Modern Flirtations: A Novel Read online

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  Granville intercepting the Stranger.--See page 176]

  MODERN FLIRTATIONS,

  A NOVEL:

  BY CATHERINE SINCLAIR,

  AUTHOR OF "BEATRICE."

  Blind Uncle Arthur endeavoring to escape from theflames.--See page 334]

  STRINGER & TOWNSEND, NEW YORK

  MODERN FLIRTATIONS,

  A NOVEL:

  BY CATHERINE SINCLAIR,

  AUTHOR OF

  "BEATRICE, OR THE UNKNOWN RELATIVES," "MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS," "MODERNSOCIETY," "HILL AND VALLEY," "SHETLAND AND THE SHETLANDERS,""HOLIDAY HOUSE," "CHARLIE SEYMOUR," ETC.

  "I clasped my hand close to my breast, While my heart was as light as a feather, Yet nothing I said, I protest, But, ---- 'Madam! 'tis very fine weather!'"

  RITSON'S SONGS.

  NEW-YORK:STRINGER & TOWNSEND, PUBLISHERS,222 BROADWAY.

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE

  CHAPTER

  I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXI. XXXII. XXXIII. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. XL. XLI. XLII. XLIII. XLIV. XLV. XLVI. XLVII.

  PREFACE.

  It was the rule of a celebrated equestrian, which might be adapted toauthors as well as to horsemen, that every one should ride as if heexpected to be thrown, and drive as if he expected to be upset.Impunity in publishing, far from rendering an author presumptuous,should tend rather to increase his timidity, the danger being greateralways of venturing too much, than of hazarding too little; and themore cause any writer has to feel grateful for the lenient judgment ofan enlightened public, the more circumspect should he become, not totrespass by an obtrusive reappearance on that notice which has alreadyperhaps been, as in respect to the author herself, beyond allexpectation favorable.

  An old proverb declares that "a goose-quill is more powerful than alion's claw," and authors have been called "keepers of the publicconscience;" but no influence is perhaps so extensive as thatexercised by what is termed "light reading," which has now in a greatmeasure superseded public places and theatrical entertainments,affording a popular resource with which the busiest men relax theirhard-working minds, and the idlest occupy their idleness. It becomes adeep responsibility, therefore, of which the author trusts she hasever felt duly sensible, to claim the leisure hours of so many, whileit is her first desire that whatever be the defect of these pages, noactual evil may be intermingled, and the cause of sound religion andmorality supported, for her feelings are best expressed in the wordsof the poet,

  "If I one soul improve, I have not liv'd in vain."

  Novel-reading, formerly considered the lowest resource of intellectualvacuity, has been lately promoted to a new place in the literaryworld, since men of the brightest genius as well as of the highestattainments in learning and philosophy, allow their pens occasionallyto wander in the attractive regions of fiction; therefore works ofimagination, no longer merely a clandestine amusement to frivolousminds, are now avowedly read and enjoyed, to beguile an idle hour, orto cheer a gloomy one, by men of science, of wisdom, and of piety.Such is the general encouragement given now to works of fancy, that,as the literary existence of authors depends on attracting readers,there will scarcely be encouragement enough soon to induce historiansand biographers to dip the pen of veracity into the ink ofretrospection, while it is perhaps to be lamented that when so large aproportion of the public attention is occupied by novelists, theirworks being certain of instant circulation, for a very short periodand for no more, few authors afford themselves time to aspire at thehighest grade of imaginary composition. When such volumes are reallytrue to nature, they convey very important truths in a form morepopular than a dry sententious volume of moral precepts, and perhapshistory itself can scarcely afford so graphic a portrait of human lifeas many of those fictitious volumes, written under the inspiration ofgenius, which portray in vivid coloring, the thoughts and motives bywhich men are internally influenced.

  The Life of Cleopatra, or the Memoirs of Agrippina, can affordscarcely so much direction to young ladies respecting their views oflife and manners in the present day, as might be conveyed by ajudiciously-drawn portrait of that world as it is, on the stage ofwhich they are about to be personally introduced; and a largeproportion of those elaborate volumes dignified with the name ofhistory, can only be considered in the main fictitious, because, whilebiographers would confidently state the private opinions, secretintentions, and real characters of illustrious men who lived and actedseveral hundred years ago, they cannot justly estimate the actualdispositions and motives of their own most intimate friends, norconfidently point out what circumstances have influenced the greatestevents in their own day. If two authors, entertaining oppositepolitical sentiments, were to write the history of last year, everyfact recorded, and every individual mentioned must inevitably berepresented, or misrepresented, according to the writer's own privatefeelings, while each would believe he was writing unadulterated truth.

  Thus poetry and fiction, when true to the principles of human life,exhibit the mind and soul of man visibly to the senses; and history,which has been called "the Newgate Calendar of Kings and Emperors,"supplies the facts of human existence, and may be considered aportrait of men's persons and external actions.

  In writing a story of domestic life, it is singular to reflect howcommonly men are remembered by their eccentricities, and loved fortheir very faults, while the most difficult task in fiction is, todescribe amiable persons so as to render them at all interesting andnot utterly insipid. Probably it may be for this reason that modernwriters too frequently, instead of describing the principles whichennoble human nature, and the sentiments which embellish life, havepainted in vivid coloring, all that is low, mean, and vicious insociety, introducing their readers into scenes, the reality of whichwould be shunned with abhorrence, and flinging over vice such a mantleof genius as converts the deformities of society into subjects ofinterest--unfortunately even of sympathy.

  Were authors obliged hereafter, to live with the characters theycreate, how few would desire to share with them in such a world! Evenwhere the intention is to represent an attractive character, it seldomappears as one which could be an agreeable acquisition to any familycircle; and in works of sentiment or feeling, nothing is lesssuccessfully pictured than a generous and refined attachment, fittedto survive every trial or vicissitude of existence, between those whoare to love each other for ever. Few stories could be written, iflovers in a romance acted with the slightest degree of confidence oresteem; but such narratives are generally founded on a teazingsuccession of narrow-minded suspicions, and unwarrantable concealmentson the part of heroes and heroines, who condemn each other unheard,and go through volumes of heart-breaking alienation, enough toterminate life itself, rather than ask the most simple explanation,while the reader cannot but feel a certain conviction in closing thelast page, that an engagement begun with cavilling jealousies andpainful recriminations, can never become productive of lasting peace.

 
The mothers and daughters in fashionable society have of late been soharshly stigmatized by the press, that it seems as if some authors hadtaken up a porcupine's quill dipped in gall, to ridicule their conductand motives, while not a pen has yet been drawn from the scabbard, nora drop of ink spilled in their justification; but the weight ofcensure might become greatly lightened by being more equitably dividedamong all who are entitled to carry a share, and in these volumes anendeavor is made to rectify the balance more justly, though with whatsuccess remains to be discovered by the author herself, as not asingle friend ever sees her pages, or puts on the spectacles ofcriticism till after they are printed. The only peculiarity to whichshe makes any pretension, in once more presuming to publish, is, thatavoiding all caricature, all improbability, and all personality, shehas introduced a few individuals acting and thinking in the ordinaryroutine of every-day life, while her highest ambition is to representin natural colors, the conduct and feelings of men elevated andennobled by the influence of Christianity.

  When Dr. Johnson remarked once that it required a clever person totalk nonsense well, Boswell replied, "Yes, sir! If you were torepresent little fishes speaking, you would make them talk like greatwhales;" and on a similar plan, authors describing society, insteadof sketching the good-humoured chit-chat and lively _persiflage_with which the business and amusements of fashionable life are carriedon, too frequently fill up their dialogues with set speeches, moralessays, and long quotations, such as never are extemporized in anydrawing-room, where too energetic a stroke given to the shuttlecock ofconversation makes it instantly fall to the ground. The flagrantimpossibilities by which a carelessly-written narrative is carried on,destroys often at once the illusion. Persons are described, who may beoverheard speaking aloud their most secret thoughts when supposingthemselves alone, soliloquizing audibly in the streets, journalizing ahistory of their own crimes, becoming permanent guests in houses towhich they have no introduction, preserving the noblest sentimentsamidst the most degraded habits, and dying enlightened Christians whenthey have lived as dissolute infidels.

  A celebrated mathematician threw aside a novel once in disgust, sayingthat "it proved nothing;" but in these pages the author hasendeavoured to prove much. Amidst the bustle and business, the joysand sorrows of life, she has attempted to illustrate how truly"wisdom's ways are of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace,"--howsuperior is the Christian standard of principle to the mere worldlycode of honour or expediency, and how much of the happiness intendedfor man by his Creator is ruined and forfeited by the perversity ofhis own will, in neglecting the good of others, and in vainlygrasping, like a spoiled child, at more than is intended for hisshare. While thus writing a fiction, which may perhaps be denominateda large religious tract in high life, the author humbly submits herpages to the judgment of others, and cannot conclude in the words of amore universally venerated, or of a more generally popular fictitiousauthor than the excellent Bunyan:

  "Thus I set pen to paper with delight, And quickly had my thought?in black and white; For having now my method by the end, Still as I pulled it came, and so I penned It down, until at last it came to be, For length and breadth, the bigness which you see."

  MODERN FLIRTATIONS.