Rensselaer Union, Volume 10, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 July 1878 — “AS COMPANION TO A LADY.” [ARTICLE]

“AS COMPANION TO A LADY.”

“ I’m very sorry, miss, but I’m only a poor woman myself, and if you camt pay'the rent of this room, I don’t see as you can afford the rent of the one up-stairs.” Here the landlady rubbed her nose viciously upon her apron, and starpd straight out of the very dirty window. As this was evidently a challenge to me to reply, I said, as firmly as I could, a few words which brought out the reason for the woman’s visit that morning. “Ami to understand, then, that you wish me to leave?” “If you please, miss, at the end of the week, for there’s the gent on the first floor would like to have this bedroom.” “ Very well, Mrs. Ruddock, I said; I will find a room elsewhere.” “ Thanky, miss,” she said, sharply; and giving her nose another vicious rub, she left ine to my thoughts—and my tears. For I was weak, faint and heartpick, and the coins in my purse down, so that if I did not succeed in obtaining an engagement in a very few days I had no resource but to creep back to the country and avow my failure. list three months since, and we were all so happy in the little country vicarage; and then, in visiting one of his people, my poor father caught a dangerous fever, while in tending him my dear mother was stricken with the same complaint, and ere three weeks had passed Minna and I sat in the little study alone, in deep black; for the struggle had been brief, and those we loved lay together in the green churchyard, and we were only intruders now in the little vicarage that had been our home. Wo were nearly penniless, too, but a brother clergyman of my father’s, quite as poor, came forward and offered us a temporary home till, as he said, some opening should occur for us. I gladly accepted it for Minna; but for myself, I was determined to try great London, and, unaided, battle for myself. In two years John Murray was to come back from Australia to fetch me for his wife, nr.d till I would be independent. So fhtTday came at last when, with many tears, we two girls had to separate, and, with aching heart, I left the old Lincolnshire home and reached the great, dreary void of London early one afternoon. I was not long in finding a place where I could stay, in the sliape of a second-floor front room in one of those heart-aching streets near the Found-ling-streets that echo from morning to night with mournful cries, uttered by venders whose goods it is impossible to surmise, and with the dismal, echoing tones of the various organs. So painful were these last to me, that often of an evening, when I have returned from a weary, disheartening search for an engagement, and sat alone and hungry, fearing to spend my money in anything beyond the tea rt and bread and butter upon which I existed, these doleful strains—cheering, ~ maybe, to sonic —have had such an effect upon mathat I have sat and sobbed till, utterly v{orn out, I have fallen asleep, to wake, perhaps, hours after, to find it very late, and crawl, shivering, off to bed. As the weeks passed on, and my advertisements and fees paid to the various registry offices had been without effect, 1 used to crawl back to my room; growing more and more disheartened. I was always a plain, sallow-looking firl, and now, In my fast-wearing black, began to feel that I was day by day growing more shabby and weary-look-ing, and that my feeble chances of obtaining a post were growing less and less. 1 used to sit and ask myself whether I had tried hard—and I knew I had—but it was always the same. Whether 1 advertised for a situation as governess, or went from a registry office to offer myself as companion to a lady, it was always the same- I noticed a look of disappointment as soon as 1 entered the room, for, 1 was neither pretty nor bright-looking, and my mourhful blaqk helped to sadden my aspect It was always the same—the lady did not think I should suit her, and in blank disappointment I had to return. And now it had come to this-lhat my landlady had grown as tired of me as the people at the registry offices, where I had moiM than once been told

rudely that 1 was not likely to get a place as governess or companion, but bad better look lower. That after* noon, evidently suspicious of my ability to pay, ana perhaps disgusted with my miserable way of living, and afraid I should be left an invalid upon her bands, she had— rudely, it seemed to mi—fequesledinijTb leave. In my present circumstances 1 was utterly prostrated by the news, for 1 dared not take lodgings elsewhere; and I could see nothing now but to sell a portion of my scanty wardrobe and go back to beg for assistance from my father's friend. What a change! and how soon had my hopes of inaependent action been blighted! I was heartsore as I felt how that in that great city there was wealth being squandered and luxury around me while I was literally starving; for my poor living was telling upon me fast. What should 1 do? Wiiat should I do? It was with weary iteration I had said those words and wept till tears came no more, and a dull, stolid feeling of despair had come upon me. I had almost shrunk away in the streets from the bright-faced, happy girls I passed, and at times I found myself asking what had been my sin that I should be thus punished. • I lay awake that night for many hours, watching the light from the street lamp playing upon my ceiling; and at last, toward morning, the remembrance of words I had often heard came to me with a calm sense of repose, trust and restfulness, and I believe I fell asleep at last with a smile upon my lips, repeating a portion of that comforting sentence ending, “Are ye nut much better than they?” It was a bright, sunshiny morning when I awoke, to hear some one knocking at my door, and, hurrying on a few things, I answered: ♦‘Ah! I was just agoing to take ’em down again,” said my landlady, harshly. “ Some folks can afford to lay in bed all day; I can’t. Here’s two letters for you. And mind this, Miss Laurie, 1 never bargained to come tramping up to the top of the house with letters and messages for you,” “I’m very much obliged, Mrs. Ruddock,” I said, gently, as I took the letters with trembling hands, while muttering and complaining, their bearer went down stairs. It seemed very hard then, but I believe it was the woman’s habit, and that she was not bad at heart, but warped and cankered by poverty, hard work and ill-usage from a drunken husband, whom she entirely kept. One letter I saw at a glance was from Minna; theother was in a strange crabbed hand; and I- longed to read them; but, exercising my self-denial, I dressed, lit my fire, and prepared my very frugal breakfast before sitting down and devouring Minna’s news. What right had I to murmur as I did last night, 1 asked myself, when she was evidently so happy and contented? and then I opened, with fluttering hand, the other letter, and was puzzled by it at first; but at last 1 recalled the fact that three weeks before I had answered an advertisement in the Times, where a lady wanted a companion. The note was very brief and curt and ran as follows:

“If Miss Laurie is not engaged she can call upon Mrs. Langton Porter, 47 Morton street, Park ViHago South, ati eleven o’clock to-morrow (Thursday.”) “ At last!" I said to myself, joyfully, and with beating heart 1 prepared myself for my journey, foi’ the appointment was for that morning. Just as I had pretty well timed myself for mv walk a sudden squall came on, the sky was darkened, snow fell heavily-, and in place of a morning in spring we seemed to have gone back into winter, for the snow lay thickly in a very short time, and the branches of the trees in the squares were whitened. Weak as I tvas this disheartened me, but I fought my way bravely on, and just at eleven rang timidly at the door of an important-looking house, and was superciliously shown, by a stout tall footman in drab livery, into a hand-somely-furnished room. Everything in the place 1 noticed was rich and good; heavy curtains hung by window and door, skins and Eastern rugs lay on the polished wood floor, and a tremendous fire blazed in a great brass fireplace, and the flames danced and wore reflected from the encaustic tiles with which it was surrounded. “I’ll take yournotein,” said the footman, as I handed it, “you can sit down.” I preferred to stand, and as soon as I was alone I shivered with fear and cold, as I caught a glance of my pale, sallow face in a great mirror. Every moment I expected to see. the owner of the pmve, but I remafribu standing wearily for ah hour, ■anti then-1-sighed and turned wistfully to look at the door, wondering whether the footman had taken in the note which 1 had given him as my passport. I started, for close behind me, having entered unheard, was a rather plump tall lady in black. She Was dressed ai if for going out, and well wrapped in furs. “Oh! you are waiting,” she said, harshly, and a shade of displeasure crossed her face as she looked full at me till my eyes dropped. “There, Miss—Miss—Miss—” “ Laurie,” 1 suggested. “ Yes, yes; I know,” she said, sharply; “itisin my note. Pray, why in the name of common sense did you not sit down? Take that chair. Now, then, have you been companion to a

•'No, ma’am,” I replied; and then, in answer to her questions, all very sharply given, 1 told her so much as was necessary of my story. •• 1 don’t think you will suit me;” she said; “I’ve had misery enough, and I want someone cheerful and pleasant, a lady whom 1 can trust and who will be a pleasant companion. There, I’m sure there is not such a- body in London, for .the way I’ve been imposed upon is dreadful! I’ve had six m six months, and the number of applications I have had nearly drove me out of my senses. I’ve had one since you wrote to me—a creature whose solo idea was herself. I want one who will make me her first consideration. I don't mind what I pay, but I want sohie one tall, ami ladylike; and you’ are not pretty, you know.” I shook my head sadly. . “Huipph! Well,” she went on, “ you won’t be so giddy and be always thinking of getting married. There, you need notblush like that; it’s what all the companions I have had seem to think about. You don'*, I suppose P” "“ I am epgaged to be married,” I said, hanging down my head, “in a couple of years.” “Ho! Well, ho mustn't oome here, for I’m a Very selfish, pragmatical old Woman; and if 1 engaged you—which I don’t think I shall do—l should want you all tb myself; What is he P”

“ A settlor—abroad,” I faltered. “Ho! That’s belter; and perhaps he'll settle there altogether without you.” I looked at her indignantly, and she laughed. “Ah! I know, my good girl, I haven’t lived to eight and forty for “Twenty,” 1 saifl, shivering, for her rough way repelled me, and I longed to bring the interview to an end. “Why, the girl’s cold,” she said, roughly. “H’m, twenty! Here, go up to the fire, and have a good warm; it’s dreadful weather. There, pull off your bonnet and jacket. Put them on that chair, and go closer to the fire; I’ve a deal to say to you yet, for I’m not going to engage any young person and have to change directly.” I observed her trembling the while, for I was very weak; and she went on asking me questions and making comments. “I don’t like your appearance at all; you look pale and unhealthy. Nbt a bit like a girl froffi the country.”? “ I am very sorry,” I said; “ but, indeed, ma’am, I have excellent health." “ Then your face tells stories about you. You play, of course?” “ Yes, ma'am.” “You’re warm now. Go and play something. Can you sing?” “ Yes, ma’am.” “ Then sing, too; and look here, Miss —M iss—Miss —’ ’ _ ' 1 was about to tell her my name, but remembering the last rebuff' I was silent. •• Now, look here, my good young lady, how am I to remember your dreadful name? What is it.” “ Laurie, ma’am,” I replied. “Of course it is; I remember it quite well. Now go and play and sing something, and mind, I don’t want my cars deafened with fireworks, and the drums split with parrot-shriek bravuras. Sing something sweet and simple and old-fashioned, if you can,” she added, ungraciously. I crossed the room and sat down to the magnificent piano, and for the next five minutes I seemed to be far away, down in the old home, as 1 forgot where I was, in singing my poor dead father’s favorite ballad, “ Robin Adair;” while, as I finished, I had hard work to keep back the tears. “ Ro—bin A—dair,” she sang, as 1 rose, in a notunplcasing voice. “Now let me hear you read. I always make my companion read to me a great deal;’ and mind this, I hate to hear any drone like a school-girl. Go over there into the corner of the window and stand there. Take that book; you’ll find the mark left in where Miss Belleville*— bah! I believe her name was Stubbs and her father a green-grocer—left off. Now then, begin?’ She pushed a lounge-chair close up to the window and sat down with her hands in her muff, while 1 stood there; feeling like a school-girl and ready to drone, as I began to read with faltering voice what happened to be Thackeray's most beautiful chapter—The death of poor old Col. Newcombe. I. know my voice trembled at times, and a strange sense of choking came upon me as I went on battling, oh, so hard to read those piteous heart-stirring lineal but I was weak and suffering, I was faint with hunger and exertion, sick with that despair of hope deferred, and at last the room, with its costly furniture, seemed to swim round before me, a cold perspiration bathed my face, and with a weary sigh I caught feebly at the curtains and then fell heavily upon the polished floor. I have some faint memory of being lifted and wheeled in a chair whose castors I heard chirrup to the front of tho fire, and then, as my senses began to return, 1 seemed to feel arms round me and a pleasant voice saying, half aloud:

“And she just lost her poor father, too—to set her to read such a thing as that! 1 declare I’m about the wickedest,' most thoughtless and unfeeling old woman under the sun.” Then there was the refreshing odor of a vinaigrette, and the sick teeling began to pass away. “I —I beg pardon,” I faltered, trying to rise. “ I beg yours, my dear,” she said, tenderly. “Sit still, sit still. Now, then, try and drink that.” Some sherry was hold to my lips, and then I was almost forced to eat a biscuit. They, however, rapidly revived me, and I found Mrs. Porter had torn off her bonnet and mantle and was keeling by my side. “ That’s better, my dear,” she said, smiling at me, as she passed her arm round mo and drew me nearer to her and kissed me in a gentle, motherly way. And now this was too much, for I was weak and hysterical. I could fight against harshness, buther tender words and ways unlocked the - flood-, gates of my grief and I laid my head down and sobbed as if my heart would break. An hour later, after she had literally forced me to partake of the breakfast that was ordered up, she sat beside me, holding my hand, and more than once I saw the tears steal down her pleasant face as she won from me, bit by bit, the story of my troubles and my bitter struggles here in town. At last I rose to go, trembling and expectant. Would she engage me? It was more than 1 dared to nope. “ Sit still, my child,” she said, tenderly, “It has pleased God to make me—a childless, widowed woman—His steward over much wealth, and if I did not make this a home for one of His temp'est-smitten lambs 1 should be a worse woman than I think I am. Stay with noie; we shaM Tro the best of friends.” \

I stayed—stayed to know her real worth and to win her motherly love—stayed to find, when John Murray returned, that his love was greater for my sister than for me, and patiently resigned my love to her, and then battled with a long illness when they had gone together to the far-off home. But every day gave me a new lesson on not judging too hastily. That is ten years since; and I am still in my peaceful, happy home, though only “as companion to a lady.”— Cassell's Magazine.

A cobkkspondent of the Country Gentleman says that the growth of horns in cattle may be prevented by searing the germ, before it passes through the skin, with a hot iron. By this means the growth of horn is suspended, and the animal remains hornless,— lowa State Register. . —■>* • X* —Dr. FoOte, says in the July Health Monthly, that all chronic skin diabases are invariably due to a scrofulous taint in the system. This view was also taken by Dr, L. P. Yandell, of Louisville, Ky., al late distinguished allopathic practitioner. Habibs are the institution and should be guarded from attacks of Colic, Flatulence, etc., by Dr. Bull’s Baby Syrup. Price, 26 ceuta a bottle. 'a "