Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1856-01-25
THREE EPISODES.
A "Happy New Years" Fragment.
BY r. RICHARD BUpp.


"Happy New Years" Fragment.
| BY t. RICHARD HUDD.
| Ia,- rE EPISODE l.
Down dark lane, in murky atmosphere,
amid dilapidated dwellings till you come to a
cold Northwind sweeping square, and there is
o large house!
With the idea of "large house." we in
tuitively sketch on the imagination's retina
rich groundwork of ease, with the golden
landscape of the sold masters"
We bow to the Midas as he sails down the
Pactolian stream: 1t is Giving waters" in
which he "paddles his canoe,n and we, the
| tide-waiters on the banks, with rods of adula-
ton, all willing to angle for the fishes and
dive for the ''lOaves "
This is not that "Large House''-this is
large house filled with the poor
An old rickety front stoop with an inclined
plane from the front door, five planks up.
They were steps before the decay of time had
Topped them of their fair proportions Paint
used TO adorn the large house, but that was in
the long ago, when old Midas lived there He
rents it now at eight dollars O month per
family, to twenty families, and 'no repairs
included There can no tax on glass be col
lected, for there Is not an entire pane in the
large house
Now you ascend the before mentioned pIanks
and open the front door, and are in possession
of the hall. Grope your way along, for it is
dark and dangerous. Up pair of stairs this
time, for you can feel that it is a stairway,
for one balustre is left of an old fashioned
balustrade. Grope along, and up again
You are nearing the altitude of the stars; for
there, see-they shine through the roof You
might see the whole heavens, only there used
to be tight roof, and few of the shingles
stiH cling to the old familiar rafters.
Open door here at your left, and some
bOdy's "home" is before you.
The young washerwOman is asleep, or at
least she feigned SO to be, and SO thought
those two wasted eyes set in a pale sunken
face, and showdowed with a wealth of dark
wavy hair; while two little hands belonging
to those dark eyes were clasped in those of
the sick mother, and the young washerwoman's
son sat mOtionless. Ayoung Patience smiling
at elder grief.
Old washerwomen are numerous, and young
ones few, and she, the sleeper, was barely
twenty eight. The history of washerwOman
may not be deemed classic, but hers was
pathetic
A daughter of AIbion's isle, born to all the
comforts of wealthy farmer father, she had
lived without care 10 wOmanhOod's s estate, and
then womanlike-lOved. She loved foreign
er, one from the American shore, and she
married him and was forbidden her fathers
house. To her native land she bade adieu,
and in her husbands vessel, (for he was a
D,)
sa l ID away.
Time dealt richly with her in the land of
her husband, and one born in their house made
glad her heart in a new relation-she was
mother.
Her husband was called away by his avoca-
ton, and left her provided for year, and he
was to return ere half that season should have
into the time past.
The half year passed; its fellow followed
ha nat Ru of
Shipwreck and disaster followed in the wake
Of the dead year, crushing all her young
hearts hopes-hopes that had blOssomed only
to wither. Poverty was now continuing foe
No friends, no acquaintance, a stranger in a
strange land. Ruth, and not field to
CLEAN in.
While strength was hers, it was freely spent,
not for herself; she lived and toied for her
child. Fever overlook exertion and exposure,
and now, on the eighth return of her varied
eras of wifehood, motherhood, she lay upon
feverish bed, and on that eve of the Ito thous-
ands) Happy New Year, was needing the at
tentiOns Of the sick-medicine and food.
Hark from the time measurer, one, t,o0, to
ttcsiVe! and the old year has taken to itself
wings, and fed away to the hereafter
Now peal on peal swells to the dead hour
gone chime on chime for the new year born.
The past is speck floating away to make up
the year ago! The present Is speaking with
a.tongue to wake the slumbering, and to cheer
the watching. Far and wide its tintinnabala-
tons reverberate.
In two hearts it echoes not with gladness.
The mother wakes-wakes with madness in
her brain. The fever-demon triumpbs.
"COme, husband, let us go! Thy home is
mine"
A soft smile of confidence played around the
sick ones mouth. She was the young bride
again, trusting all into the hands of the alter
pledge architect of her future life.
"Oh father, frOwn not thus See, at thy
knee cling; my sainted mother in me pleads.
Forgive thy Mary. Oh! God, he turns away;
he curses his unhappy child! Oh, mother,
bless me '"
And the fever leaps again into the sea of
memory to drag up past recollections. The
child all this time was weeping, with his face
buried in the tattered coverlet, and salt tears
preserved his sunk cheek from the fever heat
Of his crazed mothers hand.
Again the fever RACES She is the mother
now, and with q voice the fever could not rob
of its sweetness, sings the "Childs's Poem.'
"Hush, my babe, lie still and slumber."
Oh the fever melts, and a big tear rolls
down the mothers cheek, and the semi-child
is all the child again, for he whispered
ooh sing it again, mother, for you sung 1t
along ago, before the days l was hungry.
Bat the mother is in the mad dreamland
again, singing low
cob the river Is deep; the tide Is flowing
To the land where You and are going
We are going afar,
Beysnd moon and star,
To the land where the sinless angels are"
Soft, there was form of loveliness dark
ening the once doorway. Mayhap the {" an
gelsT have come" those sinless ones" from
z beyond moon and star"
This new apparitiOn is followed by stout
serving man and huge basket.
g. A hapnv Nav YaartJi ..l4t.