Our World, Or, the Slaveholder's Daughter eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 842 pages of information about Our World, Or, the Slaveholder's Daughter.
but faithful servants,—­those, perhaps, whose only crime was sincerity, and an earnest attachment to master’s interests.  The booming of a third cannon, and they had fallen, victims of fear, at the feet of their deluded victors.  Happily, an act of heroism (which we would record to the fame of the hero) saved the city that bloody climax we sicken while contemplating.  Ere the third gun belched its order of death, a mounted officer, sensible of the result that gun would produce, dashed before its angry mouth, and at the top of his voice cried out-"In Heaven’s name, lay your matchlock down:  save the city!” Then galloping to the trail, the gunner standing motionless at the intrepid sight, he snatched the fiery torch from his hand, and dismounting, quenched it on the ground.  Thus did he save the city that awful massacre the misdirected laws of a democratic state would have been accountable for to civilisation and the world.


In which are pleasures and disappointments.

In a former chapter of this narrative, have we described our fair fugitive, Annette, as possessing charms of no ordinary kind; indeed, she was fair and beautiful, and even in the slave world was by many called the lovely blonde.  In a word, to have been deeply enamoured of her would have reflected the highest credit on the taste and sentiment of any gallant gentleman.  Seeming strange would it be, then, if the stranger to whose care we confided her (and hereafter to be called Montague, that being his Christian name) should render himself liable to the charge of stupidity did these attractions not make a deep impression on his heart.  And here we would not have the reader lay so grave a charge at his door; for, be it known, ye who are not insensible to love’s electric force, that scarce had they reached New York, ere Montague began to look upon Annette with that species of compassion which so often, in the workings of nature’s mystery, turns the sympathies of the heart into purest love.  The misery or happiness of this poor girl he viewed as dependent on himself:  this, forsooth, was strengthened by the sad recital of her struggles, which caused his sympathies to flow in mutual fellowship with her sorrows.  As he esteemed her gentleness, so was he enamoured of her charms; but her sorrows carried the captive arrow into his bosom, where she fastened it with holding forth that wrist broken in defence of her virtue:  nay, more, he could not refrain a caress, as in the simplicity of her heart she looked in his face smilingly, and said she would he were the father of her future in this life.  But, when did not slavery interpose its barbarous obstacles?-when did it not claim for itself the interests of federal power, and the nation’s indulgence?-when did it not regard with coldest indifference the good or ill of all beyond its own limits?  The slave world loves itself; but, though self-love may now and

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Our World, Or, the Slaveholder's Daughter from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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