The daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1848-1851, 1850-04-30

b1 ELIZABETH O,HARA.
Reader, these Confessions are not mine: can
not even understand the mingled emotions thew de-
pict can now scarce believe that the uneyent-
ful life Of my poor friend afforded such scope for
suffering, that so much grief was concealed by that
serene countenauce.o Even now she is before me
small in figure, elegant in dress, but with no con-
ventional mark of the old maid about her-no pre-
ciseness no consciousness, peculiar love of ami
mails. Thank heaven! women have now SO many
| resources, that they can be amiable and genie
without the aid of the magic ring. Miss Smith
had really nothing but ilhealth TO distinguish her
from the many Miss Smiths who glide through life
on small income. She loved children dearly
from the darling of the nursery to the sturdy brat
padding in the gutter. She loved young people,
and was ever ready TO promote their pleasures; She
possessed the Accomplishment OF playing dance.
music well, and never refused her valuable assist.
ance at our little parties. We knew not then that
our kind, untiring musician soon TO sink un-
der the trial Of constant regret that the heart Of
one sympathizing listener was worn out!
was her constant guest, her favored companion
She was fond OF reading, and to her do owe my in
production 10 many silent, though dear friends Our
studies took vast range: we entered the world OF
| fiction; and with her first mourned for Fergus
| Mclvor, and first wept for Amy Rohsart. She
delighted in Scott, in dear English Mary Mitford's
healthy works, in Miss Austin's highly-6nisbed
portraits; in the practical writers of our day bu
she shook her head at more sentimental creations
|, of course, was enraptured with L. E. LIS inspire,
warblings, and those Of her many gifted followers
hnt Miss Smith restrained my appetite "Dea
| Annie she said, this is false; il is beautiful
but it is dangerous. Why should these writers
now in the very spring of their existence, declar
their conviction in the worthlessness of lifei II
ungrateiul to the Being who has placed them her
with so many flowers around their path. Hope
/ but Faith modified; Christian must hone in III
deepest trials. Again, dear, dislike these descrip
tions Of Love; why is that alone to be the all-ab
| sorbing passion! Have we not other feelings
Yet here taught to cast off all ties and yielc
ourselves up to Love alone The true love, Annie
that binds woman to mans side that fits her to be
his friend, his counsellor, his servant but not his
slave, is holy passion. Could the ancients have
Imagined such feeling, they would not have typi.
fed it as mischievous boy: it is more like Vesta'
undying hame-it puri6es, it ascends Love based
on reason may food woman's heart, and not des-
troy it, Like the waters of the Nile, it overwhelms
but TO ertize; snch love may be crossed, be un-
happy, but it still brings comfort. How different
in these works! Here it is blasting, soaring pas
sion. These imagined wailings have done much
evil. We laugh atihe young men who shape them
selves in Byron's misanihropieal leavings; can
only sigh the girls who brush their hair ont of
curl, and moan over fancied miseries. Then, when
love comes, if he enter really loving heart he is
| tearful, an overpoweFing guest; the purest OF
passions becomes a cure. Take these papers, An
| ME; read them and when | die, soon must,
make them public. My fate may warn others from
the rocks where my happiness was wrecked: false
| sentiment, and an ill-regnlated Imagination
Some years elapsed ere i felt myself enabled to
comply with her request; while her memory was
yet fresh could not bear to expose her nmost feel
| ings to a strangers gaze; and even now shrink
from the task as should had she bid me yield her
body TO the surgeons knife. But feel that dis.
| eased mind is worse than a pain-lorn frame; and
some fair victim, who nurses passion ill health
hope, and energy sink beneath its pressure, may
here find an analogous case, and, warned by exam
| ple shake off the vampire which sucks away her
lile-blood as she succumbs to his deadly, though
| soothing influence.
| NV life! what has that been IA dream and
| dare look back DER misspent days and wasted
hours, and dare recall years of idolatry and devo-
ton given not 10 the Creator, but to the created
NV life, Ills sad retrospective my future ! in
| this world have none. My days are numbered ;
this ceaseless gnawing pain tells my night is ap-
| preaching, Dear Annie,l my kind, gentle friend,
for your sake will nerve myself You are already
too prone TO romantic longing let me show you, by
my story, the danger of morbid sensbility.
| need not tell you much Of my family history as
mine is rather chronicle of feelings than events
suffice it to say that was an only child, and los
| my father at an early age. My mother had a smal
annuity, and was left my present income by al
uncle, entering into the entire possession of il or
| my eighteenth birthday. was never pretty bu
believe may say was an Interesting lady. like
| girl, with a fair stock of accomplishments, which
| IN those days, were less common than now. wa
bo0k-devourer, and especially delighted in roman
| tic poetry. An uncommonly reteniive memory wa
well stocked. not with the puerilites Of the !" Mi
nerva press" but with the Ito mind of any refine
ment0 more dangerous outpourings of our moCerr
| bards. AT sixteen, was ashamed of nv presen
happiness; siigmatized myself as unfeeling-scul
less-because had gone through life unscathed-
| had known no bitter woe, no undying burning pas
sion. While my mind was in this stale, Fredericl
Stuart came to settle in our little town. He was
| young clergyman, and a near connection of ou
own In both characters he was a constant visito
at my mothers, who, naturally deeming me still
child, never dreamed OF the danger was mourning
nor would there have been any, had not my in
famed imagination converted the first agreeable
unmarried man met into hero had not area-
| dy been pining for lover, for one whom might
lavish those emotions Ihad so admired in my favor
| lite works. Nv ,ll--s--
Frederick Stuart the very name was beautiful !;
and few failed TO admire the young curate- Tall,
handsome, graceful, be was my beau ideal of low
| er; but his greatest charm was in his voce-so
rich, so deep, so melodous, so melting-and now
rising with his subject till il became even awe-in-
spirinQ; its most careless intonation was music
| and ali owned its SPELL loved, and was happy
at least, so told myself, as committed my feeling.
TO paper with fatal facility, and famed a flame
| which had not arisen spontaneously, hut which
had kinded and nuEsed into life with amazing as
/ siduity. :. .44.eE tr...i.p t.-l ll.a ' 81.
! . r u a.