The £1,000,000 bank-note, and other new storiesTwain, Mark
General
The £1,000,000 bank-note, and other new stories
Twain, Mark
American essays -- 19th century; American fiction -- 19th century; Humorous stories, American
many voices rallying fresh in fancy’s eye; he tapped the shutter, it was
opened instantly, and he beheld once more, seated beside several ladies,
the hope of all his toils; he rushed towards her, she rose from her
seat, rejoicing: he made one mighty grasp, when Ambulinia exclaimed,
‘Huzza for Major Elfonzo! I will defend myself and you, too, with this
conquering instrument I hold in my hand; huzza, I say, I now invoke
time’s broad wing to shed around us some dewdrops of verdant spring.’
But the hour had not come for this joyous reunion; her friends struggled
with Elfonzo for some time, and finally succeeded in arresting her from
his hands. He dared not injure them, because they were matrons whose
courage needed no spur; she was snatched from the arms of Elfonzo, with
so much eagerness and yet with such expressive signification, that he
calmly withdrew from this lovely enterprise, with an ardent hope that he
should be lulled to repose by the zephyrs which whispered peace to his
soul. Several long days and nights passed unmolested, all seemed to have
grounded their arms of rebellion, and no callidity appeared to be going
on with any of the parties. Other arrangements were made by Ambulinia;
she feigned herself to be entirely the votary of a mother’s care, and
said, by her graceful smiles, that manhood might claim his stern
dominion in some other region, where such boisterous love was not so
prevalent. This gave the parents a confidence that yielded some hours of
sober joy; they believed that Ambulinia would now cease to love Elfonzo,
and that her stolen affections would now expire with her misguided
opinions. They therefore declined the idea of sending her to a distant
land. But oh! they dreamed not of the rapture that dazzled the fancy of
Ambulinia, who would say, when alone, youth should not fly away on his
rosy pinions, and leave her to grapple in the conflict with unknown
admirers.
No frowning age shall control
The constant current of my soul,
Nor a tear from pity’s eye
Shall check my sympathetic sigh.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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