Richmond Enquirer

[From the New York Commercial Advertiser.]

ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE.

From Susquehanna's utmost springs.
Where savage tribes pursue their game,
His blanket tied with yellow strings.
A shepherd of the forest came.-Freneau.

On Sunday evening last, we were, fortuitously, witnesses of an incident equally interesting and painful. Many people have denounced Shakespeare's Othello, as too unnatural for probability. It can hardly be credited that such a fair, beautiful, and accomplished woman, as Desdemona is represented to have been, could have deliberately wedded such a black-a-moor as Othello. But if we ever entertained any incredulity upon the subject, it has all been dissipated by the occurrence of which we are to speak.

A chief of one of the Mississauga tribe, but now a Missionary of the Methodist Church among his red brethren, was sent to England to obtain pecuniary aid for the Indian mission cause in Upper Canada. What was his native cognomen, whether it was the "Red Lightning," or the "Storm King," or "Walk-in-the-Water," we know not; but in plain English he is known as Peter Jones. An Indian is a rare spectacle in England. Poets and romancers have alike invested the primitive sons of the American forest with noble and exalted characteristics, which are seldom discernible to duller perceptions of plain-matter-of-fact people; and which English eyes could alone discover in the hero of the present story. But no matter: Mr. Peter Jones was not only a Missionary from the wilderness, and, as we doubt not, a pious and useful man among his own people, but he was a bona fide Indian, and he was of course made a lion of in London. He was feasted by the rich and the great. Carriages and servants in livery awaited his pleasure, and bright eyes sparkled when he was named. He was looked upon as a great chief, a prince, an Indian king; and many romantic young ladies, who had never passed beyond the sound of Bow bell, dreamed of the charms of solitude amid the great wilds--"the antres vast and deserts idle"--of the greater West--of the roaring of mighty cataracts, and the bounding of buffaloes over the illimitable prairies--of noble chieftains leading armies of plumed and lofty warriors--dusky as the proud forms of giants in twilight--of forays and stag hunts--and bows and arrows--and the wild notes of the piercing war-whoop, in those halcyon days, when, unsophisticated by contact with the palefaces,
"Wild in woods the noble savage ran,"
and all that sort of thing, as Matthews would most unpoetically have wound off such a flourishing sentence. But it was so:
"In crowds the ladies to his levees ran--
All wished to gaze upon the tawny man--
Happy were those who saw his stately stride--
Thrice happy those who tripp'd it at his side."

Among others who perchance may have thought of "Kings barbaric, pearls and gold," was the charming daughter of a gentleman of Lambeth, of wealth and respectability. But she thought not of wedding an Indian, even though he were a great chief--or half a king--not she! But Peter Jones saw, or thought he saw--for the Indian cupids are not blind--that the young lady had a susceptible heart. Availing himself, therefore, of a ride with the fair creature, he said something to her which she chose not to understand--but told it to her mother. Peter Jones sought other opportunities of saying similar things, which the damsel could not comprehend--before him--but she continued to repeat them to her mother. He sought an interview with her. It was refused. He repeated the request. It was still refused, but in a less positive manner. Finally, an interview was granted him with the mother--and the result was, that before Peter Jones embarked on his return to his native woods, it was agreed that they might breathe their thoughts to each other on paper across the great waters. Thus was another point gained. And, in the end, to make a long story short, a meeting was agreed upon, to take place the present season in this city, with a view of marriage. The idea is very unpleasant with us, of such ill-sorted mixtures of colors. But prejudices against red and dusky skins are not so strong in Europe as they are here. They do not believe in England, that
Those brown tribes who snuff the desert air,
Are cousins german to the wolf and bear.
The proud Britons, moreover, were red men, when conquered by Julius Caesar. What harm in their becoming so again! But we must hasten our story.

On Tuesday morning of last week, a beautiful young lady, with fairy form, "grace in her step, and heaven in her eye," stept on shore from the elegant packet ship U. States. She was attended by two clerical friends of high respectability, who, by the way, were no friends of her romantic enterprise. She waited with impatience for her princely lover to the end of the week, but he came not. Still she doubted not his faith, and, as the result proved, she had no need to doubt. For, on Sunday morning, Peter Jones arrived, and presented himself at the side of his mistress! The meeting was affectionate though becoming. The day was spent by them together in the interchange of conversation, thoughts, and emotions, which we will leave it to those better skilled in the Romance of Love than ourselves to imagine.

Though a Chippewa, Peter Jones is nevertheless a man of business, and has a just notion of the value and importance of time. He may also have heard of the adage "there's many a slip," &c. or, perchance, of the other--"a bird in the hand," &c. But no matter. He took part with much propriety, in the religious exercises of the John Street Church, where we happened to be present--which services were ended at 9 o'clock, by an impressive recitation of the Lord's Prayer in the Chippewa dialect. Stepping into the house of a friend near by, we remarked an unusual ingathering of clergymen, and divers ladies and gentlemen. We asked a reverend friend if there was to be another religious meeting? "No," he replied; "but a wedding!" "A wedding!" we exclaimed, with surprise. "Pray who are the happy couple!" "Peter Jones, the Indian Missionary," he replied, "and a sweet girl from England!"

It was then evident to our previously unsuspecting eyes, that an unwonted degree of anxious and curious interest pervaded the countenances of the assembling group. In a short time chairs were placed in a suspicious position at the head of the drawing room, their backs to the pier table. A movement was next perceptible at the door, which instantly drew all eyes to the spot, and who should enter but the same tall Indian whom we had so recently seen in the pulpit, bearing upon his arm the light, graceful and delicate form of the young lady before mentioned; her eye drooping modestly upon the carpet. Thereupon uprose a distinguished clergyman and the parties were addressed upon the subject of the divine institution of marriage--its propriety, convenience and necessity, to the welfare of society and human happiness. This brief and pertinent address being ended, the reverend gentleman stated the purpose for which the couple had presented themselves and demanded if any person or persons present could show cause why the proposed union should not take place? If so, they were requested to make their objections then, or forever could be heard but a few smothered sighs. There they stood, objects of deep and universal interest, we may add, of commiseration. Our emotions were tumultuous and painful. A stronger contrast was never seen. She all in white, and adorned with the sweetest simplicity. Her face as white as the gloves and dress she wore--rendering her ebon tresses, placed a la Madonna on her fair forehead, still darker. He in rather common attire--a tall, dark, high-boned, muscular Indian. She, a little delicate European lady. He a hardy, iron-framed son of the forest. She, accustomed to every luxury and indulgence; well educated, accomplished, and well beloved at home--possessing a handsome income--leaving her comforts, the charms of civilized and cultivated society, and sacrificing them all to the cause she had espoused--here she stood, about to make a self-immolation; and, far away from country and kindred, and all the endearments of a fond father's house, resign herself into the arms of a man of the woods, who could not appreciate the sacrifice! A sweeter bride we never saw. We almost grew wild. We thought of Othello--of Hyperion and the satyr--of the bright-eyed Hindoo and the funeral pile! She looked like a drooping flower by the side of a rugged hemlock! We longed to interpose and rescue her. But it was none of our business. She was in that situation by choice--and she was among her friends. The ceremonies went on--she promised to "love, honor and obey" the Chippewa, and, all tremulous as she stood, we heard the Indian and herself pronounced man and wife!

It was the first time we ever heard the words "man and wife" sound hatefully. All, however, knelt down and united with the clergyman in prayers for a blessing; and when the minister lifted his voice in supplication for blessings on her,--that she might be sustained in her undertaking--and have health and strength to endure her destined hardships and privations--the room resounded with the deep-toned, and heartfelt, and tearful response--Amen!--The audience then rose, and after attempting, with moistened eyes, to extend their congratulations to the "happy pair," slowly and pensively retired. The sweet creature is now on her way to the wilds of Upper Canada--the Indian's Bride!

Such is the history of a case of manifest and palpable delusion. Peter Jones cannot say with Othello, that "she loved him for the dangers he had passed." The young lady was not blinded by the trappings of military costume, or the glare of martial glory; but she is a very pious girl--whose whole heart and soul has been devoted to the cause of heathen missions; and she has thus thrown herself into the cause, and resolved to love the Indian for the work in which he is engaged. For our own part, we must say, that we wish he had never crossed the Niagara. But the die is cast, and the late comely and accomplished Miss F*w**, of London, is now the wife of Mr. Peter Jones, of the Chippewas. But that she is deluded, and knows nothing of the life she is to encounter, there can be no doubt. As evidence of this, she has brought out the furniture for an elegant household establishment--rich china vases for an Indian lodge, and Turkey carpets to spread upon the morasses of the Canadian forests! Instead of a mansion, she will find a wigwam, and the manufacture of brooms and baskets, instead of embroidery. In justice to the spectators of the scene, however, it is proper to state, that a few of her real friends in this city--those into whose immediate society she was cast--labored diligently to open her eyes to the real state of the case, and the life of hardship and trial which she is inevitably destined to lead. Poor girl! We wish she was by her father's ingle in Lambeth, and Peter Jones preaching to the Chippewas, with the prettiest squaw among them for his wife!