The Coward: A Novel of Society and the Field in 1863Morford, Henry
History
The Coward: A Novel of Society and the Field in 1863
Morford, Henry
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
States to the defence of Pennsylvania; and when the militia of the city of
New York and the returned nine-months volunteers of New Jersey were showing
themselves equally ready to respond to the call. When the Army of the
Potomac seemed for the moment to be nothing, even for the defence of the
North, Hooker discredited, no successor discovered, public confidence lost,
the very darkest day of the struggle at hand, and no man able or willing to
predict what might be the extent of disaster reached before the rolling
back of the tide of invasion from the homes of the loyal States.
Such were the place, the time, the surroundings, and the atmosphere (so to
speak) of the house of the blended Flemish and Elizabethan styles of
architecture, at West Philadelphia, of which, thus far, only the outward
aspects have been presented. Yet there may be an inexcusable neglect of
the proprieties, in presenting a house, its green lawn, shady trees, and
even the pleasant landscape stretching away in front of it, before those
living figures which would certainly have attracted the attention of an
observer in advance of any of the inanimate beauties of art or nature.
Those figures were two in number, both standing on the piazza, very near
the trellis of climbing roses, and where the flecks of sunshine fell
through the leaves upon them and dashed them with little dots and lines of
moving light, as well as the floor upon which they stood. Both were
girls--both young--both beautiful; at least each possessed that combination
of features, form and manner, making her very pleasing to the casual
observer, and certain to be reckoned beautiful by some one admitted to a
closer knowledge of the spirit enshrined within. They were evidently dear
friends; for as they stood near the trellis, and the hand of the taller of
the two plucked a half-open rose from one of the clusters, and she
playfully tried to coax it to a fuller opening by breathing caressingly
upon it and separating its clinging leaves with her dainty fingers,--the
arm of the other was around her waist, and both the trim and graceful forms
were slightly swaying backward and forward in that pleasant, idle,
school-girl motion which the grown woman does not easily forget until it
has given the "fidgets" to half her elder acquaintances.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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