NOTWITHSTANDING the plenteous gifts which
Providence had bestowed on the parents of Maria in
the way of descendants, Fortune had sufficiently
smiled on his labours to enable him to educate
them in what is called a genteel manner, and to
support them in a corresponding style. The family
of Mr. Osgood exhibited one of those pictures which
are so frequent in America, where no other artificial
distinctions exist in society than those which are
created by wealth, and where obscurity has no
other foe to contend with than the demon of
poverty. His children were indulged in luxuries that
his death was to dissipate, and enjoyed an
opulence that was only co-existent with the life of
their parent. Accordingly, the music party that
assembled on the following evening at the house of
Mr. Osgood, was brilliant, large, and fashionable.
Seven grown-up daughters was a melancholy sight
for the contemplation of the parents, and they both
felt like venders of goods who were exhibiting their
wares to the best advantage. The splendid
chandeliers and lustres of the drawing-room were
lighted for the same reason as the lamps in the
glittering retail stores of Broadway; and the
brilliant effect of the taste of the young ladies was
intended much like the nightly lustre of the lottery-
offices, to tempt adventurers to try their chances.
>From this premeditated scheme of conquest we
ought, in justice, however, to except Maria herself,
who, from constitutional gayety and
thoughtlessness, seldom planned for the morrow;
and who, perhaps, from her association with
Charlotte, had acquired a degree of
disinterestedness that certainly belonged to no
other member of her family.
Whatever were the views of the family in collecting
their friends and acquaintances on this important
evening, they were completely successful in one
point at least; for, before nine, half the dilettanti of
the city were assembled in Greenwich-street, in a
most elaborate state of musical excitement.
Charlotte Henly, of course, was of the party,
although she was absolutely ignorant of a single
note, nor knew how to praise a scientific execution,
or to manifest disgust at simple melody. But, her
importance in the world of fashion, and her friend
Maria, obtained her a place. There was a reason
that secretly influenced Charlotte in electing her
evening's amusement, that was not known,
however, even to her friend.--George Morton played
on the German flute in a manner that vibrated on
her nerves with an exquisite thrill that she often
strove to conquer, and yet ever loved to indulge.
His musical powers were far from being generally
applauded, as they were thought to be deficient in
compass and variety; but Charlotte never
descended to criticism in music. She conceived it to
be an enjoyment for the senses only, or, rather,
she thought nothing about it; and if the rounds
failed to delight her, she unhesitatingly attributed
the circumstance to an absence of melody. It was
to listen to the flute of George Morton, then, that
the drawing-room of Mrs. Osgood was adorned with
the speaking countenance of Miss Henly.
Among the guests who made an early appearance
in this "Temple of Apollo," was the youth who had
attended the ladies in their walk. Seymour Delafield
glanced his eye impatiently around the apartment,
as soon as he had paid the customary compliments
to the mistress of the mansion and her bevy of fair
daughters; but a look of disappointment betrayed
the search to be an unsuccessful one. Both the look
and the result were noticed by Maria; and, turning a
glance of rather saucy meaning on the gentleman,
she said--
"I apprehend your flute, which, by the by, I am glad
to see you have brought, will be rather in the
PENSEROSO style this evening, Mr. Delafield."
{penseroso = melancholy}
"Unless enlivened by the contagious gayety of your
smile," returned Delafield, endeavouring to look
excessively unconcerned; "but"--
"Oh! my very laugh is musical, I know," interrupted
Maria; "but then it is often shockingly out of time."
"It seldom fails to produce an accompaniment,"
said the gentleman, now smiling in reality; "but"--
"Where is Charlotte Henley?" said the young lady,
again interrupting him; "she has a perfect horror of
the tuning of fiddles and the preparatory
thrummings on the piano; so endeavour to preserve
the harmony of your temper for the second act."
"Well! it is some relief to know she is coming at
all," cried Seymour, quickly; and then, recovering
himself with perfect breeding, he added--"for one
would wish to see you as happy as all your friends
can make you, on such an occasion."
"I am extremely indebted to your unbounded
philanthropy," said Maria, rising and courtseying
with great gravity; "do not doubt of its being
honourably mentioned at"--
"Nay, nay," cried the youth, colouring and laughing,
"you would not think of mentioning my remarks to"-
-
"At the next meeting of the Dorcas Society, of
which I am an unworthy member," continued Maria,
without listening to his remonstrance.
{Dorcas Society = lady's group at a church, devoted
to making and providing clothes for the poor}
Seymour Delafield now laughed without any
affectation--and exchanging a look of perfect
consciousness of each other's meaning, they
separated, as the preparations for the business of
the evening were about to commence. For a short
time there was a confusion of sounds that perfectly
justified the absence of Miss Henly, when the music
began in earnest. Within half an hour, Mr. Delafield,
who had suffered himself to be drawn to the back
of the chair of a professed belle, turning his head
to conceal a yawn that neither the lady's skill nor
his good manners could repress, observed Charlotte
sitting quietly by the side of her friend. Her
entrance had been conducted with such tact, that
had she possessed the most musical ear
imaginable, it were impossible to disturb the party
less; a circumstance that did not fail to impress
Seymour agreeably, from its novelty. He moved to
the side of the fair vision that had engrossed all his
thoughts since the moment they had first met, and
took the chair that the good nature of Miss Osgood
offered to his acceptance between them.
"Thank fortune, Miss Henly," he said, the instant he
was seated, "that bravura has ceased, and I can
now inquire how you recovered from the fatigue of
your walk?"
"I suffered no fatigue to recover from," replied the
lady, raising her eyes to his with an expression that
told the youth he had better talk straight forward at
once; "I walk too much to be fatigued with so short
an excursion."
"You came here to favour us with your skill on the
harp, Miss Henly?"
"No."
"On the piano?"
"On neither--I play on nothing."
"You sing, then?"
"Not at all."
"What! not with that voice?" exclaimed the young
man, in surprise.
"Not with this voice, and surely with no other."
Seymour felt uneasy, and, perhaps, disappointed.
He did not seem to have roused a single sensation
in the breast of his companion, and it was seldom
that the elegant possessor of three hundred
thousand dollars failed to do so, wherever he went,
or whatever he did. But, in the present instance,
there was nothing to be discerned in the
countenance or manner of Charlotte that indicated
any thing more than the sweetness of her nature
and the polish of her breeding. He changed the
subject.
"I hope your friend did not suffer yesterday from his
humanity?"
"I sincerely hope so too," said Charlotte, with much
simplicity, and yet with a good deal of feeling.
"I am fearful that we idle spectators," continued
the gentleman, "suffered in your estimation, in not
discovering equal benevolence with Mr. Morton."
Charlotte glanced her mild eyes at the speaker, but
made no reply.
"Your silence, Miss Henly, assures me of the truth
of my conjecture."
"You should never put a disagreeable construction
on the acts of another," said Charlotte, with a
sweetness that tended greatly to dissipate the
mortification Mr. Delafield really felt, at the same
time that he was unwilling to acknowledge it, even
to himself.
They were now again interrupted by the music,
which continued some time, during which George
Morton made his appearance. His coat close
buttoned to his throat, and an extra silk
handkerchief around his neck, which he removed
only after he entered the apartment, immediately
arrested the attention of Charlotte Henly. Turning
to Maria, she said, in those tones of real interest
that never can be mistaken for manner--
"I am afraid that George has suffered from his
exposure. Do not ask him to play, for he will be
sure to comply."
"Oh! the chicken has only taken cold," cried Maria;
"If he does not play, what will you do? you came
here to hear him only."
"Has Miss Henly ears for no other performer, then?"
asked Seymour Delafield.
"Miss Henly has as many ears as other people,"
said Maria, "but she does not condescend to use
them on all occasions."
"Rather say," cried Charlotte, laughing, "that the
want of taste in Miss Henly renders her ears of but
little use to her."
"You are not fond of music, then?" asked the youth,
a little vexed at thinking that an accomplishment
on which he prided himself would fail to make its
usual impression.
"Passionately!" exclaimed Charlotte; then, colouring
to the eyes, she added, "at least I sometimes think
so, but I believe I am thought to be without taste."
"Those who think so must want it themselves," said
Seymour, in a low voice; then, obedient to the beck
of one of the presiding nymphs, he hastened to
take his share in the performance.
"Now Charlotte, you little prude," whispered her
friend, the instant he withdrew, "is he not very,
very handsome?"
"Very," said Charlotte; "more so than any other
gentleman I have ever seen."
"And engaging, and agreeable, and gentlemanlike?"
"Agreeable, and gentlemanlike too."
"And graceful, and loveable?"
"Graceful, certainly; and, very possible, loveable, to
those who know him."
"Know him!--what more would you know of the
man? You see his beauty and elegance--you
witness his breeding--you listen to his sense and
information--what more is necessary to fall in love
with him?"
"Really, I pretend to no reasoning upon the subject
at all," said Charlotte, smiling; "but if you have
such an intention, indulge in it freely, I beg of you,
for you will not find a rival in me.--But, listen, he is
about to play a solo on his flute."
A man with three hundred thousand dollars may
play a solo, but he never can be alone where there
are any to listen. The hearts of many throb at the
very breathings of wealth through a flute, who
would remain callous to the bitterest sighs of
poverty. But Delafield possessed other attractions
to catch the attention of the audience: his powers
on the instrument greatly exceeded those of any of
his competitors, and his execution was really
wonderful; every tongue was silent, every ear was
attentive, and every head nodded approbation,
excepting that of our heroine. Delafield, perfectly
master of his instrument and the music, fixed his
eye on the countenance of Charlotte, and he
experienced a thrill at his heart as he witnessed her
lovely face smiling approbation, while his fingers
glided over the flute with a rapidity and skill that
produced an astonishing variety and gradation of
sounds. At length, thought he, I have succeeded,
and have made an impression on this charming girl
that is allied to admiration. The idea gave him
spirits for the task, and his performance exceeded
any thing the company had ever witnessed before.
On laying down the instrument, he approached the
place where the friends were sitting, with an
exultation in his eyes that was inferior only to
modesty in the power to captivate.
"Certainly, Mr. Delafield," cried Maria Osgood, "you
have outdone your own outdoings."
"If I have been so fortunate as to please here, then
I am rewarded indeed," said the youth, with a bow
and an expression that rendered it a little doubtful
to which of the ladies the compliment was
addressed. At this instant, George Morton
approached them.
"Mr. Delafield, let me make you acquainted with Mr.
Morton," said Maria, glancing her eye at the former
in a manner that he understood.
"I have great pleasure in taking Mr. Morton by the
hand," said Seymour, "if he will excuse the want of
ceremony in this company. The lesson that you
gave to me yesterday, sir, will not soon be
forgotten."
"In what manner, sir?" inquired George, with a little
embarrassment and a conscious blush.
"In teaching me, among others, Mr. Morton, the
difference between active and passive humanity--
between that which is satisfied with feeling, and
that which prompts to serve."
To this unexpected compliment young Morton could
do no more than bow in silence, for it was too
flattering for a reply--and too true to deny. As
Delafield turned his eye, at a little loss to know
whether to be pleased or not with his own humility,
he met a look from Charlotte that more than
rewarded him for the effort. It was a mild,
benevolent, pure glance, that spoke admiration and
heartfelt pleasure. He forgot his solo, and the
expected compliments; and, for the rest of the
evening, that thrilling expression floated in his
brain, and was present to his thoughts; it was
worth a thousand of the studied glances that were
continually aimed at him from all sides of the room,
and with every variety of eye--from the piercing
black, to the ogling gray. It was a look that came
directly from, and went to, the heart. If young
ladies always knew how nicely nature has qualified
the other sex to judge of their actions, what
multitudes of astonishingly expressive glances, and
artfully contrived gestures and movements, would
sink down into looks, that indicated feelings and
motives, that were adapted to the occasion! What
trouble in creating incidents that might draw out
charms would be avoided! And, in short, how much
extra labour, both of body and mind, would be
spared!
This agreeable contemplation of Mr. Delafield was
soon interrupted by the cheerful voice of Maria
Osgood, who cried--
"Bless me, George, you really do look ill."
"It is seldom that I have much health to boast of,"
replied the youth, in a feeble voice, and with a still
feebler smile.
"But," said Maria, without reflecting, "you look
worse than usual."
There was so much truth in this remark, that the
young man could only smile in silence, while
Seymour, surveying the very plain exterior of his
new acquaintance, turned his eyes with additional
satisfaction towards a mirror that reflected his own
form from head to feet.
"You will not attempt the flute to-night, George?"
said Charlotte.
"I believe I must, or not fulfil my engagement to
Mrs. Osgood."
"Surely," continued Charlotte, in a low tone to her
friend, "George had better not play, looking so ill as
he does."
"Certainly not; besides, his performance would not
shine after that of Mr. Delafield."
Seymour overheard this speech, which was really
intended only for the ear of Charlotte, and he was
instantly seized with an unaccountable desire to
hear the flute of Mr. Morton. Seymour was
conscious that he played well, and could he have
forgotten the indifference that Miss Henly exhibited
to his performance, would have been abundantly
flattered with the encomiums that were lavished on
his skill.
A request from the mistress of the mansion now
compelled George to make his appearance among
the musicians, and in a few minutes his flute was
heard alone. There was a vacancy in the looks of
Charlotte, during the scientific execution of the
different individuals who had been labouring at the
several instruments in the course of the evening,
that denoted a total indifference to the display.
But, the moment that George was called on to take
his part in the entertainment, this restlessness
disappeared, and was succeeded by an expression
of intense interest and deep anxiety. The melody of
George was simple and plaintive; he aimed at no
extraordinary exhibition of skill, and it was difficult
to compare his music with that of Seymour. The
latter, however, studied the countenance of the
young lady near him as the best index to their
comparative merit, and he was soon able to read
his own want of success. For the first few minutes,
anxiety was the principal expression portrayed in
her lovely face, but it was soon succeeded by a
deep and powerful emotion. There is something
contagious in the natural expression of our
passions, that insensibly enlists the sympathies of
the beholder--and Seymour felt a soft melancholy
stealing over him as he gazed, that was but a faint
reflection of the tenderness excited in the breast of
Charlotte, while she listened to sounds that
penetrated to her very soul. There is no mistaking
the effect of music that depends only on its
melody. Its appeal to the heart is direct end
unequivocal, and nothing but callous indifference
can resist its power. The most profound silence
pervaded the apartment, and George was enabled
to finish his piece with a spirit that increased with
the attention. As the last breathing notes died on
the ear, Delafield turned to meet those eyes which
had already secured an unconscious victory, and
saw them moistened with a lustre that added to
their natural softness. Beauty in tears is
proverbially irresistible--and the youth, bending
forward, said in a voice that was modulated to the
stillness of the room--
"Such melody, Miss Henly, captivates the senses."
"Does it not touch the heart?" asked the young
lady, with a little of unusual animation.
"The heart too. But Mr. Morton looks exhausted
after his labours."
All the pleasure which had shone in the
countenance of Charlotte, vanished instantly, and
gave place to deep concern.
"Oh! it is unjustifiable, thus to purchase pleasure at
the expense of another," said she, in a tone that
Seymour scarcely heard.
How tenderly would the man be loved, thought the
youth, who succeeded in engaging the affections of
this young creature! how disinterested is her
regard--and how considerate are her feelings! Here
will I trust my hopes for happiness in this life, and
here will I conquer, or here will I die!
No two persons could possibly be actuated by
sensations more different than Charlotte and
Seymour Delafield. He had been so long palled with
the attentions of managing mothers and designing
daughters; had seen so much of female
manoeuvring, and had so easily seen through it,
that the natural and inartificial loveliness of
Charlotte touched his senses with a freshness of
delicacy that to him was as captivating as it was
novel. Upon unpractised men, the arts of the sex
are often successful, but generally they are allies
that increase the number of the assailants, without
promoting the victory. It is certain that many a fair
one played that evening in order that Mr. Delafield
might applaud; that some sighed that he might
hear, and others ogled that he might sigh: but not
one made the impression that the quiet, speaking
eye, and artless but peaceful nature of Charlotte
produced on the youth. While this novel feeling was
gaining ground in the bosom of Mr. Delafield,
Charlotte saw nothing in her new acquaintance but
a gentleman of extraordinary personal beauty,
agreeable manners, and graceful address--qualities
that are always sure to please, and, not unusually,
to captivate. But to her he was a stranger; and
Charlotte, who never thought or reasoned on the
subject, would have been astonished had one
seriously spoken of her loving him. The road to
conquest with her lay through her heart, and was
but little connected with her imagination.
"Heigho! George," cried Maria, as he approached,
"you have given me the dolefuls."
"And me both pleasure and pain," said Charlotte.
"Why the latter?" asked the youth, quickly.
"Surely it was imprudent in you to play, with such a
cold."
The lip of the youth quivered, and a smile of
mournful and indefinable meaning passed over his
features, but he continued silent.
"It is to be hoped it had one good effect at least,"
continued Maria.
"Such as what?"
"Such as putting the little dears to sleep in the
nursery, which is directly over our heads."
"It is well if I have done that little good," said
George.
"You have brought tears into eyes that never
should weep," cried Delafield, "and melancholy to a
countenance that seems formed by nature to
convey an idea of peaceful content."
Morton looked earnestly at the speaker for a
moment, when a painful feeling seemed suddenly
to seize on his heart--for his cheek grew paler, and
his lip quivered with an agitation that apparently he
could not control. Charlotte alone noticed the
alteration, and, speaking in a low tone, she said--
"Do go home, George; you are far from being well--
to oblige me, go home."
"To oblige you, I would do much more unwelcome
biddings," he replied, with a slight colour; "but I
believe you are right; and, having discharged my
duty here, I will retire."
He rose, and, paying the customary compliments to
the mistress of the mansion, withdrew. With him
disappeared all the awakened interest of Charlotte
in the scene.
In vain was Seymour Delafield attentive, polite, and
even particularly so. That devotedness of
admiration for which so many sighed, and which so
many envied, was entirely thrown away upon
Charlotte. She listened, she bowed, and she
smiled--and, sometimes, she answered; but it was
evidently without meaning or interest, until,
wearied with his fruitless efforts to make an
impression, and perhaps with a hope of exciting a
little jealousy, he turned his attention to her more
lively companion.
"Your mother's nursery, Miss Osgood," he cried,
"ought on such an occasion to be tenantless."
"You think there are enough of us here to make it
so," returned the lady, with an affected sigh.
"I really had not observed the number of your
charming family--how many are there of you?"
"A baker's dozen." Charlotte laughed, and the youth
felt mortified. The laugh was natural, and clearly
extorted, without a thought of himself.
"When you are all married," he said, "you will form
a little world in yourselves."
"When the sky falls we shall catch larks."
{When the sky.... = an old proverb, found in
English, French, and even Latin, meaning that the
idea or proposal is absurd}
"Surely, you intend to marry?"
Maria made no reply, but turned her eyes on
Delafield, with an affected expression of
melancholy that excited another laugh in her friend.
"You certainly have made no rash vow on the
subject," continued Seymour, pretending to a slight
interest in her answer.
"My troth is not yet plighted," said the lady, a little
archly.
"But there is no telling how long it will continue
so."
"I am afraid so--thirteen is a dreadful divisor for a
small family estate."
A general movement in the party was gladly seized
by Charlotte as an excuse to go, and Delafield
handed her to her carriage, with the mortifying
conviction that she was utterly indifferent to every
thing but the civility of the act.