Newspaper Page Text
peculiarities of a West end connection must be
aware of, was totally ruined. Had he even
staunch friends, he would be unable to bear up
against the influence of the deeply insulted la
dies, whose wide aristocratic circle would make
common cause with them.
Against these arguments and insinuations,
Charles had nothing to oppose; so far as they
militated egainst his union with Clara. He felt
himself totally in ihe old man's power; he had
no home to offer the lady, were she disposed to
accept his suit, he had only his own conscien
tious integiitv to rely on, and that availed
naught in the’ way of providing maintenance
for a wife. The p< stponement of intercourse for
one year was, he jadged, a manoeuvre to deceive
Clara, the real intention being to break off the
match altogetber. Like a general, who has
made the bent fight circumstances admit of,and
who retreats slowly, aDd with regret, before a
superior force, so Stan wood was forced to accept
the conditions, and take a year s farewell of
Clara. . .
At home the jeweler had leisure to reflect on
the occurrences of the last three days. He felt
thoroughly beaten, lie had often read how
hard it was to climb—how easy to fall; yet in his
own history, he had exceeded romantic ficliop.
From comparative affluence to poverty, he slid
down, as though along an inclined plane, and
every one gave him a kick as he passed. Ihe
world in its infinite wisdom had condescended
to read him a great moral lesson—yet he knew
not how to profit by it, for he could neither see
the crime he had committed, nor was he prepar
ed to act otherwise than he had done, if the same
circumstances—lor which he suffered -were re
peated. _
Time was fruitful in events. The necklace
could not be heard of. His once crowded shop
was shunned—the principle creditors grew
pressing, as his effects, through lack ot business,
were undergoing a process of gradual dissipa
tion, instead of increase. He committed a vol
untary act of bankruptcy—obtained, in due
course, his discharge, left the court with the
bankrupt's allowance-money, clorhes and gold
watch. The world was all before him, and be
fore he renewed a general acquaintance with it,
love prompted an inquiry after the Bensons.
On passii g tinal examination, and receiving his
certificate, the commissioner complimented the
bankrupt on the accuracy ot his books ami faith
ful account of stock. E ; ated with the praise,
hope whispered he might regain influence with
Mr. Bi-nsor, perhaps be put in a way to begin
business under happier auspices. -This hope
perished miserably. The harsh, unfee.mg olu
man had carried off his daughter to the List
Indies, under pretence of realizing long neglect
ed property, but—as Charles knew too well—to
eseape the alliance. . .
What bitter thoughts succeeded this bows •
His character was uninipoacbed—his creditors
pitied his fate ! Had hut his mends (and who
should have been more eager than his intended
father-in-law?) rallied around bun iu the boar
of difficulty—he might have transferred his bus
iness to the city, or some quarter beyond the
influence of his aristocraic enemies, and flourish
anew. , , ,
Ha felt sick—became the victim of a long erne*
fever, and when he slowly awoke to recovery,
found himseif penniless,deserted and forgotten.
His name had passed away from the street where
he once dwelt—another name accnpied its place
—ware of another description orm.mented uie
windows. To look at Bond street,with his mel
ancholy gsze.it seemed as though what had oeen
was nothing but a dream. His eye glanced cu
his apparal— there was a change there—and he
hurried away to conceal his poverty.
After awhile, Stan wood sought an<. obtained
employment as a journeyman in tho service oi a
the mercantile quarter of the West Eu<i,or court
and aristocratic part of the metropolis.
years passed over his head whilst gaining a mere
livelihood by skill in repairing jewelry and set
ting stones. Use is second nature, and Charles
became in some degree reconciled—if not con
tented—with his humble situation. In the city
he was removed from casual contact either with
former customers or rivals in trade—was known
merely as an artisan who had —to use the com
mon expression—seen better days, and was ap
preciated by his employer as an excellent work
man.
Memory of his former station held him solita
ry in his amusements. He would not consort
with members of his class—was fond, when holy
and leisure days permitted (he worked at home,
as it is teonically called, by the piece, not pay
work) to stroll by himself into the country.
Though abandoned by former equals—without
relish for society of a lower grade, Nature had
not lost her charms. Though even hope had
fled—that kindly inspiration which dwells in
the ruined tenement when every other glorious
guest has departed—yet he felt a melancholy
pleasure iu the woods and by the silent stream;
elsewhere, he was frowned upon by the aristo
cratic spirit of man; in solitude, which was not
solitude to him, he experienced in the glorious
sunlight and beneath the chequered shade of
the grove, a bouyant up-spring of mind, which
was at times more than consolation—a positive
delight.
Fed by such high thoughts and aspirations, he
was sustained in poverty, without falling into
the habits and associations which poverty breeds.
It chanced on one occasion that, in loitering
through a lane, a few miles from the metropolis,
he leaned over a paddock fence, attracted by the
beauty of the verdure. A carriage drove by, and
turning his head he beheld a face changed
thongh not forgotten. He could not be mis
taken—it must be Clara Benson ! The carriage
was very fortunately detained at the entrance of
the paddock a sufficient time to allow Stan wood
to confirm his conjecture of the lady’s identity;
yet the aged gentleman at her side was not her
father* Perhaps he was her husband —some old,
wealthy nabob whom an unfeeling parent had
forced on her choice. The thought conveyed a
bitter pang, whioh he would gladly have deemed
himself insensible of, at such lapse of time.
Both occupants of the carriaae stared at the lin
gering intruder—but it was the idle glance cast
on a stranger. The gate was opened and the
equipage passed on.
This unexpected meeting was food] for bitter
thought for many a day. Oft memory recurred
in his lone walk to the close-shaven paddock,
the equipage whioh bore her who was once the
star of his affectiora. Often was he prompted
to pay a second visit to the spot; but reason
sternly asked to what purpose, but to embitter
his peace ? If Clara had left the protection of
her father, it was exchanged only for the guard
ianship of a husband. No, there are incidents
in some men’s lives, which they do well to tear
from memory.
As the most efficient and skillful workman,
Stanwood was one morning sent for, to receive
some instructions to reset some jewelry. His
emyloyer informed him that he had gained a
new customer, a lady of fashion and distinction
and as it was not usual for people of quality to
resort to city tradesmen, he was axioua to show
her ladyship that the work entrusted to his care
could be as well exeonted as iu B.mi street or
St. James. An old-tashiened diamond necklace
was to ba changed into ear-rings and bracelets,
afier a particular pattern produced. The jeweler
toid his workman that he had fall confidence in
his honesty, yet the stones being cf great value
he should require him to bring his work every
evening, to be placed in the vault to prevent
ohanoe of loss by fire, robbery or other oasulty
-indeed, in the case of an other artificer than
Stanwood, hejwould have the work performed
under his own peisonal inspection. Perhaps
the coBfindence reposed was not so great as
gems of great value are not easily disposable by
workmen, and would be stopped by pawnbrokers
and money-lenders on suspicion.
A draft of the pate.n was placed in Stanwood’s
hands, together with the jewel case, whioh he
opened to inspect the contents.
■Are you siek ?’ cried the employer, seeing the
workm< n tremble and tarn pale.
Charles made excuse, pleading sadden giddi
ness and promising to bring the precious articles
in the evening -and every evening until it was
completed—half an hour before the shop closed,
he departed. The necklace was the same he
had lost! Her ladyship—the lady of fashion
and distinction he made no doubt, was his old
customer; her coming to the city iu quest of a
jeweller confirmed suspicion. Among new work
men, new tradesmen, who worked for a difler-
class of customers, she doubtless felt certain of
evading detection, and, as some years had passed,
tho diamonds, remodelled into fresh ornaments
and reset, would surely escape recognition. He
felt inclined to return to his employer and ob
tain the name of the lady, but after doubt and
hesitation, thought it advisable not to raise a
suspicion. He remembered his previous castiga
tion, and resolved to act with caution, and make
what lie was entitled to—the most of his posi
tion.
Changing his ordinary daily dress for apparel
of a better description, he proceeded westward
with the necklace in his pocket. With some
difficulty he gained admission to the house with
out stating the object of his visit; and paying no
heed to the quartette of liveried servants who
ushered him in with obsi quious bows, he boldly
entered the princely apartment where the old
nobleman was reclining ia his trailing dressing-
crown and slippers. The latter rose at the
entrance of his visitor, and started perceptibly
as ho gazed on the half-remembered face before
him. But he was calm again ia an instant, and
without a word he held aside the voluminous
curtains from the door-way that opened into the
library. .
Charles permitted himself to bs ushered into
the well-remeiabered library, associated in his
memory with every thought-and feeling which
the former interview gave birth to; it looked tho
same as though he had seen it bat yesterday.
Yet how changed was he!
The noble owner was slightly altered -time
hail not stood still—six summers had left their
impress. Motioning his visitor to take a chair,
he waited in silence his comm un-ioation, with
an expression of face which seemed to imply
expectation of claim for relief, or charitable do
nation. .
•My lord, do yon not recognize me t said
Charles, without) accepting the proffered seat.
'i he peer, rather impatiently, imitated ignor
ance of his person, .
Poverty and suffering had no doubt done their
wotk, as Stanwood oouftesod, yet he was the
same party who had complained to his lordship,
six years since, of the loss of a diamond neck
lace.
The peer said he remembered the erroum-
stanoe well; the person of his jeweler wee in
deed altered. It he came to expre.-.s contrition,
he lor his part, could afford tc- pardon the tender,
especially as the crime had Drought its own
punishment.
‘I have come, my lord,’ said Charles, sternly,
‘to save the criminal from-punishment.’
•How sir, what mean you-?’ eeked the peer.
Stanwood related txactly how the necklace
had fallen again into his possession. The no
bleman changed color—stammered-begged to-
have the necklace in his possession five ruinates,
that he might take it upstairs, and resolve th«s
a ^wiaicu idliua u UUl go OBI U1 1112*
hands, save into ihe hands of a magistrate.
•Wait awhile,’ cried the nobleman, hurriedly...
as he rushed Irom the room.
In a quarter of an hour he returned, pale in.
tho face, and with disturbed eye, and seating
himself near Stanwood, said he understood him
to say that he had not testified recognition of the
nackhi-ce in presence of his employer or aay one
else; the secret was in his own breast.
Charles replied, that what he had stated was
the fact; he had acted more tenderly than he
had been acted by.
•At what amount of money,’ said the peer,
tapping the eloow of the chair; as thongh his
fingers were playing the keys of a piano, ‘do
yon estimate the loss of your character, station,
time?’
Stanwood burst into tears. He had lost ev
erything, he said what money could never re
place or rescore—the friends of his youth—the
idolized being to whom he was betrothed—and
if he thought of less important objects, a busi
ness which, in a few years, would have realized
a fortune.
The nobleman dashed aside a.tear as he turned
to his writing-desk. He wrote an order on his
banker for ten thousand pounds, and handed it
to Charles. There were not, he said, now suf
ficient assets, but two days hence the order
would be duly honored. If he deemed that sum
sufficient, ail he required in return was, that he
should complete his task for his city employers
and bury the secret forever. His restoration to
competence might be easily ascribed to other
souroes than the right one. Charles complied
with the conditions, and left the honse a changed
and happier man.
Two months saw Stanwood once more himself
—in handBome lodgings, with a showy nag, fin
gers cleansed and purified from stains and
marks of tool edges, and possessor of ten thous
and pounds. In such good trim, he must needs
satisfy a longing to visit the neighborhood of
the paddock which he had seen Clara enter, ac
companied by her aged companion. By inqui
ries, he learned that the secluded mansion, hid
den by plantations from the public road, was
occupied by an old gentleman and his niece
from the East Indies, and reputed immensely
rich. They were now at a fashionable bathing
place on the coast. To this resort Charles Stan
wood hastened full of hope and expectation that
the lady was still her own mistress. He con
trived to meet and rile slowly past her carriage
to determine if he were recognized. She started
as though struck with the face, and he rode on.
They met again in the evening at a public libra-
ryt a fashionable promenade when the weather
out of door was unfavorable. On beholding a
seoond time, the apparition, the lady fainted,
and was conveyed home by her ancle.
Stanwood called ia the morning andvas ad
mitted. To Clara he was as one risen from the
dead. On her lover’s bankruptcy, her father
hurried her from England, promising to return
after a short stay in the east. Under one pre
tence or another, 3he was detained in luxurious
captivity—she couldbestow no milder term on
her unwilling residence in the Indies—till Mr.
Benson fell sick and died. By his will it ap
peared she was heiress of his wealth, under
trust for a term of years, provided she did not
marry Charls Stanwood; if she broke this ttipa-
lation, the property passed to the testator’s
brother, a merchant of Cal.u r who was ap
pointed guardian. Her uncle iu-jiina.1 tc
forsake commerce, she waited the arrangement
of his affairs, aaff under his escort returned to
England. Since her return, she had made re
peated inquiries of friends, but oould learn
nothing respecting Mr. Stanwood.
The lovers found Mr. liens os, far more con
siderate than his deceased brother. H3 execu
ted an Instrument reoonveying his brother’s
property to his nieoe. on her marriage with the
long lost, and by all but Clara,forgotten Charles
Stanwood. Once more the jeweller was visible
in his old haunts in Bond street—not in his
former capacity but in a new profession—a
lounger like ourselves. From his lips—long
after the aristocratic parties were at rest—we
cleaned what we have narrated; and have only
* 0 add that the career of Caarles and his wife
wft s always smooth and unruffled.
POLICE PHOTOGRAPHY.
How They Manage the Thing
in Paris, With Some Funny
Incidents.
[Baltimore Sun Paris Letter.]
Coming by the back of the Champ de Mars
to-day. I was attracted by a group around a
photographic policeman, who was making
rather an awkward effort to take a picture ot an
old honse wherein an aged woman had sud
denly died. I inquired into the sabject. It ap
pears that the poor old soul, at eighty-seven
years of age, pat out her lamp of life sooner
than was expected by her neighbors. A young
man had disappeared, and so had a tew Hun
dred frances. The police were put on the qui
vive, and tho first thing they did did was to
photograph the ool J corpse, and then the house.
Now they are looking for the missing youth to
take his picture. It is amusing to see the varied
uses that phototograph performs amongsi the
Paris poii )0. First of all they photograph them
selves, irom the highest to the lowest. rh®**
they photograph some of their relations, and
perhaps friends. They photograph all their
first and second class prisoners. In the exhi
bition their -rogues’ gallery’ is quite an array
of celebrities and woald form a volume ©J
sketches. Photography is applied in all oases
of murder as to persons and places. Before the
murdered body is moved, it and a» tho sur
roundings become sareiully photographed.
This is done by a special number of the polioe
in uniform, whose entire work is devoted to the
subject. Photographs of grand masters- of the
. art of roguery and .ascality are exchanged be-
; tween the police of all nations. Thus today
ton caD see some portraits of the wayward sons
and daughters of Baltimore, Washington, Rich
mond, Now Orleans, Charleston, etc., in ‘places
of honor’ on the line of the Paris police fine
art eallery. They are numbexed.and this num
ber is an index historical and descriptive book.
The days ot the dark-lantern are changed into
hears of the camera, bat not camera ebscura. a
am told that the list of crimes detected through,
the agency of photography is an extremely
long one. See to what detective purposes tue
original idea of the long-lost Daguerre comes at
las?. Instances of forgery are numerous as being
detected by photography. The bank of Prance
has a special photographic and scrutiny de
partment Jo3? the detection of forged notes,
bonds etc. But its invisible portrait gailory
for taking the likeness of a person without that
person knowing it, is unique and full of amus
ing anecdotes. On one occasion a distinguished
looking person came to the bank desk and pre
sented a little package of bands of a certain
English loan. The bank cleik did not readily
relish the looks of the bonds, though those of
the person were quite the thing. Pressing a
little hand-bell-a signal to the pho ographer,
-who has his gallery in a clear range of the appli
cant’s desk, yet so constructed that it is not
easi'y seen, the clerk engaged the stranger in
conversation about the bonds, and in such a
way that the photographer should have a good
view of his face. This time a country school
master, a3 honest as the sun of day, thrust his
face in by the desk, and he was photographed
! France, Tff&Hil)Uoiiuveness 01 pnotograpfly is
I illustrated at this bank when ink marks, invis-
| ible to tli9 eye on tho original document, ba-
i come quite plain cu the photograph. You
•j cannot alter, by writing, any paper but photo’
* graphy will detect the ‘meddlesome pen,-
| sooner or later. An erasure on the paper, if
' done ever so smoothly, is discovered by pho
tography. The oharacter and style of ohirog-
raphy is also well tested by photography. Pho
tograph some of the letters iu a sentence, en
large the photograph,and yon have a ‘big guide
as to style, easily followed and made a criteri
on. The postoffice department here has its
photographic director, and many a letter is
opened, photographed, compared and stored
away for future evidence. Surrounded by such
agencies, how well ‘honesty being the best poli
cy’ is proved to us. In the exhibition you oan
tee some instances of visitors there being un
consciously photographed. One old lady, how
ever, discovered the police at their proceeding.
Up she bounded, over went not only her chair,
but the three near by ones; down she dashed
her umbrella, down she pulled her veil, turned
her back in a triumphant air upon to the rash
policeman. ‘What,’ she exclaimed; ‘taking my
portrait for a prison f 0- Jule, Jule, where art
thou?’ I am sorry to say her spouse Jule was
in the arms of Morpheus, and cared not for pho
tography. She went and demanded reparation,
and was mollified by getting her photograph of
her enraged self.
THE SNOWBALLS;
— OR,—
Frank Edmond’s Sister.
BY O. L. A. C.
Four-Score and Ten,
We May All Attain It.
Dr. Hall contends that with increasing knowl
edge of the laws of health, will come increase of
years to the life cf man. He says:
Aided by the ever-widening influencies of the
principles of the Christian system, which,by in-
calculating.as one of its cardinal elements, ’tem
perance in all things,’ strikes at the very root of
disease, we may reasonably hope that, when the
true knowledge covers the earth as the waters
cover the face of the great deep, tho ordinary
average of human life will be the full three-score
years and ten, er even four-score years, which
will then not be years of labor and sorrow.
Tho world would bail it as a glad event,if phy
sicians could be so educated as to care all dis
eases; but it would more largely add to its hap
piness if all co aid be so welll instructed, as to
the first symptoms of every ailment, as to be
able at once to arrest its progress, and thus no
physician be needed to cure; and yet, any one
must know, that if men could be so taught to
live that disease would not be possible, half the
sufferings of humanity would be annihilated.
And/or this I labor.
An Incident at Holly Spring*.
[Memphis Avalanche.]
One of the thousand and one tragic incidents
of the great plague happened at Holly Springs
a few days since. A beautiful young lady u f
New Orleans was forced by her father to marry
an old man she oonld not love. Preferring
death to slavery, the young lady ran away and
gave her services as nurse to the fever s’ricken
of Holly Springs. After a few days of devoted
attention to the siek she was herself stricken.
There was a male nurse for her. There was
uc tern ile hand to soothe with its gentle touch
the leverea brow. Bat the noble Ridley was
there to perform the last sad o ffioes to the dying
girl. Toward the last she said to him: ‘Kiss me.’
As Ridley kissed her on tho cheek she ex
claimed: ‘Kiss my lias,’ whioh he did. She
then said: *Yba are ! . • only man I ever kissed;
kiss me again.’ While ii. lL / was in the act of
kissing her she threw her ar us tightly around
his neck, and instantly expired, G>J bless the
brave hearts.
‘May I wait here for a oar?’ inquired Miss
Dora Drawvee, in Mrs. Le Mar’s fashionable
millinery store, on a pleasant autumn after
noon.
Certainly, replied Mrs. Le Mar, iot Dora was
one of her best customers. ‘Here is a chair.
There appears to be something wrong with the
cars; it has been more than twenty minutes since
one passed.’
Dora accepted the proffered chair and a pleas
ant conversation ensued, which was interrupted
by the entrance of a poorly dressed lady. The
milliner turned to her with a frown upon her
face, and sneeringly said:
What do you want ?’
‘I was directed here by Mrs. Collier, of C St.
She said perhaps you might have some work to
give out.’
‘I have not was the cold reply, and the appli
cant left the store.
Tlu conduct ol Mrs. Le Mar so mortified Do
ra, for she was alkind-hearted girl and esteemed
Mrs. Le Mar quite highly, that she concluded
to wait no longer. She felt quite indignant when
she left the place, bat succeeding in repressing
her feeliogs. As she walked up the street she
soliloquized:
‘That was heaitlsss in Mrs. I16 M ir to treat the
poor lady so unkindly. I wonder if she can do
fine work; if I had her address I would call and
see. Who did she say directed her there? Mrs.
Collier of C street; why that is mamma’s old
housekeeper, and I have been intending to call
there to-day, but cause near forgetting it. Well
2 will call there now. 7
The street was but a short distance away, and
she was soon there. As she turned off the ave
nue she saw the object of her soliloquy just
ahead of her. , „
‘Tbere she is now,’ said Doras. ‘I will follow
her and see where she goes. That must be Mrs.
Collier's resideisce—No. M, yes that is it.
She was soon admitted and had a very pleas
ant call; but before she left she inquired of Mrs.
Collier who the stranger was that preceded her
into the house. ,
•Oh, I suppose ’ron mean Mrs. Lesley, replied
Mrs. Collier. ‘She rented two rooms of me a few
weeks ago and has- been trying to get work ev
er since; but, except two plain dresses 3he made
for me she has been unsuccessful. I wish, Miss
Dora, your mother would let her have some sew
ing to do. She is very neat ; or if your mother
needed help occasionally about the housework,
I> think she will find her capa-ble. Would you
mind going with me So her room ?’
•I would like very much to see her,’ said Do-
Accompanied by Mrs. Collier, Dora went for a
brief call, and then returned home. Later in
the evening Mrs. Lesley received a bundle of
work, and the pay in advance from Mrs. Draw
vee.
•Ia there any one yon can recommend for
plain sewing, Mrs. Drawvee ?’ asked Mirs. Horn-
shell, a few weeks late?-
‘I employ Mrs. Lesley :.slie is a good sewer,
and livea at M C street. I have recommended
her to others, and have employed her in sewing,
also in assisting in household affairs, bhe is
beginning to find plenty of work,’ was the an
swer; ‘and I am glad of it, for she is au estima
ble lady and quite needy.’
vJtt SS9^ushinyplay Jthe following^ sgring^
window she saw some snowballs for sale, and
purchased them. A3 she went on she thought
bow acceptable some of these might be to Mrs.
Lesley thi3 beautiful spring morning;.aud soon
decided to share with her.
‘Oh, Miss Drawvee,’ ezclaimed Mrs. Lesley,
after she had welcomed Dora, ‘what a beautiful
bunch of Snowballs you have ! Many pleasant
memories they recall to me. These are the first
snowballs I have seen this spring.’
‘These are for you, Mars. Lesley,’ said Dora
separating the bunch, and offering her part of
them.
‘For me !' said Mrs. Lesley. ‘Oh, thank you.
You are very kind, very kind indeed. Ah, well
do I remember the snowball bash we had in the
door-yard at home,’ she continued, after she had
arranged the flowers in a vase and placed it on
the table. ‘For many years, Miss Drawvee, my
home was in a village a long ways from here.
There I married, and my husband rented a pret
ty place only a few streets distant from my form
er home. We planted a snowball bush when we
commenced housekeeping and it grew finely,
and looked, oh, so beautiful when bloomiDg.
‘I had one brother, who lived in the city of
B , who visited us onoe, and sometimes
twice a year. After my husband’s death, a let
ter containing the tidings was sent to him; but
I received no answer. After a few months I
concluded to go in search of him. I went to
B -, but failed to find my brother. His place
of business was occupied by a stranger; I was
not successful in obtaining work and my money
was nearly all gone; then I came on here to try
to find employment. Pardon me, Miss Drawvee
perhaps I detain yon. ?’
‘Oh no. And have you found your brother,
Mrs. Lesley ?’ asked Dora with interest.
‘No;it is now two years since I last saw him.’
Just then, along the hall came the rustle of
silk, followed by a knock at the door, and iu re
sponse to Mrs. Lesley’s ‘come in,’ Miss Florence
Gailney entered the room. She was clad in a
spring suit of cashmere and silk of two shades
of gray, with bonnet, gloves, and parasols to
match.
•Are you Mrs. Lesley, the woman who has
been sawing for Mrs. Hornshell?’ she asked al
most insolently.
‘1 am Mrs. Lesley, rnd I have sewed for Mrs.
Hornshell,’replied Mrs. Lesley with far more
dignity than the person who addressed her had
shown.
‘Mrs. Hornshell recommended you to me, and
I have come to inquire your lowest terms for
plain sewing,’ said Miss Gailney haughtily.
•I cannot well engage to do any more work
now,’ was the reply; ‘so I suppose you will not
oare for my terms.’
‘Certainly not; I am not anxions to know your
terms, nor do I wish to employ you.’
Dora recognized Miss Gailney as she came in,
and intended to introduce her to Mrs. Lesley,
but was prevented by her abrupt questions,and
had remained unobserved. She now advanced
and said:
‘G >o i morniDg Florence.’
‘Ati! quite an unexpected pleasure to meet
you here, Dora. This person was ro ommended
to me as a good sewer—’
‘Florence,’ said Dora quietly, View me to in
troduce my friend, Mrs. Lesley; Mrs. L > ,iey Miss
Gailney.’
Fiorenoe was much surprised, certainly not at
all pleased. She, however acknowledged the
introduction oooly, said ‘How do you do, Mrs.
Lesley?’ and then bidding Dora ‘good-bye,’ she
left the house, regretting that she had come, es
pecially as Dora Drawvee was there.
That evening in the riohly furnished parlor of
her home, Miss Gailney remarked to a gentle
man caller:
‘I was so provoked to-day Mr. Edmond. I
went to inquire about having soma sewing done,
and the person I applied to address®'! ms as if
she belonged to the san. . j. society I did,
and not an inferior one. One of my acquain
tances was there, and presumed to introduce
me to the person I had gone to employ ! I be
lieve lam not much of a republican,’ she added
with a slight laugh.
If she had hoped to be complimented on' her
anti-republicanism she was disappointed. Mr.
Edmond soon concluded bis visit. As it was
early in the evening, he decided to call into Mrs.
Drawvee's. Dora received him in the parlor.
Indeed, she would have been disappointed
if he had not called, for his visits were
becoming quite freqeunt.
‘Ah, Miss Dora,' he said, looking to
wards one of the tables,’ you have here
some snowballs; their beauty and fragrance
seem familiar to me. The snowball bush
that adorned the door-yard of my sis
ter’s village home—how well I remember
it.’
‘How strange,’ thought Dora, ‘that Mrs.
Lesley should have made a similar inference !
Gan it be that both refer to the same
snowball bush?’
•Mr. Edmond,’asked Dora, after a few min
ute's reflection, ‘does your sister reside in .that
village now?’
•No,’ he said slowly, ‘I do not know where
she is now. Before removing here from B— I
wrote where to send me letters, but received no
reply. After a time I went to L—, where she
had lived, bat found that after her husband's
death, of which I had Dot heard, she had gone
to -B— to find me. My last letter had arrived
after her departure. I went to B —, but gained
no news of her there, no one had seen or heard
anything of her.’
‘How long ago was that Mr. Edmond ?’
‘About two years.!
‘Was your sister’s last name Lesley ?’
‘Yes,’ he said with an anxious inquiring look.
‘Can it be, Miss Dora, that you have nows of
her for me ?’
‘I do not know answered Dora. ‘It may be.
I am acquainted with a Mrs. Lesley, and she
may be yoar sister.’
•Thank you,’ he said earnestly. It may not
be her; but it is possible that it is. Where can
I find her ?’
•If you come here about tea o’clock to-mor
row morning Mrs. Lesley is ex oectei here then.’
* * » » * « *
‘Florence,’ said Mrs. Hornshell, a few months
afterwards, ‘do you remember a Mrs. Lesley I
recommended to you for plain sewing ?’
•Yes,’ replied Florence, ‘I remember her quite
well. Why, don't you think she tried to con
sider that she belonged to the same class of so
ciety that we do. Oa, how indignant I was !'
•You know,’said Mrs. Hornshell, ‘I attended
Dora Drawvee’s wedding reception yesterday : 1 ’
•Yes; I was detained by company 1 didn’t care
to leave, and sent my regrets.'
‘I met Dora’s sister-in-law there. Not a new
acquaintance, Florence—Mrs. Lesley.’
‘Why, Mrs. Hornshell”
‘Yes;and it seems that Mrs. Drawvee and Do
ra both valued Mrs. Lesley’s friendship very
highly when sbe sewed and worked for them.
You kuow the reception was held in the pleas
ant house Mr. Edmond has bought, Florence,
and Dora told me she was glad that Mrs. Lesley
j was going to live with them. The spacious
i rooms are very tasefully furnished, for most of
1 the furniture was selected by Dora before sh9
j commenced housekeeping.’
I ‘I suppose Mrs. Lesley is very proud now,’
I said Florence.
‘I think nit While I was talking with her,
yesterday she referred to having sewed for me,
and though very differently situated, she spoke
very gratefully of my kindness to her when she
lived on C street. No, I do not think she has
become proud, and she is too much of a repub
lican to wish to be considered aristocratic.’
Mow to Prevent Jockeying.
A certain colonel, a well-known gentleman,
esteemed for his fine qualities as a man and re
nowned for his judgment of whiskey and horse-
Sesh, had entered his mare in a race where the
best stock of the country was engaged. Eis an
imal was acknowledged as one of the finest trot
ters in that section—as one of the finest trotters,
in fact, in the oounry at that time, when Rams
was an unknown bird, and at the meeting bets
ran high between the assembled sporting men
planters, lawyers, and merchants of Virginia,
North Carolina and Tennessee.
The colonel was ever a heavy bettor, and had
pledged himself to the extent of $25,000 on his
mare. The morning of the race his jockey came
| to him with a blanched face and a cautious,
1 whispering voice;
! ‘Col. , for Gad’s sake hedge while yoa
have time; I break my word with my friends to
tell you, bat I will tell you. Oar mare cannot
win the race !’
The colonel’s face turned an honester white
than his jookey’s, bat a wicked smile came over
his lips—thia and compressed—and his voice,
though even iu utterance, was cracked as he
caught the jockey by the throat with the throat
and with the other drew a derringer from his fob
pocket.
•My mare is the best blood on the course, and
can win the race,’ he said. ‘I have staked all
that I and my family have on the trot, If yon
don t win this race I will bespatter the track
with yonr brains,and if you have brains you can
know that I won’t be jockeyed !’
The colonel's mare came in ahead in every
heat,
If this system was adopted toward the general
ruin of oar sporting people, the results mi^ht
be eqaally as honest.
Pretty Cotton Picker.
[St. Louis Globe, Texas Letter.]
Not unfrequently young ladies, whose fathers
and brothers or their laborers happen to be
hard pressed with work, go into the fields and
lend a helping hand. Among the latter class is
a young lady—the fifteen-year-old daughter of
one of the oldest and most respected families
on the Brazos— whom this coriespondent met at
the mansion of her father near Pattison. The
conversation naturally turned upon cotton
picking. The young Texan girl, blooming with
youth, her dark hair floating over her fair foro-
head, matching her large dark eyes, that flashed
at intervals, proceeded in her girlish way to
give him ail the information about cotton-pick
ing desired.
•The most of my lather’s hands pick 150 to
200 pounds a day,’she said.
‘Thatseems excellent work,’ replied the cor
respondent
‘Oh, not very.’
*1 do think so. ’
She laughed, and ha? eyes flashed again
■Why, loan do almost that well myself and t
am not used to it.’ * *
‘You?’
‘Yes.’
‘I must doubt’—
•I have gone out ia pa’s field and picked one
hundred and fifty pounds in a day ’
‘Didn t the sun barn yoar faoe to a orack-
ling?
•Why, no—you are orazy.’
ern H gW?^ h8ndidy0a m “ nag9 ’ m 7 little South-
‘Oh, I jast put on this long sun-bonnet fmx
%‘XL‘F ‘ p “ ir of 8 " ,,8S ^
Drew Hunt, the Marderer of his father in
to T.«* ta, bn Q bronght S I*
safekeeping. He is to be hung.
■
