| | 1 | Author: | Child
Lydia Maria Francis
1802-1880 | Add | | | Title: | The Rebels, Or, Boston Before the Revolution  | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | There was hurrying to and fro through the principal
streets of Boston on the night of the 14th of August,
1765. A brilliant bonfire was blazing on Fort Hill.
Column after column of light died away to rise again
with redoubled grandeur, and at each succeeding burst
of flame, the loud shouts of the rabble were heard with
dreadful distinctness. “A friend of mine, who has lately returned to England,
accidentally mentioned meeting Miss Fitzherbert
at your house. May I ask who this Miss Fitzherbert
is? I have been in my native country but a short time,
—I am a bachelor,—and my health is exceedingly precarious.
It is therefore important that I should know
her history and connexions immediately. “Lieutenant-Governor, Member of the Council,
Commander of the Castle, Judge of Probate, and Chief
Justice of the Supreme Court! you are hereby commanded
to appear under the Liberty-tree within one
hour, to plight your faith, that you will use no more
influence against an injured and an exasperated people. “I hardly know how to account for the diffidence
I feel in addressing you. The usual exaggerated language
of affection would, I well know, appear ridiculous
to you; and coldness or reserve is but ill suited to the
present state of my feelings. The declaration that I
have been for years most sincerely and devotedly attached
to you, may not perhaps be entirely unexpected;
and I once hoped it would not be entirely disagreeable.
You do not owe your influence over me to a
sudden freak of fancy; it results from a long and intimate
knowledge of your character. Yet I will not flatter
you, by saying I consider you faultless;—on the
contrary, I think you have defects, which may prove
very dangerous to yourself and friends, unless timely
corrected. But I cannot imagine a character more
elevated than might be formed from a mind so vigorous,
and a heart so generous and candid as yours. “I have only time before this vessel sails, to tell you,
that the important papers,—certificate of marriage,
birth, &c., came duly to hand. Evidence is ample and
satisfactory. There is no doubt that your father was my
dear, but very headstrong nephew,—though your miniature
shows not a shadow of family likeness. I rejoice
to see by your letter, that you have been educated as a
Fitzherbert should be. As a trifling acknowledgement
of this kindness, present the articles that accompany
this, to Governor Hutchinson and his sister. A voyage
at this season would be cold and dangerous, but as soon
as the spring opens, you must make for England. “This flower, pure and beautiful as yourself, was
purchased for you. Will you accept it from your faithful
lover? Will you cherish it for his sake, during the
tedious absence to which he is doomed? “Here I am, in the favoured land of the brave, the
intelligent, and the free. Yet even while I now repeat
it, I scarcely credit it. I feel as if I were walking in
my sleep; and it is only when I look out upon the
princely buildings around me, that I can realize I am indeed
in London. Our voyage was very pleasant, with
the exception of sea-sickness. That, however, is a tax
we must all pay to lord Neptune for rocking us in his
cradle somewhat too roughly. (Pardon me. I forget
that the odious word tax is banished from the American
vocabulary.) “We last week received your long and affectionate
letter. I was delighted, but not dazzled, with your picture
of London. I love my own quiet chamber better
than I should marble saloons or Corinthian piazzas.
Yet our humble mansion has been sad enough since you
left us. My father's health fails daily; and long, long
before you return to us, Lucretia, I fear the dear venerable
old man will have gone to his last home. It
grieves me to think of it. Yet why should they whose
lives have been stainless, and their purposes all holy,
shrink from the hand that enrobes them with immortality.
Young as I am, there are times when I would lay
down my weary, aching head, and sleep, never more
to wake in this cold world, as cheerfully as the tired
infant presses the soft pillow of its cradle. “My dear Child, “I delivered your letters according to their directions;
and I do not hesitate to say that the general opinion here
is entirely in favour of your views. It is, however,
very difficult to ascertain what course will be taken, for
never was there such a heterogeneous, unintelligible
mass as the present ministry. They are made up of the
shreds and patches of all political opinions,—a confused
jumble of every shade and hue of whiggism. “How very seldom you write; and how wo-begone
are your epistles. Do not think me heartless with regard
to your father's sickness. Indeed, I have felt most
keenly for you and for him; but I have not the least
doubt that the fine, clear climate of Canada will restore
him; and even if the event should be the worst that we
can fear, you must not thus mourn away your young
existence. When you wrote last, you were just on the
point of starting for Montreal; and I assure you I envied
you the excursion. I wish I could have visited
Gertrude before I came to England. Not only because
I loved her more than I ever loved any one in so short a
time; but I am really ashamed when asked about Niagara
and the Lakes, to say that I have never seen them.
People here are not aware how very unusual it is for
American ladies to go out of sight of their own chimnies;
and as for space, they do not seem to imagine
there is such a thing on the other side of the Atlantic.
They would ask a Vermontese about the Blue Ridge,
or a Georgian about Niagara, as readily as I should
question a Londoner about St. Paul's, or beg a description
of Snowdon from a Welchman born and bred within
sight of its cloud-kissing peak. “I found your letter dated November 15th, waiting our
arrival, when we returned from Canada. Gertrude and
I wrote you a crowded epistle last autumn; I wonder
you had not received it before you wrote. She is very
happy. Indeed her affectionate heart deserves it. Had
she been a sister in very truth, she could not have
loved me more, or been more kindly attentive to my
father. “I last week received a package from Boston, containing
letters from uncle Hutchinson, Grace Osborne,
and yourself. “How mutable are all human prospects! My last
lines were written on the 14th; and uncle Fitzherbert
was then in fine health, and animated to a remarkable
degree. On the night of the 15th, he was suddenly attacked
by violent convulsions. The fits continued with
increasing power until the third day,—when, with anguish
that cannot be described, I saw the only relative I
had on earth stretched on the bed of death. I have never
before seen Mrs. Edgarton subdued by emotion; but now
I am obliged to exert all my fortitude to support her.
Alas! I shall never again be idolized as I was by that
dear old gentleman. He seemed to consider me the
prop of his house,—the stay and support of his age.
Why did my heart ever accuse him of coldness and
formality? “Silly Girl, “If the frank avowal that you are still very dear to
my widowed heart, requires any apology, let approaching
death be my excuse. “It is long since I have written to you,—longer than
I once thought it ever would be; but heart-trying scenes
prevented it, after my return from England; and when
their bitterness had passed away, I was too much depressed
to make any mental exertion. “Much respected Madam, | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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