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T s t rll rs m This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document ost filmA au taux de rAduction indiquA ci-dessous 10X 14X 18X 22X 26X 30X 1 J 12X itx 20X 24X 28X 32X Th« copy film«d iMra hat lM«n r«produc«d ttMnka to tho gonorotity of: Library of tho Public Archivos of Canada L'axamplaira fHmi f ut raproduit grica A la 0«n4roaiti da: La bibliotMqua daa Archivaa publiquat du Canada Tha imagas appearing hara ara tha baat quality poasibla consi i ■« : •^i-^ o o \ The proceeds of this work, over the ezpensea of publishing to be iq;>proi>ria*ed to charitable purposes. l*^0*^^^ t %^^0W*0*f^ Entered, ucordiag to Act of Congren, in th« year 1840, BT BBMBT LUOWIO, "'* In the Qerk*! Office of the Southern District of New- York. • \ B. LODMno, rjttWTBK, 78 Veaey-st.. N. T. 6" ■6 CONTENTS. -»« ^ *t * Chapter I.— The parentage of Alida— A deaeriptson of hir &ther*8 raaideBe^-4She ia aent to the Tillage aehool. Chapter Bi— Alida loaes her mother and f=" ■^' VI C NT B NTS. I Kr J Chapter XV.— Battle of Lake Brie and vietory ofCoimnodore Perry— oBaille of Detroit and victory of General Harrison. Oki^rter XVL— -PasMge in a Bteamboat from New-York to the village of * * ^ *— A buid of military music. Cnu4»ter XVII. — Battle of Niagara — Colonel Miller's achieve- ment— Description of the President— Description of Mrs. Madison— Battle of Bladensburgh. Chapter XVni.— Battle of New-Orleans — Battle on Lake Champlain— Hartford convention — Conclusion of peace. Chapter XIX.— The joyful celebratim of peace in New- York. Chapter XX.— A splendid entertainment to celebrate the event of peace Chapter XXL— Proposal of an elopement and a elandestwe marriage. Chapter XXIL-rl^aacription (rf'New-York— Battery— Castle Garden. Chapter XXIH.— Alida'i return from the city to the country. Chapter XXIV.— Alida returns to New- York and joins a party to visit the F^Usof Niagara— Scenery of the Hudson river —Albany— Schenectady— Union College. Chapter XXV.— Arrival at Utica— Fila of Trenton— Singu- lar eioavation of tha rooka of these Adls— Return to Utica —Journey in a atage-eoacli— Salt Lake — Salt spring at Salina — Arrival at Auburn— Cayuga Lake — Seneca Falls— Geneva — Canandaigua- Arrival at Rochester — GenessfKS river— Arrival at Lockport— Journey in a dear- born-*^rand Island. Oiil»t«r XXVL— Buffklo-^Arriip^^^ i|phester-.Eagle Tavem-JVlte of Niagara^-^ltl Ifliii^^ ftom tha Canada te l|u» AmarlBan side— For- te Lake Champlain or CHenn's Falls— Arri- ilrodttction to the frflum Saratoga ^:al^^'iirftto{ r4mei 'm CQITTSVTS^ tH to AllNUiiy— Pftmg* u^ the rivnr to CttakiO-^nMi ch«rd— Putffe from Catddll to HudwNH- Pi Hudson to Weat Poiot— Militafj Mhool at Wofk Foft Putmuia— PauBMge from Wott Pembosom*d sun : the rainbow's die. Where lucid forms appear to fancy's eye ; The vernal flower, mild Autumn's purpling glow. The Summer's thunder, and the W-'nter** snow." Or when the evening approached, h« would ob- serve the twilight hour, which for a time hangs balanced between darkness and the pale rays of the western sky, communicating a solemn pleasure to every thing around. When evening began to throw her dusky mantle over the face of nature, and the warm glow of the summer sun had departed ; when the stars were glisten- ing in the heavens, and the moon had already risen, shedding its pale lustre over the opposite islands ^^ that appeared to float dimly among the waves, the twinkling fire-fly arose from the sur- rounding verdure, and illumined the meadow below with a thousand transient gems." The A L I D A. rustling breezes played among the trees of the wood, while the aiir was filled with the fra- grance of various flowers, and the sound of melodious music was wafted from the neigh- bouring village, rendered apparently more soft and sweet by the distance. The buildings on the estate consisted of a large mansion-house, farm-house, and an an- cient stone cottage that stood on the margin of the water, shaded by willow trees, and sur- rounded by romantic scenery. The charming appearance which nature threw around the place on which the mansion- house was situated^ was scarcely less interesting in winter than in the more gay and verdant months of the summer season. The falling of the sDow and hail, and the sparkling icicles hang- ing upon the woods and shrubbery, sometimes almost conveyed the idea of enchantment to the eye of the spectator. The view on all sides was magnificent. The bay, gently winding, glided into the river be- yond, where ships, steamboats, and craft of every description floated upon the waters, and gave interest to the appearance of several beautiful villages that were seen at a little distance in the landscape. This villa was separated about a mile . and caresses could never supply to Alida all the necessary requisitions that she had unhappily lost in so dear and interested a friend. When he observed her spirits languish, and the tear fre- quently starting in her eye, and her former spright- ly countenance shaded with the deep tinges of melancholy, he saw that the cheerfulness and gaiety of her natural disposition had received a powerful check, which promised to be lasting. From this unhappy period she remained at liome a long time with her father. In kindred grief there was derived a congenial sympathy, and her society contributed in some degree to allay his sorrow, as the deep concern he felt in her welfare caused him sometimes to restrain the flow of it in her presence. His self-exertion roused him in a measure from his lethargy, and, by thus assuming serenity, to become in reality something more composed. Neverthe- less, he would often witness the excess of an- guish which had taken place in the bosom of his child, and behold her interesting face bathed in tears, and her ^outhful brow clouded with a sadness that nothing seemingly could dissipate. His situation now became more sequestered than ever; he roamed in solitude, or pleased himself in ranging through silent glens in lone- liness. His thoughts were absorbed in the 10 A ¥« I D A. gloomy experience of the misery of a painful separation from a dear and beloved object ; he ivept for her whose mild and winning graces had power to soften and illuminate the darkest shades of life, or alleviate the distressful scenes of adversity. His mind was wholly absorbed in those gloomy reflections that scarcely admitted a ray of consolation, when the weekly newspaper ar- rived from the neighbouring village ; he took it up, hoping to find something to amuse his thoughts ; he opened it to read the news of the day ; he ran his eye hastily over it, and was about to lay it aside, " when the death list ar- rested his attention by a display of broad black lines," and he, who had not yet become reconciled to his present misfortune, was now about to ex- perience another equally severe. What could equal his bitterness, his surprise and grief, when he read the disastrous news that his youngest son (who had lately gone on a for- eign expedition) had died of a fever in a distant land a few weeks previous I The paper fell from his palsied hand, — a sud- den faintness came over him,— he fell back al- most senseless in his chair,-— exhausted by ex- cess of grieff he remained a long time in a stu- pifying anguish. A L I D A. 11 The tidings were so unlooked-for of the pre^ mature death of his unfortunate son, who about this time was expected V arrive in New- York. For him an only brother was incon- solable ; and Alida, who had long been accus- tomed to his kindness and caresses, was over- come with a dejection that time alone could alleviate. Her father observed her affliction in commis- seration with his own, — he was dejected and lonely, and the world appeared like a wilderness ; nothing could lessen his present evil, or soothe his afflicted mind. The former peaceful serenity of his life was materially clouded ; and in his turn calamitous wo had overtaken him — the inalienable portion of humanity, — and the varied and shifting scenery in the great drama of time had brought with it disaster. His spirit was sunk in de- spondency, and his sensations became utterly absorbed in melancholy ; and all the pious and philosophical reflections that he exerted himself to bring to his remembrance, could scarcely afford even a transitory consolation in this afflicting dispensation. " O, brother dear, beloved of all, For thee a brother's heart must languish ;" From foreign lands the tiding's borne With pain to wako a parent's anguish. 12 A L I D A 1) M i' '-i- t.^' ** That eye of brightnesi glows no more. That beaming gUnce in night is clouded;** On Maracaibo's distant shore, ** In death's dark celli^'^nkshrouded.** Alas ! for him no kindred near In hopes to minister relief; He sees no tear of pity shed, He sees no parents* anxious grief. And as still evening came on, In saddest solitude and tears. His thoughts would turn on distant home, On peaceful scenes and happier years. He thought, too, what a favour*d clime His gallant bark had left behind ; 1;, He thought how science there, sublime, Beam*d her full radiance on the mind. Though destined in a stanger*s land, Detain*d from all he held most dear. Yet one kind hand, benevolent, Was found the gloomy hours to cheer. O, how consoling is the eye Of him who comes to soothe our woes ; O, what relief those cares supply Which a kind, watchful friend bestows. ^When from this hand full well he found How much can lenient kindness do, The generous Briton strives with care His drooping spirits to renew. Yes, stranger, thou wait kind, humane,^ With quick assistance prompt to move A L I D A. 13 To ear^ the ling'ring houra of pain, In pity's kind endeavour itroTe. When sickness o*er thy pallid cheek Had stole the lustre from thine eye, When near the doubtful crisis drew, And life approach'd its latest sigh,— He moved thee to his own retreat. In his own mansion watch'd thee there ; Around thy couch he still remained. Thy drooping heart with hopes to cheer. n ** Peace, wing'd in fahrer worlds above, Has ta'en thy fonn away from this ; Has beckon'd thee to seats of glory, To realms of everlasting bliss. So rich in piety, and worth. Too soon, alas ! lamented one. Thou hast been call'd away from earth, And heaven has claim*d thee for its oWn« 14 A LI D A. CHAPTER III. *< T is by degrees tho youthful mind expandf ; and every day^ Soft as it roils along, shows some new chaim ; ■ Then infant reason grows apace, and calls For the kind hand of an assiduous care." ** Delightful task, to rear the tender thought, To pour the new instruction o'er the mind. To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix The generous purpose in the glowing breast.** ~ The period at length arrived, when it became necessary that Alida should receive further in* structions ia the various branches of female lit- erature. With this view, her father thought proper to change the place of her studies from the village school to the New- York Seminary. It was his idea that nothing afforded so pleas- ing a prospect as the graces of beauty, aided by wisdom and useful knowledge, and that care should be taken that the mind should first be initiated in the solid acquirements, before the embellishments of education should be allowed to take up the attention or engross the thoughts ; and that the first purposes of the teacher should be directed to endeavour to cause the mental powers of the scholar to be excited, in the first place, to attain to whatever is most useful and necessary, and that suitable application and in- dustry was the only means whereby we may A L I D A. 15 gain celebrity in any art or science, or therein arrive at any degree of perfection. ^< His heart glowed with paternal fondness and interesting solicitude, when he beheld the coun- tenance of his child sparkling with intelligence, or traced the progress of reason in her awaken- ed curiosity when any new object attracted her attention or exercised her imagination." De- lightful indeed were the sensations of a parent in the contemplation of so fair a prospect, which in some degree recalled again to his bosom some transient gleams of happiness. The season was now far advanced in autumn, and the trees were nearly stripped of their foliage ; the r&diant sun had in part withdrawn his en- livening rays to give place to the approaching coldness of winter, when Alida left her home, amid the innumerable regrets of her juvenile companions, to accompany her father to the city to finish her education. They journeyed in a stage-coach from the village of , which, in the course of a few hours, conveyed them amid the tumultuous din of the busy metropolis. The female seminary to which Alida repaired was pleasantly situated in the western part of the town, where the re- freshing and salubrious breezes of the Hudson 16 A L I D A. •) rendered it a healthy and desirable situation at all seasons of the year. ' Although her father had only performed his duty in placing his child once more at school, yet it was at a greater distance from the paternal roof than formerly, and when he returned again to his residence, he felt his situation more lonely than ever, and hs could scarcely reconcile him- self to the loss of her society. All was novel-like in the city to Alida, where she at once saw so many different objects to ex- cite alternately her surprise, curiosity, and risibi- lity, and where she experienced so many different sensations, arising from the sudden transition in being removed from scenes of uninterrupted tranquillity to those of gaiety and pleasure, of crowded streets and riotous entertainments, of obsequious beaux and dashing petite maitres, and where all appeared to her one continued scene of business and confusion, scarcely recon- cileable. In the meantime her mind became engrossed by various new occupations. Among her fa- vourite studies was the French language, which, at this period, was considered as one of the ne- cessary appendages to female education, when scarcely any new work could be read without a regret to those who did not understand it. Mu- A L I D A. 17 flic, dsncing and drawing, occupied her time al- ternately, and while-'tbese different amusement9 aflforded a pleasing variety, they animated her mind anew with the powers of exertion that had been excited by early impressions — that whatever she attempted to learn, to be assiduous to learn it well, and that a mere superficial knowledge, in any science or accomplishment, was by no means desirable. All her studies and amusements had their regular arrangements, and due application gave her many advantages over those of her own age, while it expanded her mind in a greater degree, and facilitated her progress in learning, and gave more ready improvement to her understanding and native capacities. Ker only surviving brother, whose name was Albert, had been a merchant in the city a num- ber of years, and he still continued to live amid its perplexities, (although numbers had been un- fortunate around him,) with as good success as could be expected at this time, on account of the restrictions on American commerce. One probable reason may be assigned why he had been more successful in his business than many others : he was guided in the management of his affairs by vigilance and industrious perse- rance, and he was not only endued with the 2* ■ w 18 A L I D A. Vt best abilities to fulfil the duties incumbent on his station in life, but was not reniis«> in the ex- ercise of them. His manners, generally, were reserved, though he Could be humorous and gay whepever occasion required ; and when in convivial society, he could make one among the number of those who amused themselves in sallies of wit and pleasantry. He had ac- quired much useful and general information in his commerce with the world at large, which he employed at this time in various conversations on politics, as he could not be able to render himself serviceable to his country in any other way, being exempt from his childhood from per- forming military duty. His personal advan- tages were only surpassed by the superior quali- fications of his mind, that had long been under religious influence and impressions. In his public and private life he fully answered the expectations of his numerous acquaintance and friends, as well as the most sanguine wishes of an anxious and affectionate father, who yet seemed disposed to indulge in melancholy re- flections^ while his friends kindly endeavoured, by many pious and philosophical discourses, to awaken him to a consideration of his former piety, and humble trust in an all-wise Provi- dence, reminding him that our greatest conso- A L X D A. J? lation consists in resigned and devotional feel- ings of gratitude to our Maker, even in the se- verest afflictions ; who, although he may have thought fit to deprive us of some, for the many remaining blessings we may still bv^ in posses- sion of; and that a firm reliance on Providence, however our afiections may be at variance * 'ith its dispensations, is the only consolatory source that we can havej'ecourse to in the gloomy hoi^rs of distress ; and that such dependance, though often crossed by troubles and difiOiculties, may at length be crowned with success in our most arduous undertakings, and we may again meet with unlooked-for and unexpected happiness. *' Afflictions all his children feel, Affliction is the Father's rod ; He wounds them for his mercy sake, He wounds to heal." The clear calm sunshine of a mind illumined by piety, and a firm reliance upon Supreme wisdom, crowns all other divine blessings. It irradiates the progress of life, and dispels the evils attendant on our na(.ure ; it renders the mind calm and pacific, and promotes that cheer- fulness and resignr^tion which has its foundation in a life of re.atude and charity ; and i:.i the full exercise of Christian principles we may find still increasing happiness. ^0 A L I D A. CHAPTER IV. " Still may the soaring eagle's quenchless eye, Watch o'er our favourM country, brave and free, Where the bright stars and stripes in honour wave, The sacred emblems of our liberty." Many disagreeable circumstances now com- bined to disturb the happy tranquillity of the American government. " A war had for some time existed between France and England. America had endeavoured to maintain a neutral- ity, and peacefully to continue a commerce with both nations. Jealousies, however, arose between the contending powers with respect to the con- duct of America, and events occurred calculated to injure her commerce and disturb her peace. " Decrees were first issued by the French gov- ernment preventing the American flag from trading with the enemy ; these were followed by the British orders in council, no less exten- sive than the former in design, and equally re- pugnant to the laws of nations. In addition to these circumstances, a cause of irritation existed some time between the United States and Great Britain. This was ^he right of search claimed by Great Britain as one of her prerogatives. To take her native subjects, wherever found, for her navy, and to search American vessels for that A L I D A 21 purpose. Notwithstanding the remonstrances of the American government, the officers of the British navy were not unfrequently seen seizing native British subjects who had voluntarily en- listed on board our vessels, and had also impress- ed into the British service some thousands of American seamen. "In consequence of the British and French de- crees, a general captureof all American property on the seas seemed almost inevitable. Congress, therefore, on the recommendation of the presi- dent, laid an embargo on all vessels within the jurisdiction of the United States. " In a moment, the commerce of the American republic, from being, in point of extent, the se- cond in the world, was reduced to a coasting trade between the individual states. The oppo- sition to the act in several of the states was so great that they unanimously declared against it, and individuals throughout the whole seized every opportunity of infringement; therefore Congress thought proper to repeal the embargo law, and substituted a non-intercourse with France and England." It was now generally expected that the ses- sion in Congress, with the decision of the presi- dent, would eventually terminate in actual hos- Thp HifTirnlties the chief executive had ♦ •'•♦^r»r» 22 A L I D A. to encounter were many and perplexing, being fully convinced, under existing circumstances, that the Americans must engage in combat after all. He therefore knew it to be necessary to rouse the feelings of the American people, to realize, more clearly than they did, the true sit- uation of their country, that they might be pre- pared for the approaching crisis that he believed unavoidable. This period was full of anxiety and danger. A war was deprecated by all the leading patriots of the day ; they were fully persuaded that it must take place ; they therefore unitedly deter- mined to prepare for the storm in the best man- ner they were able. All material business was in a manner suspended in New- York ; the face of things wore a dismal aspect, and the greater part of the community were in dismay. A heavy gloom hung over the inhabitants gene- rally, while all their afTairs appeared in a declin- ing state, discouraging to the industry and best prospectd of the people. Alida's father was no friend to political con- troversy, yet he passed much of his time in con- versing with his friends on the present affairs of America. He knew that party spirit and ani- mosity existed more or Ibss at this time, and that he must consequently often meet with those of A L I D A . 23 opposite opinions ; yet his honest and patriotic zeal for the good of his country still remained the same. He was attached to lilierty from prin- ciple; he had talents to discriminate and see into the justice of the measures of government ; his retirement gave him full opportunity to re- flect on them seriously, and solve them in his own mind, and see their absolute necessity, in order to maintain the honour, freedom, and in- dependence of the American nation. Would the same wisdom in the government continue that had so nobly preserved us since our inde- pendence ? But he had no reason at present to suppose otherwise, and that he who now guid- ed the helm of affairs, was one of steady and un- corrupt principles, of stable character, altogether uninfluenced by any sinister views, and was willing to sacrifice his individual repose for the noble purpose, and with the hope of settling it again on the nation, with a flrmer basis, at some future period, when the expected contest should be decided. What feelings of commotion and deep anxiety must agitate the bosom of the magnanimous hero who is labouring truly for the interest of his country, and is actuated alternately by tho claims of justice and humanity, and on whom a whole community must depend for council in 24 A L I D A • \ . #• cases of severe emergency, when his chief satis- faction consists in promoting the interest and welfare of that community. When the hour of exigency arrives, his mind, endued with the light of piety, feels its own littleness, his weighty thoughts are big with the impending danger that no human arm may be able to arrest Impressed with religious awe, and feeling con- scious of his dependence for aid on the all-wise Disposer of events, he bends in humble suppli- cation to implore the favour of that great and beneficent Being whose power alone can save, and in whose mighty arm alone is victory. The father of Alida received regular intelli- gence by the daily papers respecting the political excitement in New- York ; besides, he made fre- quent visits to the city to see his several chil- dren, as one of his daughters had resided there since her marriage. There was every kind of conveyance at the neighbouring village suited to the accommodation of travellers, both s* .mmer and winter, and the rapid improvement of the town had long been a current topic of the in- habitants as well as visiters, while they praised the proprietor of the new hotel, in his manner of conducting it and his excellent accommodations ; and it was the general opinion that in the course '^f a few years this woidd become a place of no small consideration. '**iif' A L I D A 25 CHAPTER V. ** Of who that sighs to join the scenes of war ? If heaven-born pity in thy bosom glow. Reject the inipurpled wreath ; the laurel crown Can flourish only in the scenes of ^o.*' At length it became the unhappy fate of Ame- rica to be a second time involved in a war with Great Britain. ^^ In a manifesto of the president, the reasons of the war were stated to be the im- pressment of American seamen, by the British ; the blockade of the enemy's ports, supported by no adequate force ; in consequence of which the American commerce had been plundered in every sea ; and the British orders in council." The declaration of war was a source of una- voidable regret to the good and wise president,* which affected his mind with feelings approach- ing to melancholy. No one possessed quaUties more inclined to peace, and a wish to settle all affairs of state in a pacific manner, more than he did, if it were possible, and it could have been done without sacrificing all the dearest rights and interests of the people ; and nothing but these repeated persuasions in his mind, found- ed on the principles of justice and honoufi * James Madison. 3 26 A L I D A. i \ caused him at length to be willing to yield to the stern neassity of deciding the existing differ^ ences by combat. He possessed the qualities of a. statesman in an eminent degree ; he had well reflected on what he considered as inevitable. He was well versed in political science, and now only saw the realization of anticipated events, of which there had been sufficient warning. Al- though he had to contend with innumerable difficulties, having once formed his opinion of what was to be done, his patriotism was unde- viating, and his integrity inflexible. Since his country was again brought to a la- mentable destiny, he now became ardently ac- tive in its cause, and was prepared to carry to the full extent such measures of defence and resistance as should be necessary to repel every invasion of the just rights and privileges of the Americans that they had long been in possession of since their dear-bought independence, and could not therefore be willing to submit to any- thing like oppiession, particularly from the mo- ther country. This national calamity, that seemed to awak- en feelings of hilarity to some few among the multitude, but those of the deepest regret to so many others, where the parties must at length become personally engaged and animated against I '; i ., A L I D A . 27 each other with an enthusiastic ardour, and with the hope to signalize themselves by their bra- very — where the impetuosity of youth and the experience of age are called forth in open field to execute the decided discussions of government, and to engage with patriotic zeal in the com- mon defence of their just rights and liberties ; impelled with ambitious impulse to enlist them- selves under the proud banners of their country, while the sound of martial music strikes a feel^ ing of enthusiasm and enterprise to the bosom of the patriot. Thus, in the name and cause of honour, the youth, generous and brave, with all those who are compelled to take arms, sally forth with the ambitious hope to bear down at once all contend- ing opposition, and give themselves no time to re- flect on the many disconsolate ones they leave behind them, that, however deeply concerned, can neither engage or assist in the shocking con- test ; while they go forward hastily to meet the foe, and hosts are advancing to dispute with them the victory, and they can indulge no thought concerning those who, when the battle is over, may have to lament the loss of a father, brother, or some other dear friend, and who mournfully await the decisive tidings, which perhaps is to render them for ever disconsolate ; 28 A L I D A. i 1 ■ ' i I I : '■: f. M while they remain a prey to that incessant an- guish which naturally awaitr those who have lost, in this manner, their dearest friends and re- lations. Thick clouds were darkly pending Above the battle fray, And foemen were contending For the fortune of the day. And high in air the banner bright, Waving o'er land and sea, The potent symbol of their might. The emblem of the free. "\ Brave hearts that stood amid the storm That burst in fury round ;' With many a stern and manly form, Sunk powerless to the ground. Deep gloom had settled round them. And darkness veil'd the sky, When Freedom, with her starry train, Descended from on high. When, at her bidding, lo, a chief Amid the throng appear'd ; When, the goddess halted by his side, And thus his spirits cheer'd : «« Oh, let not care oppress thee, But banish far thy fears. For, m blessing, I will bless thee, And will wipe away thy tears ; " And a banner thou shalt still retain, And a hand to lead the brave I , A L I D A. To glory and to victory. Or to the hero's grave. ** Then fear not, honoured chieftain, For yet again shall be, Your flag shall wave o'er every land. And float on every sea. »» What though in foreign clime it waves, Canecring on the wind, Whatever shore the ocean laves, A due respect will find. " And the thunders of your ships of war Along the deep shall roll, While the canvas of your merchantmen Shall sweep from pole to pole. ** And now, oh gallant chief," she cried, " Hold fast the glorious prize ; The flag with blue and crimson dyed. And stars that gemmed the skies, " Have left their native spheres to shed Their radiance o'er the field ; Then while it waves above your head, To the foeman never yield. " Bright forms shall hover o'er thee In the midst of war's alarms ; And in triumph shall restore thee To a nation's waiting arms. *» Then on to Freedom's stormy height, Go forth in valour and in might. And bear aloft this emblem bright, Amid the battle fray." 3* » 29 ir 30 A L I D A. ! I I i I (V :/ }i Now ftroiind their chief they rally, And with zeal their bosoms glow ; While the hoarse cannon bellows forth Defiance to the foe. The battle rages loudly, A dreadful carnage flows ; When the messenger of victory The clarion trumpet blows. Now clap your wings, oh Liberty, And upward take your flight ; And let the gladsome tidings ring Throughout the realms of light. And bid your eagle sound her cry, Wide o'er the land and sea ; For patriot arms have triumphed. And the nation still is free. Once mor -^ the song of victory Shall spread the earth around. And the freemen on a thousand hills Re-echo back the sound. And a br\uner long shall wave on high, And long your children stand, United, with a sacred tie, To guard their native land. h A L I D A. 31 CHAPTER VI. •* And may each day returning, with it bring That peace that o*er the weary senses fling A calm content ; where no alloy attends The pleasing intercourse of happy friends." Albert, the brother of Alida, during his resi- dence in New- York, had formed an indissoluble friendship with a young gentleman who had lately graduated at Columbia College. His name was Theodore. He was about twenty years of age : he had been esteemed an excel- lent student. His appearance was manly, open, and free. His eye indicated a nobleness of mind ; he was naturally cheerful, although his aspect was tinged with melancholy, and his dis- position was rather of the romantic cast. His father was an eminent merchant in the city, and had long been engaged in the various scenes of commerce. His son was designed for the law ; but as the students were allowed some vacant time after their graduation before they entered upon their professional studies, he thought to improve this interim in mutual friendly visits, mingling sometimes with select parties in the amusements of the day, and in travelling through some parts of the United States. \L 32 A L I D A. i , ' The spring was advancing, and already be- gan to shed its cheering infli nces over the face of nature, whei, after a long period of clouds and darkness, tho dun, with his illumin- ating beams, was chasing away the gloomy re- mains of winter, and recalling again to life and animation the ianumerable beauties of creation. The day was fixed on w'-cu Alida was to re- turn to her native resideuv^e. Albert was to at- tend her home, and he invited his friend Theo- dore to accompany him. It was evening when they arrived at the house of Albert's father, where they found considerable company collect- ed, as was customary on the ceiebralion of his Hirth-day. He received his children with gladness and joy, and Theodore with friendly politeness. * This meeting must be highly pleasing to you, madam," said Tiieodore to Alida, ^' after your lor ■; A L I D A. 33 land regale themselves in riding about the coun- try and visiting the neighbours in tlie vicinity." In the course of the evening iiey were joined by a number from the neighbouring villages, aad among the rest was the son of a gentleman who had been long acquainted with the family. He was a gay young man ; his address was easy; his manners rather voluptuous than refined ; confident, but not ungraceful. He led the ton in fashionable circles, and was quite a favourite with the ladies generally. His name was Bonville. He had seen Alida long before, but her additional graces since that time appeared far to exceed his expectations. Alida at sixteen displayed many pleasing at- tractions. Her height rose to the majestic. She was tall and graceful, and her expressive features were adorned with hair of light auburn, which hung about her neck in natural ringlets ; while her darK blue eyes, mingled at once the rays of epdghtly intelligence, and a pleasing affability. Shf was arrayed on this occasion, in a dress of white muslin, richly inwrought with needle- work. A silk embroidered sash surrounded her waist, and she v ore on her head a wreath of artificial flowers. Her elder sisters manifested their pleasure in beholding the artless, unadorned school-girl, metamorphosed to the interesting 34 A L I D A i ! I young lady of fascinating manners and amiable deportment. Social converse and rural amusements took up the greater part of the evening, when the gene- ral conversation of the gentlemen turned upon a topic in which they were all more or less inter- ested, on what might be the unhappy result of the present contest, in which the American na- tion was engaged, which continued to engross their thoughts^ and it was a late hour when the company separated. Those who remained behind accompanied Alida on the next Sabbath to the village church, where they were witnessciof an able and subUme discourse delivered by the parish minister ; high- ly edifying to the understanding and improving to the minds of the hearers. This divine was fully competent in the pos- session of Christian principles and knowledge for his arduous calling, and had a happy talent of conveying them to others with effect, and com- municating them in persuasive ebquence, for the benefit and reformation of mankind. His powers of intellect and sentiments were no less liberal and enlarged, than they were in- genious and elegant. His aspect was serene, and his manners were cheerful, and the unruffled calmness of his mind bore the same character A L I D A. 35 of exalted excellence, and gave testimony of a peaceful bosom, rich in good works. He manifested a lively interest in the welfare of his congregation, and by his genuine benevo- lence and pious example made many proselytes. It was his endeavour to unite the minds of the people in one interest, and excite them to be zea- lous in the common cause of Christianity^ where each individual, acting for the benefit of the whole, would find their own happiness blended with that of society in general, and be Mi ^d in the reciprocal communication of charity and benevolence. 36 A L I D A . CHAPTER VII. " Comci love, and twine a wreatli for me, ' And weave it with the choicest flowers, To cheat the ling'ring steps of time, And gladden all life's passing hours.'' The time now arrived when Theodore was to enter upon his professional studies, and he be- came engaged in the office of an eminent attor- ney in New- York. He r *" 'v^ntly absented him- self, however, to accompa^. Albert to visit his father's family, and since his acquaintance with Alida, there was a charm that attracted him thither. " If he had admired the manly virtues of the brother, could he fail to adore the gentle graces of the sister 7 If all the sympathies of the most ardent friendship had been drawn forth toward the former, must not the most tender feelings of the soul be attracted by the milder and more refined excellencies of the other ?" Bonville had become the admirer of Alida ; of course he and Theodore sometimes met. He had made no serious pretensions, but his parti- cularity indicated something more than fashion- able politeness. His manners, his independent situation, entitled him to respect. " It is not prob- able, therefore, that he will be objectionable to her friendsjor to Alida herself," said Theodore, A L I D A 37 with aa iuvoluntary sigh, and act his visits be- came more frequent, an increasing anxiety took place in his bosom. He wished her to remain single ; the idea of losing her by marriage, gave him inexpressible regret. What substitute could supply to him the happy hours he had passed in her company? What charm could wing the lingering moments when she was gone ? How different would be the sc^ne when de- barred from the unreserved Mendsb'p and con- versation of Alida. And unreserved it could not be, were she not exclusively mistress of herself. But was there not something of a more refined texture than friendship in his predilection for the company of Alida 1 If so, why not avow it ? His prospects, his family, and of course his pre- tensions might not be inferior to those of Boii- ville. But perhaps he was pieferred. His oppor- tunities : his prior acquaintance with the lady. Distance was no barrier to his addresses. His visits became more and more frequent. Was it not then highly probable that ho had secured her afifiections ? Thus reasoned Theodore, but the reasoning tended not to allay the tempest that was gather- ing in his bosom. He ordered his carriage, and wa? in a short time at the seat of Aiida's father. I 38 A L I D A. ■ ii r I It was summer, and towards evening when he arrived. Alida was sitting by the window when he entered the hall. She arose and received him with a smile. " I have just been thinking of an evening's walk," said she, '*but had no one to at- tend me, and you have come juet in time to per- form that office. I will order tea immediately, while you rest from the fatigues of your journey." When tea was served up, a servant entered the room with a letter which he had found in the yard. Alida received it. " 'T is a letter," said she, " which I sent by Bonville, to a lady in the village, and the careless man has lost it." Turn- ing to The^ iore, *' I forgot to tell you, that your friend Bonville has been with us a few days ; he left us this morning." **My friend," replied Theodore, hastily. "Is he not your friend?" inquired Alida. " I beg pardon, madam," said he, " my mind was absent." " He requested us \.o present his respects to his friend Theodore,'* said she. Theodore bowed and turned the con- versation. They now walked out, and took a winding path which led through pleasant fields until they reached the water, and continued to pursue their way alon^ the shore till they came to a beautiful and shafiy grove, where the thick foliage af- forded a delightful retreat from the warm rays A L I D A 39 of the sun, and at the extremity of which was a sloping eminence, which commanded an ex- tensive prospect of the surrounding country, part of Long-Island sound and the junction of the bay w4th the eastern river. A soft and silent shower had descended. A thousand transitory gems trembled upon the leafy foliage, glittering in the western ray. A bright rainbow sat upon a southern cloud ; the light gales whispered among the branches agitated the young harvest to billowy motion, and moved the tops of the deep green forest with majestic grandeur ; while flocks, herds, and cottages were scattered over the resplendent landscape. " This is a most delightful scene," said Alida. " It is, truly," replied Theodore, " do you think that New- York can boast of so charming a pros- pect." *•' Yes, one," answered she, " it is the v/alk on the battery, the water prospect is dmilar to this, but the landscape is not so variegated." " See that ship, Theodore, coming down the sound, how she ploughs through the white foam, while the breezes flutter in the sails, varying with the vivid rays of the sun." " Yes," said Theodore, " it bounds with rapid motion over the waves, and ere the day has departed it will safe- ly reach the wharf of the city." They walked leisurely around the hill, and 40 A L I DA. then moved slowly towards home. The sun was sinking gradually behind the western horizon. Twilight arose dimly in the east, and floated along the air. Darkness began to hover around the woodlands and valleys. The beauties of the landscape slowly receded; the breezes bad gone down with the sun, and a perfect calm succeeded. << I sliall never forget this charming prome* nade," said Theodore, as he approached the threshhold of the door, with a deep drawn sigh, <ii \' her before that event takes place, when I shall lose her forever." The ensuing day he repaired to her father's. He inquired for Alida; she was gone with a party to the shores of the sound, attended by Bonville. At evening they returned. Bonvilleand Theodore addressed each other with much seem- ing cordiality. "You have deserted us, Theodore," said Alida, " we concluded you had forgotten the road to this place." " Was not that a hasty conclusion ?" said Theodore. " I think not," she answered, " if your long absence should be con- strued into neglect. But we will hear your excuse," said she, smiling, " by and by, and per- haps pardon you." He thanked her for her condescension. The next morning Bonville set out to go to New- York. Theodore observed that he took particular leave of Alida, telling her, in a low voice, that he should have the happiness of see- ing her again, within two or three weeks certainly. After he was gone, as Alida and Theodore were sitting in the room alone, " Well," said she, " am I to hear your excuses, Theodore ? " " For what, madam ?" *' For neglecting your friends." '4 hope it is not so considered, madam." " Seriously, then, why have you stayed away so A L I DA. 43 long ? Has this place no charms in the absence of my brother 1 " "Would my presence have added to your feli- city, Alida ?" " You never came an unwel- come visiter here." ** Perhaps I might be some- times intrusive when Bonville is your guest.'' " I have supposed you were on friendly terms," said she. " We are, but there are seasons when friendship must yield its pretensions to a supe- rior claim." " Will you answer me one question, Ahda, are you engaged to Eonville." " He has asked me the same question concerning you," replied she, (blushing.) " Do you," continued Theodore, " prefer him to any other ? " Alida, (blushing deeply.) " He has made the same inquiries respecting you." " I beg, madam, you will deal with me candid- ly," s id Theodore, (taking her hand with anx- iety,) " I am entitled to no claims, but you krow what my heart would ask. I will bow to your decision. Bonville or Theodore must relinquish their pretensionsr We cannot share the blessing." The cheeks of Alida were suffused with a varying glow, her lips were pale, her voice trem- ulous, and her eyes cast down. "My father has informed me," said she, " that it is improper to receive the particular addresses of more than one. 44 A L I B A I am conscious of my inadverteDcy, and that the reproof is just. One, therefore, must be dismissed. But/' (she blushed deeper,) and a considerable pause ensued. At length Theodore arose, "I will not press you further," said he ; " I know the delicacy of your feelings ; I know your sincerity ; I will not therefore insist on your performing the painful task of deciding against me. Your conduct in every point of view has been discreet. I would have no just claims, or if I had, your heart must sanction them, or they would be unhal- lowed, and unjustifiable. I shall ever pray for your felicity. Our affections are not under our direction ; our happiness depends on our obe- dience to their mandates. Whatever, then, may be my sufferings, you are unblameable, and irreproachable." He took his hat in extreme agitation, and pre^ pared himself to take leave. Alida had lecovered in some degree from her embarrassment, and collected her scattered spirits. " Your conduct, Theodore," said she, " is gen- erous and noble. Will you give yourself the trouble, and do me the honour to see me once more ?" " I will," said he, " at any time you shall appoint." <* Four weeks then," said she, ^< from this day, A L I D A. 45 honour me with a visit, and you shall have my decision, and receive ray final answer." " I will be punctual to the day," he replied, and bade her adieu. Theodore's hours from this time winged heavily away. His wonted cheerfulness fled ; he wooed the silent and solitary haunts of musing, moping melancholy. He loved to wander through lonely fields, when dewy twilight robed the evening mild, or to trace the forest glen, through which the moon darted her silvery in- tercepted rays. His agitated thoughts preyed upon his peace incessantly and deeply disturbed his repo . He 1 jd anxiously to the hour when Alida was to make the decision. He wished, yet dreaded the event. In that he foresaw, or thought he foresaw, a withering blight to all his hopes, and a final consummation to his forebo- ding fears. He had pressed Alida, perhaps too urgently, to a declaration. Had her predilection been in his favour, would she have hesitated to avow it ? Her father had advised her to relin- quish one, and to retain the other, nor had he attempted to influenc-e or direct her choice. Was it not evident, then, irom her confused hesitation and embarrassment, when solicited to discrirai- r® 46 A L I n A . ?! ''^ nate upon the subject, that her ultimate decision would be in favour of Bonville ? While Theodore's mind was thus in agitation, he received a second letter from his friend in the neighbourhood of Alida. He read the following clause therein with emotions mors eabily to be conceived than expressed: "Alida's wedding- day is appointed. I need not tell you that Bon- ville is to be the happy deity of the hymenial sacrifice. I had it from his own declaration. He did not name the positive day, but it is certainly to be soon. You will undoubtedly^ however, have timely notice, and receive an invitation." ** We must pour out a liberal libation upon the mystic altar, Theodore, and twine the nuptial garland with wreaths of joy. Bonville should devote a rich offeting to so valuable a prize. He has been here for a week, and departed for New- York vesterday, but is shortly to return." " And why have I ever doubted this event ?" said Theodore. " What infatuation hath then kd me on in the pursuit of fantastic and unreal bliss ? I have had, it is true, no ^sitive assu- rances that Alida would be disposed to favour my addresses. But why did she ever receive them ? Why did she enchantingly smile upon me ? Why fascinate the soft poweVs of my soul by that winning mildness, and the favourable A L I D A. 47 display of those complicated and superior attrac- tions which ahf .nust have known were irre- sistable ? And now she would have me dance attendance to her decision in favour of another — insulting ; let Bonville and herself, make it, as they have formed, this farcical decision. 1 absolutely will never attend it. Why did she not spurn me from her confidence, and plainly tell me that my attentions were untimely and improper l " " But, I have enga^^ed to see her at an appoint- ed time ; my honour is therefore pledged for an inte* v^iew ; it must take place. I shall endeav- our to surjport it with becoming dignity, and I will convince Alida, and Bonville, that I am not the dupe of th.:ir caprices. But, let me considc r — Wbat has Alida dene to deserve censure or reproach? Her brother was my early friend; she has treated me as a Iriend to that brother. She was uncoiiscious of the aftection which hei charm^nd mental graces had kindled in my bosom. Her evident embarrassment, on receiv- ing my declaration, witnessed her surprise and prior attachment. What could she do to save herself the pain of a direct denial ? She has ap- pointed a day when her refusal may come in a more delicate and formal nanner — and I muBt therefore meet it.'* 48 A i^ I D A ml ' \;i I CHAPTER IX. *'The time draws near when I shall meet those eyes, tliat may perchance look cold on me — but doubt is called the beacon of the wise, the test that reaches to the bottom of the worst.** On the appointed day, Theodore proceeded to the house of Alida's father, where he arrived late in the afternoon. Alida had retired to a little summer-house at the end of the garden. A ser- vant conducted Theodore thither. She was dressed in a flowing robe of white muslin, richly embroidered. Her hair hung loosely upon her shoulders ; she was contem- plating a bouquet of flowers which she held in her hand. Theodore fancied she never appeared so lovely. She arose to receive him. " We have been expecting you for some time," said Alida, "we were anxious to inform you that we have just received a letter from my brother, ia which he desires us to present you his most friendly respects, and complains of your not visiting him lately so frequently as usual.'' Theodore thanked her for the information ; said that business had prevented him ; he esteemed him as his most valuable friend, and would be more particular iii future. *' We have been thronged with company seve- A L I D A. 49 ral days/' said Alida. " The last of them took their departure yesterday. And I have only to regret, that I have nearly a week been prevent* ed from taking ray favourite walk to the grove, to which place you attended me when you were last here." " We will walk there, then, if you have no objections, as no doubt it is much im- proved since that time," said Theodore. They resorted thither towards evening, and seated themselves in the arbour, where they sat some time contemplating the scenery. It was the beginning of autumn, and a yellow hue was spread over the natural beauties of creation. The withering forest began to shed its decaying foliage, which the light gales pur- sued along the russet fields ; — the low sun extended its lengthening shadows ; — curlinr smoke ascended from the neighbouring village and the surrounding cottages; — a thick fog crept along the valleys ; — a gray mist hovered over the tops of the distant hills ; — the glassy surface of the water glittering to the sun's departing ray ; — the solemn herds lowed in monotonous sym- phony ; — the autumnal insects, in sympathetic wafting, plaintively predicted their approaching fate. *' The scene is changed since we last visited this place," said Alida ; " the gay charms of 6 50 A L I D A. : •'# ! ; ' • summer are beginning to decay, and must soon yield their splendours to the rude despoiling hand of winter." **That will be the case,'^ said Theodore, " before I shall have the pleasure of your com- pany here again." " That may probably be, though it is nearly two months yet to winter," udid Alida. " Great changes may take place within that time," said Theodore." " Yes, changes must take place,'' answered Alida, • but nothing, I hope, to embitter present prospects " " As it respects yourself, 1 trust not, madam." " And I sincerely hope not, as it respects you, Theodore." *' That wish," said he, " I believe is vain." " Your feelings accord with the season, Theo- dore ; you are melancholy. Shall we return ? " " I ask your pardon, madam ; 1 know 1 am unsociable. You speak of returning ; you know the occasion of my being here. You cannot have forgotten your own appointment and con- sequent engagement?" She made no answer. " I know, Alida, that you are incapable of du- plicity or evasion. I have promised and now repeat the declaration, that I will silently submit to your decision. This you have engaged to make, and this is the time you have appointed. A L I D A. 51 The pain of present suspense can scarcely be surpassed by the pang of disappointment. On your part you have nothing to fear. I trust you have candidly determined, and will decide explicitly." " I am placed in an exceedingly delicate situ- ation," answered Alida, (sighing.) " I know you are, madam," said Theodore, "but your own honour, your own peace, require that you should extricate yourself from the perplexing em- barrassment." " That I am convinced of," replied Alida, *' I know that I have been inadvertently indi^^reet. 1 have admitted the addresses of Bonville and yourself, without calculating or expecting the consequences. You have both treated me honourably and with respect. You are both on equal grounds as to standing in life. With Bon- ville I became first acquainted. As it relates to him, some new arrangements have taken place since you came here." Theodore interrupted her with emotion. "Of those arrangements I am acquainted, I received the intelligence from a friend in your neighbour- hood. I am prepared for the event." Alida remained uilent. " I have mentioned be- fore," resumed T eodore, "that whatever may be your decision, no impropriety can attach to 52 A L I D A. you. I might add, indeed, from various circum- stances, and from the information I possess, I perhaps should not have given you further trouble on the occasion, had it not been from your own direction. And I am now willing to retire without further explanation, without giv- ing you the pain of an express decision, if you think the measure expedient. Your declara- tion can only be a matter of form, the conse- quence of which I know, and my proposition may save your feelingj." i " No, Theodore," replied Alida, " my reputa- tion depends on my adherence to my first deter- mination ; justice to yourself and to Bonville also demand it. After what has passed, I should be considered as acting capriciously, and incon- sistently, should I depart from it. Bonville will be here to-morrow, and you must consent to stay with us until that time ; the matter shall then be decided." " Yes," said Theodore, " it shall be as you say, madam. Make your arrange- ments as you please." Evening came on, and spread around her sombre shades ; — the breeze's rustling wing was in the tree ; — the sound of the low, murmuring brooks, and the far-off waterfall, wove faintly heard ; — tha frequent Jights in the village darted their paley lustre through the gloom ; — the soli- A L 1 D A. 53* tary whip-poor-wills stationed themselves along the MTOody glens, the groves and rocky partures, and sung a requiem to departed summer ; — a dark cloud was rising in the west, across whose gloomy front the vivid lightning bent its forky spires. Theodore and Alida moved slowly towards home ; she appeared enraptured with the melan- choly splendours of the evening, but another subject engaged the mental attention of Theo- dore. Bonville arrived the next day. He gave his hand to Theodore with seeming warmth of friendship. If it was reciprocated, it must have been affected. There was no alteration in the manners and conversation of Alida ; her dis- course as usual was sprightly and interesting. After dinner she retired, and her father requested Theodore and Bonville to withdraw with him to a private room. After they were seated, the old gentleman thus addressed them : " I have called you here, gentlemen, to per- form my duty as a parent to my daughter, and as a friend to you. You have both addressed Alida ; while your addresses were merely for- mal, they were innocent; but when they be- came serious, they were dangerous. Your pre- tensions I consider equal, and between honour- 5* 54 A L I D A. able pretenders, who are worthy of my daughter, I shall not attempt to influence her choice. That choice, however, can rest only on one ; she has engaged to decide between you. I am come, to make in her name th^s decision. The following are my terms : — no difficulty shall arise between you, gentlemen, in consequence of her determi- nation ; nothing shall go abroad respecting the affair; it shall be settled under my roof. As soon as I have pronounced Alida's declaration,, you shall both depart, and absent my house for at least two weeks, as it would be improper for my daughter to see either of you at present ; after that period I shall be happy to receive your visits." Theodore and Bonville pledged their honour to abide implicitly by these injunctions. He then further observed : " This, gentlemen, is all I require. I have said that I considered your pretensions equal; so has my daughter treated them. You have both made professions to her ; she has appointed a time to answer you. That time has now arrived, and I now inform you — that she has decided in favour of Theo- dore." These words from Alida's father burst upon the mental powers of Bonville like sudden and tremendous thunder on the deep and sullen si- lence of night. Unaccustomed to disappointment^ A I« I D A. 55 he had calculated on assured success. His ad-* dresses to the ladies generally had been honour^ ably received. Alida was the first whose charms were capable of rendering them sincere. He was not ignorant of Theodore's attentions to her ; it gave him, however, but little uneasiness. He believed that his superior acquired graces would eclipse the pretensions of his rival. He consid* ered himself a connoisseur in character, especially in that of the ladies. He conformed to their taste ; he flattered their foibles, and obsequiously bowed to the minuti€ft.of femab volatility. He considered himself skilled in the language of the heart ; and he trusted that from his pre-eminent powers in the science of affection, he had only to see, to make use of, and to conquer. He had frankly offered his hand to Alida, and pressed her for a decisive answer. This from time to time she suspended, and finally ramed a day in which to give him and Theodore a deter- minate one, though neither knew the arrange- ments made with the other. Alida finding, how- ever, the dilemma in which she was placed, and she had previously consulted her father. He had no objections to her choosing between two per- sons of equal claims to affluence and respect- ability. This choice the had made, and her 56 A L I D ▲. [ . 3 I father was considered the most proper person to pronounce it. When Bonville had urged Alida to answer him decidedly, he supposed that her hesitation, delay and suspensions, were only the effect of diffidence. He had no suspicion of her ultimate conclusion, and when she finally named the day to decide, he was confident her voice would be in his favour. These sentiments he had com- municated to the person who had written to Theodore, intimating that Alida had fixed a time which was to crown his sanguine wishes. He had listened therefore attentively to the words of her father, momentarily expecting to hear himself declared the favourite choice of the fair. What then must have been his disappointment when the name of Theodore was pronounced instead of his own ! The highly finished scene of pleasure and future happy prospects which his ardent imagination had depicted, now va- nished in a moment. The bright sun of his early hopes was veiled in darkness at tliis unex- pected decision. Very different were the sensations which in- spired the bosom of Theodore. He had not even calculated on a decision in his favour ; he believed that Bonville would be the choice of Alida. She had told him, that the form ot deciding was ne- A L f D A . 67' cessary to save appearances ; with this form he complied, because she desired it, not because he expected the result would be in his favour. He had not therefore attended to the words of Alida's father with that eagerness which favourable anticipations commonly produce. But when his name was mentioned ; when he found that he was the choice, the happy favourite of Alida's affection, every ardent feeling of his soul became interested, and was suddenly arous- ed to the refinements of sensibihty. Like an electric shock it re-animated his existence, and the bright morning of joy quickly dissipated the gloom which hung over his mind. 68 A L I D A . CHAPTER X. ** Dark gathering clouds involve the thrcat'ning skies, The billows heave with the impending gloom ; Deep hollow murmurs from the cliffs arise, Ride on the blast, and urge the howling storm/' Several v;eeks passed away, and Theodore felt all that anxiety and impatience which a se- paration from a beloved object can produce* He framed a tliousand excuses to visit Alida, i yet he feared a visit might be premature. He was, however, necessitated .to make a journey to a distant part of the country, after which he re- solved to see her. He performed the business he went on, and was returning. It was toward evening, and the day had been uncommonly sultry for the autumnal season. A rising shower blackened the western hemisphere ; the dark vapours as- cended in folding ridges, and the thunder rolled at a distance. Theodore saw he should be overtaken by the rain. He discovered an elegant seat about a hundred yards distant from the road ; thither he hastened to gain shelter from the approaching storm. The owner of the mansion met hira at the A L I D A . 59 door, and politely invited him in, while a ser- vant stood ready to take his horse. He was ushered into a large apartment, gen- teelly furnished, where the family and several young ladies were sitting. As he glanced Lis eye hastily around the room, he thought he re- cognized a familiar countenance. A hurried succession of confused ideas for a moment crossed his recollection. In a moment he discovered that it was Aiida. By this unexpected meeting they were both completely embarrassed. Alida, however, arose, and, in rather a confused manner, introduced Theodore to the company as the friend of her brother. The rain coiitinued most part of the after- noon. Theodore was urged by the family, and consented to stay the night. A moonlight evening succeeded the shower, which invited the young people to walk in an adjoining gar- den. Ahda informed Theodore that the owner of the mansion was a distant relative of her father, w^ho had two amiable daughters, not far from her own age. She had been invited there to pass a week, and expected to return within two days. " And," she added, smiling, " per- haps, Theodore, we may have an opportunity once more to visit our favourite grove, before 60 A I. I D A n, ' )/ winter entirely debtroys the remaining beauties of the summer." Theodore felt all the force of the remark. He recollected the conversa!icn when they were last at the place she mentioned ; and he well remembered his feelings on that occasion. " Great changes, indeed," he replied, " have taken place since we were last the»e ; — that they are prodrctive of unexpected and unexampled happiness to me, is due, Alida, tc yourself alone.'^ Theodore departed next morning, appointing the next week to visit Alida at her father's houso. Thus were the obstacles removed which had presented a barrier to their united wishes. They had not, it is true, been separated by wide seas, unfeeling parents, nor, as yet, by the ri- gorous laws of war ; but vexations, doubts, and difficulties had thus far attendedlkm, which had now happily disappeared, and they calculated on no unpropitious event which might thwart their future happiness. All the hours that Theodore could spare from his studies were devoted to Alida ; and their parents began to calculate on joining their hands as soon as his professional term of study was completed. Hostilities that had previously commenced with England had been followed by several A L I D A. 61 battles. " The panic and general bustle which prevailed at this time will yet be remembered by many." These circumstances were not calcu- lated to impress the mind of Alida with the most pleasant sensations. She foresaw that the burden of the w^ar must rest on the American youth, and she trembled in anticipation for the fate of Theodore. He, with others, should it continue, must take the field in defence of his country. The effects of such a separation were dubious and gloomy. Theodore and herself fre- quently discoursed on the subject, and they agreed to form the mystic union previous to any wide separation. One event tended to hasten this resolution : The attorney in whose office Theodore was engaged received a commission in the new-rax ed American army, and marched to the lines near Boston. His business was therefore suspended, and Theodore returned to the house of his father. He considered that he could not remain long a mere spectator of the contest, and that it might soon become his duty to take the field, therefore concluded to hasten his marriage with Alida. She consented to the proposition, and their parents made the neces- sary arrangements for the event. The place was fixed upon which was to be their future residence. It was a pleasantly situated emi« 6 m I* r* ■I II' 62 A L I D A nence, commanding an extensive prospect. Its sides were interspersed with orchards, ar- bours, and cultivated fields. On the west forests unevenly lifted their rude heads, with here and there a solitary field, newly cleared, and thinly scattered with cottages. To the east the eye extended over a soil at one time swelling into woody elevations, and at another spreading itself into vales of the most enchanting verdure. To the north it extended to the palisades, wooded to their summits, and throwing their^ shadows over intervals of equal wilderness, till at length the eye, wandering far beyond, was arrested in its excursions by the blue mist which hovered over the distant mountains, more grand, majestic, and lofty. Gardens, meadows, and pastures surrounded the place, yielding in their season the rich flowers, fruit, and foliage of spring, summer, and autumn. The inhabitants around^were mild, sociable, moral, and diligent. The produce of their own fields gave them the most of what was necessary, and they were hap- pily free from all dissipation and luxury. Such was the site marked out for the residence of Theodore and Alida. They visited the spot, and were enraptured with its pensive, romantic beauties. " Here," said Theodore. " we will one day ' * A L I D A. 63. pass our time in all the felicity of mind which the chequered scenes of life will admit. In the spring, we will roam among the flowers ; in summer we will gather strawberries in yonder fields, or raspberries from the adjacent shubbery. The breezes of fragrant morning and the sighs of the evening gale will be mingled with the songs of the various birds which frequent the sur- rounding groves. We will gather the bending fruits of autumn, and will listen with pleasure to the hoarse, murmuring voice of winter — its whistling winds, its driving snow and rattling hail — with dehght." The bright gems of joy glistened in the eyes of Alida as Theodore described this pleasing scene of anticipation. Winter came on ; it rapidly passed away. Spring advanced, and the marriage day was ap- pointed. Preparations for the hymenial cere- mony were making, and invitations had already gone abroad. Albert was particularly sent for, and all was approaching to readiness for this happy event. Theodore and Alida again promenaded to t!ie spot which had been chosen for their habitation ; they projected the structure of the buildings, planned the gardens, the artificial groves, the walks, and the green retreat of the summer* \ 1 64 A L I D A. ^1 house ; and already they realized in imagina- tion the various domestic blessings and felicities with which they were to be surrounded. Nature was adorned with the bridal orna- ments of spring ; the radiant sun was sinking behind the groves, casting his sable shades over the valley, while the retiring beams of day adorned the distant eastern eminences with yel- low lustre ; the birds sung melodiously in the grove ; the air was freshened by light western breezes, bearing upon their wings all the en- ' trancing odours of the season ; while around the horizon clouds raised their brazen summits, based in the black vapour of approaching night ; and as its darkening shades were advancing, Theodore and Alida returned home. They seated themselves awhile on the piazza, to con- template the splendours of the evening, and to witness the beauties of one of the most pictur- esque draperies painted in the landscape of nature. ▲ L I DA. 65 CHAPTER XI. The dreadful din of war is heard Wide spreading o'er the land and sea ; The battle's shout and cannon's roar Proclaim the nation shall be free. The nodding plumes, like waving pines, Are shaken by the morning breeze ; The gilded armour brightly shines, And patriots sigh for victories. The tumults of a second war with Great Britain still increased, and was not only exhaust- ing the finances of the country, but called for a still greater sacrifice — all the bravest American youth. A large army of re-inforcements was shortly expected from England to land on our shores, and the confused noise of the warriors, with more vigorous and intrepid combat, were already anticipated. ThecJore had received a commission in a re- giment of militia, and was pressed by several young gentlemen of his acquaintance, who had enlisted in the army, to join it also. He had an excuse : His father was a man in extensive business, was considerably past the prime of life, had a number of agents and clerks under him, but began to feel himself unable to attend to the various and burthensome duties and de- 6* 66 A L 1 D A. HI ' mands of a mercantile lijie. Theodore was hk only son ; his assistance^ therefore, became ne-* cessary, until, at least, his father could bring his business to a close, which he was now about to effect. Theodore stated these facts to his friends ; told them that on every occasion he should be ready to fly to the post of danger when his coun- try was invaded, and that as soon as his father's affairs became settled, he would, if necessary, join the army. The president was now active in making every exertion in his power, to rouse the feelings of his countrymen to act their parts with ho* nour in the scene that was before them. He knew that much of the responsibility rested on himself. The capacity he was in with regard to the nation, caused the most material and im- portant business — of directing and superintend- ing the weighty affairs of government — to fall upon his hands ; and such was the situation of the country, that it not only called for the exer- tion, the wisdom, sound judgment, and policy of the presidential chair, but likewise of every patriotic bosom to participate in their endeavours to oppose the depredations against it. The chief executive was entered on a theatre in which he was to act a conspicuous part in this A L I D A. 67 war of America with Great Britain, and to oc- cupy a station in the page of history, where the interesting detail will reach the ear of remotest ages in the dates of time. In the mean time, the father of Theodore had been absent for three or four days to one of the commercial sea-ports, on business with some merchants with whom he was connected in trade. lie returned the next day after Theodore had got home ; his aspect and his conversation were marked with an assumed and unmeaning cheerfulness. At supper he ate nothing, dis- coursed much, but in an unconnected and hur- ried manner, interrupted by long pauses, in which he appeared to be buried in contempla- tion. After supper he asked Theodore " if it were not possible that his union with Alida could be concluded within a few days ? " Theo- dore, startled at so unexpected a question, re- plied, " that such a proposal would be consid- ered extraordinary, perhaps improper ; besides, when AHda had named the day, she mentioned that she had an uncle who lived at a distance, whose daughter was to pass the summer with her, and was expected to arrive before the ap- pointed day. It would, he said, be a delicate thing for him to anticipate the nuptials, unless he could give eome cogent reason for so doiog. 68 A L I D A I,*-*. and at preseDt he was not apprised that any such existed. His father, after i\ few moments' hesitation, answered, '^I have reasons which, when told," — here he stopped, suddenly arose, hastily walked the room in much visible agony of mind, and then retired to his chamber . Theodore and his mother were much amazed at so strange a proceeding. They could form no conjecture of its cause, or its consequence. Theodore passed a sleepless night. His father's slumbers were interrupted ; he was restless and uneasy : his sleep was broken and disturbed by incoherent mutterings and plaintive moans. In the morning when he appeared at breakfast, his countenance wore the marks of dejection and anguish. He scarcely spoke a word ; and after the cloth was removed, he ordered all to witlidraw except Theodore and his mother, when, with emotions that spoke the painful feelings of his bosom, he thus addressed them : " For more than thirty years I have been en- gaged in commerce, in order to acquire inde- pendence for myself and my family. To ac- complish this, I became connected with some English importing merchants, in a sea-port town, and went largely into the English trade. Success crowned our endeavours. On balanc- ing our accounts, two years ago, we found that A L I D A. 69 our expectations were answered, and that we were sufficiently wealthy to close business, which some proposed to do ; it was, however, agreed to make one effort more, as some favourable circumstances appeared to offer, in which we adventured very largely, on a fair calculation of liberal and extensive proceeds. Before returns could be made, the war came on, embarrass- ments ensued, and by indubitable intelligence lately received, we find that our property in Eng- land has been sequestered ; five of our ships, laden with English goods, lying in English har- bours, and just ready to sail for America, have been seized as lawful prizes ; added to this, three vessels from the Indies, laden with island produce, have been taken on their homeward- bound voyage, and one lost on her return from Holland. " This wreck of fortune I might have surviv- ed, had I to sustain only my equal dividend of the loss ; but of the merchants with whom I have been connected, not one remains to share the fate of the event — all have absconded or se- creted themselves. To attempt to compound with my creditors would be of little avail, so that the consequence to me is inevitable ruin. " To abscond would not secure me, as most of my remaining property is vested in real estate ; 70 A L I D A. k .1 and even if it would, I could not consent to it, 1 could not consent to banish myself from my country, with the view to defraud my creditors. No : I have lived honestly, and honestly will I die. By fair application and industry my wealth has been obtained, anc' it shall never justly be said that the reputation of my latter days were sullied with acts of meanness. I have notified and procured a meeting of the creditors, and have laid the matter before them. Some appear- ed favourable to me, others insinuated that we "were all connected in fraudulent designs to swindle our creditors. To this I replied ^ h becoming spiritj and was in consequence threat- ened with immediate prosecution. Whatever may be the event, I had some hopes that your happiness, Theodore, might yet be secured. Hence I proposed your union with Alida befoie our misfortunes should be promulgated. Your parents are old, a little will serve the residue of tlieir days. With your acquirements you may make your way in life. I shall now have no property to give you ; but I would still wish you to ensure to yourself that which you prize far above, and without which, both honours and emoluments would be unimportant and worth- less." At this moment a loud rap at the dobr inter* A L I D A. 71. niplcd the discourse, and three men were ush- ered in, which proved to be the sheriff and his attendants, sent by the muie inexorable creditors of Theodore's father and couipaiiy, to levy on the property of the former, which orders they faithfully executed by seizing the lands, tene- ments, and furniture. We will noi stop tlie reader to moralize on this disastrous event— the feelings of the family can better be conceived than described. Hurled, in a moment, from the lofty summit of affluence to the low vale of indigence, Chris- tian philosophy after a while came to the aid of the parents, but who can realize the feelings of the son ? Thus suddenly cut short not only of his prospects of future independence, but even present support, what would be the event of his suit to Alida, and stipulated marriage ? Was it not probable that her father would now cancel the contract ? Could she consent to become his in his present penurious situation ? and dould he himself be willing (o make her miserable ? In this agitated frame of mind he received a letter from a friend in the neighbourhood of Alida, requesting him to come immediately to his house, whither he repaired the following day. This person had ever been the unchanging fri(;nd of Theodore : he had heard of the mis- 72 A L I DA. fortunes of his family, and he deeply sympa- thized in his distress. He had lately married and settled near the residence of Alida's father. His name was Raymond. When Theodore arrived at the house of his friend, he was receiv- ed with the same disinterested ardour he had ever been before, in the day of his most un- bounded prosperity. After being seated, Ray- mond told him the occasion of his sending for him was to propose the adoption of certain mea- sures which he doubted not might be considered highly beneficial, as it respected his future peace and happiness. ^'Your family misfortunes," continued he, *' have reached the ear of Alida's father. I know old people^ generally speaking, too well to believe he will now consent to receive you as his son in-law under your present em- barrassments. The case is difficult, but not in* surmountable. You must first see Alida ; she is now in the next room ; I will introduce you in ; converse with her, after which I will lay my plan before you." Theodore entered the room. Alida was sitting by a window which looked into a pleasant gar- den, and over verdant meadows where tall grass waved to the evening breeze ; further on, low valleys spread their umbrageous thickets where the dusky shadows of night had began to assem- A L r D A 72 ble. On the high hills beyond, the tops of lofty forests, majestically moved by the billowy gales, caught the sun's last ray. Fleecy sunuiier clouds hovered around the verge of the western horizon, spangled with silvery tints or fringed with the gold of evening. A mournfull}p»mur- muring rividet purled at a little distance from the garden, on the borders of a small grove, from whence the American wild dove waAed her sympathetic moaning to the ear of Alida. She. was leaning on a small table as she sat by the window, which was thrown up. Her atten- tion was fixed. She did not perceive Raymond and Theodore as they entered; They advanced towards her ; she turned, started, and arose. With a melancholy smile she said she supposed it was Mrs. Raymond who was approaching, as she had just left the room. Her countenance was dejected, which, on seeing Theodore, light- ed up into a languid sprightliness. It was evi- dent she had been weeping, Raymond retired) and Theodore and Alida seated themselves. '^ I have broken in upon your solitude, per* haps too unseasonably," said Theodore. "It is however the fault of Raymond ; he invited me to walk into the room, but did not inform me that you were alone." " Your presence was sudden and unexpected| 7 n 74 A L I D A. s but not unseasonable," replied Alida. ^* I hope that you did not consider any formality neces- sary in your visits, Theodore?" " I once did not think so," answered Theo- dore ; " now I know not what to think — I know not how to act. You have heard of the misfor- tunes of my father's family, Alida ?" *^ Yes, I have heard the circumstances attend- ing that event," said she ; " an event in which no one could be more deeply interested, except the immediate sufferers, than myself" \ " Your father is also acquainted with my pre- sent situation," said Theodore ; " and how did he receive the inielligence ? " " With deep regret," replied Alida. " Has he forbidden you to admit my address- es any longer ? if even in an unquahfied or indirect manner, it is proper I should know it." " It certainly is," said Alida. " Soon after we received the intelligence of your family mis- fortunes, my father came into the room where I was sitting : * Alida,' said he, * your conduct has ever been that of a dutiful child, — mine, of an indulgent parent. My ultimate wish is to see my children, v/hen settled in life, happy and honourably respected. For this purpose I have bestowed on them a proper education, and de- sign suitably to apportion my property among A L I D A. n them. On their part, it is expected they will act prudently and discreetly, especially in those things which concern materially their future peace and welfare : the principal requisite to en- sure this is a proper connexion in marriage.' Here my father paused a considerable time, and then continued : < I know, my child, that your situation is a very delicate one. Your marriage- day is appointed ; it was named under the fair- est prospects. By the failure of Theodore's father, those prospects have become deeply dark- ened, if not totally obliterated. To commit your fortune through life to a person in his pre- sent circumstances, would be hazardous in the extreme. The day named can at least be sus- pended ; perhaps something more favourable may appear. At any rate, I have too much confidence in your discretion to suppose that you will, by any rash act, bring reproach either upon yourself or your connexions.' Thus spake my father, and immediately withdrew." " In our present dilemma," said Theodore, " what is proper to be done ?" " It is difficult to determine," answered Alida. "Should my father expressly forbid our union, or to see each other at present, it is probable he will carry his commands into effect. I would advise you to call on him to-morrow with your /• 76 A L I D A . i> ,; usual freedom. VVhaiever may be the event. I shall deal sincerely with you. Mrs. Raymond has been my friend and associate from my ear- liest years — Raymond you know. In them we can place the utmost confidence. From them you will be enabled to obtain information should I be prevented from seeing you. My reliance en Providence, I trust, v/ill never be shaken, b'Jt my future prospects, at present, are dark and gloomy.*' *< Let us not despair," said Theodore ; " per- haps those gloomy clouds which now hover around us, may yet be dissipated by the bright beams of joy. Worth and innocence are the care of Heaven, — there rests my hope. To- morrow, as you propose, I will call at your fa- ther's. If I should be debarred in future from seeing you, I will write as formerly, and direct the letters to Raymond." Alida now returned home, attended by Theo- dore. A whip-poor-will tuned its nightly J^ong at a distance ; but the soimd which had so late appeared to them cheerful anil sprightly, »ow passed heavily over their hearts. jf A L 1 D A n CHAPTER XII. •* O, Happiness, deceitful is thy dream. Though wreaths all blooming hang upon thy brow, And quick dissolves the visionary gleam. Succeeded soon by variouii scenes of wo." When Theodore returned to the house of his friend, he unlblded the plan he had projected. " No sooner," said Raymond, " was I inform- ed of your misfortunes, than I was convinced that Alida's father (who I have known many years) would endeavour to dissolve your intend- ed union with his daughter. And however he may dote on his children, or value their happi- ness, he will not hesitate to sacrifice his better feelings to the acxouiplwhment of his wishes to see them independent, it appears that you have but one resource left. You and Alida are now engaged by the most solemn ties, by every rite except those which are ceremonial ; these I. would advise you to enter into, and trust to the consequences. Mrs. Raymond has propos- ed the scheme to Ahda, but implicitly accustona- ed to fihal obedience, she shudders at the idea of a clandestine marriage ; but when her father will proceed to rigorous measures she will, I think, consent to the alternative. The world 11 before you, Theodore," continued he ; " you 7* y m U ;■♦■? 78 A L I D 1. II have friends, you have acquirements which wiU not fail you. In a country like this you can scarcely help obtaining a competency, which, with the other requisites you have in your pow- er, will not fail to insure your independence and felicity." * ^But the limes have changed," said Theo- dore, " since the commencement of the war, and proi^bly I may yet have to join the army After I have made my visit on the morrow to Alida's father, we will discourse further on the subject." In the meantime, Theodore proceeded, on the morrow, to make his intended visit. As he ap- proached the house, he saw Alida sitting in a shady recess at one end of the garden, near which the road passed. Si e was leaning with her head upon her hand in a pensive posture ; a deep dejection was depicted upon her features which enUvened into a transient glow as soon as she saw Theodore. She arose, met him, and invited him into the house. Theodore was received with a cool reserve by all except Alida, Her father saluted him with a distant retiring bow, as he passed with her to the parlour. As soon as they were seated, a lady who had lately come to reside some time in the family, (who was a relative of her father's,) VI A L I D A. 79 entered the room and seated herself by the win- dow, alternately humming a tune and staring at Theodore, without speaking a word. This interruption was not of long continuance. Alida's father entered, and requested the two ladies to withdraw, which was instantly done ; he then addressed Theodore as follows : " When I gave consent for your union with my daughter, it was on the conviction that your future resources would be adequate to support her honourably and independently. Circum- stances have since taken place which render this point extremely doubtful." He paused for a re- ply, but Theodore was silent. He continued, " You perhaps may say that your acquirements, your prudence, and youi industry, will procure you a handsome income ; but to depend on these altogether for your future exigencies is hazarding peace, honour and reputation, at a sin- gle game of chance. If, therefore, you have no resources or expectations but such as these, your own judgment will teach you the necessity of immediately relinquishing all pretensions to the hand of Alida, and from this time to break off all conununication with my daughter." He then immed'itely left the room. Why was Theodore t^peechless through tho whole of this discourse ? What reply could he have made '/ What were the prospects bedne * 80 A L I D A. him but misery and wo ? Where, indeed, were the means by which Aiida was to be Yielded from indigence, if connected with his fortunes ? The idea was not new, but it came upon him at this time with redoubled anguish.^ He arose and looked around for Alida, biit she was not to be seen. He left the house and walked slowly towards Raymond^s. At a little distance he met Alida, who had been strolling in an adjoin- ing avenue. He informed her of all that had passed ; it was no more than they both expect- ed, yet it was a shock their fortitude could scarcely sustain. Disappointment seldom finds her votaries prepared to receive her. Alida told Theodore that she knew her fa- ther's determinations were altogether unchange- able at present. Her brother, she said, would be at home in a few days ; how he would act on this occasion, she was unable to say ; but if he sanctioned their love^ he would have but fee- ble influence with her father. " What is to be the end of these troubles," continued she, " it is impossible to foresee. Let us trust in the mer^ cy of Heaven, and submit to its dispensations. '* Theodore and Alida, in their happier days, had, when absent from each other, correspond- ed. This method it was now thought best to resume. It was agreed, besides, that Theodore ¥• A L I ]) A . 81' should frequently visit Raymond's, and Alida would resort there also, as she should find oppor- tunity. Having concluded on this, Alida return- ed home, and Theodore to the house of his friend. ^ The next morning Theodore repaired to the dwelling where his aged parents now resided. His bosom throbbed with keen anguish when he arrived there : his own fate unconnected with that of Alida. His father was absent when he first reached home, but returned soon after. A beam of joy gleamed upon his countenance as he entered the house. " Were it not, Theo- dore, for your unhappy situation," said he, '' we should once more be restored to peace and hap- piness. A few persons who were indebted to me, finding that I was to be sacrificed by my unfeeling creditors, reserved those debts in their hands, and have now paid me, amounting to something more than five thousand pounds. With this I can live as well and conveniently as I could wish, and can spare some for your pre- sent exigences, Theodore." Theodore thanked his father for his kindness, but told him that from his former liberality, he had yet sufiicient for all his wants. " But your Mffair with Alida;' asked his lather, *^ how is 82 A L I O A. that likely to terminate V\ « Favourably, I hope, sir," answered Theodore. He could not consent to disturb the happy .tranquillity of his parents by reciting his own wretchedness. He passed a week with them. He saw them once more comfortably seated at a calm retreat in the country ; he saw them serene- ly blest in the pleasures of returning peace, and a ray of joy illumined his troubled bosom. *' Again the youth his wonted life regained, A transient sparkle in his eye obtained, A bright, impassion'd cheering glow express'd The pleased sensation of his tender breast : But soon dark gloom the feeble smiles o'erspread ; Like morn's gay hues, the fading splendours fled ; Returning anguish froze his feeling soul ; Deep sighs burst forth, and tears began to roll ! His memory dwelt on Alida, from whom he had heard nothing since he had last seen her. He thought of the difficulties with which he was surrounded. He thought of the barriers which were now opposed to their happiness ; and he immediately set out for the house of Raymond. He arrived at his residence near the close of the day. Raymond and his lady were at tea, with several young ladies that had passed the after- noon there. Theodore cast an active glance at the company, in hopes to see Alida among them, A L I D A. 83 but she was not there. He was invited and took aseat at table. After tea was over, Raymond led Theodore into an adjoining room. " You have come in^ good time," said he. " Something speedily must be done, or you lose Alida forever. The day after you were here, her father received a letter from Bonville, in which, after mentioning the circumstances of your father's insolvency, he hinted that the consequence would probably be a failure of her proposed marriage with you, which might essentially injure the reputation of a lady of her standing in life ; to prevent which, and to place her beyond the reach of calumny, he offered to marry her at any appointed day, provided he had her free consent. As Bonville by the recent death of his father, had been put in possession of a splendid fortune, the proposi- tion might possibly allure the father of Alida, to use his endeavour to bring his daughter to yield implicit obedience to his wishes. Were he to command her to live single, it might be endured ; but if he should endeavour to persuade her to discard you from her thoughts entirely, and to give her hand to a person, she could have no esteem for, would be to perjure those principles of truth and justice, which he himself had ever taught her to hold most inviolable. To add to 64 A L I D A mi i i/* Alidads distress, Bonvilie arrived there yesterday^ and I hope, in some measure to alleviate it, Al-' bert, her brother, came this morning. Mrs. Ray- mond has dispatched a message to inform Alida of your arrival, and to desire her to come here ippmediately. She will undoubtedly comply with the invitation, if not prevented by something extraordinary," Mrs. Raymond now came to the door of the room, and beckoned to her husband, who went out, but soon returned, leading in Alida, after' which he retired. " Oh, Theodore," was all she could say, her further utterance was interrupted by her tears. Theodore led her to a seat, and mingled his tears with hers ; but was unable to speak. Recovering at length, he begged her to moderate her grief. "Where," said he, "is your fortitude, and your firmness, Alida, which I have so often seen triumphing over affliction ? '' Her extreme an- guish pre^rented a reply. Theodore endeavoured to console her, though consolation was a stranger to his own breast. " Let us not," said he, " increase our flood of affliction by a tide of useless sorrow^ Perhaps more prosperous days are yet in reserve for us ; happiness may yet be ours. Heaven cannot de- sert Alida," said Theodore ; " as well might it A L I D A. 9B' desert its angels. This thorny path raay lead to ftiir fields of light and verdure. Tempests arc succeeded by calms; wars end in peace; the splendours of the brightest morning arise on tho^ wings of blackest midnight. Troubles will not always last." t The grief which had almost overwhelmed Alida, now began to subside, as the waves of the ocean gradually cease their tumultuous commo- tion after the turbulent winds are laid asleep. Deep and long drawn sighs succeeded. The irritation of her feelings had caused a more than usual glow upon her check, which faded away as she became composed, until a livid paleness spread itself over her leatures. * ^ '* Ra3rmond and his lady now came into the room. They strenuously urged th^ propriety and necessity for Theodore and Alida, to enter into the bands of matrimony. " The measure would be hazardous," remark- ed Alida. " My circumstances," said Theodore. "Not on that account," interrupted Alida, "but the displeasure of my father." " Come here, Alida, to-morrow evening,'* said Mrs. Raymond. " In the mean time you will consider the matter and then determine." To this Alida assented, and prepared u) return home. Theodore attended her as far as the gate 8 , t ! IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) {./ ^ ■^- ^. ^o ^ ^ 1.0 I.I Uii|2jd ■UIBU ■ 2.2 ii& 1.25 1 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" ► Phoipgraphic Sciences Corporation 33 WIST MAIN STRUT WIBSTIR.N.Y, MSIO (71*)I72-4S03 ^ ^V ,v <^ ^ \ i^ ^,y i •^ \ c\ V' ■ m- 86 A L I D A .v^- which opened into the yard surrounding the dwelling. . It W4s dangerous for bim to go fur^ ther, lest he should be discovered even by a do- mestic of the family. He stood here awhile looking anxiously after Alida as she walked up the avenue, her whijLe robes now invisible, now dimly seen, until they were totally obscured, mingling with the gloom and darkness of the night, ere she reached the door of her father's mansion. " Thus," said Theodore, " fades the angel of peace from the visionary eyes of the war-worn sol- dier, when it ascends in the dusky clouds of early morning, while he slumbers on the field of re- cent battle." With mounful forebodings he re- turned to the house of his friend. After passing a sleepless night, he arose, and walked out into an adjoining field ; he stood for some time lean- ing, in deep contemplation, against a tree, when he heard quick footsteps behind him. He turned around, and saw Albert approaching. In a moment they were in each other's arms, and mingled tears. They soon returned to Ray- mond's where they conversed largely on present affairs. " I have discoursed with my father on the sub- ject," said Albert ; " I have urged him with every possible argument to relinquish his determina- ♦ . #- A L I D A . 87 na- tion to keep you and Alida separate, i fear, however, he is inflexible." • * . • " To endeavour to assuage the grief which rent Alida's bosom was my next object, and in this I trust I have not been unsuccessful. You will see her this evening, and will find her more calm and resigned. You, Theodore, must ex- ert your fortitude. The w^ays of Heaven are in- scrutible, but they are right. We must acqui- esce in its dealings; we cannot alter its decrees. Resignation to its will, whether merciful or af- flictive, is one of those eminent virtues which adorn the good man's character, and will ever find a brilliant reward in the regions of unsul- lied happiness." Albert told Theodore that circumstances com- pelled him that day to reUirn to the city. **I would advise you," said he, " to remain here un- til your aflair comes to some final issue. It must, 1 think, ere long, be terminated. Per- haps you and my sister may yet be happy." Theodore feelingly expressed his gratitude to Albert. He found in him that disinterested friendship which his early youth had experienced. Albert the same day departed for New- York. The shades of night came on almost insensi- bly, as Theodore was anxiously expecting Alida. He anticipated the consolation her presence ' il ! m-"i 88 A L I t> A. would be tow. Albert had told him she was more composed. The evening passed on, but she came not, * Raymond assured him she would soon be there. He pated the room, and then walked out on the way whither she was expected to come. He hesitated some time whether to advance or return. It was possible, though not probable, that she might have come some other way. He hastened back to the house of his friend ; she had not arrived. " Something extraordinary," said Mr. Ray- mond, *' has undoubtedly prevented her coming. Perhaps she is ill." Theodore shuddered at the suggestion. He looked at his watch ; it was past twelve o'clock. Again he hastily sallied out and took the road to her father's. The night was exceed- ingly dark, being illuminated only by the feeble ghmmering of the twinkling stars. When he came within sight of the house, and as he drew near, no lights were visible, all was still and si- lent. He entered the yard, walked up the ave- nue, and approached the door. A solemn still- ness prevailed around, interrupted only by the discordance of nightly insects. The dwelling was shrouded in darkness. In Alida's room no gleam of light appeared. A L '1 D A . .89 " They are all buried in sleep/' said Theodore, deeply sighing, ^* and I have only^to returil in disappointment/' " r Theodore now withdrew slowly from the place, and repassed the way he came.- As he went back through the garden, he found a person standing at the foot of it, near the road. After a moment's scrutiny, he perceived it to be Bonvdle. " What, my chevalier, why are you here ? " said he to Theodore. " Hast thou, then, eluded the watchful eyes of Argus, and the vigilance of the dragon? " • / " Unfeeling and impertinent intruder ! " re- torted Theodore, '< dost thou add impudence to thy interference ? Go," said he, " you are un- worthy of my anger. Pursue thy groveling schemes. Strive to win to your arms a lady who must ever continue to despise you." " Theodore," replied Bonville, ** You and I were rivals in the pursuit for the hand of Alida. Whether from freak or fortune the preference was given to you, I know not ; and I retired in silence. From coincidence of circumstances, I think she will now be induced to give the pre- ference to me, especially after her prospects of connecting with you were cut off by the events which ruined your fortune. You, Theodore, have yet, I find, to learn the character of woman. 8* i t \\\ A I' 90 A L I D A. It has been my paiticular study. Alida, no\^ #' ardently impassioned by first impressions, irritated by recent disappointment, her feelings delicate and vivid, her atfections animated", it would be strange if she could suddenly reUnquish prema- ture attachments founded on such premises. But remove iier from your presence one year, with only distant and uncertain prospects of seeing you again, admit me as the substitute in your absence, and she accepts my hand as freely as she would now receive yours. I had no design. It never was my wish to marry her without her free consent ; — that I beheve 1 shall yet ob- tain. Under existing circumstances, it is im- possible but that you must be separated. Then, when cool deliberation succeeds to the wild va- garies of fancy, she will discover the dangerous precipice to which her present inclinations lead. She will prefer indifference and splendour to love and a cottage. At present I relinquish all further pursuit; to-morrow I shall re- turn home. When Alida, from calm delibera- tion, and the advice of friends, shall freely con- sent to yield me her hand, I shall return to re- ceive it. I came from my lodgings this evening to declare these intentions to her father ; but it being later than I was aware of, the family had gone to rest. I was about to return, but, looking A L I D A . 91 back again at the house, to see it I could descry a light, I stood a moment by the garden gate, when you approached and discovered me." So saying, he bade Theodore good night, and walk- ed hastily away. " I find he knows not the character of Alida," said Theodore, as he pursued his way to Ray- mond's. When he arrived at the house of his friend, he related all that passed between him- self and Bonville ; and from what he related, the Raymonds concluded that Alida must be watched and guarded* (t. ' / • 7 » vv n ' •li: Mj- •J • / ; n. J. I ^\ J- f i.ii '"( <* . 1' r\ CJ r '■!•',; A V.«: ■ 'A i^l-A )i<'i •i- 1 I i 92 W. A L I D A s^r :'■ .' ,■' CHAPTER XIII. . Friendship ! thou sovereign balm of every CB.;e, ''^hen all serene and placidly appear ; Domestic happiness ! of that possest, . Then may we leave to Providence the rest. ^ The father of Alida now thought proper to enter into a second marriage. A lady of woith and understanding had wrought upon his fancy, and won his particular regard. Her elegance of manner and dignified deportment engaged gene- ral attention ; and although she was rather ad- vanced in life, yet " the remains of former beauty were still visible in her appearance." She was honourably descended from English parents, who had resided in New- York since the revolution. Her father had been actively en- gaged in business there, which had been ulti- mately crowned with the successful gifts of for- tune. Her education had been governed by the strict- ness of the English discipline. A foundation laid in early piety continued to influence her mind with unaffected ardour, blended with a generous benevolence, the genuine effects of the inexhaustible goodness of her heart. She was one who manifested to the world that a " doer of good" is far preferable to any other character, A L I D A. 93 and in a superlative degree above those who maintain high principles in theory, without ever* once reducing them to practice. ^ This lady had an only sister who married a native of Ireland, and after the course of a few years went to reside there, where she had re- cently died. The children returned to this country, having lost their father long before, and several of her nephews now resided in the city. Having been always accustomed to reside in town herself, where her many excellent qua- lities had endeared her to numerous friends and acquaintances, who would now feel themselves lost without her society, therefore the parents of Alida formed the conclusion to pass their winters in the city, and return to the country in the sum- mer season. " '' ' In the mean time, Alida's father thought the event fortunate, and was pleased at this time to remove his daughter from the place where the late scenes appeared so trying and afflictive, with the hope that in mingling her with the gay world she would in a while forget Theodore, while he in his turn would be induced to leave the neighbourhood. It was now at that season when weary sum- mer had lapsed into the fallow arms of autumn, and was approaching to the chilly breezes of .1 \ . 94 A L I D A winter. The morning was clear^ and ihe light gales bore »^^igorating coolness on their wings as tl^ tremulously agitated the foliage of the western forest, or fluttered among the branches of the trees that surrounded the mansion. The green splendours of the lawn had faded into a yellow lustre; the flowery verdure of the fields was changed to a russet hue. A robin chirped in a favourite tree in the yard ; a wren chattered beneath, while some few soli- tary birds still continued to warble their notes among the leaves of the aspen. The surrounding groves partially rung with melody ; while deep in the adjacent wilderness the woodpecker, hammering on some dry and blasted trees, filled the woods with reverberant echoes. . . ^^ ; The face of the Sound was -uffled by the lingering breezes, as they idly wandered over its surface. Long Island was thinly enveloped in smoky vapour ; scattered along its shores lay the numerous small craft, with larger ships, of the hostile fleet. A few skifTs were passing and re- passing the Sound. Several American war- sloops lay on a point which jutted out from the main land into the river. Alida walked leisurely around the yard, con- templating the various beauties of the scene, the \ 1 m A L I D A . 95 images of departed joys (that she was now about to leave). The days when Theodore partici- pated with her in admiring the splendqurs of rural prospect, raised in her bosom the sigh of deep regret. She entered the garden, and traced the walks, now overgrown with weeds and tufted grass. The flower-beds were choked with the low running brambles, and tall rushes and daisies had usurped the empire of the kitchen garden. The viny arbour was principally gone to decay, and the eglantine blushed mournfully along the fences. Alida continued to walk the garden until the servant informed her that the carriage was waiting to take her to the city. ^^ -^ Although they set out rather late in the day, they arrived in town some hours before sunset. They drove immediately to their dwelling, which was situated in a pleasant part of Greenwich- street, near the Battery. *v^ ^^ u Alida, after she had thrown off her travelling apparel, seated herself by the window in silence. Her mind was absorbed in deep reflection and thoughtfulness. She watched the slow declin- ing sun, as it was sinking beneath the horizon. Pensive twilight spread her misty mantle over the landscape. The western sky glowed with the spsingles of evening ; deepening glooms ad- [ I 1 h 96 A L I D A. vauced. The last beam of day faded from thd vieW) and all was enveloped in night. InnU' merable stars glittered ki the firmament, inter' mingling their qtiivering lustre with the pale splendours of the milky way. < When Alida was summoned to tea, her pa- rents made various observations to endeavour to amuse her thoughts, and draw her from her taciturnity. After tea she again returned to the window, where she sat till a late hour, apparent- ly in deep meditation, till at length growing weary and restless, she retired to her room. As she had for several nights in succession slept but little, she soon fell into a slumber, and did not awake till near the dawn of day. She did not close her eyes again to sleep. Daylight soon appeared, and the cheerful sun darting his enlivening rays through the windows of this an> tique mansion, recovered her exhausted spirits, and dissipated in some measure the cheerless re> flections that still continued to hover about her imagination. „ . , She arose, and went down to breakfast with spirits somewhat revived, and changed to a tem- porary resignation to past events and recent oc- currences. A thought impressed her mind, which gave her new consolation. ^* Who knows,'' said she, ^^ but that the mn of A L I D A. 97 peace may yet dispel the glooms of these distress- ful hourS| and restore this throbbing bosom to its former serenity 7" « In the mean time, Theodore remained in the neighbourhood of Alida until he heard the family had left and gone to the city. He then prepared himself to set out early the next day for the ha- bitation of his parents. He informed Raymond of his promise to write to Alida, and to transmit letters through his agency for her inspection every convenient op- portunity. ' . -^ . \ After passing a weary watchful night, he arose at the first dawning of day, and proceeded on his journey with a heavy heart and painful re- flections. iDir After he had passed through the neighbouring village and gained the bridge, he looked over and bade the residence of Alida a mournful fare* well. Fearful forebodings crossed his mind that they were separated forever ; then again those more consolatory, that perhaps after a long de- lay, he and Alida might yet again meet and be happy. .'.- ;*- - i..-..^^.v- Traits of glory had painted the eastern skies. The glittering day-star, having unbarred the portals of light, began to transmit its retrocessive lustre. Thin scuds flew swiftly over the moon's 9 98 A L I D A. ^ decrescent form. Low, hollow winds murmured among the bushes, or brushad the limpid drops from tte intermingling foliage. The dusky shadows of night fled to the deep glens and rocky caverns of the wilderness. The American lark soared high isr the air, consecrat- ing its matin lay to morn's approaching splen- dours. The woodlands and forest tops on the high hills caught the sun's first ray, which widening and extending soon gemmed the landscape with a varying brightness. It was late in the afternoon before Theodore arrived at his father's. He found his parents contented and happy at their present residence, which was extremely pleasant, and afforded them many accommodations. " You have been long gone, my son," said his father : ^< I scarcely knew what had become of you. Since I have become a farmer, I know little of what is going on in the world, and we were never happier in our lives. We live as in- dependently as we could desire, and realize the blessings of health and contentment. Our only disquietude is on your account, Theodore. Your affair with Alida, I suppose, is not so favourable as you could wish. But despair not, my sen ; hope is the harbinger of fairer prospects ; rely on I A L I D A . 99 Providence, which never deserts those who sub- missively bow to its dispensations. Place entire confidence and dependence on the Supreme Be- ing/' said his father, '^ and the triumph of forti- tude and resignation will be yours." His father paused. His reasonings, however they convinced the understanding, could not heal the wounds of Theodore's bosom. In Alida he had looked for as much happiness as earth could atford, nor could he see any prospect in life which could re- pair to him her loss. Unwilling to disturb the serenity of his pa- rents, he did not wish to acquaint them with the whole affair of his troubles. He answered, that perhaps all might yet be well ; that, however, in the present state of his mind, he thought a change of place and scene might be of advantage. He said, moreover, thai he no longer had an excuse, and that circumstances now compelled him to join the army. ^ j ^ A sorrow unknown before seized iipon the minds of his parents as Theodore repeated these words. Sad and dreadful ideas crowded their imagination at this gloomy period, when in the war's dread emergency they must risk the life of an only son, to march to the field of battle. 'Tis true, he might be again restored to them, but were there not a thousand chances to one? i 100 A L I D A . They were overwhelmed with sorrow at these thoughts, till at length they finally felt them- selves obliged to consent to what they considered his inevitable destiny, leaving the result of their united wishes and prayers for his safe preserva- tion to an overruling Providence. His father then offered him money he had on hand to defray his expenses. Theodore refused, saying, his resources had not yet left him. He then disposed of his horses and carriages, the in* signia of his better days, but now useless ap- \ pendages. ' • , . ,. After taking an affectionate leave of his pa- rents, he set out the ensuing day to join his companions on their route to meet the army, which was far distant. When hostilities first commenced, Theodore had said, that when it became actually necessary, and his father^s affairs were settled, he would enlist in the service of his country. Nevertheless, he journeyed with a heavy heart and an enfeebled frame of ^^pirits, through disappointment, vexation, and fatigue. The scenes he had so lately experienced moved in melarcholy succession over his mind, and his despondency had not abated, even in a small degree, when he reached the army. He now joined the forces under Colonel Van Renssalaer, " Who, with a detachment of about AL I D ▲. 101 one thousand men, crossed the river Niagara, and attacked the British on dueenstown heights. This detachment succeeded in dislodging the enemy, but not being reinforced by the militia from the American side, as was expected, they were ultimately repulsed, and obliged to surren- der. Eight hundred British soldiers now came to the aid of the others, and pressed on to renew the attack. The Americans for a time continued to struggle against this force, but were finally obliged to surrender themselves prisoners of war." The fate of war was hard for Theodore on his first expedition. He was taken and carried among the rest on board a prison-ship, and sent with a number of others to England. . This disastrous event, however, was shortly followed bv one more fortunate for the Ameri- cans. *^ General Dearborn embarked at Sack- ett's Harbour, with sixteen hundred men, on an expedition against York, and succeeded in the capture of that place. " York was the seat of government for Upper Canada, and the principal depot for the Niagara frontier. More naval stores were taken by the Americans than could be carried away. The governrwient hall was burned, contrary to the orders of the American general." , ; , ■ 1^ 102 A L t D A. CHAPTER XIV. *' See, winter conies,^* and boisterous on its way, Seo darkening clouds obscure the cheerful day. Its hollow voice is muttering in the gale, While chilling hail and snow the earth assaiU Some length of time had elapsed since the family had been settled in the city, and the cool breezes of autumn had changed to the hoarse murmuring gales of winter. No sound scarcely was heard except blustering winds, or their whistling murmurs around the angles of the mansion, blended with the more slow, monoto- nous cadence of the advancing waves of the Hudson. The evenings were cold, dark, and gloomy, except when the resplendent rays of the moon's mild lustre was seen dispensing its light and cheering influence, dissipating in a material de- gree the dreariness of the evenings of this incle- ment season. Winter had commenced, sullen and sad, with all his rising train. Vapours, and clouds, and storms succeeded each other. In- stead of copious showers of rain, snow and ice were spread over the pavement in heavy masses. One evening as a storm was approaching, and the winds blew tremendously, and the snow began to fall in abundance. Where now, thought 1 A L I D A. 103 Aiida, is Theodore? though the cold may pierce and storms molest him, yet there is no friend to sympathise with him in his distress, or to miti< gate the heaviness of his cheerless hours, and shed the rays of gladness over his troubled mind. How great the contrast is now with his for- mer fortunes, how severe his afflictions ! He feels not so much the loss of wealth, but he sighs for the smiles of former associates and friends, She looked upon her finger, there was the ring he had given her in happier days. This she vowed to keep and cherish, through every trial and affliction. It was Theodore's last gift. Where was he now ? What dangers he may have encountered, and what hardships endured ! and what might he not yet have to suffer, ere she should behold him again, if indeed she ever should. She had not heard from him in a long time. He had promised to write — why was he not faith- ful to his promise? <* > ; h^ ^ Thus meditated Alida. At length she arti- culated in a calmer tone, and her feelings became more composed. Infinite Ruler of events ! Great Sovereign of this ever-changing world ! Omnipotent Con- troller of vicissitudes ! Omniscient Dispenser of destinies ! In thy hands are all things terrestrial, I 104 A L I D A. and the condition of our lives are at thy disposal K The beginning, the progression, and the end is thine. Unsearchable are thy purposes ! — mys- terious thy movements ! — inscrutable thy opera- tions ! Thy will must be done. To bow in submission to thy decrees, is right : — for we are unable to scrutinize the past, and incompetent to explore the future. Alida had lived retired since she had been in town, although in the midst of gay scenes of ev- ery description. The acquaintance she had made I were few. Her second mother had no relatives there, except her sister's children, which formed a principal part of her society. Her oldest nephew was about twenty-five years of age. The personal appearance of Mr. Bolton was higlily prepossessing. He was parti- cularly distinguished for his genuine politeness, afi'ability, and witticism. He inherited a considerable patrimony from his grand-father, which proved to be a disadvan- tage, as it prevented him from applying himself to any particular occupation. Since his aunt's marriage, and his acquaintance with Alida, his visits had become frequent, accompanied with partial attention ; though on her part, indiffer- ence was visible, as his earnest assiduities, were A L I D A. 105 altogether unexpected, and implied a thing she had not thought of. No one had as yet observed his g. owing fond- ness and predilection for Alida, except her father, to whom it was by no means pleasing. The habitual idleness of this young gentleman, caus- ed him in a great measure to pass over the con- sideration of his many excellent qualities. Among those, with whom Alida had become acquainted during her residence in the city, was the son of an old friend of her father's. This gentleman had place among the merchants in Broadway, and who, by a long course of in- dustrious trading had amassed a handsome com- petency. There was something peculiar in his air and manner, which distinguished him among the men of business. Speak of a person of commanding aspect, tall, slender, and majestic; quick in step, fluent in speech, with large light blue eyes, and light hair, approaching a little to the yellow. That was Mr. More. There was a neatness and uniform- ity in his appearance and dress. He might have been known by his blue suit, white vest, and cambric hankerchief He was polite and agree- able, and by his associates, he was much esteem- ed as an acquaintance. His judgment was ma- ture in regard to his business. He managed his < 106 A L I D A affairs wLlh prudeDce and economy, and still stood firm amid the shock of failures around him. Though his means were ample, his expendi- tures were not extravagant ; every thing about him partook of the convenient and useful. Suit- ably free from the fashion-mania which some- times attack young people like an epidemic. He preferred rational pleasures, and the company of a few yoyng men of liberal views and sentiments, to the empty display and unsubstantial showi which wins the smile of moneyed plebians. His general deportment, his countenance and manner, discovered a mind and disposition, that had always been accustomed to unremitting in- dulgence. He was ardent in friendship; pos- sessing a heart*of the keenest sensibility, with a scrupulous regard for the feelings of others. He had been much in female society — in company with the amiable, and intelligent. Still he had never seen any one that he thought was possess- ed of congenial feelings, or whose mind would assimilate with his own. When he became acquainted with Alida, his sensations were awakenerfto a new influence; — that he did not attempt to banish from his mind. He never before had seen any one he thought so worthy of esteem, or so calculated to inspire him with lasting friendship. <' The kin^nesSi A L I D A. 107 and sincerity of her heart, speaks in her artless manner/' said he, (as he was one evening return- ing home from her father's.) << She delights the old, and captivates the young. Yet her beauty is not so dazzling at first glance, but every day that she is seen, the more her features chann, the more her manners please. Innocence dwells in the silvery curls of her light aubui^n hair, that waves over her shouldersin simple elegance. She has been reared with proper care and attention, and educated not to shine in a ball-room, but with a soft soothing friendship, to dissipate ennui and gloom, and make the happiness of the domestic circle." t): n 108 A L I DA. CHAPTER XV. Come, contemplation, with thy boandlef ■ gaze. Inspire my song, whiie I hie merits praise, A true description of his greatness name, And fame's bright annals, shall record the same. Many were at this time risking their lives in defence of American liberty, and privileges ; — nor were there at present any prospects of conci- liatory measures between the contending powers. It became necessary for the people in the mean ^ time, to call forth all their energies and patrio- tism, with the utmost exertion on their parts — in support of their country, in order to maintain the burden of the arduous conflict in which it was engaged, and sustain the present contest with honour to themselves, and with the hope that its final settlement might be to the satisfac- tion of America, and the future prosperity of the nation. Many heroes ventured forth to the field of battle, with the ardent endeavour, siill to preserve their independence ; while at the same time the hearts of many were failing them with fear. It was a time for the patriot to use his influence to animate others anew to bravery, and persuade them to be zealous, in a just cause ; at this season of general excitement, in which the feelings of A L I D A. 109 the whole community had become strongly interested. Party spirit and the conflicting inter- ests of the different states were found to operate injuriously on many in their commercial trans- actions. The people were impoverished by the expenses of the war. Some were in debt. Cre- ditors resorted to legal measures to enforce a col- lection of their demands, which involved many families in deep embarrassment. Peace was sighed for by the multitude, but there were yet no signs of its realization. An engagement had just taken place on Lake Erie. The Americaa fleet was commanded by Commodore Perry, a young officer ; that of the British under Com. Barclay, an old and experienced officer, who had served under Nelson. After a contest of three hours the Americans gained a complete victory, and captured every vessel of the enemy. Com- modore Perry announced this victory in the fol- lowing laconic style : " We have met the enemy and they are ours." The Americans took six hundred prisoners, which exceeded their whole number engaged in the action. This battle was succeeded, several weeks afterwards, by an- other that was alike fortunate, between the Americans; army under General Harrison, and the British under Gen. Proctor, in which they were defeated, and Detroit fell into the hands of 10 i no A L I D A the Americans. The success of this action may be entirely attributed, (under the favour of heav- en,) to the abilities and military skill of General Harrison. After General Hull had tamely surrendered to the British this important post, with the gallant force that composed the garrison, an event which spread consternation far and wide throughout the western country, and greatly increased the diiRculty and arduous nature of Gen. Harrison's* duties, he immediately organized tJie brave troops under his command, and commenced a course of rigid discipline, and military training^:, with the confident hope of retrieving |the conse- quent disasters of this proceeding. The American army advanced in order of battle, and were in the immediate neighbour- hood of the enemy ; the reconnoitering parties brought in intelligence of the dispositions Proc- tor had made, vv herein he had committed an irretrievable error in ranging his regular soldiers in order, aiid extending his line by placing the files aJ a distance of three or four feet from each other. Hd,rrison, with the rapid decision of an able general, instantly availed himself of the error of his opponent. The extended and weak- ened line of the enemy, could offer but a feeble resistance to the charge of his gallant troops. 5S /■ A L I D A 111 who dashed forward at the earnest solicitation of the people of the territory, — and with the pnhUc expression of the most flattering approbation, on the part of the chief executive ; — tiil at length they gained a complete victory. The various and arduous duties of the gover- nor of Indiana, required, for this office, a man of very superior abilities — one possessed of stern in- tegrity, and prudent moderation, accompanied by the most unwavering firmness. Such a man Governor Harrison, in the long course of his ad- ministration fully proved himself to be. And in acting his part as a general he merits no less the applauses of his countrymen, in training and leading their armies to victory. Tl)€ nervous and impassioned eloquence, and classical felicity of illustration, with which he enforced his argu- ments, gained him much applause and influence, — and discovered his abilities to be of the highest order, blended with the truest republican prin- ciples; — in which were manifested an ardent zeal for the good of his countr}', and an earnest desire to serve her best interests. Though vested with unusual powers, both as governor and gene- ral, he was never known, during the whole of his'command, to exercise his authority in an un- just or oppressive manner. His measures were energetic but always qualified by liis character- 112 A L I D A istic moderation and humanity, joineu with integrity, prudence and capacity for civil govern- ment. Detroit is destined to be remembered, as the place of the battle ground of one of the most re- markable and decisive actions that took place during the late war. After this action was over, Bonville, who was one among ths soldiers, returned to New- York. He furnished plausible reason, and obtained a^ furlough from his commanding officer, for leave of absence. In the mean time, he thought again to visit Alida ; he had at present a double mo- tive again to address her, — and if he should prove successful, her expected fortune would make him ample amends for what he had squandered away in scenes of folly. And if the father of Theodore, had become a bankrupt by misfortune, he had now almost become one by dissipation and extravagance. Albert had been extremely busy through the day, and was just returning home from his store in Pearl-street one evening, when he met Bon- ville in Broadway on his way to his father's. He accosted him in a very friendly man:ier, and then interrogated him by numerous questions concerning the family, — and very inquisitively with regard to his sister. Albert made no reply A L I D A 113 that p^ave him any particular satisfaction. When they arrived at the house, they found no com- pany except Mr. More. Alida was truly shocked and surprised at this unexpected visit from Bon- ville, who she had no idea was in town. After making to her his comphments, and expressing his pleasure at finding her well, he by degrees drew her into a conversation which lasted the greater part of the evening. He offered an ill- timed cor olation for the absence of Theodore, and affected much regret, — although he said his case v/as not as deplorable as that of many others, as he was still among the living. That though he was a person he could not esteem, still he had felt so far interested in his welfare, as to make particular inquiries how the British were accustomed to treat their prisoners. He then gave some dark intimations against his general character, which could not fail to throw over the mind of Alida a deep dejection. ' She was now apprised of the fate of Theo- dore : — She was unable to suppress the feelings of sorrow, that these words of Bonville had ex- cited. She remained silent ; wholly engrossed by the confused thoughts and sad ideas, that aros*^ in succession in her mind, till at length she became regardless of all around her. The penetrating eyes of Mr. More were fixed . 10* I 114 A L I D A. upon Alida, during this conversation. He seem- ed wholly insensible to every other object. He was apprehensive that her heart was insensible to the strong affection tl^at pervaded his own, — and he thought, should she prove incapable of loving like himself, and should become devoted to another, thoughts, he could scarcely en- dure, — though they sometimes impressed the idea that she might never be interested in his favour. Hope would again flatter him with the , pleasing thought, that her bosom may have been fraught with congenial feelings, and her heart beat with sensations even more fervent than his own. Her image filled his waking thoughts, and disturbed with visionary happiness his sleep- ing hours,— yet it seemed to his devoted mind, the love of merit alone ; and he imagined that while she was happy, he could never be alto- gether otherwise. After Mr. More and Bonville had taken leave, and her parents had retired to rest, Alida remain- ed by the fire-side till a late hour. She was meditating on recent circumstances, on the many late trying events, which had crowded so rapidly, that they could scarcely be said to succeed each other, and which had given so great variety to her life, that for years had rolled on in the same peaceful unvaried course. She felt displeased A L I D A . 115 atBonville for his insinuations concerning Theo- dore, which were ungenerous and ill-natured, — while he seemed to Hatter himself with the idea, that she would become forgetful of him. He had hitherto yielded to every selfish propensity, without once seriously reflecting on its conse- quences, to himself or others. His understand- ing, warped by prejudice, and without control, often misled him, and the superiority an ele- vated station gave him caused him to neglect to practise those better principles of which his nature might have been capable. His pride would suffer to see Alida united to another, there- fore, he was determined not to relinquish her. He concluded that finally she would look upon Theodore with indifference, and become favour- ably disposed towards himself; while his regard for her should prove unchangeable. That, un- acquainted as she was with the world, she would at length be brought to accede to his wishes. That his rhetoric operating on her inexperience would ultimately influence her in his favour. 116 A L I D A . : . CHAPTER XVI. \ J' ** Dejection pales thy rosy chcnk, '.''''', ■I' '' And steals the histro from thine eye ; , /^ ;; " The niinntts of eacli tedious Iiuur, , Arc marked by sad anxiety : * * 'l '.V *' And all thy soft, endearing smile?, That spoke with such expressive grace, , Alas! are fled, and only care Is seen upon that lovely face." .' ,, The sublime works of nature had shed abroad their ghteing influences, and the mild and salu- brious breezes of spring had succeeded to the blustering gates of winter. The parents of Alida made preparation to return to the country. Ali- da's father was declining in health. He had imparted to his son his wish for him to close and settle his mercantile affairs in the city, (as the times were dreary,) and return to the paternal estate. In the mean time, Albert's assistance was necessary to alleviate his father, as ha was now advanced in years, and had principally re- linquished all public business, except attending to its calls only when requested in cases of emer- gency. Mr. Bolton had been with the family several days, and attended them on board the steam- boat. One would scarcely suppose that so in- 1 A L I D A. 117 teresting an exterior as bis, blended witb bigbly polished manners, should not have made some impression on the mind of Alida if her heart had been disengaged. Besides, he was a person too amiable not to be esteemed. His ideas with re- gard to Alida were altogether sanguine. He believed, as soon as he should ask the consent of her parents, he would easily obtain his wishes. He considered his own fortune already sufficient, without seeking more in the din of business. And he possessed many other advantages which pleaded in his favour. With these hopes of as- sured success, he made proposals to her father. The manner in which her father replied to him was altogether discouraging, which excluded the hope of his ever gaining the hand of his daugh- ter by his consent. This denial was a sensible cause of chagrin to Mr. Bolton, but yet it did not discourage him. ,; = The impatience sometimes of obtaining a thing which is refused to us, renders it still more desirable, and the heart is never in a greater flutter than when it is agitated with tlie fear of losing the object it most wishes to gain. More- over, he believed that Alida was already inter- ested in his favour, and he determined to suggest to her, the first opportunity, the plan to elope with him, and thus put it out of the power of her fa- i / / / / i/ ;/ I 118 A L I D A . ther to impede their hapniness. The day was calm and serene, and the air invigorating. The steam-boat floated slowly upon tlie waters in monotonous movement. There was music on board. A company of militia were going to the village of , where they usually paraded the town for several hours, took dinner at the hotel, and then returned again to the city. Alida remained on deck nearly the whole wa}^ to be a spectator of the various beautiful \ landscapes that presented themselves on the river, particularly at this season of the year. A gentle breeze sprung up as they passed the little islands at the entrance of the bay, on whose glassy surface the sun shone with meridian splendour, illustrating the peculiar beauty of the diversified scenery. In the course of a few hours they arrived at the village of -, where they obtained a conveyance to take them on to their family residence, where they arrived some time in the afternoon. , . ; > Although all nature was smiling around, and the variegated landscape never appeared more enchanting, birds of every description were seen chirping on the spray, and the trees resounded with icir sportive melody, and Alida might still have k-t ^n happy if she had never become ac- quainted with Theodore ; yet while she had the A L I D A. 119 appearance of serenity, she still cherished a se- cret uneasiness. She had never received any intelligence concerning him since they had last parted. She imagined herself altogether for- gotten, as Bonville had frequently suggested. Besides, he had represented Theodore as worth- less. Harassed and oppressed hy a thousand diflerent conjeclures, she couiJ scarcely support herself under them with any degree of resigna- tion. In this frame of mind, in serious meditation, she , took a seat by the window. The sun was dechning slowly beneath the horizon to gladden other regions. The spire of the village church was tipped with gold, and the resplendent rays reflected from the window dazzled the eye. Above w^as the azure vault variegated with fleecy clouds; beneath was nature's verdant car- pet. The little songsters of the adjoining grove were paying their tribute of praise in melodious strains. The bleating of the lambs, and the lowing of the milky train re-echoed from the fields and valleys ; while the gentle murmuring of the water-fall at the mill, with its rumbling cadence over the dam, was heard at a little dis- tance. ** How still is nature," said Alida. " The sun has withdrawn his radiance, yet the gleam from yonder westera aky bcs^peaks him still at 120 A L I D A. V hand, promising to return with his reviving warmth when nature is refreshed with darkness. The bay is aheady beginning to be silvered over by the mild rays of the queen of night. Gently she steals on the world, while she be- stows on us her borrowed splendour. She lights the wandering traveller, she warms the earth with gentle heat. She dazzles not the eye of the philosopher, but invites him to contemplate and admire. Scarcely a breeze is stirring ; thi shadow of each tree remains undisturbed ; the unruffled bay and river glide smoothly on, re- flecting nature's face. Again the attention is drawn, and the eye wanders to yon vast con- cave, where the mind follows in silent wonder, wandering among the planets, till, struck with beauty of the whole, it acknowledges * the Hand that made it is divine.' " Surely," said Alida, " all nature conspires to calm the mind, to restore tranquillity, to soften every care and corroding thought. But what can ease the troubled mind, which, hke the angry sea after agitation by blustering winds, 't is still tumultuous ?" Where now, thought she, is Theodore? What sadness and difficulty may not his noble and generous spirit have had to encounter ! His tender sensibility, his serene aad pacific disposition, may have had numerous A L I DA. 121 trials ; and how unhappy he may be, who was ever ardent in his endeavours to communicate peace and happiness to others ! When she re- flected upon all his goodness, his zealous piety, his religious sentiments the same as her own, and recalled to her memory happier days, when she had listened with pleasure to the powerful eloquence of a corresponding spirit. And her esteem for him rose higher, while he commented on religious truths, and bade her place a firm dependence on Divine Providence. Amid these uneasy sensations, which filled the bosom of Alida with anxiety and grief, and left her mind in a state of despondency, the period arrived for the celebration of her father's birth-day, which brought with it, as usual, much company from the city, from the neighbouring village, with the parish minister and his family. After her several sisters had arrived, and nearly all the company had collected, Alida en- tered the drawing-room with spirits somewhat re-animated. Bonville was already there. He arose and handed her to a seat. He accompanied the first salutations with many flattering com- pliments, but with all his endeavours to win her favour, he could not awaken even a temporary regard in the bosom of Alida. In the mean time, she had full leisure to observe his singular 11 V 122 A L I D A. behaviour, to listen to his iasinuating address^t to hear him mention the name of Theodore, and when he observed her feelings were excited, to hear him suddenly change the subject. He sometimes appeared to regard her with an eye of pity, but it arose from a consciousness of his own errors, bordering on baseness. He felt unhappy at his own want of integrity, and his heart reproached him with injustice and treachery. . ' \ •> 1 (/, . » I »i ) • I' •' . ■f-' - ■>> >. - A *• A L I D A. 123 CHAPTER XVII. A polished mien, with elegance of mind, A winning grace, with taste and sense refined, A kindly, sympathizing heart, sincere. The gloomy scene, the pensive thought to cheer. In a series of events, a period at length ar- rived, which manifested to mankind in a more melancholy degree the shocking consequences and devastation of war, the overwhelming sor- row that is brought on families for the loss of friends, with the discouraging embarrassments attending all kinds of business. A severe engagement had recently taken place within half a mile of the Niagara cataract. Gene- ral Scott, on his arrival at Niagara Falls, learned that the British were in force directly in his front, separated only by a narrow piece of wood. Ho soon pressed through the wood, and engaged the British on the Queenston road. He advanced upon the enemy, and the action commenced at six o'clock in the afternoon, and continued with little intermission until twelve at night. The thunder of the cannon, the roaring of the falls, the incessant discharge of artillery during the six hours in which the parties were in combat, heightened by the circumstance of its being night, afforded such a scene as is rarely to be 124 A I. I D A . met with in tlie history of (he wars of nations. The evening was cahn, and the njoon i}hone with lustre when not enveloped in clouds of smoke from the firing of the contending armies Taking into consideration the numbers engaged, few contests have ever been more sanguinary. The battle was one of the most severe that had been fought during the war. The British troops engaged in this action amounted to 5000 men j many of them were selected from the flower of Lord Wellington's army. Colonel Miller's achievement, in storming the battery, was of the most brilliant and hazardous nature, and entitled him to the highest applause among the Ameri- cans. . The measures of the president relative to the war were of such a nature as greatly to draw upon him the approbation and gratitude of the nation. He early began to turn his mind to a contemplation of the general politics of his coun- try. He therefore became advanced in the re- quisite qualifications to assume and maintain l!ie important station he held over it. He had im- bibed an attachment for civil liberty nlmost from his infancy, which infljienced his every action. He was of a pacific temperament, and pursued those measures as long as they would answer. But when it became actually necessary for hira A L I D A. 125 to recommend to congress to pursue a different course, it was then that the benefactor of his country endeavoured to concert measures still to preserve America as an asylum for civil and re- ligious liberty. He possessed qualities well cal- culated to fulfil the duties of his high station with honour to himself and justice to the com- munity. He was dignified in his deportment, kind, generous, and condescending ; a patron to science; a uniform promoter of honourable en- terprise; but an enemy to every thing dishonest, hypocritical, and disingenuous. And as a Chris- tian, he firmly adhered to the gospel, and regu- lated his life by its precepts and injunctions, in a consistent and exemplary manner. This illus- trious president had the good fortune to be blessed with a consort whose qualifications in her par- ticular capacity were no less adequate to fill with dignity her elevated station. The parents of Mrs. Madison were natives of Virginia. Their daughter was educated in Philadelphia among the Friends. She was therefore little indebted to acquired graces and accomplishments for the admiration and regard which followed her where- ever she was known. To much personal beauty she added a warm heart and a benevolent dispo- sition, charms and attractions which won for her not only admirers but friends, and exalted her to 11* 1* 126 A L I D A. i: high eminence in the public estimation. Her natural and acquired endowments she carried into society with such pleasing manners and graceful demeanour as produced almost univer- sally an impression hi:^hly favourable to herself among the citizens of Washington, Her society was much esteemed in all the companies she frequented. Her mental powers were of a supe- rior grade, and the effects of genuine piety and Christian benevolence distinguished all her ac-\ lions. To these she added an amiability of temper, the polished address of a lady, with a conversation both plensing and instructive. Her deportment to all was prepossessing, by the affec- tionate manner in which shu addressed them se- parately, and the interest she manifested in their welfare. In these she showed no difference be- tween the rich and the poor, and devoted much of her time to the cause of charity. She was eminently distinguished for her amiable nuahties, and a pecuhar versatility of talent in her conver- sation and manners. She entertained the ru- merous friends and guesfc of the president with cordial hospitality. She treated her husband's relatives with regard and kindness ; and in the president's house, whenever there were female guests, Mrs. Madison always presided, v After the president's, the house of the secre- A L I D A 127 tary of slate was the resort of most company. The frank and cordial manners of Us mistress gave a peculiar chanri to the frequent parties there assembled. All foreigners who visited the seat of government, strangers from the diffek-eat states of the union, the heads of departments, the diplomatic corps, senators, representatives, and citizens, mingled with an ease and freedom, a sociability and gaiety to be met with in no other society. Even party spirit, virulent and embittered as it then was, by her gentleness was disarmed of its asperity. Individuals who never visited the president's dwelling, m)r met at the other ministerial houses, could not resist the softening influences of her -conciliatory disposition, with her frank and gen- erous manners. She was constantly receiving and re'^iprocating civilities in the most kind and friendly manner witli the i'^habitants of Wash- ington. The president, being wholly absorbed in public business, left to Mrs. Madison the dis- charge of the duties of social intercourse. And never was woman better calculated for the task. Exposed as she necessarily was, in so conspicu- ous a situation, to envy, jealousy, and miscon- struction, she so nianaged as to conciliate the good-will of all, without ofiending tlie self-love of any of the numerous competitors for her fa- t1 1.) I'l^ 128 A L I D A vour and attention. Every visiter left her with the pleasing impression of being an especial fa- vourite, of having been the object of peculiar attention. 8he never forgot a name she had orice heard, nor a face she had once seen, nor the personal circumstances connected with every individual of her acquaintance. Her quick re- cognition of p«irsons, her recurrence to their pe- cuHar interests produced the gratifying impres- sion in each and all of those who conversed with her that they were especial objects of regard. The house was very plainly furnished, and her dress in no way extravagant ; and it was only in hospitality and charity that her profusion was unlimited. The amiable and engaging quali- ties which have been here described, character- ized Mrs. Madison in her husband's public life. In the midst of the bitterness of party spirit, and the violence of political animosity, she was mild and courteous to all. The political assailants of her husband she treated with a kindness whi h disarmed tlieir hostility of its individual rancour, and sometimes even converted poUtical enemies into personal friends, and still oftener succeeded in neutralizing the bitterness of opposition. At this period her courage and firmness were put to a severe test. In August, 1814, the Bri- tish troops landed forty miles below Washington, \ A L I D A . 129 and approached that city. The president left the city to hohl a council of war. Before his de- parture he anxiously in(|uired if slie had courage or Th rnness to remain in then* house until his re- turn on the morrow, or succeeding day. She assured him she had no fear hut for liim and the success of the army. Wiien the prcsiuent reach- ed Bladenshurgh he unexpectedly found the two armies engaged. Meanwhile terror spread over the city all wdio could ohtain conveyances fled to the aujoming towns. The sound of the can- non was distinctly heard, and universal confu- sion and dismay prevailed. Some personal friends who remained v. iih Mrs. Madison, strong- ly urged her to leave the city. They had her carriage brought to the 'bor, but could not per- suade her to enter it till her husband should re- turn, and accompany her. And she did not finally depart i;!! several messengers had been dispatched to i L^x lly. Much as she graced her public statioi^, ^=fte was not less admirable in domestic life. Neighbourly and coinpaniable among her country friends, as if ::he had never lived in a city; delighting in the society of the young, and never belter pleased than when pro- moting evet v youthful pleasure by l>er partici- pation ; — sh till proved herself the alTectionate •-consort, without neglecting the duties of a kind h > I' t 130 A L I D A. hostess, and a faithful friend and relation. She smoothed and enlivened, occupied and appeased, each varying scene of life. Her husband knew, appreciated, and acknowledged the blessing which heaven had bestowed on him, in giving him such a companion. • '. *;, ). -, ' . \ A L I D A. 131 CHAPTER XVIII. And many an aching heart at rising morn, A sad memento of tho day that 's past, From lon:» protracted slumbers, slowly drawn; From wearied spirits — with a gloom o'ercast. All business of importance, at this time, was in a manner suspended in New- York ; the face of things wore a dismal aspect, and the greater part of the community were in dismay ; occa- sioned by the continuance of hostilities with Great Britain. All appeared in a declining state, discouraging to the industry and best prospects of the inhabitants ; — and although there had been some rumours of peace, it was not yet con- cluded. ' A severe battle had lately taken place at New- Orleans, in which the Americans were victori- ous. Another was fought some httle time after- wards on Lake Champlain. The British fleet with 1050 men approached Plattsburgh, while the American fleet were lying off that place. The British fleet bore down upon them in order of battle, commanded by Sir George Pre\ost, Governor General of Canada. Commodore Macdonough, the American commander, oi"der- cd his vessels to be cleared for action, and gal- u 'i 132 A L I P A I' lantly received the enemy. The engagement was exceedingly obstinate. After a contest of two hours, the British ships and several sloops of war fell into the hands of the Americans. Be- fore sunset the temporary batteries of the enemy v.^ere all silenced, and every attempt to cross from Plattsburgh to the American works, was re- pelled. At nine o'clock the object was abandon- ed, and the British general hastily drew off his forces. Large (juantitiesof military stores were left^ behind, and fell into the hands of the Americans. The people of the United States were at this time divided into two political parties ; one par- ty condemneu the war as unwise and unne- cessary ; the other contending that the war was just, and necessary for the maintenance of na- tional honour. The opposition to the w^ar was the greatest in the New England states, and du^ig its continuance this opposition was con- firmed. Enlistments of troops were in some in- stances discouraged, and dissentions arose be- tween the general and state governments, re- specting the command of the militia, called out by order of the former, to defend the sea-board. Accordingly the legislature of Massachusetts ap- pointed delegates to meet and confer with the de- legates from the states of New England, or any of them, upon the subject of their public grievan- s si A L I P A. 133 rd. ces and concerns. The delegates met at Hart- ford, Connecticut, in 1815, and sat nearly three weeks with closed doors. This convention con- sisted of delegates from the state of Massachu- setts, Connecticut and Rhode Island ; two mem- bers from New Hampshire, and one from Ver- mont. After their adjournment, the convention published an address, charging the nation with pursuing measures hostile to the interest of New England, and recommended amendments to the Federal Constitution. The report of the Hart- ford Convention concluded with the resolution providing for the calling of another convention^ should the United States refuse their consent to some arrangements, — whereby the New Eng- land States, separately, or in concert, might be empowered to assume upon themselves the de- fence of their territory against the enemy. The committee appointed to communicate these reso- lutions to Congress, met at Washington the news of peace : and owing to this event, another Convention was not called. And may it never be the fate of America, to be again involved in hostilities with her mother country, from whence is derived her revered religion ;— each nation possessing towards the other reciprocal fellow- feelings, becoming Christian brethren. 12 . . -^ 'f 134 A L I D ▲. How shall we to his memory raise A theme that 's worthy to record ; The tribute of a nation's praise In nrrateful accents send abroad. Let eloquence his deeds proclaim, From sea-beat strand to mountain goal ; Let hist'ry write his peaceful name, High on her truth-iUumin'd scroll. Let poetry and art through earth The page inspire, the canvass warm, In glowing words record his worth, In living marble mould his form. ^ „ A fame so bright will never fade, A name so dear will deathless be ; For on our country's shrine he laid The charter of her liberty. ' * - Praise be to God : his love bestowed The chief, the patriot, and the sage ; Praise God ! to him our fathertowed This fair and goodly heritage. The sacred gift time shall not mar. But wisdom guard what valor won, While beams serene her guiding star. And glory points to Madison. 4ny ;'X .''(1 ■■'' i,.j;" i '!-■> * t ■ A L I D A 135 CHAPTER XIX. O glorious prosptct, see the smile benign, Of heav*n-born peace, refulgent spread its rays ; To peace and concord, may the world incline, And these our later, be our happier days. Some length of time had elapsed since the parents of Aiida had taken up their residence in the city for the winter, when the news of peace reached New- York. The cries of peace resound- ed throughout the city at these joyful tidings, — and the evening of this day was celebrated by a splendid illumination. Transparencies, emblema- tical of the hberties of the country, were exhibited at all the public edifices. The fine and melodious music in the Park, drew the people together in crowds within the inclosure, till scarcely another could enter, — and although the snow had fallen profusely, and the walking was extremely bad, yet it seemed as if all the inhabitants generally were out, parading on foot, to witness the gene- ral rejoicing. In the mean time, a visible change for the better took place almost immediately, and these happy effects shed their benign influence through- out all ranks of society, and among ail classes of 136 A L I D A . the people. Those who had been in despair on account of the times, had now the charming prospect before them of returning happiness and prosperity, when the active scenes of life would again impel the multitude to the exercise of laudable industry, whereby they might ultimate- ly realize the success and proceeds attending on an honest perseverance in business. The country that had been unwillingly drawn into combat had been victorious, and its inhabi- tants left in peaceable possession of the warrior's field. An honourable peace had been concluded, and happy tranquillity was o^ce more the fate of the American nation. The miseries and unhappy grievances occa- 6ion(3d by war, were again at an end, and happily terminated. The cheering consequences of peace again communicated their happy effects among the people, awakening to their imagination new hopes and prospects, filling their minds with ex- ultation, and anticipations the most sanguine. The painful, unpleasant effects of discord, animosity, and contention, were now changed to the exercise of those better qualities and dis- positions, more pacific and praiseworthy. The scenes of fury, terror, and confusion, were suc- ceeded by those of placid serenity. The hours but a short time before spent in moping melan- A L I D A . 137 choly and sadness, in individual discourage- ment and WO; were now passed in listening to musical serenades, in scenes of mirth and festi- vity. The people whose independence had been gloriously won, nearly half a century before, by the superior prowess of a renowned hero,* who as a general marshalled the peasant into a vete- ran, and supplied by discipline the absence of experience, and through the vicissitudes of her protracted conflict displayed a magnanimity that defied misfortune, and a moderation that orna- mented victory. America, already revered in the annals of fame, now saw her rights again secured to her by the charter of her liberties. With the view before her of witnessing again the subsequent advantages of free trade and commerce ; while her swelling canvass shall be spread over the seas of distant nations, and her star-spangled banner shall proclaim to them her liberty — glory and honour shall kindle in the bosom of the patriot at the name of her Madison. While the wealth of her commerce, the renown of her arms, the fame of her philosophy, the eloquence of her senate, and the inspiration of her bards, shall cause her to emerge from her horizon, and shine with splendour over the vast expanse of 12* Washington. 1 '. ■< 138 A L X D A. the universe, ckiming from remotest regions the respect due to her superiority. Happy America ! thy freedom is once more ensured to thee, and thy hero has turned upon the vanquished only the retribution of his mercy. -.> i .''4-.' ■' -^K ::| .*■ ■/ ;•■. 1 •" ..^l,< I- •3 ' ■■" 'I '^'''^ A L 1 O A. 139 CHAPTER XX. Charmed by returning pleasure's gentle voice, Each waken'd sense with new ^ / : v. 13 II ? 146 A L I D A« V^i % Vim U Alida was truly shocked and surprised at a proposition so unexpected from Mr. Bolton, after he had known her father's decision. She had never considered him in any other light than as a brother ; and being a connexion in the family, thry had always been on terms of friendly inter- course. She therefore would have avoided this meeting if she could have had previously an idea of the result. After he had made to her these several propo- sitions, her displeasure hold her for some time silent^ while it affected her mind sensibly. Never- theless she endeavoured to recover herself to an- swer him in a decided, and at the same time in a manner compatible with her present feelings. She commenced urging him to endeavour to for- get her in any other light than as a friend. "Can you suppose, Mr. Bolton," said she, " that I would set a parent's will at defiance, by com- mitting so unwary an action as to dispose of myself in a clandestine manner, nor could you again imagine that 1 would give my hand wher^ my heart has no particular regard." She scarcely uttered this, and could say no more ere he conjured her not to shut her heart against him forever, and entreated her to permit him still to hope that after a while her compassion might become awakened to the remembrance of V,> I A L I D A 147 a sincere, true, and constant heart, which would cause her to heave the sym[>athetic sigh for one who could never eradicate her from his memory, even Tor a moment, or chase from his bosom the esteem and love that time could neither weaken nor extinguish. He was extremely sorrowful in taking leave of Alida and the family, and set out the ensuing day on his journey. Alida felt unhappy at the earnest importuni- ties of a person she could not but have some es- teem for. She could not fail to admire the supe- rior powers of his mind. In his conversation he was all that was agreeable, entertaining, and improving, which abounded with sallies of wit and humour, joined to a fund of erudition ac- quired by a collegiate education. He was par- ticular to associate only with young men of merit, talents, and genius. He possessed a na- tive vein of satire, which he sometimes indulged with much effect ; though, however, he had this dangerous weapon under such thorough disci- pline, that he rarely made use of it in a way which gave offence to any. He never accumu- lated any wealth by his own exertion, as he thought what he already inherited was more than sufficient for all his wants. He seemed not to seek for an abundance, like many others, as necessary to his happiness, thinking that with 148 A L I D A . !^l contentment the peasant is greater than the prince destitute of this benign blessing, and that a competency, rather than a superfluity, could convey real happiness to man. He thought that to the improper pursuit after happiness could be attributed niLch of the misery of man- kind ; daily he saw dread examples of this seri- ous truth, that many in grasping at the shadow had lost the substance. A near relative had now been bountiful to leave him a fortune. That, however, he was thankful for, as it increased hia fund for charitable purposes. His intention was to get possession of this and return to the city of New- York, to make it his permanent residence. 4 'A '->' A L I D A. i4d CHAPTER XXII. Behold the beauteous scene, to fill the mind ^with wonder and delight ; — the varied land and water prospect ;— from whence the arm uf Commerce sends her store, to nations far remote ; — adja- cent to a city, that 's wealthy, large and flourishing. The genial warmth of the air had now an- imated anew the magnificence of nature's works, and the verdant scenery of spring decked the landscape with all its resplendent colouring and variety. As the season advanced, all classes of people had recourse to their favourite walk on the Battery either for pleasure, or as an allevia- tion from the toils and cares of business. This healthy promenade drew together a number of the citizens in the morning, but many more re- sorted there in the evening, and a numerous throng here regaled themselves, and rested from the busy, bustling occupations of the day ; — and at the same time were spectators of thi? most splendid scene imaginable. When the sun had gone down beneath a clear horizon, and the moon had risen in silent majesty, dispensing her light over the unruffled face of the Hudson, deco- rated with a numerous sail, representing an ini- mitable landscape, sublime and beautiful. Alida walked out one evening, and repaired thither, attended by Mr. More. She could not 13* 150 A L I D A. have had a more agreeable companion in this promenade. It was six o'clock when they reach- ed the Battery, and a numerous concourse of people had already collected there. The mild rays of the setting sun were just visible above the horizon, and cast a soft lustre over the adja- cent landscape, when they entered Castle-garden to contemplate more nearly the surrounding scenery. They seated themselves here, while they dis- coursed on the beauties of nature, and the won* ders of creation, — descanting on the goodnessi and bounty of that ineffable Being, from whom all our blessings flow ; — the continual succession of so many various objects, to fill the mind with rapture and enthusiasm, and strike us with ven- eration and awe. The beauty and mildness of the present sea- son, the copious showers, that caused the earth to abound with teeming verdure ; all of which drew the contemplative genius insensibly to con- sider the benevolent purposes, for which all these varieties are called forth in such abundance, to excite the gratitude of man, and furnish a per- petual source of pleasure and delight. "And can we," said Alida, " who are conscious of de- riving our existence from a Being of such infinite goodness and power, properlv entertain other A L I D A. 151 prospects than those of happiness, when we ex- perience so many blessings daily, to excite our thankfulness/' Mr. Alore expatiated on the pleasure there must be in passing a tranr|uil life with a lovely and beloved object, turning his insiduous eyes towards Alida as he spoke ; he seemed to say, that she was the being, with whom he could be able to realize all the exalted ideas he entertained ofsuchalife; and to point out beauties, and furnish amusement, to a renned taste like hers, would be to him one of the highest pleasures be could possibly experience. When he declared to her his esteem and affection, with his native sincerity, he seemed to be convinced, at the same time, that she was favourably disposed towards him. Alida was evidently much embarrassed at this declaration. She remained silent, and looked upon him with a degree of pity mingled with regret; then casting down her eyes, she appear- ed greatly confused. She could not make any returns in his favour, and the amiable Alida felt extremely sovry to give pain or uneasinesf?? to the friend and ^^chool companion of an only brother. She had ve'ieived him with complacency on that account, which had served to increase his ill-fated partiality. She fejt that she could not 152 ▲ L I D A give one word of encouragement, yet slic did not wish to drive him to despair. The band of music now bejjan to play in the garden. They commenced with the celebrated air of the Star-Spangied Banner, and continued playing different pieces for the space of several hours. As soon as the music ceased, they left the gar- den to return home. When they arrived at the dwelUng of Alida, they found that the time had wiled away and that the evening had progressed to a late hour. On his way home the aiind of Mr. More was absorbed in the following reflections. " When I told her my affection, the blush was diffused over her check — and the tear of sensibility start- ed in her eye. She evinced lier regard by silent expressions, which she has shown repeatedly in many proofs of interested friendship, blended with nameless attentions, accompanied by the sweetness of her winning manners, and the en- gaging mildness of her disposition. Bonville is her declared admirer — but he may not be a favoured one. Should he meet with her appro- bation at any future time, would not his own fate be wretched, and the universe would become a blank deprived of the society of Alida, shaded over with the deepest tints of darkness and me- lancholy." ^'' * ' \ rel A L I D A. J 53 CHAPTER XXIII. O Ut me view, in annual succession, my children, friends and relatives. Those that in friendship's bonds, are linked together by tics of dear remembrance. The scene was animated, and the days were delightfully pleasant, when Alida returned with her parents to the country. The showers of April had cleared the atmosphere, and revived the earth with a lively gaiety. The ice in the bay and river had melted ;iway, and the steam- boat had again began its course. The rumbling water-fall was again heard at the mill, the pen- sive stream stole its way through the forest, re- flecting from its lucid bosom the light cloud which dwelt in the air — floating on the gentlest zephyrs. The hilh and mountains teemed with verdure, and the serpentine valleys were shaded by a Jriendly foliage. All nature flourished, grew, and expanded, calling forth ejaculations of gratitude and piety, and boldly declaring that a celestial Being overshadows ue with his provi- dence. As soon as the family were settled in the coun- try, the parents of Alida made preparation to call the children together in commemoration of their father's birthday. When the time arr' ved for the celebration of this festive scene, the morn- 'ii ;•/ BPa J 54 A L I O A liiBi ing arose with every beauty that could bid fair for a cheerful day. Bonvillc was among those who arrived from the village. He appeared in excellent spirits, as if some new thought had entered his mind, which had given him new hopes of success. He in- formed Alida, in the course of the afternoon, that he had received intimation from a friend in Eng- land, that Theodore was now living in London. After hazarding many conjectures respecting him, he then ventured to add, that he hoped he had not met there any new object, to cause him to become forgetful of foimer friends. Displeasure was manifest in the countenance of Alida, at this suspicion, although she feared it might be true. Theodore had promised to be faithful in a correspondence, and he certainly might have found opportunities, since the happy change of affairs in the country, to make some communi- cations to his friends, if he had been so disposed. Again she thought, as they had been separated by parental authority, that it might have its in- fluence to cause him to become altogether forget- ful;— and her spirits now sunk under the idea of Theodore's inconstancv. Bonville continued to speak of him with indiHerence, observing attentively how Alida was alTected. He in- quired earnestly if she had ever received any in- A L I D A. 155 telligence from him, during his absence, (as he thought he miiiht have written to her brother.) She answered him in the negative. He expres- sed his surprise, and after giving many dark in- timations of his perfidy, he changed the subject Ahda was before tliis extremely pensive and thoughtful, and these injurious insinuations of Theodore, increased her dejection. She once firmly believed, she had a friend she could lean upon under all circumstances, and his falsity ap- peared to her now confirmed. A kind of gloomy superstition pervaded her mind, an anxious fore- boding of future evil, which all her pious reflec- tions and reasoning powers could not wholly control. She endeavoured to repress these pain- ful sensations, when in the presence of her pa- rents ; but the eyes of her father frequently rest- ed on her in filial ; ixiety. Her brother likewise would often observe her innate srdness, and whatever his thoughts might be as to the cause, he was still reserved, and forebore to name any thing to his sister. Although Bonville was sometimes conscious of his injustice towards Theodore, and felt ashamed of his conduct, he was still determined to proceed with reiterated calumnies, to the ear of Alida, with the hope to ensure her hand be- fore Theodore would probably return to America. ^1 '/ 111 U. I) 1 l» 1 156 A L I D A. U (( \ ' L' innoccnza a e costretta a soiferirc, con vergogna e condanno dclla culuiimia e della malvagita, alia fine piu ne Irionfa. . The appearance of Bonville was imposing to look upon, his countenance illumined by seeming sincerity and candour, no one could retain an idea for any length of time, that was altogether detri- mental. To a treacherous heart, he joined a frankness of manner which anmsed and inter- ested every one in his favour. Though no one was ever more careless of his veracity, yet he carried the appearance of authenticity in all he '• said. He had never been used to restraint, or disappointment by the silly indulgence of his parents, and seemed confident that he should succeed in all his particular wishes, and thought that all obstacles could be surmounted by his own machinations and management. ' The evening was drawing near its close by a round of innocent amusements, when a letter was handed AUda from her father, that he had received from a friend in the city. It contained the unwelcome and unexpected news of the death of Mr. Bolton, who arrived at Savannah at an unfavourable season of the year, at a pe- riod when an epidemic fever prevailed. He caught the infection, and a few days terminated the existence of this amiable and accomplished ▲ L I D A . 167 youth. He was pious, benevolent and chari- table. He possessed a wisdom firm and un- changeable, strictly adhering to the principles of the church and the Christian religion, and was steadfast in his opinions against all opposition. He was deeply regretted by a numerous ac- quaintance. His aunt mourned the loss of her favourite nephew, and Alida's father likewise deplored his premature death, although he had thought proper to oppose his wishes. V ( \ pe- He Ited led 14 |1 158 A L I D A M, chaptp:r XXIV. There f.he niipht read in nature's pago the wonders of Creation, alniijihty power, infinite wisdom and unbounded mipht. There truths that entertain, reward the searching; mind, and onward lead inquir- ing thoiiyht. Tlie rurions wonders stiil unfold, and rise upon tho view. The mind rejoicing, comments as she roads, and raises still tolho Almighty Power increasing homage. The summer was past its meridian, and had shed abroad its warmest influences, and enriched the various scenes of nature with the luxuriance and beauty of its foliage. In the mean time, Alida departed again from her father's house for the city, to join a party composed of gentlemen and matrons, Albert her brotlier, with several young ladies, who all left the port of New-York for the Falls of Niagara. Her pensive mind be- came cheered and animated as the gallant steamer left the shores of the city and moved majestically over the smooth face of the Hudson. The morning was extremely beautiful, and she sur\eyed with a new and alleviating pleasure, the various and extensive prospect of the sur- rounding country. The scenery on the river at this season sur[)assed all description, and exhi- bited a landscape worthy to relate in history. The borders of the river beautifully interspersed with cottages, villages and large flourishing •; A L I D A . 159 efor men eral ork be- lant ved son. she ure, sur- rat hi- )ry. rsed towns, elrpfant country-seats, with grounds taste- fully laid out, which alVorded to the eye of the traveller a novel and enchaniinc^ appearance. They arrived about sunset at tl.ic city of Albany. They took lodgings at Cruttenden's hoarding- house, on an eminence near the Capitol or State-house. This city, which is situated on the right bank of the Hudson, and stands westward upon a ris- ing ground, received its name, when in possession of the English, in honour of James II., who was the duke of York and Albany. On the follow- ing morning they took a walk through the city. In consequence of its vicinity to the Ballston, Saratoga, and New Lebanon Springs, in the fashionable season the hotel was so full of stran- gers that no more could be accommodated. Albany has received a new impulse, an in- crease of connnerce, and expects to reap the most happy results from the Erie canal, which commences here, and runs a distance of three hundred and sixty-two miles to Lake Erie. The company took a walk to the new basin, into which the canal empties. It is sc^paratcd from the Hudson by a dam which runs parallel with the river. On the morning of the 14th of August they took passage on board of the Albany, one of the Ml) M 160 A L I D A . canal packet-boats, for Lake Erie. This canal, which is three hundred and sixty-two miles in length, with eighty-three locks between the Hud- son river and Lake Erie, which lies six hundred and eighty-eight feet above the level of the former river. The packet-boat took them from thence to Schenectady. It was covered, and contained a spacious cabin. On account of the great num- ber of the locks, the progress of their journey was but slow. The boat was drawn by three horses, that walked upon a narrow path leading along the canal, and beneath the numerous bridges which are thrown over it. " The distance from Albany to Schenectady by land is only fifteen miles, and persons are en- abled to travel it in a very short time in a stage coach, but as they were anxious to see the canal, they preferred going by water twenty-eight miles. The city of Troy, five miles and a half above Albany, is pleasantly situated on the loft bank of the river, at the foot of several tolerably high mountains, one of which is called Mount Ida. There is a branch canal, which has two locks, and establishes a communication with Troy. They soon arrived at a place where there were no less than nine locks, with an ascent of seven- ty-eight feet. In front, and to the right of this, is another canal, which unites with the Hudson A L I DA. 161 and the canal from Lake Champlain. At this place they left the Hiulson, and directed tlieir course along the Moiiawk river. Durinn^ their ride, they observed a covered wooden brids^e, which extends over the latter river, a short dis- tance from its moiUh, and is nbout six hundred feet in length, supported by fifteen wooden piers. There was a fine view of the famous Cohoes Falls of the Mohawk river, fc;cvenfy-eigbt feet in height, and about four hundred feet wide. In the spring, when these falls extend over the en- tire bed of the Mohawk, they are said to be ex- tremely magnificent. During tliis season of dry weather, they presented a very handsome ap- pearance, though they were very small, the river being almost completely dried up Finding great difficulty in continuing the canal on the right bank of the Mohawk, they were obliged here to carry it to the opposite side of the river by means of an aqueduct bridge one thousand one hundred and eighty-eight feet in length. This bridge is supported by twenty-six stone columns, on which account they have placed a chevaux-de-frieze to keep oflf the ice in the river. The canal is cut through the rocks almost the whole distance, where it runs along the left bank of the Mo- hawk, and presents a very handsome appear- ance. Twelve miles further on, it returns again 14^ [p 162 A L I D A to the right bank of the river, by a similar aque- duct, supported by sixteen piers. Four miles farther on is Schenectady, wiiere they arrived after sunset. Between tliis town and Albany they passed no less than twenty-seven locks. At this place they left the packet-boat, and found excellent lodgings at Given's hotel, which, after the great heat they had endured during the day, was exceedingly agreeable. Early on the next morning they walked through the town, and visited Union College, which consists of two \ large buildings situated at a short distance from the town, u[3on a liltle eminence. From this building there is a beautiful view of the town and of the Mohawk valley. They left Schenec- tady early in the morning on board the packet- boat, which had engaged to take them to Utica, eighty miles distant, by an early hour the next day. The canal again ran along the well cul- tivated valley of the Mohawk, and the prospect of the country, on account of tlie foliage of the trees upon the heights, was beautiful. The village of Amsterdam consists of a few neat houses. The canal is carried over two rivers, called Schoharie, Canajoharie, from which it receives the most of its water. At this place the horses were conveyed to the opposite side of the two rivers by means of a ferry-boat. At the A L I D A. 163 first ferry is a small village called Fort Hunter, where at the time of the revolution there had been a fort, or rather a redoubt of the same name. Towards evening they passed through a valley, which is formed by two rocky moun- tains. There are twenty locks between Sche- nectady and U(ica. The day w^as intolerably warm, and the company very much oppressed by the heat, but in the evening fortunately there was a thunder-shower, which cooled the air. They passed over an nqueduct bridge during the night, which stands over a solace called Little Falls. Towards morning they passed through a weil-cuitivated region called German Flats, which w^as settled by some Germans during the time of dueen Anne. At about ten o'clock they arrived at Utica, which is intersected by the ca- nal, and is a large flourishing town. In fact it is only here that a person begitis to admire the great improvements in cultivation, and gets per- fectly new ideas of the works of man and of his enterprising genius. Utica, on the right bank of the Mohaw k, has two banks and four churches. It has also several taverns. The number of travellers this summer were unusually great, especially from the southern states. 164 A L I D A . CHAPTER XXV. When first beside the lake thy turrets rose, Extendintj »ar around in simple pride, A novel beauty o'. ^ >.v^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 1.25 2.5 ■ 22 U il.6 % ^ >. ^V>/ 1% Riotographic Sdences Corporation ^^ '^^ ^^^ 23 WIST MAIN STRIbT VtfllSTBR.N.Y. MSIO (716)173-4503 /. b> A ^a' »* v ^ #.^ 180 A L I D A. stay during the night, and then proceeded to Burlington, in Vermont, and towards morning passed by the ruins of Fort Crown Point, which lie on a hill. At this place the Lake is very narrow, and resembles a river. The shores are generally covered with bushes and pine trees, are hilly, and afford a pleasing prospect. They now pur- sued their journey as far as Lake George, and arrived at the village of Caldwell. They left Caldwell at eight o'clock the next day, in two inconvenient carriages, and passed through a very uninteresting, deep, sandy road, in a hilly part of the country, covered with thorny ttoes, on their route to Saratoga Springs, to which the whole fashionable world of the United States repair in summer, and the fash- ionables have here the same mania which pre- vails in other countries, to visit the baths in summer, whether sick or well. The distance is twenty-seven miles. On their passage was seen but one interesting object, the Hudson falls, which river they had left at Albany, and reached again nine miles from Caldwell, coming from the west. These falls are, however, under the name of Glenn's Falls. A village of the same name is built in their vicinity, on the rocky shores of the ■WP A L I D A. 181 M river. The principal fall is forty feet high. These faUs are not to be numbered among the largest, but among the handsomest in the United States. A constant mist arises from them, and, as the sun shone very brilliantly, several rain- bows were seen at the same time. In the rock, as at Niagara, were some remarkable and deep cavities. At the base of the small island which divides the chief fall into two parts, a remarkable cave appears below the falls, leading to the other side of the rock. The Hudson is partly navigable above Glenn's Falls, and two miles farther up, feeds a navigable canal, with thirteen locks, which runs seven miles north of the Hud- son, and there joins Champlain canal. The party arrived at Saratoga at two o'clock in the afternoon, and stopped at Congress Hall. The greater part of the company had already departed, so that but few remained; among these was the governor of the state of New- York. They were introduced to his excellency. The gentlemen conversed with him freely, and {ound him intelligible and refined, and scientific in his conversation. In the evening the company assemble in tbe large hall in the lower story, and pass away the time in music, dancing or conversation, where 16 182 A L 1 D A they >^itness all the politeness, refinement, and hospitality that characterize the Americans. The waters of the different springs are gene- rally drank, but baths are also erected. High Rock spring flows from a white conical lime- stone rock, five feet high. The water is seen in this spring in constant agitation. So much fixed air escapes from it, that an animal held over it, as in the Grotto del Car^, near Naples, cannot live above half a minute. \ In a few days they left Saratoga springs, in a convenient stage, to go to Albany, thirty-six miles distant. They passed through a disagree- able and sandy country. The uniformity was, however, very pleasingly interrupted by Sara- toga Lake, which is eight miles long. At the small town of Waterford they passed along the left shore of the Hudson on a long wooden bridge, to avoid a bad bridge over the Mohawk. They proceeded on their route in the night on a very good road, and passed through Lansingburgh and Troy. The latter is very handsomely built, and many stores were very well lighted up in the evening. Here they returned to the right shore of the Hudson, and reached Albany at ten o'clock at night. At eight o'clock next morning they took p^sage on board the steam-boat, to go up the A L I D A. 183 river as ftir as the town of Catskill, at the foot of Pine Orcliard. The company ascended the mountain, which is twelve miles high, in stages. They reached Pine Orchard a little before sun- set. The building on the mountain for the ac- commodation of visiters, is a splendid est iblish- raent. Alida was truly delighted with the landscape it presented in miniature ; where large farms appeared like garden spots, and the Hud- son a rivulet, and where pometimes the clouds were seen floating beneath the eye of the spec- tator. The next morning they again took the steam- boat at Catskill to go to Hudson, twenty ^seven and a-half miles from Albany, which they reached about noon. This city appears very handsome and lively. On the opposite side of the river is Athens, between which and Hudson there seems to be much communication kept up by a t«am-boat. A very low island in the middle of the stream between the two places, rendered this communication somewhat difficult at first, as vessels were obliged to make a great circuit. To avoid this inconvenience, a canal was cut through the island, through w hich the team-boat now passes with ease and rapidity. This place affords a very fine view of the lofty Catskill mountains. They left the city of Hud- :t (I \ 184 A L I D A. son in the afternoon, and arrived at West Point at eleven o'clock at night, on the right side of the Hudson, and landed at a wharf furnished with a sentry-box. An artillerist stood sentinel. They were obliged to ascend a somewhat steep road in order to reach the house which is pre- pared for the reception of strangers. The build- ing belongs to the government, and is designed for the mess-room of the officers and cadets. The purveyor for this table is bound by contract^ with government to keep several chambers with beds in order for the reception of the relations of the cadets. The morning after their arrival, the gentlemen paid an early visit to lieutenant-colonel Thayer, superintendent of the military school, and were received in a very fiiendly manner. He had pre- sided over this school several years. Colonel Thayer has entirely remodelled this institution, and very much improved it. The cadets, whose number may amount to two hundred and fifty, are divided into four classes for the purposes of instruction. They are received between the ages of fourteen and twenty, and must undergo an examination be- fore they enter. Instruction is communicated gratuitously to A L I D A . 185 the cadeU, each of whom receives monthly eight dollars from government as wages. A public examination of the cadets takes place every year at the end of June, by a com- mission appointed by the Secretary of War. This commission consists of statF officers from the army and navy, members of Congress, gov- ernors of states, learned men, and other distin- guished citizens. After this examination, the best among those who have finished their course are appointed as officers in the army. The cadets hve in two large massive build- ings, three stories high, and are divided into four companies. The institution possesses four principal buildings. The two largest serve as barracks for the cadets, a third contains the mess- room, and the fourth the church. A large level space, consisting of several acres, lies in front of the buildings, forming a peninsula, and com- manding the navigation of the Hudson, above which it is elevated one hundred and eighty- eight feet. Towards the river it is surrounded by steep rocks, so that it is difficult to ascend, unless by ihe usual way. The party now ascended the rocky mountain^ on which are to be seen the ruins of Fort Put- nam. The way led through a handsome forest of oak, beech, chestnut and walnut trees. The 16* 186 AL X D A. fort occupying the summit of the mountain, waf erected in an indented form, of strong granite^ and is altogether inaccessible on the side next the enemy. It had but a single entrance, with very strong casemates. It was built on private property during the revolution ; the owner of the ground claimed it, and government were obliged to restore it. The government afterwards ac- quired the ground on which West Point stands, as well as the adjoining heights. v \ A very fine view one- may have from Fort Putnam of the plains of West Point and of the Hudson river. The view to the north is particu' larly handsome, in which direction Newburgh, lying on the river, is seen in the back ground. A band of music, paid by the government, belongs exclusively to the cadets, and is said to afford the best military music in the United States. The party generally regretted leaving this agreeable place, where they had been highly gratified during their short stay. They took passage on board the steam-boat Constitution, bound to New- York, sixty miles distant. They were now again on their way to one of the most flourishing cities in the United States, which attracts a great part of the commerce of the American nation. They came into the A' A L I DA. 187 Ticinity about sunset, and at eight o'clock in the evening they landed in New- York. Leaving their friends in the city, Albert and his sister took passage in a stage-coach next morning, and journeyed in a short time as far as the village of , and from thence proceeded on to the resi- dence of their father. •-■' ^'■i'-,^ ■;'.iv"',''>.^ 'i r : I. . ., 1..-.I li I' V 188 A L I D A CHAPTER XXVIII. Ah ! now again all my sensations move to see a parent, and I Bigh once more to meet the kind caresses of a father— and weeks seem ages in this separation. The feelings of Alida were those of bound- less joy to meet again her parents, after an ab- sence from them which appeared long to her. She was grieved to find her father had suf- fered much from indisposition during herabsence. She endeavoured in vain, by every soothing at- tention, to recall him again to health and happi- ness. His malady increased daily, and he became a prey to infirmities, which at length confined him to his room. The gladsome sensations of Albert were changed soon to those of melancholy, when he saw that his father was affected with a serious illness, and dejection supplied the place of more happy and animated feeUngs. Alida, for several weeks, scarce left the apart- ment. One morning she perceived that he had altered very materially for the worse. It was only at intervals he could converse with her, and then his conversation was calculated to give her fortitude and resignation, and prepare her mind for an approaching melancholy event, which, A L I D A. 189 whenever she received the least bint of, her grief was inexpressible. Her father observed her emotion. <* AHda, my dear child," said he, '^ do not be alarmed, as 1 ap- pear much worse than I am in reality at present;" but she had drawn these words from the physi> clan that morning, that his malady had in- creased greatly since the day before. Perceiving a visible change in his appearance, she scarcely left the room of her father till a late hour, when he, perceiving her almost fainting with fatigue, requested her to retire to rest. Albert supplied the place of his sister, and remained with his father, while the affectionate care of his only surviving son was grateful to the bosom of a fond parent. The slumbers of Alida were broken, and fearing to leave her father too long, she arose very early next morning to attend him. He was •"evidently much worse next day, which was Sunday, and intimated that he wished all the family sent for. He then requested Alida to read some passages in the bible, as was his daily custom. *< ^ Leave thy fatherless children to me and I will be their father,' what words of consolation are these," said he, ^' what transport do they convey to the heart of a parent, burthened with h M^1« 190 A L I DA. anxiety. Yes, divine Disposer," he exclaimed, ** 1 will, with grateful joy, commit my children to thy kind care and protection." When the physician made his morning visit, as he was going to take leave, Alida asked his opinion. He shook his head, and seemed to give no hopes of recovery. Her father requested her to be seated by the bed-side. " My child," said he, " I wish to dis- course a little with you. And could I again see^ Theodore, how gladly would I now receive him. I have deeply injured him," said he, " and my child too ; and have inflicted a wound still deeper in my own bosom. I have often considered his piety and worth. His moral character was all that it should be. Superfluous wealth is not necessary to ensure earthly felicity, but a com- petency and contentment therewith, is all that is necessary to happiness." *' Do not renew your sorrows, ^ear father," said Alida, " what is past is beyond recall. Let us confide in a just over-ruling Providence, that disposes all material events for the wisest pur- poses." Her tears flowed in abundance, as fier looks rested upon the visage of her father, and deep distress was depicted in her countenance. " My dear child," said her father, " weep not for me, think that rest must now be acceptable A L f D A. 191 to the weary traveller, whose hopes are centred in the Redeemer, (as the only name under Heaven, whereby we can be saved,) and can leave the world in the joyful anticipation of re- ceiving those inestimable blessings, in a life to come, which the Gospel promises to every true believer." ; ? : He had scarcely uttered these words, when he sunk almost senseless upon his pillow. The greater part of the family now assembled round him. The physician came and gave no hopes of recovery. He faithfully watched over him the whole evening and a part of the night, and about twelve o'clock his family had the sorrow and misfortune to witness the distressful and trying scene. Their father was no more. The distress, fatigue and agitation of Alida, could no longer be borne with, and for many weeks she was confined to her room. The loss of her parent and the terminating scene, had left her in deep affliction : all repose seemed fled forever, and bitter anguish had succeeded, and taken up its residence in her bosom. Reflections rose in her mind continually, that her situation had been heretofore comparatively happy, to what it at present afibrded. An illness of short duration had suddenly deprived her of a very dear father, and she now xlt herself a lonely, dejected orphan. ; i^: 193 A L I D A . CHAPTER XXIX. Could I trace back the time, a distant date, since my fore-fathen traversed these fields, and held possession of this wide domain. The melancholy event had taken place, and Albert had lost his father. His heavy and heart- felt affliction could not at this time be alleviated, and his mind was involved in gloom and sad- ness, which he endeavoured in vain to dissipate. He was now deprived of the kind hand of a parent, who had used his endeavours to lead him in the way he should go, from his infancy : and assisted him with a kindly advice, and supplied him with a timely experience : and in the wis- dom of whose salutary council, he could now no longer repose. He felt himself deprived of this kind assistant, whose precepts had been his guide ever since the first dawning irradiations of reason had began to appear, to enlighten his mind, and with the eye of vigilance watched over him, endeavouring to trace out his good or evil propensities, and to point to the partioislar advantages on the one hand, and the baneful effects on the other, and to train his ideas to whatever was most commend- able, and praiseworthy. \ Albert had ever evinced a disposition pleat 'iifj A L 1 D A* 193 to parental hopes and wishes, and flattering to a fond father's most sanguine anticipations. He was ever cheerful in complying with whatever he considered his duty, and conformable to the will of his interested parent. He now revolved in his mind, and reflected what had heretofore been his particular wishes. It had long been the wish of his parent, that he should close his business in New- York, and settle himself on the paternal estate. He there- fore was diligent in his endeavours to do this, as soon as his spirits would, in any-wise allow him to attend to these affairs, and at the commence- ment of the ensuing spring, he happily termi- nated his business in the city, and returned to the country. -■ • The remembrance of his father for a long in • terval of time was in every object around and about the mansion, in which he was established, and reminded him of his bereavement, and he was affected with sorrowful meditations, and a borrowed serenity was manifested in his ap- pearance. He reflected on his present condition, — he would say, how desultory is the happiness of man, he lays plans of permanent felicity, when the whirlwind of affliction arrives, and destroys the towering edifice of creative hope, and his .-3 '. ■i' - IT '* 194 A L I D A schemes of contentment are changed to dis- appointment and wo. He had taken possession of the paternal estate, which had for some years been the wish of his father. Like him he was fond of rural plea- sures and amusements, and to dissipate care amid tiie diversified scenes of rural life, afforded him satisfaction and pleasure. To contemplate the inimitable works of Crea- tion, was to him no less pleasing thiin instruc- tive. Where so many objects arrest the atten- tion, and afford abundance of entertainment, equally calculated to raise in the human breast the most unfeigned offerings of wonder, gratitude and praise to the great Dispenser of benefits to mankind, and the Author of universal existence. The magnificence of the celestial, and the curiosity and variety of the vegetable world, that have prof»erties which, if accurately seen, yield inconceivable astonishment to the eye of the be- holder, and confess alike the happy influence of the Deity. It charms in all the genial warmth and softness of spring, wherv the earth teems with a matchless splendour, when its green hues and universal verdure come forth in all their pristine elegance and enchanting attractions, which constantly afforded the contemplative '/ A L I D A . 195 mind of Albert, an inexhaustible variety of enter- taining and useful lessons. In the meantime his new station in life called him to new responsibilities, and a new field of action, unknown to him before, presented itself, wherein he must act in many diflerent capaci- ties. He was naturally of a domestic turn of mind, and had always declined entering into the constant routine of engagements, to which the most part of the fashionable world, more or less, subject themselves. He avoided all excess and extravagance, in every respect, in which people of this description lose the greater part of their time. He was extremely fond of walking, as he considered gentle exercise the best medicine of life, and he passed much of his time in stroll- ing over the fields or in the forest glen, amid the green wood shade, wrapped up in solitary reflection. When the sun was gilding the western hemis- phere, and the day shone in all the mildness of the season, enveloped in serious thought and revery, Albert walked forth among the sur- rounding shades. " Happy, ye freeborn sons of Columbia," said he, ^Uiberty and plenty now bless your domestic retirements, — War, de- vastation and wide-wasting rapine have fled your peaceful shores. No dread of destruction to dig-Li*t I i t^ ! , i !l H' I < 190 A L I D A. your uninterrapted tranquillity ; the exercise of laudable industry can again bring home to each family competency and repose." The clear cerulean sky added a soft beauty to the adjacent landscapes, as he listlessly wandered along the beach. The idle murmuring of the waves upon the sandy shore, the confused gabbling of the water-fowl, and the near view of the full-spread vessel majestically advancing over the white- capped billows, that advanced and receded in gentle monotony, tended to soothe the lone bosom to calmness and quietude. The day ended, and calm evening drew on. The silver rays of the full-orbed moon shed a majesty on each surrounding object. The scene appeared in solemn grandeur ; the dusky forest reflected a yellow radiance; and the roUing wonders of the heavens glittered o^er the head, while awful stillness reigned, interrupted only by the strains of the night-bird, whose melodious notes served to soothe the heart to harmony. Albert returned home with a leisurely step, his feelings were raised in devotional gratitude to that beneficent Being, on whom we depend for every present and future felicity, and who had surroundod us with so many blessings, that conspire to compose the mind to calmness and serenity. _ - A L I D A. 197 ■>V CHAPTER XXX. Ceux qui ne sont gensi de bien qu'en apparcnce— sont obliges do se contraindre, beaucoup, ct de gardet de grandes mosurcs, atin de passer pour se qu'ils ne sont pas. Alida ruminated on her lonely situation. She reflected on former days, and the many happy hours that had gone by forever, when the roses of health had arrayed her cheeks, and gay thought had filled her fancy, and every object was decked with the charms of fascination, when her heart was unacquainted with sorrow, and experienced serenity and happiness without al- loy. She deplored the loss of a kind father ; in him she was deprived of a friend, who could never be again supplied to her, and in whose so- ciety her mind was in a constant progressive state of improvement. His filial aflfection, his kindness, his watchful endeavours for her wel- fare, were evinced by a careful anxiety and pains to enlighten her mind with those qualities and acquirements, ih^t would be most conducive to enlarge her sphere of usefulness in life, and fur- nish her with the means of rational pleasure, and to blend with her personal appearance the more fascinating charms of a well improved un- derstanding. . . . 17* .ii I ■4 [^ ffi i; \ I I 198 A L X D A. She mourned his loss at a residence where every object recalled him continually to her re- membrance. She was wholly absorbed in me- lancholy, and amid these sad ideas, that agitated her bosom alternately, Bonville arrived from the neighbouring village, and her attention was for a time diverted, and sh^^ was delivered from a train of painful reflection?*. Her brother had a long conversation with him respecting Theodore, and wondered how it happened that his friend Raymond had never received any intelligence from him. Bonville seemed much embanassed at these observations of Albert, and it was some length of time before he made any reply. Then biting his lips, and putting on an air of displeasure, he said that he had actually thought of going to England himself, to trace him out, and ascer- tain the cause of his strange conduct. Then assuming a look of insignificance, accompanied with several speeches in double entendre, he re- mained in sullen silence. The conduct of Theodore certainly, thought Alida, is mysterious and singular, and his long silence is truly unaccountable, and the idea of ever meeting him again with these different im- pressions, that at present bore sway over her mind, agitated her greatly. In happier days 1 A I I D A. 199 when her hopes had rested on Theodore in full confidence, she thought herself sufficiently strong to bear every other evil, but to *"*; assured of his inconstancy, was an idea she could scarcely endure. , « Although Albeit might decidedly be called a person of discernment, still he had not yet fully discovered the deceptive powers of Bonville, whose many evil propensities were in a manner concealed, by a condescending courtesy and affa- bility ; though his mind inherited ill-nature and sarcasm in the extreme. ?•■ 5 The sprightliness of his manners, mingled with a certain degree of humour and generous sentiments, occasionally mingling with his dis- course, threw a veil over his imperfections, and excited one's admiration. , Albert thought him ungenerous for many scandalous assertions concerning Theodore, and he still hoped he might again arrive on his na- tive shores, and be able to answer all suggestions to his disadvantage. Alida had never discerned his real character, therefore she repsed full confidence in all he said. His behaviour to her was respectful, and bis exterior extremely prepossessing. He ap- peared to her all goodness and benevolence, and i 1 i^'i-f if I 1 1 200 A L 1 D A ever expressed the most generous sentiments to- wards those he pretended to censure. These deceitful appearances were joined with a semblance of piety ; and he could at any time make himself appear to advantage, by the dis- play of a variety of superficial knowledge. He was proud to excess, as if he really possessed qualities to be proud of. One would scarcely suppose that such a person could be capable of true attachment, but so it certainly was ; that knowing the many imperfections of his own na- ture, caused him more deeply to revere the op- posite qualities in Alida, and the idea of shortly gaining her hand, carried his senses to such a pitch of enthusiasm, that it would not be thought strange to suppose, that the disappointment of his pride would overwhelm him with lasting dismay. The superior excellence of Theodore furnish- ed a mark for the calumny of Bon ville, supposing his own success depended on the disparagement of the other. Thus envy is usually led to as- pense what it cannot imitate ; and the little mind scandalizes the pre-eminence of its neighbour, and endeavours to depreciate the good qualities that it cannot attain to. Thus; the distempered eye is impatient of pre- vailing brightness, and by attempting to observe A L I D A. 201 the lucid object, inadvertently betrays its own weakness ; and persons of their unhappy com- plexion, regard all praises conferred upon an- other, as derogatory from their own value. And a person without merit may Hve without envy ; but who would wish to escape it on these terms. • V '■ '■ - •*"' ' ■'''•,.; v:H-^-'r: ' ( ; >( ■^y, - - < ■).? "j: 202 A L IDA. CHAPTER XXXI. u May he again return, and with him bring A soft serenity on pleasure's wing ; While anxious fears, and doubt, shall disappear, The heavy mists of gloomy thought to clear. The scenes of solitude were now more pleas- ing to Alida than ever. She loved to wander through the shady grove and lonely valley, and adapt their retirement to her own particular situation. She would often stray as far as the cottage or the farm-house, at a little distance, and would sometimes take the winding path through a beautiful piece of wood which led to Raymond's, v/here the thick foliage formed a grateful shade. There she would indulge herself in solitary thought. " How changeable are all things ter- restrial," said she, " the varied year has its sea- sons, and winter and summer are constantly in pursuit of each other. The elements are fre- quently disturbed by storms and tempests, so, in like manner, is the human breast at intervals troubled and discomposed, and often remains overshadowed with pensive sadness and cheerless reverie ; and these desponding ideas must con- tinue to have influence over the mind, till the sunshine of reason and religion kindly dispell •■ Ij A L I D A. 203 the gloom, and awakens anew the feelings of the heart to the rays of hope and more enlivening sensations." She had just returned home one afternoon from Raymond's, when her brother, who had been absent on business to the city, drove up the avenue, accompanied by Mr. More. Albert informed his sister of the arrival of Theodore. She almost fainted at the intelligence, so unexpected : and although she wished of all things, to learn all the circumstances attending his absence, yet she dreaded the event, to behold him again, fearing the truth of Bonville's sug- gestions. In the midst of these thoughts and fears, Theodore alighted at the house, and was shown by the servant into the drawing-room. ' Theodore regardless of all around him, as soon as he beheld Alida, he grasped her hand ex- claiming with rapture, '* Has the period at length arrived, and am I indeed once more so happy as to meet again my much-esteemed and long-lost friend." f Alida gazed on him in silence He saw her extreme agitation, and after they were seated, he observed more particularly her altered ap- pearance. What surprise and grief was manifest in his countenance, when he saw the paleness of her cheek, and the roses that once spread their 204 A L I D A healthy hue over them, now seemed fled forever. In a length of time she became somewhat more composed, but in what hght to consider Theo- dore, she yet did not know, and former ideas still clouded her imagination. At length she assumed sufficient courage, to ask him, why he had not theught proper to in- form any of his friends of the circumstances at- tending his absence. Theodore could scarcely remain silent while Alida was speaking ; he was surprised beyond all description at what he heard. " Can it be possible," said he, *'that you have missed of in- formation concerning me, when I delayed not to inform you of all my movements, every oppor- tunity I had to convey intelligence." He then informed her that the letters had been sent to Raymond, and those for herself were inclosed, and committed to his care ; and through this channel, he had related minutely all the various trials and circumstances, attending his unexpect- ed journey, and the cause of his protracted stay. Alida was evidently convinced, and appeared again assured of the truth of her lover. The energy with which he gpoke, his agitated feel- ings, joined to the distress visible in his counte- nance, convinced her of his sincerity, at least caused her to doubt, what a few moments before A L I D A. 205 appeared so incohtestible : and her present hap- piness fully compensated for the lengthy period of distress and anxiety she had experienced. Albert was delighted at the return of Theo- dore, and highly gratified in his hopes, to find in his early friend, still the man of honour he had ever considered him. He had never once mentioned his name to Alida during tiieir sepa- ration ; although his thoughts often revolved on the unhappy result of their acquaintance, and the future welfare of his sister. '■ Mr. More was a silent spectator of this joyful meeting. He now beheld the person who had been so happy as to win the esteem and affec- tions of Alida, a person that he had heard spoken of, though it had appeared that he never expect- ed to see. - ' He witnessed the happy meeting. Sighs and tears from this time were his only companions, while his aspect pourtrayed nought but anguish and utter despair. He loked upon this happy pair as already united. He shed tears of evi- dent anguish, when he took leave of Alida, and his looks told her, it must now be forever. The evening was not far advanced, when Bonville, who was altogether ignorant of Theo- dore's arrival, unexpectedly made his appearance. Struck with the utmost consternation at seeing 18 ^iin .jii w i ii Ail \K < ■•1^1 206 A L I D A him, hft involuntarily receded a few pa^'es, then suddenly advancing, as if recollecting himself, he gave him his hand wit;i seeming cordiality. The natural politeness and civility of the other supplied the place of a more cordial reception. Ten thousand fears at once agitated the bosom of Bonville, while he appeared half frantic with grief and apprehension. Dismay threw a sud- den cloud over his understanding : he was con- fused in the extreme. He had intercepted all the letters of Theodore ; he secretly reproached himself for his treacherous conduct. He now saw the termination of all his hopes. Disappointment he could not brook, his pride could never submit to it with any degree of re- signation, and the bitterness that pervaded his mind, almost bordered on phrenzy. His conscience reproved him for reiterated mis- representations and calumnies of Theodore, with which he had harrassed the mind of Alida. He knew that a discovery must now be made of his perfidy, and on his return home to the village, he was confined to his room with a sudden ill- ness, succeeded by a dangerous fever. V A L I D A CHAPTER XXXII. 207 n O, time ! roll on thy wheels, and bring around the period, when social joy shall smile before me; when in the vernal Jay of life, or evening serene, I grow of one dear object more and more enamour- ed ; while my remembrance swells with many a proof of interested friendship. The present situation of Albert was happily independent. The prolific soil of the estate, on which he 'ived, furnished him with an ample abundance. The prospect that surrounded him was inimitably beautiful, and the pecuhar ad- vantages of his eligible situation, was the admir- ation of the stranger who frequented the vicinity, or resorted in the summer season to the neigh- bouring village. Albert had descended from an ancient family, he had an estate to preserve, but not an entailed one, as was the case with many of his family, at this time in England. He was a gentleman, placid, humane and generous*, altogether unacquainted with that ambition which sacrifices every thing to the de- sire of fortune, and ihe superfluous splendour that follows in her train. He was unacquainted with love too, the supreme power of which ab- sorbs and concentrates all our faculties upon one sole object. That age of innocent pleasure, and V ^ ■ T ^! i 208 A li I D A. ti t of confident credu«Jity, when the heart is yet a novice, and follows the impulse of youthful sensi- bility, and bestows itself unreservedly upon the object of disinterested affection ; then, surely, friendship is not a name. Albert, during his abode in the city, had associated with ladies of rank, beauty and accomplishments. He was a general favourite among ihem ; he had been fl^ittered, courted and caressed, but none had the power to fix his attention. Since his return to the country, he had been frequently invited to assemble among the artless villagers, decorated in their own native beauty, assisted sometimes for ornament with the spoils of Flora. Health, pleasure and naivette, was in the air of these charmers, and all that was pleasing to win his regard and esteem. These scenes of rural plea- sure, these social parties, were adapted to his taste. In comparison of which the gay assemblages of the city had been formerly uninteresting ; and he had been heard to say, that whenever his mind should become fixed, his choice would be some lady, who resided in the country. ' • Although Albert experienced a degree of hap- piness and contentment, unknown to many, in his present situation, yet he sometimes felt him- self very lonely. Alida was anxious that her brother should A L I D A. 209 1 his look out for a suitable companion ; ..^^ if he could be fortunate enough to find one that was amiable and sensible, and whose actions should be under the influence of genuine piety ; one who would be ambitious to preserve domestic sunshine by the goodness and equanimity of her disposition; who would have a tear for distress, a heart for friendship and love, exerted in be- nevolence and charity, and in the mean time have a care lo the good order and arrangement of domestic duties and economy. Albert, often descanted in conversation with his friends, on the general neglect of female educa- tion, which consisted of a few trifling embellish- ments, while those of the more substantial order were left out of the question. He thought that young ladies generally were not sufficiently learned in the solid branches, to e rercise their mental powers to advantage, or to be agreeable, intelligent companions. " If it be true,'* said he, " that our pleasures are chiefly of a comparative or reflected ki«d, how supreme must be theirs, who continually reflect on each other the portraitures of happi- ness, whose amusements r f. pi n 1)1' 1 '■ ■5i ** Though varied still, are still the same In infinite progressions." 18^ 210 A L I D ▲ "How tranquil must be the state of that bosom, which has, as it were, a door per|)etually open to the reception of joy or departure of pain, by un- interrupted confidence in, and sympathy with, the object of its aflection ! " " I know of no part of the single life," said Albert, " more irksome than the privation we feel by it, of any friendly breast wherein to pour our delights, or from whence to extract an antidote for whatever may chance to distress us." " The mind of a good man is rather commu- nicative, than torpid. If so, how often may a person of even the best principles, expose him- self to very disagreeable sensations, from senti- ments inadvertently dropped, or a confidence im- properly reposed. What but silence can be re- commended, since, in breaking it so much dan- ger is incurred among those who are little inter- ested in our welfare ? A good heart, it is true, need not fear the exposition of its amiable con- tents. But, is it always a security for us, that we mean v/ell, when our expressions are liable to be misconstrued by such as appear to lay in wait only to pervert them to some ungenerous purpose?" "The charms, then, of social life, and the sweets of domestic conversation, are pre-emi- nent. What more agreeable than the converse A L I D A 211 of an intelligent, amiable, interesting friend ; and who more intelligent than a well educated female ? What more engaging than gentleness and sensibility itself? Or what friend more in- teresting, than one we have selected from the whole world, as a companion in every vicissi- tudeoflife?" ** If either party be versed in music, what a tide of innocent pleasure must it prove, to be able to soothe in adversity, to humanize in prosperity, to compose in jargon, and to command serenity in every situation ? How charming a relaxation from the necessary avocations of business on the one hand, and the employments at home, in do- mestic affairs, on the other ? And as a finale to chant the praises of the Almighty in hymns of praise and thanksgiving." Albert had lately made several visits at some distance from home, where he had told his sister, were several young ladies, who were very agree- able. Alida did not think this of any impor- tance, as she knew her brother heretofore had been difficult to please. She was one day rather surprised, when he wished her to accompany him thither. She declined the invitation, how- ever, not thinking he wished it for any particu- lar reason. In the course of a few days he pressed her V . Ill I \ \\ n i w n if ^ 212 A L I D A. again to go with him. Alida now thought she would accompany him, if it was only out of cu- riosity. When they arrived at the house of Al- bert's new acquaintance, several ladies were in- troduced one after the other, and Alida soon found, that one of them had arrested the atten- tion of her brother particularly. She however thought him rather premature, as he had so re- cently become acquainted with the family. On their return home he gave her to understand, that his affections were engaged, and in the course of a few months she was called on to at- tend their nuptials. The appearance of Eliza was interesting; sh^ was tall and graceful. Her large dark hazel eyes sparkled beneath a beautiful arched eye- brow, and her transparent complexion was shaded and adorned by profuse locks of dark brown hair. In the meantime Albert appeared perfectly happy, that he had at length found a fair one lO please him, and shortly after he returned home with his bride, with sanguine expectations before him, anticipating much future happiness. ^.. ▲ L I D ▲ . 213 ht she t of cu- i of Al- rere in- a soon atlen- owever 1 so re- y. On rstand, in the 1 to at- esting ; t hazel ed eye- n was )f dark erfectly one lo 1 home ) before 38. - CHAPTER XXXIII. *< On punit plus severement un ennemi parle mf pris «t par Toubli, que par les chatimens les plus rigorieux : c'est, pour ainsi dire| le reduLTe au ne&nU" The disagreeable facts so long in detail, had now taken a new turn for the better, and Theo- dore and Alida were again in possession of more than former felicity, after their long separation. Alida soon began to recover in some degree her native cheerfulness, soothing the bosom of her lover with her grief-dispersing smile. The un- pleasant fears that had such a length of time harrassed her mind, were now happily ter- minated by the return of Theodore and the clearing up of all doubts and suspicions con- cerning him, to the utter confusion of Bonville. All her corroding anxieties were now removed, and recent events had made her happy in com- parison to what she was a few weeks before, and her present consolation fully compensated for all the preceding months of unhappiness. Theodore was again happy in the society of Alida, the pensive sweetness of her manner, her innate goodness, and amiability, which had attracted and secured the early affections of his heart, and made impressions that could never be 214 A f . I D A . obliterated. He gave her a minute account of all that had happened, from the time they had parted until they had met again. He had visited the merchants in England with whom his father had been concerned in business, and he found as he expected, that he had been over-reached by swindlers and sharp- ers. 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 had fled to England ; he had them arrested, and they had given up their effects to much more than the amount of their debts. He therefore procured a reversion of his father's losses, with costs, damages and interests, when legally stated. Theodore then made his next visit to Ray- mond's. His friends were joyfully surprised at his arrival. He stayed the night and related a long narrative to his friend. Early next day he proceeded from thence to his father's house, where he arrived after a considerable journey, Theodore found his [)arents more happy than he expected. With abundant joy they welcomed him whom they had given up for lost. Theodore then related to his father all the in- cidents that had happened in England, minutely particularizing his conduct with regard to the f A L I D A 215 !ii merchants with whom his father had been con- nected, and then presented him with the rever- sion of the estate. The old gentleman fell on his knees, and with tears streaming down his cheeks, offered devout thanks to the great Dispenser of all mercies. In the meantime, the illness of Bonville had increased to an alarming degree. He sent for Theodore. He thought it his duty to attend the summons. When he arrived at the house of Bonville he was shown immediately into his apartment. He was surprised to see him stretched on a mattrass, his visage pale and emaciated, his countenance haggard, his eyes inexpressive and glaring. He held out his hand and feebly beckoned to Theodore, who immediately ap- proached the bed-side. " You behold me, Theodore," said he, ^^ on the verge of eternity. I have but a short time to continue in this world." He evidently appeared to have suffered much from the remembrance of his ungenerous conduct towards Theodore. '^ I have caused much unhappiness between you and your Alida,** said Bonville, " to which you will scarcely think it possible that I was de- signedly accessory." He then confessed to The- odore that he had intercepted his letters, and begged his forgiveness. "I could say much / h / 216 A L I D ▲. more on the subject would my strength admit," said he, '' but it is needless." Here Bonville ceased. Theodore found he wanted rest ; medi- cal aid had been applied but without effect. Theodore then left him, promising to call again next morning. He was startled at the confession of Bonville ; he felt at first indignant, and meditated what course to pursue. After due reflection, he at length made the decision. His devotion to Alida he did not wonder at. The pride of parental attachment and nature had graced her with every charm and accom- plishment. He at length determined to cast a veil of pity over the actions of Bonville, and not to upbraid him, but to treat his past conduct with silent contempt, and endeavour as far as possible, to bury the remembrance of his errors in oblivion. He called to see him next morning ; he perceived an alarming alteration in his ap- pearance. He was cold — a chilling sweat stood upon his face, his respiration was short and in- terrupted, his pulse weak and intermitting. He took the hand of Theodore and feebly pressed it. He soon fell into a stupor ; sensation became suspended. Sometimes a partial revival would take place, when he would fall into incoherent muttering, calling on the names of his deceased A L I D A. 217 father, his mother, and Alida. Towards night he lay silent, and only continued to breathe with difficulty, when a slight convulsion gave his freed spirit to the unknown regions of existence. Theodore attended his funeral, and then jour- neyed on to the dwelling of Albert. He in- formed Alida of the death of Bonville, and of his confession. At the mention of Bonville's fate, she sighed deeply. " It is true,*' said she, " he has perplexed me with many vain fears, by misrepresentation, but could he have lived, I would freely have forgiven him.'* He evidently fell a victim to disappointed pride and remorse at the remembrance of his own baseness. . H i f iil «i 19 218 4 L I D A . CHAPTER XXXI V. In the Almii»'!'y Pow^r he placed his Iriist, Through ail the ciiun^int; tsreaieM of deep distrv^s ; His furtiine now is better than befure ; Again the Omniscient Hand has deigned to bless. Theodore's father was soon in complete re- possession of Wis former property. The premises from which he had been driven by his creditors, were yielded up without difficulty, to which he immediately removed. He not only recovered the principal of the fortune he had lost, but the damages, with the interest ; so that, although like Job, he had seen aflliction, like him his lat- ter days were better than the beginning. Wearied of the business of life, he did not again enter into its affairs, but placing his money at interest in safe hands, he Uvcd retired on his estate. It was also the decided choice of Theodore and AliJa to reside in the country. The cahn and serene pleasures of retirement were pr-rticu- J uly interesting to both, and they were supremely blest in each other's !?;ociety. The parents of Theodore rejoiced at their present happiness, and took upon themselves the necessary preparations for their nuptials. Invi- tations >V€rc once more ^eiit abi( Uc! on this occa- A L I DA. ?10 I. re- uses sion. The evening before tlje day lliis intercvt- ing event was to take place, lliey pns^^ed at Raymond's. The next morning was illumined with the bright rays of the sun, that shed liis invigorating lustre over the landscape's lovely green. No cross>purposes stood ready to inter- vene, to disturb their repo?e, or interrupt their tranquillity. It was the latter end of May — nature was arrayed in her richest ornaments, and adorned with her sweetest fragrance. Silk-winged breezes played amidst the flowers, and spring birds of every description carolled their song in varying strains. The air was clear and salu- brious, and the scene enchanting. Numerous guests were assembled at the house of Albert; Alida was introduced into the bridal apartment, and took her seat among a briUiant circle of ladies. She was attired in a white robe ; her hair hung gracefully in ringlets over her shoulders, encircled by a wreath of artificial flowers. She had regained much of her former loveliness. The rose and the lily again blended their tinges in her cheek — again pensive spright- liness sparkled in her eye. Theodore was introduced and took a seat by her side. His father and mother came next,