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It was about this time that a number of balls
were given by the Governor and the leading
members of the Council, as well as by the
officers of the regiments quartered in the town.
My uncle, after a great deal of talk about the
rights of man, and sacred privilege of representation
had ended as he began, by warmly espousing
the Royal cause.

As has been seen, I meddled little with politics.
Whatever bias I had, was on the Tory
side of the question. As for the gaieties of the
town, however, I mingled but little with them.

My character was still pulp-like and undetermined.
The infant's cartilage had not yet hardened
into the bone of manhood. I was of the
age, when a youth imagines it magnanimity to
despise society; — when a sullenness of demeanour
is mistaken for superiority of character. I
thought that my spirit walked not with those of
other men; but I had not yet learned that it

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was because it was jostled from the path by
stronger spirits. I had not learned that an unsocial
deportment was a proof of imbecility, and
not of romantic superiority, and that the talent
for society is nearly allied to the most dignified
and most robust qualities of character. I was
yet a boy. I had studied a little and thought a
little; but I had not yet felt or done.

There is a flood of passion, which sooner or
later sweeps over each human soul, sometimes to
refresh and fertilize, sometimes to overwhelm and
destroy. It is not till the tide has flowed and
ebbed, till the character has felt the full force of
love, of passion, and has again been deserted
and left bare, that we can learn what parts of
it were firm; that which has resisted the shock
and remained on the beach unshattered, may
bid defiance to a future storm. The tideless Mediterranean
of the mind which succeeds, swells
not beyond its natural limits; and even if the
retiring waves have left nothing but sand and
sea-weed, still it is better. That which could
not resist the flood had better have been swept
away, and then you may build, regardless of a
future storm. Man loves — passionately loves but
once.

I was destined soon to feel. In compliance
with a request from my uncle Joshua, that I

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would leave my books occasionally, I went to a
ball at the Governor's.

I wandered through the rooms, listened to the
fiddles, looked apathetically at the various lovely
forms which flitted by me, conversed with an
acquaintance or two, and was already excessively
bored, when, turning accidentally to an inner
room, my attention was arrested suddenly. It
was a woman, a girl more lovely than any I
had ever dreamed of. I was startled. She was
standing near a column, and gazing vacantly
round the room. As I entered we were
close to each other — our eyes met — the vacant
look disappeared; the casual glance became
on both sides by a sort of fascination, a full,
earnest, almost an impassioned gaze. It was
but a moment, — the lady coloured slightly, and
dropped her eyes. A vague, delicious sensation
stole around my heart — I stood in a spell.

I awoke in a moment from my trance, and
found myself standing on the Governor's toes.

“If you are ready,” said he, smiling.

“Certainly,” said I, politely, and I shuffled
off.

The people still danced and supped, and
danced again. I heeded it not. I wandered
up and down in a dream. My imagination was
as violent as is usual at my age; something
had been given it to work upon, and it wrought.

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Those deep blue eyes had sunk deep into my
heart, and I almost feared to look at them
again. I revelled in the feeling that she was
near me, and it was enough; I yielded without
a struggle to the spell of my first love. The
music resounded through the brilliant halls, and
sparkling eyes and lovely forms floated by me
in the dance. I thought of her, and there
was intoxication in the very air. I thought of
her, and the music breathed bewilderingly in
my ear, stole into every fibre of my system,
and caused my heart-strings to vibrate responsively
back.

I was startled from my reverie by the conversation
of an indifferent acquaintance; when it
was ended, I looked around. Not seeing her,
as I thought I must the instant I lifted my eyes,
I gazed wildly and rapidly round. In the twinkling
of an eye, I had scanned the features of
every woman there — I found her not. My
heart, that was so buoyant, changed to lead.
I felt it sink in my bosom. The scales fell
from my eyes; the enchantment of the scene
was broken; the fiddles were no longer archangels'
lyres. The spermaceti candles no longer
illumined a hall as dazzling as Aladdin's palace.
There was no medium in my youthful
nature between rapture and despair, otherwise I
should not have been so miserable, because, as

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I found five minutes afterwards, the lady had
only gone into the next room. I marched into
it, and there she was, — let me describe her.

Her profuse hair was as black as night, and
dividing simply on her forehead, was drawn
backward and knotted behind with a wreath
of snow-white flowers. A single ringlet depended
from behind the tiny and transparent ear,
towards the exquisitely moulded throat.

The mould of her features was faultless. I
held my breath lest all should be dissolved, and
the phantom float away. The low forehead,
the delicate, decided brow, the perfect nose, the
short lip, the sculptured chin, the matchless
shoulders, the snowy bosom, the softly swelling
proportions of the whole form in earliest womanhood,
the fairy foot, the dazzling arms, the
liquid, noiseless motions, all passed in quick
review before me, and I lingered over each individual
charm, lost in a delicious intoxication.
But all vanished — all was forgotten as she
once more raised her eyes, and I felt my heart
leap and tremble as I once more gazed upon
them. I glided up close to her, without feeling
or knowing that I moved, and it seemed,
as I looked, that my thoughts could penetrate
through those cloudless depths into the very bottom
of her soul.

In the course of these proceedings, our eyes

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again met, presently I saw her touch the arm
of a gentleman who stood near, and say something
in a quick low voice, while at the same
time she looked earnestly, almost inquiringly towards
me. I fancied that the sudden fascination
had been mutual, and took it for granted
she was saying something sweet about the youth
that had enslaved her. I was mistaken — she
was only asking the name of the booby who
had been gaping at her for the last ten minutes.
I felt conscious of the impropriety of my
behaviour, and so I inquired of Captain Carew,
who was near me, the name of the lady.

“Miss Mayflower Vane — a confounded little
rebel,” was the answer.

“Please to introduce me.”

After my introductory bow, I remained standing
in the third position. Having nothing to
say, I began gracefully to twirl my thumbs.

“I will thank you to leave staring at me, as
if you were an Indian, and try to amuse me,”
said Mayflower.

“I am an Indian,” said I; and, pleased to
find myself on such an interesting topic as
myself, I began to talk; and I explained to
her the dignified descent on which I prided
myself.

After this we got on. She told me she detested
the government, and only came to these

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entertainments to torment the officers, all of whom
were in love with her.

From talking of other people, we came to
talking of ourselves; and from talking of her,
we got to talking of me. She thought proper
to flatter me, and there was the mischief. It
was all over with me. I dare say she was
only making a fool of me, but I took it all for
sincerity.

Ah! — flattery is a sweet and intoxicating
potion, whether we drink it from an earthen
ewer, or a golden chalice; but when we inhale
it fresh and sparkling from the red lips of
beauty, it changes in the bosom to the subtlest
poison. Woman — beautiful woman — a woman
like Mayflower Vane, is used to flattery, and it
is harmless to her. She forgot that though she
could feed harmlessly on poison, it might not
be so with me. Flattery from man to woman
is expected; it is a part of the courtesy of
society; but when the divinity descends from
the altar to burn incense to the priest, what
wonder if the idolater should feel himself transformed
into a god!

Mayflower was an anomaly. She had a
heart, but she was a coquette — a natural coquette.
The mischief was, she did not know
she was one. Her admiration and her interest
were easily excited, and she had a natural

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desire for winning as many hearts as she could,
not for the sake of wearing them, and displaying
them, but for their own sake. Her heart
was overflowing, and she loved the whole world.
Her swift affections swarmed from her heart like
bees, but only to return at night to their fragrant
home, more sweetly laden than ever.

After I returned from the Governor's I found
I could not sleep, so I sat up, scribbling sonnets
till day-break. I threw myself then on my bed
and slept. The syren, memory, seized her lyre,
and sang the honied words of flattery, which
had already charmed my ear. I slept — and
that most musical of mortal voices still sounded
in my ear, and attended my dreams to the divinest
harmony.

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