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10 THE SOUTHERN WORLD, SEPTEMBER 15, 1685. lfAKY BAYARD CLARKS. ' The following poem wm llrat published In the Ifew South. The French Broad la tub hi vies of Western North Carolina. ‘‘Racing Water," who can paint thee, With thy scenery wild and grand? It would take a magic pencil Guided by a master hand. Here are towering, rugged mountains, Granite rocks all scarred and gray, Nature’s altars whence her incense Floats In wreaths of mist away. At their feet thy murmuring waters, Now are singing songs of praise, Or In sounding notes triumphant A majestic pean raise. Down the canon's rocky gorges, Now they wildly, madly sweep. As, with laughing shout exultant, O'er the rocks they Joyous leap. Then In calm and limpid beauty, Still and deep they silent How, With the verdant bunks o’erhanglug Pictured in the depths below. Pulsing from the heart of Nature, Here thy “ Warm Springs” genial gush, There, llkestream from Alpine glacier Down the mountain coldly rush. Tah-kkb ohtkk—Racing Water— Wus thy sonorous Indian name, But as " French Broad” thou art written On the white man’s roll of fame. Perish that I but live the other! For on every dancing wave Evermore is shown the beauty, Of the name the red man gave. “AN OI,l» NUISANCE.” Mind, I quote those three words. They are none of mine. Only, thinking over three or four equully appropriate titles, 1 chose this one as being the oddest, and lulwuys bad a fancy for odd things. And now for my story. Ou what my aunt (by marriuge) and her founded their cluims to aristocrucy 1 could never discover. My uncle hud been a mer chant, it is true, and one of considerable prominence in his day, 1 have been told, and so hud his father before him, and his father’s futhet before that. That iiis business in its most prosperous times was intimately connected with China is impressed upon my mind (1 became an inmate of his house when 1 was about six years old, in consequence of the deulh of both my parents within a week of each other, leaving me witli no means of support and no other relutive), by the fuel that every first of Juue saw bright new mat tings laid on our Hours, to remain there until until cold weather came again, uud that our mantels and whul-nots were decorated with many pretty, dainty little porceluin cups, thin os egg-shells—rarities in those days, but iu these plenty und cheap enough. “ Now, according to all 1 huve learned on the subject, real ” Simon pure” aristocrats look down on trade, even if on the gruudest scale, and never huve anything to do with it further than once in a while marrying one of its sons or daughters who have come into possession of millions enough to ollset the honor. However, our family (1 venture to include myself, none of tuy cousins being within hearing) assumed ull the airs of the “blue bloods” of the old country. Kleanor, qur second, wore a look of deep indignation for severuls days after a manly, clever, good looking fellow, the brother of one of her old sehool-mates, with a comfort able income, but who was juuior partner of a Hrm keepiug a retail store on Sixth avenue proposed for her hand. “The presumption of the man!” she ex claimed, raising her arched eyebrows in as tonishment, curling her full.red upper lip in scorn; “to imagine for a moment that because 1 honored him with my compuny to the opera two or three times, 1 would marry him. If his business had beuu wholesale, it would have been bud enough ; but fancy a person whe sells pins and needles by the pa per, and lace by the yard I Never I I would die first.” Minerva, fourth, was equally horror-strick en at the effrontery of a young book-keeper whom her brother Lawrence had introduced into the family circle—a rare thing for one of her broihers to do, for like all other men, as far as my limited experience goes, they scarcely ever thought their companions to be good enough to be the companions of their sisters—when he ventured to express bis admiration for her. The young man soon after succeeded to a very handsome property, end became a great swell—“a per fect too-too,” as I believe the fashionable way of expressing it now—a kind of being after Minerva's own heart; but then she was never Invited to ride behind bis fast horse, and wha* was much worse, never again asked to take the head of his table. And in like manner the graceful and en thusiastic professor of music, the stout, good-natured proprietor of the extensive iron works (“wholesale and retail”) on the next block, the young artist, who has since risen to wealth and fame, and sundry others, all falling short of the aristocratic standard set up by our family, were snubbed by my lady cousins, aided by their brothers, and not wholly unassisted by their mother. I never had at the time this story com mences—being then in my eighteenth year— a chance to snub any one; for, lacking the personal attractions of ray relatives, as well os their “high-toned” natures—truth to tell, having decidedly democratic tendencies—I was kept in the background on all occa sions. Let it be remarked in passing that Eleanor eventually married, when rather an old girl, a widower in the milk business—very whole sale, however—the father of four children. At the same time Minerva, a few years younger, deigned to become the wife of an elderly bachelor, something or other in a shoe manufactory. But they held their heads as high as ever, and declared they had sacrificed themselves for the family, uncle having failed for the second time—through no fuult of his own, dear old man—a few mouths before the double wedding. That their "sacrifice” was for the good of the family I don’t deny; but there were left at home to be taken care of three old maids, a young one, and two helpless young men who, brought up to do nothing, did it to perfection. After the failure, uncle got a situation as superintendent of one of the many depart ments in the large establishment of the gen- man who sold “ pins and needles by the pa per and lace by the yard” (he was now head of the firm, and had a pretty, lady like wife, and two pretty children), and we dismissed one of oursevants, and wereobliged to move into a smaller bouse. But, in spite of ull our efforts at economy, our income proved vastly inadequate to our expenses, and this was the cause of so much bewailing und bemoaning that our bouse seemed to be bereft of all gladness and sun shine. And one evening, after Ethel, our youngest daughter, had burst into tears be cause aunt hud declared it would be impossi ble to have ice cream, wine jellies andsimilar dainties every day for desert, for the suffi cient reason that we could not afford them, 1 ventured to suggest to the weeping damsel that if she found life positively unbearable without the above mentioned luxuries (ail the Egberts, by the way, were extravagantly fond of good things to eat), she might knit and crochet some of the worsted articles she was in the habit of making so artistically for ncrself, and sell them to—Mr. Lee, uncle’s employer, 1 wus ubout to say, when I was interrupted by a shrill shriek. "Work forusturel” she cried. “I would starve first.” “You wretched girl!” added my aunt “How can you even think of such a thing? Ethel, my durling, culm yuurself.” "It is not enough that strangers should presume upon our poverty,” joined in Cle- anthe, also frowning upon me, “but one bound to us by the ties of blood, though it must be confessed more alien than many a stranger would be, must advance ideas that shock and wound us 1 imagine”—turning ing to tier brother, Kuluud, who lay on the only lounge in the room, complacently re garding hituself in the mi rror on the opposite wall—” thut impertinent Mrs. Bradshaw coming here this morning, with the air of doing a kindness, to offer me a position as teacher in her academy 1” "Great heavens!” exclaimed Roland, springing to his feet—and the cause must be a mighty one that brings Roland to hU feet. "One of my sisters a teacher I Great heavens 1” and he went stamping about the room in the new suit of clothes aunt hud just paid for by parting with her handsome pearl ring. “ Whatever is done, we can do nothing,” sobbed Ethel. “Of course not,” replied Roland, grandly; " the women of our fan\ily never work.” I thought to myself, “Nor the men either, except poor old uncle, who is fagging at a desk from morning until night.” " But our income must be iucreased,” said Alethea, looking up from her novel, and joining in the conversation for the first time. Alethea was our eldest, and still wore her hair in the fashion of her youth, a loose curl dangliug over each cheek-bone, being fully persuaded that no other fashion was half so becoming or graceful. " Discharge the chambermaid,” proposed Ethel, “and let Dorothea” (I am Dorothea) “ do her work. It is about all she it fit for. She never had a bit of fine feeling or style about her.” “No, she never bad; she always would bite her bread,” sighed aunt, "and she has seemed sadly out of place among my chil dren. She comes of a working race, and her ideas and tastes smack of trade, trade, trade.” I discovered in after years that my aunt’s grandmother on the maternal side made a fortune out of tobacco. "But discharging the chambermaid won’t help very much,” said Alethea. “ It will not," agreed Roland. “ What is saved thereby will no more than find me in the little extras no society tnan can do with out.” “Dear! dear!” aunt took up the burden again, “could I have forseen that your father would have come down in this way, I never would have married him. I really don’t know what is to be done, unless we emigrate to some country where weare unknown, and where it don’t matter how or in what style we live." “The country!” screamed her children in chorus. “ Better die at once!” I can’t imagine where I got the courage to do so after my late sharp rebuffs, but at this moment I blurted out something that had been in my inlnd for several weeks,— “ Why could not Alethea and Ethel room together, and Alethea’s room, which is the pleasantest iu the house, be lettoa lodger?— one who would—’’ But here I paused abruptly. Alethea had fainted in the arms of my aunt, who, glanc ing at me over the top of her eldest daught er's head, commanded tne in her deepest tone (aunt has rather a boss voice) to leave the room instantly. But in a short time, during which things bad been getting worse and worse, and we had been reduced to rice puddings for des sert on week days and apple tarts on Sun days, I was allowed to prepare on advertise ment for the morning paper, in which was offered to “an elderly gentleman, who must have excellent references, a fine room in the house of a family of refinement, who have never before taken a lodger; Tor the privil ege of occupying which lie would be expect ed to pay a liberal equivalent." I disapproved highly of the wording of this call for help, but my aunt and cousins insisted upon its being couched in these very terms, and so I was compelled to yield, inwardly convinced thut it would bring no reply. But it did. The very afternoon of the morning it appeared in the paper, a carriage with a trunk strapped on behind drove up to our door. An old gentleman got out, hob bled up our steps, and rang our door-bell. “You must see him, Dorothea,” said my aunt, leaving the parlor, followed by a train of her children. " It is your affair ultogeth. er. I will have nothing to do with it.” “ We none of us will have anything to do with it,” chimed in tny cousins. “We were not born with the souls of boardinghouse keepers;” and away they sailed as I opeued the door to the second—a little louder than the first—ring of the caller. He wus short, slightly formed old gentle man, with big, bright black eyes, bushy eye brows and a long white mustache and beard. “ You have a room to let? ’’ lie asked. “ l have,” I answered, ushering him into the parlor, where he glanced keenly around, and then as keenly into my face, while he announced inu decisive tone,— “ I have come to take it. My luggage is at the door. Be so kind as to tell me where to direct the man to carry it." "But—” 1 began in a hesitating way, ut terly confused by the stranger s brusque, nut to say high toned, muuner. “ 1 But me no huts,’ " quoted the old gen tleman. “ 1 am Autos Urilttn, lately from England, where 1 have been living for the lust twenty years. Since I landed in New York,a month ago to-day,1 have been board- ingnt the St. Nicholas. But where is your mother? ” I hastened to assure him that I was em powered to negotiate with him. “Ah, indeed! Well, then, I’ll go on, though it appears to me you are rather young for the business. You ‘ have never taken a lodger before.’ I am glad of it, for reasons which it is not necessary to explain. You want a ‘liberal equivalent’ for your fine room; lam prepared to give It. That leaves only one thing to be arranged. I should like nty breakfast at eight precisely every morning.” “ Bit we do not propose to give break fast.” “I know you didn’t; but I’ll give you an other ‘liberal equivalent’ for it. You can’t be very well off, or you wouldn’t take a lodger; and the more liberal equivalents you can get from him the better. Will you be kind enough to showme to tomy room?” “ Yes sir,” I replied meekly, completely succumbing to the big black eyes and strong will power of the frail looking old man, and totally forgetting to ask for the "references” insisted upon in the advertisement. Where upon he stepped to the front door and beck oned to the man outside, who, the trunk upon his back, followed him, as he followed me, to the second story front room, “ Ah,” said our lodger, as he entered it, “ this is not bad—not at all bad.” And it wasn’t As I have said before, It was the pleasantest room in the house, and I had arranged it as prettily as I could with the means at my command. Fortunately this included a number of nice engravings and vases, and a capacious bamboo chair with a crimson cushion, and a footstool of like color. And the fragrance of the honey suckles that stole in at the window from the balcony, and the two or three sunbeams that had found their way through the half closed blinds, and danced in triumph on the wall, and a half-dozen gayly bound books (mine) on the mantle, and the ivy growing from a red pot on the bracket in the corner, all combined to make the room a pleasant place indeed. Mr. Griffin had been our lodger exactly two years, during which I had prepared and superintended the serving of his breakfast, and taken the entire charge of his room "as well as if I had been brought up to that aotl of thing,” as my cousinCleanthe remarked; and the rest of the family, with the excep tion of uncle, who became quite friendly with him, had only met him some dozen times—at which times they assumed their most dignified dignity—when he was sud denly taken sick. “ It’s an old complaint which will carry me off sometimes,” he said to me, “ but I hope not this time. Anyhow, Little Hon esty,” (a name he had given me from the first—I hope 1 deserved it I) “ to live or die, I intend to remain here.. Nowhere else could I be as comfortable. You must en gage an extra servant, and you and she to gether must nurse me. I should certainly die with a professional. By-the-by, who is your family physician?” I told him. “ If 1 am not better, send for him to-mor row. I ant going out—only a few steps,” meeting my look of surprise* “I want to see my lawyer, and 1 sha’n’t take my bed for several days yet.” That afternoon, taking care not to repeat the old gentleman's exact words, but put ting bis remarks in the torm of a request to be allowed to remain, 1 stated the case to the family. “Going to be ill!” exclaimed Alethea.- “Dear me! how disagreeable!” “I'm sure I don’t want him to stay; he might die here,” said my aunt, who had the utmost horror of death. "He’s an old nuisance anyhow,” pro claimed Ethel, “and always has been,and 1 blush that any relative of mine should de grade herself so far as to become his servant maid.” Here I will mention that my cousin Ro land, a few weeks before this, bad married a young lady with a large fortune, and'out of this fortune he generously proposed to make the family a liberal yearly allowance, besides which came many gifts from the married sisters, whose husbands had pros- pered, and thereupon had been obliged by their wives to share their prosperity with us, thut we might live at least, as Minerva ex pressed it, “with elegant economy." And so we were not entirely depeudent upou our lodger for deserts and several other things. But to go back. “ He Ib not an old nuisance," said I, indig nantly. “He is a kind-hearted old man and I am very fond of him.” " Good gracious! ” "Yes, Miss Ethel," I went on, “I repeat it I am very fond of him. And if my aunt will allow me—I am sure my uncle will—I will take all the extra care resulting from his sickness, upon myself, and no one else shall be annoyed in the least. After living beneath our roof for two years and contrib uting so bountifully to our comforts—yon needn't glare at me Cleanthe; he has, for I am quite certain r.o one else would have paid us so liberally—it would be the basest ingratitude, not to say cruelty, to send him among strangers now that he most needs care and kindness.” “ Are you quite through, Miss Reynolds? ” asked my aunt, sarcastically. “I had no idea you were so eloquent, never having beard you preach before. But on one thing I am determined—you shall not call in our doctor to your patient He is a perfect aris tocrat and has no idea we keep a lodger, and I do not wish him to know it”