The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1896-02-13

AGAIN"
Thep the little one, kneeling by her
mothers side, in sweet tones repeats:
''Now l lay me down to Sleep" then
God bless papa"
81 wish papa would come-as he used
to mamma-not cross, you know, NAM
ma, and not-rough, or--or-stum-
bling, or-or-" there was a sob in the
voice now, but it went on: 81 think |
wouldn't mind then, mamma, if Santa
Claus didn't come, or put anything in
my stocking" and she looked visit
fully at the pathetic little network Of
darning. That's what mean, man.
ma, when say God bless papa Make
him nice again. I'd rather have that
than anything else in the world,
wouldn't you, mammal"
With bursting heart, but struggling
to repress all emotion, Mrs. WestbrooI1
simply bowed her head.
But now as the little one is peace
fully sleeping the mother finds some re-
lief for her agony in the bitterest tears
woman can shed. Yet the hand of a
AC'i1S L hOllCl ID CNC1A uoM 1hlSIpOSluR
in her behalf.
Something in the atmosphere of the
day has filled with unrest the spirit of
Philip Westbrook so that he has found
no pleasure in his usual haunts. He
has wandered to and fro, and mis- eyes,
less dimmed than usual by the mistS
of liquor, have observed much that
xx-n1,l6 0Tfl o,i1Hy he Ora,,lO11-ol III
now. as night has fallen, in passing one
of these beautiful edifices, his ear is
greeted by burst of music, the famil-
lar words and tune of grand old "AE-
tioch" almost in spite of himself draw
him within the doors. AS in dream he
gazes upon the brilliant room, the rich
decorations, the laden trees, the sea of
happy faces. Now arises the incense
of prayer, and again children's voices
joined in praise bring to his ear the
beautiful words of the Quaker poet set
to appropriate music-words that
stamp themselves indelibly upon that
erring heart:
We touch Him in life's throng and press
And we are whole again"
With the words a new courage seems
to enter his soul, a sense of divine love
and compassion and help fills his
mind. By and by the stir, as half 4
dozen little girls trip forward to the
platform, arouses him to hear their fresh
voices trill out that sweet, simple song
that will never lose its charm: Hang
Up the Baby's Stocking" But it is
too much for him; it brings to him
memories which will not be banished
It was favorite of his wife's. Many a
time has he heard her singing it to
delight her wee ones in the happy past.
Little Phil" now an inhabitant of the
land where sorrow and sickness are I'M
known, made his first attempts at
singing, trying that little song; and
when the sweet earth blossom nipped
by untimely frosts faded away his last
audible words, pointing to his baby
sister, were: "Hang up baby 'tockie!"
Oh, the haunting memories flashing
through the fathers mind! How they
sting him and hurry him onward!
With groan he turns, and as though
driven by the Furies hurries on and is
soon climbing the stairs to his own
dismal abode, such a contrast to the
scene just beheld! Slowly he climbs
the last fight, softly approaching the
door, where he pauses. He hears the
child's pleading voice, and through the
broken panel sees his wife hang up the
poor little stocking to crafty her. He
hears the prayer of the little one and
her tender words of love for her
wretched father. Such torture as wrings
the heart of the listener!
Down the long flights of stairs he
slips and with all speed makes his way
to Il former employer. you were very
patient and forbearing with me, Mr.
Norton, and know tried you severely
And even when at last you were com.