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his mother was not mistaken, she had endangered his moral reformation. Mary had indeed observed the dejection of his looks--his dissatisfaction. And was it possible that wounded pride and sensibility might induce him to leave his present asylum, and drive him back to the pernicious courses he had relinquished? And could she save him from such a risque?
"It shall be done," exclaimed she to herself, "even more shall be done--I will open to his view pleasures so much more satisfying and enduring than those he has hitherto pursued, that inclination as well as reason shall lead him into the paths of virtue."
Her imagination kindled at the idea, and when she next met him her countenance was irradiated with a benevolence that banished from it all coldness and reserve.
Charles Lovel knew not the soul of virtuous woman; when, therefore, after her long continued avoidance and coldness, Mary met him with such a beaming countenance and cordial warmth, he presumed, on her renovated kindness, and dared to hope she participated in the feelings that even her late coldness had heightened. He was not base enough to form any design on her honor, but he could not deny himself the delight of awakening in her bosom sensations similar to those that burned within his own.--Never before had he experienced the species of pleasure he enjoyed in her society, for never before had he attached himself to a virtuous woman. There was an exaltation in her sentiments perfectly new to him. He never dreamt of making flattering speeches or paying fine compliments; he unawares found himself engaged in the most delightful convserations, to which the play of her fancy and the warmth of her heart imparted a thousand varying charmes. At times his mind was so awakened that his senses slept. And never did he appear to such advantage in her eyes as at such times. He drew out all the powers of her mind. This vivifying influence extended to every faculty. She looked, she felt, she thought, with a vivacity and warmth long, long unknown. From the monotonous tranquility and placid contentment of a happy married life, she was roused to a livelier and keener sense of enjoyment. Acquaintance with human life, with human nature, might have taught her, that this state of excitement cannot be long sustained--that these keen and glowing emotions are evanescent, kept alive by fancy and hope--destroyed by reality.
Marriage deprives passion of the fuel which fed its flame; for the certainty of assured affection is devoid of all the hopes and fears which prompt the continual effort to please and to secure its object. Hence results the cessation of those fond, devoted, flattering attentions, so gratifying, not only to self-love, but to our best and tenderest sensibilities. This change inflicts little pain on man. Unceasingly occupied in the business and turmoil of life, various exciting interests afford employment for that moral, intellectual and physical activity which keeps in motion the human machine. Not so with woman. Love is the main-spring of her existence--when this loses its elasticity and force, the mechanism of the whole being is deranged. True she still lives and performs her appointed tasks, faithfully, contentedly, and often cheerfully--but soberly and quietly. Yet often, oftener, perhaps, than is generally imagined, a craving void is left in her bosom. Affection and esteem, though dearly prized, do not satisfy the yearnings of her heart--its own keen and deep sensibilities require no reciprocation. Activity, that vital principle of our nature, expended by men on a thousand objects, preys on the peace, and disorders the current of woman's life. Intellectual pleasures, the varied amusements of fashionable life, domestic duties, are insufficient to fill this restless principle--to satisfy this craving for lively and strong emotion.
Hence the necessity of some influence stronger than human nature--higher and holier than moral sanction, to control and regulate the sensibilities of the female heart; an influence religion alone supplies.
Turn thee, fond and feeble woman, from the always disappointing and sometimes debasing love of the creature to the all-satisfying and exalting love of the Creator. There only can thy fervent nature find an object commensurate with its capacity of loving; an object to fill that craving void which nought on earth can fill.
Not yet had Mary sought this immutable and inexhaustible source of felicity; she still quaffed