The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1868-07-17
breath-a tune whose burden was

little disposed for work that morning.
And when, at IL o. 'clock, Judge Cor
nell came in, there was but q hope.
less chaos of papers on the table to
represent his young partners iaatu-
tinal labors. a irNss4 % sb-,al
''Why, Grover, you haven't ac-
complished thing this morning.
said the old Judge, glancing keenly
around through his antique silver
bound spectacles. iHI am afraid that
the pretty girls at Squire Dockthorn's
party last night, were too much for
your mental equilibrium" r
"Well, you see sir, I've been rather
sorting the papers over" said Harry,
a little sheepishly, "'and I've written
"Two letters?". aS
eyes, SIR"
"One was to old Miss Experience
Browne, about that lot she wanted
to sell me-a regular clipper-giving
the old hag piece of my mind; and
the other"
1.-THE other-?"
''Ahem-that wasn't exactly bu-
siness letter. Now, Judge, suppose
you and I look over these ejectment
papers together!''
The Judge smiled slyly. He had
an idea as to what the other con-
tained. Every one in town knew
how hopelessly Mr.. Harry Grover
was in love with pretty Ariel Browne.
Judge Cornell had been young him
self not so very many years ago.
"It's just as well for the lad to
marry and settle down." thought the
old gentleman; "and Ariel will GER
tainly make as sweet q little wife as
mortal could wish for"
Harry needn't have been so mys-
terious, sealing and directing his two
letters at the tall desk behind the
Office door.
Judge Cornell knew just as we'll
what was in them as if he had read
every word with his own eyes. But
young people have o mistaken idea
that old people don't know any
thing.
Miss Ariel Browne sat in her win
dow, busy with q complicated piece
of bright-colored web-work, that Ia
dies call Crochet" when Bridget
tapped softly at the panels of the
door.
''Please, Miss Ariel, letter."
ga letter-and for me! Dear me,
Bridget, who can it be from?"
"Faix. then, and it's meself that
doesn't know; but Lawyer Growers
office boy brought it, and an impu-
dent young spalpeen it is, to"
But here Bridget became conscious
that her young mistress was paying
no attention to her, and withdrew
into her department of the kitchen,
there to nurse her grief in solitude.
Arie's cheek had turned as pink
as the inside of wild rosebud, as
she read the superscription of the
letter; and her heart beat, perhaps
pulse Or two faster than was its wont,
but she broke open the missive with
q resolute hand, and read:
"My Dear Miss Brown: T"Rather
cold beginning" she pouted.1 I
must beg leave to decline all further
negotiations with you. AS you can
not, for moment. seriously suppose
L care to possess anything so utterly
worn-down and good-for-nothing, it
is useless to waste either of our time
in any more preliminaries. I will
call, this afternoon, and return to
you the papers you so unnecessarily
took the trouble to send to me.
"Yours, very truly,
Ariel threw down the note, and
burst into tears.
.The cold-hearted, presumptuous
villain!" she sobbed. "Papers, in
deed! I suppose he means the note
l wrote him about the picnic. Oh!
how foolish I have been-how ab-
surd- and L am rightly punished for
my folly"
But still Ariel wept on. When n
girl of eighteen has built up q glitter
ing castle in the air, whose founda-
tions are laid in her own heart, she
cannot see it dashed ruthlessly into
ruin, without few natural tears.
Meanwhile, Miss Experience
Browne, ptat fifty we'll ripened
autumns, was reading, with no little
astonishment, the letter which
Bridget's enemy, the postman, had
brought for her.
"Up-on my word!" exclaimed
Miss Experience, slowly and empha-
tically. "The impertinent young
fortune-hunting humbug. Does he