design, if possible, to draw her attention,and should it really prove to be Melissa, to discover himself. He hadproceeded but a few steps before she arose, shut the window, retired,and the light disappeared. Alonzo waited a considerable time, but sheappeared no more. Supposing she had retired for the night, he slowlywithdrew, chagrined at this disappointment, yet pleased at the discoveryhe had made.
The family with whom Alonzo had taken lodgings were fashionable andrespectable. The following afternoon they had appointed to visit afriend, and they invited Alonzo to accompany them. When they named thefamily where their visit was intended, he found it to be Melissa'scousin. Alonzo therefore declined going under pretence of business. Hehowever waited with anxiety for their return, hoping he should be ableto learn by their conversation, whether Melissa was there or not.--Whenthey returned he made some enquiries concerning the families in town,until the conversation turned upon the family they had visited. "Theyoung lady who resides there, said Mrs. Wyllis, is undoubtedly in aconfirmed decline; she will never recover."
Alonzo started, deeply agitated. "Who is the young lady?" he asked. "Sheis sister to the gentleman's wife where we visited, answered Mr.Wyllis;--her father lives in Newport, and she has come here for herhealth." "Do you not think, said Mrs. Wyllis, that she resembles theircousin Melissa, who resided there some time ago?" "Very much indeed,replied her husband, only she is not quite so handsome."
Again was Alonzo disappointed, and again did he experience a melancholypleasure: he had the last night hoped that he had discovered Melissa;but to find her in a hopeless decline, was worse than that she shouldremain undiscovered.
"It is reported, said Mrs. Wyllis, that Melissa has been upon the vergeof matrimony, but that the treaty was somehow broken off; perhapsBeauman will renew his addresses again, should this be the case.""Beauman has other business besides addressing the ladies, answered Mr.Wyllis. He has marched to the lines near New-York with his new raisedcompany of volunteers."[A]
[Footnote A: New-York was then in possession of the British troops.]
From this discourse, Alonzo was convinced that Melissa was not theperson he had seen at her cousin's the preceding evening, and that shewas not there. He also found that Beauman was not in town. Where tosearch next, or what course to pursue, he was at a loss to determine.
The next morning he rose early and wandered about the town. As he passedby the house of Melissa's cousin, he saw the lady, who had appeared atthe window, walking in the garden. Her air, her figure, had very muchthe appearance of Melissa; but the lineaments of her countenance were,when viewed by the light of day, widely dissimilar. Alonzo felt nostrong curiosity farther to examine her features, but passing on,returned to his lodgings.
How he was now to proceed, Alonzo could not readily decide. To return tohis native place, appeared to be as useless as to tarry where he was.For many weeks had he travelled and searched every place where hethought it probable Melissa might be found, both among her relatives andelsewhere. He had made every effort to obtain some clue to her removalfrom the old mansion, but he could learn nothing but what he had beentold by John. If his friends should ever hear of her, they could notinform him thereof, as no one knew where he was. Would it not,therefore, be best for him to return back, and consult with his friends,and if nothing had been heard of her, pursue some other mode of enquiry?He might, at least, leave directions where his friends might write tohim, in case they should have any thing whereof to apprise him.
An incident tended to confirm this resolution. He one night dreamed thathe was sitting in a strange house, contemplating on his presentsituation, when Melissa suddenly entered the room. Her appearance wasmore pale, sickly and dejected, than when he last saw her. Her elegantform had wasted away, her eyes were sunk, her cheeks fallen, her lipslivid. He fancied it to be night, she held a candle in her hand, smilinglanguidly upon him;--she turned and went out of the room, beckoning himto follow: he thought he immediately arose and followed her. She glidedthrough several winding rooms, and at length he lost sight of her, andthe light gradually fading away, he was involved in deep darkness.--Hegroped along, and at length saw a faint distant glimmer, the course ofwhich he pursued, until he came into a large room, hung with blacktapestry, and illuminated by a number of bright tapers. On one side ofthe room appeared a hearse, on which some person was laid: he went up toit--the first object that arrested his attention was the lovely form ofMelissa, shrouded in the sable vestments of death! Cold and lifeless,she lay stretched upon the hearse, beautiful even in dissolution; thedying smile of complacency had not yet deserted her cheek. The music ofher voice had ceased; her fine eyes had closed for ever. Insensible toobjects in which she once delighted; to afflictions which had blastedher blooming prospects, and drained the streams of life, she lay likeblossomed trees of spring, overthrown by rude and boisterous winds. Thedeep groans which convulsed the distracted bosom, and shocked thetrembling frame of Alonzo, broke the delusive charm: he awoke, rejoicedto find it but a dream, though it impressed his mind with doleful andportentous forebodings.
It was a long time before he could again close his eyes to sleep; he atlength fell into a slumber, and again he dreamed. He fancied himselfwith Melissa, at the house of her father, who had consented to theirunion, and that the marriage ceremony between them was there performed.He thought that Melissa appeared as she had done in her most fortunateand sprightly days, before the darts of adversity, and the thorns ofaffliction, had wounded her heart. Her father seemed to be divested ofall his awful sternness, and gave her to Alonzo with cheerful freedom.He awoke, and the horrors of his former dream were dissipated by thehappy influences of the last.
"Who knows, he said, but that this may finally be the case; but that thesun of peace may yet dispel the glooms of these distressful hours!" Hearose, determined to return home in a few days. He went out and enjoyedhis morning walk in a more composed frame of spirits than he had forsome time experienced. He returned, and as he was entering the door hesaw the weekly newspaper of the town, which had been published thatmorning, and which the carrier had just flung into the hall.----Thefamily had not yet arisen. He took up the paper, carried it to hischamber, and opened it to read the news of the day. He ran his eyehastily over it, and was about to lay it aside, when the death listarrested his attention, by a display of broad black lines. The firstarticle he read therein was as follows:
"Died, of a consumption, on the 26th ult. at the seat of her uncle, Col.W. D--, near Charleston, South Carolina, whither she had repaired forher health, Miss Melissa D----, the amiable daughter of J---- D----,Esq. of *******, Connecticut, in the eighteenth year of her age."
The paper fell from the palsied hand--a sudden faintness came uponhim--the room grew dark--he staggered, and fell senseless upon thefloor.
* * * * *
The incidents of our story will here produce a pause.----The fancifulpart of our readers may cast it aside in chagrin and disappointment."Such an event," may they say, "we were not prepared to expect.--Afterso many, and such various trials of heart; after innumerabledifficulties surmounted; almost invincible objects overcome, andinsuperable barriers removed--after attending the hero and heroine ofyour tale through the diversified scenes of anxiety, suspense, hope,disappointment, expectation, joy, sorrow, anticipated bliss, sudden anddisastrous woe----after elevating them to the threshold of happiness,by the premature death of one, to plunge the other, instantaneously, indeep and irretrievable despair, must not, cannot be right.--Your storywill hereafter become languid and spiritless; the subject will beuninteresting, the theme unengaging, since the _genius_ which animatedand enlivened it is gone for ever."
Reader of sensibility, stop. Are we not detailing facts? Shall we glossthem over with false colouring? Shall we describe things as they are, oras they are not? Shall we draw with the pencil of nature, or of art? Dowe indeed paint life as it is, or as it is not? Cast thine eyes, reader,over the ephemeral circle of passing and fortuitous events; view thechange of contingenc
ies; mark well the varied and shifting scenery inthe great drama of time;--seriously contemplate nature in heroperations; minutely examine the entrance, the action, and the exit ofcharacters on the stage of existence--then say, if disappointment,distress, misery and calamitous woe, are not the inalienable portion ofthe susceptible bosom. Say, if the possession of refined feeling isenviable----the lot of _Nature's children_ covetable--whether to such,through life, the sprinklings of comfort are sufficient to give a zestto the bitter banquets of adversity--whether, indeed, sorrow, sighing,and tears, are not the inseparable attendants of all those whose heartsare the repositories of tender affections and pathetic sympathies.
But what says the moralist?--"Portray life as it is. Delude not thesenses by deceptive appearances. Arouse your hero? call to his aid sternphilosophy and sober reason. They will dissipate the rainbow-glories