it is no less strange than true, that, however intimate friends of the same sex may be, there is ever a disposition to assume a certain air, as it were, of patronage on one or the other part; and without any serious intention of committing malicious injury, great mischief may ensue, from the foolish belief of one that he or she could (if they would) alter the fate of the other in peace or war, love or hate, business or idleness.
christina smith had, from her earliest youth, entertained a warm affection for her old playmate and schoolmate, katharine wing. both were “lovely in their lives,” though very little resemblant in their separate attractions. christina was slender, moderately tall, with regular features, but with a pallor of complexion, that, while it indicated great delicacy and sensibility, intimated also to the beholder of her charms, that she held them with but a slight tenure. katharine, on the contrary, was ruddy-cheeked, plump, and looked altogether like one that could laugh the world to scorn—laugh[62] at every body and every thing, and being possessed of excellent health, ought to have an imperturbable good temper. all this she, in reality, possessed, but in addition—as nature has ordained that perfection shall never centre in an individual—she had a spirit of coquetry—innocent coquetry she imagined it to be—which cast a shadow over her otherwise fair character and accomplishments.
christina was, as every young lady of eighteen imagines herself to be, in love and beloved. alas! that time should tell us how cruelly deceived and deceiving we are! her lover was a young irishman, “ardent as the sun”—importunate with billet-doux, anxious for reunions—waiting with eager impatience for the happy time when, his diploma and his majority obtained, he might offer himself, body and soul, to his true love, who equally doted on him.
as a matter of course, katharine was well advised of all this most momentous history—gave her opinion on every separate step of its progress—was understood to be the confidante of her friend as it advanced, and the bridesmaid when completed. who would not have anticipated a hearty co-operation from the playmate of infancy, the companion of youth? alas! the wild ambition of patronage is stronger than friendship, the spirit of coquetry is superior to love!
[63]
“the course of true love never does run smooth.”
so sayeth shakspeare, and so have all found it who have indulged in the seducing, uncertain passion. a slight expostulation with the young man as to his habits, which were somewhat irregular—as the habits of students in this and in most countries generally are—produced a lovers’ quarrel, and they parted with strong protestations of the lips that they should meet no more. no sooner had separation taken place, than cool reflection came to both. each most bitterly regretted what had been said in haste, but neither was willing to be the first to say peccavi. in this emergency christina bethought her to call on her dear friend, consult her, and derive what consolation she could from her advice and good wishes.
accustomed to enter unhesitatingly into the house in which katharine lived with her aunt, she passed up stairs to her boudoir without alarming any of the inmates or attendants, and sat down waiting for her approach. half an hour had elapsed, when her attention was arrested by the noise of voices in earnest conversation on the stairs. satisfied that one party was her quondam lover, she hastily concealed herself behind the curtain which veiled the balcony, and she had no sooner done so than she beheld her dear friend kate and her[64] beloved john enter. entertaining a sincere esteem for, and having unlimited confidence in, her old companion, she at first believed that, having heard of the dispute between them, she had sent for her lover, and would eventually do so for herself, that she might interpose her kind offices between them. but what was her horror and dismay when she distinctly heard words of love on the one hand and of encouragement on the other, interchanged between them! grieved to the heart, smitten as a “bruised reed” did she remain—motionless, though not tearless, behind that curtain—till after having become the involuntary witness of many endearments, sweet to the false-hearted, but bitter to her, her former lover took his leave.
pale as death, yet calm and steady in her gait, did christina emerge from behind the friendly shade, and appear before the astonished gaze of her whom she had always called friend. one short moment they stood with their eyes fixed on each other—the next, katharine, stung by remorse, and bowed down by shame, was at the feet of her whom she had so cruelly deceived. “forgive me, oh forgive me!” she most piteously exclaimed, “indeed i meant no harm by what i said to him and allowed him to protest to me—i merely meant to show you that i could wean the affections of any young man from yourself or any other, without the[65] slightest intention of appropriating them to myself. i really believe that he yet sincerely loves you—allow me to be the happy instrument to bring about such a blessed result.”
“never, no—no—never!” replied christina. “you i can forgive—i thank god for it!—but i can never forget. how could i ever wed with one who had, by reason of a slight quarrel, declared his love to another, with vows and endearments, though unwittingly to him, in my very presence? it may not, cannot be—farewell, dear kate! may you and he be happy! i pray god to bless you both—i bear to neither of you any ill-will—farewell!”
crushed to the dust, deeply, though too late, repentant, katharine long remained, till roused by the re-entrance of him for whom (in the thoughtless, but dangerous spirit of coquetry) she had sacrificed her dearest friend. mutual criminations and recriminations took place, and they parted with a hearty dislike for each other.
christina, in the following year, engaged another of her friends to be her bridesmaid, and now, with a young kentuckian husband, resides in the far west, blessed with a cheerful home, and with “two young babes,” as she expressed herself in a letter to a female friend of ours, “so exquisitely beautiful, that all kentucky cannot show the like—little angels in fact.”
katharine still lives, changeable, discontented, coquettish, angry with herself, and at times repentant, yet without any real change. she is still beautiful, though an air of chagrin and peevishness has somewhat marred the expression of her formerly laughing visage. there is no apparent hope for her.
he, the fickle one, whom christina so luckily avoided marrying, is now a worthless drunkard, degraded in his own opinion and in the opinion of others—utterly irreclaimable.
w. v. h.
