e knew would only aggravate the old gentleman, and perhaps his lady.

Cumming, Ga., January 22, 1844

Mr. and Mrs. Valeer--

Again I resume the pleasing task of addressing you, and once more beg
an immediate answer to my many salutations. From every circumstance that
has taken place, I feel in duty bound to comply with my obligations; to
forfeit my word would be more than I dare do; to break my pledge, and my
vows that have been witnessed, sealed, and delivered in the presence of
an unseen Deity, would be disgraceful on my part, as well as ruinous to
Ambulinia. I wish no longer to be kept in suspense about this matter. I
wish to act gentlemanly in every particular. It is true, the promises I
have made are unknown to any but Ambulinia, and I think it unnecessary
to here enumerate them, as they who promise the most generally perform
the least. Can you for a moment doubt my sincerity or my character? My
only wish is, sir, that you may calmly and dispassionately look at
the situation of the case, and if your better judgment should dictate
otherwise, my obligations may induce me to pluck the flower that you
so diametrically opposed. We have sword by the saints--by the gods
of battle, and by that faith whereby just men are made perfect--to be
united. I hope, my dear sir, you will find it convenient as well as
agreeable to give me a favorable answer, with the signature of Mrs.
Valeer, as well as yourself.

With very great esteem,

your humble servant,

J. I. Elfonzo.

The moon and stars had grown pale when Ambulinia had retired to rest. A
crowd of unpleasant thoughts passed through her bosom. Solitude dwelt
in her chamber--no sound from the neighboring world penetrated its
stillness; it appeared a temple of silence, of repose, and of mystery.
At that moment she heard a still voice calling her father. In an
instant, like the flash of lightning, a thought ran through her mind
that it must be the bearer of Elfonzo's communication. "It is not a
dream!" she said, "no, I cannot read dreams. Oh! I would to Heaven I was
near that glowing eloquence--that poetical language--it charms the
mind in an inexpressible manner, and warms the coldest heart." While
consoling herself with this strain, her father rushed into her room
almost frantic with rage, exclaiming: "Oh, Ambulinia! Ambulinia!!
undutiful, ungrateful daughter! What does this mean? Why does this
letter bear such heart-rending intelligence? Will you quit a father