The Council Bluffs nonpareil. [volume] (Council Bluffs [Iowa]) 1857-1867, 1859-04-30

| 'lnTee plCayuneS anu u ulme-enOugn fOl
n rope, and enough for dose of the never.
wake-asain!' Ila, ha, ha! Let me think,
let me think =
The room was q wretchad one; the fGrni-
ture none save a broken table, a broken
chair, and miserable pallet, without cover
ing of any kind, which lay huddled in the
darkest corner. The cold wind of late
December day swept unbarred through the
broken panes, while an occasional fake of
snow foated in and fell upon the rough un-
covered floor.
Near the window, on the broken chair,
leaning her wasted arms upon the table,
with her wan cheek pressed hard against her
| tightly clasped hands, and few small coins
lying before her, sat a woman upon whose
! face ana form the short but wrctched expe-
riences of a life of fve-and-twenty winters
had stamped the lines and cares Of forty
miserable years.
! Three picayunes and dime she said,
enough for rope, and enough for dose
of the er-wakc-ngain.' Let me think,
let me think: and the poor Magdalen sat,
while the day grew DINNER and the snow
fell faster, drifting oftener into the window,
and thus soliloquised upon her wretched
fate.
sThree pcayunes and a dime! He little
knew, perhaps, when he threw the paltry
pittance 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 eight
years tonight since was girl Of many
hopes, and proud, oh, how proud, that he
called me fair. Only eight years tonight,
and sat mt a di iffercnt board from this. Let
me drink from this vile bottle which has so
often drowned my misery. perhaps may
bring back something of the joy which then
was mine.
| SI remember it well. lie came with my
| brother Dick; he sat near me ut the board,
and well, well, I'll not think of that
'twere better not, or | may forget what this
| night of all 'twere better remembered.
All, Jenny Irwin. you have never thought
! before
! 'Wiil the world believe to morrow, when
the tale is told that this is she-lhe outcGst
! in rags, brutHlizrd, dcbased, miserable p
| Would it be believed that men ever called
me beautiful: would it be thought that
was once the beloved Of Il mother, the idol
of fathers heart? All mel grow sick
to think at all. Here, another drink.
! 'The night is growing very dark
'merry Christmas,' forcsooth! Where shall
| go?
'AnI yet, when think, for very shame |
would not be found looking thus hy him. 1t
matters not now " hat becomes Of this bauble.
have kept 1t for manyyeurs as something
to bind me to the past. have nothing more
to do with that now-nothing with the past
nothing moreH =
| The woman drew rich diamond cross
, from her bosom, fastened by piece Of
common wine around her neck, which flash
ed 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 but for the light
of the lamp in the street. The snow was
falling steadily, drifting into the room thro'
the window and down the broken and un-
used chimney.
'Y9s yes,' the woman went on, holding
the cross in her hand, and looking at it
through streaming tears, have been
starving, sick, homeless, friendless: dying
for bread, or something to quench my thirst,
and yet never have parted with this. How
many times the temptation has come to me,
and how many times have said to myself,
sMy mothers blessing shall never leave me,
for she gave it with this cross.' Has it
never left? All! who can tell IL my
heart has grown hard, and harsh and cruel
if my conscience has ceased to judge and
warn as when a child; if my lips have for
gotten the earthly prayer which she taught,
and now only utters 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, no, no the blessing has long since left
me, and the bauble may as we'll 60 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
think!'
The woman sat long time, long in silence;
the night drew darker, and the drifting snow
crept further and further into the room
the sound of the merry bellies of passing
seighs; the hearty salutation Of the passers
BY, wishing each chance-met friend 'mer
ry Christmas eve;' the mellow laughter of
home returning apprentice boys, stopping to
exchange an occasional snow ball and the
Jolly chorus of some German youths who
sang the Christmas songs Of fatherland
alone broke the stiffness of the night: but
they woke no happy reposes within the
heart If 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 filed 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. ss- gwsE seEsa . .-.. = s...
1T must be so,' she said at length, rising
with difficulty from the chair, and putting
on her tattered shawl and faded bonnet; 'it
must be SO! My last game may as well be
played now; have nothing more to win,
nothing to lose's .~ .-.s,.
Out into the dessolate night she goes,
shiverins and staggering with cold, and
misery, and pain. Forth into the street;
a moment she pauses in irresolution at the
threshold, moment she shrinks from the
bitter storm, and then, with compressed
lips aud shawl drawn tightly about her, she
hurries on. The passers-by turn aside and
give her the pathway, as with head bent
down, she makes her way through the snow.