The Hillsborough recorder. [volume] (Hillsborough, N.C.) 1820-1879, 1851-09-03
From lh. Flag Of lhe f'bion.
THE WIDOWS DREAM.
OR An OASIS IN the DESERT OF POOR
sIAasTREss's LIFE.

OR AN OASIS IN THE DESERT OF POOR
sEAasTREss's LIFE.
The cold piercing winds Of Decem-
Der whistled and moaned around the
old frame tenement of q poor widow,
who resided in a narrow dark street of
populous city. The widow in vain
stuffed the few surplus pieces Of her
sparce wardrobe into the assures of the
broken aud shattered door and win
dows to exclude the nipping breath Of
Jack Frost," as il oozed into her hum
Bile apartments; Cor the fierce wintry
king and his snowy train drove furi-
ously through the deserted streets. and
IN boisterols glee mocked the dying
embers of the poor woman's fre-sidc.
Upon small deal table before her, as
she crouched in low chair beside the
expiring fire, dimly burned lamp,
while the benulnbed fingers Of the Wild
ow, guided by her weary eyes, were
playing over half-fnished garment Of
a cheap tailoring establishment. Ever
and anon the poor woman would cast
her ewes towards large and ill-accou-
tered bed in corner Of the room, and
as she did so, she would renew her
wasted energies to complete her task.
That humble couch contained all on
earth that was dear to her; her two
children slept, nothing the less sound
because of their wretched poverty, but
slept that sweet and refreshing sleep
that knits up the ravelled sleeve Of
care, and falls as gently upon the beg
gar in his shed as the millionaire in his
palace. A sobbing moan escapes the
poor widow, tears suffused her hollow
cheeks.
Il can work no more, my light is
nearly gone. I'm chilled to the bone.
But q, what will nv children do for
bread tomorrow They almost broke
nv heart when | put them to bed hungry
and cold tonight. Tomorrow they'll
have nothing-no food, no fire. Great
God, they must not perish, while I've
an ear or a hand" And the poor wo-
man again piled her needle, nodded,
sobbed. sighed and worked on, until the
last ember of her fire was gone. The
light Of the lamp flickered in the sock
ct for moment; and the last stitch in
the garment was completed as the faint
streaks Of day broke through the inter-
stices Of the windows.
Pale and wan as if death had alrea-
,ly claimed his demand, almost as rigid
with cold, too, the widow arose from
her seat, crossed to the bed, gazed up
on her still quietly sleeping children
and falling upon her knees beside them, ,
she prayed-prayed that God would
call them home, as nothing but despair
and misery seemed before them. But
the sun began to spread his broad rays
over the frozen earth, and the hum anu
roar Of busy city resounded again N
the streets. The poor woman donned
her plain habiliments, kissed her wax
ing children, and bidding them sleer
until she returned with food and hre
she rolled up the finished garment ant
started through the deep snow ant
keen morning air, to the tailoring es
tablishment.
1t was one of those large depots
where ready made clothing holds ou
sach great allurements to the econom
ical wearers Of such goods; q long es
tablished and talerable species Of th'
lattee day R,sss;ie for the torture 0
those moor females who fight to the last
AGAINST most overwhelming odds ant