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MISS MARY HARRIS.--[ POTOGRAPHED BY J. B.
PLAN OF COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA.
his son's marriage with Dorothy
Hall, he appeared first greatly astonished, and then as greatly relieved.
"My consent ? Certainly. They're
both fiveand twenty old enough to know their own minds and have been courting
ever so long. She's an excellent young woman ; can earn a good income too. Yes,
Sir. Give them my cordial consent, and, in case it may be useful to them this."
He fumbled in his pocket, took
out an old purse, and counted out into my hand, with an air of great
magnificence, three ten-dollar notes. Which was all that I or any body else ever
saw of the money of the Herr von Stein.
When I gave them, with his
message, to Dorothy, she crumpled them up in her fingers, with a curious sort of
smile, but she never spoke one word.
Uncle Adam has been at many a
marriage, showy and quiet, gay and grave, hearty and heartless, but he is ready
to declare, solemnly, that he never saw one which touched him so much as that
brief ceremony which took place at the bedside of John Stone,
the trapeze performer. It did not
occupy more than ten minutes, for in the bridegroom's sad condition the
slightest agitation was to be avoided. My house keeper and myself were the only
witnesses, and the whole proceeding was made as matter of fact as possible.
The bride's wedding dress was the
shabby old black gown, which she had never taken off for three days and nights,
during which she, my housekeeper, and I, had shared incessant watch together.
Her face was very worn and weary, but her eyes were bright, and her voice
steady. She never faltered once till the close of the short marriage ceremony,
and the minister himself not unmoved had shaken hands with her and wished her
Is it all done ?" said she, half
bewildered. "Ay, lassie," answered my old housekeeper, " ye're married, sure
Dorothy knelt down, put her arms
round Johnny's neck, and laid her head beside him on the pillow, sobbing a
little, but softly even now.
" Oh my dear, my dear ! nothing
can ever part us more."
Heroine or not, Dorothy
prospered. And in process of time her love was rewarded even beyond her hopes.
Fier husband's mysterious affliction gradually amended. He began to use his
feet, then his legs, and slowly recovered, in degree, the power of walking. Not
that he ever became a robust man; the shock of his fall, acting on an
exceedingly delicate and nervous frame, seemed to have affected all the springs
of life ; but he was no longer quite invalided and helpless, and by and by he
began anxiously to seek for occupation. I hardly know which was the happiest,
himself or Dorothy, when I succeeded in getting him employment as a writer's
copying clerk, with as much work as filled up his time, and saved him from
feeling, what he could not but feel though I think he did not feel it very
painfully, that his wife was the sole bread winner.
When I go to see them now, in
their cheery little home of two rooms, one devoted to dress mak
ing, the other, half kitchen,
half bedroom, in which John sits, I often think that among many fortunate people
I have seen far less happy couples than John and Dorothy.
ON the 30th of January a clerk in
the Finance Department at Washington, Mr. ANDREW JACKSON BURROUGS, came to his
death in a singularly tragical manner at the hands of Miss MARY HARRIS, a former
lover. Mr. BURROUGS occupied a desk in a room near the principal passage on the
second floor of the Department. About midway in this passage there was a clock
fixed, and at four o'clock P.M., a young lady who had been noticed sauntering
about the hall during a good part of the day took her position in a doorway by
the clock. It was the hour of closing business, and the passage was thronged
with the retiring employes. She was waiting for Mr. BURROUGHS, and as the latter
came from (Next Page)
BOMBARDMENT OF FORT ANDERSON, FEBRUARY 11, 1865,
SKETCHED BY T. L. JEFFERS.—[SEE PAGE 133.]