Bald Head Island: Chapter 4
My Dear Cousin Chauncey,
From my previous letter you may have surmised that I have fallen deeply in love. And no, it is most certainly not the excellent Mrs. Spencer that is the object of my adoration, as you suggested in your reply. Allow me to explain.
Mrs. Spencer departed for the mainland to visit her sister for a couple of days, and left with nothing more meaningful to occupy my time I decided to follow your mother’s advice and attend a gathering of The Society for the Advancement of Sciences and Discovery. The meeting of this rather pretentiously named group is held weekly at the premises of Messrs. Lippincott & Plum, Incorporated. You may have heard of this particular business enterprise, well renowned for the sales and manufacture of fine meteorological and horological instruments.
The speakers of the evening were Professor Anschutz and Professor Flaubert, the geniuses behind the behavior control apparatus deployed inside the skulls of the beasts of the Promenade. The lecture itself was surprisingly interesting, even though much of the content was obscure to me.
After the lecture ended there was a social gathering meant to promote free discourse on the topic of the evening. I happened to notice that Bourbon whiskey was being served, and decided to linger. After a few glasses of the amber nectar from Kentucky I felt encouraged enough to approach some of the guests that were waiting at the bar for a replenishment. As chance would have it one of them was Senator McBroom. The Senator, a man who obviously understood the finer points of drinkmanship, was thoroughly refreshed, affable and quite approachable. I introduced myself as the nephew of Col. Beauregard, and after conversing about this and that for a while McBroom insisted that he introduce me to his daughter Emily.
Cousin, her exquisite beauty truly defies description in any tongue spoken by mortals, but I shall try none the less. Her hair is a radiant halo of heavenly light, her complexion flawless alabaster, and her cheeks lightly kissed by a rose. Her eyes are like two sparkling sapphires, her lips like rubies, and her touch is that of the finest silk. Her neck belongs to a young gazelle, her breasts are like two white turtledoves nesting side by side, her waist the trunk of a young willow tree, and her hips an unspoken promise of infinite bliss. I cannot go on writing, for fear of fainting!
Alas, there is an ugly fly in every ointment no matter how sweet it smells, and in this instance the fly has assumed the shape of a certain Andrew Montague. This character is a man of some means, who besides being a notable competitor on the golf course and the polo field spends his days idly traveling the Eastern coast from North to South and back, looking for adventures. He had his sights set on the lovely Emily, and was jealously circling us as we conversed politely on the balcony, taking every opportunity to barge in on the conversation.
As luck would have it the Senator, barely able to stand from refreshments, decided that it was time to retire and demanded that Emily accompany him to make sure he got to their hotel safely and in a single piece. He courteously offered me a ride in their coach to save me the trouble of walking, and the three of us left together, leaving Montague with his aspirations thwarted.
The Senator promptly fell asleep, and no sooner Emily slipped her hand in mine. She kept it there until we reached Capt. Spencer’s house. When we said goodnight her lips touched mine and she said she looked forward to seeing each other soon.
Walking on pink clouds and touching the stars, I remain yours etc. etc. etc.
Charles B. Beauregard