Corse de Leon; or, The Brigand: A Romance. Volume 1 (of 2)James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
History
Corse de Leon; or, The Brigand: A Romance. Volume 1 (of 2)
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
France -- History -- Henry II, 1547-1559 -- Fiction
E-text prepared by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
CORSE DE LEON:
Or,
The Brigand.
A Romance.
by
G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.
Author of "The Robber," "The Gentleman of the Old School," etc.
In Two Volumes.
VOL. I.
New-York: Published by Harper & Brothers, No. 82 Cliff-Street.
1841.
CORSE DE LEON;
OR,
THE BRIGAND.
CHAPTER I.
There are a thousand small and apparently accidental circumstances,
which, in our course through life, bring a temporary gloom upon us,
render our expectations from the future fearful and cheerless, and
diminish our confidence in all those things whereon man either rashly
relies or builds his reasonable trusts. Strength, youth, wealth, power,
the consciousness of rectitude, the providence of God: all these will
occasionally lose their sustaining influence, even upon the most hopeful
mind, from causes too slight to justify such an effect.
These accidental circumstances, these mental clouds, resemble much those
other clouds which sometimes, at the close of a bright day, come over a
landscape previously warm and shining, cast a gray shade over its rich
hues, shut out the redoubled glory of the setting sun, and make gloom
and shadow spread over the summer scene. Though nothing is changed but
the light in which things dwell, though the colour of the tree and the
form of the rock are the same, yet the brightness of the whole is
departed, and the lustre gone out as if for ever.
There are times, however, when a gloom, which seems to have no
counterpart in the physical world, comes over the mind; when all has
gone fairly with us; when every object around is full of brightness and
hope; when the horses of Fortune's car have never once even stumbled on
the way; and not a sorrow rough enough to rub the down from the wing of
a butterfly has fallen upon our hearts for years; and yet a deep and
shadowy despondence steals over our spirits, as if the immortal within
us were telling the mortal of anxieties, and griefs, and dangers
approaching--discovered by the fine sympathies of the higher part of our
being with things undiscovered by the mere material creature.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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