The Kentuckian in New-York; or, The Adventures of Three Southerns. Volume 1 (of 2)Caruthers, William Alexander
General
The Kentuckian in New-York; or, The Adventures of Three Southerns. Volume 1 (of 2)
Caruthers, William Alexander
Adventure stories; City and town life -- New York (State) -- New York -- Fiction
"Though I had but two hours' sleep, I was up betimes to catch a
parting glimpse of an interesting person who need not be named.
When I descended into the great vestibule of this extensive
establishment, I found the door of their parlour open, and the
entry nearly blocked up by bandboxes, trunks, and all the little
paraphernalia of which you and I are as yet quite ignorant. A
carriage stood at the door; the lady and the old gentleman sat
side by side upon the sofa, the former in her travelling habit,
while the latter held in his hand a cup of coffee, which he
sipped, giving directions from time to time to the servants. I
paid them the compliments of the morning, not in the most bland
and courtly style, for to tell you the truth I felt a little
inclined to poaching, and the old gentleman looked _to me_ not
unlike a vigilant and surly gamekeeper; however, he received me
with a welcome, perhaps it was a northern one; but of that I will
tell you more when we get fully into the enemy's country, as your
namesake of Roanoke would say. My presence seemed to hurry the
old gentleman's coffee down his throat, hot as it was, and in ten
minutes, before I had exchanged ten words with the lady, all was
pronounced in readiness.
"The old gentleman did not leave her for a moment. I of course
handed her to the carriage, and took, as I supposed, a last look.
I suppose I must have appeared dolorous enough. The parting moment
came, the last pressure of the hand was given, the door closed,
whip cracked, and the carriage had gone some time, before I found
myself standing in the middle of the street, my head turned to one
side just far enough to catch a glimpse of Lamar in his nightgown,
half-way out of a three-story window, laughing with that
complacent self-satisfaction which is peculiar to him. 'Half-past
four and a dark stormy morning,' cried he, in true watchman style.
I pulled my hat down over my face, and walked away from the hotel
as fast as my impetuous blood would drive me; indeed, I felt
provoked at the time. I had not walked far, before I recollected
having felt something in my hand, as if it had found its way there
by accident, while I was exchanging adieus with my enslaver. I had
mechanically, while abstracted in the street, thrust it into my
waistcoat pocket. I now drew it forth,--it was a small roll of
paper, which you might have put into a thimble,--I opened it very
carefully, in hope that there might be some even
carelessly-scribbled line, which I could preserve as a memento.
By heavens, Randolph, there was a memento upon it! and evidently
intended for my eye alone.
"The writing was in pencil, and scarcely legible; with some
difficulty I could make out these words.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account