The daily press. (Cincinnati [Ohio) 1859-1859, 1859-06-07
THE sILK WEAVER or LYONS.
By MARY A. LOWELL.

The sweet atmosphere of the South, soft and
bland as airs from paradise, was filed with the
fragrance Of roses. Mruy Of these delicious
children of the sun were blooming in tho gar
deu of Angelo Boichon, the gunsmith of Lyons,
who added to his skill in fashioning warliIo
weapons, the most exquisite floral taste. All
Lyons admired the profusion and elegance Of
his roses, Of which lie cOntrived to have an
evcr- blooming succession. Old Antoine, whom
Boichon employed as a gardener, declared that
it was impossible to say which monsieur val
ued most, his daughter or his flowers; and in
truth, he seemed as much attached to them as
to her.
Rose Claudine Boichon was being "made
up of fire and sun and dow;" passionate and
gentle, ep-loving and modesto creature as
innocent as child, yet with subtle wit and
deeply religious nature combiued-a figure
all grace, q face full of tenderness, and eyes
that might be almost deemed holy in their pure
and sweet expression. Attached to her father
by the fondest affection, she entered into all
his cpjoyments, aud no less into lis cares. He
conllded TO her the details Of his business, and
asked her aid in registering his plants--their
names, ages and q1alities-and in fact, the
father and daughter were completely identified
with each other, 50 that one could not be sorry
and the othcr not weep, and one could not
smile without calling up Il corresponding smile
in the others face.
morning OF exquisite summer beauty
| called forth the gunsnith and his daughter
| earlier than their wont. 4 thousand birds
made the air vocal with their strains, and
| thousands of flowers sent up from the earth a
blended fragrance, in which that Of the roses
predominated. The clear, invigorating breezes
| of morning swept over their beds, and brought
! from thence subtle aroma that filled the
| senses with rapture. Boichon was enthusias-
tic in his praises, while Claudine remained
quietly drinking in the fragrance. After
walk around the garden, they saw a stranger
leaning on the wall; as if admiring the beauty
of the flowers. Boichon was in his most be-
nevolent mood, when he might have been
| cohxed into gift of his iavorite blossom; and
the evident admiration of the young man
warmed his heart towards him. He invited
| him to enter the garden. Claudine blushed,
and removed TO q distant spot, while her
| father and the young man cOpversed together.
| Finding that he was silk weaver, and conse-
| quently confined most Of the day to close
room, BOichon invited him to repeat his walk
| in this "widerness of sweets" whenever his in
clination prompted him.
Again and again the young silk weaver went
to look at the roses unconscious that he was
running great risk Of losing his heart by the
| means he employed TO gain exercise Already
| Rose Cluudine had become star to his path.
| lie dreaded even to mention her name to her
father, lest he should suspect it,, and give him
leave to absent himself forever. So he watched
| and waited, and came even on dark and foggy
mornings, when Claudine wore a shawl over her
| head that obscured her beauty, although moth
| ing could take away the effect of the finest pair
of eyes in the world. So thought the young
silk weaver, at least, in whom ClaHdine had al
| ready felt sOmo interest-increased perhaps by
the homage which he seemed to pay her.
AT length she suggested mat her father could
do no less than invite his new friend to break
fast on those mornings which were not so agree
able out of doors; and the next rainy morning
| beheld the young man seated at Boichon's hos
| pitable table, partaking Of cheer which Clau
| dimes own hands had prepared. Its excel
lence suggested the contrast between it and the
scanty fare which the poorer class Of silk
| weaVers were accustomed tO and then the
guest, reused TO his fayoritc subject, poured
forth such n voley of enthusiasm as to astonish
and delight his hearers.
1t was his ardent desire TO devote his life to
tho amelioration Of the condition in which
those people were placed. His childhood had
been passed in the country, with all the sweet
| influence of nature around him. His father,
NJ. jacquard, was in easy circumstances
landed proprietor in the suburbs of Lyons, but
unfortunately exchanged this comfortable in
| dependence for the business of silk weaver.
He lost his fortune and his life by the opera
tion; and the legacy be left his son was the in
heritance Of two looms. As he grew up, tho
terrible burden Of labor that admits Of no
cessation, that can afford no interval of rest or
recreation, pressed heavily upon his mind
| He saw the miserable LyOnese workmen, ioy-
| less, gloomy, stuntcd and deformed, from inces-
SAINT working at the loom, in rooms where no
| ray of sunlight ever came, and where the thick,
| horrible atmosphere Oppresses, while it does
| not kill Living in dwellings where the sun
| is excluded because it would Gndo the silks,
| and around which no tree or shrub, or any sign
of vegetation is over seeu--imprisoned within
the loom, like birds in n cage, without even the
birds privilege of moving as IL lists-knowing
the time Of day only by the light or darkness
which begins or ends their labor--fathers,
mothers, children, all bowed down alike to the
torture Of working in tho same immovablo
posture-is II not terrible to look upon or to
think of?
Think of it? Do the silkeu-clad ladies who
trail superfuOus half-yard over the dusty
bricks or the muddy crossings, ever think Of
thisY Q, gentle woman, could ye but see all
this-the pallid faces, bent forms and swollen
joints-could ye but know the ignorance and
degradation, the ioyle7s, unmeaning life--the
life which God meant to be as bright and full
of happiness and cheerful looks and thoughts
as yours, your hearts would ache.
As jacquard recounted these things, Claudine
caught his enthusiasm. She tore her silken
apron from her waist and threw it away, de-
claring that she would in future, dress only in
the plainest and cheapest materials. Bochon,
too, promised that he would do something to
interest the people around him to make life
more tOlerble. But faster than Jacquard's
schemes for the poor workman, grew his love
for the gunsmith's peerless Rose--and satisfied
that the two loved each other with worthy
and enduring love, Bochon consented to theil
marriage. He liked jacquard, saw his genius
and worth, and his own circumstances wor,
such as to allow him to give his daughter to
poor man if he chose.
In the household Of Boichon the young man
dreamed wonderful dreams, in which mechan,
ical forms superseded the love of flowers. Be.
fore they had attained TO any distinctness
however, his father-in-law had lost the for
| tune he had accumulated in big oecupation n