Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 July 1877 — THE FATHERS’ AND THE CHILDREN’S WILLS. [ARTICLE]

THE FATHERS’ AND THE CHILDREN’S WILLS.

A Tale or Breaking and mending. In the days when all the world was romantic, ano no one was ashamed of it, two gentlemen of England conceived the preposterous, but fashionable, idea that, because they were friends, their son and daughter, then infants in their cradles, must love each other when they grew to be man and woman. Consequently, each made a will, and matters were so arranged that, if either of the young people declined the hand of the other, that young person would be 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 left his native England for America, while the other remained in England; so that the ocean rolled between the romantic friends. The English resident was named Edmund Harrington. The American, Charles Seabright. Both were wealthy, and both brought their children up carefully. As they grew older, they permitted them to cones pond with each other, but each detested the task so that the letters were actually written by the elders themselves. Once, at the age of fourteen, when news came that little Harold Harrington had fallen from a tree and broken his leg, Elsie Seabright was desired to reply that she felt great regret, and send her best love and wishes for his speedy recovery; but the girl, who could never listen to the boy's name with anything like patience, refused to write one word of this amiable epistle. “ I wish he had broken his neck, so that I might never hear any more about him,” she said, with a stamp of her slippered foot; “and I won’t write fibs.” So again mamma wrote the letter, having first locked Elsie up in a dark pantry by way of punishment. “And 1 am sorry to find a child of mine so unfeeling,” she said. “ A broken leg causes great pain, and may make one lame for life.” “A nice thing for me that would be if I am to marry him,” said Elsie. Indeed, if she had been as sympathetic as her mother desired her to be, Elsie would have had opportunity enough to exercise these feelings, for her young betrothed was always in some pickle, and had newly drowned and nearly shot himself a dozen times, to say nothing of ordinary tumbles. It was tit for tat, at all events, for, when Elsie had the measles, Master Harold received the information with a contemptuous indifference amounting to heartlessness, and had indeed said that he did not care. He hated girls, and thisone the worst of them all. So, with the ocean between them, the young people grew to maturity, and the year approached in which they were to mdejt. But meanwhile all sorts of sad things happened. Elsie lost both her father and mother, and away in England Mr. Harrington died suddenly of apolexy. So the two men, who had looked forward for so many years to meeting when their children were married, never met again. But for those obstinate wills the whole matter would have been dropped, for the last thing the young people desired was to meet each other. But the young man was of age, and the young lady also* and the property must be settled, and could not be until the match was either on or off. The old lawyers in whose hands the affair rested knew the feelings of their wards, but they judged that a meeting might mend matters. At least, it was necessary that they should meet. So Harold, as in duty bound, was to cross the ocean to meet his betrothed, and give her an opportunity to refuse him. The news of bis arrival brought into full activity those feelings #f repugnance that Elsie bad 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 be rich than to be poor. If he refused her, her fortune and his also would be 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? The girl sat for awhile in deep reverie, and then arose and clapped her hands together. A thought had struck her. There was in the house a seamstress—a vulgar girl, as plain as it was possible to be, and with as much conceit as any young beau* ty was ever blessed with. Her rough manners and ways of speech had become proverbial amongst her own class, the other servants speaking of her generally as Crusty Betsy. Ana this girl had of late been occupied in the room of her young mistress over some new dresses, Straight to this apartment Elsie Hew, and locking the door, sat down opposite Betsy and, said:

“ I have something for you to do, and I’ll pay you well for*lt.” “ Just name it then,” said Betsy. When I was a little girl, Betsy,” said Elsie, “ poor papa promised that I should marry a young gentleman who lives in England, when I was grown, and that if I did not 1 should lose my fortune. Nqw the time has come and he is coming, and I can’t marry him, Betsy, and I want him to refuse me. Do you understand V” “ 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 now to do it, Betsv,” said Elsie; ** and if you can ycumust cTo it for me. While he stays you must pretend that you are Miss Seabright; you must wear my clothes, and take all 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 send, Miss,” said Betsy. “I’m no mealy - mouth, and you’ll pay me well, miss?” “ 111 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 would lie spoilt.” “ I'll manage,” said Betsy. Then the two girls left all other work to examine Elsie’s wardrobe, and soon Bet sy 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 Soor companion, and you must call me [iss Smith and snub me and order me about.” Thus all was arranged when the little letter Elsie had been so long expecting arrived, and, breaking its blue seal, she read that Mr. Harrington would pay his respects to Miss 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 intentions, would have been sure of offending; but Betsy, bent on being unpleasant, would be a grand success. Just then Betsy herself leant from the window. “ Oh, miss!” she cried, “ there’s a carriage at the door, and there’s a gentleman coming out of it. Bless us! if that’s him, I don’t wonder you want to be off your match. Deary me! oh, deary me!” But before she could explain, a servant had brought Elsie a card bearing the name of Harold Harrington, and, as she arose, the most extraordinary figure entered the room. It was a very tall young man, between whose shoulders, nevertheless, grew an enormous hump. He also, though he seemed to move actively enough, walked upon crutches. On his head, irom which he had removed his 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 yas a large green patch; on his left cheek another. All that was visible of his face was his nose, which was certainly well-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 as she had intended. But Betsy needed no prompting. She was not in the least embarrassed. She 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? 1 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 Seabright?” “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?” “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 limbs. You remember it! 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 was 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 not to tell you the result of my injuries; but now you see them fer yourself. I will not go into further particulars. You remember all my accidents?” “Yes,” said Betsy, “ and a fine figger of a man they’ve made you. You’d do to scare the crows from an orchard, I must say, and 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 man, 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 bet ter 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.” “'On the contrary, I expect to live to be eighty,” 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 Beabright.” “ Folks will take queer notions,” said Betsy. “ Well, I must say you are an object. I can’t help laughing, whenever I look at you.” “We shall have a very merry life together," said Harold, “if your disposition continues.” “ Oh, I shan’t see much of you,” said Betsy, “ I can promise you, after the ring 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. I quite decline to fulfill the engagement. So, madam, you have the fortune without any incumbrance in my person.” “ And good riddance to bad rubbish, say 11” cried Betsy. “There are better fish in the sea than you, or women would be 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 herselt. 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 pain-

tul, but almost ludicrous, but all the more should he 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, he evidently was a gentleman by breedlrg as well as by birth—bow would he henceforth think of her? He would always believe that she had uttered those rude words, she. and none other. And aB he left the room she followed him and the servant who bad 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 3etsy 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 —I have been so grieved that you should be so insulted. I never meant ” “ My dear young lady, you have nothing to do with it, and my feelings are not in 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 1 am amazed that should be* Miss Seabright. I know she is a lady by birth. I understood that she was beautiful and gentle. I ” “ Oh, Mr. Harriugton,” cried Elsie, “ I have been such a foolish girl! Sue is not Miss Seabright. lam Miss Seabright. 1 —l—it was a ridiculous stratagem 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 offei you some refreshment after vour long journey.” The young man bowed, looked at her a moment, and then replied frankly: “Madam, I quite appreciate your motives and entirely forgive you. I am pleaded 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 her entrance into this this servant brought her a large bundle and a small note—a bundle several feet long, and a note a few Inch*-; square. She opened the note first and read these words: ■My Dear Miss Seabright: I also have a confession to make. I also, before I met you, had resolved that you should be the one to decline the conditions of our fathers’ wills, intending afterward to give you hack your share of the property. Consequently I Bet 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 choose 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 feather pillow; the skull-cap, which did not hide my bald pate, and all my bandages and patches. The vermilion which adorned my nose I have removed with a little water; and though I obtained my invitation to dinner under fake pretenses, lbeg to be allowed to pay my respects to you in proper person, and to apologize for my trick, which, after all, dear madam, was only tit for tat. Harold Harrington. At first Elsie was unreasonably angry, but her anger did not last long. They met at dinner, and before they parted it was quite concluded that they should carry out the wishes of their parents by agreeing to dine together always —Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post.