Whig and tribune. [volume] (Jackson, Tenn.) 1870-1877, 1872-01-20

have dropped his chisel, despairinG
Of ever doing them justice.
And then she busted, and Will,
she busted she sang. What g voice
| Don't mention Nilsson-I won't heal
it!
And then she drew up chair, anC
sat down beside me, having first re
moved the handkerchief and the i'm
provised apron. Then she shooE
her curls and addressed me:
''My dear uncle, let us have {
talk"
Her uncle! If my heart had sud
denly changed 10 lump of lead, il
couldn't have sunk any quicker thar
it did then!
| "You know" she continued, "that
you wrote nae letter saying thai
you considered it best for me to stay
at the farm until you wrote again
/ But, then, l didn't want to stay
| felt so lonely away out there, hardly
seeing a new face once in month
| for the twelve years l have beer
| therefor you know you left me
there when l was six years old
/ Well, / thought 1 would come up to
| the city, so | took the fifty dollars
and bought this suit. Mrs. Marsh
picked it out for me. You know she
has been in the city, and so came
and you're not angry, are you2 Be-
cause, if you are, Pll go right back
again, uncle-indeed Willp
Ny feelings during this brief
speech had been very painful.
gradually awoke to the fact that il
was all q blunder-that the visit OF
this angel was not intended for me,
and / felt very bitter over the dis
eovery; but my own duty was plain.
''My dear child" said L, humbly,
"will you have the kindness to in
form me what your name is ?'
She opened her eyes, and then
laughed.
@Why," she said, ''surely you can
not have forgotten me5 Little Bess,
you know"
Little Bess ?7 I repeated.
''Bessie Ludlow" She said grave
Iy. "Your niece"
"No," said l, sadly; "not my niece.
1 have no niece! There has been
some error. Ny name is Floyd"
"Then," said she, "you are my un-
cle-AIr. Richard Floyd l saw the
name on the door. and so came in.
Now you do remember me, don't
you?"
"Sorry to disappoint you, Miss
Ludlow, said 1, calmly, "but I am
not your uncle. You saw the name
of r.. Floyd on the door; my name
is Robert"
"Then," said she, hopelessly,
"Where is my uncle 2"
1 felt bound to confess my igno-
rance, whereat she sat looking in
credulous. explained that strange
as it might seem, / did not know
everybody personally who happened
to rejoice in the same surname as
myself.
i'But," l said, cheerfully, seeing
her look blank, "wes can soon find
out. Here is a directory. Now, your
uncle's name is Richard Floyd 2"
"Yes."
'tHis occupation Or-profession ?'
"Eh ?"
"What does he do fora living ?"
''Nothing. He's rich-aWful rich!''
"Ah! a gentleman BekoldI two
Richard Floyds, both gentlemen.
Leu u5 uOpO lnCy alC.Nt WV SCl
ready and Wen go and find your
uncle"
She stood by my side in the street,
and looked ten times more bewitch-
ing than ever. We walked along the
streets, and how my malei friends
stared and wondered and envied me.
We found the first Mr.. Floyd just
stepping into his carriage, in front
of his house. He was big, pompous
and vulgar. tapped him on The
shoulder.
''Your niece, Mr.. Floyd" L said.
and l commenced to explain, when
he cut me short.
"Nothing of the kind-not my
niece; an adventures, no doubt.
You're a swindler, Isuppose. Drive
onp
l inwardly avowed to assasSinate
that man some dark night. My
companion grasped her pongee
"Ohi 1 could beat him :" she said
savagely.
l trembled at this outburst.
'But, however," she.said, laugh.
ing, "that's not my uncle. He's a
very quiet man. saw him about
eleven years ago. He only came tO
see me Once-I suppose because
am poor relation"
Here she laughed, as if being q
poor relation was something funny
which it isn't.
Then we tried the second Mr.
Floyd; he was the uncle. We found
him reading a book of sermons.
| accosted him, introduced myself
and his niece. Then l explained ev
erything and turned to go.
He stopped me and asked me if
/ would do him q favor.
/ answered that l would.
''Then," said he, calmly, "tak,
this young lady and put her on TIT
cars. l desire her to return imme
diately to Cedar Farm"
Uncle % she said.
'fNiece J" said he, "do as l bid yol
IL am your only friend. Dom
make me your enemy by your fool
ishness. Stay at Cedar Farm, and
am your friend; leave Cedar Farm
and you may regret it. Cop
| We went.
She sobbed. UOoking prettie
than every
'I can't go back" she walled
"They don't know Ileft-I am afrai
to go back"
"Then," said l, "what win 20
al don't know" she said, defiantl
l-(prettier still.) But l won't g
found myself in a nice predics
ment-yOung lady, age, IS, on m
hands, a bachelor, age so. Whs
was to do.
A sudden thought! would
"My dear" said /, 81 will tax
care Of you"
"You!" (Astounded and prettier'
eyes, 1! Marry me! Instead @
my niece. be my wife. Will you?
She could not give me an ansWe
Immediately. Such important ques
tions require deliberation. She wa
silent tor two minutes and then sh
said:
al like you"
E'BIess you,' said l.
"And you want, some one TO tax
care of you?'
az do"
81 will marry you, for that roor
isn't half busted"
We are married!
And that is the way it happened
''StOP MY PaPer.''
One of our exchanges has the 70
lowing allegory, which we commen
to the careful consideration of thos
gentlemen who, the moment the
see anything which displeases thel
in the columns of their local journa
J rush to the printing Office and CT
ont sESfOy, my ,nanar.',