The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1866-08-02
wonder. ] had never struck her befor!

W L 1 i
wonder, had never struck her before
the precious little one; should not
have done so now, but in anger, Not a
cry escaped her lips. She went softly
away from me, and sat alone where /
could not see her; but the look haunted
me, and soon I put down the work
which had eccppiod me and went to-
ward her, meaning to take her up and
kiss her. | found her close behind the
arm of the sofa, leaning her head upon
it, and / heard her whispering softly:
merry Twistmas, mamma! Merry
Twistmas?"
When she saw me her first motion
was to shrink from me, but it was only
for second. She sprang gladly to my
arms, and the "cbildren's hour to-
night was, perhaps, happier than ever,
only Isa could not be still. She
would break out into such merry, ring
ing peals of laughter, and then, as if
frightened, hush herself so quickly, |
don't know why, but the hush gave me
pang even then.
That night | went to her room to see
how she was sleeping 1t wns nay usual
habit to visit the bedside Of all my chill
drcn just before retiring myself l
found Isa's cheeks flushed and white
ring around her mouth. l felt her
pulse: it was beating Unequally, but
not very fast; there was nothing really
to alarm me, but could not sleep, and,
coming back in a few hours, / heard her
muttering to herself, and still it was
those words: "Merry Twistmas, nam
ma Merry Twistmas !"
Let me not linger over these scenes.
We never left her, my husband and |;
but, as we watched, hour after hour,
day after day, Of that Christmas week,
do you ever suppose, for one instant,
the memory of that blow | had struck
in anger left me, Thirty years to-
night, and ! see the round, red check,
cnmsoned with the surprise, and the
round, red cheek, crimsoned with the
burning fever Oh, the latter could be
borne, for God sent it: but the first
Thirty years, and could weep tears Of
blood tonight to blot out the memory,
or, rather, to blot out the act,
Once, only once, in all those days,
she knew me,--her fever was on the
brain and then she opened her eyes,
and God, in mercy, gave back their
sweet, loving look, Holding out both
little, thin arms, she drew Inc down to
her, and whispered%
"Merry Twistmas, dear mamma. |
going TO see the baby Jesus; may l,
mamma, may II"
And so our little Isa, when the dawn
Of that Christmas morning came, went
to Jesus We saw its gray light come
stealing over the earth as it did on that
other joyful morning SO long ago. We
listened, and we heard the glad songi
angels were hymning it in that death
room: "Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace!" Peace! Was
mine a sin to which this promise Of the
dawn could not bring peacel Oh!
mothers, for thirty long years have /
sought it in vain, 1t was only the act
of moment, hasty moment, and yet
it shuts out from my vision years Of
loving Kindness gentle, tender acts of
patient fortitude; it comes between me
and the sunlight of the beautiful home
memories; it is the thing which will
not be forgotten. Let me entreat you,
lay not up for yourselves one such
memory. Bear, forbeari be instant, in
season and out of season, in the guard
you keep Of those tired nerves, over
that worn, fretted spirit. God help
you u!--particularly it, like me, you must
bear the burden and heat of the work.
ing-day wear.