The herald., 1897-01-10

bonnets, or tufts of the real floral children
of the woods sp.kihs extremely high throat
garniture, in all ways a perversion of the
"heart's ease" of the SHADY dell' ~ orr
imagination But the person who now lit
orally swoops down ON the bare-legged
little violet vender. is lady fresh from
Zero-land, as her long sealskin is very
much in evidence, as well as her broI< en-
calculations of delight at the blue sky. In
open shop doors, but above all at sight Of
a bare-footed boy selling violets on De-
cember day. The new lady has apparently
just arrived In the city OF the Angels" for
she holds in tenderest clasp against her
furs a little bough ornamented by a fe w in
ferior scale-covered oranges, which in all
probability is intended for expressment
back to Maine, Ohio. Canada or some OF he :
extreme part of the con ntinent, as specimen.
fruit from Our Italy" Why in the name
of commerce, we ask, do not the ofFicia 8
of Los Angeles pile up worthy specimen
fruits in their magnificent depots and ho-
tel corridors, and everywhere else that the
tourist foot may be inclined to wander in
search of free specimens of Southern Cali
fornia products?
But to go back to the lady from Zero
land. her ecstasy, the violets and the
brown-legged vendor all mixed together.
The lady took possession of the fragrant
beauties, forgetting in the exuberarce of
her joy, for the moment, that there was
money needed in the transaction, till the
small man Of business informed her she
could have de hui shooting match for a
dollar" "Oh! That is too little. Why in
Boston, SO many violets would be worth a
mint, and tomorrow morning he must bring
a bushel of the lovely things to the hote!,
TO supply the rest of the party" Nor was
joy alone for the LADY from back east" In
his quick sale poor little Joe was as happy
as the birds that sung TO him from the rain
washed pepper boughs, as he ran home to
the shanty out on the Mission road. stop
ping just a moment 10 rub off the tears
Cos Mudder was sick on de bed'-then to
go softly in and tell her of the mint he had
struck, and the baby would hang up her
stocking now on Christmas Eve. {.
The sweet nodding heads of the violets
beckon, and | follow, under the glorious
sunlight of Christmas morning, out from
the thronging thoroughfares of the Angel
City, from clang of street cars. the vend-
er's cries, and all the discordant sounds
which proclaim city's prosperity.
AS pass the old Plaza church of "Nuestra
Sonora Reina de Los Angeles" (our Lady
Queen of the Angels), there issues from its
antquated doorway, scores of Spanish
children just leaving the early service. and
as the last refrain from the quaint old
sink into each listening soul some fragment
of the Peace on earth. good Will towards
man. bequeathed by the Christ so many
hundred years ago. to mortals, and that
Will in some degree hallow this balmy
Christmas day. Ny way leads up through
Sonora's streets of adobe houses and the
hill beyond. to the home of friend whose
Christmas time is to be filed with sorrow
TO the desolate mothers who at this glad
time of the year. have laid away their
earrings In the dark earth, and the joy bells
or all Christendom can only ring dirge
for them. The approach to my friends
house leads through rows OF stately palms
and the fern-like pepper trees that. now
necked with clusters of scarlet berries. are
beautiful beyond all other trees. The bril-
songs trilled from their dense foliage a
glad Christmas carol to the blue sky above
and the wealth of blossoms sprinkling the
green carpet beneath. As I listen 1 can
but wish the glad caroing less near the
window where I know the lonely mother
watches. But "He who marks the spar
rows falF can guide the sweet notes in
a song-bird's throat to be harbingers of
JOY TO mourner's soul. Across the thresh-
old of the room where death has Just gone
before, the perfume of the violets guide.
The pretty room with all its winsome insig-
MIA OF fresh girlhood. now seems draped In
a stiffness that c1n only be broken by the
The fearless mother IL sitting close beside
her darling who after all the hours Of
anguish that mother love could neither
bear nor quell. Is resting now under the
touch of an angel hand. The friends who
adored her have stolen softly in. each with
loves gift, till the white bed and her dress
as snowy. Is all bestrewn with the prrnie
IN her pale hands and tender little love-
knots OF them caressng her golden hair.
shall ever think of this dear maiden
But as well the winter vioets of Los An
eeles entwine their sweetness around many
4 marriage bell and mark the glad wav Of
'air young brides TO the altar rail. They
are loves offering to life in its happies.
hours. and in death hallowed speeding to
the soul wincing its flight starward
BERTHA BROUSE LANDT