The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1870-12-22
MIRABEL's CHRISTMAS.
From Scribner's Magazine.

From Scribner's Magazine.
It may be that from the far:hest corner
of the earth there are, even now, hasten
ing to meet us people whom We have never
seen, of whom we have never heard, and
who know nothing o. onr existence who
are forced on, Al it were, by an invisible
power led by an unknown hand, through
strapge and winding ways tn the place of
meeting; thinking all the time-ah, short
sighted, blind that theg are working
out their own devices, following the
path they themselves have chosen. It
NAV be that we shall stand face to face
but moment yet that moment will
make or mar, bind or loose, for all time.
Who can say for how much more? Said
one but just now departed from us, after
whom the door has only this moment
closed, "In our course through life we
shall meet the people who are coming to
meet us from many strange places, and by
many strange roads and what 1t is set
for us TO do to them, and what it is set
for them to do TO as, viii all be
done"
It is Christmas Eve at the Carsbrooke
house Without, the gray, chill twilight
deepens into starless night. One red ray
of light streams out low in the horizon
where the western gates of heaven have
not vet shut down Towards it the
clouds scurry in haste, like late corners,
whipped on by the angry wind, and
dropping snow fakes here and there, like
tears.
As the darkness increases, the bare,
shivering trees, hudded together a. if
for warmth UPON the lawn grow more
indistinct in outline. Only as masses of
deeper gloom do they appear against the
scant covering of snow upon the earth.
Down from the house writhes the car
rage way, bare and black, huge ser
pent that is speared through and through
by the spikes of the iron gates. Beyond,
the road leading into town is i'll defined
by an occasional patch of darkness
where the snow has worn away, or, as you
follow it, by line of low, struggling first
upon one aide.
Three miles or more out upon this
road woman tramps along through
snow and freezing mud. Her face is set
towards the house, her back to the town.
Her feet are thrust into mans boots
world too large, that hold her back and
add double wearincss to the way Some
times when they cling to the miro, she
stops to pull them cut muttering an oath
The gown that draggles about her ankles
is fringed and rent, and has been wet,
but is frozen now where it has swept the
road The wind beats against her 1t
strikes her face with fierce, singing
blows. It seizes the tawdry, misshapen
haaiy hnr
shoulders. 1t tears her hair from its
careless fastenings and shakes her ragged
shawl in her face But still she tramps
on doggedly, measuring her slow progress
by the trees along the way, pausing some
times to rest and gain the breath the
wind fairly catches from her lips. Once,
when she rounds sudden corner, and is
almost taken from her feet and their
clumsy coverings, she hesitates and looks
back Then how the wind urges her on.
No fierce blows,no hounting of rags before
her now. 1t holds her up and bears her
along with all its strength. The haggard
face works irresolutely All at once it
grows strong. The faded lips shut over
one word. She wheels suddenly and
pushes on.
1t was only the name of woman like
herself-one of the wretches who burrow
and hide in the back slums of our towns /;
but whom God sees and knows and pities
Remember that who had come to grief
now, as she came to sin and shame years
before, and, being tried with gang Of
thieves and counterfeIters, had been con.
demned to the State prisoA. Tomorrow
her term will begin, and this woman
whom you have seen upon the road is
on her way to beg pardon or sue for
mercy from Judge Carisbrooke. He had
pronounced the sentence; surely he could
annul it if he would, she thought. She
had what seemed to be evidence Of her
friends innocence to offer. But 1t was a
forgery, and she knew it. She had walk
ed three miles upon bitter night, weari
ly, painfully, and would yet walk three
miles more for her friend,he companion
in infamy 1t is only one of the unwork
ed problems in human nature; the more
perplexing when we remember that TO
glove thy nelghbor as myself was
counted by the Master like unto the
first and greatest of the commandments
Within the Carisbrooke house are the
CLEAN and blaze of fires. The heavy cur
tains are drawn to shut out the night,
and the servant with lighted taper In
hand moves about noiselessly, touching,
as if with wand, the eyes and tongue of
the bronze dragon midway in the hail.