Edgar Huntly or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker: Or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker (Penguin Classics)

Edgar Huntly or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker: Or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker (Penguin Classics)

Charles Brockden Brown

Language: English

Pages: 217

ISBN: 2:00354312

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


One of the first American Gothic novels, Edgar Huntly (1787) mirrors the social and political temperaments of the postrevolutionary United States. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This conclusion was generally adopted, but it gave birth in my mind, to infinite inquietudes. You had roved into Norwalk, a scene of inequalities, of prominences and pits, among which, thus destitute of the guidance of your senses, you could scarcely fail to be destroyed, or at least, irretreivably bewildered. I painted to myself the dangers to which you were subjected. Your careless feet would bear you into some whirlpool or to the edge of some precipice, some internal revolution or outward

him great accession of fortune. Her wealth was her only recommendation in the eyes of her husband, whose understanding was depraved by the prejudices of luxury and rank, but was the least of her attractions in the estimate of reasonable beings. They passed some years together. If their union were not a source of misery to the lady, she was indebted for her tranquility to the force of her mind. She was, indeed, governed, in every action of her life by the precepts of duty, while her husband

and the whistling of the blasts. Hiccory and poplar, which abound in the low-lands, find here no fostering elements. A sort of continued vale, winding and abrupt, leads into the midst of this region and through it. This vale serves the purpose of a road. It is a tedious maze, and perpetual declivity, and requires, from the passenger, a cautious and sure foot. Openings and ascents occasionally present themselves on each side, which seem to promise you access to the interior region, but always

force seemed gradually to have made. The noise and the motion equally attracted my attention. There was a desolate and solitary grandeur in the scene, enhanced by the circumstances in which it was beheld, and by the perils through which I had recently passed, that had never before been witnessed by me. A sort of sanctity and awe environed it, owing to the consciousness of absolute and utter loneliness. It was probable that human feet had never before gained this recess, that human eyes had never

pieces by the fangs of this savage. To perish, in this obscure retreat, by means so impervious to the anxious curiosity of my friends, to lose my portion of existence by so untoward and ignoble a destiny, was insupportable. I bitterly deplored my rashness in coming hither unprovided for an encounter like this. The evil of my present circumstances consisted chiefly in suspense. My death was unavoidable, but my imagination had leisure to torment itself by anticipations. One foot of the savage was

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