The star. (Cincinnati [Ohio]) 1874-1875, 1875-01-26
MAUDE WENTWORTH.

MAUDE WENTWORTH.
"Mother, do you think he will come to-
nightr The voice was low and tremu
lous, but it reached the ear OF the lady
who stood gazing anXiously out of the
window. She crossed the room at the
sound Of that voice and bent tenderly
over the bed.
81 trust SO, my child; but lie still and
try to sleep. l want you TO get well just
as fast rs you can, for am going to take
you back to your old home-baby, Char.
ley and all-and we will be so happy once
more, won't wew
"Mother, can not deceive you longer
Ere tomorrow dawns your poor Mary
will be sleeping her last long sleep. on,
it is so hard to die-to leave you child.
less; but death would be sweet could
but feel his arms around me once again
and my head pillowed on its old resting
place, as III the days Of yore. Oh, has
SO happy! Charley was SO good, SO kind
until the tempter entered our home
Then came the change-long, long nights
Of bitter anguish ana words that hurt me
worse than blows. Oh, how l prayed
pleaded Tor him to reform; but it was the
same old story-a promise OF amendment
until all hope died out of my heart;
and you can not know the agony en-.
dured as L saw him each day sink deeper
and deeper in disgrace.
Her voice died away in q sob, and the
mother, pushing back the long, dark
waves of hair that in her excitement had
fallen over her face, gently laid her back
on the pillow. Hour after hour she lay
there, Unconscious of all around her, and
it was not until one O'Clock rung out,
l.,J,G "a mi N iuht nj ~ hat
the invalid was aroused. Then she star
ted up, gazed wildly around the room,
and exclaimed, "Oh, God, not here p
and fell back sobbing in her wretched-
ness.
"Mother, am dying! Bring me baby /;
let me look on its dear little lace once
more before l 60. Poor little onew she
said, clasping 1T in her arms. "Mamma
will never hold you again; never look
into your bright laughing eyes, or feel
those rosy little lips pressed to hers. Oh,
my child, why can you not &C with me +?
Mother, to you l. give my babe. Be q
mother to it; love ii far the sake of your
poor Mary. And now, Charley--oh, be
kind to him wnen am gone; plead with
him to shun the cup that has been his
ruin; ask him to strive, for the sake OF
our little Maude, to he a man, and to live
true to himself and to his God. On, if |
could only see him once more! But tell
him my last thought, my last prayer,
shall be for him, and to remember some-
times her whose young life was given all
in yain."
She ceased speaking, a slight shudder
ran over her frame, and the soul of Mary
Wentworth, the drunkard's wife, was
with the angels.
do not think that there is man so
utterly debased but that there come, in
some period OF his life, seasons OF re-
morse; and only those who have passed
through the same experience know what
Charles Wentworth's feelings were as
he bent over that still beautiful form,
and gaZed on the wreck he had made.
Long he stood there, communing, it
may be, with his conscience; but at last
he went away-to reform, you think ?
his dead and of his cruelty alike in the
maddening potion that had already
proved his curse. And in few months
we find him-where? ?-sleeping beside
his angel wife in q drunkard's untimely.
dishonored grave.
Long, Weagy years have passed away,
and our little Maude is a child no longer.
She has more than fulfilled the promise
of her girlhO0d, and grown up the light
and joy of her grandmother's heart.
Very beautiful is she now as she gazes
up into the naughty, handsome face OF
Linn Meade, and very sad and tender is
his voice as he asks:
Sand this is my answer, MaudeW
eyes, Linn; l can not trust my future
in your hands until you teach to taste
not that which broke my mothers heart
and caused my father to fill an untimcly
grave"
"Oh, Maude, heed you so much. You
live for higher, hOlier purpose. Oh, as
your life to purify mine."
"No, Linn; God alone can do that; go
to Him, and in good time He will give
you victory"
"Oh, you do not know what you ask,
but shall fight and struggle, for know
my reward is great. l 60 now; nor shall
return until am able to claim you"
Once again in society, it was contin-
ued effort for Linn Meade to resist the
temptation that constantly haunted him
and tried to drag him down. But he bat
tied on, and in year found his victory
complete. He went back to Maude,
then, and to-day, as he looks back, he
does not regret that long, weary year OF
waiting, for it gained him anoble wife.
A Friend appeared in coust recently
during trial, and stood, as Quakers are
accustomed to, with his hat on. A very
efficient marshal, employed for this oc-
casion to assist in preserving order, re-
garding this as an insult to the court
and to himself as her representative, ap-
preached the Friend and demanded
imperatively that he should uncover.
The friend explained that he meant no
disrespect, but it was the custom Of his
people. d. 1t would not do. The brave
special marshal raised his cane and
Knocked the offending broadbrim on the
floor. The Friend paid no attention to
this but remained moti0niess. In little
while the marshal returned, picked up
the hat and handed it to the Quaker,
who took no notice Of it whatever, and
the marshal deposited it ON the table.
But the marshal was not at his ease, and
shortly after this he again appeared,
took the hat and placed it very gently on
the Friends head; and the last we saw
of the Quaker he stood there with his hat
on, looking as coolly on the proceedings
as though nothing had happened TO dis.
turb his equanimity.