The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1883-11-30
miscellaneous.
A Man That Succeeded.

"My only daughter, sir" said Colonel
Monteagle. "And, as | venture to hope, &C.
complished in ner way. We are not much
in the way of schools or academies here, but
[ have been her instructor myself, and she
is thorough mathematician an excellent
musician and linguist of no mean capacity.
We are studying Hebrew now every day, she
and |, and she devotes her evenings to COM
prehensive reviews of her Latin and Greek,
She will be scholar, sir, if | live TO complete
her education
Mr.. Crofton looked curiously at the oddly.
assorted pair-the silverhaired shabbly-
attired old gentleman, with his bald forehead
eagle eye and delicately- white hands; and
the dark browed sullen looking girl, with
gypsy skin, untidy trock and patched boots
Pretty? Yes, she might be pretty under
circumstances. The diamond itself is not an
attractive stone before the lapidarys art has
polished its rude angles into glttering facets
of white fire. But she certainly possessed no
sweet feminine graces now.
"How old are you, Miss Monteagle ?" he
asked, finding it imperatively necessary to
say something.
And Mary Monteagle answered in words,
Seventeen" while her looks replied, plainly,
"None of your business p
$50, my child, and gather some flowers to
deck our humble board" said the old gentle
men, magniloquently, while he conducted the
son of his Oldest friend in to the tumble
down old stone house, where the carpets
were moth eaten, the furniture widowed, and
every trace of deGayed gentility told the sad
story of better days.
Mrs. Monteagle, who had been beauty
once, and had her portrait engraved in a
Gallery of American Rosebuds," was sitting
up in state in a battered boudoir in black
silk dress that must have been quite quar-
ter of century old, with flower in her
silver. sprinkled hair, and still preserving the
girlish attitude in which the engravers pen
Gil had immortalized her, oddly contrasting
with the sharpened outlines and haggard
sbruptness of her sixty odd years.
And this was the way in which the old
couple lived, in the dead past as it were, Col.
Monteagle starving contentedly ON the re-
collections of his past grandeur, and his wife
| fondly fancying that time had stood still
since the daysin which she was counted wor-
thy to be one of the american Rosebuds"
Mrs. Monteagle sweetly welcomed her
guest and touched the little handbell at her
side.
eve will dine, Sarepta" she said to the
maid
"Plcase, ma'am, breathlessly uttered the
young person, there amt nothing for din
ner. We ate the last of the cold beef yester-
day, and the dog he tipped over the pan OF
| oysters, and"
THAT will do, Sarepta," said Mrs. Mont.
| eagle, with red spot mounting to each OF
her cheek bones, 81 said-we will diner
And Sarcpta withdrew with jerk.
The dinner was served presently-an in
stance of the magnetic power of wil-but
there was no cold beef, neither was there
oysters Fruit, a thin, watery soup of herbs
and parsley, tastefully garnished salad of let,
tuce and mayonnaise and dish of peaches
and cream formed the meal.
quite Arcadian !" said Mrs. Monteagle
with a gigge
"And very badly served" secretly com.
mented MIR. Crofton to himself but the
salad was nice"
"Where is Nary" the colonel asked
drinking in the beauties of the sunset,
presume" the lady answered. airily. 1.-THE
dear child has an artists soul, and we do not
| tie her down to any hours or rules"
The Colonel fell asleep in his chair after
dinner, Mrs. Monteagle and her painted far
withdrew themselves into the boudoir-and
MIR. Crofton, inwardly bewailing himself that
he had promised to stay week at MGnteagle
Manor, sauntered out upon the heights which
overlooked the valley below.
AS he stood there, rustling sounded 10
the bushes, and the dark proved gypsy
sprang up the hillside.
you have fine place here, Miss Mont
eagle" he said, by way of making himsel
agreeable.
II hate it p said Mary, darkly.
| IL beg your pardonp exclaimed Mr.
Crofton, in amaZement
81 dor flashed out the girl hate it all
The learning, and the poetry, and the grand
pretenses, and the miserable makeshifts."
"But-'
"Ah |" said Mary Monteagle, "you don't
know it all You never heard the tradesmen
bowling at the back doors like pack Of
bowling wolves; you don't know that the
house is advertised for sale for tax arrears
How should you? How should you be
aware that the very clothes we wear are moi
paid for, nor the coal that cooks our dinner
Papa smokes his cigar and talks about the
Mexican war and mamma poses in the great
chair, and dreams of embroidery work and
tapestry Stitches and IL am expected to
learn Arabic and Sanscrit, and nobody knows
what else, and ignore our wretched poverty
But / can't Who could p'