The Madisonian. [volume] (Washington City [i.e. Washington, D.C.]) 1837-1845, 1839-10-19
MISCELLANEOUS.
From The Ladies Companion for October:
VICISSI UDES.
BY EMMA C. EMBuRY.

..s.. ..... BY EMMA c. EMBuRY.
"Ths life is all chequered with pleasure and woes
That chase one another like waves ofthe deep: .
Each biow, as brightly or darkly it flows,
Rejecting our eyes as they sparkle or weep"
... Moore.
During my residence in -, few years
since, | had frequent occasion to cross the
river which separates it from New York, and
| seldom entered the cabin of one of the little
steamboats,, without finding some subjects for
speculation among the passengers. | was
particularly struck with the appearance of
lady, whom often met at an early hour in
the morning. Her dress, which generally at
tracts lady's notice first, was slightly ou,re
in its character; she looked as if she might be
an Englishwoman, and yet, the shade of diff
ference between her costume and that Of
others, was so slight as to be undefnable,
though quite perceptible. But my eyes did
not linger long on her dress, when it had once
fallen on her exquisite face. 1t was not the
beauty which painters and poets dream, but a
living and breathing loneliness, such as sell
dom greets the sight in this dreary world
Apparently about twenty-five years of age,
her face was small and symmetrical her
complexion Of the purest white, her cheek
colored with the most delicate tint, her
mouth exquisitely chiselled, and her eyes Of
the deepest blue. Contrary to the prevailing
fashion Of the time, her dark hair was drawn
back from her broad, white forehead, falling
on her cheeks in long ringets, and her small
hat formed, as it were, the frame of this sweet
picture. She was always alone, and ap-
peared to be quite unacquainted with the peo-
pie among whom she lived, for she never ex-
L. Al. IL II,
My curiosity became so much excited, that
I found myself noticing every trining pecu
larity in her appearance and manners. soon
found that she was by no means the child of
wealth, for her dress, though always neat,
was evidently indebted TO her own hand for
its attempt at fashion. Her dresses were not
made by modiste, nor were her bonnets i'm
ported from Paris. Her capes and handker
chiefs lacked that superabundance of French
embroidery and Mechlin lace, which ladies
then affected, and, upon the whole, to the
eye of one of the uninitiated, she had the APP
pearance Of woman who had more taste
than fashion, more beauty than fortune, and
more intellect than either would have given
any thing TO discover who she could be. 1t
was most tantalizing to my curiosity, TO see
her so often take seat beside me, and sit in
perfect silence, with her quiet sweet face, un-
lighlened by smile of recognition.
One morning observed that she carried
with her small faded looking portfolio
This was new subject for speculation
What did the portfolio enclose mot music,
for it was too small-perhaps prints--perhaps
drawings. But my conjectures afforded no
insight into the truth, and was forced to see
her turn one way, while | proceeded another
without learning what her portfolio had to do
with her history. From this time | never
met her without it, and one cold morning in
December, my curiosity seemed in fair
way Of being gratified. She was wrapt in a
large shawl and as she was stepping on, Of
the cabin door, her foot struck the sill, while
in striving to regain her balance, she dropped
her portfolio. 1t had been imperfectly closed
and fell open on the floor stopped to pick