The Davenport gazette. [volume] (Davenport, Scott Co., Iowa) 1841-185?, 1853-06-30
STORY FORTH TIMES.
BY MRS. F. d. SAGE.

| BY MRS. F. D. SAGE.
"Don't cry, don't cry, Mira; | will &c
done, and come back as quick as | can
Come, put on your happy face now, or
shall feel sad all day; and when | am sad
| can't half work; and SO you see | shal
be gone all the longer if you give way so.'
| IL don't want to cry, mother. My hear
amt crying; it's only my eyes. The tear:
will run, because it seems so hard for you t
90 away and work all day for us; and ther
| little Willie cries sometimes, and he Won'
eat his bread soaked in water; and father
comes home sometimes, too, and he alWay'
scolds so, if we play or make noise; anc
he whips Edward because he will say wha
he's mind to; and we had such gooC
time yesterday, just US alone; and you told
us such pretty stories, that it will seem to
me more lonesome than ever this morning
Oh, wish it were always Sunday
"But if it were always Sunday, Mira,
should get no work, and you would have nc
bread and water, even, for little Willie
But come, cheer up-father will not come
to-day, guess
And here the voice of the poor woman
choaked with anguish; for she knew vel
why. He had taken the last quarter from
her pocket, and gone forth to his daily
haunts--aye, and that quarter earned by the
delicate hands OF his own wife would suffice
to brutalizc him all day, SO that he might
not return to abuse the helpless ones a
home.
$50 cheer up." she continued; "and il
get work all this week, you shall have
Christmas merry Christmas"
And that pale mother stopped and kissed
each one of her six precious once, of whom
Mira, not yet nine years of age, was the ED
est; and throwing faded blanket shaw
over her shoulders, she hurried into the
street, lest the tears which were swelling
up in the fountains of love, should be made
to overflow with the cold weight of despair
laid upon their surface by the artless words
of her suffering child
Ave, she hurried into the street, and pull
ing her gineham sun-bonnet over her eyes
let those tears flow. Her children did moi
see them; the world would not see them
and the cold pavement upon which they ieii
seemed but emblematical ofthe heart which
should have received them, and wiped them
away with tender hand from the cheek
which ten years before, had received the en-
lraptured kiss of affection from one who had
vowed, in the sight of God and man, to love
cherish, and protect She wept-wept free
ly-and silently hurried on her way.
sWhat makes you cry"' inquired little
Helen Wade, as she stood by the washtub
dipping up the snowy foam with her dimplee
| little hands. "What makes you cry! il
your baby dead,-mamma cried when oul
baby died, and they put him under the
ground Is your baby deadn"
"No, dear, he is not; but when come t.
wash your pretty slips, he cries, and some
times cry, too"
"Have you got any little girls!"
"Yes, three little girls"
"And three little boys!"
"Yes, three little boys"
"Have your little girls got any dolls"
"No."
"Why don't you buy them some!"
"Helen," said Mrs. Wade, who was stand
ing near, washing some laces and rich EN-
broidery in China bowl; "Helen, you tall
too much. Mrs. Wilson don't want to an
swer so many questions"
Helen was silent; but she watched with
intense interest the face of Mrs. Wilson
who, as she looked upon the fair brow, ant
ROSY cheeks, radiant with Joy and happiness
thought of her own dear Helen, equally
beautiful, mirthful, and happy, and of the
earnest request she made the day before
that she should buy her a doll. The past
with all its sunshine and gladness, seemed
to be mocking the present. She though,
of the beautiful simplicity of that angel
child She, too, had been an only daughter
She, too, had been the petted child OF wealth
Even so, three years ago, had stood her owI
| little Helen, and now all was dark-darh
through the inebrate's curse! Her parents
were dead; her property, gone; her hus'
banda drunkard! Her children were sui
fering, and she earning their scanty breat
over the washtub!
Little Helen watched for a moment The
great crystal drops as they fell into the sud'
from beneath her new bonnet, and then, a:
if half frightened, half grieved, she uttered I
loud cry of distress, and flew to her mother
;, go. don't let Mrs. Wilson cry so!" she
exclaimed, as she hid her face in the folds
of her mothers dress.
Mrs. Wade turned, and for the first tint
discovered that Mrs. Wade was in distress
and questioning her in kindly tone, she drew
from her the oft told tale Of sorrow and 0
wrong-of a good kind husband tempted
tempted from home and from duty-ot th
passing away of fortune and confdence-o
the gradual coming on of poverty-of sick
, ness, suffering, toil--despuir! How he ha
once promised to reform, and persuaded ne
TO leave the haunts of her childhood for
home in the West--of their struggles an
hopes, and of the snares that wicked me
laid for his feet, and how all hope was tol
: ever gone.
"But why" said Mrs. Wade, shave yo