MIGNONETTE. 
The thermometer was prancing around in the nine¬ 
ties, and all the air had gone to the mountains or sea¬ 
side—there wasn’t a breath left in the city. A young 
clerk in the dead-letter department of the postal service 
sat perched on a high stool before his desk, looking 
quite wilted and limp, and tore open the next envelope 
in the pile before him in a decidedly wilted and limp 
manner. Glancing at the signature, he read : “ Migno¬ 
nette.” 
“Well, that’s refreshing to-day, but why didn’t she 
have sense enough to sign her name?” Turning the 
letter over in order to find some clue—which he didn’t 
—he glanced down the first page. When nearly to the 
bottom he stopped, went back and read the letter care¬ 
fully from beginning to end; then drawing paper toward 
him copied it entire, and placed the copy in his pocket. 
Then, straightening up, went at his pile of letters in a 
new and brisk fashion. 
He wrote a letter that evening to his only living rela¬ 
tive in a little Maine village, and this is what he said : 
“jMy dear little sister : 
“ I am out of the slough of despond forever, I 
think. I have an idea you will be fully as rejoiced as 
I am. 
“ Will give you a few extracts from the lecture which 
was like a pole extended by some friendly hand to help me 
out. ‘ Discontent is a good thing. Every great achieve¬ 
ment in this world has been the result of somebody’s 
discontent with the then present state of affairs; but 
there is discontent and discontent. That which spends 
itself in fruitless wailings against surrounding circum¬ 
stances and half or wholly neglects the work it has, is 
not the kind that ever amounts to anything.’ Then 
further on in the same discourse : ‘ I know your work is 
not congenial, and that you have brains enough to fill a 
higher and more responsible position ; but, since it 
doesn’t show itself just now, wouldn’t it be better, while 
keeping a bright look-out for the golden opportunity, to 
see that every duty of your present position is faithfully 
and cheerfully performed, than to go through each day 
half-heartedly? You will forgive me, I know, if I say 
that this is not the way to show yourself worthy of pro¬ 
motion.’ 
“ By this time you will wish to know the lecturer’s 
name ; well, it is Mignonette—ever hear of her? Sha’n’t 
tell you anything more in regard to it now. 
“I am in usual health, and when I seat myself at my 
landlady’s bountiful (?) board, I feel thankful for cast- 
iron digestive powers, if for nothing else. She beats the 
world on new and execrable dishes—a certain pudding 
in particular. 
‘ ‘ Tom Campbell took a mouthful of it yesterday, and 
then remarked, giving Mrs. Kutch a most benevolent 
look, that he was irresistably reminded of a story. Of 
course, we all called ‘story,’ and he commenced: 
‘ A young reporter was sent to a small country town 
where a murder had been committed, to write it up. 
The hotel was poor, beds poorer, and table poorest. 
While smoking after dinner with the landlord, the re¬ 
porter remarked that the place would be an excellent 
one in which to die.’ 
“Ah,” beamed mine host, “how so?” leaning a 
little nearer to meet the compliment he felt sure was 
coming. 
“Well,” replied the reporter, “a man could leave it 
with less regret than any other.” Then in his blandest 
manner Tom looked down the table and said: “ See ?” 
We saw Mrs. K.’s face if we didn’t see anything else. 
I’ll bet he doesn’t get any extra towels after that. 
Take care of yourself, little sis, and don’t get tired to 
death preparing to become Mrs. Randall. 
I send with this by express a little “filthy lucre,” with 
which to purchase a handkerchief or quart of peanuts. 
Accept it with my love and wishes that it were a thou¬ 
sand dollars. 
Expect me the week before the wedding. 0 ! I for¬ 
got to say that I’m doing a little copying for the boss, 
and he was pleased yesterday to compliment my pen¬ 
manship and accuracy—‘Great aches from little toe 
corns,’ etc. As ever, your loving brother, 
Jim.” 
Our Jim devoted himself to business with a will, and 
—contrary to story books—came across no more letters 
signed Mignonette, and instead of being promoted him¬ 
self, sat by and saw the clerk on his left told to “ come 
up higher.” But he kept on; paid his bills, laid up a 
little something, and kept a sharp look-out for a change 
and—Mignonette. At last came his two weeks’ vaca¬ 
tion, when he packed bis little all, bade his fellow- 
boarders and the pudding good-bye, and started for 
Maine to attend his sister’s wedding. All the way he 
watched for Mignonette, but found nothing save the 
flower for which he had suddenly developed a remark¬ 
able fondness. Arrived there, he found his future 
brother-in-law to be a genial, whole-souled fellow, with 
a keen business ability. Young Randall made our Jim 
a fair, manly offer, to go into partnership with him in 
an orange grove in Florida. Turning to his sister, he 
said: “Do you think this is the opportunity, Elsie?” 
“ I certainly do. And, Oh ! Jimmie! I’ll give you 
something to eat that’s decent!” 
“That settles it; I’ll go, Clark. Thank you for the 
offer now, and when we get there, I’ll show you that my 
thanks mean something.” 
“ I know you will,” and the two young men clasped 
hands. 
The wedding over and good-byes said, the little party 
set their faces toward their new home. 'Jim had closed 
his connection with the department and was ready for 
his future and—Mignonette. 
“I’ll never find her way out there, Elsie,” he said to 
his sister, to whom he had told the whole story. She 
didn’t look dubious, but said brightly: “O, yes, you 
will; I feel sure of it.” 
When nearly half-way to their destination they stop¬ 
ped to visit a dear friend of Elsie's, and in the evening 
Jim strolled off for a walk, feeling something like the 
fifth wheel of the coach. After about an hours’ramble 
he turned into another street which he judged would 
take him somewhere near his stopping-place. He paused 
before a little wood-colored cottage under some large 
spreading trees. There was a border of Mignonette 
