The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1868-01-22

the additional distress of poverty to
embitter it. Now. here are you sur
rounded with ease, and comfort. and
even luxury; yes, luxury, he added,
as he gl need round the room. You
are beyond a single care beyond that
of your own personal health and en-
joyment.'
Ali there it is! You have
touched the secret spring of my
deepest grief, exclaimed Mrs. Wick
work and to her companion S dis
may up went the Observation-Disclosures
again. IF he had but known where
that spring had lain, be never would
have touched it.
I gu may suppose what treasure
my Lavinia would have been if she
had remained to cheer me"
All, we'll you know her marriage
was considered happy one, and her
going to India with her husband was
to be expected. Have you heard
lately?' said Mr.. Dovedale, hoping
to turn the conversation into more
cheerful channel
No; and what has detained the
mails so long I cannot thiuk-sone
accident, perhaps; once, you know,
be kept in the agonies of suspense
continually is very trying
Very. but Colonel Wood will
have his furlough soon, won't he? and
then you will have them home, that
will be very cheering"
Very, when they come on account
of his health; it is most precarious;
perhaps be will have to throw up his
appointment, | shouldn't wonder.
It was like walking blindfold over
red-hot ploughshares; Mr.. Dovedale
didn't know where to set his foot; ne
determined to touch no more springs,
so suddenly looking down on the rug,
he declared it was the softest, richest,
warmest-looking thing Of the kind he
had ever seen.
Mrs. Wickwork replied that she
had been disappointed in the wearing
of it; it easily soiled, and the pile was
not sufficiently elastic.
How we'll it matches the carpetl'
said Mr.. Dovedale.
You surprise me-" said the lady;
there is no orange in the carpet, and
it is the prevailing color in the rug.
I did not choose it trusted to
others"
Well, you've got contrast at
least" said Mr.. Dovedale, rising. /
must go. | am going to see poor
lady, who is In very straitened cir
cumstances, and very delicate health
"a widow with large family to pro-
vide for
Poor thiugl" said Mrs. Wick
work, shaking her head.
am not able to do much for my
self" he continued.
6 am sure you will do all you can;
but one cannot, really, help everybody
as one would wish to do, said the
lady, her voice growing stronger, and
her looks more alive.
No, one cannot; but a poor Stckly
ooidoa0, with six orphans to maintain, "
said Mr.. Dovedale
Shocking. indeed; but there are
so many public charities | Subscribe
to one or two.
Mr. Dovedale felt sure it was to one.
| Il shall see about them" he re-
piled; but in the meantime she
wants immediate personal help. I
want to collect little for her he
uttered the last words with some hesi-
tation.
Mrs. Wickwork's face fell back in
| its usual hard lines, out of which sor-
row had drawn it, she took out her
purse, and produced half "a crown.
" don't generally give to chance ap-
/ plieations, she said, lone gets so
imposed upon; and really there is a
tax of some kind forever coming. But
[ know | can depend on you"
Mr.. Dovedale had great mind to
push the half-croWn back; she looked
so cross and unfeignedly grieved to
part with it. But he thought better
This is sweet, surely" he said,
taking it up, to be able to visit or
help the fatherless and widow in their
affection; to hold the purse of Gods
providence, and be the happy hand
to dispense his bounty"
Yes. indeed" said Mrs Wick
work, screwing ur her mouth and
putting her purse back into her
pocket.
What miserable woman she isl''
he exclaimed, as he paced on briskly
through the fog; = how shall find
poor Mrs. Mayblossom2'' and his kind
heart was panied as he contemplated
his visit to the house of mourning.
which was to be the end of his labors.
. Well, well; it's of no use to be
sentimental about it, he said; gen
uine feeling makes US forget our
selves, and weep with those who
weep; and. after all, may find
it less trying to see her real
sorrow, to which I may administer
consolation, than the selfish whining
| of that-dear. dear: what an unchar-