The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1870-03-27
PAULINE:
CHAPTER I.
- = ~ ~ L 5'79s-sl " SO -
A TALE OF REAL 2LIFE.

CHAPTER 1.
1t was in Vie autumn of the year 49, that
one of the most elegant mansions in the city of
Philadelphia gave unequivocal evidences of a
soiree of unusual splendor. Carriages in quick
succession stopped before it's door, and one con-
tinued stream of gaiiy, dressed percentages
poured into the ample hall. The gorgeous
rooms into which the guests were ushered gave
ample evidence of the princely opulence of the
possessor. At the upper end of n suite of apart
ments, furnished with regal magnifcence,
stood Mr.. Calvin Seward, the most elegant man
of his day; tall aud we'll proportioned, dressed
richly and with the most fastidious taste, yet
in every, even the most trihing respect, CORES
ponding with q gentleman of his age, which
one unacquainted with him would suppose to
be about forty, but which in fact was fifty five.
The most casual observer would from his broad
and lofty forehead, and from the smoothness
and evenness of his features, pronounce him in
tellectnally gifted, and of mild and amiable
disposition. Upon his arm leaned Pauline
Seward, his daughter, who embodied all the
beauty loftiness, and amiability of her father,
seftened and perfected in the finest touches of
feminine grace. She had inst passed her nine
teenth summer; all days of sunshine and bliss,
and if her dark eye flashed with eloquence in
the consciousness of the possession of intellect
ual powers far superior TO those around her,
if it fell beneath the admiring glance of the
multitndes who worshiped at her feet, it was
equally the result of unaffected simplicity
uncontaminated by the sophistries of society.
Let us take this opportunity to survey scene
whose dazzling splendor was never surpassed
in the palmiest days of luxurious Rome The
bewitching harmony of lutte and harp impart-
ed its fascination to a scene around which re-
fnement and art had thrown the most enchant-
ing attractions. The mirrored walls threw
back floods of light, completely changing night
to day, and annihilating the remotest approach
to shadow, richly carved and cushioned fur
niture, and antique chairs elegantly contrasted
with Turkish ottomans Whatever the most
fastidious Sesire could crave, here invited to
luxurious ease
We have said the season was autumn. The
month was October. 1t was at period when
winter did not languishingly lnger until the
new year had commenced its career; but when
it came furious1y ON with bowling winds, and
rain, and snow, long before autumn had COM
pleted its course in the circle of months. The
night was dark and desolate. Keen northwest
winds came sweeping down with sleet and
snow, and the curious gazers, who had been at
tracted by the gay equipages and music to loi-
ter near the door, had long since sought the
comfortable shelter of their peaceful homes.
One little child Of sorrow alone remained.
Barefooted, her dress in 'shreds, and with no
no covering on her head she stood cow
ering in the dark recess of the steps.
She had wandered long and far that BIT
yer night for charity; but no kindly heart
mao ", warmed at her appeal. Almost in despair
she mad just been seeking contemporary shell
Ter, where she might lay her hapless head for
one more cheerless night, if indeed the bowling
storm should not crush the fragile flower be-
tore the morning came, when the flood of light
issuing from the door shed ray of hope upon
her biighted, but pnre and trusting heart.
Here is plenty, light and warmth," she whis-
pered to herself; maybe poor Marie may here
be heard" Become timid as a startled fawn by
frequent rebVtfs, she crept>softly and slowly up
the marble steps. 1t was long, lingering a
trembling effort that she made; but at last
there she stands fulln the blaze of light the
picture of hopeless Woe; her face uptlrned
frozen tears glistening upon her paid checks
her attenuatea hands clasped convulsively up
on her breast, while her thin fingers worked
with the agony of suspense to what might
be the result of this last appeal before she lay
down. perhaps to die. Some time elapsed be-
fore she could summon the courage to speak |
and wien she did SO it was almost with the
tremulous shrek of despair.
Dear good sirs, poor Marie has no friends or
home dear mothers dead, and fathers gone, !
and Marie Is left alone. She is cold, and wet, |
and hungry pity, dear sirs, and Heaven bless
your Thus, sinking upon her knees, she made |
her feeble prayer.