Ashtabula weekly telegraph. [volume] (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1853-1873, 1859-11-19
Poverty Cure.

| years she had been the the victim to COM
plcated and battling disease, which for
want of better name was christened by
her physicians and friends, nervous debii.
ty."
The slightest excitement or exertion left
her utterly prostrated and weary, and eve
ry nerve and muscle in her system kept her
painfully, conscious in their existence the
luxuries that surrounded her were only to
her realization of the fable. of the cup of
Tantalus. True, she had an excellent car
riage, fine horses, and many servants but
the fatigue of riding out was far greater
than the pleasure Of drive, and she rare
! ly attempted it. She had fine library,
but books she had not cared much for; and
if she had loved reading her eyes were so
weak as to put that amusement out of the
question. An extensive and choicely kept
conservatory was part of Mr.. Durand's
establishment, but the odor of the flowers
made his wife faint and sick she had no
taste for fancy-work-the busy ideness
which saves so many women from ennui-
Embroidery, crotcbet, knitting and netting,
she had tried in turn, and each tried her
and made her head ache. Her three child.
rem generally paid her vsitoncea day; but
it would be difficult to decide which enjoyed
it eaast, or was pleased to have it over
boys of their mother. They were glad to
escape from the hushed, gloomy chamber,
where everything that they did seemed to
be put out of place and wrong, so constant
ly checked for being boisterous or trouble
some and Mrs. Durand experienced a
sensation of relief when she had kissed
them ALL and seen them safely marshalled
out of the room by their nurse-for she had
comfortable consciousness that she had
done her duty and that she had seen the
last Of them for one day at least.
After this morning visit she had nothing
to do but lean her aching head wearily back
on the pillowed easy chair until her ply
sician's coming aroused her listlessness for
q few moments. This call, and still brief
er one from her husband, just before dinner
were all that varied the monotony of life
Mr. Durand was a kind man, and rea-
sonably fond of his wife he had spared
no pains or expense to restore her to health !;
he had made no objection to her trial of the
pathies-allopathy, homeopathy, hydropa-
thy-and only shrugged his shoulder when,
as last resort, healing mediums were call
ed to the rescue. He had gratfed her
every whim had taken her to variety
of climates without word of remon-
STRANGE had visited all the Springs far and
near, in search of that health which was
nowhere to be found, until at last going
round the whole circle of remedies in vain,
it bad been Mrs. Durand's own proposal to
remain at home under the care of her own
family physician.
Meanwhile, as his wife's malady, though
incurable, seemed not at all likely to prove
fatal, Mr.. Durand's anxiety, which at first
had been extreme died away. 1t grew to
be matter of course that Maria should
be SICK and his daily call and stereotyped
dialogue became equally habitual.
"Well, how do you feel to-day, Maria ?"
mo better"-with sigh. My head is
as bad as ever.
"Sorry to hear it,"
A pause-then a glance at his watch
at is near dinner time. Good bye, Maria
i wish you could sit at the table with
me-"
This conversation almost without a va
ration had been repeated day after day,
until it was as much part of Mr.. Durand'S
life as his dinner and the cigar, the even
paper, and the quiet rubber at euchre with
few cronies, that followed it.
The lonely evenings Mrs. Durand spent
as she did her lonely days, reclining on her
chair or on lounge-the thin white hands,
shaded by exquisite and costly lace folded
and lying idly in her lap, while with half
shut eyes she gave herself up to sad rever-
ies
1t seemed almost like dream to look
back as she often did, to the time when, q
osy-plump and joyous country maiden, she
had raked hay, made butter and cheese,
washed dished, and even scrubbed the
floor of her aunt's neat kitchen. Her
small hands now so white and soft, had
been red and hard once her transparent
cheek had been sun-burned and brown. but
her rustic beauty had won the heart Of the
rich city merchant, whom business brought
for few weeks to the neighborhood Of
Mapeton and not many months later she
became bis wife. City life was entirely new
to Maria Durand and for few seasons she
had enjoyed it to the full. Parties, the
opera, and all sorts of gayeties succeeded
each other, until suddenly her health fail
ed. And now, so young, while life held
out to her cup overlooking with deli
cious and intoxicating draught, one drop of
bitterness had poisoned all. 1t was hard,
indeed, and poor Maria Durand shed many
scalding tears, as in the solitude of her own
room, she contrasted the present with the
past.
She had plenty of time for such reaec-
tions, for the calls of her many friends, and
the inquiries for the health of "dear Mrs.
Durand," had grown less and less frequent,
until they had almost entirely ceased, and
she who had been at one time a regning
belle, admired aud hattered and enVied,
was now forgotten.
The circle in which Mr.. Durand had
moved was not unusually heartless but
sickness is test which never fails to dis
tinguish the counterfeit friendship, and it
must be confessed that few human beings
have fountain of sympathy which will sus-
tain drain of four or five years in the di-
rection without at times running dry.
AS if conscious of this, invalids are apt
to maka nm for oil the da6 oiancas cf otharo