"There, ma'am; I don't know that I shall want you, but to-morrow morning, if you have time, from other and more important business, call in, bring your children with you; good morning, ma'am--Banquo!"

"Yis, sah; I'se heah."

"Show the lady out--good morning, ma'am, good morning."

"I like that woman's looks," said old Job, continuing his walk; "she's plain and tidy; she's industrious, I'll warrant; if she only hadn't that raft of _inc.u.mbrances_; what do these people have inc.u.mbrances for, anyway?--"

"Lady at the doo-ah, sah," said Banquo.

"Show her in. Good morning, ma'am; Banquo, a seat for the lady; yes, ma'am, I did; I want a housekeeper. I advertised for one. How many servants do I keep? Well, ma'am, I keep as many as I want. Have visitors? Of course I have. What and where are _my rooms_? Why, madam, I own the house, every brick and lath in it. I go to bed, and get up, and go round; come in and out, when I feel like it. What church do I worship in? I've a.s.sisted in _building_ a number, own a half of one, and a third of several; but, ma'am, between you and I--I don't want to be rude to a lady, ma'am, but I _do_ think, this examination ain't to my liking--you don't think the place would suit you, eh? Well, I think _your ladyship_ wouldn't suit _me_, ma'am, so I'll bid your ladyship good morning," said old Job, bowing very obsequiously to the stiff-starched and acrimonious dame, who, returning the old gentleman's _bow_ with the same "high pressure" order, seized her skirts in one hand, and agitating her fan with the other, she stepped out, or _finikined_ along to the hall door, and as Banquo flew around, and put on the _extras_ to let her ladyship out, she gave the darkey a pat on the head with her fan, and looking crab-apples at the poor negro, she rushed down the steps and disappeared.

"Tank you, ma'am; come again, eb you please--of'n!" said the pouting negro.

"Yes, sah; here's nudder lady, sah," says Banquo, ushering in a rather ruddy, jolly-looking and perfectly-at-home daughter of the "gim o' the sae." The old gentleman eyed her liberal proportions; consulting his snuff-box, he answered "yes" to the woman's inquiry, if _he_ was the gintleman wanting the housekeeper.

"Did you read my advertis.e.m.e.nt, ma'am?"

"Me rade it? Not I, faix. Mr. Mullony, our landlord, was saying till us--"

"Are you married, too?"

"Married _two_? Do I look like a woman as would marry two? No, _sur_; I'm a dacent woman, sur; my name is Hannah Geaughey, Jimmy Geaughey's my husband, sur; he, poor man, wrought in the board-yard till he was _sun sthruck_, by manes of falling from a cuart, sur."

"Well, ma'am, that will do, I'm sorry for your husband--one dollar, there it is; you wouldn't suit me at all; good morning, ma'am. Banquo, show the good woman to the door."

"But, sur, I want the place!"

"I don't want _you_--good morning."

"Dis way, ma'am," said Banquo, marshalling the woman to the hall.

"Stand away, ye nager; it's your masther I'm spakin' wid."

"Go along, go along, woman, go, go, _go!_" roared the old gent.

"But, as I was saying, Mr. Mullony said--says he--who the divil you push'n, you black nager?" said the woman, grabbing Banquo's woolly top-knot.

"Dis way, ma'am," persevered Banquo, quartering towards the door.

"Mr. Mullony was sayin', sur--"

"Dis way, ma'am," continued the darkey, crowding Mrs. Geaughey, while his master was gesticulating furiously to keep on _crowding_ her.

Finally, Banquo vanquished the Irish woman, and received orders from his master to admit no more applicants--the place was filled.

That afternoon, old Captain Winepipes--a retired merchant and ship-master, an old bachelor, too, who was in the habit of exchanging visits with Job Carson, sipping brandy and water, talking over old times and playing chess--came to finish a litigated game, and Job and he discussed the matter of taking care of the widow and children of the dead ship-builder. At length, it was settled that, if the second interview with the widow, and an exhibition of her children, proved satisfactory to Job Carson, he should take them in; if found more than Job could attend to--

"Why a--I'll go you halves, Job," said Captain Winepipes.

Next day, Widow Glenn and her pretty children appeared at the door of Carson's mansion; and Banquo, full of pleasant antic.i.p.ations, ushered them into the retired merchant's presence.

It was evident, at the first glance the old gentleman gave the group, that the battle was more than half won.

"Fine boy, that; come here, sir--eleven years of age, eh? Your name's Martin--Martin Glenn, eh? Well, Martin, my lad, you've got a big world before you--a fussing, fuming world, not worth finding out, not worth the powder that would blow it up. You've got to take your position in the ranks, too, mean and contemptible as they are; but you may make a good man; if the world don't benefit you, why a--you can benefit it; that's the way I've done--been obliged to do it, ain't sorry for it, neither," said the old man, with evident emotion.

"Your name is Cynthia, eh? And you are a fine grown girl for your age, surely. Cynthia, you'll soon be capable of 'keeping house,' too; you've got a world before you, too, my dear; a wicked, scandalous world; a world full of deceit and _misery_--look at your mother, look at me! Ah, well, it's all our own fault; yours, madam, for having these--these _inc.u.mbrances_, and mine, poor devil--for not having 'em. Cynthia, you're a fine girl; a good girl, I know. Ah, here's mamma's pet, I suppose; Rose Glenn, very pretty name, pretty girl, too, very pretty.

Lips and cheeks like cherries, eyes brighter than Brazil diamonds.

Ma'am, you've got great treasures here; a man must be a stupid a.s.s to call these _inc.u.mbrances_. They are jewels of inestimable value. What's my filthy bank accounts, dollars and cents, houses, goods and chattels, that fire may destroy, and thieves steal--to these blessings that--that G.o.d has given the lone widow to strengthen her--cheer her in the dark path of life? G.o.d is great, generous, and just; I see it now, plainer than I ever did before. Banquo!"

"Yis'r, I'se here, ma.s.sa."

"Go tell Counsellor Prime to call on me immediately; tell Captain Winepipes to come over--I want to see him. I'm going to make a fool of myself, I believe."

"Yes, sah, I'se gone; gorry, I guess dere's suffin gwoin to happen to dat lady and dem chil'ns--shuah!" said Banquo, rushing out of the house.

The fate of the ship-builder's family was fixed. Job Carson proposed--and the widow, of course, consented--that Martin Glenn should become the adopted son of the old gentleman, Job Carson; and that he should choose a trade or profession, which he should then, or later, learn, making the old gentleman's house as much his home as circ.u.mstances would permit; the two girls were to remain under the same roof with the mother, who was at once installed as housekeeper for the bluff and generous old gentleman.

Old Captain Winepipes insisted on a share in the settlement, to wit: that both girls should be educated at his expense, which was finally acceded to, adding, that in case he--Captain Joseph Winepipes--should live to see Rose Glenn a bride, he should provide for her wedding, and give her a dowry.

"Set that down in black and white, Mr. Prime," said Job, "and that I, Job Carson, do agree, should I live to see Cynthia Glenn a wife, to give her a comfortable start in the world--set that down, for I will do it, yes, I will," said the old gent, with an emphatic rap on his snuff-box.

Ten years pa.s.sed away; Captain Winepipes has paid the debt of nature; he did not live to see Rose Glenn a wife; but, nevertheless, he left a clause in his will, that fully carried out his expressed intentions when Rose did marry, some two years after she arrived at the age of sweet seventeen. Martin Glenn Carson graduated in the printing office, and very recently filled one of the most important stations in the judiciary of Illinois, as well as a chivalrous part in the recent war with Mexico.

Cynthia was wedded to a well known member of the Philadelphia bar, an event that Job Carson barely lived to see, and, as he agreed to, donated a sum, quite munificent, towards making things agreeable in the progress of her married life. Widow Glenn remained a faithful servant and friend to the old merchant, and, upon his death, she became heir to the family mansion, and means to keep it up at the usual bountiful rate. Large bequests were made in Job Carson's will, to charitable inst.i.tutes, but the bulk of his fortune fell to his adopted son, Martin, who proved not unworthy of his good fortune. Banquo ended his days in the service of the widow, who had cause for and took pleasure in blessing the vehicle that conveyed to herself and orphans their rare good fortune, in guise of a NEWSPAPER ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT.

Incidents in a Fortune-Hunter's Life.

We do not now recollect what philosopher it was who said, "it's no disgrace to be poor, but it's often confoundedly unhandy!" But, we have little or no sympathy for poor folks, who, ashamed of their poverty, make as many and tortuous writhings to escape its inconveniences, as though it was "against the law" to be poor. It is the cause of incalculable human misery, to _seem_ what we are _not_; to appear beyond _want_--yea, even in affluence and comfort, when the belly is robbed to clothe the back--the inner man crucified to make the outside _lie_ you through the world, or into--genteel "society." This, though abominable, is common, and leads to innumerable ups and downs, crime and fun, in this old world that we temporarily inhabit.

Choosing rather to give our life pictures a familiar and diverting--and certainly none the less instructive garb--than to hunt up misery, and depict the woeful tragics of our existence, we will give the facts of a case--not uncommon, we ween, either, that came to us from a friend of one of the parties.

In most cities--especially, perhaps, in Baltimore and Washington, are any quant.i.ty of decayed families; widows and orphans of men--who, while blessed with oxygen and hydrogen sufficient to keep them healthy and active--held offices, or such positions in the business world as enabled them and their families to carry pretty stiff necks, high heads, and go into what is called "good society;" meaning of course where good furniture garnishes good finished domiciles, good carpets, good rents, good dinners, and where good clothes are exhibited--but where good intentions, good manners and morals are mostly of no great importance.

As, in most all such cases, when, by some fortuitous accident, the head of the family collapses, or dies,--the reckless regard for society having led to the squandering of the income, fast or faster than it came, the poor family is driven by the same society, so coveted, to hide away--move off, and by a thousand dodges of which wounded pride is capable, work their way through the world, under tissues of false pretences; at once ludicrous and pitiable. Such a family we have in view. Colonel Somebody held a lucrative office under government, in the city of Washington. Colonel Somebody, one day, very unexpectedly, died.

There was nothing mysterious in that, but the Somebodies having always cut quite a swell in the "society" of the capital--which society, let us tell you, is of the most fluctuating, tin-foil and ephemeral character; it was by some considered strange, that as soon as Colonel Somebody had been decently buried in his grave, his family at once made a sale of their most expensive furniture--the horses, carriage, and man-servant disappeared, and the Somebodies apprized society that they were going north, to reside upon an estate of the Colonel's in New York. And so they vanished. Whither they went or how they fared society did not know, and society did not care!

Mrs. Somebody had two daughters and a son, the eldest twenty-three, _confessedly_, and the youngest, the son, seventeen. Marriages, in such society, floating and changing as it does in Washington, are not frequent, and less happy or prosperous when effected; every body, inclined to become acquainted, or form matrimonial connections, are ever on the alert for something or somebody better than themselves; and under such circ.u.mstances, naturally enough, Miss Alice Somebody--though a pretty girl--talented, as the world goes, highly educated, too, as many hundreds beside her, was still a spinster at twenty-three. The fact was, Mrs. Somebody was a woman of experience in the world--indeed, a dozen years' experience in life at Washington, had given her very definite ideas of expediency and diplomacy; and hence, as the means were cut off to live in their usual style and expensiveness--Mrs. Somebody packed up and retired to Baltimore. The son soon found an occupation in a store--the daughter, being a woman of taste and education, resorted to--as a matter of _diversion_--they could not think of earning a living, of course!--the needle--while Mrs. Somebody arranged a pair of neat apartments, for two "gentlemen of unexceptionable reference," as boarders.

During their palmy days at the capital of the nation, Miss Alice Somebody came in contact with a young gentleman named Rhapsody,--of pleasant and respectable demeanor, _an office-holder_, but not high up enough to suit the tastes and aims of Colonel Somebody and his lady; and so, our friend Rhapsody stood little or no chance for favor or preferment in the graces of Miss Alice, though he was a recognized visitor at the Colonel's house, and essayed to make an impression upon the heart's affections of the Colonel's daughter.

Time fled, and with its fleetings came those changes in the fates and fortunes of the Somebodies, we have noted. Nor was our friend Rhapsody without his changes,--mutations of fortune, a change of government, made changes. Rhapsody one morning was not as much surprised as mortified to find his "services no longer required," as a new hand was awaiting his withdrawal. Rhapsody, true to custom at the capital--lived up to and ahead of his salary; and, when deposed, deemed it prudent to make his exit from a spot no longer likely to be favorable to the self-respect or personal comfort of a man bereft of power, and without patronage or position. Rhapsody, by trade (luckily he had a trade), was a boot-maker.

Start not, reader, at the idea; we know "shoemaker" may have a tendency to shock some people, whose moral and mental culture has been sadly neglected, or quite perverted; but Rhapsody was but a boot-maker, and no doubt quite as gentlemanly--physically and mentally considered, as the many thousands who merely _wear_ boots, for the luxury of which they are indebted to the skill, labor and industry of others. Rhapsody came down gracefully, and quite as manfully, to his level, only changing the scene of his endeavors to the city of monuments. Rhapsody had feelings--pride.

He sought obscurity, in which he might perform the necessary labors of his craft, to enable him to keep his head above water, and await that tide in the affairs of men, when perhaps he might again be drifted to fortune and favor.

Rhapsody took lodgings in a respectable hotel; he arose late--took breakfast, read the news--smoked--lounged--dressed, and went through the ordinary evolutions of a gentleman of leisure, until he dined at 3 P.

M.; then, by a circuitous way, he proceeded to his shop--put on his working attire, and went at it faithfully, until midnight, when, having accomplished his maximum of toil, he re-dressed--walked to his hotel--talked politics--fashions, etc., took his gla.s.s of wine with a friend, and very quietly retired; to rise on the morrow, and go through the same routine from day to day, only varying it a little by an eye to an eligible marriage, or a place.