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A SMILE AND A FROWN.
Only a frown! yet it pressed a sting
Into the day which had been so glad;
The red rose turned to a scentless thing,
The bird song ceased with discordant ring,
And a heart was heavy and sad.
Only a smile! yet it cast a spell
Over the sky which had been so gray;
The rain made music wherever it fell,
Tho wind sung the : ongof a marriage bell,
And a heart wua light and gay.
—Emma C. I>owd in Frank Leslie’s.
.Ail A AT lii I V \ > ]<’ tv I>TFT1 it I Ijit T l At OVF 1 L QTOTiY ull/ltl*
I urn a poor, paralyzed fellow, who for
many years past lias been confined to a
bed or a sofa. For the last six years I
have occupied a small room, looking on to
one of the narrow side canals of Venice,
having no one about me but a deaf old
woman, who makes my bed and attends
to my food, and here 1 eke out a poor in¬
come of about £30 a year by making
water color drawings of flowers and
fruit (they are the cheapest models in
Venice), ami these 1 send to a friend in
London, who sells them to a dealer for
small sums. But, on the whole, I am
happy and content.
J i is necessary that I should describe the
position of my room rather minutely. Its
only window is about live feet above the
water of the canal 4 aiui abovfc it the house
projects some six feet, and overhangs the
water, the projecting portion being sup¬
ported by stout piles driven into the bed
of the canal. This arrangement has the
disadvantage (among others) of so limit¬
ing my upward view that I am unable to
see more than about ten feet of the height
of the house immediate opposite to me,
although by reaching as far out of the
window as my infirmity will permit 1 can
see for a considerable distance up and
down the canal, which does not exceed
fifteen feet in width. But, although I can
see but little of the material house oppo¬
site, I can seo its reflection upside down in
the canal, and I contrive to take a good
deal of inverted interest in such of its in¬
habitants as show themselves from time
to time (always upside down) on its bal¬
conies and at its windows.
When I first occupied my room, about
six years ago, my attention was directed
to tiie reflect ion of a little girl of 13 or so
(as nearly as 1 could judge), who passed
every day on a balcony just above the up¬
ward range of my limited field of view.
She had a glass of flowers and a crucifix
on ii little table by her side, and as she sat
there, in fine weather, from early morn¬
ing until dark, working ussiduously all
the time, 1 concluded that she earned
her living by needlework. She was cer¬
tainly an industrious little girl, and as far
ns 1 could judge by her upside down re¬
flection, neat in her dress and pretty.
She hud an old mother, an invalid, who
on warm days would sit on the balcony
with her, and it interested me to see the
little maid wrap the old lady in shawls
and bring pillows for her chair and a stool
tor her feet, and every now and again lay
down her work and kiss and fondle the
old lady for half a minute, and then take
up her work again.
Time went by, and as the little maid
grew up her reflection grew down, and at
last she was quite a little woman of, I
suppose, Hi or 17. lean only work for a
couple of hours or so in the brightest part
of the day, so I had plenty of time on my
hands in which to watch her movements,
and sufficient imagination to weave a lit¬
tle romance about her, and to endow her
with a beauty which, to a great extent, I
had t6 take for granted. I saw—or
fancied that I could see—that she began
to take an interest iu my reflectiou (which,
of course, slje could see as 1 could see
hers): and one day, when it appeared to
me that she was looking right at me—I
tried tho desperate experiment of nodding
to her, and to my intense delight her re¬
flection nodded to me in reply. And so
our two reflections became known to one
anot her.
It did not take me very loug to fall in
Eve with her, but along time passed be¬
fore I could make up my mind to do more
than nod to her every rooming, when tho
old woman moved me from my bed to the
sofa at the wiudovr, and again in the even
lug, when the little maid left the balcony
for tlmt day. One day, however, when I
saw her reflection looking at mine, 1 nod
fled to her und threw a flower into the
canal. She nodded several times in re
turn, and I saw her direct her mother’s
attention to the incident. Then every
morning I threw a flower in the water for
• 'good morning,” and another in the even
ing for “good night,” and I soon discov
ered that I had not thrown them altogether
in vain, for one day she threw a flower to
joln mine, and she laughed and clapped
her hands as the two flower#joined forces
and floated away together. And then
every morning she threw her flower when
* ifhrew mine, and when the two flowers
met she clapped her hands, and so did 1;
but when they were separated, as they
sometimes were, owing to one of them
having met an obstruction which did
not catch the other, she threw up her
hands iu a pretty affectation of despair,
which I tried to imitate, but in an Eng¬
lish and unsuccessful fashion. And when
they were rudely run down by a passing
gondola (which happened not infrequently)
she pretended to cry and I did the same.
Then, in pretty pantomime, she would
point downward to the sky, to tell rue
that it was destiny that caused the ship¬
wreck of our flowers, and 1, in pantomime
not nearly so pretty, would try to convey
to her that destiny would be kinder next
time, and that, perhaps, to-morrow our
flowers would be mhre fortunate—and so
the innocent courtship went on One day
she showed me her crucifix ami kissed it,
and thereupon I look a little silver cruci¬
fix which always stands by me, and kissed
that, and so she knew that we were one
in religion.
One day the little maid did not appear
on her balcony, and for several days 1 saw
nothing of her, and although I threw my
flower as usual no flower came to keep it
company. However, after a time she re¬
appeared dressed in black and crying
often, and then I knew that the poor
child’s mother was dead, as far as I knew
she was alone in the world. The flowers
came no more for many days, nor did she
show any sign of recognition, but kept her
eyes on her work, except when she placed
her handkerchief to them. And opposite
to her was the old lady’s chair, and I
could see that from time to time she
would lay down her work and gaze at it,
and then a flood of tears would come to
her relief. But at last one day she roused
herself to nod to me, and then her flower
came. Day after day my flower went
forth to join it, and with varying fortunes
the two flowers sailed away as of yore.
But the darkest day of all to me was
when a good looking young gondolier,
standing right end uppermost in his gon¬
dola (for I could see him in the flesh),
worked his craft alongside the house and
stood talking to her as she sat on the
balcony. They seemed to speak as old
friends—indeed, as well as I could make
out, lie held her by the hand during tho
whole of their interview, which lasted
quite half an hour. Eventually he pushed
off, and left iny heart heavy within me.
But I soon took heart of grace, for so soon
as he was out of sight the little maid
threw two flowers growing on the same
stem~an allegory of which I could make
nothing, until it broke upon me that she
meant to convey to me that he and she
were brother and sister, and that I liad no
cause to be sad. And thereupon 1 nodded
to her cheerily, and she nodded to me and
laughed aloud, and I laughed in return,
and all went on again as before.
Then came a dark and dreary time, for
it liecaine necessary that I should undergo
treatment that confined me absolutely to
my bed for many days, and I worried and
fretted to think that the little maid and I
could see each other no longer, and worse
still, that she would tliink that I had gone
away without even having hinted to her
that I was going. And I lay awake at
uight wondering how I could let her know
the truth, and fifty plans flitted through
my brain, all appearing to be feasible
enough at night, but absolutely wild and
impracticable in the morning. One day—
and it was a bright day indeed for me—
the old woman who attended me told me
that a gondolier had inquired whether the
English signor had gone away or had died;
and so I learned that the little maid had
beep anxious about me, and that she had
sent her brother to inquire, and the
brother had no doubt taken to her the
reason of my protracted absence from the
window.
From that day, and oYer after, during
my three weeks of bed keeping, a flower
was found every morning on tiie ledge of
my window, which was within easy reach
of any one in a boat, and when at last a
day came when I could be moved I took
my accustomed place on the sofa at the
window, and the little maid saw me and
stood on her head, so to speak, and clapped
her hands upside down with a delight that
was as eloquent as any right end up de
light could possibly be. So the first time
the gondolier passed my window I beck*
oned to him, and he pushed up along
side and told me, with many bright smiles,
that he was glad indeed to see me well
atrain. Then I thanked him and his
sister for their kind thoughts about me
during niv retreat, and I then learned from
him that her name was Angela, and that
she was the best and purest maiden of all
Venice, and that any one might think
himself happy indeed who could call her
sister, but that he was happier even than
her brother, for he was»to be married to
her, and indeed they were to be married
the next day.
Thereupon my heart seemed to swell to
bursting, ami the blood rushed through
my veins so that I could hear it and
nothing else for a while. I managed at
last, to stammer forth some words of
awkward congratulation, and he left me,
singing merrily, after asking permission
to bring his bride to see me on the morrow
as they returned from church.
“For,” said he, “my Angela has known
you for very long—ever since she was a
child, und she has often spoken tome of
the poor Englishman who was a good
Catholic, and who lay all day long for
years and years on a sofa at a window,
and she had said over and over again how
clearly she wished that she could speak to
him and comfort him; and one day, when
you threw a flower into the canal, she
asked me whether she might throw an¬
other, and I told her yes, for he would
understand that it meant sympathy ^ith
one who was sorely afflicted.”
And so I learned that it was pity, and
not love, except indeed such love as is
akin to pity, that prompted her to interest
herself in my welfare, and there was an
end of it all.
For the two flowers that I thought were
on one stem were two flowers tied to¬
gether (but I could not tell that), and they
were meant to indicate that she and the
gondolier were affianced lovers, and my
expressed pleasure at this symbol de¬
lighted her, for she took it to mean that I
rejoiced in her happiness.
And the next day the gondolier came
with a train of other gondoliers, all decked
in their holiday garb, and in his gondola
sat Angela, happy and blushing at her
happiness. Then he and she entered the
house in which I dwelt, and came into my
room (and it was strange indeed, after so
mny years of inversion, to see her with
her head above her feet), and then she
wished me happiness and a speedy restor¬
ation to good health (which could never
be), and I, in broken words and with tears
in my eyes, gave her the little crucifix
that had stood by my bed or my table for
so many years. And Angela took it
reverently, and crossed herself, and kissed
it, and so departed with her delighted
husband.
And as I heard the song of the gondo¬
liers as they went tlieir way—the song
dying away in the distance as the shadows
of the sundown closed around me—I felt
they were singing the requiem of the only
love that had ever entered my heart.—W!
S. filbert.
Ouida and the American.
Oulda spends much time at the Lang
hnm when she is iu London. Not long
since a young American girl, Miss W-,
of New York, called upon her at the hotel,
with a letter of introduction. After wait¬
ing some time a strangely dressed figure
rushed into the room. Every color of the
rainbow appeared in her costume, and her
head was decorated with a circle of many
colored bright ribbons. This bizarre
creature stalked up to our American girl,
and in a very brusque manner said: “Do
you want to see me?” “I have a letter of
introduction to you.” “You are an
American—I know it from your bold
stare,’ was Ouida’s reply. "And I know
you to be a circus rider from jour out
landish costume, and so I wish you a
good morning and decline your acquaint
anc.*. --New Orleans Picayune.
EVENTS IN OLD HARRIS.
PERSONS AMI Till NOS NOTED B 1
OUR REPORTERS.
Cliipley Chip*.
The weather is damp.
Our school is flourishiug.
Politics are being whispered around.
Several are attending court this
wee* at Greenville.
Mr. Bentley, a cotton buyer, was
in the city Monday.
Master Charley Moss, of Green¬
ville, was in the city Sunday.
The peach and general fruit crop
are considered somewhat safe.
Irish potatoes, garden seed, &c., at
the drug store cheaper than else-'* w
where.
Mr. Lowenthall, of Columbus, was
in the city Tuesday. Also Frank
Tigner.
Dr. Dansforth, of Whitesville, was
in tovvm Monday. The doctor looks
prosperous.
Messrs O. D. Tucker, R. O. Bul¬
lock and Will Pearce vis ted Green¬
ville Sunday.
The little son of Mr. James H.
Davis had his arm broken, being
thrown from a ho se.
r J Booker, Esq., of Whitesville,
om
a prosperous and progressive farmer,
was in town Monday.
Rev. Alex. Farley delivered his
regular monthly sermon Sunday in
his usual interesting style.
Rev. Mr. Callahan, of Whitesville,
was in town last week representing
the American Bible association.
The ‘‘tacky” party at the residence
of Dr. J. M Glass on Monday even
ing was an event of much fun.
Mrs. L. L. Hardy and her daugh¬
ter, Miss Effie, were the guests of
Mrs. D. C. Shutze, of Columbus, last
week.
Misses Betty Beasley, Annie Moss
and Bettie Crowder, were the guests
of Misses Ida Dunlap and Mary
Moss Sunday. <
Why should we not have a money
order post office here ? Hamilton 1
has one. It would be a great con
venience. Let’s h^ve it.
Mis~. Quinton Pursell is assisting
her father at the post office now. The
doctor is old and feeble and she is a
great help to him.
Miss Mary Moss entered school
Monday at Whitesville, under the
careful management of Miss l innu *
King of that place. Mary’s many
friends sadly regret her departure
The young men’s prayer-meeting
meets at the Methodist church Fri
day night. This organiza ion is ao
interesting spiritual enterprise, An
the young men are invited to attend
'
Capt. ^ Tucker, , popular , -
ou. ____ mayor,
was taken suddenly ill on Tuesday
night and suffered unto death almost
before his physician could be nro^ r
cu .__j ec ^ er wa5 through ,
much difficulty relieved > and ?
is now
convalescent.