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ad has met thine own.
'ON AND LOST.
IT MART E. IITA>\
‘Guy Moulthrop, are yon actually yawning?'
‘Yawning? to-be-sure. This is a most stupid
affair. No dancing, no cards; not even a quiet
waltz.’
‘Plenty of pretty faces,’ suggested my friend
Harry Ttiorne.
‘Pretty faces ! Positively, they are insipid as
their own lemonade. Just as much alike as so
many pinks is a garden plat. Two skirts of tar-
leton, surmounted by a pretty little head with
small, unmeaning features, pink and white com
plexion, corkscrew curls, artificial flowers, etc.,
etc., Beally, there is so little difference between
them, that, as poor Charley used to say, I
couldn’t tell ‘tother from which,’ if I did not
keep repeating to myself—Miss Smith, pink tar-
leton ; Miss Jones, blue ditto; Miss Brown, white
ditto, and so on through the series. What is one
to do with such commonplace creatures, Hal ?’
‘Flirt with them,’ said my friend, laconically.
‘Faugh! They understand as little about the
science of flirting as so many Hotten.ots. They •
pride themselves noon being adepts in coquet-
try, but they know nothing about its fir6t prin
ciple—the fascination of indifference. Dispen- [
sing smiles right and left, simpering, looking ;
volumes of lackadaisical love, and affecting the j
Tiui' eie and child-like has become so hackneyed, ,
that it is positively disgusting. Flirt! why they ■
are too ready to fall in love in cold earnest, ever :
to carry on a real interesting, scientific flirtation. j
What pleasure is there in storming the castle,
when you may walk right in at the door and be
asked to take a sent, in the bargain?’
‘You are exerting yourself unusually,’ said [
Harry, fanning mo gently with his cambric j
handkerchief. ‘Don’t get excited, I pray; you
remember telling me that it betokened vulgar ,
breeding. I will leave you now to your nap.
Do you intend sitting behind this table all night,
or will you go and be presented_to Miss Blakely
—the belle of the night—who has been teasing
me to introduceyou?’
‘Not for the world. Iam tired of being smiled j
sung at. Isn’t there some married women
high-necked black silk frock in this room?
that is old enough to feel flattered by my ■
itions, and young enough to blush when I
her a compliment? I am thoroughly sick
ant
at
so
you o
stairs
ir arms leave a
powdered that tin
jn your coat sleeve
?re is not a woman
iscribe, except old
eating sausages,
ry the ‘fascination of ailferen
chalk
re house dressed as
Potts, who is down
like to go
upon
rou
up tl
pencil and hand it to
o sketch ysurself and
ad and Miranda. How
leal! Stay; what lady
the white dress? That is
'Veyer. She is leaning
her?’
‘Pshaw! Pic
me, and then 1
Miss Blakely a
well you would
is that?’
‘The pale od
Miss Weyer—Constance
on the arm of her father, taiking to him and old
Professor Sands. I don’t think she has spoken
to another soul to-night. If you want an oddity,
she is one for you. A young man need never
try to play the agreeable to her. She would
freeze him into an icicle with those cold, calm
eyes of hers, or else go to talking about Helper
and Lord Bacon, when he asked if she had read
Miss Braddon’s lest They say she reads law
with her father and does half his writing for
him. She never goes to parties, unless it is
some such prosy affair as this, and then she
never quits her father’s arm. No young gen
tleman has the hardihood to speak to her, or
else they are not attracted by her appearance. I
confess I see nothing lovable in such Minervas.
Women were made to be loved and petted—not
to stand in ewe of.’
‘Introduce me, wont you?’
‘Never having enjoyed the honor of her ac
quaintance, I cannot do so. Besides, it would
be of no use. She will disconcert even yon,.. by
ber calm scrutiny, and cut you short in her
quiet, sarcastic way. Amuse yourself as stupid
ly as you like ; I must go back to Miss Blakely.
Get some one else to introduce you, if you find
any one acquainted with Miss Weyer. I know
of no one.’
He went, and I leaned my arms on the table
and looked at the woman before me. A young
girl she no longer was, judging from the decis
ion and character expressed in her face. She
was above the medium height, but ber erect,
slender figure and the firm munner in which
her well-shaped head was set upon her shoul
ders, made her seem taller than she really was.
She wore a dress of clear, white muslin, that
covered her bust and arms with its pure fabric;
and over ber broad, full and white forehead
were plainly parted the folds of dark chestnut
hair, with no ornament except a spray of green
leaves.
She was talking very earnestly, hut quietly, to
her father and Professor Sands,turning her pale,
animated face from one to the other, und appa
rently quite absorbed in the conversation. If I
had not been so bored by.commonplace faces, I
have turned away after a brief glance,
the comment that the girl had quite an in-
ea
tounc
sion of one tc
dently a gift o
promised to b
was glad of a
the stagnant
nature. The game
interesting, and I
y ripple to break
ea of monotony.
1 never could endure a plhin,
commonplace love affair, or even
one of the Borneo and Juliet or
der, which is so stale that it ha3
ceased to have the least particle
of romance about it. A woman
bad no charm for me, unless she
were engaged, on the point of
being married, or debarred from
falling in love by some other ob
stacle. »
Now, I found one whose will
and inclination were the barriers
I had to surmount, and I amused
myself with wondering how that
grave, white face would look
, nen
flushe
wi
ki
icienth
brt
ak t
bits
Tiie C aun ry a 5
at Komi:.
telligent countenance. As it was,I turned from
the throng of doll-like beauties and looked with
a sense of positive relief upon the figure, stat; ly
yet slender, the dress statuesque in its simplic
ity and flowing grace, the face oval and pale,
lit only by the clear, gray eyes and rare, sweet
smiles, that quivered once or twice about the
firmly closed lips.
I resolved to know her, but how to effect the
introduction, I could not tell. I was not sufli-
ciently interested to exert myself a great deal to
obtain it. I found if quite pleasant enough to
watch her from my seat in the shaded alcove.
However, when I saw her handkerchief fall un
observed at her feet and lie there without being
noticed by ber companions, I thought the op
portunity for making her turn those large, lus-
to be lost, and
exception of the squad of childremat the farther
extremity of the saloon.
It is absurd to dress up a set of juveniles and
■- 'o.l them to a party for exhibition. They are
pri oocious enough in this mushroon age, with
out being more prematurely developed bv the
‘ She hasn’t got any, ma. She came to-night
with me, and my mama is in the other room,’
replied some one among the group of children.
‘ Then, father,’ said Miss Weyer, ‘ the car
riage is ready; let us take her home with us
and Dr. Morse, who is there, will set the arm
f >rcing process of hot rooms, gas-light and late | and do whatever else is needed. Will some one
carry her out ?’
She was lying in my arms, and I was only too
glad of the opportunity of making Miss Weyer
notice me, though it might cost me more trouble
than I was in the habit of bestowing upon any
thing.
I lifted the slight figure as though it had been
a bird, and followed Miss Weyer and her father
down the flight of steps, to the carriage, which
was in readiness, I entered first with my little
I nours. And then the amount ol flirting and
! backbiting they do in one night, and the quan
tity of bon bons they manage to devour, is per-
: fectly incredible. But so long as vanity is the
autocrat ot society, young masters and misses
will be sent out to parties to display their punv
j arms, their slender calves and curled locks. At
| such an affair as this—a musical entertainment
I to procure funds for the benefit of the Found
ling Hospital—there was sure to beany num-
trous eyes upon me, too good to be lost, and so, ; ber of miniature men and women. They had j burden, drove home with them and was invited
rising from my seat, I sauntered across the j sat very stiffly at first, complaining of the sfcu- j iu by the old gentleman—Miss Weyer, in her
room, dropped my pencil, as ll >j accident, | pidity ot a party without dancing, “but growing j solicitude for the child, seeming wholly uneon-
near the handkerchief, and stooping, picked j tired of munching candy, they had throw
dde their "
them both up. I handed her the dainty snow
drift of cambric with all the graceful noncha-
lence I could command, and received a slight
bow in return. My vanity was greatly piqued.
She had hardly gianced"at me, and had turned
away immediately to r6piy to some question oi
the Professor’s. Miss Blakely would have
smiled and darted a volume of encouragement
from under her black lashes, tor was I not Guy
Moulthrop, a gentleman of elegant leisure, just
‘from abroad,’and was’nt my portrait conspicu
ous in the gallery of ‘ The Handsomest Men of
New York?’
The room was rapidly being vacated by the
gay promenaders, for Casta Diva, performed by
Madame Baimundi, attracted them iniothe eon-
dignity and concluded to amuse
themselves with games. They were jumping
about at a merry rate, highly excited by that
very new and interesting play of ‘Stage Coach,’
when I heard a fall and a little, sharp scream,
tuli ol pain, and saw tho children gathering
around a figure prostrate on the floor. When
I reached the scene of the accident, Miss Weyer
had put aside the frightened children and was
kneeling down by the little frail girl, upon
whom the flower stand had fallen. She had
tainted from the pain of a broken arm, as I
found by raising ber from the floor and exam
ining the injured limb; but she partially re
covered on a restorative being applied.
There was a good deal of excitement among
cert room, and pretty soon a tew couples, who , theclnldien and the few other occupants of the
were strenuously bent upon love-making, and j room, but Miss Weyer calmed it in a moment,
two or three oldish ladies who preferred the j ‘There was no occasion for alarm 1 or for dis-
music of their own gossip to any other melody j turbing the rest of the guests,’ said her clear,
under Heaven, were all that were left, with the , authoritative voice. ‘Are the child’s parents here?’
scions of my presence. During the somewhat
difficult operation of setting the broken limb,
Miss Weyer stood by the little sufferer, soothing
and encouraging her to boar the pain and as
sisting Dr. Morse, whenever she could he of
service. At last it was over, and I had no farther
pretext for remaining. As I rose to take my de
parture, Miss Weyer looked, I think for the
first time, into my face, thanked me in a few
words for my assistance and gave me her hand
at parting. My handsome personel did not
seem to impress her with any profound admi
ration, and I went home vexed with myself for
taking so much trouble about a little, pale-faced
woman; but, determined to know more of her,
and if possible, to make her acknowledge my
power of fascination.
Next morning, 1 called to inquire after the
little patient, and found that the father of the
child, who was there, was an acquaintance of
my own. By him I was formally presented to
Miss Weyer, and listened for a few moments to
of flattering, I could never com
pliment her. Her large, search
ing eyes fixed so steadfastly upon
me, disconcerted me in spite of
myself, and more than once to my
utter amazement, I found myself
actually blushing. At last an ex
pedient occurred to me. I had
considerable taste for painting
and had cultivated it at irregular
interval,sin the same desultory manner in which
I prosecuted everything I undertook. If I had
been obliged to choose between the alternative
of work or starvation, I think I should have
made an artist; as it was, there was always a
picture on my easel, and I never remember fin
ishing but one. This was a representation of
Tennyson’s Princess. The character had al
ways impressed me as one of the noblest con
ceptions I ever met with in literature.
It is a true poet’s ideal of a true woman—the
word-embodied dream of a soul, that closing its
eyes to all incongruous surroundings, shaped
with its own creative imagination
‘God’s noblest work—
A woman perfected.’
I had admired it as a purely idealistic concep
tion—as a keen but beautiful satire on ths pres
ent generation of women, and had smiled when
I contrasted the Princess with the females of my
acquaintance. But since I had known Con
stance Weyer, she somehow constantly recalled
this lofty creature of Tennyson’s dream. She
had the same severe intellectual pursuits, the
same strong individuality and the same spirit
uality of feeling.
Musing over the resemblance, I one day
sketched the features of Miss Weyer, and after
wards finished the portrait, giving it more
brilliancy and more warmth of color than be
longed to the original, but still preserving the
elevated expression, the deep eyes and features
of Constance. This portrait—the first and last
I ever completed—I had hung in an Art Galle
ry, which I knew Miss Weyer often visited. I
was there the evening she first saw it. She en
tered with her father, and leaving him to dream
over ‘The Last Supper,’she came slowly up the
farther extremity of the gallery, pausing to ex
amine the pictures as she passed, until
(Concluded on 6th page.)