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Briggs, Charles F. (Charles Frederick), 1804-1877 [1839], The adventures of Harry Franco. Volume 2 (F. Saunders, New York) [word count] [eaf025v2].
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Writers of fiction possess an immense advantage
over the mere narrator of actual occurrences,
in being able to preserve an artist-like unity
in the occurrence of events, and also of confining
their narrative within the circumference of the
probabilities. And to this, mainly, I conceive,
fiction is indebted for its general success. Nature,
it must be confessed, is sometimes outré in
the extreme; but art generally contrives to render
herself extremely natural. The honest historian,
and particularly the historian of one's own adventures,
frequently has the mortification of knowing
that, while he makes record of that which he
knows to be true, he incurs the risk of being set
down, by the public, as an outrageous romancer.
I have more than once repented, since I wrote the
first chapter of this history, the straitness of my
resolution, which does not allow me to introduce
enough of fiction in these pages to give a naturalness
to the whole.

It was many days after I was cast ashore, before
I was sufficiently recovered to be able fully

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to comprehend the situation in which I was placed.
And even now, I can, at times, hardly
realize, that the adventures which I have related,
were not all a troubled dream; but there are
too many evidences of their truth around me, to allow
of my remaining long a skeptic.

The reverses of fortune had come upon Mr.
Marisett so heavily, and in such rapid succession,
that he was unable to withstand their repeated
shocks. His spirit broke, although his mind remained
entire. Being without wife or children,
he wanted those powerful incentives to action
which have sustained weaker men under difficulties
more trying. He was tired of the world, at
least that portion of it which had witnessed his former
condition; but being restrained by dim religious
perceptions, from rushing uncalled into
the presence of his Judge, he resolved to seek a
secluded resting place, and there await his summons
to depart; and no where could he do that
so well as in the place which necessity pointed out
to him, even though inclination had not.

Georgiana inherited from her mother a considerable
estate on the sea coast, in North Carolina;
and when she heard of her uncle's determination
to retire from the world, she offered him

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this place for an asylum, upon the condition of
his allowing her to accompany and reside there
with him. He at first refused; but finding her
resolute, he at last consented, and thither she accompanied
him. When they arrived on the estate,
they found no other habitation on it than a
very small hut, built in the slightest manner, of
no more durable materials than cypress shingles.
But with the assistance of a slave whom they hired
of a neighbor, they soon put it in habitable
order. They found themselves surrounded by a
rude, but kind and hospitable, people. Mr. Marisett
found what he sought, solitude; and Georgiana
seeing him satisfied, was herself contented.

They had been living quietly, and all unknown,
if not happily, for some months, in this
secluded spot, when I was cast ashore, as already
described in the last chapter, within two miles of
their dwelling; a spot so little frequented, that it
is probable I should have passed it by, had I been
permitted to follow up my intentions of visiting
every town in the State, until I should gain some
intelligence of Georgiana and her uncle. It appeared
that the violence of the storm during the
night, had caused Mr. Marisett to go down to the
sea shore as soon as it was light, to see if any

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vessels had been cast ashore during the night, and
there he found me stretched out upon the beach,
and perceiving signs of life, he procured assistance,
and had me taken to his hut; and he and
Georgiana had been all the morning endeavoring
to revive me, without any suspicion of who I was.
When I opened my eyes, and called for Mrs. Butler,
Georgiana recognised my voice, and uttering
a piercing scream, she fell into a swoon, from
which she was with difficulty restored.

Georgiana and myself being thus thrown, once
more, miraculously together, and the obstacle
which had formerly prevented our union being
removed, it would have been tempting the Providence
which had preserved us for each other, had
we longer delayed our marriage. As soon as my
health was sufficiently restored, this happy event
was consummated; and then, by our joint entreaties,
we succeeded in prevailing on Mr. Marisett
to accompany us back to New York, and from
thence to Franco Ville, where we still live in the
enjoyment of blessings innumerable.

I have now reached the point, beyond which,
gentle reader, you cannot accompany me; and
although I hope you do not willingly part from
me, I must deny myself from ever meeting you

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again. But as your curiosity may have been excited
towards some of those whom I have incidentally
mentioned, I will here state all that I know
concerning them.

My cousin was reduced to extreme poverty, by
his speculations in real estate; he became very intemperate
in his habits, and wanting the means to
sustain life, he put an end to his own existence,
thus making the end himself, that he had predicted
for me.

Mr. D. Wellington Worhoss also failed in his
real estate operations, but being above suicide, he
became a member of the board of Brokers, and he
may be seen any sun shiny day, between the hours
of ten and two, with a long marble colored book
under his arm, elbowing his way through the
crowd of well dressed gentlemen who monopolize
the side walks of Wall-street.

Mr. Dooitt had the misfortune to make oath to
a statement before the Vice Chancellor, concerning
the conveyance of some property, which on
investigation, did not prove to be strictly true;
and for that trifling mistake, he is now quarrying
marble at an unmentionable place, on the banks
of the Hudson.

My good friend, Jerry Bowhorn, has joined the
temperance society, and got to be mate of a

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Liverpool packet, with a fair prospect of being made
captain; and if that event should ever take place,
I will venture to predict, he will have many complimentary
pieces of plate, and innumerable votes
of thanks, and silver snuff boxes, presented to him,
by his passengers. It is needless to add, that he
is a great comfort to his mother.

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Briggs, Charles F. (Charles Frederick), 1804-1877 [1839], The adventures of Harry Franco. Volume 2 (F. Saunders, New York) [word count] [eaf025v2].
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