Daily national era. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1854, 1854-07-31
LITERARY MISCELLANY.
For tho National Era.
H 0llY-W 0 0 D /.
cHAP. ITT.
BY ALICE CAREY

SLOW, uiemhl TAIN kept ialiuS hpu i0il'nS WY
late flowers went frat, and then the leaves, so
that the bouqbs were mostly black and bare,
q few hardy vines only relieving the general
sombre aspect Of things, when through the
busy streets, Of clear, frosty twilight, took
my way to the house Of Mary Halstead. Ii is
melancholy thing to see, in great city, the
coming Of winter-so many poor, houseless
wretches stare you in the face, in bold impor-
tunity for aid-so many manned and broken
spirited men and women, orphaned Of hope
stretch their hands for charity, shivcring and
shrinking from the pitiless blast-and 30 many
little innocent children, that with baby glee
should be making the household merry, follow
us with their hungry eyes.
O, how often goes up the bitter cry from be-
fore the doors Of opulence, and even from the
porches Of the churches, My God, am for
eaken!n
The windows Of Miss Halsteads house were
all illumined by the lights within, and, as
remembered the beauty and position Of the
mistress Of the fine mansion before me, it
seemed that her heart should be thankful and
grateful but, after all, how little real happi-
ness has TO do with bricks and mortar, with
pieces Of gold, or with the worlds praise or
blame If there be not some one heart whose
beats echo back our own--some smile that
kindles ut ours-some voice that softens if we
be near--all the glory Of the visible universe
fades dim as the dust
Bright as the laurel is, it cannot shelter the
aching brow 30 well as the humblest cabin
roof where love makes its abode.
Mary met me- with face beaming with
JOY, and, as she took my hand in hers, whis-
pered that she was come that night to the
pleasantest chapter Of her life. Mr.. Screw
hard, who sat playing psalm tune on the
piano, answered, to some remark OF mine about
the cold night, that there would be no winters
in heaven. As he spoke, the cry Of child in
the street came painfully to our ears. Hetty
put down the purse on which she was knitting,
and ran to the door. Here, dear, give her
this, said Mary, handing the girl some money,
and without troubling herself to inquire into
the nature Of the case. "The Lord tempers
the wind to the shorn lamb" exclaimed Mr..
Screwhard, examining the carved work of the
piano. So, and SO differently, were different
natures moved by CRY Of distress.
When Hetty returned, Mr.. Screwhard said
her face was as the face Of an angel, coming
as abe did from q work Of charity; and when
she blushed and turned aside, he continued
q could almost wish myself that poor child
In the street, that thou mighpst tend and min
lister unto me-"
30, didn't do anything exclaimed the
modest girl 81 only brought the child to the
fire, and gave him some supper and Mary's
money!
alf thy sister hath the gold Of this world,
thou hast the ruby of wisdom" continued the
young man, closing his eyes, as if in happy
contemplation of her excelience--the while he
dallied with the gold buttons Of his wrist
bands
And 80, for the present, we leave him, and
Hctty, too, knitting quietly, and listening to his
hghtest word as to an oracle. Did he heed
that listening so we'll as the step Of Mary,
tresding past him in silence? We shall see.
The fire was bright, the rich curtains drawn
warmly together in the pleasant study of Miss
Halstead, when, resuming our seats, the story
began, thus:
IA long winter evening was coming in, and
only those who have lived in lonesome old
country house know how long such evenings
are. The same monotonous round must weary
ont any life that has no interest in it, nor out
side Of it, and confess had but little per-
formed the tasks which fell to me, but with
heavy hands | spoke only when circumstan-
ces required it for no one felt sympathy for me
in my cherished dreams, and cared little to
talk Of other things. There was no hustle
abont the preparation Of supper, no lights and
merry voices about our house at night; all was
hushed aud gloomy dinner was served before
the night, and we never had supper at all. My
father read the Bible when things were most
genial bot for the most part he sharpened his
nsor, wearing look that was half resignation
and half despair.
Doke generally lay on the floor with the
dog, proposing and solving curious problems
such AZ, how many pounds Of meat man could
eat and not burst, and which he would choose
IL all the good things in the world were set be-
fore him. and be could only have one. But his
usual conclusions were, that If he were a man,
he could eat any amount Of meat which he
could get, and not burst either; and that il all
tho good things in the world were set before
him, he would choose them ali. Sometimes
Martha took up Hetty, and for Der edfcstion
told her that industrious girls got rich, and
lazy girls starved TO death that good girls,
when they died, went to heaven, and bad girls
went to he'll but she never told her how she
must be industrious, or what she must do to be
good, or avoid doing 30 avoid punishment. She
never kissed or pettcd the child in any way
never illustrated wrong and right conduct BY
pretty stories, such as children love TO hear,
but, having repeated little parrot talk-a
specimen Of which have gven-dismissed her
to the dark, lonesome garnet. strsightfor.
tina, my stepmother. The sun had been down
an hour, and cloudy and windy and cherries
the night was setting We were all there;
Doke stretched before the fire, and talking to
himself for he had no listener, on this wiso
tlf vas sick, and going TO die, and anybody
would bring custard pie and offer me, don't
you believe would get up and eat IL 2 Well,
! believe would and il il was as big as the
sky wouldn't cut il, nor give any body any Of
it'
Hetty sat quietly in dark corner saying
nothing for all her childish glee had been
subdued, and Martha sat upright, saying moth
ing, and doing nothing and looking at nothing
My father came in aud told us the wind had
blown down one of his finest orchard trces.
Well answered Martha, If ivs blown down.
lot IL be blown down--if you were 70 mourn
over il year, IL would not set it up again, and
make II bear fruit Il know il, said nv
father, and shrinking into the obscurest cor