The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1886-12-17

creak and groan like the masts of
ship at sea. Then a ragged gray
cloud drifted by, and the rain came
swirling down through the air; the sea
began to roar and lash the cliffs, now
foaming at their feet, then rolling in
with an angry howl that could be
heard all over the town. And, in less
time than it takes to tell it, the whole
| atmosphere seemed turned into bat
tle-field, where the wind ard the rain
fought and strove together for mas
terry. The morning broke peacefully,
the blue sky, flecked with puffs of
white clouds, looked like April; q late
thrush sang Justify, and the robins
no one at all in the Invalids' Corner
when the Majors pony arrived there.
| The damp of the night before was ris-
ing from the shore and cliffs, under
the warm sunshine, and was drifting
out to sea, where the fishing boats
| were dashing past under the fresh
breeze, as if in a hurry to make up for
| lost time.
When the pony was embarrassed,
the Majors servant said:
. must put you bit further back,
sir. These cliffs are ike powder, and
give directly there's any rain, You
might have a nasty fall; for see, sir,
the pony's feet have gone right into
the mire at the edge. !"
And so saying, he pushed the chair
back into the pine trees, and left with
the pony, while the Major lay back,
much inclined to abuse every thing,
from last nights rain and storm to to-
| days sunshine, that seemed to keep
every one indoors. 1t was one of those
days when every thing seems to go
| wrong at once; newspapers were late,
owing to Christmas; letters were de-
layed, too; and those that had been de-
livered were of such a contrary nature
that they seemed to make every thing
even worse than was necessary. The
Major had rot slept, owing to the
storm; and in consequence of his sleep
less night, felt SO i'll, that he made up
his mind he should never walk again,
and might as well make his will; and
leave world that had become useless
to finn, and where he felt he had little
enjoyment in store for him. Then he
naturally thought of Christmas, and
that aggravated him. A lonely Christ
mas always does aggrayate us, some
how. We think regretfully of the
crowded hearth at home, and the many
other people who are supposed to be
enjoying themselves. There is always
great expectation of something mar
vellously delightful at Christmas; what,
we never quite knew; but we do ex-
pect it every year, and every year we.
feel just as disappointed, as we have
done ever since the death of the DAYS
when the delight took form in the re-
ceipt of new doll or top, and too
much to eat
The Major had worked himself into
a state of savage despair over his DIFF
ferent woes, and was almost weeping
for sorrow for himself, when he sud-
denly saw Edith coming toward him.
That wretched inyalid-as the Major
termed poor Mr.. Scott-was not with
her, and she was walking very slowly,
with her mouth set in a determined
manner that told any one who knew
her that she had made up her mind 70
do a disagreeable duty, and that moth
ing would deter her from doing what
she intended. How sweet she looked
as she came through the straight, red
stemmed pine trees, through which
the blue sky cleaned, and the white
clouds seemed to play hide-and-seek!
Then she came out of the pines, and
along the edge of the cliffs. In one
moment the scene had changed Her
foot slipped on the grassy pine needles
blown down by the storm, she threw
up her hands and disappeared on the
edge of the cliff that all at once gave
way, and, crumbling like piece of
sand, turned to 90 in an avalanche
after her. The Major forgot his Ill
ness, forgot every thing, save that he
loved Edith, and that she was dead;
and, jumping up from the couch that
for five months he had never left ex-
cept to be carried to his sofa or bed,
dashed forward at once to rescue his
darling's remains, or perish in the at
tempt
If he lives to hundred he will never
forget the moment of agony he spent
before he reached the place where
Edith had disappeared, and could look
over and see where she was. Every
cruel word he had ever spoken to her,
every syllable of reproach he had
poured out on her devoted head, came
back to him, and he could almost have
shrieked aloud to Heaven for help,
when he suddenly saw Edith face ris-
ing over the cliffs. He stood motion
less; then he rushed forward, and with
out one word, drew her hands in his,
and dragged her forcibly up to level
with him. Then he looked over: no
harm was done. The soft red earth
had crumbled little, and slid a short
distance down towards the sea, but in
so gentle decline that child could
not have been hurt in the least, and
all Edith had had to do was to turn.
and, with small detriment to any
thing save her garments, climb back
again to terra firma.
"Thank God for the landslip!" said
the Major. after the first explanations
were over, and Edith having heard all
his story and told hers in return, had
consented to take up again her twisted
threads of life, and make the best of
what was left them both. eff it had
not been for seeing you 60 over the
cliff, l should never have spoken to
you again
"Oh, yes, you would!" said Edith,
as she shyly took his hand in hers;
''for / could not stand the idea of it
being Christmas, and you all alone and
sad. And, when l was coming toward
you, was going slowly in order to
make up my mind exactly what to call
you. Frank seemed dead to me; Major
Priestly was not my old friend. and
Francis seemed as if 1 wanted to be Sc
vere-and did not. / only wanted to
make you happy, and see the smiles l
knew so well return. forgot every
thing, Frank, except that | loved you,
and that you were in trouble
And, lifting up her face to his, she
gave him the first kiss she had given
him for eight long, weary years. Then
suddenly down in the valley the bells
began to ring, and the sound came on
the breeze through the pine trees in
measured cadence.
G0Naod hxyo - Tn-o1sJns