Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1871-10-13
CAMILLA.

CAMILLA.
Paul Smith was 3 poor old man. He
had back room in the top Of noisy
lodging house, whore he slept nights, and
munched his meals of bread and cheese
Tor Bologna sausage, when he could afford
1t, and from whence be crept, as harm
less and unnoticed as fly, down the corn
er of the dipgy street, to the little music
shop of Carl Bertmann, German settler
somewhere in Soho.
There he tinkered all day on broken
violins and other musical instruments,
| never absenting himself for moment,
save on Saturday afternoons, when he
went to the house of email tradesman to
| teach the piaro to three or four very stu
pid girls. Sundays he curled up in his
den, and amused himself, nobody knew
how, until Monday morning
There are few certantits he never
went to church but he picked ragged
children from the pavement when they
fell near him, and gave them half pennies
when he had any, shared his dinner often
with a NANCY, dirty cur, who acted as
sort of escape-valvo for the ill temper of
| half the men and women in the street; and
|
snooze in the gutter many cold DigEt,
and literally carried him home to Norah
and the "childreD."
AS for his hone sly, neig hbor remarked,
elf he found five sEillipgs in the stre6t,
he'd wear ont tea sbillings worth Ct
strength and shoe leather to find the own
err"
One cold night Paul was returning from
| his work, with loaf of bread under one
ill Il t1oo r+h
the street door he stumbled, and nearly
fell over q small object crouched on The
| step.
''Blees us s.! What's this ?" cried Paul,
striving to regain his equilibrium.
| "Only me, sir T. and the small object
stood:np. and became very pale, thin and
ragged child.
Are you hurt, ivtIe girl ?"
! ''NO, sir.
What are you doing out here ia the
cold p
| 'Nothir g."
"Why don't you go home ?"
81 amt got any J.
| Dear me Where's your mother ?"
| In heaven y
At this Paul was dumbfounded; an i
seeing that great tears were stealing down
the child's wan face, he thrust the violin
under the arm which had held the bread,
figure, be aid ooh I've got home
really jolly place Come up and eee."
| And III S ls the way old Paul came to
have neat little housekeeper, and to be
buying calico gowns and shoes out OF his
poor salary.
People wondered at the sight OF this
bent old man, hitherto alone and uneared
| for, now walking daily to his work with
his hand upon the shoulder of the odd, vet
pretty faced girl, looking at her with hon
/ est pride Frightening his eyes, and Iaug h.
ing as loud as she whenever the joke came
in. But old Paul looked unconcerne1,
evaded the questions of the curious, and
learned to love nothing better in this world
than the little waif, Camilla.
There were many, many days, when
rheumatism drew Paul up by the fire in
the old, back attic. and drew the last pen
ny out of the dllepidated old purse; but
brave little Camilla, never forgetting how
near death she had been on that bitter
night of their meeting, always found a
word to ward off hunger, and courage to
keep them both bright until help came.
The winter of 166-came in Ek9 lion,
as meny q poor wretch we'll remembers,
and with the first blast came Pau!'s enc
my. He turned one night sad face from
his warm corner in Bertmanns shop
among the violins, and hobbled up the
cold sire ct, feeling the approach of the old
rheumatic pains, and wondering what
would become of his poor little Camilla
His excitement carried him up to the last
flight of stairs, and hearing Camilla's voice, |
he paused to rest and to listen. She was
singing in that sweet and expressive man
ner which made her voice seem to him |
the sweetest and purest he had ever heard |
at the end of the ara he took breath,
and another voice said, "Child, you ss
tonish me. Either [ am poor judge of
music, or else your voice is the finest
ever heard. You are right in prefering it's
cultivation to any thiDg eise.'
An electric thrill shot through old Paurs |
frame, and quickened his blood to b rapidity
that quite carried away his rheumatic |
pains, and iD a twinkliDg he was up the
stairs and in his little attic.
He was terrified al the sound of a mans
voice, bat the sight of a handsome and
polished gentleman, with diamond studs
IN his snowy linen, heavy ring upon his
dainty white hand. unquestionable broad
cloth upon his back, in close conversation
with bis Camilla, whose wondrOus beauty
had Of late startled even his dull percep-
ton, was more than Paal could bear.
lie was very small man-had been in
his youth-and now that Times whitening
fingers had touched him, he was shriyelel
and dried like Withered fruit, but III his
virtuous Indignation he pulled out to his
fullest extent. and in his falsetto voice
piped, " Camilla, how dare you invite an
OF here ?"
"Oh, Uncle Paul This is Mr. Claver-
ng, a gentleman whoSe-whose-'
IS Whose mother she saved from death.
Your niece, sir, few days since, was pas
'ing through our crowded thoroughfare,
when my mothers carriage drew up to the
pavement. The horses were FESTIVE, and {
bidding the driver attend to them, she be- 6
gan to descend unassisted. Her foot was 9
IN the step, when the animals sprang fog {
ward and flung her violently from her foot L
lold. But for the sudden oct of your niece,
Who received mother in her strong young /
rms, the fall might haved proved fatal t
me. My mother at once entered shop, a
nd keeping your niece near her, sent for
ne. came to-day, at my mothers earn {
st request, to express our heartfelt graft e