The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1879-07-24

wv yOuh6 WOAlOb OhO ohdiA
room of about ten feet by eight, in the
upper story of a set of houses somewhere
near Mary-le-bone street. These houses
appear to have been once intended for
rather substantial persons, but have grad
ually sunk into lodging-houses for the
very poor. The premises look upon an
old graveyard; a dreary prospect enough,
but perhaps preferable to close street,
and are filled with decent but very poor
people. Every room appears to serve a
whole family, and few of the rooms are
much larger than the one l have de-
scribed.
1t was now half-past twelve o'clock,
and still the miserable dip tallow candle
burned in a dilapidated tin candlestick.
The wind whistled with that peculiar
wintry sound which betokens that snow
is falling; it was very, very cold, the fire
was out, and the girl who sat plying her
needle by the hearth, which was still
little warmer than the rest of the room,
had wrapped up her feet in an old worn.
out piece of flannel, and had an old black
silk wadded cloak thrown over her to
keep her from being almost perished.
The room was scantily furnished, and
bore an air of extreme poverty, amount
ing almost to absolute destitution. One
by one the little articles of property pos
sessed by its inmates had disappeared to
supply the urgent calls of want An old
four-post bedstcad, with curtains OF worn
out serge stood in one corner; one mat
tress, with two small thin pillows, and a
bolster that was almost fat three old
blankets, cotton sheets of the coarscst
description upon it; three rush-bottomed
chairs an old claw table, very ancient
dilapidated chest of drawers, at the top OF
which were few battered band-boxes,
a miserable bit of carpet before the fire
place; wooden box for Goals; little
low tin fender, poker, or rather half
poker; a shovel and tongs, much the
worse of wear, and very few kitchen
utensils, was all the furniture in the
room. What there was, however, was
kept clean; the floor was clean, the yell
low paint was clean; and, | forgot to
say, there was washing-tub set aside in
one corner.
The wind blew shrill, and shook the
window, and the snow was heard beating
against the panes; the clock went another
quarter, but still the indefatigable toller
sewed on. Now and then she lifted up
her head, as a sigh came from that corner
of the room where the bed stood, and
some one might be heard turning and
tossing uneasily upon the mattress; then
she turned to her occupation and phed
her needle with increased asslduity.
The workwoman was a girl of from
eighteen to twenty, rather below the mid
die size, and of face and form little
adapted to figure in story. One whose
life, in all probability, would never be
diversified by those romantic adventures
which real life in general reserves to the
beautiful and the highly-gifted. Her
features were rather homely, her hair OF
light brown, without golden threads
through it, her hands and arms rough
and red with cold and labor; her dress
ordinary to a degree, her clothes being OF
the cheapest materials, but then, these
clothes were so neat, so carefully mend
ed where they had given way; the hair
was so smooth, and so closely and neatly
drawn round the face; and the face itself
had such a sweet expression, that all the
defects of line and color were redeemed
to the lover of expression, rather than
beauty.
She did not look patient, she did moi
look resigned; she could not look cheer
full exactly. She looked earnest, com
posed, busy, and exceedingly kind. She
had not, it would seem, thought enough
of self in the midst of her privations, tt
REQUIRE the exercise of the virtues o
patience and resignation; she was so oc
cupied with the sunerings of others tha
she never seemed to think of her own.
She was naturally of the most cheerful
hopeful temper in the world; j those peo
pie without selfshness usually are. And
though sorrow had little lowered th
tone of her spirits to composure, an'
work and disappointment had faded tn
bright colors of hope; still hope was no
entirely gone; nor cheerfulness exhaust
ed. But the predominant expression O
every word, and look, and tone, an
) gesture, was kindness - inexhaustibl
kindness.
{ I said she lifted up her head from tim
to time, as a sigh proceeded from tn
bed, and its suffering inhabitant tosse
and tossed; and at last she broke silenc
! and said, "Poor Myra, can't you get t
. sleep?"
at is so fearfully cold," was the repl,
''and when will you have done, an
! come to bed?
zone quarter of an hour more, and
shall have finished it. Poor Myra, yo
/ are SO nervous, you never can get
i sleep till all is shut up; but have p
s tience, dear, one little quarter of an hou
and then / will throw my clothes ovt
n your feet, and l hope you will be lit
: warmer"
J. A sigh for all answer, and then IL
true heroine--for she was extreme
- beautiful, or rather had been, poor thin
for she was too wan and wasted to
o beautiful now-lifted up her head, fro
# which fell profusion Of the fairest ha
o in the world, and leaning her head upc
i her arm, watched, in sort of impatiel
t patience, the progress of the indefatig
II BILE needle-woman.
=. "One o'clock striking, and you haver
,e done yet, Lettice? how slowly you do 6
lie on"
v "I can not work fast and neatly tc
y dear Myra. / can not get through
a, some do; wish l could. But my han
n are not SO delicate and nimble as you
" such swelled, clumsy things" she sal
laughing little, as she looked at thel
l. swelled, indeed, and all notified oy