University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Lester.

To Alonzo the time now moved with slow
and heavy pace; cheerfulness had deserted his
bosom; he wooed the silent and solitary haunts
of melancholy; he loved to wander through
lonely fields, or along the verge of some
lingering stream, in that solemn hour when, at
the close of day, thick, cloudy curtains are suspended
around the sky, and hoarse, hollow
winds blow the signal of approaching storms;
he was fondly indulging a tender passion
which preyed upon his peace and deeply disturbed
his repose: he looked anxiously to the
hour when Melissa was to make her decision,
and wished yet dreaded to encounter the event;
in that he foresaw a withering blight to

his late springing hopes, and a fatal consummation
of his foreboding fears. He had pressed
Melissa perhaps too urgently to a declaration.
Had her predilection been in his favour,
would she have hesitated to avow it? Her
parents advised her to relinquish, and permitted
her to retain, one suitor, nor had they attempted
to influence or forestal her choice.
Was it not evident then from her confused hesitation
and embarrassment when solicited to
discriminate, that her ultimate decision would
be in favour of Bowman?

While his mind was thus agitated he received
a second letter from Vincent, in which
he read the following clause with emotions
more easily conceived than expressed:

“And why have I ever doubted this event?”
thought Alonzo. “What infatuation
hath thus led me on the pursuit of fantastic
and unreal bliss? I have had, it is true, no positive
assurances that Melissa would sanction
my addresses. But why then did she ever
receive them? Why enchantingly smile upon
me? Why fascinate the tender powers of my
soul by that winning mildness, and the favourable
display of those complicated and superior
attractions which she must have known
were irresistible? Why did she not spurn
me from her confidence and plainly tell me
that my attentions were untimely and improper?
And now she would have me dance attendance
to her decision in favour of my rival—Insulting!—Let
Bowman and she make,
as they have planned, this farcical decision; I
assuredly will never witness it—Yet I have
engaged to see her at an appointed time; my
honour is pledged for an interview; it must
therefore take place. I shall support it with
becoming dignity, and will convince both
Miss Bloomfield and her gallant that I am
not the dupe of their intrigues and caprices—

But still, what has Melissa done to deserve
censure or reproach? Her brother was my
early and esteemed companion; she has
treated me only as his friend. She was the
unsuspecting object of my passion; was unconscious
of the flame which her charms had
kindled in my bosom. Her evident embarrassment
and confusion on receiving my declaration
evinced her surprise and prior attachment.
What could she do? To save
herself the pain of a direct refusal, she has
fixed a time when the rejection may come in
a more delicate and formal manner—and I
must meet it.”

On the appointed day Alonzo proceeded
to the house of Col. Bloomfield, where he arrived
late in the afternoon. Melissa had retired
to a little summer-house at the end of
the garden; a servant conducted him thither.
She was dressed in a flowing robe of green
silk, embroidered with yellow fringe lace.
Her hair fell in waving circles; in her hand was
a boquette of flowers, which she seemed to be
critically examining. Haventon fancied she
had never appeared so lovely. She arose to receive
him. “We have expected you for some
time,” said she; “I was anxious to inform

you that we have just received a letter from
my brother, in which he desires us to present
you his most friendly respects, and complains
of your not writing to him lately so frequently
as usual.” Alonzo thanked her for the information,
said that business had prevented
him; he esteemed Edgar as his most valued
friend, and would be more particular in future.

“We have been thronged with company
for several days,” continued Melissa. “Once a
year my father celebrates his birth-day, when
we are honoured with such a numerous assembly
of uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews and
nieces, that were you present you would suppose
us related to half the families in Connecticut.
The last of this company took their
departure yesterday, and I only regret that
for nearly a week I have been prevented
from visiting my favourite hill, to which you
attended me when you was last here. It is
much improved since then; a little arbour is
built under the large tree on its summit; you
will have no objection to view it, Alonzo.”
He assured her he accepted the invitation
with pleasure, and towards evening they resorted

to the place, and seated themselves in
the arbour.

It was the beginning of autumn, and a yellow
hue was spread over the fading charms of
nature. The withering forest began to shed
its decaying foliage, which light gales pursued
along the russet fields. The low sun extended
the lengthening shadows; curling smoke
ascended from surrounding cottages. A thick
fog crept along the valleys; grey mist hovered
over the tops of mountains. The
glassy surface of the Sound glittered to the
sun's departing ray. Solemn herds lowed
in monotonous symphony; autumnal insects
in sympathetic wailings, plaintively
predicted their approaching fate.—“The
scene is changed since we last visited this
place,” said Melissa; “the gay charms of
summer are beginning to decay, and must
soon yield their splendours to the rude, despoiling
hand of winter.”

“That will be the case,” replied Alonzo,
“before I shall have the pleasure of your
company here again.”

Melissa. Perhaps so; though it is nearly
two months yet to winter.

Alonzo. Great changes may take place within
that time.

Mel. Yes; changes must take place; but
none I hope, to imbitter present prospects.

Al. [peevishly.] As it respects yourself, I
trust not, madam.

Mel. [tenderly.] And, I sincerely hope, not
as it respects you, Alonzo.

Al. That wish—I think—is vain.

Mel. Why so ominous a prediction?

Al. The premises whence it is drawn are
correct.

Mel. Your feelings accord with the season;
Alonzo; you are melancholy. Shall we return?

Al. I ask pardon, madam; I am unsociable.

Yes we will return; but you know the
occasion of my being here.

Mel. For the purpose of visiting your
friends, I presume, [smiling.]

Al. And for no other purpose?

Melissa did not reply.

Al. You cannot have forgotten your own
appointment, and consequent engagement.

She made no answer.

Al. I know Miss Bloomfield—

Mel. [interrupting him.] Call me Melissa;
that name sounds better from you.

Al. Why better?

Mel. I cannot tell; but it does so.

Al. I know Melissa, that you are incapable
of duplicity or evasion. I have promised and
now repeat the declaraton, that I will silently
submit to your decision. This you have engaged

to make, and the time you appointed
for that purpose has now arrived. The pains
of present suspense can scarcely be surpassed
by the pangs of disappointment. On your
part you have nothing to fear. I trust you
have candidly determined, and will decide
explicitly.

Mel. [sighing.] I am placed in an exceedingly
delicate situation.

Al. I know you are; but your own honour,
your own peace, require that you should extricate
yourself from the perplexing embarrassment.

Mel. I am sensible they do. It must—it
shall be done.

Al. And the sooner it is done the better.

Mel. That I am convinced of. I now know
that I have been inadvertently indiscreet. I
have admitted the addresses of Bowman and
yourself, without calculating or expecting the
consequences. You have both treated me honourably
and with respect. You are on equal
grounds as to character and standing in life.

With Bowman I became first acquainted.
As it relates to him, some new arrangements
have taken place since you were here,
which—

Al. [interrupting her, with emotion.] Of
those arrangements I have been apprized.

Mel. [surprised.] By what means were you
informed thereof?

Al. I received the intelligence from a friend
in your neighbourhood.

A considerable pause ensued.

Al. You see, Melissa, I am prepared for
the event.

She was still silent.

Al. I have mentioned before, that whatever
be your determination, no impropriety can attach
to you. I might not, indeed, from various
circumstances, and from the information I possess
perhaps should not, have given you farther
trouble on the occasion, had it not been
by your own direction and appointment: and

I am now willing to retire without farther explanation;
without giving you the pain of an
express decision, if you think the measure
expedient; your declaration can only be a
matter of form, and my proposition may save
your feelings.

Mel. No, Alonzo; my reputation depends
on an adherence to my first determination;
justice to yourself, and to Bowman also, demands
it: after what has passed, I should be
considered as acting capriciously and inconsissently,
should I depart from it. Bowman
will be here tomorrow, and—

Al. Tommorrow, Madam?

Mel. He will be here tomorrow, and you
must consent to stay with us until that time;
the affair shall then be decided.

Al. I—Yes—I will—It shall be as you say,
Madam. Make your arrangements as you
please.

Evening spread her dusky mantle over the
face of nature; the stars glistened in the sky;
the plaintive sound of the low murmuring

brook and the far-off water-fall were faintly
heard; the twinkling fire-fly[1] arose from the
surrounding verdure, and illuminated the air
with a thousand transient gleams; the mingling
discordance of curs and watch-dogs
echoed in the distant village, from whence
the frequent lights darted their pale lustre
through the gloom; the solitary whipperwills
stationed themselves along the woody glens,
the groves and rocky pastures, and sang a
requiem to departed summer: a dark cloud
was rising in the west, across whose gloomy
front the vivid lightning bent its forky spires.
Alonzo and Melissa moved slowly to the villa;
she appeared enraptured with the melancholy
splendours of the evening, but other
subjects engaged the mental attention of Haventon.

Bowman arrived the next day in high spirits;
he gave his hand to Alonzo with the
seeming warmth of friendship; if it was reciprocated
it must have been affected: there
was no alteration in the manners and conduct
of Melissa; her conversation as usual was

sprightly and interesting: after dinner she
retired, and her father requested Haventon
and Bowman to withdraw with him to a private
room. When they were seated the Colonel
thus tersely addressed them:

“I have called you here, Gentlemen, to
perform my duty as a parent to my daughter
and as a friend to you. You are both suitors
to Melissa; while your addresses were merely
formal they were innocent; but when they
became serious they were dangerous. Your
pretensions I consider equal, and between
honourable characters who are worthy of my
daughter I shall not attempt to influence her
choice; that choice however can rest only on
one; she has engaged to decide between
you; I am come in her name to make this decision.
The following are my terms: No
quarrel or animosity shall arise between you
in consequence of her determination. Nothing
shall go abroad respecting the affair; it
shall be ended as it commenced, under my
roof. Soon as I have pronounced her declaration
you shall both depart and remain absent
from my house for at least two weeks, as it
would be improper for my daughter to see
either of you at present. After that period I

shall be happy to receive your visits as friends
of my family and of each other.”

They both pledged their honour to abide
explicitly by these injunctions.

He then continued: “This, Gentlemen, is
all I require. I have remarked that I considered
your pretensions equal; so has my
daughter treated them. You have both made
professions to her; she has appointed a time
to answer you; that time has arrived, and I
now inform you that she has decided in favour
of Haventon.”

This declaration burst upon the mental powers
of Bowman like a sudden and tremendous
clap of thunder on the deep and solemn silence
of night. Unaccustomed to disappointment,
he had calculated on success; his addresses
to the ladies had ever been honourably
received; Melissa was the first whose
charms were capable of rendering them sincere.
He was not ignorant of Alonzo's attention
to her; it gave him however little uneasiness,
confident that his superior accomplishments
would eclipse the qualifications of
his rival. He considered himself a connoisseur
in character, especially in that of the ladies;

he conformed to their taste, flattered
their foibles and obsequiously bowed to the minutia
of female volatility. Skilled in the language
of the heart, he trusted that, from his
pre-eminent powers in the science of offection,
he had only to see, to sue and to conquer. He
had frankly offered his hand to Melissa, and
pressed her for a decisive reply; this from
time to time she evaded or suspended, but
finally appointed a day to give both him and
Alonzo a determinate answer, though neither
knew the arrangement made with the other.
Finding however the dilemma in which she
was placed, she had previously consulted her
parents; they had no objection to her choosing
between two persons of equal claims to
affluence and reputation; this choice she had
made, and her father was considered the
most proper person to declare it.

When Bowman had urged his suit he supposed
that her hesitations, delays and suspensions
were only the effect of maiden diffidence
and timidity; he had no suspicion of her
ultimately rejecting it; and when she finally
named the day of decision, he felt assured
of success. These sentiments he had communicated
to Vincent, intimating that Melissa

had fixed a time which was to crown his
happiest wishes.

He listened therefore attentively to the observations
of Col. Bloomfield, momentarily expecting
to hear himself named the favourite
choice of the fair. What then must have been
his disappointment when the name of Haventon
was pronounced instead of his own! The
highly finished scene of pleasure and future
felicity which his ardent imagination had depicted,
vanished in a moment. The rainbow-glories
which gilded his youthful horizon instantly
faded; the bright sun of his early
hopes descended in mournful darkness. The
summons of death would not have been more
unexpected, or more shocking to his imagination.

Very different were the sensations which inspired
the bosom of Alonzo. He had not even
calculated on a declaration in his own favour.
He believed that Bowman would be the choice
of Melissa; she had told him that the form of
decision was necessary to save appearances;
with this he complied because she desired it,
not that he expected a result so consonant to
his wishes; of course he had not attended to

the words of her father with that eagerness
which pleasing anticipations commonly excite;
but when his name was mentioned,
when he found he was the choice, the happy
favourite of Melissa's affection, all the passions
of his breast became interested and were
suddenly aroused to the refinements of sensibility;
like an electric shock it reanimated
his whole frame and vibrated every nerve of
feeling; the glooms which hung about his
mind were dispersed and the bright morning
of joy broke in upon his soul. Thus were
the expectations of both Haventon and Bowman
disappointed; how differently the sequel
has shown.

Col. Bloomfield retired immediately after
announcing his daughter's choice; the young
gentlemen also soon after withdrew. Alonzo
saw the tempest which tore the bosom of his
rival, and he pitied him from his heart.

A month passed, and Haventon felt all that
anxiety and impatience which separation from
a beloved object can produce; he framed a
thousand excuses to visit Melissa, yet he
feared a visit might be premature; he determined
however to write; he perceived she

was fond of poetry, which as an amusement
had employed his leisure hours: the season
presented a subject; he therefore composed
and sent her the following short poem:

In order to divert his mind by variety, he
rode into the country, where he passed several

days in excursions among the different towns
and villages. On his return he was overtaken
one day towards evening by a sudden shower
of rain; he discovered a farm-house at a little
distance from the road; thither he hastened
to gain shelter from the approaching storm;
the owner of the mansion met him at the
door, politely invited him to alight and walk
in, while a servant stood ready to take his
horse; he was ushered into a large room
neatly furnished, where the family and several
young ladies were sitting. As Alonzo
glanced his eyes hastily around the circle, he
thought he recognized a familiar countenance;
a hurried succession of confused ideas for a
moment crossed his recollection; in an instant
he discovered that it was Miss Bloom-field:
by this unexpected meeting they were
both completely embarrassed; Melissa however
arose, and in rather a confused manner introduced
Haventon to the family of Bergher
and the ladies, as a college-student with her
brother.

The rain continued most part of the afternoon.
Alonzo was invited and consented to
stay all night. A moonlight evening succeeded
the shower, which induced the company to

walk in an adjoining garden. Melissa gave
Alonzo an abstract of Bergher's history, and
told him that as their families were distantly
related, she had been invited there to pass a
week, and expected to return within two days;
and she added, smiling, “Perhaps, Alonzo,
we may have an opportunity once more to visit
the bower on my prospect-hill before winter
entirely destroys the remaining beauties of
summer; there I will repeat your Autumnal
Ode, for which I have yet to thank you.” Alonzo
felt all the force of the remark; he recoilected
the conversation when they were last
at the place she mentioned, and he well remembered
his feelings on that occasion.
“Great changes indeed,” he replied, “have
taken place since we were there; that they
are productive of unexpected and unexampled
happiness to me, is due, Melissa, to
you alone.” Haventon departed the next
morning, appointing the following week to
visit Melissa at her father's house.

Thus were the obstacles removed which
presented a barrier to the united wishes of
Alonzo and Melissa. They had not, it is
true, been separated by wide seas, unfeeling

parents, or the rigourous laws of war; but
troubles, vexations, doubts and difficulties
had thus far attended them, which were now
dissipated, and they predicted no unpropitious
event which might thwart their future
union. All the time that Alonzo could spare
from his business was devoted to Melissa, and
their parents began to calculate on joining
their hands soon as his term of professional
studies was completed.

The troubles which gave rise to the disseveration
of America from England had already
commenced, which broke out the preceding
spring into open hostilities by the conflict
at Lexington, followed soon after by the battle
of Bunker's Hill. The panic and general
bustle which took place in America on these
events is yet well remembered by many.
They were not calculated to impress the mind
of Melissa with the most pleasing sensations;
she foresaw that the burden of the war must
rest on the American youth, and she trembled
in anticipation for the fate of Alonzo; he
with others, should the war continue, must
take the field in defence of his country. The
effects of such a separation were dubious and

gloomy. Haventon and she frequently discoursed
upon this subject.

“I must know your sentiments, Alonzo,
on these matters,” said she, in one of those
conversations. “You shall have them,” he
replied; and the next time they met he put
into her hands the following article of his
own production:

The Attorney in whose office Alonzo was
clerk received a commission, and with the
new-raised American troops marched to
join the army near Boston; his business was

consequently suspended, and Haventon returned
to the house of his father: he perceived that
he could not long remain a mere spectator of
the contest, and that it might soon be his duty
to take the field; he therefore concluded it
best to hasten his marriage with Melissa; she
consented to the proposition, and their parents
made the necessary arrangements for the
event. They even fixed upon the place which
was to be their future residence: it was a
pleasantly situated village, surrounded by rugged
elevations which gave an air of serenity
and seclusion to the valley which they encircled:
on the south arose a spacious hill which
was ascended by a gradual acclivity, its sides
and summit interspersed with orchards and
cultured grounds: on the west, forests unevenly
lifted their rude heads, with here and
there a solitary field newly cleared, and thinly
scattered with cottages: to the east the eye
surveyed a soil in some places swelling into
craggy cliffs, in others spreading itself into
vales of the most enchanting verdure: to the
north it extended over a vast succession of
mountains wooded to their summits, and
throwing their shadows over intervales of
equal wilderness, till at length it was arrested
in its excursions by the blue mists which hovered
over mountains more grand, majestic
and lofty: a rivulet which rushed from the
hills formed a little lake on the borders of the
village, which beautifully reflected the cottages
from its transparent bosom: amidst a
cluster of locusts and weeping willows, rose
the spire of the church in the ungarnished
decency of Sunday neatness: fields, gardens,
meadows and pastures were spread around the
valley and on the sides of the declivities,
yielding in their season the rich flowers, fruits
and foliage of spring, summer and autumn.
The inhabitants of this new Avernum were
principally farmers; they were mild, sociable,
moral and diligent; the produce of their own
flocks and farms gave them most of their food
and clothing; to dissipation they were strangers,
and the luxuries of their tables were
few.

Such was the place selected for the habitation
of Alonzo and Melissa. They had visited
the spot and were enraptured with its pensive,
romantic beauties. A site was marked
out whereon to erect their family mansion: it
was on a little eminence which sloped gradually
to the lake, in the most pleasant part of
the village. “Here,” said Alonzo one day

to Melissa, “will we pass our lives in all that
felicity of mind which the chequered scenes
of time admit. In the spring we will rove
among the flowers; in summer we will gather
strawberries in yonder fields, or hurtleberries
from the adjacent shrubbery. The
breezes of fragrant morning and the sighs of
evening gales will mingle with the songs
of numerous birds which frequent the surrounding
groves. We will collect the bending
fruits of autumn, and we will listen
to the hoarse voice of winter, its whistling
winds, its driving snow and rattling hail, with
delight.”

Tears of joy glistened in the eyes of Melissa:
with a glowing smile she expressively
exclaimed, “This shall be my Asylum.”

“And when erected, Asylum shall be the
name of our happy seat,” returned Alonzo,
with emphatic ardency.

Winter came on; it rapidly passed away;
spring advanced, and the marriage day was
appointed.