Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1874-01-01
WOODSTOCK, W., THURSDAY, JAM |, 1874

ters, and talking in her tragic way to
friend who sat by her.
"Memories!" whispered she in a tone
of fathomless sadness. "Memories,
my dear sad, sad memories-that
stir my heart to the very bottom!
Whenever | unite this pink ribbon,
and see these letters, all my sensibili-
ties are aroused, memory is too much
for me!' Here Mrs. Ardory shed a
few well considered and appropriate
tears. "Ah! who can ever know
who can ever know the bitterness |
have suflered?' Then, after an inter
val of choking emotion, in which Mrs.
Ardorys eyes-and, for that matter,
her nose, also-were buried in her
lace handkerchief she proceeded in q
disiointed and finely pathetic way.
"Schoolmate, roommate, friend, |
shall never see thee more, alas..'
rs she dead?' asked her sympathiz-
ing friend.
"Worsc!!" said Mrs. Ardory, look
ing out from under melancholy brows,
and speaking in a tone that made her
friends flesh creep with terror, horror,
and ever so many other kindred emo
tions. "Wcrse! Il thousand times
worse!" Then, in an awful whisper.
"Ran away from school at seventeen
worthless fellow-mawied him, lost
all social standing and all her friends.
Oh! my poor Laura, where, where are
you to-day? What kind of q Christ
mas will tomorrow be to you, poor,
lost sheep!"
This was Mrs. Ardory with her
friends. DO you wonder that they
said, and truly, that Mrs, Ardory was
a woman Of feeling?
On that same evening Mrs. Ardory
sat in the dining room of her family,
waiting the return of her husband,
when a little ragged girl came to the
door.
'Please, Madam" said Bridget,
''she says she must see you"
Ask her wants, Bridget; and if she
is tramp, send her right away at
once. My nerves will not bear any
excitement"
"Please ma'am, she says she is the
child Of your friend that used to be
Laura Bordan, and her mothers sick.
and amt got no home, and sends to
know if you won't come and take her
into your house for the night. She's
turned into the street by the landlord,
and she's got five children
"Oh, dear! what shall I do? Why,
| couldn't have poor Laura here; I'd
die with pity to see her and half a
dozen poor children. couldn't stand
it! My sensibilities are so keen! Brid-
get, send the little thing away. Don't
let her come in. Oh, what dreadful
thing it is to have such sensibilities.
Poor Laura! how she must suffer!
Tell her to 90 to the Secretary of the
Association for the Ameioration of
the Condition of the Destitute. Tell
her | would send her some money if
my husband were at home. Poor
Laura! A beggar!' And Mrs. Ar
dory wcpt in sincere grief for her
friend, and in pity for the poor gene
rally. Old Mr.. Ardory was so shock
ed at her grief, that he got up and
went out, and did not even return to
supper, which was served a few min
utes later, when Mrs. Ardory's hus-
band came in. To her husband that
worthy lady talked most pathetically
about her old friend, her beauty, her
intellect, and her unhappy marriage,
and now this sad, sad denouement-in
the street sick, beggar, absolutely a
beggar. Here Mrs. Ardory broke
down and wept. She declared that
she would not be able to sleep a wink
that night. Her sensibilities were so
delicate. The shock of hearing from
poor, dear Laura in that way was so
rude and sudden. She hoped her sym
pathies might never be so severely
taxed again. She couldn't get over
it-poor Laura in the street.
And, at bedtime, she couldn't
sleep. She said her sensibilities were
absolutely shattered. And then, too,
her husbands father was out, and she
just knew that he would be home af-
ter midnight, in state that would
shock her more than ever 1t seemed
that everything had combined to kill
her.
CHAPTER IU-MRs. ARDORY's sENsIBILI-
TIES.
7 E,l +I,+ @lo 1,ot alo,.o,, ,>,,,.l l.