“I told you, my children,” said Mrs Clifford, “that four-and-twenty hours would not pass before you would be rewarded; and you must now, I am certain, be well convinced, that the heart-felt pleasure arising from the reflection upon such an act of kindness and benevolence to a fellow-creature in distress, is the greatest and most solid reward that could possibly have been bestowed on you; far superior to, and more lasting than any satisfaction you could have procured by laying out your money in any other way.”
DANGER OF COQUETRY.
It is no less strange than true, that, however intimate friends of the same sex may be, there is ever a disposition to assume a certain air, as it were, of patronage on one or the other part; and without any serious intention of committing malicious injury, great mischief may ensue, from the foolish belief of one that he or she could (if they would) alter the fate of the other in peace or war, love or hate, business or idleness.
Christina Smith had, from her earliest youth, entertained a warm affection for her old playmate and schoolmate, Katharine Wing. Both were “lovely in their lives,” though very little resemblant in their separate attractions. Christina was slender, moderately tall, with regular features, but with a pallor of complexion, that, while it indicated great delicacy and sensibility, intimated also to the beholder of her charms, that she held them with but a slight tenure. Katharine, on the contrary, was ruddy-cheeked, plump, and looked altogether like one that could laugh the world to scorn—laugh at every body and every thing, and being possessed of excellent health, ought to have an imperturbable good temper. All this she, in reality, possessed, but in addition—as Nature has ordained that perfection shall never centre in an individual—she had a spirit of coquetry—innocent coquetry she imagined it to be—which cast a shadow over her otherwise fair character and accomplishments.
Christina was, as every young lady of eighteen imagines herself to be, in love and beloved. Alas! that time should tell us how cruelly deceived and deceiving we are! Her lover was a young Irishman, “ardent as the sun”—importunate with billet-doux, anxious for reunions—waiting with eager impatience for the happy time when, his diploma and his majority obtained, he might offer himself, body and soul, to his true love, who equally doted on him.
As a matter of course, Katharine was well advised of all this most momentous history—gave her opinion on every separate step of its progress—was understood to be the confidante of her friend as it advanced, and the bridesmaid when completed. Who would not have anticipated a hearty co-operation from the playmate of infancy, the companion of youth? Alas! the wild ambition of patronage is stronger than friendship, the spirit of coquetry is superior to love!