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expand2003 (1)
1Author:  Cooke John Esten 1830-1886Requires cookie*
 Title:  The Virginia comedians, or, Old days in the Old Dominion  
 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: “My dear Champ—I have heard of your conduct, sir, and have no intention of being made the laughing-stock of my neighbors, as the father of a fool. No, sir! I decline being advised and pitied, and talked about and to by the country on your account. I know why you have left the Hall, sir, and taken up your residence in town. Alethea has told me how you insulted her, and flouted her well-meant advice, and because she entreated you, as your sister, not to go near that young woman again, tossed from her, and fell into your present courses. I tell you again, sir, that I will not endure your conduct. I won't have the parson condoling, and shaking his head, and sighing, and, when he comes in the Litany to pray for deliverance from all inordinate and sinful affections—from all the deceits of the world, the flesh, and the devil—have him looking at the Hall pew, and groaning, until every body understands his meaning. No, sir! If you make yourself a fool about that common actress, you shall not drag us into it. And Clare Lee! have you no regard for her feelings? Damn my blood, sir! I am ashamed of you. Come away directly. If you are guilty of any thing unworthy toward that young woman, I will strike your name from the family Bible, and never look upon your face again. Remember, sir; and you won't be fool enough to marry her, I hope. Try it, sir, and see the consequence. Pah! a common actress for my daughter— the wife of the representative of the house of Effingham, after my death. 'Sdeah, sir! it is intolerable, abominable; and I command you to return at once, and never look upon that young woman again. For shame, sir. Am I, at my age, to be made a laughing-stock of, to be jeered at by the common people, at the county court, as the father of the young man that played the fool with the actress? No, sir. Leave that place, and come and do what you are expected to do, called on to do—take Clare Lee to the Governor's ball. I inclose your invitation. Leave that woman and her artful seductions. Reflect, sir, and do your duty to Clare, like a gentleman. If it is necessary, I repeat, sir, I command you to return, and never see that girl again. “I have received your letter, sir, and decline returning to Effingham Hall, or being dictated to. I have passed my majority, and am my own master. No one on earth shall make a slave of me. “A man about to die, calls on the only Englishman he knows in this place, to do a deed of charity. Hallam, we were friends—a long time since, in Kent, Old England, and to you I make this appeal, which you will read when I will be cold and stiff. You know we were rivals—Jane chose to marry me! I used no underhand acts, but fought it fairly and like an honest soldier—and won her. You know it, and are too honest a man to bear me any grudge now. I married her, and we went away to foreign countries, and I became a soldier of fortune—now here—now there:—it runs in the family, for my father was covered with wounds. She stuck to me—sharing all my trials—my suffering—as she shared my fortunate days. She was my only hope on earth —my blessing:—but one day God took her from me. She died, Hallam, but she left herself behind in a little daughter —I called her Beatrice, at the request of her mother. The locket around the child's neck, is her mother's gift to her: preserve it. Well: we travelled—I grew sick—I came to Malta, here—I am dying. Already I feel the cold mounting from my feet to my heart—my eyes are growing hazy, as my hand staggers along—my last battle's come, comrade! Take the child, and carry her to my brother John Waters, who lives in London somewhere—find where he is, and tell him, that Ralph Waters sends his baby to him to take care of:—she is yonder playing on the floor while I am dying. I ask you to do this, because you are an honest man, and because you loved Jane once. I have no money—all I had is gone for doctor's stuff and that:—he couldn't stand up against death! Keep my military coat to remember me by —it is all I have got. As you loved her who was my wife, now up in heaven, take care of the child of an English soldier; and God reward you. “Please come to me.
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