Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1896-12-19

pasta thing done with. Leave me.
/ am tired of it all. Like child,
am weary of my toy-the toy mer
call life. 1t is br oxen in my hands.
only long for the night and sleep.
Paul Dargan was left alone at last
in the shabby, scantily furnished
room, illuminated only by the ga:
lamp outside shining through the un
curtained windows.
For long time he stood there, with
his nervous hands clutching his mouth
Once he poured some spirit into {
glass with an unsteady handand dranl
it hurriedly.
"Christmas Eve!" he muttered, a
last. "Christmas Eve land poverty
and loneliness, and despair. All mel
make excuses, but l think l am righ
to night when l say that if one woman
mad smiled on me four years ago
might not have been what am. Who
shall say? And tonight ends it, L
will he fitting irony to die when al
other men make merry and are glad
to go out like the futtering flame OF {
candle when all other lights burn mos
brightly"
He laughed mirthlessly, and crossed
| the room and took his shabby hat from
n peg and put 1t on and presently
went out, locking the door and pass
ing noiselessly down the stairs.
Outside there were lurrying mel
and women, who jostled him as hi
passed-men and women with the love
and goodwill of Christmas in theil
hearts. whose hearty tones and laugh
ter rang out through the frosty air
men and women to whom, ut thi:
time of all the year, sorrow and care
seemed q forgotten thing, some
thing left behind and done with ut
terly and forever.
There were CHEEKY shopmen who
appeared to be ready almost to give
away lneir w",os &c s.l,- tLay might
enter INTO the spirit of the time anf
benefit mankind. The shiverine
ma b seller at the corner of the
street even wore smile. ghostly
though it might be.
The shabby figure OF Paul passed OF
through it all, and entered restaur
ant, and sat down at one of the tables.
"The last time" he muttered.
"Why should not go out of life like
a philosopher, and let the wine thai
has helped me on the downward road
bring q smile to my lips and warmth
to my limbs? The last timel"
The waiter looked at him dubi
ous1y. yet brought all he ordered.
But the man could not eat; he thrust
the food aside after while and drank
the wine eagerly.
Then he paid his reckoning, and
went out again into the darkness.
He found his way to Waterloo
Bridge. and stood there, looking over
the parapet into the light.Aecked
water beneath him. How solemnly il
ran along there, while all the careless
noise and mirth and traffic rolled on
above.
Fe shuddered and turned away in
the direction of Lambeth, walking on
listlessly and almlessly, with certain
dimly triumphant feeling upon him
that it was all nothing to him that
he had done with it.
Almost unconsciously, he noticed
the figure of child going on slowly
before him-a small and lonely figure
"A girl, of some seven years of age.
clad in an old and worn frock. He
noticed. too, with the wondering eye
OF musician, that the little one car
ried, tucked under her arm, q small
sized violin.
1t was a very steady little figure,
with some evident purpose in it,
mind, although it walked with {
strange shrinking timidity, as though
unused to the streets.
With IL new feeling of curiosity il
his mind, he found himself following
the child; he completely forgot tina
there had been a fixed intention in
his mind to visit the large public
house which stands at the corner o.
the road at the end of the bridge. The
child went on and Paul Dargan fol
lowed.
Presently she stopped in the road
way outside a public house, and begar
in very clumsy, childish fashion tt
tune her instrument.
A few people stopped in surprise,
and Paul, dlawing nearer, saw TIT
child's face by the light of the street
lamp above her.
Such face, with great, grave, in
nocent eyes, and tender little mouth
that was just now quivering and ner
vous. The child's bright hair had es
capped in clustering profusion over hel
shoulders.
Some old memory must have been
stirred in the mans breast by thu
sight of the childish face he put hi
thin hand up for n moment and GOV
cred his eyes. Then he looked agair
at the little figure with eager atten
ton.
The crowd that Ind gathered was {
very silent one. They looked ut thu
child half in awe and wonder, half in
unspoken admiration.
She tucked the violin under her lit
tie, soft chin, and drew the bow across
the strings, and began to sing in I
pretty childish treble quaint littl,
nursery ballad about her dolly.
1t was the sweetest, 1arest little
song, rising and falling in that quav
cring voice. Paul Dargan felt a luml
1 Ia, - :,