University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

Mrs. Rose.

The spring opened with the “dreadful
note of preparation” throughout America for
defensive war. It was found that vigorous
measures must be pursued to oppose the torrent
which was preparing to overwhelm the colonies,
soon to be for ever separated from the
British empire by the Declaration of Independence.
Troops were levying in all parts of the
continent, and great numbers of American
youth volunteered in the service of their country.

A large army of reinforcement was shortly
expected from England to land on our shores,
and “the confused noise of warriors and garments
rolled in blood,” were already anticipated.

Haventon had received a commission in a
regiment of militia, and was pressed by several
young gentlemen of his acquaintance who
had entered the army to join it also. He had
an excuse: his father was a man in extensive
business, was considerably past the prime of
life, had a number of agents and clerks under
him, but began to grow unable to attend
to the various and burdensome duties and
concerns of a mercantile life. Alonzo was
his only child; his assistance therefore became
necessary until at least his father could
bring his business to a close, which he was
now about to effect. He stated these facts to
his friends, told them that on every occasion he
should be ready to fly to the post of danger
when his country was invaded, and that soon
as his father's affairs should be settled he
would, if necessary, willingly repair to the field.

The day now rapidly approached when Haventon
was to make Miss Bloomfield his own.
Preparations for the mystic ceremony were

making, and invitations had already gone abroad.
Edgar, the brother of Melissa, had
entered the army in the capacity of chaplain;
he was soon expected home, where the intended
to tarry until the consummation of the
nuptials before he set out for the camp. Letters
recently received from him announced
his intentions to this effect.

About three weeks previous to the appointed
marriage day, Alonzo and Melissa one afternoon
rode out to the village which had
been chosen for their future residence. Their
carriage stopped at the only inn in the place,
and from thence they walked around this modern
Vacluse, charmed with the secluded
beauties of its situation. They passed a little
time at the spot selected for their habitation;
they projected the structure of the buildings,
planned the gardens, the artificial groves, the
walks, the meads, the fountains, the green retreat
of the summer-house, and they already
saw in anticipation the various domestic blessings
and felicities with which they were to be
surrounded.

After taking tea at the inn, they prepared
to return. It was the latter end of the month

of May, and nature was adorned in the bridal
ornaments of spring: the sun sank behind
groves which cast their sombre shades over
the valley, while the retiring beams of day
adorned the distant eastern eminences with
yellow lustre: birds sang melodiously in
the forest: the air was freshened by light
western breezes, bearing upon their wings all
the intrancing odours of the season: around
the horizon electric clouds raised their brazen
summits, based in the black vapour of approaching
night. They slowly ascended the
hill south of the town, where they paused a
few moments to enjoy the splendours of the
evening scene. This hill which commanded
a prospect of all the surrounding country, the
distant Sound, and the adjacent towns and
villages, presented to the eye on a single view
perhaps one of the most picturesque draperies
painted by nature. Alonzo attended Melissa
to her father's, and the next day returned
home.

Melissa's spirits were this evening more
than usually exhilirated. The difficulties
were now surmounted which had obstructed
her road to happiness. Previous to the dismissal
of Bowman she had trembled in fearful

anxiety for the consequences which might
succeed that event. Her fame, her reputation,
she believed in some degree involved
in the result: she doubted whether Bowman
would submit to the decision with calmness:
it might produce an altercation, perhaps a
serious one, between him and Haventon,
whose personal safety might thereby be endangered:
the story would then go forth to the
world with invidious exaggerations, whereby
her character would be injured, her innocence
calumniated, and her peace of mind perhaps
destroyed for ever.

But by the discreet and prudent conduct of
her father the affair had been honourably accommodated,
and without difficulty. Her anticipations
were now consoling and pleasing;
the bright beams of felicity gilded the horizon
of her future prospects.

She retired to rest indulging in the most
cheering reflections: they extended their influence
to visions of the night; in her dream
she was standing again with Alonzo on the
hill which overlooked the place of their chosen
habitation; she thought they had recently
been married; their seat rose in elegant convenience

near the verge of the little lake, surrounded
by gardens, fruit-trees and flowering
shrubs, all in rich bloom: shady avenues
sloped to the water: the landscape around
was beyond description splendid: sheep and
cattle strayed over the pastures; small rivulets
rushed from the hills and wound along
the fields; light gales sported among the foliage
of the adjacent forest; interspersed over
a meadow, beautiful in green verdure, blossomed
apple-trees displayed their red and
white teints, from whence the mild breezes
wafted odours: birds of gaudy plumage fluttered
around them, or symphoniously carolled
the lay of nature amidst the branches of adjacent
trees: never had the sky clothed itself
in so bright a hue, the sun so clearly shone, or
creation arrayed herself in so rich, so enchanting
a dress. They descended to the house;
Edgar met them at the door; there had their
parents and friends assembled; a sumptuous
feast was preparing; all were joyful, all gay,
and mirth and hilarity floated in cheerful circles.
Melissa awoke with the most pleasing
sensations: a gentle shower was falling; she
heard it patter upon the roof: again she
closed her eyes, and was lulled to sleep by
the still rains of summer.

Again she dreamed: she thought she was
wandering in a lonely and solitary place, amidst
scattered groves faded by the frosts of
autumn; yellow, withering leaves were falling
around her; the breeze sighed in mournful
cadence with the solemn murmur of a
passing rill; the wailings of expiring insects
were mingled with the stock-dove's plaintive
note; slow and awful came the sound of a
distant bell, tolling the knell of death; a
thick vapour enveloped the sun; dark thunder-clouds
rolled along the heavens; boisterous
winds began to rise, while deep in the
forest was heard the commencement of the
rumbling storm. She came to the shores of
the Sound, near a spacious river, foaming,
roaring and rushing to the sea, which raging
in wild commotion was tost into mountainous
billows; soon they burst upon the shore; instantly
she was surrounded by the flood; a
rocky eminence was near; she ascended it
with difficulty; looking down, she beheld a
deep, horrid chasm yawning beneath her feet;
suddenly she heard cries of distress; casting
her eyes in the direction whence they came,
she saw a little skiff struggling with the violence
of the stream; the person who vainly
endeavoured to guide it she immediately perceived

to be Alonzo; a large mass of timber
broken by the gale was floating rapidly down
the river towards him; he raised his hands
and eyes to Heaven as it approached the skiff;
quickly it reached him, overwhelmed and
swept him with amazing velocity to the ocean.
Melissa shrieked, and in stretching out her
arms towards the place where he had disappeared,
sunk into the abyss below: at that
moment a voice sounded these words in her
ears—it seemed the dying voice of Alonzo—
The memory of joys that are past is the
last joy to the unfortunate. She awoke in extreme
agitation, thankful to Heaven that her
dream was not a reality.

Daylight had appeared and she arose: she
placed not much faith in dreams, yet she
knew the Scriptures testified that they were
formerly the precursors of important events;
those two she had now experienced were of a
direct contrary tendency; which, if either, was
she to consider predictive? The first was in
harmony with her feelings, and had arisen probably
from her daily contemplations, and the
scenes through which she had recently passed:
the last was extraordinary; she feared
it was ominous; it made so deep an impression

upon her mind that it was several days
before she recovered her usual tranquility and
accustomed cheerfulness.

A few days after these events Haventon's
father went to one of the commercial seaports
on business with some merchants with whom
he was connected in trade; when he returned
the following evening his aspect and his conversation
were marked with an assumed and
unmeaning gaiety: at supper he ate nothing,
discoursed much, but in an unconnected and
hurried manner, interrupted by long pauses,
in which he appeared to be buried in contemplation:
after supper he asked his son if it were
not possible that his marriage could be immediately
consummated. Alonzo, startled at so
unexpected a question, replied that such a proposal
would be considered extraordinary, perhaps
improper; besides, when Melissa fixed
the time, she mentioned that she had an uncle
who lived near Charleston in South-Carolina,
whose daughter was to pass the summer at
Bloomfield Vale, and was expected to arrive
before the appointed marriage day. It would,
he said, be a delicate point for him to solicit
her to anticipate the nuptials, so soon to be
celebrated, unless he could give some powerful

reasons for the request, and at present he
was not apprized that any such existed. His father
after a few moments hesitation answered,
“I have reasons, which when told—” here
he stopped, suddenly arose, hastily walked
the room in much apparent agony of mind,
and then retired to his chamber.

Haventon and his mother were much amazed
at so strange a proceeding: they could
form no conjecture of its cause or its consequence.
Alonzo passed a sleepless night.
His father's slumbers were interrupted; he
would frequently start up in the bed, then sink
into restless sleep with incoherent mutterings
and plaintive moans. In the morning when
he appeared at breakfast his countenance wore
the marks of dejection and anguish; he
scarcely uttered a word, and after the table was
removed ordered all to withdraw except his
wife and son, when with emotions that spoke
the painful feelings of his bosom, he thus addressed
them:

“For more than forty years I have toiled
early and late to acquire independence and
case for myself and family: to accomplish
this I became connected with some English,

importing merchants and went largely into
the British trade: success crowned our endeavours:
on balancing our accounts two
years ago we found our expectations fully answered,
and that we were sufficiently wealthy
to close business, which some proposed to do;
it was however agreed to make one effort
more, as certain favourable circumstances appeared
to offer; in this we adventured very
largely on a fair calculation of liberal and extensive
profits; before returns could be made
the war came on; embarrassments ensued,
and by indubitable intelligence lately received
we find that our property in England has been
sequestrated; five of our ships laden with
British goods, lying in English harbours and
just ready to sail for America, have been
seized as lawful prizes: added to this, three
vessels from the Indies freighted with island
produce, have been taken on their homeward
bound passage, and one lost returning from
Holland. This wreck of fortune I might
have survived, had I to sustain only my equal
dividend of the loss; but of the merchants
with whom I have been concerned, not one remains
to share the fate of the event; all have
absconded or secreted themselves. To attempt
to compound with my creditors would
be of little avail; my whole fortune will not
pay one fourth of the debts, so that compound
or not the consequence to me is inevitable
ruin.

“To abscond would not secure me, as most
of my remaining property is vested in real
estate; and even if it would, I could never
submit to it; I could not consent to banish
myself from my country, to flee like a felon,
to skulk from society with the base view of
defrauding my creditors: no, I have lived honestly
and honestly will I die. By fair application
and long industry my wealth has been
obtained, and it shall never justly be said
that the reputation of my latter days was
stained with acts of baseness and meanness.
I have notified and procured a meeting of the
creditors, and have laid the matter before
them: some appeared favourable to me; others
insisted that we were all united in fraudulent
designs and for swindling purposes: this false
charge I repelled with becoming spirit, and
was in consequence threatened with immediate
prosecution. Whatever may be the
event, I had some hopes that your happiness,
Alonzo, might yet be secured: hence I proposed
your union with Melissa before our

misfortunes should be promulgated. Your
parents are old; a little will serve the residue
of their days. With your acquirements you
may make your way in life. I shall have no
property to give you, but I would wish you to
secure that which you prize far above, and
without which both honours and emoluments
are unimportant and worthless.”—At this moment
a loud rap at the door interrupted the
discourse, and three men were ushered in,
who proved to be the sheriff and his attendants,
sent by the more inexorable creditors of
Alonzo's father and company, to level on the
property of the former, which orders they
faithfully executed by seizing the lands, tenements
and furniture, and finally arresting the
old gentleman, but who was instantly released
by his friendly neighbours, who gave bail for
his appearance; but the property was soon
after sold at public auction for less than half
its real value, and Haventon's father and mother
were compelled to abandon the premises,
leave the town and take shelter in a little hut
belonging to a neighbouring farmer, illy and
temporarily furnished by the gratuitous liberality
of a few friends.

We will not stop the reader to moralize on
this disastrous event. The affliction of the
family, thus hurled in a moment from the
lofty summit of affluence to the low and barren
vale of poverty, can better be apprehended
than described. Philosophy came to the
aid of the parents, but who can realize the
feelings of the son, so suddenly cut short in
his prospects, not only of independence, but
even of future support! What would be the
event of his suit to Melissa, and stipulated
marriage? Was it not probable that her father
would now cancel the contract? Could
she consent to become his wife in his present
penurious situation? And indeed, could he
himself wish to make her so to render her
miserable?

In this agitated frame of mind Alonzo received
a letter from Vincent requesting him
to come immediately to his house, whither he
repaired the following day: he had heard of
the calamities which had overwhelmed the
Haventon family, and deeply sympathized in
their distress. Mrs. Vincent and Melissa
were on terms of friendly acquaintance.

When Alonzo arrived at the house of his
friend he was received with the same disinterested
ardour he ever had been in the days
of his most unbounded prosperity. “The
occasion of my sending for you,” said Vincent,
“is to propose the adoption of certain
measures which I doubt not may be highly
beneficial as it respects your future peace and
happiness. Your family misfortunes have
reached the ears of Col. Bloomfield; I know
the old gentleman too well to believe he will
consent to receive you as his son-in-law under
your present embarrassments. Money is the
god to which he implicitly bows. The case
is difficult but not insurmountable: you must
first see Melissa; she is now in the next room;
I will conduct you in; converse with her; after
which I will lay my plan before you.”

Alonzo entered the room; Melissa was sitting
by a window which looked into a pleasant
garden, and over verdant meadows whose
tall grass waved to the passing breeze; farther
on low valleys spread their umbrageous thickets,
where the dusky shadows of night had
begun to assemble: on high hills beyond, the
tops of lofty forests, majestically moved by
the billowy gales, caught the sun's last ray;

fleecy summer clouds hovered around the
verge of the western horizon, spangled with
silvery teints, or fringed with the gold of evening;
a mournfully murmuring rivulet purled
at a little distance from the garden on the
borders of a small grove, from whence the
American wild-dove wafted her sympathetic
moanings to Miss Bloomfield's ear. She sat
leaning on a small table by the window which
was thrown up; her attention was fixed; she
did not perceive Vincent and Haventon as
they entered: they advanced towards her;
she turned, started and arose: with a melancholy
smile and tremulous voice, “I supposed,”
she said, “that it was Mrs. Vincent
who was approoaching, as she has just left the
room.” Her countenance appeared dejected,
which on her seeing Alonzo lighted up into a
languid sprightliness. It was evident she had
been weeping.

Vincent retired and they seated themselves
by the window. “I have broken in upon
your solitude perhaps too unseasonably,” said
Alonzo; “it is however the fault of Vincent;
he invited me to walk into the room, but did
not inform me that you was alone.”

“Your presence was sudden and unexpected,
but not unseasonable,” replied Melissa;
“I hope you do not consider any formality
necessary in your visits, Alonzo.”

Alonzo. I once did not suppose so; now I
know not what to think—I know not how to
act. You have learnt the misfortunes of my
family, Melissa?

Melissa. Yes; I have heard the circumstances
attending that event; an event in
which no one could be more deeply interested,
except the immediate sufferers, than myself.

Al. Your father is also acquainted with my
present situation?

Mel. He is.

Al. How did he receive the intelligence?

Mel. With deep regret.

Al. And forbade you to admit my addresses
any longer?

Mel. No; not absolutely.

Al. If even in an unqualified and indirect
manner it is proper I should know it.

Mel. It certainly is. Soon after we received
the intelligence of your calamities my
father came into the room where I was sitting,
“Melissa,” said he, “your conduct has ever
been that of a dutiful child; mine of an indulgent
parent. My first and ultimate wish is
to see my children when settled in life happy
and honourably respected: for this purpose I
have bestowed on them a proper education,
and design suitably to apportion my property
between them; on their part it is expected
they will act prudently and discreetly, especially
in those things which concern their future
peace and welfare; the principal requisite to ensure
these is a proper connexion in marriage.”

Here he paused a considerable time, and
then continued:

“I know, my child, that your situation is
a very delicate one: your marriage day is
appointed; it was fixed under the fairest
prospects; by the failure of Haventon's
house those prospects have become deeply
darkened, if not totally obliterated. To commit

your fortune through life to a person unable
to support you, would be hazardous in
the extreme: the marriage can at least be
suspended; perhaps something more favourable
may appear; at any rate, I have too
much confidence in your discretion to suppose
that you will by any rash act bring either censure
or reproach upon yourself, or odium and
dishonour upon your connexions.” Thus
spake my father and immediately withdrew.

“In the present dilemma,” said Alonzo,
“what is proper to be done?”

“It is difficult to determine,” replied Melissa;
“should my father expressly forbid
our union, he will as positively endeavour to
enforce his commands; nor could I consider
it my duty to resist them. Although a tender
parent, he is violent in his prejudices and resolute
in his purposes. I would advise you to
visit me tomorrow with your usual freedom.
Whatever may be the result, I shall deal sincerely
with you. The Vincents are now my
only confidents; from them you will be enabled
to obtain information should I be prevented
seeing you. I am frequently here; they told
me they expected you, but at what day was

not known. Mrs. Vincent is my friend; her
husband you know: in them we can place
the most implicit confidence. My reliance
on Providence I trust will never be shaken,
but my future prospects at present are dark
and discouraging.”

“Let us not despair,” answered Alonzo,
“perhaps those gloomy clouds which now
hover around us will yet be dissipated by the
bright beams of joy. Innocence and virtue
are the care of Heaven; there lies my hope.
Tomorrow, as you propose, I will call at
your house.”

Melissa prepared to return home; Haventon
attended her to her father's door. A
whipperwill tuned its nightly song at a little
distance; but the sound, late so cheerful and
sprightly, now passed heavily over their
hearts.

When Alonzo returned Vincent unfolded
the plan he had projected. “No sooner,”
said he, “was I informed of your misfortunes
than I was convinced that Col. Bloomfield
would endeavour to dissolve your intended
union with his daughter. I have

known him many years, and however he may
prize his children or value their happiness, he
will not hesitate to sacrifice his other feelings
to the acquirement of riches. It appears that
you have but one resource left; you and Melissa
are now united by the most solemn ties, by
every rite except those which are merely ceremonial:
these I would advise you to enter
into and trust to the consequences. Mrs.
Vincent has proposed the scheme to Melissa,
but implicitly accustomed to parental obedience,
she shudders at the idea of a clandestine
marriage; yet when her father shall proceed
to rigorous measures, she will, I think,
consent to the alternative; and this course
once adopted, he must submit; or if not, you
secure your own happiness, and what you
esteem more, that of Melissa.”

“But should she consent to this measure,
which I much doubt,” replied Alonzo, “where
are my means of independence, or even of
subsistence?”

“The world is before you,” answered Vincent,
“you have friends who will never desert
you, you have acquirements which can
never fail you. In a country like this you

can hardly fail of obtaining a competency,
which with the other requisites will ensure
you contentment and felicity.” Alonzo informed
Vincent what had been arranged between
Melissa and himself respecting his visiting
her on the morrow, “after which,” said
he, “we will discourse farther upon the subject.”

The next day he repaired to the house of
Col. Bloomfield. As he approached he saw
Melissa sitting in a shady recess at one end of
the garden, near which the road passed: she
was leaning with her head upon her hand in a
pensive posture; a deep dejection was depicted
upon her features, which enlivened into a
transient glow soon as she saw Alonzo. She
arose, met him, and invited him into the
house.

He was received with cool reserve by her
father, who saluted him with only a distant
and retiring bow as he passed with Melissa to
the sitting-room. Soon as they were seated
her aunt entered, and bounced into a chair,
where she sat, alternately humming a tune,
and impudently staring at Alonzo without
speaking a word, except snappishly to contradict

Melissa in any thing she advanced, which
the latter passed off with only a faint smile.
This interruption was not of long continuance;
Col. Bloomfield soon came in and requested
the two ladies to withdraw, which was
instantly done. He then addressed Alonzo
as follows:

“When I gave consent for you to marry
my daughter it was on the conviction that
your future resources would be adequate to
support her honourably and independently.
Circumstances have since occurred which
render this point extremely doubtful. Parental
duty and affection demand that I should
know your means and prospects before I
sanction a proceeding which may reduce my
child to penury and to want.”

He paused for a reply, but Alonzo was silent.
He continued—

“You must readily perceive that to burden
yourself with the expense of a family,
to transfer a woman from affluence to poverty,
without even an object in view whereby
to provide for either, would be the height of
folly and extravagance.”

Again he paused, but Alonzo was still silent.
He proceeded—

“Could you, Mr. Haventon, endure life,
when you should see the wife of your bosom,
probably your infant children, pining in misery
for want of bread? And what else have
you to expect if you marry in your present
situation? I know you possess talents, and
have had an education; but what are they
without means? You have friends who respect
you; but which of them will advance you
four or five thousand pounds as a gratuity?
My daughter must be supported according to
her character and station in life: are you enabled
to do this? If not, you cannot reasonably
suppose that I shall accede to your marrying
her. You may say that your acquirements,
your prudence and your industry will
procure you a competent support; in single
life perhaps they might; but to depend on
these for the future exigencies of a family, is
hazarding peace, honour and reputation at a
single game of chance. If therefore you
have no resources, or expectations but such as
these, your own judgment, your own discretion
will teach you the necessity of immediately

relinquishing all pretensions to the
hand of my daughter.” He then retired.

Why was Alonzo speechless through the
whole of this discourse? What reply could
he have made? What were the prospects before
him but penury, want, misery and woe?
Where indeed were the means by which Miss
Bloomfield was to be supported in style, or
even shielded from poverty, if connected with
his fortunes? The idea was not new, but it
came upon him with redoubled anguish. He
arose and looked around for Melissa, but she
was not to be seen; he left the house and walked
slowly towards Vincent's; at a little distance
he met her; she had been strolling in an
adjoining avenue: he informed her of all that
had passed; it was no more than they both
expected, yet it was a shock their fortitude
could scarcely sustain. Disappointment,
though anticipated, seldom finds her victims
prepared to receive her.

Melissa told Alonzo that her father's determinations
were unchangeable; that his sister
held considerable power over him and dictated
the concerns of the family, and that from
her there was nothing to hope in their favour.

Her mother, she said, was her friend, but
could not counteract the will of her father.
Edgar would be at home in a few days; how
he would act on this occasion she was unable
to say; but were he even in their interest, he
would have but feeble influence with her father
and aunt. “What is to be the end of these
troubles,” she continued, “it is impossible to
foresee; let us trust in the mercy of Heaven,
and submit to its dispensations.”

In their happier days they had, when absent,
corresponded by letters: this method it was
now thought best to relinquish. It was agreed
that Alonzo should come frequently to
Vincent's, where Melissa would meet him as
opportunity presented. Having concluded on
this, she returned home and he to the house
of his friend.

Vincent, after Haventon had related the
manner of his reception by Col. Bloomfield,
urged the plan he had projected of a private
marriage. Alonzo replied that even should
Melissa agree to it, of which he had little
hopes, it must be a measure of the last resort,
and adopted only when all others became ineffectual.

The next morning Alonzo returned to the
hut where his aged parents now dwelt.
His bosom throbbed with keen anguish: his
own fate unconnected with that of Melissa,
he considered of little consequence; but their
united situation tortured his soul. What was
to become of her; what of himself; what of
his parents? “Alas!” said he, “I now perceive
the value of wealth in this life.”

Haventon's father was absent when he arrived,
but returned soon after: a beam of
joy gleamed upon his withered countenance as
he entered the house. “Were it not, Alonzo,
for your unhappy situation,” said he, “we
should once more be restored to peace and
comfort. A few persons who were indebted
to me, finding that I was to be sacrificed by
my unfeeling creditors, reserved those debts
in their hands, and have now paid me the sum,
amounting to something more than five hundred
pounds; with part of this I have bought
a small but well cultivated farm with convenient
buildings. I have enough left to purchase
what stock and other materials I need,
and to spare some for your present exigencies,
my son.” Alonzo thanked his father
for his kindness, but told him that from his

former liberality he had yet sufficient for his
wants, and that he should soon find business
which would amply support him.

“But your affair with Miss Bloomfield,”
asked his father, “how is that likely to terminate?”

“Favourably, I hope, Sir,” he answered:
he was unwilling to interrupt the tranquility
of his parents by disclosing his own wretchedness.

A week passed away. Alonzo saw his parents
removed to their little farm, which was
to be managed by his father and a hired man.
He saw them comfortably settled; he saw
them serenely blest in the calm pleasures of
returning peace, and a ray of joy illumined
his troubled bosom.

He thought on Melissa, from whom he had
heard nothing since he last saw her; he contemplated
the difficulties that surrounded
him; he reflected upon the barriers which
were opposed to his happiness, and to the felicity
of her whose peace he valued much higher
than his own, and he set out for the house
of Vincent.