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LTS -- PRO GREASCIVS LUCERARLY COMPANLON Gow
‘ THE LADY’S Wie.
_ BY MBS. CAROLINE ORNE. ©
“Ino wish I could goto Mrs. Lansing’s par-
ty,” said Sophia Rothsay, addressing her, Aunt
‘Trevor.
“see no reason why you cannot; you will
be quite well by that time.”
“Tam quite well now, but do you suppose I
would go with this head of mine? , No, never.”
“We must contrive some elegant head-dress,
love.”
“1 know of no hesd-dress which can become
a girl of eighteen, but her hair, and since Tam
deprived of that, I will stay at home,” and with
her beautiful lips rendered a little too prominent
by a slight pout, sho sunk into a sullen silence,
which her aunt, busy with thoughts of her own,
made no effort to interrupt.
Miss Rothsay had just recovered from a dan-
gerous fever, which, although it had left her fine
: complexion clearer and more brilliant than ever,
and had imparted additional : Instre to her black
. eyes, had deprived her of a head of hair so re-
markable for its beauty and abundance as to ex-
cite universal admiration.
» “Thave been thinking,” said her aunt, after a
silence of more than fifteen minutes, “that you
chad better procure a wig.”
“ Surely, aunt, you are not serious ?”
“Yes, I am, perfectly so; I know several
ladies, whose own hair is very beautiful, who
wear wigs.”
“ Bat you will allow me, now I have lost my
-hair, to say that it will be impossible to find any
ithat will be in any way comparable to it, either
.for luxuriance, color, or delicacy. * To me, the
-idea of having my head covered with a mass of
hair, which, for aught I could ascertain to the
contrary, might have grown on the head of some
coarse, vulgar woman, is perfectly horrid. You
.know that young Doctor Derwenter, whom we
met last summer, is expected to be at Mrs, Lan-
sing’s, who is his cousin, and I am determined
not to destroy the favorable impression .which I
am convinced that my appearance then made
upon him.”
“Tdon’t know why you should care partica- |
Isrly for him. I think the belle of city
might look a little: higher than to a young
- doctor.”
“Bat Derwenter, besides being very hand-
some and very elegant, is the heir expectant of
two hundred thousand dollars
« Ah, that altcra the case. “Such a doctor is
worth looking after. The wig must be procured,
and you must meet him at Mrs, Lansing’s, or
this favorable impression you made upon him,
_-Mmay be lost. I am now going té my dress--
maker’s, and will look in at Lavalle’s, and see
what can be done. He is, as I believe I told you
the other day, the celebrated Parisian perruquier,
who arrived in the city about the time you were
taken ill with the fever.”
“ Remember, aunt, that you are to be very dis-
ereet.. No person except yourself, my physician
and nurse, knows that I have lost my hair, and I
don’t choose, should I conclude to adopt your
advice, to be the centre of attraction at Mrs.
Lansing’s party, on account of my new wig.”
Leaving the aunt and niece to suggest to each
other a few precautions relative to the affair in
agitation, we will enter a mean-looking dwelling
inone of the dark, narrow alleys of the city.
Near a fire, too scantily furnished with fuel to
soften the wintry air admitted through the de-
caying walls, sits a man abont forty-five, who is
suffering from an obstinate chronic complaint.
He is too poor to pay for the necessary medical
advico, and too proud to solicit charity," He was
once an affluent merchant, but heavy losses
came upon him at a time when he was confined
to his room by’ sickness, which prevented him
from making any attempt to retrieve his affairs,
and he is now draining the bitter cup of poverty
to the dregs. — Ilis greatest consolation now is,
that hia wife is not living to share it, A dusky
gloom reigned in the miserable apartment,
though but little past mid-day, and the faint and
fitful blaze cast a wavering light over his pale
and sunken features as he sat mournfully con-
templating his daughter, a beautiful girl of sev-
enteen, who was seated opposite him, (iigently
employed on a garment, which sho hoped to
finish in season to return to her employer before
she slept. Bitter thoughts were at work in his
bosom, for he could see by her pale and exhaust-
ed looks, that her physical energics were yield.
ing to severe and unremitting labor by day,
broken sleep by. night, and coarse and -insuffi-
cient food. He even imagined that her features
wore a death-like hue as she sat bending over
her work ; an appearance heightened by the con-
trast afforded by a mass of the brightest and
most beautiful hair that ever. ornamented the
head of woman, and which the broken shell-
comb, which she was unable to exchange for a
better, could not prevent from bursting into
clustering curls over her neck and temples.
Beautiful as had been the tresses the loss of
which Sophia Rothsay so deeply deplored, they
could not have compared with those of this al-
most heart-broken girl, striving to earn the scan-
ty portion of bread which was to sustain the
life of her invalid father‘and her own, which, as
she looked into the gloomy vista of the future,
had but little value, except for his sake.
“Amelia,” he at length said, “leave your
work, and come and sit by me.” She obeyed,
and he clasped her hand in his, “ My girl,” he
resumed, “I believe you are dying even faster
than Iam. . The present course must be altered.
Our summer friends have forsaken us, and we
must—yes, hard as itis to bring our minds to
it—we must apply for char—”
He did not finish the word, but sunk back in
his chair without sense or motion. Wild with
alarm, Amelia rushed to the outer door, in the
hope of seeing some person whom she could re-
quest to rmn fora doctor. .A gentleman was
passing at the moment, to whom she briefly com-
municated the situation of her father, and her
desire to obtain a physician.
“T parted with my friend, Doctor Derwentcr,
at the head of the alley,” he replied. “I will
ran back and call him.”
In less than three minutes the doctor was by
the side of the patient, whom, with the assistance
of his friend, he conveyed to the bed. He pro-
nounced him to be suffering from a stroke of.
apoplexy, but apparently of a mild nature,
which he thought would yield to proper treat-
ment. The gentleman who had accompanied
the doctor, having an engagement to meet a
person on business, as soon as his assistance
could be dispensed with, took leave. Having
written a prescription for some medicine, the
doctor offered to remain with the patient till
Amelia went to procure it. Mrs. Trevor was
just passing the apothecary’s shop asshe stepped
from the door. Her small straw hat formed a
very indifferent covering for the rich, glossy
ringlets, which, in her haste, she had forgotten
to gather up, and which now, as they lay spread
over her neck and shoulders, brightened almost
to the color of goldin the unclouded sunshine.
Mrs. Trevor readily inferred from her thin and
faded apparel, that she was a child of poverty,
and calling after her, she said, “Stop, my girl,
stop—I wish to speak with you.”
But anxiety and filial affection winged her
footsteps, and bent every thought towards the
home where she had left her father hovering be-
tween life and death, and she heard not the lady’s
call, Mrs. Trevor thonght of following her,
but she soon found it would be impossible to
overtake her. After a little consideration, she
resolved to enter the apothecary’s shop, and in-
quire of the person who kept it, if he knew her
name. He was unable to inform her, but a boy
who stood at the counter was able to tell her
her name, and the house where she lived.
“ Well, Sophia,” said Mrs. Trevor, as sho en-
tered her niece’s chamber, “I have found the
material for your wig if it can only be obtained.”
“What? at Layalle’s? No—that won’t do.
I have been thinking the matter over during
your absence, and I must sce what.kindof a
head the hair grows on, before I can Consent to
have it transferred to mine.”
“T can assure you that it is now on the head
of a poor but extremely beautiful girl, somewhat
younger than you, I should think.”
“Yave you spoken to her about it ?””
“No, but I intend to call at Layalle’s to-mor-
row, and send for her to mect me there. You
can be present if you please, without her_ seeing
you.. There canbe no doubt but that she will
part with her hair at a comparatively reasonable
rate, for a boy of whom I inquired her name,
informed me that she supported herself and an
invalid father entirely by her needle.”
“ But tell me, aunt, is her hair as beautiful as
mine was? Is it anything like it—enough so to
pass for my own 3”
“Jt is fully a3 abundant as yours was, and in
the shade, exactly the color—I should think,
however, it takes a brighter hue, whenever it
catches @ gleam of sunshine.”
“T hardly think Ishall be satisfied with it, for
all you are so lavish in your praise. Besides,
if she be young and beautiful as you represent
her, I can hardly think she will part with it.”
“T tell you, niece, that when a person is in
want of bread to cat, 3 a fine head of hair can be
of little consequence.”
Again leaving them to discuss the affair of the
wig ot their leisure, we will take the opportunity
to visit Doctor Derwenter. at the same time as
the gentleman, who had summoned him to the
-assistance of Mr. Fielding.
“Good evening, doctor,” said he, “how did
you leave your patient?”
“ Not essentially better, yet with a hope.”
“ By the way, Derwenter, don’t you think it a
sin for a lovely young creature like the daughter,
to drag out such a life of toil and privation ?”
“Tris, to say the least, very hard—the more
so from her having formerly moved in a-higher
sphere.. That she has done so, I am certain ;
every word and movement betray it. . Even dur-
ing the moments of her utter abandonment to
sorrow, when she considered her father’s recoy-
ery impossible, she was lovely and graceful ?”
“She was partly indebted to that fine hair of
her’s, so wildly yet beautifully disshevelled, for
the apparent grace of her. movements. It was
like the foliage to the greenwood bough’, when
bent by the wind. Take care of your heart,
Derwenter, for I would not answer for my own
wereI to sce her as frequently as you will be
likely to, should you continue your attendance
on her father. I don’t know, however, but that
your heart is already disposed of. I heard it in-
timated last summer, that you had a penchant
for Miss Rothsay, who is certainly a very pretty
girl, and has hair but little inferior to Amelia
Fielding’s.”
“She is, as you say, a beautiful girl, but I
imagined that I detected a little too much sel-
fishness in her disposition, which put me on my
guard. Otherwise, I might have committed
myself, for I confess, that, at first, I was a good
deal smitten.”
“ She has, I ‘understand, just recovered from a
fever, which threatened her life.”
“Then it is more than probable that she is
shorn of her lovely locks, for though more slow
and silent in its work, a fever is, oftentimes, as
sure as the scissors, in disposing of a lady’s
tresses.”
“ Your cousin, Mrs. Lansing, will of course,
invite her to her party.’
“ Yes, I suppose so.”
“advise you to see her again, before you
think and dream too much about your patient’s
daughter, for, although she has no fortune of her
own, she is the idol of her rich aunt, whose pro-
perty is entirely at her own disposal.’””
Doctor Derwenter, at an early hour the fol-
lowing morning, called on Mr. Fielding, whose
symptoms enabled him to predict his recovery’
with more confidence than when he left him the
preceding day. Amelia, pale and exhausted
from the effects of her long night-watch, looked
as if she required nursing herself, and the doctor
ventured to suggest that it was necessary that
she should have some person to share with her
the fatigue of taking care of her father. She
blushed deeply, for she did not like to say that
she was entirely destitute of means to pay a
nurse, or even to procure necessary food for her-
self. Ile, however, knew how to interpret her
embarrassment, and internally resolved to con-
trive some method to impart the requisite relief.
About half an hour after his departure, some
one rapped at the door, which, on opening, she
beheld a girl, who presented her with the follow-
ing note:
Miss Fretpixe :—If you will, immediately
after reading this, repair to, Layalle’s, No. 22
—— street, you will meet a lady who wishes to
speak to you relative to an affair which may
prove to be for your pecuniary advantage. The
bearer will remain with your father, during your
absence if necessary.
The girl, as soon as Amelia had finished read-
ing it, expressed her willingness to remain as
long as she wished to be absent, saying that she
was accustomed to take care of the sick. She
at once made up her mind to go, for as this gleam
of hope shone in upon her, she permitted her
thoughts to dwell more steadily upon the sum of
money that was immediately required, than she
had dared to do before, and found that what they
were owing for rent and fuel, which would be
demanded at the close of the weck, was fifteen
dollars, while, to procure what was immediately
necessary for her father, and a small supply of
the coarsest food for herself, would take, at least,
five more. To think of earning much by her
needle, was out of the question, as two or three
hours out of the twenty-four, were all she could
spare from her attendance on her father. Hav-
ing given the girl a few directions, and promis-
ing to return as soon as possible, she hastened
to Lavalle’s. ‘As she entered, she saw a middlo-
aged female, fashionably clad, engaged in earn-
est conversation with the perruquier.
“ Miss Fielding, I presume,” said she, and en-
tering an adjoining apartment, requested her to
follow.
Mrs. Trevor was not prepared to find in Ame-
lia a person of -so much elegance and grace, and
was perplexed how to open her subject. She at
length said, “ Have you a great value for that
beautiful hair of yours ?”
This was an unexpected question, and her
color deepened as she replied, ‘Indeed, madam,
it is a subject that I have not thought of, and I
hardly know what answer to give.”
. “I should like to purchase it if you will part
with it, and am willing to pay you liberally. Do
permit me to remove your hat, that I may have
a better opportunity to admire it.””
“ Certainly, madam,” she replied, shrinking
back into one corner of the apartment, for
through the door, which had been left open, she
beheld a lady of elegant appearance enter the
shop.
“Take a few minutes to consider of what I
have suggested,” said Mrs. Trevor, “while I go
and speak to a lady of my acquaintance, who, I
see, has just entered.”
The Jady, who was Sophia Rothsay, was so
closely veiled, that her features could not be dis-
covered. After conversing a short time with
her aunt, in a low yoice, she approached a win-
dow communicating between the two apartments
which was not so closely curtained as to prevent
her from obtaining a distinct view of Amelia.
A look was interchanged between the aunt and
niece, by which the former understood that she
might proceed with her negociations.
“Can you promise,” said Mrs. Trevor, ad-
dressing Lavalle, “to arrange the hair so that it
will look perfeetly natural, should the girl con-
sent to part with it ?”
“Perfectly, madam—but it will be one great
pity to deprive the poor girl of her hair,” he
added, in a low voice, as she re-entered the room
where-Amelia was waiting.
“Well, my dear girl,” said she, “have you °
come to any conclusion about your hair? Should
you part with it, two years, you know, will give
it back to you more beautiful than ever.”
“T have but little pride, madam,” she replied.
“Sickness and poverty, with their attendant
train of evils, have long ago, nearly subdued it,
Yet, when my father recovers so far as to take
notice, I fear it'will grieve him to see his only
child deprived of an ornament nature has given
her.”
A few moments’ silence ensued, during which.
it was evident that Amelia was nerving herself
to make the sacrifice, and it will not appear a
less one, when we confess that the ‘young and
handsome Doctor Derwenter rose up before her,
as well as the form of her pale, sorrow-stricken
father, who scemed to regard her with looks full
of regret.
‘Tears started to her eyes, and her lips quiver-
ed when she at last said, “Madam, you may
have my hair—I believe it is my duty to part
with it.”
“ What compensation must I allow you?”
“That is what I am totally ignorant of. Give
me what is usual in such cases.” .
“Tam willing to give yqu more. Will that
do?” As she spoke, she handed her twenty
dollars.
“O, yes—it is more, perhaps, than I ought to
take.” . . .
.““ By no means, if I am willing to give it.”
Mrs. Trevor now, after requesting her to re-
main where she was, re-joined her niece.
“Had we not better commission Lavalle to
secure the prize before she alters her mind ?”
said she.
Miss Rothsay assented, and the next minute
the perruquier’s glittering scissors were busily
shredding from the innocent and devoted daugh-
ter’s head, its wealth of bright brown hair, every
tress of which, had it belonged to Sophia, she
would have valued at a higher price than what
had been given for the whole. Lavalle, as he
carefully disposed each Jong, silken curl, ona
snowy napkin, spread on the table, uttered an in-
voluntary exclamation of surprise at its beauty,