The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1866-07-31
[From Dickens All the Year Round.l
Mr.. Thompson's Umbrella.

v
Chopin's march. Mr.. Thompson like,
music"
| Oh! how sick I was of hearing abou
| Mr.. Thompson! My poor aunt, she mean
lit very kindly, of course, but she little
knew how she made me hate those single
lgentlemen whom she SO wished me tt
lplease. I was an orphan and had forty
pounds year, and my aunt's annuity
died with her; so I suppose her anxiety
to see me married was both commendablt
and natural, but to me it was dreadful
Moreover, perhaps, because I was proud
tgirl, and perhaps, too, because 1 was q
foolish one, the mere fact of man, young
Tor middle-aged-for only the old and
welded were excluded coming to the
house on my account, made him detesta
bic in my eyes. | should not wonder if
that was the reason why I pleased none
I was said to be pretty-I may say thai
now, alasl it is SO long ago-but palmer
Igirls, with no greater advantages than
had, went off at a premium in the marri-
Iage market, and l remained Augusta
Raymond, uncared and unsought for.
ibid not care, not I. Ionly lamented that
Iaunt 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 I now sat
down to the piano and played Chopin's S
march, and practiced for the benefit of
the devoted Mr.. Thompson, who was to
come this evening, and who little knew,
poor fellow, he had been invited to spend
week with US for the express purpose
of falling in love with his second cous-
ms niece. I had not seen him since
was child. He was young man then,
tall, dark and grave, !!and already on the
road to prosperity. He was rich man
now, ,-at least, rich for such a poor girl
las was, but he was Mr.. Thompson, and
hated him; he must be old, quite old.
thought of all these things willis
was playing, and then forgot them, for
the divine music carried me away, and
music was passion to me then
"My dear! Mr.. thompson said my
aunt's voice, as l closed the instrument.
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 to luncheon; I forgot
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 I ceased,
they entered the room, and it was then
that, as I said, saw him.
did not know it at the time, but l
knew it later; l liked him from that very
moment. | 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
quaint and abrupt manner which was apt
to startle strangers. liked it we'll, how
ever. I liked that eccentrieity which
never took him too far, and that sligh.
want of polish which gave great flavor to
every thing he said or did. l liked;all,e ,ex-
cepting his umbrella. That I detestcd.
1t was large, soiled, massive and dread
fully obtrusive. He had 1t in his hand
on that bright warm day, and long as our
acquaintance lasted, 1 never saw Mr..
Thompson without it. Later, when OIL
intimacy had progressed, I taxed him with
this. "Yes, he said good humoredly, i
confess it is my hobby. Ny earliest am
fbition as boy was to possess an umbrel-
la, and my greatest happiness as man
is to go about with one"
i Of course We did not speak about his
umbrella on this the first morning We
spent together. Mr.. Thompson praised
my music, and, looking me full in the face
told me 1 played diyinely. He said i
without preamble, and l saw he meant it
Ny aunt was delighted and felt pleased;
but somehow or other,I also felt that Mr.
Thompson treated me like little girl
and SO he did-not merely then, but evel
afterward. Tiresome man! had tho'i
him old before I saw him. | could not
make him think me old now that he saw
me.
\ Mr.. Thompson did not stay a week
| with us, but month. Oh! that happy
month, with long golden days and deli
cious evenings, and music and sweet con
versel shall | ever forget it? If the ava
kening was bitter, let me remember tha
: the dream was very sweet.
Mr.. Thompson was to leave US mex
morning, and We were in the garden to
gether. knew by this time how fel
: toward him, and, kind though he was,
e doubted if he cared much for me. An
when he said, Augusta, I have some
+ thing to say to you," my heart began tt
beat. He used to call me Augusta nov
and then, he having known nae as child
}, but never had he said it so kindly as thi
{ evening.
All, WE'LL I suppose many women hay
to 60 through the bitterness which cam
to me then. Mr.. Thompson had met m
n cousin Jessie at Mrs. Gray's, proposed t
her, and been accepted. From the mo
) ment he mentioned Jessie's name,I kne,
' my fate. Without seeing it, | suppose
: she had ever stood between me and ever
Itlgood. She had taken the friendship {
e my best friend, the liking Of my neares
lrelatiye-I was notreally my aunt's niece
Ionly her late husband sand now she ha
:: forestalled me in the love of the only ma
!. I ever cared for. Surely she was not
!; blame for that, but, OIL how hard, ho'
i. very hard, it seemed to mel The nigh
o ingale sang in the trees above us, pun
r brilliant stars burned in the sky, the gal
den was full of fragrance, and Mr.. Thomr
son went on pouring Jessie's praises
/ my ear. She was so handsome,s so brigh