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[Transcriber's Note:

This e-text is based on the 1851 Boston edition of _Alonzo and Melissa_.
The story originally appeared in 1804 as a serial in the weekly
_Political Barometer_ of Poughkeepsie, N.Y., written by the newspaper's
editor, Isaac Mitchell. Pirated versions began to appear in 1811,
giving Daniel Jackson, Jr., as author.

The book was printed as a single unit, without chapter divisions.
The breaks in the e-text represent the 22 installments of the serial
version.

Note that the standard punctuation for dialogue is

  "To this place, said Melissa, have I taken many a solitary walk...."

The following are listed at the end of the e-text:

  Chronology of the Story
  Quotations
  Other Editions
  Errors and Inconsistencies]




  ALONZO AND MELISSA,

    or

  THE UNFEELING FATHER.

    An

  AMERICAN TALE.


    In every varied posture, place, and hour,
    How widowed every thought of every joy!

        YOUNG.


  BY DANIEL JACKSON, Jr.


  Boston:
  Printed for the Publishers.
  1851.




PREFACE


Whether the story of Alonzo and Melissa will generally please, the
writer knows not; if, however, he is not mistaken, it is not unfriendly
to religion and to virtue.--One thing was aimed to be shown, that a firm
reliance on Providence, however the affections might be at war with its
dispensations, is the only source of consolation in the gloomy hours of
affliction; and that generally such dependence, though crossed by
difficulties and perplexities, will be crowned with victory at last.

It is also believed that the story contains no indecorous stimulants;
nor is it filled with unmeaning and inexplicated incidents sounding upon
the sense, but imperceptible to the understanding. When anxieties have
been excited by involved and doubtful events, they are afterwards
elucidated by the consequences.

The writer believes that generally he has copied nature. In the ardent
prospects raised in youthful bosoms, the almost consummation of their
wishes, their sudden and unexpected disappointment, the sorrows of
separation, the joyous and unlooked for meeting--in the poignant
feelings of Alonzo, when, at the grave of Melissa, he poured the
feelings of his anguished soul over her miniature by the "moon's pale
ray;"----when Melissa, sinking on her knees before her father, was
received to his bosom as a beloved daughter risen from the dead.

If these scenes are not imperfectly drawn, they will not fail to
interest the refined sensibilities of the reader.




ALONZO AND MELISSA.

A TALE.


In the time of the late revolution, two young gentlemen of Connecticut,
who had formed an indissoluble friendship, graduated at Yale College in
New-Haven: their names were Edgar and Alonzo. Edgar was the son of a
respectable farmer. Alonzo's father was an eminent merchant. Edgar was
designed for the desk, Alonzo for the bar; but as they were allowed some
vacant time after their graduation before they entered upon their
professional studies, they improved this interim in mutual, friendly
visits, mingling with select parties in the amusements of the day, and
in travelling through some parts of the United States.

Edgar had a sister who, for some time, had resided with her cousin at
New-London. She was now about to return, and it was designed that Edgar
should go and attend her home. Previous to the day on which he was to
set out, he was unfortunately thrown from his horse, which so much
injured him as to prevent his prosecuting his intended journey: he
therefore invited Alonzo to supply his place; which invitation he
readily accepted, and on the day appointed set out for New-London, where
he arrived, delivered his introductory letters to Edgar's cousin, and
was received with the most friendly politeness.

Melissa, the sister of Edgar, was about sixteen years of age. She was
not what is esteemed a striking beauty, but her appearance was
pleasingly interesting. Her figure was elegant; her aspect was
attempered with a pensive mildness, which in her cheerful moments would
light up into sprightliness and vivacity. Though on first impression,
her countenance was marked by a sweet and thoughtful serenity, yet she
eminently possessed the power to

  "Call round her laughing eyes, in playful turns,
  The glance that lightens, and the smile that burns."

Her mind was adorned with those delicate graces which are the first
ornaments of female excellence. Her manners were graceful without
affectation, and her taste had been properly directed by a suitable
education.

Alonzo was about twenty-one years old; he had been esteemed an excellent
student. His appearance was manly, open and free. His eye indicated a
nobleness of soul; although his aspect was tinged with melancholy, yet
he was naturally cheerful. His disposition was of the romantic cast;

  "For far beyond the pride and pomp of power,
  He lov'd the realms of nature to explore;
  With lingering gaze Edinian spring survey'd;
  Morn's fairy splendours; night's gay curtained shade,
  The high hoar cliff, the grove's benighting gloom,
  The wild rose, widowed o'er the mouldering tomb;
  The heaven embosom'd sun; the rainbow's dye,
  Where lucid forms disport to fancy's eye;
  The vernal flower, mild autumn's purpling glow,
  The summer's thunder and the winter's snow."

It was evening when Alonzo arrived at the house of Edgar's cousin.
Melissa was at a ball which had been given on a matrimonial occasion in
the town. Her cousin waited on Alonzo to the ball, and introduced him to
Melissa, who received him with politeness. She was dressed in white,
embroidered and spangled with rich silver lace; a silk girdle, enwrought
and tasseled with gold, surrounded her waist; her hair was unadorned
except by a wreath of artificial flowers, studded by a single diamond.

After the ball closed, they returned to the house of Edgar's cousin.
Melissa's partner at the ball was the son of a gentleman of independent
fortune in New-London. He was a gay young man, aged about twenty-five.
His address was easy, his manners rather voluptuous than refined;
confident, but not ungraceful. He led the ton in fashionable circles;
gave taste its zest, and was quite a favorite with the ladies generally.
His name was Beauman.

Edgar's cousin proposed to detain Alonzo and Melissa a few days, during
which time they passed in visiting select friends and social parties.
Beauman was an assiduous attendant upon Melissa. He came one afternoon
to invite her to ride out;--she was indisposed and excused herself. At
evening she proposed walking out with her cousin and his lady; but they
were prevented from attending her by unexpected company. Alonzo offered
to accompany her. It was one of those beautiful evenings in the month of
June, when nature in those parts of America is arrayed in her richest
dress. They left the town and walked through fields adjoining the
harbour.--The moon shone in full lustre, her white beams trembling upon
the glassy main, where skiffs and sails of various descriptions were
passing and repassing. The shores of Long-Island and the other islands
in the harbour, appeared dimly to float among the waves. The air was
adorned with the fragrance of surrounding flowers; the sound of
instrumental music wafted from the town, rendered sweeter by distance,
while the whippoorwill's sprightly song echoed along the adjacent
groves. Far in the eastern horizon hung a pile of brazen clouds, which
had passed from the north, over which, the crinkling red lightning
momentarily darted, and at times, long peals of thunder were faintly
heard. They walked to a point of the beach, where stood a large rock
whose base was washed by every tide. On this rock they seated
themselves, and enjoyed a while the splendours of the scene--the drapery
of nature. "To this place, said Melissa, have I taken many a solitary
walk, on such an evening as this, and seated on this rock, have I
experienced more pleasing sensations than I ever received in the most
splendid ball-room." The idea impressed the mind of Alonzo; it was
congenial with the feeling of his soul.

They returned at a late hour, and the next day set out for home. Beauman
handed Melissa into the carriage, and he, with Edgar's cousin and his
lady, attended them on their first day's journey. They put up at night
at the house of an acquaintance in Branford. The next morning they
parted; Melissa's cousin, his lady and Beauman, returned to New-London;
Alonzo and Melissa pursued their journey, and at evening arrived at her
father's house, which was in the westerly part of the state.

       *       *       *       *       *

Melissa was received with joyful tenderness by her friends. Edgar soon
recovered from his fall, and cheerfulness again assumed its most
pleasing aspect in the family.--Edgar's father was a plain Connecticut
farmer. He was rich, and his riches had been acquired by his diligent
attention to business. He had loaned money, and taken mortgages on lands
and houses for securities; and as payment frequently failed, he often
had opportunities of purchasing the involved premises at his own price.
He well knew the worth of a shilling, and how to apply it to its best
use; and in casting interest, he was sure never to lose a farthing.
He had no other children except Edgar and Melissa, on whom he
doated.--Destitute of literature himself, he had provided the means of
obtaining it for his son, and as he was a rigid presbyterian, he
considered that Edgar could no where figure so well, or gain more
eminence, than in the sacred desk.

The time now arrived when Edgar and Alonzo were to part. The former
repaired to New-York, where he was to enter upon his professional
studies. The latter entered in the office of an eminent attorney in his
native town, which was about twenty miles distant from the village in
which lived the family of Edgar and Melissa. Alonzo was the frequent
guest of this family; for though Edgar was absent, there was still a
charm which attracted him hither. If he had admired the manly virtues of
the brother, could he fail to adore the sublimer graces of the sister?
If all the sympathies of the most ardent friendship had been drawn forth
towards the former, must not the most tender passions of the soul be
attracted by the milder and more refined excellencies of the other?

Beauman had become the suitor of Melissa; but the distance of residence
rendered it inconvenient to visit her often. He came regularly once in
two or three months; of course Alonzo and he sometimes met. Beauman had
made no serious pretensions, but his particularity indicated something
more than fashionable politeness.

His manners, his independent situation, his family, entitled him to
respect. "It is not probable therefore that he will be objectionable to
Melissa's friends or to Melissa herself," said Alonzo, with an
involuntary sigh.

But as Beauman's visits to Melissa became more frequent, an increasing
anxiety took place in Alonzo's bosom. He wished her to remain single;
the idea of losing her by marriage, gave him inexpressible regret. What
substitute could supply the happy hours he had passed in her company?
What charm could wing the lingering moments when she was gone? In the
recess of his studies, he could, in a few hours, be at the seat of her
father: there his cares were dissipated, and the troubles of life, real
or imaginary, on light pinions, fleeted away.--How different would be
the scene when debarred from the unreserved friendship and conversation
of Melissa; And unreserved it could not be, were she not exclusively
mistress of herself. But was there not something of a more refined
texture than friendship in his predilection for the company of Melissa?
If so, why not avow it? His prospects, his family, and of course his
pretensions might not be inferior to those of Beauman. But perhaps
Beauman was preferred. His opportunities had been greater; he had formed
an acquaintance with her. Distance proved no barrier to his addresses.
His visits became more and more frequent. Was it not then highly
probable that he had secured her affections? Thus reasoned Alonzo, but
the reasoning tended not to allay the tempest which was gathering in his
bosom. He ordered his horse, and was in a short time at the seat of
Melissa's father.

It was summer, and towards evening when he arrived. Melissa was sitting
by the window when he entered the hall. She arose and received him with
a smile. "I have just been thinking of an evening's walk, said she, but
had no one to attend me, and you have come just in time to perform that
office. I will order tea immediately, while you rest from the fatigues
of your journey."

When tea was served up, a servant entered the room with a letter which
he had found in the yard. Melissa received it.--"'Tis a letter, said
she, which I sent by Beauman, to a lady in New-London, and the careless
man has lost it." Turning to Alonzo, "I forgot to tell you that your
friend Beauman has been with us a few days; he left us this morning."

"My friend!" replied Alonzo, hastily.

"Is he not your friend?" enquired Melissa.

"I beg pardon, madam," answered he, "my mind was absent."

"He requested us to present his respects to his friend Alonzo," said
she. Alonzo bowed and turned the conversation.

They walked out and took a winding path which led along pleasant fields
by a gliding stream, through a little grove and up a sloping eminence,
which commanded an extensive prospect of the surrounding country; Long
Island, and the sound between that and the main land, and the opening
thereof to the distant ocean.

A soft and silent shower had descended; a thousand transitory gems
trembled upon the foliage glittering the western ray.--A bright rainbow
sat upon a southern cloud; the light gales whispered among the branches,
agitated the young harvest to billowy motion, or waved the tops of the
distant deep green forest with majestic grandeur. Flocks, herds, and
cottages were scattered over the variegated landscape.

Hills piled on hills, receding, faded from the pursuing eye, mingling
with the blue mist which hovered around the extreme verge of the
horizon. "This is a most delightful scene," said Melissa.

"It is indeed, replied Alonzo; can New-London boast so charming a
prospect?"

Melissa. No--yes; indeed I can hardly say. You know, Alonzo, how I am
charmed with the rock at the point of the beach.

Alonzo. You told me of the happy hours you had passed at that place.
Perhaps the company which attended you there, gave the scenery its
highest embellishment.

Melissa. I know not how it happened; but you are the only person who
ever attended me there.

Alonzo. That is a little surprising.

Mel. Why surprising?

Al. Where was Beauman?

Mel. Perhaps he was not fond of solitude. Besides he was not always my
Beauman.

Al. Sometimes.

Mel. Yes, sometimes.

Al. And now always.

Mel. Not this evening.

Al. He formerly.

Mel. Well.

Al. And will soon claim the exclusive privilege so to do.

Mel. That does not follow of course.

Al. Of