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PUBLISHED BY STOCKTON & CO
[Written for the Field and Firedde.]
the iruzio or na runs.
A sad, melodious strain comes from the trees.
Its weird and moaning voice the heart inclines,
It seems the dying of the spring-time breeze
In the sweat, low maale of the pines.
Attentive lend, I pray, a list’ning ear,
The monminl cadence nought bat love defines;
The sighs that plead for me are those yon hear
In the sweet, lor’music of the pines.
Ok why will yon my torture thus prolong
When nature’s self onto my suit inclines?
And pleads my cause with mnrm’ring song,
In the sweet, low music of the pines.
Oh I let that heart relent and speak the word,
Twill wake a love that blesses and refines,
While grateful sephyrs whisp’ring can be heard
la the sweet, lew music of the pines.
And may no rest their mournful music give,
TUlmem’ry fondly oUAh# oast enshrines,
in the sweet, low mepr W the pines.
W. N. V.
Empire Hospital, Atlanta, Oa.
From Blackwood's Magazine.
ALL 2M TOSS WM&N©;
the tamer tasked.
A STORY WITHOUT A MORAL.
Clare desiring to avenge herself, began to ob
serve and measure adversary. If women give
themselves to the pursuit of revenge, not being
strong, they perhaps must needs be treaoherons.
Clare did deeire revenge, and only one way of ob
taining it seemed open to her. Os that way Pm.
dence said, ‘lt is wrong;’ but Pride declared;
‘Yon are safe.’
Her resolve was taken one morning, as from
the breakfast-room window she scrutinized her
enemy. Mr. Smith was lounging on the terrace,
hatless, in the full blaze of the morning sun. In
his attitudes there wss something of listless south
ern grace when he wss in repose, as there was as
much of southern fire, when he was ronsed. His
head, witb.its northern massiveness, looked some;
what’too large for the slight and peculiarly flexi
ble figure; his features, though small, had
something of coarseness in their moulding
looked as if they had been worn down by con
stant friction, rather than at first delicately
chiselled. The mouth took an unconscious and
tender curve, if the lips uttered a noble or gene
rous sentiment, and forgot for a moment to follow
it by a sneer—if at the same time the shaggy
brows for a moment raised themselves sufficiently
to let sunshine from within or without illumine
the eyes beneath -eyes resembling a Highland
tarn in depth and color—then, for that moment,
an ordinary woman would hardly have denied
that Mr. Smith had a face, if not or
beautiful, attractive to an unusual
an ordinary woman at such times it was a face of
the type most dangeriSns to such women as, of
neither the highest nor the lowest order of moral
cr spiritual development, go to form the mass of
womankind. In it there was a suggestion of
possible lawlessness and tyranny, which, while
it would have repelled a nature of the high
est order, through being out of harmony with its
knowledge and love of true beauty, would have
inspired one of the lowest with unmitigated fear,
I i because such a nature could have no perception
■ - jPiP"
S <r!f ■
. AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, APRIL 30, 1864.
of the redeeming qualities whleh might render in
nocuona those it did perceive.
Clare noticing for the first time that the un
cared-for locks on which the blaze of sunlight
fell were pretty freely sprinkled with gray, was
wondering how this came about, what Mr. Bmith’s
age conld be, when suddenly he arose and came
to the window at which she stood, the purpose
and directness with which he did so showing that
ho had been quite aware of her observance. This
annoyed Clare, and she felt at onoe placed her in
the wont position.
‘Good morning, Miss Watsrmeyr—a beautiful
morning. I have, aa yon have seen, been enjoy
ing the warmth—sunning myself as your peacock
is doing. I suppose as we are hostile powers, we
are privileged die one to take the measure of the
other. I have allowed yon to exercise this privil
ege uninterruptedly for some time.’
It was more the manner than the words that
were offensive to Clare, and something in the
dlreot, unflinching glance that accompanied them,
made her shrink trom entering upon any engage
ment of looks or words.
She retreated sjewnaoca from thjpatodawaa
‘Are we hpstile powers, Mr. Smith ?I am un
aware either that this is the case, or why it
should be so.’ ,
Her tone was wonderfully gentle, yet it seemed
to have no softening influence.
•You use a woman’s privilege, Miss Watermeyr
—yon must ask mp what privilege, or I dare not
name it.’, ,
’Consider the question asked,’ Clare said, mak
ing an attempt to give a light bantering tone to
the conversation. But' Mr. Smith ehose to re
main immovably grave, and to speak with harsh
severity of tone.,
‘1 consider that you consider (meaning not Miss
Watermeyr in particular, of course, but women
in general) that to lie is the privilege of your sex.
Men and women always meet on equal terms;
from men is exacted the strictest truth and honor,
while the ldVt of long nse allows to women the
weapons of cunning and falsehood.’
Clare fdlt that she flashed in an almost intoler
able way, partly from anger, partly from a Bense
\,f detected guilt Mr. Smith marked his advan
tage, and continued:
‘Then, again, a woman may with impnnity treat
a man with tue most deliberate insolence, even
under circumstances that make- it doubly hard
for him to endure It—when, for instance, then
relations are those of hostess and guest; but any
deviation from courtesy, ordinary and extraordi
nary, on the part of the man, is considered a
crime against all the most sacred superstitions of
man the individual, and of that curious confound
of amalgamated mankind known as society.’
‘You, at least, are free from such sacred Bqper
stitions!’ cried Clare, in uncontrollable passion
‘True! I am at daggers drawn with superstition,
and wage war against those empty conventional
‘Sir! Ido not think yon will find it possible to
carry on snch a warfare under this roof.’
‘Madam 1 hew am I to understand yon ?’ Mr.
Smith scowled at Clare formidably from under
his brows as he asked the question.
•In any way ydh please, sir,’ she answered, too
angry to be intimidated.
Mr. Smith bowed profoundly; Clare swept
Poor Clare I yet she deserved no pity.
‘Mr. Smith wrote a letter that day to a friend
abroad. This is an extract from it:
‘Yon ask me how I mean to amuse myself. In
a novel manner—in breaking in a woman, taming
a shrew, not for my own use, but for my friend.
I am the guest of this schonti Tevftlvnn% This
morniuing she gave me notice to quit; before to*
morrow 1 His ti> is she shall have asked me to stay
-nay, more, skill have asked my pardon. If I
desoribe this lair shrew to yon, yoa will fall In
love with uiy description; so I forbear, only say
ing that though she had the most beautiful foot
in the world, as you might Incline to maintain, 1
could not tolerate seeing it set on a man’s neck,
that man my friend; though she had the most
beautiful hand In the world, as white as a lilly, as
smooth as sculptured marble, as solt as a mole’s
skin (a new simile that!) I would not let it play
with a man’s heart-strings as with the strings of a
harp, to make moslo w discord at its<pleasure.. It
is well that you are not In my place; you would
gill a'Tlotim at once; you would rave at her won
derful eyes, her sunshine-spun hair, her teeth,
lips, chin; her brow would dazzle you blind by
its whiteness, and the changing rose of her cheek
would—. Are you not dying with longing and
Clare had a miserable day. Prom her window
up stairs, in her usual sitting room, she did not
feel safe from the observations of her audaoious
guest; she the proceedings of her cousin
upon tho rtver.* kf.smith appeared to have a
passion for rowing. In the afternoon they rode
over to the neigborlng town. She was not asked
to join them in either expedition.
As she dressed for dinner, she saw two young
men leaning against the balustrade of the terrace,
partly in the shadow of the cedar, talking earnest
ly. It seemed to Clare that Allan was pleading
or remonstrating with his companion, who pres
ently turned sharply round—his face had been
half averted—put both hands upon Allan’s shoul
ders and looked into bis face with an expression
which made Clare think-‘lf I loved this Mr.
Smith, and Allan were' a woman, this little scene
would have killed me with Jealousy.’ Then she
laughed to herself, and looked in the glass; she
had an exquisite taste in dress; to-day she had
not been careless. As the light langh rippled
over her face, and chased the lines of gloom and
sullenness before it, she was not ill-pleased with
tie result of her efforts. ‘What is the use if I can
not keep my temper ?’ she said. ‘1 will keep it.’
When she went into the drawing-room, she
found-all the little party assembled there.
Mr. Stanner was saying, ‘Leave us so soon, Mr.
Smith! indeed you must not. You have seen
nothing, done nothing yet. We are very proud of
the beauty of our neighborhood, and must show
it to you, who can so well appreciate it’
■For many reasons I shall be sorry to leave so
suddenly, but’—and he looked full at Clare.—‘un
less a most improbable event happen, I shall be
forced to do so. Under ordinary circumstances,
it would have afforded me great pleasure to be
longer Miss Watermeyr s guest; but the circum
stances which decide me no longer to avail myself
of her hospitality are not ordinary.’
Clare pretended to be absorbed in Mrs. An
drew’s imbroidery. She commented upon her
progress, stooping so as partially to hide her face;
then dinner waa announced.
Mr. Smith waa grave and snbdued in his manner
all that evening; warmly affectionate towards
Allan, he was scrupulously, though ieely, cour
teous to Clare—thus, as she felt, placing her still
more in the worse position; if he had been angry
and insolent, she would have been much more at
her ease; of ooiirae he knew this.
Allan and Clare chancing to be alone on the
terrace for a few minutes, Clare said:
‘You are very sorry that your friend leaves you
so soon T
‘I confess I am sorry.’
‘Why do you not persuade him to stay V
\‘l cannot; I have tried# 7
‘lf you have failed, no one, 1 am sure, is likely
* • it r . •■ ?
at B^»se^^^slSs^ THS '
‘No one but yourself. He fcM determined to
leave, because, for some reason he will not ex
plain, ho is sure that his presence is (to use his
own words) offensive to you, the ‘mistress of the
house’ and, in that way, injurious to me.’
•He leaves, then, after all, on your account
out of consideration to you,’ Clare said.
His friendship for me is very strong, and very
disinterested. I assure yon that ho has a heart
as loving as it is noble, thongh ydfl npt
think so.’ j 1 *
‘I certainty should not think sos, Allan. Well
I do not wish to scare away yodr mefld ; I have
no right to do so. This morning, stung by some
of his criticisms, I lost my temper, and offended
Mr. Smith. Shall I apologise and ask him to re
main if I will if you wish it.’
‘Apologise; no, certainly. I should not wish
you to apologise to any man,’ Allan answered
Clare winced, but let the expression pass for
once. She had spoken with an affectation of care
lessness; of course Allas could not guess her
complex motives for this concession—a concession
1 Which. Jeijßhfrad.. Jftn-f-frArts friend’s sate and
r fiGwtrn. ‘lt it as too dm& out doors now for him
1 to see the expression of her face, or he might not
’ have been so delighted.
'But though 1 should not wish, or like, you to
apologise to John, feeling sure that be must hare
been at least equally in fault,’ Allan continued,
after a pause; 'I should be deeply gratified, dear
Clare, by you expressing to him a wish that he
sho&d postpone his departure.’
‘twill do so Allan, and you must take the con
‘They will be that he will remain; a word
from you will be enough. Shall I bring him to
you now V
‘No; 1 shall choose my own|time and piaoe ;
there is no hurry. Yon said he meant to leave to
morrow night '
‘One word more before you go iu. Am I very
selfish in allowing yon to ask my friend to stay 1
Is his presence really disagreeable to you?’
‘I can tolerate it,’ Clare answered, with a laugh
Allan did not understand. ‘Now, don't keep me
ont any longer; it is quite cool.’
■Hay I venture to thank yon thoal’ Allan
touehed Clare’s hand with his lips. She with
drew her hand, not angrily or hastily—the truth
being that full of other thoughts, she hardly
uotieed the action. ,
They had approached near enough to the win
dows for the light from the room to fall upon
them. Mr. Smith noticed all the point of this
little by-play— Clare’s air of abstraction. Allan's
flushed and eagur eyed look of happiness. . ‘What
is up now ?’ thought the cynic. He further thought,
as he presently looked at Clare’s hand rest
ing on the back of a crimson velvet chair, as she
stood for a few moments at the window, listening
tolerantly to Allan’s comments on the beauty' of
the scene—lawns, woods, river, and the distant
hills—that, just for the sake of experience, he
wonld not mind re-enacting the little comedy of
the other morning, substituting the lady’s hand
for the lady’s glove. #
Presently the expression of Clare’s face became
more than tolerant—animated, interested. Mr.
Smith stole from the near neighborhood of the
cousins, bnt not before he had become aware,
with a carious thrill, that Allan was talking of his
student life, and of the varied and valuable ser
vices rendered him by his friend daring that
‘Poor, dear Allan!’ soliloquised Clare, when she
was alone for the night. Perhaps even to herself
she did not explain this sadden compassion.
‘For all that, even if I believed it, I have been
insulted, insolently treated, and must have my
revenge.’ And her face flashed prondly, and A
[VOL IL—NUMBER 18.