The Florida agriculturist. [volume] (DeLand, Fla.) 1878-1911, 1882-02-01
A Man That Succeeded.

"My only daughter, sir" said Colo.
mel Monteagle, land, as l venture to
hope, accomplished in her way. We
are not much in the way of schools
or academies here, but l have been
her instructor myself, and she is a
thorough mathematician, an excel
lent musician and a linguist of no
mean capacity. We are studying
Hebrew now every day, she and I,
and she devotes her evening to COM
prehensive reviews Of her Latin and
Greek. She will be a scholar, sir, if
l live to complete her education!"
Mr.. Crotton looked curiouslY at
the oddly-assorted pair-the silver~
haired, shabby attired old gentle
man, with his paid forehead, eagle
eye and delicately>white hands; and
the dark~browed, suIlen>looking girl,
with gypsy skin, untidy frock and
patched boots.
Pretty? Yes, she might be pretty
under some circumstances. The d.
amond itselfis not an attractive stone
before the lapidary's art has polished
its rude angles into glittering facets
of white fire. But she certainly pos
sessed no sweet, feminine graces now.
"How old are you, Miss Monica
gle?" he asked, finding it imperatlve>
ly necessary to say something.
And Mary Monteagle answered in
words. "Seyenteen," while her looks
replied, plainly, IN one of your bust
ness!"
$50, my child, and gather some
flowers to deck our humble board"
said the old gentleman, magniloquent-
". while be conducted the son OF his
oldest frfend into the TttTfn5S7e down.
old stone house, where the carpets
were moth>eaten, the furniture mills
dewed, and every trace o. decayed
gentility told the sad story OF better
days.
Mrs. Monteagle, who had been
beauty once, and had her portrait
engraved in "Gallery OF American
Rose>buds," was sitting up in state
in battered boudoir, in black silk
dress that must have been quite a
quarter of a century old, with a
flower in her silver -sprinkled hair
and still preserving the glrlish att
tude in which the engraver's pencil
had immortalized her, oddly cons
trasting with the sharpened outlines
and haggered abruptness of her six
ty-odd years.
And this was the way in which
the old couple lived, in the dead past
as it were, Colonel Monteagle starv-
ing contentedly on the recollection of
his past grandeur, and his wife tond>
ly fancying that time had stood still
since the days in which she was count
ed worthy TO be one OF the "Ameri-
can Rosebuds."
Mrs. Monteagle sweetly welcomed
her guest and touched the little hand
bell at her side.
eve will dine, Sarepta," she said
to the maid.
"Please, ma'am," breathlessly ut
tered that young person, "their amt
nothin' for dinner. We eat the last
of the cold beef yesterday, and the
dog he tipped over the pan of oysters,
and
THAT will Go, Sarepta," said Mrs.
Mouteagle, with red spot mounts
ing TO each OF her cheek-bones. 81
said-we will dine!"
us And Sarepta withdrew with jerk.
The dinner was served presently
an instance OF the magnetic power
of will-but there was no cold beet,
neither were there oysters. Fruit, q
thin, watery soup OF herbs and pars-
ley, tastefully gnarished salad OF let
tuce and mayonnaise, and dish of
peaches and cream, formed the meal.
quite Arcadian!" said Mrs. Nom
teagle, with giggle.
And very badly served, secret
ly commented Mr.. Crotton to him>
self. But the salad was mce.'
a3"Where is Nary" tie colonel
asked.
drinking in the beauties of the
sunset, presume" the lady answered,
airly. "rae dear child has an ar