| | 1 | Author: | Taylor
Bayard
1825-1878 | Add | | | Title: | John Godfrey's fortunes, related by himself  | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | 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 was sitting at the front window, buried, chin-deep, in
the perusal of “Sandford and Merton,” when I heard the
latch of the gate click. Looking up, I saw that it was only
Neighbor Niles, coming, as usual, in her sun-bonnet, with
her bare arms wrapped in her apron, for a chat with
mother. I therefore resumed my reading, for Neighbor
Niles always burst into the house without knocking, and
mother was sure to know who it was by the manner in
which the door opened. I had gotten as far into the book
as the building of the Robinson-Crusoe hut, and one half
of my mind speculated, as I read, whether a similar hut
might not be constructed in our garden, in the corner
between the snowball-bush and Muley's stable. Bob Simmons
would help me, I was sure; only it was scarcely possible
to finish it before winter, and then we could n't live
in it without a fireplace and a chimney. “My dear Brother, — Yours of the 10th is received.
I am now so accustomed to your sarcastic style, that I always
know what to expect when I open one of your epistles.
I wish you joy of your — well, I must say our new
cousin, though I am sorry you did not let me know of the
discovery before telling him. He must be gauche and unpresentable
in a degree; but then, I suppose, there 's no
likelihood of his ever getting into our set. It is time your
schooling was finished, so that I might have you for awhile as
my chevalier. Between ourselves, I 'm rather tired of going
about with” (here the word “Mamma” had evidently been
written and then blotted out) “Mrs. Penrose. Not but
what she continues to improve, — only, I am never certain
of her not committing some niaiserie, which quite puts me
out. However, she behaves well enough at home, and I
hope you will overcome your prejudice in the end, for my
sake. When you know as much about Society as I do, you
will see that it 's always best to smooth over what 's irrevocable.
People are beginning to forget the scandal, since
that affair of Denbigh has given them something else to
talk about. We were at Mrs. Delane's ball on Wednesday;
I made her put on blue cut velvet, and she did not
look so bad. Mrs. Vane nodded, and of course she was
triumphant. I think Papa gives me the credit for all that
has been done, — I 'm sure I deserve it. It 's a race between
Mrs. P. and myself which shall have the new India
shawl at Stokes's; but I shall get it, because Mrs. P. knows
that I could teach her to blunder awfully as well as to behave
correctly, and would do it, in spite of Papa's swearing,
if she drives me to desperation. By the by, he has just
come into the room, and says, `You are writing to the cub,
as usual, I suppose, Matilda.' So there you have him, to
the life.” “Respected Friend, I recd. your favor in which you informed
me that you was getting on so well and gave the
other as you directed. Thought it best to wait for the
other's answer, though there is no particular news. Sep
Bratton goes to The Buck every day, and there 's high
goings on between him and the squire. Your friend Mr.
Rand was there again. People say the squire is speculating
about Pottsville, and will cut up pretty fat some day, which
is no business of mine, but thought you might like to hear.
We are all well, and mother and Sue says remember me to
him. I guess Ben and her is satisfied with one another,
but you need not say I told you. There is a mistress at
the school this summer, a right smart young woman, her
name is Lavina Wilkins. And hoping these few lines will
find you enjoying good health, I remain, “Dear John,” (there were volumes of withheld confession
for me in that one adjective): — Towards the end of May the important book appeared.
I am sure that no immortal work was ever watched, through
its different processes of incarnation, with such tender
solicitude. I lingered over the first proofs, the revised
proofs, and the printed and folded sheets, with a proud,
luxurious interest, and the final consummation — the little
volume, bound and lettered — was so precious that I could
have kissed the leaves one by one. It seemed incredible
that the “John Godfrey” on the title-page really meant
myself! A book for me had hitherto possessed a sublime,
mystical individuality of its own, and this, which had grown
beneath my hand, by stages of manufacture as distinctly
material as those which go to the formation of a shoe or a
stove, was now to be classed among those silent, eloquent
personalities! It might be placed side by side with “Paradise
Lost” or “Childe Harold,” on book-shelves; who could
tell whither chance or fortune might not carry it, or what
young and burning lips it might not help unseal? “I have judged you unjustly, and treated you rudely,
Mr. Godfrey. If I have not forfeited the right to make
reparation, or you have not lost the desire to receive it,
will you call upon me to-morrow evening, at Mrs. Deering's,
and oblige “I will come. “Respd. Nephew, — I take my Pen in hand to inform
you that Me and your aunt Peggy are injoying good Health
and Those Blessings which the Lord Vouchsafes to us. It
is a long Time since we have heard anything of you, but
suppose you are still ingaged in the same Occupation as at
first, and hence direct accordingly, hoping these few Lines
may come Safely to hand. “The news contained in your letter of the 7th was quite
unexpected, but none the less welcome, for your sake as
well as my own. While I still think that the disposal of
my little property ought to have been left to myself, I
cheerfully acquit you of any intention to do me wrong, and
to show that I not only bear no malice, but am willing to
retract my hasty insinuations against your character, I will
accept your proffered hospitality when I visit Reading.
You may expect me within the next four or five days. “My Dear John, — I know why you have not written
to me. In fact I knew, months ago, (through Deering,)
what was coming, and had conquered whatever soreness
was left in my heart. Fortunately my will is also strong
in a reflective sense, and I am, moreover, no child to lament
over an irretrievable loss. I dare say the future will
make it up to me, in some way, if I wait long enough. At
any rate, you won't object, my dear old fellow, to have me
say — not that I wish you happiness, for you have it, but —
that you deserve your double fortune. The other item I
picked up from a newspaper; you might have written me
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