The Portland daily press., 1881-01-08

and rose and fell as though the arrived steam
er were the prize of the loudest. Returned
travellers were greeted by hearty friends who
came to wish them merry Christmas. Off
they went, hand in hand, arm in arm, in all
the joy Of "home again"
Thus the day wore on, until the ship was
deserted by most of those who had found
within its strong walls few days asylum
from wave and tempest. 1t had grown colder
since morning. The bright sky had become
overcast. The ice-clad ship no longer
sparked, but seemed to shiver under her
frost mantle. The piers were almost deserted
Only few stevedores in thick blouses were
blowing their fingers and swinging their
hands to keep at arms length the bitter cold
Frost seemed to have settled upon every
thing-upon the men, upon the day; it
seemed triumphant DER all, Cold, gray,
SILENT such was the closing day.
If, on that morning, one had looked more
carefully at the individuals of the variegated
crowd upon the deck and piers, one figure
would not have escaped attention. 1t was a
slight figure clothed in a thin dark dress
which clasped too tightly the form to which
it afforded but scant protection. This figure
came up from the steerage gangway and gazed
about over the busy crowd, itself unheeded.
1t came up again, and again, and always
fixedits eyes upon heapof baggage gathered
in confusion upon the deck. Now as the
day was dying, and the ship deserted, the
same figure appeared, and this time came
out on the deck. Finding it nearly deserted
she went forward to the pile of baggage, and
scanned it closely. A lamp that had been
lighted in the rigging, threw its sickly ray
upon her face, white and thin. Its shape was
oval, the lips full, the cheeks not shrunken
but the nostrls were pinched, and the eye
brows elevated as if in fright Under the
auo tho of lly II
trous. She bent over the trunks, and with
shaking hands fumbled at a lock. A bushy
head arose out of the gangway; and its owner
casting sulky eye about the deck, paused
with one foot Oh the top stair.
''Hallo there! What be yer about with
them trunks? Leave yer hands off O. that,
and be off! Why b'aint yer out O. this?
What's the use now? That there chests
mine, and what's in it, too. Didn't she
give ter me the morning we hove her over?
Ask the boss steward, then. How else dyer
'spose she'd ave got the medicin? Aye,
how'd she got that?''
but all my money, my two pounds, is in
there, and my cloak. Won't you let me
have those, and keep the rest?"
''Let yer have two pun? Ha! Ha! Not
'zactly. Not quite"
'But have nothing besides; 1 shall
| starve."
"Starve? Not you! You're too hand
| some to starve: you are."
The bush-headed rascal went away and
| left her there. AS he disappeared below
stairs, the watchman passing around, al
most stumbled over her.
"Hullo here! What's this then%'
The bowed figure did not move or answer
| him. He stopped over her. At the touch
| she arose, and he saw her face, paler than a
| ghost, the lustrous wide-opened eyes that
| seemed to burn and freeze him at the same
time. "You're one of the steerage b'eent
| yer?" he asked, and the tone was kind if
the voice was rough.
eyes"
"Aint yer got no friends?'
| She shook her head, and kept the blazing
eyes fixed upon the lights far up the wharves.
SIS that yer trunk? Why don't yer get
| out of this with it? Stay, I'll help yer
when my watch is out # yer like. Shall I?''
| He moved nearer to her as he spoke.
"You cannot take it. It's the stewards.
Twas hers. She died"
''Oh, then you're the gal of the one that
| went overboard?"
"Yes-that is, I-She had delirium. She
gave the trunk to him, but she didn't know
what she said. Oh, if were only with her
down under the seav'
The rough watchman, a young reckless
looking fellow, fell back a step and then
stood awkwardly gazing at her.
"Who dyer know in the city?"
''No one."
''Came as an immigrant in the steerage
! and amt got no money!"
| As the shivering figure assented to the
double question, pause ensued. The ques-
! toner stood irresolute. Then he put his
| hand into his pocket.
"Wish l M die # wouldn't like to help
| yer. Haint no business t. stay here-most
| dark now. Rough place this by midnight.
| Here! Get up, won't yer! There-that's S
| all Eve got, close yer hand over it. God
how cold yer hand is! Now-Fll speak to
| second mate bout trunk. See that fourth
| light up on corner? There-over her bow.
| Just by that there's a station. You go
there-ask for Mr.. Farr-say Henly of the
| Europa sent you to find out where's the
| Woman's Mission. He'll show yer how to
| go. Come down tomorrow and out bout
| yer trunk. Now come on. Pl help yer
| ashore. You'll die 4 yer don't get out of
| this.'' ~
| The girl had risen, and now followed him
| mechanically. The bluff watchman helped
her on to the pier, and in an absent way,
without turning toward him, she went on to
the lights in the distance. In her confusion
she drifted by the station and was caught
up by the hurrying crowd. Like twig on
whittier, hearing only confusing noises, SEN
sible only OF the frosty numbness about her
limbs, thinking only in confused way,
that somewhere there was light and that
she must find it. The night thickened, and
still she went forward. Anon jostled before
the portals of large theatrei by fur-robed,
silkeu-hooded ladies and men, who followed
for moment of unconscious wonder the
wan face so like spectre in such scene.
l,,ra hal ri 81,
words she did not hear, and then with reel
ing gait, followed after and put his hand
upon her shoulder. His touch seemed to
rouse her. Shudderingly she fled on, and
then it seemed that the question came to
her. Whittier? Aye, whittier? She raised
her hand to her eyes, and pressed them.
She tried to think; and suggestion came to
her. How quiet it must be under that great
sea where they had carried her friend; could
she, too, but sink beneath it, would not rest
be better than this cold life? Again she start
ed forward. Again plunged through the dark
alleys, the brilliant streets How dark was
growing! Were the lamps going out? And
why was she no longer cold, but oh, so
heavy-limbed? just little rest, only a
moment, then she would go on again. She
looked about her with closing eyes, and up
at the tall warehouse SO grim, deserted and
unheeding, and, as she gained its doorway,
sank down with sign that ended IN low
moan.
The lonely meets the helpless, the selfish
meets the despairing. The poet comes home.
to his attic in the tall warehouse. In his
ears have been sounding all day the words:
Is there no suffering thou canst alleviate, no
heart thou canst make glad? If thou canst
minister to a single creature thou hast done
the command of the Christ-child; if not, the
fairies of the golden-thought will visit thee
no more"
He pauses, looks at the white face, looks
up the street and down, hears the clock
striking midnight, then stoops and takes
her gently in his arms and bears her up, up,
to where the low window looks out upon the
misty roofs, now so white and silent under
the falling snow.
CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN
But the poet did not watch for it from his
attic looking over the misty roofs.