LEONTINE.
LETTER NINETEENTH.
LETTER NINETEENTH.
Visit to Versailles—The Little Trianon—The Grand Trianon—Church of St. Louis, and Monument of the Duke de Berri—Mendon—Chalk Quarries—Tortoni's—Wandering Musicians—An Evening at Count Ségur's—Children's Fancy Ball.
PARIS, ——.
My dear Sister:—
I have really a great mind to give you ascolding, instead of adescription, for your perusal. What are you all about at the Lodge, that you have not written to us for this fortnight. Papa and Mamma are quite out of patience with you, and desire me to request you will answer this the moment it reaches you. Indeed I hope youwill, for they are evidently uneasy in consequence of your long silence.
Now let me tell you of our visit to Versailles. We spent Friday there, and carrying with us a cold dinner, partook of it under the trees near the Petit Trianon, having gained a keen appetite by first walking over the immense palace and its garden; of the splendors of both you are well aware. We were not much pleased with our rustic mode of eating on the grass, the premises of the table cloth being frequently invaded by insects. Like dancing on the turf, such arrangements are pleasanter in description than in reality. The Petit Trianon was the favorite residence of Marie Antoinette, and there she passed a great deal of her time, free from the bustle and formality of the court, and devoted to rural occupations. The place still exhibits evidences of her taste and innocent amusements. The grounds are diversified with grottos, cottages, temples, mimic rivers and cascades. Then there is a beautiful little music room, a labyrinth, a dairy, and a lake. The palace is a tasteful edifice, and a part of the furniture is the same that was used by the decapitated queen.
The Grand Trianon, another palace situated in the park of Versailles, is superior to this in elegance and embellishments, but not half so interesting. The parterre behind the mansion, teems with Flora's choicest gifts, and reminded me of the saying, that "Versailles was the garden of waters; Marly the garden of trees; but Trianon that of flowers." In the orangery at Versailles we were shown an orange tree which is computed to be three hundred years old! It is denominated "The Old Bourbon," and has been the property of several kings of that race. Its trunk and foliage are remarkably thick. The garden and park are five miles in circumference; and only think of these and the magnificent structure overlooking them, being completed in seven years! But perhaps did we know the number of workmen employed upon them during that period, the fact would not seem so amazing.
We rode through the wide streets of the town, visited the Church of St. Louis, where a simple monument is erected in honor of the Duke de Berri, and then turned our course homewards, stopping for an hour at Mendon, a royal chateau that Napoleon fitted up elegantly for his son; it is now unoccupied, though I believe the Duke de C—— sometimes spends a few weeks there. A noble avenue leads to the house, and from the terrace in front of it the prospect is very fine. As we traversed the grounds, guided by an old soldier, we were quite diverted at the astonishment he expressed, on discovering from an observation of Leonora's that she and her family were Americans. "Mais comme vous êtes blondes!" cried he, "et j'ai toujours en tendu dire que les habitans d'Amerique étaient rouges ou noirs!"1
1But how fair you are! and I have always heard that the inhabitants of America areredorblack.
At the foot of the hill of Mendon, near the banks of the Seine, are large quarries of chalk, that we were told merited our attention; but it was too late to profit by the information, and we hastened on to Paris.
After resting ourselves and drinking tea, we sallied forth again, and strolled on the Boulevard as far as Tortoni's, to eat ices. He is master of a grand caffé, and famous for his ices and déjeunés à la fourchette. His establishment is splendidly illuminated every night, and so thronged with customers, that it is often difficult to procure a seat. Some prefer regaling themselves before the door in their carriages; and there is generally a range of stylish equipages in front of the house, filled with lords and ladies, and beaux and belles, partaking of the cooling luxuries of iced lemonade and creams, and listening to the bands of ambulatory musicians, that here are always to be found and heard, wherever there is a crowd. They select the popular airs of the theatres and those of the first composers of the day, which are as familiar to the common people as they are to amateurs.
We recently spent another delightful evening at Count Ségur's. We found him, as usual, surrounded by the learned and refined; and he met us with his accustomed smile of benevolence and bonhomie. There was a lively young relative of his present, and when most of his visiters had departed, she insisted on his joining her and myself in playing "l'Empereur est Mort," &c., and with the utmost amiability he complied with her wishes. The play of l'Empereur is similar to that termed the "Princess Huncamunca."
While we were at the Count's, Mr. and Mrs. Danville attended a levee at the Hotel Marine, and the girls accompanied a young friend of Marcella's, (a Miss Y—— from Soissons) to a fancy ball given by the children of Madame Clément's seminary. Miss Y—— being a pupil, had the privilege of inviting two acquaintances, and chose Marcella and Leonora as her guests. They were highly entertained. All the scholars wore costumes, and several supported the characters they assumed with proper spirit. There was a little round, rosy faced girl, of five years old, decked as a Cupid. She was entwined with a silken drapery, thickly studded with golden stars; sandals laced on her feet, and a quiver slung over her plump and naked little shoulders! In her right hand she held a gilt bow, and her curls were confined by a glittering bandeau. They danced until ten o'clock, and as none of the masculine gender were admitted, the elder Misses played the part of beaux. I should have liked to join in the frolic, I confess, though not upon condition of foregoing the pleasure we had at No. 13, Rue Duphot, Count Ségur's residence.
Papa has presented me a beautiful watch, and intends purchasing another for you. With tender regards to aunt M—— and Albert, I remain your attached sister
LEONTINE.
LETTER TWENTIETH.
LETTER TWENTIETH.
Mechanical Theatre—The Boulevards—the derivation of the term.
PARIS, ——.
"Joy! joy!" cried I, on looking out of the window yesterday, and spying Arnaud returning from the post office with a letter, which, according to our wishes, proved to be from our naughty Jane. Arrant scribbler that I am, I hasten to answer it, though you must feel you do not deserve to be replied to so speedily. However, as this is the first time you have been negligent, we ought not to be relentless—so here is myhandin token of forgiveness and good will; but beware of repeating the offence.
Having finished my lecture, and knowing you are fond of listening to adventures, I will now recount a droll one that happened to us last evening. At sunset we were walking on the Boulevard du Temple, which abounds in every variety of the lower order of amusements, when suddenly a violent shower began to fall, and of course every body to scamper to some shelter.Wetook refuge in the portico of an illuminated building, entitled in large transparent letters over the door, "Theàtre Mecanique," and finally determined to enter and witness the acting within. We accordingly purchased tickets of the woman employed to sell them, and following her up a narrow flight of stairs, were ushered into a confined gallery, overlooking a dirty pit, the highest grade of whose occupants seemed to be that of a cobbler. Four tallow candles lighted the orchestra, wheretwo hardplying fiddlers performed their tasks. We began to think we might be in "Alsatia!" and then the actors and actresses! what were they? Why, a set of clumsy wooden figures that tottered in and out, and were suspended by cords so coarse, as to be visible even amidst the gloom that surrounded them. A ventriloquist made these puppets appear very loquacious; and whenever they stopped to make a speech it was quite ludicrous, for they vacillated to and fro like the pendulum of a clock, for more than a minute. We would have rejoiced to get out, but the rain still poured, and we were compelled to remain. After the piece was concluded, and the fiddlers had put up their instruments, and were puffing out and pocketing the bits of candles, and we were reluctantly preparing to issue forth into the storm, up came the above mentioned vender of billets, (who it seems was manager likewise,) and calling to the musicians to resume their operations, begged us to be re-seated, in order to see the first act repeated, which we had lost by arriving too late. We availed ourselves of her politeness andhonesty, but could scarcely refrain from laughing as we did so—and fortunately, during the half hour that succeeded, the weather cleared, and we were thus enabled to get home without the dreaded wetting; but the Boulevards not being paved, the walking was exceedingly muddy, and it was so long ere we reached a stand of carriages, that when we did, we thought it more prudent to continue our route on foot, than to risk sitting in our wet shoes.
As you may not know what is meant by the "Boulevards," I will tell you. They are wide roads, or streets, edged with spreading umbrageous elms, and formerlyboundedthe city, but now, from its increase in size, they arewithinit. Their appellation of "Boulevards" is derived from "bouler sur le vert," to "bowl upon the green"—being once covered with turf, and the frequent scene of playing at bowls. Here, nightly, the citizens forget the cares and labors of the day, and resign themselves to pleasure and mirth. Rows of chairs, owned and placed there by poor persons, may be hired for two sous a piece. Adieu.
LEONTINE.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
The following lines are from the pen of a venerable lady of Virginia, widow of one of the patriots of the revolution. They were written in 1812, shortly after the conflagration, and are now for the first time published.
M. L. P.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
JACK TELL.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
JACK TELL.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
It was a bright and beautiful summer evening. All nature seemed to speak the language of peace and joy; the birds warbled in the groves, the gentle breezes sported among the lofty trees, and all objects wore the soothing aspect of that benevolent spirit who had spread them before the eye of man. While indulging the pleasing sensations which scenes like this never fail to inspire, my attention was directed to an elegant mansion situated on the opposite hill, and my companion asked whether I had ever heard the history of its present inmates. To my reply in the negative, he remarked, that being personally acquainted with the family, and knowing their history, he would relate it, aware of the deep interest I felt in every thing which bore any relation to the subject, to which the narrative will afford a sufficient clue.
In the summer of 1824, Mrs. Loraine removed to this neighborhood with two children, a son and a daughter; the former twelve, the latter ten years of age. Her husband alike distinguished for talents and humanity in his medical profession as well as social relations, had died during the previous autumn in New Orleans, where he had removed shortly after his marriage with Miss Allen, who was adorned with the virtues and graces which are requisite to make the amiable wife, the prudent mother, and valuable friend. Deeply affected at the loss of a husband tenderly and deservedly beloved, and being herself a native of Virginia, and having relations in this county she resolved to remove to her native spot; preferring the retirement of the country to the gaieties of a city, not only on her own account, but also on that of her children. A young lady who had been for several years the instructress of her two children, agreed to accompany her and continue their education till such time as it might seem advisable to employ more extended means of instruction for one or both. In Miss Medway were happily blended a strong and energetic mind, a correct judgment and taste, affectionate heart, polished manners, and an education liberal and elegant. Born to high expectations, reared in the lap of wealth and indulgence,lovingandbeloved, a cruel tide of misfortune deprived her of all, and threw her at the age of nineteen, poor and dependant, on a cold and unfeeling world. But why descend to particulars which intercept the thread of our narrative? Of her much remains to be told, which you yet will hear, but for the present let it suffice to say, that in this state of sorrow Dr. Loraine became her friend and bountiful benefactor. At this retired and beautiful spot, the minds of William and Lavinia were not only expanded by the faithful care of their mother and tutoress in literature, but in the richer and far more valuable lessons of virtue, which were daily enforced by precept and example. Six years rolled round, and found little change in the domestic circle. William was now eighteen, and his mother determined to enter him the ensuing session at the college of ——, in order to prepare him for the study of that profession in which his father had excelled, and for which he seemed peculiarly adapted by the tender benevolence of his heart, and the discriminating powers of his mind. In William Loraine were strangely blended the softness and gentleness of woman, with the noble firmness and independence of man. Beloved by all who knew him, and reared up in the precincts of his mother's influence, it was not unreasonable to believe that he had grown sufficiently strong in the theory and practice of virtue, to stand uncontaminated, among the vices and follies of a collegiate life. But alas! how often is the morning which dawned in cloudless beauty soon succeeded by storm and tempest; and the bud which promised beauty and fragrance, withered ere it expands to maturity: and how often, thus linger on the bright visions of fancy and hope, while before us lie the sad realities of life.
With many tears, and tender caresses, and regrets, William left his peaceful happy home, to mix with strangers in a distant state. Deeply did he feel the trial, and while his mother's tender and ardent benediction and admonitions sounded in his ear, the tear of love and promised obedience trickled down his manly cheek. Soon after his introduction to the beings with whom he was to associate, he resolved to watch for awhile the conduct of all the students, and choose for his friend that youth whose feelings and conduct most nearly accorded with his own views and intentions. Nor did he wait long ere he found an object to love and confide in. There is in the heart of all a desire for friendship which nothing can satisfy but the belief that it is possessed. Various are the properties which may lead to a selection of the object in different minds, but congeniality in some respects is almost indispensable to the formation of friendship. James Drayton, of South Carolina, seemed to the confiding heart of William, the very being he had sought. In James Drayton was presented a union of the most opposite traits of character, yet so blended as to almost add effect and interest to each other. Singularly handsome, of polished and elegant manners—of a gay disposition, but a deeply reserved and shrewd mind—generous to a fault, and possessing every facility for the gratification of every wish—ardent but injudicious in attachments, and above all of a memory which required no exertion to make a conspicuous figure in his studies, he was at once beloved, envied, flattered, and caressed. In such a being the innocent heart of William confided, and to imitate him and gain his affection, constituted his great delight. Nor were his affections unreturned. Drayton loved him with a passion at once impetuous and sincere. Pleasures were but half enjoyed when William Loraine was not a participant, while his presence rendered pleasant scenes otherwise unpleasing. Twelve months rolled round and found their hearts fondly united, not only by scenes of profitable research and benevolent acts, but also by the baneful yet fascinating pleasures of wildness and dissipation. The regular examination which as usual concluded the collegiate year, was to them a time of real and almost unalloyed pleasure. Distinguished in their various studies, and improved by their teachers for moral deportment and dutiful demeanor, generally beloved by their companions, few youths seemed to enjoy a more enviable lot. It was determined that James should accompany William to Virginia, to spend the vacation at Roseville, with his friends and relations. Accordingly the day after the close of their examination, they took seats in the stage, and in about eight days arrived at the lovely spot. In silence we pass the meeting scene, and all the usual events which mark such periods, the welcome given the friend of their William, and the joy felt by all who knew the amiable inmates, at again seeing him among his friends. Time had dealt bountifully with Lavinia, and to the eye of her brother, every day had added to her charms, since they parted.
James saw her with admiration and delight. True she was young, being little over sixteen, but to the playful innocence of the child, was added the grace and dignity of manners, befitting the woman. She was not strictly beautiful, yet a spell seemed thrown around her, that insensibly drew the hearts of all who lingered in her presence. Tall and elegantly formed, her dark brown hair hung in natural ringlets on her white neck, the rose and lily mingled their choicest tints on her cheek, while her full dark eye spoke the strong and polished mind, the soft and innocent heart that illuminated it. Her features were not what the connoisseur would term unexceptionable, while the less critical observer would almost declare them perfect. Such was thepersonof Lavinia: but who can paint the endowments of her heart and mind? the casket was indeed pleasingly garnished, but the jewel within was of transcendent brightness. To the enthusiastic mind of Drayton, she was a being of unearthly mould; and while he almost gave to her his adoration, it was blended with a serious awe. In Lavinia Loraine he beheld a christian, and while he loved the woman he feared to approach what he deemed the saint. We have said Drayton was wild and dissipated: but it was not that grosser kind of dissipation which is visible and disliked by all. He loved the social card table and glass—the night spent in folly and mirth—but morning found him in the path of the gentleman, pure in honor, and unstained in truth.
William too loved the pleasures of his friend, and though he dipped deep in the gilded pool that allured him to its banks, he found it bitterness in the end. His mother's tender admonitions sounded in his ears—his sister's kind counsels, and the earnest appeals of his beloved friend Miss Medway, turned every cup to gall. Yet still he went on, and vainly hoped to find a solace in the thought, that to them he was a moral and religious youth. Two months flew on rapid wing, and the two young men were again to return to the college.
With many swelling emotions William left the maternal roof, and with many tender regrets bade adieu to the friends who had welcomed him to their mansion. But James felt what his proud soul could not own even to itself. He felt he left his heart with one who gave only friendship in return; whom he must honor and adore, feeling he could never be beloved, and for once the thought of his unworthiness of such a being darted with painful sensations through his heart. He knew he was not what the pure and pious mind of Lavinia would choose for a companion, and feeling his inferiority he had not dared to breathe his flame. Sadly he entered the halls he lately left, the gayest of the gay—coldly he received the greetings of his collegiates, and with loathing opened the learned volume it was his duty to explore. Even to William he was altered. He avoided his presence as though it conjured up some phantom to torment. Grieved at this change, William sought some means to draw from him the cause of his altered appearance and manner, but sought in vain. Six months at length passed by, and he gradually began to assume his former self. Again William was his favorite companion, and again they mingled in the same seductive joys. Gradually intemperance was seizing upon them, and in like manner they were becoming dead to the ennobling feelings of the heart.
The next vacation came. They still wore a mask that few could penetrate: again honors were awarded them, and William was now to accompany his friend to South Carolina. James welcomed him with feasts and revelry: his parents poured out the richest allurements to joy and indulgence. He seemed to be in Elysian fields, and almost forgot the quiet and rational delights of his own home. Splendid profusion marked the whole domain, while races, balls, and the like amusements filled up every hour.
Yet even here couldJamesfind room for ennui. He would sometimes stroll away from all, and seem lost in a deep and painful reverie. He appeared to enjoy few of the objects around them, and although he loved his parents, he avoided their presence, as though he dreaded to meet their scrutiny. With pleasure he welcomed the day that he was to be again seated among his books and papers—not that he delighted in their pages, but they drew his mind from other thoughts.
In six months the two young men were to complete their course, and James resolved then to visit Roseville again, and see the object of his ardent love. Their course is finished—they went together—and once more the heart of Drayton felt a gleam of joy. He saw Lavinia more beautiful than ever, and fondly fancied she was less indifferent; but he was still unhappy—he felt that he had been unworthy of her—that he had been seducing the heart of her brother from the path of piety she trod—and that he was endeavoring, by deep dissimulation, to win a being free from guile, and who knew vice but to detest it. Lavinia saw her William changed. She heard the unguarded expressions of profanity that sometimes escaped his lips; she saw him disposed to leave the family hearth, and go she knew not whither—yet feared to ask; she saw the smile of contempt that curled his lip when religion was the theme of conversation; nor could she fail to see that the society of his family was a painful restraint.
Young Drayton, deeply skilled in dissimulation, had as yet retained the esteem of Mrs. Loraine and Miss Medway, while the heart of Lavinia had owned his fascinating power. He saw he was not to her an object of indifference. The glowing cheek and downcast eye, whenheapproached her, he could not fail to understand. Six weeks he remained at Roseville, ere he dared to breath to Lavinia the love that glowed in his bosom. One lovely evening, after a long conflict between inclination, hope and fear, he determined to pour out his heart, and hear from her own lips that doom which would either seal his weal or woe. According to his determination, he proposed a walk on the banks of the river, to which she reluctantly acceded. He then informed her of the ardor of his affection, and urged his suit with such address, that the heart of Lavinia almost resisted the voice of prudence and duty. But the conflict was to be but short, as the impetuous youth would hear of no postponement. Lavinia discarded him; but not without candidly acknowledging, that his want of true morality, proper sobriety and religion, (facts long suspected, but recently ascertained beyond a doubt,) had induced her to relinquish the hand of the only man she had ever loved. In vain he attempted to shake her resolution; and the next morning's sun rose not, till he was far from the hitherto happy Roseville.
When Lavinia arose, she was handed the following note:
"Lavinia!—A fond, a long, an eternal adieu. I leave you, and with you, all I ever valued or loved. I go where none will know my sorrow or my shame. Lost to all that made my life desirable, I go—where—it matters not what I may become. May you be happy, if the thoughts of my misery will allow it.Youdeserve it—youare virtuous; but as for me, I am only left to drinkthat cupof misery which a life of dissipation never fails to prepare for its votaries. Your brother's principles I have corrupted; and, wretch that I was, who have madly sought to unite an angel to a demon. Oh! Lavinia, I deserved you not. You are born to bless, and to be blessed—and I, alas! to curse, and to be cursed.Farewell—againfarewell!—but know, that while life and memory last, you will be dear to the heart of the wretched
JAMES DRAYTON."
The heart of Lavinia bled over every line of that impassioned note. She saw her brother changed from what he once had been—her mother's cheek pallid—and the fond friend and instructress of her youth sharing the sorrows of all.
Four years rolling round, brought to her many admirers—but to her they talked of love in vain. William had married a lovely, wealthy girl—but was bowing her happy spirit by his folly and extravagance. Her mother was gradually sinking; and but for the stay of religion,shetoo would have sunk under the pressure of her sorrows—but he whose promises she trusted, never forsook those who lean on his almighty arm. Renowned for piety and benevolence, beloved, admired, she moved around the circle of her acquaintance like a spirit of light and peace. But her youthful attachment haunted her riper years—of James no tidings had been heard—vain had proved her numerous endeavors to learn his fate. She was one day alone, when a young man of fine appearance knocked at the door. She arose and admitted him, when he asked if she had ever known a Mr. Drayton. To her reply in the affirmative, he arose and presented her the following letter, which she no sooner took, than bowing, he wished her a happy evening, and withdrew. Hastily she broke the seal, and read as follows:
"Will Lavinia now remember him whom once she knew, and who gave to her the only sincere portion of his nature which he possessed? Does she remember him whose follies and vices removed him from her and happiness? Yes, she cannot have forgotten the once wretched, but now comparatively happy Drayton. But you shall know what I owe you, and though I may be disregarded, you will joy that you have saved a being from misery and disgrace. But to my narrative.
"The day I left you, I resolved to join some lawless band, and strike your heart with sorrow by your hearing of my crimes. But the thought of your piety and virtue, were like a mountain between me and crime. I went from place to place, but found no peace. Home I dreaded to approach; but after three months of wandering, determined again to behold my parents, and fix on some course of conduct. I went—my father was on his death-bed. His illness was augmented by anxiety for my return, as he had not heard from me since I left Roseville. I received his dying blessing; and in less than two months my mother lay beside him. Watching and grief had been too much, and perhaps the folly of her son added another mortal wound. I was now left sole master of about fifty thousand dollars, and with it a heart almost lost to virtue. I sold out my lands, &c., vested nearly all the amount in stock, and embarked for the Indies, determined to see my native land no more. Tossed on the wide ocean, I was surrounded by ten thousand dangers, more lawless in feeling than the billows around, beneath, above me. I cared for nothing—regarded nothing—and often hoped to find a watery grave. A storm arose—we were shipwrecked—and the near approach of death brought with it the instinctive love of life. A vessel bound to England spied out the wreck; a few only had clung to its ruins. I was taken on board, and after a voyage of a few days was landed at Liverpool. I was then an altered man; five days of hunger, cold and suffering had brought me to reason. I had thought of what had caused all the woes I then endured. I thought of Roseville, and of you—of my native land, and all it once contained;theywere, I felt, lost to me, and I sunk into despair. On board the English vessel I had found a pious Quaker and his family. I now longed again to behold them. Having sought them in vain in Liverpool, I advertised for tidings of them; and hearing they were in London, I went thither and found them. They received me like a child, and to them I related my history and my misery. They pointed out to me the only means of present and future happiness. I thought of you, Lavinia, and of your frequent, modest and affectionate exhortations to your brother and myself, to seek the pearl of matchless price. I resolved to strive to win the smile of heaven, and to give up all on earth.
"America I never expected again to behold, but the joys of religion to seek till life was o'er. Yes, often in the anguish of despair, I recollected some passage you had marked in the Bible I took as I left the house at Roseville for the last time. It lay on your work-table; I knew you loved it—I took it to give you a pang. I read it to cavil—to disbelieve. I was tempted to burn it; but it had been yours, and I could not give it up. In the horrors of the storm, I kept it near my heart. It raised my hopes—for I felt that though I had despised its truths,theywere still immutable. Even now I have it—dear, precious volume. But I have wandered from my narrative.
"After many months of struggling—sometimes for truth, then to forget it—I at length gave up all as lost, and in anguish sought my friend. He bade me look to him who alone could save. I looked with faith—I seized the promises—I was blessed. Yes, Lavinia, I felt what was worth a world. I immediately resolved to engage in business, and not return to America, till I had tested the truth of my present feelings. I entered into a life of activity. I read and grew in knowledge, and I trust in grace. I thought of you, but feared to trust my heart. You had been, and might be again its idol. I resolved to tear it from the throne I had vowed to give to God. But I could not forget. Three years had at length rolled round since we had parted. You were, I doubted not, another's. But for me, I could not love again. I consulted my friend, who had returned to America, as to what course I should take. He advised me to return. Of my fortune I had not heard; but I was able to defray the expenses of my voyage. I left London; four months ago I landed in New York. From thence I went to Philadelphia—remained a month with the Quakers—thence to South Carolina, and was joyfully received by all except the 'nearest of kin.' Of you I could hear nothing. William I heard was married, and wild enough. I sent my friend Mr. Alston to Virginia. He heard you were single—saw you at church—heard the whole history of your family. He wrote me; I came to ——. He is the bearer of this. I there await an answer, saying whether or not you will again behold your ever faithful
JAMES DRAYTON."
Immediately after she concluded this interesting epistle, she poured out her heart in praise to God for preserving and reclaiming him for whom she had so often wept and prayed, and whom she had loved with unaltered fervor. She then hastened to communicate the glad tidings to her mother and Miss Medway, and to despatch a servant to the village to bring to Roseville the still dear Drayton. He came. Again he beheld the being he so long had loved. Again he saw William, and exercised his former influence—but in a holier channel. You can imagine the scene—the mutual relations—the ensuing courtship, and the result. Yes, my friend, Lavinia is the wife of Drayton. His large fortune is now useful in acts of pious benevolence and zeal. His fine talents are employed in dispensing good; his fascinating manners in winning others to admire that which made him what he is. William Loraine is snatched from ruin. His amiable mother is again blessed with duteous and devoted children. And whence the mighty change? In this simple narrative stands forth in glowing colors the truth of that maxim, that the influence of the female sex is great, when enlisted either on the side of virtue or of vice. Had Lavinia been less prudent and pious, how great would have been the contrast; and amidst all the blessings that have attended her through life, none diffuse such thrills of rapture through her grateful, peaceful heart, as when reflecting on the history of him, to whom is not inaptly applied the title of "The Reclaimed."
The evening was far spent. My friend and myself bade each other adieu, to return to our respective homes—but not without his promising at some future day to inform me of the history of that young lady, to whose eventful life he had briefly hinted. Ruminating on the moral of the narrative, I could but deplore that the fair sex of our state did not more nearly resemble Lavinia—refuse to unite their destinies with the slaves of dissipated pleasure, and thereby reclaim from vice thousands of her victims.
PAULINA.