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1Author:  Ingraham J. H. (Joseph Holt) 1809-1860Add
 Title:  The American lounger, or, Tales, sketches, and legends, gathered in sundry journeyings  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: I am a bachelor, dear reader! This I deem necessary to premise, lest, peradventure, regarding me as one of that class whose fate is sealed, — “As if the genius of their stars had writ it,” you should deem me traitor to my sworn alliance. For what has a Benedict to do with things out of the window, when his gentle wife—(what sweet phraseology this last! How prettily it looks printed!) his “gentle wife” with her quiet eye, her sewing and rocking chair on one side, and his duplicates or triplicates, in the shape of a round chunk of a baby, fat as a butter-ball; two or three roguish urchins with tops and wooden horses, and a fawn-like, pretty daughter of some nine years, with her tresses adown her neck, and a volume of Miss Edgworth's “Harry and Lucy” in her hand, which she is reading by the fading twilight—demand and invite his attention on the other. “How I yearn to be once more folded in your sisterly embrace, to lean my aching head upon your bosom, and pour my heart into yours. It is near midnight. Edward has gone out to seek some means of earning the pittance which is now our daily support. Poor Edward! How he exists under such an accumulation of misery, I know not. His trials have nearly broken his proud and sensitive spirit. Since his cruel arrest, his heart is crushed. He will never hold up his head again. He sits with me all day long, gloomy and desponding, and never speaks. Oh how thankful I feel that he has never yet been tempted to embrace the dreadful alternative to which young men in his circumstances too often fly! May he never fly to the oblivious wine cup to fly from himself. In this, dear Isabel, God has been, indeed, merciful to me. Last night Edward came home, after offering himself even as a day laborer, and yet no man would hire him, and threw himself upon the floor and wept long and bitterly. When he became calmer, he spoke of my sufferings and his own, in the most hopeless manner, and prayed that he might be taken from the world, for Pa would then forgive me. But this will never be. One grave will hold us both. I have not a great while to live, Isabel! But I do not fear to die! Edward! 'tis for Edward my heart is wrung. Alas his heart is hardened to every religious impression—the Bible he never opens, family prayers are neglected, and affliction has so changed him altogether, that you can no longer recognise the handsome, agreeable and fascinating Edward you once knew. Oh, if pa would relent, how happy we might all be again. If dear Edward's debts were paid, and they do not amount to nine hundred dollars altogether, accumulated during the three years of our marriage, he might become an ornament to society, which none are better fitted to adorn. Do, dearest Isabel, use your influence with pa, for we are really very wretched, and Edward has been so often defeated in the most mortifying efforts to obtain employment—for no one would assist him because he is in debt—(the very reason why they should) that he has not the resolution to subject himself again to refusals, not unfrequently accompanied with insult, and always with contempt. My situation at this time, dearest sister, is one also of peculiar delicacy, and I need your sisterly support and sympathy. Come and see me, if only for one day. Do not refuse me this, perhaps the last request I shall ever make of you. Plead eloquently with pa, perhaps he will not persevere longer in his cruel system of severity. Edward is not guilty—he is unfortunate. But alas, in this world, there is little distinction between guilt and misery! Come, dearest Isabel—I cannot be said “No.” I hear Edward's footstep on the stair. God bless and make you happier than your wretched sister, “I have learned the extremity of your anger against Edward. Your vindictive cruelty has cast him friendless upon the world, and I fly to share his fortune. I must ask your forgiveness for the step I am about to take. I am betrothed to Edward by vows that are registered in Heaven.—Alas! it is his poverty alone that renders him so hateful to you—for once you thought there was no one like Edward. God bless you, my dear father, and make you happy here and hereafter.
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