The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 1, August, 1834Various
General
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 1, August, 1834
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
"I am aware of the utter frustration of your hopes; I am convinced that
at the end of a year you will not be a step nearer to fortune than you
are now; why then keep my hand for you? What I say briefly, you will
interpret fully. You are now the guardian of my happiness; as such I
address you. Thursday, so you consent, will be my wedding day.
ROSALIE."
Such was the letter, upon the address and seal of which Theodore had
imprinted a score of kisses before he opened it. "Fortune is in the
mood," said Theodore with a sigh, so deeply drawn, that any one who had
heard it would have imagined he had breathed his spirit out along with
it--"Fortune is in the mood, and let her have her humor out! I shall
answer the letter; my reply to her shall convey what she
desires--nothing more! she is incapable of entering into my feelings,
and unworthy of being made acquainted with them; I shall not condescend
even to complain!"
"ROSALIE,
"You are free! THEODORE."
Such was the answer which Theodore despatched to Rosalie. O the
enviable restlessness of the mind upon the first shock of thwarted
affection! How it turns every way for the solace which it feels it can
no more meet with, except in the perfect extinction of consciousness.
Find it an anodyne!--you cannot. A drug may close the eye for a time,
but the soul will not sleep a wink: it lies broad awake, to agony
distinct, palpable, immediate;--howsoever memory may be cheated to lose
for the present the traces of the cause. Then for the start, the spasm,
the groan which, while the body lies free, attest the presence and
activity of the mental rack! Better walk than go to sleep! A heath,
without a soul but yourself upon it!--an ink-black sky, pouring down
torrents--wind, lightning, thunder, as though the vault above was
crackling and disparting into fragments!--any thing to mount above the
pitch of your own solitude, and darkness, and tempest; and overcome
them, or attract and divert your contemplation from them, or threaten
every moment to put an end to them and you!
Theodore's friend scarcely knew him the next morning. He glanced at
him, and took no further notice. 'Twas the best way, though people
there are who imagine that it rests with a man in a fever, at his own
option to remain in it, or to become convalescent.
Theodore's feelings were more insupportable to him the second day than
the first. He went here and there and every where; and nowhere could he
remain for two minutes at a time at rest. Then he was so abstracted.
Crossing a street he was nearly run over by a vehicle and four. This
for a moment awakened him. He saw London and B---- upon the pannels of
the coach. The box seat was empty; he asked if it was engaged. "No." He
sprung up upon it and away they drove. "I'll see her once more,"
exclaimed Theodore, "it can but drive me mad or break my heart."
Within a mile of B---- a splendid barouch passed them. "Whose is that?"
inquired Theodore.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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