University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
FRIENDS FROM THE SOUTH.

About this time, Mr. Romilly was visited by a sister,
whom he had not seen for nearly twenty years.

This lady, for reasons which the reader will ultimately
discover, must be introduced somewhat particularly. She
was the only daughter of her parents, and in her youth
a celebrated beauty; two very unfortunate circumstances
for the happiness of a woman. An only daughter is
sure to be humored by her family; a beautiful girl will
be flattered by her admirers; either of these is sufficient
to turn a young and giddy brain, and requires to be
counteracted by good sense and a strictly judicious education,
or the object of such attentions will be pert and
vain while they are continued, peevish and unreasonable
when they are withdrawn.

Those who have the superintendance of young girls,
cannot too often nor too forcibly impress on their tender
minds, those lessons of prudence, forbearance and humility,
which the world is sure, sooner or later, to force
upon them. The art of self-government is indispensable
to woman's felicity.

But Miss Lydia Romilly was never taught this lesson
beneath the paternal roof. All there was subservient to
her wishes or whims; and it was the common saying of
the neighborhood, that she ruled the whole family. Yet
she was neither ill-natured nor passionate; her greatest
fault was that self-estimation which made her imagine

her own happiness ought to be the first consideration with
all who approached her.

Lovers without number bowed before this rural belle,
and at length she did what few belles ever do, bestowed
her affections on one of the most worthy. He was not
rich, but possessed what is preferable, industry to acquire
wealth, and capacity to preserve it; good health, good
habits, and good morals; but (the truth must be told) it
was not to those requisites he was indebted for the favor
of Miss Lydia, but to his manly form and fine face, which,
when set off by a handsome military dress, (he was a
militia captain) she declared was quite irresistible. She
loved him, however, as sincerely as one whose standard
of reference was ever self, could love another; and her
parents willingly sanctioned her choice, though they
would have been better pleased could Reuben Porter
have added one round 0 to the sum total of his fortune.

But the match was settled. Reuben, who already
owned a farm, set about building a house, and old Mrs.
Romilly, full of bustling importance, began in earnest to
prepare her daughter's furniture.

While these operations were going on, Lydia took an
opportunity of visiting an acquaintance who resided in
Boston. She was induced to go partly to see the capital,
but more especially to procure her wedding dress and
ornaments in a style superior to what the country afforded.
She was determined her wedding should be the most
splendid her native town ever witnessed.

While in Boston, she was, at a party, introduced to a
young gentleman by the name of Brainard; he was from
South Carolina, reputed immensely rich—as all southern
people are—he was highly accomplished, and was, of
course, very much caressed in the polite circles of the
metropolis. Although he had been heard to declare he
felt himself perfectly impenetrable to female charms, in
a climate where the arrows of Cupid must, at least two-thirds
of the year, be tipped with frost, yet at first sight
he fell deeply in love with Miss Romilly.

He was informed of her engagement; yet considering

a Yankee rival as no very formidable obstacle to his success,
he did not hesitate to declare his passion. He was
not half as handsome as her plighted swain, but he was
far more fashionably dressed, and had that air of easy
elegance and winning confidence in his deportment, which
can only be acquired by mixing much with good company,
and seeing what is called the world.

These accomplishments could not fail of making some
impression on a girl of nineteen, who, notwithstanding
her engagement, still felt at liberty to do as she had ever
done, consult her own feelings only. Still in her heart
she preferred Reuben; but she wished him to know what
a fine gentleman her charms had captivated; and this
female vanity of seeking to multiply admirers, made her,
at last, yield to the importunities of Mr. Brainard, and
consent he should accompany her home.

The town of S— was instantly in an uproar. A
proud beauty must never expect friends among her own
sex. It requires the utmost suavity of manners on the
part of a handsome girl, to make the less favored ones
tolerate the superiority which nature has bestowed.

But Miss Lydia Romilly had always carried a very
high head, and sure of gaining lovers, had taken no
pains to attach friends, or conciliate enemies. Fortunate
circumstances more than her own prudence had
hitherto prevented her giving much cause for censure;
but an opportunity was now presented which nearly all
seemed willing to improve.

Mothers harangued their daughters on the monstrous
wickedness of thus trifling with a solemn engagement,
always concluding with the observation that “Lydia
Romilly would never prosper.”

The young ladies affected to hold her conduct in the
utmost abhorrence; while the young men, who had
nearly all bowed to Lydia, felt chagrined and enraged,
that the girl, whom they had so eagerly and vainly
sought, should be thus easily won by a stranger.

To Reuben Porter the intelligence of her levity was
speedily conveyed; no less than fourteen of his very

kind friends contriving, in the course of two days, to inform
him of the whole transaction, condole with him on
the disappointment of his hopes, and offer him all the
counsels of their wisdom and experience. Two opposite
modes of procedure were, by his lady friends, recommended
in the case. One was, to abandon Lydia immediately
and utterly, as forever unworthy of his love or
confidence.

This advice was offered in the belief that the addresses
of the Southern gentleman were only prompted by gallantry;
that he had no serious intention of marrying
her; and that, if the breach between her and Reuben
could be rendered irreconcilable, she would at Brainard's
departure, suffer a complete mortification, and verify the
old adage, that between two stools, one was sure of
coming to the ground.

The other party thinking Brainard's intentions were
really serious, and that Lydia was equally anxious to
wed him, urged Reuben to assert his claim, and thus
prevent the accomplishment of their wishes.

So much for the advice of disinterested friends!

But there was one good old lady who really loved
both Reuben and Lydia.

“Reuben,” said she one day, as he breathed a low
sigh, “don't be cast down; all may end happily yet.
Lydia loves you, I know she does, and perhaps she is
not so much to blame as has been represented. Stories,
you know, lose nothing by being carried, and though I
would not have you imposed upon, yet let me warn you
not to form any hasty resolutions. I always thought
you were made for each other, and so I think still, notwithstanding
what has happened.”

Reuben had hitherto listened, apparently unmoved, to
the surmises, guesses and exhortations of his officious
friends; but now he started from his seat, grasped the
old lady's hand, and pressed it fervently, while a tear
moistened his eye, and his voice quivered as he pronounced—“Thank
you!” So touching is real sympathy.

Reuben loved Lydia as his life, but he had a good
share of Yankee independence in his spirit; and although
her unfaithfulness pierced him to the soul, yet
he prudently resolved to put a good face on the matter.
To compel her to fulfil her engagement, was revolting
to his love, and pride forbade his appealing to her compassion.
So smothering his emotions, he appeared calmly
to await the result of her coquetry. And his conduct
was an example of stoicism, which Zeno himself might
have acquired credit by imitating.

Lydia, meanwhile, was not without anxiety and self-reproach.
Her sense of justice she might perhaps have
stifled, but she had not yet brought her mind to contemplate
an eternal separation (to use the lover's language)
from Reuben, without emotion; and her pride was sorely
piqued at the apparent indifference with which he received
the intelligence of her defection. But Brainard
pressed his suit with so much earnestness, and his riches
pleaded his cause so powerfully, that Lydia's parents
were much inclined to favor him. True they had the
reputation of being very pious people, and no considerations
would have induced them to advise a breach of a
solemn engagement. Thus far their consciences admonished
them. So they just allowed their daughter to do
as she pleased in the affair; and when she applied to
them for counsel, secretly hoping they would advocate
the cause of Reuben, they merely observed—

“That it was for her to decide. Her happiness was
at stake. And as Reuben, by not more manfully asserting
his right, had tacitly relinquished her, they thought
she was at liberty to consult her own inclinations.”

In short, to give the result of the affair as concisely
as possible, three weeks from the time of Lydia Romilly's
return from Boston, saw her the wedded wife of
Horace Brainard, and journeying with him to his home
in South Carolina!

Poor Reuben! she left thee, but I shall not; and will
a single reader, who has a heart of any compassion,

grudge to accompany an unfortunate lover a few lines
further?

Reuben Porter neither cursed the fickleness of his lost
love, nor thanked God he was rid of her: he kept quietly
at work on the house he was fitting for her reception;
and, although the woman where he boarded thought his
eyes, for several successive mornings, looked red and
swollen, as if he had passed sleepless nights, and his appetite
nearly failed him, yet he never complained. So
no one dared insult him by a show of compassion, which
is, on such occasions, to a refined or sensitive mind, the
most exquisite cruelty.

In a few months he paid his addresses to a very amiable
girl. She was not a beauty, but sufficiently pretty
to be agreeable, and in every requisite for a good wife,
far superior to Lydia Romilly. They married, acquired
a handsome property, lived very happily together, and
were much beloved by all their acquaintance. Reuben
was never heard to allude to his own disappointment
but once. His wife bore him several girls in succession
—and some one was observing to him, they thought a
family of sons far preferable for a farmer, and that one
girl was quite sufficient for any family.

“No,” he replied, “give me a dozen rather.” Then
added, laughing—“I am not partial to only daughters.
You must remember I was jilted by one.”

From this observation people inferred he attributed
the fickleness of Lydia's conduct more to her injudicious
education than to her heart.