The Hickman courier. [volume] (Hickman, Ky.) 1859-current, 1882-11-24

10y ~ eau DeIOre them.
men she was a girl, coming home
from school, and her brother brought
,ils clsiss- mates home with him-7such as
ma rao no near homes, at Ieast--''to spend
Thanksgiving So She had met her
nusoanu- her brother was dead long
SINCE ana now James. A low cry part
Gu her ups, the fire fell into brands,
lllchereu' grew dull; and she went on
with her review of the past There was
ner Weading-day-th that had been on
lnahksgiFing. Her mother she had
never known. Oscar and she were all
the children, and of the three she and
ner father were left then, and he only
lived TO see the next feast. the first of
her matronhood celebrated in her own
house.
Since then were not all her Thanks
giyings alikeP All full of cheer, graft
tude, blessedness? And now
Il shall not try to have Thanksgiv-
ing, she said, dreamily; and, looking
up, saw her husband sitting opposite her
IN MS own chair, which she had never
moved from its place by the hearth.
strangely enough, she felt neither sur
PRISE nor fear, nor did she remember
her loss 1t was so customary and
natural to see him there that only full,
sweet sense OF peace stole over her.
She seemed to have Just come home, and
to be so glad; but he did not smile. He
looked at her with tender gravity, and
very clearly and slowly repeated a
favorite quotation of his:
Thou seest we are not al alone un-
happy, adding, .. there are other wild
ows beside you, Nelly"
Other widows What did he mean9
She rose to her feet with a start. A brand
fell, blazed up, went ont. The chair
opposite hers was empty. The clock on
the shelf str1cck nine. Ii had marked the
half hour she remembered. just as the
first bpstnds fell together. 1t was a dream.
theE. She shivered and came back to
BE, lit the lamp, fed the dying fire and
I returned to her new grief. New because
/ that face had been so real, her gladness
so deep, and now it was lost once more.
with fresh bereavement. But. though
the tears fell hopelessly and fast from
her eyes, and her heart ached anew with
the rebelliOus anguish of loss, still his
words kept recurring TO her. She had
not thought of that before. There We're
other widows, no doubt-others sorrow
ing with her sorrow, in kind, if not in
degree. She remembered one whom she
had been TO see in her charitable rounds.
and then another, and among her ae-
qnaintances she recalled one whose hus-
band had, not long since, died abroad.
and another widowed suddenly years
ago, and still another who had married
an old love when he was smitten with
consumption and nursed him to his
death. She was startled to see how she
had passed by all these sorrows as mere
matters of course, without any real SYM
patty; and a sense of cOmpanionship
stole upon her, as if, suddenly wrecked
on some desert shore, she had met with
beings of her own race after long lonely
weeks of silence and despair
Then the thought flashed across her
that all these women must dread the re-
currence of Thanksgiving, just Is she
did. Why could she not ask them all To
keep the day with her? 1t would be. at
least. a sympathetic, if sad festivla.
The idea laid hold upon her. 1t was
the first reaching out of the detached
tendril toward another and a surer sup
port. She fell asleep, thinking the mat
ter over. and awoke in the morning with
n shamefaced sense of some light and
interest creeping into her life, hitherto
so sacredly wretched. Then she re-
membered her dream-her husband
sad, grave face. Perhaps she had done
wrong in mourning him so deyotedly
that even her children had been set aside
from their place. Possibly it would
please him better if She carried out her
plan. The children welcomed her with
more earesses that morning than for
many long dav With childish instinct
they felt she was not so cold or so I'M
willing to return their tender way They
dared to laugh now at the breakfast
table. for she smiled with them She had
learned the first letters of the lesson
meant for her, and learned them thor
oughly; the next were TO come. When
the early DAYS duties were over, she sat
down again by the library iire-not to
dream now, but to plan for action But.
whom should she invite? For she began
to see that Mrs. Broome, who lived in
the fourth story of a tenement house
and earned a precarious living, would
hardly be a fit companion at dinner for
Mrs. Gray, whose husband. dying in
Florence, had left her more money than
she could spend and house and grounds
money could scarcely improve. A text
from the Bible flashed into her mind, as
texts will on the most convenient or in
convenient occasions, sometimes to our
aid, sometimes TO our confusion: "When
thou makest a feast, call the poor, the
MANNED the lame, the blind
With a thrill in her dumb and dark
ened soul, she recognized the Masters
call. She was a good woman, at heart
a sincere Christian; but her love and her
loss had come between her and her duty,
her hope of Heaven, her living work
With shame and contrition, she saw her
place before God, and recognized her
own deserving, and His hand of love
and power 1t was the work of a mo-
ment and had but a moments sway, for
the old anguish came crowding back
and surged over her once more, like an
angry wave across a wreck. She made
her first effort to master 1t, however, in
returning to the thought of Thanksgiving
Day. The matter of her guests was
settled for her now, and she felt that it
would be easier far for her to feel and
express sympathy with these sufferers
than with persons who must observe the
usages and reticences of higher social
spheres. So she drew out the old visit
ing hsoof poor. so long neglected, and in
the afternoon set out on her GRAND
Charity of any sort is not always easy
or pleasant to administer The poor, at
least in this country, are hedged about
with their own self-respeet. and GER
tain barrier of jealous pride, feeling
that they are just as good as anybody
else, and will not be condescended to.
All this Mrs. Seymour had to contend
with, besides the individual traits of
character The shyness, the real humil-
ity, the want of fit clothing, the dread of
being uncouth, and the natural instinct
of refusal to anything proposed by an
other-that is a marked and almost uni
versal trait of New England character
1t was the work of several days, much
WEAKNESS, more patience and many
promises to insure the attendance of six
poor widows at hertable, who would not
have feasted, but probably tasted, at their
own homes; but the effort done her good.
Her sense of humor awoke, her interest
In something beside her own grief was
strongly aroused, and the patience that
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