Los Angeles daily herald. [volume] (Los Angeles [Calif.]) 1873-1876, 1874-03-29
The Brave Daughters Defense.
BY +. p, GALLOWAY.

William Necker, the good, honest
man who had risen up at his country's
need, and by his wise counsel saved
France from financial ruin, was to-day
Inundated by the bitter reproaches of
his sovereign and the nobility.
His notable corn-laws, which only q
great financier could have conceived
and executed, had lifted from the ma
ton an enormous debt, and replenish-
ed her treasury. Louis XVI. rested
on Necker to support bis lettering
throne, and the people looked up to
him as the only man who could save
France from bankruptcy. Some of
his recent acts, however, had excited
clamor among the royalists, who were
at heart his enemies, and with base
ingratitude they now overwhelmed
him with unjust censure.
Louise Germaine Necker, who sat
in her little boudoir above her fathers
library, listened with aching heart to
his slow, heavy step, as he paced his
room YEARLY to and fro like one who
bends undera great burden. Although
only girl of fifteen, she understood
well the anguish of his soul. Her love
for her father was one of the passions
of her life, and all of his sorrows were
Ter sorrows.
1t was stormy day; the rain pat
tered in a sorrowful monotone against
the quaint old mullioned windows;
the wind walled mOurnfully around
the turrets and gables of the old cha
teau, and now tossed the branches of
neighboring trees wildly against the
easements, which raJtled and shud-
dered as with pain.
Louise stood in an oriel window and
gazed out fearlessly into the darkening
sky and raving storm. 1t suited her
fearless nature, and she loved to watch
it IN it's widest moods. Her imagina-
ton was so vivid that she could see in
the flying clouds the genii of the storm,
whose ewes flashed lightning, and
whose chariot wheels rolled like thun-
der over the sky. She often fancied
that she heard the carven gargOyles
under the caves shrek when the storm
was at it's highest, and that the stony
lions below crouched low as the foam
ing rain dashed over their shaggy
names.
At such times as these, beautiful
thoughts would thrill her soul like
strains of music, and she could dash
off whole pages of rhymes which, in a
few moments, she would give to the
flames. Her fathers guests, who
were attracted to the bright young
girl by her charming ways and spark
ling sallies of wit, wondered more at
her brilliant talents as an inlprOvisd-
tore. At moments warning, she
would improvise the most charming
little songs, accompanying them with
music of such beauty and tenderness
that her listeners were always enrap-
tured.
But there was no poetry in her soul
now. Her fathers sorrow seemed to
crush all joy out of her young life.
Now and then, as the storm lulled,
she could hear her mother trying
in vain to comfort him. She threw
herself on q low couch and sobbed pas
sionately. Oh if her father only
had some true, noble friend, she
thought, to stand up bravely and tell
the people what he had done for them,
what a preserver he had been to France
in her hour of need But who was
brave enough to face the strong tide
of royalist's reproaches? None !! no,
not one she could think of in her sor-
row.
She remembered the cruel words of
malice which her father had read to
them from the morning journals, and
they seemed to burn themselves into
her brain. She leaned her head on
her hands and tried to think OF some
thing she could do to help her father.
If she were king, she would have his
enemies banished to the farthest cor
ners of the earth. If she were gem
eral at the head of an army, she would
destroy them. If she were only sol
der, she would make them answer for
those bitter, unjust words at the point
of the bayonet. But she was neither
king, q general, or soldier-she
was only little girl-there was only
one weapon at her command. Would
it avail
Her whole face was illumined with
a glorious thought. Springing to her
feet, she ran to lock her doors, then
wheeled little writing desk into her
favorite oriel window. For few mo-
ments she sat leaning her face upon
her hands. The wind ratified her case
ment, the rain hurried past; the fly
ing cloud-genii peered curiously in,
but none could divine her thoughts.
She might have been asking help from
Him who is a stronghold in the day
of trouble. Her arm was weak, but
His.was strong.
She commenced writing. The first
page was blotted with tears and thrown
away. The second shared the same
fate. The third page she commenced
earthly, writing in bold, masculine
hand AS she wrote on, her fathers
wrongs rose up wildly before her; her
indignation waXed hotter and hotter;
bitter sarcasm flashed along her lines.
The wild music of the storm, too,