The Gazette And Democrat

From the Waverly Magazine.

THE TWO FLIRTS.

BY GEORGE W. LE CATO.

Mattie Weston was unquestionably the belle of the little village of L. The young ladies had already acknowledged her superior charms, and since this was the case, no one attempted to gainsay the fact.

And well she deserved the title. She was a young lady of superior talent, of well-trained morals, and of a good education. Add to this the wealth of her parents and her Venus-like beauty, and you will have a general idea of our charming heroine. Human nature, however free from fault it may sometimes appear, must have its blemishes and imperfections, and we must naturally turn to see where that imperfection exists in the young lady before us.

Mattie was the only child of an indulgent parent. She had been reared in luxury, having her wishes gratified as soon as expressed, and her idle whims borne with by a kind aunt, who had encountered the task of training her. Consequently it is not to be wondered at that she grew up, in a measure, a spoiled and petted child; and, after having developed into womanhood, have carried thither a few marks of her childish imperfections, which a father's eye had failed to observe and correct.

There seemed to be a natural predisposition in Mattie's nature to trifle with those whom her superior attractions brought before her notice--a natural result arising from the fact that she had been too often complimented upon the charms she really did possess. The circumstances under which she had been brought up, though they ought not to be spoken of in palliation of her after life, certainly had an effect upon our Mattie's conduct which was deplorable. Some young ladies, though similarly reared, do not suffer from such effects, owing, no doubt, to the difference of disposition and feeling.

She had not long completed her education before half of the marriageable young men of the village had received their share of encouragement and coldness in turn, and still no one was found to make the slightest impression upon her feelings.

A year before this period, a young gentleman, the son of a distinguished attorney, had graduated at a modern university, and was gaining a lofty reputation by his talent as an orator. He had chosen the profession which his father had chosen for him, and promised to outstrip him in the pursuit of his professional eminence. Be this as it may, it is certain that he had gained, during a limited period, a crowd of admirers, composed mostly of the young ladies of the village who were trying to excel in capturing his heart.

His personal appearance was well calculated to win admiration, and his polished manners, together with his cultivated mind, added the finishing touch. But, like our heroine, he must have his faults; and, strange to say, faults of the same stamp. Like her he had been ruined, the petted child of an admiring household, in luxury and ease. Like her he had been complimented too much upon his beauty and qualifications, and, like her, promised to be a "deceiver."

With two such characters in a small village, as Frank Livingston and Mattie Weston, much harm must naturally accrue; both being well calculated to gain affection, and grievously well calculated to trifle with it; they were king and queen of any sociable party or picnic which the people brought about; and though they had never met, each had been working a sad havoc among the tender hearts of unsuspecting males and females.

Mattie had grown up since Frank was at school, and, indeed, he had not lived in the village except the three years before this period. Consequently they had never become acquainted with each other, and had never tried their powers the one upon the other.

Mr. Weston, Mattie's father, having some legal matters to attend to, called upon Frank for advice. At the end of the conversation he invited our young friend to his splendid mansion to see some papers which had a bearing upon the business before them; and, as Frank was anxious to see our beauty, he readily accepted the invitation. From that time he became a constant visitor at Mr. Weston's, and an ardent admirer of his accomplished daughter.

To Frank, under ordinary circumstances, this fact might have promised much pleasure; but to be in love with a coquette was more than he could calmly think upon. No doubt the remembrance of his folly came back to him, and no doubt he felt that heaven was dealing out a just retribution for the unhappiness he had brought upon others through his false notion of pleasure.

Summoning up his courage he tremblingly approached the subject which had engaged his attention for the last few months; but an almost evasive reply and an adroit turn in the conversation, by his fair listener, threw him as far off the subject as he was before. Again, he carefully commenced to unfold his heart's story, when the same change in the subject of conversation was made, and he was no nearer than before. Disgusted with everything he saw and heard, he rushed from the room and walked slowly and sadly down the shaded street which led to his own home.

By this time his mind was bordering upon distraction. To go boldly up and tell her the story of his heart's affections, he thought would ensure him a blunt refusal, if not an evasive, jilting reply; and to know that she was playing with him was almost madness.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "she is exulting over the influence which her charms have thrown around me, and I must tamely submit while she leads me captive to her will."

The thought that his actions had caused such feelings came up to his mind to add a new sorrow to his already oppressive one. Little did he think that there might be a time when he would suffer as he had caused others--the victim of his idle folly--to suffer.

Sometimes he would form resolutions to forget her, if possible, in the duties of his profession; but books which before he had loved to study were now thrown aside as soon as picked up; he had no taste for anything except to think of his sorrow, and to devise plans for its alleviation. Maddened by this suspense, he commenced making preparations to leave his home, determined to quit a place where he was constantly in pain at the realization of events which he could not alter.

Three years had rolled away, and still Frank Livingston lingered abroad. Tidings came to his friends from him which assured them he was wandering from place to place, never satisfied, an exile from home, and friends, and fame. That mind, which promised in the beginning to shed such a halo of glory around his youthful brow, now inactive lay with her mighty powers chained to one object. His frame, so healthy and vigorous, now wasting away from disease, looked like a shadow of what it once was. Unrequited affection and the remembrance of his youthful follies had impaired the noble structure, and all that once looked noble had now put on the robes which sorrow makes her victims wear as a mark of a sad distinction.

Once more letters came. Frank would be at home in two more weeks. How slowly the time wore away. Slowly enough for one, who had wept throughout three long years, and looked for his return. She, like Frank, had paled beneath the same malady. She had visited famous places of resort, to catch again the roseate hue of health for her cheek and the fire of vigor for her eye. Now, returned, she calmly waited for death to claim its victim.

Once more they are seated together; not in the stiff attitude they were in when they last sat there. Locked in the embrace of affection's strength, they are trying in vain to live over again, and in this manner, those days of grief which have marked them more than many years could have done.

"And you were not trifling with me when you always evaded my declaration?"

"No, Frank. I thought you were attempting to trifle with me, and I wished to avoid it."

"And our reckless folly brought on all this! nay, might have ended our existence, and neither would have known the other returned the affection."

"Yes, Frank, it has taught me a lesson, from sad experience; and I trust, that we may never bring such another grief upon our heads by such thoughtless, silly conduct."

And thus they mourned over the sorrow which might have been avoided by strict conformity to the rules of justice and right.

Borrowed garments seldom fit well.