The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1893-10-08

course of which hC had becu given up as
dead FOR years. poor and leartbrokcn. and
desiring nothing bat the aimmest corner
iu which 90 live out his broken days, and
Just enough 10 live upon io bring up ms
little daughter, and % endure ms exist
euce. his duty 10 God ami to Dora forbid
ding him 20 make an end ui IT,
To would Dee giving an altogether false
idea of the man with whom this book IS
20 be much occupied. On say that he had
continued in this dDspairlug frame OF
mind God ana Dora-the little gift Of
GOd-had taken care of that The little
girl had led him back 10 "a way which, II
not brilliant or prosperous, was like a
tied-path through many humble flowers,
/ sweet with the air and breath OF nature.
I SOoth 10 say, it was no held-path at all,
but led chiefly over the payements of
/ Bloomsbury, yet the simple metaphor was
not untrue.
Thus he lived and did his work duti-
| fully day by day. No headship of
department no assistant keepership for
/ him, yet much esteem and consideration
among his peers and a constant reference,
! whenever anything in his special sphere
was wanted, TO his boundless information
/ and knowledge. Sometimes foreign
/ inquirer would come eager to seek him, as
! the best and highest authority on this
! subject, to the CONSERVATION of the young
! men in other branches, who could not
! understand how anybody could believe
! ''Old Mannering" TO be of consequence
| in the place; but generally his life was as
| obscure as he wished it to be- yet not any
| hard or painful drudgery; for he was
! still occupied with the pursuit which he
! had chosen, and which he had followed
all his life, and he was wise enough to
recognize and be thankful for the routine
! which held his broken existence together
| and had set up again, after his great dis
aster, his framework. as man.
Dora knew nothing of any disaster,
and this was good for him too, bringing
! him back to nature "A cheerful man /
am in life" he might have said with
| Thackeray, who also had good reason for
| being sad enough. A man who has for
| his chief society a buOyant, curious, new
spirit, still trailing clouds of glory from
her origin, still only making acquaintance
with things of earth, curious about every
thing, asking a thousand penetrating
| questions, awaking a mood of interest
! everywhere, can scarcely be otherwise
than cheerful.
The second floor at the corner of the
square which was inhabited by this pair
consisted of three rooms, all good sized
and airy; the sitting-rOOm being indeed
| spacious, larger than any two which
| could have been found in a fashionable
nook in Mayfair. 1t was furnished in
manner very unexpected by such chance
visitors as did not know the character of
the inhabitants, with furniture which
would not have been out Of place in Bel
| gravia, or in fine ladys drawing-room
anywhere, mingled strangely with certain
! plain pieces put in for evident use.
A square and sturdy table occupied the
| portion of the room which was nearest
| the door, with the clearest utility, serv-
ing for the meals of the father and
Il HI xrynf1o ha of nj pf Of fhn
room, partially separated by a stamped
leather screen, had an air of subdued lux
ury, a little faded, yet unmstakable. The
curtains were of heavy brocade, which
had a little lost their color, or
rather gained those shadings and
reflections which an artist loves; but
| hung with the SOftness of their silken
| fabric, profoundly unlike the landlady's
nice fresh crimson rep which adorned
the windows of the first floor. There was
| an Italian inlaid cabinet against the far
ther wall, which held the carefully pre-
pared sheets of a herbarium, which Mr..
| Mannering had collected from all the
ends of the earth, and which was of suffi-
| cient value to count for much in the spare
! inheritance which he meant for his only
! child. The writing table at which Dora
! had learned to make her first pothooks
| was a piece of beautiful marqueterie, the
! Oldest and most graceful of its kind.
But l need not go round the room and
make catalogue of the furniture. 1t
settled quite kindly into the second floor
! in Bloomsbury, with that grace which the
nobler kind of patrician, subdued by for
! tune, bends to the humblest circum-
| stances, which he accepts with patience
| and goodwill. Mr.. Mannering himself
had never been handsome man, and all
the color and brightness of youth had
died out of him, though he was still in
the fullness of middle age But the ivory
| tone of his somewhat sharply cut profile
and the premature stoOp of his shoulders
suited his surroundings better than a
| more vigorous personality would have
| done.
Dora, in her half-grown size and bigness-
with her floating hair, and large move
ments, seem to take up great deal more
space than her father, and it was strange
that she did not knock down more fire.
| quently the pretty old-fashioned things
| and the old books which lay upon the little
tables, or even those tables themselves, as
she whisked about; but they knew Dora,
and she knew them. She had spent a
great deal of every day alone with them,
| as long as she could remember, playing
with those curiOsities that lay upon them,
while she was a child, in the long, silent,
dreamy hours, when she was more with
out amusement, though as constantly
alone.
Since she had grown older, she had
taken pleasure in busting them and ar
ranging them, admiring the toys of old
silver, and the carved worries and trif1es
of all kinds, from the ends of the earth.
1t was her great pleasure on the Sunday
afternoons, when her father was with
her, to open the drawers of the cabinet
and bring out the sheets of the herbarium
so carefully arranged and classified. Her
knowledge perhaps, was not very scien-
tihc, but it was accurate in detail, and in
what may be called locality in the highest
degree. She knew what family abode in
what drawer, and all its ramificatiOns.
These were more like neighbors to Dora,
lodged in surrounding houses, than speci-
mems in drawers. She knew all about
them, where they came from, and their
genealogy, and which were the grand
parents, and which the children; and,
still more interesting, in what jungles or
marsh her father had found them, and
which of them came from the African
deserts in which he had once been lost.
BY degrees she had found out much
about that wonderful episode in his life,
and had become vaguely aware, which
was the greatest discovery of all, that 1t
contained many things which she had not
found out, and perhaps never would. She
knew even how to lead him to talk about
it, which had TO be very skillfully done
l. hi cot hon &C