stilence and death upon its
breezes,--so these calculated and well-considered traits of affection only
render callous and harden the heart which had responded warmly, openly, and
abundantly to the true outpourings of affection. At how many a previously
happy hearth has the seed of this fatal passion planted its discord! How
many a fair and lovely girl, with beauty and attractions sufficient to
win all that her heart could wish of fondness and devotion, has, by this
pernicious passion, become a cold, heartless, worldly coquette, weighing
men's characters by the adventitious circumstances of their birth and
fortune, and scrutinizing the eligibility of a match with the practised
acumen with which a notary investigates the solvency of a creditor. How do
the traits of beauty, gesture, voice, and manner become converted into the
common-place and distasteful trickery of the world! The very hospitality of
the house becomes suspect, their friendship is but fictitious; those rare
and goodly gifts of fondness and sisterly affection which grow up in
happier circumstances, are here but rivalry, envy, and ill-conceived
hatred. The very accomplishments which cultivate and adorn life, that light
but graceful frieze which girds the temple of homely happiness, are here
but the meditated and well-considered occasions of display. All the bright
features of womanhood, all the freshness of youth, and all its fascinations
are but like those richly-colored and beautiful fruits, seductive to the
eye and fair to look upon, but which within contain nothing but a core of
rottenness and decay.

No, no; unblessed by all which makes a hearth a home, I may travel on my
weary way through life; but such a one as this I will not make the partner
of my sorrows and my joys, come what will of it!

CHAPTER XLV.

A SURPRISE.

From the hour of Mr. Blake's departure, my life was no longer molested. My
declaration, which had evidently, under his auspices, been made the subject
of conversation through the country, was at least so far successful, as
it permitted me to spend my time in the way I liked best, and without the
necessity of maintaining the show of intercourse, when in reality I kept
up none, with the neighborhood. While thus, therefore, my life passed on
equably and tranquilly, many mouths glided over, and I found myself already
a year at home, without it appearing more than a few weeks. Nothing seems
so short in retrospect as monotony; the n