Excerpt from Loriena: Or the Heroine of King's Court

Adrian - Yes but King's Court, once the home of the Stuarts, has fallen upon evil times. It is now called the La dies' College and the antiquated Miss Monroe, who pre sides over, guides, and controls its occupants, considers birds, flowers, trees, and all that go to make up a beautiful land scape, as an unnecessary part of creation - quite superfluous With her, knowledge of reading, writing, and the parapher' nalia of school tutelage far excels the beautiful in nature. See how the window blinds are kept close, lest the sunshine might fade the carpets and curtains; the ticking of clocks and the creaking of those large massive doors, with the sound of youthful hilarity are not heard - these might distract the studies. No bright flowers with gorgeous colors are allowed to grow on the lawn - for that might cause the eyes to bright en and the hearts of the pupils to beat with joy - not admis sible in school days. That little gate, giving access to the broad, beautiful woodland beyond, is always carefully locked. Her scholars are forbidden to gambol over the hills or play upon the banks of the pretty little brook that skirts the way - a stream that would make a poet's heart leap with joy, as it glides gracefully over the many-colored stones. All that would fill their little hearts with 'gladness and give relief from their everyday task is, in Miss Monroe's opinion, impro per and out of place. But, Harry, see that young lady coming there. Oh, how beautiful she is! She cannot have seen over eighteen summers; everything is lovely about her - the brook ripples, the birds sing, the flowers send off sweet streams of fragrance - but the face appears as if it is not a happy one. The sun shines above her, but does not seem to reach the heart.

Harry - She is lovely. If that face did not belong to her, I would say it was Isabella Howard's.

Baron - Ha! Ha! The lover sees Helen's beauty in the brow of Egypt.

Marry - Stop, Baron, I am not the love-sick swain you think me. It is true I am not wholly unacquainted with the tender passion and in my younger days, as you know, was foolish enough to suppose that the lady who held my af fections would take a great interest in me. That when she knew of the pain her beauty gave, would pity me - the sleep less nights I spent, if she were indifferent she would relent, would favor me, would caress me lest I would do something desperate for her sake. Not a bit of it, nothing further from the truth. The desperation which love produces is to them simply proof of their power to charm. The more distressed we feel the greater credit they take to their beauty-they would not lose a sigh we give for any consideration. For a man to shoot himself because of them, would be their delight; to hear of his hanging himself for their sake is the height of their ambition. When such a thing does happen, all covet the distinction and renown it gives.

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