Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1872-12-11

Love in q SaowStorm.
know | ana pretty said Glare Wint.
ringham 10 herself gazing composclly into
her mirror " but do not think ! am sufT.
cicnly beautiful to send all the young men
of my acquaintance into ocs,acies over me."
It is not always very easy for girl to
judge Of her own looks, but Clare tried to be
as impartial as possible on this special occa-
sion. Aud what was it that She saw reflected
in the glass before which She stood. critically
surveying tho creature whom the world called
Clare Winuiugham
A tall, supple figure, with sopiug should
crs and daintiIy taperel waist a skin as
sofa as satin ana tinted Ike an oleandor blos-
.om deep blue eyes just shaded into violet
90 tha iris, and little fresh mouth, where
the teeth shone at every smile like pearls
through q crimson she'll
Yes said Clare, nojling her head so
that certain spirals of golden brown hair
which always hung over her forehead danced
coquctshly up and down, am pretty.
Then that ESQ hundred pounds a year that
Uncle Bruce viii secure 10 me isn't alto
gcther a disagreeable pin for some Of MY
lovers 10 swallow don't think | was made
for au heircss like to make aud m nd, 10
patch and contrive, and I've alway had an
idea that would make splendid poor mans
wife. | mean, Of course a splendid wife for
poor man"
She took from her belt a withered red rose
and a bunch Of yiolots, as she spoke, and
archod her pretty eyebrows over them in
pIf,sled fashion
a" Harvey Gelletto gave me the rose" she
soliloquised. .le's very handsome, is IIar-
yey, aud | always did have weakness for
handsome people and he's a rising young man
in his profession, people say. | ike talented
people too. III keep the rose Just little
while And she laid II away in certain
satin lined box whore she was wont to treas
ure souvenirs Of these her grlsh days
" Aud Frank Hoods violots--poor Frank
Hood He's so silent and so awkward, and
yet there's something about him that won't
let one despise him. He certainly is not
handsome, though he has fine eyes and face
like one Of those old marble creations one
SECS in the School of Design. We'll, | won't
throw away The yiolets either, not Just yet"
Glare took the jeweled hair pins out of her
shining tresses, aud laid aside the white tarla-
tan dress and wreaths Of blue blossoms, and
went composedly to bed.
For why should she lie awake ard lose the
fresh roses Of her complexion, and dim the
sparkle Of those glorious violet eyes thinking
about the respective claims Of the various
lovers who lowered, moth-like, about the
torchlieht Of her charms There was time
enough to make up her miud-quite time
enough. Why, she was not yet nineteen, and
life was so full of bloom and freshness for
her. Glare knew that the autumn must come
sooner or later, but she meant to have good
time first. Sensible Glare
So, in the very middle of the season, when
balls, operas masquerades and dejaaes san
taates were at their height, and when old
Aunt Dalmayne wrote pious letter up to her
brother in town, setting forth that she had
the rheumatic dreadful bad, and there want
any help to be had, and she was so lonesome
that she couldn't stand it no longer and
wouldn't one of her three nieces come down
and stay with her for short time2n Glare
the family circle by volunteering
10 60.
MY dear SAID Mrs WintrIngham' " you
don't know what you are undertaking. 1t is
a common farmhouse
" And Alantha Ann IS full OF whIms'' said
Papa Wintringham, rubbing his nose. " But
| suppose she IS poor and lonely
" Well, but said Glare, " Miriam Is busy
with her music lessons and her German class
and Laura belongs to those sociables | seem
to be the only one disongageed' Besides, I'm
getting tired OF balls aud dances and twelve
o'clock suppers. l should Ike to try the
other extreme, Just Tor iun'
You'll find 1t anything but fun said
Mrs Wintringham, putting her gold'stoppered
casiolette to her arstocratic nose,
Well, at any rate, | mean to try said
Glare valiantly. - 80, papa you may write
to Auut Dalmayne that | am coming"
The scene looked indeseribably beautiful to
Clara Wintrngham that frosty December
night, as the jolting old ehase' with a sleepy