Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1888-03-23
New York Observer Prize Story.
NOT LOST.
BY MRS. NORA MARBLE.

Night had fallen. A chill wind
moved the skeleton branches of
the trees to piteOus morning, sour
rying the dead leaves upon the
ground, driving them hlther and
thitber, as in mockery of their
helplessness; a wind which made
YOU shiver and draw close to your
cheerful fire; a wind which whis-
pered to the homeless of bitter cold
and misery to come, chill wind
which spOrted with the thinly clad,
sad.faced woman who YEARLY ap-
preached suburban town of the
great city of B.
at is a bitter wind" said the
woman with chattering teeth, "and
oh how dreary nature looks. Even
the leaves die at the approach of
winter, but l must live on and suf-
fer. Oh! that I could sleep an
eternal sleep as do they"
She started and looked behind
her.
"Something said, There is no
eternal sleep,'" she murmured,
"that everything lives again." 1t
was like a voice in the wind. Live
again 7 Wake to mi sery some
where else. II makes me shudder.
Hark! there is the sound of music"
Tho sounds proceeded from a
picturesque stone church, which a
turn in the road brought before
her. The CHEEKY beams from its
numerous lights threw glad ra'
dance over the approaching figure,
and seemed to beckOn her on.
"Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high"
sang the voices within.
"It is long since was in a
church," said the shivering woman,
who tim idly gazed into one of the
windows, sand long since I have
heard hose words. Mother used
to SIM, them," she added, with a
sob ia her throat.
"'Guide me, oh my Saviour, guide
Till the storm of life is past,
Safe INTO the haven guide,
Oh receive my soul at last"
"The storm of life Aye 1t has
always been the storm of life with
rae. There is no refuge but the
grave for us unfortunates, us lost
ones," murmured the listener.
"Every one that asketh receiv.
eth. To him that knocketh it shall
be opened" read the minister
"Divine compassion. 1t turneth no
one away. Come, He says, to the
mngdalen, the wretched wanderer,
the stray lamb; come"
ale means me,D sobbed the wo-
roam, withdraw ing into the shadow; (;
"dOes he see me p
81 entreat you to be mercitul,"
continued the whlte-haired old man
to his listeners; "close not the door
of your hearts, be mercitul !"
The benedictiOn, the low hum of
voices, the slow departure, and
soon in silence and darkness, the
church pointed its slender finger
toward heaven.
Colder and col der grew the night.
ak mock, and it shall be opened to
you," presently said tn g crouching
figur e. 81 wonder if he meant al
heay ems gate. May be he did. But
/ vii try to find shelter under the
roof of one of those good people
who have just left, for l feel so Ill
so cOld.'
ga good Sermon said Mr.. Brown
to his wife, his portly figure seated
in a luxurious chair before a glow
ing CRATE fire, ga very good sermon
my dear"
"Good enough" replied Mrs
Brown, loftily-she had a reputa
tion for being intellectual-"but
am growing very tired of suct
themes as charity, duty, and thu
like. We need younger man
capable of treating higher themes
flights of fancy, new theories, ad
Z vanced thought. We are full
aware that creatures exist In tn
world in need of help and succor
Z we always contribute to the poo
\ list, and to all appeals from the pul
pit, Pm sure.'
"Yes," compIacently said MI
Brown, "we have the reputation
for being charitable, and it is Ger
tainly well deserved. No one give
more to the church than do. On
ly last week gave fifty dollars To
ward a new organ; the Organis
thinks our present one is not larg
enough, and ] agree with him."
A faint knock at the door mad
him pause.
zone Of our neIghbors, 1 sup
pose," sald Mrs. Brown, as she ad