Satanstoe; Or, the Littlepage Manuscripts. A Tale of the ColonyCooper, James Fenimore
General
Satanstoe; Or, the Littlepage Manuscripts. A Tale of the Colony
Cooper, James Fenimore
Antirent War, N.Y., 1839-1846 -- Fiction
“Nay, sir, a soldier, who is about to be posted within striking distance of
his enemy, can never speak, with confidence, of separations that are to
be short. This campaign will be decisive, for me,”--glancing
towards Anneke--“I must return a conqueror, in one sense, or I do not
wish to return at all. But, God bless you, Herman Mordaunt, as your own
countrymen call you; a thousand years could not efface from my heart, the
remembrance of all your kindness.”
This was handsomely expressed; and the manner in which it was uttered, was
as good as the language. Bulstrode hesitated a moment--looked at the two
girls in doubt--and first approached Mary Wallace.
“Adieu, excellent Mary Wallace,” he said, taking her offered hand, and
kissing it with a freedom from emotion, that denoted it was only friendship
and respect which induced the act--“I believe, you are a severe critic
on Catos and Scrubs; but, I forgive all your particular backbitings,
on account of your general indulgence and probity. You may meet with a
thousand mere acquaintances, before you find another who shall have the
same profound respect for your many virtues, as myself.”
This was handsomely said, too; and it caused Mary Wallace to remove the
handkerchief from her eyes, and to utter her adieus cordially, and with
some emotion. Strangers say that our women want feeling--passion; or, if
they have it, that it is veiled behind a mask of coldness, that takes away
from its loveliness and warmth; that they are girlish and familiar, where
they might better be reserved; and distant, and unnatural, where feeling
and nature ought to assert their sway. That they have less _manner_, in all
respects, in that of self-control, and perhaps of self-respect, in their
ordinary intercourse, and in that of _acting_, where it may seem necessary
so to do, I believe to be true; buts he who denies an American girl a
heart, knows nothing about her. She is _all_ heart; and the apparent
coldness is oftener the consequence of not daring to trust her feelings,
and her general dislike to everything artificial, than to any want of
affections. Two girls, educated, however, as had been Anneke and Mary
Wallace, could not but acquit themselves better, in such a scene, than
those who had been less accustomed to the usages of polite life, which are
always more or less, the usages of convention.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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