The Loves of Alonzo Fitz Clarence and Rosannah Ethelton

The Loves of Alonzo Fitz
Clarence and Rosannah Ethelton

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Twain #45 in our series by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)
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Title: Alonzo Fitz and Other Stories
Author: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)
Release Date: April, 2002 [EBook #3184] [Yes, we are more than one
year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on February 6, 2001]
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FITZ AND OTHER STORIES ***

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ALONZO FITZ AND OTHER STORIES
by Mark Twain

CONTENTS OF THIS VOLUME:
THE LOVES OF ALONZO FITZ CLARENCE AND ROSANNAH
ETHELTON ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING ABOUT
MAGNANIMOUS-INCIDENT LITERATURE THE GRATEFUL
POODLE THE BENEVOLENT AUTHOR THE GRATEFUL
HUSBAND PUNCH, BROTHERS, PUNCH THE GREAT
REVOLUTION IN PITCAIRN THE CANVASSER'S TALE AN
ENCOUNTER WITH AN INTERVIEWER PARIS NOTES LEGEND
OF SAGENFELD, IN GERMANY SPEECH ON THE BABIES
SPEECH ON THE WEATHER CONCERNING THE AMERICAN
LANGUAGE ROGERS

THE LOVES OF ALONZO FITZ CLARENCE AND ROSANNAH
ETHELTON
It was well along in the forenoon of a bitter winter's day. The town of
Eastport, in the state of Maine, lay buried under a deep snow that was
newly fallen. The customary bustle in the streets was wanting. One
could look long distances down them and see nothing but a dead-white
emptiness, with silence to match. Of course I do not mean that you
could see the silence--no, you could only hear it. The sidewalks were

merely long, deep ditches, with steep snow walls on either side. Here
and there you might hear the faint, far scrape of a wooden shovel, and
if you were quick enough you might catch a glimpse of a distant black
figure stooping and disappearing in one of those ditches, and
reappearing the next moment with a motion which you would know
meant the heaving out of a shovelful of snow. But you needed to be
quick, for that black figure would not linger, but would soon drop that
shovel and scud for the house, thrashing itself with its arms to warm
them. Yes, it was too venomously cold for snow-shovelers or anybody
else to stay out long.
Presently the sky darkened; then the wind rose and began to blow in
fitful, vigorous gusts, which sent clouds of powdery snow aloft, and
straight ahead, and everywhere. Under the impulse of one of these gusts,
great white drifts banked themselves like graves across the streets; a
moment later another gust shifted them around the other way, driving a
fine spray of snow from their sharp crests, as the gale drives the spume
flakes from wave-crests at sea; a third gust swept that place as clean as
your hand, if it saw fit. This was fooling, this was play; but each and all
of the gusts dumped some snow into the sidewalk ditches, for that was
business.
Alonzo Fitz Clarence was sitting in his snug and elegant little parlor, in
a lovely blue silk dressing-gown, with cuffs and facings of crimson
satin, elaborately quilted. The remains of his breakfast were before him,
and the dainty and costly little table service added a harmonious charm
to the grace, beauty, and richness of the fixed appointments of the room.
A cheery fire was blazing on the hearth.
A furious gust of wind shook the windows, and a great wave of snow
washed against them with a drenching sound, so to speak. The
handsome young bachelor murmured:
"That means, no going out to-day. Well, I am content. But what to do
for company? Mother is well enough, Aunt Susan is well enough; but
these, like the poor, I have with me always. On so grim a day as this,
one needs a