The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1868-08-08
POLLY'S ONE OFFER.
IN SIX CHAPTERS.

"Fm not wishing to complain, but it is a
hard life to he left widow with children,
and nothing certain to bring EN- up TO-. l
hope my girls may never marry to be left as
Twas. Poor James didn't expect it, and
I'm sure looked for something very differ.
ent, or should have thought twice before
I'd plunged into such troubles. A family
comes before you We time to turn round, and
nobody would believe the wear and tear of
boys but them that have them,-not that
girls are not terrible anxiety too. And it
isn't so much when they're li,tle,-when
they're little, after you've put 'em to bed,
yon know they are safe and out of mischief,
and there is peace in the house; it is when
they're getting up your real troubles begin.
Jack is no sooner off my hands than there $
Polly to think oF,-poor little Polly that was
seventeen yesterday, and was only baby
when her father died, there she sits !" and,
as she concluded. Mrs. Curtis raised her
right hand and let it drop heavily into her
lap again, and groaned as if Polly were en-.
gagged in the commission of some moral
enormity past expression in words.
The stout old lady, Mrs. Sanders, to whom
the widow was pouring out her injuries at
the hands of Providence, groaned respon.
sive, and looked at Polly with slow shake
of the head, which seemed to imply that
her case was as bad as bad could be-
"Thank the Lord, never had no children"
said she, with solemn gratitude; "they'd
have killed me outright. Sanders Is quite
enough by himself! Nobody knows, but
them that has 'em to put up with, the cur
Gus ways of men. Take warning by your
mother and me, Polly, and never you go 10
marry, to be dragged to death with children,
and made slave by husband ~ Won, let
you have sixpence in yorr pocket, aad
him that extravagant VIII Sis n'rhs. anG has
com n,ittee. and bis noD------, &C. i'sl.-'' W
never be surprised if we was IL ti.u Gazette
next week.
Polly's rosy little dewy face laughed ali
over, and she cried gayly: That ! wa y,
Mrs. Sanders; you and my mother ase p
perfect antidote to the romano OF FANNY
affection. If ever feel tempted 10 fall ia
love, I'll remember you, and be saved the
folly"
"Folly, indeed, and worse than folly
calculated Mrs. Curtis, and stared YEARLY
into the fire. 81.
She deserved to be weary. Mrs. Sande5s
had come in at three clock out o. ,he
November fog it was now five, and Gr'ie
dusk in the little drawing room, and not ole
cheerful word had either attempted to s'J
to the other. Polly would have run out Of
hearing of their monotony long since, bit
there was no other fire in the house to es'
cape to except Biddy's in the kitchen, which
was no: So edd up" till tea'time; so she
had fallen back on the patience of col
tented heart and sweet temper, and her
precious faculty of mental abstraction,
which she had cultivated to high degree IN
her mothers society. And q very wise mea
sure too, for though Mrs. Curtis bemoaned
her widowed lot without ceasing, Polly well
knew that her griefs were fictitious now, and
that she enjoyed nothing so much as good
uninterrupted wall with vulgar old Mrs. San.
ders. In fact, all her real cares had been
taken off her shoulders by other people NJ
fast as they arose, and ON this particular
November afternoon, she was so much at a
loss for grievance that she could only re-
cur to the event of seventeen years ago,
when benefcent Providence had relieved
her of husband Of whom, during his life
time, she had never spoken save as u "try.
ing" man. Jane the eldest daughter and
the eldest Of the family, had assumed its
headship Immediately on her fathers vacat.
ing it, and had, by her teaching of music
and singing, earned its daily bread since she
was as young as Polly was now. Uncle
Walter had taken james and Tom from the
grammar school successfully, after helping
to maintain them there until they were OF
an age to 90 into training for physic and d.
vinity, the expense of which training he
bore, with the assistance OF Uncle Everard ;
then Uncle Everard's wife, who had no girls
of her own, had adopted Lily, tho second
daughter, from quite little thing, and had
brought her up with every luxury and in.
diligence of rich mans child; and lastly,
Uncle Robert, who was a civil engineer, had
lust taken Jack into his house and Office,
with the understanding that he would pro-
vide for him entirely if his conduct was sat-
isfactory. The worst Of this was, as Jane
said, that they could never be one house
again but her mother, who had no sentl'
ment, protested that it did not matter, il
they were in the way of promotion In the
world: large families must scatter, and all
she wanted was to see them get on, and be
independent, and not subject to poverty as
she had been. Jane acquiesced in the ne.
cessity for the boys, and only hoped they
might keep little Polly at home; for little
Polly was her pet, her hearts darling and
delight from the day of her birth until now
that she was sweet, blooming, blushing
little woman.
R-. little Polly, for a wonder, had fancy
for getting away from &c dull suburban cot
tage whence the boys were nos'-l' gone fol
good, and had lately proclaimed her 'owl
intention to 60 out AS q governess, and not
continue burden on Jane.
"a burden ~ echoed Jane: "why, Pol
ly, you are my only joyl'
But you will not have to work so hard
when can help mother from my salary, and
don't at all dislike the idea Of going ont.
as some girls do. I'm not afraid" said
Polly, with the brightest brave look on hel
bonnie face.