“Bluetremblingbillows, topp’d with foam,”or gradually arising into mountainous waves. Often would he traverse the deck amid the still hours of midnight, when the moon silveredover the liquid surface: “Bright luminary of the lonely hour, he would say, that now sheddest thy mild and placid ray on thewoe-wornhead of fortune’s fugitive, dost thou not also pensively shine on the sacred and silent grave of my Melissa?”Favourable breezes wafted them for many days over the bosom of the Atlantic.—At length they were overtaken by a violent storm. The wind began to blow strongly from the southwest, which soon increased to a violent gale. Thedirgyscud first flew swiftly along the sky; then dark and heavy clouds filled the atmosphere, mingling with the top-gallant streamers of the ship. Night hovered over the ocean, rendered horrible by the intermitting blaze of lightnings, the awful crash of thunder, and the deafening roar of winds and waves. The sea was rolled into mountains, capped with foaming fire. Now the ship was soaring among the thunders of heaven, now sunk in the abyss of waters.The storm dispersed the fleet, so that when it abated, the ship in which Alonzo sailed was found alone; they, however, kept on their course of destination, after repairing their rigging, which had been considerably disordered by the violence of the gale.The next morning they discovered a sail which they fondly hoped might prove to beone of their own fleet, and accordingly made for it. The ship they were in pursuit of shortened sail, and towards noon wore round and bore down upon them, when they discovered that it was not a ship belonging to their convoy. It appeared to be ofaboutequal force and dimensions with that of their own; they therefore, in order to prepare for the worst, got ready with all speed for action. They slowly approached each other, manoeuvering for the advantage, till the strange ship ran up British colours, and fired a gun, which was immediately answered by the other, under the flag of the United States. It was not long before a close and severe action took place, which continued for three hours, when both ships were in so shattered a condition that they were unable to manage a gun.**The particulars of this action, in the early stage of the American war, are yet remembered by many.The British had lost their captain, and one half their crew, most of the remainder being wounded.——The Americans had lost their second officer, and their loss in men, both killed and wounded, was nearly equal to that of the enemy.While they lay in this condition, unable either to annoy each other more, or to get away, a large sail appeared, bearing down upon them, which soon came up and proved to be an English frigate, and which immediatelytook the American ship in tow, after removing the crew into the hold of the frigate. The crew of the British ship were also taken on board of the frigate, which was no sooner done than the ship went down and wasfor everburied beneath mountains of ponderous waves. The frigate then, with the American ship in tow, made sail, and in a few days reached England. The wounded prisoners were sent to a hospital, but the others were confined in a strong prison within the precincts of London.The American prisoners were huddled into an apartment with British convicts of various descriptions. Among these Alonzo observed one whose demeanor arrested his attention. A deep melancholy was impressed upon his features; his eye was wild and despairing; his figure was interesting, tall, elegant and handsome. He appeared to be about twenty-five years of age. He seldom conversed, but when he did, it was readily discovered that his education had been above the common cast, and he possessed an enlightened and discriminating mind. Alonzo sympathetically sought his acquaintance, and discovered therein a unison of woe.One evening, when the prisoners were retired to rest, the stranger, upon Alonzo’s request, rehearsed the following incidents of his life.“You express, said he, some surprise at finding a man of my appearance in so degraded a situation; and you wish to learn the events which have plunged me in this abject state. These, when I briefly relate, your wonder will cease.“My name is Henry Malcomb; my father was a clergyman in the west of England, and descended from one of the most respectable families in those parts. I received a classical education, and then entered the military school,as I was designed for the army, to which my earliest inclinations led. As soon as my education was considered complete, an ensign’s commissionwas procured for me in one of the regiments destined for the West Indies. Previous to its departure for those islands, I became acquainted with a Miss Vernon, who was a few years younger than myself, and the daughter of a gentleman farmer, who had recently purchased and removedonto an estate in my father’s parish. Every thing that was graceful and lovely appeared centered in her person; every thing that was virtuous and excellent in her mind. I sought her hand. Our souls soon became united by the indissoluble bonds of sincerest love,and as therewereno parental or other impediments to our union, it was agreed that as soon as I returned from the Indies, whereit was expected that my stay would be short, the marriage solemnities should be performed. Solemn oaths of constancy passed between us, and I sailed, with my regiment, for the Indies.“While there, I received from her, and returned letters filled with the tenderest expressions of anxiety and regret of absence. At length the time came when we were to embark for England, where we arrived after an absence of about eighteen months. The moment I got on land I hastened to the house of Mr. Vernon, to see the charmer of my soul. She received me with all the ardency of affection, and even shed tears of joy in my presence. I pressed her to name the day which was to perfect our union and happiness, and the next Sunday, four days only distant, was agreed upon for me to lead her to the altar.How did my heart bound at the prospect of making Miss Vernon my own!—of possessing in her all that could render life agreeable; I hastened home to my family and informed them of my approaching bliss, who all sympathized in the anticipated joy which swelled my bosom.“I had a sister some years older than myself, who had been the friend andinmateof my angel in my absence. They were now almost every day together, so that I hadfrequentopportunities of her company.Oneday she had been with my sister at my father’s, and I attended her home. On my return, my sister requested me to attend her in a private room. We therefore retired, and when we were seated she thus addressedme:“Henry, you know that to promote your peace, your welfare, and your happiness, has ever been the pride of my heart. Nothing except this could extort the secret which I shall now disclose, and which has yet remained deposited in my own bosom: my duty to a brother whom I esteem dear as life, forbids me to remain silent. As an affectionate sister, I cannot tacitly see you thus imposed upon; I cannot see you the dupe and slave of an artful and insidious woman, who does not sincerely return your love; nor can I bear to see your marriage consummated with one whose soul and affections are placed upon another object.”“Here she hesitated—while I, with insufferable anguish of mind, begged her to proceed.“About six or eight months after your departure, she continued, it was reported to Miss Vernon that she had a rival in the Indies; that you had there found an American beauty, on whom you lavished those endearments which belonged of right to her alone. This news made, at first, a deepimpression on her mind, but it soon wore away; and whether from this cause, from fickleness of disposition, or that she never sincerely loved you, I know not; but this I do know, that a youth has been for some time past her almost constant companion. To convince you of this, you need only tomorrow evening, about sunset, conceal yourself near the long avenue by the side of the rivulet, back of Mr. Vernon’s country-house, where you will undoubtedly surprise Miss Vernon and her companion in their usual evening’s walk. If I should be mistaken I will submit to your censure; but should you find it as I have predicted, you have only to rush from your concealment, charge her with her perfidy, and renounce her forever.”“Of all the plagues, of all the torments, of all the curses which torture the soul, jealousy of a rival in love is the worst. Enraged, confounded and astonished, it seemed as if my bosom would have instantaneously burst. To conceal my emotions, I left my sister’s apartment, after having thanked her for her information, andproceededto obey herinjunctions. I retired to my own room, and there poured out my execrations.“Cursed woman! I exclaimed, is it thus you requite my tender love! Could a vague report of my inconstancy drive you to infidelity! Did not my continual letters breatheconstant adoration? And did not yours portray the same sincerity of affection? No, it was notthat whichcaused you to perjure your plighted vows. It was that damnable passion for novelty, which more or less holds apredominancyover your whole sex. To a new coat, a new face, a new lover, you will sacrifice honour, principle and virtue. And to those, backed by splendid power and splendid property, you will forfeit your most sacred engagements, though made in the presence of heaven.”—Thus did I rave through a sleepless night.“The next day I walked into the fields, and before the time my sister appointed had arrived, Ihadworked up my feelings almost to the frenzy of distraction. I repaired, however, to the spot, and concealed myself in the place she had named, which was a tuft of laurels by the side of the walk. I soon perceived Miss Vernon strolling down the avenue, arm in arm with a young man elegantly dressed, and of singular, delicate appearance. They were earnestly conversing in a low tone of voice; the hand of my false fair one was gently pressed in thehandof the stranger. As soon as they had passed the place of my concealment, they turned aside and seated themselves in a little arbour,ata few yards distant from where Isat. The stranger clasped Miss Vernonin his arms: “Dearest angel! he exclaimed, what an interruption to our bliss by the return of my hated rival!” With fond caresses and endearing blandishments, “fear nothing, she replied; I have promised and must yield him my hand, but you shall never be excluded from my heart; we shall find sufficient opportunities for private conference.” I could contain myself no longer—my brain was on fire. Quick as lightning I sprang from my covert, and presenting a pistol which I had concealed under my robe,—“Die! said I, thou false and perjured wretch, by the hand thou hast dishonoured, a death too mild for so foul a crime!” and immediately shot Miss Vernon through the head, who fell lifeless at my feet! Then suddenly drawing my sword, “And thou, perfidious contaminator and destroyer of my bliss! cried I—go! attend thy companion in iniquity to the black regions of everlasting torment!” So saying, I plungedmysword into his bosom. A screech of agony, attended by the exclamation, ”Henry, your wife! your sister!” awoke me, too late, to terrors unutterable, to anguish unspeakable, to woes irretrievable, and insupportable despair! It was indeed my betrothed wife, it was indeed my affectionate sister, arrayed in man’s habit.The one lay dead before me, the other weltering in her blood! With a feebleand expiring voice, my sister informed me, that in a gay and inconsiderate moment they had concerted this plan, to try my jealousy, determining to discover themselves as soon as they had made the experiment.“I forgive you, Henry, she said,Iforgive your mistake, and closed her eyes for ever in death! What a scene for sensibilities like mine! To paint or describe it, exceeds the power of language or imagination. I instantly turned the sword against my own bosom; an unknown hand arrested it, and prevented its entering my heart. The report of the pistol, and the dying screech of my sister, had alarmed Mr. Vernon’s family, who arrived at that moment, one of whom had seized my arm, and thus hindered me from destroying my own life. I submitted to be bound and conveyed to prison. My trial came on at the last assizes. I made no defence;andwas condemned to death. My execution will take place in eight weeks from to-morrow. I shall cheerfully meet my fate; for who would endure life when rendered so peculiarly miserable!”The wretched Malcomb here ended his tale of woe.No tear moistened his eye—his grief was too despairing for tears; it preyed upon his heart, drank the vital streams of life, and burst in convulsive sighs from his burning bosom.Alonzo seriously contemplated on the incidents and events ofthistragical story. Conscience whispered him, are not Malcomb’s miseries superior to thine? Candour and correct reason must have answered yes.“Melissa perished, said Alonzo, but not by the hand of her lover: she expired, but not through the mistaken frenzy of him who adored her. She died, conscious of the unfeigned love I bore her.”Alonzo and his fellow prisoners had been robbed, when they were captured, of every thing except the clothes they wore. Their allowance of provisions was scanty and poor. They were confined in the third story of a lofty prison. Time rolled away; no prospects appeared of their liberation, either by exchange or parole. Some of the prisoners were removed, as new ones were introduced, to other places of confinement, until not one American was left except Alonzo.Meantime the day appointed for the execution of Malcomb drew near. His past and approaching fate filled the breast of Alonzo with sympathetic sorrow. He saw his venerable father, his mother, his friends and acquaintance, with several pious clergymen, frequently enter the prison to console and comfort him, and to prepare him for the unchangeable state on which he was soon to enter. He saw his mind softenedby their advice and counsel;—frequentlywould he burst into tears;—often in the solitary hours of night was he heard addressing the throne of grace for mercy andforgiveness. But the grief that preyed at his heart had wasted him to amereskeleton; a slow but deleterious fever had consequently implanted itself in his constitution. Exhausted nature could make but a weak struggle against disease and affliction like his, and about a week previous to the day appointed for his execution, he expired in peace and penitence, trusting in the mercy of his Creator through thesufferingsof a Redeemer.Soon after this event, orders came for removing some of the prisoners to a most loathsome place of confinement in the suburbs of the city. It fell to Alonzo’s lot to be one. He therefore formed a project for escaping. He had observed that the gratings in one of the windows of the apartment were loose and couldbe easilyremoved. One night when the prisoners were asleep, he stripped off his clothes, every article of which he cut into narrowstrips, tied them together, fastened one end to one of the strongest gratings, removed the others until he had madeanopening large enough to get out, and then, by the rope he had made of his clothes, let himself down into the yard of the prison. There he found along piece oftimber, which he dragged to the wall, clambered up thereon, and sprang over into the street. His shoes and hat he had left in the prison, asa useless encumbrancewithout his clothes, all which he had converted into the means of escape, so that he was now literally stark naked. He stood a moment to reflect:—“Here am I, said he, freed from my local prison indeed, but in the midst of an enemy’s country, without a friend, without the means of obtaining one day’s subsistence, surrounded by the darkness of night, destitute of a single article of clothing, and even unable to form a resolution what step next to take. The ways of heaven are marvellous—may I silently bow to its dispensations!”Alonzo passed along the street in this forlorn condition, not knowing where to proceed, or what course to take. It was about three o’clock in the morning; the street was illuminated by lamps, and he feared falling into the hands of the watch. For some time he saw no person; at length a voice from the other side of the street called out,——“Hallo, messmate! what, scudding under bare poles? Youmusthave experienced a severe gale indeed thus to have carried away every rag of sail!”Alonzo turned, and saw the person who spoke. He was a decent looking man, ofmiddle age, dressed in a sailor’s habit. Alonzo had often heard of the generosity and honourable conduct of the British tars: he therefore approached him and told him his real case, not even concealing his being taken in actual hostility to the British government, and his escape from prison. The sailor musedfora few minutes. “Thy case,said he, is a little critical, but do not despair. Had I met thee as an enemy, I should have fought thee; but as it is, compassion is the first consideration. Perhaps I may be in as bad a situation before the war is ended.” Then slipping off his coat and giving it to Alonzo, “follow me,” he said, and turning, walked hastily along the street, followed by Alonzo; he passed into a bye-lane, entered a small house, and taking Alonzo into a back room, opened a trunk, and handed out a shirt: “there, said he, pointing to a bed, you can sleep till morning, when we will see what can be done.”The next morning the sailor brought in a very decent suit of clothes and presented them to Alonzo. “You will make this place your home, said he, until more favorable prospects appear. In this great city you will be safe, for even your late gaoler would not recognize you in this dress. And perhaps some opportunity may offer by which you may return to your own country.”He told Alonzo that his name was Jack Brown; that he was a midshipman on board the Severn; that he had a wife and four children, and owned the house in which they then were. “In order to prevent suspicion or discovery, said he, I shall consider you as a relation from the country until you are better provided for.” Alonzo was then introduced to the sailor’s wife, an amiable woman, and here he remained for several weeks.One day Alonzo was informed that a number of American prisoners were brought in. He went to the place where they were landed, and saw several led away to prison, and some who were sick or disabled, carried to the hospital. As the hospital was near at hand, Alonzo entered it to see how the sick and disabledAmericanprisoners were treated.He found that they received as much attention as could reasonably be expected.**The Americans who were imprisoned in England, in the time ofthewar, were treated with much more humanity than those who were imprisonedat Halifax and other placesin America.As he passed along the different apartments he was surprised at hearing his name called by a faint voice. He turned to the place from whence it proceeded, and saw stretched on a mattress, a person who appeared on the point of expiring. Hisvisage was pale and emaciated, his countenance haggard and ghastly, his eyes inexpressive and glazy. He held out his withered hand, and feebly beckoned to Alonzo, who immediately approached him. His features appeared not unfamiliar to Alonzo, but for a moment he could not recollect him. “You do not know me,” said the apparently dying stranger. “Beauman!” exclaimed Alonzo, in surprise. “Yes, replied the sick man, it is Beauman; you behold me on the verge of eternity; I have but a short time to continue in this world.” Alonzo enquired how he came in the power of the enemy. “By the fate ofwar, he replied; I was taken in an action on York Island, carried on board a prison-ship in New-York, and sent with a number of others for England. I had received a wound in my thigh, from a musket ball, during the action; the wound mortified, and my thigh was amputated on the voyage; since which I have been rapidly wasting away, and I now feel that the cold hand of death is laid upon me.” Here he became exhausted, and forsometime remained silent. Alonzo had not before discovered that he had lost his leg: he nowfoundthat it had been taken off close to his body, and that he was worn toaskeleton. When Beauman revived, he enquired into Alonzo’s affairs.Alonzo related all that had happened to him after leaving New London.“You are unhappy, Alonzo, said Beauman, in the death of your Melissa, to which it is possible I havebeenundesignedlyaccessory. I could say much onthesubject, would my strength permit; but it is needless. She is gone, and I must soon go also. She was sent to her uncle’s at Charleston, by her father, where I was soon to follow her. It was supposed that thus widely removed from all access to your company, she would yield to the persuasion of her friends to renounce you: her unexpected death, however, frustrated every design of this nature, and overwhelmed her father and family in inexpressible woe.”Here Beauman ceased. Alonzo found he wanted rest: he enquired whether he was in want of any thing torenderhim more comfortable. Beauman repliedthathe was not: “For the comforts ofthislife, said he, I have no relish; medical aid is applied, but without effect.” Alonzo then left him, promising to call again in the morning.When Alonzo called the next morning, he perceived an alarming alteration in Beauman. His extremities were cold, a chilling, clammy sweat stood upon his face, his respiration was short and interrupted, hispulse weak and intermitting. He took the hand of Alonzo, and feebly pressing it,—“I am dying, said he in a faint voice. If ever you return to America, inform my friends of my fate.” This Alonzo readily engaged to do, and told him also that he would not leave him.Beauman soon fell into a stupor; sensation became suspended; his eyes rolled up and fixed. Sometimes a partial revival would take place, when he would fall into incoherentmuttering, calling on the names of his deceased father, his mother and Melissa; his voice dying away in imperfect moanings, till his lips continued to move without sound. Towards night he lay silent, and only continued to breathe with difficulty, till a slight convulsion gave the freed spirit to the unknown regions of immaterial existence. Alonzo followed his remains to the grave: a natural stone was placed atitshead, on which Alonzo, unobserved, carved the initials of the deceased’s name, with the date of his death, and left him to moulder with his native dust.A few days after this event, Jack Brown informed Alonzo that he had procured the means of his escape.“Aperson with whom I am acquainted, said he, and whom I suppose to be a smuggler, has agreed to carry you to France. There, by application tothe American minister, you will be enabled to get to your own country, if that is your object. About midnight I will pilot you on board, and by to-morrow’s sun you may be in France.”At the time appointed, Jack set out bearing a large trunk on his shoulder, anddirectedAlonzo to follow him. They proceeded down to a quay, and went on board a small skiff. “Here, said Jack to the captain, is the gentleman I spoke to you about,” and delivered him the trunk. Then taking Alonzo aside, “in that trunk, said he, are a few changes of linen, and here is something to help you till you can help yourself.” So saying, he slipped ten guineas into his hand. Alonzo expressed his gratitude with tears. “Say nothing, said Jack, we were born to help each other in distress, and may Jack never weather a storm or splice a rope, if he permits a fellow creature to suffer with want while he has a luncheon on board.” He then shook Alonzo by the hand, wishing him a good voyage, and went whistling away. The skiff soon sailed, and the next morning Alonzo was landed in France. Alonzo proceeded immediately to Paris, not with a viewofreturning to America; he hadyetno relish for revisiting the land of his sorrows, the scenes where at every step hisheart must bleed afresh, though to bleed it had never ceased. But he was friendless in a strange land: perhaps, through the aid of the American minister, Dr. Franklin, to whose fame Alonzo was no stranger, he might be placed in a situation to procure bread, which was all he at present hoped or wished.He therefore presented himself before the doctor, whom he found in his study.—To be informed that he was an American and unfortunate, was sufficient to arouse the feelings of Franklin. He desired Alonzo to be seated, and to recite his history. This he readily complied with, not concealing his attachment to Melissa, her father’s barbarity,andher death in consequence, his own father’s failure, with all the particulars of his leaving America, his capture, escape from prison, and arrival in France; as also the town of his nativity, the name of his father, and the particular circumstances of his family; concluding by expressing his unconquerable reluctance to return to his native country, which now would be to him only a gloomy wilderness, and that his present object was only some means of support.The doctor enquired of Alonzo the particular circumstances and time of his father’s failure. Of this Alonzo gavehima minute account. Franklin then sat in deepcontemplation for the space of fifteen minutes, without speaking a word.He then took his pen, wrote a short note, directed it, and gave it to Alonzo: “Deliver this, said he, to the person to whom it is directed; he will find you employment, until something more favourable may offer.”Alonzo took the note, thanked the doctor, and went in search of the person to whom it was addressed. He soon found the house, which was situated in one of the most popular streets in Paris. He knocked at the door, which was opened by an elderly looking man: Alonzo enquired for thenameto whom the note was addressed. The gentleman informed him that he was the man. Alonzo presented him the note, which having read, he desired him to walk in, and ordered supper. After supper he informed Alonzo that he was an English bookseller; that he should employ him as a clerk, and desired to know what wages he demanded. Alonzo replied that he should submit that to him, being unacquainted with the customary salary of clerks in that line of business. The gentleman told him that the matter should be arranged the next day. His name was Grafton.The next morning Mr. Grafton took Alonzo into his bookstore, and gave him his instructions. His business was to sell thebooks to customers, and a list oftheprices was given him for that purpose. Mr. Grafton counted out twenty crowns and gave them to Alonzo: “You may want some necessaries, said he; and as you have set no price on your services, we shall not differ about the wages if you are attentive and faithful.”Alonzo gave his employer noroomto complain; nor had he any reason to be discontented with his situation. Mr. Grafton regularly advanced him twenty crowns at the commencement of every month, and boarded him in his family. Alonzo dressedhimselfin deep mourning. He sought no company; he found consolation only in solitude, if consolation it could be called.As he was walking out early one morning, he discovered something lying in the street, which he at first supposed to be a small piece of silk: he took it up and found it to be acuriouslywrought purse, containing a few guineas with some small pieces of silver, and something at the bottom carefully wrapped in a piece of paper; he unfolded it, and was thunderstruck at beholding an elegant miniature of Melissa! Her sweetly pensive features, her expressive countenance, her soul-enlivening eye! The shock was almost too powerful for his senses. Wildered in a maze of wonders, he knew not what to conjecture. Melissa’sminiature found in the streets of Paris, after she had some time been dead! He viewed it, he clasped it to his bosom.—“Such, said he, did she appear, ere the corroding cankers of grief had blighted her heavenly charms! By what providential miracle am I possessed of the likeness, when the original is no more? What benevolent angel has taken pity on my sufferings, and conveyedtome this inestimable prize?”But though he had thus become possessed of what he esteemed mostvaluable, what right had he to withhold it from the lawful owner, could the owner indeed be found? Perhaps the person who had lost it would part with it; perhaps the money contained in the purse was of more value to that person than the miniature. At any rate, justice required that he should endeavour to find to whom it belonged: this he might do by advertising, which he immediately concluded upon, resolving, should the owner appear, to purchase the miniature, if possibly within his power.Passing into another street, he saw several hand-bills stuck up on the walls of houses; stepping up to one, he read as follows:“Lost, between the hours ofnine and tenlast evening, in theRue deLoir, a small silk purse, containing a few pieces of money, and a lady’s miniature. One hundredcrowns will be given to the person who may have found it, and will restore it to the owner at theAmerican Hotel, near theLouvre, Room No. 4.”It was printed both in the French and English languages. By the reward here offered, Alonzo was convinced that the miniature belonged to some person who set a value upon it. Determined to explicate the mystery, he proceeded immediately to the place, found the room mentioned in the bill, and knocked at the door. A servant appeared, of whom Alonzo enquired for the lodger. The servant answered him in French, which Alonzo did not understand:he replied in his own language, but found it was unintelligible to the servant. A grave middle aged gentleman then came to the door from within the room and ended their jabbering at each other: he, in the English language, desired Alonzo to walk in. It was an apartment, neatly furnished; no person wasthereinexcept the gentleman and servant before mentioned, and a person who sat writing in a corner of the room, with his back towards them.Alonzo informed the gentleman that he had called according to the direction in a bill of advertisement to enquire for the person who the preceding night, had lost a purse and miniature. The person who waswriting had hitherto taken no notice of whathadpassed; but at the sound of Alonzo’s voice, after he had entered the room, he started and turned about, and atthemention of the miniature, he rose up. Alonzo fixed his eyes upon him: they both stood for a few moments silent: for a short time their recollection was confused and imperfect, but the mists of doubt were soon dissipated. “Edgar!”—“Alonzo!” they alternately exclaimed. It was indeed Edgar, the early friend and fellow student of Alonzo—the brother of Melissa! In an instant they were in eachothersarms.Edgar and Alonzo retired to a separate room. Edgar informed Alonzo that the news of Melissa’s death reached him, by a letter from his father, whilewiththe army; that he immediately procured a furlough, and visited his father, whom, with his mother, he foundininconsolable distress.—“The letter which my uncle had written, said Edgar, announcing her death, mentioned with what patience and placidity she endured her malady, and with what calmness and resignation she met the approach of death. Her last moments, like her whole life, were unruffled and serene. She is in heaven Alonzo—she is an angel!”—Swelling grief here choaked the utterance of Edgar; for sometime he could proceed no farther, and Alonzo, with bursting bosom, mingled his tears.“My father, resumed Edgar, bent on uniting her to Beauman or at least of preventing her union with you, had removed her to a desolate family mansion, and placed her under the care of an aunt. At that place, he either suspected,orreally discovered that you had recourse to her while my aunt was absent on business. She was therefore no longer entrusted to the care of her aunt, but my father immediately formed and executed the plan of sending her to his brother in South Carolina, under pretence of restoring her to health by change of climate, as her health in reality had began rapidly to decay. There it was designed that Beauman should shortly follow her, with recommendations from my father to her uncle, urging him to use all possible means which might tend to persuade her to become the wife of Beauman. But change of climate only encreasedtheload of sorrows, and she soon sunk beneath them. The letter mentioned nothing of her troubles: possibly my uncle’s family knew nothing of them: to them, probably,——“She never told her love,But sat like Patience on a monumentSmiling at grief; while sad concealment,Like a worm in the bud,Fed on her damask cheek.“My father’s distress was excessive: often did he accuse himself of barbarity, and he once earnestly expressed a wish that he had consented to her union with you. My father, I know, is parsimonious, but he sincerely loved his children. Inflexible as is his nature, the untimely death of a truly affectionate and only daughter will, I much fear, precipitate him, and perhaps my mother also, to a speedy grave.“As soon as my feelings would permit, I repaired to your father’s, and made enquiry concerning you. I found your parents content in their humble state, except that your father had been ill, but was recovering. Of you they had heard nothing since your departure, and they deeply lamented your absence. And from Vincent I could obtain no farther information.“Sick of the world, I returned to the army. An American consul was soon to sail for Holland:—I solicited and obtained the appointment of secretary. I hoped by visiting distant countries, in some measure to relieve my mind from the deep melancholy with which it was oppressed. We were to proceed first to Paris, where we have been a few days; to-morrow we are to depart for Holland. The consul is the man who introduced you into the room where you found me.“Last evening I lost the miniature which I suppose youtohave found: the chain to which it was suspended around my neck, had broken while I was walking the street. I carefully wrapped it in paper and deposited it in my purse, which I probably dropped on replacingitin my pocket, and did not discover the loss until this morning. I immediately made diligent search, but not finding it, I put up bills of advertisement. The likeness was taken in my sister’s happiest days. After I had entered upon my professional studies in New-York, I became acquainted with a miniature painter, who took my likeness. He afterwards went into the country, and as I found he was to pass near my father’s, I engaged him to call there and take my sister’s likeness also. We exchanged them soon after. It was dear to me, even while the original remained; but since she is gone it has become a most precious andvaluablerelique.”All the tender powers ofAlonzo’ssoul were called into action by Edgar’s recital. The “days of other years”—the ghosts ofsepulcheredblessings, passed in painful review. Added to these, the penurious condition of his parents, his father’s recent illness, and his probable inability to procure the bread of his family, all tended more deeply to sink his spirits in the gulf of melancholyand misery. He however informed Edgar of all that hadhappenedsince they parted at Vincent’s—respecting the old mansion Melissa’s extraordinary disappearance therefrom, the manner in which he was informed of her death, his departure from America, capture, escape, Beauman’s death, arrival in France, and his finding the miniature. To Edgar as well as Alonzo,Melissa’ssudden and unaccountable removal from the mansion was mysterious and inexplicable.As Edgar was to depart early the next morning, they neither slept nor separated that night.“If it were not for your reluctance to revisit your native country, said Edgar, I should urge you to accompany me to Holland, and thence return with me to America. Necessity and duty require that I should not be long absent, as my parents want my assistance, and they are now childless.”“Suffer me, answered Alonzo, to bury myself in this city for the present: should I ever again awake to real life, I will seek you out if you are on the earth;—but now, I can only be a companion to my miseries.”The next morning as they were about todepart, Alonzo took Melissa’s miniature from his bosom,hecontemplated the picture a few moments with ardent emotion, andpresented it to Edgar. “Keep it, said Edgar, it is thine. I bestow it upon thee as I would the original, had not death become the rival of thy love, and my affection.—Suffer not the sacred symbol too tenderly to renew your sorrows. How swiftly, Alonzo, does this restless life fleet away!—How soon shall we pass the barriers of terrestrial existence! Let us live worthy of ourselves, of our holy religion, of Melissa—Melissa, whom, when a few more suns have arisen and set, we shall meet in regions where all tears shall be eternally wiped from every eye.”With what unspeakable sensibilities was it returned to Alonzo’s bosom! Edgar offered Alonzo pecuniary assistance, which the latter refused: “I am in business, said he, which brings me a decent support, and that is sufficient.” They agreed to write each other as frequently as possible, and then affectionately parted: Edgar sailed for Holland, and Alonzo returned to his business at Mr. Grafton’s.Some time after this Alonzo received a message from Dr. Franklin, requiring his attendance at his house, which summons he immediately obeyed. The doctor introduced him into his study, and after being seated, he earnestly viewed Alonzo for some time, and thus addressed him:“Young man, your views, your resolutions, and your present conduct, are totally wrong. Disappointment, you say, has driven you from your native country. Disappointment in what? In obtaining the object on which you most doated. And suppose this object had been obtained, would your happiness have been complete? Your own reason, if you coolly consult it, will convince you of the contrary. Do you not remember when an infant, how you cried, and teazed your nurse, or your parents, for a rattle, or some gay trinket?—Your whole soul was fixed upon the enchanting bauble; but when obtained, you soon cast it away, and sighed asearnestlyfor some other trifle, some new toy. Thus it is through life; the fancied value of an object ceases with the attainment; it becomes familiar, and its charm is lost.“Was it the splendours of beauty which enraptured you? Sickness may, and age must destroy the symmetry of the most finished form—the brilliancy of the finest features. Was it the graces of the mind? I tell you, that by familiarity, these allurements are lost, and the mind, left vacant, turns to some other source to supplythevacuum.“Stripped of allbuttheir intrinsic value, how poor, how vain, and how worthless, are those things we name pleasures, and enjoyments.“Besides, the attainment of your wishes might have been the death of your hopes. If my reasoning is correct, the ardency of your passion might have closed with the pursuit. An every day suit, however rich and costly the texture, is soon worn threadbare. On your part, indifference would consequently succeed: on the part of your partner, disappointment, jealousy, and disgust. What might follow is needless for me to name;—your soul must shudder at the idea of conjugal infidelity!“But admitting the most favourable consequences; turn the brightest side of the picture; admitting as much happiness as the connubial state will allow: how might your bosom have been wounded by the sickness and death of your children, or their disorderly and disobedient conduct! You must know also, that the warmth of youthful passion must soon cease, and it is merely a hazardous chance whether friendship will supply the absence of affection.“After all, my young friend, it will be well for you to consider, whether the all-wise dispensing hand of Providence, has not directed this matter which you esteem so great an affliction, for your greatest good, and most essential advantage. And suffer me to tell you, that in all my observations on life, I have always found that those connectionswhich were formed from inordinate passion, or whatsomewould call pure affection, have been ever the most unhappy. Examine the varied circles of society, you will there see this axiom demonstrated; you will there see how few among the sentimentally refined are even apparently at ease; while those, insusceptible of what you name tender attachments, or who receive them only as things of course, plod on through life, without even experiencing the least inconvenience from a want of the pleasures they aresupposedto bestow, or the pains they are sure to create. Beware, then, my son, beware of yielding the heart to the effeminacies of passion. Exquisite sensibilities are ever subject to exquisite inquietudes. Counsel with correct reason, place entire dependence on theSupreme, and the triumph of fortitude and resignation will be yours.”Franklin paused. His reasonings, however they convinced the understanding, could not heal the wounds of Alonzo’s bosom.—In Melissa he looked for as much happiness as earth could afford, nor could he see any prospect in life which could repair the loss he had sustained.“You have, resumed the philosopher, deserted an indulgent father, a fond and tender mother, who must want your aid; now,perhaps, unable to toil for bread; now, possibly laid upon the bed of sickness, calling, in anguish or delirium, for the filial hand of their only son to administer relief.”——All the parental feelings of Alonzo were now called into poignant action.——“You have left a country, bleeding at every pore, desolated by the ravages of war, wrecked by the thunders of battle, her heroes slain, her children captured. This country asks—she demands—you owe her your services: God and nature call upon you to defend her, while here you bury yourself in inglorious inactivity, pining for ahaplessobject, which, by all your lamentations, you can never bring back to the regions of mortality.”This aroused the patriotic flame in the bosom of Alonzo; and he voluntarily exclaimed, “I will go to the relief of my parents—I will fly to the defence of my country!”“In former days, continued Franklin, I was well acquainted with your father. As soon as you informed me of his failure, I wrote to my correspondent in England, and found, as I expected, that he had been overreached by swindlers and sharpers.——The pretended failure of the merchants with whom he was in company, was all a sham,as,also the reported loss of the ships in their employ. The merchants fled to England:I have had them arrested, and they have given up their effects to much more than the amount of their debts. I have therefore procured a reversion of your father’s losses, which, with costs, damages, and interests, when legally stated, he will receive of my agent in Philadelphia, to whom I shall transmit sufficient documents by you, and I shall advance you a sum equal to the expenses of your voyage, which will be liquidated by the said agent.A ship sails in a few days from Havre, for Savannah in Georgia:it would, indeed, be more convenient were she bound to some more northern port, but I know of no other which will sail for any part of Americaforsome time. In her therefore I would advise you to take passage: it is not very material on what part of the continent you are landed; you will soon reach Philadelphia, transact your business, restore your father to his property, and be ready to serve your country.”If any thing could have given Alonzo consolation, it must have been this noble, generous and disinterested conduct of the great Franklin in favour of his father, by which his family were restored to ease and to independence. Ah! had this buthavehappened in time to save a life far dearer than his own! The reflection was too painful. The idea, however, of giving joy to his agedparents, hastened his departure. Furnished with proper documents and credentials from Franklin, his benefactor, he took leave of him, with the warmest expressions of gratitude, as also of Mr. Grafton, and sailed for Savannah, where he arrived in about eight weeks.Intent on his purpose, he immediately purchased a carriage and proceeded on for Philadelphia. As he approached Charleston, his bosom swelled with mournful recollections. He arrived in that city in the afternoon, and at evening he walked out, and entered a little ale house, which stood near the large burial ground. An elderly woman and two small children were the only persons in the house, except himself. After calling for a pint of ale, he enquired of the old lady, if Col.D——, (Melissa’s uncle) did not live near the city. She informed him that he resided about a mile fromthetown, where he had an elegant seat, and that he was very rich.“Was there not a young lady, asked Alonzo, who died there about eighteen months ago?”“La me! said she, did you know her? Yes: and a sweeter or more handsome lady the sun never shined on. And then she was so good, so patient in her sickness.—Poor, dear distressed girl, she pined awayto skin andbonesbefore she died. She was not Col. D——’s daughter, only somehow related: she came here in hopes that a change of air might do her good. She came from—la me! I cannot think of the name of the place;—it is a crabbed name though.”“Connecticut, was it not?” said Alonzo.“O yes, that was it, replied she. Dear me! then you knew her, did you, sir?—Well, we have not her like left in Charleston; that we han’t;—and then there was such ado at her funeral; five hundred people, I dare say, with eight young ladies for pall-bearers, all dressed in white, with black ribbons, and all the bells tolling.”“Where was she buried?” enquired Alonzo.“In the church-yard right before our door, she answered. My husband is the sexton; he put up her large white marble tomb-stones;——they are the largest and whitest in the whole burying-ground; and so, indeed, they ought to be, for never was there a person who deserved them more.”*This bird, though not an inhabitant of the northern states, is frequently to be met with in Georgia and the Carolinas.Tired with the old woman’s garrulity, and with a bosom bursting with anguish, Alonzo paid for his ale without drinking it, bade her good night, and slowly proceeded to the church-yard. The moon, in full lustre, shone with solemn, silvery ray, on thesacredpiles, andfuneralmonuments of the sacred dead; the wind murmured mournfully among the weeping willows; a solitary nightingale*sang plaintively in the distant forest; and a whippoorwill, Melissa’s favourite bird, whistled near the portico of the church. The large white tomb-stones soon caught the eye of Alonzo. He approached them with tremulous step, and with feelings too agitated for description. On the head-stone he read as follows:
“Bluetremblingbillows, topp’d with foam,”
or gradually arising into mountainous waves. Often would he traverse the deck amid the still hours of midnight, when the moon silveredover the liquid surface: “Bright luminary of the lonely hour, he would say, that now sheddest thy mild and placid ray on thewoe-wornhead of fortune’s fugitive, dost thou not also pensively shine on the sacred and silent grave of my Melissa?”
Favourable breezes wafted them for many days over the bosom of the Atlantic.—At length they were overtaken by a violent storm. The wind began to blow strongly from the southwest, which soon increased to a violent gale. Thedirgyscud first flew swiftly along the sky; then dark and heavy clouds filled the atmosphere, mingling with the top-gallant streamers of the ship. Night hovered over the ocean, rendered horrible by the intermitting blaze of lightnings, the awful crash of thunder, and the deafening roar of winds and waves. The sea was rolled into mountains, capped with foaming fire. Now the ship was soaring among the thunders of heaven, now sunk in the abyss of waters.
The storm dispersed the fleet, so that when it abated, the ship in which Alonzo sailed was found alone; they, however, kept on their course of destination, after repairing their rigging, which had been considerably disordered by the violence of the gale.
The next morning they discovered a sail which they fondly hoped might prove to beone of their own fleet, and accordingly made for it. The ship they were in pursuit of shortened sail, and towards noon wore round and bore down upon them, when they discovered that it was not a ship belonging to their convoy. It appeared to be ofaboutequal force and dimensions with that of their own; they therefore, in order to prepare for the worst, got ready with all speed for action. They slowly approached each other, manoeuvering for the advantage, till the strange ship ran up British colours, and fired a gun, which was immediately answered by the other, under the flag of the United States. It was not long before a close and severe action took place, which continued for three hours, when both ships were in so shattered a condition that they were unable to manage a gun.**The particulars of this action, in the early stage of the American war, are yet remembered by many.The British had lost their captain, and one half their crew, most of the remainder being wounded.——The Americans had lost their second officer, and their loss in men, both killed and wounded, was nearly equal to that of the enemy.
While they lay in this condition, unable either to annoy each other more, or to get away, a large sail appeared, bearing down upon them, which soon came up and proved to be an English frigate, and which immediatelytook the American ship in tow, after removing the crew into the hold of the frigate. The crew of the British ship were also taken on board of the frigate, which was no sooner done than the ship went down and wasfor everburied beneath mountains of ponderous waves. The frigate then, with the American ship in tow, made sail, and in a few days reached England. The wounded prisoners were sent to a hospital, but the others were confined in a strong prison within the precincts of London.
The American prisoners were huddled into an apartment with British convicts of various descriptions. Among these Alonzo observed one whose demeanor arrested his attention. A deep melancholy was impressed upon his features; his eye was wild and despairing; his figure was interesting, tall, elegant and handsome. He appeared to be about twenty-five years of age. He seldom conversed, but when he did, it was readily discovered that his education had been above the common cast, and he possessed an enlightened and discriminating mind. Alonzo sympathetically sought his acquaintance, and discovered therein a unison of woe.
One evening, when the prisoners were retired to rest, the stranger, upon Alonzo’s request, rehearsed the following incidents of his life.
“You express, said he, some surprise at finding a man of my appearance in so degraded a situation; and you wish to learn the events which have plunged me in this abject state. These, when I briefly relate, your wonder will cease.
“My name is Henry Malcomb; my father was a clergyman in the west of England, and descended from one of the most respectable families in those parts. I received a classical education, and then entered the military school,as I was designed for the army, to which my earliest inclinations led. As soon as my education was considered complete, an ensign’s commissionwas procured for me in one of the regiments destined for the West Indies. Previous to its departure for those islands, I became acquainted with a Miss Vernon, who was a few years younger than myself, and the daughter of a gentleman farmer, who had recently purchased and removedonto an estate in my father’s parish. Every thing that was graceful and lovely appeared centered in her person; every thing that was virtuous and excellent in her mind. I sought her hand. Our souls soon became united by the indissoluble bonds of sincerest love,and as therewereno parental or other impediments to our union, it was agreed that as soon as I returned from the Indies, whereit was expected that my stay would be short, the marriage solemnities should be performed. Solemn oaths of constancy passed between us, and I sailed, with my regiment, for the Indies.
“While there, I received from her, and returned letters filled with the tenderest expressions of anxiety and regret of absence. At length the time came when we were to embark for England, where we arrived after an absence of about eighteen months. The moment I got on land I hastened to the house of Mr. Vernon, to see the charmer of my soul. She received me with all the ardency of affection, and even shed tears of joy in my presence. I pressed her to name the day which was to perfect our union and happiness, and the next Sunday, four days only distant, was agreed upon for me to lead her to the altar.How did my heart bound at the prospect of making Miss Vernon my own!—of possessing in her all that could render life agreeable; I hastened home to my family and informed them of my approaching bliss, who all sympathized in the anticipated joy which swelled my bosom.
“I had a sister some years older than myself, who had been the friend andinmateof my angel in my absence. They were now almost every day together, so that I hadfrequentopportunities of her company.Oneday she had been with my sister at my father’s, and I attended her home. On my return, my sister requested me to attend her in a private room. We therefore retired, and when we were seated she thus addressedme:
“Henry, you know that to promote your peace, your welfare, and your happiness, has ever been the pride of my heart. Nothing except this could extort the secret which I shall now disclose, and which has yet remained deposited in my own bosom: my duty to a brother whom I esteem dear as life, forbids me to remain silent. As an affectionate sister, I cannot tacitly see you thus imposed upon; I cannot see you the dupe and slave of an artful and insidious woman, who does not sincerely return your love; nor can I bear to see your marriage consummated with one whose soul and affections are placed upon another object.”
“Here she hesitated—while I, with insufferable anguish of mind, begged her to proceed.
“About six or eight months after your departure, she continued, it was reported to Miss Vernon that she had a rival in the Indies; that you had there found an American beauty, on whom you lavished those endearments which belonged of right to her alone. This news made, at first, a deepimpression on her mind, but it soon wore away; and whether from this cause, from fickleness of disposition, or that she never sincerely loved you, I know not; but this I do know, that a youth has been for some time past her almost constant companion. To convince you of this, you need only tomorrow evening, about sunset, conceal yourself near the long avenue by the side of the rivulet, back of Mr. Vernon’s country-house, where you will undoubtedly surprise Miss Vernon and her companion in their usual evening’s walk. If I should be mistaken I will submit to your censure; but should you find it as I have predicted, you have only to rush from your concealment, charge her with her perfidy, and renounce her forever.”
“Of all the plagues, of all the torments, of all the curses which torture the soul, jealousy of a rival in love is the worst. Enraged, confounded and astonished, it seemed as if my bosom would have instantaneously burst. To conceal my emotions, I left my sister’s apartment, after having thanked her for her information, andproceededto obey herinjunctions. I retired to my own room, and there poured out my execrations.
“Cursed woman! I exclaimed, is it thus you requite my tender love! Could a vague report of my inconstancy drive you to infidelity! Did not my continual letters breatheconstant adoration? And did not yours portray the same sincerity of affection? No, it was notthat whichcaused you to perjure your plighted vows. It was that damnable passion for novelty, which more or less holds apredominancyover your whole sex. To a new coat, a new face, a new lover, you will sacrifice honour, principle and virtue. And to those, backed by splendid power and splendid property, you will forfeit your most sacred engagements, though made in the presence of heaven.”—Thus did I rave through a sleepless night.
“The next day I walked into the fields, and before the time my sister appointed had arrived, Ihadworked up my feelings almost to the frenzy of distraction. I repaired, however, to the spot, and concealed myself in the place she had named, which was a tuft of laurels by the side of the walk. I soon perceived Miss Vernon strolling down the avenue, arm in arm with a young man elegantly dressed, and of singular, delicate appearance. They were earnestly conversing in a low tone of voice; the hand of my false fair one was gently pressed in thehandof the stranger. As soon as they had passed the place of my concealment, they turned aside and seated themselves in a little arbour,ata few yards distant from where Isat. The stranger clasped Miss Vernonin his arms: “Dearest angel! he exclaimed, what an interruption to our bliss by the return of my hated rival!” With fond caresses and endearing blandishments, “fear nothing, she replied; I have promised and must yield him my hand, but you shall never be excluded from my heart; we shall find sufficient opportunities for private conference.” I could contain myself no longer—my brain was on fire. Quick as lightning I sprang from my covert, and presenting a pistol which I had concealed under my robe,—“Die! said I, thou false and perjured wretch, by the hand thou hast dishonoured, a death too mild for so foul a crime!” and immediately shot Miss Vernon through the head, who fell lifeless at my feet! Then suddenly drawing my sword, “And thou, perfidious contaminator and destroyer of my bliss! cried I—go! attend thy companion in iniquity to the black regions of everlasting torment!” So saying, I plungedmysword into his bosom. A screech of agony, attended by the exclamation, ”Henry, your wife! your sister!” awoke me, too late, to terrors unutterable, to anguish unspeakable, to woes irretrievable, and insupportable despair! It was indeed my betrothed wife, it was indeed my affectionate sister, arrayed in man’s habit.The one lay dead before me, the other weltering in her blood! With a feebleand expiring voice, my sister informed me, that in a gay and inconsiderate moment they had concerted this plan, to try my jealousy, determining to discover themselves as soon as they had made the experiment.“I forgive you, Henry, she said,Iforgive your mistake, and closed her eyes for ever in death! What a scene for sensibilities like mine! To paint or describe it, exceeds the power of language or imagination. I instantly turned the sword against my own bosom; an unknown hand arrested it, and prevented its entering my heart. The report of the pistol, and the dying screech of my sister, had alarmed Mr. Vernon’s family, who arrived at that moment, one of whom had seized my arm, and thus hindered me from destroying my own life. I submitted to be bound and conveyed to prison. My trial came on at the last assizes. I made no defence;andwas condemned to death. My execution will take place in eight weeks from to-morrow. I shall cheerfully meet my fate; for who would endure life when rendered so peculiarly miserable!”
The wretched Malcomb here ended his tale of woe.No tear moistened his eye—his grief was too despairing for tears; it preyed upon his heart, drank the vital streams of life, and burst in convulsive sighs from his burning bosom.
Alonzo seriously contemplated on the incidents and events ofthistragical story. Conscience whispered him, are not Malcomb’s miseries superior to thine? Candour and correct reason must have answered yes.“Melissa perished, said Alonzo, but not by the hand of her lover: she expired, but not through the mistaken frenzy of him who adored her. She died, conscious of the unfeigned love I bore her.”
Alonzo and his fellow prisoners had been robbed, when they were captured, of every thing except the clothes they wore. Their allowance of provisions was scanty and poor. They were confined in the third story of a lofty prison. Time rolled away; no prospects appeared of their liberation, either by exchange or parole. Some of the prisoners were removed, as new ones were introduced, to other places of confinement, until not one American was left except Alonzo.
Meantime the day appointed for the execution of Malcomb drew near. His past and approaching fate filled the breast of Alonzo with sympathetic sorrow. He saw his venerable father, his mother, his friends and acquaintance, with several pious clergymen, frequently enter the prison to console and comfort him, and to prepare him for the unchangeable state on which he was soon to enter. He saw his mind softenedby their advice and counsel;—frequentlywould he burst into tears;—often in the solitary hours of night was he heard addressing the throne of grace for mercy andforgiveness. But the grief that preyed at his heart had wasted him to amereskeleton; a slow but deleterious fever had consequently implanted itself in his constitution. Exhausted nature could make but a weak struggle against disease and affliction like his, and about a week previous to the day appointed for his execution, he expired in peace and penitence, trusting in the mercy of his Creator through thesufferingsof a Redeemer.
Soon after this event, orders came for removing some of the prisoners to a most loathsome place of confinement in the suburbs of the city. It fell to Alonzo’s lot to be one. He therefore formed a project for escaping. He had observed that the gratings in one of the windows of the apartment were loose and couldbe easilyremoved. One night when the prisoners were asleep, he stripped off his clothes, every article of which he cut into narrowstrips, tied them together, fastened one end to one of the strongest gratings, removed the others until he had madeanopening large enough to get out, and then, by the rope he had made of his clothes, let himself down into the yard of the prison. There he found along piece oftimber, which he dragged to the wall, clambered up thereon, and sprang over into the street. His shoes and hat he had left in the prison, asa useless encumbrancewithout his clothes, all which he had converted into the means of escape, so that he was now literally stark naked. He stood a moment to reflect:—“Here am I, said he, freed from my local prison indeed, but in the midst of an enemy’s country, without a friend, without the means of obtaining one day’s subsistence, surrounded by the darkness of night, destitute of a single article of clothing, and even unable to form a resolution what step next to take. The ways of heaven are marvellous—may I silently bow to its dispensations!”
Alonzo passed along the street in this forlorn condition, not knowing where to proceed, or what course to take. It was about three o’clock in the morning; the street was illuminated by lamps, and he feared falling into the hands of the watch. For some time he saw no person; at length a voice from the other side of the street called out,——“Hallo, messmate! what, scudding under bare poles? Youmusthave experienced a severe gale indeed thus to have carried away every rag of sail!”
Alonzo turned, and saw the person who spoke. He was a decent looking man, ofmiddle age, dressed in a sailor’s habit. Alonzo had often heard of the generosity and honourable conduct of the British tars: he therefore approached him and told him his real case, not even concealing his being taken in actual hostility to the British government, and his escape from prison. The sailor musedfora few minutes. “Thy case,said he, is a little critical, but do not despair. Had I met thee as an enemy, I should have fought thee; but as it is, compassion is the first consideration. Perhaps I may be in as bad a situation before the war is ended.” Then slipping off his coat and giving it to Alonzo, “follow me,” he said, and turning, walked hastily along the street, followed by Alonzo; he passed into a bye-lane, entered a small house, and taking Alonzo into a back room, opened a trunk, and handed out a shirt: “there, said he, pointing to a bed, you can sleep till morning, when we will see what can be done.”
The next morning the sailor brought in a very decent suit of clothes and presented them to Alonzo. “You will make this place your home, said he, until more favorable prospects appear. In this great city you will be safe, for even your late gaoler would not recognize you in this dress. And perhaps some opportunity may offer by which you may return to your own country.”He told Alonzo that his name was Jack Brown; that he was a midshipman on board the Severn; that he had a wife and four children, and owned the house in which they then were. “In order to prevent suspicion or discovery, said he, I shall consider you as a relation from the country until you are better provided for.” Alonzo was then introduced to the sailor’s wife, an amiable woman, and here he remained for several weeks.
One day Alonzo was informed that a number of American prisoners were brought in. He went to the place where they were landed, and saw several led away to prison, and some who were sick or disabled, carried to the hospital. As the hospital was near at hand, Alonzo entered it to see how the sick and disabledAmericanprisoners were treated.
He found that they received as much attention as could reasonably be expected.**The Americans who were imprisoned in England, in the time ofthewar, were treated with much more humanity than those who were imprisonedat Halifax and other placesin America.As he passed along the different apartments he was surprised at hearing his name called by a faint voice. He turned to the place from whence it proceeded, and saw stretched on a mattress, a person who appeared on the point of expiring. Hisvisage was pale and emaciated, his countenance haggard and ghastly, his eyes inexpressive and glazy. He held out his withered hand, and feebly beckoned to Alonzo, who immediately approached him. His features appeared not unfamiliar to Alonzo, but for a moment he could not recollect him. “You do not know me,” said the apparently dying stranger. “Beauman!” exclaimed Alonzo, in surprise. “Yes, replied the sick man, it is Beauman; you behold me on the verge of eternity; I have but a short time to continue in this world.” Alonzo enquired how he came in the power of the enemy. “By the fate ofwar, he replied; I was taken in an action on York Island, carried on board a prison-ship in New-York, and sent with a number of others for England. I had received a wound in my thigh, from a musket ball, during the action; the wound mortified, and my thigh was amputated on the voyage; since which I have been rapidly wasting away, and I now feel that the cold hand of death is laid upon me.” Here he became exhausted, and forsometime remained silent. Alonzo had not before discovered that he had lost his leg: he nowfoundthat it had been taken off close to his body, and that he was worn toaskeleton. When Beauman revived, he enquired into Alonzo’s affairs.Alonzo related all that had happened to him after leaving New London.
“You are unhappy, Alonzo, said Beauman, in the death of your Melissa, to which it is possible I havebeenundesignedlyaccessory. I could say much onthesubject, would my strength permit; but it is needless. She is gone, and I must soon go also. She was sent to her uncle’s at Charleston, by her father, where I was soon to follow her. It was supposed that thus widely removed from all access to your company, she would yield to the persuasion of her friends to renounce you: her unexpected death, however, frustrated every design of this nature, and overwhelmed her father and family in inexpressible woe.”
Here Beauman ceased. Alonzo found he wanted rest: he enquired whether he was in want of any thing torenderhim more comfortable. Beauman repliedthathe was not: “For the comforts ofthislife, said he, I have no relish; medical aid is applied, but without effect.” Alonzo then left him, promising to call again in the morning.
When Alonzo called the next morning, he perceived an alarming alteration in Beauman. His extremities were cold, a chilling, clammy sweat stood upon his face, his respiration was short and interrupted, hispulse weak and intermitting. He took the hand of Alonzo, and feebly pressing it,—“I am dying, said he in a faint voice. If ever you return to America, inform my friends of my fate.” This Alonzo readily engaged to do, and told him also that he would not leave him.
Beauman soon fell into a stupor; sensation became suspended; his eyes rolled up and fixed. Sometimes a partial revival would take place, when he would fall into incoherentmuttering, calling on the names of his deceased father, his mother and Melissa; his voice dying away in imperfect moanings, till his lips continued to move without sound. Towards night he lay silent, and only continued to breathe with difficulty, till a slight convulsion gave the freed spirit to the unknown regions of immaterial existence. Alonzo followed his remains to the grave: a natural stone was placed atitshead, on which Alonzo, unobserved, carved the initials of the deceased’s name, with the date of his death, and left him to moulder with his native dust.
A few days after this event, Jack Brown informed Alonzo that he had procured the means of his escape.“Aperson with whom I am acquainted, said he, and whom I suppose to be a smuggler, has agreed to carry you to France. There, by application tothe American minister, you will be enabled to get to your own country, if that is your object. About midnight I will pilot you on board, and by to-morrow’s sun you may be in France.”
At the time appointed, Jack set out bearing a large trunk on his shoulder, anddirectedAlonzo to follow him. They proceeded down to a quay, and went on board a small skiff. “Here, said Jack to the captain, is the gentleman I spoke to you about,” and delivered him the trunk. Then taking Alonzo aside, “in that trunk, said he, are a few changes of linen, and here is something to help you till you can help yourself.” So saying, he slipped ten guineas into his hand. Alonzo expressed his gratitude with tears. “Say nothing, said Jack, we were born to help each other in distress, and may Jack never weather a storm or splice a rope, if he permits a fellow creature to suffer with want while he has a luncheon on board.” He then shook Alonzo by the hand, wishing him a good voyage, and went whistling away. The skiff soon sailed, and the next morning Alonzo was landed in France. Alonzo proceeded immediately to Paris, not with a viewofreturning to America; he hadyetno relish for revisiting the land of his sorrows, the scenes where at every step hisheart must bleed afresh, though to bleed it had never ceased. But he was friendless in a strange land: perhaps, through the aid of the American minister, Dr. Franklin, to whose fame Alonzo was no stranger, he might be placed in a situation to procure bread, which was all he at present hoped or wished.
He therefore presented himself before the doctor, whom he found in his study.—To be informed that he was an American and unfortunate, was sufficient to arouse the feelings of Franklin. He desired Alonzo to be seated, and to recite his history. This he readily complied with, not concealing his attachment to Melissa, her father’s barbarity,andher death in consequence, his own father’s failure, with all the particulars of his leaving America, his capture, escape from prison, and arrival in France; as also the town of his nativity, the name of his father, and the particular circumstances of his family; concluding by expressing his unconquerable reluctance to return to his native country, which now would be to him only a gloomy wilderness, and that his present object was only some means of support.
The doctor enquired of Alonzo the particular circumstances and time of his father’s failure. Of this Alonzo gavehima minute account. Franklin then sat in deepcontemplation for the space of fifteen minutes, without speaking a word.He then took his pen, wrote a short note, directed it, and gave it to Alonzo: “Deliver this, said he, to the person to whom it is directed; he will find you employment, until something more favourable may offer.”
Alonzo took the note, thanked the doctor, and went in search of the person to whom it was addressed. He soon found the house, which was situated in one of the most popular streets in Paris. He knocked at the door, which was opened by an elderly looking man: Alonzo enquired for thenameto whom the note was addressed. The gentleman informed him that he was the man. Alonzo presented him the note, which having read, he desired him to walk in, and ordered supper. After supper he informed Alonzo that he was an English bookseller; that he should employ him as a clerk, and desired to know what wages he demanded. Alonzo replied that he should submit that to him, being unacquainted with the customary salary of clerks in that line of business. The gentleman told him that the matter should be arranged the next day. His name was Grafton.
The next morning Mr. Grafton took Alonzo into his bookstore, and gave him his instructions. His business was to sell thebooks to customers, and a list oftheprices was given him for that purpose. Mr. Grafton counted out twenty crowns and gave them to Alonzo: “You may want some necessaries, said he; and as you have set no price on your services, we shall not differ about the wages if you are attentive and faithful.”
Alonzo gave his employer noroomto complain; nor had he any reason to be discontented with his situation. Mr. Grafton regularly advanced him twenty crowns at the commencement of every month, and boarded him in his family. Alonzo dressedhimselfin deep mourning. He sought no company; he found consolation only in solitude, if consolation it could be called.
As he was walking out early one morning, he discovered something lying in the street, which he at first supposed to be a small piece of silk: he took it up and found it to be acuriouslywrought purse, containing a few guineas with some small pieces of silver, and something at the bottom carefully wrapped in a piece of paper; he unfolded it, and was thunderstruck at beholding an elegant miniature of Melissa! Her sweetly pensive features, her expressive countenance, her soul-enlivening eye! The shock was almost too powerful for his senses. Wildered in a maze of wonders, he knew not what to conjecture. Melissa’sminiature found in the streets of Paris, after she had some time been dead! He viewed it, he clasped it to his bosom.—“Such, said he, did she appear, ere the corroding cankers of grief had blighted her heavenly charms! By what providential miracle am I possessed of the likeness, when the original is no more? What benevolent angel has taken pity on my sufferings, and conveyedtome this inestimable prize?”
But though he had thus become possessed of what he esteemed mostvaluable, what right had he to withhold it from the lawful owner, could the owner indeed be found? Perhaps the person who had lost it would part with it; perhaps the money contained in the purse was of more value to that person than the miniature. At any rate, justice required that he should endeavour to find to whom it belonged: this he might do by advertising, which he immediately concluded upon, resolving, should the owner appear, to purchase the miniature, if possibly within his power.
Passing into another street, he saw several hand-bills stuck up on the walls of houses; stepping up to one, he read as follows:
“Lost, between the hours ofnine and tenlast evening, in theRue deLoir, a small silk purse, containing a few pieces of money, and a lady’s miniature. One hundredcrowns will be given to the person who may have found it, and will restore it to the owner at theAmerican Hotel, near theLouvre, Room No. 4.”
It was printed both in the French and English languages. By the reward here offered, Alonzo was convinced that the miniature belonged to some person who set a value upon it. Determined to explicate the mystery, he proceeded immediately to the place, found the room mentioned in the bill, and knocked at the door. A servant appeared, of whom Alonzo enquired for the lodger. The servant answered him in French, which Alonzo did not understand:he replied in his own language, but found it was unintelligible to the servant. A grave middle aged gentleman then came to the door from within the room and ended their jabbering at each other: he, in the English language, desired Alonzo to walk in. It was an apartment, neatly furnished; no person wasthereinexcept the gentleman and servant before mentioned, and a person who sat writing in a corner of the room, with his back towards them.
Alonzo informed the gentleman that he had called according to the direction in a bill of advertisement to enquire for the person who the preceding night, had lost a purse and miniature. The person who waswriting had hitherto taken no notice of whathadpassed; but at the sound of Alonzo’s voice, after he had entered the room, he started and turned about, and atthemention of the miniature, he rose up. Alonzo fixed his eyes upon him: they both stood for a few moments silent: for a short time their recollection was confused and imperfect, but the mists of doubt were soon dissipated. “Edgar!”—“Alonzo!” they alternately exclaimed. It was indeed Edgar, the early friend and fellow student of Alonzo—the brother of Melissa! In an instant they were in eachothersarms.
Edgar and Alonzo retired to a separate room. Edgar informed Alonzo that the news of Melissa’s death reached him, by a letter from his father, whilewiththe army; that he immediately procured a furlough, and visited his father, whom, with his mother, he foundininconsolable distress.—“The letter which my uncle had written, said Edgar, announcing her death, mentioned with what patience and placidity she endured her malady, and with what calmness and resignation she met the approach of death. Her last moments, like her whole life, were unruffled and serene. She is in heaven Alonzo—she is an angel!”—Swelling grief here choaked the utterance of Edgar; for sometime he could proceed no farther, and Alonzo, with bursting bosom, mingled his tears.
“My father, resumed Edgar, bent on uniting her to Beauman or at least of preventing her union with you, had removed her to a desolate family mansion, and placed her under the care of an aunt. At that place, he either suspected,orreally discovered that you had recourse to her while my aunt was absent on business. She was therefore no longer entrusted to the care of her aunt, but my father immediately formed and executed the plan of sending her to his brother in South Carolina, under pretence of restoring her to health by change of climate, as her health in reality had began rapidly to decay. There it was designed that Beauman should shortly follow her, with recommendations from my father to her uncle, urging him to use all possible means which might tend to persuade her to become the wife of Beauman. But change of climate only encreasedtheload of sorrows, and she soon sunk beneath them. The letter mentioned nothing of her troubles: possibly my uncle’s family knew nothing of them: to them, probably,
——“She never told her love,But sat like Patience on a monumentSmiling at grief; while sad concealment,Like a worm in the bud,Fed on her damask cheek.
——“She never told her love,
But sat like Patience on a monument
Smiling at grief; while sad concealment,
Like a worm in the bud,
Fed on her damask cheek.
“My father’s distress was excessive: often did he accuse himself of barbarity, and he once earnestly expressed a wish that he had consented to her union with you. My father, I know, is parsimonious, but he sincerely loved his children. Inflexible as is his nature, the untimely death of a truly affectionate and only daughter will, I much fear, precipitate him, and perhaps my mother also, to a speedy grave.
“As soon as my feelings would permit, I repaired to your father’s, and made enquiry concerning you. I found your parents content in their humble state, except that your father had been ill, but was recovering. Of you they had heard nothing since your departure, and they deeply lamented your absence. And from Vincent I could obtain no farther information.
“Sick of the world, I returned to the army. An American consul was soon to sail for Holland:—I solicited and obtained the appointment of secretary. I hoped by visiting distant countries, in some measure to relieve my mind from the deep melancholy with which it was oppressed. We were to proceed first to Paris, where we have been a few days; to-morrow we are to depart for Holland. The consul is the man who introduced you into the room where you found me.
“Last evening I lost the miniature which I suppose youtohave found: the chain to which it was suspended around my neck, had broken while I was walking the street. I carefully wrapped it in paper and deposited it in my purse, which I probably dropped on replacingitin my pocket, and did not discover the loss until this morning. I immediately made diligent search, but not finding it, I put up bills of advertisement. The likeness was taken in my sister’s happiest days. After I had entered upon my professional studies in New-York, I became acquainted with a miniature painter, who took my likeness. He afterwards went into the country, and as I found he was to pass near my father’s, I engaged him to call there and take my sister’s likeness also. We exchanged them soon after. It was dear to me, even while the original remained; but since she is gone it has become a most precious andvaluablerelique.”
All the tender powers ofAlonzo’ssoul were called into action by Edgar’s recital. The “days of other years”—the ghosts ofsepulcheredblessings, passed in painful review. Added to these, the penurious condition of his parents, his father’s recent illness, and his probable inability to procure the bread of his family, all tended more deeply to sink his spirits in the gulf of melancholyand misery. He however informed Edgar of all that hadhappenedsince they parted at Vincent’s—respecting the old mansion Melissa’s extraordinary disappearance therefrom, the manner in which he was informed of her death, his departure from America, capture, escape, Beauman’s death, arrival in France, and his finding the miniature. To Edgar as well as Alonzo,Melissa’ssudden and unaccountable removal from the mansion was mysterious and inexplicable.
As Edgar was to depart early the next morning, they neither slept nor separated that night.
“If it were not for your reluctance to revisit your native country, said Edgar, I should urge you to accompany me to Holland, and thence return with me to America. Necessity and duty require that I should not be long absent, as my parents want my assistance, and they are now childless.”
“Suffer me, answered Alonzo, to bury myself in this city for the present: should I ever again awake to real life, I will seek you out if you are on the earth;—but now, I can only be a companion to my miseries.”
The next morning as they were about todepart, Alonzo took Melissa’s miniature from his bosom,hecontemplated the picture a few moments with ardent emotion, andpresented it to Edgar. “Keep it, said Edgar, it is thine. I bestow it upon thee as I would the original, had not death become the rival of thy love, and my affection.—Suffer not the sacred symbol too tenderly to renew your sorrows. How swiftly, Alonzo, does this restless life fleet away!—How soon shall we pass the barriers of terrestrial existence! Let us live worthy of ourselves, of our holy religion, of Melissa—Melissa, whom, when a few more suns have arisen and set, we shall meet in regions where all tears shall be eternally wiped from every eye.”
With what unspeakable sensibilities was it returned to Alonzo’s bosom! Edgar offered Alonzo pecuniary assistance, which the latter refused: “I am in business, said he, which brings me a decent support, and that is sufficient.” They agreed to write each other as frequently as possible, and then affectionately parted: Edgar sailed for Holland, and Alonzo returned to his business at Mr. Grafton’s.
Some time after this Alonzo received a message from Dr. Franklin, requiring his attendance at his house, which summons he immediately obeyed. The doctor introduced him into his study, and after being seated, he earnestly viewed Alonzo for some time, and thus addressed him:
“Young man, your views, your resolutions, and your present conduct, are totally wrong. Disappointment, you say, has driven you from your native country. Disappointment in what? In obtaining the object on which you most doated. And suppose this object had been obtained, would your happiness have been complete? Your own reason, if you coolly consult it, will convince you of the contrary. Do you not remember when an infant, how you cried, and teazed your nurse, or your parents, for a rattle, or some gay trinket?—Your whole soul was fixed upon the enchanting bauble; but when obtained, you soon cast it away, and sighed asearnestlyfor some other trifle, some new toy. Thus it is through life; the fancied value of an object ceases with the attainment; it becomes familiar, and its charm is lost.
“Was it the splendours of beauty which enraptured you? Sickness may, and age must destroy the symmetry of the most finished form—the brilliancy of the finest features. Was it the graces of the mind? I tell you, that by familiarity, these allurements are lost, and the mind, left vacant, turns to some other source to supplythevacuum.
“Stripped of allbuttheir intrinsic value, how poor, how vain, and how worthless, are those things we name pleasures, and enjoyments.
“Besides, the attainment of your wishes might have been the death of your hopes. If my reasoning is correct, the ardency of your passion might have closed with the pursuit. An every day suit, however rich and costly the texture, is soon worn threadbare. On your part, indifference would consequently succeed: on the part of your partner, disappointment, jealousy, and disgust. What might follow is needless for me to name;—your soul must shudder at the idea of conjugal infidelity!
“But admitting the most favourable consequences; turn the brightest side of the picture; admitting as much happiness as the connubial state will allow: how might your bosom have been wounded by the sickness and death of your children, or their disorderly and disobedient conduct! You must know also, that the warmth of youthful passion must soon cease, and it is merely a hazardous chance whether friendship will supply the absence of affection.
“After all, my young friend, it will be well for you to consider, whether the all-wise dispensing hand of Providence, has not directed this matter which you esteem so great an affliction, for your greatest good, and most essential advantage. And suffer me to tell you, that in all my observations on life, I have always found that those connectionswhich were formed from inordinate passion, or whatsomewould call pure affection, have been ever the most unhappy. Examine the varied circles of society, you will there see this axiom demonstrated; you will there see how few among the sentimentally refined are even apparently at ease; while those, insusceptible of what you name tender attachments, or who receive them only as things of course, plod on through life, without even experiencing the least inconvenience from a want of the pleasures they aresupposedto bestow, or the pains they are sure to create. Beware, then, my son, beware of yielding the heart to the effeminacies of passion. Exquisite sensibilities are ever subject to exquisite inquietudes. Counsel with correct reason, place entire dependence on theSupreme, and the triumph of fortitude and resignation will be yours.”
Franklin paused. His reasonings, however they convinced the understanding, could not heal the wounds of Alonzo’s bosom.—In Melissa he looked for as much happiness as earth could afford, nor could he see any prospect in life which could repair the loss he had sustained.
“You have, resumed the philosopher, deserted an indulgent father, a fond and tender mother, who must want your aid; now,perhaps, unable to toil for bread; now, possibly laid upon the bed of sickness, calling, in anguish or delirium, for the filial hand of their only son to administer relief.”——All the parental feelings of Alonzo were now called into poignant action.——“You have left a country, bleeding at every pore, desolated by the ravages of war, wrecked by the thunders of battle, her heroes slain, her children captured. This country asks—she demands—you owe her your services: God and nature call upon you to defend her, while here you bury yourself in inglorious inactivity, pining for ahaplessobject, which, by all your lamentations, you can never bring back to the regions of mortality.”
This aroused the patriotic flame in the bosom of Alonzo; and he voluntarily exclaimed, “I will go to the relief of my parents—I will fly to the defence of my country!”
“In former days, continued Franklin, I was well acquainted with your father. As soon as you informed me of his failure, I wrote to my correspondent in England, and found, as I expected, that he had been overreached by swindlers and sharpers.——The pretended failure of the merchants with whom he was in company, was all a sham,as,also the reported loss of the ships in their employ. The merchants fled to England:I have had them arrested, and they have given up their effects to much more than the amount of their debts. I have therefore procured a reversion of your father’s losses, which, with costs, damages, and interests, when legally stated, he will receive of my agent in Philadelphia, to whom I shall transmit sufficient documents by you, and I shall advance you a sum equal to the expenses of your voyage, which will be liquidated by the said agent.A ship sails in a few days from Havre, for Savannah in Georgia:it would, indeed, be more convenient were she bound to some more northern port, but I know of no other which will sail for any part of Americaforsome time. In her therefore I would advise you to take passage: it is not very material on what part of the continent you are landed; you will soon reach Philadelphia, transact your business, restore your father to his property, and be ready to serve your country.”
If any thing could have given Alonzo consolation, it must have been this noble, generous and disinterested conduct of the great Franklin in favour of his father, by which his family were restored to ease and to independence. Ah! had this buthavehappened in time to save a life far dearer than his own! The reflection was too painful. The idea, however, of giving joy to his agedparents, hastened his departure. Furnished with proper documents and credentials from Franklin, his benefactor, he took leave of him, with the warmest expressions of gratitude, as also of Mr. Grafton, and sailed for Savannah, where he arrived in about eight weeks.
Intent on his purpose, he immediately purchased a carriage and proceeded on for Philadelphia. As he approached Charleston, his bosom swelled with mournful recollections. He arrived in that city in the afternoon, and at evening he walked out, and entered a little ale house, which stood near the large burial ground. An elderly woman and two small children were the only persons in the house, except himself. After calling for a pint of ale, he enquired of the old lady, if Col.D——, (Melissa’s uncle) did not live near the city. She informed him that he resided about a mile fromthetown, where he had an elegant seat, and that he was very rich.
“Was there not a young lady, asked Alonzo, who died there about eighteen months ago?”
“La me! said she, did you know her? Yes: and a sweeter or more handsome lady the sun never shined on. And then she was so good, so patient in her sickness.—Poor, dear distressed girl, she pined awayto skin andbonesbefore she died. She was not Col. D——’s daughter, only somehow related: she came here in hopes that a change of air might do her good. She came from—la me! I cannot think of the name of the place;—it is a crabbed name though.”
“Connecticut, was it not?” said Alonzo.
“O yes, that was it, replied she. Dear me! then you knew her, did you, sir?—Well, we have not her like left in Charleston; that we han’t;—and then there was such ado at her funeral; five hundred people, I dare say, with eight young ladies for pall-bearers, all dressed in white, with black ribbons, and all the bells tolling.”
“Where was she buried?” enquired Alonzo.
“In the church-yard right before our door, she answered. My husband is the sexton; he put up her large white marble tomb-stones;——they are the largest and whitest in the whole burying-ground; and so, indeed, they ought to be, for never was there a person who deserved them more.”
Tired with the old woman’s garrulity, and with a bosom bursting with anguish, Alonzo paid for his ale without drinking it, bade her good night, and slowly proceeded to the church-yard. The moon, in full lustre, shone with solemn, silvery ray, on thesacredpiles, andfuneralmonuments of the sacred dead; the wind murmured mournfully among the weeping willows; a solitary nightingale*sang plaintively in the distant forest; and a whippoorwill, Melissa’s favourite bird, whistled near the portico of the church. The large white tomb-stones soon caught the eye of Alonzo. He approached them with tremulous step, and with feelings too agitated for description. On the head-stone he read as follows: