News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1882-05-04
SIMPLICITY ITSELF.


window in her own little snuggery, her
eyes bent upon the letter she held in
her hand. From the expression on her
remaI kably expressive face-an express
sion that curled the short upper lip of
large but well-formed mouth, and
caused a naturally turned-up nose to
turn up still more-one watching her
might have been led to think that the
contents of the letter awakened no
pleasureable feelings-a thought that
would have been confirmed when on
reading the last line our scornful young
woman threw herself back in her much
beribboned willow rocker, and ex-
claimed " Simplicity, indeed The
mans an idiot"
"What man?" asked Miss Phebe.
coming quietly into the room.
your friends son, Mother Phebe,
Mr.. Peter Candy. Why, his very name
makes you at once think of goose-I
mean male goose.
My DEAR" said Miss Phebe, mildly,
as she seated herself in another highly
decorated chair, and folded her hands
In her lap-a sign that she was ready
for long and confidential chat-''I see
no reason why you should call the young
man an idiot. Idiots, to give Webster's
mlldest definition of them, are 'un-
learned, ignorant, or foolish persons.
Peter Candy is none of these. Neither
does he, in my opinion, at all resemble
male goose. 1 met him at his fathers
house last winter, just after his return
from Europe, where he had been for
three years, most of the time in Lon
don; and speaking of male geese re-
minds me that he brought with him the
loveliest poodle that 1 ever beheld-
worth fortune, my dear. But that is
not what l started out to say. Let me
see-where was /? Oh, yes. He had
just returned from England, and 1
found him good-looking Tin poetical
way), well educated, and, as you must
have discovered from the letter / gave
you to read-never dreaming it would
lead to idiots and ganders-intensely
devoted to Beauty unadorned,' which,
as you know, the poet Thomson says is
adorned the most His mother was
my most intimate friend at school. Our
braids- 'pigtails' rude boys called them
were always tied with the same col
ered ribbon, and our sun-bonnets
trimmed with the same colored silk.
People laugh at school friendships, my
dear, but they often outlast those
But that's neither here nor there.
Where was L? Oh, yes. We were in
separable friends, and we promised each
other faithfully-having read a great
many romances where such promises
had produced the happiest results that
If we married land we both certainly
expected to do SOY, and one had q son
and the other daughter, we would en-
deavor to bring about a marriage be-
tween tsem when they had attained a
suitable age. She married, soon after
she graduated, a man considerably
older than herself, with the decidedly
unpoetical name of Peter-a name he
insisted upon transmitting to his only
son, though I hear, my dear, that
among his dearest friends young Peter
Is known as Aurelius; but he (the elder
Peter was wealthy, and Matilda was
fond Of But no matter about that.
Where Oh, yes, 1 remember: she
married. A son was the result. I did
not marry, and consequently have no
results. But found you, my dear"
"a motherless child, forsaken by an
unloving father" interrupted Verona !;
and springing from her chair, she flung
both arms around Miss Phebe, and
kissed each of her plump rosy cheeks.
"And no real daughter, 1 am sure"
the elderly lady went on, when Verona
had again seated herself by the window,
"could have brought me more happi-
ness and comfort. And now, my dear,
if you will only mako up your mind to
receive this young gentleman in nice
and friendly manner, perhaps you will
find him very agreeable person, and
he may find in You the realization of his
dreams. And if you should fall in love
with each other"
"But, oh, Mother Pkebe, interrupted
Verona again, Gin spite of all you say,
/ can't help thinking he must be such
such a-idiot Just listen" And
she proceeded to read from the letter,
in a drawing, affected manner: AL,
like my glorious teacher, Oscar Wilde,
love Nature, love Beanty-Beauty un-
adorned, Beauty pure and simple.
would have the maiden of my choice
owe naught to Art If she wear flowers,
let them be of the blossoms of the fields
and meadows rather than the costliest of
artificial blooms; and if some slight
blemish mar her loneliness, let her not
seek to conceal it by rouge, or powder,
or any other lie, but by the sunshine of
her smiles so dazzle the beholder that
be will see il not As for her dress,
better in my eyes is the plaInest of
homemade gowns than the richest
robes of silk and satin disfgured by all
he paraphsFpalia Of the msnsna.maker. !