Wild Western Scenes: A Narrative of Adventures in the Western Wilderness, Wherein the Exploits of Daniel Boone, the Great American Pioneer are Particularly DescribedJones, J. B. (John Beauchamp)
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Wild Western Scenes: A Narrative of Adventures in the Western Wilderness, Wherein the Exploits of Daniel Boone, the Great American Pioneer are Particularly Described
Jones, J. B. (John Beauchamp)
Boone, Daniel, 1734-1820 -- Fiction; Western stories; Wilderness areas -- Fiction
A few mild days, during which frequent showers had fallen, had in a
great measure removed the snow from the earth. And Joe having soon
forgotten his late perilous adventure, amused himself with the horses.
He resolved to make some amends for their long confinement in the
stable, and to effect it he galloped them several hours each day over
the grounds in the vicinity. The hounds, too, seemed delighted to place
their feet once more on the bare earth, and they were permitted to
accompany the horses in all their excursions.
One night, when William, Mary, and Joe were all quietly sleeping,
Roughgrove took occasion to express his gratitude to Glenn for the many
and important services rendered his family.
“Whatever good may have attended my efforts,” said Glenn, “you may rest
assured that I have been amply repaid in the satisfaction enjoyed
myself.”
“I am sure of it!” exclaimed Roughgrove; “and it was a conviction that
you harboured such sentiments that induced me to confide in you, and to
disclose things which I intended should remain for ever locked within
my own breast.”
“Your confidence shall not be abused,” said Glenn; and to prove that I
am not averse to an exchange of secrets, if you will listen to my
recital, I will endeavour briefly to give you a sketch of _my_
history.”
“I will listen attentively, my young friend, even were it as sad a tale
as mine, which can hardly be the case,” said Roughgrove, drawing his
chair close to Glenn’s side, and placing more fuel on the fire.
“Would to Heaven it had not been!” said Glenn, after reclining his head
on his hands a few minutes, and recalling transactions which he could
have wished to be blotted from his memory for ever. “I am a native of
New York,” he continued, heaving a sigh and folding his arms, “and was
left an orphan at a very early age. My father was once reputed one of
the wealthiest merchants in Broadway; but repeated and enormous losses,
necessarily inexplicable to one of my age, suddenly reduced him to
comparative poverty. Neither he nor my mother survived the blow many
months, and before I was ten years old, I was left (with the exception
of an uncle in Philadelphia) alone in the world, possessed of only a
few hundred dollars. My uncle placed me with an eminent physician, who
had been my father’s friend, after my education was completed. He told
me that he was rich, and would see that I should not suffer for means
until I had acquired a profession, which, with energy and diligence,
would enable me to procure an honourable support. But he informed me
that he had a family of his own, and that I must not depend upon his
assistance further than to accomplish a profession.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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