Whig and tribune. [volume] (Jackson, Tenn.) 1870-1877, 1872-10-05
LOVE IN A sNowsToRSI.

y
girl to judge Of her own looks; but
Clare tried to be as impartial as pos
sible on this special occasion. And
what was il she saw reflected in The
glass before which she stood, criti-
cally surveying the creature whom
the world called Glare Wintring-
ham?
A tall, supple figure, with slOping
\ shoulders and a daintily tapered
waist; a skin as soft as satin, and
tinted like an oleander blossom;
deeD blue ewes, lust shaded into ViO-
let at the iris; and little fresh
mouth, where the teeth shOne at ev-
cry smile like pearls through Grim
son she'll.
eyes," said Glare, noddiDg her
head so that certain spirals of golden
brown hair, which always hung
over her forhead, danced coquettish-
i ly up and down, 81 am pretty. Then
| that five hundred pounds year that
/ Uncle Bruce's will secured TO me
isn't altogether a disagreeable pill
! for some Of my lovers to swallow.
| don't think l was made for an
heiress. like to make and mend
to patch and cOntriVe and I've al
ways had an idea that l would make
a splendid poor mans wife. ! mean,
of course, a splendid wife tor a poor
man."
She took from her belt withercd
red rose and a bunch Of violets as
she spoke, and arched her pretty
eyebrows over them in a puzzled
fashion.
Harvey Gcllette gave me the
rose" she sOliloquised. "He's very
handsome, is Harvey, and l always
did have a weakness for handsome
people; and he's a rising young man
in his profession, people say. L like
talented people, too. I'll keep the
rose just a little while" And she
laid 1t away in a certain satin-lined
box where she was wont to treasure
souvenirs of these her girlish days.
"And Frank Hoods ViOlets poor
Frank Hood He's so silent and so
awkward, and yet there's some
| thing 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 mar
bic creations one sees in the School
OF Design. Well, 1 won't throw
away the viOlets either not just
YETI ii
Clare took the jeweled hair-pins
out of her shining tresses, and laid
aside the white tarletan dress and
wTeaths of blue blossoms, and went
composedly to bed.
For why should she lie awake and
lose the fresh roses of her complex
ion, and dim the sparkle Of those
glOriOus violet eyes, thinking about
the respective claims of the various
lovers who lowered, moth-like,
about the terchlight of her charms?
There was time enough to make up
her mind-quite time enough. Why,
she was not yet nineteen, and life
was so full of bloom and freshness
for her. Clare knew that the au-
tumn must come sooner or later, but
she meant to have good time first.
Sensible Glare
So, ia the very middle Of sea-
son, when balls, operas, masquer-
AIDES, and dejeuaes SGRtaHteS were
at their height, and when old Aunt
Dalmayne wrote piteOus letter up
to her brother in town, setting forth
that "she had the rheumatic dread
full bad, and there want any help
TO be had, and she was that lone
some that she couldn't stand il no
longer, and wouldn't one OF her
three nieces come down and stay
with her for a short timer" Glare
astonished the family circle by vol
unteering to go.
'TMy DEAR said Afrs. Wintring-
ham, "you don't knowwhAt you are
undertaking. 1t is a common farm
house"
"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 disengaged. Besides, Pm
getting tired of balls and dances and
twelve O'Clock sHppers. 1 should
like to try the other extreme, just
for fun"
"Youu find il anything but fun"
said Mrs. Wintringham, putting her
gold-stoppered cassolette TO her aris-
tocratic nose.
''Well, at any rate, L mean to try"
said Clare, valiently. So, papa,
you may write TO Aunt Dalmayne
that am coming."
The scene looked indescribably
/ beautiful TO Clare Wintringham,
that frosty December night, as the
! lofty old chaise, with a sleepy old
horse trotting in front, turned into
| the valley road, and she could see
the ancient farmhouse, steep-roofed
and brown with 4 half century of
suns and rains, with the elm boughs
wrestling overhead in the gate, and
I the wooded hills rising upon every
side, while one ruddy beam of light
gIowcd from the tiny windows un-
der the caves, casting, as IL might
/ be, jayclin of brightness athwaFt
the road in front of the door.
Il think she's expectin of you,"
said the rough charioteer who had
| been sent to the station to meet
/ Mrs. Dalmayne's niece, 'fbut I'm
afeared you'll find il very lone
some"
"Oh," cried Clare, glcefuIly, as
she sprang out of the vehicle, +"
| think it's splendidW
She entered the lOw-rOofed, kitch-
Ell, all agloW with the roaring fire
/ of logs on the hearth, and further
( Illuminated by two tallow candles
/ in bright brass candle-sticks. Aunt
! Dalmayne had evidently bestirred
/ herself, for the table was spread
with hot biscuits, baked apples, GUS
tards and preserves, and the old lady
| herself hobbled forward on a crutch
J 10 welcome her niece.
J "'Why, my dear" cried Aunt Dali
. mayue, stepping back to take a Sc
cond survey, "you're as pretty as a
pictur!"
.'Am I?'' said Clare, cOloring aud
/ laughing. But, aunty, what a glo-
rious fire you've got, aud what a
darling old urn, and how nice that
tea does smell -
Sit down and have cup, NV
dear" said Aunt Dalmayne, highly
fiattered.
Before Clare Wintringham slept
that night, she had taken Mrs. Dal-
mayne's heart fairly by storm.
She had been an inmate of the
old-fashiOned farmhouse for about a
week " hen one of those grand snow
storms came on, which veil the
whole country side in spotless
white, and hang the woods in royal