Democratic Sentinel, Volume 1, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 June 1877 — FATHERS’ WILLS. [ARTICLE]

FATHERS’ WILLS.

A Talc ol' Itroaking and Mending. Tn the days when fill the world wan romance, and no drib watt ashamed of It, two gentlemen of England conceived the preposterous, Imt fashionable idea that, because they were friends, their son and dung liter, then infants in their cradles, ni-ust love each other when they grew to be man and woman. Consequently, each made a will, and matters were so arranged that, il either of the young people declined the hand of the other, that young person would he penniless, and his or her estate go to the other young person who was willing. After some years, the gentleman whose child, was a daughter h’lt his native England for America, while the other remained in England ; so that the ocean rolled between the romantic friends, The English resit lent was named Edmund Harrington; tin) American, Charles Scab right, Both were wealthy,’ and both brought their children up carebdly. As they grew older they permitted them to correspond with each other, Imt each detested the task so that the letters wcre'aclmdly written .by the elders "themselves. Once, at the age of .11, when news came that little Harold Harrington had fallen Horn a tree, and broken his leg, Elsie ►Seabright was desired to reply that, sire felt great regret, furl send her best love amt wishes for his speedy recovery ; but the girl, wJto could never listen to the buy’s name with anything lik'- patience, refused to write one word of this-amiable epistle. “ 1 wish he had broken his neck, so so that l might never he/u 1 ■ any more about him, she said, with a stump of her slippered loot; “find' I won t write Jibs.” Ho again mamma wrote the letter, having first locked Elsie up in a dark pantry by way of punishment. ■‘Add f am sorry to find a child of mine so unfeeling, "shle said. “ A broken leg causes great pain, and may make one lame l'br life. ” “A nice tiring for me that would lie if 1 am to marry him,” said Elsie. Indeed, il she had been as sympathetic as her mother desired her to, Elsie would have hud opportunity enough to exereise these feelings, for her young betrothed w'us always in some pickle, and had nearly drowned and nearly, shot himself a dozen times, to sa y nothing of ordinary tumbles. It was tit for tat, at all events, for, alien Elsie had the measles, Master Harold received the, information with a contemptuous indifference amounting to hearijlessuess, and had indeed said that lie did not care. He hated girls, and this pno the worst of them all. Ho, with the ocean between them, the young peojile grew to maturity, and the year approached in which they wore to meet

But meanwhile all sorts of sad tilings lnippeii'ed. Elsie lost both her father mid mother, find away in England Mr. Harrington died suddenly of apoplexy. Bo the two men, who had’looked forward lor si) many years to meeting when their • 'lliklron were married, never met again. But for those obstinate wills the whole matter would liavo been dropped, for the last thing tire young people desired was to meet each other But the young man was of age, and the youug lady also, and the property must bo settled, and could not be until the match was either on or oil. The old lawyers in whose hands the allair rested knew the toolings of their wards, but they judged that a meeting might mend matters. At least, it was necessary that they should meet. Bo Harold, as in duty bound, was to cross the ocean to meet liis betrothed, anil give her an opportunity to refuse him. "j’bo news of his arrival brought into bill activity those feelings of repugnance that Elsie had conceived for Harold in her childhood. Yet there was enough of worldly wisdom in her head to teach her how much better it was to lie rich than tb be poor. If he refused her, her foil hue anil his also would lie her own by law. She would force him to refuse her, and then she would return him his, and all would be as it should. But how could she do this? I he girl sat tor awhile in deep revory, and then arose and clapped her hands together, A thought had struck her. I here was in the house a seamstress—a vulgar girl, as plain as it was possible to lie, and with as much conceit as any young beauty was ever blessed with. Her rough manners and ways of speech had become proverbial among her own class, the other servants sp Taking of her generally as Crusty Betsy, And this gill bail of late been occupied in the ioom ot her young mistress over some new dresses, Straight to this apartment Elsie new, and, locking the door, sat down opposite Betsy and said : ' ‘‘ I have something for you to do, and 111 pay you well for it.” ‘‘J" Bt it, then,’’ said Betsy. When I was a little girl, Betsy,” said Elsie poor papa promised that I should marry a young gentleman who Jives in England when I was grown and that if I did not I should lose my fortune. Now the time has come and he is coming, and I can’t marry him, Betsy and I want him to refuse‘me. I)o you understand ?” “I understand,” said Betsy, “and if* I were you I’d huff him off quick enough, and make him glad to go, that I would.” “ And I can’t think how to do it, Betsy,” said Elsie, “and if you can you must do it for me. While he stays you must pretend that you are Miss Seabright j you must wear my clothes, and take ail the airs you possibly can, and

make him as unhappy as possible, so that he’ll have to refuse you—that is, me, you know. Be sharp as you can with him, Betsy—never the least bit kind or nice. You’ll try, won’t/you, Betsy!” ' / “ I can give anyone as good as they Bend, miss,” said Betsy. “ I’m no mealy-mouth, and you’ll pay me well, miss.” “I’ll, give you a hundred dollars, Betsy,” said the girl, “for you’ll save me freedom and my fortune ; and you’ll not refuse him, you know, else all Ajould be spoilt.” “ I’ll manage,” said Betsy. Then the two girls left all other work to examine Elsie’s wardrobe, and soon Betsy was’ dressed in the most elegant attire, her hair powdered, as was the custom, and white gloves upon her hands. “And I,” said Elsie, “will be your poor companion, and you must call me Miss Smith and snub me and order me about.” Tliub all was arranged when the little letter Elsie had been so long expecting arrived, and, breaking its blue seal, Bhe read that Mr. Harrington would pay his respects to Mias Seabright in an hour. How Miss Seabright laughed as she sat waiting in the drawing-room watching Betsy sail up and down with all her new assumption of dignity ! Betsy, with the most amiable intention, would have been sure of offending ; but Betsy, bent on being unpleasant, would be a grand success. Just then Bott?y herself leaned from the window. “ Oh, miss !” she cried, “ there’s a carriage at the door, and a gentleman coming out of it. Bless us !” if thkt’s him, I don’t wonder you want to be off your match. Deary mo ! oh, deary me !” But before she could explain a servant line! brought Elsie a card bearing the name of Harold Ilurrington, and, as she arose, an extraordinary figure entered the room. It was a very tall young man, between whose shoulders, nevertheless, grew an immenso hump. He also, though he seemed to move actively enough, walked upon crutches. On his head, from which he had removed liis cap, was a black silk skull-cap, such as entirely bald old gentlemen then wore. Over his ears was a big black bandage, which also quite covered his chin. On his right eye was a large, green patch; on his left cheek another. .All that was visible of bis face was his nose, which was certainly weH-shaped, but which was much the color of red flannel; and about his throat was indeed a flannel muffler.

This was Harold Harrington. Elsie’s surprise was so great that she sank into a chair, and forgot to prompt Betsy its she had intended. But Betsy needed no prompting. Bhe was not in the least embarrassed. Bhe advanced to meet Mr. Harrington with a grin of supreme insolence on her face, and burst into a loud laugh. “Well,” she said, “so you are my young man, are you ? I must say whoever picked you out showed no mighty great taste; ’twasn’t for your beauty, that’s-plain.” “ No, madam,” said the new arrival, “it was not for my beauty. Do I address Miss Boabright?” “ Why, who else should I be ?” cried Betsy, “ ’Twas not for your cleverness, neither, you were chosen. But, now you have come, sit down. Been in the wars, haven’t you V” “ My infirmities,” sighed the young man, “ are the result of my recklessness as a boy. I have a most sympathizing letter from you upon the fall which broke my limb. You remember it I You also condoled with me upon the careless shot which cost me my eye, though you did not know how serious was the result. It was while I Avas on a trip to Switzerland that I broke my back, and, while endeavoring to drink some boiling tea the housekeeper left carelessly upon the table, I scalded all the hair from my head. This scar upon my cheek is the result of having attempted to shave myself with my father’s razor. It was injudicious of him uot to tell you the result of my injuries, but now you see them for yourself. I Avill not go into further particulars. You remember all my accidents ?” “ Yes,” said Betsy, “and a flue figger of a man tliey’vo made you. You’ll do to scare the croAvs from an orchard, I must say, aud you’re sent to me that I might have my pick and choice of offers to marry ! It’s enough to make one die of laughing.”

“ Then you refuse me ?” said the young map, very eagerly. “Oh, no,” said Betsy, “oh, no, I don’t; there’s the fortune, you know. Money is money, and even an object like you is better than poverty. I’ll have you. Though how folks will laugh to see us paired off' together ! One comfort, though ; so broken down as you must be, you can’t last long.” “Ou the contrary, I expect to live to he 80,” said the young man. “Expectations don’t go for much,” said Betsy. “Look how the old folks went.” -* “ We were deprived of their affections very suddenly,” said the young man, sighing. “My father loved yours dearly, Miss Seabright.” “Folks will take queer notions,” said Botsy. “ Well, I must say you aro an object. I can’t help laughing, whenever I look at you.” “ We snail have a very merry life together, ” said Harold, “if your disposition continues.” “ Oh, I shan’t see much of you,” said Betsy, “I can promiso you, after the riug is on. What possessed you to smash yourself up so ? But I shan’t refuse you. ‘ It’s money makes the mare go,’ says the old song.” “It may be,” said Harold. “ But let the mare stand still for me, then. So, madam, you have the fortune without any incumbrance in my person.” “ And good riddance to bad rubbish, say I!” cried Betsy. “ There are better fish in the sea than you, or women would he poorly off. You’re going, eh? Well, the sooner the better. Miss Smith, ring the bell.” Elsie rose and touched the bell.

But now that the deed was done, and her object attained, she felt dreadfully ashamed of herself. Certainly a more unhappy and singular object than this before her could not well be imagined. Indeed, compassionate as was her heart, she felt that his appearance was not. only painful, but almost ludicrous, but all the more should ho have been tenderly and kindly used. Why had she played this childish prank, and allowed a vulgar woman to insult him in her presence ? And this gentleman—for, hideous as he was, ho evidently was a gentleman by breeding as well as by birth—how would he henceforth think of her ? He would always believe that she had uttered those rude words—she, and none other. And as he left the room she followed him, and the servant who had answered the bell retired at her nod, and left the two together in the long hall, where they could hear the long and violent explosions of laughter with which Betsy was now filling the drawing-room. “Mr. Harrington,” said Elsie, her face crimsoning as she spoke, “ I cannot let you go without a word of explanation. I—l have been so grieved that you should be so insulted. I never meant ” “ My dear young ladyyyou have nothing to do with it, and my feelings are not iu the least hurt,” replied the young man. “ Who could care anything for what a person like the woman we have just left could say? But I am amazed that that should be Miss Seabright. I know she is a lady by birth. I understood that she was beautiful and gentle. “ Oh, Mr. Harrington,” cried Elsie, “ I have been euch a foolieh girl! She is not Mias Seabright, lam Miss Sea* bright. I—l—it was a ridiculous strata*

gem of mine. I hated the idea of a betrothal to a stranger, and I desired that you should take the initiative in breaking off the match. But, believe me, I had no knowledge of your infirmities, which could be only a subject for sympathy to me ; and I beg you to forgive me for placing that coarse woman in a position in which she could insult you. Prove it by remaining with me until I can offer you some refreshment after yonr long journey.” The young man bowed, looked at her a moment, and then replied frankly : “Madam, I quite appreciate your motives and entirely forgive yon. lam pleased to accept your invitation.” It was the custom in well-arranged houses at that day to send guests to their rooms for awhile before dinner. Accordingly Miss Seabright ordered a servant to show Mr. Harrington to an apartment on the upper floor, and retired to her own room to dress for dinner. Ten minutes after Ler entrance into her apartment, this servant brought her a large bundle and a small note—a bundle several feet long, and a note a few inches square. She. opened the note first and read these words : My Dear Miss Heabkioht : I also have a confession to make. I also, before I met you, had resolved that you should be the one to decline the condition of our father’s wills, intending afterward to give you back your share of the property. Consequently 1 set about devising a scheme ; and, reading my school-day letters, it occurred to me that no. one ever went through so many small accidents quite unscathed and unmarred before. I knew that few women would chooße to marry a very hideous man ; consequently I concocted a disguise which I fancied would make me repugnant to the least particular of the fair sex. Allow me to lay at your feet my crutches, which I never needed, thank Heaven ; my hump, which was a featherpillow ; the skull-cap, which did not hide my bald pate, and all my bandages and patches. The vermilion which adorned my nose I have rnnoved with a little water; and, though I obtained my invitation to dinner under false pretenses, I beg to be allow ed to pay my respects to you in proper person, and ts apologize for my trick, which, after all, dear madam, was only tit for tat. Harold Habkinoton. At first Elsie Avas unreasonably angry, but her anger did not last long. They met at dinner, and before they parted it was quite concluded that they Bhould carry out the wishes of their parents by agreeing to dine together always.