Bradford opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1874-1881, 1876-01-08

Amid the scenes Of q city on Christ
mas, the New York Sun tells the follow,
ing sad story In little smoky room
In the rear basement OF Mott street
tenement little girl lay dying. The
room was gloomy with the vanishing
light OF the dreary afternoon, and upon
tho walls the mold and siokly damp lay
thickly. A wan and worn little figure,
whose wasted form and shadowy face,
blue veined and gray with the approach
OF death, speak OF the past dreary, dreary
struggle OF life, and OF the welcome on.
coming of dissolution. She Ia only
twelve years old, bat the cruel expert.
ence Of her life has doubled her years in
their fruits. A patched and ragged bod
quilt covers the dingy bed frame, and
over its edges extends o skeleton hand.
At the sides OF the couch 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 day.
"There IL no Christmas thisy for us,
groans the father as he holds his hands
to his face, and the mother replies with
her fast falling tears. Deeper and
deeper grows the shadow upon the wall,
the footsteps in the street are less fire.
quent, and as the last CLEAN Of daylight
fades from the room the child raises her
head feebly and clasps the hand of her
mother. Her eyes shine with an I'M
earthly brilliancy for moment, and she
says, looking upward: "Oh! mother,
what makes the room so lights 1t was
so dark little while ago, and now the
sun is shining and everything is bright
There is great path of sunshine, and
there is no darkness, and everybody is
joyful. We shall have Christmas din
ner after all" she added, in q moment
or two, "and you and papa will not
have to pay for it, for they are bringing
it in shining silver dishes. Oh, I see
lots Of people, and they all have bright
clothes, and there is no want and no
cold and no hunger and dirt. And I am
not cold any more, and everything is 80
happy, and it is always Christmas. Oh,
why can't you 60, too, mother, for all
ahead are faces calling to u.s."
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 hepillow and looked
with Frightening eyes upward. There
was faint choking for moment, q
clasping and unclasping of the hands, a
dying away of the breath, and then the
child face was turned toward the wall,
and only the radiant smile and the glori-
fed expression remained Of the earthly
body. Her last words were Of Christ
mas-of the good tidings that never
came to her on earth-and her mother,
turning away from the bed with stream
ing eyes, said with the resignation of
despair i" Poor Nelly, she's happy now"
Yes, replied the father, as he folded
the little hands across the faded and
worn frock, "she's better off than we
could make her. But, oh, I'd give what
little 1 have to call her back. God pity
the poor!" The gloom of twilight deep
ened into the darkness of night, and in
the little moldy room the parents sat
weeping, and there was no sound in the
whole cheerless tenement that was like
the "tidings of great JOY" cts
bitter Christmas for us, said the father
and mother, as they sat in the darkness,
for they were too poor even to buy can
dies to light up the room by which they
might see the form of their dead child.