Weekly Trinity journal., 1860-10-20
The Christ Church Chimes.
A WINTER EVENING S TALE.
BY FRANCIS A. DuRIvAGE.

1t was a cold, winter evening. The ckill blast
came sweeping from the chain of hills that guard
our city oil the north, laden with the cold breath
Of thousand leagues of ice and snow There
was sharp. polar glitter in the myriad stars
that wheeled their appointed courses through
the dark blue heaven, in whose eNpanse no single
cloud was visible Howling through the icy
streets came the strong, wild north wind tearing
in its fierce frenzy the sail-cloth awnings into
tattcrs. swinging the public house signs, and sha-
king the window skaters, like a bold burglar
bent ON the preparation of crime. Then onward
onward it sped over the dark steelcoored
bay, and out to the wild, wide, open sea, to do
battle with the sails OF the staunch barks that
were struggling towards haven.
But within, the good people OF Boston were
stoutly waging battle against the common enemy
on this bitter Christmas eve, In some of the old
fashioned houses at the North End, inhabited by
old fashioned people, the ruddy light that
streamcd through the parlor windows ON the
street, announced that huge fires of oak and
hickory were blazing on the ample hearths But
in far the greater nuiGher Of dwellings, the less
genial, but more powerful anthracite was con"
tending with the wintry elements
In an upper room of an old, crazy, wooden
house, poor woman. thnly clad, sat sewing be-
side rusty, sheet-iron stove, poorly supplied
with chips. She had been once emnently hand
some. and but for the wanness and hollowness OF
her face, would have appeared SO still.
Two little boys, Of eight aud nine years of age,
were warming themselves. or seeking to warm
themselves, at the stove before retiring TO their
little bed in % small room adjoining. fr
- :" Isn't this nice, motherY' said the younger,
bright, back-eyed boy. " Didn't get nice lot
of chips oday"
g Yes, dearest, You are always good and in
dustrious boy, said the mother, snatehing u mo-
ment from her work to imprint kiss upon his
forehead.
"Poor pa will have a nice fire to warm him
when he comes home said the elder boy.
At this alluson to The childs father, the moth
er burst into tears The countenances of both
the children fell. They knew too well the cause
Of their mothers sorrow--the same cause had
blghted their own young hearts and clouded
their innocent lives their father was drunkard
Hence it was that, bright and intelligent ms they
were, they could not go 60 school--they were too
ragged for that-and their time was required on
the wharves to pick up fuel and such scraps OF
provision as are scattered from the sheaves Of the
prosperous and prodgal For this reason, too,
the mother had carefully iorborne to remind the
children that this was Christmas eve. But they
knew it too we'll, and they contrastcd its glooml-
ness and sorrow with the well remembered aunt
versaries when this season OF dehsht-lhe
eve of promised pleasures OF ieasts, of dances,
and of presents. With this thought in their
hearts they silently kissed their mother, and re-
tired to their little bed, committing themselves
, to Our Father who art in Heaven" while the
poor mother tOlleu on, listening WIN ulcdu lOi
the returning footsteps OF her husband.
The husband and father whose return was thus
dreaded, had worked late at night in the shop OF
the carpenter who had given him temporary em-
ployment, and who was to pay him visit this
evening. Five or six dollars were coming to
him. more than he had earned honestly for long
while, and his hand shook with eagerness as his
employer counted out his wages. AS he put on
his hat to leave the shop, he observed his fellow
workmen, who were all sober and steady men,
eyeing him with sad inquiring looks, he almost
! ran out of the shop.
"I know what they mean," he said to himself
| " But what Is il to them how | spend my money
The prying busy .bodies I'm not slave--I
have a right to do what | please with my own
Whew how cutting the wind is glass or two
of hot whiskey toddy will be just the thng!"
Without one thought OF his toillng wife and
neglected children, the poor, Infatuated man
FASTENED towards a grocery with the intention OF
shaking his morbid thirst. At the moment his
foot was on the Threshold out from the belfry of
Christ Church, ringing oear IN the frosty air,
streamed a tide of sweet and solemn music
Simple yet touching was the melody Of those
sacred bells, Ginning forth the advent OF the
| blessed Christmas time. And, as the song OF the
bells fell upon bis ear, il awakened in the drunk
| ard a thousand memories Of happier, because
better days. The comfortable dwelling-the
quiet, neat parlor, with its Christmas dressings,
the sweet face of his wife, the merry laugh OF his
brighteyed chtldren-all Hasned Dack RlFluly
upon his mind. lie recked not of the bitter blast
he forgot bis late purpose-he could wish those
sweet bells to play on forever. But they ceased
cit was a voice from Heaven !" said the man,
as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Surely
God has blessed those Christ Church chimes III
never more drink one drop This money shall
go to my family, every cent Of it, 1t is not too
late yet to buy provision for tomorrow, and
some comfortable things for the childreu"
1t was late that night when the watching wife
heard the step of her husband on the staircase.
1t was as slow and heavy as usual but how re-
lieyed, how astonished, how grateful she felt,
when the door opened, and he came in, happy,
sober, bearing huge basket filed with provis'
ions, and threw down parcel containing stock
iugs comlorters and mittens for the children, not
forgetting some simple Christmas wreaths aud
some of those condiments which children love.
The next day was happy one indeed. for the
mother and the little boys--a merry Christmas
that reminded them OF happy future. May we
hope that the effect we have attributed TO the
Christ Church chimes is not q solitary instance
of the power of music