| | 1 | Author: | Jones
J. B.
(John Beauchamp)
1810-1866 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The western merchant  | | | | 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 was born in one of the eastern cities, and was the sixth
of eleven children, of poor parents. When I was about
six years of age, my family emigrated to Kentucky, then
considered the “far west.” At the end of six years, my
father failed in business; and as he was now entirely too
poor to provide for his large family, those that were deemed
old enough sought employment to support themselves.
Nor were they wholly unprepared for the exigency; for
our honored parent, in more propitious times, had placed
the proper estimate upon the importance of education, and
from the time we were old enough to go to school, until
the loss of his fortune, (and every dollar was honorably
offered up to his creditors,) we had excellent preceptors.
Being unluckily the sixth child, I was not so far advanced
in the books as my seniors, when the disaster alluded to
befell us—but as I had the advantage of my five juniors,
there was no just cause of complaint. I had the rudiments
of a good English education, and an insatiable passion for
books, which they deemed quite sufficient for the very
humble part it seemed I was destined to play in the great
drama of life. “Dear Luke:—I cannot restrain myself any longer from
writing to you. Your last letter, informing me of your good
prospects, and of your intention to commence business for
yourself at Hanover, was directed to me, and not in an
envelope to a third person—so it fell into the hands of
my guardian-uncle, and excited his wrath and indignation
to a frightful extent. But the worst of it was that he did
not tell me what it was all about, but kept the letter himself.
Now, I am my own mistress, and have some fortune
here in old Virginia in my own right. I might at any time
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relieve myself of his supervision, and his eccentric solicitude.
Yet as my uncles are the nearest of kin that I have,
I hope to be able to avoid a rupture with them. But to
my narration. A few days after your letter fell into his
hands, he announced his intention to take me to Virginia,
and leave me under the protection of his brother, my uncle
Edgar Beaufort. Not being aware of the cause which induced
this step on his part, I was delighted with the idea
of going back to old Virginia, and so I readily agreed to
his proposition, without paying any particular attention to
his remarks about the opportunity the change would afford
me of marrying some one of my own station, equal in birth
and fortune. “Luke, if you come to see me, remember it is merely
the careless passing visit of a friend. There is a Methodist
meeting house near the — hotel, in which they are
holding a protracted meeting. If you follow a merry little
old woman (you will know her by her shouting in the meeting
house) to her broading-house, you will find me. My
uncle is here, and might be harsh if he met you. Should
you meet, you must not resent anything he may say, and
above all, have no hostile collision with him. You must
register a promise in heaven to do as I bid, before starting
hitherward; else you have not my permission to come.
Remember “Sir—In violation of the expressed desire of my brother,
you have persisted in addressing letters to my niece; you
have not only done that, but you have had the presumption
to seek and obtain a clandestine interview with her.
Being her next of kin, and natural protector, I deem it incumbent
on me to demand, in this formal manner, the satisfaction
which one gentleman has a right to require of another
(and which no gentleman can refuse), for such an intrusive
disregard of the wishes expressed by my brother, and endorsed
by myself. “Dear Sir—I am at No. 6, — hotel, an entire stranger,
and have received a challenge from Mr. E. Beaufort to
meet him in mortal combat. I have never seen Mr. Beaufort
before to-day, and certainly never insulted or injured
him. If you will consent to give me the benefit of your
advice in the premises, I will avail myself of the opportunity
to relate all the circumstances of the case to you. “Luke:—The servant who hands you this, belongs to
me, and has informed me that my uncle has challenged
you to mortal combat. He says he heard my uncle tell
his friends that he liked your appearance so much, he was
almost sorry that he had quarreled with you, and that if
you behaved well on the field, he would tender you his
friendship, after an exchange of shots, which he hoped
might have no serious result. Now, Luke, are you willing
to fight for me? You have never said you desired to
have me, nor I that I was at your service. I desire it to
be distinctly understood by you, as it is sufficiently by
him, that I am not at the disposal of my uncle. I am of
age, and am my own mistress. My uncle is kind to me
in my presence, and never seeks to control my actions.
Should I make an unworthy alliance, the worst thing he
could do, or would have a desire to attempt, would be to
abandon my society. You now understand the relation in
which we stand. I do not, however, wish to break with
my uncle. He is generous, brave, and magnanimous; and
of course it would wound me past recovery if you, my
friend, should slay him in a duel. Thus you see that, by
acceding to his proposition, to obtain his friendship, you
would lose mine. Of that you may be assured. If you
resolve to meet him, I resolve never to see you again. You
must choose between him and me. But if you determine
to accede to my request, and depart without a collision with
him, you have my promise that, at a future day, should
it be your pleasure, you can see me again, unchanged
in every particular. “Sir:—I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of
your note of this morning. In reply, I have to state that,
inasmuch as no definite proposal has been made by me to
your niece, and as my engagements will demand my unintermitting
presence at a point some two thousand miles
distant from this, for at least a year to come, I must decline
the meeting you demand, at least for the present.
Should fortune bring me again in the vicinity of your niece,
at some future day, and it should then be your pleasure to
renew the demand, that will be the proper time for me to
announce my final decision. “Luke,” said Blanche, “if you have seen proper to afflict
yourself without reason, it was cruel to afflict Blanche
also, who never did you any harm. And now, if you persist
in dying, you may have the consolation, if the fact
can console you, of knowing that Blanche will die also,
murdered by you. * * * * You declare your love, and announce
your purpose never to see me more. Would it
not have been generous to have withheld the declaration,
and left me in doubt? Luke, did you know that the passion
was mutual? You have spoken plainly, at last; and
I will do so too. Never, since we first parted, no, never for
a moment, have I entertained the shadow of a thought that
I could or would bestow my hand on any other than yourself—and
such is the case still. * * * * * Luke, I have
been addressed by several since we parted last, and all
have abandoned the pursuit on learning my purpose,
which I have frankly made known to them. My uncle
took me to the falls of Niagara, Saratoga Springs, and
divers other gay places last summer; but all in vain: he
found that it was impossible to wean me from my first
attachment. On my return, I pronounced my last positive
rejection of the suit of the one whom my uncle preferred.
Luke, we were standing on the balcony of a hotel in
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Philadelphia, when he desired to know my decision. At
that moment I thought I beheld your pale features, and
that you cast upon me a look of reproach and sadness. A
monosyllable sufficed for my petitioner, and I did not even
have the curiosity to look after him, and observe how
deeply he was disappointed and piqued. I had eyes only
for the vision before me, if vision it was. I felt that Providence
had linked our destinies together by adamantine
chains, and I had no disposition to rupture them if they
had been formed of a weaker material. Luke, was it you?
Oh, if it was, how cruel not to come and speak to me!
* * * * * * Luke, when I learned through the newspapers
of your loss on that terrible steamer, my mind was made
up. It was my fixed determination to place myself and
my little fortune in your keeping, if you desired it, as soon
as we met. How could you suppose that the loss of your
money might involve the loss of my affection? No, Luke,
you have not yet learned fully the character of Blanche.
In misfortune she will cling the more closely to you, and
be all the bolder in her ministrations of solace and encouragement.
* * * * * Adhere Steadfastly to your Business. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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