Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

Now Miss Newton was too observant a person not to remark all this; and before she had passed one week in this family, any impartial by-stander would have seen for which of these girls she felt the most esteem. But poor Maria was so blinded by self-love that she could not persuade herself but that, in return for all her lavish professions of regard, so far surpassing those of her sister, she must give preference to herself: still she wished for some unequivocal assurance of this preference; and the day before Miss Newton was to take her departure, being alone with her in the garden, she endeavored to introduce the subject. Finding, however, that no distant, nor even broad hint would be taken, she said, at length, "Dear cousin, there is one question I should so like to ask you?"

COUSIN. Well, if it is a proper question, ask it. MARIA. I don't know whether you will think it a proper question quite; but I feel so anxious about it that I must tell you:-it is, that I should so very much like to know, for a particular reason, which you like best, Susan or me?

COUSIN. I must first tell you, that I do not think that a proper question; and I advise you to drop it at once; however, I shall give you your choice: if you still desire it, I will answer it; but observe, I advise you not.

MARIA. Ah! well do answer it, however.

COUSIN. Well, then, I love Susan the best.

Maria looked up, to see if she was serious; and expecting some satisfactory explanation, she repeated, "Susan!”

COUSIN. Yes, Susan.

Hereupon Maria hastily withdrawing her arm from her cousin's, hid her face in her hands, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping: she cried violently, a long time, expecting at every fresh burst, that her cousin would say something consolatory instead of which, she only walked quietly by her side, without uttering a word.

At last, in a sullen and broken voice, Maria began "Well, it is hard, after all that I have felt; I little thought of this;-it is hard-it is very."

COUSIN. It is no fault of mine, my dear; did not I advise you not to put the question?

MARIA. Ah, but I mean it is hard that you should-that you should not love me as well, at least-Oh! oh! oh! (sobbing.)

COUSIN. But that is not my fault either; I cannot help it.

Here Maria wept more violently than before.

COUSIN. My dear, I am very sorry to have hurt you; but you know I was obliged to tell the truth. There is not time now to enter further upon the subject; but I promise that when I return home, I will write you a long letter, and explain to you why I love Susan the best. In the meantime, I must say, that I do love you, Maria, though not

quite so well as I hope to do when we meet again.

Maria was a little comforted by this assurance, and by the promise of a letter from her cousin, which (unless any thing unforeseen prevents) she intends her to receive on the first of March.

[blocks in formation]

ALTHOUGH I should be sorry to lose the regard which you have kindly expressed towards me, I have determined, in fulfilling my late promise, to put aside all selfish considerations, and at the hazard of being thought unkind and ungrateful, to give you my thoughts very faithfully. To prevent all disappointment, therefore, I think it best to apprize you at the outset, that this letter will not contain a single compliment; nor any consolatory explanation of my answer to your question; for this would be doing you a real injury for the sake of a little present comfort. It is, on the contrary, my intention, as far as my observation extends, and as far as the difference in our ages may warrant, 'to speak more in the character of your conscience, than of your cousin.

It is of little consequence, my dear, whether a solitary individual (with whom you will probably have little future intercourse) it is of very little consequence, whether, or in what degree I may esteem and love you: but it is of great consequence, to yourself, that you should become worthy of esteem and affection; and therefore I shall not, to save myself and you a little present pain, withhold any observation that may tend to your future and permanent advantage.

It

I promised to tell you why I love Susan the best; and I can do this in a very few words. is because she appears to me to be more amiable than you. It may be, that you will not consider this a sufficient reason: supposing, that in return for the many obliging things you said and did for me I ought to feel an equal or superior degree of regard for you. But this would arise from a great yet common mistake as to the nature of affection: as though it were a thing as voluntary in its exercise, as much in our power to give and to withhold, as money or service. There is nothing more unreasonable than to accuse persons of ingratitude for not loving us so much as we desire. Yet instances of this may be frequently observed. Most people feel the wish of being beloved: and in order to obtain their object it often happens that persons of selfish dispositions, of harsh, morose and tyrannical tempers, feeling the desolateness of living without affection, en

deavor by large benefactions, and a succession of costly favors, to bribe the love of some individual. Not considering, that half the pains taken to subdue an evil temper, one real sacrifice of their own will or convenience for the other's happiness, would do more towards inspiring true affection than thousands of gold and silver. In such a case, gratitude requires the obliged party to show all due respect and to do all the service in his power: but it cannot require what is out of his power-that is, to love an unamiable person.

There is indeed a great deal of ingratitude, and a great deal of injustice and misapprehension in the world; and yet, love is a thing so discriminating, so free in its choice, so incapable of purchase, bribe, or bondage, that I believe it is very rarely, if ever permanently misplaced; or finally withheld where it is really merited. True affection as naturally flows towards the excellent and amiable, and as naturally avoids the mean, the selfish, the ill-natured, as water, escaping from the harsh and rugged rock, rests not till it reposes in the flowery bosom of the valley. We do, indeed, sometimes see ill-judging people lavishing their admiration on persons of superficial virtues and great professions; but in the sequel even these will be compelled to own their mistake, and acknowledge the superior worth of the modest, unpretending, consistent, benevolent character.

[blocks in formation]
« ForrigeFortsæt »