LETTER FROM MRS. SOPHIA SYDNEY TO A LADY.
You cannot imagine, my dearest Alice, what a life of calm felicity I enjoy with my beloved Francis, in our new home among the majestic mountains of Vermont. Had you the faintest conception of the glorious scenery which surrounds the little rustic cottage which we inhabit, (our ark of safety—poor, wearied doves that we are!) you would willingly abandon your abode in the noisy, crowded metropolis, to join us in our beautiful and secluded retreat.
Our dwelling is situated on the margin of a clear and quiet lake, whose glassy surface mirrors each passing cloud, and at night reflects a myriad of bright stars. We have procured a small but elegant pleasure barge, in which we often gently glide over those placid waters, when Evening darkens our mountain home with the shadow of her wing, and when the moon gilds our liquid path with soft radiance. Then, while my Francis guides the little vessel, I touch my guitar and sing some simple melody; and as we approach the dark, mysterious shore, my imagination oft conjures up a troop of fairy beings with bright wings, stealing away into the dim recesses of the shadowy forest. And often, when the noon-day sun renders the air oppressive with his heat, I wander into the depths of that forest, where the giant trees, forming a vast arch overhead, exclude the glare of summer, and produce a soft, delicious twilight. My favorite resting place is upon a mossy bank, near which flows a crystal brook whose dancing waters murmur with a melody almost as sweet as the low breathings of an Aeolian harp.—Here, with a volume of philosophic Cowper or fascinating Scott, I sometimes linger until twilight begins to deepen into darkness, and then return to meet with smiles the playful chidings of my husband, for my protracted absence—an offence he can easily forgive, if I present him with a bouquet of wild flowers gathered during my ramble; although he laughingly calls the floral offering a bribe.
We have almost succeeded in banishing the remembrance of our past sorrows, and look forward to the future with trustful hope. I am happy, Alice—very, very happy; and oh! may no care or trouble ever o'ershadow our tranquil home.
CONCLUSION
New joy wait on you—here our play has ending.'
Reader, our task is done. Thou hast kindly accompanied us through our rambling narrative, until the end; and now it but remains for us to dispose of the dramatis personae who have figured in the various scenes, and then bid thee farewell.
Frank Sydney and his beautiful Sophia were united in marriage, and are now residing in one of the most romantic spots to be found in all New England. Sophia has long since ceased all correspondence with her wretched and abandoned mother, who has become the keeper (under an assumed name) of a celebrated and fashionable brothel in West Cedar street.
Josephine Franklin terminated her miserable existence by poison (procured for her by her own mother,) on the day after her marriage with Mr. Thurston, who, when he beheld the hideous deformity of his bride, instead of the beauty which he expected, recoiled with horror—and after bitterly reproaching her, drove her from his presence, bidding her never to let him see her again, and refusing to make the smallest provision for her support. A few days after Josephine's death, Mr. Thurston, overcome with mortification, shot himself through the heart.
The Doctor has become one of the most respectable physicians, in Boston, and enjoys a lucrative and extensive practice. He is married to an amiable lady, and has named his first son after Sydney, his generous benefactor. He has received into his office, as a student of medicine, Clinton Romaine, the dumb boy, who bids fair to become a skilful and useful physician.
Nero, the African, who has played no inconsiderable part in our drama, finally came to Boston, and now follows the respectable occupation of barber, in the vicinity of the Maine Railroad Depot.
In conclusion, if the foregoing pages have in the least degree contributed to the reader's entertainment, or initiated him into any mystery of CITY CRIMES heretofore unknown—and if this tale, founded on fact, has served to illustrate the truth of the ancient proverbs that 'honesty is the best policy' and 'virtue is its own reward'—then is the author amply repaid for his time and toil, and he tenders to the indulgent public his most respectful parting salutations.
[THE END.]
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Alternative spellings and hyphenation have been retained as they appear in the original book.
| Version in Text | Changed Version |
|---|---|
| Family worship was always adhered to by them, a well as grace before and after meals. | Family worship was always adhered to by them, as well as grace before and after meals. |
| 'pressing me close to him | pressing me close to him |
| all that was said. | all that was said.' |
| 'These words were said | These words were said |
| 'See here, young feller, 'said the stranger | 'See here, young feller,' said the stranger |
| What is your name? | What is your name?' |
| 'Then you will please to bundle out of this house as soon as possible, | 'Then you will please to bundle out of this house as soon as possible,' |
| "Kinchen" italicized | |
| inclined her heard toward him. | inclined her head toward him. |
| in another instant she was prostate | in another instant she was prostrate |
| While he was surveying herself, she gave utterance | While she was surveying herself, she gave utterance |
| to a cupboard in on corner | to a cupboard in one corner |
| 'lost, lost!' | 'lost, lost! |
| pausing before Mr. Belmont's chamber | pausing before Mrs. Belmont's chamber |
| the pathetic Hiberian ballad | the pathetic Hibernian ballad |
| Our preferences are both strictly classical; | 'Our preferences are both strictly classical; |
| 'Insolent, am I?'--take that, and be d----d to you!' | 'Insolent, am I?--take that, and be d----d to you!' |
| laughing heartily.'—'d'ye think | laughing heartily.—'d'ye think |
| On, how I hugged myself with joy | Oh, how I hugged myself with joy |
| and gazing eagerly about him. Pete, did you hear anything?' | and gazing eagerly about him. 'Pete, did you hear anything?' |
| "Kinchen's" italicized | |
| The day when he commits murder will be he happiest day of my life. | The day when he commits murder will be the happiest day of my life. |
| She faintly thanked her deliver | She faintly thanked her deliverer |
| disgusting and and unnatural | disgusting and unnatural |
| until a strange feeling of fascination over him | until a strange feeling of fascination came over him |
| but, to my, horror, | but, to my horror, |
| my old schoolmates are now keeping fashionable boarding house | my old schoolmates are now keeping fashionable boarding houses |
| "escritoire" italicized | |
| "tete-a-tete" italicized | |
| 'Dare? exclaimed the Doctor | 'Dare?' exclaimed the Doctor |
| with is so charming a characteristic | which is so charming a characteristic |
| have been more less tainted with crime | have been more or less tainted with crime |
| Two policeman now ran up | Two policemen now ran up |
| his unvaried kindess | his unvaried kindness |
| raising her fair had | raising her fair hand |