Smyrna times., 1876-02-02
A Bitter Christmas.

Anld the scenes of a city on Christmas
'he New York.Sua tells the following sad
story: In little smoky room in the roo,
easement OF a Mott street tenement little
glrl lay dying. The room was gloomy with
the vanishing light of the dreary afternoon.
ana upon the walls the mold and sicl,Iv
damp lay thickly. A wan and worn litt1o
ngure, whose wasted form and shadow
i"ce' Olue-Veined and gray with the an.
Proach OF death, speak of the past drearv.
dreary struggle of life, and of the wclcop,o
oh-comlng of dissolution. She is onIv
Twelve years old, but the cruel experience Of
her lie has doubled her years in their fruits
A patched and ragged bed quilt covers the
olley pea frame, and over its edges extends
a skeleton hand. At the sides of tho oo,,o1,
Is the father, smothering his emotion. and
the mother and sisters, whose tears fall fast
as they watch the Pickering of the candle
slowly going out in the gloom of the dav
mere Is no Christmas this year for us ~
groahs the father as he holds his hands to
MS lace, and the mother replies with her
last falling tears. Deeper and deeper grows
the shadow upon the wall, the footsteps in
the street are less frequent, and as the last
gleam OF daylight fades from the room tba
child raises her head feebly and clasns tbe
hand OF her mother. Her ewes shine with
an uncarthly brilliancy for moment ond
she says, looking upward: "Oh mother
what makes the room so light? It was so
dark little while ago, and now the snn SC
SHINING and everything is bright. There is
great path of sunshine, and there is no
darkness, and everybody is joyful. We
shall have Christmas dinner after oil -
she added, in moment or two Sand Won
and papa will not have to pay for it. for tIev
are bringing it in shining silver dishes
Oh, see lots Of people, and they all have
bright clothes, and there is no want and no
cold and no hunger and dirt. And 7 am
not cold any more, and everything is so
happy' and it is always Christmas. Oh. |
why'can't you go, too, mother, for all ahead
are faces calling to us
The little face on the ragged Quilt grew
brighter, and the hands struggled vaguely |
at the faded figures as the dying girl fell
back upon the pillow and looked with
frightening eyes upward. There was a
laiht choking for moment, clasping and |
OF the hands, a dying away of
the breath, and then the child-face was
turned toward the wall, and only the
radient smile and the glorifed expression
remained of the earthly body. Her last
words were of Christmas-of tbc good
tldlngs that never came to her on earth
ana her mother, turning away from the bed
with streaming eyes, said with the resigna-
hon OF despair; " Poor Nelly, she's happy
now." "Yes," replied the father, as he
folded the little hands across the faded and
worn trock, " she's better off than we could
make her. But, oh, I'd give what little I
nave to call her back, God pity the poorr'
The gloom of twilight deepened into the
darkness OF night, and in the little moldy
'oom the parents sat weeping, and there was
10 soupd in the whole cheerless tenement
hatwas like the "tidings of great Joy. ""It'sa
'ltter Christmas for us" said the father and
mother, as they sat in the darkness. for {
hey were too poor even to buy candles to
lght up the room by which they might see q
he form of their dead child Z