DEAF, DUMB AND BLIND.

OR THE NABOB UNCLE.

BY AGNES L. GORDON.

"WELL, girls, prepare your sweetest smiles, and best behavior, for your uncle has arrived at last, and I have just received this note, dated at the Astor, announcing his coming, and accepting my invitation to make our house his home; so, to use his own expression, we may expect him, 'bag and baggage,' this evening."

These words were addressed by Mrs. Medway to her daughters, as they sat at breakfast, in an elegant apartment in a fashionable street up town.

"That means, I suppose, that he comes with an ebony serving-man, in an immense turban, half a dozen hookahs, innumerable packages, and selfindulging contrivances, and all the et cæteras of an eastern nabob," replied Matilda. "I wonder where we are to stow away all the trash that he will undoubtedly pour in upon us? I wish, mamma, you had not invited him here; but if his coming prove but a golden one to us, I, for one, am perfectly willing to play the agreeable, with so bright a prospect in store."

is an effort I never was equal to. We will appoin Grace reader to his Indian majesty. What say you, Grace, are you not overwhelmed with the honor?"

This question was addressed to a quiet girl, who had hitherto taken no part in the conversation, but who replied with a smile, "If your uncle is in reality the disagreeable person you describe, I shall not be emulous of the honor you design me; but if he is in truth an invalid, I will wait on him with cheerfulness, for you know I am accustomed to a sick chamber."

"That's just like you, Grace, always ready and willing to do for every one," answered Sophy. "Of course he is an invalid-all nabobs are. He has the gout, and we must all creep on tip-toe about the room, lest an unlucky jar might give him a twinge, and bring down a volley, not of blessings, upon our devoted heads. Then the liver complaint is a necessary appendage, and blue pills and calomel will abound. Bah! what a house it will be to be sure, I "Not so with me," exclaimed her younger sister should not wonder if he has a pet monkey and half Sophy, "I am determined to do as I please, and not a dozen macaws, and we shall have a menagerie and be like an automaton, at the will of a cross old in-hospital combined. If such is the case, I shall run valid, as I have no doubt he is. I suppose we must off and get married; so don't wonder if some mornhave great fires built up all summer, and be content ing I am missing." to be baked, and browned to crisps, in ovens of rooms, while old yellow-face shivers with cold, and swears at the climate. And then we must live on curries, and spices, and pilaus, and all sorts of horrid nauseous messes, until we are as yellow and bilious as himself. I boldly protest against all such proceedings, and thus, once for all, good people, declare myself free and independent."

"But recollect, girls," said their mother, while she laughed at, Sophy's declaration, "he is your father's brother, and as such entitled to at least an appearance of respect. I wish he was less afflicted to be sure, for it will be a sad drawback, I fear, upon your amusements; but keep up your courage, and remember that to be co-heiresses of an Indian nabob is a distinction very much to be coveted, and worthy some sacrifices to attain."

"I am sure his deafness will be a great relief to us all," chimed in Matilda, "so as we play propriety and have plenty of delicate attentions, and wreathed smiles, in readiness, we can indulge once in a while in a theatrical aside of impatience, which will be quite a safety valve to the temper."

"But if he is an invalid he must necessarily be cross," answered Sophy, "and as his sight is impaired, he will probably want some one to read to him; that task I absolutely refuse to perform; for as to reading any thing more than the last magazine, it

"And thus forfeit your claim to the fortune in store," said her sister; "for my part I am willing to take a pill every other day, in the hope that it will prove at last a gilded one, and will feed the macaws to a surfeit—"

"In fact, kill them with kindness," interrupted Sophy, laughing. "Well, you are welcome to all you can get, the pill will be bitter if it is gilded; I love my ease too well to be shackled even with golden fetters; so Grace and you may divide the labor and the reward."

"Grace will of course do whatever is required of her," said Mrs. Medway gravely, "but as she has no claim of kindred upon your uncle, she will not expect any other return than my approval. And now girls we have spent a long time chatting; I must go and prepare for our newly arrived relative's coming, and remember, Sophy, that you treat him with all deference and respect; you might have a little natural feeling-"

"All fudge, mamma," laughed Sophy, rising from her seat; "talk of natural feeling, indeed, for a cross old fidgetty fellow one never saw, and scarcely ever heard of, except when he sent you that superb India shawl. I tell you, mamma, it is a natural feeling for his presents and his rupees that inspires you and Matilda; I will none of them except they come in a natural way, without any force put on my in

clination. You know I am a little Pickle, and I in- | after, leaving her orphan child to the care of her tend to be as sour as vinegar." cousin, Mrs. Medway, who had herself been tenderly

"And I as sweet as honey-water," cried Matilda, reared under the roof of Mrs. Addison's father, and as she left the room. upon whom the grand-daughter of her benefactor certainly had a claim.

"Yes, and as insipid, too," replied her sister, following. "As for you, Grace," she added, looking back, as you fortunately have no selfish considera tions, you can afford to be, as you always are, 'Simple Grace, gracious and graceful,' "so saying, the noisy girl slammed the door after her, leaving Grace to her daily duty of washing the breakfast things, and arranging the room.

Mrs. Medway was the widow of a merchant who had left his family possessed of a moderate income, which they contrived should, like a thin plate of gold, cover a large surface. They lived up to their means in every sense. Mrs. Medway gave parties, kept several servants, lived in a large house, showily furnished, and dressed herself and daughters splendidly. All this could not be done without strict economy somewhere; and while the soirées of Mrs. Medway were pronounced delightful, the servants made many complaints of their daily fare. Mrs. Medway was only one of a class, there are hundreds who, to use a vulgar phrase," rob Peter to pay Paul," and fast at home, that they may appear to feast abroad.

Mrs. Medway was a selfish woman, and the charge was irksome, but the circumstances of her own early life and adoption were so extensively known, that she dared not brave the censure of her friends by refusing it; and thus whilst Grace was ostensibly cared and provided for, she was made to feel her dependence, and had resolved in her own heart to seize the first opportunity of releasing herself from this thraldom, preferring to earn her daily bread, than to receive it as a favor while she toiled for it as a menial. But her gentle and pliant nature dreaded to offend or grieve Mrs. Medway, for she knew that she was really essential to her, whilst for Sophy, rude as she at times appeared, she felt a warm attachment, for she alone acted toward her as an equal and a friend.

Grace Addison was not beautiful, but she had charms enough to have made her a dangerous rival, had she appeared on equal terms with the sisters. She shrunk, however, from society, and seldom appeared at Mrs. Medway's soirées, very much, it must be confessed, to that lady's satisfaction. We have said Grace was not beautiful-lovely is the epithet properly belonging to her. Scarcely above the middle height, her slender form was inexpressibly

The coming of Jacob Medway, an elder brother of her husband, who had spent his life in India, and now returned to his native land, to enjoy his fortune and find an heir, was an important event to Mrs. Med-graceful in all its attitudes; there were no angles way. She would rather, to be sure, ave him unacquainted with certain parts of her household arrangement, but she hoped to reap a golden harvest, and wished to give her daughters an opportunity of ingratiating themselves in his favor. These daughters were handsome, showy girls. Matilda, the elder, had been a decided belle for several seasons. She was tall and slender, with very fine dark eyes, rather long face, and that distinguished air and manner that stamps the woman of fashion. She was very anxious to secure her uncle's favor, for she argued that a fine fortune might secure her the alliance that her fine person had hitherto failed to win.

The younger daughter, Sophy, with less beauty than her sister, was still much admired. She had a rattling, dashing way of saying pert, and sometimes shrewd things, that passed for wit, among the idlers who surrounded her, though they often winced under the keenness of her remarks. She was not amiable, but possessed a sturdy independence that was a redeeming trait, and though often displaying it in a most disagreeable manner, was in reality much less selfish than her soft-lipped sister.

The other inmate of the family whom we have mentioned, was Grace Addison-"little Grace," as she was wont to be affectionately termed in her own happy home, but now, "Simple Grace," as Sophy loved to call her. The mother of Grace was a cousin of Mrs. Medway; she had been left a widow in very straitened circumstances her husband dying when Grace was just fifteen. Grief and anxiety threw her in a consumption, and she died two years

about her, Sophy said. Every accidental position was a study for a sculptor-and never was the gentle name of Grace more fitly applied. Her deep, thoughtful blue eyes were shaded by long black lashes, that rested on a cheek whose deepest tint never exceeded the glow on the lip of a sea-shell, and the delicate features, and rich mass of dark hair, gave that air of refinement so rare and so indiscribable. Such was the family of which the nabob, Jacob Medway, was expected to become an inmate. In Mrs. Medway's drawing-room the family was assembled to receive the expected guest. Sophy was ridiculing her sister, and imitating the welcome which she said Matilda had learned by rote, when the noise of carriage-wheels were heard, and presently a loud ring of the bell announced the arrival. Mrs. Medway arose, and went into the hall, and then came the sound of trunks unstrapped, and packages thrown in, and next, enveloped in cloaks, the rich uncle stepped from the carriage, and being welcomed by Mrs. Medway, was shown at once to his room, where every accommodation for his comfort had been made. He had a colored servant, and as many packages as even Matilda expected, but no pet monkey or macaws as yet appeared.

"Well, mamma, what is he like?" exclaimed both daughters in a breath, as she re-entered the

room.

"You shall judge for yourselves presently," she answered. "He does not appear to be gouty, however, for he stepped quite firmly into the hall, and his voice is pleasant and not at all cross."

THE

NABOB

UNCLE.

349

"Humph, not much; your sister there is more like him," he answered, pointing with his ear-trumpet to Sophy.

"So, perhaps, Matilda will not have the gratifica- | with her most engaging smile, and speaking in the tion of being a martyr after all," cried Sophy, laugh- cornet, without which it was evident he could hear ing; "her honey-water will sour by keeping, and nothing. my vinegar become flat; well, after all, I am a little disappointed. I don't believe he is at all rich, Matilda, unless he is gouty, cross, and every thing bad; it would be too much of a good thing if he were." Matilda did not much relish her sister's raillery, and a sharp reply rose to her lips as the door opened and her uncle entered. Mrs. Medway immediately rose, and introduced him to her daughters, and Grace offered him the arm-chair which he politely accepted, and then expressed, in a very few words, his thanks for her courtesy.

He was, of course, an object of great interest to the little group, and did not altogether answer their expectations.

Uncle Medway was tall, and rather stout, with a fine open countenance, yellow and brown, to be sure, in its hue, but the expression of his mouth contradicted at once all idea of ill-nature. His eyes were small, with a keen, shrewd, searching expression; and one could scarcely credit that their vision was impaired, so that without glasses he could not distinguish minute objects. He carried an ear-cornet in his hand, and apologized for his infirmities, speaking in a nervous and abrupt manner.

"You will find me a troublesome inmate, I fear, madam," he said to Mrs. Medway; "my infirmities make me a poor companion. I am a man of few words, and my loss of hearing renders it almost impossible to enjoy the conversation of others, while even the pleasure of reading is in part denied me."

There, Matilda, is ten thousand lost to you," laughed the giddy girl.

"What does she say?" asked the old gentleman, casting a shrewd look at her; "come here, merry one, and tell me yourself."

Sophy rose and courtesied before him, as she said to Grace, "Your turn next-so prepare. I wonder if the old Indian thinks he can turn us about as he would some China ornaments, while we stand bobbing like so many mandarins before him?" then turning to her uncle, she added, "I am delighted that you think I resemble my father, sir, although Matilda is counted the beauty, and I the fright." "Oh, Sophy, how can you rattle so," exclaimed Grace.

"Now hush, Grace, until your time comes. You know I always speak out what I think." "Especially when you know one party at least cannot hear," said her sister, sarcastically.

"You all seem to be chattering away among yourselves like so many magpies," said the old gentleman. "But who is this young lady in the corner?"

"Our cousin, Grace Addison," screamed Sophy, at the top of her voice, "and the dearest, best, kindest cousin in the world. She makes all our dresses, copies Matilda's music, waters her flowers, sketches in her album, and does a thousand things for which others get the credit; and more than all, she bears all my impertinences, and never gets out of patience. Now, Grace," turning toward her, " you are properly introduced, come and speak for yourself. I think I have made one party at least hear this time,"

Sophy!" exclaimed her mother, in an agony, but she added, to her sister; "and if old yellow-face has the sight of the ear-cornet calmed her fears.

The evening passed slowly away; Uncle Medway retired early, and the young ladies, after exchanging opinions of him, went to rest, to dream golden dreams, as Sophy maliciously said.

Uncle Medway did not appear at breakfast on the following morning, but during the forenoon, while the young ladies were occupied at their several employments, he unexpectedly entered, and with an apologetic smile and bow, took the seat which Matilda hastened to offer, tendering at the same time very affectionate inquiries regarding his health. The old gentleman quietly put on his glasses and lowered his ear-cornet, requesting her to repeat her words, while Sophy maliciously offered to prompt her, in case she forgot her lesson. Matilda looked thunder at her sister, and sunshine at her uncle as she repeated her questions.

"I rested well, thank you," said her uncle, "and as I hope to become better acquainted in time, you will not, I trust, be offended at my scrutiny." He took Matilda's hand as he spoke, and looked earnestly in her countenance.

half as much generosity as he should have, there is a nice little plum in store for Simple Grace.” So saying, she ran out of the room.

When the party met at dinner, there were several dishes cooked to suit Uncle Medway's taste, among the rest a curry. Mrs. Medway and Matilda accepted some of the proffered viand, but when the old gentleman politely turned to Sophy, she exclaimed,

No, I thank you, none of your nauseous messes for me-the very smell of them takes away my appetite. Mamma, after this, I think I shall dine in my own room."

"What does the young lady say?" asked Uncle Medway, elevating his cornet, "that she has no appetite?"

"I say I can't bear curry," screamed Sophy. "Oh, Sophy, how can you be so rude?" said her mother, in despair.

"Because I hate hypocrisy," answered the other, angrily. "There sits Matilda, striving to appear to eat what I know she abhors, afraid to say what her likes or dislikes are; it would not be worth the

"Do you consider me like papa?" she inquired effort she makes to swallow it, if the hateful curry