Charlemont; Or, The Pride of the Village. a Tale of KentuckySimms, William Gilmore
General
Charlemont; Or, The Pride of the Village. a Tale of Kentucky
Simms, William Gilmore
Kentucky -- Fiction
The student of divinity, after these conclusions, prepared to make his
toilet. Very few of these students, in their extreme solicitude for the
well being of the inner man, show themselves wholly regardless of their
externals. Even mourning, it appears, requires to be disposed by a
fashionable costumer. Though the garments to which the necessities of
travel limited Brother Stevens were not various, they were yet select.
The good young man had an affection for his person, which was such
certainly as to deserve his care. On this occasion he was more than
usually particular. He did not scruple to discard the white cravat.
For this he substituted a handkerchief which had the prettiest sprig
of lilac, on a ground of the most delicate lemon color. He consulted
complexions, and his mirror determined him in favor of this pattern.
Brother Stevens would not have worn it had he been summoned, in his
new vocation, to preach or pray at the conventicle; nor would he have
dreamed of anything but a black stock had his business been to address
the democracy from the top of a cider-barrel. His habits, under such
necessities, would have been made to correspond with the principles
with which such a situation more distinctly called for.
But the thoughts of our worthy brother ran upon other objects. He was
thinking of Margaret Cooper. He was about to pay that damsel a visit.
His progress, we may suppose, had not been inconsiderable when we are
told that his present visit was one of previous arrangement. They were
about to go forth on a ramble together--the woods were so wild
and lovely--the rocks surrounding Charlemont were so very
picturesque;--there was the quietest tarn, a sort of basin in the bosom
of the hills at a little distance, which she was to show him; and
there was the sweetest stream in the world, that meandered in the
neighborhood; and Brother Stevens so loved the picturesque--lakes
embosomed in hills, and streams stealing through unbroken forests, and
all so much the more devotedly, when he had such a companion as Margaret
Cooper.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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