Page:Peterson's Magazine 1842, Volume I.pdf/15

10 brother, but she had so many resources for thought and amusement that her tears were soon dried. Her parents too assured her that he had grown so very dignified she would find but little companionship with him. Melville had, in fact, not only prevented their seeing each other, but had kept them as far as possible ignorant of each others' progress. And when he looked upon his daughter, now a blooming girl of nineteen, with her womanly though simple manner, he felt quite sure that no one would recognize in her the sportive child he had fondled upon his knee. Nor less difficult did he imagine it would be to detect in the pensive dignity and urbane manners of his adopted son, the shy and absent boy whom his fostering hand had reared to a hopeful manhood. He looked upon both with a father's pride—nor was that a false discernment which had seen in the boy, "the father of the man," the promise of greatness, or now beheld in the daughter one of earth's most lovely beings. With almost every endowment that nature could lavish, she had grown up amid all the advantages which wealth, directed by the judicious father and fond mother could procure. And had she possessed none of what the fashionable term "accomplishments," her deep-seated goodness of heart must have won the affection of all who knew her. But she would have passed with that class for "an accomplished girl," while the discerning few would have applied to her the epithet in its deeper signification. She was indeed alive to all the beautiful and excellent on the earth. Genius she reverenced with idolatry; and her taste found peculiar gratification in the contributions of L. K. which appeared in some of the first periodicals of the day; and by her urgent request, her father had several of the pieces set to music, the peculiar beauty of which, when chanted by her sweet voice, and played with the ætherial harmony of all her executions, struck the fountains of every heart where beamed a ray of sensibility.

It was in the autumn of the year——, when Melville proposed to his wife and daughter a journey to the South. The proposal was a joyous one to the enthusiastic girl, for her dreams had long been of that sunny climate. The journey was accordingly taken, and on their way they stopped during a Sabbath in the town of where Arabella received a polite invitation from an acquaintance from New York, to accompany him to the—— church, where a student of rising fame was to address the society for the day. The invitation was accepted, and Arabella waited with intense interest to see the young speaker ascend the pulpit. And every eye was in fact turned toward him as in "life's green spring," he appeared in the desk with his high forehead and pale face to administer to their spiritual and truest interest. His manner was peculiarly felicitous, and the deep harmony of his voice, while giving utterance to high and holy thoughts, won the almost breathless attention of the audience. "Whatsoever ye have spoken in darkness shall be heard in the light; and that which ye have spoken in the ear in closets, shall be proclaimed upon the house-tops," were the words from which he spoke: and never was there a more fervid, logical, and eloquent discourse uttered. The important bearings of even the most trivial actions, the infinite consequence of every thought we cherish on all time, and the surety that the coming of time or eternity will shew all in the strongest light, were insisted upon with irresistible eloquence. But when the sermon was ended, and all were held in awe at the truths elicited, the alarm was made that a lady had fainted; and the young minister inferring from the countenances of those around her that the affair was serious, came to express his interest, an interest which was visibly increased when the fair being before him opened her dark hazle eye with an expression in it such as thrilled every fibre of his soul. He felt indeed that his visions of loveliness were there embodied. And when sufficiently recovered, he saw her borne away in the carriage, he felt she had touched a chord in his heart that had never before vibrated. And what were his emotions as she gave him a parting glance, and returned to the inn from which she was to depart on the morrow, perhaps never again to listen to a voice like that! But "who was the lady?—perhaps the wife of the gentleman she was with." He, however, thought that the circumstances of the day would justify his enquiries about her, and he ascertained the circumstance of her being on a journey with her parents, but nothing farther.

As they pursued their journey, Arabella was more pensive than usual, and expressed little of her natural enthusiasm even at the mingled splendors of our autumn woods; for the image within had eclipsed all other beauty; and Frank, and all preference for others alike forgotten, she surrendered herself to the pleasing contemplation of the eloquent stranger. Her parents rallied her, and assured her that on their return she should be introduced to the young orator, whom they rightly conjectured was the object of her thoughts.

And not too fast did the hours pass till their return to the town of —— when it so happened that an invitation was received from an old acquaintance of Mrs. Melville's to a general party. But Mr. Melville felt obliged to decline going from the urgency of business, and his lady not wishing to go without her husband, Arabella therefore went alone. Almost the first person she was introduced to was a Mr. Reed, in whom she immediately recognized the young minister. At first she was greatly embarrassed, but this soon subsided, and they conversed together as though bent upon an acquaintance. They talked of our present literature, and spoke of their particular preferences among its