OUR FORTUNE.
BY A. M. DANA.
This morning, as I was riding with my daugh ter, Vivia, through a poor neighborhood in the lower part of the city, on what—I need not be ashamed to own here—was an errand of charity, I pointed to the third-story windows of a dingy tenement-house, saying, "There, my dear, is the place where you were born.”
Vivia did not sneer—I trust I have brought her up too well for that—but she shuddered under her ermine and Astrakan, turned her bright, young face away, and I knew by her expression that she tried to forget the unplea sant recollection in glowing anticipations of Mrs. Ashton's ball, which is to be this evening.
Ah, well! I could not blame her. For her this shambling old tenement held no tender memo ries or hallowed associations, Her outlook lies toward the future, But for myself—while our carriage rolled along the dirty street, among the ash-boxes and piles of garbage—I fell into a dreamy reverie, living over again some of the happiest days of my youth, while I gazed back almost lovingly upon the rickety old house where the first home-nest of my married life was built.
We sere both poor, my husband and I. Harry was a struggling clerk, and I an underpaid teacher; but, oh! how thankful I often am for the sublime courage which made us dare to com bine our freehold estates of poverty and love!
I have no patience with those who defer mar- riage until a fortune is made. True, they escape the toils and cares of poverty, but they also miss the high lessons of hope and faith that spring from them. The oft-quoted proverb, which I think must have been in Tennyson's mind when he wrote,
“Oh! I see thee, old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart,"
namely, ‘‘When poverty comes in at the door, love flies out of the window,” always reminds me of a passage of Holy Writ, which is, however, entirely irrelevant to it. I mean, “The hire- ling fleeth because he is an hireling.” Depend upon it, true, heaven-born love always nestles, cricket-like, upon the coldest hearth-stone. The hireling which fleeth through the window is at best but a weakly sentimentalism, bearing no more resemblance to true love than does base alloy to fine gold.
Therefore, should young Edwards, my hus- band’s clerk, ask for Vivia’s hand to-morrow, so I were sure that this vital requisite was not lacking, I would bid them God speed, and be- stow my hearty blessing upon their union; for he has ability, he is thrifty, he will get on. Character is better than fortune!
But I was talking of my own early days. Sometimes I smile now when I remember the details of my humble menage. How proud I was of the simple rug-carpet, made by my own hands, which covered the floor of the room which was to us parlor, dining-room, and kitchen in one! What an intimate acquaintance my hands formed with plumbago, as I rubbed- away at my cook- ing-stove with zeal worthy of Aladdin! And how I used to admire my table, when set out with a snowy cloth and dishes of plain white delf! Sevres and Majolica have given no keener enjoyment since.
Then my flowers. Yesterday, Roberts, our Scotch gardener, came to summon me to the conservatory to see my Flor del Espiritu Santo, which had bloomed at last. And it was, indeed, a glorious sight, that pure white dove hovering within the crimson petals; but I don’t think it gave me quite as much pleasure as the box of mignonnette I raised on the window-ledge of the old tenement-house, or the row of fragrant geraniums on the sill within.
Of course, we had plenty of neighbors in those times; and though we have since formed many pleasant acquaintanceships with persons of higher rank, we still continue to count among our warmest friends some with whom we mingled in daily intercourse in the old rookery.
Prominent among these are the Grobes, 4 With little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's } German family, who lived just across the hall . from us. I never met a truer lady than Madam namely, ‘‘When poverty comes in at the door, } Grobe. Shortly after we moved in, her cbil- love flies out of the window,” always reminds} dren, seven, were taken with scarlet-fever, and me of a passage of Holy Writ, which is, however, } I assisted in nursing them, thereby winning her entirely irrelevant to it. I mean, “The hire-; sincerest gratitude. I have always thought that ling fleeth because he is an hireling.” Depend } she overestimated my services, for it would have upon it, true, heaven-born love always nestles, } been strange, indeed, if I, a young, untrammeled cricket-like, upon the coldest hearth-stone. The} woman, could not afford to lose a few night’s hireling which fleeth through the window is at sleep to aid a suffering neighbor. ~ It is not best but & weakly sentimentalism, bearing no} among the poor that such selfishness is found.
Years ago our kind German friends moved to the great West, and Herr Grobe is now an �
