The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1854-07-27

tied years made him vince, and the more, per
hapsb as the naughty lady, motioning me {
follow, swept from the ROOM without excuse 0
intimation. AS paused at the door. Ireceiy
ed gracious smile and fatherly benedic
ton.
An admirer of yours - said, as we enter
ed a small, but simply elegant chamber. which
was Mary's study. No!-yes,u she replied
"for believe the fellow likes me but then b.
would not marry an actress, you know, though
he might condescend to the sister of one, To-
the sake of the purple and fine linen.D
Can he be go designing?" asked.
Not more SO than other men, | believe.
replied Mary, but he has quick eve fol-
wealth, and quick step for eminences-he al
ready occupies an enyiable position, and is on.
Of the rising men of the city,
His habit she said, was to make friends O
all the men, women, and children, he met-tt
learn all they knew about all things, and hold
1t IN reserve for come occasions in which i
could benefit him. He frequented all places
that were open to him, signing sometimes
she was inclined to believe, as he passed ope
rss and theatres, and in all ways availed him
self of all means whereof he could learn any
thing, great or small.
He knew then, and could forever remember
she assured me, the length and color of the
ribbon on my neck, and the probable cost Of
my slippers.
Bat these were peculiarities, or foibles, no,
really faults, and, after all, Mr.. Screwhard was
worthy young man, and, but for the exceed
ing broad surface he gave to some real piety,
would be a hkesble person.
] could not but think, as heard the low
and trembling tones of Hetty, in conversation
with him, how differently she would have spo-
ken of him. With calm, cold, distrustful eyes
Mary saw-not so she--to her he was all in
all he had taught her in the Sabbath school
he had prayed by her sick bed, had encouraged
her little efforts to DO good, and useful, and,
above all, had praised her beauty which no
man else had done.
Gentle, loving Hetty-perhsps that night,
In all the great city, beat no happier heart; and,
with something OF it's happiness reflected upon
us, | resumed my old seat, and Mary the
thread OF her story, as follows:
"tWho on earth can be coming at this
hour?' exclaimed Martha, CHANGING at the
clock, which said it was half past eight and
taking Hetty between her knees, she began to
unite her frock, as though, whoever was COM
ing should be made aware of the unseason-
ableness Of the hour. Como in said my ia
Their, at the same time shutting from view the
evidences of scanty supper and a strange
gentleman entered the room. CHANGING at
Martha, and the undress of the child he apol-
ogzed briefly and politely for the intrusion,
making known his GRAND without acceptip 2
the profered chair, and holding his hat in a
way to prevent the snow from dropping on the
floor.
"He was our neighbor, Henry Richards but
| recognised him previously to his saying so,
for the voice which had heard on the night
of his arrival seemed to me familiar. His
child, he said, was sick, dying, he feared-and
being stranger among strangers, he had been
forced to draw on the kindness of his neigh
bors, not too largely, he hoped.
q remarked at the time, and often after re-
membered it, as on index of character, that
when he had made known his GRAND, grave
as it was, he followed it Immediately with some
pleasantly about the stormy night shaking
the snow-hakes from his thick brown curls,
and the light laughing in his blue eyes, the
while. In the most heart-rending circumstan-
ces, he was alive to the disagreeable state of
the weather and tho acquisitions Of gentle
breeding.
"Martha took Hetty on her knee, just as
she would have taken up stick and when
she leaned On her bosom, for she was tired and
sleepy, Strengthened her to an upright position,
and replied to Mr.. Richards that she would
have her daughter 60 and watch with the
child, indicating me. She then jumbled to-
gether, most inopportunely, an invitation to our
neighbor to remain and pass the evening, and
the communication of the fact that she had
just returned from donation party, at Parson
Goodman's. OF course, Mr. Richards declined
the invitation, and in reply to the intelligence
concerning Marths's late movements he said
'Ah, madam, have you So?' bowling slightly,
and smiling az thOuph Oratified.
al felt mortified for Martha's behaviour
her mouth drew terribly to one side, | thought;
but when she went on to say, that married
folks had all the trouble in the world, and that
no matter how badly off person was it was
but jumping cut Of the frying pan into the fire,
to get married, tried to think Of ell the great
and solemn things ia tho world, in order to
dwindle her foolishness to its proper insignif.
canoe; but it wouldn't do-Mr. Richards
stood listening deferentially, and by her, taking
the dimensions of us all. | could not help
going close to my father, and saying-'Why
don't you say something's But he only an
swered in a subdued and mournful whisper
looking sideways at Martha You know
Why did know why, and made no further
entreaty; but while my step-mother deseanted
on the beauty Of her former home, the number
Of its religious privileges, and the extraordina-
~ growth of the potatoes in that part of the
country, withdrew, for the arrangement of
nv toilet, which | made, with view to my
appearance, as much as might be, from
wardrobe SO scanty as mine.
"sReady? - asked Mr.. Richards, seeming to
indicate that had been very expeditions and
bowling to Mrs. Halstead and to my father,
who, think, had not spoken to him, and to
little Hetty, who had slipped off Martha's
knees, and lay with her head Topped back
ward, and her bare legs burning, and conse-
quently not aware of the adieu, we went out
into the night and the storm.
al think | remember every word Mr.. Rich
ards said to me, during that short walk.
had not been accustomed to be treated as
woman, and the new sensation gave me such
pleasure as had rarely known.
"The snow was falling fast now, and through
its white shower / remember of seeing Charley,
still skipping the rope, and Of turning my face
from him, as if that would prevent my compan-
ION from observing him. All, me must own
lt-for the first time in my life was ashamed
OF my brother. 1t is o sad, fearful thing,
when the children who have eaten at the same
table and slept beneath the same roof arrive at
that point from which their paths henceforth
lie apart. 1t the grave has closed over friend,
we gather solace from the knowledge that they
loved us to the last-that we tended and
watched them till the need was over: but
when affection grows slowly dim under the
mildew of Indifference, and a sense Of the old
fondness returns only now and then, it is min
gIed with more than funeral sorrow. Per-
sons who have lost limb, are said to feel a
consciousness of being whole sometimes, and
also to suffer repeatedly the pain of dismem-
berment and they who hare lost friends by
alienation, experience something akin to this
but, where was talking of that winter
walk, and the snow all the fences were
xrh;ta oil tba orchard trees were whlte-and