Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 June 1877 — TRUE TO HER WOED. [ARTICLE]

TRUE TO HER WOED.

L*o N ora Lonsdale's most partial Mend could not call her pretty. Her moot impartial enemies—beinc possessed ol much cleverness, strength of character, and hatred of shams, it followed she had a few—declared her ugly. For the benefit of those who have never seen the young lady, and consequently belong to neither one side nor the other. 1 will describe her—beginning with what, none can deny, is th« i most prominent feature of the human face. Noecof no particular order, neither aquiline, straight, pug, turned up nor turned-down, but original and independent, and, apparently in the right placeeyes brown with a glint of topaz—a slight cast in the left one, pronounced by the friendly ** bcwitchingly cunniag” and by the inimical “decidedly impiah’’—mouth neither large nor small, with full, red lips closing firmly over two rows of strong, white teeth— complexion neither blooms nor brunette, but clear and rosy and her men, and chin that only escaped being masculine by having a dimple in it. Her head, heavy with a quantity of straight, black hair, was well shaped enough, and well set upon a slender neck, that was again well set upon her suffl-ciently-broad sbouldera—her hands were small, but the fingers did not taper —she was five feet six inches in height, and looked as though she might be taller if she chose—had a clear, riuging laugh, a musical chest-voice —a graceful walk — opinions of her own, and whistled like a bird. And yet, notwithstanding her want of beauty- her many defects, I might say—there were men who had expressed a readiness to die for Leonora at need, and more who had declared themselves perfectly willing to live for her. In fact, to those in whose nature she touched some sympathetic chord —those who loved breezy hills, and clear lakes, and long stretches of grassy fields, dotted with chance sown flowers, and stirring martial music, and Burns’ poems, the girl was simply irresistible. There was a wonderful atmosphere of freedom, of purity, of bravery about her. And Leonora was a worker. Much as ■he despised shams and' hypocrisies she despised idleness. Ho queen of the hive would she have consented to be, but one of the seekersafter and bringers-in of honey, and build-crs-of-cells and killers-of-droneg. “ I hate indolence—sheer indolence,” she would say. “.Nature is never idle, though home poet or other declares that on midsummer days perfect idlenes reigns upon the earth and above the earth —the grass and flowers looking idly up and the sky looking idly down. What an idiot the man must be 1 The flowers and grass are growing, a little slowly it may be, but still growing, and the sky is quietly preparing for a thunder storm or a gorgeous sunset, to say nothing of the corn swelling and ripening and the pumpkins turning' to gold. “ Daydreaming! I don’t believe in it. Do yous dreaming at night and work during the dayand, while she talked, in » brigh t- cheerful way, each Word clear and distinct, she busily "plied her needle, making little dresses, and jackets and aprons. “For whom?" “ Oh, for some poor children around the corner. 1 had nothing else to do.” It was while thus occupied one afternoon, early in September, seated on the old fashioned porch, shaded by a heavy grapevine, that Clifford Cameron sauntered in and threw himself in an easychair beside hex. “Cliff” had been a chum of Harry Lonsdale’s since early boyhood, and for just that period had alternately tried to tease and make love to Harry Lonsdale's sister. fie was a gbod-lookiDg, sweet-tem-pered, generous, lazy young fellow, with no end of money. Grandfather haddied and left him money—father had died and ieft him money— uncle had died and left him money, and lately an old great-aunt, whom he had never seen, had departed this life, away off in some obscure corner of the globe, and left him more money. He bad very fair hair and big, very blue ■ eyes, beautiful hands and feet, was rather stout than slender, short than tall, and spoke in the extreme English manner, at times so indistinctly that he could scarcely be understood even by near relatives and intimate friends—was one of those infatuated men who thought the slight cast in Leonara’s left eye perfectly charming, and who had said they would die of joy if she’d only graciously permit them to'devote the remainder of their lives to her.

At least, according to Cliff's statement, that was what they said. “Well, Bee,” said he, taking up a small apron and leisurely surreyiug it. “Well, Butterfly,” was the reply, “ what brings you back from Newport so soon?” “You.” “ Oh! you’ve come here to talk that way again,” says the young lady, holding another 3mall apron before her, her head on one side like a bird's, as she ponders on the effect of a bow of green ribbon she has sewn on the pocket. “Right”—l am afraid it really was “ wight” —“ as you always are, my darling.” " “ I’m not your darling, and I’ll take that apron if you’re quite done with it.” “ Deuce take the apron, say I. Stop sewing, I beg of you, Leo—it makes me quite tired to look at you.” “ Clifford!” “ Leonora!” “ Aren’t you ashamed of yourself ?” “Don't think lam. Ought Ito be?” With decision—'* You should. Were 1 a young man in good health, not maimed or crippled—blessed with the average quantity and quality of brains—” “Thanks!” ** I’d do something beside lounging at watering-places in the summer and clubhouses in the winter—something in the shape of work —ves, if five hundred uncles, and grandfathers, and aunts ” “ Couldn’t, any way in the world, thank Heaven, my dear girl, have so many relations.” “ Left me five Jmndred fortunes. And if 1 tell in love with a girl, I’d prove to her before I proposed marriage, that I, uiyself ” “ * Myself! Behold me!’ ” quoted Cliff, from Hiawatha. “ Could, if an emergency arose, and life is full of them, support her, and that I was not entirely dependent upon the income flowing in from the coffers filled by my ancestors.” “Bravo! Leo! You’re a splendid fellow 1 That last remark about the coffins of my ancestors was extremely find. I’d like so have any one, in the glow of my present admiration for you, dare to hint that yon were the tiniest speck cross-eyed. He or she’d repent in haste. Boot, most admirable ot your sex, what would you do if you were a male fellow, mnmfortunate at to know nothing useful, •ad wanted to propose to the gin you loved and all the rest of it r

“ I’d learn a trade if 1 hadn't talent enough for a profession.” ” The average quantity and quality of brain is scarcely sufficient for a proses sion, and I’m tcoold to betaken as an apprentice. If I were not and could be converted into a shoemaker or bricklayer—or —or—plumber, I think I prefer being a plumber, they only come nad look at things apd go away again. I couldn’t give you a house like this, where you could sit os the porch with a peach three in front of you and a nice grapevine over you, making clothes for horrid children around corners.” ” Nonsense! I don’t mean that.” “What do yon mean, then?" reaching up and plucking a grape from a lowhanging branch. “Clin Cameron, gou know what I mean as well as I do,” and yet «hc explains with great slowness and emphasis. “ I moan that a man should be able to support the woman he marries, either by his head or hands, whether he is eve r obliged toornot. Go away, you aro putting me out ol' temper." “Puttingyou out of temper? You’re mistaken. I never saw vour dimple so angelic in my life. But I say, Leo,” he continued, more seriously, “if I proveto you that on an emergency—that is, if you with your luxurious tastes and general extravagance should waste my substance in riotous living after we were married—if I prove to you that in that case I should be willing and able to give you bread with an occasional bit of butter —would you name the day ?” “ That emergency never could arise.” “ Well, imagine any emereency you choose, only answer me. Would you name the day?” “What day?” “ Leonora!” "Yes, I would.” “You would—fair and square now?” “ I would. Isn’t that enough?” “ Quite enough. But it must be an early one.” “Must?” "Will, ray blessed.” “Yes.” Cliff Cameron arose deliberately, took awav the sewing, deftly converted it into a ball and tossed it up among the grapes, made both small hands, little gold thimble and all, prisoners, and kissed her upon the dimple, upon the left eye, and lastly upon the warm, red lips. “ Mr. Cameron, this is premature,” said she, her cheeks glowing like two pink roses. “ Not at all. Miss Lonsdale, you are mine. To morrow I will take my place among the workers. It wili be a humble one, but sufficient to prove to you that I am competent to earn the bread and butter of which I have spoken.” “ But Cliff’’—dropping her eyes for the first time. “ "Well, Leo”—clasping the bright face between his hands, and making her raise them again. “Are you sure—you know how you admire pretty women, and I’m not pretty.” “ But you're good—and to me the loveliest and sweetest girl in the whole world.” One Thursday afternoon, two days after the dialogue on the back porch, Miss*Leonora Lonsdale, as she was wont on Thursday afternoons, being the executive ability of some charitable society that met on that day, stepped into a somewhat crowded street-car, looking neither to the right nor left, but straight before her, in her usual manner. Once seated, she abstracted her pocketbook from her sachel and took from it the inevitable five cents, when she became aware of a hand stretched put toward her —a man’s hand, a handsome hand, a familiar hand. Ilcr eyes rested on it an instant and then traveled up the arm to which it belonged until it met the face—half hidden by a slouched, broad-brimmed hat—of the conductor, Cliff Cameron! She demurely placed her fare in his hand, and, as her enemies would have said, the cast in her eye beams more impish than ever. “ The day ?” said the conductor, in a low, firm, business-like tone, not a gleam of intelligence lighting up his big, blue eyes. “Six months from date," replied Leonora, in the same tone, as she dropped her pocket-book back in her sachel.—Margaret Eyti'-ge, in Detroit Free Press.