“O, happiness, deceitful in thy dream,”Though wreaths all blooming hang upon thy brow,And quick dissolves the visionary gleam,Succeeded soon by various scenes of wo.WhenTheodore returned to the house of his friend, he unfolded the plan he had projected.“No sooner,” said Raymond, “was I informed of your misfortunes, than I was convinced that Alida’s father (whom I have known for many years) would endeavour to dissolve your intended union with his daughter. And however he may doat on his children, or value their happiness, he will not hesitate to sacrifice his better feelings to the accomplishment of his wishes to see them independent. It appears that you have but one resource left. You and Alida are now engaged by the most solemn ties, by every rite except those which are ceremonial; these I would advise you to enter into, and trust to the consequences. Mrs. Raymond has proposed the scheme to Alida, but implicitly accustomed to filial obedience, she shudders at the idea of a clandestine marriage; but when her father will proceed to rigorous measures, she will, I think, consent to the alternative. The world is beforeyou, Theodore,” continued he; “you have friends, you have acquirements which will not fail you. In a country like this you can scarcely help obtaining a competency, which, with the other requisites you have in your power, will not fail to insure your independence and felicity.”“But the times have changed,” said Theodore, since the commencement of the war, and probably I may yet have to join the army. After I have made my visit on the morrow to Alida’s father, we will discourse further on the subject.In the meantime, Theodore proceeded on the morrow, to make his intended visit. As he approached the house, he saw Alida 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 as soon as she saw Theodore. She arose, met him, and invited him into the house.Theodore was received with a cool reserve by all except Alida. Her father saluted him with a distant retiring bow, as he passed with her to the parlour. As soon as they were seated, a lady who had lately come to reside some time in the family, (who was a relative of her father’s,) entered the room and seated herself by the window, alternately humminga tune and staring at Theodore, without speaking a word.This interruption was not of long continuance. Alida’s father entered, and requested the two ladies to withdraw, which was instantly done; he then addressed Theodore as follows:“When I gave consent for your union with my daughter, it was on the conviction that your future resources would be adequate to support her honourably and independently. Circumstances have since taken place which render this point extremely doubtful.” He paused for a reply, but Theodore was silent. He continued, “You, perhaps, may say that your acquirements, your prudence, and your industry, will procure you a handsome income; but to depend on these altogether for your future exigencies 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 will teach you the necessity of immediately relinquishing all pretensions to the hand of Alida, and from this time to break off all communication with my daughter.” He then immediately left the room.Why was Theodore speechless through the whole of this discourse? What reply could he have made? What were the prospects before him but misery andwo? Where, indeed, were the means by which Alida was to be shielded from indigence, if connected with his fortunes?The idea was not new, but it came upon him at this time with redoubled anguish. He arose and looked around for Alida, but she was not to be seen. He left the house and walked slowly towards Raymond’s. At a little distance he met Alida who 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 seldom finds her votaries prepared to receive her.Alida told Theodore that she knew her father’s determinations were altogether unchangeable at present. Her brother, she said, would be at home in a few days; how he would act on this occasion, she was unable to say; but were he ever so far their friend, he would have but feeble influence with her father. “What is to be the end of these troubles,” continued she, it is impossible to foresee. Let us trust in the mercy of Heaven, and submit to its dispensations.Theodore and Alida, in their happier days, had, when absent from each other, corresponded. This method it was now thought best to resume. It was agreed, besides, that Theodore should frequentlyvisit Raymond’s, and Alida would resort there also, as she should find opportunity. Having concluded on this, Alida returned home, and Theodore to the house of his friend.The next morning Theodore repaired to the dwelling where his aged parents now resided. His bosom throbbed with keen anguish when he arrived there:his own fate unconnected with that of Alida. His father was absent when he first reached home, but returned soon after. A beam of joy gleamed upon his countenance as he entered the house. “Were it not, Theodore, for your unhappy situation,” said he, “we should once more be restored to peace and happiness. 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, amounting to something more than five thousand pounds. With this I can live as well and conveniently as I could wish, and can spare some for your present exigencies, Theodore.”Theodore thanked his father for his kindness, but told him that from his former liberality, he had yet sufficient for all his wants. “But your affair with Alida,” asked his father, “how is that likely to terminate?” “Favourably, I hope, sir,” answered Theodore.He could not consent to disturb the happy tranquillity of his parents by reciting his own wretchedness. He passed a week with them. He saw them once more comfortably seated at a calm retreat in the country; he saw them serenely blest in the pleasures of returning peace, and a ray of joy illumined his troubled bosom.“Again the youth his wonted life regain’d,A transient sparkle in his eye obtain’d,A bright, impassion’d, cheering glow express’dThe pleas’d sensation of his tender breast:But soon dark gloom the feeble smiles o’erspread;Like morn’s gay hues, the fading splendours fled;Returning anguish froze his feeling soul;Deep sighs burst forth, and tears began to roll!”His memory dwelt on Alida, from whom he had heard nothing since he had last seen her. He thought of the difficulties with which he was surrounded. He thought of the barriers which were now opposed to their happiness; and he immediately set out for the house of Raymond. He arrived at his residence near the close of the day. Raymond and his lady were at tea, with several young ladies that had passed the afternoon there. Theodore cast an active glance at the company, in hopes to see Alida among them, but she was not there. He was invited, and took a seat at table.After tea was over, Raymond led Theodore intoan adjoining room. “You have come in good time,” said he. “Something speedily must be done, or you lose Alida forever. The day after you were here, her father received a letter from Bonville, in which, after mentioning the circumstances of your father’s insolvency, he hinted that the consequence would probably be a failure of her proposed marriage with you, which might essentially injure the reputation of a lady of her standing in life; to prevent which, and to place her beyond the reach of calumny, he offered to marry her at any appointed day, provided he had her free consent. As Bonville, by the recent death of his father, had been put in possession of a splendid fortune, the proposition might possibly allure the father of Alida, to use his endeavour to bring his daughter to yield implicit obedience to his wishes. Were he to command her to live single, it might be endured; but if he should endeavour to persuade her to discard you from her thoughts entirely, and to give her hand to a person she could have no esteem for, would be to perjure those principles of truth and justice, which he himself had ever taught her to hold most inviolable. To add to Alida’s distress, Bonville arrived there yesterday, and, I hope in some measure to alleviate it, Albert, her brother, came this morning. Mrs. Raymond has despatched a message to informAlida of your arrival, and to desire her to come here immediately. She will undoubtedly comply with the invitation, if not prevented by something extraordinary.”Mrs. Raymond now came to the door of the room, and beckoned to her husband, who went out, but soon returned, leading in Alida, after which he retired. “Oh, Theodore,” was all she could say, her further utterance was interrupted by her tears. Theodore led her to a seat, and overcome by sadness was unable to speak. Recovering at length, he begged her to moderate her grief.“Where,” said he, “is your fortitude, and your firmness, Alida, which I have so often seen triumphing over affliction?” Her extreme anguish prevented a reply. Theodore endeavoured to console her, though consolation was a stranger to his own breast.“Let us not,” said he, “increase our flood of affliction by a tide of useless sorrow. Perhaps more prosperous days are yet in reserve for us; happiness may yet be ours. Heaven cannot desert Alida,” said Theodore; “as well might it desert its angels. This thorny path may lead to fair fields of light and verdure. Tempests are succeeded by calms; wars end in peace; the splendours of the brightest morning arise on the wings of blackest midnight. Troubles will not always last.”The grief which had almost overwhelmed Alida, now began to subside, as the waves of the ocean gradually cease their tumultuous commotion after the turbulent winds are laid asleep. Deep and long drawn sighs succeeded. The irritation of her feelings had caused a more than usual glow upon her cheek which faded away as she became composed, until a livid paleness spread itself over her features.Raymond and his lady now came into the room. They strenuously urged the propriety and necessity for Theodore and Alida to enter into the bands of matrimony.“The measure would be hazardous,” remarked Alida. “My circumstances,” said Theodore. “Not on that account,” interrupted Alida, “but the displeasure of my father.”“Come here, Alida, to-morrow evening,” said Mrs. Raymond. “In the mean time you will consider the matter and then determine.” To this Alida assented and prepared to return home.Theodore attended her as far as the gate which opened into the yard surrounding the dwelling. It was dangerous for him to go further, lest he should be discovered even by a domestic of the family. He stood here awhile looking anxiously after Alida as she walked up the avenue, her white robes now invisible, now dimly seen, until they were totallyobscured, mingling with the gloom and darkness of the night, ere she reached the door of her father’s mansion.“Thus,” said Theodore, “fades the angel of peace from the visionary eyes of the war-worn soldier, when it ascends in the dusky clouds of early morning, while he slumbers on the field of recent battle.” With mournful forebodings he returned to the house of his friend. After passing a sleepless night, he arose and walked out into an adjoining field; he stood for some time, leaning, in deep contemplation, against a tree, when he heard quick footsteps behind him. He turned around, and saw Albert approaching. In a moment they were in each other’s arms, and mingled tears. They soon returned to Raymond’s where they conversed largely on present affairs.“I have discoursed with my father on the subject,” said Albert; “I have urged him with every possible argument, to relinquish his determination to keep you and Alida separate. I fear, however, he is inflexible.”“To endeavour to assuage the grief which rent Alida’s bosom was my next object, and in this I trust I have not been unsuccessful. You will see her this evening, and will find her more calm and resigned. You, Theodore, must exert your fortitude.The ways of Heaven are inscrutable, but they are right. We must acquiesce in its dealings; we cannot alter its decrees. Resignation to its will, whether merciful or afflictive, is one of those eminent virtues which adorn the good man’s character, and will ever find a brilliant reward in the regions of unsullied happiness.”Albert told Theodore that circumstances compelled him that day to return to the city. “I would advise you,” said he,“toremain here until your affair comes to some final issue. It must, I think, ere long, be terminated. Perhaps you and my sister may yet be happy.”Theodore feelingly expressed his gratitude to Albert. He found in him that disinterested friendship which his early youth had experienced. Albert the same day departed for New-York.The shades of night came on almost insensibly, as Theodore was anxiously expecting Alida. He anticipated the consolation her presence would bestow. Albert had told him she was more composed. The evening passed on, but she came not.Raymond assured him she would soon be there. He paced the room, and then walked out on the way whither she was expected to come. He hesitated some time whether to advance or return. It was possible, though not probable, that she mighthave come some other way. He hastened back to the house of his friend; she had not arrived.“Something extraordinary,” saidMrs.Raymond, “has undoubtedly prevented her coming. Perhaps she is ill.” Theodore shuddered at the suggestion. He looked at his watch: it was past twelve o’clock. Again he hastily sallied out and took the road to her father’s. The night was exceedingly dark, being illuminated only by the feeble glimmering of the twinkling stars. When he came within sight of the house, and as he drew near, no lights were visible, all was still and silent. He entered the yard, walked up the avenue, and approached the door. A solemn stillness prevailed around, interrupted only by the discordance of nightly insects. The dwelling was shrouded in darkness. In Alida’s room no gleam of light appeared.“They are all buried in sleep,” said Theodore, deeply sighing, and I have only to return in disappointment.Theodore now withdrew slowly from the place, and repassed the way he came. As he went back through the garden, he found a person standing at the foot of it, near the road. After a moment’s scrutiny, he perceived it to be Bonville.“What, my chevalier, why are you here?” said he to Theodore. “Hast thou, then, eluded thewatchful eyes of Argus, and the vigilance of the dragon?”“Unfeeling and impertinent intruder!” retorted Theodore, “dost thou add impudence to thy interference? Go,” said he, “you are unworthy of my anger. Pursue thy grovelling schemes. Strive to win to your arms a lady who must ever continue to despise you.”“Theodore,” replied Bonville, “You and I were rivals in the pursuit for the hand of Alida. Whether from freak or fortune the preference was given to you, I know not; and I retired in silence. From coincidence of circumstances, I think she will now be induced to give the preference to me, especially after her prospects of connecting with you are cut off by the events which ruined your fortune. You, Theodore, have yet, I find, to learn the character of woman. It has been my particular study. Alida, now ardently impassioned by first impressions, irritated by recent disappointment, her feelings delicate and vivid, her affections animated, it would be strange if she could suddenly relinquish premature attachments founded on such premises. But remove her from your presence one year, with only distant and uncertain prospects of seeing you again, admit me as the substitute in your absence, and she accepts my handas freely as she would now receive yours. I had no design. It never was my wish to marry her without her free consent;—that I believe I shall yet obtain. Under existing circumstances it is impossible but that you must be separated. Then, when cool deliberation succeeds to the wild vagaries of fancy, she will discover the dangerous precipice to which her present inclinations lead. She will prefer indifference and splendour to love and a cottage. At present I relinquish all further pursuit; to-morrow I shall return home. When Alida, from calm deliberation, and the advice of friends, shall freely consent to yield me her hand, I shall return to receive it. I came from my lodgings this evening to declare these intentions to her father; but it being later than I was aware of, the family had gone to rest. I was about to return, but, looking back again at the house, to see if I could descry a light, I stood a moment by the garden gate, when you approached and discovered me.” So saying, he bade Theodore good night, and walked hastily away.“I find he knows not the character of Alida,” said Theodore, as he pursued his way to Raymond’s. When he arrived at the house of his friend, he related all that had passed between himself and Bonville; and from what he related, the Raymonds concluded that Alida must be watched and guarded.CHAPTER XIII.Friendship! thou sovereign balm of every care.When all serene and placidly appear;Domestic happiness! of that possessed,Then may we leave to Providence the rest.Thefather of Alida now thought proper to enter into a second marriage. A lady of worth and understanding had wrought upon his fancy, and won his particular regards. Her elegance of manner and dignified deportment engaged general attention; and although she was rather advanced in life, yet “the remains of former beauty were still visible in her appearance.”She was honourably descended from English parents, who had resided in New-York since the revolution. Her father had been actively engaged in business there, which had been ultimately crowned with the successful gifts of fortune.Her education had been governed by the strictness of the English discipline. A foundation laid in early piety continued to influence her mind with unaffected ardour, blended with a generous benevolence, the genuine effects of the inexhaustible goodness of her heart. She was one who manifested to the world that a “doer of good” is far preferableto any other character, and in a superlative degree above those who maintain high principles in theory, without ever once reducing them to practice.This lady had an only sister, who married a native of Ireland, and after the course of a few years went to reside there, where she had recently died. The children returned to this country, having lost their father long before, and several of her nephews now resided in the city. Having been always accustomed to reside in town herself, where her many excellent qualities had endeared her to numerous friends and acquaintances, who would now feel themselves lost without her society, therefore the parents of Alida formed the conclusion to pass their winters in the city, and return to the country in the summer season.In the mean time, Alida’s father thought the event fortunate, and was pleased at this time to remove his daughter from the place where the late scenes appeared so trying and afflictive, with the hope that in mingling her with the gay world she would in a while forget Theodore, while he in his turn would be induced to leave the neighbourhood.It was now at that season when weary summer had lapsed into the fallow arms of autumn, and was approaching to the chilly breezes of winter. The morning was clear, and the light gales bore invigoratingcoolness on their wings as they tremulously agitated the foliage of the western forest, or fluttered among the branches of the trees that surrounded the mansion. The green splendours of the lawn had faded into a yellow lustre; the flowery verdure of the fields was changed to a russet hue.A robin chirped in a favourite tree in the yard; a wren chattered beneath, while some few solitary birds still continued to warble their notes among the leaves of the aspen.The surrounding groves partially rung with melody; while deep in the adjacent wilderness the woodpecker, hammering on some dry and blasted trees, filled the woods with reverberant echoes.The face of the Sound was ruffled by the lingering breezes, as they idly wandered over its surface. Long Island was thinly enveloped in smoky vapour; scattered along its shores lay the numerous small craft, with larger ships, of the hostile fleet. A few skiffs were passing and re-passing the Sound. Several American war-sloops lay on a point which jutted out from the mainland into the river.Alida walked leisurely around the yard, contemplating the various beauties of the scene, the images of departed joys (that she was now about to leave). The days when Theodore participated with her in admiring the splendours of rural prospect, raised inher bosom the sigh of deep regret. She entered the garden, and traced the walks, now overgrown with weeds and tufted grass. The flower-beds were choked with the low running brambles, and tall rushes and daisies had usurped the empire of the kitchen garden. The viny arbour was principally gone to decay, and the eglantine blushed mournfully along the fences.Alida continued to walk the garden until the servant informed her that the carriage was waiting to take her to the city.Although they set out rather late in the day, they arrived in town some hours before sunset. They drove immediately to their dwelling, which was situated in a pleasant part of Greenwich-street, near the Battery.Alida, after she had thrown off her travelling apparel, seated herself by the window in silence. Her mind was absorbed in deep reflection and thoughtfulness. She watched the slow declining sun, as it was sinking beneath the horizon. Pensive twilight spread her misty mantle over the landscape. The western sky glowed with the spangles of evening; deepening glooms advanced. The last beam of day faded from the view, and all was enveloped in night. Innumerable stars glittered in the firmament, interminglingtheir quivering lustre with the pale splendours of the milky way.When Alida was summoned to tea, her parents made various observations to endeavour to amuse her thoughts, and draw her from her taciturnity. After tea she again returned to the window, where she sat till a late hour, apparently in deep meditation, till at length growing weary and restless, she retired to her room.As she had for several nights in succession slept but little, she soon fell into a slumber, and did not awake till near the dawn of day. She did not close her eyes again to sleep. Daylight soon appeared, and the cheerful sun darting his enlivening rays through the windows of this antique mansion, recovered her exhausted spirits, and dissipated, in some measure, the cheerless reflections that still continued to hover about her imagination.She arose, and went down to breakfast with spirits somewhat revived, and changed to a temporary resignation to past events and recent occurrences. A thought impressed her mind which gave her new consolation.“Who knows,” said she, “but that the sun of peace may yet dispel the glooms of these distressful hours, and restore this throbbing bosom to its former serenity?”In the meantime, Theodore remained in the neighbourhood of Alida until he heard the family had left and gone to the city. He then prepared himself to set out early the next day for the habitation of his parents.He informed Raymond of his promise to write to Alida, and to transmit letters through his agency for her inspection every convenient opportunity.After passing a weary watchful night, he arose at the first dawning of day, and proceeded on his journey with a heavy heart and painful reflections.After he had passed through the neighbouring village, and gained the bridge, he looked over and bade the residence of Alida a mournful farewell. Fearful forebodings crossed his mind that they were separated forever; then again those more consolatory, that, perhaps, after a long delay, he and Alida might yet again meet and be happy.Traits of glory had painted the eastern skies. The glittering day-star, having unbarred the portals of light, began to transmit its retrocessive lustre. Thin scuds flew swiftly over the moon’s decrescent form. Low, hollow winds murmured among the bushes, or brushed the limpid drops from the intermingling foliage.The dusky shadows of night fled to the deep glens and rocky caverns of the wilderness. TheAmerican lark soared high in the air, consecrating its matin lay to morn’s approaching splendours.The woodlands and forest tops on the high hills caught the sun’s first ray, which, widening and extending, soon gemmed the landscape with a varying brightness.It was late in the afternoon before Theodore arrived at his father’s. He found his parents contented and happy at their present residence, which was extremely pleasant, and afforded them many accommodations.“You have been long gone, my son,” said his father: “I scarcely knew what had become of you. Since I have become a farmer, I know little of what is going on in the world, and we were never happier in our lives. We live as independently as we could desire, and realize the blessings of health and contentment. Our only disquietude is on your account, Theodore. Your affair with Alida, I suppose, is not so favourable as you could wish. But despair not, my son; hope is the harbinger of fairer prospects; rely on Providence, which never deserts those who submissively bow to its dispensations. Place entire confidence and dependence on the Supreme Being,” said his father, “and the triumph of fortitude and resignation will be yours.” His father paused. His reasonings, however they convinced the understanding,could not heal the wounds of Theodore’s bosom. In Alida he had looked for as much happiness as earth could afford, nor could he see any prospect in life which could repair to him her loss.Unwilling to disturb the serenity of his parents, he did not wish to acquaint them with the whole affair of his troubles. He answered, that perhaps all might yet be well; that, however, in the present state of his mind, he thought a change of place and scene might be of advantage. He said, moreover, that he no longer had an excuse, and that circumstances now compelled him to join the army.A sorrow unknown before seized upon the minds of his parents as Theodore repeated these words. Sad and dreadful ideas crowded their imagination at this gloomy period, when in the war’s dread emergency they must risk the life of an only son, to march to the field of battle. ’Tis true, he might be again restored to them, but were there not a thousand chances to one? They were overwhelmed with sorrow at these thoughts, till at length they finally felt themselves obliged to consent to what they considered his inevitable destiny, leaving the result of their united wishes and prayers for his safe preservation to an over-ruling Providence.His father then offered him money he had on hand to defray his expenses. Theodore refused,saying, his resources had not yet left him. He then disposed of his horses and carriages, the insignia of his better days, but now useless appendages.After taking an affectionate leave of his parents, he set out the ensuing day to join his companions on their route to meet the army, which was far distant. When hostilities first commenced, Theodore had said, that when it became actually necessary, and his father’s affairs were settled, he would enlist in the service of his country. Nevertheless, he journeyed with a heavy heart and an enfeebled frame of spirits, through disappointment, vexation, and fatigue. The scenes he had so lately experienced moved in melancholy succession over his mind, and his despondency had not abated, even in a small degree, when he reached the army.He now joined the forces under Colonel VanRenssalaer, “who, with a detachment of about one thousand men, crossed the river Niagara, and attacked the British on Queenstown heights. This detachment succeeded in dislodging the enemy, but not being reinforced by the militia from the American side, as was expected, they were ultimately repulsed, and obliged to surrender. Eight hundred British soldiers now came to the aid of the others, and pressed on to renew the attack. The Americans for a time continued to struggle against this force,but were finally obliged to surrender themselves prisoners of war.”The fate of war was hard for Theodore, on his first expedition. He was taken, and carried among the rest on board a prison-ship, and sent with a number of others to England.This disastrous event, however, was shortly followed by one more fortunate for the Americans. “General Dearborn embarked at Sackett’s Harbour, with sixteen hundred men, on an expedition against York, and succeeded in the capture of that place.“York was the seat of government for Upper Canada, and the principal depot for the Niagara frontier. More naval stores were taken by the Americans than could be carried away. The government hall was burned, contrary to the orders of the American general.”CHAPTER XIV.“See, winter comes,” and boisterous on its way,See darkening clouds obscure the cheerful day;Its hollow voice is muttering in the gale,While chilling hail and snow the earth assail.Somelength of time had elapsed since the family had been settled in the city, and the cool breezes of autumn had changed to the hoarse murmuring gales of winter. No sound scarcely was heard except blustering winds, or their whistling murmurs around the angles of the mansion, blended with the more slow, monotonous cadence of the advancing waves of the Hudson.The evenings were cold, dark, and gloomy, except when the resplendent rays of the moon’s mild lustre was seen dispensing its light and cheering influence, dissipating, in a material degree, the dreariness of the evenings of this inclement season. Winter had commenced, “sullen and sad, with all his rising train.” “Vapours, and clouds, and storms,” succeeded each other. Instead of copious showers of rain, snow and ice were spread over the pavement in heavy masses.One evening as a storm was approaching, and the winds blew tremendously, and the snow began tofall in abundance,Wherenow, thought Alida, is Theodore? though the cold may pierce and storms molest him, yet there is no friend to sympathise with him in his distress, or to mitigate the heaviness of his cheerless hours, and shed the rays of gladness over his troubled mind.How great the contrast is now with his former fortunes, how severe his afflictions! He feels not so much the loss of wealth, but he sighs for the smiles of former associates and friends. She looked upon her finger, there was the ring he had given her in happier days. This she vowed to keep and cherish, through every trial and affliction. It was Theodore’s last gift. Where was he now? What dangers he may have encountered, and what hardships endured! and what might he not yet have to suffer, ere she should behold him again, if indeed she ever should.She had not heard from him in a long time. He had promised to write—why was he not faithful to his promise?Thus meditated Alida. At length she articulated in a calmer tone, and her feelings became more composed.Infinite Ruler of events! Great Sovereign of this ever-changing world! Omnipotent Controller of vicissitudes!OmniscientDispenser of destinies!In thy hands are all things terrestrial, and the condition of our lives are at thy disposal. The beginning, the progression, and the end is thine. Unsearchable are thy purposes!—mysterious thy movements!—inscrutable thy operations! Thy will must be done. To bow in submission to thy decrees, is right:—for we are unable to scrutinize the past, and incompetent to explore the future.Alida had lived retired since she had been in town, although in the midst of gay scenes of every description. The acquaintance she had made were few. Her second mother had no relatives there, except her sister’s children, which formed a principal part of her society.Her oldest nephew was about twenty-five years of age. The personal appearance of Mr. Bolton was highly prepossessing. He was particularly distinguished for his genuine politeness, affability, and witticism.He inherited a considerable patrimony from his grandfather, which proved to be a disadvantage, as it prevented him from applying himself to any particular occupation. Since his aunt’s marriage, and his acquaintance with Alida, his visits had become frequent, accompanied with partial attention; though on her part, indifference was visible, as his earnestassiduities, were altogether unexpected, and implied a thing she had not thought of.No one had as yet observed his growing fondness and predilection for Alida, except her father, to whom it was by no means pleasing. The habitual idleness of this young gentleman, caused him in a great measure to pass over the consideration of his many excellent qualities.Among those, with whom Alida had become acquainted during her residence in the city, was the son of an old friend of her father’s. This gentleman had place among the merchants in Broadway, and who, by a long course of industrious trading had amassed a handsome competency. There was something peculiar in his air and manner, which distinguished him among the men of business.Speak of a person of commanding aspect, tall, slender, and majestic; quick in step, fluent in speech, with large light blue eyes, and light hair, approaching a little to the yellow. That was Mr. More.There was a neatness and uniformity in his appearance and dress. He might have been known by his blue suit, white vest, and cambric handkerchief. He was polite and agreeable, and by his associates, he was much esteemed as an acquaintance. His judgment was mature in regard to his business. He managed his affairs with prudenceand economy, and still stood firm amid the shock of failures around him.Though his means were ample, his expenditures were not extravagant; every thing about him partook of the convenient and useful. Suitably free from the fashionmania which sometimes attackyoung people like an epidemic, he preferred rational pleasures, and the company of a few young men of liberal views and sentiments, to the empty display and unsubstantial show, which wins the smile of moneyed plebians.His general deportment, his countenance and manner, discovered a mind and disposition, that had always been accustomed to unremitting indulgence. He was ardent in friendship; possessing a heart of the keenest sensibility, with a scrupulous regard for the feelings of others. He had been much in female society—in company with the amiable and intelligent. Still he had never seen any one that he thought was possessed of congenial feelings, or whose mind would assimilate with his own.When he became acquainted with Alida, his sensations were awakened to a new influence;—that he did not attempt to banish from his mind. He never before had seen any one he thought so worthy of esteem, or so calculated to inspire himwith lasting friendship. “The kindness, and sincerity of her heart, speaks in her artless manner,” said he, (as he was one evening returning home from her father’s.) “She delights the old and captivates the young. Yet her beauty is not so dazzling at first glance, but every day that she is seen, the more her features charm, the more her manners please. Innocence dwells in the silvery curls of her light auburn hair, that waves over her shoulders in simple elegance. She has been reared with proper care and attention, and educated not to shine in a ball-room, but with a soft soothing friendship, to dissipate ennui and gloom, and make the happiness of the domestic circle.”CHAPTER XV.Come, Contemplation, with thy boundless gaze.Inspire my song, while I his merits praise,A true description of his greatness name,And fame’s bright annals, shall record the same.Manywere at this time risking their lives in defence of American liberty, and privileges;—nor were there at present any prospects of conciliatory measures between the contending powers. It became necessary for the people in the meantime, to call forth all their energies and patriotism, with the utmost exertion on their parts—in support of their country, in order to maintain the burden of the arduous conflict in which it was engaged, and sustain the present contest with honour to themselves, and with the hope that its final settlement might be to the satisfaction of America, and the future prosperity of the nation.Many heroes ventured forth to the field of battle, with the ardent endeavour, still to preserve their independence; while at the same time the hearts of many were failing them with fear. It was a time for the patriot to use his influence to animate others anew to bravery, and persuade them to be zealous, in a just cause; at this season of generalexcitement, in which the feelings of the whole community had become strongly interested. Party spirit, and the conflicting interests of the different states were found to operate injuriously on many in their commercial transactions. The people were impoverished by the expenses of the war. Some were in debt. Creditors resorted to legal measures to enforce a collection of their demands, which involved many families in deep embarrassment. Peace was sighed for by the multitude, but there were yet no signs of its realization. An engagement had just taken place on Lake Erie. The American fleet was commanded by Commodore Perry, a young officer; that of the British under Com. Barclay, an old and experienced officer, who had served under Nelson. After a contest of three hours the Americans gained a complete victory, and captured every vessel of the enemy. Commodore Perry announced this victory in the following laconic style: “We have met the enemy, and they are ours.” The Americans took six hundred prisoners, which exceeded their whole number engaged in the action. This battle was succeeded, several weeks afterwards, by another that was alike fortunate, between the American army under General Harrison, and the British under Gen. Proctor, in which they were defeated,and Detroit fell into the hands of the Americans. The success of this action may be entirely attributed, (under the favour of heaven,) to the abilities and military skill of General Harrison.After General Hull had tamely surrendered to the British this important post, with the gallant force that composed the garrison, an event which spread consternation far and wide throughout the western country, and greatly increased the difficulty and arduous nature of Gen. Harrison’s duties, he immediately organized the brave troops under his command, and commenced a course of rigid discipline, and militarytrainings, with the confident hope of retrieving the consequent disasters of this proceeding.The American army advanced in order of battle, and were in the immediate neighbourhood of the enemy; the reconnoitering parties brought in intelligence of the dispositions Proctor had made, wherein he had committed an irretrievable error in ranging his regular soldiers in order, and extending his line by placing the files at a distance of three or four feet from each other. Harrison, with the rapid decision of an able general, instantly availed himself of the error of his opponent. The extended and weakened line of the enemy, could offer but a feeble resistance to the charge of his gallanttroops, who dashed forward at the earnest solicitation of the people of the territory,—and with the public expression of the most flattering approbation, on the part of the chief executive;—till at length they gained a complete victory.The various and arduous duties of the governor of Indiana, required, for this office, a man of very superior abilities—one possessed of stern integrity and prudent moderation, accompanied by the most unwavering firmness. Such a man Governor Harrison, in the long course of his administration, fully proved himself to be. And in acting his part as a general he merits no less the applauses of his countrymen, in training and leading their armies to victory. The nervous and impassioned eloquence, and classical felicity of illustration, with which he enforced his arguments, gained him much applause and influence,—and discovered his abilities to be of the highest order, blended with the truest republican principles;—in which were manifested an ardent zeal for the good of his country, and an earnest desire to serve her best interests. Though vested with unusual powers, both as governor and general, he was never known during the whole of his command, to exercise his authority in an unjust or oppressive manner. His measures were energetic but always qualified by his characteristicmoderation and humanity, joined with integrity, prudence, and capacity for civil government. Many high encomiums were lavished upon him by those whose friends and neighbours had participated in this campaign, and who were consequently familiar with its details, and with the merits of their commander.And Detroit is destined to be remembered, as the place of the battle ground of one of the most remarkable and decisive actions that took place during the late war.Shortly after this action was over, Bonville, who was one among the soldiers, returned to New-York. He furnished plausible reason, and obtained a furlough from his commanding officer, for leave of absence. In the meantime, he thought again to visit Alida; he had at present a double motive again to address her,—and if he should prove successful, her expected fortune would make him ample amends for what he had squandered away in scenes of folly. And if the father of Theodore had become a bankrupt by misfortune, he had now almost become one by dissipation and extravagance.Albert had been extremely busy through the day, and was just returning home from his store in Pearl-street one evening, when he met Bonville in Broadway on his way to his father’s. He accostedhim in a very friendly manner, and then interrogated him by numerous questions concerning the family,—and very inquisitively with regard to his sister. Albert made no reply that gave him any particular satisfaction. When they arrived at the house, they found no company except Mr. More. Alida was truly shocked and surprised at this unexpected visit from Bonville, who she had no idea was in town. After making to her his compliments, and expressing his pleasure at finding her well, he by degrees drew her into a conversation which lasted the greater part of the evening. He offered an ill-timed consolation for the absence of Theodore, and affected much regret,—although he said his case was not as deplorable as that of many others, as he was still among the living. That though he was a person he could not esteem, still he had felt so far interested in his welfare, as to make particular inquiries how the British were accustomed to treat their prisoners. He then gave some dark intimations against his general character, which could not fail to throw over the mind of Alida a deep dejection.She was now apprised of the fate of Theodore:—She was unable to suppress the feelings of sorrow, that these words of Bonville had excited. She remained silent; wholly engrossed by the confused thoughts and sad ideas, that arose in succession inher mind, till at length she became regardless of all around her.The penetrating eyes of Mr. More were fixed upon her during this conversation. He seemed wholly insensible to every other object. He was apprehensive that her heart was insensible to the strong affection that pervaded his own,—and he thought should she prove incapable of loving like himself, and should become devoted to another, thoughts he could scarcely endure,—though they sometimes impressed the idea that she might never be interested in his favour. Hope would again flatter him with the pleasing thought, that her bosom may have been fraught with congenial feelings, and her heart beat with sensations even more fervent than his own. Her image filled his waking thoughts, and disturbed with visionary happiness his sleeping hours,—yet it seemed to his devoted mind the love of merit alone; and he imagined that while she was happy, he could never be altogether otherwise.After Mr. More and Bonville had taken leave, and her parents had retired to rest, Alida remained by the fire-side till a late hour. She was meditating on recent circumstances, on the many late trying events which had crowded so rapidly that they could scarcely be said to succeed each other, and which had given so great variety to her life, that for years hadrolled on in the same peaceful, unvaried course. She felt displeased at Bonville for his insinuations concerning Theodore, which were ungenerous and ill-natured,—while he seemed to flatter himself with the idea that she would become forgetful of him. He had hitherto yielded to every selfish propensity, without once seriously reflecting on its consequences to himself or others. His understanding, warped by prejudice, and without control, often misled him, and the superiority an elevated station gave him caused him to neglect to practice those better principles of which his nature might have been capable. His pride would suffer to see Alida united to another, therefore he was determined not to relinquish her. He concluded that finally she would look upon Theodore with indifference, and become favourably disposed towards himself; while his regard for her should prove unchangeable. That, unacquainted as she was with the world, she would at length be brought to accede to his wishes. That his rhetoric operating on her inexperience would ultimately influence her in his favour.CHAPTER XVI.
“O, happiness, deceitful in thy dream,”Though wreaths all blooming hang upon thy brow,And quick dissolves the visionary gleam,Succeeded soon by various scenes of wo.WhenTheodore returned to the house of his friend, he unfolded the plan he had projected.“No sooner,” said Raymond, “was I informed of your misfortunes, than I was convinced that Alida’s father (whom I have known for many years) would endeavour to dissolve your intended union with his daughter. And however he may doat on his children, or value their happiness, he will not hesitate to sacrifice his better feelings to the accomplishment of his wishes to see them independent. It appears that you have but one resource left. You and Alida are now engaged by the most solemn ties, by every rite except those which are ceremonial; these I would advise you to enter into, and trust to the consequences. Mrs. Raymond has proposed the scheme to Alida, but implicitly accustomed to filial obedience, she shudders at the idea of a clandestine marriage; but when her father will proceed to rigorous measures, she will, I think, consent to the alternative. The world is beforeyou, Theodore,” continued he; “you have friends, you have acquirements which will not fail you. In a country like this you can scarcely help obtaining a competency, which, with the other requisites you have in your power, will not fail to insure your independence and felicity.”“But the times have changed,” said Theodore, since the commencement of the war, and probably I may yet have to join the army. After I have made my visit on the morrow to Alida’s father, we will discourse further on the subject.In the meantime, Theodore proceeded on the morrow, to make his intended visit. As he approached the house, he saw Alida 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 as soon as she saw Theodore. She arose, met him, and invited him into the house.Theodore was received with a cool reserve by all except Alida. Her father saluted him with a distant retiring bow, as he passed with her to the parlour. As soon as they were seated, a lady who had lately come to reside some time in the family, (who was a relative of her father’s,) entered the room and seated herself by the window, alternately humminga tune and staring at Theodore, without speaking a word.This interruption was not of long continuance. Alida’s father entered, and requested the two ladies to withdraw, which was instantly done; he then addressed Theodore as follows:“When I gave consent for your union with my daughter, it was on the conviction that your future resources would be adequate to support her honourably and independently. Circumstances have since taken place which render this point extremely doubtful.” He paused for a reply, but Theodore was silent. He continued, “You, perhaps, may say that your acquirements, your prudence, and your industry, will procure you a handsome income; but to depend on these altogether for your future exigencies 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 will teach you the necessity of immediately relinquishing all pretensions to the hand of Alida, and from this time to break off all communication with my daughter.” He then immediately left the room.Why was Theodore speechless through the whole of this discourse? What reply could he have made? What were the prospects before him but misery andwo? Where, indeed, were the means by which Alida was to be shielded from indigence, if connected with his fortunes?The idea was not new, but it came upon him at this time with redoubled anguish. He arose and looked around for Alida, but she was not to be seen. He left the house and walked slowly towards Raymond’s. At a little distance he met Alida who 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 seldom finds her votaries prepared to receive her.Alida told Theodore that she knew her father’s determinations were altogether unchangeable at present. Her brother, she said, would be at home in a few days; how he would act on this occasion, she was unable to say; but were he ever so far their friend, he would have but feeble influence with her father. “What is to be the end of these troubles,” continued she, it is impossible to foresee. Let us trust in the mercy of Heaven, and submit to its dispensations.Theodore and Alida, in their happier days, had, when absent from each other, corresponded. This method it was now thought best to resume. It was agreed, besides, that Theodore should frequentlyvisit Raymond’s, and Alida would resort there also, as she should find opportunity. Having concluded on this, Alida returned home, and Theodore to the house of his friend.The next morning Theodore repaired to the dwelling where his aged parents now resided. His bosom throbbed with keen anguish when he arrived there:his own fate unconnected with that of Alida. His father was absent when he first reached home, but returned soon after. A beam of joy gleamed upon his countenance as he entered the house. “Were it not, Theodore, for your unhappy situation,” said he, “we should once more be restored to peace and happiness. 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, amounting to something more than five thousand pounds. With this I can live as well and conveniently as I could wish, and can spare some for your present exigencies, Theodore.”Theodore thanked his father for his kindness, but told him that from his former liberality, he had yet sufficient for all his wants. “But your affair with Alida,” asked his father, “how is that likely to terminate?” “Favourably, I hope, sir,” answered Theodore.He could not consent to disturb the happy tranquillity of his parents by reciting his own wretchedness. He passed a week with them. He saw them once more comfortably seated at a calm retreat in the country; he saw them serenely blest in the pleasures of returning peace, and a ray of joy illumined his troubled bosom.“Again the youth his wonted life regain’d,A transient sparkle in his eye obtain’d,A bright, impassion’d, cheering glow express’dThe pleas’d sensation of his tender breast:But soon dark gloom the feeble smiles o’erspread;Like morn’s gay hues, the fading splendours fled;Returning anguish froze his feeling soul;Deep sighs burst forth, and tears began to roll!”His memory dwelt on Alida, from whom he had heard nothing since he had last seen her. He thought of the difficulties with which he was surrounded. He thought of the barriers which were now opposed to their happiness; and he immediately set out for the house of Raymond. He arrived at his residence near the close of the day. Raymond and his lady were at tea, with several young ladies that had passed the afternoon there. Theodore cast an active glance at the company, in hopes to see Alida among them, but she was not there. He was invited, and took a seat at table.After tea was over, Raymond led Theodore intoan adjoining room. “You have come in good time,” said he. “Something speedily must be done, or you lose Alida forever. The day after you were here, her father received a letter from Bonville, in which, after mentioning the circumstances of your father’s insolvency, he hinted that the consequence would probably be a failure of her proposed marriage with you, which might essentially injure the reputation of a lady of her standing in life; to prevent which, and to place her beyond the reach of calumny, he offered to marry her at any appointed day, provided he had her free consent. As Bonville, by the recent death of his father, had been put in possession of a splendid fortune, the proposition might possibly allure the father of Alida, to use his endeavour to bring his daughter to yield implicit obedience to his wishes. Were he to command her to live single, it might be endured; but if he should endeavour to persuade her to discard you from her thoughts entirely, and to give her hand to a person she could have no esteem for, would be to perjure those principles of truth and justice, which he himself had ever taught her to hold most inviolable. To add to Alida’s distress, Bonville arrived there yesterday, and, I hope in some measure to alleviate it, Albert, her brother, came this morning. Mrs. Raymond has despatched a message to informAlida of your arrival, and to desire her to come here immediately. She will undoubtedly comply with the invitation, if not prevented by something extraordinary.”Mrs. Raymond now came to the door of the room, and beckoned to her husband, who went out, but soon returned, leading in Alida, after which he retired. “Oh, Theodore,” was all she could say, her further utterance was interrupted by her tears. Theodore led her to a seat, and overcome by sadness was unable to speak. Recovering at length, he begged her to moderate her grief.“Where,” said he, “is your fortitude, and your firmness, Alida, which I have so often seen triumphing over affliction?” Her extreme anguish prevented a reply. Theodore endeavoured to console her, though consolation was a stranger to his own breast.“Let us not,” said he, “increase our flood of affliction by a tide of useless sorrow. Perhaps more prosperous days are yet in reserve for us; happiness may yet be ours. Heaven cannot desert Alida,” said Theodore; “as well might it desert its angels. This thorny path may lead to fair fields of light and verdure. Tempests are succeeded by calms; wars end in peace; the splendours of the brightest morning arise on the wings of blackest midnight. Troubles will not always last.”The grief which had almost overwhelmed Alida, now began to subside, as the waves of the ocean gradually cease their tumultuous commotion after the turbulent winds are laid asleep. Deep and long drawn sighs succeeded. The irritation of her feelings had caused a more than usual glow upon her cheek which faded away as she became composed, until a livid paleness spread itself over her features.Raymond and his lady now came into the room. They strenuously urged the propriety and necessity for Theodore and Alida to enter into the bands of matrimony.“The measure would be hazardous,” remarked Alida. “My circumstances,” said Theodore. “Not on that account,” interrupted Alida, “but the displeasure of my father.”“Come here, Alida, to-morrow evening,” said Mrs. Raymond. “In the mean time you will consider the matter and then determine.” To this Alida assented and prepared to return home.Theodore attended her as far as the gate which opened into the yard surrounding the dwelling. It was dangerous for him to go further, lest he should be discovered even by a domestic of the family. He stood here awhile looking anxiously after Alida as she walked up the avenue, her white robes now invisible, now dimly seen, until they were totallyobscured, mingling with the gloom and darkness of the night, ere she reached the door of her father’s mansion.“Thus,” said Theodore, “fades the angel of peace from the visionary eyes of the war-worn soldier, when it ascends in the dusky clouds of early morning, while he slumbers on the field of recent battle.” With mournful forebodings he returned to the house of his friend. After passing a sleepless night, he arose and walked out into an adjoining field; he stood for some time, leaning, in deep contemplation, against a tree, when he heard quick footsteps behind him. He turned around, and saw Albert approaching. In a moment they were in each other’s arms, and mingled tears. They soon returned to Raymond’s where they conversed largely on present affairs.“I have discoursed with my father on the subject,” said Albert; “I have urged him with every possible argument, to relinquish his determination to keep you and Alida separate. I fear, however, he is inflexible.”“To endeavour to assuage the grief which rent Alida’s bosom was my next object, and in this I trust I have not been unsuccessful. You will see her this evening, and will find her more calm and resigned. You, Theodore, must exert your fortitude.The ways of Heaven are inscrutable, but they are right. We must acquiesce in its dealings; we cannot alter its decrees. Resignation to its will, whether merciful or afflictive, is one of those eminent virtues which adorn the good man’s character, and will ever find a brilliant reward in the regions of unsullied happiness.”Albert told Theodore that circumstances compelled him that day to return to the city. “I would advise you,” said he,“toremain here until your affair comes to some final issue. It must, I think, ere long, be terminated. Perhaps you and my sister may yet be happy.”Theodore feelingly expressed his gratitude to Albert. He found in him that disinterested friendship which his early youth had experienced. Albert the same day departed for New-York.The shades of night came on almost insensibly, as Theodore was anxiously expecting Alida. He anticipated the consolation her presence would bestow. Albert had told him she was more composed. The evening passed on, but she came not.Raymond assured him she would soon be there. He paced the room, and then walked out on the way whither she was expected to come. He hesitated some time whether to advance or return. It was possible, though not probable, that she mighthave come some other way. He hastened back to the house of his friend; she had not arrived.“Something extraordinary,” saidMrs.Raymond, “has undoubtedly prevented her coming. Perhaps she is ill.” Theodore shuddered at the suggestion. He looked at his watch: it was past twelve o’clock. Again he hastily sallied out and took the road to her father’s. The night was exceedingly dark, being illuminated only by the feeble glimmering of the twinkling stars. When he came within sight of the house, and as he drew near, no lights were visible, all was still and silent. He entered the yard, walked up the avenue, and approached the door. A solemn stillness prevailed around, interrupted only by the discordance of nightly insects. The dwelling was shrouded in darkness. In Alida’s room no gleam of light appeared.“They are all buried in sleep,” said Theodore, deeply sighing, and I have only to return in disappointment.Theodore now withdrew slowly from the place, and repassed the way he came. As he went back through the garden, he found a person standing at the foot of it, near the road. After a moment’s scrutiny, he perceived it to be Bonville.“What, my chevalier, why are you here?” said he to Theodore. “Hast thou, then, eluded thewatchful eyes of Argus, and the vigilance of the dragon?”“Unfeeling and impertinent intruder!” retorted Theodore, “dost thou add impudence to thy interference? Go,” said he, “you are unworthy of my anger. Pursue thy grovelling schemes. Strive to win to your arms a lady who must ever continue to despise you.”“Theodore,” replied Bonville, “You and I were rivals in the pursuit for the hand of Alida. Whether from freak or fortune the preference was given to you, I know not; and I retired in silence. From coincidence of circumstances, I think she will now be induced to give the preference to me, especially after her prospects of connecting with you are cut off by the events which ruined your fortune. You, Theodore, have yet, I find, to learn the character of woman. It has been my particular study. Alida, now ardently impassioned by first impressions, irritated by recent disappointment, her feelings delicate and vivid, her affections animated, it would be strange if she could suddenly relinquish premature attachments founded on such premises. But remove her from your presence one year, with only distant and uncertain prospects of seeing you again, admit me as the substitute in your absence, and she accepts my handas freely as she would now receive yours. I had no design. It never was my wish to marry her without her free consent;—that I believe I shall yet obtain. Under existing circumstances it is impossible but that you must be separated. Then, when cool deliberation succeeds to the wild vagaries of fancy, she will discover the dangerous precipice to which her present inclinations lead. She will prefer indifference and splendour to love and a cottage. At present I relinquish all further pursuit; to-morrow I shall return home. When Alida, from calm deliberation, and the advice of friends, shall freely consent to yield me her hand, I shall return to receive it. I came from my lodgings this evening to declare these intentions to her father; but it being later than I was aware of, the family had gone to rest. I was about to return, but, looking back again at the house, to see if I could descry a light, I stood a moment by the garden gate, when you approached and discovered me.” So saying, he bade Theodore good night, and walked hastily away.“I find he knows not the character of Alida,” said Theodore, as he pursued his way to Raymond’s. When he arrived at the house of his friend, he related all that had passed between himself and Bonville; and from what he related, the Raymonds concluded that Alida must be watched and guarded.CHAPTER XIII.Friendship! thou sovereign balm of every care.When all serene and placidly appear;Domestic happiness! of that possessed,Then may we leave to Providence the rest.Thefather of Alida now thought proper to enter into a second marriage. A lady of worth and understanding had wrought upon his fancy, and won his particular regards. Her elegance of manner and dignified deportment engaged general attention; and although she was rather advanced in life, yet “the remains of former beauty were still visible in her appearance.”She was honourably descended from English parents, who had resided in New-York since the revolution. Her father had been actively engaged in business there, which had been ultimately crowned with the successful gifts of fortune.Her education had been governed by the strictness of the English discipline. A foundation laid in early piety continued to influence her mind with unaffected ardour, blended with a generous benevolence, the genuine effects of the inexhaustible goodness of her heart. She was one who manifested to the world that a “doer of good” is far preferableto any other character, and in a superlative degree above those who maintain high principles in theory, without ever once reducing them to practice.This lady had an only sister, who married a native of Ireland, and after the course of a few years went to reside there, where she had recently died. The children returned to this country, having lost their father long before, and several of her nephews now resided in the city. Having been always accustomed to reside in town herself, where her many excellent qualities had endeared her to numerous friends and acquaintances, who would now feel themselves lost without her society, therefore the parents of Alida formed the conclusion to pass their winters in the city, and return to the country in the summer season.In the mean time, Alida’s father thought the event fortunate, and was pleased at this time to remove his daughter from the place where the late scenes appeared so trying and afflictive, with the hope that in mingling her with the gay world she would in a while forget Theodore, while he in his turn would be induced to leave the neighbourhood.It was now at that season when weary summer had lapsed into the fallow arms of autumn, and was approaching to the chilly breezes of winter. The morning was clear, and the light gales bore invigoratingcoolness on their wings as they tremulously agitated the foliage of the western forest, or fluttered among the branches of the trees that surrounded the mansion. The green splendours of the lawn had faded into a yellow lustre; the flowery verdure of the fields was changed to a russet hue.A robin chirped in a favourite tree in the yard; a wren chattered beneath, while some few solitary birds still continued to warble their notes among the leaves of the aspen.The surrounding groves partially rung with melody; while deep in the adjacent wilderness the woodpecker, hammering on some dry and blasted trees, filled the woods with reverberant echoes.The face of the Sound was ruffled by the lingering breezes, as they idly wandered over its surface. Long Island was thinly enveloped in smoky vapour; scattered along its shores lay the numerous small craft, with larger ships, of the hostile fleet. A few skiffs were passing and re-passing the Sound. Several American war-sloops lay on a point which jutted out from the mainland into the river.Alida walked leisurely around the yard, contemplating the various beauties of the scene, the images of departed joys (that she was now about to leave). The days when Theodore participated with her in admiring the splendours of rural prospect, raised inher bosom the sigh of deep regret. She entered the garden, and traced the walks, now overgrown with weeds and tufted grass. The flower-beds were choked with the low running brambles, and tall rushes and daisies had usurped the empire of the kitchen garden. The viny arbour was principally gone to decay, and the eglantine blushed mournfully along the fences.Alida continued to walk the garden until the servant informed her that the carriage was waiting to take her to the city.Although they set out rather late in the day, they arrived in town some hours before sunset. They drove immediately to their dwelling, which was situated in a pleasant part of Greenwich-street, near the Battery.Alida, after she had thrown off her travelling apparel, seated herself by the window in silence. Her mind was absorbed in deep reflection and thoughtfulness. She watched the slow declining sun, as it was sinking beneath the horizon. Pensive twilight spread her misty mantle over the landscape. The western sky glowed with the spangles of evening; deepening glooms advanced. The last beam of day faded from the view, and all was enveloped in night. Innumerable stars glittered in the firmament, interminglingtheir quivering lustre with the pale splendours of the milky way.When Alida was summoned to tea, her parents made various observations to endeavour to amuse her thoughts, and draw her from her taciturnity. After tea she again returned to the window, where she sat till a late hour, apparently in deep meditation, till at length growing weary and restless, she retired to her room.As she had for several nights in succession slept but little, she soon fell into a slumber, and did not awake till near the dawn of day. She did not close her eyes again to sleep. Daylight soon appeared, and the cheerful sun darting his enlivening rays through the windows of this antique mansion, recovered her exhausted spirits, and dissipated, in some measure, the cheerless reflections that still continued to hover about her imagination.She arose, and went down to breakfast with spirits somewhat revived, and changed to a temporary resignation to past events and recent occurrences. A thought impressed her mind which gave her new consolation.“Who knows,” said she, “but that the sun of peace may yet dispel the glooms of these distressful hours, and restore this throbbing bosom to its former serenity?”In the meantime, Theodore remained in the neighbourhood of Alida until he heard the family had left and gone to the city. He then prepared himself to set out early the next day for the habitation of his parents.He informed Raymond of his promise to write to Alida, and to transmit letters through his agency for her inspection every convenient opportunity.After passing a weary watchful night, he arose at the first dawning of day, and proceeded on his journey with a heavy heart and painful reflections.After he had passed through the neighbouring village, and gained the bridge, he looked over and bade the residence of Alida a mournful farewell. Fearful forebodings crossed his mind that they were separated forever; then again those more consolatory, that, perhaps, after a long delay, he and Alida might yet again meet and be happy.Traits of glory had painted the eastern skies. The glittering day-star, having unbarred the portals of light, began to transmit its retrocessive lustre. Thin scuds flew swiftly over the moon’s decrescent form. Low, hollow winds murmured among the bushes, or brushed the limpid drops from the intermingling foliage.The dusky shadows of night fled to the deep glens and rocky caverns of the wilderness. TheAmerican lark soared high in the air, consecrating its matin lay to morn’s approaching splendours.The woodlands and forest tops on the high hills caught the sun’s first ray, which, widening and extending, soon gemmed the landscape with a varying brightness.It was late in the afternoon before Theodore arrived at his father’s. He found his parents contented and happy at their present residence, which was extremely pleasant, and afforded them many accommodations.“You have been long gone, my son,” said his father: “I scarcely knew what had become of you. Since I have become a farmer, I know little of what is going on in the world, and we were never happier in our lives. We live as independently as we could desire, and realize the blessings of health and contentment. Our only disquietude is on your account, Theodore. Your affair with Alida, I suppose, is not so favourable as you could wish. But despair not, my son; hope is the harbinger of fairer prospects; rely on Providence, which never deserts those who submissively bow to its dispensations. Place entire confidence and dependence on the Supreme Being,” said his father, “and the triumph of fortitude and resignation will be yours.” His father paused. His reasonings, however they convinced the understanding,could not heal the wounds of Theodore’s bosom. In Alida he had looked for as much happiness as earth could afford, nor could he see any prospect in life which could repair to him her loss.Unwilling to disturb the serenity of his parents, he did not wish to acquaint them with the whole affair of his troubles. He answered, that perhaps all might yet be well; that, however, in the present state of his mind, he thought a change of place and scene might be of advantage. He said, moreover, that he no longer had an excuse, and that circumstances now compelled him to join the army.A sorrow unknown before seized upon the minds of his parents as Theodore repeated these words. Sad and dreadful ideas crowded their imagination at this gloomy period, when in the war’s dread emergency they must risk the life of an only son, to march to the field of battle. ’Tis true, he might be again restored to them, but were there not a thousand chances to one? They were overwhelmed with sorrow at these thoughts, till at length they finally felt themselves obliged to consent to what they considered his inevitable destiny, leaving the result of their united wishes and prayers for his safe preservation to an over-ruling Providence.His father then offered him money he had on hand to defray his expenses. Theodore refused,saying, his resources had not yet left him. He then disposed of his horses and carriages, the insignia of his better days, but now useless appendages.After taking an affectionate leave of his parents, he set out the ensuing day to join his companions on their route to meet the army, which was far distant. When hostilities first commenced, Theodore had said, that when it became actually necessary, and his father’s affairs were settled, he would enlist in the service of his country. Nevertheless, he journeyed with a heavy heart and an enfeebled frame of spirits, through disappointment, vexation, and fatigue. The scenes he had so lately experienced moved in melancholy succession over his mind, and his despondency had not abated, even in a small degree, when he reached the army.He now joined the forces under Colonel VanRenssalaer, “who, with a detachment of about one thousand men, crossed the river Niagara, and attacked the British on Queenstown heights. This detachment succeeded in dislodging the enemy, but not being reinforced by the militia from the American side, as was expected, they were ultimately repulsed, and obliged to surrender. Eight hundred British soldiers now came to the aid of the others, and pressed on to renew the attack. The Americans for a time continued to struggle against this force,but were finally obliged to surrender themselves prisoners of war.”The fate of war was hard for Theodore, on his first expedition. He was taken, and carried among the rest on board a prison-ship, and sent with a number of others to England.This disastrous event, however, was shortly followed by one more fortunate for the Americans. “General Dearborn embarked at Sackett’s Harbour, with sixteen hundred men, on an expedition against York, and succeeded in the capture of that place.“York was the seat of government for Upper Canada, and the principal depot for the Niagara frontier. More naval stores were taken by the Americans than could be carried away. The government hall was burned, contrary to the orders of the American general.”CHAPTER XIV.“See, winter comes,” and boisterous on its way,See darkening clouds obscure the cheerful day;Its hollow voice is muttering in the gale,While chilling hail and snow the earth assail.Somelength of time had elapsed since the family had been settled in the city, and the cool breezes of autumn had changed to the hoarse murmuring gales of winter. No sound scarcely was heard except blustering winds, or their whistling murmurs around the angles of the mansion, blended with the more slow, monotonous cadence of the advancing waves of the Hudson.The evenings were cold, dark, and gloomy, except when the resplendent rays of the moon’s mild lustre was seen dispensing its light and cheering influence, dissipating, in a material degree, the dreariness of the evenings of this inclement season. Winter had commenced, “sullen and sad, with all his rising train.” “Vapours, and clouds, and storms,” succeeded each other. Instead of copious showers of rain, snow and ice were spread over the pavement in heavy masses.One evening as a storm was approaching, and the winds blew tremendously, and the snow began tofall in abundance,Wherenow, thought Alida, is Theodore? though the cold may pierce and storms molest him, yet there is no friend to sympathise with him in his distress, or to mitigate the heaviness of his cheerless hours, and shed the rays of gladness over his troubled mind.How great the contrast is now with his former fortunes, how severe his afflictions! He feels not so much the loss of wealth, but he sighs for the smiles of former associates and friends. She looked upon her finger, there was the ring he had given her in happier days. This she vowed to keep and cherish, through every trial and affliction. It was Theodore’s last gift. Where was he now? What dangers he may have encountered, and what hardships endured! and what might he not yet have to suffer, ere she should behold him again, if indeed she ever should.She had not heard from him in a long time. He had promised to write—why was he not faithful to his promise?Thus meditated Alida. At length she articulated in a calmer tone, and her feelings became more composed.Infinite Ruler of events! Great Sovereign of this ever-changing world! Omnipotent Controller of vicissitudes!OmniscientDispenser of destinies!In thy hands are all things terrestrial, and the condition of our lives are at thy disposal. The beginning, the progression, and the end is thine. Unsearchable are thy purposes!—mysterious thy movements!—inscrutable thy operations! Thy will must be done. To bow in submission to thy decrees, is right:—for we are unable to scrutinize the past, and incompetent to explore the future.Alida had lived retired since she had been in town, although in the midst of gay scenes of every description. The acquaintance she had made were few. Her second mother had no relatives there, except her sister’s children, which formed a principal part of her society.Her oldest nephew was about twenty-five years of age. The personal appearance of Mr. Bolton was highly prepossessing. He was particularly distinguished for his genuine politeness, affability, and witticism.He inherited a considerable patrimony from his grandfather, which proved to be a disadvantage, as it prevented him from applying himself to any particular occupation. Since his aunt’s marriage, and his acquaintance with Alida, his visits had become frequent, accompanied with partial attention; though on her part, indifference was visible, as his earnestassiduities, were altogether unexpected, and implied a thing she had not thought of.No one had as yet observed his growing fondness and predilection for Alida, except her father, to whom it was by no means pleasing. The habitual idleness of this young gentleman, caused him in a great measure to pass over the consideration of his many excellent qualities.Among those, with whom Alida had become acquainted during her residence in the city, was the son of an old friend of her father’s. This gentleman had place among the merchants in Broadway, and who, by a long course of industrious trading had amassed a handsome competency. There was something peculiar in his air and manner, which distinguished him among the men of business.Speak of a person of commanding aspect, tall, slender, and majestic; quick in step, fluent in speech, with large light blue eyes, and light hair, approaching a little to the yellow. That was Mr. More.There was a neatness and uniformity in his appearance and dress. He might have been known by his blue suit, white vest, and cambric handkerchief. He was polite and agreeable, and by his associates, he was much esteemed as an acquaintance. His judgment was mature in regard to his business. He managed his affairs with prudenceand economy, and still stood firm amid the shock of failures around him.Though his means were ample, his expenditures were not extravagant; every thing about him partook of the convenient and useful. Suitably free from the fashionmania which sometimes attackyoung people like an epidemic, he preferred rational pleasures, and the company of a few young men of liberal views and sentiments, to the empty display and unsubstantial show, which wins the smile of moneyed plebians.His general deportment, his countenance and manner, discovered a mind and disposition, that had always been accustomed to unremitting indulgence. He was ardent in friendship; possessing a heart of the keenest sensibility, with a scrupulous regard for the feelings of others. He had been much in female society—in company with the amiable and intelligent. Still he had never seen any one that he thought was possessed of congenial feelings, or whose mind would assimilate with his own.When he became acquainted with Alida, his sensations were awakened to a new influence;—that he did not attempt to banish from his mind. He never before had seen any one he thought so worthy of esteem, or so calculated to inspire himwith lasting friendship. “The kindness, and sincerity of her heart, speaks in her artless manner,” said he, (as he was one evening returning home from her father’s.) “She delights the old and captivates the young. Yet her beauty is not so dazzling at first glance, but every day that she is seen, the more her features charm, the more her manners please. Innocence dwells in the silvery curls of her light auburn hair, that waves over her shoulders in simple elegance. She has been reared with proper care and attention, and educated not to shine in a ball-room, but with a soft soothing friendship, to dissipate ennui and gloom, and make the happiness of the domestic circle.”CHAPTER XV.Come, Contemplation, with thy boundless gaze.Inspire my song, while I his merits praise,A true description of his greatness name,And fame’s bright annals, shall record the same.Manywere at this time risking their lives in defence of American liberty, and privileges;—nor were there at present any prospects of conciliatory measures between the contending powers. It became necessary for the people in the meantime, to call forth all their energies and patriotism, with the utmost exertion on their parts—in support of their country, in order to maintain the burden of the arduous conflict in which it was engaged, and sustain the present contest with honour to themselves, and with the hope that its final settlement might be to the satisfaction of America, and the future prosperity of the nation.Many heroes ventured forth to the field of battle, with the ardent endeavour, still to preserve their independence; while at the same time the hearts of many were failing them with fear. It was a time for the patriot to use his influence to animate others anew to bravery, and persuade them to be zealous, in a just cause; at this season of generalexcitement, in which the feelings of the whole community had become strongly interested. Party spirit, and the conflicting interests of the different states were found to operate injuriously on many in their commercial transactions. The people were impoverished by the expenses of the war. Some were in debt. Creditors resorted to legal measures to enforce a collection of their demands, which involved many families in deep embarrassment. Peace was sighed for by the multitude, but there were yet no signs of its realization. An engagement had just taken place on Lake Erie. The American fleet was commanded by Commodore Perry, a young officer; that of the British under Com. Barclay, an old and experienced officer, who had served under Nelson. After a contest of three hours the Americans gained a complete victory, and captured every vessel of the enemy. Commodore Perry announced this victory in the following laconic style: “We have met the enemy, and they are ours.” The Americans took six hundred prisoners, which exceeded their whole number engaged in the action. This battle was succeeded, several weeks afterwards, by another that was alike fortunate, between the American army under General Harrison, and the British under Gen. Proctor, in which they were defeated,and Detroit fell into the hands of the Americans. The success of this action may be entirely attributed, (under the favour of heaven,) to the abilities and military skill of General Harrison.After General Hull had tamely surrendered to the British this important post, with the gallant force that composed the garrison, an event which spread consternation far and wide throughout the western country, and greatly increased the difficulty and arduous nature of Gen. Harrison’s duties, he immediately organized the brave troops under his command, and commenced a course of rigid discipline, and militarytrainings, with the confident hope of retrieving the consequent disasters of this proceeding.The American army advanced in order of battle, and were in the immediate neighbourhood of the enemy; the reconnoitering parties brought in intelligence of the dispositions Proctor had made, wherein he had committed an irretrievable error in ranging his regular soldiers in order, and extending his line by placing the files at a distance of three or four feet from each other. Harrison, with the rapid decision of an able general, instantly availed himself of the error of his opponent. The extended and weakened line of the enemy, could offer but a feeble resistance to the charge of his gallanttroops, who dashed forward at the earnest solicitation of the people of the territory,—and with the public expression of the most flattering approbation, on the part of the chief executive;—till at length they gained a complete victory.The various and arduous duties of the governor of Indiana, required, for this office, a man of very superior abilities—one possessed of stern integrity and prudent moderation, accompanied by the most unwavering firmness. Such a man Governor Harrison, in the long course of his administration, fully proved himself to be. And in acting his part as a general he merits no less the applauses of his countrymen, in training and leading their armies to victory. The nervous and impassioned eloquence, and classical felicity of illustration, with which he enforced his arguments, gained him much applause and influence,—and discovered his abilities to be of the highest order, blended with the truest republican principles;—in which were manifested an ardent zeal for the good of his country, and an earnest desire to serve her best interests. Though vested with unusual powers, both as governor and general, he was never known during the whole of his command, to exercise his authority in an unjust or oppressive manner. His measures were energetic but always qualified by his characteristicmoderation and humanity, joined with integrity, prudence, and capacity for civil government. Many high encomiums were lavished upon him by those whose friends and neighbours had participated in this campaign, and who were consequently familiar with its details, and with the merits of their commander.And Detroit is destined to be remembered, as the place of the battle ground of one of the most remarkable and decisive actions that took place during the late war.Shortly after this action was over, Bonville, who was one among the soldiers, returned to New-York. He furnished plausible reason, and obtained a furlough from his commanding officer, for leave of absence. In the meantime, he thought again to visit Alida; he had at present a double motive again to address her,—and if he should prove successful, her expected fortune would make him ample amends for what he had squandered away in scenes of folly. And if the father of Theodore had become a bankrupt by misfortune, he had now almost become one by dissipation and extravagance.Albert had been extremely busy through the day, and was just returning home from his store in Pearl-street one evening, when he met Bonville in Broadway on his way to his father’s. He accostedhim in a very friendly manner, and then interrogated him by numerous questions concerning the family,—and very inquisitively with regard to his sister. Albert made no reply that gave him any particular satisfaction. When they arrived at the house, they found no company except Mr. More. Alida was truly shocked and surprised at this unexpected visit from Bonville, who she had no idea was in town. After making to her his compliments, and expressing his pleasure at finding her well, he by degrees drew her into a conversation which lasted the greater part of the evening. He offered an ill-timed consolation for the absence of Theodore, and affected much regret,—although he said his case was not as deplorable as that of many others, as he was still among the living. That though he was a person he could not esteem, still he had felt so far interested in his welfare, as to make particular inquiries how the British were accustomed to treat their prisoners. He then gave some dark intimations against his general character, which could not fail to throw over the mind of Alida a deep dejection.She was now apprised of the fate of Theodore:—She was unable to suppress the feelings of sorrow, that these words of Bonville had excited. She remained silent; wholly engrossed by the confused thoughts and sad ideas, that arose in succession inher mind, till at length she became regardless of all around her.The penetrating eyes of Mr. More were fixed upon her during this conversation. He seemed wholly insensible to every other object. He was apprehensive that her heart was insensible to the strong affection that pervaded his own,—and he thought should she prove incapable of loving like himself, and should become devoted to another, thoughts he could scarcely endure,—though they sometimes impressed the idea that she might never be interested in his favour. Hope would again flatter him with the pleasing thought, that her bosom may have been fraught with congenial feelings, and her heart beat with sensations even more fervent than his own. Her image filled his waking thoughts, and disturbed with visionary happiness his sleeping hours,—yet it seemed to his devoted mind the love of merit alone; and he imagined that while she was happy, he could never be altogether otherwise.After Mr. More and Bonville had taken leave, and her parents had retired to rest, Alida remained by the fire-side till a late hour. She was meditating on recent circumstances, on the many late trying events which had crowded so rapidly that they could scarcely be said to succeed each other, and which had given so great variety to her life, that for years hadrolled on in the same peaceful, unvaried course. She felt displeased at Bonville for his insinuations concerning Theodore, which were ungenerous and ill-natured,—while he seemed to flatter himself with the idea that she would become forgetful of him. He had hitherto yielded to every selfish propensity, without once seriously reflecting on its consequences to himself or others. His understanding, warped by prejudice, and without control, often misled him, and the superiority an elevated station gave him caused him to neglect to practice those better principles of which his nature might have been capable. His pride would suffer to see Alida united to another, therefore he was determined not to relinquish her. He concluded that finally she would look upon Theodore with indifference, and become favourably disposed towards himself; while his regard for her should prove unchangeable. That, unacquainted as she was with the world, she would at length be brought to accede to his wishes. That his rhetoric operating on her inexperience would ultimately influence her in his favour.CHAPTER XVI.
“O, happiness, deceitful in thy dream,”Though wreaths all blooming hang upon thy brow,And quick dissolves the visionary gleam,Succeeded soon by various scenes of wo.
“O, happiness, deceitful in thy dream,”
Though wreaths all blooming hang upon thy brow,
And quick dissolves the visionary gleam,
Succeeded soon by various scenes of wo.
WhenTheodore returned to the house of his friend, he unfolded the plan he had projected.
“No sooner,” said Raymond, “was I informed of your misfortunes, than I was convinced that Alida’s father (whom I have known for many years) would endeavour to dissolve your intended union with his daughter. And however he may doat on his children, or value their happiness, he will not hesitate to sacrifice his better feelings to the accomplishment of his wishes to see them independent. It appears that you have but one resource left. You and Alida are now engaged by the most solemn ties, by every rite except those which are ceremonial; these I would advise you to enter into, and trust to the consequences. Mrs. Raymond has proposed the scheme to Alida, but implicitly accustomed to filial obedience, she shudders at the idea of a clandestine marriage; but when her father will proceed to rigorous measures, she will, I think, consent to the alternative. The world is beforeyou, Theodore,” continued he; “you have friends, you have acquirements which will not fail you. In a country like this you can scarcely help obtaining a competency, which, with the other requisites you have in your power, will not fail to insure your independence and felicity.”
“But the times have changed,” said Theodore, since the commencement of the war, and probably I may yet have to join the army. After I have made my visit on the morrow to Alida’s father, we will discourse further on the subject.
In the meantime, Theodore proceeded on the morrow, to make his intended visit. As he approached the house, he saw Alida 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 as soon as she saw Theodore. She arose, met him, and invited him into the house.
Theodore was received with a cool reserve by all except Alida. Her father saluted him with a distant retiring bow, as he passed with her to the parlour. As soon as they were seated, a lady who had lately come to reside some time in the family, (who was a relative of her father’s,) entered the room and seated herself by the window, alternately humminga tune and staring at Theodore, without speaking a word.
This interruption was not of long continuance. Alida’s father entered, and requested the two ladies to withdraw, which was instantly done; he then addressed Theodore as follows:
“When I gave consent for your union with my daughter, it was on the conviction that your future resources would be adequate to support her honourably and independently. Circumstances have since taken place which render this point extremely doubtful.” He paused for a reply, but Theodore was silent. He continued, “You, perhaps, may say that your acquirements, your prudence, and your industry, will procure you a handsome income; but to depend on these altogether for your future exigencies 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 will teach you the necessity of immediately relinquishing all pretensions to the hand of Alida, and from this time to break off all communication with my daughter.” He then immediately left the room.
Why was Theodore speechless through the whole of this discourse? What reply could he have made? What were the prospects before him but misery andwo? Where, indeed, were the means by which Alida was to be shielded from indigence, if connected with his fortunes?
The idea was not new, but it came upon him at this time with redoubled anguish. He arose and looked around for Alida, but she was not to be seen. He left the house and walked slowly towards Raymond’s. At a little distance he met Alida who 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 seldom finds her votaries prepared to receive her.
Alida told Theodore that she knew her father’s determinations were altogether unchangeable at present. Her brother, she said, would be at home in a few days; how he would act on this occasion, she was unable to say; but were he ever so far their friend, he would have but feeble influence with her father. “What is to be the end of these troubles,” continued she, it is impossible to foresee. Let us trust in the mercy of Heaven, and submit to its dispensations.
Theodore and Alida, in their happier days, had, when absent from each other, corresponded. This method it was now thought best to resume. It was agreed, besides, that Theodore should frequentlyvisit Raymond’s, and Alida would resort there also, as she should find opportunity. Having concluded on this, Alida returned home, and Theodore to the house of his friend.
The next morning Theodore repaired to the dwelling where his aged parents now resided. His bosom throbbed with keen anguish when he arrived there:his own fate unconnected with that of Alida. His father was absent when he first reached home, but returned soon after. A beam of joy gleamed upon his countenance as he entered the house. “Were it not, Theodore, for your unhappy situation,” said he, “we should once more be restored to peace and happiness. 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, amounting to something more than five thousand pounds. With this I can live as well and conveniently as I could wish, and can spare some for your present exigencies, Theodore.”
Theodore thanked his father for his kindness, but told him that from his former liberality, he had yet sufficient for all his wants. “But your affair with Alida,” asked his father, “how is that likely to terminate?” “Favourably, I hope, sir,” answered Theodore.
He could not consent to disturb the happy tranquillity of his parents by reciting his own wretchedness. He passed a week with them. He saw them once more comfortably seated at a calm retreat in the country; he saw them serenely blest in the pleasures of returning peace, and a ray of joy illumined his troubled bosom.
“Again the youth his wonted life regain’d,A transient sparkle in his eye obtain’d,A bright, impassion’d, cheering glow express’dThe pleas’d sensation of his tender breast:But soon dark gloom the feeble smiles o’erspread;Like morn’s gay hues, the fading splendours fled;Returning anguish froze his feeling soul;Deep sighs burst forth, and tears began to roll!”
“Again the youth his wonted life regain’d,
A transient sparkle in his eye obtain’d,
A bright, impassion’d, cheering glow express’d
The pleas’d sensation of his tender breast:
But soon dark gloom the feeble smiles o’erspread;
Like morn’s gay hues, the fading splendours fled;
Returning anguish froze his feeling soul;
Deep sighs burst forth, and tears began to roll!”
His memory dwelt on Alida, from whom he had heard nothing since he had last seen her. He thought of the difficulties with which he was surrounded. He thought of the barriers which were now opposed to their happiness; and he immediately set out for the house of Raymond. He arrived at his residence near the close of the day. Raymond and his lady were at tea, with several young ladies that had passed the afternoon there. Theodore cast an active glance at the company, in hopes to see Alida among them, but she was not there. He was invited, and took a seat at table.
After tea was over, Raymond led Theodore intoan adjoining room. “You have come in good time,” said he. “Something speedily must be done, or you lose Alida forever. The day after you were here, her father received a letter from Bonville, in which, after mentioning the circumstances of your father’s insolvency, he hinted that the consequence would probably be a failure of her proposed marriage with you, which might essentially injure the reputation of a lady of her standing in life; to prevent which, and to place her beyond the reach of calumny, he offered to marry her at any appointed day, provided he had her free consent. As Bonville, by the recent death of his father, had been put in possession of a splendid fortune, the proposition might possibly allure the father of Alida, to use his endeavour to bring his daughter to yield implicit obedience to his wishes. Were he to command her to live single, it might be endured; but if he should endeavour to persuade her to discard you from her thoughts entirely, and to give her hand to a person she could have no esteem for, would be to perjure those principles of truth and justice, which he himself had ever taught her to hold most inviolable. To add to Alida’s distress, Bonville arrived there yesterday, and, I hope in some measure to alleviate it, Albert, her brother, came this morning. Mrs. Raymond has despatched a message to informAlida of your arrival, and to desire her to come here immediately. She will undoubtedly comply with the invitation, if not prevented by something extraordinary.”
Mrs. Raymond now came to the door of the room, and beckoned to her husband, who went out, but soon returned, leading in Alida, after which he retired. “Oh, Theodore,” was all she could say, her further utterance was interrupted by her tears. Theodore led her to a seat, and overcome by sadness was unable to speak. Recovering at length, he begged her to moderate her grief.
“Where,” said he, “is your fortitude, and your firmness, Alida, which I have so often seen triumphing over affliction?” Her extreme anguish prevented a reply. Theodore endeavoured to console her, though consolation was a stranger to his own breast.
“Let us not,” said he, “increase our flood of affliction by a tide of useless sorrow. Perhaps more prosperous days are yet in reserve for us; happiness may yet be ours. Heaven cannot desert Alida,” said Theodore; “as well might it desert its angels. This thorny path may lead to fair fields of light and verdure. Tempests are succeeded by calms; wars end in peace; the splendours of the brightest morning arise on the wings of blackest midnight. Troubles will not always last.”
The grief which had almost overwhelmed Alida, now began to subside, as the waves of the ocean gradually cease their tumultuous commotion after the turbulent winds are laid asleep. Deep and long drawn sighs succeeded. The irritation of her feelings had caused a more than usual glow upon her cheek which faded away as she became composed, until a livid paleness spread itself over her features.
Raymond and his lady now came into the room. They strenuously urged the propriety and necessity for Theodore and Alida to enter into the bands of matrimony.
“The measure would be hazardous,” remarked Alida. “My circumstances,” said Theodore. “Not on that account,” interrupted Alida, “but the displeasure of my father.”
“Come here, Alida, to-morrow evening,” said Mrs. Raymond. “In the mean time you will consider the matter and then determine.” To this Alida assented and prepared to return home.
Theodore attended her as far as the gate which opened into the yard surrounding the dwelling. It was dangerous for him to go further, lest he should be discovered even by a domestic of the family. He stood here awhile looking anxiously after Alida as she walked up the avenue, her white robes now invisible, now dimly seen, until they were totallyobscured, mingling with the gloom and darkness of the night, ere she reached the door of her father’s mansion.
“Thus,” said Theodore, “fades the angel of peace from the visionary eyes of the war-worn soldier, when it ascends in the dusky clouds of early morning, while he slumbers on the field of recent battle.” With mournful forebodings he returned to the house of his friend. After passing a sleepless night, he arose and walked out into an adjoining field; he stood for some time, leaning, in deep contemplation, against a tree, when he heard quick footsteps behind him. He turned around, and saw Albert approaching. In a moment they were in each other’s arms, and mingled tears. They soon returned to Raymond’s where they conversed largely on present affairs.
“I have discoursed with my father on the subject,” said Albert; “I have urged him with every possible argument, to relinquish his determination to keep you and Alida separate. I fear, however, he is inflexible.”
“To endeavour to assuage the grief which rent Alida’s bosom was my next object, and in this I trust I have not been unsuccessful. You will see her this evening, and will find her more calm and resigned. You, Theodore, must exert your fortitude.The ways of Heaven are inscrutable, but they are right. We must acquiesce in its dealings; we cannot alter its decrees. Resignation to its will, whether merciful or afflictive, is one of those eminent virtues which adorn the good man’s character, and will ever find a brilliant reward in the regions of unsullied happiness.”
Albert told Theodore that circumstances compelled him that day to return to the city. “I would advise you,” said he,“toremain here until your affair comes to some final issue. It must, I think, ere long, be terminated. Perhaps you and my sister may yet be happy.”
Theodore feelingly expressed his gratitude to Albert. He found in him that disinterested friendship which his early youth had experienced. Albert the same day departed for New-York.
The shades of night came on almost insensibly, as Theodore was anxiously expecting Alida. He anticipated the consolation her presence would bestow. Albert had told him she was more composed. The evening passed on, but she came not.
Raymond assured him she would soon be there. He paced the room, and then walked out on the way whither she was expected to come. He hesitated some time whether to advance or return. It was possible, though not probable, that she mighthave come some other way. He hastened back to the house of his friend; she had not arrived.
“Something extraordinary,” saidMrs.Raymond, “has undoubtedly prevented her coming. Perhaps she is ill.” Theodore shuddered at the suggestion. He looked at his watch: it was past twelve o’clock. Again he hastily sallied out and took the road to her father’s. The night was exceedingly dark, being illuminated only by the feeble glimmering of the twinkling stars. When he came within sight of the house, and as he drew near, no lights were visible, all was still and silent. He entered the yard, walked up the avenue, and approached the door. A solemn stillness prevailed around, interrupted only by the discordance of nightly insects. The dwelling was shrouded in darkness. In Alida’s room no gleam of light appeared.
“They are all buried in sleep,” said Theodore, deeply sighing, and I have only to return in disappointment.
Theodore now withdrew slowly from the place, and repassed the way he came. As he went back through the garden, he found a person standing at the foot of it, near the road. After a moment’s scrutiny, he perceived it to be Bonville.
“What, my chevalier, why are you here?” said he to Theodore. “Hast thou, then, eluded thewatchful eyes of Argus, and the vigilance of the dragon?”
“Unfeeling and impertinent intruder!” retorted Theodore, “dost thou add impudence to thy interference? Go,” said he, “you are unworthy of my anger. Pursue thy grovelling schemes. Strive to win to your arms a lady who must ever continue to despise you.”
“Theodore,” replied Bonville, “You and I were rivals in the pursuit for the hand of Alida. Whether from freak or fortune the preference was given to you, I know not; and I retired in silence. From coincidence of circumstances, I think she will now be induced to give the preference to me, especially after her prospects of connecting with you are cut off by the events which ruined your fortune. You, Theodore, have yet, I find, to learn the character of woman. It has been my particular study. Alida, now ardently impassioned by first impressions, irritated by recent disappointment, her feelings delicate and vivid, her affections animated, it would be strange if she could suddenly relinquish premature attachments founded on such premises. But remove her from your presence one year, with only distant and uncertain prospects of seeing you again, admit me as the substitute in your absence, and she accepts my handas freely as she would now receive yours. I had no design. It never was my wish to marry her without her free consent;—that I believe I shall yet obtain. Under existing circumstances it is impossible but that you must be separated. Then, when cool deliberation succeeds to the wild vagaries of fancy, she will discover the dangerous precipice to which her present inclinations lead. She will prefer indifference and splendour to love and a cottage. At present I relinquish all further pursuit; to-morrow I shall return home. When Alida, from calm deliberation, and the advice of friends, shall freely consent to yield me her hand, I shall return to receive it. I came from my lodgings this evening to declare these intentions to her father; but it being later than I was aware of, the family had gone to rest. I was about to return, but, looking back again at the house, to see if I could descry a light, I stood a moment by the garden gate, when you approached and discovered me.” So saying, he bade Theodore good night, and walked hastily away.
“I find he knows not the character of Alida,” said Theodore, as he pursued his way to Raymond’s. When he arrived at the house of his friend, he related all that had passed between himself and Bonville; and from what he related, the Raymonds concluded that Alida must be watched and guarded.
Friendship! thou sovereign balm of every care.When all serene and placidly appear;Domestic happiness! of that possessed,Then may we leave to Providence the rest.
Friendship! thou sovereign balm of every care.
When all serene and placidly appear;
Domestic happiness! of that possessed,
Then may we leave to Providence the rest.
Thefather of Alida now thought proper to enter into a second marriage. A lady of worth and understanding had wrought upon his fancy, and won his particular regards. Her elegance of manner and dignified deportment engaged general attention; and although she was rather advanced in life, yet “the remains of former beauty were still visible in her appearance.”
She was honourably descended from English parents, who had resided in New-York since the revolution. Her father had been actively engaged in business there, which had been ultimately crowned with the successful gifts of fortune.
Her education had been governed by the strictness of the English discipline. A foundation laid in early piety continued to influence her mind with unaffected ardour, blended with a generous benevolence, the genuine effects of the inexhaustible goodness of her heart. She was one who manifested to the world that a “doer of good” is far preferableto any other character, and in a superlative degree above those who maintain high principles in theory, without ever once reducing them to practice.
This lady had an only sister, who married a native of Ireland, and after the course of a few years went to reside there, where she had recently died. The children returned to this country, having lost their father long before, and several of her nephews now resided in the city. Having been always accustomed to reside in town herself, where her many excellent qualities had endeared her to numerous friends and acquaintances, who would now feel themselves lost without her society, therefore the parents of Alida formed the conclusion to pass their winters in the city, and return to the country in the summer season.
In the mean time, Alida’s father thought the event fortunate, and was pleased at this time to remove his daughter from the place where the late scenes appeared so trying and afflictive, with the hope that in mingling her with the gay world she would in a while forget Theodore, while he in his turn would be induced to leave the neighbourhood.
It was now at that season when weary summer had lapsed into the fallow arms of autumn, and was approaching to the chilly breezes of winter. The morning was clear, and the light gales bore invigoratingcoolness on their wings as they tremulously agitated the foliage of the western forest, or fluttered among the branches of the trees that surrounded the mansion. The green splendours of the lawn had faded into a yellow lustre; the flowery verdure of the fields was changed to a russet hue.
A robin chirped in a favourite tree in the yard; a wren chattered beneath, while some few solitary birds still continued to warble their notes among the leaves of the aspen.
The surrounding groves partially rung with melody; while deep in the adjacent wilderness the woodpecker, hammering on some dry and blasted trees, filled the woods with reverberant echoes.
The face of the Sound was ruffled by the lingering breezes, as they idly wandered over its surface. Long Island was thinly enveloped in smoky vapour; scattered along its shores lay the numerous small craft, with larger ships, of the hostile fleet. A few skiffs were passing and re-passing the Sound. Several American war-sloops lay on a point which jutted out from the mainland into the river.
Alida walked leisurely around the yard, contemplating the various beauties of the scene, the images of departed joys (that she was now about to leave). The days when Theodore participated with her in admiring the splendours of rural prospect, raised inher bosom the sigh of deep regret. She entered the garden, and traced the walks, now overgrown with weeds and tufted grass. The flower-beds were choked with the low running brambles, and tall rushes and daisies had usurped the empire of the kitchen garden. The viny arbour was principally gone to decay, and the eglantine blushed mournfully along the fences.
Alida continued to walk the garden until the servant informed her that the carriage was waiting to take her to the city.
Although they set out rather late in the day, they arrived in town some hours before sunset. They drove immediately to their dwelling, which was situated in a pleasant part of Greenwich-street, near the Battery.
Alida, after she had thrown off her travelling apparel, seated herself by the window in silence. Her mind was absorbed in deep reflection and thoughtfulness. She watched the slow declining sun, as it was sinking beneath the horizon. Pensive twilight spread her misty mantle over the landscape. The western sky glowed with the spangles of evening; deepening glooms advanced. The last beam of day faded from the view, and all was enveloped in night. Innumerable stars glittered in the firmament, interminglingtheir quivering lustre with the pale splendours of the milky way.
When Alida was summoned to tea, her parents made various observations to endeavour to amuse her thoughts, and draw her from her taciturnity. After tea she again returned to the window, where she sat till a late hour, apparently in deep meditation, till at length growing weary and restless, she retired to her room.
As she had for several nights in succession slept but little, she soon fell into a slumber, and did not awake till near the dawn of day. She did not close her eyes again to sleep. Daylight soon appeared, and the cheerful sun darting his enlivening rays through the windows of this antique mansion, recovered her exhausted spirits, and dissipated, in some measure, the cheerless reflections that still continued to hover about her imagination.
She arose, and went down to breakfast with spirits somewhat revived, and changed to a temporary resignation to past events and recent occurrences. A thought impressed her mind which gave her new consolation.
“Who knows,” said she, “but that the sun of peace may yet dispel the glooms of these distressful hours, and restore this throbbing bosom to its former serenity?”
In the meantime, Theodore remained in the neighbourhood of Alida until he heard the family had left and gone to the city. He then prepared himself to set out early the next day for the habitation of his parents.
He informed Raymond of his promise to write to Alida, and to transmit letters through his agency for her inspection every convenient opportunity.
After passing a weary watchful night, he arose at the first dawning of day, and proceeded on his journey with a heavy heart and painful reflections.
After he had passed through the neighbouring village, and gained the bridge, he looked over and bade the residence of Alida a mournful farewell. Fearful forebodings crossed his mind that they were separated forever; then again those more consolatory, that, perhaps, after a long delay, he and Alida might yet again meet and be happy.
Traits of glory had painted the eastern skies. The glittering day-star, having unbarred the portals of light, began to transmit its retrocessive lustre. Thin scuds flew swiftly over the moon’s decrescent form. Low, hollow winds murmured among the bushes, or brushed the limpid drops from the intermingling foliage.
The dusky shadows of night fled to the deep glens and rocky caverns of the wilderness. TheAmerican lark soared high in the air, consecrating its matin lay to morn’s approaching splendours.
The woodlands and forest tops on the high hills caught the sun’s first ray, which, widening and extending, soon gemmed the landscape with a varying brightness.
It was late in the afternoon before Theodore arrived at his father’s. He found his parents contented and happy at their present residence, which was extremely pleasant, and afforded them many accommodations.
“You have been long gone, my son,” said his father: “I scarcely knew what had become of you. Since I have become a farmer, I know little of what is going on in the world, and we were never happier in our lives. We live as independently as we could desire, and realize the blessings of health and contentment. Our only disquietude is on your account, Theodore. Your affair with Alida, I suppose, is not so favourable as you could wish. But despair not, my son; hope is the harbinger of fairer prospects; rely on Providence, which never deserts those who submissively bow to its dispensations. Place entire confidence and dependence on the Supreme Being,” said his father, “and the triumph of fortitude and resignation will be yours.” His father paused. His reasonings, however they convinced the understanding,could not heal the wounds of Theodore’s bosom. In Alida he had looked for as much happiness as earth could afford, nor could he see any prospect in life which could repair to him her loss.
Unwilling to disturb the serenity of his parents, he did not wish to acquaint them with the whole affair of his troubles. He answered, that perhaps all might yet be well; that, however, in the present state of his mind, he thought a change of place and scene might be of advantage. He said, moreover, that he no longer had an excuse, and that circumstances now compelled him to join the army.
A sorrow unknown before seized upon the minds of his parents as Theodore repeated these words. Sad and dreadful ideas crowded their imagination at this gloomy period, when in the war’s dread emergency they must risk the life of an only son, to march to the field of battle. ’Tis true, he might be again restored to them, but were there not a thousand chances to one? They were overwhelmed with sorrow at these thoughts, till at length they finally felt themselves obliged to consent to what they considered his inevitable destiny, leaving the result of their united wishes and prayers for his safe preservation to an over-ruling Providence.
His father then offered him money he had on hand to defray his expenses. Theodore refused,saying, his resources had not yet left him. He then disposed of his horses and carriages, the insignia of his better days, but now useless appendages.
After taking an affectionate leave of his parents, he set out the ensuing day to join his companions on their route to meet the army, which was far distant. When hostilities first commenced, Theodore had said, that when it became actually necessary, and his father’s affairs were settled, he would enlist in the service of his country. Nevertheless, he journeyed with a heavy heart and an enfeebled frame of spirits, through disappointment, vexation, and fatigue. The scenes he had so lately experienced moved in melancholy succession over his mind, and his despondency had not abated, even in a small degree, when he reached the army.
He now joined the forces under Colonel VanRenssalaer, “who, with a detachment of about one thousand men, crossed the river Niagara, and attacked the British on Queenstown heights. This detachment succeeded in dislodging the enemy, but not being reinforced by the militia from the American side, as was expected, they were ultimately repulsed, and obliged to surrender. Eight hundred British soldiers now came to the aid of the others, and pressed on to renew the attack. The Americans for a time continued to struggle against this force,but were finally obliged to surrender themselves prisoners of war.”
The fate of war was hard for Theodore, on his first expedition. He was taken, and carried among the rest on board a prison-ship, and sent with a number of others to England.
This disastrous event, however, was shortly followed by one more fortunate for the Americans. “General Dearborn embarked at Sackett’s Harbour, with sixteen hundred men, on an expedition against York, and succeeded in the capture of that place.
“York was the seat of government for Upper Canada, and the principal depot for the Niagara frontier. More naval stores were taken by the Americans than could be carried away. The government hall was burned, contrary to the orders of the American general.”
“See, winter comes,” and boisterous on its way,See darkening clouds obscure the cheerful day;Its hollow voice is muttering in the gale,While chilling hail and snow the earth assail.
“See, winter comes,” and boisterous on its way,
See darkening clouds obscure the cheerful day;
Its hollow voice is muttering in the gale,
While chilling hail and snow the earth assail.
Somelength of time had elapsed since the family had been settled in the city, and the cool breezes of autumn had changed to the hoarse murmuring gales of winter. No sound scarcely was heard except blustering winds, or their whistling murmurs around the angles of the mansion, blended with the more slow, monotonous cadence of the advancing waves of the Hudson.
The evenings were cold, dark, and gloomy, except when the resplendent rays of the moon’s mild lustre was seen dispensing its light and cheering influence, dissipating, in a material degree, the dreariness of the evenings of this inclement season. Winter had commenced, “sullen and sad, with all his rising train.” “Vapours, and clouds, and storms,” succeeded each other. Instead of copious showers of rain, snow and ice were spread over the pavement in heavy masses.
One evening as a storm was approaching, and the winds blew tremendously, and the snow began tofall in abundance,Wherenow, thought Alida, is Theodore? though the cold may pierce and storms molest him, yet there is no friend to sympathise with him in his distress, or to mitigate the heaviness of his cheerless hours, and shed the rays of gladness over his troubled mind.
How great the contrast is now with his former fortunes, how severe his afflictions! He feels not so much the loss of wealth, but he sighs for the smiles of former associates and friends. She looked upon her finger, there was the ring he had given her in happier days. This she vowed to keep and cherish, through every trial and affliction. It was Theodore’s last gift. Where was he now? What dangers he may have encountered, and what hardships endured! and what might he not yet have to suffer, ere she should behold him again, if indeed she ever should.
She had not heard from him in a long time. He had promised to write—why was he not faithful to his promise?
Thus meditated Alida. At length she articulated in a calmer tone, and her feelings became more composed.
Infinite Ruler of events! Great Sovereign of this ever-changing world! Omnipotent Controller of vicissitudes!OmniscientDispenser of destinies!In thy hands are all things terrestrial, and the condition of our lives are at thy disposal. The beginning, the progression, and the end is thine. Unsearchable are thy purposes!—mysterious thy movements!—inscrutable thy operations! Thy will must be done. To bow in submission to thy decrees, is right:—for we are unable to scrutinize the past, and incompetent to explore the future.
Alida had lived retired since she had been in town, although in the midst of gay scenes of every description. The acquaintance she had made were few. Her second mother had no relatives there, except her sister’s children, which formed a principal part of her society.
Her oldest nephew was about twenty-five years of age. The personal appearance of Mr. Bolton was highly prepossessing. He was particularly distinguished for his genuine politeness, affability, and witticism.
He inherited a considerable patrimony from his grandfather, which proved to be a disadvantage, as it prevented him from applying himself to any particular occupation. Since his aunt’s marriage, and his acquaintance with Alida, his visits had become frequent, accompanied with partial attention; though on her part, indifference was visible, as his earnestassiduities, were altogether unexpected, and implied a thing she had not thought of.
No one had as yet observed his growing fondness and predilection for Alida, except her father, to whom it was by no means pleasing. The habitual idleness of this young gentleman, caused him in a great measure to pass over the consideration of his many excellent qualities.
Among those, with whom Alida had become acquainted during her residence in the city, was the son of an old friend of her father’s. This gentleman had place among the merchants in Broadway, and who, by a long course of industrious trading had amassed a handsome competency. There was something peculiar in his air and manner, which distinguished him among the men of business.
Speak of a person of commanding aspect, tall, slender, and majestic; quick in step, fluent in speech, with large light blue eyes, and light hair, approaching a little to the yellow. That was Mr. More.There was a neatness and uniformity in his appearance and dress. He might have been known by his blue suit, white vest, and cambric handkerchief. He was polite and agreeable, and by his associates, he was much esteemed as an acquaintance. His judgment was mature in regard to his business. He managed his affairs with prudenceand economy, and still stood firm amid the shock of failures around him.
Though his means were ample, his expenditures were not extravagant; every thing about him partook of the convenient and useful. Suitably free from the fashionmania which sometimes attackyoung people like an epidemic, he preferred rational pleasures, and the company of a few young men of liberal views and sentiments, to the empty display and unsubstantial show, which wins the smile of moneyed plebians.
His general deportment, his countenance and manner, discovered a mind and disposition, that had always been accustomed to unremitting indulgence. He was ardent in friendship; possessing a heart of the keenest sensibility, with a scrupulous regard for the feelings of others. He had been much in female society—in company with the amiable and intelligent. Still he had never seen any one that he thought was possessed of congenial feelings, or whose mind would assimilate with his own.
When he became acquainted with Alida, his sensations were awakened to a new influence;—that he did not attempt to banish from his mind. He never before had seen any one he thought so worthy of esteem, or so calculated to inspire himwith lasting friendship. “The kindness, and sincerity of her heart, speaks in her artless manner,” said he, (as he was one evening returning home from her father’s.) “She delights the old and captivates the young. Yet her beauty is not so dazzling at first glance, but every day that she is seen, the more her features charm, the more her manners please. Innocence dwells in the silvery curls of her light auburn hair, that waves over her shoulders in simple elegance. She has been reared with proper care and attention, and educated not to shine in a ball-room, but with a soft soothing friendship, to dissipate ennui and gloom, and make the happiness of the domestic circle.”
Come, Contemplation, with thy boundless gaze.Inspire my song, while I his merits praise,A true description of his greatness name,And fame’s bright annals, shall record the same.
Come, Contemplation, with thy boundless gaze.
Inspire my song, while I his merits praise,
A true description of his greatness name,
And fame’s bright annals, shall record the same.
Manywere at this time risking their lives in defence of American liberty, and privileges;—nor were there at present any prospects of conciliatory measures between the contending powers. It became necessary for the people in the meantime, to call forth all their energies and patriotism, with the utmost exertion on their parts—in support of their country, in order to maintain the burden of the arduous conflict in which it was engaged, and sustain the present contest with honour to themselves, and with the hope that its final settlement might be to the satisfaction of America, and the future prosperity of the nation.
Many heroes ventured forth to the field of battle, with the ardent endeavour, still to preserve their independence; while at the same time the hearts of many were failing them with fear. It was a time for the patriot to use his influence to animate others anew to bravery, and persuade them to be zealous, in a just cause; at this season of generalexcitement, in which the feelings of the whole community had become strongly interested. Party spirit, and the conflicting interests of the different states were found to operate injuriously on many in their commercial transactions. The people were impoverished by the expenses of the war. Some were in debt. Creditors resorted to legal measures to enforce a collection of their demands, which involved many families in deep embarrassment. Peace was sighed for by the multitude, but there were yet no signs of its realization. An engagement had just taken place on Lake Erie. The American fleet was commanded by Commodore Perry, a young officer; that of the British under Com. Barclay, an old and experienced officer, who had served under Nelson. After a contest of three hours the Americans gained a complete victory, and captured every vessel of the enemy. Commodore Perry announced this victory in the following laconic style: “We have met the enemy, and they are ours.” The Americans took six hundred prisoners, which exceeded their whole number engaged in the action. This battle was succeeded, several weeks afterwards, by another that was alike fortunate, between the American army under General Harrison, and the British under Gen. Proctor, in which they were defeated,and Detroit fell into the hands of the Americans. The success of this action may be entirely attributed, (under the favour of heaven,) to the abilities and military skill of General Harrison.
After General Hull had tamely surrendered to the British this important post, with the gallant force that composed the garrison, an event which spread consternation far and wide throughout the western country, and greatly increased the difficulty and arduous nature of Gen. Harrison’s duties, he immediately organized the brave troops under his command, and commenced a course of rigid discipline, and militarytrainings, with the confident hope of retrieving the consequent disasters of this proceeding.
The American army advanced in order of battle, and were in the immediate neighbourhood of the enemy; the reconnoitering parties brought in intelligence of the dispositions Proctor had made, wherein he had committed an irretrievable error in ranging his regular soldiers in order, and extending his line by placing the files at a distance of three or four feet from each other. Harrison, with the rapid decision of an able general, instantly availed himself of the error of his opponent. The extended and weakened line of the enemy, could offer but a feeble resistance to the charge of his gallanttroops, who dashed forward at the earnest solicitation of the people of the territory,—and with the public expression of the most flattering approbation, on the part of the chief executive;—till at length they gained a complete victory.
The various and arduous duties of the governor of Indiana, required, for this office, a man of very superior abilities—one possessed of stern integrity and prudent moderation, accompanied by the most unwavering firmness. Such a man Governor Harrison, in the long course of his administration, fully proved himself to be. And in acting his part as a general he merits no less the applauses of his countrymen, in training and leading their armies to victory. The nervous and impassioned eloquence, and classical felicity of illustration, with which he enforced his arguments, gained him much applause and influence,—and discovered his abilities to be of the highest order, blended with the truest republican principles;—in which were manifested an ardent zeal for the good of his country, and an earnest desire to serve her best interests. Though vested with unusual powers, both as governor and general, he was never known during the whole of his command, to exercise his authority in an unjust or oppressive manner. His measures were energetic but always qualified by his characteristicmoderation and humanity, joined with integrity, prudence, and capacity for civil government. Many high encomiums were lavished upon him by those whose friends and neighbours had participated in this campaign, and who were consequently familiar with its details, and with the merits of their commander.
And Detroit is destined to be remembered, as the place of the battle ground of one of the most remarkable and decisive actions that took place during the late war.
Shortly after this action was over, Bonville, who was one among the soldiers, returned to New-York. He furnished plausible reason, and obtained a furlough from his commanding officer, for leave of absence. In the meantime, he thought again to visit Alida; he had at present a double motive again to address her,—and if he should prove successful, her expected fortune would make him ample amends for what he had squandered away in scenes of folly. And if the father of Theodore had become a bankrupt by misfortune, he had now almost become one by dissipation and extravagance.
Albert had been extremely busy through the day, and was just returning home from his store in Pearl-street one evening, when he met Bonville in Broadway on his way to his father’s. He accostedhim in a very friendly manner, and then interrogated him by numerous questions concerning the family,—and very inquisitively with regard to his sister. Albert made no reply that gave him any particular satisfaction. When they arrived at the house, they found no company except Mr. More. Alida was truly shocked and surprised at this unexpected visit from Bonville, who she had no idea was in town. After making to her his compliments, and expressing his pleasure at finding her well, he by degrees drew her into a conversation which lasted the greater part of the evening. He offered an ill-timed consolation for the absence of Theodore, and affected much regret,—although he said his case was not as deplorable as that of many others, as he was still among the living. That though he was a person he could not esteem, still he had felt so far interested in his welfare, as to make particular inquiries how the British were accustomed to treat their prisoners. He then gave some dark intimations against his general character, which could not fail to throw over the mind of Alida a deep dejection.
She was now apprised of the fate of Theodore:—She was unable to suppress the feelings of sorrow, that these words of Bonville had excited. She remained silent; wholly engrossed by the confused thoughts and sad ideas, that arose in succession inher mind, till at length she became regardless of all around her.
The penetrating eyes of Mr. More were fixed upon her during this conversation. He seemed wholly insensible to every other object. He was apprehensive that her heart was insensible to the strong affection that pervaded his own,—and he thought should she prove incapable of loving like himself, and should become devoted to another, thoughts he could scarcely endure,—though they sometimes impressed the idea that she might never be interested in his favour. Hope would again flatter him with the pleasing thought, that her bosom may have been fraught with congenial feelings, and her heart beat with sensations even more fervent than his own. Her image filled his waking thoughts, and disturbed with visionary happiness his sleeping hours,—yet it seemed to his devoted mind the love of merit alone; and he imagined that while she was happy, he could never be altogether otherwise.
After Mr. More and Bonville had taken leave, and her parents had retired to rest, Alida remained by the fire-side till a late hour. She was meditating on recent circumstances, on the many late trying events which had crowded so rapidly that they could scarcely be said to succeed each other, and which had given so great variety to her life, that for years hadrolled on in the same peaceful, unvaried course. She felt displeased at Bonville for his insinuations concerning Theodore, which were ungenerous and ill-natured,—while he seemed to flatter himself with the idea that she would become forgetful of him. He had hitherto yielded to every selfish propensity, without once seriously reflecting on its consequences to himself or others. His understanding, warped by prejudice, and without control, often misled him, and the superiority an elevated station gave him caused him to neglect to practice those better principles of which his nature might have been capable. His pride would suffer to see Alida united to another, therefore he was determined not to relinquish her. He concluded that finally she would look upon Theodore with indifference, and become favourably disposed towards himself; while his regard for her should prove unchangeable. That, unacquainted as she was with the world, she would at length be brought to accede to his wishes. That his rhetoric operating on her inexperience would ultimately influence her in his favour.