Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1879-12-25
A PaWnbIoker as Santa Claus.
BY HAROLD FREDERIC,

A warm, muggy, dampish day was
that which come before Christmas of
1878, and Boston is never dingier than
on such days. The common was clad in
q mantle of snow, but it looked moist
and uninviting. The streets all wore
the same livery of chocolate tinted mud,
into which the big wet flakes melted ss
they fell. Over this the heavy drays
groaned laborously, and through it the
swift sleighs cut with EXPERIMENTING
clsngor of clsshing bells. Now and
then huge mass of snow would come
sliding down from roof above, with a
great splsshing IS 1t broke upon the
walk. The streets were thronged. One
was conscious of an air of preparation in
everything. The whirliDg visions of
iveried coachmen, charming female
faces, and dazzling robes, with their
accompaniment of mutned hoof. beats
and chime of jingling silver, seemed to
tell of childish glee on the morrow.
The wonderful throngs of people which
poured in ceaseless streams u p and down
che central arteries of the city, bore
with it the inspiration of coming Christ
mas. The chimes to the west of the
Garden were ringing out joyous notes,
Butcher boys lodged through the crowd
with suggestive bundles. out of which
protruded long black CLAW which binted
at toothsome pleasures. There WAS the
u.erk from Milk street with superb
Longfellow under his arm which had
cost weeks wages, and which was to
90 70 n serious schoolmistress, who had
written
/ ives OF great men all remind us, etc,
on the puce-colo e1 page in his autograph
book here the CHEEKY mother fastening
for the Brighton car, her arms loaded
with parcels, and her eyes cleaning with
pleasure not difficult to understand !;
here the pretty schoolgirl, there the
doting grsndfather-everywhere faces
upon which the coming dsy had set its
zeal of hope and happiness.
No, not everywhere. Here is little
girl slowly crossing the Common, upon
whose thin features there rests only the
signet of sorrow. She is scantily clad.
Her bent, ragged shoes sink into the
drenching snow AT every step. Her dress
is old and rent. She is tiny creature,
with q face so wan and pale that one
sees only two great brown eyes, red and
blurred by tears, and quivering lips
which tell piteous tale. 1t is lost on
the passer-by, each esger with thoughts
of what the morrow brings for him.
Though the day is mild, she finds it cold
Her fingers, as they meet about 3 bulky
bundle in her arms, look painfully red.
The Others have joys of their own.
Let us go with the little one.
The cracked bell il Bowdoin Square
rings out q ghostly six o'clock rs she
comes TO the end of her journey. Our
little one stops i'll front of tall, dismal
house OF dingy brick, with a narrow
BLACK door at one side The rest is given
over TO a pswnbroke-, whose rusty wares
are sprswled behind the stained and Ill
lighted psnes in unsttractive chaos
She opens the narrow door and is lost il
the darkness of the hallway. Shall Wi
follow her.
Paint to yourself an attic long, low
and dark, with two small windows which
look out upon duh outline OF irreguls
roofs, against gray sky. We are in tn,
tenement part of the city now and tn,
roofs sre hung with squslio garments