A Contrast [pp. 780-784]

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
781
about the age of Matilda, was the first committed to
her care.
Soon did the widow and her daughter engage the
affections of the scholars, and a great intimacy took
place between Matilda and Clara. The WViltons were
wealthy, and their influence great; yet, notwithstanding their efforts to induce Mrs. Clayton to mingle
with society, she and Matilda remained secluded from
all the gaieties and pleasures of the village. Often
did their acquaintances stroll to the cottage to listen to
their sweet voices as they sung to their instruments;
and never shall I forget the tender tears I shed as I stood
one moonlight evening near the lattice, and heard the
widow play and sing these touching lines:
How hard it is with calmness to survey,
The scenes which memory bringeth to my view;
I fain would drive its spectre f,rms away,
And think ideal, what I know is true.
She brings back scenes of bliss beyond compare,
Recalls the joys which are forever fledI bathe their memory with my bitter tears,
And leave this spot to weep around the dead.
I gaze on thee, my own, my darling childI see " thy father's softened image there;"
And oh! my tears arise to check thy smile,
And bid thee share thy widow'd mother's care.
I've asked not pity, for too cold's this world
To share the sorrows of the suffering poor;
From wealthl's high summit, when the wretch is hurled,
Alone they're left their misery to deplore:
But conscious virtue will our solace bePerhaps we yet some feeling hearts may find
While sweet's the task to teach and succor thee,
My own Matilda, my dear orphan child;
And to our God our evening hymn we'll raise,
For He did hear, when in our wo we cried;
The widow's spouse-the orphan's friend we'll praise,
And dry our tears in hopes of bliss on high.
Even now I almost fancy I can hear her sweet tremulous voice, as it rose on the silent evening breeze, and
still I seem to gaze on that lovely, though pallid face, as
with tearful uplifted eye she sang those last lines of tender heart-touching piety and faith. But I have wandered from my narrative. Years rolled by, and still the widow's school increased, and with it love and respect for
her and her daughter. Clara Wilton had been the constant companion of the latter for near three years, and
her proficiency in both solid and ornamental branches of
education should have satisfied even her ambitious parents. But the fashionable error that a young lady's
education could never be completed at home, had found
its way here, and Clara, with others, was removed
firom Mrs. Clayton's maternal care, to mix with strangers, careless of their principles, and uninterested in
their happiness.
You, who have known the course pursued in fashionable boarding schoo!s-you vwho have seen the disappointed hopes-the perverted minds-the corrupted
hearts whlich have been the result of injudicious plans
of education, will not wonder when I tell you that the
artless, affectionate Clara returned home, after two
years polish, an altered, a sadly altered being. Matilda
was now assisting her mother in the duties of the schoolroom. That budding beauty which in childhood charmed, was mellowed, refined, by the graces and dignity of
the woman. That quiet spirit, whose benign influence
had been felt by so many in the morning of life, now
shed its purifyiing influence in a more extended circle.
Matilda was admired-beloved. Many sought her so ciety-she treated all with that amiable politeness
which springs from a pure heart: but few could gain her
confidence or tempt her from that deep retirement she
had learned to love.
Clara still loved Matilda. Though fashion, folly,
show and pleasure had filled her mind, still she often
left the bustle of gay life, to spend an hour in that quiet,
lovely spot, where she had spent her happiest days.
Often did she strive to enlist Matilda under the banniers
of her leading pleasures, but she strove in vain. When
crossed or afflicted at any real or imaginary loss, she
told her the troubles that annoyed her; and often did
Matilda point out the transitory nature of her favorite
joys, and point her unsatisfied heart to the only foun
tain of perfect bliss.
Clara had many admirers, and frequently had the cot tage been visited in her evening rambles by her and
her friends, to listen to the elegant performance of its
inmates, while Clara often joined the concert with her
own clear and highly cultivated voice.
Among the number who had thus become known to
Matilda, was James Williams, long an ardent admirer
and evident favorite of Miss Wilton's.
Long had he solicited her hand, but she would not
decide his fitte. Almost constantly with her, he had
imagined her necessary to his happiness, and so long
had been kept in a feverish excitement of love, and
hope, and doubt, that he scarcely cared to have his case
permanently fixed. Believing himself beloved, he rather enjoyed than dislikled her frequent changes of de.
portment towards him, and had not yet learned that
there was a deep and holy feeling meant by love, that
he had never yet enjoyed.
But he saw Matilda. Again and again he repaired
to the cottage, and ere he knew that he was in danger, he found himself completely enslaved by the artless, lovely manners, and rich and highly cultivated
mind of her who never thought of conquest. But he
was shackled, and how to break his bonds he knew
not. Only one means presented itself, and that was to
urge Clara to a decided and imnediate step relative to
him. She, unsuspecting his motive, and believing his
happiness in her power, rejected him, vainly expecting
to hear renewed declarations of affection, and to witness
a sorrow and despair which she would, ere long, turn
into hope and gladness.
But, like the captive bird, who after weeks of imprisonment finds the door of his cage unbarred, he exulted
in his newly gaitned liberty, and with delightful speed
burst asunder every tie that bound him to his captor,
and sought again those joys which he had feared were
lost to him forever. Clara loved him, if the heart of a
ay unthinking girl could love. Little had she dreamed
that in the lowly Matilda she could find a rival, and that
too, in the only heart whose worship she had ever really
valued. But in his speaking countenance she read that
her rejection gave no pain, nor was she long in discovering the cause of his alienated affections. Clara was
now awoke from more sleeps than one-she had awoke
toiom confidence in love, to prove that she had been bewildered with an igaisfatlus; her feelings of resentment,
envy and revenge, which had slumbered so long, werenow aroused and glowed with the intensity of a long
smothered flame.
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