The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1870-04-26
oRKNEX,
t cf.,ta, II OR THE
FORTUNES OF JULIET CLAYBURN

The seat at, - ullet'5 side was vacant.
Little Jennie, hearing the door slam,
turned her Head, and seeing Juliet sitting
alone, put down the poker, with which
she had been punching vigorously OF the
fire. and approached her.
''May Isit in yonr lap?"
Silently Juliet lifted her up.
''Now tell me pretty story, as Uncle
Karl tells me-"
"Does he tell you pretty stories?"
''Ach jai such beautiful, beautiful
stories-like you read in books A long
time ago he used to tell ue the funniest
things, but you see now it is very differ
ent. He only tells us sad things for die
schone Jungrau est todt, and poor Uncle
Karl cannot go to her grave"
''And is that the reason he is so sad
here2" i5s..
"Jgreizick If he could only carry
the sweet flowers he picks, to her grave,
he would feel better"
IT dare say lie would. Does he ever
talk to you about herr"
''Neial stein! We dare not mention
her name to him, for it would make him
cry-he loved her so herslich. -Ach. she
was such aalovely lady, just like you,
Cousin Juliet, only her eyes did not
look like flowers, and her hair did not
shine like this gold ring, but was long
aud black, like mothers mourning veil
Why, you have three rings, and have
only one. Brother Rudolph gave me
mine. Who gave you this pretty one?"
"a friend of yours-somebody who
used to live with you"
"Oh, know. It is Herr Theodore.
He has given me ever SO many pretty
things. because am his little pet. DOES
he love you, too?"
HE says he does"
''And do you love him?"
Rudolph entered.
"What are you prattling about, my
sweet little sch,Dester?"
''She has the family gift of gab," said
Juliet, smiling, "and speaks charming
patois. Her sweet adulteration of Ian
guage reminds me of your own sprachen
p,ischung when you were o little boy.
multitude of ages seems to have elapsed
since then. To think a few years ago,
the elegant and fastidious gentleman be-
fore me, with snch wonderful acquire
ments as, q linguist, was only small
urohin, iabbering bad English. Is it
orediblep Canst believe it?"
"One has to believe some things
difficult to believe" drawled Rudolph,
with lofty air, which would have beft-
ted admirably Lorenzo the Magnificent;
''but I'll tell you what it is, Juliet,
although I've had some trouble in my
time with Horace, and Homer, and
Virgil, and other ancient worthless, and
besides, have adsundry difficulties with
hearts, and darts, and eyes, and highly
seasoned pies, still. on my honor, I
would willingly give up ten years of my
future life, if we could live that past
time over, and live it rightly"
"We would live it just the same," said
Jnliet. Experience is q false teaoher.
She gives us wisdom, but she gives it
when wisdom is useless. We are seldom
tried twice in the same way, and every
new test needs new experience.
''And do. you say, then, the past has
taught you Hothingy"
''On the contrary, it has Taught me n
great many lessons" said Juliet, land
one is not to tolerate an impertinent boy
when he becomes unruly."
Juliet saw no more of Karl that night,
and, indeed. as the days passed ion, she
saw less and less of the sorrowful man.
They were seldom, by the merest chance,
thrown into company, for his melan-
choly was 40 deep seated, he Stunned
the light and shrank from human obser-
walton. He seemed, too, to be in rather
valetudinarian state of health, and had
acquired such unsocial, solitary habits as
seldom to mingle with the family, even
at meal times. It was touching to be-
hold their devotion to him-the compass
sionate interest and respect with which
his deep sorrow inspired all who ap-
preached him. Even the little children
ceased their wild mirth. and softened
their gleeful voices, when ''poor Uncle
Karl" was about. Juliet tried to Danish
him from her mind; when they met she
tried to forget his presence, his very ex-
istence, bnt Karl's changed demeanor, in
most efficient manner, rendered this
impossible. True, he was somewhat
altered in appearance, but this was moth
ing to the alteration in manner. All that
airy, delicious humor, all that impetuous
fancy and impassioned freedom of Ian
guage, all that exhilerating mirth and
tropical redundancy of life, had disap-
peared from the once brilliant Karl Won
oppenheim. He was conspicuous OBJ
ject now, for qualities the very reverse;
for to those who had known him before.