Weekly Calaveras chronicle., 1866-07-28
MR.. THoMPSoN's UMBRELLA.

"Augusta, I wish you would practice
Chopin's march. Mr.. Thompson likes
music"
Oh !! how sick I was of hearing about
Mr.. Thompson My poor aunt, she
meant it very kindly, of course, but she
little knew how she made me hate those
single gentlemen whom she so wished
me to please. 1 was an orphan, and had
forty pounds year and my aunt's annu-
ity died with her; so suppose her anx-
iety to see me married was both COM
mendable and natural, but to me it was
dreadful. Moreover, perhaps because
was proud girl, and perhaps too, be-
cause l was foolish one, the mere fact
of man young or middle-aged-for
only the old and welded were excluded
coming to the house on my account,
made him detestable 10 my eyes. l
should not wonder If that were rot the
reason why l pleased none. I was said
to be pretty-I may say that now. alas
it is SO long ago-but palmer girls with
no greater advantages than | had, went
off at premium in the marriage marke
and remained Augusta Raymond, un-
cared and unsought for. did not care,
not I. I only lamented Tat aunt would
worry both these unfortunate gentlemen
and me with vain efforts to make them
admire me, and make me like them.
She was my best friend, however, and
loved her dearly. So l now sat down tc
the piano and played Chopin's march,
and practiced for the benefit of the de-
voted Mr.. Thompson, who was to come
this evening, and who little knew, poor
fellow, he had been invited to spend a
week with us for the express purpose Of
falling in love with his sec nd cousin S
niece. | had not seen him sincaI was
a child. He was young man then, tall
dark, and grave, and already Oh the road
to prosperity. He was rich man now
at least rich for such poor girl as
was, but he was Mr. Thompson, and ]
hated him; besides, he mnst be old.
quite old
thought OF all OF these things while
| was playing, and then forgot them,
for the divine music bore me away, aud
music was passion to me then.
We lived in the country, and small
but beautiful garden enclosed my auut's
cottage. 1t was low one, with bread
rooms, little dark, perhaps, but strange.
ly pleasant. At least, they seemed SC
to me. l dearly liked thereon in which
now sat playing. 1t was our bes,
room, but it was also our sitting room.
A central table was strewn with books
some of which were dear old friends,
and others were pleasant and new &C.
quaintances. Flower-stands, work bas-
kets, and delightful chairs, chairs made
to read or dream in added to the attrac
tions of this apartment. 1 enjoyed il
even as played; but then, to be sure,
the windows we're all open and every one
gave me glimpse Of the green garden
with patch Of blue sky above its nod.
ding trees, and the sweet scent of the
mignonetre came in with every breath Of
air. Where are you now, pleasant room
and green garden? !? The ruthless hand
of man has laid you waste, and my eyes
can see you no more. Is there no home
for lost places, no dreamland like the
Indians hunting-ground, where the
things that have once been may enjoy
shadowy existence Are you really
for ever gone and lost, save when you
come back every time woman, whose
hair is turning gray, hears that grand,
mouruful music to which your pleasant
homeliness would seem so little akin
"My dear! Mr.. Thompson /" said
my aunt's voice, as l closed the instru-
meut. 1 turned round and saw him ;
tall, dark, grave, very little altered, and
not at all old. We had expected him
for dinner, and he had come for lunch ;
1 forget how. the mistake arose. As he
opened the garden gate he met my aunt.
They heard me playing, and stood by
one of the windows to listen. When /
ceased, they entered the room, and it
was then that, as l said, saw him.
l did not know it at the time, but l
knew it later liked him from that very
moment. I am not sure that every girl
would have liked Mr.. Thompson. : He
was decidedly good looking, and he was
both shrewd and pleasant but he had a
oua;ut and abrupt manner, which was