The Life of Gen. Francis Marion | Page 6

and printers in America put together.] (Mathew Carey was
also Weems' publisher. -- A. L., 1997.) --
Had this dreadful letter been presented to Marion even while a bachelor,
it would have filled him with horror; for the heart naturally cleaves to
the spot where it awoke into being, and quits, with tearful eyes, the
scenes among which were spent the first and happiest days of life. But
ties stronger than those of nature bound Marion to his country. His
country was the country of his Louisa. How could he live without her?
And how could he hope that she would ever consent to leave her
parents and friends to wander and die with him in hopeless exile?
But though greatly dejected, yet he did not despair. He still trusted in
that parent-power who smiles even under frowns, and often pours his
richest showers from the blackest clouds. Cheered with this hope, he
put the letter into his pocket, and set out to seek his Louisa.
With arms fondly interlocked, she had accompanied him that morning
to the gate on the back of the garden, through which he generally
passed when he went to Rochelle. Soon as his horse was led up, and he
about to mount, she snatched the bridle, and laughing, vowed he should
not go until he had promised her one thing.
"Well, charmer, what's that?"
"Why that you will return very soon."
"Well, indeed I will; so now let me go."
"Oh no! I am afraid that when you get out of sight you will play truant.

You must give me security."
"Well, Louisa, what security shall I give you?"
"Why you must give me that thing, whatever it be, that you hold most
dear in all the world."
"Well done! and now, Louisa, I give you yourself, the dearest thing
God ever gave me in all this world."
At this her fine face was reddened all over with blushing joy, while her
love-sparkling eyes, beaming on his, awakened that transport which
those who have felt it would not exchange for worlds. Then, after the
fond, lengthened kiss, and tender sigh of happy lovers parting, he rode
off.
Soon as he was out of her sight, she turned to go to the house. As she
passed along the garden, the sudden fancy struck her to adorn the
summer house with evergreens and flowers of the liveliest tints, and
there, amidst a wilderness of sweets, to receive her returning lover.
Animated with this fond suggestion of conjugal affection, (woman's
true life,) which at every quickened pulse diffused an answering rapture
through the virtuous breast, she commenced her pleasing task; and with
her task she mingled the music of her voice, clear and strong as the
morning lark, and sweet as from a heart full of innocence and love. The
pleasant sounds reached the ear of Marion, as he drew near the garden.
Then, entering the gate without noise, he walked up, unperceived, close
to her as she sat all alone in the arbour, binding her fragrant flowers and
singing the happy hours away. She was singing her favorite hymn, by
Madam Guyon.
"That love I sing, that wondrous love, Which wak'd my sleeping clay;
That spread the sky in azure bright And pour'd the golden day," &c.
&c.
To see youth and beauty, though in a stranger, thus pointing to heaven,
is delightful to a pious heart. Then what rapture to an enlightened soul
to see a beloved wife thus communing with God, and becoming every
day more and more angelic!
Soon as her song was finished, he called out, "Louisa!"
Startled at the sudden call, she turned around to the well-known voice,
presenting a face on which love and sweet surprise had spread those
rosy charms, which in a moment banished all his sorrows. "My dearest
Gabriel," she exclaimed, dropping her flowers, and running and

throwing herself into his arms, "here, take back your security! take
back your security! and also my thanks for being such a man of honor.
But what brought you back, love, so much earlier than you expected?"
Here the memory of that fatal letter went like a dagger to his heart,
bleaching his manly cheeks.
He would have evaded the question; but in vain, for Louisa, startled at
the sudden paleness of his looks, insisted the more earnestly to know
the cause.
He delayed a moment, but conscious that the secret must soon come
out, he took the letter from his pocket, and with a reluctant hand put it
into hers.
Scarcely had she run through it, which she did with the most devouring
haste, when she let it drop from her hands, and faintly articulating, "Ah,
cruel priest!" she fell upon his bosom, which she bathed with her tears.
After some moments