The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1868-01-01
JOHN WARDER'S CHRISTMAS
GIFT.

need S OF the cliys growth IN trade en-
cr0aehed upon the older building sites.
the tide Of Improvement had surged
yainly, leaving it at every ebb unmov
ed as ever. The shadows deepened
as the fire burned lower and lower, a
film of white ashes inclosing the
smoldering Goals. The master of the
house sat at a table, with his head
resting on his hand a stern man of
forty, or whereabouts, though the deep
lines of his face made him seem older.
There is nothing sad in gray hairs
and wrinkles, per Sc. When they
come as the genuine mark of duteous
toll which has kept pace with the
marching years, they but testify-nOt
sadly, surely-that the soul is surpas-
sing the limits OF its garments, and
that the time is coming by-and,b by for
its
Leaving its outgrown shell by LIES un-
resting sea-"
But locks that have silvered slowly
through still night times, when a tor
turing conscience murdered sleep;'
deep corrugations furrowed into pias-
tic cheek and brow by the commissions
of pride, passion, or remorse, there
roWful to see than these. .s,,
John Warder had been made for a
nObler life than he was living. In
the quarrel which he had waged, years
before, with all that was dearest to
him. he had done to nothing else such
deadly hurt as to his own better nature.
Sorely wounded and bleeding, he
had not dared to leave it to die un-
guarded, but had walled it up IN a
prison house Of Pride and selfishness,
lest haply he might feel within it some
stir Of reviving life and warmth.
Whatever shadow he had cast on 9TH
er lives, he had blighted none so ut
terly as is own. Even he knew that,
sitting still to night, and accepted the.
knowledge with certain defiant Bit
terness. Ms IS
A merry peal of bells from some
neighboring ehurch-tower came to
his ear, mingled with the hurrying
tread of the passers outside, and he
remembered suddenly it was Christ
mas eve. His face changed for an
instant; perhaps some. tender thread
out of the past was tugging uneasily
at his heart. Ifit were so he snapped
il with resolute hand, and turning
toward the light began to read. It
was an old, cold book of philosophy ~
which he opened, yellow and worn
with frequent use. -eA N"teA p
John Warder could read such words
as these on Christmas evel
Since God, if there be God, hath
withdrawn Himself far away from
His works, within the impenetrability
| of His own essence, leaving the ele-
ments of evil let loose in this lower
world to compass in the end dire con-
fusion and ruin, or haply to work out
their own elimination, every soul shall
sustain the results of its own action,
! and the presumption of a supra-hu-
man redemption agency is no more
than the thin fgment of an enthu-
sastic Imagination"
As his eye fingered on the closing
words of the paragraph there was a
sudden, sharp ring at the street door.
No one seemed to answer the sum-
| mons, and directly there was second
ring, more prolonged and importu-
| nate than the first. At the sound he
recollected that there was no one in
the house besides himself, old Mrs
Hall, the housekeeper, having gone
to superintend the decoration of a
Christmas tree for her grandchildren,
aud taken Peggy, her little hand
maiden, with her. With an express
sion of impa thence he laid aside his
book and went down stairs, but on
throwing open the door started with
surprise to find no one standing with
out.
"Some rogue of a boy has played
me a trick he said to himself, look
ing up and down the street; butwhile
the words were ret on his lips,
the faintest possible rustic at his feet
made him look downward There on
the broad door stone, stood large
covered wicker basket, half hidden
iu the shadow of the wall Slowly
and cautiously he lifted il inside, and
as he closed the door behind him, the
figure of a woman rose up from a
crouching posture in the darkness not
far off, seemed to listen awhile at the
door, and then fitted hurriedly
away.
La the light of the hall lamp John
Warder lifted the cover of the basket.
No more than bundle of flannel APP
peared at first, but its folds moved
gently as if to the regular breathine
of sleeping child With trembling
eageruess to which he had long been
unused, he drew aside the careful
covering aud disclosed a little face set
in fair curls, and rosy with the sweet
sleep Of infancy. While he looked
the little one stirred uneasily as if
about to waken, and with strangely
mingled feeling of haste and helpless
ness he rushed up stairs to the library
Z L