Boon's Lick times. [volume] (Fayette, Mo.) 1840-1848, 1842-04-23
E, MISSOURI, SATURDAY, APRIL es, Is4e.

between the beauty of the young nobleSe
and the striking face of the wandering
child of song; it was not beauty to be
painted and hung in print-shop, to at
tract the notice of passers-by, nor to be
sculptured for its fine regularity. No
it was beauty in which shone mind, and
feeling and firmness, combined with easy
good nature and vigorous thought. Her
face was shaded by white cap, with large
borders falling on her dark cheeks, and
her hair, Of glossy chestnut, was braided
beneath; her forehead was high, and her
eyes of dark blue; they had once been
merry. laughing eyes, but their look of Joy
was gone, and save when she smiled with
a strange, brilliant smile, her face wore no
joyous expression. Her dress was Of coarse
blue marino. and large shawl of red
and black plaid completed her attire. Yet
she stood before Ida, not boldly but easily,
and seemed to look without any feelings
of admiration or wonder on the luxury
which surrounded the heiress, while Ida
addressed her in pure Partisan as fol-
lows:-
You are native Of la belle Francois it
not SOP
yes, my Lady, was the timid reply.
Have you been long away from home
long in Englandr
4 have no home. my lady: | have been
three weeks in this land was the answer.
i have not had home for years; this is the
only relic now remaining, (and she placed
her hand on her harp.) and it gains me my
bread
You are not selftaughtY asked Ida; you
| play too well for that. How long have you
rraclced the hsrp?'
i learnt my art from one Of the finest
masters France possessed, and it is years
since commenced. do not play so well
as used; my fingers seem stiff and less
plant than formerly. So many things are
Jailed to my mind by the tones Of my harp
that sometimes | would rather weep thar
sing
Have YOU a father o, mother with YOU?
asked Ida, ieelingly; for she felt interested
in the girl.
q have neither now, my lady. A mothe
never knew; father had, but his low
Is ,o'tet,ed and am quite aIone.''
why did you leave your home, poor e1
'tcH Was Your lther's dispIeasure The
nau-.' HIVE you no friends here? Ar,
you quite aDone7' r. asked Miss 'l4er,on, ~rrl
,sars giisJsn,nQ in her eyes,
| Oh, It IS a long story, my Iady, and yo,
,Yrj condemn me know. have not me
With such kindness for years, as now NEE
Nth from YOU. No one has manifesto
kindness for me; am an outcast-wretcf
ed and alone
Sit down there said Ida, pointing to
velvet ottoman beside her, 'and if it grieve
you. cease to speak of your home. 1t
sufficient to know you are unhappy. te'
iot you-l pity you much
oh, no, dearest lady, | will tell you all
said the Harpiste, 'lest thoughts of my VI
wor,hness. to receive your kindness, ste;
into YOUR bosom. and thus once more b.
come frIendless, even as before heard you
voice.
INV father was tutor in the family Of q
Italian nobleman, and alternately resided i
Italy and France, till, having completed tt
education Of his pupils, he left them, ma
ried, and retired to the environs Of Pari
was his only child. My mother died shor
ly after my birth, and grew up till the as
Of ten years, with him alone. 1t vas the
he sent me to Paris to school, and the
learnt the harp which now gains me n
livelihood, and became the (avorite pupil
too indulgeut master. Could he see n
here, the abject creature am, would he r
cognise in the homeless wanderer, the one
> happy Lucille Beranger1 No, he could no
would it were but dream. Remained fl
years in Paris, and then my father recale
), me, and returned home. Oh! how well
: remember that evening, when the 'dI
> gence' entered my native village, and sa
my fathers coltnge peeping out among
the trees, the summer sun setting behlT
= the hill, and the roses twInlng round Il
easements of my long remembered HON
: Beneath the porch stood my father and
Il side him person had never seen.
thought at first it was one Of his old pupi
come 10 visit heir kind Lnlnr: hul the "a