The Columbia herald. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1850-1873, 1872-02-09
OCTAVIA HADLEIGH'S STORY.

Where and how shall / begin it?
Unlike Canning's knife-grinder, L
hdue story to tell but to live thing
and relate it are so different.
TIwonder if the humble moth, safe
lIv sheltered beneath the protecting
greenery of some household cabbage,
ever feels a thrill of envy when the
gorgeous butterfly, with wings all
ablaze with velvety maroon and gold
alights close by him? If so, the moth
must feel just as l felt when Cornelia
Bydexter sat in our poor little parlor
that November day, with her chains
and rings, and looped-up draperies of
cashmere, and primrOse-colored kid
gloves buttoned with links of gold.
1t was rather hard; for could re-
member the old days when Cornelia
and went to school together, and l
wrote her compositions for her, and
looked out hard words in the French
dictionary. There is no republic like
a school, and Cornelia was thankful
to be allowed to sit next to me then !;
and now she actually presumed to
patronize me; no, not exactly that,
either, for Cornelia BydeXter, not
withstanding her lack of brains, was
an honest, warm-hearted sort of girl.
But the poor are sensitive, and al
though / was pleased to see my old
schonlmate, the pleasure was not un-
mixed with bitterness.
Yes, we aUere poor; and the fact
stared me in the face wherever ven
tured to look. That We had been rich
was no matter of consolation. The
room was filled with ill-assorted relics
of furniture that had once been splen-
did in rosewood shine and CLEANS of
satin and brocatelle. The carpets,
now worn threadbare, were Of royal
velvet and Administer, and the whole
apartment bore vestiges of that shabby
gentility that poor pretense OF new
ness and freshness, which is more
pathetic by far than the undisguised
front of poverty. / was tired OF
arranging the curtains SO that, the
darned holes should fall in the inner
folds. / was weary of putting glued
chairs in the least-used corners, and
setting mended china vases in the
shadowy hooks of mantle and table.
Where was the use Did not every
body see through our miserable de-
vices? We were pOverty-stricken,
and there was an end of it.
And yet poor papa sat there in that
| forlorn, second-rate little room like a
Viscount in his reception chamber.
! Dear papa! ever since this paralytic
stroke he had seemed to believe in
himself to degree could not possi-
bly, attain to, and to imagine that the
world also put faith in him. Nor
would we have had it otherwise. And
dear mamma, who could not look
aught else than a lady in spite OF
mended laces and oft-turned silks,
never told him of the daily contests
with unpaid butcher, dissatisfied
baker, and clamorously insolent can
| dle-stick maker! And Jeannete and
/, just at the age when life ought
according to all We have read and
| heard-to wear its sunniest aspect,
grew up in the shadow, crying softly
to ourselves when it was bitterest to
indure in silence-for it was part of
our domestic creed to keep all the dis
agreeables from poor papa.
"Yes," said papa, nodding his head
as he sat in gorgeous Turkish dress
| ing gown by the window, his slipper
| ed feet on an embroidered ottoman,
| and one white slender finger inserted
between the pages of the book he had
been reading all the mOrning-"yes,
you are quite right, Miss Bydexter
Octavia is growing very pretty"
And / could feel myself blushing
scarlet, between my delight at receiv-
| ing a compliment from papa and my
embarrassment at feeling all the fam.
ily eyes-Miss Bydexter's included
turned upon me.
"It's a shame she should be shut uI
herev' said Miss Bydexter in hel
soft soprano voice, when all the
world is getting ready to enjoy itself
Come, Octavia, what do you say t.
going to New York with me thi:
winter?"
"Wife," said papa loftily-some'
how the manner was just as natura
to him as the air he breathed-"why
don't we send our little girl to New
York? Miss BydeXter's kind offel
ought not to be sighted, and it really
would be q great advantage, socially
speaking, to the child"
Visions of Broadway seen through
the sunshine on December day, o
the Fifth Avenue and Central Park
Stewards and Delmonico's, of bras
bands and lighted bathrooms, sho
dizzily, across my brain for the in
slant, as a hungry man dreams of un
limited food. / felt the burn of tn,
kindling lights in my eyes as look
ed from papa to mamma. And theI
| eonca for fr,x
ened off her throne, came back t,
| me, and 1 knew how impracticable
not to say impossible, the plan was
But Jeanette uttered little raptur
GUS cry:
"Oh, Octavia. wouldn't it be nice
If we only had the money"
/ "Yes-if" mamma answered, witt
that soft moonlight sort of smile sh
had at times. "But you know m.
dear"