| | 1 | Author: | Neal
John
1793-1876 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Seventy-six  | | | | 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: | Yes, my children, I will no longer delay it. We are
passing, one by one, from the place of contention, one
after another, to the grave; and, in a little time, you
may say—Our Fathers!—the men of the Revolution—
where are they?..... Yes, I will go about it, in
earnest: I will leave the record behind me, and when
there is nothing else to remind you of your father, and
your children's children, of their ancestor—nothing
else, to call up his apparition before you, that you may
see his aged and worn forehead—his white hair in the
wind... you will have but to open the book, that I
shall leave to you—and lay your right hand, devoutly,
upon the page. It will have been written in blood
and sweat, with prayer and weeping. But do that—
no matter when it is, generations may have passed
away—no matter where I am—my flesh and blood
may have returned to their original element, or taken
innumerable shapes of loveliness—my very soul may
be standing in the presence of the Most High—Yet
do ye this, and I will appear to you, instantly, in the
deepest and dimmest solitude of your memory!—
—Yes!—I will go about it, this very day...
And I do pray you and them, as they shall be born
successively of you, and yours, when all the family are
about their sanctuary, their own fire side—the holy
and comfortable place, to open the volume, and read it
aloud. Let it be in the depth of winter, if it may be,
when the labour of the year is over, and the heart is
rejoicing in its home—and when you are alone:—not
that I would frown upon the traveller, or blight the
warm hospitality of your nature, by reproof—but there
are some things, and some places, where the thought of
the stranger is intrusion, the touch and hearing of the
unknown man, little better than profanation. If you
love each other, you will not go abroad for consolation:
and if you are wise, you will preserve some
hidden, fountains of your heart, unvisited but by one
or two—the dearest and the best. This should be one
of them—I will have it so. I would not have your
feeling of holy, and solemn, and high enthusiasm,
broken in upon, by the unprepared, just when you have
been brought, perhaps, to travel in imagination, with
your father, barefooted, over the frozen ground, leaving
his blood at every step, as he went, desolate, famished,
sick, naked, almost broken hearted, and almost
alone, to fight the battles of your country. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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