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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.