A PROFESSIONAL SCAR.

BY AN OLD LAWYER.

YOUR kind letter, Harry, came duly to hand; and you will be surprised to learn that a careless question of yours will draw forth enough in answer to cover a sheet: 'What caused that scar on my temple?

It is a professional scar, Harry; one that I have carried ever since my earliest practice; and although I have now arrived at a tolerable old age, and have many, many intimate friends, it is a most s gular fact that you are the first and only person that ever inquired into its origin. I can tell you all about it, but must avoid names and places, for the parties most interested in the incident are yet living, and I am under strong bonds of secresy.

In the year after passing through a long examination before grave judges and shrewd barristers, I was pronounced a properly-qualified person to appear before juries and courts for others as well as myself, and at once proceeded to a large southern city, where, by a modest little sign over the door of a modest little office, I announced my readiness to commence the practice of the law. For three months I waited, but alas! no business came, and I sat in my office on a dreary night, at about eleven o'clock, in this very comfortable position: my money was gone entirely; my board-bill was to be paid in the morning, and my rent the day following; and I absolutely feared to go to my boardinghouse, and waited in what seemed the forlorn hope that something in the way of a fee might appear, either dropping from the skies, or suddenly appearing on my desk. Outside, no step was heard; and as I occasionally glanced through my window, the flame of the street-light, moved by the wind, would seemingly move me homeward; but I would not go. A foot-step sounded in my entry; a second, and a third, and more, but so light that my heart-beating prevented my counting them and then a little delicate knock. I compelled myself to say' Come in with a calm voice, although I expected to be instantly vis-a-vis with a young woman: the door opened, and I saw an old one.

I had only time to move toward a chair before she was in the centr of the room and speaking:

for

I have no time to sit. Young man, you are a lawyer: are you good any thing?'

My insulted dignity was controlled by an effort, and I answered that I flattered myself that I possessed some talent for my profession, or I should not have chosen it.

'Well, well, no gas; can you draw a paper?'

Here again I ventured to remark, that it depended somewhat on iis nature; but I saw from her impatient manner that she wanted no trifling. Before I finished the sentence, she interrupted me with a fierceness of manner exceeding her former rough one, saying:

'I want a will drawn; quick! hurriedly! but so strong that all the

d—ls in h—ll can't undo it! Can you do it?' and she fairly glared at me with impatience for my answer.

Now you know, Harry, that my legal education was obtained entirely in a surrogate's office, and you may presume that on the law and forms of last wills and testaments I felt myself sufficiently posted up. I accordingly assured her that I could draw a will which, though I could not warrant it to pass the ordeal she mentioned, would, I was sure, be proof against the efforts of all the lawyers in Christendom.

And now her manner changed from the fierce and bold to the anxious and hurried.

'Come, then, quick! quick! young man, and you shall pocket one thousand dollars for your night's work!' she exclaimed.

And, amazed and bewildered as I was, I found myself at the neighboring corner, stepping into a hack, before the startling but comfortable words, 'One thousand dollars for your night's work!' had ceased ringing in my ears. My conductress followed me in, and without orders we were rattled furiously along the streets to the House, then the

largest hotel in the city. My visions of one thousand bright dollars kept my tongue bridled, and I was led in silence up two flights of stairs into a suite of rooms comprising parlor and two bed-rooms. The parlor, however, was occupied by a bed, in which lay an old and evidently dying man. A servant was with him, but he left, upon a motion from the hand of my companion, who approached the bed and said:

'I have an attorney here, Sir; shall he proceed?'

The old man's eyes brightened up, and, after glaring on me for a moment, he spoke :

If you can draw my will, do it; quick! now, for I must save my breath.'

I turned to the table where I found paper, pens, ink, and every thing necessary; and by the light of two sperm candles in heavy silver candle-sticks, I was soon busily engaged at the will.

I will not trouble you with the details, nor, in fact, do I remember them; but it is enough to say that a large amount of property, real and personal, bonds, mortgages, etc., were left, in the words of the will, to my good and faithful house-keeper, Angeline, as a token of gratitude for her long, faithful, and meritorious service.' But the concluding words of the will I shall never forget; they were written from his own mouth, and made me shudder as I wrote them. There is something fearful, dreadful—yes, devilish-in this deliberately recording, in what purports to be your last written wish, a curse upon your own offspring. And I felt, as I wrote it, an involuntary desire to tear the paper into fragments, and to rush from the room, but the thousand dollars were like so many anchors, and I staid and wrote:

'I LEAVE to my daughter DORA all the satisfaction she can obtain from my hearty ourse. When rags whip about her in her only home, the street, and dogs share with her the refuse of the gutter, she may regret that she disobeyed him who once loved her, but who, dying, cursed her!'

There was something like a chuckle in the direction of old Angeline as the dying wretch dictated these fearful words; but as I looked and saw the stern face as rigid as marble, I concluded I must have been

mistaken. I could not, however, divest myself of a certain feeling that all was wrong. A rich old man, accompanied by an old house-keeper, and dying in a strange city; her anxiety to have the will so strong; the curse on his daughter, and the large fee, all conspired to make me feel that I was being instrumental in the accomplishment of some villainous object. Again I meditated the destruction of the paper, and again my fee and my wants conquered. The will was finished, and I read it over aloud, the old man groaning, and the old woman looking an occasional assent; but when I read the terrible curse, a new actor appeared on the scene:

Oh! tear it! tear it! Oh God! you know not what you do!'

The plaintive tones of the voice touched my heart, even before my eyes beheld its owner; but when I saw her, heavens and earth! what an angel she was! The language is yet undiscovered, Harry, that is competent to give you a description of that face: the eyes dancing with excitement yet liquid with tears; the mouth proud as Juno's, yet compressed with anguish. But why do I attempt description? The most majestic, yet the sweetest countenance I ever beheld appealed to me, and not in vain; for while the old man, weak as he was, jumped from his bed screaming 'Kill her! kill her!' I tore the will into fragments, and we both fell to the floor, he dead, and I stunned by a blow from the heavy candle-stick wielded by the old hag, Angeline.

When my consciousness returned, I found myself in my own bed at my boarding-house, my host and hostess my sole attendants. My mind was clear the moment I looked about me, and I knew I had been brought home, and was now confined from the effects of that blow. I resolved to keep my own counsel, and to ascertain what I could of the subsequent proceedings of the night. Upon inquiry, I found that I had been brought home by a young gentleman in a carriage, who had left funds for the employment of a physician, and had also left a letter for me. I opened the letter as soon as I was alone, and found a fifty-dollar bank-note, with these words:

'You did last night a deed worthy of more gratitude than our present means enable us to express. The property which so nearly belonged to the infamous hag who struck you, will soon be ours, and you shall then hear from us. May the same kindness which prompted you to tear the paper, seal your lips hereafter as to the painful scenes of last evening. 'Gratefully yours,

'DORA AND HER HUSBAND.'

My first act was to conceal the letter beneath my pillow; my second, to call my host and tender him the amount of my board-bill; to my astonishment he told me that my companion paid it when he left the letter. It seems I raved a little about my inability to pay my host while I was unconscious, and thus the husband of Dora (for I had no doubt it was he who brought me home) had ascertained the fact and paid my bill. Added to this, my wound was not severe enough to need any surgery more than was offered by my kind landlady; so when I had recovered, (which was soon,) I had only my office-rent to pay, and then resumed business with the larger part of the one hundred dollars in my treasury. I made cautious inquiries about the House as to the subsequent movements of my mysterious clients, but could only ascertain that the old couple arrived on that eventful night, the old man

ordering a pleasant room in which he could die; that the young couple came by another conveyance, and had taken other rooms; that the old man's body was immediately boxed up and shipped for the north under charge of his man-servant; that the old woman went off alone; and that finally the young man paid the whole bill, and left also with his wife. To do my worthy host and his kind lady full justice, I must say that they never even hinted at the matter, and I never had a question to answer they probably took it for granted that I had been the victim of some broil, and avoided annoying me by any reference to it.

Thirty years of hard work rolled by, Harry, during which I acquired a family, fortune, fame, and gray hairs; but I never, in all that time, saw or heard of my clients, with the exception of one letter, which was received some years after the occurrences which I have related, and which contained two more fifty-dollar bills, with the words :

'We are very happy: may God bless you!

DORA.'

But in all that time, I have never forgotten that beautiful angelic face, nor the mute appeal which it made to my heart; the answer to which cost me the deep scar which is the object of your present curiosity, and a one-thousand-dollar fee less the amount received from the young folks. Neither did I, in all that time, regret the course I took.

Some ten years ago, as you probably remember, I spent a winter in Havana. I boarded with a Spanish landlord, whose house was generally filled with American visitors. But, strange to say, I passed one week with him without a single American arrival; and I was mentally resolving one day to leave for New-Orleans, where I could find troops of friends, and rid myself of the ennui consequent upon my solitary position, when I heard my host calling me :

'Senor, Senor, los Americanos -- Americanos.'

Looking from my window, I saw a fine portly gentleman attending to his luggage, and answering the demands of the thousand and one leeches of porters who each claimed to have brought something for him. Thinking I might be of service to him, I went out, and with two or three dimes dispersed the villains who, knowing me for an old stager, submitted to my orders. The gentleman turned to thank me, but suddenly started back, then glanced at my temple, and seeing the end of my candle-stick-mark peering out beneath my sombrero, he caught me by the hand exclaiming :

'We have met before, Sir! how glad I am to see you!'

And then, without explanation, he drew me to the door-way in which stood a matronly but still beautiful woman.

'See, Dora,' said he, 'is not this our old friend?

At the word 'Dora,' I started, and there before me, sure enough, stood the Dora of thirty years previous, still retaining many of her charms, but with the marks of time, notwithstanding, impressed upon her fea

tures.

You may well believe our reünion was most pleasant; and after our dinner was over, and we were out enjoying the sea-breeze, the whole story was told me. I will not give you the details of it; it was long, but the main features of it were about what I had surmised. Dora

was the only child of a wealthy father; her mother died when she was a mere child; old Angeline had remained with her father in the capacity of a house-keeper, and had, while Dora was away at school, acquired, as is generally the case, complete influence over him. Dora was wooed and won by a poor clerk; the father would not listen to it; an elopement was the consequence; and the old man in his rage broke up house-keeping, and taking old Angeline with him had started for the South. Dora had followed him with her husband, although she knew he would not see her, and although he had always been harsh and unkind to her, yet she knew he was in the last stages of consumption, and she determined, if possible, to be with him when he died. At the time of his death, they had been following him about a month from place to place, keeping concealed from him, and eluding even the keen eyes of Angeline. When Dora appeared in the room, it was only because the man-servant, who had been with her father, and who, as you remember, left the room when I entered, had observed their arrival and had kindly gone to her and informed her that her father could not live an hour; she was entering the room to make one last effort at reconciliation when my voice reading the fearful words of her father's curse caused the outcry and the denouement. Her husband, who followed her in, found the old man dead, Dora in a swoon, me senseless, and old Angeline in vain trying to put the many pieces of the will together, raving and cursing like a Bedlamite. He and the man-servant put the old man's body into the bed, took Dora to her room, and while the servant kept guard over Angeline, he took me home in a carriage. The rest you know.

I have only to add that, whenever I wander north, either alone or with my wife or family, we always stop at the house of our kind friends. They have spent one winter with us at the south, and we expect them again the coming season. And the young gentleman who studied law under my instruction, and who now practices law with my name on the sign with his, (as senior-partner, although he does all the business,) is Dora's son, and from certain conscious looks and bright blushes on my pretty daughter's cheek when he calls, I imagine he may possibly be mine, too. But of this, Harry, rest assured-I shall not curse her if she marries him.

SWEET child! it is not given to us to know,
In this first moment of thy nascent birth,
What is to be thy future destiny on earth;
But if we might attempt, in the soft glow
That paints thy cheek, the heart's glad overflow
Of tenderest emotions, which e'en now
In earliest youth illuminates thy brow,
And with a smile too pure for aught below
Lights up thy delicately-chiselled face,
Lending to it a charm of loveliness
Too exquisite for language to express,

An augury of thy coming fate to trace,
It would be that a soul so formed for love
Would bud below to yield its flower above.

JAMES WYNNE, M.D.