Year: 1875

THE END OF A YEARS LABOR.


Click, click, click 1t is the sound of
swiftly flying machines, moving with the
rapidity of thought, while busy hands
guide them, keeping time to the monot-
OnOus, hum, hum, like the click of the
old family clock, or the careless buzz of
the summer insect.


Sitting before the woodworking
machines are young girls. Some fair
and pretty, some pale and worn, and all
wearing the weary look that will fasten
upon the face, even when nerved up to
the hard task by the noblest motives of
selfsacrifice. The room is badly venti-
lated. The furnace heat has lost all its
vitality, and young heads are beginning
to droop, and eyes to grow dim, as the
slow hours of the afternoon drag by.
Every head is bent forward to catch the
last ray of light that steals into the room,
for while, in the world outside of city
walls, the sun is yet falling soft and
warm upon the hills just tipped with
the first snews of winter, yet here the
daylight is driven out and displaced by
the glare of gas.


Now and then ringleted head is
raised from the bent posture and you
catch the sight of pretty face, only
overshadowed by the tired, weary cx-
preston. Yet they are by no means sad.
Merry laughter chimes in with the click,
click, and the song the young girl is sing
ing is an impression of the pleasant
thoughts that are nesting in her heart.


What sweet visions lie underneath
those sad, gay, or wearied faces! The
hands perform the work mechanically.
The machine moves on orderly, but the
maiden's thoughts move not to the mon-
Otnous song for dreams of distant
homes, of field lying white in their cov-
ering of soft snow, and thoughts of the
joys that cluster around the coming holi-
days, dance before the mental eyes.


Now the hands of the clock turn slow
ly-how slowly do they turn in the last
hour of day of hard toil-and the girls
look up often from their work. What
histories might be read from the seeming
ly prosaic lives of the occupants of that
sewing-roOm Eta Groveland is by no
means the only heroine amid the group,
if brave hearts, cheerful energy, and un-
cheerful tOilings for the love of others
be the stuff of which heroes and heroines
are made.


AS the hour struck Eta sprang up
from her work with a shout of 10Y, for
this was the end Of years hard lobor
and separation from friends. On the
morrow she would be whirled awav from
the city noises, to the dear quiet of the
old country home. Christmas and New
Year would be spent under the roof
where dwelt the loved ones she had so
long missed, and for whose sake she had
nobly sacrificed 20 much ease and per
sonal comfort. While her thoughts
were flying homeward, a familiar voice
spoke her name.


"Oh, Richard, isit your cried she,
springing to the side of the person who
had accosted her. Then the look of
glad surprise vanished, as the thought
that the old home neighbor might be the
bearer OF bad news. What else could
have brought him to her side? But
Richards kind, honest face, almost hand
some with good nature and ioy. soon dis.
PEELED Etta's fears. He had come. he
said, to take her home, or at least. to ask
permission to do 70. Curious reader.
stand aside and let the young couple pass
out before you, while we go back year,
and learn somewhat of the history Of the
bWo ptISOHS NuO DOW Cldlm our atten-
ton.


LITTLE ALLIE, THE MUSICAL GENIUS.


The New Year, the one that then was
tottering to its grave, was sad one fol
Mrs. Groveland and her family. Two
months previous the husband and father
had been called away by death, leaving a
widow and two daughters to mourn his
great loss. Mr.. Groveland was "well.
t0-do" farmer, in Western Massachusetts,
Tilling the Berkshire hills was not an
easy or sure road to fortune, but while
he lived no real want of his family was
left unsupplied.


Hard work for the farmer, hard work
for the farmers wife, work, work foe the
children, toll early and late, was the lot
Of the inhabitants of this section of the
country; but light hearts and happy
ones they carried withal. Each member
Of the family shared in the daily duties
the joys alike, with the sorrows, of the
household.


But in the home circle at farmer