The true northerner., 1875-01-08
THE OLD POCKET-BOOK.
A New Years story.


It was New Years Eve. Every store
was open, from the grand palace en-
poriums to the narrow stalls where pen
MES were treasures.
Out of the busy throng who wended
their way through the noisy streets,
there was one with whom my reader is
asked to take brisk stroll upon the
New Years Eve in question. He is q
tall man, past fifty, with curling, iron
gray hair, kindly blue eyes, and face
that, having gravity resting upon it
habitually, can light to sunniest bright
ness when kindness or humor stir the
radiant smiles.
Into the jewelers. to select pair of
costly bracelets out again to enter q
neighboring toy-shop, where q life-size
baby doll, a rocking horse, baby house
and sled were only foundations for the
piles of expensive toys that caught his
eyes over to the confectioner' where
white paper bags multiplied under his
directions into dry goods store, for
an Indian scarf his wife had admired O
day or two before, and where dresses
for the servant girls could be selected !;
in and out, busy and happy, piling
pockets and arms, Charles Haughton
spent nearly two hours in the heart of
Broadway.
Everywhere he met the most prompt
and deferential attention. Smiling
clerks moved with alacrity to fill his
orders, and courteous cashiers grace
fully accepted his handsome checks.
For his face was well known as that of
q prosperogs merchant, and his name
was good for over million dollars.
His pretty, winsome wife was belle in
the most aristocratic circles, and his
children had never had a wish ungrati-
fed. His house in Fifth avenue was
well known for its lavish hospitality and
the beauty of every appointment, and
no handsomer equipsges or more costly
horses were found than those that car
ried Mrs. Haughton from her home and
back again.
Charles Haughton had nearly COM
pleted his purchases, and was hurrying
from the front of one of the tcy stores
he patronized, when his foot struck
something upon the pavement, and
looking down he saw q small pocket
book. He lifted it and looked around
him for an owner but there was no
one who seemed to miss such an article.
There was no time to examine it, 30 he
thrust it into his breast pocket and
hurried on.
Having completed his arrangements
for the morrow, he went 10 his library
for quiet smoke before retiring. He
was putting slowly, when he recalled
the pocket-book he had picked up in
the street. Thrusting his hand into his
pocket, he brought it to the light.
It was a very shabby affair, the leath-
er worn at the corners, the inside dilap-
idated, and the fastening a piece of
twine.
"Some poor soul, who could i'll af
ford it, has lost this" the merchant
thought, pityingly; "and on New
Years Eve, too. 1t is too bad. Let
me see If there is any clue to the
owner"
He took out two folded papers, each
containing a small sum of money, and
each eloquent of the poverty of the
owner. At the sight of the first Charles
Haughton started and sank into rev.
cry, painful and sweet at the same time.
The paper was a grocer's bill for four
dollars and eighty.three cents, made out
to "Mrs. Edward Hill" and inside was
five dollar note.
The thought of the man who looked
at it ran something in this wise
"Mrs. Edward Hill Can that be
Matte Hunter-pretty, dark-eyed Mat
tie, who ran away with Ned Hill because
her father would not give his only child
TO a man who found too much comfort
in a whisky bottle. Pretty Matte !
How angry she was with me when /
tried to make her see that Ned was not
the angel or hero she imagined him.
She said 1 was jealous. Well, perhaps
1 was"
And the prosperous city merchant
went back in imagination to the days