THE LOVER'S LESSON.

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 190, 28 September 1871, Page 7

THE LOVER'S LESSON.

" I'm so tired ;" and the shadows deepened on a sweet young face, and darkened a pah 1 of dreamy gray eyes. The speaker, a young girl, was leaning against a willow, and looking sadly at the brook that flowed by her feet. The . moonlight falling on her face, showed a look of unrest painful to behold, and it* was easy to^ see she was ■waiting for some one — that this was her "trysting place," "I'm tired," .she repeated, sighing wearily, when — •• ' "Tired of what, Clare?" and other eyes looked in her own. Her smooth cheek flushed crimson at the tound of his voice, she answered, passion-, ately — , " Tired of life, almost." • "And of me, too? Well, Clare, I leave to-morrow, and I have come to say good-bye."

The girl's heart grew faint aa she looked -up in his fair, smiling face, yet her voice was steady as she said, " So soon ?" " Yes, Clare, to-morrow morning I leave for the city, and a few more months will find your humble servant, Charles Lester, transformed into as staid a; Benedict as ever graced the martiraonial noose."

It is well for her secret the he saw not her sharpened- features or the look of woe which came in her eyes. He could not feel the icy coldness of her frame, or hear the requiem her soul war chanting over the love she was burying deep down in her heart. It seemed as if she must- die — she almost prayed that she might ; yet her voice was calm, too calnij as she asked, " Who is the lady thus honoured 1 ? Her name — <: Is L.uey Mortimer !" "Is she beautiful?" "As an angel !" he exclaimed enthusiastically, as he descrided her in glowing words, and told his plans for the .future ; adding, " And what do you purpose doing ?" " I do not know ) I sv^ppose I shall live and die a simple country lass,", she replied, with glittering eyes and compressed lips. " A pleasant prospect is it not V and a low mocking laugh rang out on the air" He looked down wondering upon her stormy face, and longed for the childlook he loved so well ; and yet he was blind. He had driven it away, and was letting a priceless treasure slip from his grasp. - " Clare, Clare, what ails you % You are so unlike yourself. But it may be that I only think it, for I am strangelyabstracted to-night. [ regret leaving, for the few weeks past have been the happiest of my life. When I die, Clave, I hope they will bury- me hem. O!iClare ! never desire to leave your na tive place, foi upon all the earth you will not .find "a fairer spot. I would not care to see my forest blossom transplanted and lose its sweetness in fashionable society." '" He was silent for a moment, and said, thoughtfully, " I wonder if you ever felt towards anyone as I feel towards Lucy — did you, Clare ?" "Yes." "Yes? Well, who would have thought it from her brow's accustomed bearing? Poor- child !" He spoke- light) j', but he was conscious of a pang of disappointment that he could not account for. " Come Clare," he added, after.a few moments of silence, "let us go. The dew is faling, and I have already detained you too long.

They walked on, both in silence. He, wondering why he felt so sad at .leaving, and why he was so interested •in the pale-browed dreamy eyed girl-, who was. walking so calmly beside him, that no one would suspect the conflict going within her. At last he said, " Here we at the gate. I suppose thisisfrhe last ai ' e time, we two shall walk through this road. Don't forget brother Charley. Clare, but say good-bye, and give me the" rose you have in your hair for a keepsake."

'" Good-bye," she repeated, like one in a dream.

" Good-bye,- little one : God bless you !" and he was gone. She stood motionless as a statue, looking after him,\uti£il he disape/ired around at a bend of the road. She then turned and walk swiftly in the direction of the church-yard^ where the tombstones gleamed white in the moonlight. She trampled the flowers beneath her feet in her haste, and the perfume followed her like a blessing. She opened the gate, and hastened to the' Spot where her parents were sleeping side by side. With a low sob, she threw herself upon her mother's grave, and wailed out—" Mother, mother !"*

"Now, Charles did you really think all- this in earnest? I said that I cared for you, and. so Ido : I like you very much ; but the wedding and all that sort of thing, was all a jest 1 How could "you bo so unsophisticated as to suppose our little flirtation at' Newport, a real sober, -old-fashioned courtship? Why Charley, I'm surprised!" — and the speaker flung backher curls, put on a most innocent look, and laughed lightly as she leaned gracefully against a marble Psyche. Lucy Mortimer well Ixjcame that luxuVious-furnished room, and but one thing, "was wanting to make he face the most beautiful there, and that was soul.

. '* And ytou have been trifling .with me? '' Asked Charleb Lester, sternly, aa he stood proudly before her.

".There now, Charley, don't go off into ' heroics' Let's shake hands and be friends," she said, giving him a look that once .jvould have 'brough him to her feet ; but his face never changed his proud look, and with a cold " G-ood morning" he left her piqued at her seeming indifference, yet saying —

m " Well, he is rid of. He is a handsome fellow, but" it's a pity he is poor. Now > I am ready to entrap Senator Howard. He was quite attentive to me at Mrs. Park's soiree the other night, and he is a great ' catch.' And Charles— he was indignant at her heartlessness ; but he was dimly conscious that Clare was dearer to him thun ever Lucy had been. He would go to Clare after' he became worthy' of her, and may be she would learn to love him if he went to her a worker, not the dreamer she had known him to- be. The full moon rose on just such a s^ene as it did three years ago. The same distant mountains around, their wooded heights looking dim and shadowy in the moonlight — the brook, foaming and bubling over the stones on one side of the bridge, and ildwing on calm and still' on the other — the trees lining its banks and bending lovely over the waters on either side. The willow by .the bridge looked like molten silver' in the moonlight, and in its branches -the 'katy-dids sang.

' Charles Lester walked thoughtfully' through the ' flower-bordered country ,road, on his way to the spot which had been the oasis of the three hardworking years he had lived since last he saw it. He knew the'place had been a ■ favourite one with Clare, and he though he would find her there. What had become of her 1 He had not heard from her since he parted with her t hatJune, evening, three years ago. She was scarcely more than a child then, he thought sadly ; but perhaps she wag at vest now, beside her mother. Oh, ii' she soould be ! If, while he was struggling with the memory of her dear facn to lend liim. on, she should be through with all labour, and sleeping in,, the churchyard !It could not be. His eyes were open now, and he knew that she cared for him that summer night, three years ago. He would die for her, he said to himself, as gludly as he hal lived foiher.

As he turned in the road leading to the bridge, he saw two persons standing under the willow tree, just. as he and Clare had stood. The man_had his face towards him, and he x*ecognised him as Senator Howard. Could that be Olui-e with him 1 Somehow he felt 6li«,<> ib 'was. H© vrenfc to them, ivna was warmly greeted by the Senator, who said, iv cheery tones, " Glad to see you, Lester. I did not know you had i'eturDed from Europe.'' My wife, Lester. Clare, my college-^ ate, Charle-s Lester.""

Yes, ib was Clare ! There was no mistaking, her chestuut brown h-iir, banded plainly clown each side the broad, white brow, and sloping away from Tier cheeks. And those deep lustrous eyes could .belong to.no other bub her. He would know them anywhere, he thought, mournfully. She extended her hand' with the old sunny smile, saying to her husband, ' : we haye met. he£ove, Konalcl." " Grod help me!" was" Charles Lester's silent prayer, as he took hor hand. " Now,.Clai*e, I will cut pcross the fields and get you the flowers I promised you ; while you, Lester, may lead my wife to the Jjouse, and I will meet you at the gate," said the Senator. " Don't wait here for me, Clare," he added, as he left them.

Clare turned to go, never dreaming of the anguish in her companion's heart.

. y Have you lived here .all this time?" he asked, calling her by her husband's name, which pierced him like a sword.

" No," she said, and the low, sweet voice seemed like familiar music. " I left the same night you bid me goodbye. I w.as not happy with my- relatives, yet it was a bold step to venture into the groat city alone, but G-od was with me, and prospered me, and gave me friends. We have been married six nibnths, Ronald aud T"• . *

Cl Pardon an old friend, Clare — you look happy'". " •

" I am very happy," she said quietly, "Ronald is all the world to me."

They- were at the gate, and Charles Lester knew that the withered rose he cherished was not dead as was the passion she once had for him. •

The Senator was coming across the fields; he waited for him, and, refusiug his invitation to enter, he -left them standing together — she beautiful in her happiness, the heart's idol of the proud, world honoured man beside her. He looked back after he had gone a

little way for the last at Clare, and then went on his way out into the -world, a sa&JoY roan, hearing, ever after, the words which were to b& the dirge of his hopes — " It might have been."

An ingenious German has gained a great reputition in -New York by his success in training coach horses to a grand gait. .He used no burrbit or. other cruel contrivance, and people couldn't see how he did it, until" it was found that he put magnifying goggles upon his Worses, which made cobble stones look like boulders, and they acquired a grand tread by trying to step over them.. .