The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1889-07-20

per's funeral at last y
Here she broke down and buried he
face in her hands. The Countess touched
her on the shoulder and said-as womer
always do under such circumstances
Don't cry p
Presently John Emden's daughter wen
on with her story; how she had fallen into
deeper poverty when her fathers death had
removed her chief incentive to work How
at last, unable to pay her rent, which had
not been paid for three weeks, she left hel
boxes as hostages, aud came hopelessly
away from London.
Il thought l would come away and have
done with it
She did not explain further, nor did
Mary seek an explanation. She laid her
hand on hers with the commonplace ques-
ton
"Was there anything valuable in your
boxes 2"
Miss Emden laughed Poor Mrs.
Fry. she said; ''she will only find rejected
manuscripts, unless she can command
better market than Though there S
always the butterman, of course
1--WE will get them back; give me the
address, and tomorrow we will talk things
over Good night, my dear
Jean Emden went to sleep that night,
her whole being sufused with glow of
gratitude to the woman who had taken her
in-without fear of question brought her
home
Talking things Over" next day ended in
Miss Emden's being installed as useful
companion to the Countess, with an ample
salary. another set Of links in the chain Of
gratitude. The boxes with their precious
manuscripts were redeemed, another link.
But the 6nal riveiing of the chain was
done when the Countess caused a mouu-
ment to be raised
To the memory Of
JoHx EspES--'
bearing further a laudatory inscription and
list of his ''six,y books in prose and
verse
When Jean Emden returned from Ken
sal Green (whither the Countess had sent
her in the oarriage) she entered the room
where Mary (or May as she called herself)
"a, alone, and running to her kneeled at
her feet
Thank YOU thank you she cried
taking the FAT hands and covering them
With kisses you are better than any
thing in the world Let nae do things for
you; and plenty Of things that can do
not to repay you, bat to ease my own
heart
Mary. much moved, kissed her, and,
deprecaiiug the idea that she had done
anything ''out Of the way, promised to
give her companion ample opportunity of
repaying any li,tle kindness she had had
il in her power to show
She was As good as her word As the
days and weeks went on these opportuni-
tiss became more and more frequent, till
Miss Emden. ike all her predecessors,
found that her whole life was given up 10
the Countess. But, unlike her predeees-
sors, she rgjoiced and glOried in it, and
Mary felt the difference between the
grudging payment Of hired service aud the
free gift Of the service Of love.
Miss Emden had been for three months
an inmate Of the pretty house at Hamp-
stead. when the Countess received on her
birthday, among some half hundred costly
bouquets and brilliant uselessuesses, the
following verses
To sueA a ans on such day
What i Il can bring.
ffow 10 yuur summer can my spring
Make any offering. say
I nc bFtsutc-t Ere14 max eau eliuk
show by your beauty. gray.
Tso Poor The flowers that deck my say
To ask your gathering.
But near you roand you Lady May,
Ny heart gpe- wandering,
While Autumn winds are whispering
bown paths your face makes gay.
Think that ,i,ey say the unssid thing
I have no words 10 say.
Nor shai me out. on this your day.
From your remembering
They were carefully drawn on card,
on which a spray of hawthorn was painted,
and for blessed FIVE minutes the Countess
believed that they were written BY Everard
Dobbs, the :eigning critic in her set, aud
the handsomest man she knew, who com
bined the gift Of verse writing with the
rarer one of discretion. He seldom pub
lished his verses, and the few he did pub
lish appeared only in an ultra democratic
weekly which he ran himself, (at a loss of
about forty pounds a month"; and which
was never read by his own most intimate
circle.
'I.ook here r The Countess passed the
card across the breakfast table to the com.
panion. As she did so her eye caught a
glimpse of writing on the back of it. She
drew back her hand The companion was
crimson.
"Why, you wrote it y! You dear + The
Countess ran round to kiss her, knocking
over a light chair with her skirts. "Why,
You never told me you wrote poetry -
That's not poetry, | fear | should
have written better if had not wished so
much to write we'll
Not poetry why it's charming It's
the first time any one has ever written any
poetry to me that did not make me want
to laugh" !"
The Countess did not take much interest
in her other letters and presents. She
read and reread her poem. She was rather
silent during breakfast As she finally sat
down her coffee cup she said thoughtfully
Il wonder whether could write poetry?'
Il should think so, said Miss Emden
cheerfully: sit S very easy"