The Life and Adventures of Maj. Roger Sherman PotterAdams, F. Colburn (Francis Colburn)
General
The Life and Adventures of Maj. Roger Sherman Potter
Adams, F. Colburn (Francis Colburn)
Political fiction
Then I dropped into a nap, and forgot all my cares
until the door bell tinkled, and I awoke, feeling sure the mistress
of the house was arrived; but it turned out to be the boy with the
Evening Post, a journal I always admired for its admirable morals.
Indeed I may say I regard it an excellent journal to read in an hour
of distress, its philosophy being soothingly profound. I seized the
paper, and read from outside to inside, until my courage was quite
restored, and I began humming an air which sent me into the happiest
of moods.
"Presently my eye caught a portrait I fancied to be a likeness of
the landlady, hung with dusty crape upon the wall, and having the
appearance of a specter peering through the mist. I was curious to
see the quality of her beauty, and advancing toward it, parted the
crape in the center, and there beheld a face and bust of such
exquisite loveliness that I felt sure the rogue of a painter must,
in the outpouring of his love for the beautiful, have been trying
his skill at flattering the vanity of some damsel with a likeness of
Haidee. She had the bust of a Venus, and was dressed low enough in
the neck to admit full scope to the devil's fancies. Her face, too,
was so oval that nature could not have added one line more to its
perfection; while her complexion was of deep olive, made ravishing
by the carnatic flush of her cheeks. And she had what poets and lady
novelists call great Italian eyes, beaming lustrous of soul and
energy; and hair that floated in raven blackness over shoulders that
seemed chiseled. I began to think myself the happiest of men, for my
system had always a bit of poetic fire in it. And then these charms,
which had already begun to rob my heart of its peace, were made more
seductive by a calmly resolved and yet pensive expression of
countenance. Indeed, at a second glance, it seemed to approach
melancholy, and bespoke that frame of mind when sorrow feeds most
upon the heart.
"I touched the frame, and instantly it fell to the floor, with a
great noise. And while in the midst of my confusion, a key clicked
in the door, and a lady of stately figure, dressed in deep mourning,
advanced into the parlor, and, being deeply veiled, took a seat upon
the sofa, quite like a stranger. I bowed and said, 'Madam, I am
waiting for the mistress of the house. You are on a similar errand,
I take it?' To which she replied in a voice of peculiar sweetness,
that she was the person, and would have me make known my business.
She then threw back one veil, and then another, until she discovered
a face even more beautiful than that of the portrait I had just
replaced on the wall. I must also mention that she seemed conscious
of her charms, for with an air of much grace and dignity, she raised
her jeweled fingers, so tapering, and smoothed the glossy black hair
over her polished brow, while the diamonds of her bracelets sparkled
through the white ruffles that hung from her wrists.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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