Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1874-10-01
NO..227.
THE POVERTY CURE.

Gated and battling disease, which for want
OF better name was cbristened by her
physicians and friends nervous debil-
ity."
The slightest excitement or exertion
lett her actually prostrated and weary,
and every muscle and nerve in her system
Kept her painfully conscious of their ex-
lstence. The luxures that surrounded
ner were only to her a realization Of the
fable of the cup of Tantalus. True, she
had an elegant carriage, fine horses and
many servants but the fatigues of driv-
ing out were far greater than the pleasure
of drive, and she rarely attempted it.
She had fine library. but books she had
never cared for; and if she had loved read
ing. her eyes We're so weak as to put that
amusement out of the question. An ex-
tensive and choicely-kept conservatory
was part Of Mr.. Durand's establishment;
but the odors of the flowers made bis wife
faint and sick. She had no taste for fancy
work, that busy idleness which saves so
many women from ennui Embroidery,
crochet, knitting and netting she had tried
in turn. and each tried her and made her
head ache. Her three children generally
paid her visit once day; but it would
be difficult to decide which enjoyed it the
least, or was most pleased to have it over
the boys or their mother. The children
were glad to escape from the hushed,
gloomy chamber. where everything they
did seemed to be out of place and wrong,
50 constantly were they checked from be-
ing bosterous or troublesome, and Mrs.
Durand experienced a sensation of relief
when she had kissed them all, and seen
them safely marshalled out of the room by
their nurses; for she had done her duty.
and felt that she had seen the last of them
for one day at least.
After this morning visit she had nothing
to do but lean her aching head YEARLY
back on the pillowed easy chair until her
physicians coming reused her from her
listlessness for few moments. This call,
and q still briefer one from her husband.
just before dinner, were all that varied the
monotony of her life.
Mr.. Durand was kind.hearted man.
and reasonably fond of his wife; he had
spared no pains or expense to restore her
to health he had made no objection to
the trial of the pathies-allopathv hom-
Gopathy and hydropathy-and only
shrugged his shoulders, when, as last re-
sort, healing mediums were called to the
rescue. He had gratified her every whim:
had taken her to every variety Of climate
without word of remonstrance he had
visited the springs far and near, in search
Of that health which was nowhere to be
found, until at last, after going round the
whole circle of remedies in vain. il had
been Mrs. Durand's own proposal to re-
main at home under the care of her own
family physician.
Meanwhile, as his wife's malady, though
incurable. seemed not at all likely To
prove fatal. Mr.. Durand's anxiety, which
at first had been extreme, died away. It
grew to be matter of course that Maria
should be sick, and his daily call and this
stereotypcd dialogue become equally hab-
itual:-
We'll, how do you feel to-day, Maria p,
"No better'-with sigh. ..My head
is as bad as ever"
"Sorry to hear it."
A pause-then a glance at his watch.
"lts near dinner time. Good night.
Maria, l wish you could sit at the table
with me-"
This conversation almost without a va
ration, had been repeated day after day,
until it was as much part of Mr.. Du-
rand's daily life, as his dilner, the cigar,
the evening paper, and the quiet rubber
OF whist with the few cronies, that fol-
lowed it.
The lonely evenings Mrs. Durand spent
as she did her lonely days, reclining in
her chair, or on the lounge-her thin
white hands shaded by exquisite and cost
ly lace, folded and lying idly in her lap,
while with half-shut eyes she gave her
self up to sad reveries.
1t seemed almost like dream to her to
look back, as she often did, to the time
when rosy. plump and joyous country
maiden, she raked hay, made butter and
cheese, washed dishes, and even scrubbed
the white floor OF her aunt's neat kitchen.
Her small hands, now white and soft, had
been red and hard once; her transparent
cheek had been sunburned and Drowned;
but her rustic beauty had won the heart of
the rich city merchant, whom business
brought up ior few weeks to the neigh
borhood of Max eton, and not MANY
months later she became his wife. City
lie was entirely new to Maria Durand.
and for few seasons she had enjoyed it
to the full. Parties, the opera, and all
sorts OF gayeties succeeded each other,
until suddenly her health failed. And
now SO young, while life held out to her a
cup overflowng with delicious and in
toxicating draught, one drop of bitterness
poisoned it all. 1t was hard, indeed.
and poor Maria Durand shed many
scalding tears as, in the solitude of her
own room, she contrasted the present
with the past
She had plenty OF time for such refiec.
ton. for the calls of her many friends. and
the inquiries after the health of "dear Mrs.
Durand," had grown less and less frequent
until they had almost entirely ceased, and
she who had been at one time reigning
bell-admred. fiattered and envied-was
now forgotten.
The circle in which Mrs. Durand had
moved. was not unusually heartless, but
sickness is test which never fails to dis
tinguish the counterfeit from the genuine
friendship, and it must be confessed that
few human beings have a fountain OF SYM
pathy which will sustain drain of four or
ilve years, without at times running dry.
As ii conscious of this, invalids are very
apt to make up for the deficiencies of 9TH
ers by bestowing all their sympathies on
themselves; absorbed by their own suffer-
ings, they forget all others. Mrs. Durand