The weekly hawk-eye. [volume] (Burlington, Iowa) 1858-1860, 1859-04-12

Ill P,Oayuuco ana Qim0-emOugh "a
rope, and enough for dusc Of The .neye1
wake'aeainf Ha, be, hsl Let ne thinl
Inc room was wretched one the furni
sore none cave broken table, broke
chair. and . miserable pallet, without cover
ing fanny kind, which lay huddled in tn
darkest corner The cold wind Of lat
December day swept unbarred through tn
broken palma, while IN occasional fake q
snow hoated in and fell upon the rough, un
covered floor
| Near the window, ON the broken chat,
leaning her wasted arms upon the table
with her wan cheek pressed hard against he
tightly clasped hands, and few small coin
lying before her, sat woman upon who's,
lace and form the short but wretched experi
encles OF life Of 6ve-and.twcnty winter
nao stamped the lines and cares of fort,
miserable years,
Three picayunes and dime she said
enough for . rope, and enough for dos,
OF the never wake again Let me think
let me think; and the poor Magdalen sat
while the day grew DINNER and the snow
feii faster, drifting oftener into the window
and thus soliloquized upon her wretched
fate; N
Three picayuDes and dime He little
knew, perhaps, when he threw the paltry
P!ttance to the miserable bcggar who crossed
his path, that he had put the dagger in his
victims hand to finish the tragedy which he
began.
This is Christmas Eve Only eich,
years tonight since was girl Of MANY
hopes, and proud, oh, how proud, that he
called me fair. Only eight years o.night,
and sat at different board from this. Let
me drink from this vile bottle which has so
often drowned my misery, perhaps it NAV
bring back something of the joy which then
was mine
remember it well. He came with INV
brother Dick; he sat near me at the board.
and well, well, I'll not think of that;
'twere better not, or l may forget what this
night OF all 'twere better remembered. All,
Jenny Irwin, you have never thought be.
fore
will the world believe to morrow, when
the tale is told, that this is she-the outcast.
in rags, brutalized, debased miserable p
Would it be believed that men ever called
me beautiful? would it be thought that
was once the beloved Of mother, the idol
OF fathers heart All me! | grow sick
to think at all Here, another drink
Tho night is growing very dark-a
merry Christmas, foresoooth! Where shall
l go?
And yet, when think, for very shame I
would not be found looking thus by him. 1t
matters not now what becomes of this bauble.
have kept it for many years az something
to bind me to the past have nothing more
to do with that now-nothing with the past
nothing more
The woman drew rich diamond cross
from her bosom. fastened by piece of com.
mon Irvine around her neck, which flashed
from the rays Of a street lamp through the
window in strange contrast to the misery
all around
The night had now set in, and the room
would have been quite dark oct for the light
Of the lamp in the street. The snow was
falling steadily, drifting into he room thro'
the window and down the brlkea and unus-
ed chimney.
Yes yes, the woman went on, holding
the cross in her hand, and locking at it
through streaming tears, 4 have been
starving, sick, homeless, friendiess; diving
for bread, or something to quench my thirst,
and yet never have parted " ii, his. How
many times the temptation has c,me to me,
and how many times have l said to myself,
My mothers blessing shall never leave me,
tor she gave it with this cross. Has it
never left Alb who can tell ? If nv
heart has grown hard, and harsh and cruel;
ii my conscience has ceased to Judge and
warn as when child; if my lips have for.
gotten the earthly prayer which she taught,
and now only utter curses and bitter oaths
If the cup is my only comfort, and crime
grown SO accustomed that know it not, can
that mothers blessing still dwell with me
NO, nc, no! the blessing has long since left
me, and the bauble may as well go now Let
it all be finished now, while my brain is
clearer than it has lately been. The night
grows very cold Let me think, let me
thinkH
The woman sat a long time, long in silence;
the night grew darker, and the drifting snow
crept further and further into the room
the sound of the merry bells of passing
sleighs; the hearty salutation of the passers
by, wishing each chance met friend a 'mer |
~ Christmas eve; the mellow laughter of |
home returning apprentice boys, stopping to
an occasional snow ball and the !
Jolly chorus ofsome German youths who sang |
the Christmas songs of fatherland, alone |
broke the stiffness Of the night; but they |
woke no happy responses within the heart |
Of poor Jenny Irwin. Her mind was busy |
with darker thoughts, and none of the genial |
influences of the sweetest night of all |
The year would ever bring back to her the |
Joyous emotions which filled her soul when |
life with her was bright and pure, and she was
thought the fairest girl of all who graced the
merry board OF Christmas eve
1T must be so, she said at length, rising
With difficulty from the chair, and putting on
Ter tattered shawl and faded bonnet it |
must be so My last game may as well be
played now l have, nothing more to win,
nothing to lose I
Dat into the dessolate night she goes,
'hivering and staggering with cold and
misery, and pain. Forth into the street;
! moment she pauses in irrcsolution at the |
a moment she shrinks from the |
bitter storm, and then, with compressed |
Ups and shawl drawn tightly about her, she |
nurries on. The passers-by turn aside and |
give her the pathway, as with head bent |
Town, che makes her way through the snow. |
Some turn aside to look at her, and sigh to |
hink OF her misery, some meet her with |
ribald jests and coarse saiutations; but moth |
ing OF sympathy or kindness, or jibes or any |
words for evil or for good, can ever make |
ler pause or turn from the errand on which |
she is bound.
In q narrow and dirty street, where the |
ew lamps burn dimly, and the faithful
guardians Of the night but seldom venture,
where crime and misery have their constant
abode, and the air reeks ever with the un-
vapors of all the concomitants of
wretchedness, there stands a high and gloomy
house whose barred and bolted windows are
seldom opened to the light of day, and whose
threshold is never crossed save by the poor
applicant who seeks by the barter of some
needed triae to keep the wolf but little
longer from the door The three gilt balls
which hang above the door tell plainly
enough the calling of its occupants, and they
tell too, to him who may pause to think,
volumes ofmisery which ! pray, reader, you
nor may never know.
Before this door the poor, half-frozen out.
cast stands it was no unaccustomed place
to her, 1t had swallowed up little by little all
her store, and year after year the wages Of
her misery had been put in irredeemable
pawn, till it might almost be said the youth
and health, and beauty of Jenny Irwin were
Wondering among the gaudy trinkets and