The Literary echo, and Pawcatuck advertiser. [volume] (Westerly, R.I.) 1851-1854, 1853-10-20
Srlcftc0.
From Godey's Lady's Book for November,
THE WHITE HAIR.
A TALE OF THE EART.

1t Is not rare to see a woman in tn
upper ranks Of society, on whom tn
hand of time seems to leave no mark 70
years.
Endowed with all the blessings of for
tune, beyond the reach of those priva
tions which undermine the health, of TIN
cares which dim the eyes, of the grief
which wrinkle the face; secured from
all the difficulties of life and the assault
of adversely every day embellishcd b,
the hand Of fashion and the aid o
coquetry, every night made young again
in the arms of ease and indolonce know.
ing no other watching than that devoted
TO pleasure, no other yoke than thei
own caprice, no craving but for enjoy.
ment, no effort but that of living, one
might say that time has forgotten them,
as they have forgotten time. They dc
not grow old they only ripen, like q
beautiful fruit, without losing anything
of their brilliancy or freshness.
Constance de Tourvile was conspic.
ious in the first rank of these privileged
beings. Prerogatives of birth, favors OF
fortune, gifts Of nature, she possessed all
that fatters the somewhat frivolous am.
bition Of her sex, all that favors its
peculiar propensitics. Married to the
husband of her choice, mother of a
laughter who was all she could desire ;
of high standing in the fashionable world,
exempt from passions, happy in her
tastes in word, knowing nothing but
the sweets of life, she saw days, months
and years glide away, without ever ask
ing herself what hour the hand of time
marked on the dial Of her existence.
One morning, listlessly seated before
her dressing table, she had confded to
the well skilled hand of a favorite maid
her long, glossy, jet bla k hair, of which
she might well be proud her thin deli
cate fingers were playfully entangled in
the long ears of a pearl-colored King
Charles spaniel, which lay spread out
in her lap, All at once she was inter.
ruptcd in her occupation by an excla-
nation of surprise that escaped her
maid.
" "What is there, Lucille - asked
she.
go, madam, it is very singular -
"But what' will you explain your
self"
GA white hair, madam"
con whom : on yourself;" replied
Madame de Tourville, with the utmost
composure
" Pardon me, madam it is on-your
head-I think" answered the servant,
not without some hesitation.
" Pooh ! it is impossible" retorted
her mi tress, with an accent of incredu-
lity incompatible with the least doubt.
=" Madam will allow me to-take it
out :"
90 certainly, Lucille, take it out. It
must be hair off my spaniel that has
got on my head !
The abigail took the disputed silver
thread gently between her finger and
thumb, and giving it slight snatch,
pulled it out Madame de Tourvile
uttered low sharp cry. The pain was
transient as lightning but the shock
was felt in the very depth Of her heart
however, was still bent on
deceiving herself, and was unwilling to
yield 10 anything short of occular dem
onstration.
I" Let us see," said she, endeavoring
to conceal, under affected gayety, the
anxiety that prayed upon her +; " show
me your wonderful finding, Lucille "
She took the hair from the finger Of
her maid, contemplated it for a moment,
in silence, laid it on the back of her rosy
hand the better to ascertain its color
then, convinced, against her will, by this
decisive proof, she resumed, with an
emotion which, in spite of her efforts to
master it, trembled even in her voice