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VOLUME I.
OXFOKI), X, C., WEUXESDAY, APRIL 21, 1875.
XUMBER IC:
For the Companion.
BY ALICE EOBBINSi
I liad always lieard my Aunt
Bellmaino called an oddity. Mam
ma would talk of her by the
hour.
“But then, poor thing, she was
BO dreadfully disajipointed,” she
always added, “ that it seemed
to unhinge her mind.”
We knew what the disappoint
ment had been, we girls, and had
often talked it oyer. She had
been engaged to bemarried, when,
the Amry eA-ening slie wore her
bridal dress, news came of a fear-
iiil accident, almost a,s bad as
that of the ferry boat in New
York, receutl}'", and slie was wid-
ow'ed, poor soul,' before she was
a wife.
They said she never shed a tear,
but turned like a thing of marble,
so deathly white w'as her face,
and walked up stairs, put away
her wedding finery, and never
spoke of it again. Before that,
she had been the life of the house
hold, but since then, no one had
ever seen her smile.
At that time my own mother
was a child of five, and this sister
nearly twenty her senior, for there
was a large family of boys be
tween. The young man had per
haps had a presentiment of his
death, for his will was made, and
two or three small houses and se v
eral thousand dollars became the
property of my Aunt Bellmaine.
For several years, we had heard
but little about her, and what we
heard was not pleasant. She was
keeping a small shop in the lower
part hf the great'city of New York.
We heard of her as mean and av
aricious, ugly as a scarecrow, ab
rupt in manner, ’and every way
repulsive; so that, when I was
seventeen, and Lilly, my sister,
was nineteen, having received a
letter, inviting one of us to come
to see her, we both demurred ex
ceedingly.
One part of the strangely-writ-'
ten letter, touched my heart.
“I long to see some body who
is kin to me. Send one of your
children—^the one most willing to
put up with the whims of a poor
old woman, that I may look upon
her and bless her before 1 die.”
“I don’t want her blessings,”
said Lilly, bridling. “I wouldn’t
go to such a place, to stay a week
Avith such a woman, for twenty
blessiugs.”
Now Lilly Avas the beauty of
the family, and had been petted
by all of us. It was expected that
she would make a great match
some day, though hoAv she was'
going to do it Avithout going to
the city, we none of us knew.
But of course the thing was to be
done, somehow/
“It may be that this is your
chance,” said mother; at which
Lilly laughed, almost insolent
ly- ....
/I’m not quite crazy, mother,”
she said. I can’t go to New
York to see people living in some
sort of style, I don’t want to go at
all; Goodness, that old woman
•would drive mo Tv-ild. I should
never know what to do or say.
No, I thank you; Nell may go if
she likes; it would just suit her,
she is so fond of curiosities.”
“Poor old soul!” I said, pity
ingly, thinking of that sad sen
tence in her letter. “It must be
so hard to have nobody to love
one."
“Well, which shall it be f ’ ask
ed mamma, dipping her pen in
the ink, “or shall I write that
neither of my daughters feel dis
posed to come f ’
“Certainly not me,” said Liliy,
decidedly. I v.'as in doubt.
“I should like to see Nev/ Y ork,
but if she is queer in her ways,
and absurd in her dress, it will be
dreadful to go round v,dth ]2er,”
“She may be neither, my dear,”
said mamma, quietly, “and she
may be both. I have not seen
her for years. She never seemed,
after her misfortune, to regard
me in any way, so I have fallen
into the habit of forgetting her.”
I thought of that sad sentence
again, and decided.
“i’ll go. Poor soul! she sha’u’t
die without seeing one of us,
when her heart seemed to yearn
for the sight” ^ dHy laughed
at me, but motliA' wrote.
' Ill a few days came a iotter,
and the money to defray my ex-
pe?^ses.
“Don’t take your best things,
child !” said Lilly, seriously. “I
should just wear one dress, and
take one, for, mark my words,
you v/oii’t stay a week 1”
“I shall take my very best,” said
I, smartly. “I don’t care if she
does live like a miser. Bhe has
been kind enough to invite me
and pay iny v.'ay; do you think
I’d go to her like a beggar P’
Lilly laughed her provoking
laugh—hut, 0, how pretty she
looked!
“Wait, and see how you’ll come
back,” she said.
My Aunt Bellmaine said she
would meet me at the depot. It
was a long and weary ride, over
a day’s travel, and 1 was thor
oughly wearied out. I did not
care, now, where I went, so I
was insured a cup of tea, and a
bed to rest ou. But I was not
perjiared for my reception.
A woman, not so very' old,
dressed most becomingly in thick
black silk, trimmed with costly
lace, accosted me as I left the cars,
and looked wistfully round.
“This must be my niece, Hel
en.”
“And are you my Aunt Bell
maine f’ I asked, in utter sur
prise.
“Yes, dear, how tired you must
be 1” she said, in sweet, soft old
voice. My carriage is waiting.
We shall soon be home, and you
will get nicely rested.”
Buch a carnage, so neat and
luxurious, I had never seen in my
life.' I could' hardly believe my
senses.
“Hannah,” said my aunt to a
plam little Woman seated in the
carriage, “this is my niece, and
I’m very glad she is pretty.”
“If you call me pretty, I won
der what you’d say to my sister
Lilly,” I said, nestling back on
the luxurious seat.
“Y/ho declined to come I” said
ray Aunt Bellmaine, in a queer
voice, and I knew the blood flew
to my cheeks, fori remembered
all the bitter things that Lilly had
Said;
Hannah seemed pleased wdth
me, and WQ drove along, lin
maze of doubt and ^voiider, till
we stopped before a fine, brown-
stone house, and I w'as led out,
and led in, amid perfumes, lights,
pictures of great price, and fairly
bewilderedgby the beauty and re
finement about me. It was all
like fairy land to me, and Aunt
Bellmaine was as sw'eet and gra
cious as a princess. 5Iy supper
vras beyond all praise ; my bed
room a perfect bower of neat
ness.
“What shall I say to lally ?” I
kept repeating to myself.
Weil, I w^as satisfied, of course.
Every day. Aunt Bellmaine, at
tired inliome apparel, was driven
down town, and precisely at four,
she returned. Then began my
pleasure. We drove everywhere,
saw all the sights wortli seeing,
went to all the pla,ces of amuse
ment that my aunt thought would
please me, received companj^ at
home, some of tlie best and must
inteligcnt people of the city visit
ing at my Aunt Bellmaine’s; and
so the days glided on, a succession
of delights.
One day I went -with her to the
little shop—a veritable old cuii-
osit]/ shop, and as well woilh see
ing as any museum. There I
learned what my aunt really w^as
—an angel of mercy. All the
poor and miserable adored her.
They came to her with their lit
tle troubles, and she sold them
goods at small prices, often lent
them money, often paid their rent,
and yet so keen wm'e her facul
ties, so just she was, that even
amidst all this poverty and mis
ery, she lost nothing. On the
contrary, her gains were steadily
increasing, and she had investxi
so judiciously in land, that she
was now enormously rich.
Y/ell, my only longing now
w'as to have Lill}' there. Of course
she was chagrined, mortified be
yond expression at wdiat she had
lost, for I had taken the greatest
pains to be circumstantial in all
my letters.
One day, my aunt said.—
‘ My dear, though I shall never
like your sister as I do you, sup
pose you ask her to come and en
joy herself a little wdiile I As for
you, I am going to ask your mam
ma to give you to me. I am an
old w'oman, and my days are
numbered, so it will not be long
that you w’ill bo chained to me, if
tlie good God pleases.”
Lilly came but with all her
beauty, Aunt Bellmaine was al
ways a little cold towards her.
Aunt Bellmaine is dead, now, and,
while I respect her memory, and
love her more than any earthly
thing, I try to use the wealth she
left, as she and God would have
me.
ILal^or.
Hiima-n labor is a thousand little rills that
replenish the fountain of man’s existence.
It rends the rochs asunder to build the marts
of commerce. It sends its tiny but powerful
oots into the soil, that the crops may, in
due season, fructify, and replenish and glard-
den the earth; itdiv.es into the darkened mine,
•where cheering sunlighi never' penetrates, to
bring forward some of the most important
accessaries'of modem' civilization; for where
would that civilization be. without the product
of labor? As we value the products of labor
how much more should we esteem the intelli
gent agencies by which they are produced ?
In whatever sphere of action it may be, labor
is honorable, anh there is at times a moral
heroism and spirit of self-denial exhibited
whlol it gylimei ’
“What is meant bj a man of
strain ?” Tins,' as Avell as the
term “straAX-bail,” arose from a
practice Avhich preA'ailed in Eng
land for over one hundred and fif
ty years, and having been Avritten
doAvn, so lately as 1836, in “The
PickAvick Papers,” by diaries
Dickens. When there existed the
injustice and annoyance of arres
ting a man; on the oath of any
one AA'lio chose to SAA-ear that he
owed him money; there arose a
habit of putting in b.ail for the ap
pearance of the person so captur
ed to meet the charge at the prop-
ed time and place, ^liere used
to loiter about the law courts of
London a class of shabby-genteel
persons, who for o. small payment
(say of tAA'o or three dollars),
Avould become bail in each case,
boldly s-wearing, while their cloth
ing Avas of the seediest and poor
est ordei’, that they were possess
ed of freehold property to more
than double the amount of the
debt. Of course it was knoAvu
that these creatures Avere penni
less, liA-ing by this trade of perju
ry. But the defendant’s attorney,
who provided them, Avas held ac
countable for the defendant’s ap
pearance, Aidien legally necessary.
In Fielding’s ‘Life of Jonathan
Wild,’ the thief-catcher, it is men
tioned that this w'orthy’s aunt
married an eminent gentleman
‘who was famous for so friendly
a disposition that he was bail for
above a hundred persons in
one year.—He had also the re
markable honor of walking in
Westminister Hall with a strain in
his shoe.” In those days, and la
ter, when a lawyer Avanted the
shadow- of bail, or a witness wdio
would SAvear AA-bateA-er liCAvas told,
he had only to go into Westmin-
isters Hall, into -which the princi
pal courts of laAV opened, and any
man w-alking there Avilling to act
as bail or witness, could be knoAvii
at a glance by a straAv or two
which protruded, very visibly,
out of one of his dilapidated shoes.
Hence arose the terms, “straw-
bail” and “a man of straw-.”—Per
sons of this class were w-ell known
in Athens, tAvo thousand years
ago.—Truly did one of Solomon’s
proverbs say, “There is nothing
neAv under the sun.”
Tlse Overcoat JOoxoiog^y.
The London Lancet says:
“The greatest strength can but
retard the day AA-hen anxoius la
bor, prolonged through the hours
Avhich should be those of rest,
strains the physical pOAvers too
far, and the constitution of the
strongest gives way at last under
the high pressure of a statesman’s
lile. Against such high pressure
only the unA-arying habit of reg
ular and sufficient rest can pre-
serA-e in health and energy those
who work with the brain. The
long-continued and unimpaired
power of one of our own prime
Ministers is aa-oII knoAvm to have
been in great measure due to his
habit of spending one-third of Ins
time in sleep, a habit Avith Avhich
he would allow nothing to inter
fere. Who can say how much
would be gained in length of life
p.nd useful energy could our pro
fessional classes folloAv his exam
ples?”
Tlie Metliodist Recorder had an amusing.
Winter article on “the Overcoat Doxology,”
which a contemporary thinks should bo adap
ted to Spring and Summer service. In the
Wiuter*article the following dccurfed: .,-
“Praise God from whom”—and all through^
the congreation there is a general stir tp
find hats and draw on overcoat.?, so that by
the time those who have nothing more impor
tant to do than to join in the singing have
come to “Praise him all creatures hero
below,” a number of these same "creatnres’_
are in a deadly wrestle with sleeves and lin
ing by a backward .measurement of arms.
Much they are thinking about praising tho_
Highest! Their chief concern seems to be
they shall be ready to dart out as soon as tbe
benediction is pronmmoed, to stand on the.
sidewalk in front and criticso the people hs
they come out, or Jiuvry arvay to some less
“tiresome” place.' "Well, well! and ^he same,
above—“Ye heavenly host” how pitiably
they must look dowu upon this . contest he-,
tween overcoat and praise to God! Hearing
the appeal of a divided, half-hearted con-^
gregration coming up from beneath some,
heaven pointing spire, is it likely their pure
spirits will bo wrought into a greater de
votion and thankfulness’? We need no
Nobility ©f Eabor.
It is with virtues as with ffowers; some
have a perfume, others cold colors; some
hang ou graceful stems, (.>tliers stand stiSiy.
Those are people who arc not content with
Itecping their souls wliite—they ■want them
■eturohodj
Hardly anything jis more comtemptiblo
than the conceit which rests upon social
position ;t ho couce'it of those whe imagine'
that they are thus divorced lifom the clay of
common men ; of those who shrink with hor
ror from the idea of W'ork, as something that
degrades by its contact and yet who, very
likely, owe their present position to some not
very remote ancestor who recognized his call
to work, lived more honestly in the world,
than they do, and wasmot ashamed®of soiled,
thumbs. It is one of the meanest things for.
people to bo ashamed of tbe work which,
glorified their ancestors more, with their,
soiled aprons and black govnis, than they
with .their fiiio ribbons and flashing je\5;;el3.
It might be a fine thing to bo 'like the- lilies,,
more gloriously clothed thau^Solomon, ]^and
doing nothing as if wo wore lilies.— Advan
tageous position is only a more emphatic' call
for work: and while those who hold the ad-_
vantage position may not bo compelled to
manual drudgery, they should recougnize the
fact that manual drudgery may be performed,
in the same spirit as that which characterizes,
their ouTi work,'aud therefore it is equally
honorable.
Moving- the Rock of Ages.—I'hd
good people of the town of E M”ere talk
ing of moviughheir meeting house to a moro/
agreeable locality. Among the advocates of
the movement none were more earnest than
old Deacon A.,-who by the way, had an un
controlable habit of sleejiing -m church. No
matter how interesting, the discourse, the old
deacon was sure to drop off about such a
time. Ou the Sabbath preceding the day ap-.
pointed for moving the house, the pastor,
preached an interesting sermon .on, “The,
Rock of Ages.” Grow’ing eloquent in his
remarks, the good miuistcr’liually added with
great emphasis:
“Who canhnove it]?”
The deacon^iaving been asleep as usua,
woke up just iu time to catch] the quorly
thinking the pastor referred to the meeting
house ro8e|up in his seat and exclaimed:
“I’ll bring over my yoke of, s.teers, and'
tbey’U jerk it along the whole distance, if,
you’ll keep plenty of hard wood rollers under,
it.” The deacon never slept m meeting after
that.
WSiat Causes 5£ard Times.
Too many spend money, and too few earn'
it. Too much money is spent wastcfully.and’
uselessly, and too little saved adn made pro
ductive and accumulative.
We buy too much that we do not pay for
casli down—too much of \vhat wc buy being
what we do not actually need.
We are too wasteful, know too little how
to economize, and have too littlo disposition'
to do so. .
Too many of us prefer idleness to industry,
and too few of us know how to' work and
derive pleasure and profit from our labor.
We spend too much time hearing what is
not useful, and too littlo informing ourselves
upon tlie best methods of promoting our ma-
tif ial prosjMirity'.