THE LADY'S PEARL.

NOVEMBER, 1842.

Original.

DELICACY IN CONFERRING FAVORS DOUBLES THEIR VALUE.

BY MRS. C. ORNE.

Together thus they shunned the cruel scorn
Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet

From giddy passion and low-minded pride.-THOMSON

"I HAVE thoughts of calling on Emily Winthrop, and should like to have you accompany me," said Mrs. Boynton to Anne Wallace, as they were walking arm in arm along one of the principal streets of New York city.

"Emily Winthrop," repeated Anne. "Is she not that very beautiful girl, who used when my uncle first moved to New York, to sit at church in the next pew to yours?" "Yes, she and her father used to sit there; but he is now dead, I suppose you know." "No-I never had the least acquaintance with either of them. The daughter was so very lovely as to attract my attention, and induce me to enquire her name.'

"She has experienced a sad reverse of fortune since she lost her father. He was thought to be immensely rich, but died insolvent. During his life she was surrounded by every luxury which wealth can command. Since then she has made a shift to maintain herself and an invalid aunt-her father's sister, I believe-by taking in plain and ornamental needle-work. The rich Mrs. Winterton is her maternal aunt, but she now does not notice her, even if she meets her in the street. She lives down this alley, I believe, and yonder old tottering-looking building must be the house, if I have been rightly informed. Quite a contrast to the splendid mansion in Broadway where she used to reside."

"I believe I had better not call with you,” said Anne. "As I am a stranger to her, she may deem it obtrusive. Besides, if she be as sensitive as I have known some persons who have been reduced from affluence to poverty, the sight of these gay trappings" and she glanced at her elegant and fashionable dress-" may painfully revive the remembrance of her former situation."

"What absurd excuses. This sensitiveness, as you call it, is nothing more nor less than false pride, and if she possess any of it, as it can only prove troublesome to her, it is best that it be broken down at once. I am not one of those who would endeavor to heal a wound that needs probing."

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"I should, at least,” replied Anne, "wish to be well satisfied that the probe was necessary before I used it."

They had by this time reached the dwelling which Mrs. Boynton had indicated. She knocked at the door, which was immediately opened by Emily Winthrop. She looked pale and care-worn, but nothing could impair the beauty of her features, or destroy their sweet expression. A slight color suffused her cheeks at the sight of Mrs. Boynton, and her young and elegantly dressed companion. She, however, succeeded in checking her embarrassment, and politely invited them to enter.

"I hope you have not forgotten me, Miss Winthrop," said Mrs Boynton, "for it is indeed a long time since I saw you. I have been thinking of calling on you every day for this twelvemonth, but something has always occurred to prevent."

"O no, madam; I recollect you perfectly," she replied.

"I am very glad," said Mrs. Boynton, drawing more closely to the small fire," that you did not suffer yourself to sink under your misfortunes. You appear to be living quite comfortably-much more so, than I had reason to expect. Do you obtain plenty of employment?"

"As much as I can do-for my aunt, whose health seems daily declining, requires more and more of my attention."

"That is true," said the aunt. "Nothing can induce her to neglect me; and, to tell the plain truth, I am not sorry to occasionally call her from her sewing, for it has already occasioned her a severe pain in her side."

“O that is because she has not become enough accustomed to it yet. Habit is a second nature, and when once she becomes sufficiently habituated to sewing, the pain will wear off, I dare say."

"It will wear her out first, I am afraid," said the aunt.

A few minutes' silence ensued, when Mrs. Boynton resumed the conversation. 'Yesterday,” said she, "I was looking over some cast-off clothing, and I found several garments, which I thought would do very well for some needy person. Fortunately, your case presented itself to my mind-so I made them into a large bundle, and ordered a porter to bring them to you. I am expecting him every moment." It was not long before a rap was heard at the door.

"There," said she, jumping up and running to the door, "he has come, I suspect." Her conjecture proved true.

"Does Miss Winthrop live here?" said the porter.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Boynton. "Bring the bundle in this way, if you please." The porter obeyed, and set it down in the middle of the floor.

Mrs. Boynton immediately proceeded to untie it. The first article that came to hand was a calico gown, much faded.

"This," said she, holding it up, "belonged to Becky, my nursery-maid. It is scarcely half-worn, but is, as you see, a little faded; and as she is often obliged to bring the children into the parlor, to show them when we have company, it is not quite the thing for her; but as you can sit here and sew without being exposed, it will make you a very tidy dress. Do n't you think so?"

Mrs. Boynton's vivacity, however, would not let her wait for a reply; and, with an air of great complacency, she next produced an old black silk dress.

"I think this will make a very decent dress to wear when you are obliged to go out," said she, “if you will only go to the trouble of taking off the trimmings and cleansing them, for they are, as you may perceive, rather dusty. The truth is, I always see to making the pastry myself, and as I do n't like to make too much work for the laundress, I frequently, on such occasions wear a black dress, which is the reason why the trimmings have got a little sprinkling of flour. Ah, here is a nice calico wrapper for your aunt. The sleeves are pretty much worn, but I took care to put a nice large roll of pieces into the bundle, with which you can patch them whenever you get a leisure hour."

At this moment, another rap was heard at the door. Emily opened it, and admitted Mrs. Osborne, a lady of wealth and rank, and suspected to be very charitable. Being, however, one of those who obeyed the scriptural injunction, "Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth," the suspicion amounted to certainty only to the objects of her benevolence. Mrs. Boynton was not sorry to have a lady like Mrs. Osborne a witness to her charity, and took occasion to remark, after the usual compliments had been reciprocated, that she had littered Miss Winthrop's room with a few articles of clothing which she thought might be useful to one in her reduced circumstances, "for she is," said she, "a girl of too much sense to expect, or even wish to dress like a lady of fashion."

She said truly. Emily was a girl of too much sense to wish any such thing, but Mrs. Boynton probably imagined that the present was a favorable opportunity for her to act upon her favorite scheme of breaking down the false pride which might still cleave to Fortune's rejected favorite; or she might forget, in the fulness of her selfcomplacency, that it would be likely to grate harshly upon the feelings of one who had recently moved in the highest circle of fashion, constituting its chief ornament and attraction, to be the recipient of such ostentatious charity in the presence of a stranger like Anne Wallace, whose appearance, in every respect, qualified her to fill the station from which she had been excluded by poverty. Could she have looked into the heart of Anne Wallace, and have seen how full it was of sweet charities and tender sympathies, her cheeks might have been spared their painful flush, and the struggle might have been less severe, by which she strove to force back the tears welling up from the bitter fountain of sorrow hidden in her bosom. These indications of feeling, or perhaps some might say of lingering pride, were not remarked by Mrs. Boynton till she rose to take leave. She could scarcely quell her indignation till she had fairly stepped into the street.

"Did you perceive, Anne," she then said, "that I got no thanks for my generosity? It is true that she thanked me with her lips, but her countenance gave the lie to her words. Give me any thing but pride and poverty, I say."

"Pride of a certain kind, when joined with poverty," replied Anne, "is to my mind commendable. Indeed, I don't know why, in any respect, it should be deemed more reprehensible than when united with riches.

'Humility, that low, sweet root

From which all heavenly virtues shoot,'

to me, never appears so lovely as when adorning a person of wealth and rank." "That is what I think; and if there is any one thing in the world that I have a greater share of than another, I believe it is humility."

Anne made no reply, but in her heart she wished to recommend for her perusal, Mason on Self-knowledge.

Mrs Osborne, who perceived that Emily's feelings had been wounded, after having succeeded in directing her thoughts into a pleasanter channel, mentioned the motive of her own call, which was to request her to join a literary society recently formed. She then enumerated several of the members who were particularly desirous for her to join, but Emily shrunk from the idea of encountering some, from whom she had already received indications that they were fully aware that she was no longer the idolized daughter of the rich Mr. Winthrop, but a penniless orphan. Mrs. Osborne, who sympathized with her, and knew how to appreciate the motives which caused her to refuse, did not urge her request. The same evening, Emily received a billet, enclosing a hundred dollar note, which, although it was without name, she had no hesitancy in ascribing to Mrs. Osborne.