Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1881-12-25

terrible city. have hungered for the
dear old home on the hillside, and the
woods and the meadows, with their cow
slips and primroses, and the stream that
sang from dawn until night, and the
sheep that watched; but oh, dear God!
I have been true to him-true to him
though I held no place in his heart. And
two years ago tonight my baby came,
and from my heart the pain and the
ache seemed lifted. was happy-hap-
py as I had not been since I left the old
place. I lay in an attic. and the roof
was poor and it was very cold. But it
was not manager! My baby was in my
arms, and I lay and thought of the dear
Child that was born so many years ago
that night. I liked to feel that I lay like
Mary had lain, and through the chinks
in the roof I could see the stars. and I
wondered which it was that had shown
where the Baby was in Judea. And I
thought God had sent mine to be COM
fort to me. But in the morning officers
came, and they took the child away. It
was not mine any more. They were not
brutal; they explained how that the city
owned it, and must take care of its poor.
They said my shame and dishonor we're
too great for me to be a guardian for it!
How could that be? I was its mother!
They took it away. All, dear God! I
thought should die! lay there and I
looked out of the roof; but I felt the cold
as had not felt it the night before, and
a vail was over the stars! Never again
would it lay at my breast-never again
upon my ears would fall its wailing cry,
OF its little limbs nestle at my side! Then
like flash it came to me that Mary, too,
had mourned for her Child. Did I
suffer as she suffered when she followed
her son to Cavalry? All! | know how
she felt when she saw Him bearing the
Cross along that weary, weary way! 1
know how her heart ached! know
know what thoughts came to her of the
time when He was little baby in the
manger, with Joseph and her and the
oxen around. You see, we never know
what our babies are born for! So it was
that that helped me to bear it. But
cannot understand what title the city
had to my child"
Her voice is still low and mellow as the
thrush's song; as yet no wall OF dying
agony has pierced it. Her face is calm
as the burn that flows through the little
hillside farm, though her weary limbs
are crushed and torn out of all shape.
She is dying-here in the great city, far
away from that home she forsook. And
while her eyes grow dim and sightless,
and the cold dew starts upon her brow,
perchance her mother is praying in the
solemn silence of this holy night, pray
ing for the prettiest, sunniest child of
them all, who has gone out from their
lives forever.
Scan you understand why it was not
my child?'' she whispers. Poor little
hayward soul! to her crude and untu-
tored instincts life with its mystery and
mockery is problem. whose injustice
she even yet strives to solve.
No, cannot tell. I am fast sharing
her sophistry. The mandates. the GUS
toms, the narrow prejudices of society
sink into insignifcance before the
solemn questioning of those death
filed eyes. I seem to see the divine
face of Mary's Son, as He said, GA
new commandment give unto yon; that
We love one anotherr' Where is that
Glove, and that CHARITY that seeth no
evil" that should have been shown this
poor, helpless. friendless one?
"But it doesn't matter, now-the sin
is sinned, the pain is over" she MUIR
murs, in that strange pathos that so
surprises me in one of her order. 81
know that am dying. But If only l
might would like to see him once
again.
"You shall!'' 1 say, while that heavy
ache is still at my throat. "Fane Swim
ton is my brothers son. l have the
right to send for himr'
I sit by her side and wait. A solemn,
brooding presence fills the room. Out
side, the gay world is reyeling in Its
Christmas festivities, and anon sweet,
wild burst of riotous music breaks from
without. And amidst it all the girl lies
dying. But as the horns and the organs
pierce occasionally to her senses that
are fast dnlIing to earthly things, mem
cries of the old. sweet, unforgotten time
are. flung across her. l see her lips
move; | bend lower and catch their
whispers:
81 have fetched the nuts, mother, and
the fire burns bright. See! how the red
berries glisten on tine wall. And do you
hear the sleigh-bells on the hill? They
must be coming, mother!" Poor child!
for her the hawthorn and the juniper
have been hung for the last time; and
never again will she stand within the
walls of her own home. with the Christ
mas-bells ringing out all over the snowy
land.
At last the door opens, and Fame
Swinton enters. He comes straight to
the cot; and as he sees the poor little,
once russell face. great cry breaks from
him.
"Madelon! MadelonI'
But who shall tell the glory, the re-
fulgent radiance that sweeps that dying
face as the girl reaches out and takes
the strong, warm hand Of the man
takes it with her quivering, dark fingers
that have strayed SO often among the
strawberries and wild thyme of those
sun-kissed meadow-land from which he
tore her.
"Oh! my dear-my dearl" she whis-
pers, while she presses it to her lips, that
are white and dry as dust.
"Dont," he cries, sit kills me!' Then,
after pause-"But, Madelon, believe
me! I Sc arched far and wide for you. I