Chicago Daily Tribune Newspaper, December 25, 1881, Page 9

THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE: SUNDAY, DECEMBER 25, I881—-SIiXTREN PAGES YULE-TIDE FANGIES, ‘Leni in by Some of ‘The _{ribune’s”? Staff. of Songsters. Pall of Them Seem to. Have Caught ‘the Prevailing Spirit of the ‘Holiday Season, : Some Pretty Verses by. Ella ©. > Wheeler. “ ess Fanny. Driscoli. Furnishes a ee ‘Story, Written in Her Usual Graceful Style. x ‘yf Beates How a Young Lady Traded “.” Her Art for the Love of a Young Man. cot Parson's Gift,” a Charming Sketch jn Blauk Verse, by Mrs, David -: Harlowe, of This City. oe GRANDPA’'S CHRISTMAS, "Written for The Chicago ‘Tribune, his reat cushioned chair by the fender +4n oldman sits dreaming tonight. ‘His withered hends, licked by the tender His dim eyes are fixed on the blaze, ‘While over him sweeps'tne resistiess Flood tide of old days. © Hehears not the mirth in the hallway, . He hears not the sounds of good cheer, ‘That through the old homestead ring alway ‘In the glad Christings time of the year, ‘He heeds not the chime of sweet voices ‘As the last gifts are hung on the tree, ‘na long vanished day he rejoices— it «dn nis lost used to be. * Hehas gone back across dead Docembers, © Mohis childhood’s fair land of delight; “dma his mother’s sweet smile he remembers, “Ashe hiings up his stocking at night. <“ Heremembers the dream-haunted slumber ‘All broken and restless because . Of the visions that came without number Of dear Santa Claus, .. '; Again, in his manhood’s beginning, He sees himself thrown on the world, 2nd into the vortex of sinning 2 By Pleasure's stroug arms he ig hurled. He bears the sweet Christmas bells ringing, “Repent ye, repent ye, and pray,” Bache Joins with his comrades in singing ‘A Bacchanal lay. *:" Again, he stands under the holly ’ With a blushing face lifted to his; For love has been stronger than folly, | And has turned him from vice unto bliss; ‘And the whole world is lit with new glory 1 />As the 8weet vows are uttered again, ‘While the Christmas bells tell the old story Of peace unto men. Again, with his little brood ‘round him, He sits by the fair mother-wife; . ‘Be knows that the angels bavé crowned bim- - With the truest, best riches of life; > And the hearts of the children, untroubled, Are filled with the gay Christrias-tide; And the gifts for sweet Maudie are doubled, "Tis her birthday, beside: Rea “Again—ah, dear Jesus have pity— Ha finds in-the chillwaning das, :, { That one hascome home from me city—< *": 2 Frail Maudie, whom love ted astray. Pe Ehe Hes with her babe on her bosom—. “Half hid by the snow’s fleecy spread; ¢) Adud and a poor trampled blossom— {> And both are quite dead. °° fair andso fragile! just twenty—. How mocking the belis sound tonight. She starved in this great land of plenty, ‘When she tried to grope back to the light, Christ, are Thy disciples inhuman, ~ Or only for men bast Thou died? No mercy is shown to a woman Who once steps aside. A +.Arain, he leans over the shrouded Still form of the mother and wife: ‘Very lonely the way seems, and ciouded, As he looks down the vista of life. ‘With the sweet Christmas chimes there is blended ~The knell for a Life that is done, And be knows that his joys are allended ‘And his waitmg begun. Solong have the years been—so lonely— © “As he counts them by Christmases gone. » 1 “Lam homesick,” he murmers—“if only "- The Angel would lead the way on. Tam cold—in this chil! winter weatner— >’ Why, Maudie dear, where have you been? And you, too; sweet wife~nnd together— O Christ, Jot me in. : 4 SUEY SE Ge Sa Bee oD “The children ran in from the hallway: “Were you calling us, grandpa?" they sald. Thon shrank, with that fear that comes alway & When young eyes look their first on the dead. ‘™ ". The freedom 20 longed for is given. E ‘Tho children speak Iow, and draw near, q . » “Dear grandpa keeps Christmas in Heaven ‘With grandma, this year.” Exia WHEELER, TWO CHRISTMAS EVES. Written Jor The. ee Tridune, ifeinno whit changed. NeXt-year1 shall Shall settle down to resolute achievement. “You ask me if I never think of marriage. Do‘younot know me better after all our letters?’ How. man-like you ‘are! : That. is all you ever offer women! «You Jaugh at our — .. \ books, our Sonatas, our pictures, our statues. Weare too weak to stand alone, but strong enough to hold you up. . We cannot think, “Ror achieve; we are only useful to round out Your unfinished uses. ‘Anything does fora wife? 5 “Duty, ‘companionship, ‘sympathy—that is ‘What we are for. We may long.and aspire, but creation is not for us.’ And when our ‘Weak ambition, which we haye built up with light hands, and careless singing lips, and laughing’ eyes where the: deeps have not yet » formed, fails about us in shapeless ruins, we ‘Straightway fiy, to. Love—we, who are too ¥ -Foung” yet to decipher’ Love’s alfabet—and for kisses to stop the trembling of our lips, and tender. unmeaning words to make » BS forget the hour. of fiower-strewn toil we “spent over our castle Which: never ‘had a foundation; we want to. be -beguiled away -from the stern visions that are ‘beginning to Pass before our souls.| Art is painful. and bitter in. its travail—we so soon grow tired, . We helpless creatures with whom the gods play. We walk.a little distance toward : the i stars, and then; when we find the way stony, +. *° and the falling night jcold and bleak, we hurry home and draw’ the curtains closer to shut out the illimitable glory overhead, and ~ sit down with Love in the crimson fire-glow, and forget. that ‘we were born for anything but caresses. “A dinner - is made sare easily ‘than a Doein, and men’ appreciate it-better.. They ate prouder.of the competent housekeeper. the artist-wife. ‘They love more. warm: ams .than the immutable coldness ‘of the Passionless perfection. The whisper. of the dependent, sounds -sweeter’ to the ears of . their vanity than the Steady, solemn tones of id Man's Christmas the Subject of } his ow ie “Fes, Iam quite content,” she wrote. “art (I spell it always with’a big A) satis- - fies me wholly. . My. work, my dreams, my studies fll all:my days. I would have my : have Rome and the Nile; for three years I de who presses onward with them, for victory, “You want us “clinging; and faithful, and ignorant. You want us’ to flatter you, to soothe you, to rest you—to be slippers aud dressing-gown for your lounging hours. You frown when we set you tight in your politic- al: economy; when we correct your Greek, and: criticize -your ‘policies. -You will not even argue with*us, you shout us down. ‘You glare at ‘us when we discover a planet. Lypatia, George Eliot, Mrs. Browning, Rosa Bonheur, - Mary. Somerville, George; Sand— You “give these alittle’ ‘praise, because you. are. .ashamed « to. be:-silent, .but it” is= always - with” an“ ‘if? anda “but? We may not even’ share your laws; Your. mothers and~ daughters, -tender, and pure, and loyal, may not share: the advan- tages that protect the man. next. door who beats his'wife, the laborer who: cannot spell name, the drunkard whose: vote is bought!for a dime. We are idiots, criminals, or children—which we like best. “No, my friend, Iwill. never marry. Not that I am a ‘man-hater—far frdm it Look- ing about me I see many men who would tnake excellent “husbands—for’ my friends. Nor do I disparage marriage; the institution is a sacred and beautiful one; it’ is no.fault of its own that it is desecrated. Women, for the most part, are ‘clinging, dependent crea- tures, who imperatively ‘need » protectors. They do not fill their hearts with any other ideal. I do not think God mademe a genius, but He gave. me ‘an ideal, and: iv fills: my brain and soul: . Love is an“ unknown guest Who.will never find warmth-at my hearth. Tam wedded to my vocation. “And then I am too restless and impatient, too indolent and extravagant;'I‘ could not , bear the responsibility, the care, the worry, the pettiness of married ‘life, as‘I see it demonst: ated all‘about me... It would -chafe and irritate me‘past endurance. I am strong and young. ‘1 want air, and light, and space. Jam eager to make a footing for: myself in this crowded world. I object to having. my silks crumpled by clamorous little fingers; I object to spending my life.in looking aftera man’s meals and shirt-buttons; I see nothing beautiful or alluring in the picture... Tam no Griselda; I cannot honor and obey. I enjoy my-treedom; it is more rapturous than any Jove could ever be. I will not lose my nerve, and_youth, and joyousness in four pent ‘walls; Iwill not merge my individuality in’ anothers. I will Stund alone, 1. will toil alone, and I will conquer alone.”” She writes: much more’ in a belligerent Strain, and then leaving heroics gives -him a Pleasant, light: résumé of the .last week’s pleasures, studies, thoughts, and’ fancies, and seals the long, rambling, eminently girl-. ish epistle with a little pat of her hand and Tums away for a drive with papa. A-week later she is sitting-in the library, her slippered feet ateon the fender, her low chair is deep and-Iuxurious and half hides the slim fornvin the pretty. house-dress, It. is Christmas-Eve, and Blanche gives one of her own elegant parties. Kathryn’s dress is jaid out in her dressing-room and is a marvel of taste; the’ roonis are filled with flowers, | everything is ready and perfect, and she has come to meditate a little while by. the library fire. The heavy curtains shut out the snowy world, the room’ is unlighted save by the fire-glow which flashes’ on bronze and bust and carven’ ceiling, The room is scented ‘with the dainty leathers that fill the crowded cases, and Kathryn feels unwontedly ‘con- tent with life and living. (What does girl eyer dream of? Vague, intangible ‘things that elude words; fragile visions that nave’ only wings, not bodies; gossanier reveries that hold not even dew. : A knock at the door ‘arouses: her, and, to her summotis, 3 servant -enters ‘noiselesly with a letteron a salver, “She: knows the heavy writing, and mus: s awhile :Jonger “be- fore she opens it: ‘My Dear Karner: “Thave:' onl moment fa a . Tleave for New Orleans y. xt train, dear litle contidante, -of: the change that bas me into may life sinve Iast-F wrote you. 1 huve told you Dail a my. lifelong ago,.except this one brief episode which was too bitter to. think of— ‘but I always intended to tell you this some day. “Three years ago, dear; 1 loved a beautiful girl Who was my. betrothed . wife. Howl met her and won her matters not here, but we quarrcled and parted, and I have never seen her since. -1 Thought 1 had” conquered my" heart; of Jate I have’ had - other plans- and hopes. Your's Was the little hand that soothed all bitterness out of memory, and brought me toa faith and belief in womanhood. Your swect, true words made me strong and whole, and your influence ied me up from the rocks upon. which I was nearly wrecked, into a haven of refuge. Tosay Treceived a letter from this girl. I go‘to ber Homenintaly. Will you not wish me “God ardly know why f omething eee ‘ine southwards 1 do naveves know wheth- er she loves me now, I only Know she 13 free, and that she has not forgotten that she loved mo ‘once. As I said I though I had blotted out the past completely, yer. today -her words wake ‘strange emotions and memories in me. 1 bnve put away wy Iater dreams, I am afraid they were false and illusive, for all their fairness, wil) write you on my return... May your Christ- mas-tide be joyous and unciouded, and may the New Year Ieaa you far on your path to the stars you love. . Dear little heart, good-by. ‘Your friend, st. JOHN NORTON. * These two -had walked in the gardens of Plato.. Itis always an instructive sight to see a girl of 20 and a man of 30 wandering in these pleasant paths, They had drifted into correspondence in an odd, desultory way: We was worn, blasé, cynical. She was fresh, innocent, untried... She had written him all her thoughts and fancies, and he had revered her purity and trusted her truth, and roused himself to new ambition to earn her admira- tion. They. were friends and confidantes, nothing more, they told each other with sus- picions earnesiness. Boncamarades, stand- ing on a strong, reliable platform of friendly Anterest and platonic affection, with no shim- ‘mering veil of romance about therh; no roses of passion, no golderi-mists of senti- ment. In clear, chill atmosphere of bracing morning light, they stood hand-in-hand look- ing into each ‘other's eyes calmly and steadily. ‘Was it not strange, then, that Kathryn should read this letter twice, thrice, eagerly, unbelievingly, with white face and trembling hands, and then fling herseif on her Imeeson, the rugin the crimson blaze of the fire, and bury -her face in the. chair, Sobbing bit- terly ahd inconsolably? ‘After that she ‘went to dress. “Some way or other nothing intérested her; everythiig looked dull and stupid; she thought of the coming’ guests. with. impatience, and ar- ranged her Jaces and draperies mechanically with scarcely a glance at the mirror... There are very few crises ina woman’s life when she neglects the consolation of her mirror. In an -hour or two musie was pulsing through the rooms, and she was in the midst of an animated crowd. “Blanche never gave. large parties—tonight, least of: all.. Christ- mas-tide had a sanctity ‘about: it that a mod- ern world-training could not-wholly efface. ‘The rooms; were decked with holly;'and, as the:clock' ras on the stroke of 12 and the bells burst out from the old church-tower below ‘the hill, a strain of ‘exquisit melody ‘floated tip from beneath the library windows “Twas peace on earth, good will to man, That angel-voices san; When theo” the ‘irmacsent’ "s broad span Salvation’s anthem rang: Tae Guristian's wareh-word: Peace, good will! ‘As the tender music flodted away. in the ‘Starry night, one by one the guests said good night, > and Kathryn’ was alone,” Her eyes were bright,-her-checks flushed, and smiles. were on hér lips. ..Oniwardly- she had never been gayer or more charming; but‘astrange heaviness was in “her heart’ that She could hardly expiain to herself. In her room, she read the letfer again over and over..’ “He will marry, this. girl,”- she said to‘herself,. ‘and. we- will drift’ out-of |.° each other’s ‘lives as we “drifted “iv. Why ‘should I care? : Outside of letters, I: hardly ‘Know him: ' And’ it is. such /a pity,” with ‘divine. sympathy, ““‘that' a. man “like that: should tie himself down to a narrow married existence, with a’ pretty, frivolous wife; for: "Of course she is a shallow." He isjust the kind ‘hope he will be happy,” with a congratulac t tory sob. “But his letters have helped me so much— have set him up so high—and I shall lose my friend, I always detested mar- ried men?!” vindictively, ‘And all will ‘be changed between us, and we were such good comrades,” Here shesonsagain, and throivs up the window and Jeans out into the night. ‘The stars are paling, the air is crisp and cold, and the bells are chiming clear, ae ‘sweet, and triumphant. “Anyway, Ihave my art,” ishe says, the very last thing as she turns out thelight. “I. have—my—vocation.”.. :The’ thought is ‘so consoling that she sobs very hard among her. pillows, and arises thé -next.mormme with faint shadows under. her eyes :and all the brier-pink gone from her cheéks.” oR Surely she found her’soul last night. Our souls always come fhto us in ati inexpected way, through tears and pai For twenty years she has'lived. inthe sun- light; her dreams ‘have been~ jeweled ones; her hopes were all clad in !dazzling and un- stained: garments. ‘This-morning the rays about their heads lookpale, ‘the white robes do not glisten; her. dreams seem’ a’ little heavy. But there are new depths inher eyes, ‘and ‘her lips are tetider. in their pensiva sweetness. The little air’ of,dash and ‘inde- pendence is quite gone -for the time. It is not the Coming Woman,” but a . wistful girl that erceps in.to breakfast. . Through all .the‘week which is’ glad, ‘and busy, and exciting, with festivities attending the: holidays—riotous: brottiers.home® from college, accompanied by more riotouschums; balls, skating parties, . breakfasts, ‘private theatricals, sleigh-rides, ‘and 2 dozen other things, Kathryn ‘is,as usual, thé leading spirit’ But in the few moments when she is quite alone, she looks at the pain in her heart with angry and rebellious -eyes, and scolds herself heartily, and .detests hersélf with Rirlish cordiality.. She talks less about her art. ‘She looks at her unmarried, sisters, the oldest and most disappointed ones, with new vision, and pities them ‘sincerely. She looks with horror at one particular one who has a “mission,” which-she: expresses by a mascu- line stride, a’ loud» and’. un¢onipromising voice, and uribeautiful attire.’ “How lonely, to live always alone!” sho thinks. “What would Ido in this biz house all by myself, with perhaps ‘a pin-cushion of companion who would ‘doze’ her days over crocheting. : And we would be frightened to death after dark. ‘There would be no one to take me to operas or look after- my comfort, for when I any old there will be no ‘boys? and bouquets. And how can society or travel take the place. of warm human love? "It must bea dreadful life for a woman who hhasno art!” . She reads“ The Princess’? and ;“ Aurora Leigh,” and thinks she would not have been so weak.’ She argues, Can love be more sat- isfying than art? Arid answers always with a negative which is rather shaky. ‘And all the time the soul’ is struggling within her. “She.is fitful, and absent, and distrait. She devours her mail greedily, ‘and is filled with’. suppressed excitement day and night that’ preys upon her. health and temper, \ Finally, she throws aside study anddream, and rushes hither and thither, laughing, and eager, and gay. And straightway converts every one of the college-boys into maunder- ing ‘and. hopeless’ imbeciles, who find their only rational -nioments in her smile., She dons her most fascinating ‘toilets, and is the bright particular star’ by so many lengths ahead that the other girls look on in speech- less wonder, without .a/ pang of envy: or jealousy; for Kathryn numbers as’ many lovers in the one Sex as in the other. One’ day, when the new year is two weeks old, she receives a little note which drench- esall the color from -her lips and the light from: her eyes.: But that is before she reads It says: : 3 My Lrrrex On “Byen’ ts rol, whom: r trust” “go implicitly, Teaonot contide: the: story!of my journey—for there are: some ‘things One must. “dorger asif they hud never a found chat when fave: bus died and “ben buried nothing can make it live again. - Ibave' some business which will call me to: your city next:weck: “I shall: give myself the plessure of calling on you Wednesday, if you will allow me. .1 hope you will not let anything crowd me from your thought, because your let- ters have become ’a necessity tome. ‘I will write in a day ortwoat length. Tell mo that you still remember - Sr. Joun Noxrron. + * This very commonplace note certainly did not deserve the trembling «kiss that was lavished upon ‘if, or the radiant face that scanned it. “But Ishall not write him such Jong let- ters, nor as many of them!” severely. “1 must spend this whole year in hard work. -I have been shamefully. neglectful of late, and if L intend to jamount, to’ anything 1 must lose no time.’ Ihave no patience with these girls~vho spend their days in dress and flirta- tion, with marriage as ‘their: only goal. 'O my Art, you shall be. husband, and child, and home to izé!” with whieh lofty apostro- phe shg kissed thecommonplace letter again, and shut it in 2 drawer of her desk tenderly. Girlhood is full of such delicious: and un- conscious idiocy. Christmas-Eve again, with scarlet sunset in the west and great snowdrifts in the east, and the Evening: Star, gleammg out from pale masses of cloud, pure, and lustr ous, and calm, Kathryn is lounging in her favorit low chair by the library fire. Opposit her is seated her sister, Mrs.:.Davenant, a blonde, pretty, empty-headed little matron, ‘with priceless jewels: in her ears and on. her fingers and ‘at. her wrist-and throat, her heavy satins trailing over the floor, and per- fumed, costly laces" about her dimpled chin. . Dress is asacranient to Blanche Davenant. She is looking at her sister with-wide, blue, pensive eyes, and a little droop about her pretty mouth, -her: forehead—what can be seen of it through’ fluffy, flaxen mings—eon~ tracted in perplexity. “You ‘really. intend to marry. st. John Norton ?” she asks, plaintively. * ‘really do,” Kathryn answers brief. _ “But he is not wealthy.”. - SL knowit’ > ‘ “And you will havo to give up so much you have been accustomed to.” - ‘And gain so inuch I never had? ““You cannot go to Rome+—” “Imay—some day.” |: * ‘You will have to attend to. everything,” as if Kathryn meditated rebuilding the pyra- mids, unassisted.” ‘Yon. probably. will not have more than two ‘servants, if you have that “many,”-" hopelesly.” ‘How. “will you like dusting, ‘and keeping: house-accounts, and making puddings 2” “think I ‘shall -like -it very much,” serenely. * “Treally. believe you love him, Kathie!” with a little moue of disdain.: ‘**I amsure no woman could be So blind if she retained her senses”—~and idiotic she adds to herself, her little foot tapping the tiles impatiently. ‘Kathryn smiles ‘faintly’ and amusedly, but" does not answer;: as swell expound the philos- ophy of Love to a butterfly. Mrs. Davenant’s eyes grow wider and more pensive as She scans hier sister’s piquant, un- conscious face, and then she bursts out again, | her childish sweet voice quite trembling with. her emotion: " - “You will probably have at least a dozen children—poor peoplé always do!” J. think’ a* home. would-be very empty. without children’s yoices forever,” Kathryn says gently, And. then. she ' ‘sits . up, and Iaughs:-. ° » Blanche, asx; you speak as it wwe were going to be quite destitute:and ‘forlorn. I am quite sure I shall’ have-at least ‘two silk’ dresses & year, and: champagne on Sundays ‘Rs a great: treat’ after a laborious and trying week, and perliaps ‘once: in* awhile | we may even have an’ opeta-bos if Wwe are very care-_ -ful.and economical. And: you know there are “always matinées and cheap, Jectues and con- certs, Ane artistic tastes ought to come in “knee, and they talk ¢ ei when I wish to make over my wardrobe,” enjoying her sister’s diszusted Jook, which takesin all her delicate costly apparel, from the dainty satin slipper that peeps out be- neath her skirts to the diamond moth in her hait—papn’s latest gift. Blanche shrugs her plump shoulders. “Chacun a son'gout. And all the time you have given to study, and cultivation, .and ac~ complishments . will be ‘quite wasted, she affirms. “ es Why’ 27 a little sharply. : “Did you not say society’ would kno you! no more after you were ‘Mrs: Norton?” : “Do you think L would give: mora to ‘so- ciety than I: would: to’my ‘husband >” with superb scorn. ‘* Will it i not be asniuch worth’ to‘amuse and interest isi, and win and keep his pride and: respect, 2s; @, grinning crowd I would not'give a bagatelie tor, body, and soul, and. brain—provided always’ that’ it. is endowed with:a soul: aan brain, which I doubt???s)” * We always thought a Would amount to something, ‘sonie~ day,” <withi-reproach, after another pause,“ And make a name for yourself.” * 4 “ Blanche,” softly, “would you wish me famous and desolate," ‘or. pnknown and hap- py?” laying her hand cavessingly on her sis- ter’sarm. ~ “0, -happy,: to be ab 1. “with a. shrug. “ But Ldon’t see how. siarrying aman.who will probably never own aspanor give youa diamoiid ‘can’ make'a woman. happy. But I ‘Suppose you know best’: - “Yes, dear, I' know. fbest~about thls,” gravely and sweetly. “0, Kathie, you will Sa regular driager in a burst of despair. “Hush”, sternly. - You, talk like a child. .John Norton will make no woman a slave,-least of all ‘the woman he loves. ‘He will care for:her: tendetty, and “protect:her always. shall not give up my dreanis, nor my. aspirations, but 1 shall live my life differ: ently from what I’ planned, I shall cutti: vate my brain and my ‘heart a as 1 may, and he will help me—yes, he will help me,” half to herself, with a dreaniy staile. - “ What a little. pink . raven. you : are,’ Blanche, with "your . croakings . and -forebodings!” playfully, . ‘You will see that I shall have Rome and diamonds | yet, before: I die. By the time Lain 50 Ishall. ea grande dame in your beloved ‘ society’; -Recamier, Dé- Stael, andthe Empress of ‘Austria in one. My horoscope foretells it, Jet that comfort you.--Don’t -be Dolorosa another minute, little sister, the réle dosen’t suit. you.” Ris- ing gaily and kissing the’; pretty. flower-face, that has never lind a strong emo tion beneath its calm surface.’ Wifehood.. and’ mother- hood cannot waken in a soul that is not. “ Gotig, dear? - Teli” papa’ I will be with him directly.. Lam dressed tor the’ ‘evening, you'sce.” ‘The fire burns rudaity, the Yelvet. curtains are not yet drawn, Kathryn sits on dreaming in the ‘great. chair--on’ the wolf-rug.: ‘fhe rounded -white arms. are bare, her cheeks are flushed deeply, and “her. dark eyes gaze. into the writhing, flames with an indolent happiness. Fan,-and gloves, and cobweb handkerchief lie unheeded on the rug, and her hair. is slightly ruffled:in the abandon- ment of-her revery. .. The night has’ fallen without, and’ the corners of the room are thick with shadows; the firelight’ touches the passionate, despairing faceof an Ariadne as it leans from,some: dim drapery, and tha purple violets beneath the slim arched mar- ble feet fill. the. room with a. dreaming tre grance.” “he door opens sot, and. Kathryn starts up eagerly. “Ah, Lam so glad to sce youl”: she says, going forward with outstretched. hands, a picture of radiant girlhcod, with the rich, dusky room. for .a; background, . her eyes brilliant, her lips. parted: in ‘happy . smiles. ‘The man looks down intolier face for 2 mo- ‘ment before he draws her to him and - Kisses she Sits onthe’, rum, Biya ong: timo in. the firelight - When the Cntistmas bells ring, out: in the gray midnight, ‘and: the carol-singers -have ‘chanted their joyous tidings. under the win- dows, and the last guest has departed, Kath- ryn and St. John Norton stand together by the library fire. ‘ She looks a little tired, and he draws her head to. nis breast, and stands with his arms around her. “Next Christmas eve, my darling, we shall hear the bells in our own home.” “The half-tiidden face grows rose-red ‘sud- dently, and the white lids droop over the too- expressive eyes.’ # “You do not regret —,” he whispers. “1 regret nothing,” she interrupts, hastily, “Your art, which you always spelled with a big A?” he asks, witha smile.‘ “TI have said good-by to it. Iamnotbraye enough, ‘nor Strong” enough, . to. reach the stars—alone.” “We will find them ‘together, love,” he says, with grave tendérness, as he kisses the sweet face lifted trustingly to his. Panny. Driscott, THE PARSON'S GIFT, Written for The Chicago Tribune, ‘The night had long clos’d in. The blinding snow Lay whitl'd in heaps, like drifts of purest wool. ‘The river-waves, which in long summer days Came rippling high upon the grassy shores, Now frozen in their ice-bound harbor lay. For thro’ the length and breadth of alf the and Was ne'er remember’d go severe a time. ‘This eve, by all the Christian world bela blest, ‘The winter winds went whistling thro’ the streets; O’er gabies old and neath the slated enyes Laughing and shrickiny in their elfish mirth, Alike round stately ball and lowly cot, Until the mortal whose ill-luck it were a To be abroad, might with all truth bethink , ‘That Pimdemonium bad indeed let Joose Its choicest legion thro’ the little town, | Yet while old Boreas did his carot sing ‘Thro’ all tho length and {breadth of ancient Kent, i ea And while in happy homes the mirth ran high, And chifdren’s voices caroled forth their glee (For no such Christmas comes in after years Like to: that Christmas which our childhood knew), While comfort, warmth, and plenty reigned within, And frost, arid snow, and bitter cold without, ‘there came across the-whit'ning Kentish leas What e’en might caugo.some yeoman’s sturdy heart To weaker prow on such a night as this, A woman's form—a sprite—a vision rare— Each and'all of these it might have been Had not its mortat birthright been prociaim’a By tiny footprints in the virgin snow...” Like to the snowy records which a life Justly and truly spent must ever leave, Pure and unsuillfed on the page of time. At length the wide, utbroken width is cross’d, ‘The river, too, and now the town is nigh. For there, thro’ all the blinding storm, its lights _ Shine forth and gem the darkness of the night. And one there was, the brightest of them all; Within the cottage, Vine and ivy wreath'd, Which nestled on the outskirts of the town, Where Giles had first brought Margery home, a bride, And/ on whose casement, quaint and diamond shap'd, « ‘The snows of many winters soft had ofr, And on this night became a thing more bless’d. By reason of that one bright star it held, ‘Than ever beacon in the wildest sea, ~.-. - Whose fury tried the faith and skill of man. ‘The day had shortly died, and “twas the hour ‘That comes 'twixt light and dark, the hour of thought i And In the liyimg-room in Marzery's house, ‘Tho’ more thro’ usual custom than that care ~~ ‘Which thrifty housewives might by times abuse, No lanip had yet been lit. . ‘The cheery fire,.* 7 With gen'rous warmth threw out its ruddy glow O'er all the ample hearth, and shadows fuvg Upon the tinted walls;‘on pictures whose Surprising tints the raihbow ne‘er outshone, ‘And whicb some rustic artist p'r’aps had sine: Mayhap some Titian inembryo Had not the muse which usually presides O'er works of genius, been to him unkind And mix’d his brushes ag he mix’d his dyes. ‘Tho eight-day clock which in the corner stood Grim seutinel and warden of the hours; ‘The thrushes’ cage and fancy wicker stand; Margery’s table‘and her basket, fill'd ‘With - homely yarns—for mending—buttons, braids, Andall those num'rous odds and ends for which No other hand except the good wife's own Could ever find for each its sep’rate ‘use. But just one spot a ling’ring shadow held. As though the light were alll too rude to touch ~ ‘What memory and mother love held dear. ~ It.was no portrait by a Hogarth Umn'd, No scutptut’d gem of more than plicctess worth; ; a\ Uny shelf between the windows, plac'd On it @-porcelain dog, a vase, some shells; And, . fashioned . heart shape, from‘ the front there huog Astring of blackbirds’ and of ‘thrushes’ CoRS. - Around these alt ‘some loving hand had twin'd- Fair sprays of holly, and their berries gleam'd ~ Cheery ‘and red against the darker leaves, } Like sunny hours ftom out a vanished past. “What! Margery! Btess me, whero be yo girl? D'yer loie yer company an’ the dark go well? - Coame haste y Yonow, an’ give'us a loight, good woife, Or honest folk moight seck a loiklier plaace’ ‘Than thjs, mayhup, to. pasa their Christmas tolde. Set out yer cheer, the best in all the "ouse, And maake yer brewing ‘ot an’ warm, me lass, Seeing I haye such company to yer brought.” Margery, who'd been sitting quite alone, - Her busy hands, now folded in ner Jap, Jumo'd briskly up, A light was quickly brought, And when from coatsand wudllers there emerg'a Her own good man and one she did esteem And reverence; next to him, of all the world, ‘The reason why, pérhaps—and this a point “On which the most, and best of women-kind. Are weak—that on a certain suany day: He had, before the world of Chilham Lees, ‘Within God's house firat given her to Giles. © Now secing here the “company”. Giles bad brought, Good Parson Ailworth, then her kindly face Lit up with pleasure, and fio need for him ‘The quality or quantity to doubt Of, that go good. Christmas cheer, Which with aett Sho plac'd before them. ‘Now in all the town Of pretty Chilbath-Lees;there was not one Held higher in esteem than he, who nad, From out the goodness of a kind old heart, ‘Turn’d from the genial pleasures of his home Upon a mission that all worthy was, j And one that in that great, dread book of life, | Would be a shining record ‘gainst his name. As thus he sat ‘fore Margery’s pleasant fire His very presence held a comfort rare ‘To one whose heart 2 heavy burden bore, Alneit, that by neither word nor look Did ber sore grief give sign. “ Good Mistress Allworth, Is she well?” she asked, “ and busy too 1 dare to say, for well we women folk Know all there is vo do at Christmas tide.’”* “Aye, aye, sho’s well and alleting rboat, the house As gay and happy as a lark at morn, And laughing in her gen’rous heart, good soul, O'er sundry treasures stor’d away from sight ‘To be deposited, when all is still,- In certain socks and. stockings, which, forsooth, Must grace my parlor mantel for the night. ‘You know our daughter Julia’s with us now, With all her brood, a goodly flock of five, ‘Who think, with grandma, that this Christmas time ’ ‘The parsonage and all who dwell therein’ Should be converted to their ‘special rule. “Well, well,” he udds, “we once wer young our- selves, And no man should, methinks, so let the world Tncrust the natural kindness of bis heart So a3 to warp those frail and tender chords, - ‘By which the present and the past are bound, E’en tho’ the last a passing cloud should holds Whose lining yet the darkness might dispel.” “Some folk ther be, sur,” shortly answered Giles, “ Who'd just as lief let bygones so remain.” “Tut, tut, friend Gites; if that indeed were so. Then that man never has a childhood known. -Améng good men, he is no less the man, ‘In that for one brief space he can forget, And be with happy childhood once again . Achild. And tho’ in seeming true, yet still. How oft does gen'rous human nature seek Below the surface of an action Kindly done ?.- And indeed so true {t ts, ‘That all our minds are so much ‘more inclin’d | Zo take impression from surrounding things, ., Rather than those: which bettor. might portray Our sounder judgment; thatI'do declare ™:* -~. ‘That when those rascals,'Tom and Dan, tonight Did to their. puny strength my will succumb, In that their Liliputian force had made, 3fe conquered Gulliver, and when in most. Ignoble straits that puissant hero great Doth find himself to terra firma pinn’d, I would not have one ttle tinger mor ‘To spoil their triumph and my own defeat, Had our good Dean himself stood in the door.: And when it pleas'd them my release to sigD,* ‘Tfound as pris'ner of war, alone I'd been exchang’d to serve another cause. Rhoda, that sprite of ev’ry mischief which ‘Within the house is plann’d, did then assume Of government the undisputed pow'r. ~ And much inearnest and in truth good friends, These fair and prosperous kingdoms. of our. homes, A Do never.such despotic rule endure - As when those lesser semblance of ourselves, With ‘grasp of-steel, the household sceptre wield. And you—it seems, indeed, but yesterday, ‘Since little footsteps echo'd thro’ this room, So quickly have the wheels of Time gone round— ave yielded to the autocratic pow'r.. ‘Why, let me think—just twenty. years tonight, Your little Bertha" —Now perhaps it was The mug was all too hot to hold, or that Margery’s nerves a sudden turn had ta’en, But this it is it had a speedy fall And being filled with egg-nog, freshly brew'd, The spicy current rippl’d o'er the bord, And ere he could prevent, its fragrant source Had quickly wended to the parson's knees.” a An’ sarv’d ye rojght, old Inss..” Had let yer * tolls But meddle oply wi’ yer present care ‘The parson's trousers had the better far’d.” And here, not heeding that it was his best, And Margery’s gift, and silk at that, he with His kerehief briskly went to work, until, ‘Thro’ vigor of his rubbing—a strong right Hand bad Giles—our good parson mentally Made note that even kindness might be oft In theoretic instances preferr’d -” With much more pleasure than he now/enjoy’d. “rut, tut,” at length be quickly interpos'd,’ Indeed the feiction had become so warm =~ ‘tne good man thought It might be nothing lost | ‘To give a moment's heeding—not to cloth— But to the natural cov’ring of his limbs. _ 4 There Is no harm, friend Giles, save waste of that is Good beverage, which would grieve me sore in- s deed, % : . Did I not know that Mistress Margery’s skill. Ne'er yet was daunted by. unlucky fate.” And that the parson’s trust be not dispell’d, * And Giles’ mopping to an end now come (Save the removing of that wholesome dew Which honest lator to his brow had brought), And Margery, quite recovered from her fright,” Another brewing was at once begun,1 > And this with such success as to indeed All former efforts of the kind surpass. - ‘And then, her husband started on the crops— A theme to last him for a good long hour— And Farson Allworth much inclined that way, Margery drew apart, and thro’ the quaint » Old lattice looked, with saddened, wistful ¢ ‘eyes, Far out upon the snow-white covered leas... Why bad be spoken thus? - Sbe tried to think, ” ‘No; ne'er, since first their trouble came, had he ‘When Giles was there, made mention of that” name. ‘ ‘He was too kind and thoughtful ¢’er to touch * ‘A-half-healed wound Without there was some cause, “ ‘An! Margery, did your short sight ever took Beyond the smart of littie ills to find i ‘A greater and a grander promise kept ~ "To those Who shall most patiently endure? Or view the lenden mists that yell the dawn ‘Fo shield the glory,of the young day's grace” From shrub and flow’r, and atl that, living, lives’ On God's sweet sunshine?" Ah, if you have,” ‘Then have you ere the noon of day was past, Oft seen that misty curtain drawn aside And warm and light and glory greater still, ‘Than ever promise of the morning gave, © - Burst forth in vivid splendor o'er the earth, And then across the occan of tho years ‘There came a mem'ry of a childish face”. {A Little face with golden curis enframed, 4 A little sping voice which at her knees ~ : ‘The first short pray’rs at morn and evehad sald), And woke within the desolate mother heart, ‘The tender, loving, suff’ring, patient heart, ‘A great, tho’ silent, bitter cry of pain. .. -|0 God! this Christmas Eve, in all the world, This wide and cruel world, where is she now? My poor, unhappy child.” 4 * In those fair days When love, “and-tifo, and happiness were young, There then had come to’Margery and to Giles, Oa this bleat eve, full twenty years azo, A pure snow blossom af their gift from God. “ Bertha,” they call'd her, for the parson's, wife Who had most graciously vouchsaf"d to stand,. _| As sponsor for the chitd. But soon ‘they. found ‘That Bertha was, by fat, too stafd a name, * And held a graver measure Inits sound’ ‘Than e'er would sult the merry, laughing notes Of this gay little singing bird of theirs,” . -| And so they call’d her “* Birdie,":and the name | Stuck to herthro’ the years, and still she was ‘The otily fledgling that was fn the nest. ‘: Now, in that time, her many. household cares Kept Margery’s busy hands and mind at work, For rents were high, and Glles was at the start, * A. good one tho’, the land was rich and dry - - And toil the only. canital required... So Margery work'd indoors, and kept the house,- And let the hours 60 regulate her. work,.“. Until there came the one most dearly priz’d, ‘Which brought her husband to his ev’ning meal, And those sweet after joys of hearth and home ‘Which should the labor of the day requite.- ‘When, with her knitting, and the latest news © @®orrow’d from Joe, the Postman, but that morn, :| Joe always had the latest news from-town, She drow her little rocker near the light, ‘It was the happiest moment of the day. And Giles, with Birdie perch’d upon his knee, - And, lying back’ within bis great arm-chair, ‘Ho watched tho smoke-ireattis gurl about his ~' bead,” =: Would tot his eyes rest loving on her face, For Giles was tired and Iked to hear ner read, ‘Tit she, becoming conscious of thelr gaze,” Would lay her jiaper dawn, and by nis side : -~ Would quickly kneel, her tender arms entwin’d "Round both the father and the child, and 50 Would all thetrevenings pass. 0 God! those were ‘The nappy days. His sunshine bright was o'er. and in‘and all about their lives." And time * Wont on, and. Birdie grew apace, and, as ‘Most fair she grew, the mother’s heart rejoic’d ‘nat Naturo had go lavishly bestow’d Her gifts upon her. Then dark days ce came, ‘Those dark days of but one year ago, When o'er their peaceful nest a shadow fell, ‘The sweet-voiced, handsome, trech'rous bird of rey, 7 ‘Who, while he sang the mother’s fears to rest, (For fears ahe had, tho’ unexpress’d_and vague) And lull'd the father with'his learning greut, And stories of strange lands, they both awoke |< From out thelr lotus steep, to find. * Their ltrs: bright wing’d, guileless bird had flown. Few words spake Giles when first he learned “the truth: “ Now, baark ‘yo wolfe, an’ to my ‘words taak Tote, For I shall speak none other tH Tdie. From this day foarth we tIve our lives anew, The Juss who bided with us trom a child Ie dead.”.. And so the Jaughter and the light *) Of all their lives went with her. ie AS. Margery. now. ‘Towards her husband and the parson glanced, And watched the former’s kindly, honest face, She saw, as ne'er before she had perceived, Boneath the smile that now near reach’d bis eyes, ‘Tho lines a silent, voiceless grief’ hnd wrought. And ag she look’d a tenderer pity grew Een for this strong man’s grief than for her own; She was a woman, and the right was bers,” ‘The right of woman's weakness, which is oft” In trouble, asin joy, ber greatest shield. While he beneath tho stole’s iron mask. ‘Must ait erief’s natural outié(s ruthiess crush, And, being 2 man, must pe unto the world All that the world doth of his manhoad claim. ‘A wontan’s tears her womanhood may crown, Awan’s emotion may his manhood shame. So'sang the wise, and yet a wiser and A greater wisdom than ail age can know; A strength so infinit which nor time, nor death Could touch the eternal sources of {ts being, ‘To human sorrow did its nature yield. Coutd strength so ereatané sympathy sogrand © hat death—that awful and mysterious test— Could sinless face that we from sin mizht lives. “Or cou!d that minhood, pure and undettl’d, Man's mortal semblance which 2 God did wear, - | Be weaken'd by thé birth of mortal tears?: ‘As Margery sat, her thoughts divided, halt - “Boing with tho -present and the'past,:- ‘Tne loving husband of “so many years," Who still, thank God,-was by her side’ this eve’ ‘The daughter: who, where’er she be tonight,” May.God in all His tendr’eat mercy shield, ‘here came the sound of singing from without; Distant as yet, but borne upon the wiad Like sound of Sabbath belis on summer’s eve. “Hark! bark!": she cried, and. then tha three did pause, For Giles by this had garner’d ail his wheat, - And still the low, sweet singing nearer grew. he night is dreary and cola, And winter winds do blow, . And over the lonely and dark'ning wold » Full knée-deep lies the snow. ‘Then up with the Ughits.” Make merry within, ‘Your wassail and toast and mirth begin, And usher a blithesomer Christmasin, -, ‘Than aught that’s yet bad birth, And while the musie and song Doth make your hearts so light, Nd Bemember the love that has lived so long, - ‘The love that was horn tonight. +) Inyour plenteons cheerremember the poor, And turn not the stranger away from your oor, ‘That you of aloftier gift be sure,’ Peace and good-will on earth. - <The song was ended and they Knew it well, The village choir had first the carol turn’d About the time when Margery was wed,, - And partly for remembrance of that time," * And part because the custom so had grown,- * It had been ever sung beside her hearth As ench succeeding year came ‘round, save this. Had I the zénius of the-artist’s.touch, ‘The skill of some Pygmalion of the age, 1 could the scene that follow'd best portray, ©, For pen and ink are all too weak. % ‘To trace the tender pathos which it held.. Now Parson Allworth and his host retain’d ©” ‘Their places still on either side the fire, And when the singing ctas’d, the look that came ‘To Giles’ face was pitiful to see. Grief, anger, pity, vengeance dire, in tarn : Each left their shadow, as the open door ~ Reveal’d the unknown songstress to their view. Clad in some dark and home-made woolen rown, A heayy mantle with the hood thrown back ‘To how a woman's pure, pate, troubl'd face, With wealths of colden hair but looselyspinn’d, With which the winter winds had revel'd free And fallen snowflakes with their ermine crown'd. For some great poet's theme, so might she stood, Some sculptor’s ideal, or some artist's dream, One startl’d glance she cast upon the three, *- “And then her eyes, in silent, mute appeal: ‘Went past those others to the parson’s face," - ‘Heading’perhap8 from out its genial glow; Or rather by a swift and kindly look, -2 ‘The hope ot which her heart had so much need. And mae past Margery’s arms, whose one sharp aay. Godt may child?’ had tnrura thro’ all her frame ‘But’ ‘stay’d her not, till at her father’s feet She knelt and crav’d forgiveness of her. fault. “Father-—" At first 1io other word save this or faltering tongue and trembling | ups could *< frame, ‘Til, seeing that he sat and ‘spake. no word, * And did not spurn her pregence as she knelt, : Her heart 2 sure and sweet new comfort took, : “Ab me, I've suffer'd so.. Iwas 0 young, © Father, in mercy for my helpiesness - Make not my sin and dill ity dread remorse’ "Tne greater and the Harder still to bear.” No word sbe utter'd in ber own defense, Not e’en one plea for all her wasted life, » Save only this that ahe had been go young.’ - Like Ke oe: Shock "which ‘rends the stranded. ‘Was aunt which passa thro? Gites’ eturdy treme.’ ‘The eyes, the voice—the dear familiar voice * _ ‘Which first had call'd. bim by. the SRADRS new. name « Of “father ‘when. her baby lips could trace “The -. clinging ~ toneh—bis eniid—Ap, Godt: and soe. timasys 65 ‘That one—bis ietle bird—isdead.°.. ‘fo all intents and purposes she died ‘When first, thro’ her, the honor of his name.’ The only heritage he had, was spurn’a.:)) ‘And so he would not: look, but tarn’d his nead Lest looking ag she knelt there at his feet, *: ‘Whose lovelizess the frelight but “enbariced,* He should e’en for'a moment's space forget. ‘That sterner justice and his own deep wrong. “0, for this holy, blessea Christmas time; By all th -No other word—the deep: blue eyes—the touch, '|” ‘This sad eye’d: woman -Witivhis daughter’s £308) love. whick—you—for—mother— bear— ‘The broken words had faint and fainter grown, "Til ending in a wail of sorest grief, Hef outstretched arms she twin’d about hia | knees, Not daring yet to seek that dearer rest Her head in happy childhood e’er had known. “ Forgive ye? No,” he cried and upright stood, “Ye were so young. ae Dia’ ‘st think o my gray hairs? ‘Yér mother’s tears? The houest * name, ye scorn’d? = No, no, my lass, re've made another nest, Go bide ye thoro; the bird who'sang in this As dead.” “+ Father—— -“To we. Iam -none “0 uch, E An’ by that higher name whan’ hand has smote Me Bore Lhere—"* Forgive 23, Lords as.we ‘The sins of others do ourselves forgive. Now mark me, Giles," the. prisone! z voice was kind,’ “Tf each and ev'ry! fault our, lives. have known. ‘Could be hefore the world wide open lald,-” How many of us could the ordeal bear? ‘Nay, is there one in this created world Of all the millions which it holds, but ‘one... Who, were thé question to him homeward put ‘Could answer from his soul, ‘ I Know not sin’? Then fs it meet that, not being free ourselves, We e’en should dare to jadge that sin elsewhere? Or, being blinded, should in othérs sce. ‘Unmasked that foulness which our tender pride, Of self could never to that self reveal?. And*judge ye Hot that Judged not ye be," And in the face of that august command, ‘Then wouldst thou take on thy unworthy self". ‘Those attributes which God alone bath clafm'd «As Maker and Creator of mankind, ©. ! 2 ‘The great and one Eternal Jude of all,: ©} And judge this poor, unbappy gicl, thy child, : ‘Thou, thro’ God the author uf her being. Ab, friend, let time but take thec back apace ‘When first the touch of baby fingers woke ~ ; Within thy manhood that mysterious thrill: *..° Of parentage, and when, in later days,” ~* * ‘Thy home, and heart, and life the brighter. ‘Taro’ this one gift intrusted to thy care. And how thou waited for her happy voice—>"; ‘Lhe Uctle wayward feet upon the stale: ‘The *kiss for father” when the day was done. Canst thou forget these things of yesterday?’ , ‘Wring from thy heart the mem’ry, good or ill,’ Of this thy child, and that she ts thy child? : Could all the justice which thy will might wield: Repay thee for yon mother’s broken heart? As I did pledge my word unto the child.” “When ' in the ‘storm’ she sought my. ‘house tos, | night, ‘That I with you her advocate would be, », I now abjure you that you mercy yiek As you for inerey hope on that great day When God shall judge according to your deeds, : As On this eve just twenty years ago". My hands were first to place her in your arms; ‘Your ‘Gift from God” I bade you call her thens So now I pray you, in His Holy Name,’ . ~ Receive from them your Christmas-gitt again... And Christian charity and all good-will 7" And -peace be in your heart ana home this, bigot.” x He ceas‘d, tor Margery had now drawa nigh, ‘Yet patient stood, so that he might proceed, ‘Till, with a cry which could be ne’er forzot—' So full of gladness, weary heart-acho, Joy- Above it alla longing sweet for rest, ‘The wanderer to that safer haven turned ‘Whose one unerring light has never fall'd -* ‘From that young morn when first the tioy crate Js launch’d with fears upon the sea of life © Until the stately ship, at close of day," :" : Shall cast itgauchor in the welcome port . > Only to find the beacon shedding still ‘The sacred light of mother-love and trust: Blessed are they who peace shail make on earth ‘Then surely did the blessing kindly fall "7 On him who, standing ’mid the Httle group, them. “ ‘ God bless ya parson; I besnt so'bard. ‘To touch my ‘eart this nojght. Conm ‘ere, my lass An’ tlist thou wilt abide wi’ us, why then. All things shall be to ye as ouce they were, - An’ Joy coam to yer mother’s ’eart an” mine, \Aye, put your arms about my neck, just. so; Isec yer do the trick remember yet. Now, now, my.Bairn, God bless ye, an’ doant cry, ‘Xe ne'er shall leave yer father's breast again. Be sure 0° that, an’ praises ever be * ao Him whose | Jove: is round shout us al of fora ermine wore~tha ‘moontight dione’ ‘Upon the parson’s dear old honest face,’*- ‘The deep content that Margery’s features wore, ‘The amile that hid a deeper thought in Giles, Asto his hand his daughter's fingers stole, ‘Whose face and eyes beneath the silverlight. Astar-gemme’d pleco of purest sculpture greWe ‘As thus they stood, another day was bara. - For tnro’ the quiet air there rose a great’ © ‘And sudden clashing forth of many bells, + A merry, echoing, blithesome peal of bells, ” ‘Which ev'ry fragment of the air took up, And.bore away the blessed, glad refrain. * * ‘fo hail and cot, to peasant and “to Queen, Aud then they ccas'd- “And on, the little group, Imrall the solemn stillness of the night,” A pteat exceeding peace did atraightway fall, Even like to that which centurits ago’: *” ‘There came to Judah’s shepherds on the plaing ‘When first before their vision there arose”. -. , ‘The herald star that to a world proclaim’d. ‘The lowly bicth of Heaven's. Prince of” Pence,“ a And angel voices sang the holy strain, Glory, to God on high, ood will to me > Mrs. Davin. HARLows, -PARDONED, For the Chicago Triuni. *ADerry Christiins!” - Yes, my friends, : | Bemerry; but remember, ‘Tho while your tuneful taughter blends, ‘That this is bleak December, =. And that, tho’ bright your fires may stow: : On faces free from care, ‘The outside world lies cold in. snow, © And hearts break with despair. Hang up your atockings! Sing With hearts light a3 a feather!» , But, if you've cherished any wrongs, Crack wrongs and nuts together! Your joys to greater length will spin, Your smiles a new ight borrow, ‘If you can lead come soul from sin, Or help some heart through sorrow. And, tho’ my. Christmas-song may see ‘To lack: somewhat of Sparkle, « Mayhap Fou'll find a threading gleam + Amfdst its curving darkle.» A merry Christmas,” frlendsl ~ Whate’er you do or aay, ‘Help those jess bless'@'than you ‘That this is Love's birthday! :: ‘They brongnt her to the Master.:' O the shame Of. public acorn! the horror, beyond name, Of vile Jeers hooted by a viler mop! =: Save that she quivered faintly when asod. ‘Tore thro’ her sorcured: heart,, would have ysaid=* They mock ea an empty house whose lord bea So piteously mute and wan she stood Auildse the wolves who clamured for :her. blood, _And, ‘while the: ‘urged how Doses did commang “Death toe hee or nrge He wrote upon the sand my et . untit they did Insist and then He rais Himself, and in each face with'stern eyes gazed, down Olive’s mountain, liken buple-cath ag, une! might « swift sword fall, isto volce clave thro’ each soul: Who hath noaig Among you all—no sin—tet him begin Her punishment; let him first cast a stone! ‘Who Gare? They left her to her God—aloy * gro! - He iitted up Himself, a none could be found “Of those who hi ed her.:: Then said He, Ge oman, 2 bate ,BO. ‘man condemned ‘What love beyond ait lan amuse, hae That igre teronde i nguss ined -Her in that rev’rent hush which caae ‘20. word Afanswer, save thehumble, “No man, Lord!" But, ‘tho’ she promised nothing, He who read -Her silent soul (and -knew that she to tread. Withia als steps. would strive) forgave cherefore SNeither “ aimost ewo thdlisana years thou ing from # higher O} ve nO now— Dear. Chris : with us eet “this \ : ey And hore he inid his hand on Bertiin’s heads? j Had brought such great and lasting. peace to ‘That Christian words an’ Christian love shull fail Arts) Thou on its crown-we at its foot, who Chris Braone oe etry Simtes = samen ‘oe