The Hancock Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Ohio) 1857-1870, 1868-06-12

stances he owed his happy fortune.
He was not III locking, certainly, but
he had not the vanity to think his
appearance was magnificent; and his
plain and scantY wardrobe prevented
him from doing credit to hts tailor.
He used to conclude his meditations
by the reflection that assuredly the
lovely widow was fulfilling some
unavoidable award of destiny. AS
for his own feelings, the lady was
lovely, young, rich, accomplished,
and noted for sensibility and virtue
could he hesitatep
II When the marriage contract was
signed, his establishment was re
doubled, fer be found himself,
Through the lady's love, the virtual
tpossessor of large property, both III
England and in France. The pres
ence Of friends had certified and
sanctioned the union, yet, as has
been stated, Frederic felt some
strange fears, In spite of himself, lest
all should prove an illusion, and he
grasped his brides hand, as if to
prevent her being spirited away
from his view.
"My dear Frederic said the la
dy, smilingly, "sit down beside me,
and let me say something to you"
The young husband obeyed, but
did not quit her hand. She began,
"Once on a time'-Frederic started,
and half seriously exclaimed, "Heav-
ems! it is fairy tale" "Listen to
me, foolish boy" resumed the lady.
"There was once a young girl, the
daughter of parents we'll born, and at
one time rich, but who had declined
sadly in circumstances. Until her
fifteenth year, the family lived in
Lyons, depending entirely for sub
sistence upon the labor of her father.
Some better hopes sprung up an in
dHced them to come TO Paris; but it
is difficult to stop in the descent
down the path OF misfortune. For
three years the father struggled hard
against poverty, but at last died in
a hospital.
"The mother soon followed, and
the young girl was left alone, the
occupant of garret of which the
rent was not paid. If there were
any fairy connected with the story,
this was the moment for her appear
ance; but none came. The young
girl remained alone, without friends
or protectors, harassed by debts
which she could not pay, and seek
ing in vain for some species of en-
ployment. She found none. Still
it was necessary for her to have food.
One day passed, on which she tasted
nothing. The night that followed
was sleepless. Next day was again
passed without food, and the poor
girl was forced into the resolution
of begging.
"She covered her head with her
mothers veil, the only heritage she
bad received, and STOPPING so as TO
simulate old age, she went out into
the street. When there, she held
out her hand. Alas the hand was
white and youthful and delicate II
Thus concealed, the poor girl held
out her hand to young woman who
passed-one more happy than her
self, and asked, "A sou Ia single sou
to get bread 2 The petition was un
needed. An old man passed. The
mendieant Thought that the expe
rienee OF the distresses of life might
have softened one like him, but she
was in error. Experience had only
hardened, not softened his heart
"The night was cold and rainy,
and the hour had eome when the
night police appeared to keep the
streets clear of all mendicants and
suspicious characters. At this pc
riOd the shrinking girl took courageI
once more to hold out her hand to a
passer by 1t was a young man
He stopped at the silent appeal, and
diving into his pockets, pulled out
piece of money, which he threw to
her, being apparently afraid to touch
d thing so miserable. just as he
did this, one of the police said to the
girl:
"'Ah, / have caught you, have /
you are begging. To the Office with
you-come alongn
"The young man interposed. He
took hold hastily of the meadiaant, of
her whom he had before seemed
afraid to touch, and addressing him
self to the policeman, said, reproy-
ingly, This woman is not a beggar.
She is one whom ! know 'Rut, sir
- said the officer. 4 tell you
that she is an acquaintance of mine,'
repeated the young stranger. Then
turning to the girl, whom he took for
an old and feeble woman, he contin-
ued:
"'Come along, my good dame, and
permit me 10 see you safely TO the
end of the street. Giving his arm to
the unfortunate girl, be then led her
away, saying, Here is piece of
hundred sous: it is all ! haye--take
u, POoi "oAoa'
1.-THE crown of a hundred sous
passed from your hand into mlne,"
continued the lady, land as you
walked along supporting my steps, /
then, through my veil distinctly saw
FOUR face and figure"
"My figureF exclaimed Frederic,
in amazement.
"Yes, my friend, your figure" re !
turned his wife. 1T was TO me that
you gave alms an that night. 1t was
my Iife-my honor, perhaps-that
you then saved %
"You a mendicant-you, so young,
so beautiful, and 20 rich" cried
Frederic.
"Ies, my dearest husband, replied
the lady, i have in my life, received
alms-once only-and from YOU and
those aims have decided nv fate for
life.
SON the day following that misera-
BILE night. aa old woman in whom /
had inspired some sentiments of pity
enabled me 20 enter as seamstress in
respectable house. Cheerfulness
returned to me with labor. / had the
good fortune to become a f:lvorite
with the mistress whom 1 served, and
indeed | did my best, by unwearied
diligence and care, to merit her favor
She was often visited by people in
high life. One day Sir James Mel
toa, an Englishmaa OF great proper
ty, came to our establishment along