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The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, December 27, 1868, Morning, Image 1

Image and text provided by Louisiana State University; Baton Rouge, LA

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn86086284/1868-12-27/ed-1/seq-1/

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Contiued upom lat w hki.]
e.tle "Te at iso
trinuglo poverty a ng- r
Drigs smi.e to sorrow's brow.
Take it grwaearible teoler.
'Ts green spot in your desert.
b Tch ad T sprung fromiyour ill
Yar be rich sad npoor nlted,
Ta mo' st gmand in Heaven's sight,
And a blesaig, notorLi'eo blessing,
Is on all the world to-niht I
BY CAYAIlE.
Irontinued from last week.]
"Queer weather, sir," observed the mil
itary gentleman. "The climate is positively
ontemptible--sa regular flirt-is constant
t nothing except change. There; 'tii
sno*to
-I as it- was variable enough.
"Bight, sir," he replied, "' as- dare say
-you always are. In fact there's nothing
butlehabge. To-day our facings are.sky
blue turned up with orange ; to-morrow,
pepper-and-salt andl'thunder. For my part
la prepared for any change. Wouldn't
se nrrsed-to-morow if people took to
w~nilkh on their heads, for the sake of
Q- uite possible, sir."
J Well, Scarcely," observed Kate; "peo
1b yon know, papa, can never walk on
theol' ih as iaet's plain ; is it not I"
S'ru're always right, my deari and I
admit I was guilty of a little exaggeration
' 'looking forward to such a probabillty
Sat. cangeg air, ohnge is the motto of the
teolb, loer Ironi -or-Mr.- O'Connell, I
forgqitwhleh, remirked at one time. I re
member Kate, when tou used to cry for a
bi of the moon,has a alice of sweetmeat.
Bias me, look at the edfet of change. My
aigberir alda-noon think of going
without her o en "
-Kate's white hand was to his mouth be
~,rhe conld finish the word. "Hush," she
said-with-a quiet-smile, "you must not.L
" erfectly right, my dear," said the old
tleman, "as you always are. lfy the by,
I shall state the fact publiclyn hen we get
to Southbank."
" re urious. Could this bet
Wen we get to Soutlbank," continued
the old tleman, "LI shall san -Ladiea
and gentiema smile at a parent a partial
ity it you choose--but that parent is in a
position to assert that his danglhter is
always right. She goQover her measles
and" whooping-eough righo-u she cut her
teeth, she grew her hair right;` fse "
" Papa," remonstrated Kate, " you surely
do not mean to sap anything likethis.
What would people think of you t Now, If
I thought you would make this silly speech,
I would leave the coach and would walk
back to L-----; I would."
"Box my ears darling," said her father,
with a merry giance..under Kate's hood.
" You're right again. No, I retract; you're
wrong this time. Ladies and gentleman,
[admit with mortiflcation, that this lady,
my daughter, erred ice." And he ended
the sentence with a vigorous stroke of his
stick on the bottom of the coach.
Kate laughed at the moment. Then as
naming as.appearnceof moek gravity and
oaexingly taking the old gentleman's hand
between hIr own she asked--" Did it err,
dear) Did it err I"
yoTe. The ased, oeo merrily ; and, ~ l
I not hea g the gentle n-tur'
es.o -It Ie," yhe nd, the o der at- i
many yeis ago I ha seen. wa to the and Fid
%q~ the wayboughs of in wih theof gold
laden f e and bronzedil ern. I hoave sine
not heritate tohe fauty to that peTulanr on
active, anod genthe othertorpid. -Bt I felt
tes fonvinced then t thi at bsm ad be Fds
her benatingfulrend, and my hear warmed o
The timeeng was far advaned rilywhen we
bring me to the house somthe conversation,
Ithe coach ould adrive at the gentle naatre
It would be s a capithal joke, I teehough at
to take l~ ~u lov ly ue.
was aguelys impressed it mped o thione coachat
many years ago I 'bad seen Kate and Fid
walking together in an orchard, between
the bougha of which came glintings of gold
en from the and bronedcorn. I have sincluggage
attribted the fnstrodey to that peculiar cone
ditien of the brain in which one lobI ha
active, and the othber torpid. But I felt
convinced then, that he must befanci Fid's
fascinating friend, and my heart warmed to
her insensibly.
The evening was far advanced when we
got near Septhbank. I knew a familiar
pathlevelway througof the chimneelds which would
clerng me tothe house some minutes before
the froach could arrive at the end of walte.
It would he snch a capital joke, I thought,
when about a quarter of a mile distant
from the gate, and flinging mpanelluggage
across my sornamoulder, strode gaily across the
sining in alless thanhe ffteen mshadowintes ofha
arrived in front of Southbank cottage. The
grouud gables, , shinng - fanciful frost
thor, shot up len being and abrpt from the
levelof the roofs the chimney, pluand sied
with fanetastic smoke -wreaths, stood outbil
clearsaddistinct in their marvellous white
ness, from the black background of walnut
trees at the rear. Tothe right of the heavbriy
door-way, rich with antique pannelling and
grotesque- ornaments, was the Blue cham
ber; to the right the Green. Lights were
shining in all the windows the shadows of
those withinu being delicately etched on the
blinds. The hall-door was ajar, and a sin
gle lasn'pddilssed sflood of brlihiangy aroun d
the hail. With my heart beating bridal
marches, I ascended the steps. As I stood
upon the. threshold,; I aw a pale, melan
choly-faced young man, of about twenty
five years of age, leaning with an air of
elenut indolence against the folding-doors
which divided the hall from the louse. He
was not to say well dressed; but as refine
me-rr can impart grace torags, so his fine
tigaire and noble countenance, lighted up
wilt the darkest of dark eyes,- diverted
attention from his dress to himself. Sceing
umo he he started; became intensely pale, raised
himself to his full height, and gazed at me
with an air of blended pity and defiance.
As we stood facing each other in wondering
silence, the door of the Green chamber
opened, and Lucy stepped into the hall.
" Dear Mr.-," she said, with a quiver
in her voice, to my compIanion, " you must
be miserable. Would that we could con
trive to make your stay with us happier."
" I am very happy-very contented, Miss
Davis," said the pale gentlemanu, and he
stared at me.
' 'our kindness prompts you to say so,"
replied Lucy. " Oh, Ihave been so miserable
thinking o you."
The pale gentleman bowed, gratefully, I
thought. "Miss -'Davis," he said, with a
languid smile," is unjuat. She must not
confine her attention to one friend alone,"
and waving his hand at me, he stepped into
the Blue chambe-. Lucy turned round;
the blood rushing into her face and tem
ples.
" Richard I"
" Miss Davis."
" Oh, Richard !"
"No explanations, pray, Miss Davis.
t s' readily
wed the ease.
elimnaly instincts
obakdt" dbe asked,
nit hands to her
S d "aiod, " you have
res*o y esteem. Society
i g&t-te;, wish me to violate
"C .  - d)ttl nore ounfortunate t"
she' sobbed "sthIng more inoppor
tune" .
"Pr Mdoa's distress yourself," I ob
servý with a very "Ald attempt at a sneer.
" Mistakes will hppen, but a lady seldom
fails to proft by her eXperience. You shall
be more foristute next time, Miss Davis."
Pne ae gliu tie and she passed into
the followed her with a
admit," she said, "you have fair rea
son to think that--"
" Wouldn't Miss Davis," I interrupted
"point her, remarks with a quotation T
'Trifles light as air,' for instance. The con
-et, I presume, is obvious."
-ucy,- while her
head drooped over her hands, " the world
is making sad havoc with your nature.
One little year ago, and no pain, no disap
pointment however bitter no--"
" Miss bavis," I exclaimed quickly,
"pardon me, I complain neither of pain
nordisappointment. I understood that we
were engaged in a discussion on the princi
plea of Taste. Pray, judge the question on
its merit."
" No wrong," she continued, not heeding
the interrnption, "could wring these bitter
words from you. Perhaps, I deserve them.
But if you only knew the truth you would
not blame but pity me." And the pathos
of her voice went straight to my heart.
" Lucy I"
"' Dear Richard !"
" Lucy, we are, every one of us, day
after.lay, the victim of delusions. We
tfancy that- we love-that we hate, and it
•frequently happens that our loves and hates
prove deceptions. I may be deceiving my
self and wronging yon--f so, God forgive
me; yet, how shall we explain away cir
cnmstaneest I am convinced of your en
tire truthfulness. Tell me, like a brave,
pure-hearted woman, have I been deceived
in thinking that yon-you love this man t"
" Oh, Richard, she said, " go deceived! I
am in agony because I cannot tell you all
-because I cannot show yea-how-wrong-
how cruel you are. A few days and all
will be clear; until then suspend your judg
ment and believe in me."
" I will, dearest. It would break my
heart if I thought---"
" Then, you must not think it," she said
compassionately. " If the whole world
spoke ill of you I would not believe it as
long as you denied its-accusation. A little
time, Richard, and you will not repent your
patience."
" And you will forget all this, Lucy
you will forgive nme 1"
" What could I not forgive you 1" she
said tenderly. "Only one thing-I could
not pardon you if you despised me. Here
are our visitors," she exclaimed, releasing
herself from miy arms. "Ir hear Major
Whitley's voice in the hall."
She went out and returned in a moment,
leading in my friiends of the stage coach.
Kate had divested herself of her long cloak,
and I had a full view of her exquisitely
rounded and faultless figure. " I have had
tihe pleasure of meeting Major and Miss
Whitley before," I said, when Lucy had in
troduced us.
"Right, sir; alway , right," exclaimed the
Mqjor, shaking my hand. " Only think of
that confounded coachman mistaking the
gate in the darkness, and driving Kate and
myself half a mile below it."
"What a monster he must be," said
Lucy, who had wound her arm around Miss
Whitley's waist, "to take my poor Kate so
far away in the cold ;" and the girls em
braced each other affectionately.
"Is that right, sir i" asked the major,
winking slyly at me. " Only think of the
bees laying an embargo on honey, ha, ha I"
"I trust," I said, " the bees will be char
itable in good time."
At those observations the gls reddened
y, and directly fell into a profound
diseussion of winter seeds, until the door
opened, and a "young gentleman, in a fur
overcoat, bounded into the room.
"Dear Dick."
U" h,youglorious old Fid.' He absolutely
hugged me, reached his hand to Lucy, and
then shook Kate's with a tenderness which
I thought, to may the least, peculiar.
. The major looked on in silence, and
would have continued to look longer, bad
not the entrance of our host Mr. Davis,
ilspended his sp~ect~ltions. lTh fine old
gentleman walked gravely in, his bald head
glittering in the light of the chandeliers,
and said such queer things, and administer
ed suech heay shake hands, and bade us
all be at home with such comical sobriety
of voice, that every one laughed, and
.and laughed again, .the thing was sq good,
It was ten o'clock. The ladies had long
retired to the'drawiug-room ; and I, having
recovered my temper, and being more than
ever in love with Lucy, sat smoking and
chatting with Fid. He had told me that
he was in a fair way to conquer life, and
win his way to honorable eminence; and as
I congratulated the dear fellow, he suddenly
placed his hand in mine.
"Now, Dick," he said, "for a secret."
"A secret, Fid !"
" Yes, Dick, a secret I! it's all settled-or
as good."
" That is," I said hesitatingly, " Biss
Whitley and---"
"Hush ! yes. I asked her this evening
I didn't do it in a roundabout way, Dick
if she would consent to share the fortunes
of a poor man who loved her. ' If he were
to love me truly,' she saidI could refuse
him nothing.' 'And if I loved you, Miss
Whitley-dear, dear Kate, if my whole
life, asit does, depended on one little word,
could you refuse itt I know I am very
poor and very u ly; but I have a true
heart, Kate, and if you don't have it, no
one else shall.' Kate hung her head. for a
moment. ' Can you lease your heart,' she
asked, ' and for how long ' 'If you take
it, dear,' I said, 'for ever and ever-is it
worth taking ?' She whispered-' Indeed it
.is,' and the matter was settled." .
I congratulated Fid on his success; and,
feeling warm, strolled out into the open
air. For a moment I stood on the door
steps, musing. The centre of the house
was deeply: recessed in the projecting
wings, and its shadow was accurately de
fined on the crisp sward of the lawn. The
night was cold and brilliant. The stars
glittered keenly in the frosty skies, and
the full roundd moon of Christmas seemed
to rest on thi tree-tops, -sprinkling the
tur h!peath with dreamy, palpitating
sa o--ws, and throwing into vivid relief the
white fountain and colossal bust which or
namented a part of the grounds. Turning
to the left wing, my eyes rested on the em
bayed windows of the Bleo chambes A
shutter was left open, and through the
unclosed space I could distinctly see the
pale young man, whom I had encountered
in the hall, sitting at a table, and writing
with marellous rapidity. Blefore him lay
a large portfolio, in which he placed several
documents wit a cer Tffi nervous anxiety,
which ilade the half anxiotus to learn theiir
contents. it was Ihe; his hi-ir was thrownv
back in one black sweep fromt a lofty well
defined forehead, wrinkled, I thought, by
premature care ; no one coulltl gaze cn those
massive, clearly, coldly-emit features, with
out a sense ofadmiration. lie was evident
ly uneasy, and turned his face several
times in the direction in which I stood;
but I could not resist the fascination which
,Oundil ime to the spot, and I continued to
watch him. Having sealed a letter with
singular care, he leaint back, drew a long
breath, and gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
Then, with an airdf exhaustion he quenched
one- of theirandles, and left the room.
Through the side light I saw him ascend
tihe stairs, and mount, as I surmised, to the
bedroom range. lie had scarcely passed
the top of the flight when Lucy, with a
lighted taper in her hand, came down into
the hall. She paused for a moment before
the door of the Green room, in Lich Fid
and I had been sittina.* ascertaided that
the lock was secure; and then laying down
the taper, "passed into the Blue chamber.
My eyes followed her most mechanically.
The Blue chamber extended from the rear
to the front of the house. The. moolght,
streamig in through the wi dowt e of the
b tac upa n the balac ot k fu nitue
angtsnglt~W Itsend hadows et'Heir
somre angles, an glelg m, sUsat-.r
pool on the centre of the wt bsa itt
rolled, with a great sweep' E. Iteng
darknes, under the shadows cast by the
walls of .the room. The casements were
marked in diamond parquetries across the
carpet; and I could distinctly observe the
gray shimmer of the mantel-piece, and shy
gleam of brackets and mirrors through the
twilight of the apartment. The table, at
which the pale young man had been writing,
stood in the middle of the floor, thickly lit
tered with papers. My heartbeat violently.
As sure as the Heavens are above me, that
is Lucy ! She steals noiselessly into the
room, her white dress rendered still whiter
bycontrast with the dark furniture under
the luminous ,lnfluenco of the moonlight.
She approaches the table, frequently paus
ing, with bowed head, to catch the soundef
footsteps. She takes a letter from her
bosom. kItsee it, andplanes 'ae.port
folio. Atiother moment, and she is gone!
Sick of heart, and dizzy of brain,- I reeled
back against the wall. I fancied the stars
shot out long trains offire, which hurtled in
myriad sparks across the Heavens; the
moon suddenlyopened, dischargingashow
er of tiny areolites; the trees quivered to
their roots, the lawn heaved and sunk again;
and, then, camea blank insensibility.
(Concluded next week.)
FATHREB xARE' BULLFINCH.
Others may undertake the histories of groeat
nations; the biographies of illustrious men;
they may write of Ancient Egyptian Dynasties;
of the memorable deeds of Cyrus, of Alexander,
or of Ciesar; be mine an humbler theme, the
story of my neighbor's bullfinch.
Spring was the sweet name bestowed upon
my hero, because hia .ively -soat--eectto
breathe of woods, flowers, snns hine, and of
everything that announces the approach of the
fairest of seasons. Yesterday his cage was
under my balcony, suspended from the window
of the poor tailor whose pride and Joy it was.
" This is my child," said Father Mac~rk, show
ing me the bird with one of those smiles so
nearly allied to tears.
For he once had another child,,a little
daughter, who now reposes in the silent cem
etery. I heard the harsh noise of the nails as
they were driven in her littiseoofiu; I saw her
father following her to thegrave, his uncovered
head bowed low with grief; tlnmr reume his
place at the bench before the open window,
between the two pots of withered gillyflowers.
He was always industrious, always courteons.
If I chanced to meet him on the stairs he would
stop aside5 saluting me with:
" Is monsieur well T Monsieur mast be care
ful in walking, the stairs have just been waxed;
or it isiing to rain; Motniieur would-do well -
to take his iumbrdlll". "lit' tnothing mdre ; no -
more songs or laughter were heard in his deer
olate home. ..
One morning, I was at the windlow looking
into the yard; Father Mark went out, his piece
ofdry bread under his arm ; he was oing as
usual to the grocer's to purchase a half-pennoy'
worth ofcheese fot his breakfast. Alittle leas.
ant boy was standing at the gateway with a
bird's nest in his bhad.
lie had sold, one after another, the three
l etti.,-t I,ilds; onlly one remina:edl and it
lo,ked si disl lltuted, so shivering, tha:t those
whi, examinedit turnedl awy', .sin. ln,, ' It's
goilig to die."
Mark iii his turn apiproach.eL Ido not know
what the poir ldesolat-looking nest or the
,mlumelcess orphan could have said tomy neigh
Lor; but I haw him sli , the price of his Ireak
fast ,into the peasant si lnuld, and the two
forlorn cre:it urea disaipear'ed, together.
Severat.1 l days passed; I thoaght no niore of
the Iird u1 ntil one morning, walkinig nit on my
haicn.y, I hearsd a chirping rather fecl,le, but
so merry that I loaned over to discuver the
anlthor of it. Father lMark wai at hi-u window,
iimaking a nest for the Iid of his left hand and
feeding him with the right.
On perceiving mei, he ex·ucused himself for
not hieing able to remove, his hut.
"Canl that be the bird 1 saw the other day I"
I asked in astojihnisment.
"It is," replied the tailor; "thank God, I
have nome hIolu.ns that it will lives" -
And the little tiedgling became more lively
every day; by degrees, his songs diffused new
joy in the lonely dwelling.
Father Mark was both the preceptor and the
friend of his bird, which, at the very sound of
his voice, would Slap his wings, run to the sides
of the cage and thrust his head through the
bars.
The bird had now become the wonder of the
(Continued eo Eighth Plas.

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