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Richardson, John, 1796-1852

"Hardscrabble; or, the fall of Chicago. a tale of Indian warfare"

Nay, if I had not
engaged Elmsley, I should insist on his being my bridesman."
The only notice taken of this sally was a faint smile
from his companion, who now descended with him from the
rampart and proceeded to the apartments of Mrs. Elmsley,
where her mother and herself had once more been visitors
for the last few days. Here they separated to meet again
in the evening--Ronayne directing his attention to his
various duties, and looking out at intervals for his
young Indian friend.
It was night. No accident had occurred beyond the laceration
of two of Ephraim Giles's fingers, who having that day
been presented with a new suit by the doctor--the fac-simile
in fashion of the old--had been whittling almost in front
of one of the guns when discharged, and lost, with the
skin of his finger, both his stick and his knife. The
sultriness of the day had been succeeded by a cool and
refreshing air. Gaiety and content every where prevailed,
and many were the voices--male and female--that exclaimed,
as allusion was made to the ceremony all knew, to be in
progress: "God bless them, and make them happy, as they
deserve to be.


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