Sensibility [pp. 79-87]

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
leave their native land, and come here among strangers,
where no one cares for them, to endure such misery?"
"To get rid of greater misery at home, cousin
Alice!" said Montague.
" 0, they are much to be pitied, poor creatures!"said Alice; "but there are such hordes of them, that
it is impossible to afford them effectual relief."
Montague said no more, as he found that the Tmpathetic cord in his cousin's heart was not touched. He
just cast his eyes on Margarette, who was sitting, busily
at work, in a recess at the opposite end of the room, to
see if her compassion was awakened: but she was
diligently plying her needle,-and but for the motion of
her hand, he thought she looked exceedingly as if she
were made of stone! "Heartless! unfeeling!" he
thought, and almost murmured, as he arose and precipitately took leave.
The day next but one, Montague was again at Mr.
Claremont's. Neither of the young ladies mentioned
the Delantys; for Alice was wholly engrossed iln a new
novel,-and Montague concluded that Margarette had
not even heard that there were any such people. But
his own heart was too full of them, not to speak of
their situation.
"Cousin Alice," said he, " you arc do compassionate
that I wonder you do not ask after the welfare of the
poor Irish family."
"0, poor creatures! how are they? I have thought of
them several times since you were here, and wished
they had stayed in their own country, among their own
friends, that they might be properly looked after. Have
you seen them since you were here last, cousin Hubert?"
"Yes-yesterday, and again this morning."
"And how are they?"
"The children are somewhat better, but the mother
still very ill. The family, however, together, are more
comfortable than when I first saw them. Some young
lady has kindly visited them, and not only in some
measure relieved their pressing necessities, but given
judicious and salutary advice to the daughter about the
management of their affairs. When they described her
to me, I felt a hope that it was you, cousin Alice."
" O no, Hubert, I could not go-such a scene of suffering would have shaken me all to pieces. Really I
do not think I could bear it! But how did theydescribe
the young lady?"
"As neither tall nor short, with a beautiful face, and
a'raal Irish heart'-kind as an angel!" said Hubert,and he glanced his eyes toward Margarette, to ascertain
if there were any look of consciousness in the expression of her face; but she was looking over the morning
paper, and at that moment exclaimed "Dunlap and Miss Reed are married, Alice."
"How could I, even for a moment, suspect it might
be her?" thought Montague. "She cares no more for
them than if they were reptiles!"
" Who could it be, cousin Hubert?" asked Alice.
"Did you not ask them if they knew her name?"
"I did-but they knew nothing of her but her kindness, of which they could not say enough. She even
made the bed, with her own hands, and put fresh linen
upon it, which she brought with her for the purpose,
for the sick mother, who told me of it with tears of
gratitude in her eyes."
"Well indeed she might!" cried Alice. "Think of
what an office for a young lady!-such a combination
of disease and filthiness! If I hear of any young lady
in town, sick of a fever, I shall at once know who was
Mrs. Delanty's nurse."
"May Heaven preserve her health," said Montague
with fervor. "Persons of less active kindness could
much better be spared; and the community would suffer little loss, were they laid on a bed of sickness."
"Very true," said Alice. "Yet there are very few,
who can with propriety be called young ladies, who are
capable of rendering such services. One mnight be ready
to relieve suffering if it existed under less disgusting
circumstances; but for a delicate female to encounter
such dirt, and disease, and poverty at once, is too
much!"
"Firm principle, a truly feeling heart, and a selfdenying spirit, could alone enable a delicate woman to
do it," said Montague,-"and these could!" He looked
around to ascertain whether Margarette had really left
the room, and then added-" And pardon me, my dearest cousin, if I suggest to you, that would you strive to
conquer that extreme sensibility, which makes you
shrink from scenes of suffering, and constrain yourself
to witness and relieve distress, in your own person, you
would render yourself, at once, far more happy and
useful, if not more interesting. /ctive benevolence is one
great secret of happiness." At this moment Mr. Claremont entered the room; the conversation turned to other
subjects, and Montague soon took leave.
Mr. Gordon had not kept himself aloof from Mr.
Claremont's, during this period; on the contrary, he
had called frequently-as frequently as he dared, and
reconnoitred to the best of his ability to ascertain the
vulnerable part of Margarette's character, while he had
brought all his small arms into successive requisition.
His first and most natural effort w as by fiattery,-by
which it is said all women may be subdued; and perhaps they may, and all men too, provided it be of the
right kind, and administered in' the right manner. But
here Mr. Gordon completely failed. He was too gross;
his colors were too glaring; there was no soft shading
away,-nothing to touch the heart, through the medium
of a refined taste; and Gordon found, though he knew
not why, that he excited disgust instead of pleasure.
He wondered that what he had ever found so efficacious
with other young ladies-what would have caused the
cheek of Alice to glow, and her eye to sparkle, was so
powerless here. "I said she was a new variety of the
species," thought he, "and I must try again." And he
did try again-first by doing her silent homage,breathing near her ear the deep-drawn sigh, and casting
upon her the look of warmn admir ation and deep interest.
But he soon closed his pantomime, as Margarette heeded
not, even if she heard his sighs; and his impassioned
glances were completely thrown away, as they rarely
met her eye,-and when they did, seemed not to be understood. The next attempt was to aid in gratifying
her in her favorite recreations, and in the indulgence of
her taste. "Was Miss Claremont fond of prints?"
"Particularly so." "He was very happy! He had a
choice collection-and would fetch over his portfolio for
her examination." "Was there any book in his library
that Miss Claremont would like to read? He had the
most approved editions of all modern authors, and it
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