ly and incontestibly prove, that she is dead? And yet
here she is again, in all her primitive beauty and splendour! No, this
surely can never be. However the author may succeed in his description,
in painting reanimated nature, he is no magician, or if he is, he cannot
raise the dead.

"Melissa has long since mouldered into dust, and he has raised up some
female Martin Guerre, or Thomas Hoag--some person, from whose near
resemblance to the deceased, he thinks to impose upon us and upon Alonzo
also, for Melissa. But it will not do; it must be the identical Melissa
herself, or it might as well be her likeness in a marble statue. What!
can Alonzo realize the delicacies, the tenderness, the blandishments of
Melissa in another? Can her substitute point him to the rock on New
London beach, the bower on her favourite hill, or so feelingly describe
the charms of nature? Can he, indeed, find in her representative those
alluring graces, that pensive sweetness, those unrivalled virtues and
matchless worth which he found in Melissa, and which attracted, fixed
and secured the youngest affections of his soul? Impossible!----Or could
the author even make it out that Alonzo was deceived by a person so
nearly resembling Melissa that he could not distinguish the difference,
yet to his readers he must unveil the deception, and, of course, the
story will end in disappointment; it will leave an unpleasant and
disagreeable impression on the mind of the reader, which in novel
writing is certainly wrong. It is proved as clearly as facts can prove,
that he has suffered Melissa to die; and since she is dead, it is
totally beyond his power to bring her to life----and so his history is
intrinsically _good for nothing_."

Be not quite so hasty, my zealous censor. Did we not tell you that we
were detailing facts? Shall we disguise or discolour truth to please
_your_ taste? Have we not told you that disappointments are the lot of
life? Have we not, according to the advice of the moralist, led Alonzo
to the temple of philosophy, the shrine of reason, and the sanctuary of
religion? If all these fail--if in these Alonzo cannot find a balsam
sufficient to heal his wounded bosom; then if, in despite of graves and
tomb-stones, Melissa will come to his relief--will pour the balm of
consolation over his anguished soul, cynical critic, can the author help
it?

It was indeed Melissa, the identical Melissa, whom Alonzo ascended a
tree to catch a last glimpse