Julia_Chapter_12

left to their own eratic course, too often" led to be wilder, and dazzled to blend". Genius has been called the brightest gift of heaven--it may be so --but who will say it is the happiest? Not those on whom it is bestowed. Often at the moment when its brightness most shines on others, it is self most dark. And while it imparts delight --it is its self miserable. Nature is impartial in the distribution of her gifts--she unites great powers with great weaknesses--bright {highs?} with dark shade, and so mingle her various qualities, that if balanced one with another there may be covered { ?} at differences, there will be found but little inequality in the character or condition of individual. If the dangers and sufferings attached to genius, taken into the account, its possessor would seldom be an object of envy. Had Julia's mind been less brilliantly endowed, she would not only have been a more useful, but a far happier woman. It is scarcely possible for a female, to be placed in a situation more full of peril, then that in which Mrs Clifton now was. Her ardent affections, {bright?}{bereft?} of the object to which they so long had clung, recoiled up on her self, and preyed upon her peace. The {active } { ?} of her active mind wanted proper { } occupation and her creative fancy as often conjured up unreal misery as unreal joy. The common-place realities of life, could neither interest, occupy or please--The monotony, wearied and depressed, Even danger and difficulty had greater charms for such a character, than quietude and security. The tumultuous joys of the world, in which she had sought a refuge from domestic sorrows, began to lose their charm with their novelty--The same perpetual round of frivolous amusements, and heartless pleasures, in which there was so little to exercise the mind, charm the fancy, or touch the heart, and {compelled?} upon the appetite, and left a craving void, which the world could never fill. No not even its most substantial joys, its brightest honors. Give the heart all that life has to give, and yet this craving void remains. The soul

has too much of immortality in its desires, to be ever satisfied with earth born pleasures--There is a continual aspiration after something higher and something better and until that object is discovered, that cravery, never can be satisfied. On earth that object of our restless and unsatisfied desires can be found. The Immortal soul, requires an immortal object, and the dove of God is the only affection that can completely fill the heart. Alas, why is it, that this conviction comes so late!--a { ?} victim to which the mind never yields, until it is forced upon it, by a repetition of sufferings and disappointments. It is not until we have tried joy after joy, indulged hope after hope and endured affection and disappointments, that we relinquish our search of happiness on earth and we {conduct?} to search for it in heaven. "One weeks extremity will teach us more than long prosperity has done before". There are sordid minds and cold hearts that never fill this void, nor feel an aspiration after higher enjoyments-But such was not the mind and heart of Julia Clifton. She still continued her restless search for happiness, still hoped to find it in the pleasures and admiration of the world. Party succeeded to party, amusement to amusement, both at home and abroad, but she found them stale and unprofitable and in the midst of gaiety. Her heart distrusting, asked if this be joy, wearied and disgusted, she would often shut herself in her own chamber and give up whole days to reverie on reading--but alas Julia's meditations and studies were equally stale and unprofitable. Her mind had never been disciplined by regular study, or close application. And now when her maturer judgement , lead her to chuse more serious and substantial works, she could not command that power of abstraction and attention necessary for the undertaking. The light reading with which she tried to beguile the tedium of time, that it amused the moment, always left her more spiritless and {dissatisfied?} Her present situation, excited such continual anxiety and perturbation; she found her self {totally?} incapable

of attending to the regular instruction of her daughter, yet as she really felt ashamed of giving up an occupation or rather a duty, which D'aubigne had so earnestly recommended to her and for the discharge of which he had so warmly applauded her, she would not send her to school, but gave her occasional and desultary lessons, which every day grew less pregnant. The consequence was, that the poor child left to herself was insolent and unhappy, and too often the companion of the servants. Henry had been sent to a distant school and placed under the care of the respectful clergyman, by whom it was taught. Clifton and Julia saw as little of each other, as if a legal instrument of separation had been obtained. They seldom met until their late dinner hour, and then never alone--Same times one, sometimes several of Clifton's friends would return with him to dinner, and it was not often that Madam Lunville and Captain Mirvan were absent--Neither enquired how or where the other has passed the day, or where they should pass the evening. When they remained at home, their evening {rite?} was generally enlarged by accidental or invited visitors and such as would not join the card players, surrounded Julia's, who charmed them by her conversation or her musical talents. Fond as Capt. Mirvan had been of cards, he now { ?} wished them for the superior pleasure he found in her society. On her side she not only became reconciled to his constant attendance, but restless and uneasy when any incident { ?} his absenceMadam Luneville insidiously encouraged this growing inclination and { ?} watched its progress. The { ?} in the success of her schemes, and the nearer they approached their completionThe fourth of July was now passed. The { ?} and his family left the city--the heads of Departments, the strangers and most of the wealthy inhabitants followed his example and sought in change of scene for change of amusement. "The city" to use an expression of Madam Luneville, was now a desert--the drawing rooms were closed--the parties over--and even social intercourse was interrupted by the { ?} heat of the season--shut up in their houses, the ladies passed the long and oppressive days of summer wearily enough

Those who were destitute of {resources?} within themselves { ?} suffered doubly from the heat and dullness of the season--Morning and evening rides, or occasional water parties were the only amusements they now had--In those Julia freely indulged--Captain Mirvan was always her companion; sometimes they went in company with Clifton and Madam Luneville--sometimes with larger parties, but, {this?} afternoon alone. Under his guidance, she explores the beautiful scenery that on every side surrounds Washington a George Town--The shores of the Potomack, its picturesque and beautiful falls, the banks of Anacosta--the hills beyond--or those that skirt the northern boundary of the District; all were visited and admired. Sometimes leaving the highway, they would pursue the less frequented roads, which in every direction wound among the hills--through the woodlands, or along the margin of streams. There they could follow for miles and miles without ever meeting with a human being--The mansions of the planter, or cabbins of the tennants, were equally remote from the road, and these solitudes seemed untenanted. Julia could not return from these daily excursions without attracting the attention of her neighbors, which gave rise to observations which soon spread through the circle of her acquaintance, and would have most keenly wounded her feelings and offended her pride had she known then. After rides so long as to be generally fatiguing , she resigned the rest of the day to sleep or disultory reading--The evening turns her languid and dissatisfied with herself-a langurous and dissatisfaction which Captain Mirvan had now power to { ?}. In the moon light portico, while they enjoyed the breeze from the river and inhaled the rich fragrance of flowers, Julia would sit with her lyre and play and sing for hours-----was Julia's reply? Those who could have listened to her sweet and harmonious voice--or who saw her countenance glowing with emotion and shining in the clear moonlight, would answer, yes--Julia is happyBut could any one folllow her to her solitary chamber --and watch her { ?}

steps as she traversed the floor for whole hours--could they have heard her deep drawn sighs, her convulsive sobs--seen the conflicting passions { ?} tone her bosom, or masked by the flickering flame of the night-lamp, the expressions of sadness and dispair which chased each other over her pale face--They would say, Julia is unetched.--and had they sat and watched with her thru the long and weary hours of the night, watched till the stars faded before the dawning day, and seen her shivering and trembling, seeks her lonely couch to weep herself to sleep--Oh yes they would have exclaimed--Julia is most unetched. It is through the scenes that the heart of man is acceptible-It is through the heart the senses of woman is awakened. Surely Captain Mirvan knew this, since he so{ preservingly?} sought to {penetrate?} gain that of Julia. The legal ties which control action cannot control feeling--Neither the authority of law,nor the forms of society can( govern) regulate the impetuous passions which nature has implanted in the human bosom. As with might that authority bid the winds of heaven not blow -- or the waves of ocean (not to roll)--He only who rides the whirlwind and directs the storm and says to the raging sea, thus far and no farther, he only by his devine influence can govern the passions of the children of men. This was an influence Julia had or got never felt acknowledged. She felt satisfied with herself as long as she conformed her actions to what society and the laws required. But she who has no other motive to virtue, than for public opinion, is destitute virtue's strongest support and best consolation. And has but a poor reward for the sacrifices which duty demands. Julia felt this inadequacy and in the conflict betwen duty and inclination found herself often comparing

to no laws but those by which the {cout---mention are governed?} man is indeed an animal--but he is { ?} an intellectual being -- and his glory and his virtue consists, in subjecting one to the other. The nature of man is compound--his duties must be so too, how long oh how long must these warring principles contend within this feeble frame"