Wednesday, Dec. 3.—Papa and dear Edward all day in the study, closeted with Mr. Grabb, our attorney, arranging about settlements. To-morrow I shall be the happy bride of him whom I adore. Guests arriving all day. I saw Annie coming out of the shrubbery with dear Edward, before the dinner-bell rang. What could they have gone there for? The hour late, too, for walking, and the evening cold and damp.
Twelve o'clock.—Just retired to my room for the night. Take one more peep at my wedding-dress, laid on the sofa, and now retire to dream of the happy morn fast approaching.
Here the manuscript ceases; for, when morn came—that morn so longed for—Edward was missing; and, stranger far, Annie was nowhere to be found, and was sought for in vain. The faithless pair had eloped together, and the following day were united at Gretna Green. Long did my poor mother pine and mourn her sad fate. But at length brighter days arose for her; and in my dear and honored father she found what she had long searched for—a congenial, loving, and honest heart.
M. E. H.
A STRANGE INCIDENT.
I HEARD the other day an anecdote which justifies the remark that "truth is often stranger than fiction." An old woman, a short time ago, on her death-bed, called her nephew, who was also her heir, and revealed to him that, eight years before, she had gone to Paris to receive some money which was due to her—a sum of fourteen thousand francs received in bank-notes; she wrapped them up in an old newspaper, and placed them, with different other things, on the mantle-piece of the room of the inn where she was staying, while she sat down to write to her husband, to tell him she had received the money. The letter written, she determined that, instead of trusting it to any one, she would put it herself in the post; and accordingly left the hotel for the purpose. On going out, she left her key with her porter, with directions to light a fire in her room at eight o'clock. Towards half-past seven, whilst at the house of one of her acquaintances, it suddenly occurred to her that she had left her bank-notes on the mantle-piece at the hotel. She immediately returned in search of them, went up to her room, where the fire was lighted according to her directions; but the packet of bank-notes had disappeared. She rang. A young girl answered the bell; of whom she demanded who had lighted the fire. It was the girl herself. The owner of the bank-notes asked if she had seen them. She answered in the negative. At last the master of the hotel was called, and the affair related to him. It then was proved that the only person who entered the room was the girl who lighted the fire. The master of the house had confidence in the girl's honesty; but, as appearances were certainly against her, the whole affair was placed in the hands of the police, and the girl arrested. She was condemned, on her trial, to three years' imprisonment; but the money was not found after the expiration of the three years. The girl came to the house of the owner of the unlucky bank-notes, reproached her as the cause of her ruin and dishonor. The old lady was touched: it occurred to her, suppose, after all, the woman was innocent! Her guilt had never been satisfactorily proved; nor had the strictest searches been able to discover what she had done with the money she was accused of taking. At the time of her arrest she had been on the point of marrying an honest workman; and now she would have the greatest difficulty in placing herself in service again. Instigated by the desire to repair, as far as in her lay, the injury she might have caused this young woman, the old lady determined to take her into her service, and try her; and never had she cause to regret having done so. She now revealed all to the nephew, and expressed her full belief in the innocence of her servant, and desired them always to retain her in the family, and not to reveal her secret. The next day the old lady died, leaving about two hundred thousand francs to her nephew.
The nephew came a short time ago to Paris, to pass a few months of the winter season; he went to an hotel in the Rue du Helder, where he established himself very comfortably. One evening, after returning home, he heard, in the room adjoining that in which he was, the sound of voices and laughter; evidently his neighbors were in high glee. Overhearing some words, his curiosity was piqued, and he approached the partition, in order to hear more distinctly; (and yet there are some men who pretend to say that it is only women who are curious!) In this laudable attempt, our hero discovered that there had formerly been a door of communication between the room he occupied and that in which his gay neighbors were enjoying themselves. The hole where the lock had been was filled up with sealing-wax, so that there was no chance of seeing through that: but his curiosity was excited, and in looking about he saw that there had been a space at the top of the door, which was stuffed up with old paper. He pulled it out, and his curiosity was gratified with a view of his next-door neighbors. His efforts being thus crowned with success, he went to bed, and fell asleep.
The next morning, wishing to remove the proofs of his curiosity, he took the packet of old newspapers, with the intention of replacing them, when, in so doing, out fell the fourteen billet de mille francs, evidently those of his aunt. The master of the house was called. He remembered perfectly the circumstance. The servant was sent for; she recognized the room. The young man offered to make public reparation, and establish her innocence; but the poor woman preferred letting all the affair rest in oblivion. The story was forgotten, she said: why revive it? The young man handed her over the billets, which had been the cause of so much sorrow to her. After all, they were hardly earned.