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Updated: June 13, 2025
There was something so preposterous in this desperate match-making between people whom they had never seen, that Colonel Prowley and his sister had taken into their hands, that it really made a greater impression upon me than if the parties had been less unlikely to come together. A Professor of Calisthenics! Could anything be more unpromising?
I remember the conversation first fell upon a certain general history of the Prowley family that its present masculine representative had in preparation. "By the way," said Deacon Reyner, addressing the future historian on this head, "I have secured a correct copy of poor Prosody's epitaph, as you asked me the other day."
Colonel Prowley, who was soon at the door to receive us, was a much less imposing sort of man than I had imagined him.
Colonel Prowley, with considerable originality, was moved to find employment in letter-writing, pursuing it with the same daily relish which many people find for gossip or small-talk. And this is the way in which I came to be favored with the good gentleman's communications.
"Oh, do read them, brother!" said Miss Prowley, with strong interest. Thus adjured, the Colonel produced a piece of paper, put on his spectacles, and read to this effect: "New Englande! weep: Thy tuncfull Prowllie's gone, Who skillfully his Armour buckled on Agaynst Phyllystine Scorn and Revelrie: His Sword well-furbished was a Sight to see! Ye juggelling Quakers laugh: his Inkhorn's dumb.
Soon after this, Colonel Prowley pushed back his chair from the table as a signal for the dispersal of the party. And I betook myself to my chamber, a sober apartment, with very uneven floor and very small windows, through one of which I peered out upon the box before the house, and thought over the people whose acquaintance I had just made.
"How under the sun did you get to Foxden?" "Why I am here naturally enough as the guest of my friend Colonel Prowley." "And I am here naturally enough as the guest of my friend Mrs. Hunesley."
Is it given out of compliment to the dead or the living?" "Nay," said the Deacon, "I don't see how it could be much of a compliment to the dead." "Except upon the principle, De mortuis nil, nisi bone 'em!" suggested Miss Hurribattle, with such perfect gravity that neither Miss Prowley nor the clergyman suspected the jocular atrocity that was hidden in her speech.
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