaimed, is it thus you requite my tender love! Could

a vague report of my inconstancy drive you to infidelity! Did not my

continual letters breathe constant adoration? And did not yours portray

the same sincerity of affection? No, it was not that which caused you to

perjure your plighted vows. It was that damnable passion for novelty,

which more or less holds a predominancy over your whole sex. To a new

coat, a new face, a new lover, you will sacrifice honour, principle and

virtue. And to those, backed by splendid power and splendid property,

you will forfeit your most sacred engagements, though made in the

presence of heaven."--Thus did I rave through a sleepless night.

"The next day I walked into the fields, and before the time my sister

appointed had arrived, I had worked up my feelings almost to the frenzy

of distraction. I repaired, however, to the spot, and concealed myself

in the place she had named, which was a tuft of laurels by the side of

the walk. I soon perceived Miss Vernon strolling down the avenue, arm in

arm with a young man elegantly dressed, and of singular, delicate

appearance. They were earnestly conversing in a low tone of voice; the

hand of my false fair one was gently pressed in the hand of the

stranger. As soon as they had passed the place of my concealment, they

turned aside and seated themselves in a little arbour, a few yards

distant from where I sat. The stranger clasped Miss Vernon in his arms:

"Dearest angel! he exclaimed, what an interruption to our bliss by the

return of my hated rival!" With fond caresses and endearing

blandishments, "fear nothing, she replied; I have promised and must

yield him my hand, but you shall never be excluded from my heart; we

shall find sufficient opportunities for private conference." I could

contain myself no longer--my brain was on fire. Quick as lightning I

sprang from my covert, and presenting a pistol which I had concealed

under my robe,--"Die! said I, thou false and perjured wretch, by the

hand thou hast dishonoured, a death too mild for so foul a crime!" and

immediately shot Miss Vernon through the head, who fell lifeless at my

feet! Then suddenly drawing my sword, "And thou, perfidious contaminator

and destroyer of my bliss! cried I--go! attend thy companion in iniquity

to the black regions of everlasting torment!" So saying, I plunged my

sword into his bosom. A screech of agony, attended by the exclamation,

"_Henry, your wife! your sister!_" awoke me, too late, to terrors

unutterable, to anguish unspeakable, to woes irretrievable, and

insupportable despair! It was indeed my betrothed wife, it was indeed my

affectionate sister, arrayed in man's habit. The one lay dead before me,

the other weltering in her blood! With a feeble and expiring voice, my

sister informed me, that in a gay and inconsiderate moment they had

concerted this plan, to try my jealousy, determining to discover

themselves as soon as they had made the experiment. "I forgive you,

Henry, she said, forgive your mistake," and closed her eyes for ever in

death! What a scene for sensibilities like mine! To paint or describe

it, exceeds the power of language or imagination. I instantly turned the

sword against my own bosom; an unknown hand arrested it, and prevented

its entering my heart. The report of the pistol, and the dying screech

of my sister, had alarmed Mr. Vernon's family, who arrived at that

moment, one of whom had seized my arm, and thus hindered me from

destroying my own life. I submitted to be bound and conveyed to prison.

My trial came on at the last assizes. I made no defence; and was

condemned to death. My execution will take place in eight weeks from

to-morrow. I shall cheerfully meet my fate; for who would endure life

when rendered so peculiarly miserable!"

The wretched Malcomb here ended his tale of woe. No tear moistened his

eye--his grief was too despairing for tears; it preyed upon his heart,

drank the vital streams of life, and burst in convulsive sighs from his

burning bosom.

Alonzo seriously contemplated on the incidents and events of this

tragical story. Conscience whispered him, are not Malcomb's miseries

superior to thine? Candour and correct reason must have answered yes.

"Melissa perished, said Alonzo, but not by the hand of her lover: she

expired, but not through the mistaken frenzy of him who adored her. She

died, conscious of the unfeigned love I bore her."

Alonzo and his fellow prisoners had been robbed, when they were

captured, of every thing except the clothes they wore. Their allowance

of provisions was scanty and poor. They were confined in the third story

of a lofty prison. Time rolled away; no prospects appeared of their

liberation, either by exchange or parole. Some of the prisoners were

removed, as new ones were introduced, to other places of confinement,

until not one American was left except Alonzo.

Meantime the day appointed for the execution of Malcomb drew near. His

past and approaching fate filled the breast of Alonzo with sympathetic

sorrow. He saw his venerable father, his mother, his friends and

acquaintance, with several pious clergymen, frequently enter the prison

to console and comfort him, and to prepare him for the unchangeable

state on which he was soon to enter. He saw his mind softened by their

advice and counsel;--frequently would he burst into tears;--often in the

solitary hours of night was he heard addressing the throne of grace for

mercy and forgiveness. But the grief that preyed at his heart had wasted

him to a mere skeleton; a slow but deleterious fever had consequently

implanted itself in his constitution. Exhausted nature could make but a

weak struggle against disease and affliction like his, and about a week

previous to the day appointed for his execution, he expired in peace and

penitence, trusting in the mercy of his Creator through the sufferings

of a Redeemer.

Soon after this event, orders came for removing some of the prisoners to

a most loathsome place of confinement in the suburbs of the city.

It fell to Alonzo's lot to be one. He therefore formed a project for

escaping. He had observed that the gratings in one of the windows of the

apartment were loose and could be easily removed. One night when the

prisoners were asleep, he stripped off his clothes, every article of

which he cut into narrow strips, tied them together, fastened one end to

one of the strongest gratings, removed the others until he had made an

opening large enough to get out, and then, by the rope he had made of

his clothes, let himself down into the yard of the prison. There he

found a long piece of timber, which he dragged to the wall, clambered up

thereon, and sprang over into the street. His shoes and hat he had left

in the prison, as a useless encumbrance without his clothes, all which

he had converted into the means of escape, so that he was now literally

stark naked. He stood a moment to reflect:--"Here am I, said he, freed

from my local prison indeed, but in the midst of an enemy's country,

without a friend, without the means of obtaining one day's subsistence,

surrounded by the darkness of night, destitute of a single article of

clothing, and even unable to form a resolution what step next to take.

The ways of heaven are marvellous--may I silently bow to its

dispensations!"

* * * * *

Alonzo passed along the street in this forlorn condition, not knowing

where to proceed, or what course to take. It was about three o'clock in

the morning; the street was illuminated by lamps, and he feared falling

into the hands of the watch. For some time he saw no person; at length a

voice from the other side of the street called out,----"Hallo, messmate!

what, scudding under bare poles? You must have experienced a severe gale

indeed thus to have carried away every rag of sail!"

Alonzo turned, and saw the person who spoke. He was a decent looking

man, of middle age, dressed in a sailor's habit. Alonzo had often heard

of the generosity and honourable conduct of the British tars: he

therefore approached him and told him his real case, not even concealing

his being taken in actual hostility to the British government, and his

escape from prison. The sailor mused a few minutes. "Thy case, said he,

is a little critical, but do not despair. Had I met thee as an enemy,

I should have fought thee; but as it is, compassion is the first

consideration. Perhaps I may be in as bad a situation before the war is

ended." Then slipping off his coat and giving it to Alonzo, "follow me,"

he said, and turning, walked hastily along the street, followed by

Alonzo; he passed into a bye-lane, entered a small house, and taking

Alonzo into a back room, opened a trunk, and handed out a shirt: "there,

said he, pointing to a bed, you can sleep till morning, when we will see

what can be done."

The next morning the sailor brought in a very decent suit of clothes and

presented them to Alonzo. "You will make this place your home, said he,

until more favorable prospects appear. In this great city you will be

safe, for even your late gaoler would not recognize you in this dress.

And perhaps some opportunity may offer by which you may return to your

own country." He told Alonzo that his name was Jack Brown; that he was a

midshipman on board the Severn; that he had a wife and four children,

and owned the house in which they then were. "In order to prevent

suspicion or discovery, said he, I shall consider you as a relation from

the country until you are better provided for." Alonzo was then

introduced to the sailor's wife, an amiable woman, and here he remained

for several weeks.

One day Alonzo was informed that a number of American prisoners were

brought in. He went to the place where they were landed, and saw several

led away to prison, and some who were sick or disabled, carried to the

hospital. As the hospital was near at hand, Alonzo entered it to see how

the sick and disabled prisoners were treated.

He found that they received as much attention as could reasonably be

expected.[A] As he passed along the different apartments he was

surprised at hearing his name called by a faint voice. He turned to the

place from whence it proceeded, and saw stretched on a mattress,

a person who appeared on the point of expiring. His visage was pale and

emaciated, his countenance haggard and ghastly, his eyes inexpressive

and glazy. He held out his withered hand, and feebly beckoned to Alonzo,

who immediately approached him. His features appeared not unfamiliar to

Alonzo, but for a moment he could not recollect him. "You do not know

me," said the apparently dying stranger. "Beauman!" exclaimed Alonzo,

in surprise. "Yes, replied the sick man, it is Beauman; you behold me on

the verge of eternity; I have but a short time to continue in this

world." Alonzo enquired how he came in the power of the enemy. "By the

fate of war, he replied; I was taken in an action on York Island,

carried on board a prison-ship in New-York, and sent with a number of

others for England. I had received a wound in my thigh, from a musket

ball, during the action; the wound mortified, and my thigh was amputated

on the voyage; since which I have been rapidly wasting away, and I now

feel that the cold hand of death is laid upon me." Here he became

exhausted, and for some time remained silent. Alonzo had not before

discovered that he had lost his leg: he now found that it had been taken

off close to his body, and that he was worn to a skeleton. When Beauman

revived, he enquired into Alonzo's affairs. Alonzo related all that had

happened to him after leaving New London.

[Footnote A: The Americans who were imprisoned in England, in the

time of war, were treated with much more humanity than those who

were imprisoned in America.]

"You are unhappy, Alonzo, said Beauman, in the death of your Melissa,

to which it is possible I have been undesignedly accessory. I could say

much on the subject, would my strength permit; but it is needless. She

is gone, and I must soon go also. She was sent to her uncle's at

Charleston, by her father, where I was soon to follow her. It was

supposed that thus widely removed from all access to your company, she

would yield to the persuasion of her friends to renounce you: her

unexpected death, however, frustrated every design of this nature, and

overwhelmed her father and family in inexpressible woe."

Here Beauman ceased. Alonzo found he wanted rest: he enquired whether he

was in want of any thing to render him more comfortable. Beauman replied

that he was not: "For the comforts of this life, said he, I have no

relish; medical aid is applied, but without effect." Alonzo then left

him, promising to call again in the morning.

When Alonzo called the next morning, he perceived an alarming alteration

in Beauman. His extremities were cold, a chilling, clammy sweat stood

upon his face, his respiration was short and interrupted, his pulse weak

and intermitting. He took the hand of Alonzo, and feebly pressing

it,--"I am dying, said he in a faint voice. If ever you return to

America, inform my friends of my fate." This Alonzo readily engaged to

do, and told him also that he would not leave him.

Beauman soon fell into a stupor; sensation became suspended; his eyes

rolled up and fixed. Sometimes a partial revival would take place, when

he would fall into incoherent muttering, calling on the names of his

deceased father, his mother and Melissa; his voice dying away in

imperfect moanings, till his lips continued to move without sound.

Towards night he lay silent, and only continued to breathe with

difficulty, till a slight convulsion gave the freed spirit to the

unknown regions of immaterial existence. Alonzo followed his remains to

the grave: a natural stone was placed at its head, on which Alonzo,

unobserved, carved the initials of the deceased's name, with the date of

his death, and left him to moulder with his native dust.

A few days after this event, Jack Brown informed Alonzo that he had

procured the means of his escape. "A person with whom I am acquainted,

said he, and whom I suppose to be a smuggler, has agreed to carry you to

France. There, by application to the American minister, you will be

enabled to get to your own country, if that is your object. About

midnight I will pilot you on board, and by to-morrow's sun you may be in

France."

At the time appointed, Jack set out bearing a large trunk on his

shoulder, and directed Alonzo to follow him. They proceeded down to a

quay, and went on board a small skiff. "Here, said Jack to the captain,

is the gentleman I spoke to you about," and delivered him the trunk.

Then taking Alonzo aside, "in that trunk, said he, are a few changes of

linen, and here is something to help you till you can help yourself."

So saying, he slipped ten guineas into his hand. Alonzo expressed his

gratitude with tears. "Say nothing, said Jack, we were born to help each

other in distress, and may Jack never weather a storm or splice a rope,

if he permits a fellow creature to suffer with want while he has a

luncheon on board." He then shook Alonzo by the hand, wishing him a good

voyage, and went whistling away. The skiff soon sailed, and the next

morning Alonzo was landed in France. Alonzo proceeded immediately to

Paris, not with a view of returning to America; he had yet no relish for

revisiting the land of his sorrows, the scenes where at every step his

heart must bleed afresh, though to bleed it had never ceased. But he was

friendless in a strange land: perhaps, through the aid of the American

minister, Dr. Franklin, to whose fame Alonzo was no stranger, he might

be placed in a situation to procure bread, which was all he at present

hoped or wished.

He therefore presented himself before the doctor, whom he found in his

study.--To be informed that he was an American and unfortunate, was

sufficient to arouse the feelings of Franklin. He desired Alonzo to be

seated, and to recite his history. This he readily complied with, not

concealing his attachment to Melissa, her father's barbarity, her death

in consequence, his own father's failure, with all the particulars of

his leaving America, his capture, escape from prison, and arrival in

France; as also the town of his nativity, the name of his father, and

the particular circumstances of his family; concluding by expressing his

unconquerable reluctance to return to his native country, which now

would be to him only a gloomy wilderness, and that his present object

was only some means of support.

The doctor enquired of Alonzo the particular circumstances and time of

his father's failure. Of this Alonzo gave him a minute account. Franklin

then sat in deep contemplation for the space of fifteen minutes, without

speaking a word. He then took his pen, wrote a short note, directed it,

and gave it to Alonzo: "Deliver this, said he, to the person to whom it

is directed; he will find you employment, until something more

favourable may offer."

Alonzo took the note, thanked the doctor, and went in search of the

person to whom it was addressed. He soon found the house, which was

situated in one of the most popular streets in Paris. He knocked at the

door, which was opened by an elderly looking man: Alonzo enquired for

the name to whom the note was addressed. The gentleman informed him that

he was the man. Alonzo presented him the note, which having read, he

desired him to walk in, and ordered supper. After supper he informed

Alonzo that he was an English bookseller; that he should employ him as a

clerk, and desired to know what wages he demanded. Alonzo replied that

he should submit that to him, being unacquainted with the customary

salary of clerks in that line of business. The gentleman told him that

the matter should be arranged the next day. His name was Grafton.

The next morning Mr. Grafton took Alonzo into his bookstore, and gave

him his instructions. His business was to sell the books to customers,

and a list of prices was given him for that purpose. Mr. Grafton counted

out twenty crowns and gave them to Alonzo: "You may want some

necessaries, said he; and as you have set no price on your services, we

shall not differ about the wages if you are attentive and faithful."

Alonzo gave his employer no room to complain; nor had he any reason to

be discontented with his situation. Mr. Grafton regularly advanced him

twenty crowns at the commencement of every month, and boarded him in his

family. Alonzo dressed himself in deep mourning. He sought no company;

he found consolation only in solitude, if consolation it could be

called.

As he was walking out early one morning, he discovered something lying

in the street, which he at first supposed to be a small piece of silk:

he took it up and found it to be a curiously wrought purse, containing a

few guineas with some small pieces of silver, and something at the

bottom carefully wrapped in a piece of paper; he unfolded it, and was

thunderstruck at beholding an elegant miniature of Melissa! Her sweetly

pensive features, her expressive countenance, her soul-enlivening eye!

The shock was almost too powerful for his senses. Wildered in a maze of

wonders, he knew not what to conjecture. Melissa's miniature found in

the streets of Paris, after she had some time been dead! He viewed it,

he clasped it to his bosom.--"Such, said he, did she appear, ere the

corroding cankers of grief had blighted her heavenly charms! By what

providential miracle am I possessed of the likeness, when the original

is no more? What benevolent angel has taken pity on my sufferings, and

conveyed to me this inestimable prize?"