Year: 1873

"Oh no madam, it is not too late, if you
will only be quick" and the polite colored
waiter, ushering the traveller into the room with
a majestic wave of his ebony hand, added
"Have the note written in the next half hour
ifyou please, and promise you the gentle
man will get it this very afternoon"


"Very well-it shall be ready" answered a
clear feminine voice, and the lady-Mrs. Al
bert cambridge by name-entered the draw
ing-room of the Spottswood Hotel in Rich
mond.


Seating herself on one of the luxurious sofas
near the window, she drew forth writing ma
terials from her capacious travelling satchel,
and proceeded, in as few words as possible, to
inform her husband-an army officer station
ed near the city-of her unexpected arrival.
Begging him to use all speed in seeking her
presence, the note was soon finished, with a
rapid hand sealed and addressed, and then
having nothing else to do but wait for her
travelling companion, who had stopped in the
hotel Office to gain some information concern
ing his proposed crossing the lines by flag of
truce, the young wife sat idly toying the note
in her fingers, feeding her heart the while
with fond and pleasant reveries. While thus
engaged, let us glance at her more closely.


She is apparently extremely young-even
girlish in her appearance-and, to judge from
outward evidence, one Of those fragile, timid
beings, the gentlemen call "a sweet little
thing" The face is undeniably pretty, and
decidedly striking, though yet childlike in its
immature loveliness. Underneath the black
feather which floats from her travelling hat,
can be seen waves of soft black hair, pushed
carelessly back from the low, smooth forehead.
The eyebrows are jetty black, delicately
curved with an expression about them almost
infantine in its innocence and open Ingenious
ness. The eyes are uncommonly large-ot
the deepest, darkest, softest brown, with ten
derness of sentiment in their expression, rath-
er than intellect or brilliancy-those kind Of
eyes which glow, but do not scintillate; whose
earnest, steady glance falls on the beholder
like rays of tranquil moonlight, and touch
the heart like tones of melancholy music.
Her mouth is small, with full lips, red as the
reddest coral; her complexion not fair, but
clear and pure, with fuctuating color. A
casual observer, looking at the girlish face
and quiet eyes, would, in all probability, pro-
nounce her a being of calm, contemplative
character; happily constituted being who
knew nothing of the wild turbulence of un-
governed emotions-who never felt excessive
affection or aversion, and whose heart was
never fired, save by the warmth Of solar sun.
But the expert physiognomist would have
known better-would have recognized the
hidden fire underlying this almost frigid tran
guilty, the latent power which dwelt obscured
beneath the seeming and deceitful calm-the
calm of sluggish waters. The might Of the
mountain rivulet is unsuspected while it flows
peacefully along, enamoured of serene skies
and fragrant blossoms but swollen by exces-
sive rains and descending streams, the tiny
rivulet becomes desolating flood. Or again,
the insignificant brightness Of the feeble spark
suggests scarce thought of danger, but when
metamorphosed by breath of wind, becomes
a monster of devouring flames. So the quiet
glow of those large melancholy eyes. Per-
chance their sorrowful expression was engrav-
ed therein by the trial Of her early life, for
Mrs. cambridge has known bereavement and
poverty-two fatal antagonistics to earthly
felicity!


At an early age she was left, a penniless
orphan, to the care of unloving strangers !;
and penniless orphans are not always desra-
BILE or highly appreciated legacies even to
kindred and relatives who should feel the ties
of blood if they do not. How much less,
then, acceptable to strangers! No doubt,
this poor young thing had ajoyless life Of it
bereft, unloved, feeling acutely her depend
ence and yet helpless to carve out happier
destiny for herself; AID now, when life has
become so fair, so bright, she feels yet the
clnging of those old sorrows, the ranking of
those old wounds, the undying hunger Of that
starved young heart! This is, we think, after
all, the worst of those disappoiutments, trials
and sorrows, which embitter our earthly exis-
tence. We may endure their torture with
commendable fortitude, and live through their
long agony and get over them-that is, cease
to feel the soreness and the smart Of present,
actual pain; but we never forget them, and
their memory leaves "the trail of the serpent"
on every joy, and their pale-faced ghosts
haunt us in every hall of pleasure There
is, we believe, no enjoyment for hearts so old
in suffering as to have lost the capacity for
10Y. So with these beautiful sad eyes, with
their unfathomable depths of pathos; they
are gazing yet on scenes ofsadness-yearning
still for something better!


From her life of dependence and poverty,
Mrs. cambridge had been rescued, at the age
offourteen, by letter which came to her dead
mother-the first in many years. for her moth
er had married against her parents wishes
and been exiled from the paternal roof in con-
sequence. But at the death Of the unforgiv-
ing father, the mothers heart relented-and
how can mothers heart do else than relent
to her erring children ?-and she had written
for her child to come back to her. The sum.
mons came too late. The exiled one was at
home now-in the grave. Her cold body had,
long since, furnished food for worms-though
little matter that, if her word-weary soul had
at last found haven of Peace! The poor
mother being thus at rest, they sent the Or
phan child to the grandmother, who at once
took her to her inmost heart with such love