Ernest Linwood; or, The Inner Life of the Author. Caroline Lee Hentz
love him better for his lights and shadows," said Edith, "he keeps one always thinking of him."
"When would this shadowy, flashing being appear, who kept one always thinking of him?"
CHAPTER XV.
As I had made an engagement with Mr. Regulus for one year, I remained with Dr. Harlowe's family during the winter months, while Mrs. Linwood and Edith returned to the city.
The only novelty of that wintry season was the first correspondence of my life. Could any thing prove more strikingly my isolated position in the world than this single fact? It was quite an era in my existence when I received Mrs. Linwood's and Edith's first letters; and when I answered them, it seemed to me my heart was flowing out in a gushing stream of expression, that had long sought vent. I knew they must have smiled at my exuberance of language, for the young enthusiast always luxuriates under epistolary influences. I had another correspondent, a very unexpected one, Richard Clyde, who, sanctioned by Mrs. Linwood, begged permission to write to me as a friend. How could I refuse, when Mrs. Linwood said it would be a source of intellectual improvement as well as pleasure? These letters occupied much of my leisure time, and were escape-pipes to an imagination of the high-pressure kind. My old love of rhyming, too, rose from the ashes of former humiliation, and I wove many a garland of poesy, though no one but myself inhaled their fragrance or admired their bloom.
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