"I am tired; indeed I cannot," answered Grace, in reply to Alfred's request that she should waltz with him-" and the room is so very warm; I feel that I ought not to attempt it just now." coffee. The first quadrille was forming at the, on his part. She looks half-disinclined; there, head of the room were Grace and Mr. Murray; they are gone to the lobby." Mr. Percival and Kate had also taken their place; Fanny Weston, with her listless step, was dancing with another officer: all were gay and happy-looking; but Grace, though she laughed, and returned word for word with her partner, watched the door incessantly, and as it closed on every new arrival, an anxiety was visible, and she raised her glass with almost nervous excitement. "What's the matter?" inquired Mr. Murray, seeing her stoop, and look towards her foot. "Ah, I have broken my sandal! What shall I do?" "Allow me to fasten it for you; I shall be but too proud to kneel and arrange the shoe of the prettiest foot in the county." "Never mind, now," laughed Grace; "Mrs. Newman, opposite, would say we were flirting if I allowed you to commit such an enormity: I can wait until the dance is over." "But will you not waltz the first with me?" "Certainly," she answered gaily, dancing off. "I am heart-sick of Murray, Kate," whispered Grace, passing in the quadrille. "I wonder, will he never come!" "I am dancing with him," answered Kate, thinking only of Edward Percival. Grace smiled. The waltz struck up-that dance so much rhymed, so often reprobated-tolerated by mothers who have daughters with pretty figures and feet-pronounced so spirit-stirring and enlivening by the young girl who is fond of admiration-so dangerous by the man who has a handsome young wife, quite willing to dance it if allowed-and so decidedly improper, with every step full of levity, and every motion beyond the limits of modesty, by the old man with grandchildren, who affirms, "such a dance would not have been thought of in his days." We do not attempt either to censure or approve; the story has nought to do with it. Grace Clifford waltzed with Mr. Murray, and as she fled round, a figure peering into the room struck her: it was like Alfred, so she sat down. A minute after Alfred Selby entered, and selected Fanny Weston as a partner for the dance then commencing. It was too much to be slighted for a mere doll; so Grace, vowing internally to make him suffer, was again all smiles and joyousness. "What a pretty girl is Grace Clifford and how young she looks! I thought, on entering the room, it was a child: that white muslin dress, and red berry wreath round her head become her. I would rather have her appearance to-night than all the paraphernalia of finery she was decked in a few evenings since." This was the whisper of a young gentleman, who had been intently regarding Grace, to another, who immediately answered, "I have been thinking that she is a fine girl; but somehow I am half afraid of her mocking laugh, though I shall go now, and ask her to dance." "Forestalled, as sure as truth; young Selby has her: I think there is something a little sweet "Come to the next room," said the young man, anxiously, as he saw her flushed cheek and heard her quick breathing; "do come; you will find it quite cool and refreshing," and they passed through the lobby into the back drawing-room. There was but one young man before them as they entered, and with a natural feeling that he might be an intruder, he glided quietly through the other door. "Is it not cool, now?" asked Alfred, sitting down, and drawing a chair for Grace; but she stood proudly under the chandelier, and turned her face upward, as if to invite more colour to her cheek, and lightnings to her eye. In a second he was at her side. Why will you thus treat me? How can you account for such conduct?" burst hurriedly from him. 66 I was but amusing myself: you know I do not care for Mr. Murray: be friends," and Grace held out her hand, while she smiled sweetly. Alfred looked at the bright, glowing picture of youth, happiness, more than beauty-exquisite expression; while he read in the blushing face (as he thought), a confession. He took the offered hand, and held it closely within his own. "Oh, woman! woman!" he cried; and the prisoner hand was pressed to his heart: he stretched out his right arm as though he would have detained her longer; but Grace thought it had gone far enough; she shook her head in her own coquettish manner, and said, "Come, we shall be missed," and, arm in arm, they joined the company. the "I could quarrel again with you," whispered young man at the door; for reconciliation is a stronger bond. Will you waltz now? That is good music. Ah! they have finished; some one is going to sing." "Well, I shall sit awhile. Go, hearken to the song, and come back by and bye." Grace took a seat on a sofa beside an old man, and sighed heavily. Even then, in the height of conquest, and full stretch of her power over the young man's heart, a sense of utter loneliness came chillingly across the fair deceiver; her gay, careless laugh was hushed; and but little of the dancing was shared in any more by the volatile flirt. "Look at Grace," said Edward Percival to Kate, in a low tone: "though she is talking to that old man so sedately, she has neither heart nor spirits to be amused. I know no one more deceptive than that girl! I have, at times, thought her most to be envied in the world, with that unconcerned manner; and again, I have despised her for downright coquetry and trifling; but invariably she cheats me into forgiveness and admiration, by the frankness with which she will say, 'I love none of them; and yet I like Alfred Selby.' There, now, to im-theless much good within: she is one who does partial, unprejudiced well-wishers of hers, like you and me, Kate," and he looked into her blushing face, to read, if possible, her thoughts, "Grace's eyes are meaningless, for her body alone holds a place in this room." "Grace is a strange girl," answered Kate, murmuringly; "and yet I think that she is happy in her own way. It is not well to be admired by the crowd: I should prefer a few simple friends. She has been spoiled by too much indulgence in childhood, acting on an excitable temperament. Years may, I hope, check that love of conquest. She cannot understand my creed, that the love of many brings misery and unhappiness: it is more to be dreaded than entire solitude; while one faithful and true heart is a prize seldom drawn from the lottery, but which is nevertheless of inestimable value, and worthy our best endeavours to attain.” "I am a convert, dear Kate, to so excellent a doctrine," exclaimed Edward: "and, to a truth, so feelingly expressed! me Hearken to "How very ill Grace Clifford is looking!" said Mrs. Mansergh to Fanny Weston and her mother, who were paying a morning visit at her house. "Yes, indeed," answered Mrs. Weston, "I think she has been declining ever since her sister's marriage with Edward Percival. Mrs. Clifford told me yesterday that Kate is the happiest woman in the world, and Edward making a rapid fortune, attending to his profession. They are establisbed at fifty miles from here; he has more to do than any one of his standing that goes the circuit." 66 And," interrupted Fanny, "they invited Miss Grace on a visit, but she would not go; perhaps she regrets having refused Mr. Murray: he would have been more acceptable, I fancy, as a lover and husband than old Colonel Lucas; and he had quite as much money. I met Mr. Selby, and he seemed quite astonished when I told him the news. I wonder how he will like to have it found out that she jilted him? I said long ago she was fond of admiration; but he thought otherwise, for which reason I gave him the hint to-day." "Oh, fie! naughty Fanny!" said her mother, at the same time her eye was smiling approbation. "How could you be so cruel? Indeed, at any rate, Alfred Selby is no match for any he is a perfect idler, squandering away his time, and without a prospect of fortune." one; "The Cliffords are particular friends and favourites of mine," interrupted Mrs. Mansergh; and really very good, obliging girls. Kate was my favourite of the two, because of her gentle, pure disposition, and single-mindedness. It was at my house, you may remember, three months since, that he proposed for her: I shall never forget her look of happiness that night: she is, indeed, a worthy example. Grace, with more glare and many imperfections, has never not value the world's opinion—an injurious proceeding either in old or young, as we live in a great measure for the world. Colonel Lucas will suit her better than either of the young men: he certainly is near sixty; but she always said an old man would be her taste." Mrs. Weston changed the conversation, and presently took leave. On the same day, about three o'clock, Grace Clifford and her mother were both in the room where first we introduced the sisters to our readers; Mrs. Clifford working, and as she plied her needle quickly, every now and then addressed her daughter. Grace knew by instinct a lecture was at hand; so she changed her position, and sat with her face quite turned away, looking over the leaves of a music book. Mrs. Clifford was longing to begin her oration, yet she was afraid. Grace had been spoiled, in every sense of the word: her mother loyed her, but dreaded the quick kindling eye, and the tongue, whose every word could contain pointed meaning and bitter stings at pleasure. Of late, Grace's unamiable moods had the preponderance, and her delicate, slight appearance frightened a mother's heart, always nervously alive to danger, even without the probability of a cause. “Grace, my child, dreaming again? come and take a walk with your father and me. I have never seen a colour on your cheek since Kate left us; instead of looking happy, you seem wretched. I wish you would go to her for change of scene." 66 Do you forget, mamma, I am engaged to Colonel Lucas, and that I could not go, even if I would?" "I am delighted, Grace," interrupted her mother, "that you have mentioned the subject, as I want to tell you, once for all, it depends on your own will and pleasure whether you choose to marry Colonel Lucas or not. We are not tired of our child; and I own we consider it strange that you should refuse Mr. Murray, a young man more of a suitable age, and then accept a man older than your father. It is not yet too late; why not allow me to tell him that you have changed your mind? He is worthy of a good, steady wife; and a visionary girl is not fitted for him. I wonder he cannot perceive the languor with which his very presence inspires you. Nay, it is no laughing matter, Grace, and I must say your laugh comes not from the heart; but remember, a husband is quite different from a beau or lover, who may be cast off as you would your dress, from very fickleness; he will be your companion through life, and assert a stronger claim over you than I have ever done the chain will prove agony to your disposition, without love. Reflect, my child, I am sure I have not spoken unjustly." Mother," said Grace-and she turned round, looking almost startling, so determined was the expression of that face of ivory whiteness—“mother, I do wish to marry him for two reasons, and furthermore we will never mention the subject. First, I have long given up all idea of wedding for love, such as I feel it possible I could have felt; but whether I was not one to fix the attentions of a man of sense, or that I neglected the time in idle and vain coquetry, I need not say, for it matters not; secondly, I respect, esteem him, and as it is necessary that I should marry, not being independent, it is fitter that I live with one who will not expect too much, and will make allowances for youth and inexperience, than carry a chill, and a blighting, withering sting, to a warm, imaginative temperament. I have said all: you can go and take your walk; but mind, the subject of love is interdicted for ever." "I am satisfied, Grace: I hope you will be happy, even though you have thought me unworthy of the confidence a child is generally supposed to place in her mother. Do come and take a walk, that we may not give a ghost as a bride." Mrs. Clifford had her hand on the fastening of the door, when Grace eagerly caught her dress-Would you have me tell what could only lessen your child in your opinion and her own? a word can do it, hearken-I have loved, but my love was unrequited!” Grace spoke the words coldly and calmly; but even in uttering them, a slight tremor was visible through her frame. "Ah, I see it all!" exclaimed Alfred, rising in excitement, and laying his hand on a table opposite to her; "you need not be wished joy, at any rate-the blanched cheek and dimmed eye tell that ambition and wealth have purchased you. Vain girl! how could you sell yourself?" "It was my own act, free and unconstrained; and yet I have not sold myself for riches." True," mused the young man, 66 'you refused Murray, who had more wealth; and I imagined then it was a proof of your love for me, though your lips never said it; I read it, as I thought, in every action, and my tongue has never been mute. You knew that I loved you well, deeply, with a devotion blinding me to every fault of yours. It was that very affection which kept me here loitering beside you, when I ought to have been wooing fame and fortune-" "I can hear no longer, Mr. Selby: all those dreams must have an end; the sooner we are awakened the better, in order that the world may claim us as children; every one will tell you such awakening makes us wiser and better. I must go now, and shall expect you to wish me The words came like a shriek from the ex-joy." cited girl, whose white lips had pronounced them; she raised her right hand before her eyes, and staggered back, and almost fell on the sofa. Her mother gazed, deprived of speech, at the weeping Grace; but the words, "Go-I would rather be alone," came from her, and Mrs. Clifford felt that solitude could alone act as a balm to those over-wrought feelings, and slowly shut the door. "No! you shall not," he exclaimed, standing between her and the door; "no, by heaven! not until you answer me this question, for I do not believe that delicate form to be the seat of such utter heartlessness, nor that young, fair face, which I've so loved to dwell on, can bear the bold, practised stamp of deception; no, I think yet better of you. I do not ask whether you have ever loved me, for my own heart readily answers that question; but tell me, have you no fear of my revenge? Could I not whisper to Colonel Lucas what should make even him think little of you? Do you not fear my punishment?" "No, not at all," answered Grace. "Because you loved me, and would even yet think well of me. This must be our last con An hour had struck since Grace first sank on the sofa; and there she remained still, without a motion or change in her position. During the time, she had reviewed her past life. All that she used to take pleasure in seemed now in the abstract as so many stinging memories, revived only to add to her faults. A voice outside startled her; it was some one asking-" Is Miss Clifford in the drawing-room?" The servant replying in the affirmative, made her ad-versation; but I will beg your forgiveness. I vance to meet whoever it might be. Have I have not behaved well to you; still I am asking another scene to go through? I think I know pardon, your granting it will be the deepest that voice," she murmured, and at the same in- sting to this worn heart." stant Alfred Selby entered the room. A colour rose to Grace's cheek as she extended her hand, and they sat down. Alfred took her offered hand-" You have judged me rightly," he said, holding it and looking sadly on his companion; "for so well do I love you, that aught against Grace Clifford shall never pass my lips. I forgive you! yes, a second time I can forgive; once, when forgiveness was asked in mockery, and now, when I see you desire it. May you be as happy as I once hoped to have made you! Is this not wishing you joy? Good bye, Grace." He pressed her hand slightly between his, and was gone. Alfred Selby left her presence a sad, stricken, but a wiser man; he saw that youth and time had been vanishing from his grasp, and that he should make haste and retrieve name and character at his profession. It was a lesson to "Oh! pay not back with ice the gentle heart, That pours the sunshine of its love on thee." Sligo. SONG FOR SPRING. the young man, taught by a severe master, at- | from motives of vain glory, and manifesting a tended with stern and cruel treatment, causing contempt for the holy sentiment of "true love," his mind to take a tone more reflective than gay think on the fate of Grace Clifford. It has been or joyous. It certainly proved the truth of beautifully saidGrace's assertion, spoken with pride of heart and -"It had taught him to be a man." conquest―" And Grace fulfilled her promise: she married Colonel Lucas, who alone looked happy at that strange bridal, for he was proud of the young girl at his side, though not even a blush of maiden modesty crossed her features; for those solemn vows she uttered were scarcely heededher heart was far away with a vision of the past. She was a prudent wife and mother; that pride which in girlhood was only occasional, had grown and been cherished in the steady, pas-With her leafy wreath and sward of green; sionless matron; but Colonel Lucas thought her, if possible, daily more perfect, and proved it on his death-which took place three years after his marriage-when he named her sole heiress to all his possessions, and said-"He need not mention their dear and only child, she being well provided for with her mother." Years have passed away since then. Mrs. Lucas, a calm, but still young and attractive woman, occasionally visits her father and mother, who are living at -; she dresses in slight mourning, and her eye at times beams with something of its old magic when she smiles on the lovely girl of eight years old at her side; and that proud woman, who even yet does not or ever can forget her young heart's dream, loves with all a mother's love (and who can question it?) that gentle Marian; while her constant lesson to her is"The truth, my child, must ever be before you; deception brings out its own punishment, and sooner or later will destroy the brightness of your mind, leaving in its place rank weeds luxuriating; while truth, the glorious attribute of the Most High, needs no dress or adornment. Wear it as a treasure in your heart, and let it be like a diadem on your brow." Marian followed the advice; but was it not a reproach again to Grace that her child should learn, from her teaching, what she had never practised? Alfred Selby attended to his profession, cutting out with patience and perseverance the road to fame and fortune. Surely we would not wish our favourite to pass through life unloved, dwelling on a gloomy past? About ten years after, he met with one who, though neither brilliant nor attractive, yet won the heart of the man of sense and learning; happy and devoted to each other, they are sailing down the stream of life. Mrs. Lucas met with her old admirer during a late visit to her parents, and without embarrassment on either side. Time, and the calm, mellow beauty of middle age, hushes the wild stormy feelings of youth, as the cold twilight of evening inakes us forget the noon-day sun. The twilight of the heart, and the twilight of youth, all shall come encompassing us in their Old Winter hath wedded Spring, No more on the bower shall the snow-cloud lower Old Winter hath wedded Spring. He has wedded the rosy Spring, of white blooms and sweet paly pink, And Spring hath kindled her fires On the dragon-fly and broad peony, Spring rides on the mellow morn, Where she's buried her spouse so cold. How she loves to lean on the lustrous sheen That wakes with the mellow morn. He'll breathe no sullying breath On the glittering charms she bears in her arms, We are hailing thee, all who love; For with mild blue eye, the violets shy "Cull us for maidens fair, rich thanks She has risen on beamy wing, She's leafing the briar, and stringing the lyre Each bud is springing higher, drawn up by the fire She will go, this fickle Spring, But weeping she'll pass o'er the emerald grass A PRIVATE OF THE 55TH. O pardon me! not mine the crime, And though my heart still owns thy sway Yet, though beautiful art thou, Since thou saidst "I love thee not," I will leave thee !-no command In the struggling misty light, 'Neath the peaceful, holy moon, In the fervid heart of noon, On a foreign burning strand, Far from my own native land; In my life's deep agony, A prayer shall spring to Heaven for thee- To overcloud thy happy home, The ruined shrines of memory; And when foremost in the dance, And Fame's glitt'ring wreath hath crown'd thee, Think not of me let me be A thing unknown to joy and thee. And think of me with peace at last! |