News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1883-01-18


And tangled locks of sunny hair;
With calm blue eyes that speak of truth,
Full honest in their grave intent,
a face where purity and youth
Has left its stamp of sweet content.
With her, life is a goodly thing,
Well spent in raising some poor heart,
About whose home the sombre wing
Of sin and sorrow finds part.
Her greatest pleasure is to-day,
Where'er her wandering footstep trod,
Out of the worldly mire and clay
To lift some creature near to God.
Santa Claus in the Mines.
A California mining town, away up
amid the snow-clad, rock-boUnd peaks of
the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
The town was irregularly laid out, and
was scattered along a creek which emp
tied into the Consumes River several
miles below. Both the dwellings, and
business houses-Or, more properly
speaking, cabins-were constructed of
unhewn pine logs, the crevices between
the timbers being "chinked" and plas-
tered with mud The town contained at
least dozen saloons, or saloons and
gambling houses combined, and in these
| hells much of the hard-earned money of
the miner parted company with him to
take up its temporary abode in the saloon
ill or the pocket of the professional
gambler. The dwellings, of the town
were scattered along the creek or built
on the side of the adjacent mountain,
the majority of them being rough
bachelor dens," for women were
scarce in the newly discovered dig
gings.
In small cabin near the upper end
of the town sat a woman, liz widows
weeds, holding upon her knee a bright
eyed, sunny-faced little girl about five
years old, while a little cherub of boy
lay upon bear skin before the open
fireplace. 1t was Christmas Eve, and
the woman sat gazing abstractedly into
thef fire. She was yet young, and as the
glowing flames lit up her sad face they
invested it with a weird beauty.
Mary Stewart was the widow of Aleck
Stewart, and but two years before th2y
had lived comfortably and happy ina
camp On the American River. Aleck
was a brawny miner, but the premature
explosion Of blast in an underground
tunnel had blotted out his life in an
instant, leaving his family without
protector, and in straitened circum-
stances. His daily wages had been their
sole support, and now that he was gone,
what could they do?
With her little family Mrs. Stewart
had emigrated to the camp in which we
find them (all Western mining towns are
called ''camps'), and there she earned a
precarious livelihood by washing clothes
for the miners. Hers was hard lot,
| but the brave little woman tOiled on,
cheered by the thought that her daily
Iabors stood between her darling little
ones and the gaTnt wolf of starvation.
Their clothes were patched and shabby
and their food plain, and sometimes
scant, yet they were never reduced to
absolute suffering.
Jack Dawson, a strong, honest miner.
was passing the cabin this Christmas
Eve, when the voice of the little CIR
within attracted his attention. Jack
possessed an inordinate love for chill,
dren. and although his manly spirit
would abhor the sneaking practice Of
eavesdropping, he could not resist the
temptation to steal up to the window
lust a moment to listen to the sweet
prattling voice. The first words ht
caught were:
Before papa died we always hat
Christmas, didn't we, mamma p
eyes, Totty darling, but papa earned
money enough to afford to make his little
pets happy at least once year. Yor
must remember, Totty, that we are very
Door. and although mamma works very
very hard she can scarcely earn enough t.
supply us with food and clothes"
Little bright-faced Benny raised hi
curly head from its soft nest in the warn
| bear-skin and cheerfully said:
''Des' wait till 1 dit to be a man
mamma, an 90 won't have to wort. Ps'
doin' to be a dreat bid miner, like pap
was. an dit 100 ever SO much money
but won't do near 'em hateful blastin
fings an dit titled ike papa did.
Jack Dawson still fingered upon tn,
outside. He could not leave, although
he felt ashamed of himself for listening.
"Why bless my little man, what {
brave future he has planned /! do hops
and pray, darling, that you will grow NJ
a strong and good man, and one wht
will be a blessing and comfort to m an
ma when she gets old. "
eve hung up our stockings last Christ
mas, didn't we, mamma ?" questioned
the little girl.
eyes, Totty, but we were poor then
and Santa Claus never notices real poo
people. He gave you little candy then
just because you were such good chill
dren."
els we any poorer now, mamma
ooh, yes, much poorer. He woult
never notice us at all now"
Jack Dawson detected tremor of sad
ness in the widows voice as she uttered
the last words, and he wiped a suspicion
dampness from his eyes.
"Where's our clean stockings, nam
ma? I'm going to hang mine up, any
how maybe he will come like he di,
before, Just because we try to be goo
children" said Totty.
cit will be no use, my darling. I az
sure he will not come, >" and tears gath
cred in the mothers eyes as she though
of her empty purse.
81 don't care, I'm going to try, any
how. Please get one of my stockings
mamma, pleaded the little girl.
''Your clean stockings are ON the lin
outside, and L cannot go out and hun
for them this bitter cold night. YO
may hang up your old ones; but oil
darling, [ fear you will be so terribly dis