The Canton times. (Canton, Miss.) 1893-1906, 1895-07-12

, misfortunes, but give her practicaA
, help You never will. But you says
|. "Are there no ways by which the
wanderer may escapef" Oh. yes;
three or four. The one way is the
sewing girls garnet, dingy, cold, hum
gcr-blasted. But you lay: "ls there
| no other way for her escape? Oh,
| yes. Another way is the street that
leads to the river. at midnight. the end
Of the city dock, the moon shining
down on the water making it look SO
smooth she wonders II IT Is deep
| enough. II is. No boatman near
enough to hear the plunge. No watch
man near enough to pick her out
before she sinks the third time.
No other way? Yes BY curve OF
the railroad at the point whore the
engineer Of the lightning express
train can not see hundred yarda
ahead to the form that lies across the
track. He may whistle down brakes" "
but not soon enough to disappoint the
one who seeks her death. But you
say: Isn't God good, and won't he
| forgiven" Yes; but man will not.
woman will not, society will not Tho
Church OF God says it will, butt will
not. Our work, then, must be preven'
ton rather than cure.
A cold Christmas night in . farm
house. Father comes in from the
barn, knocks the snow from his
shoes, and sits down by the fire. The
mother sits at the stand knitting. She
says to him: "Doyou remember it is
the anniversary to-night?' The father
is angered. He never wants any allu-
sion to The fact that one had gone
away, and the mere suggestion that it
was the anniversary of that sad event
made him quite rough, although the
tears ran down his cheeks. The old
house dog, that had played with the
wanderer when she was child, comes
up and puts his head on the old mans
knees, but he roughly repulses the dog.
He wants nothing to remind him OF
the anniversary day.
A cold winter night in a city church.
1t is Christmas night. They have been
decorating the sanctuary. A lost wan
derer Of the street, with thin shawl
about her. attracted by the warmth
and light. comes in and sits near tho
door. The minister Of religion ID
preaching Of Him who was wounded
for our transgressions and bruised for
our iniquities, and the poor soul by the
door said: "Why. that must mean mea
mercy for the chief of sinners; bruised
for our iniquities; wounded for our
transgressions.'
The music that night in the sanct-
uary brought back the old hymn
which she used to sing when, with fa-
ther and mother, she worshiped God in
the village church. The service over,
the minister went down the aisle. She
said to him: Wore those words for
me? Wounded for our transgressions.'
was that for me?" The man OF God
understood her not He knew not how
to comfort a shipwrecked soul, and he
passed on and he passed out. The poor
wanderer followed into the street.
What are you doing here, Meg?"
said the police. "What are you doing
here to-nightpo "Oh," she replied. n
was into warm myself" and then the
rafting cough came, and she held to
the railing until the paroxysm was
over. She passed on down the street,
falling from exhaustion; recovering
herself again. until after awhile She
reached the outskirts of the city,
and passed on into the country
road. 1t seemed 80 familiar; she
kept on the road, and she
saw in the distance d light in the win
dow. All! that light had been gleam-
ing there every night since she went
away. On that country road she
passed until she came to the garden
gate. She opened it and passed up the
path where she played in childhood.
She came to the steps and looked in
at the fire on the hearth. Then
she put her fingers to the latch. Oh.
il that door had been locked
she would have persisted on the
threshold, for she was near to DEATH
But that door had not been locked
since the time she went She pushed
open the door. She went in and lay
down on the hearth by the fire. The
old house dog growled as he saw her
enter but there was something in the
voice he recognized, and he frisked
about her until he almost pushed her
down in his joy.
In the morning the mother came
down. and she saw bundle of rags on
the hearth: but when the face was up,
lifted, she knew 1t. and it was no more
old M, of the street. Throwing her
arms around the returned prodigal, she
cried, 'sOh, Maggiei' The child
threw her arms around her mothers
neck and said: 'sOh. mother!" and
while they were embraced rugged