The daily dispatch. [volume] (Richmond [Va.]) 1850-1884, 1867-01-11
TTfE STORY OF A PURSE.


Mr.. Bullion scowled, helped himself TO
another biscuit, and pretended not to hear |;
whereupon his lady returned to the attack
| "Bullion, need City dollars"
| "Gracious, heavens, Jem how do you
spend so much money ?"
"You needn't swear, Mr.. Bullion.
| "Swearl Gracious" =,
Thcre-that will do before the chill
dren and, once for all, II my parents were
90 vulgar "a TO name me after my horrid
old fashioned aunt Jemirna, you needn't
col, mo lem. and make 1t worse"
Rnt YOU are so extravagant."
| aI-I-I'm parsimenious." 4
give hundred l gave you last Thurs.
day =, ,,
bred dollars Z"
"And now fifty"
"Dear Caroline is in rags, hut no mat
ter. Ny dear, your pa, who doubtless
has his own reasons, cannot afford to clothe
his children. I did think, when you sue
ceeded in the oil farm, should see my
family decent, .but-no matter"
"Jem-I mean Mrs. Bullion, I'll tell you
what III do. I'll give you another five
hundred, and you mustn't say money to me
| for two months Dye hear :"
| 81 hear"
"Ics deuce of bother"
"Bridgct, take the children away, can
not allow them to listen to such protane
language"
| Mr.. Bullion looked unutterable things.
Nevertheless, lie took out plump pocket
book from his breast pocket, counted out
the sum mentioned, and tossed 1t to his
wife.
"When ] say thing, | mean it," he
said, as he put his hat on. You may ask
until YOU are blue, for I'll give you no
more money for finery for two months. It's
easy to ruin man, Mrs. Bullion-easief
than you think"
And the door banged on the newly
fledged old farmer.
His wife glared majestically until she
heard the street-door also clang, and then
allowed her countenance to assume less
formidable expression. She even smiled
as she took possession of the notes.
"What temper Mr.. Bullion has," she
observed to Betsy, the nurse, who had been
dandling the baby all the while at the fur
Their end of the room.
"Men generally has, num-" said Betsy.
81 believe he thinks people can 60
naked"
"Lord, do tell, num-"
al can assure him won't"
CATER all you've done for him,
twouldn't be Just, num-"
| "And I'll tell you what, Betsy I'll take
the girls with me and spend every cent to-
day. not, mark my words, he'll expect
me TO spend some of it for market money"
"Yon'vc right not to do it num-"
Mrs. Bullion smiled in selt-apprOval and
hurried from the room, while nurse, toss
ing her charge, muttered
We're very glad n0,o, but when we
| was keeping house on Second-iloor In the
| Bowery, We would been glad enough to
have five hundred for marketin." All
times has changed.
And the baby was tossed until its recent
breakfast Of milk must have been churned
into butter.
Meanwhile, in another home, not q thou
| sand miles away, another conversation was
carried on.
4 gaunt, pale young man lay turning
and tossing upon his bed, and young wo
man sat stitching at some embroidered me
rino at his side. The room was low, close,
and poverty Stricken.
As poor a place as could be called a
room at all, in fact and close under the
roof Of house, SO that in warm weather 1t
was like q bake oven, and in rainy weather
dismal with leaks and tricklipg pools upon
the floor.
1t was warm Just now, and the door lead.
| ing to the open garnet was ajar, and through
| il came the frctlul crying of children. The
man heard them, and turned aud tossed
more than ever.
Barbara"
"Well, DEAR"
"What are the children crying for?"
"Dear, wish you wouldn't think OF the
| children"
81 can't help it; they're mine"
"And, John, your image. ! never saw
such a likeness"
"But what are they crying for'"
"My dear"
81 loN know"
"For their breakfast"
"Have you nothing to give them, my
dear?" ....
"Well, not Just now"
Great heavens
Snow, dear, don't; the work is nearly
done. Sucha pile, and Mrs. Bullion always
pays; and they shall have dinner. I-oh,
don't cry, my dear husband-don't!"
She put her arm about his neck, and he
stretched out the one he had brought home
from the weary, cruel war, and encircled
her.
"There isn't drop of manly blood left
in me. / think" he said, 81 never shed
tears before but to lie here and see you
starvc, and know that all my life shall be
poor, helpless, one armed fellow-can l
bear it ?-cau you %
"You are with me you did not die ;
you will live. / can bear much more than
/ waiting for breakfast"
And she stitched away, for the poor must
work without regard to feelings, and can
not stop to be sentimental.
AN hour more and the last little frock
will be done," she said after a pause ; and
she looked at him as women look at the
man they love and none other.
She said truly. In an hour the work
was done, and she made bundle of it and
trudged away, in her shabby hood and
shawl, 10 the door of the Bullion mansion
her boy with her, because the burthen was
too much for her alone. There she rang,
and after waiting for tardy servants to
please themselves about the time of coming
to answer her, heard that Mrs. Bullion was
on the street.
GA shopping" said nurse Betsy.
"But Lor, now you might drop in this
evening""
And the heart of the seamstress sunk
within her, as yours might perhaps had
you had no breakfast.
This evening Nurse Betsy saw between
that time and the time of speaking, lunch,