The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1884-12-27
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THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR
BY FANNIE LEE BENEDICT.

The last night of the year Ambrose
Christern had not thought much about it.
Neither that anniversary, nor any other,
had ever been very important in his life.
1t was Molly, the maid, when she brought
in his tea, who set him thinking He dined
out but he was fond of cup Of tea in the
evening.
HThe last time I'll serve yez the tay, this
year, sir; and here's wishing ye it strong
and plenty, and stomach to enjoy it in the
wan to come !!
"Eh, eh ?" demanded Mr.. Christern,
lifting his nose out of his papers, having so
imperfectly caught what she said that he
fancied she was giving him notice of her
departure. "The last time-what do you
mean? You're not going away, 1 hope,
Mollie ?"
Away, is it-me?" returned Molly,
with the comfortable laugh of a fat person.
"Faix, why wud l, onless the misthress
gave me warnin, and she'll not do that,
I'm thinkin',"
'But you said the last time"
''This year, yer honor. Shure, ye'd for
got it was New Years Eve"
II believe l had, Molly" he answered,
rather apologetically; II really believe l
had p
Molly looked obviously at the top of his
head, which was slightly bald, and then
looked at the books and papers, which lit
tered the table, and thought "that all that
reading and writing would lave him no
memory at all, av he kept on a few years
longer" But Mr.. Christern was nodding
his head slowly and repeating absently,
ayes, l had had ?" Then he put his
hand in his pocket. "There, that's to buy
Christmas box, Molly" he said, and put
some money in her palms, and she retreat
ed with voluble thanks and many curt
sizes.
Mr.. Christern drew his easy chair close
to the fire and sat down with his feet on
the fender; poured out cup of tea, slowly
added sugar and milk; then leaned his ell
bow on the arm of his chair and his head
on his hand, and fell into revery so deep
that he forgot all about the fragrant bever-
age which was perfuming the air while it
grew cold. Nothing had ever happened to
him, neither great love nor sorrow. He
had very vague remembrance of his par
ents. Then had come school and college,
and then, after little wandering up and
down the face of the earth, he settled him
self among his books and followed his stu
dies; and the years had gone on and on.
He was neither morose nor an unsocia-
BILE man, yet he sought no new acquaint-
ances. He was five and forty, and marry
ing, children, home-how these words
kept ringing in his ears tonight He tried
to think. Not trace of romance any
where2 Ah?-Mary Desmond. But,
after all, there had been no romance, it was
only that there might have been, that was
the nearest to poetry his recollections could
supply!
The bell-rope was within reach of his
hand. He pulled it. Molly appeared,
pausing on the threshold, well-trained crea-
ture that she was.
II should like to see Mrs. Judson," he
said.
"And faith ye shall," replied Molly and
vanished.
Presently there came knock at the door;
then, in obedience to summons, a lady en-
tered, very evidently lady, even if she
was lodging-house keeper. She was not
young, and her black gown and close cap
made her look older than she was, just as
they increased her thinness and palor. She
looked so familiar with sorrow that you