The $30,000 Bequest by Mark Twain (best e reader for manga TXT) 📕

upon their arms in dispersed groups; some were walking the streets,

others were talking in the Major’s behalf. Many of the citizen

suspended business, as the town presented nothing but consternation.

A novelty that might end in the destruction of some worthy

and respectable citizens. Mr. Valeer ventured in the streets,

though not without being well armed. Some of his friends congratulated

him on the decided stand he had taken, and hoped he would settle

the matter amicably with Elfonzo, without any serious injury.

“Me,” he replied, “what, me, condescend to fellowship with a coward,

and a low-lived, lazy, undermining villain? no, gentlemen, this cannot be;

I had rather be borne off, like the bubble upon the dark blue ocean,

with Ambulinia by my side, than to have him in the ascending

or descending line of relationship. Gentlemen,” continued he,

“if Elfonzo is so much of a distinguished character, and is so

learned in the fine arts, why do you not patronize such men? why

not introduce him into your families, as a gentleman of taste

and of unequaled magnanimity? why are you so very anxious that he

should become a relative of mine? Oh, gentlemen, I fear you yet

are tainted with the curiosity of our first parents, who were

beguiled by the poisonous kiss of an old ugly serpent, and who,

for one APPLE, DAMNED all mankind. I wish to divest myself, as far

as possible, of that untutored custom. I have long since learned

that the perfection of wisdom, and the end of true philosophy,

is to proportion our wants to our possessions, our ambition to

our capacities; we will then be a happy and a virtuous people.”

Ambulinia was sent off to prepare for a long and tedious journey.

Her new acquaintances had been instructed by her father how to treat her,

and in what manner, and to keep the anticipated visit entirely secret.

Elfonzo was watching the movements of everybody; some friends

had told him of the plot that was laid to carry off Ambulinia.

At night, he rallied some two or three of his forces, and went

silently along to the stately mansion; a faint and glimmering light

showed through the windows; lightly he steps to the door; there were

many voices rallying fresh in fancy’s eye; he tapped the shutter;

it was opened instantly, and he beheld once more, seated beside

several ladies, the hope of all his toils; he rushed toward her,

she rose from her seat, rejoicing; he made one mighty grasp,

when Ambulinia exclaimed, “Huzza for Major Elfonzo! I will defend

myself and you, too, with this conquering instrument I hold in my hand;

huzza, I say, I now invoke time’s broad wing to shed around us some

dewdrops of verdant spring.”

But the hour had not come for this joyous reunion; her friends

struggled with Elfonzo for some time, and finally succeeded

in arresting her from his hands. He dared not injure them,

because they were matrons whose courage needed no spur;

she was snatched from the arms of Elfonzo, with so much eagerness,

and yet with such expressive signification, that he calmly withdrew

from this lovely enterprise, with an ardent hope that he should be

lulled to repose by the zephyrs which whispered peace to his soul.

Several long days and night passed unmolested, all seemed to have

grounded their arms of rebellion, and no callidity appeared to be

going on with any of the parties. Other arrangements were made

by Ambulinia; she feigned herself to be entirely the votary of a

mother’s care, and she, by her graceful smiles, that manhood might

claim his stern dominion in some other region, where such boisterous

love was not so prevalent. This gave the parents a confidence

that yielded some hours of sober joy; they believed that Ambulinia

would now cease to love Elfonzo, and that her stolen affections

would now expire with her misguided opinions. They therefore

declined the idea of sending her to a distant land. But oh! they

dreamed not of the rapture that dazzled the fancy of Ambulinia,

who would say, when alone, youth should not fly away on his rosy

pinions, and leave her to grapple in the conflict with unknown admirers.

No frowning age shall control

The constant current of my soul,

Nor a tear from pity’s eye

Shall check my sympathetic sigh.

With this resolution fixed in her mind, one dark and dreary night,

when the winds whistled and the tempest roared, she received intelligence

that Elfonzo was then waiting, and every preparation was then ready,

at the residence of Dr. Tully, and for her to make a quick escape

while the family was reposing. Accordingly she gathered her books,

went the wardrobe supplied with a variety of ornamental dressing,

and ventured alone in the streets to make her way to Elfonzo,

who was near at hand, impatiently looking and watching her arrival.

“What forms,” said she, “are those rising before me? What is

that dark spot on the clouds? I do wonder what frightful ghost

that is, gleaming on the red tempest? Oh, be merciful and tell me

what region you are from. Oh, tell me, ye strong spirits, or ye

dark and fleeting clouds, that I yet have a friend.” “A friend,”

said a low, whispering voice. “I am thy unchanging, thy aged,

and thy disappointed mother. Why brandish in that hand of thine

a javelin of pointed steel? Why suffer that lip I have kissed

a thousand times to equivocate? My daughter, let these tears sink

deep into thy soul, and no longer persist in that which may be your

destruction and ruin. Come, my dear child, retract your steps,

and bear me company to your welcome home.” Without one retorting word,

or frown from her brow, she yielded to the entreaties of her mother,

and with all the mildness of her former character she went along

with the silver lamp of age, to the home of candor and benevolence.

Her father received her cold and formal politeness—“Where has

Ambulinia been, this blustering evening, Mrs. Valeer?” inquired he.

“Oh, she and I have been taking a solitary walk,” said the mother;

“all things, I presume, are now working for the best.”

Elfonzo heard this news shortly after it happened. “What,” said he,

“has heaven and earth turned against me? I have been disappointed

times without number. Shall I despair?—must I give it over?

Heaven’s decrees will not fade; I will write again—I will try again;

and if it traverses a gory field, I pray forgiveness at the altar

of justice.”

Desolate Hill, Cumming, Geo., 1844.

Unconquered and Beloved Ambulinia—

I have only time to say to you, not to despair; thy fame shall

not perish; my visions are brightening before me. The whirlwind’s

rage is past, and we now shall subdue our enemies without doubt.

On Monday morning, when your friends are at breakfast, they will

not suspect your departure, or even mistrust me being in town,

as it has been reported advantageously that I have left for the west.

You walk carelessly toward the academy grove, where you will find

me with a lightning steed, elegantly equipped to bear you off where

we shall be joined in wedlock with the first connubial rights.

Fail not to do this—think not of the tedious relations of our wrongs—

be invincible. You alone occupy all my ambition, and I alone will

make you my happy spouse, with the same unimpeached veracity.

I remain, forever, your devoted friend and admirer, J. L. Elfonzo.

The appointed day ushered in undisturbed by any clouds; nothing disturbed

Ambulinia’s soft beauty. With serenity and loveliness she obeys

the request of Elfonzo. The moment the family seated themselves

at the table—“Excuse my absence for a short time,” said she,

“while I attend to the placing of those flowers, which should have

been done a week ago.” And away she ran to the sacred grove,

surrounded with glittering pearls, that indicated her coming.

Elfonzo hails her with his silver bow and his golden harp. They meet—

Ambulinia’s countenance brightens—Elfonzo leads up his winged steed.

“Mount,” said he, “ye true-hearted, ye fearless soul—the day

is ours.” She sprang upon the back of the young thunder bolt,

a brilliant star sparkles upon her head, with one hand she

grasps the reins, and with the other she holds an olive branch.

“Lend thy aid, ye strong winds,” they exclaimed, “ye moon, ye sun,

and all ye fair host of heaven, witness the enemy conquered.”

“Hold,” said Elfonzo, “thy dashing steed.” “Ride on,” said Ambulinia,

“the voice of thunder is behind us.” And onward they went,

with such rapidity that they very soon arrived at Rural Retreat,

where they dismounted, and were united with all the solemnities

that usually attend such divine operations. They passed the day

in thanksgiving and great rejoicing, and on that evening they

visited their uncle, where many of their friends and acquaintances

had gathered to congratulate them in the field of untainted bliss.

The kind old gentleman met them in the yard: “Well,” said he, “I wish

I may die, Elfonzo, if you and Ambulinia haven’t tied a knot with your

tongue that you can’t untie with your teeth. But come in, come in,

never mind, all is right—the world still moves on, and no one has

fallen in this great battle.”

Happy now is there lot! Unmoved by misfortune, they live among the

fair beauties of the South. Heaven spreads their peace and fame upon

the arch of the rainbow, and smiles propitiously at their triumph,

THROUGH THE TEARS OF THE STORM.

***

THE CALIFORNIAN’S TALE

Thirty-five years ago I was out prospecting on the Stanislaus,

tramping all day long with pick and pan and horn, and washing a hatful

of dirt here and there, always expecting to make a rich strike,

and never doing it. It was a lovely region, woodsy, balmy, delicious,

and had once been populous, long years before, but now the

people had vanished and the charming paradise was a solitude.

They went away when the surface diggings gave out. In one place,

where a busy little city with banks and newspapers and fire companies

and a mayor and aldermen had been, was nothing but a wide expanse

of emerald turf, with not even the faintest sign that human life

had ever been present there. This was down toward Tuttletown.

In the country neighborhood thereabouts, along the dusty roads,

one found at intervals the prettiest little cottage homes, snug and cozy,

and so cobwebbed with vines snowed thick with roses that the doors

and windows were wholly hidden from sight—sign that these were

deserted homes, forsaken years ago by defeated and disappointed

families who could neither sell them nor give them away. Now and then,

half an hour apart, one came across solitary log cabins of the earliest

mining days, built by the first gold-miners, the predecessors of the

cottage-builders. In some few cases these cabins were still occupied;

and when this was so, you could depend upon it that the occupant

was the very pioneer who had built the cabin; and you could depend

on another thing, too—that he was there because he had once had

his opportunity to go home to the States rich, and had not done it;

had rather lost his wealth, and had then in his humiliation resolved

to sever all communication with his home relatives and friends,

and be to them thenceforth as one dead. Round about California

in that day were scattered a host of these living dead men—

pride-smitten poor fellows, grizzled and old at forty, whose secret

thoughts were made all of regrets and longings—regrets for their

wasted lives, and longings to be out of the struggle and done with it all.

It was a lonesome land! Not a sound in