Part 5

It was a bright and beautiful summer evening. All nature seemed to speak the language of peace and joy; the birds warbled in the groves, the gentle breezes sported among the lofty trees, and all objects wore the soothing aspect of that benevolent spirit who had spread them before the eye of man. While indulging the pleasing sensations which scenes like this never fail to inspire, my attention was directed to an elegant mansion situated on the opposite hill, and my companion asked whether I had ever heard the history of its present inmates. To my reply in the negative, he remarked, that being personally acquainted with the family, and knowing their history, he would relate it, aware of the deep interest I felt in every thing which bore any relation to the subject, to which the narrative will afford a sufficient clue.

In the summer of 1824, Mrs. Loraine removed to this neighborhood with two children, a son and a daughter; the former twelve, the latter ten years of age. Her husband alike distinguished for talents and humanity in his medical profession as well as social relations, had died during the previous autumn in New Orleans, where he had removed shortly after his marriage with Miss Allen, who was adorned with the virtues and graces which are requisite to make the amiable wife, the prudent mother, and valuable friend. Deeply affected at the loss of a husband tenderly and deservedly beloved, and being herself a native of Virginia, and having relations in this county she resolved to remove to her native spot; preferring the retirement of the country to the gaieties of a city, not only on her own account, but also on that of her children. A young lady who had been for several years the instructress of her two children, agreed to accompany her and continue their education till such time as it might seem advisable to employ more extended means of instruction for one or both. In Miss Medway were happily blended a strong and energetic mind, a correct judgment and taste, affectionate heart, polished manners, and an education liberal and elegant. Born to high expectations, reared in the lap of wealth and indulgence, _loving_ and _beloved_, a cruel tide of misfortune deprived her of all, and threw her at the age of nineteen, poor and dependant, on a cold and unfeeling world. But why descend to particulars which intercept the thread of our narrative? Of her much remains to be told, which you yet will hear, but for the present let it suffice to say, that in this state of sorrow Dr. Loraine became her friend and bountiful benefactor. At this retired and beautiful spot, the minds of William and Lavinia were not only expanded by the faithful care of their mother and tutoress in literature, but in the richer and far more valuable lessons of virtue, which were daily enforced by precept and example. Six years rolled round, and found little change in the domestic circle. William was now eighteen, and his mother determined to enter him the ensuing session at the college of ----, in order to prepare him for the study of that profession in which his father had excelled, and for which he seemed peculiarly adapted by the tender benevolence of his heart, and the discriminating powers of his mind. In William Loraine were strangely blended the softness and gentleness of woman, with the noble firmness and independence of man. Beloved by all who knew him, and reared up in the precincts of his mother's influence, it was not unreasonable to believe that he had grown sufficiently strong in the theory and practice of virtue, to stand uncontaminated, among the vices and follies of a collegiate life. But alas! how often is the morning which dawned in cloudless beauty soon succeeded by storm and tempest; and the bud which promised beauty and fragrance, withered ere it expands to maturity: and how often, thus linger on the bright visions of fancy and hope, while before us lie the sad realities of life.

With many tears, and tender caresses, and regrets, William left his peaceful happy home, to mix with strangers in a distant state. Deeply did he feel the trial, and while his mother's tender and ardent benediction and admonitions sounded in his ear, the tear of love and promised obedience trickled down his manly cheek. Soon after his introduction to the beings with whom he was to associate, he resolved to watch for awhile the conduct of all the students, and choose for his friend that youth whose feelings and conduct most nearly accorded with his own views and intentions. Nor did he wait long ere he found an object to love and confide in. There is in the heart of all a desire for friendship which nothing can satisfy but the belief that it is possessed. Various are the properties which may lead to a selection of the object in different minds, but congeniality in some respects is almost indispensable to the formation of friendship. James Drayton, of South Carolina, seemed to the confiding heart of William, the very being he had sought. In James Drayton was presented a union of the most opposite traits of character, yet so blended as to almost add effect and interest to each other. Singularly handsome, of polished and elegant manners--of a gay disposition, but a deeply reserved and shrewd mind--generous to a fault, and possessing every facility for the gratification of every wish--ardent but injudicious in attachments, and above all of a memory which required no exertion to make a conspicuous figure in his studies, he was at once beloved, envied, flattered, and caressed. In such a being the innocent heart of William confided, and to imitate him and gain his affection, constituted his great delight. Nor were his affections unreturned. Drayton loved him with a passion at once impetuous and sincere. Pleasures were but half enjoyed when William Loraine was not a participant, while his presence rendered pleasant scenes otherwise unpleasing. Twelve months rolled round and found their hearts fondly united, not only by scenes of profitable research and benevolent acts, but also by the baneful yet fascinating pleasures of wildness and dissipation. The regular examination which as usual concluded the collegiate year, was to them a time of real and almost unalloyed pleasure. Distinguished in their various studies, and improved by their teachers for moral deportment and dutiful demeanor, generally beloved by their companions, few youths seemed to enjoy a more enviable lot. It was determined that James should accompany William to Virginia, to spend the vacation at Roseville, with his friends and relations. Accordingly the day after the close of their examination, they took seats in the stage, and in about eight days arrived at the lovely spot. In silence we pass the meeting scene, and all the usual events which mark such periods, the welcome given the friend of their William, and the joy felt by all who knew the amiable inmates, at again seeing him among his friends. Time had dealt bountifully with Lavinia, and to the eye of her brother, every day had added to her charms, since they parted.

James saw her with admiration and delight. True she was young, being little over sixteen, but to the playful innocence of the child, was added the grace and dignity of manners, befitting the woman. She was not strictly beautiful, yet a spell seemed thrown around her, that insensibly drew the hearts of all who lingered in her presence. Tall and elegantly formed, her dark brown hair hung in natural ringlets on her white neck, the rose and lily mingled their choicest tints on her cheek, while her full dark eye spoke the strong and polished mind, the soft and innocent heart that illuminated it. Her features were not what the connoisseur would term unexceptionable, while the less critical observer would almost declare them perfect. Such was the _person_ of Lavinia: but who can paint the endowments of her heart and mind? the casket was indeed pleasingly garnished, but the jewel within was of transcendent brightness. To the enthusiastic mind of Drayton, she was a being of unearthly mould; and while he almost gave to her his adoration, it was blended with a serious awe. In Lavinia Loraine he beheld a christian, and while he loved the woman he feared to approach what he deemed the saint. We have said Drayton was wild and dissipated: but it was not that grosser kind of dissipation which is visible and disliked by all. He loved the social card table and glass--the night spent in folly and mirth--but morning found him in the path of the gentleman, pure in honor, and unstained in truth.

William too loved the pleasures of his friend, and though he dipped deep in the gilded pool that allured him to its banks, he found it bitterness in the end. His mother's tender admonitions sounded in his ears--his sister's kind counsels, and the earnest appeals of his beloved friend Miss Medway, turned every cup to gall. Yet still he went on, and vainly hoped to find a solace in the thought, that to them he was a moral and religious youth. Two months flew on rapid wing, and the two young men were again to return to the college.

With many swelling emotions William left the maternal roof, and with many tender regrets bade adieu to the friends who had welcomed him to their mansion. But James felt what his proud soul could not own even to itself. He felt he left his heart with one who gave only friendship in return; whom he must honor and adore, feeling he could never be beloved, and for once the thought of his unworthiness of such a being darted with painful sensations through his heart. He knew he was not what the pure and pious mind of Lavinia would choose for a companion, and feeling his inferiority he had not dared to breathe his flame. Sadly he entered the halls he lately left, the gayest of the gay--coldly he received the greetings of his collegiates, and with loathing opened the learned volume it was his duty to explore. Even to William he was altered. He avoided his presence as though it conjured up some phantom to torment. Grieved at this change, William sought some means to draw from him the cause of his altered appearance and manner, but sought in vain. Six months at length passed by, and he gradually began to assume his former self. Again William was his favorite companion, and again they mingled in the same seductive joys. Gradually intemperance was seizing upon them, and in like manner they were becoming dead to the ennobling feelings of the heart.

The next vacation came. They still wore a mask that few could penetrate: again honors were awarded them, and William was now to accompany his friend to South Carolina. James welcomed him with feasts and revelry: his parents poured out the richest allurements to joy and indulgence. He seemed to be in Elysian fields, and almost forgot the quiet and rational delights of his own home. Splendid profusion marked the whole domain, while races, balls, and the like amusements filled up every hour.

Yet even here could _James_ find room for ennui. He would sometimes stroll away from all, and seem lost in a deep and painful reverie. He appeared to enjoy few of the objects around them, and although he loved his parents, he avoided their presence, as though he dreaded to meet their scrutiny. With pleasure he welcomed the day that he was to be again seated among his books and papers--not that he delighted in their pages, but they drew his mind from other thoughts.

In six months the two young men were to complete their course, and James resolved then to visit Roseville again, and see the object of his ardent love. Their course is finished--they went together--and once more the heart of Drayton felt a gleam of joy. He saw Lavinia more beautiful than ever, and fondly fancied she was less indifferent; but he was still unhappy--he felt that he had been unworthy of her--that he had been seducing the heart of her brother from the path of piety she trod--and that he was endeavoring, by deep dissimulation, to win a being free from guile, and who knew vice but to detest it. Lavinia saw her William changed. She heard the unguarded expressions of profanity that sometimes escaped his lips; she saw him disposed to leave the family hearth, and go she knew not whither--yet feared to ask; she saw the smile of contempt that curled his lip when religion was the theme of conversation; nor could she fail to see that the society of his family was a painful restraint.

Young Drayton, deeply skilled in dissimulation, had as yet retained the esteem of Mrs. Loraine and Miss Medway, while the heart of Lavinia had owned his fascinating power. He saw he was not to her an object of indifference. The glowing cheek and downcast eye, when _he_ approached her, he could not fail to understand. Six weeks he remained at Roseville, ere he dared to breath to Lavinia the love that glowed in his bosom. One lovely evening, after a long conflict between inclination, hope and fear, he determined to pour out his heart, and hear from her own lips that doom which would either seal his weal or woe. According to his determination, he proposed a walk on the banks of the river, to which she reluctantly acceded. He then informed her of the ardor of his affection, and urged his suit with such address, that the heart of Lavinia almost resisted the voice of prudence and duty. But the conflict was to be but short, as the impetuous youth would hear of no postponement. Lavinia discarded him; but not without candidly acknowledging, that his want of true morality, proper sobriety and religion, (facts long suspected, but recently ascertained beyond a doubt,) had induced her to relinquish the hand of the only man she had ever loved. In vain he attempted to shake her resolution; and the next morning's sun rose not, till he was far from the hitherto happy Roseville.

When Lavinia arose, she was handed the following note:

"_Lavinia!_--A fond, a long, an eternal adieu. I leave you, and with you, all I ever valued or loved. I go where none will know my sorrow or my shame. Lost to all that made my life desirable, I go--where--it matters not what I may become. May you be happy, if the thoughts of my misery will allow it. _You_ deserve it--_you_ are virtuous; but as for me, I am only left to drink _that cup_ of misery which a life of dissipation never fails to prepare for its votaries. Your brother's principles I have corrupted; and, wretch that I was, who have madly sought to unite an angel to a demon. Oh! Lavinia, I deserved you not. You are born to bless, and to be blessed--and I, alas! to curse, and to be cursed. _Farewell_--again _farewell!_--but know, that while life and memory last, you will be dear to the heart of the wretched

JAMES DRAYTON."

The heart of Lavinia bled over every line of that impassioned note. She saw her brother changed from what he once had been--her mother's cheek pallid--and the fond friend and instructress of her youth sharing the sorrows of all.

Four years rolling round, brought to her many admirers--but to her they talked of love in vain. William had married a lovely, wealthy girl--but was bowing her happy spirit by his folly and extravagance. Her mother was gradually sinking; and but for the stay of religion, _she_ too would have sunk under the pressure of her sorrows--but he whose promises she trusted, never forsook those who lean on his almighty arm. Renowned for piety and benevolence, beloved, admired, she moved around the circle of her acquaintance like a spirit of light and peace. But her youthful attachment haunted her riper years--of James no tidings had been heard--vain had proved her numerous endeavors to learn his fate. She was one day alone, when a young man of fine appearance knocked at the door. She arose and admitted him, when he asked if she had ever known a Mr. Drayton. To her reply in the affirmative, he arose and presented her the following letter, which she no sooner took, than bowing, he wished her a happy evening, and withdrew. Hastily she broke the seal, and read as follows:

"Will Lavinia now remember him whom once she knew, and who gave to her the only sincere portion of his nature which he possessed? Does she remember him whose follies and vices removed him from her and happiness? Yes, she cannot have forgotten the once wretched, but now comparatively happy Drayton. But you shall know what I owe you, and though I may be disregarded, you will joy that you have saved a being from misery and disgrace. But to my narrative.

"The day I left you, I resolved to join some lawless band, and strike your heart with sorrow by your hearing of my crimes. But the thought of your piety and virtue, were like a mountain between me and crime. I went from place to place, but found no peace. Home I dreaded to approach; but after three months of wandering, determined again to behold my parents, and fix on some course of conduct. I went--my father was on his death-bed. His illness was augmented by anxiety for my return, as he had not heard from me since I left Roseville. I received his dying blessing; and in less than two months my mother lay beside him. Watching and grief had been too much, and perhaps the folly of her son added another mortal wound. I was now left sole master of about fifty thousand dollars, and with it a heart almost lost to virtue. I sold out my lands, &c., vested nearly all the amount in stock, and embarked for the Indies, determined to see my native land no more. Tossed on the wide ocean, I was surrounded by ten thousand dangers, more lawless in feeling than the billows around, beneath, above me. I cared for nothing--regarded nothing--and often hoped to find a watery grave. A storm arose--we were shipwrecked--and the near approach of death brought with it the instinctive love of life. A vessel bound to England spied out the wreck; a few only had clung to its ruins. I was taken on board, and after a voyage of a few days was landed at Liverpool. I was then an altered man; five days of hunger, cold and suffering had brought me to reason. I had thought of what had caused all the woes I then endured. I thought of Roseville, and of you--of my native land, and all it once contained; _they_ were, I felt, lost to me, and I sunk into despair. On board the English vessel I had found a pious Quaker and his family. I now longed again to behold them. Having sought them in vain in Liverpool, I advertised for tidings of them; and hearing they were in London, I went thither and found them. They received me like a child, and to them I related my history and my misery. They pointed out to me the only means of present and future happiness. I thought of you, Lavinia, and of your frequent, modest and affectionate exhortations to your brother and myself, to seek the pearl of matchless price. I resolved to strive to win the smile of heaven, and to give up all on earth.

"America I never expected again to behold, but the joys of religion to seek till life was o'er. Yes, often in the anguish of despair, I recollected some passage you had marked in the Bible I took as I left the house at Roseville for the last time. It lay on your work-table; I knew you loved it--I took it to give you a pang. I read it to cavil--to disbelieve. I was tempted to burn it; but it had been yours, and I could not give it up. In the horrors of the storm, I kept it near my heart. It raised my hopes--for I felt that though I had despised its truths, _they_ were still immutable. Even now I have it--dear, precious volume. But I have wandered from my narrative.

"After many months of struggling--sometimes for truth, then to forget it--I at length gave up all as lost, and in anguish sought my friend. He bade me look to him who alone could save. I looked with faith--I seized the promises--I was blessed. Yes, Lavinia, I felt what was worth a world. I immediately resolved to engage in business, and not return to America, till I had tested the truth of my present feelings. I entered into a life of activity. I read and grew in knowledge, and I trust in grace. I thought of you, but feared to trust my heart. You had been, and might be again its idol. I resolved to tear it from the throne I had vowed to give to God. But I could not forget. Three years had at length rolled round since we had parted. You were, I doubted not, another's. But for me, I could not love again. I consulted my friend, who had returned to America, as to what course I should take. He advised me to return. Of my fortune I had not heard; but I was able to defray the expenses of my voyage. I left London; four months ago I landed in New York. From thence I went to Philadelphia--remained a month with the Quakers--thence to South Carolina, and was joyfully received by all except the 'nearest of kin.' Of you I could hear nothing. William I heard was married, and wild enough. I sent my friend Mr. Alston to Virginia. He heard you were single--saw you at church--heard the whole history of your family. He wrote me; I came to ----. He is the bearer of this. I there await an answer, saying whether or not you will again behold your ever faithful

J. DRAYTON."

Immediately after she concluded this interesting epistle, she poured out her heart in praise to God for preserving and reclaiming him for whom she had so often wept and prayed, and whom she had loved with unaltered fervor. She then hastened to communicate the glad tidings to her mother and Miss Medway, and to despatch a servant to the village to bring to Roseville the still dear Drayton. He came. Again he beheld the being he so long had loved. Again he saw William, and exercised his former influence--but in a holier channel. You can imagine the scene--the mutual relations--the ensuing courtship, and the result. Yes, my friend, Lavinia is the wife of Drayton. His large fortune is now useful in acts of pious benevolence and zeal. His fine talents are employed in dispensing good; his fascinating manners in winning others to admire that which made him what he is. William Loraine is snatched from ruin. His amiable mother is again blessed with duteous and devoted children. And whence the mighty change? In this simple narrative stands forth in glowing colors the truth of that maxim, that the influence of the female sex is great, when enlisted either on the side of virtue or of vice. Had Lavinia been less prudent and pious, how great would have been the contrast; and amidst all the blessings that have attended her through life, none diffuse such thrills of rapture through her grateful, peaceful heart, as when reflecting on the history of him, to whom is not inaptly applied the title of "The Reclaimed."

The evening was far spent. My friend and myself bade each other adieu, to return to our respective homes--but not without his promising at some future day to inform me of the history of that young lady, to whose eventful life he had briefly hinted. Ruminating on the moral of the narrative, I could but deplore that the fair sex of our state did not more nearly resemble Lavinia--refuse to unite their destinies with the slaves of dissipated pleasure, and thereby reclaim from vice thousands of her victims.

PAULINA.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THIS OCEAN.

I've stood and watch'd the inconstant Ocean's wave, Till it within my mind has grown to life, And when the hoarse, loud storm did wildly rave, I've loved the dashing, boisterous, foaming strife; And when the angry tempest died away, I've gazed upon its bright unruffled breast, Till my responsive soul in quiet lay, Just like the scene it view'd--so calm--so blest.

Wide Ocean! I have mark'd thy silvery sheen, And when the dark cloud frown'd upon thy face, I've felt my soul expanding with the scene, And glowing with thy bright enchanting grace; But when I think that thy proud billows heave Between ten thousand hearts that once have twined, And still to their lost friends would fondly cleave, A pensive sadness steals upon my mind.