“My father had but one brother and two sisters, of which my uncle here is the youngest. One of my aunts, the old maid, who was my protectress at the old mansion, you have seen at my father’s. The other was the mother of Alfred:—she married very young, to a gentleman in Hartford, of the name of Wilmot, who fell before the walls of Louisburg, in the old French war. My aunt did not long survive him;—her health, which had been for some time declining, received so serious a shock by this catastrophe, that she died a few months after the melancholy tidings arrived, leaving Alfred, their only child, then an infant, to the protection of his relations, who as soon as he arrived at a suitable age, placed him at school.
“My grandfather, who had the principal management of Mr. Wilmot’s estate, sent my uncle, who was then young and unmarried, to Hartford, for the purpose of transacting the necessary business. Here he became acquainted with a young lady, eminent for beauty and loveliness, but without fortune, the daughter of a poor mechanic. As soon as my grandfather was informed of this attachment, he, in a very peremptory manner, ordered my uncle to break off the connection on pain of his highest displeasure. But such is the force of early impressions, (Melissa sighed) that my uncle found it impossible to submit to these firm injunctions; a clandestine marriage ensued, and my grandfather’s maledictions in consequence. The union was, however, soon dissolved; my uncle’s wife died in about twelve months after their marriage, and soon after the birth of the first child, which was a daughter. Inconsolable and comfortless, my uncle put the child out to nurse, and travelled to the south. After wandering about for some time, he took up his residence in Charleston, where he amassed a splendid fortune. He finally married to an amiable and respectable woman, whose tenderness, though it did not entirely remove, yet soon greatly alleviated the pangs of early sorrow; and this, added to the little blandishments of a young family, fixed him in a state of more contentedness than he once ever expected to see.
“His daughter by his first wife, when she became of proper age, was sent to a respectable boarding-school in Boston, where she remained until within about two years before I came here.
“Alfred was educated at Harvard College: as soon as he had graduated, he came here on my uncle’s request, and has since remained in his family.
“Soon after I arrived here; my uncle came into my chamber one day. “Melissa, said he, I find by your father’s letters that he considers you to have formed an improper connection. I wish you to give me a true statement of the matter, and if any thing can be done to reconcile you to your father, you may depend upon my assistance. I have seen some troubles in this way myself, in my early days; perhaps my counsel may be of some service.”
“I immediately gave him a correct account of every particular circumstance, from the time of my first acquaintance with you until my arrival at this house. He sat some time silent, and then told me that my father, he believed, had drawn the worst side of the picture; and that he had urged him to exert every means in his power to reclaim me to obedience: That Beauman was to follow me in a few months, and that, if I still refused to yield him my hand, my father positively and solemnly declared that he would discard me forever, and strenuously enjoined it upon him to do the same. “I well know my brother’s temper, continued my uncle; the case is difficult, but something must be done. I will immediately write to your father, desiring him not to proceed too rashly; in the mean time we must consider what measures to pursue. You must not, my niece, you must not be sacrificed.” So saying, he left me, highly consoled that, instead of a tyrant, I had found a friend in my new protector.
“Alfred was made acquainted with the affair, and many were the plans projected for my benefit, and abandoned as indefeasible, till an event happened which called forth all the fortitude of my uncle to support it, and operated in the end to free me from persecution.
“My uncle’s daughter, by his first wife, was of a very delicate and sickly constitution, and her health evidently decreasing. After she came to this place, she was sent to a village on one of the high hills of Pedee, where she remained a considerable time; she then went to one of the inland towns in North Carolina, from whence she had but just returned with Alfred when I arrived. Afterwards I accompanied her to Georgetown, and other places, attended by her father, so that she was little more known in Charleston than myself. But all answered no purpose to the restoration of her health; a confirmed hectic carried her off in the bloom of youth.
“I was but a few months older than she; her name was Melissa, a name which a pious grandmother had borne, and was therefore retained in the family. Our similarity of age, and in some measure of appearance, our being so little known in Charleston, and our names being the same, suggested to Alfred the idea of imposing on my father, by passing off my cousin’s death as my own. This would, at least, deter Beauman from prosecuting his intended journey to Charleston; it would also give time for farther deliberation, and might so operate on my father’s feelings as to soften that obduracy of temper, which deeply disquieted himself and others, and thus finally be productive of happily effecting the designed purpose.
“My uncle was too deeply overwhelmed in grief to be particularly consulted on this plan. He however entrusted Alfred to act with full powers, and to use his name for my interest, if necessary. Alfred therefore procured a publication, as of my death, in the Connecticut papers, particularly at New London, the native place of Beauman. In Charleston it was also generally supposed that it was the niece, and not the daughter of Col. D——, who had died.—This imposition was likewise practised upon the sexton, who keeps the register of deaths.[*] Alfred then wrote a letter to my father, in my uncle’s name, stating the particulars of my cousin’s death, and applying them to me. The epitaph on her tombstone was likewise so devised that it would with equal propriety apply either to her or to me.