THE LAUNCH OF THE FRIGATE.
Cornelia Camelford had just recovered from a long and dangerous illness, and had not received the doctor's permission to go out, when much interest was excited in Philadelphia by the expected launch of the Guerrier, which was built at Kensington, during the last war, and called after the first British frigate that surrendered to the flag of America. Junius Camelford, who was a midshipman, and the eldest of Cornelia's two brothers, was highly elated with the idea of the approaching spectacle, and extremely impatient for the glorious day (as he called it) to arrive. At last it came; and the children of Mrs. Camelford could think and talk of nothing else.
Junius was one of the midshipmen appointed to the new frigate, and every hour seemed to him an age until she should be fairly afloat in her proper element. Boy as he was, he had been on board the Constitution when she engaged and sunk the British Guerrier, and had evinced on that memorable day the courage of a man. When he was afterwards in Philadelphia, the progress of the new frigate became the leading thought of his mind. He had taken his sisters to see the keel the day after it was laid: and had furnished all the young ladies he knew, with hearts and anchors which he cut out from chips of the wood.
Mrs. Camelford had been a widow about two years, and since the death of her husband she had felt an insurmountable repugnance to appearing in public, or mixing in a crowd. Therefore she had no intention of going herself to see the frigate launched, but she knew that her children would take great pleasure in the sight, and she loved them too much to deny them this gratification because she could not enjoy it herself.
Cornelia was just getting over the same malady that two years before had been fatal to her father: and Mrs. Camelford still felt the greatest anxiety about her, as she was particularly susceptible of cold, which was always very injurious to her; and the slightest imprudent exposure might probably bring on a dangerous relapse.
For this reason, when Mrs. Camelford consented that her two sons and her daughter Octavia should go to see the frigate launched, she did not extend the same permission to the invalid. "And I, dear mother," said Cornelia, as she sat at the breakfast table the first time for near three months, "am I not also to enjoy the sight?"
Mrs. Camelford.—My dearest Cornelia, I am sorry to refuse you that or any other pleasure that your sister and brothers partake of. But the air from the river may be cool. Remember that it was only yesterday you left your chamber, after being confined to it more than twelve weeks.
Octavia.—Oh! indeed, dear mother, this is quite a warm day.
Mrs. Camelford.—To persons in health I know it is, but though the air is clear and mild, it may be chilly to poor Cornelia, who is enfeebled by sickness, and who has been so long shut up in her room. She has suffered so much already, that I am sure she must dread every thing that might cause a relapse.
Adrian.—But, dear mother, how will it be possible for Cornelia to take cold if she is well wrapped up in her large shawl, and if she wears her close bonnet?