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r< .—■— """" Hr s^^ r& PUBLISHED BY STOCKTON & CO NEW SERIES.] ' w [Written for the Field and Firedde.] the iruzio or na runs. TO XABY. 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©; on, the tamer tasked. A STORY WITHOUT A MORAL. CHAPTER IV. 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 K ISi^ ■ - jPiP" S <r!f ■ r -> . 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 ities.’ ‘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 away. 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 envy? Ihopeso.’ 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 to succeed.’ # J * • it r . •■ ? * VXLv/ V| • *". i 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 proudly. 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 sequences.’ ‘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 oritical period. ‘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.