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The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, July 22, 1882, Image 6

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THE 'SATIOSAL TBXBUXB: WASHING-TON, D. 0., JULY 22, 1882.
l,s
WEARY, LONELY, RESTLESS, HOP-IE-LESS.
Weary liearSs! weary hearts! by cares of lifcop-
jnrased,
Yc are wandering in the shadows ye arc Mghing
far rottf ;
" There is darkness in the heaven?, and the earth is
Weak below,
And the joys, wo lasto to-day may to-morrow turn
to wo.
"Weary hearts ! God is rest.
Lonely hearts! lonely hearts! this is but a land of
grief;
Yc are Mining for repose ye arc longing for re
lief; "What the world hulh never given kneel and ask of
God above,
And your grief lmll turn to gladness, if you lean
upon ui love.
lonely hearts! God is love.
Keatlcss hearts! rostlej. hearts! yo nro toiling
night und day.
And tfw fluwrs of life, all withered, leavo but
thorn Hlong your way ;
Yc are waiting, ye sue waiting till your toiling here
shall ee-e,
Aim! your ev'ry restlcM throbbing is a Had, sad
lmyer for jxioe.
Ike&UoM heaits! Godisieaec.
Breaking hearts! broken hearts! ye are desolate
mid lone.
Awl low voicw from the past o'er your present
ruins jijoiui :
In (he sweetest of your ittaniiiiras there was bitter
est aWy,
And ReUrk wight hath followed on tho sunset of
-- your joy.
3ktku hmri:! God is joy.
Homalcs. hinwrt! fctMiMtei hearts! throujjh the
dioary, dreary yvr.
"iVaro lMoly. hcjy xvkihVnr. and your way is
wet with tar ;
In bright blijrUtotl jnces, vrhcrooevoryou may
Yc 3ook fcway from oarthland and yo murmur,
"lerefeho!,
llomcloes heart ! God is homo.
lii:er Ityau.
ffiS WBDMOEBS' "HOP."
A JEESEY STOEY.
"ilj dear, til ey are as good as engaged;
. ' oy always were together even before Gertie
i .is in her teens; and two years ago, when
f s was sixteen, there was a tremendous
tv.' Miss Fox, in her usual amiable way,
r lgratulated both Colonel Moray and Mrs.
t ve on the engagement. Of course the
nit was .istouishmeiit, indignation, Percy
: A Gertie called up to judgment, vows of
:n:i constancy, Gertie sent to school for ;
six months: and ever since then, whenever
Harry has been over here, six 'rounds'
logcther at every hop, and all the squares
sat out in the garden, whether Mrs. Clive
liked it or not. I suppose, now Percy has
this mosey left him, ix will be all right."
. So spoke Miss May Faulker, a Jersey belle,
aged twenty, to her companion. Clare Grat
tan, a girl two years her senior, who had
come from England on a visit to the Clives
above mentioned.
The girJs were strolling slowly along the
St. Helier's broad white sands; they were
lagging rather behind the rest of their party,
which had split itself up into other couples.
Clare Grattan's heart was heavy with a
dull oppression of pain, the result of a fear
become a reality, as she answered.
"Then you think Mr. Moray" (there was a
momentary pause before she spoke his name)
"and. Gertie care for one another?"
"Think so? look there!"
JB 7L. . i. -v. trt IV iy- !
i t y-tX4-A i- - '- &u ' fao reetautting
t-.sg U i - ', i
vnPT ism" '-Ki We nnet tj'orcr.
i. iite JuTi '
a
fciiecouhl fUTiey only too well the' look of
Parctval iioray's brown eyes. Ilad she not
nawn it to her own cost ?"
She hud been a fool, she thought, and only
that afternoon had baen happy in her folly.
Glare Grattan had only been six weeks at
""jrscy, but that time had been fuller and
ore inte'nse to her than all the years of her
rly womanhood ; she had learnt her own
soart at length had grown into love.
For the last month she had found herself,
' henever she was at a dance, waiting with
.' feverish impatience for the advent of a tall
flight figure with a bright, honest face, the
'harm of which it was difficult to analyze,
iut impossible not to feel. She had listened
very morning, as she sat in the breakfast
oom with'Gertie, for a cheerful voice calling
theai from the garden below, and begging
theia to come out for a practice at lawu-
tetmis; and she had felt a new intense
. pletmiri6. in the rare talks, in which Percival
vseetn-d to show her glimpses of that other
nl side" a. man keeps "to show a woman
when ho loves her." He suited her as no
T . J& ever done, and sho had fancied
,' i wished to let her know that he loved
jot she had feared sometimes and,
.tad proved, had had reason for her
-that Gertie and Percival had loved
lothor; and how, thought Clare now,
ny girl who had once cared for Ter-
Moray become indifferent to him?
.re still was pondering, when Gertie
flier steps towards her friends.
ybu know it is nearly seven o'clock,
' 3Vo shall have a nice scolding from
r
' "3r dinner, and we
.J
f .
:dmores' by a quar-
fd f
youdolook! Not
. je last three nights
'OU."
:ed Percy of Mis3
3 her.
the sharp thrill of
caused her ! She
own sound uncon-
li
i -,
lai
ar along the sands ;
ibered. Yron't you
t.
., turning to Gertie,
individuals who had
.4- Oft
' if
ery thing else in the
ienyj.., .. ;ad star-fish; at all
oiufi, they had been gazing at it for full
I AV umutes, when Percy's voice reached
lb(bn.
MHallo, Rwihion! come on, its getting
lil."
Thns addrewed, the two defaulters moved
lo'ly iowardi the rest of the little group.
: jCheir convjrwition, as they strolled along,
rw aiter thin wise:
"B a brick, Mitss "Wed in ore, and try to
give a miserable wretch a chance."
"Kow caul? I can't make Gertie like
you."
" Keep that fellow Moray out of the way, so
that I may try my luck at least"
"You are doing your very best to ruin it
by seeming to flirt with me. Gertie is
awfully jealous, mind."
"Hang it! I beg your pardon, I mean "
"You needn't; I dont mind it."
" I think I have some reaeons for jeal
ousy. "Why, I know that .she and Moray
were spoons once, even if they are not
nov."
. "Yes, but Gertie can't know that I am
only playing confidante."
"Never you mind ; only help me, and you
shall see what the bridesmaid's lockets will
be like."
"For shame, Captain Ttashton! bribery
and corruption. By the way, I have a
weakness for opals."
" I'll make a note of that," answered Cap
tain Uashton, taking out his pocket-book for
the purpose."
Certainly, to an uninitiated eye, the two
had decidedly as much appearance of flirt
ing as Percival and Gertie had, and a keen
observer might have connected that fact
with the wrathful Hash of Mss Clive's blue
eyes, and her sharp petulant answers when
addressed. Clare did not do so, but imag
ined that these .sigas of ill-tern jut of her
friend were ov.'ing to some fault of Percy's
and inwardly determined, now that she
knew of the understanding between Mr.
Moray and Gertie, to abstain even from any
appearance of intimacy with the former,
lest it should wound her friend, whom she
knew was a little inclined to be exacting.
"She needn't, be afraid, though,'' thought
poor Clare to herself. "I know ho is true,
if he loved me, I would trust him entirely."
The party broke up at the top of King
street, Florence "Wcdmore going one way,
and the three other girls holding the oppo
site course.
"Good-bye for an hour and a-half," said
Florence. " Captain Kashton and Percy you
are to come back home with me and givo tho
floors a last polish."
If Gertie's face could be said to be dark at
any time, it certainly was as she, with Clare
and May, turned towards that quarter of
Sr- llelier's popularly known as "the shin
gles." " "What a flirt Florence is ! " she remarked,
with virtuous indignation.
'"People who live in glass houses," an
swered May. "The idea of you accusing
any one of flirting, Gertie, isrrather too fine,
considering the way you have always treated
Perejv'
"Percy and I understand one another,"
answered Gertie curtly.
"That is a comfort, at all events," retorted
May, "for nobody else does. "Well, here is
our house, so ta-ta for the present.
Two more minutes and Clare and Gertie
reached the lntter's home, called the lietreat,
apparently because it faced the road.
The dinner that evening at the above
mentioned abode was not very cheerful.
Gertie was cross, Clare, occupied by her bit
ter thoughts of what she had learnt that
afternoon, and Mrs. Clive. Gertie's mother,
(Miss Clive was an only child) found it very
hard work to maintain anything like conver
sation. Directly it was ended Gertie ran up to her
room to dress for that evening's dance at the
"Wedmores'. She was standing in her white
wrapper by the toilet-table unfastening the'
twisted rope of --tt- ' ..' .'"-. u.
ci iwawn h 'rs, fTn. aj,d tv-? 'njs-m,
( i
fohj , i-m-iQ :tr5" te!ifc4 wixh
." !" . ' ua?bq twr, vl;:c'. uLr
tEledha:-.! to foico back W ham hiving of
her underlip.
"So," she thought, "he neglects mo and
flirts with Florence! Very well, sir, tit for
tat. I'll revengo myself with Percy, and if
I don't make you suffer that's ail ! "
Meanwhile Clare, in her room above, was
trying to convince herself against her hearts
assurance that Percy did not love her, and
that if he did (illogical but girlish sequence),
it was her. duty to Gertie to reject his affec
tion, and bid him render it to her to whom
it was due.
She would be loyal to her friend at all
costs to herself.
A light tap at the door, and Gertie entered,
looking very pretty in a soft white silk much
smothered with lace.
"How shall I do,, Clare?"
"I never saw you look so well, said Mis3
Grattan, and she spoke the truth. Gertio's
eyes were shining like bits of sunlit summer
sea; her chee"ks "as crimson dyed ingrain; "
her fair hair was ruffled in that sweet order
of disorder which best suits a Greuzo face
and low white brow.
"Yill you put in my flowers?" said Ger
tie, holding up the great pink bells of the
belladonna lily for Clare to fasten in her
hair.
"Thank you, dear," as it was accomplished,
and the little lady pirouetted round, hum
ming a waltz in a manner which caused
Clare to exclaim:
"Gertie, are you bewitched? "What is the
matter with you?"
"Nothing," said Gertie, bursting out sing
ing in her sweet, rather small soprano:
" ' Si voils n'avez rien a me dire,
Pourquoi venir aupres de inoi?'
"0 Clare, how badly Miss Fox sang that the
other night, "like a peacock with the influ
enza! And she needn't sink the question,
considering how people avoid her."
"Still, the question is rather a pertinent
one sometimes," said Clare lightly, yet with
a ring of pain in her tone.
"Yes," said Gertie bitterly; then with a
sudden faltering of her voice and a burst of
tears, "O Clare I am so unhappy ! "
Clare put her arms round her and let her
sob for a few moments in silence;, then sho
spoke :
"I am very sorry; but,Gortie,you needn't
be afraid; I am sure he aires for yon." Her
words were very brave, and her lips did not
tremble as she spoke.
"Do you think so?" and Gertie lifted her
head from where it had rested on her friend's
breast. "But why does he flirt so? lam
proud, and don'L show it, but it pains me
drcadfulty, Clare, I feel sometimes as if
O! why should he hurt me when I love
him?"
"Is she trying to ask me not to flirt with
him?" thought Gertie's friend, and the hot
glow of i wounded pride, far deeper and
stronger than that of the younger girl, burnt
her pale cheek at the idea that she Chiro
Grattan should be suspected of flirting. It
was some little time before she slowly au
awcred :
"I should trust him, and be sure ho de
serves it; and, Gertie" she spoke nervously
and as if frightened lest her friend should be
offended " I wouldn't give him any cause
being
too much to-night
V A 11.
" There's the carriage," said Gertie, spring
ing up. "I'm very sorry, dear, I can't take
your advice, as it's the exact opposite to
what I mean to do. I shall treat him just
as he treats me."
With these words Miss Clive ran down
stairs, and Clare had no opportunity for say
ing more.
"How good of you to be carty ! exclaimed
Florence "Wedmore, entering the cloak-room
as Clare and Gertie were disencumboring
themselves of their wraps. " I've put you
down to play two waltzes, Gertie, and Miss
Grattan for one."
" O, I will play as often as you like," said
Clare. " I am rather tired, and don't want
to dance much.''
Florence shook her head.
" I won't victimize you," sho said,
t hose's the first waltz beginning.
" oil A eiirl ' A Ti
r pu$
-""
down Miss Fox for that; she always pla3rs!
the Faust, and thumps so. It's as well to
get her performance over before many
people come." '
A Jersey hop is very much more primitive
for jealousy bv
in its arrangements thau an English carpet-1 From the verandah sounded the warning
dance. At the former entertainments toolbars of a galop, and the lawn began to bo de
carpet is nearly alwavs up so far Jersey v sorted. Clare would have risen, but Percy
dancers arc exacting and the boards are
polished, as the doors are removed, the fur
niture piled away, and the lights fixed by
the young men intimes of the house. All
your friends' plate is held in requisition,
and mirrors, fiowers, and other such orna
ments are freely lent and borrowed. Tecs
and sit-down suppers are rare ; lemonade,
claret-cup, and light refreshments being!
usually the older of the day. If yon have
a friend who possesses a butler, borrow him
with the plate: if not, rest contented with
out one. Bands are seldom seen or heard,
the general arrangement being that the
performance of the music shall be divided
among the guests, each family being ex
pected to supply so many dances. They ore
very pleasant, very infurmal, and sometimes
slightly wild, these Jersey hops. 1 am not'
speaking, of course, of the stately dances
given in the aristocratic region of liougc
Bouillon, nor of the military balls, but ofi
the small hops of from thirty to eighty,
principally in the Shingles.
The Wedmores' was a pattern one of its
kind bright, gay, with all the pretty and
good dancers it is hard to find a Jersey girl
who is not both. The dancing-room soon
grow full; but neither Mr. Moray nor Cap-'
tain Rash ton had yet appeared, though they
went to their respective abodes to don
evening dress shortly before eight o'clock.
The night was so sweet and warm that the
piano had been moved into the verandah
which surrounded tho house, and which
had been hung with four paper lanterns a
proceeding which caused many old ladies
to remark enthusiastically that "it looked
like fairyland." Outside this fairyland was a
cool, calm, scented garden, a wide, hushed sky,
moonless, but bright with stars; and far off
tho restless splash of tho waves on the
shore. Inside was a lit room, gay with
evergreens, and bright with many-colored
dresses, pretty faces, and the rhythmical
sound of dancing feet.
Clare sat at the piano between these two
rworlds ; the light falling on her showed her
j .bo e t of i m.." .'.!-' nt .'Mi S-v .
meiiFs K-jttW ' rprl c... 3fr? were
laanr ypX'- aeai her &T t m
s
I . ' .. ihs
I Tw
i,V! U-d . , -'
fcUtt-
r "- ' w!i r-: jmfii ' i
-u"
7. ISO J . ij .-('.. ;. "Tlv 'lUtCi T-
X
'Via.toti iu'Uu u :uid coula not but' Percy
Moray only saw Clare.
She was dressed in a simply-made dress,
unflounced and untortured by fashion, of
soft silk, the color of the outer leaves of the
daffodil, which'deepened in the folds of the
drapery, with subtle gradiations of shade.
In her black hair were set two or three
stephanotis stars; tho outline of her face
was calm and fair Percy thought sad. The
heavy-lidded gray eyes were not fixed on
her music'; her hands moved mechanically.
How different she was from other women!
How unlike her dress, her face, her words
to anything he had ever known! He was
twenty-seven, and he loved her, loved her,
loved her the words formed themselves to
the rhythm of 1 he passionate German waltx
she was playing. It was a conventional
sickly-sweet thing; but to the young man
ft now, for the first time, became lively and
full of meaning tho expression which his
love needed. Ho wished that he and she
were waltzing to it. Anyhow, he would do
the next best thing ask her for the follow
ing dance.
Alas, before he could move to her, the
waltz ended. Clare was monopolized by
another man, to whom Florence introduced
her; and Harry himself was discoverd by
Miss Wedmore, who insisted on introducing
him to a red-haired heiress, who smiled
sweetly, as sho hoped Mr. Moray did not
mind deux temps sho did not dance any-
thing else.
Percival Moray was a lieutenant of Htts
sars, whose father lived in Jersey. The boy
himself, when a child, became a favorite
with his mother's brother, who proclaimed
him as his heir, and petted him as a child,
sent him to Eton, bought him his commis
sion, only asking in return that he should
spend half of his holidays and leaves with
him and who had died a twelvemonth ago,
leaving Percy two thousand a year, and a
pretty old house in Kent.
So two months before this evening Moray
sold outr and camo over to Jersey to win
his old love; when, to his great disgust,
he discovered that ho no longer cared for
her, nor she for him. Still they went on
playing at love till Clare Grattan camo on
her visit to the Clives, and Percy fell hon
estly and heartily in love with her.
Nevertheless, he felt he was, in a manner,
bound to marry Gertie if she wished it and
it was hardly likely, lie thought, that she
did not; for the girl was full of wounded
pride and indignation against the man she
loved, and held the sweet jest up by danc
ing, talking, and flirting with Percy so des
perately, that she deceived both him and
Captain Kashton into tho idea that she was
in love with ike former.
It was full half an hour before Percy was
able to gain Clare's side and ask for "the
dance you promised me."
Sho knew it would bo far more marked if
she refused, so she took his arm as tho first,
bars of the waltz sounded.
Clare was fond of waltzing, and Percy's
long-swiucing, yet ncri'ectlv smooth step
suited her better than any other. She could
not help enjoying tho swift motion, and the
certainty that under his guidance she was
safe from the merciless knocking andbumn-
ing against other couples, to which many
men subject their unfortunate partners.
The last chords sounded, and they stop
ped. "Ah," said Percy, drawing a long breath,
" it's warm."
"It is," assented Clare.
"But the garden is cool," said Percy.
" So people seem to think," she answered,
laughing.
For every one had poured out from tho
ball-room to the cool night air, and white
dresses glimmered dimly among tho trees
on tho small lawn.
" They have placed the refreshment-table
out there," said the young man. " Don't you
want some claret-cup ? "
The want was supplied, and they sat down
on a rustic seat near the table. The lawn
seemed nearly as full as the dancing-room
had been a few minutes before ; and Clare
viaiched Gertie, as sho saw her evidently
engaged in a furious flirtation with a man
whom she knew Percy disliked.
"She must do it to vex him," Clare
thought, quite ignorant that Gertie had not
once thought of Mr. Moray this evening.
Stopped her.
"Don't go yet,"hd said; "at least, if you
are not engaged for this."
"But I am.'.'
"Then let your partner find you."
" No, I really must go. I want "
" Oh,-1 know what you want to avoid
me."
".Mr. Moray!"
"I beg your pardon if I am rude; but how
have I offended you ?"
"You have nof."
"Then why do you always try to escape
speaking to mo ? What have I done ? "
"Nothing. I"
""Why do you stop? 0 Clare, Clare! don't
yon know that I love yon ?"
There was silence. For one moment a great
pulpe of joy throbbed through the girl's
whole being; and then came the sickening
rcmembnmco of Gertie.
" You must know it," the young man said
passionately. "You musb have seen! And
,1 thought Clare, can't you love me?"
There was no one else near to hear the
heavily.? whispered "No."
"Then what made me think? for I did
think Clare, you are not a flirt like these
girls here. "Why were you kind if you never
meant to have me? "Why did you let me
imagine' it?"
She could only say "I beg your pardon,"
'humbly.
' "Why .should you? Caly look straight
at me and say "I do not love you," and I
will leave you ; but not till then."
She could not tell that lie to him who
trusted her; and yet sho did not wish to
betray her real reason and Gertie's pride.
"You don't speak; you do care for me!
I knew it, jny Clare ! "
He would have taken her hand, but she
withdrew it.
"How about Gertie?" she said, quietly.
:lAre yon not engaged?"
He did not answer for a moment; then
said: "Is that childish bond to staud be
rwten y&u and me ? Clare, Gertie and I are
-- - i-- .,
n
v.. t . ir: 4i.fi.
) ou r.Mj 8 ','
5!
jhu "'ercy.
il
.-,.,
W4U1 .!
' ..
w -'
- net y
i.i
3-
T1
t!
ffT--! t iifnd
VO K'C-1- -o to
I me ! "-
You base! you, Clare darling! I'vobeen
a thoughtless brute, and I see it now. For-
give mo
i
"Yes."
"And love me ? "
lie spoke timidly, as knowing he would
foe denied. Her answer came very low,
"I shalLhave to learn notto do so."
was the
lireak otYa sob in her voice.
"And yph ask mo to givo you up, knowing
that? T(?win my heaven on oarth and turn
away fryrn. it? Clare, you cannot1-'
"I must;" and the bitter agony of the
tone only showed the firmness of her resolve.
"Percy, ygu arc honorable: don't make me
despise-you, as I should if yon were false
to Gertie."
"But Cl?re, It-love yon, not Gertie."
" She loves yen' Clare answered, with the
sijhlinie unreasonableness of a woman. "And
right is right, though it is hard O, so hard ! "
"It is something to hear you say that it is
bird," ho answered in a smothered tone;
"Imtyou don't know how cruel you are to
ne, or how yon have grown into my life. I
nver meant to loQ but this evening when
I jaw you I felt I must speak and know if
ycu "
he laid her hand on his.
'And you have made it all the harder for
nu," he said. "If I had still thought 3-011
did not cfiro for me, I might havoiturned to
Gtitio; but now " -""
' Yon will do what is right," she answered,
wMlo the tears would spring to her eyes.s
"llight! Is it right to marry a girl I do
not love?"
"You will learn to .do so; she is so dear,
yot cannot help it."
'Cannot I? Clare, your face is the one
fajw for me on earth; you the one woman."
She rose, blindly, nobly wrong in her self
deaial. CI cannot listen to more," she said, in a
ch il:ed voice; to her own heart she added, "I
daio not."
"Clare!" ho roso r.nd caught hw&wrists.
Tliirc wjis no one to see; tho gards&vra.l
tgfiin dark and silent, except where tho light
strtamed from the verandah. " I only want
to .ay good-bye."
"What do you mean?"
"Do yon think I could go on as I am do
ingnow see you for tho next nidnth every
day, and know that yon love nias, and that
you will never, bo more to me than now?
It Mill drive me .mad. No; I shall leave
here by to-morrow'a boat."
"But, Percy " -.
"Yon need not think that," he said, with
a sudden fierce burst of auger : " If she and I
wefe alone on this earth, I would never now
marry Gertie. You have done her no good
or, rather, no harm. Dear little thing, she
deserves a better fate than a husband who
does not care fur her."
There was a silence; then Percy spoke
again, his voice strangely humble and gen
tle: " One kiss, Clare, for our good-bye ; only
one, my dear."
"No," sho said; and her tone was both
stern and surprised.
"Theimdo' he said quickly
"I wuMOelprit;" and there
He said no more; side by side they re
turned to the house. Clare's heart was full
of unutterable longing to turn to the man
beside her and say, "Stay;" Percy's with a
wild turmoil of anger and love. He felt
dimly that hi3 love gavo him a right over
Clare; that her power, "woman-like to
weave sweob words," had been exerted
wrongly; that her sacrifice was a needless
one, which .would mar both their lives and
for no good. '
A hard grasp of her hand, a low spoken
good-bye in answer to her whispered " For
give me ! " and he was gono. Yhen would
she see him again? Dizzy and faint with
dnll misery, she sat down in the verandah.
"I think this is our dance?"
Tho voice woke her up, and she saw stand
ing by her a tall man with a puffy, foolish,
good-natured face.
"I am so very tired," she answered; "will
yon excuse me?"
"Certainly. Yon look faint, Miss Grat
tan ; may I get you a glas3 of water? "
"If you will be so kind."
The water did her good ; she steadied her
nerves, and gazed in through the open win
dow at the dancers. She saw Gertie, glow
ing and radiant, the prettiest girl in the
room, waltzing with Captain Kashtqn, look
ing utterly happy, careless and contented.
For one moment Clare felt a bitter anger for
tho girl, for whose sake she had given up the
supremo beauty and joy of life, and who
would never know it. What did Gertie need
more than she had at the present moment9
Seemingly nothing; aud yet Clare remem
bered the childish tempest of sorrow she had
witnessed a few hours ago, and was glad she
had been loyal to her friend, even at so dear
a prico.
The dance was over. The two girls climbed
rather wearily np the bedroom stairs of tho
Retreat.
" Come in here, Clare," said Gertie, as they
reached the hitter's door.
Clare's we;vry eyes looked piteously at her
friend, as her lips repeated for the third time
that evening the excuse, "I am so tired."
" Only for a minute, dear." Gertie drew
her in, and shut the door, then said, "You
were right."
"What do you mean?" asked Clare, stu
pidly amazed.
"He loves me," said Gertie, pressing her
small hands elose against the faded pink
lilies on her breast; "he always has, and I
was only a little fool to think he was flirting
with Florence."
"He! Who?"
" Eobert I mean Captain Itashton. Clare,
are you ill?"
"No, Gertie ; lam quite well. But I don't
understand. Don't you love Per Mr. Mo
ray?" "Love Percy! I left off doing so more than
a year ago. I only used him as a decoy-duck
to draw Eobert on."
"And in doing so may have unknowingly
wrought evil to two people," thought poor
Clare.
Percy was to leave Jersey on the morrow;
she might never see him again ; he might go
abroad, and never hear of the real state of
things.
But she remembered it was hardly likely
that a man possessing "both relations and
friends in Jersey wo:zld not hear very
jpifdrly of his old lqve's engagement to
roth - ' ". .-V . . .. appi-
r ' -Y, ftttt ". t. 1
nws. fr,5i Si - hpe ".- ir :
Heine1 il
glad-
: lf an
.Cap-
b t.i. .. e - .-.,' 1 her
.. .vUiu, ..luuo," iico tu thank God for the
great happiness which yet might be hers.
And was; for in less than a fortnight Clare
was standing under the shade of a tall flow
ering myrtle, the aromatic scent of which
filled the autumn air with bitter sweetness.
Percy was by her, very gravely contented,
and on her left hand was tho shimmer of a
sapphire ring she had only worn a week.
"You came back very quickly," she said.
"Were you afraid I should forget yon?"
"I wanted to be sure," he answered.
" Yon needn't have been afraid," and her
face glowed a little. " Percy ? "
"Clare?"
" Do you know I almost think I was in the
wrong that night."
"I am sure you were."
She laughed, but her tone was grave as she
said :
"Are you angry with me?"
"Angry with yon for showing how strong
you were to doiwhat seemed right to yon?
You must -Uiinlcfme a brute, Clare?"
$ "It seemed to tear my heart out to have
to deny you, and I see I was wrong now."
"So do I; but I am not sorry for it, Clare,
for it taught mo" he drew her closer to him
as he spoke "how far above myself is the
woman I love."
THE MOORISH. SLAVE GIRLS OF TO
DAY, By tho Mohammedan law no man is per
mitted to have more than four wives ; but
there is no limit but that of the purso to
the number of female slaves wrho may be
added to his establishment. Tho Sultau's
ladies are numbered by hundreds, if they do
not indeed reach the four figures.; and in
proportion to his position and wealth the
well-to-do-Moor in like manner has a lare
or small harem establishment. The Sultan
has the privilege of conferring the honor of
entering his harem upon whom he will, and
any girls in the provinces who are more
than ordinarily pretty are sent up to the
court for his inspection or sent to him as a
complimentary present. Men in high posi
tions, as the Vizier, aro also often presented
with ladies, and. heim fprmrrtJxr Tim
Wealthy, complete their establishment by
private contract, paying, perhaps, 200 for a
girl they may admire.
The ordinary well-to-do Moor, of whom
fhero are a large number of the merchant
class, have to content themselves by buying
in the open market, and, consequently, the
slave market is a highly-patronized institu
tion. The court in which this is usually
held, on three days in every week, opens out
of a labyrinth of small, narrow streets, which
form the bazaar or general market of the
city, a place in which the higher class of
Moor would not on other occasions deign to
be seen. As the afternoon wears on, how
ever, they may bo seen ambling down on
their gaily-caparisoned mules, with a slave
walking behind them, to the entrance of tho
court, where they dismount and recline in
picturesque groups around the enclosure.
About the same time arrive by twos and
threes those who are to be sold, being placed
by the salsemen in some small recesses or
stalls opening on to the court.
There were about fifty or sixty persons
for sale, of both sexes and-all ages, moafc-of
them black as jet, and from their features
evidently natives of the Soudan, some of
whom were to be sold only in lots, with two
or three children. These were the drndges
for house and field work, the price of whom
is always moderate, and strictly commensu
rate to the amount of work they are likely
to be able to perform.
But beside these were two female figures
who evidently excited no small amdunt of
interest in tho gray-heaxded old Moors who
formed no small proportion of the purchas
ers. One of them was a closely-veiled
Moorish girl, whose features were revealed,
only to inquiring customers, but who from
a passing glanco did not appear to be re
markable for her beauty. The other was a
really pretty girl from tho province of Sits,
whose rose-colored crafton and green silk
head-dress contrasted pleasantly with her
olive complexion and long black lashes. They
were all neatly and tidily dressed, bearing
no sign of ill-treatment or scant nourish
ment, and were treated with all considera
tion, both by salesmen and purchasers,
though the examination made by the latter
of the teeth, arms, &c, of those they bid for
was very repulsive to those unaccustomed to
such sights.
A NEW YORK ROMANCE.
Not long since a young lady of New York
city took it into her head to get married
without paternal consent. The young man
whom she loved was objected to on the
ground that he was not well enough off, as
far as the, world's goods were concerned, to
take care of his daughter, and although he ,
had never seen his intended son-in-law, he
asserted that he was not competent to earr
for her a respectable living. In spite of tha
opposition, however, the wedding'took plate
at the time appointed, and it is needless :o
say that the father was not numbered amoag
the guests. The young couple found a
modest home in the neighborhood of iho r
parental mansion, and still the irate fafaer
refused to recognize them. But he wasnot
of an unsociable nature, and he was njted
for making acquaintances on the horse-cars
on his -way to aud from business. It is not
strange, therefore, that he entered intc con
versation with a sociable young man on his
way home the other evening, but it was a
little surprising, as he was rather cautious,
that he should have been so entirely fasci
nated by the young man3 remarks. l,Why,"
he said, "yon are a person exactly after my
own heart ; you display in your worcs a re
markable business tact, and are destined to
be a rich man. If it is not an impertinent
question, who are you and what is .your
name?" "I am your son-in-law," quietly
observed the future Vandeibilt, as he mo
tioned to the conductor to stop the car.
'-
SHE MARRIED HIM AFTER ALL.
The son of a rich gentleman residing in
Paris had fallen desperately in love with a
pretty, amiable, but dowerless girl. The
course of true love ran smoothly enough so
long as the young man's father was not aware
of what was going forward ; but when his
consent to the marriage was asked he flatly
refused to give it. A last meeting took
place, vows of eternal constancy were inter
changed and the lovers separated. The
young lady, deeply affected by tho parting,
took the rash determiration to drown her
self and her sorrows in the Seine, and about
J twihgnt she crusted out her intention. A
g''ni.anartiTralidng along tne quays at the
j time saw ner struggling in the water, and
without a moment's hesitation plunged in to
the rescue. The would-be suicide was saved,
but the most enrions part of the story is
that the gentleman who saved her chanced
to be the father of the man she loved. The
denonment of the affair can be easily guessed.
The stern parent's inflexible resolution tc
refuse his consent to the union gave way
.under the emotion he feltatthe drowning ac
cident. He conveyed the poor girl home, sent
for his son, told the delighted young peopls
that they were free to take each other foi
better or worse, and that the wedding mighf
take place as scon as the young lady had re
covered from the effects of her immersion ir
the river. i
FEMININE FANCIES. ,
Summer white dresses, with skirts and
paniers of China crape, have the entire skirt,
covered with lace flounces. The Bretonne
lace is used for these, and each flounce falls
a little over that beneath it, forming a cloud
of lace very light and charmingly effective
Englisli women use many old-fashioned
fabrics-hat have long been ont of market iri
this country. These are chally, muslin-delaine,
painted muslins, taffeta silks, and th
handkerchief dresses. j
Blue with brown is a fashionable contras
of colors in imported dresses. A pale blu
foulard with dark brown figures trimmeq
with bows of brown velvet ribbon is one ol
the prettiest of the season. '
New umbrellas for coaching and for climb'
ing are of India red or blue calico, with Ion
spiked alpenstocks, while at the hand is
crutch, a ball, tamborine, or battle axe
light-colored wood. j
The new Grenada blonde has the figure
of Spanish laco on a very thin grenadha
grouud. It is made up over colored satin
contrastin" color such as black over red r
white over yellow.
One of the nrettiest costumes for th
country is a shrimp pink sateen with cert
embroidered rutlles, and a large manilltrhal
trimmed with, white roses and red currants
A new fancy for pleated skirts of fim
woolen dresses is to put wide box-pleati
alternating with a group of knife-pleats th
whole length of the skirt.
Festooned bias scarfs of silk edged witl
lace are called Mario Antoinette flonnces, ani
are the trimmings on French dresses for ball
and parties.
Large oyal-topped folding Japanese fan
three-fourths of a yard long are put in fron
of fireplaces of country houses.
Chemisettes or gumpes of pleated whit
mull are worn with surplice waists of dar
lawn or foulard dresses.
.Dangliug balls of wool and pompons an
the fashionable trimmings ior
woolen dress23.
imports
Two deep box-pleatings arranged as pufj
make n. bpuiiHfiil tablier for summer sil
dresse3.
Crushed-banana is tlio name for the no-
pale yellow ehade worn this season
Lace ruclies are used to edge the chip
silk dresses worn at receptions.
Musical maiden : " I hope I am not borit
you playing so mucli?" Lnamored youth
" Oh. no ! Pray go on ! x I'd. so much, soon
hear you play than talk,"

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