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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
FLORECITA 
 
F L O R E C I T A 
 
 BY 
 
 BELLA FRENCH SWISHER 
 
 If a star were confined into a tomb 
 Ht-r captive flames must needs burn there / 
 
 But when the hand that locks her up, gives room, 
 SheHl shine through all the sphere.'' 
 
 — Vaughan. 
 
 We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; 
 
 Amid these earthly damps, 
 What seem to tis but sadftmereal tapers, 
 
 May be Heaven'' s distant lamps.''' 
 
 —Longfellow. 
 
 i^ 
 
 NEW YORK 
 JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER 
 
 1889 
 
 C^ 
 

 Copyright, 1889, 
 
 BY 
 
 BELLA FRENCH SWISHER. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 TO MY HUSBAKD, 
 COL. JOHN M. SWISHER, 
 
 WHOSE INTEREST IN MY DAT-DEEAMS 
 
 HAS INSPIRED IT, 
 
 THIS ONE 
 
 IS LOYINGLy IJSrSCEIBED. 
 
FLORECITA. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 A SEAPORT town, balf circled by a bay, 
 AVhose shining waters far beneath it lay, 
 Eeflecting palaces, embowered in bloom, 
 Which gave no hint of chill December gloom ! 
 And yet it was December ; for the sun 
 "Was in the southern sky, and threw upon 
 The earth its slanting rays, though high noon-day. 
 
 Upon the streets, appeared a motley crowd — 
 The rich, the poor, the humble and the proud, 
 With leisure jostle, passed each other by. 
 For there, beneath an April- tin ted sky, 
 The thought of hurry rarely finds a place. 
 Fair senoritas, rich in native grace ; * 
 The tawny Mexicans, wrapped up in shawls, 
 Who lingered at the market-vendor's stalls ; 
 Tall senors, 'neath the wide somhrero's shade ; 
 The courtly dons ; and, now and then, a maid 
 Or youth with fairer face and lighter hair, 
 Whose quicker step and still more sprightly air 
 Told of another race, where Freedom finds 
 Her altar-shrines in all her childj-en's minds. 
 
8 FLORECITA. 
 
 American and Spaniard, Briton, Jew, 
 A sprinkling of the Dutch and Irish, too, 
 Were of tliat town and state, its citizens, 
 Wliose places of abode, ranged up from dens 
 Of infamy, to mansions, tall and grand, 
 Commanding wide-spread views of sea and land. 
 
 Plantations, rich in cocoa-palm, were seen ; 
 And, stretching far toward the fields of green — 
 The winter gardens of the sonth — were bowers 
 Of orange trees, sweet with their fruits and 
 flowers. 
 
 '' Bright skies above, a blooming eartli below I 
 O. is there room for aught of care or woe ? " 
 
 Paul Markham asked the question, as along 
 He walked, one of that motley, moving throng. 
 
 Yet he was far away from home and friends. 
 Where noble Mississippi's water blends 
 With the Missouri's tide, his native hills 
 Were white with snow, and frozen were the rills, 
 Which sing to nodding flow'rs in summer time, 
 Filling the poet-sonl with melody and rliyme. 
 
 '' A winter in the south ; " — for itj he yearned ; 
 And when the leaves were brown, his back he 
 
 turned 
 Upon his boyhood's home, and thither strayed, 
 To revel in the sweets of hill and glade. 
 In that dear land, where winter's icy breath 
 To nature brings no gloom or chill of death ! 
 
FLOBECITA. 9 
 
 '' A blooming eartli below ! Bright skies 
 o'erhead ; 
 O, is tliere room for care and woe ? " lie said. 
 
 But as he spoke, a girl, in Spanish dress, 
 With large black eyes of melting tenderness, 
 Soft as a dove's, yet full of unshed tears — 
 A very child in form and face and years, 
 Grace, purity in every move and look — 
 Her stand upon a corner pavement took, 
 And there began to sing — sing like a bird, 
 Though in the song was syllabled no word. 
 
 And what a voice ! such strength and compass 
 there ! 
 It rose — it fell — it melted into air ! 
 The merest breeze that scarcely seems to blow 
 Has not a note more sweetly soft and low. 
 
 Paul felt his being thrilled ; his soul a lyre 
 Eilled, at her touch, with Heav'nly thought and 
 
 fire. 
 She was a being of angelic birth. 
 Who brought the "music of the spheres" to earth ! 
 
 And when he noticed bold, rough men, who 
 flung 
 With trashy coins, the ridicule of tongue. 
 And, laughing, passed her by, he wished that he 
 A thunder-bolt could for one instant be, 
 To crush them into utter nothingness. 
 For offering insult where he fain would bless. 
 
 Tlie idle crowd passed on, she stood alone ; 
 
10 FLORECITA. 
 
 And, as the mellow sunlight on her shone, 
 Paul saw despair was written on her face. 
 
 He spoke to her before she left tiie place 
 Where she liad warbled fortli her thrillino; sons:. 
 
 " Fair Seiiorita, I do not belong 
 To jour dear laud. But jou have touched mv 
 
 heart. 
 And I would do a friend's, or brother's part. 
 You seem distressed. If jou will tell me why, 
 I may relieve you. There ! Sweet one, do not cryl 
 (The pent-up tears had now begun to flow 
 In answer to his tones so kind and low.) 
 First tell me whence my fairy song-bird came, 
 And if slie bears on earth an earthl}- name ?'' 
 
 " My name is Florecita," and her eyes 
 Were raised to his with questioning surprise. 
 
 " That means in your sweet tongue, a floweret, 
 But I have in my mind one better yet — 
 One which the angels must have given ; 
 Ave Celeste — Bird of Heaven." 
 
 " O, Senor, mock you not my grief and woe ■ 
 My mother, poor and ill, is lying low 
 With fever. Father died a week ago. 
 Stabbed in the back — ^by whom unknown. 
 And now I fear to walk the streets alone 
 Because of one — Don Carlos is his name — 
 Who tries to lead me to a life of shame. 
 
 *' And yet, my child, you sing upon the street 
 With voice so musical and Ileav'nly sweet 
 
FLORECITA. 11 
 
 That all must pause to listen to the strain ! '^ 
 
 " Ah ! Senor, think not that the greed of gain 
 Hath drawn me forth in misery like mine ! 
 My mother ueedeth medicine and wine, 
 And not a medio we, with which to buy. 
 I have to sing or see my mother die 
 While needing them. My only gift is song." 
 
 " Poor, loving child ! 'Tis nothing wrong ! " 
 Paul Markham quickly said, and to his eyes. 
 Deep, earnest, tinted like those southern skies, 
 A sudden moisture came,whic]i dimmed the light 
 Till riorecita's face was lost to sight. 
 
 A sympathetic, loving heart had Paul, 
 With all the good which to mankind may fall. 
 He lived in nature, nature's worshiper. 
 Its grandeur ever caused his soul to stir 
 With noble thoughts that led to noble aims. 
 Truth, honor, were, with his, companion names. 
 The world, in which he dwelt, was the ideal. 
 He had but little knowledge of the real. 
 And he had reached the age of twenty-eight, 
 Smiled on by fortune and untried by fate. 
 His life, so far, untempted by the wrong, 
 He little thought he could be aught but strong 
 In love of virtue and of all things right ; 
 Since sin was an abhorence in his sight. 
 
 " I'll go with you and help relieve your care," 
 He said ; " at least some of your burdens share." 
 
 Without a word, she turned and led the way 
 
12 FLORECITA. 
 
 Tu where adole lints were old and gvey— 
 
 A thriftless street, unsought hy lounging men^ 
 
 And e'en by women, quite deserted then. 
 
 She paused, at last, before an open door. 
 The single room, revealed, had neitlier floor 
 Nor furniture, except some articles home-made, 
 And very little clothing was displayed. 
 
 She sprang into the hut. Paul heard a cry 
 And followed lier to learn the reason why. 
 
 Upon a bed of skins, a pale form lay — 
 A woman once, but now a lump of clay. 
 O'er which, poor Florecita bent in grief, 
 Too deep for sympathy to give relief. 
 
 How sweet she was ! Her bare arms wildly 
 flung 
 Her wealth of flowing, jetty locks among ; 
 Her fingers tightly clasped above her head, 
 As, to and fro, she rocked beside the bed. 
 Talking in loving accents to the dead I 
 Tears fell in show'rs, like crystal drops of rain ; 
 Her finely moulded limbs twitched witli their 
 
 pain, 
 Despair in every accent of lier moan. 
 
 '' Gone ! Gone, O God ! and I am left alone ! 
 Xo friends, no home, no loving hand to guide. 
 O, darling mother, take your child ! ' she cried. 
 
 Two dusky women now stepped through the 
 door. 
 And from the corpse, the weeping girl they bore, 
 
FLORECITA. la 
 
 Outside beneath an oleander's shade, 
 
 Among whose wealth of bloom, the sunlight 
 
 played. 
 Paul Markham followed them. His soul wa& 
 
 stirred 
 As it had never been by mortal word. 
 Or sigh, or tear, or moan. For her dear sake 
 lie thought, what sacrifice would he not make ! 
 
 " Sweet Florecita," bending low, he said ; 
 " Let not your gentle heart be filled witli dread. 
 I'll be to you a friend — a brother, true 
 And steadfast as, o'erhead, the sky of blue. 
 Start not ! I mean no wrong. The Father 
 
 know^s 
 I would not add one tear-drop to your woes. 
 Before your purity a stain should wear 
 By act of mine, my faithless heart I'd tear. 
 And cast it from n:ie for the dogs to eat ! " 
 The maiden raised her eyes. A smile, quite 
 
 sweet, 
 Played 'round her trembling lips, then from 
 
 them fled. 
 " Dios Bendecira ! " she simply said. 
 
 And then a shadow fell upon the ground. 
 And forward strode a man, with bow profound. 
 
 '' Don Carlos ! " Florecita quickly gasped, 
 Her small thin hands in wild entreaty clasped, 
 As closely to her new-found friend she clung. 
 Her very breath suspended on her tongue. 
 
14 FLOEECITA. 
 
 '• Yes, Carlos Ortiz, sweet pupilo, mine," 
 He boldlj said, " who worsliips at your shrine ! '' 
 
 His velvet toga wrapping o'er his chest, 
 He bowed again, his hand upon his breast, 
 Ignoring Paul, as though he were unseen, 
 Proud ownership asserted by his mien. 
 
 " From what I see," said Paul, " I must infer 
 Your love and presence are unwelcome, sir. 
 In yonder cabin, still and cold in death — 
 In want and woe, surrendering her breath, 
 ^Vhile her sweet child was singing on the street. 
 To gain a coin to buy her food to eat — 
 This maiden's mother lies. The poor child's soul 
 Is racked thereat, with grief beyond control. 
 I pray retire. Her woe should sacred be." 
 
 '' Si, Senor ; but the girl belongs to me," 
 The other answered suavely. " It is true 
 She acts the bashful maid, as females do 
 When wooed by one of us. But, rest your heart, 
 The wily senorita plays a part. 
 I do assure you, what the town well knows — 
 Mine are her charms, which freely she bestows." 
 
 ''M eiiibustero ! " Florecita cried, 
 '• My very glance to him I have denied. 
 Before the thing he wishes I would be, 
 I fain would cast myself in yonder sea, 
 Food for the hungry fishes, dwelling there, 
 Or for the birds of prey that skim the air ! 
 O, stranger friend ! '' and at Paul Markham's feet 
 
FLORECITA. 15 
 
 She tlirew herself, protection to entreat : 
 " Pray save nie from tliis cruel, heartless Don, 
 And I will crawl my hands and knees upon 
 To serve you — be your ever- willing slave ! " 
 
 A quick and gasping sigh Paul Markham gave, 
 As bending low above the grief-bowed head, 
 He whispered, "You shall be my wife instead."" 
 
 A pure, glad light, cauglit from tlie sunlit skies, 
 Leaped for an instant to the maiden's eyes. 
 
 " Dios 'bendecird^^ she said again, 
 " My friend, the noblest and the best of men.'- 
 
 Paul raised her gently, holding to her hand^ 
 To show his firm intention now to stand 
 Between her and her persecutor's wratli. 
 
 He then politely said : '• Across her path, 
 Sir Don, since she has made appeal to me, 
 'Twill not be well to come. For I shall see 
 She is protected. Not a creature yet, 
 Of confidence in me has found regret." 
 
 " Then you and I w^ill meet some other day ! "" 
 Spoke up the haughty Don and strode away. 
 
16 FLORECITA. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 'TwAs night. Above the bay, up rose the moon, 
 Round, gleaming in a sky of liquid blue, 
 Giving the waves a molten silver hue. 
 Tlie air was balmy like a northland June. 
 Sweet with the kisses of the flow'rs, the breeze 
 Sang a soft lullaby among the trees. 
 Fanning Paul Markham's brow as out he strolled 
 For quiet thought. An unfrequented street, 
 Wliose homes were few, dilapidated, old. 
 He chose, that he might fewer people meet. 
 Acting, as he had done, from impulse, lie 
 Already felt a great uneasiness. 
 His lack of wisdom he could plainly see, 
 Yet scarce knew how he could have offered less. 
 
 '' What have I done ? " he questioned, with a 
 sigh, 
 " I am both glad and sad ; I know not why. 
 And if my friends knew all, what would they say ? 
 Pledged to a child, unknown but yesterday, 
 I find myself ; nor wish I to retreat. 
 With such a voice her nature must be sweet, 
 And I am filled with holy love of her — 
 A most devout and humble worshiper. 
 My fancy paints her high among the stars; 
 But reason, by a touch, the picture mars, 
 
FLORECITA. 17 
 
 And as a mere street beggar points lier out — 
 A girl, wliose truth and virtue, I miglit doubt. 
 What earnest eyes are hers ! It can not be 
 That she is acting, thus deceiving me ! 
 She, with her few short years, must know less sin, 
 Than my much longer life has entered in. 
 Why should I judge her ? or why hope to hold 
 A sweet-voiced angel and a harp of gold 
 To my more worldly breast, who ne'er aspire 
 To touch, with unsoiled hands, a Heav'nly lyre ? 
 I love her ! yes ; and that should be enough. 
 True love should have no doubts, no jealous fears. 
 I can make smooth a path that has been rough. 
 Can light the eyes which have been dimmed with 
 
 tears. 
 And give a sweetness to her coming years. 
 And she can bless me by her loving smile, 
 And by her songs my lonely hours beguile." 
 
 Then on his vision flashed an earnest face. 
 With orbs in whose blue depths he well could trace 
 The thoughtful soul clearly reflected there ; 
 A brow, half hid by rings of nut-brown hair. 
 Yet broad and high — his cousin's cousin, Claire. 
 1^0 kin of his by blood, and yet in name 
 They each had recognized a kinship claim. 
 
 Sweet Claire Le Clair, a sunny tempered child 
 Who years agone upon his life had smiled ! 
 
 A decade since, he roamed her father's land, 
 The tiny creature clinging to his hand. 
 
18 FLORECITA. 
 
 Oft startling him with questions, old and wise, 
 And showing interest in his replicb, 
 Advance beyond her stature and her ^^ears ; 
 Yet April-hearted in her smiles and tears. 
 
 A child of seven — ten j'ears lay between 
 That time and now. So Claire was seventeen. 
 
 Why did his roaming thoughts revert to her ? 
 Why did the moon's bright face become a blur, 
 As low he said : " Ten years ! She must forget — 
 At least, will learn my choice with no regret*' ? 
 
 A stealthy step was heard upon the ground. 
 xVn instant later, Paul had turned around. 
 He saw a quiver of the thick mesquite. 
 That grew" in clusters by the lonely street. 
 Instinctively he felt a danger nigh, 
 And, looking forth, intently, could descry 
 A Mexican's dark visage in the bush. 
 
 Well armed, Paul forward strode without a fear 
 And gave the drooping boughs a sudden push ; 
 AVhen lo ! he saw a dagger, very near. 
 Flash like a single star upon the night. 
 
 So blue the sky, so perfect was the light 
 That one could trace the outlines of a leaf. 
 
 With quicker movement than his hiding foe, 
 (His is a quicker race and time was brief), 
 Paul Markhani grabbed the villain, crouching low, 
 And dragged him to the center of the street. 
 Thus cutting off all chances for retreat. 
 
FLORECITA. 19 
 
 The dagger dropped, meanwhile, upon the 
 ground. 
 But Paul secured it, with a single bound ; 
 Then broke the blade and threw the bits away, 
 Returning where the cow'ring rascal lay. 
 Before the latter found the time to rise. 
 
 '^ Dog of a Mexican ! " cried Paul in wrath. 
 " Who put JO a as assassin on my path ? 
 ]N^ame you your master, or by yonder skies 
 If this right hand of mine can do its part, 
 A bullet finds its way straight to your heart ! " 
 
 '' J^o intienda ! " gasped the shrinking cur. 
 
 Paul gave the Spanish version of the threat. 
 
 " It was for Florecita, Senor, her 
 You took away with you — whom you have yet, 
 Old Hugo, only poor old Mexican, 
 Must execute all that his masters plan." 
 
 " Your masters, knave ? Give me the villain's 
 name, 
 Who planned this black atrocity to-night. 
 Too cowardly for vengeance in the light 
 Of broad daytime, by stealth lie seeks my life I 
 Sends out a skulking coward with a knife. 
 To stab me in the back while on my way 
 All peacefully, I walk ! His name I say ! " 
 
 '' O, pity ]30or old Mexican, I pray ! " 
 The creature cried. " Don Carlos bade me take 
 Your noble life for Florecita s sake." 
 
 "And what is she to him? The truth,you knave,. 
 
20 FLORECITA. 
 
 Or I will make 3-011 ready for a grave 
 Before yon moon has traveled to the west, 
 One other hand of space. Has he been blest 
 With that sweet angel's innocence and love ? " 
 
 " No, Senor. By the holy God above 
 The child is pure as water at its fountain head. 
 And on Don Carlos looks with hate and dread." 
 
 ''And knowing this, you, miscreant, aspire 
 To help him drag her through pollution's mire ! 
 Should I not crush you, here, beneath my heel 
 As I Avould crush a reptile in my path 1 
 Why should I pity for an instant feel 
 For one who in his breast no pity hath ! 
 Yet, live, base cur ! Back to your master hie ! 
 He asks my life ; go, take him this reply : 
 Before to-morrow's sun sinks in the west 
 Sweet Florecita's drooping head shall rest 
 Upon my bosom ; and this strong right arm 
 Will, henceforth, shield my darling from all 
 
 harm ! 
 Go, now ! But if again you cross my way, 
 No moment longer shall my hand delay 
 In sending you to Purgatory's shade! " 
 
 The wretch good use of the permission made. 
 And toward the town he ran, at utmost speed, 
 Kot daring to look back, nor giving heed 
 To aught except the saving of his life. 
 So wholly worthless and so filled witli strife. 
 
FLORECITA. , 21 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 Next morning, while the slanting rays of Hght 
 Lay on the dewy grass, and gemmed the flow'rs. 
 Poor Florecita, who had passed the hours — 
 The sad and lonely hours of silent night — 
 In tearful wakefulness, was led by Paul 
 Out to the carriage, following the dead 
 To its long home — a spot that proved to be 
 "Within the hearing of the restless sea. 
 And where the brightest rays of sun Avere ever 
 shed. 
 
 Just Paul and Florecita — ^they were ail 
 "Who stood beside her mother s resting-place. 
 
 Upon the. mourner's cheek, was seen a trace 
 Of weary sleepless hours, and recent tears. 
 But now her grief was banished by her fears, 
 And, pale and trembling, by the grave she stood ; 
 For she had learned of the atrocious plot 
 Against Paul's life, to make her own a blot 
 Upon the fair, pure name of womanhood. 
 
 The sods dropped down upon the coffin lid 
 With hollow sounds ; the senseless clay they hid 
 Was lonely Ilorecita's last of kin. 
 
 But she was young. Her world was yet to win. 
 And love was wooing her to peace and rest. 
 
 A bitter sob told how she felt her loss. 
 
23 FLORECITA. 
 
 Ab, on tlie grave, she placed a ilower-cross — 
 A iittino^ emblem for a mother's breast. 
 
 And then the two, who met but yesterday, 
 But now affianced, slowly moved away, 
 Returning, in the sunlight, by the shore, 
 Whose yellow sands were washed by restless 
 
 waves. 
 That sang a requiem beside the graves. 
 Which all the blooming hill-side dotted o'er — 
 A sad refrain of '* IS'ever — never more ! " 
 
 Paul hnowins: not what dan^rer mio'ht betide 
 The lonely child, resolved to claim his bride 
 Without delay, and she was not averse. 
 The kind old priest demurred, but Markham's 
 
 purse 
 Kemoved the one objection — unlike creeds. 
 The blessing of her church was thus secured, 
 But Paul was iirmly told that he must needs 
 Take up with her the cross which she endured. 
 
 They knelt together, those two strangers, tliere. 
 Beneath the benediction and tlie prayer, 
 After the marriage service had been read, 
 A hand in blessing placed upon each head, 
 As in low tones the priest pronounced them wed ! 
 When, lo ! a form appeared within the door ; 
 And, up the narrow aisle, fast walked the Don, 
 His velvet toga, and liis saber on ; 
 And black tlie frown his Uij^lv visai»;c wore. 
 
FLORECITA. 23 
 
 '•' This lawless marriage, I forbid ! " lie said ; 
 ^' For me, alone, can Florecita wed ! 
 We were espoused beside lier father's bed, 
 When he lay dying. Except the service read. 
 We two are man and wife. I claim my own," 
 
 And proud defiance echoed in his tone. 
 
 ''El Pecarclo !'' flashed forth Paul Markham's 
 bride. 
 And, springing from her knees, she boldly cried : 
 
 " My poor stabbed father breathed no single 
 word 
 That by a mortal ear. Sir Don, was heard ; 
 But in a long and senseless stupor lay, 
 As well the father knows — thus passed away. 
 And though nnpunished was the deed of shame, 
 I think the foul assassin I can name 
 In you. Sir Don, who sent a coward slave 
 To stab a man because he pity gave 
 To me, a starving girl, bereaved, distressed ! 
 Ay, start ! 'Tis well. The villain has confessed, 
 To clear himself by implicating you. 
 So you will learn, perchance, what law can do." 
 
 " Nay, Florecita," it was Paul who spoke. 
 And his firm voice resounding echoes woke 
 In that dim, silent church, whose ghostly light, 
 And chill, and gloom might be of kin to night. 
 " Mine* is the task to shield the wife I chose. 
 From calumny and her revengeful foes. 
 The Don must realize it is too late, 
 
24 FLORECITA. 
 
 To wreak the vengeance urged by hate. 
 Since I can send him to a dungeon-cell. 
 With half the story that I have to tell." 
 
 " My children, leave the Don with me," tlie 
 
 priest 
 In interruption said. " Go to your feast 
 And on your wedding tour, without a fear. 
 My son," this to the Don, " pray linger here, 
 For I would wisli to speak to you alone." 
 
 " Come, then, my love," said Paul, in gentle 
 
 tone. 
 " The father has dismissed us — we obey." 
 And gallantly the bridegroom led the way 
 Adown the chapel's aisle, into the street, 
 E'ow noisy witli the tread of many feet. 
 
 Theirs was a strano^e, stranaje marriacj:e ; not 
 
 w^ithout 
 A share of love. Of his, Paul had no doubt. 
 Bnt Florecita was a child. Her soul, 
 Pure, unimpassioned, had not felt the wave 
 Of woman's all-absorbing love. The whole 
 Of her child-love was in her mother's grave. 
 Her waking dreams were not those of the heart ; 
 For in her hopes, ambition played a part, 
 And told her she had talent to be great — 
 That great she would be, unless crushed by fate. 
 
 The two were so unlike ! He, fair and tall, 
 And she, a lovely child, dark-eyed and small. 
 Robed in a Spanish dress of simple style ; 
 
FLORECITA. 25 
 
 Her finely molded arms and shoulders bare; 
 And nnconfined her black, luxuriant hair ; 
 He in his business suit of grey, meanwhile 
 Seemed to have brought with him his native air. 
 
 The curious oft eyed them, as along 
 They went, among the motley moving throng ; 
 And Paul, who was a very little vain, 
 Saw, with a throb of wounded pride and pain, 
 Tlie nationality of each was plain ; 
 And he resolved that ere tliey journeyed thence 
 The world should cease to mark the difference. 
 Another style of dress, he had no doubt, 
 A change, quite radical, could bring about. 
 Her accent, too, he hoped to mend, in time. 
 And make her like the w^omen of his clime. 
 
 Ah, me ! I doubt if from tlie Heavenly sphere. 
 Some sweet-faced, white-robed angel wandered 
 
 here. 
 That any one would take her to liis breast 
 And think that some remod'ling were not best. 
 
FLORECITA, 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 To think, with Paul, was quickly to decide, 
 And to decide was but to act with haste ; 
 And he, at once, selected for his bride. 
 Some o^arments better suited to his taste. 
 
 He marked how eagerlj^ the robes were grasped, 
 "What pleasure shone upon her childlike face, 
 And, oh ! how joyfully her fingers clasped. 
 To show the rings which there liad found a place ! 
 
 Thought Paul : " My angel is a woman, sure, 
 With all a woman's vanity in dress, 
 Yet how angelic is her loveliness ! 
 Her form, so graceful ; and lier face so pure ! 
 And what a voice ! One has to hear lier sing 
 But to imagine she will soon take wing 
 And join, in Heav'nly realms, the angel choir ! 
 Tlie world, to which I take her, must admire 
 Her pure, exquisite notes — her beauty, too ; — 
 Perhaps, will rob my flower of its dew ; 
 And soil the garments that her spirit wears ; 
 Entrap her with deceit and gilded snares ! 
 Yet she, who shrank from sin in lowly life. 
 Will surely not be weak, an honored wife, 
 Hemmed in by love, with comforts at command, 
 And joys awaiting her on every hand. 
 
 " But I recall my mother's words. ' Ofttimes 
 
FLORECITA. 27 
 
 I've heard lier say, when speaking of the crimes 
 And jealousies of those in life's high walk — 
 So sweet a subject for the gossips' talk ! 
 
 " ' To lowly lives, but few temptations come ; 
 For poverty and labor hedge the soul 
 From subtle passions, which will visit some 
 On life's broad highway, where without control 
 Tliose passions roam at pleasure, seeking prey 
 Among the purest souls that pass that Avay. 
 Then vanity, a whirlpool, may draw in 
 Some fain to "fl.ee the yawning gulf of sin.' 
 
 " The angel of the old adobe cot 
 May not survive her fortune's better lot." 
 
 Then Paul began to blame himself. Thought 
 he: 
 ■*' My fears are but the pangs of jealousy. 
 I want her for myself, my own, my bride ; 
 To live for naught in all the world beside ! 
 O, I would seek for her. Earth's fairest bowers, 
 And I would crown her queen of all the flowers, 
 Would gather up the sweetest notes of birds 
 And to the melody set loving words. 
 For her to sing ! "Would call the angels down 
 To give my bird in lieav'nly spheres, renovv'n ! 
 But man, the vandal, for her own dear sake, 
 A glance into our Eden should not take ! 
 
 " Now is this love or jealousy, or both ? 
 Or is it to protect her, I am loth 
 That others should admire, as I have done 
 
28 FLORECITA. 
 
 And do ? Base selfishness, since like the snn 
 True genius shed its warming rajs for all, 
 However rich or poor, or great or small. 
 Desires like mine are worthy of a cur ! 
 The world, outside, should know and worship 
 
 her ! 
 And education polish up the gem, 
 That is to sparkle in mj diadem ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, Paul Markliam watched the girl's 
 delight. 
 And his own eyes, in consequence, grew bright. 
 
 "If things like these would win her love,'^ 
 thought he, 
 " Thus I would spend my fortune willingly." 
 
 But Florecita, looking in his face, 
 Witli intuition read the silent thought. 
 ^' Amigo, mine,'' she said, "the love men place 
 A value on, is neither sold nor bought, 
 But like the rain and sunlight comes unsought,. 
 To bless, or curse, according to our needs 
 (One's blessing often proves another's woe), 
 And he who woman's truer nature reads, 
 These plainly written facts must surely know. 
 
 "My swelling heart is filled with gratitude,, 
 Sucli as I feel for Ilim who dwells above I 
 You are my spirit's sunlight, rain and food — 
 Amigo, mine, say, is this feeling love I 
 Has it intensity and fire 
 To satisfy your soul's desire ? 
 
FLORECITA. 2& 
 
 '' It maj be love,'' she went on, " yet it seems 
 That music is the lover of my dreams — 
 Or rather that I should belong 
 To one who loves and lives in song. 
 O, I have wandered forth in leisure hours, 
 To hold a sweet communion with the flow'rs 
 And listen to the lano^ua«;e of the birds, 
 Which I can well translate to human words. 
 And often, in a melancholy mood, 
 An unknown lover I have wooed. 
 In bird-notes, asking why he tarried long. 
 And lo ! he answered back to me in song. 
 His tones, which seemed to come from some far 
 
 hill, 
 Made every nerve within my being thrill ! 
 Up sprang my soul, with vain desire to break 
 Its earthly bonds for that dear lover's sake ! 
 Perhaps in other climes he had his birth. 
 And waits for me above this planet, Earth, 
 Till death shall come and set my spirit free, 
 Perhaps he now is here and you are he ! 
 If not, Dios forgive and pity me ! " 
 
 Tears filled her eyes. Her tone was sweet 
 And low, for Paul and she were in the street, 
 Where idle crowds were moving to and fro. 
 
 Paul Markham's head dropped down upon his; 
 breast. 
 Her earnest words had fallen like a blow, 
 Half crushing out his liopes of happiness. 
 
30 . FLORECITA. 
 
 " Poor child," he said, " perhaps where I 
 would bless 
 Bj giving jou sweet comfort, love, and rest, 
 I yet shall prove a curse to clog jour way. 
 Perhaps that it is even as you say. 
 And I am he for whom you waited long. 
 You called to me — I answered to your song. 
 My soul went forth to meet you ere a note 
 Had time to issue from your bird-like throat. 
 O, riorecita, darling, sweetheart, wife ! 
 You hold my fortune, honor, life ! 
 Accept me as the dreamland love you wooed, 
 And not because of simple gratitude ! " 
 
 Then Florecita saw his soul arise 
 And shine forth from the depths of his blue eyes. 
 
 " What God has willed," she said, " must 
 surely be, 
 Eut, oh ! I wish to think that you are he ! " 
 
FLORECITA. SI 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 Again up rose the moon, and climbing high 
 "With wondrous light lit earth, and sea, and skj, 
 The objects in tiie landscape showing plain. 
 That laj^ beyond the swiftly moving train. 
 
 Paul Markham and his bride were found 
 thereon. 
 Her fears, her poverty, the angry Don 
 Were left behind ; yet Florecita wept, 
 And, with her sobs, time to the rumbling kept. 
 
 How bright the programme, which before 
 them lay ! 
 A winter's travel in the summer land 
 Until the balmy breath of sunlit May 
 Should northward come to melt the icy band 
 Which locked the rippling streams and chilled 
 
 the flow'rs 
 That are so beautiful in sunnner hours. 
 To linger by the sea, till spring was nigh, 
 And deeply, darkly blue the Texas sky — 
 Then while the April roses scent the air 
 Go for a visit to his Aunt Le Clair, 
 And stop a month, perhaps, or longer there 
 Before he souglit his own, sweet native glade — 
 Such was the plan of travel Markham made. 
 
 Still Florecita wept when came the change, 
 
52 FLOBECITA. 
 
 The world to which she went was new and 
 
 strange. 
 Her child associations thus were left ; 
 And lowly though thej were, she felt bereft. 
 
 But as new scenes were to her vision borne, 
 And days and weeks went by, she ceased to 
 
 mourn — 
 At least, with outward grief. Her eyes grew 
 
 bright. 
 And pleasures brought to her a cliild's delight. 
 Once more, she sang ! and when upon the air, 
 Her notes were borne from chamber, parlor, hall, 
 The highest and tlie lowest dweller there 
 Paused breathlessly to catch them eacli and all. 
 
 Upon the very winds her fame went out, 
 And admiration followed her about — 
 A pleasant wooer — wheresoe'er she turned. 
 Increasing hourly, yet for more she yearned. 
 
 At first she sang for Paul. Then for the 
 crowd 
 Of eager listeners who gathered nigh. 
 Her bird-like notes rang clear and loud 
 Till admiration shone in lier life's sky. 
 As up above the earth, the beaming sun ; 
 Filling her soul with warmth when it was bright, 
 And wooing spirit blossoms by its liglit ; 
 But leaving darkness when its day was done. 
 
 Paul gloried in her triumphs ; yet was sad 
 To find that they for lier more pleasure had 
 
FLORECITA. 33 
 
 Than all his love could give. She seemed to 
 
 grow 
 Above, beyond him ; even as a vine, 
 Clino^ino^ to some tall bnsh, mav leave below 
 A modest violet ; — high o'er it throw 
 Its gaver blossoms in the balmy air, 
 By their bright color and their rare design 
 Attracting many warm admirers there, 
 Who would not feel a shadow of regret 
 In crushing 'neath their feet the violet. 
 
 Paul took her to the opera one niglit. 
 The play was that of Faust and Maro^uerite ; 
 And ne'er before had Florecita heard 
 From human lips aught so divinely sweet. 
 She drank in every note and word, 
 Her eager face expressing wild deliglit. 
 
 " Ah ! I was born to sing like that ! " slie said. 
 
 " Kay, Florecita," and Paul shook his head. 
 " I love your triumphs while in private life ; 
 But from a public stage must keep my wife ! 
 Temptations, dear, are often met with there, 
 Which, sometimes, purest, truest souls ensnare. 
 Then jealousy, and bickering, and hate. 
 And calumny and often insult, too, 
 Come to each prima donna, soon or late ; 
 And strong, indeed, are they who j)ass such 
 
 through. 
 And take upon their robes no stain of sin ! 
 O, darling, I entreat that you will win 
 
34 FLORECITA. 
 
 Your Ileav'nly diadem bj angel deeds ! 
 
 The fame, such as a noble spirit needs, 
 
 Can come from other sources than tlie crowd, 
 
 Whose adulations, be they e'er so loud, 
 
 Are ever-changing as the winds that blow ! 
 
 God sent you here to sing ; but sing for good ! 
 
 Send forth your notes to Him in gratitude ! 
 
 Sing for the sick and weary — it will rest ! 
 
 And sing for him, my sweet, who loves you best! '^ 
 
 But Florecita's head dropped on her breast 
 And to her heart a pale, cold hand, she pressed. 
 
 " Out in the world you bring me," thus she 
 spoke ; 
 " And show me blooming heights, yet bind my 
 
 wings ! 
 But I a captive bird, my bonds once broke, 
 Will soar through sunlight up to higher things. 
 A voice has called me, but you are not he. 
 My spirit-love would soar and sing with me. 
 Hast never seen a bird, while singing, rise ? 
 And, lo ! its mate with song behind it flies 
 Till side by side they skim the sunlit air I 
 Thus with a truly mated human pair ! '' 
 
 " I love you," answered Paul ; " and I would 
 bless " 
 
 "Yes ; but your love is mixed with selfishness. 
 When admiration makes my spirit glad, 
 I look at you, and lo ! I find you sad ! 
 And then, when sadness hovers 'round my head. 
 
FLORECITA. m 
 
 Your soul is filled with gloomy doubts, and dread 
 That I, in some weak hour will prove untrue 
 To my own womanhood, as well as you. 
 
 " If in some desert you and I should dwell, 
 Where not a breath of mine could touch a cheek 
 Except your own, nor I to others speak. 
 You yet your jealous fears and doubts would 
 tell." 
 
 "But it is love — true love, my child," said Paul^ 
 "A man wants some return who gives his all." 
 
 "As when they purchase goods — a fair ex- 
 change," 
 Laughed Florecita. "All for all. It is not strange 
 In bargain contracts ; but in love, absurd ! 
 And ' love, ' thus used, is not the fitting word. 
 It is a semblance simply bought and sold 
 For some consideration, if not gold. 
 
 " A love far different is in my dreams ! 
 So high above such jealousy, it seems. 
 That I compare it only to the sun. 
 Except its warmest rays are but for one, 
 From whom it asks for no return save this : — 
 
 " To see that one grow happy by its kiss. 
 Expanding, in its light, to leaf and bloom, 
 And giving to the breeze its sweet perfume I 
 
 " Your love would put a case about 
 The plant with but one place for looking out j 
 That straight at you ; the space so cramped and 
 small, 
 
36 FLORECITA. 
 
 The flow'r would surely never bloom at all." 
 
 Paul marked the wisdom which her words 
 conveyed, 
 And to his soul the secret promise made — 
 To leave his sweet, young song-bird ever free 
 To use her wings, and her true mate to be. 
 
 Alas ! we write our good resolves in sand ; 
 Our bad ones trace on rock with firm right hand ! 
 
 He weary grew when she was happiest ; 
 Thought longingly of home and quiet rest, 
 And hailed the day which northward turned liis 
 
 face, 
 Almost regretting that his Aunt Le Clair 
 Expected him and Florecita at her place ; 
 And that he had a month to visit there 
 Before his weary travels would be done. 
 
 The invitation was a pressing one : — 
 "Dear Paul: 
 
 " Bring your bride, whom I know you adore 
 (I am dying to meet her, and so is Lenore), 
 And make us a visit. ISTow do not delay. 
 We want you both here on the first day of May. 
 
 " The girls have been planning — Lenore and 
 sweet Claire — 
 (You remember her, don't you ? though when 
 
 you were there 
 She was scarcely as high as the back of a chair. 
 She remembers you vrell. And her hero you 
 were. 
 
FLORECITA. 37 
 
 Slie laiigliinglj told me, for many a year). 
 '' Well, the girls have been planning, as I have 
 just said. 
 Quite a pleasant surprise for the one you have 
 
 wed; 
 Though just what it's to be, I am bid not to say- 
 But be sure to be here on the first day of May. 
 " I will close, but my love this short letter shall 
 bear 
 To you and your bride, from your aunt, 
 
 " Ruth LeClair." 
 
FLORECITA. 
 
 CHAPTEK YI. 
 
 The time was April ; Texas was the land ; 
 The place, a blooming bow'r ; Avithin, a baud 
 Of merry-hearted maidens, in their teens ; 
 And one of nature's most magnificent of scenes^ 
 The backgromid. For a mountain tow'ring high,. 
 Like pictured Faith, was pointing to tlie sky — 
 That beauty of the south, deep, dark in hue. 
 Below, the river seemed a moving sky of blue. 
 The scene reflecting there — the mountain's crest,^ 
 Trees, flowers, bushes, and the glowing west. 
 The very cloudlets, lightly floating o'er 
 The sky, the stream's clear surface bore. 
 
 The arch was hung with many a blooming vine.. 
 The regal rose and modest, sweet woodbine 
 Together mingled, giving both a charm 
 Possessed alone by neither ; as man's arm 
 Around fair woman, she upon liis breast. 
 Show womanhood and manhood at its best ; 
 Her faith and beauty, his great strength and 
 
 mind. 
 Each glorify the other, thus entwined. 
 
 Beneath the shade, the maidens, half a score, 
 Talked of a May -day /e^^ the eve before. 
 The leader of the band was fair Lenore, 
 Le Clair's proud cliild, whose features wore 
 
FLORECITA. 39 
 
 A look as if she owned the others there, 
 And 'twas her right, a diadem to wear. 
 
 Her father's land stretched to the mountain's 
 base. 
 A lordly mansion was his dwelling place. 
 His children reared in luxury and ease. 
 Were haughty, tyrannizing, hard to please. 
 Smiles, favors, luxuries, they bought ; 
 And longed to purchase education, thought, 
 And well developed minds. 
 
 Lenore was tall. 
 Her hands were white, symmetrical and small, 
 Her features smooth, and regular, and fair, 
 And like the midnight were her eyes and hair. 
 Beside her stood her guest — her cousin, Claire, 
 Brown-haired, but rather plain in face, 
 Claire lacked in beauty — almost lacked in grace; 
 And yet a magnetism in her eves 
 Gave the beholder oft a glad surprise. 
 "When in their depths her soul was seen to shine, 
 Her features, in expression, seemed divine. 
 
 Eastward, perhaps a hundred miles or so, 
 Claire's father dwelt, but in another State. 
 A pleasant home was his with less of show 
 Than at Le Clair, and less of pride and hate. 
 For none love arrogance ; and to the poor 
 It brings a smart, they like not to endure. 
 Claire's people loved her ; and she was the means 
 Of joy to them. Each was her worshiper. 
 
40 FLORECITA. 
 
 Bat to Lenore, the servants were machines 
 Tliat made her comforts ; yet they hated her. 
 
 Their fathers were own brothers. But to Paul 
 As said before, Claire was no kin at all. 
 His father's sister, mother of Lenore, 
 Was a Le Clair but in the name she bore. 
 
 The property of Lloyd and John Le Clair 
 Was undivided ; and the latter's share 
 Was in Lloyd's business. Fortune might swamp 
 
 all 
 Of land and money, which both brothers owned ; 
 Might even bring a heavy loss to Paul 
 And others, who the firm had money loaned. 
 
 So much by way of explanation. 
 
 Eight 
 Young girls, beside the cousins, were in wait 
 To j)ay respects to Paul's sweet bride. For they 
 Had just arrived, to spend the first of May. 
 
 " Our cousin's wife takes long, it seems, to 
 rest," 
 Spoke up Lenore, her glances turning west, 
 Where hung the sun, above his couch of red, 
 And sent his level rays to gild her head. 
 '' I wished so much you, girls, and she might 
 
 meet, 
 For she is beautiful and just too sweet — 
 So well refined, one cannot fail to know 
 She sprang from nothing that is poor and low, 
 But came of noble blood — the very best." 
 
FLORECITA. 41 
 
 A sweet and rippling laugh rang on the air. 
 '' Your intuitions are all wrong," said Claire, 
 ^' In early morn, we, in the garden, walked. 
 While you yet slumbered. Of her past we talked. 
 She told me of her home, her parents — all ; 
 And how she met and fell in love with Paul. 
 Her father molded images in wax. 
 And often would his daugliter's patience tax 
 By giving her some of his work to do." . 
 
 " What ! " cried Lenore. '^ Can such a thing 
 be true? 
 Paul Markham with a working-woman mate, 
 And bring his plebeian wife for us to fete ! 
 The thought makes all my being burn with hate." 
 
 "Lenore," said Claire, and earnest washer face, 
 '' I know^ full well that it is not my place 
 To champion your guests. But as of shame 
 You speak of work. You seem to think the name 
 Breathes forth disgrace, dishonor. Oft, Lenore, 
 While yet a child, I deeply would deplore. 
 The fate which gave me irksome tasks to do. 
 And in my heart, I blamed my mother, too, 
 Because she made them. Often tried to shirk 
 My duties. Once I told her that I hated work. 
 Yes, told her hotly — I, her wayward child. 
 She tried to soothe my passion, burning wild. 
 By loving words, ' My darling Claire,' she said, 
 ' Work leads mankind to joy's great fountain- 
 head. 
 
42 FLORECITA. 
 
 Though idle pleasures sometimes briefly bless, 
 "Work is the road to lasting happiness — 
 The only road — the Maker willed it so.' 
 (Tears filled Claire's eyes. Her tones were sweet 
 
 and low 
 And had a world of pathos in them.) 'God 
 Sent Adam out to turn the virgin sod 
 Because of laws transgressed. lie chose to eat 
 'Fruit from the tree of life, and deemed it sweet, 
 Since it would give him knowledge. To redeem 
 Himself God bade him labor. This would seem 
 At first a curse — man from his Eden hurled ! 
 I^ot so. For work alone redeems the world 
 From sin and selfishness. Mankind may hope, 
 Through labor's blessed aid, almost to cope 
 "With angels in their knowledge and their power. 
 "Work then to man is the Almighty's dower. 
 All idleness is ignorance and sin. 
 All idle souls, the tempter enters in, 
 A welcome guest ! And idle moments — all 
 Are unlocked gateways in the soul's strong wall ! 
 All work is honor ! " Go and till the soil," 
 God said, which is the humblest of all toil. 
 And yet most noble. O, my darling child. 
 Make worh your watch-word in the wild 
 Race of this life ; and humble though it be 
 "Work cheerfully and nobly. You will see 
 Sweet fruits grow up beneath your gentle touch ; 
 For God's best srif ts are showered down on such.' 
 
floeecita: 43 
 
 " She then a pretty little fable told — 
 One she had heard when she was not as old 
 As I. A vine grew 'neath an apple tree 
 Longing among the blooming boughs to be, 
 And greet the sunbeams at the very top. 
 But it was weak, and even had to drop 
 Back to the ground. One day an angel came 
 And softly called the lowly plant by name. 
 ' Don't try too much. Cling here, my friend,' 
 
 she said. 
 ■' What ! to a stink-weed. I'd as soon be dead ! ' 
 Heplied the vine. 
 
 " The angel said : ^ But see, 
 From here you reach a bush and then the tree. 
 This humble w^eed will surely lead you there. 
 Where you may blossom in the sun and air.' 
 
 " Wise vine ! It took the angel's counsel 
 threw 
 Its tendrils 'round the weed, and later grew 
 Its blossoms high among the apple boughs. 
 
 " Thus with mankind. The wise man ne'er 
 allows 
 Himself to spurn the humblest chance that leads 
 ^To something higher. So it fills his needs 
 At present is enough. 
 
 " Lenore ! Lenore ! " 
 {Her sweet face now almost a glory wore), 
 "' One year ago my mother went above. 
 Leaving behind the daughter of her love. 
 
44 FLORECITA. 
 
 Eut sacred are her teacliings yet to me. 
 She taught tliat neither high nor low degree 
 Can make or mar a sonL As coarsest eartli 
 May jewels hide, so lowly lot and birth 
 May cover up a soul of greatest worth. 
 
 '' I told of riorecita's parentage, 
 Knowing full well that she would tell you allj 
 And wishing that she should not 'neath you rage^ 
 In its first, blindest, hottest fury, fall. 
 She comes, an honored and invited guest ; 
 You were unworthy of the name Le Clair, 
 And that of lady, not to do your best 
 To make your acts and words a welcome wear. 
 
 "A sweet,f rank child, she is. God grant the day 
 May never come, that takes her truth away ! 
 A genius, too. She yet will win renown, 
 Nor toil, nor poverty can bind her down. 
 To hear her sing out in the dewy morn 
 Is to forget that she is lowly born. 
 The Saviour in a manger lay ; and she. 
 Without disgrace, the lovely child may be 
 Of one who reared her by his daily toil, 
 l^ov feared that work his honest hands would 
 soil." 
 
 Claire's eloquence was powerful. The test 
 Was in the all-absorbing interest. 
 With which her words were heard by every guest. 
 
 Half-shamed, Lenore, in silence, turned away, 
 To leave her vengeance for another day. 
 
FLORECITA. 45 
 
 CHAPTEK YII. 
 
 Mayday. A Maypole wreathed in bloom. 
 Around 
 The pole upon the flower-sprinkled ground, 
 Danced youths and maidens. As we might ex- 
 pect, 
 Quite small the party was and quite select. 
 The town itself was small, the people poor, 
 And mostly of a grade beneath Lenore, 
 According to her estimate of them. 
 'Twas thus she had been taught, do not condemn. 
 The girl. If in her haughty, foolish heart 
 There was no love excepting for that part 
 Of God's fair children who could boast of power 
 To live in idleness, such was the dower 
 Bequeathed her by her parents. Should we think 
 Her lips would from a purer fountain drink 
 Than that they offered her ? From babyhood 
 They taught her that the rich alone are good. 
 And that a soul weighs just the same 
 As its possessions weigh. ]^ot hers the blame 
 That on that day when all was joy within, 
 A crowd of people, such as could not win 
 An entrance there, peeped through the garden 
 
 fence 
 With eager gaze, nor would be driven thence. 
 
46 FLORECITA. 
 
 Soon Claire and Florecita from the rest 
 Had wandered, seeking arbors more remote, 
 And of a moment's quietude in quest. 
 
 They paused at length. A mocking-bird's clear 
 note 
 Attracted Claire. 
 
 " I love those birds so much ! " 
 She said. " Somehow their music seems to touch 
 A chord that thrills and vibrates in my soul ! 
 My mother dearly loved them, and the whole 
 Of her sweet life was love — yes, love the best, 
 And labor for the loved. Was I not blest 
 In such a mother ? And she raised a bird — 
 A mocking-bird. Each melody he heard. 
 He imitated. In my mother's room. 
 Which was almost a bow'r of leaf and bloom, 
 He "flew about at will. He knew her step. 
 When to the door she came, and ever kept 
 A watch for her. He flew to meet her then, 
 And gently pecked her hands, or face, or hair. 
 And trilled his love song. When my mother 
 
 died 
 He missed her, drooped his wings and cried — 
 Kefusing food. I took him where she lay. 
 Cold, silent, pulseless as the very clay 
 That soon became her last and only bed. 
 Quite joyously he perched upon her head. 
 Looked at her closely, fluttered, fell back — dead." 
 
 " I know," continued Claire, " most people say 
 
FLORECITA. 4T 
 
 That with such lives, their beings pass away ; 
 Yet, I believe the heart that broke that day, 
 But freed a song-bird that will sing for aye. 
 To swell the chorus of the angel band 
 And bless my mother in the spirit-land ! " 
 
 " "We seem as sisters," Florecita said, 
 " For my dear mother, like your own, is dead. 
 She loved the bird-songs, too. It was through 
 
 her 
 That I became a music-worshiper. 
 She taught me, when a cliild, to imitate 
 Their notes. (She was a genius, crushed by fate,. 
 And all her hopes were centered within me.) 
 She bade me to aim high — strive to be great 
 And famous, as she once had hoped to be. 
 I promised that I would, but now I weep 
 Because I see no chance the vow to keep. 
 My lark-song is her teaching. It alone 
 She told, might gain me access to a throne." 
 
 " You could," said Claire, " quite easily engage 
 To sing, and make your fortune on the stage." 
 
 " But Paul objects, and, him so much I owe 
 Of gratitude, that I am filled with woe. 
 Between the two conflicting aims in life — 
 To use my talent should be one, I know ; 
 And then there is my duty as a wife ! " 
 
 " Alas ! " said Claire, " I And it difficult 
 To give advice, not knowing what result 
 Might follow either course that you might take. 
 
48 FLO REGIT A. 
 
 But I would study for my talent's sake. 
 Since Paul is wealthy you have every chance 
 In music and in learning to advance. 
 Do not despair ! Keep bright your altar-fire ! 
 And answered yet may be your heart's desire." 
 
 Lenore now joined them, but sought not to 
 hide 
 Her feelings of contempt for Paul's sweet bride. 
 She led the conversation to the theme 
 Of difference of high and low degree. 
 
 Her cousin's wife, unconscious of the scheme, 
 Answered her questions quite unwittingly. 
 
 " Your hands are soft, my Florecita, dear," 
 (Lenore had clasped the member in her own), 
 " A child of luxury and ease you were ! " 
 And inquiry was in the careless tone. 
 
 '' O, no. We were quite poor. Each morn, 
 I early rose that I might grind the corn. 
 To make tortillas for the mornino^ meal : 
 And father — I have often helped a deal 
 In molding waxen images ; although 
 I had no talent for the work, I know." 
 
 ^' And yet you helped him ! " interrupted 
 Claire, 
 Who saw Lenore's design. " Quite right in you. 
 Though rich or poor, 'tis ever sweet to do 
 That which will give our loved ones help or rest. 
 My dear, to souls all filled with love, the best, 
 There is a joy in toiling for the loved." 
 
FLORECITA. 49 
 
 Lenore, in her design, was still unmoved. 
 
 '' All bosli ! " she rudely snapped. " Kow I 
 would see 
 My parents starve, starvation come to me, 
 Ere I would cook a meal or make a fire ; 
 l^ov would they such a thing of me desire. 
 There are poor people, lowly born and bred. 
 Who are to io-norance and toilino- wed — 
 Just human cattle (I'd have made them dumb), 
 Who do such labor for a trivial sum. 
 My mamma says, who is a lady, true, 
 That menial work, a lady will not do. 
 Indeed, no lady works at all. The line 
 Is plainly drawn, and by the Hand divine, 
 Between those human cattle born for toil, 
 And they unfitted for this life's turmoil 
 And menial labor ; and my proud race 
 May die of poverty, but not disgrace ! " 
 
 ^' Lenore," said Claire, " yours is a sad mistake. 
 The great Creator never thought to make 
 A single pair of hands for idleness. 
 And then another, coarser pair to bless 
 By toil the idle ones. Work had its birth 
 With Him who made and peopled earth. 
 To show us what our destiny should be, 
 He gave us nothing made except what we 
 Could never make ourselves. Eeady for toil, 
 Yet all uncultivated, was the soil ! 
 Down in the earth, our fuel, hidden low. 
 
50 FLORECITA. 
 
 But not a guide allowed to show us so ! 
 No stately mansions reared for that proud race 
 Of idle ones who find in work, disgrace ! 
 ]^o costly robes, wove with a master's care 
 And ready-made for idle dames to wear ! 
 For homes — He gave us forests, rocks and clay f 
 Deep in the earth, our gold and jewels lay ! 
 Our dainty robes adorned the backs of sheep, 
 Or else we found tliem in the silk-worm's keep. 
 Our linen is a plant which we must spin 
 And weave. And these were arts we had to win 
 By toil and reason. 'Twas by conquest, men 
 Achieved tiieir power, and the vanquished then 
 Became the slaves. Thus idleness began. 
 
 " How much above his Maker, God, is man, 
 That God-created toil he calls' disgrace ' ? 
 The works of His almighty hands, we trace 
 In every cave of earth and sylvan bower. 
 Each fruitful "vine and tree, and lowly flower ! 
 The noblest creature, lowest insect, too. 
 Alike were His great workmanship, and grew 
 Beneath His loving touch. JS^o one so small 
 And low, it may not Him its maker call. 
 Then why should we, poor mortals, in our turn 
 The least of honest, needed labor spurn ? 
 
 '' All are not called upon to toil the same, 
 For many kinds of toil bear labor's name ; 
 And though 'tis criminal our time to waste. 
 The rich have power to gratify their taste 
 
FLORECITA. 51 
 
 In choice of work. The poor must choose 
 As chance directs, nor can afford to lose 
 An opportunity, though each desire 
 May look to something that they deem is high'r. 
 The liand'of duty points the way to go, 
 And labor ours ; and be it liigh or low. 
 We should not falter. Duty guides the best 
 Our fragile barks to liavens of sweet rest, 
 E'en though across the ever troubled sea, 
 Misfortune, and the bark be Poverty." 
 
 Claire spoke with youthful fervor. To her life 
 Had come as yet but little care or strife. 
 She had not felt ingratitude ; nor seen 
 (For she was very young, scarce seventeen), 
 The sacrifice of lives and human hearts. 
 All unappreciated ; felt no smarts 
 Of being ne\-er, never understood. 
 Although each thought was for some other's 
 
 good ; 
 ISTor been misjudged in greatest sacrifices made ; 
 And when each act had been, by kindness^ 
 
 weighed. 
 Intended the recipient to bless, 
 And yet denounced by him as selfishness. 
 
 Such lessons, oft repeated, make us cold, 
 Unsympathizing, prematurely old. 
 But Claire had known them not, and warm and 
 
 true, 
 "Was every impulse that her bosom knew. 
 
52 FLORECITA. 
 
 Leiiore essayed to speak. But ere a word 
 She said, tlie vines, whicli made the arbor, stirred, 
 And Paul looked on the trio, seated there. 
 
 " Thanks ! Thanks ! he cried, " my noble 
 cousin Claire ! 
 " Unwittingly, I own, I overheard 
 Your grand defense of labor, truth and right ! 
 My wife and I will leave for home, to-night ; 
 But on our joui-ney thither, we shall bear 
 In memory, an eager, sainted face, 
 Which ever in our hearts must hold a jDlace, 
 Close treasured near a name most sacred — 
 Claire ! " 
 
FLORECITA. 53 
 
 CHAPTEE YIIL 
 
 Theee years went by with little change to 
 Paul 
 Or Plorecita ; for except one fall 
 Which took them on a journey south, the time 
 Was spent by them in Paul's own native clime. 
 
 She had improved by study and deep thought, 
 Each moment that her leisure to lier brought ; 
 And sacred in her heart slie held the aim 
 Of winning for herself undying fame. 
 
 As Paul lacked sympathy in this, she drew 
 Herself from him and gradually grew 
 Quiet and sad. Ah ! she were comfortless 
 Had Claire's dear letters never come to bless 
 And cheer her. For her soul went out to Claire 
 In confidence that Paul could never share. 
 Since he no aspiration, with her, shared, 
 Nor for her longings or her triumphs cared. 
 In fact, he blamed her for her discontent — 
 Either accused her of ingratitude. 
 Or he was cold, by way of punishment. 
 As, at the time, was suited to his mood. 
 
 They daily grew apart. Her songs were sung 
 Beside the limped streams that flowed among 
 The quiet hills, away from haunts of men, 
 With but the birds as listeners ; for then 
 
54 FLORECITA. 
 
 She felt herself a child, and free- again. 
 
 So contradictory is human life, 
 That Paul had found distasteful in his wife 
 The very traits that bound his soul to her 
 And bowed him as her humble worshiper. 
 
 And she — poor child ! Ah ! it was sad in- 
 deed ! 
 Of sympatliizing love was soon in need. 
 
 Paul felt aggrieved. He could not understand, 
 Since she had every comfort at command, 
 And his unselfish love — he thouglit it so — 
 Why she should ever droop her head in woe. 
 
 How much is prized the fuchsia's drooping 
 flow'rs 
 In northern climes ! I once in one took pride 
 And brought it to my sunny, southern home 
 When, in the north land, I had ceased to roam. 
 I watched and tended it through anxious hom-s, 
 But saw it droop and sicken till it died. 
 
 '' What ailed the plant ? " I asked of one wlio 
 knew. 
 
 He said in answer : " Fuchsias must have dew 
 And we have little, in this southern land.'' 
 
 Ah ! it were well could mankind understand 
 That there are many human fuchsias, too, 
 Tliat cannot live and flourish without dew — 
 The dew of sympathy and tenderness, 
 Without whose touch, the soul is comfortless. 
 
 Tliree years had passed away, as said before, 
 
FLORECITA. 55 
 
 And winter reigned within the land once more. 
 On Alton's noble hills, the snow was white, 
 And ghastly gleamed beneath the moon's pale 
 hght. 
 
 But in the city, where the lamps were bright, 
 Were seen few signs of recent storm ; 
 Because the busy moving to and fro 
 Of eager feet had trampled down the snow 
 And melted it, till now the walks were bare, 
 Excepting that a scale of ice was there. 
 
 The theatre was filled by the elite 
 With smiling faces gathered there to greet 
 The Seilor Schira's troup. 
 
 During the day, 
 Our riorecita, all unknown to Paul, 
 Had made the music-manager a call, 
 And, trembling, asked the privilege to sing 
 To him alone ; choosing a simple thing, 
 That took him back to his dead mother's knee, 
 And, in the sad, exquisite melody, 
 He dreamed he was a child, the singer, slie. 
 
 As her last notes went sighing through the air, 
 He raised his eyes — a tear was trembling there. 
 And when he spoke, quite husky was his voice. 
 
 "My child, your singing makes my heart 
 rejoice ! 
 Who are you ? and whence came you ? Did 
 your throat 
 
56 FLORECITA. 
 
 From southern song-birds learn eacli rippling 
 
 note ? 
 Or are you native here ? Why are your name, 
 Genius and beauty yet unknown to fame ? 
 Out in the world what laurels you might win. 
 The hiding of such talent is a sin." 
 
 " Ah! SeiSor, I have piued for such a life," 
 Was her reply, " till I am wild with pain ! 
 But I have been three years an honored wife, 
 And all my eager pleadings have been vain. 
 My husband's is a proud and haughty race. 
 And such a step, he thinks, would bring disgrace, 
 But he is now in Texas — at Le Clair. 
 Some ver}^ urgent business took him there ; 
 And I refused to bear him company 
 Because his cousin has ill-treated me. 
 But the dear South is my own native land. 
 My home — where ocean billows wash the 
 
 strand. 
 And oleanders bloom and orange trees 
 Give out their fragrance to the balmy breeze, 
 
 " A favor I would ask: Disguise me quite. 
 And let me sing a single song to-night, 
 Between the acts, for which I ask no pay ; — 
 'Twill not prolong or interrupt the play. 
 
 " To fill my place for once, though all un- 
 known. 
 And be accepted as a queen of song, 
 Applauded by a most admiring throng, 
 
FLORECITA. 57 
 
 I would relinquish every joy I own ! " 
 
 '^ You shall be gratified," the senor said. 
 
 " A wig of flaxen curls upon your head^ 
 
 And peasant dress of Normandy, will make 
 
 You quite unrecognizable to all ; 
 
 And your melodious notes may rise and fall, 
 
 And deepening thunders of applause may wake, 
 
 And none will dream of the sweet singer's name, 
 
 Where she abides, or from what place she came." 
 * * * -jf -jf 
 
 The " Chimes of Normandy " was played that 
 night — 
 An oft-sung opera, but never trite. 
 T]ie senor introduced in it a song. 
 Which to that opera does not belong — 
 A peasant flower-girl the character. 
 And Florecita personated her. 
 
 A country scene, the maiden hunting flowers, 
 And singing while she plucked them, gave 
 Her ample scope to show her brilliant powers. 
 
 At her first note, as silent as the grave 
 The audience became, and every ear 
 Bent forward eagerly, each one to hear. 
 
 Her tones first fluttered, then began to swell and 
 Rose in the lark-song, loud and clear. 
 As high and higher soared the bird on air ! 
 Then, sinking to a breathless whisper, fell 
 As if the song were lost in upper space — 
 
58 FLORECITA. 
 
 Dying so softly, none could name the place 
 Where ceased the notes. 
 
 As if beneath a spell, 
 The awe-struck people sat, in silence, there, 
 A full half-minute. Then arose a shout 
 So long and loud that none could feel a doubt 
 That Florecita's triumph was complete ! 
 
 A wealth of bloom was showered at her feet. 
 She had no need of other flow'rs to pull. 
 The bouquets filled her basket more than full. 
 
FLORECITA. 59 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 FLOKECITA TO PAUL. 
 
 " Dear Paul, 
 
 " My lover's voice I hear, 
 And fame and wealth are waiting near — 
 
 I go to meet them — leaving you. 
 Start not. My act has naught of shame. 
 Ambition — music is his name — 
 
 The first great love, my life e'er knew. 
 
 ^' How dear to me you are, God knows ! 
 My wayward soul out to you goes, 
 
 Yearning within your arms to be ; 
 But, oh ! ambition steps between. 
 And pictures such a glowing scene — 
 
 A laurel wreath awaiting me ! 
 
 ^' A singing-bird, you should not cage ! 
 (Alas ! my tears fall on this page !) 
 
 Its longing heart may be most true ; 
 Eut it will ever pine to soar. 
 And, when it sees an open door. 
 
 Will bid its narrow home adieu. 
 
 " I go, because such is my fate. 
 But, if you love me, darling, wait, 
 
60 FLORECITA. 
 
 And from all doubts your spirit rest. 
 I shall return to you some day, 
 World-weary, and content to lay 
 
 My aching head upon your breast. 
 
 " Till then, farewell. Oh ! not a night 
 Shall shut the world out from my sight,. 
 
 But I shall low on bended knee, 
 Breathe forth to God an earnest prayer 
 To save from sickness, grief and care 
 
 The one who waits at home for me. 
 
 '' Unknown, with Schira's troupe, I sang 
 At home, and loud my praises ran^. 
 
 With him I go, with one regret, 
 And tliat, dear Paul, is leaving you ; 
 But oh I believe me ever true 
 And still 
 
 "Your loving, 
 
 • Floweret.'" 
 
 !N"o more than that. Paul's home was desolate^ 
 Another blow dealt by the liand of Fate ! 
 
 His uncle Lloyd had failed. It was to save 
 Some of his money, when misfortune's wave 
 Swept over him, that he had sought Le Clair. 
 
 But only gloom and ruin met him there. 
 Ill was his aunt, and ill was proud Lenoi*e. 
 His uncle's face no welcome greeting, wore,. 
 
FLORECITA. 61 
 
 Beset by people who had lost their all, 
 The latter scarcely seemed to notice Paul, 
 "Who, unsuccessful, shortly home returned, 
 When of the second blow too soon he learned. 
 
 His Florecita gone to win renown 
 In the great world so filled with sin and pride l 
 How his financial losses dwindled down 
 To nothingness, this greater loss beside ! 
 
 And then he passed into an angry mood 
 As there, her life and his were both reviewed. 
 He had been kind to her — too kind, he thought, 
 Had gratified her whims. She had been taught 
 In everything to which her mind could reach — 
 In music, painting, purity of speech; 
 In the small world, he made her — reigned a queen 
 (By right of genius, though, as has been seen). 
 And yet she called that little world a cage. 
 And longed to step upon a public stage ! 
 
 Sad, sad, was Paul. Both sad and angry too. 
 On Florecita all the blame he threw. 
 
 Self-justified as men are apt to be. 
 The matter's other side he could not see. 
 
 A wound that makes us angry, is half cured, 
 And all its smarts and pains may be endured. 
 The blow that falls- and crushes hope or life, 
 Within the bosom makes no thought of strife. 
 
 In. that mad moment Paul caught up his pen,. 
 And wrote a cruel message there and then : 
 
^2 FLORECITA. 
 
 *' You have chosen your way, and henceforth 
 you are free ! 
 Think alone of yourself. Quite assured you may 
 
 be, 
 I may suffer awhile but my heart will not break ; 
 And I love you too little, to wait for your sake, 
 Till the world shall dethrone you, and, weary, 
 
 you flee 
 From its wrath to a rest and a refuge in me ! 
 By this act of your life you have forfeited all. 
 Go your way and forget, as will do 
 
 Your wronged 
 
 Paul." 
 
FLORECITA. 6a 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 C L A I EE TOP AU L . 
 
 " Dear Cousin : 
 
 " I received your welcome letter, 
 
 And take this early moment to reply. 
 You have been ill — I trust that you are better^ 
 
 And that the clouds are rolling from your sky. 
 
 "All may be borne — life's many cares and 
 crosses, 
 
 If we take up the burden of each day 
 With willing spirit, and repair our losses 
 
 By mending them as soon and best we may. 
 
 " Our uncle's failure brought you loss of money^ 
 But you inform me that the loss is small ; 
 
 Then you are young, your pathway still is sunny,, 
 And energy may yet retrieve it all. 
 
 " And riorecita — if you really love her 
 Fly to her side, and while she wins her name, 
 
 Throw your strong manly arm about, above her. 
 And shield her from the storms that follow 
 fame. 
 
 " Dear Paul, you have not done by her your duty. 
 (Forgive me. If I wound, it is to heal). 
 
64 FLOUECITA. 
 
 "With genius, siicli as hers, ambition, beantj, 
 To hide her from the world, is but to steal 
 
 ^' From it, a part of its own true belonging ; 
 
 Hiding the idol from its worshiper. 
 And jou are all your better nature wronging, 
 
 When you condemn and turn away from her. 
 
 ^•A rare, sweet song-bird ! 0,1 pray you take her 
 And hold her to your noble, manly heart ! 
 
 Yet leave her free to soar, at will, and make her 
 Each aspiration, of your life a part ! 
 
 ^' Papa and I had sad, sad news, this morning : 
 A letter, from Aunt Euth, says that Lenore 
 
 Has gone insane ! One night, without a warning 
 She, screaming, rushed out through an open 
 door, 
 
 ^'And swift as any deer, went wildly flying. 
 Barefoot and night-robed, through a pelting 
 rain, 
 
 Bearing a money-box, which she was trying 
 To hide, as on she went a-down the lane. 
 
 ^' And, now, she thinks she is a queen. Her 
 bearing 
 
 Is still more haughty, arrogant and proud. 
 Then at the time, when you and I were sharing 
 
 A welcome that your wife was not allowed. 
 
FLORECITA. 65 
 
 " And what of Claire ? I think I hear you asking. 
 
 Whose father in the failure lost his all ? 
 Well, each and all of us as are daily tasking 
 
 Ourselves, some of our comforts to recall. 
 
 " My father has a clerkship. I am keeping 
 
 The house, and also teaching school. 
 We have no time for play, nor much for sleep- 
 
 For we rise very early as a rule. 
 
 " My little brothers, John and Ned, are selling 
 The daily morning papers on the street — 
 
 I have till nine to tidy up our dwelling. 
 And cook the little that we have to eat. 
 
 " If I had Florecita's rare, sweet talent, 
 A better fate would soon be ours to own ; 
 
 And dear papa, I know, would be too gallant 
 To let his daughter meet the world alone. 
 
 " But I have not ; and so must keep on striving 
 To use the meagre gifts I do possess, 
 
 To such an end that I shall be a-driving 
 Dull care away and wooing happiness. 
 
 " Though we are poor, we are not sad or lonely. 
 For honest toil has many joys in store ; 
 
 And I thank God, to-day, that I am only 
 
 My father's daughter Claire, and not Lenore. 
 
66 FLORECITA. 
 
 " But if I had no father and no brother, 
 
 And I to suit mj taste might shape my life,. 
 
 Changing my lowly self into some other, 
 
 I'd be the song-bird whom you call your wife. 
 
 " And if you tried my eager wings to fetter, 
 Like her, to flee my bondage I would dare. 
 But since it may not be, I close this letter, 
 By signing it. 
 
 Your loving cousin, 
 
 Claire." 
 
FLORECITA, 67 
 
 CHAPTEK XL 
 
 PAUL TO CLAIEE. 
 
 '' Dearest Claire : 
 
 " Your advice struck iny heart like a knife, 
 And I went to New York on search for my wife^ 
 Bur to lind she had sailed on the 19th of May, 
 On the steamer ' Gazelle,' for some land far away. 
 To wliat point she was destined, it could not be 
 
 learned. 
 " And so to my desolate home I returned, 
 To wait for some message from over the sea, 
 That would furnish a clue of my song-bird to me. 
 I was sure she would would write, though my 
 
 letter was cold 
 And cruel as death, for her heart was pure gold. 
 ^' But, alas ! what a sorrow delaying has cost \ 
 The ' Gazelle ' has gone down — every soul has 
 
 been lost ! 
 And my song-bird of Heaven sleeps under the 
 
 wave, 
 Where no tear drops of mine can be shed on her 
 
 grave ! 
 Ah ! I realize fully, that not as her mate, 
 Can I ask for admittance at Heaven's bright 
 
 gate ! 
 
€8 FLORECITA. 
 
 " But, alas ! that she went to the depths of the 
 
 sea, 
 
 And yet took to her rest, no forgiveness from me ! 
 
 0, to know I was wrongs yet acknowledged 
 
 no sin, 
 
 And to weep for the joy that my own might 
 
 have been. 
 Except for the fatal dominion of pride, 
 "Which fettered my bird, till, escaping, she died — 
 Is a punishment greater than I can well bear ! 
 
 " Too sad to reflect and too hopeless for prayer, 
 Since the past can be mine never-more to recall; 
 I remain in deep woe, 
 
 " Your unfortunate, 
 
 " Paul." 
 
FLORECITA. 69 
 
 CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 CLAIEE TO PAUL. 
 
 " Paul, mj Cousin : 
 
 '' It is long 
 Since you sent a scratch of pen. 
 Fearing something may be wrong, 
 I now write to you again. 
 
 " We will have a wedding soon ! 
 Do you by my words abide ? 
 On the thirtieth of June, 
 Papa takes another bride ! 
 
 " He has won a noble heart — 
 
 She is rich and young and fair ! 
 Mine were not a daughter's part 
 Did my face no pleasure wear, 
 
 " For the joy that lights his own ; 
 And his better, happier lot. 
 Yet I feel so much alone — 
 I am selfish, am I not ? 
 
 " He so long has looked to me. 
 
 And from me has comfort drawn- 
 Like Othello, I shall be 
 With my occupation gone ! 
 
70 FLORECITA. 
 
 *' Yet, so selfish is my sonl, 
 That were I to be a wife, 
 I should wish to claim the whole 
 Of my husband's heart and life — 
 
 " In his sonl would make a shrine 
 
 With but one high priestess there! 
 E'er to keep the fiires were mine, 
 And the priestess should be Claire. 
 
 " So, to her, I give him up, 
 
 Wlio has been to me my all ! 
 Come and cheer me, while I sup 
 Of the bitter draught, dear Paul. 
 
 " They have bidden me invite 
 You to see their happiness ; 
 And although with tears I write, 
 I would have it be no less. 
 
 '' They are in each other lost — 
 
 The}^ find sunshine everywhere ! 
 I am lone and tempest-tossed. 
 Come — if but to comfort 
 
 Claire.'^ 
 
 A rare, sweet gladness leaped to Paul's blue 
 eyes, 
 And all his being thrilled with new delight. 
 As on him flashed the truth, he felt surprise 
 
FLORECITA. 71 
 
 That it so long was liidden from liis sight. 
 
 " Ah ! now I know,-' he mused, " who lit the 
 flame 
 And whence my soul's high priestess came ! 
 For since mj boyhood days, she has been there. 
 Veiled and unknown, but still my priestess, 
 Claire ! 
 
 " She loves me, too ! How plain it all is now — 
 The love-lit eyes, the pure and thouglitful brow. 
 And noble soul ! With what unselfishness, 
 She labors — other lives than hers to bless, 
 Crushing her heart beneath her feet, that she 
 An instrument of happiness may be ! 
 
 " At last I am awake ! To her I fly, 
 In answer to her spirit's longing cry ! 
 And tempest-tossed, no more, her bark shall be — 
 A quiet haven it shall find in me." 
 
72 FLOBECITA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 How tlie ones, that we love, drop away from our 
 lives, 
 As the beautiful flowers die ! 
 But, thank God ! some sweet blossom springs 
 upward, and thrives 
 In the soil where their ashes lie ! 
 
 One by one, do they silently wither away 
 And in darkness, we mourn for our dead, 
 
 Never thinking the clouds will be lifted some 
 day. 
 And that others will bloom in their stead ! 
 
 Never thinking the sun of to-morrow will be 
 Just as bright as the sun of the past. 
 
 And the beauty, next summer, of flower and tree 
 None the less for the winter's cold blast. 
 
 How unwise, if a blossom,we cherish, should fade, 
 To believe that all beauty is gone ; 
 
 Or when darkness is brooding o'er hill and in 
 glade, 
 To deny that a morning must dawn ! 
 
 How unwise wlien a loved one is false to his vow, 
 Or a treasure is taken above. 
 
FLORECITA. 73 
 
 To declare witli a shadow of woe on the brow, 
 That on earth we have nothing to love ! 
 
 True, the things that we love, drop away from 
 onr lives 
 As the beautiful flowers die, 
 But, thank God ! some sweet blossom springs 
 upward, and thrives 
 In the soil where their ashes lie ! 
 
 Paul closed the book. The poem woke the 
 thought 
 That time to him had consolation brought ; 
 For, though he still remembered with regret 
 The form and face of his lost floweret. 
 The night of gloom had surely passed away 
 And he was basking in the light of day. 
 Another flower blooming in the stead 
 Of her, now two years numbered w4th the dead. 
 
 His other flower, sweet, and pure, and fair. 
 Loved as he ne'er before had loved, was Claire — 
 The girl who took life's burdens bravely up 
 And sipped with smiling lips of sorrow's cup ; 
 ."Who did her duty nobly, faltered not, 
 Nor yet repined when toil became her lot ; 
 A priestess at home's altar, where the light 
 Shone with a steady lustre, day and night. 
 Less gifted than Paul's former love in song, 
 Slie yet would work and sing tlie Avhole day long. 
 
74 FLORECITA. 
 
 Her guileless heart knew naught of pride or 
 
 strife. 
 Her touch woke things of beauty into life, 
 Her warmth-bestowing smile was like the sun — 
 Its light was shed on all she looked upon. 
 
 Paul was her hero in her childhood days, 
 She thought of him and named him in her plays 
 As one who stood above all other men. 
 In girlhood hours she dreamed the dream again ! 
 Then saw him vanisli quickly from her life, 
 Herself unsought, another made his wife. 
 Yet bravely did she take the heavy cross. 
 And none imagined how she felt the loss. 
 She consolation found in noble deeds — 
 In ministering to other creatures' needs. 
 She made her love a place so hid with bloom 
 That none imagined it to be a tomb. 
 
 And Paul — in Florecita's love, his soul 
 Was ever longing. She filled not the whole. 
 There was an aching void wliere jealous thought 
 Koamed as it willed — unchecked, untaught. 
 His bird — she was, indeed, a bird, poor thing ! — 
 Had upward looked — had beat a restless wing 
 'Gainst prison bars, and longed to soar and sing ! 
 And though she kissed the hand that cared for 
 
 her. 
 Her love for him could not her flight deter. 
 She loved but pined I Erratic child of song ! 
 Alas ! she did not to his race belong. 
 
FLORECITA. 75 
 
 She had no pow'r to quench the living fire 
 
 That turned her longing glances high'r 
 
 Than the sweet glade wherein with Paul she 
 
 dwelt, 
 And yet a wife's devotion for him felt. 
 
 Into a dream the past had faded now ! 
 Only a memory, his love and vow ! 
 Though self-reproach would not be wholly stilled, 
 He loved another, who his being filled ! 
 And often did his musing spirit cry, 
 " To part from noble Claire, would be to die ! " 
 
 A year it had been thus, and now 'twas May, 
 The third since Florecita went away ; 
 To-morrow's sun would light his wedding-day. 
 And on Claire Markham, his sweet bride would 
 
 shine, 
 A blessed gift, a joy almost divine ! 
 
 He took his hat and, smiling, left his room. 
 Outside a host of flowers were in bloom. 
 And all the air was laden with perfume. 
 Once more and only once to call on Claire 
 Eefore his own proud name was liers to wear. 
 
 She met him at the door, her face a-light 
 With happiness that filled her soul that night — 
 The very last m that sweet blooming May. 
 (Alas ! for them it could not longer stay !) 
 
 " Will Heav'n e'er be nearer 1 " whispered she. 
 
76 FLORECITA. 
 
 " Yes, darling mine, to-morrov . '' answered 
 he. 
 
 The}^ wandered down a patli, beneath the moon 
 Again uprising full to welcome June. 
 All nature seemed to thrill with happiness, 
 As hand touched hand in loving, mute caress. 
 Up in the leaf j trees, tlie song-birds woke. 
 Their thrilling notes the dreamy silence broke. 
 O, never w^as the sky so brightly blue, 
 jSTor half as many brilliant stars looked through, 
 Nor breezes blew so softly — thought the two. 
 
 They reached a jDurling stream, whose waters 
 glowed 
 Like molten silver as they onward flowed, 
 Singing a melody of w^ordless rhyme, 
 To wliicli the lovers' happy hearts kept time ; 
 While all tiie flowers nodded to the breeze. 
 As if to sa}^, " What loving souls are these ! " 
 
 They laid their plans for future, wliile they 
 walked 
 Beside the stream ; and of their home they talked. 
 The spot the song-bird called a cage while there, 
 Seemed Ileav'n to less ambitious Claire. 
 She had a picture of it in her mind. 
 As it would be, when her own hands had twined 
 Sweet roses through the lattice at the door. 
 And she the queenl}^ robes of wifehood wore. 
 
 And Paul could see her by the garden gate 
 At times, when business would detain him late, 
 
FLORECITA. 77 
 
 With dewy, lo^'e-lit eyes, in wait 
 For his return ; and, later, he could see 
 His darling, while she, smihng, poured the tea. 
 Time passed, unmarked. The parting came 
 
 too soon, 
 Although the breezes whispered ^' It is June ! "" 
 Although the watch-hands showed the wedding 
 
 day 
 Had surely come. He tore himself away 
 From Claire with something of regret, 
 That there were several hours of waiting yet. 
 
 Before she went to rest, the happy Claire 
 Shook out and brushed her long and shining hair, 
 Then viewed her bridal robes and kissed them 
 
 all; 
 And with each kiss she whispered : " Paul, dear 
 
 Paul ! " 
 Alas ! she did not see the shadow f. 11. 
 
78 FLORECITA, 
 
 CHAPTEE XIY. 
 
 A FOREIGN letter came to Paul, next morn, 
 -Crushing to earth the jov so lately born. 
 A servant brought it, ere he left his bed. 
 He knew the hand, and here is what he read : 
 
 " My Love : 
 
 " Once more I call you so, 
 Although you never may bestow 
 
 A thought upon your little flower. 
 Who, rescued from a watery tomb, 
 For two long years, has been in bloom 
 "Within a foreign bower. 
 
 '" I did not write — oh ! I could not ! 
 Tour letter would not be forgot ! 
 
 The cruel words were ever ringing 
 Within my ears, both night and day, 
 And saddened every happy lay 
 
 My eager voice was singing. 
 
 " Amid the courts I soon had fame 
 And there immortalized a name — 
 
 Kot^mine ! I did not wish to shame you 
 By dragging yours upon the stage. 
 Since you forebade it in a rage, 
 And asked if I could blame vou ! 
 
FLORECITA. 7^ 
 
 " But bitter sorrow I have had, 
 Until I am both sick and sad ; 
 
 And joy can come again — oh ! never. 
 Just when I loudest praises woke, 
 My voice, all of a sudden, broke. 
 
 And it is lost forever ! 
 
 " Sick, hopeless, in a foreign clime, 
 And growing old before my time — 
 
 Almost to fatal madness driven, 
 I turn to him whose ' love is true 
 And steadfast as the skies of blue,' 
 
 And ask to be forgiven. 
 
 " True to my vows I e'er have been. 
 I have not wandered into sin, 
 
 Nor have I yielded to temptation 
 And not a single blot, or blur. 
 Has touched my name or character 
 To make me lose my station. 
 
 " And I have realized, dear Paul, 
 How far true love outweighs the all 
 Of gilded fame and cold ambition ; 
 And grieve I could not shape my life 
 To take the duties of a wife. 
 And, cheerful, fill her mission. 
 
 " I ask to be forgiven ? — why ? 
 Because I shall return to die ! 
 
«0 FLORECITA. 
 
 Return, my love, if jou will let me ; 
 But if I am no longer dear, 
 A spot to rest awaits me here, 
 
 "Where no one will regret me. 
 
 " I feel the chilling blight of death. 
 And soon must go, so reason saith. 
 
 All that I ask — oh ! do not doubt me ! — 
 Is, with my head upon your breast. 
 To sink into a dreamless rest, 
 
 Your loving arms about me. 
 
 ^' A w^ord from you I will obey — 
 If it be ' come,' if it be ' stay,' 
 
 For either is my promise binding. 
 Perhaps, new love has come to you ! — 
 Then I will disappear from view, 
 
 Beyond all chance of finding. 
 
 " What is a fruitless life, like mine, 
 On which the sun has ceased to shine. 
 
 And o'er which death doth surely hover, 
 That I should blight the sweet young life 
 Of one that you would call your wife, 
 
 And who now names you ' lover ' ? 
 
 ^' Yet at the thought, my heart grows cold, 
 And I feel strangely cramped and old. 
 And in the warming sunlight shiver, 
 
FLORECITA. 81 
 
 As one will do, at sudden fall, 
 From overhanging tree or wall. 
 Into an icj river. 
 
 " Impatient, ill, I wait to hear 
 A word from you ; with no one near, 
 Except my foreign maid Juanita ; 
 I wait, in hope, that we may meet, 
 And that your reaching arms will greet 
 " Your loving 
 
 " Florecita." 
 
FLORECITA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XY. 
 
 Alas ! The agony, tlie dark despair, 
 That filled Paul Markhain's soul. Could he tell 
 
 Claire — 
 The sweet youDg creature, waiting even then 
 To breathe the vows of deathless love again, 
 Those vows that he so willingly had shared ? 
 
 Already was the marriage feast prepared. 
 Already was her dwelling wreathed in bloom ! 
 How could he shadow it and her in gloom ? 
 How could he take the gladness from her breast, 
 And send her forth, where she w^ould find no rest 
 Or peace of mind while w^eary life should last ? 
 And how, great God, could he, who loved her, 
 
 cast 
 The cup of water from his parching lips. 
 And seek the desert, ere a taste he sips ? 
 How live through dreary days to come and go. 
 And her sweet love and counsel not to know ? 
 
 He loved and mourned his Florecita, dead : 
 Alive, he almost hated her instead ! 
 
 What right had she who cast his love aside 
 As worthless, w^eighed \\\t\\ fame and pride. 
 Who let him think till now that she had died — 
 What right liad she to crush liis liappiness ? 
 And, oh ! how dared slie his forgiveness ask ? 
 
FLORECITA. 83- 
 
 riis soul recoiled at thonglit of lier caress — 
 Her, in whose glances lie had loved to bask ! 
 
 Strange, changing world ! O, solve all ye who 
 can, 
 Tlie problem of the fickle love of man I 
 
 Five years agone, his life was filled with her^ 
 And he had called himself lier humble worshiper. 
 jN'ow all his soul was wrapped in gentle Claire, 
 And thoughts of Florecita brought despair, 
 Blank, dark and bridgeless ! Death he would 
 
 prefer 
 With Claire, to life and all its joys with her ! 
 
 He sprang from bed — then sank into a chair 
 With wordless moan and cry. Temptation came 
 Tliat pointed ont the scandal and the shame 
 For him and Claire, unless he chose to say 
 To Florecita in a letter — " stay," 
 Or by his silence word from her deny. 
 Why not secure his happiness — oh ! why ? 
 
 Then better feelings came. Claire should 
 decide. 
 And he by her decision would abide. 
 
 He dressed and went into the open air 
 With full intent to tell the whole to Claire. 
 
 But, as he paused beside the garden wall, 
 Behind some bushes, which were thick and tally 
 He saw her flitting in and out the bowers. 
 And heard her singing, while she wreathed the 
 flowers : 
 
84 FLORECITA. 
 
 " Take n\j head npou tlij breast, 
 It Avere Heaven, there to rest, 
 Pree from all the cares of life, 
 With its wrangles and its strife ; 
 Sheltered safely in thy love — 
 Is there greater bliss above ? 
 
 " Let me nestle close to thee, 
 While the happy moments "flee, 
 Whisper, darling, in my ear 
 Words of hope and words of cheer ! 
 ;N"ot to taste a monarch's cnp 
 Would I give this sweetness np. 
 
 " Take my head upon thy breast ! 
 I wonld make thee richly blest ; 
 From thy brow would chase each care 
 That might cast a shadow there. 
 I in faitlifulness would prove 
 Thee the depths of woman's love. 
 
 *' Take my head upon thy breast 1 
 Like a bird, lost from its nest, 
 I have fluttered, love, to tliee. 
 Wilt thou guard and shelter me ? 
 In thy loving close embrace 
 Let me liiid a resting place. 
 
 " Though the world be cold and drear, 
 I find warmth and ])rii;-htncss here I 
 
FLORECITA. 85 
 
 Here is love and here is joy I 
 Here is peace without alloy ! 
 Living, dying, let me rest, 
 In tliy arms and on tlij breast ! " 
 
 Panl heard each sentence of the loving song, 
 And marked the happiness her features wore. 
 He wavered, faltered — was no longer strong ; 
 But listened to temptation's voice once more. 
 
 Retreating softly, he the letter tore 
 Into a mass of fragments — gave them to the 
 
 breeze, 
 That quickly scattered tliem beneath tlie trees. 
 
 The deed was done. He could not show to 
 Claire 
 The sad epistle which had brought despair 
 To him ; nor tell her, since the proof was gone. 
 Her dream of happiness should be lived on 
 Till came for her the sad awakening. 
 And all the woe that it would surely bring. 
 
 Since of the letter not a soul would know, 
 He need not bear the blame of such a blow. 
 And it might never fall — might she not die. 
 Who was so sad and ill, and leave no sign 
 That would expose her husband's living lie ? 
 
 And so the star of duty ceased to shine 
 TJpon his path ; and he allied himself with sin, 
 That he Claire's happiness and his might win. 
 
88 FLORECITA. 
 
 CHAPTEK XYI. 
 
 The vows were said. A priest pronounced 
 them wed 
 And asked a blessing on each low bowed head ; 
 Then, as thej passed out of the chnrcli's door, 
 A band of nierrj^ girls went on before, 
 And strewed their path with blossoms — all pure 
 
 white, 
 An emblem that life's journey would be bright, 
 And from all thorns and rugged places free, 
 As their fond love had pictured it would be. 
 
 Yain hope. Paul's bride was loving, sweet, 
 and fair. 
 And did the honors of his home with grace ; 
 But, ever hov'ring near his darling's chair, 
 He seemed to see the other's pleading face, 
 And, in the night, imagined that her cry 
 Pose clear above the east-wind's mournful sigh, 
 
 " Come to me, Paul — dear Paul, before I die ! " 
 
 Nervous and sad he grew as weeks went by, 
 And Claire's bright eyes were often dimmed 
 
 with tears. 
 Her Paul had changed, she knew not how or why. 
 And she was racked with many anxious fears. 
 
 Sometimes he pressed her wildly to his lieart, 
 And said to lose her would be woe indeed ; 
 
FLORECITA. 87 
 
 And, then, he seemed to walk from her a})art. 
 As if her loving care he did not need. 
 So changeable, so fall of whims, he grew. 
 That on her life, he many shadows threw. 
 
 He did not love her less. His heart was rent 
 "With fear and self-reproach — sin's punishment. 
 The ghost of his one crime was haunting him — 
 A shadow, always following, ghastly dim 
 And Banqno-like, intruding in the light 
 Of revelry, as well as gloom of night. 
 
 Sweet, patient Claire, by loving thought and 
 care, 
 Tried to dispel the shadows falling there. 
 ]^o duty was neglected or forgot ; 
 And though she suffered much, Paul knew it not. 
 
 She met him with a smile — she read, she 
 played. 
 And many glad surprises for him made. 
 Yetj her unselfish love but helped to whet 
 The edge of self-reproach and keen regret. 
 
 Her songs were hushed. For, once, she chanced 
 to sing 
 A simple ballad — some sweet little tiling 
 That Florecita sang in days gone by ; 
 And Paul was angry, though he knew not why. 
 
 '^ You have no voice ! " He spoke so rudely 
 then, 
 That Claire would never ivy to sing again. 
 
 " He does not love me ! " to herself slie said. 
 
88 FLORECITA. 
 
 '-' His faithful heart is buried with the dead ! 
 AVhy did he seek me, feeling thus his loss ? 
 I was content to bear my heavy cross — 
 A heavier is on my shoulders now. 
 Alas ! Could I but free him from his vow ! " 
 
 But she was wrong, Paul loved her madly ; yes, 
 His crime was to secure her happiness ; 
 And it was fear for her, his darling Claire, 
 That brought so much anxiety and care ; 
 And, ever in his heart, arose the prayer, 
 
 " Save her, O God, who is so true and pure, 
 And let the criminal Thy wrath endure ! " 
 
FLORECITA. 
 
 CHAPTEK XYIL 
 
 The autumn leaves were crumpled, stiff, and 
 brown, 
 And from the trees were slowly dropping down. 
 They lay in little heaps upon the ground, 
 And oft by eddying winds w^ere whirled around^ 
 Winds wliose sad moaning died away in sighs, 
 All broken-hearted for the sundered ties 
 Of earth-land and the summer, sweet with 
 
 flow'rs. 
 Which were a-bloom through happy, sunlit liours. 
 
 A sort of dreamy sadness came to Claire, 
 In which her husband had no thought or share. 
 There was a something in tlie autumn moan, 
 In sympathy with her sad spirit's tone. 
 
 Paul's punishment fell not on liim alone. 
 His path, thongli bright or gloomy, was her own. 
 The cloud of mystery, above his liead, 
 Brought to her soul a keen regret and dread. 
 Guileless in heart, and knowing not sin's laws, 
 Slie thouglit some failure of her own, the cause 
 Of Paul's abstraction and the sudden change 
 From happy love to cold indifference. 
 Even the outside world remarked as strange, 
 His altered life ; but he made no defense. 
 He felt instinctively that only time 
 Was needed to expose liis haunting crime, 
 
90 FLORECITA. 
 
 And crush tlie one truelieart that worsliiped liim. 
 
 ISTo wonder that his anxious eyes were dim 
 
 With unshed tears. He felt he had no right 
 
 To drink joy's cup and bask in love's pare light ; 
 
 And, hoping to atone, he often turned 
 
 From those delights, for which his spirit yearned ; 
 
 And loving madly, he yet chilled the life 
 
 Of her who thought herself an unloved wife — 
 
 Unloved, because she failed in what was real 
 
 To be Paul Markham's idolized ideal. 
 
 And, thus, though not a bitter word was said, 
 And of the other's sorrow neither knew, 
 "With every day, the shadows deeper grew" 
 Where they had hoped that sunlight would be 
 shed. 
 
 That autumn day, Paul Markham was not well. 
 And Claire, with her soft lingers, sought to quell 
 The piercing pains that darted through his head. 
 He marked her thouglitfulness, and softly said, 
 As to his breast he drew her : " Claire, dear 
 Claire ! " 
 
 His tones unlocked the flood-gates of her soul, 
 And losing, for the instant, self-control, 
 She wept, unchecked, and almost wildly there, 
 Wliile sliow'ring kisses on his face and hair. 
 Paul Markham for tlie first time realized 
 How he had crushed the heart he so much prized. 
 To him the truth came like a flasli of light 
 Into tlie pitchy darkness of the niirht. 
 
FLOEECITA. 91 
 
 Giving siiiTounding objects to the siglit. 
 
 " My soul's best love ! " be said, " you must 
 not deem 
 That I am cold to you, though so I seem. 
 Ko other love has come into my life 
 Like that I bear for you, my darling wife ! 
 But woe has weighed me down. This much I tell 
 To comfort you and drive your doubts away ; 
 I did not treat poor Florecita well — 
 For if I had, she might be here to-day ! 
 The tlionght has haunted me, and turned to gall 
 The cup of happiness ere sipped at all. 
 Bear yet a little longer. Time will prove 
 An all-efficient healer ; and will move 
 The shadow from my soul ; and, darling, then 
 We two will know our sweet love-dream again ! " 
 
 Claire made him no response. She kissed his 
 lips, 
 His aching head, his hands, and finger-tips ! 
 And Paul, to whom sweet comfort was denied, 
 Saw that her doubting soul was satisfied. 
 
 Soothed by her touches, he soon sank to rest, 
 And slept until the sun was in the west, 
 And earth the signs of coming darkness wore. 
 
 Alas ! he did not dream that never more 
 Her loving lips would press his aching head ; 
 Nor on his path, her light of love be shed ! 
 That she would never smile on him again — 
 Else he had slept less long and sweetly then. 
 
92 FLORECITA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIII. 
 
 Wearied, at length, Claire drew away from 
 Paul, 
 With one soft kiss, and went into the hall, 
 Attracted thither by a sound she heard — 
 A woman's tone, although it spoke no word. 
 
 The light was dim within that inner room, 
 Which always wore a sort of twilight gloom. 
 And yet was all-sufficient to descry 
 The figure of a woman very nigh. 
 With pale, sad face, black eyes, and dusky hair, 
 And features pinched, yet beautiful and fair. 
 
 Claire gave a gasping sigh and backward reeled, 
 Knowing full well her own dark doom was 
 sealed. 
 
 The other forward came, a sirile most rare, 
 Lighting her pallid face — a glad surprise 
 That lent new beauty to her matchless eyes. 
 
 "Have you," she said, '^ forgotten me, dear 
 Claire ? 
 I am Paul's wife ! We met in days gone by ! " 
 
 " You are his wife ! What then, O God, am I ? " 
 
 The words were uttered witli a gasping cry, 
 That woke Paul from his slumber, and he sprang 
 From off his bed, while yet it wildly rang. 
 
 But Florceita all unconscious seemed. 
 
FLORECITA. 93 
 
 That he had wed again slie liad not dreamed. 
 
 To find Claire stopping with her Cousin Paul, 
 
 Had in its import nothing strange at all. 
 
 Attributing the crj of wild affright, 
 
 To her own sudden coming into sight, 
 
 She sank upon her knees, low at Paul's feet, 
 
 And breathed his name in accents softly sweet. 
 
 " Mj darling Paul, I could no longer wait, 
 And I am here to learn from you my fate." 
 
 He answered not. His thoughts were turned 
 to Claire, 
 To whom he offered his support and care, 
 For she was swaying weakly, to and fro — 
 A human reed beneath a storm of woe. 
 
 She rallied quickly, and refused his aid ; 
 But he could see the effort that she made. 
 
 How calm she grew ! Paul saw her color fade 
 Until she seemed a marble image in the gloom ! 
 A !N^emesis, she stood, to read his doom. 
 
 " This is your sin ! " she said. " I see it now \. 
 A perjured soul ! O God, a broken vow ! 
 No wonder that you spent your hours alone 
 In doing penance, that you might atone 
 For your most wicked wrong to her and me. 
 Who never dreamed of such base perfidy. 
 I worshiped you ! and now — Help, help, O God ! 
 How can I pass beneath Thy heavy rod ! " 
 
 Again a wildness leaped into her eyes 
 And agony was echoed in her sighs. 
 
94: FLORECITA. 
 
 " Dear Claire," said Paul, '' I know that it is 
 meet 
 That joii with scorn my jDonishment complete ! 
 Eut doubt me not. I thought this w^oman dead 
 Until the very day on which we wed ; 
 And then, mj darling Claire, it was too late 
 To change the destiny marked out by fate. 
 I suffered all alone that I might save 
 You from my vroe's overwhelming wave. 
 Ey right you are my wife, and I shall claim 
 In law, for you, that sacred right and name ! " 
 
 " No, no, dear Paul," the trembling lips were 
 white ; 
 " I will not rob the other of her right ! 
 I know not why she let us think her dead — " 
 
 " Because he bade me," Florecita said, 
 ^' To trouble him no more, since forfeited 
 Were all my claims. Three weeks on deck, 
 'Mid sun and tempest, of a floating wreck, 
 Caused me an illness, long and quite severe. 
 Pecovering, I made a grand dehut 
 In foreign lands, was feted for a year ; 
 Then lost my voice, and so despondent grew 
 That I lay down with wish and prayer to die ! 
 But ever in my soul arose tlie cry 
 To see and ask forgiveness of my Paul, 
 Although, I felt, he did not care for me at all. 
 I ^vrote a letter ; but no answer came ! 
 And, knowing I was wholly in the blame 
 
FLORECITA. 95 
 
 For his neglect, resolved to cross the sea 
 And learn just what my sentence was to be. 
 
 " But you have married him, and none need 
 know 
 That I am still alive ! From here. I go 
 Unrecognized and silent, as I came ! 
 God knows, I love you both ! no breath of shame 
 Shall come to you through me. My lips no more 
 Shall speak your name or that my father bore. 
 I, in obscurity, will live and die ! " 
 
 She, breathless, paused, choked by a gasping 
 sigh. 
 
 But Claire replied : 
 
 " You point my duty out to me, 
 And I, O God ! will not less noble be ! 
 This is your home. I have no right or claim 
 To it, or even to your husband's name. 
 Take back your own ! I am the one to go ! " 
 
 Paul interrupted : 
 
 " Claire, my darling, no \ 
 The facts disclosed, the law will give release, 
 And you and I may dwell in love and peace." 
 
 She did not seem to hear him. To her heart, 
 With agonizing cry, she placed her hand ; 
 Then reeled and tottered, lacking strength to 
 
 stand. 
 Much less to say to both " farewell," and part. 
 
 At last, she, gasping, sank into a chair. 
 
96 FLOHECITA. 
 
 And let lier head drop low upon her breast. 
 
 Paul sprang to raise her, crying : 
 
 " Claire ! dear Claire ! " 
 
 The storm was past, the faithful soul at rest ! 
 The still, limp form resisted not, for gone 
 From earthly darkness into Heaven's dawn 
 Was she, the pure, the brave, the noble Claire, 
 Whose loving heart had broken then and there ! 
 
 '' Dead ! dead ! my love ! my own true darling, 
 dead ! 
 And you and I alive ! " Paul hoarsely said. 
 " It cannot be. A life, so nigh divine. 
 Were worth a thousand of your own and niine. 
 How can I shield her memory from shame ! " 
 
 Then Florecita spoke, with tearful eyes. 
 Into whose depths he saw her soul arise : 
 
 " For her sweet sake, I will relinquish name. 
 And home, departing even as I came. 
 Unknown, unseen ; and thus her grave may bear 
 Without reproach, ' Paul Markham's consort, 
 
 Claire.' 
 And still beneath the waters of the sea 
 The wayward Florecita's tomb shall be ! 
 Forever more, farewell ! " 
 
 She turned away. 
 
 " The sacrifice," said Paul, " is useless — stay ! " 
 
 But she was gone already from liis sight — 
 Had vanished 'mid the gath'ring gloom of night. 
 Leaving no trace of when she came or went, 
 
FLORECITA. 97 
 
 •Or who she was, or where her steps were bent. 
 
 Paul mourned her not. Filled with the loss 
 of Claire 
 In any other thought he had no share. 
 For long and silent hours he held his dead 
 In dumb, cold agony of heart and head ; 
 And w^as but dimly conscious of what followed 
 
 next — 
 The inquest in the morn, the preacher's text, 
 And all the busy people, moving, here and there, 
 "Talking and weeping o'er his gentle Claire. 
 
 " She died of heart disease," the doctors said, 
 " Caused by some shock of woe, or sudden dread." 
 
 But not a sign of struggle marked her face. 
 Wrapped in her bridal veil of costly lace. 
 And wreathed with snowy orange flowr's, she lay 
 So sweet and peaceful on her couch of bloom 
 That none could think her sOul had passed away. 
 And that the casket waited for the tomb. 
 
 Paul took her to her own sweet land of flow'rs, 
 Where they had spent so many blissful hours, 
 And which she left a blooming, happy bride — 
 There made a grave, close by her mothers side. 
 Beneath the shadow of a live-oak tree, 
 AVhere dwelt the birds that she had loved the 
 
 best ; 
 And while their notes were ringing glad and free. 
 Amid the sunlight, laid her down to rest. 
 
 A marble angel, wdth her own, sweet face, 
 
98 FLORECITA. 
 
 One hand uplifted, marks the resting-place ; 
 The lingers of the other grasp a scroll, 
 Which, hanging, bj its weight, seems to unroll. 
 Only a few sad words are written there : 
 " Gone Heavenward — Our darling, Claire." 
 
FLORECITA. 99 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 No more to Alton's hills did Paul return, 
 And tliej who loved him failed to learn 
 Much of his roving life for many years, 
 And great anxiety of mind was theirs. 
 
 A wanderer in foreign lands, in vain 
 He sought to banish self-reproach's pain. 
 By constant change of place. His friends were 
 
 few. 
 And they of his affairs but little knew. 
 Sad, silent, taciturn, inviting not 
 Their sympathy, he soon was quite forgot ; 
 And each day found him more and more alone. 
 With his own selfish grief , whose smothered moan 
 Was not an instant absent from his breast, 
 But even shaped his dreams, when he sought 
 rest. 
 
 'Twas tented by the Arno, that he dreamed, 
 Or saw, for real, indeed, the vision seemed, 
 While he was seeking sleep, his angel Claire, 
 Who came close to his side and smoothed his hair, 
 With hands whose magnetism in their touch 
 Soothed his poor, longing spirit — oh ! so much ! 
 
 " My love," she said, '' 'tis wrong to mourn me 
 so. 
 The other waits for you. I pray you go 
 
100 FLOREClTA. 
 
 And seek her in the place where first she sang 
 The song that wooed you, while in air it rang ; 
 And you will find her there. Take to vour breast 
 The lonely, longing child. I am at rest— 
 Or would be, if your tears and sighs could cease, 
 And in your soul were dwelling joy and peace." 
 
 She spoke, and vanished into silent air, 
 Before his lips could frame the words, " Dear 
 
 Claire ! " 
 That rose to them and softly trembled there. 
 
 Then with a start, he woke, but all the gloom 
 Of night had vanished from his tented room. 
 A fading light w^as there, and sweet perfume, 
 And up the path she went, a trailing gleam, 
 Which showed the vision was not all a dream. 
 
 With sudden bound, Paul stood without the 
 door. 
 But saw the white-robed form of Claire no more. 
 
 " Lost ! Lost again ! " To earth he sank in 
 tears 
 Such as the ones he shed in childhood years — 
 Wept like an infant — without self-control ; 
 And yet they brought relief to his worn soul. 
 
 He would abide the prayer ; and if he found 
 Poor Florecita on her native ground, 
 Then he would surely know, 'twas Claire that 
 
 came — 
 And would restore his wife to home and name. 
 
FLORECITA. 101 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 Paxil stood beside the old adobe cot, 
 Whose queer belongings were forgotten not. 
 Again it was December ; but the day 
 Was warm, and children fanned themselves at 
 play. 
 
 lie stood beneath an oleander tree. 
 Where, all unnoticed, he conld hear and see 
 What 23assed w^ithin the cot. His wife was there ! 
 And so he knew the messenger was Claire, 
 Who came to him npon tlie Arno's bank that 
 
 niglit, 
 With pure, pale face and robes of spotless white ! 
 
 In Spanish peasant dress, beside a stand, 
 She sat, a waxen image in her hand, 
 Which she was moulding, so it seemed like life. 
 In want and toiling ! Yet Paul Markham's wife ! 
 
 But, ah ! she was not seated then alone. 
 Paul knew the other by his mien and tone. 
 
 The wretch, Don Carlos, standing by her side, 
 Again was pleading for the love denied 
 In years gone by, when Paul had claimed a bride. 
 
 " Wliy toil like this ? " the Don was heard to 
 say, 
 " Come to my arms, and toss that wax away ! 
 Joy, wealth, and pleasure but await your word. 
 
102 FLORECITA. 
 
 Rest on my breast, my owu sweet singing bird. 
 Tiie man who won you surely loves yon not, 
 Else why alone with this unhappy lot ? 
 Be mine and show him that he is forgot I '■ 
 
 She bent her head. A tear rolled down her 
 cheek, 
 Which showed that she was weary, worn, and 
 
 weak ; 
 Then waited full a minute, ere she made reply i 
 
 " Be merciful. Sir Don, and let me die 
 Unstained by sin and an unholy love. 
 That I may clasp my mother's hand above 
 Witliout the thought that I have done a wrong,. 
 Save that my soul exulted in its song. 
 My husband loves me not, and what is worse. 
 Considers I have been to him a curse ! 
 And yet to lay my head upon his breast 
 And, for one instant, feel a perfect rest — 
 To hear him once more call me ' darling wife ! ' 
 I would, the next, lay down my weary life." 
 
 And as she raised her pure, pale, pleading face,. 
 Both men the lines of suffering could trace. 
 
 IIow faithful was her love, and how sublime! 
 Paul felt his being thrill as in the olden time. 
 
 •' 'Tis useless,'- said the Don, " to strive with 
 fate. 
 I swear you shall be mine, though, soon or late. 
 If you deny my wish, your work shall cease, 
 And want and misery for you increase, 
 
FLORECITA. 103 
 
 Till yon. are fain to come on bended knee, 
 And ask acceptance of yourself from me." 
 " Liar and fiend ! " Paul cried, and qnickly 
 strode 
 Across tlie tliresliold of liis wife's abode. 
 " If I were lightning I would strike you dumb. 
 Before such words from your base lips should 
 
 come ! 
 Breatlie but anotlier insult, and your life 
 Shall pay the penalty of yonr foul deed ! 
 I have returned. I will protect my wife 
 And give her ample means for every need." 
 
 All trembling, Florecita sat, with eyes 
 Tear-filled, yet lighted with a glad surprise, 
 And mingling fear and joy, her features wore. 
 
 The Don retreated, but he loudly swore- 
 Cursing both Paul and Florecita too, 
 As in chagrin he finally withdrew. 
 
 Then Paul turned to his wife. " Come, dar- 
 ling, rest 
 For evermore," he said, " upon this breast. 
 And let me shield and keep you from all harm ! " 
 
 He took the waxen image from her hand. 
 And placed it very gently on the stand ; 
 . Then drew her to him with his strong right arm. 
 She on his shoulder dropped her weary head. 
 " Great God, be thanked for this sweet hour ! " 
 she said ; 
 '"And since my prayer is granted, Father, I 
 
104 FLORECITA. 
 
 Am ready to redeem my vow, and die I '' 
 
 '' Naj^, darling wife, we now have learned to 
 live, 
 And both of ns have much we must forgive 
 Ere we begin anew/' responded Paul. 
 " But each of us shall be the other's all. 
 And Heav'n wait for both of us, at last, 
 When all the woes and joys of life are past. 
 Henceforth your happiness shall be my care, 
 And selfish love no more my soul shall bear. 
 Your life shall be a song, and mine a prayer ! " 
 
 Then Florecita raised her love-lit eyes 
 Still glowing with the light of glad surprise. 
 And softly said : '^ I would not now recall. 
 One moment of the bitter past, dear Paul! 
 This holy pleasure compensates for all ! " 
 
FLORECITA. 105 
 
 CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 A QUIET dwelling near the ocean strand 
 And on the western borders of our land, 
 Where moaning billows wash the yellow sand. 
 
 Outside are climbing vines and blooming 
 bowers 
 And such a wilderness of fragrant flowers ! 
 
 Within, an air of cheerfulness and light ; 
 A fair young woman in a robe of white, 
 With two sweet children prattling at her knees — . 
 Such is the pictnre that Panl Markham sees. 
 
 Upon a shelf, protected by a case, 
 A pretty waxen image has a place. 
 It is the one she moulded on that morn, 
 When Paul's sweet, second love for her was born. 
 
 Her higher notes are lost, but still she sings^ 
 As do the nestling birds, while yet their wings 
 Are growing for a flight above the trees — 
 Soft, low, melodious strains that still 
 Have power her hearers' every nerve to thrill. 
 
 And not alone at home her notes are heard. 
 The people call her yet, " the singing bird " ; 
 And not a fete or concert can occur, 
 That does not find its leading star in her. 
 
 Eut, at her home, she shines with purest light. 
 There, little e'er is known of sorrow's night. 
 
106 FLOREGITA. 
 
 The clonds of doubt and selfishness are gone. 
 Thej disappeared upon the golden dawn 
 Of tliat new day of holy love and peace, 
 That only with life's setting sun shall cease. 
 
 Their lives are wrapped up in tlieir children, 
 who 
 Are loving, and obedient, and bright ; 
 And tenderly their parents' love requite. 
 
 The boy, who has his mother's eyes and hair, 
 Has something of her rare, sweet genius, too; 
 And he is Florecita's pride and care. 
 
 Paul loves the girl the best. Her eyes are 
 blue, 
 Wistful, and dreamy, and her name is Claire. 
 
 THE END, 
 
Extract from an Autograph Letter. 
 A REVIEW OF BELLA FRENCH SWISHER'S 
 
 "ROCKS AND SHOALS," 
 
 By Hon. Richard B. Hubbard, 
 
 Ex-Governor of Texas and recent U. S. Minister to Japan. 
 
 "KocKS AND Shoals," G. W. Dillingham, 
 Publisher, ISTew York.— I have read the ro- 
 inaiice with much interest — both on the author's 
 own account, and because of the subject matter 
 of the book and the life-like characters who pass 
 before the reader on tlie mimic stage of action. 
 
 The story shows a fine ability and is earnestly 
 
 and carefully written, while the characters are 
 
 drawn with a true insight to human nature. The, 
 
 heroine is one whom 
 
 " Unmerciful disaster 
 Follows fast and follows faster," 
 
 and her trials are such as would make a misan- 
 thrope of any nature less nicely balanced than 
 hers. Yet her strict adherence to the thorny 
 paths of duty can but be commended. Her 
 
ROCKS AND SHOALS. 
 
 father is remarkably unfortunate ; lier mother, 
 finally, an invalid ; her friends are faithless ; the 
 girl who has been her companion from infancy, 
 when left a waif at her home, and upon whom 
 she lavishes her heart's devotion as upon a dearly 
 loved sister, only grows up to rival in heartless- 
 ness the lover who is induced by her entreaties 
 to prove false to the one who has cherished her. 
 Yet the heroine steadily pursues her way and 
 escapes, with slight bruises, the rocks against 
 which inferior natures would be dashed to pieces. 
 
 Our experience teaches us that while sunshine 
 and peaceful waters are most attractive to sailors 
 who go out on the seas, yet there are to be met 
 in the " pathway of the deep," storms and tem- 
 pests, rocks and shoals, which test the strength 
 of men and ships whether outward or homeward 
 bound. 
 
 And such is life — and truthfully has this author 
 sketched the picture, though the scenes are some- 
 times gloomy. I congratulate her on the plot and 
 the style of the romance. Its moral is high. 
 I only hope that the success of " Rocks and 
 Shoals " will be equal to its merits. 
 
 EiCHARD B. Hubbard. 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
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