The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1874-12-24
TT MIGHT HAVE BEENI''

l was horribly lonesome. What
could do with myself? 1t is only
about Christmas time that the respoms-
ibility of my individuality hangs heav-
lily upon me; my business engresses
me for the most part; for had been
more successful in money matters
than in any other interests in life. But
now the holidays were here. Every
thing in my neat chambers was order
ly and comfortable, aud l had real
satisfaction in the feeling that they
belonged to me. But how Lonesome
they wsreI A poor fellow just passed
my window with a covered basket on
one arm, and on the other a happy
looking woman chattering gaily as she
walked. Well, 1 might have had a
wife, if it had not been for Charley's
per6dy-yes, and Emma's too, for l
suppose she was as much to blame as
he was.
l wonder if either of them were to
bIame7 Love goes where it is sent,
they say, and 1 really suppose they
could not help loving each other
Poor EmmaI Proud, splendid wO-
man should like to know what her
fate had been. 1t seems strange that
have never heard one word from
them since that Christmas eve on
which they eloped. She was to have
married me before another Christmas.
But Charley was younger and hand
somer than l, and there were such
brilliant indications of genius about
him. Strange that they have not been
realized and surely they have not, or
1 should haye heard. o, if 1 could
only see them againl / had forgiven
them both before the expiration OF
the first year, III my anxiety about
them; for how could I forget the
charge OF my dying mother: Take
him. Paul." she said, "ber good, and
tender, and true to him all the DAYS
of your lite. No matter with what
ingratitude he may repay your kind
ness-forgive him not only seven
times, but seventy times seven. Be to
him more than a brother, my trusted
child fill my vacant place for him,
Say to yOurself-it will be true-tbere
is no crime on earth that wouly cause
my mother to cast one of her children
out. The more abandoned, the more
wretched they become, the more my
affection shall comfort and solace them
until at last, with patience that nev-
er Wearies, and q zeal that never flags,
and a love whose strong wings bear
all burdens upward, l will land them
within the portals of that eternal
home where sia and sorrow can come
no more forever"
And now four years had slipped
down the thread of time, each adding
to my anxiety, until felt that would
gladly give all my accumulated wealth
for the sight of their dear faces once
more.
will get away from these torturing
thoughts, said l will go out and
seek some adventure, praying my good
spirit to lead me where l can make a
Christmas for somebody, though ]
may not have one for myself. 1 put
on my wraps and started. The streets
were thrOnged how brilliantly the
lights shone, aud what an array oi
Christmas cheer they illumined. And
then to see the toys-O, if only had
child 10 make happy with gift
Why, here is a whole bevy OF ragged
little urchins. shivering around pas
try cooks window Now, good spir-
| it's. whose duty it is to inspire us to
deeds of generosity, shall com
NIT no act OF disinterested benevoIence
tonight; but / will make these
youngsters happy if you will gram
me some reasonable recompense. Sc
/ called them in, and bought as they
directed they were SO engrossed an6
so joyful that they forgot to thank me
and departed with arms full of goOC
things Tor their different homes. Bul
when they were gone the old lonely
feeling returned to me, and l sOugh
uncomfortably my bachelor Christ
mas again.
Ipassed the next day somehow.
gave q good deal to the friendless lit
tie ones on the street-God's children
still holding firmly by my cOmpac
with my spirit friends, and asking
frankly for reimbursement. Why not
Have not we the promise that, if we
cast our bread upon the waters, afteI
many days it will return to us 2"
On Christmas morning, as | passed
out of my doer, l found a child sit
ting quietly on the step, eating I
bunch of raisins. He looked SO hear
ty and so comfortable, though poorl,
clad, that at first l thought he mus
belong to one of my neighbors. Blu
no, had looked at these so longingly
and so tenderly, l knew them as wei
as if they had been my own. l though
| would speak to him.
"How d'u do, young man ?" a.
"DoOd mOTny," he said slowly, i'll
rich baby contralto.
did not know what to say mex
No matter, he did. He took we
ralsin from out his rosy mouth an
handed it 10 me.
saint 90 hungry, poor mani 2' h
said.
declined his hospitality, but hi
lips quivered, and the tears came int
his eyes.
? 80 yes," said quickly, seeing wins
allied him; 81 would like to haYe som
raisins," and stopped down besid
him. His'fac cleared instantly, an
! he commenced feeding me--alternate
Iy putting one raisin in my mouth an
"ne in his. / thought l was doin
him favor; he knew he was doin
me a favor, and as the grapes disal
peared he began to look uneasy.
"Ain't 90 dot enough 2" he said.
mo, not half enough YETI
'Es 90 is dot enough, now; dey'
make 90 sick )" and he actually put a
the rest-a good sized handfnl--int
his own mouth. Well, it was not ia
but reserved my opinion of his COZ
duct, and asked him his name.
"DOtty," he said.
"Where is your mother"