Soon did the widow and her daughter engage the affections of the scholars, and a great intimacy took place between Matilda and Clara. The Wiltons were wealthy, and their influence great; yet, notwithstanding their efforts to induce Mrs. Clayton to mingle with society, she and Matilda remained secluded from all the gaieties and pleasures of the village. Often did their acquaintances stroll to the cottage to listen to their sweet voices as they sung to their instruments; and never shall I forget the tender tears I shed as I stood one moonlight evening near the lattice, and heard the widow play and sing these touching lines: How hard it is with calmness to survey, The scenes which memory bringeth to my view; I fain would drive its spectre forms away, And think ideal, what I know is true. She brings back scenes of bliss beyond compare, Recalls the joys which are forever fled— I bathe their memory with my bitter tears, And leave this spot to weep around the dead. I gaze on thee, my own, my darling child— I see “thy father’s softened image there;” And oh! my tears arise to check thy smile, And bid thee share thy widow’d mother’s care. I’ve asked not pity, for too cold’s this world To share the sorrows of the suffering poor; From wealth’s high summit, when the wretch is hurled, Alone they’re left their misery to deplore: But conscious virtue will our solace be— Perhaps we yet some feeling hearts may find; While sweet’s the task to teach and succor thee, My own Matilda, my dear orphan child; And to our God our evening hymn we’ll raise, For He did hear, when in our wo we cried; The widow’s spouse—the orphan’s friend we’ll praise, And dry our tears in hopes of bliss on high. Even now I almost fancy I can hear her sweet tremulous voice, as it rose on the silent evening breeze, and still I seem to gaze on that lovely, though pallid face, as with tearful uplifted eye she sang those last lines of tender heart-touching piety and faith. But I have wandered from my narrative. Years rolled by, and still the widow’s school increased, and with it love and respect for her and her daughter. Clara Wilton had been the constant companion of the latter for near three years, and her proficiency in both solid and ornamental branches of education should have satisfied even her ambitious parents. But the fashionable error that a young lady’s education could never be completed at home, had found its way here, and Clara, with others, was removed from Mrs. Clayton’s maternal care, to mix with strangers, careless of their principles, and uninterested in their happiness.