The Louisiana cotton-boll. [volume] (Vermilionville [i.e. Lafayette], Attakapas, La.) 1872-1883, 1873-12-31
A LITTLE CLUB AFFAIR.

hotel was nearly silent. Up and down
with a supple, leonine motion peculiar
to her, and a football Of velvet, turning
her black eyes restlessly, and whirline
about if the air stirred in the passage
thus she had moved for hours.
Was she heroine in distress? Was
she a woman of gifts, evolving some
creation from her sIeepIess brain? ]
am sorry to bring her down to earth
she was a fit subject for romance. But
it must be confessed Isabel was only
waiting for her husband, who was out
late. Had she been a sensible, practi,
cal woman, she had wrapped the drape-
ry for her couch round her and laid
down to sweet dreams long ago. But
she has only been wife year. Her
husband was her single tie; she lived
her life in him.
Isabel was beautiful. Her flesh was
like marble lighted by fire; her hands,
her eyes, her lips, the poise Of her
head, her undulating motion, had an
elegance of their own. But when God
lent her the gift of loneliness, He ad-
ded thereto the gift of supersensitive-
ness, through which so many are graded
to melancholy and madness. She had
been the ward of bachelor uncle, who
felt he did his whole duty if he visited
her twice year at her convent, and an
swered her sorrowful black eyes with
mods and winks of approval. When she
was ready to enter the world, the charge
Of a young lady niece so taxed his free
dom, and, by consequence, his spirits,
that he laid him down and died. He
hadn't meddled in matrimoDy. Why
should his autumnal youth be spoiled
by a foster daughter? The problem
shovelled him into the grave.
Then Burnham appeared to Isabel.
His family and hers had been on friend
ly terms whole generations. He had
Just returned from long tour, and had
the.air of other continents around him,
which fascinated her senses. After
wards his best grew upon her; his gen
erous nature, his pure intention, his
mellow thought, the whole fine struc-
ture of his manhood. She knew little
of the worl /; she made him her
standard. So that when Burnham came
wooing and made her sure that all his
happiness was in her, she staked her.
self, and was blessed in proportion to
her intense sensibility.
When Isabel became a wife, she did
not degrade her hero. Her very esti-
mate kept him up to her. Proud and
tender of her, he walked to rectitude,
and softly, before her, many moons and
never meant to deviate.
But
(The chapter recording Solomon's fall
begins with 6ut.)
But Burnham was a society man; he
had such jovial friends, who formed
such a jovial and select club. The
'sPickwick Club" run over with money
and leisure and graceful gayety. To be
a " Pickwickian," was to be recognized
as a tip-top gIobule Of the city cream.
Youngsters of family looked forward to
rising into this club much as the young
Roman anticipated the toga of man.
hood. It welded an absurdly strong
influence. The "Pickwickians" met in
elegant apartments, drank imported
wine, attended by perfect and silent
service, and rallied at the worked,
sad-visaged world. Young husbands
were considered great conquests among
them, and they importuned Burnham
so much to join them that he good
naturedly took to "running in % From
taking friendly cigar and glass, he
went on to extending his stays till the
fascination of the club ran through his
veins.
Isabel knew nothing of clubs. She
supposed they might be assemblages Of
gentlemen with something of literary
character, such as Addison pictures.
She saw in her minds eye sober citizens
grouped about tables, reading, perhaps
smoking, and discussing wisdom. She
waited for her husband because she was
restless when he was away, not because
she had any righteous tongue in pickle
for him.
Feet shuf1ed in the hall. She bent
her neck; her whole body crouched to
listen. They drew nearer, zig-zagging;
they paused at her door; and the being
outside, evidently an animal without
hands, began to rub and tumble and
growl for entrance.
Isabel threw the door open, when a
person in a very bad hat, with his whole
apparel somewhat on one side, fell at
her feet. 1t was a stage scene, but
terribly real with one actor. Isabel
started back, raising and wringing her
hands, and staring al her husband like
maniac. Mr.. Burntam gathered him
self up and took observations. Some
drunken men are abusive others maud
lin; others jolly. But Burnham was
pompous. He found sofa, and mount
ed it TREMENDOUSLY to barangue his wife
on her duty as "genl'men to c'nduct
self like genl'men-driyedullcare way"
and made as consummate and disgust
ing fool of himself as it is possible
for a mans body to do when that fine
spirit which governs is drown d.
Isabel stood watching without moving
a muscle. The stare drew his attention,
and he requested leave to ask if she was
drank, and if she meant to :" suit him. "
Then ovarwrought by his own elo'
quepce, he relaxed and dropped alang