True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, 1857-09-16
STEUBENVILLE, OHIO, WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER is, 1851

Mary R. to do with the young lady
| asked about ~
"That lady is her youngest daugh
ter :"
"What !! Can it be possible :"
Given so; the handsome and accom-
plished belle is the daughter of the pool
Scotch girl who once sought refuge
from winter storm by our kitchen fire
side, and who begged us so earnestly iol
employment"
"Strange, strange :" murmured and
| bent my silvered head, while, for mo
ment, persons and scenes Of the dim past
came dancing before my memory like the
shadowy forms of dreamland. "Wha
changes do few score years bring about
Are her parents living!
'EIer mother is dead; but her father i.
still alive, and is one of the most wealthy
and influential citizens of c. where
he yet resides"
II ~
The iron horse was putting at the de.
pot, and as stepped toward the cars, my
ears caught the cry of an orange boy
"Oranges, Sir ?" The tone was so plain
tive and sweet that stopped TO look al
the little merchant who was offering his
fruit to the passengers who were standing
around awaiting the starting of the trair
"Oranges, sill :" Familiar words, but
they fell upon my ear so sadly and ear.
nestly, thai they spoke whole tale ol
poverty and woe. "Oranges, sir :" The
voice seemed so familiar that almost
startled.
"Here my little lad I'll take some ol
your oranges"
The boy approached me briskly, his
large brown eye lit up, as much, perhaps,
by my kindly tones, as by the prospects
of sale. As he respectfully extended
his basket toward me, had fine oppor-
tunity of surveying him His clothing was
plain and worn, but neatly patched, and
perfectly clean. His whole appearance
his delicate and intelligent features, his
graceful form, his correct accents, his
refined bearing-bespoke a parentage ol
no. ignoble stamp.
"What is your name, my boy ?"
"Charles +, sir"
A shadowy image of some we'll known
friend of former time, had been floating
through my memory, ever since l had
heard that musical voice call out "Oranges
sir :" and that name Immediately
brought it distinctly before me. l could
not be mistaken. Those eyes that wavy
chestnut hair that expressive counte.
nance, were just the same, that years
ago, had admired in my friend and
neighbor, Charley T..
"Where do you live :"
81 live with my mother and grandma
in ---- street."
The whistle of the locomotive admon-
ished me that the train was about leaving;
but all thoughts of reaching home that
day, had been dismissed, as | had resolv-
ed to seek out and assist my old friends
family.
81 will take all your oranges. Come /;
show me the way TO your mothers
house."
l followed him to his home, dingy
little dwelling near the outskirts of the
city.
Age and misfortune had wlinkled the
brow, and bent the form of old Mrs. T..
and when told her my name, and clasp
ed her bony hand in my own, she burst
into flood of tears. Poor old lady J.
Memory was busy with the scenes Of
better days, when, in the full tide of
wealth and beauty, she had mingled with
me in many joyous meeting. A little
girl was sleeping upon the bed, and its
mother, the widow of the old lady's only
son, was-or had been-briskly plying
the needle. Her haggard face, tinged
with hectic flush, and her contracted
chest told too plainly, that she was stitch
ing her life away
"Sewing ut once with a double thread,
A shroud as well as shirt"
But twas all the support they had,
save the few pennies earned by her boy,
and-bread must be bought, even though
the price be blood-precious blood
"Oh, God that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood SO cheap |"
| did not stay long-for my heart was
full. and The tears were struggling to force
themselves from my eyes--but slipping Q