Not
that I in the least anticipated any such catastrophe,--it being a
remarkable truth that custom has in no one point a greater sway than
over our modes of wreaking our wild passions. And besides, had we
been in Italy, instead of New England, it was hardly yet a crisis for
the dagger or the bowl.
It often amazed me, however, that Hollingsworth should show himself
so recklessly tender towards Priscilla, and never once seem to think
of the effect which it might have upon her heart. But the man, as I
have endeavored to explain, was thrown completely off his moral
balance, and quite bewildered as to his personal relations, by his
great excrescence of a philanthropic scheme. I used to see, or fancy,
indications that he was not altogether obtuse to Zenobia's influence
as a woman. No doubt, however, he had a still more exquisite
enjoyment of Priscilla's silent sympathy with his purposes, so
unalloyed with criticism, and therefore more grateful than any
intellectual approbation, which always involves a possible reserve of
latent censure. A man--poet, prophet, or whatever he may be--readily
persuades himself of his right to all the worship that is voluntarily
tendered. In requital of so rich benefits as he was to confer upon
mankind, it would have been hard to deny Hollingsworth the simple
solace of a young girl's heart, which he held in his hand, and
smelled too, like a rosebud. But what if, while pressing out its
fragrance, he should crush the tender rosebud in his grasp!
As for Zenobia, I saw no occasion to give myself any trouble.
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