Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1881-12-23
HIS LAST OHRISTMAS.

IL was very strange, thought old Joseph
Golding, that he couldn't be master of his
own mind. He had lived great many years.
and neither remorse nor memory had ever
been in the habit of disturbing him; but il
now seemed to him as if the very founda-
tions Of his life were breaking up. He was
well through with his days work-he had
dined comfortably-he sat in an easy chair in
a luxurious drawing-room, whose crimson
hangings shut out the stiff cold of the De-
cember afternoon-he had nothing TO do but
enjoy himself Mr.. Golding liked to enjoy
himself at this season as much as others did,
for it was Christmas eve. What though he
was in the habit of spending it solitary ?-he
liked solitude. Perhaps because nothing
more lively came in his way, aud he was too
shy and proud to look out for it.
For many year on Christmas eve be had
sat balancing in his mind the great accounts
presented in his ledgers, the accumulating
Golfers at his bankers, the strokes Of business
he would make in future. Not so now. The
year was drawing TO a close; some intruding
voice kept whispering that in like manner so
was his career He could not put it from him,
try as he would. The voice reminded him
Of coming time when his lifes work would
all be done even as his days work was all
done now-when he would be ready to sit
down in the evening and look over the bal
ance-sheet of his deeds, good and evil. Gu
riously the old days came trooping in slow
procession before him. And he had been
able to forget them for so very long
His dead wife. He had not loved her
much when she was with him, but how vivid
was his memory of her now He could see
her moving round the house, noiseless as a
shadow, never intruding on him after he had
once or twice repulsed her grufiiy, but going
on her own meek still ways, with her face
growing whittier every day. He began to un-
derstand, as he looked back, why her strength
had failed; and she had been ready, when
her baby came to float out on the tide and let
it drift her into Gods haven. She had had
enough to eat and TO drink but he saw now
that he had left her heart to starve. Heaven
what hard man he had been He seemed
to see her white, still face, as he looked at it
the last time before they screwed down the
coffin lid, with the dumb reproach frozen on
it the eyes that would never plead yainly
any more, closed forever
He recalled how passionately the three
days old baby cried in another room Just at
that moment, moving all the people gathered
together for the funeral with a thrill Of pity
for the poor little motherless morsel She
nas passionate, wilful baby, all through her
babyhood; he remembered that. She want
ed-missed without knowing what the lack
have given her, and protested against fate
with all the might Of her infant lungs But
as soon as she grew old enough to understand
how useless it was, she had grown quiet, too !;
lust like her mother. He recalled her all
through her girlhood, a shy, still girl, always
obedient and submissive, but never drawing
very near him. Why? Because he would
have repulsed her as he repulsed her mother
He could see II now. 1t was very strange
these facts should come back to him oday,
and their naked truth with them. He had
been a cold, hard, ungenial man, without
sympathy for any human being; absorbed
utterly in the pursuit of money making. And
so the child, Amy, had grown up in shadow
without him.
But suddenly, when she was eighteen, the
old, passionate spirit that had made her cry
so when baby, must have awakened again,
he thought; for she fell in love then, and
wished to marry. To marry in defiance of
his wishes. He remembered her standing
proudly before him after one of their quar-
rels, where he had been harsh and bitter, and
abusive of the man she wanted TO call her
husband. She had borne in silence reproach
of herself but not of him who had become
to her as her best existence. Her words came
back to the old man now.
Father, do you know anything against
Harry Church p
"Yes," he had answered, wrathfully "a
know that he is as poor as Job was when he
sat among the ashes. He cannot keep wife
as daughter of mine must be kept"
Anything else, father?" looking him
steadily in the eye.
''No that's enough" he had thundered
'Tll tell you, besides, that if you marry him
you must lie in the bed you will make. My
| doors will never open to you again, never"
xuith "A will "a off hio
that time. She did marry him, and wen
away with him from her fathers house. Mr.
Golding had known the day the wedding was
to take place, and disdained to stop il. II,
washed his hands of Harry Church, and o.
Amy, his wife. She wrote home afterwards
over and over again, but Mr., Golding sent al
the letters back unopened. Subsequent t.
that they disappeared from the town; and h,
had never heard what became of them.
was at least ten years ago now.
1t seemed very strange that these thing
should have come back tonight 10 haunt hin
and with wild remorse, a plying regret
He had done nothing to recall them. Ooult
it be his sense of failing health that brough
them ?-if so, what sort of anguish might h
not look for as he drew nearer and nearer h
the ending? He began 10 wish that he knew
what had been in those rejected letters
whether Amy had been suffering for anything
that money could supply. The next though
that struck him was, why he had opposed tn
marriage SO virulently. 1t is true Harr,
Church had been but clerk in his own em
ploy but he was well-educated gentleman
and would rise with time. Faithful, intelli
gent, persevering, respected, but poor. L
that last word lay the head and front of HaI
ry Church's offending. He, Joseph Goldine
} was rich then he was far richer now bui
he could not help asking it, what special goo
were his riches bringing him? He was a
old man, the span of life running quickly OF
and he was all alone. Who would take hi
gold then ? He could not carry it along wit