Home Lights and Shadows

"Well, we shall see."

"Yes, we will. But good-bye; I must go to the mantua-maker's this morning, to complete my orders."

After Melvina Felton had gone, Caroline Gay's manner changed a good deal. Her cheek, the color of which had heightened during her conversation with her friend, still retained its beautiful glow, but the expression of her usually calm face was changed, and slightly marked by what seemed troubled thoughts. She sat almost motionless for nearly two minutes, and then rose up slowly with a slight sigh, and went to her chamber.

It was early on the same evening that Henry Clarence, the subject of her conversation with Melvina, called in, as he not unfrequently did, to spend an hour in pleasant conversation with Caroline Gay. He found her in the parlor reading.

"At your books, I see," he remarked, in a pleasant tone, as he entered.

"Yes; I find my thoughts need exciting by contact with the thoughts of others. A good book helps us much sometimes."

"You were reading a book then. May I ask its author?"

"Degerando."

"You are right in calling this a good book, Caroline," he said, glancing at the title page, to which she had opened, as she handed him the volume. "Self-education is a most important matter, and with such a guide as Degerando, few can go wrong."

"So I think. He is not so abstract, nor does he border on transcendentalism, like Coleridge, who notwithstanding these peculiarities I am yet fond of reading. Degerando opens for you your own heart, and not only opens it, but gives you the means of self-control at every point of your exploration."

The beautiful countenance of Caroline was lit up by pure thoughts, and Henry Clarence could not help gazing upon her with a lively feeling of admiration.

"I cannot but approve your taste," he said.—"But do you not also read the lighter works of the day?"

"I do not certainly pass all these by. I would lose much were I to do so. But I read only a few, and those emanating from such minds as James, Scott, and especially our own Miss Sedgwick. The latter is particularly my favorite. Her pictures, besides being true to nature, are pictures of home. The life she sketches, is the life that is passing all around us—perhaps in the family, unknown to us, who hold the relation of next door neighbors."

"Your discrimination is just. After reading Miss Sedgwick, our sympathies for our fellow creatures take a more humane range. We are moved by an impulse to do good—to relieve the suffering—to regulate our own action in regard to others by a higher and better rule. You are a reader of the poets, too—and like myself, I believe, are an admirer of Wordsworth's calm and deep sympathy with the better and nobler principles of our nature."

"The simple beauty of Wordsworth has ever charmed me. How much of the good and true, like precious jewels set in gold, are scattered thickly over his pages!"

"And Byron and Shelly—can you not enjoy them?" Clarence asked, with something of lively interest in her reply, expressed in his countenance.

"It were but an affectation to say that I can find nothing in them that is beautiful, nothing to please, nothing to admire. I have read many things in the writings of these men that were exquisitely beautiful. Many portions of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage are not surpassed for grandeur, beauty, and force, in the English language: and the Alastor of Shelly, is full of passages of exquisite tenderness and almost unequalled finish of versification. But I have never laid either of them down with feelings that I wished might remain. They excite the mind to a feverish and unhealthy action. We find little in them to deepen our sympathies with our fellows—little to make better the heart, or wiser the head."

"You discriminate with clearness, Caroline," he said; "I did not know that you looked so narrowly into the merits of the world's favorites. But to change the subject; do you intend going to Mrs. Walsingham's next week?"

"Yes, I think I will be there."

"Are you fond of such assemblages?" the young man asked.

"Not particularly so," Caroline replied. "But I think it right to mingle in society, although all of its forms are not pleasant to me."

"And why do you mingle in it then, if its sphere is uncongenial?"

"I cannot say, Mr. Clarence, that it is altogether uncongenial. Wherever we go, into society, we come in contact with much that is good. Beneath the false glitter, often assumed and worn without the heart's being in it, but from a weak spirit of conformity, lies much that is sound in principle, and healthy in moral life. In mingling, then, in society, we aid to develope and strengthen these good principles in others. We encourage, often, the weak and wavering, and bring back such as are beginning to wander from the simple dignity and truth of nature."

"But is there not danger of our becoming dazzled by the false glitter?"

"There may be. But we need not fear this, if we settle in our minds a right principle of action, and bind ourselves firmly to that principle."

A pause followed this last remark, and then the subject of conversation was again changed to one of a more general nature.

An evening or two after, Henry Clarence called in to see Melvina Fenton. Melvina was what may be called a showy girl. Her countenance, which was really beautiful, when animated, attracted every eye. She had a constant flow of spirits, had dipped into many books, and could make a little knowledge in these matters go a great way. Clarence could not conceal from himself that he admired Melvina, and, although his good sense and discrimination opposed this admiration, he could rarely spend an evening with Miss Fenton, without a strong prepossession in her favor. Still, with her, as with every one, he maintained a consistency of character that annoyed her. He could not be brought to flatter her in any way; and for this she thought him cold, and often felt under restraint in his society. One thing in her which he condemned, was her love of dress. Often he would express a wonder to himself, how a young woman of her good sense and information could be guilty of such a glaring departure from true taste.

On this evening she received him in her very best manner. And she was skilful at acting; so skilful, as even to deceive the keen eye of Henry Clarence. Fully resolved on making a conquest, she studied his character, and tried to adapt herself to it.

"I have your favorite here," she remarked, during the evening, lifting a copy of Wordsworth from the centre table.

"Ah, indeed! so you have. Do you ever look into him, Miss Fenton?"

"O yes. I did not know what a treasure was hid in this volume, until, from hearing your admiration of Wordsworth, I procured and read it with delighted interest."

"I am glad that you are not disappointed. If you have a taste for his peculiar style of thinking and writing, you have in that volume an inexhaustible source of pleasure."

"I have discovered that, Mr. Clarence, and must thank you for the delight I have received, and I hope I shall continue to receive."

Nearly two hours were spent by the young man in the company of Miss Fenton, when he went away, more prepossessed in her favor than he had yet been. She had played her part to admiration. The truth was, Wordsworth, except in a few pieces, she had voted a dull book. By tasking herself, she had mastered some passages, to which she referred during the evening, and thus obtained credit for being far more familiar with the poet of nature than she ever was or ever would be. She went upon the principle of making a sensation, and thus carrying hearts, or the heart she wished to assault, by storm.

"I believe that I really love that girl," Henry Clarence said, on the evening before the party at Mrs. Walsingham's to a young friend.

"Who, Melvina Fenton?"

"Yes."

"She is certainly a beautiful girl."

"And interesting and intelligent."

"Yes—I know of no one who, in comparison with her, bears off the palm."

"And still, there is one thing about her that I do not like. She is too fond of dress and display."

"O, that is only a little foible. No one is altogether perfect."

"True—and the fault with me is, in looking after perfection."

"Yes, I think you expect too much."

"She is affectionate, and that will make up for many deficiencies. And what is more, I can see plainly enough that her heart is interested. The brightening of her cheek, the peculiar expression of her eye, not to be mistaken, when certain subjects are glanced at, convince me that I have only to woo to win her."

"What do you think of Caroline Gay?" asked his friend.

"Well, really, I can hardly tell what to think of her. She has intelligence, good sense, and correct views on almost every subject. But she is the antipodes of Melvina in feeling. If she were not so calm and cold, I could love her; but I do not want a stoic for a wife. I want a heart that will leap to my own, and send its emotion to the cheek and eye."

"I am afraid you will not find an angel in this world," his friend said, smiling.

"No, nor do I want an angel. But I want as perfect a woman as I can get."

"You will have to take Melvina, then, for she has three exceeding good qualities, at least, overshadowing all others."