Edgar Huntly

Edgar Huntly

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Edgar Huntley, by Charles Brockden
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Title: Edgar Huntley
Author: Charles Brockden Brown
Release Date: June, 2005 [EBook #8223] [This file was first posted on
July 3, 2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English

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EDGAR HUNTLY
or, MEMOIRS OF A SLEEP-WALKER
by
CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN

To the Public:
The flattering reception that has been given, by the public, to Arthur
Mervyn, has prompted the writer to solicit a continuance of the same
favour, and to offer to the world a new performance.
America has opened new views to the naturalist and politician, but has
seldom furnished themes to the moral painter. That new springs of
action and new motives to curiosity should operate,--that the field of
investigation, opened to us by our own country, should differ
essentially from those which exist in Europe,--may be readily
conceived. The sources of amusement to the fancy and instruction to
the heart, that are peculiar to ourselves, are equally numerous and
inexhaustible. It is the purpose of this work to profit by some of these
sources; to exhibit a series of adventures, growing out of the condition
of our country, and connected with one of the most common and most
wonderful diseases or affections of the human frame.
One merit the writer may at least claim:--that of calling forth the
passions and engaging the sympathy of the reader by means hitherto
unemployed by preceding authors. Puerile superstition and exploded
manners, Gothic castles and chimeras, are the materials usually
employed for this end. The incidents of Indian hostility, and the perils
of the Western wilderness, are far more suitable; and for a native of
America to overlook these would admit of no apology. These, therefore,
are, in part, the ingredients of this tale, and these he has been ambitious
of depicting in vivid and faithful colours. The success of his efforts

must be estimated by the liberal and candid reader.
C. B. B.

Chapter I.
I sit down, my friend, to comply with thy request. At length does the
impetuosity of my fears, the transports of my wonder, permit me to
recollect my promise and perform it. At length am I somewhat
delivered from suspense and from tremors. At length the drama is
brought to an imperfect close, and the series of events that absorbed my
faculties, that hurried away my attention, has terminated in repose.
Till now, to hold a steadfast pen was impossible; to disengage my
senses from the scene that was passing or approaching; to forbear to
grasp at futurity; to suffer so much thought to wander from the purpose
which engrossed my fears and my hopes, could not be.
Yet am I sure that even now my perturbations are sufficiently stilled for
an employment like this? That the incidents I am going to relate can be
recalled and arranged without indistinctness and confusion? That
emotions will not be reawakened by my narrative, incompatible with
order and coherence? Yet when I shall be better qualified for this task I
know not. Time may take away these headlong energies, and give me
back my ancient sobriety; but this change will only be effected by
weakening my remembrance of these events. In proportion as I gain
power over words, shall I lose dominion over sentiments. In proportion
as my tale is deliberate and slow, the incidents and motives which it is
designed to exhibit will be imperfectly revived and obscurely
portrayed.
Oh, why art thou away at a time like this. Wert thou present, the office
to which my pen is so inadequate would easily be executed by my
tongue. Accents can scarcely be too rapid; or that which words should
fail to convey, my looks and gestures would suffice to communicate.
But I know thy coming is impossible. To leave