Hope Republican, Volume 1, Number 35, Hope, Bartholomew County, 22 December 1892 — Page 2

JWf'E REPUBLICAN. By Jay C Smith INDI-tN^ These times of political surprise i Rives much pleasure to learn that °Rg, of Texas, saved his bacon. The Prince of Wales’ indebtedness to the extent of over $2000 to the London Lyceum for box tickets, and the inability of the German Empress to pay her costumer, should suggest to European shop keepers the advisability of doing a strictly cash business when dealing with royalty. An exchange says “the new $500 hill is a fine specimen of the engraver s art and is adorned by an excel" lent likeness of Senator Sherman.” We hope this is true. Nothing so irritates and unhorses us as to find in our pocket a $500 bill awkwardly engraved and disfigured by a chrorao of a truly illustrious man. It is said that the more recent forms of telephone apparatus produce wonderful results as compared witli those in use, but the reason why they are not placed in every day use arises from the fact that to replace the half million telephones now in use in this country would cost many millions of dollars. Of the newest form of receiver it is stated that if placed on the table in a small room, it will reproduce speech spoken over 200 miles away so loudly that it can be distinctly heal’d by persons sit 1 - ting about the room. There are hundreds of thousands of immigrants in this country who have never renounced their allegiance to the governments of the countries from which they came. One of the propositions before the Senate Committee on Immigration is for the enactment of a law requiring all alien immigrants to renounce their alletpcncc to every foreign power as \oon as they arrive hero if it be their Bruise to remain here. We had ,_ n, $le with the Italian Government >er the New Orleans affair because no Italians in whose behalf that C?jerninent claimed damages were . .Adjects of the King of Italy, and thus under his gurdianship, though residents of this country. The Senate committee will probably incor" porato the proposition presented to it upon this subject in the bill for the better regulation of immigration which it is now preparing for the consideration of Congress.—N. Y. s ““- .. ** Within the past two months several millions of acres of land have been added to the public domain and opened to white settlers through nes gotiations with various tribes of Indians in the West, says the New jY k Sun. The Pawnees have ceded ♦ r reservation of 300,000 acres lering upon the Territory of Oklahoma, and two-thirds of it will soon be offered for sale by the Government at S1.B0 per acre of arable land. A considerable tract on the San Juan River in Utah, which was reserved long ago for Indians who would not live upon it, has been restored to the public domain, and it will soon be invaded by miners. The Government has completed negotiations with the Comauches, Kiowas, and Apache tribes for the relinquish" ment of their reservations, which embrace 8,000,000 acres in the Indian Territory; but this great body of land, which is fertile and well watered, will not be opened to settlers until 1894. In southern Montana! nearly 2,000,000 acres of land which formerly belonged to the Crow reservation, were declared open on the 15th of October, and many settlers have taken up claims there within the past six weeks. In North Dakota, the Indian allotments on De'il's Lake reservation wore made last mouth, and the remainder of the re - servation was put at the disposal of the Government. There are yet many millions of acres of land reserved to Indian tribes in the West; but the Indians everywhere are adopting the personal allotment system, and the white people are pressing upon all chair reservations-

\ HRISTMAS at last [ was surely comine, [ The air was full of that ‘ queer humming That hints of unexI pecten things, [That Christmas gener- * ally brings. Bobbie and Bessie, luckless twins, The scapegoats for the village sins, Had long been trying to conspire To get rid of Aunt Keziah. Father and Mother let them rim, And laughed at any mischief done: While she would fume and fret and scold. No wonder that she looked so old. On Christmas Eve. athalf-past nine, The stockings all wore hung in line, A special nail for Aunt Keziah, Highest and farthest from the tiro. At twelve o’clock, in white sheets wrapped, To scare somebody, if entrapped. Two roguish ghosts, on the barn stairs. Watched the cows kneel to say their prayers, And then, before they sought their beds, They once more bent their curly heads, To write a letter, and, most shocking, Put it in Aunt Keziuh’s stocking. When Santa Claus ceme ’round there, peeping, He found the naughty children sleeping, And tilled their stockings to tne brim, For they were favorites with him. Then, in the morning what, a noise, What, show of candies, books and toys; But none enjoyed their presents better Than Aunt Keziah did the letter.

“WHEHK’BR THOU GOEST, I WILT. GO?'* It said: “Dear ono, if you will he My wlife, and all the world to me. I’ll give you now my hand and heart, I’m yours truly, Jotham Spart.” They all thought selfishness a sin. So a few friends had been asked in To eat plum pudding till they hurst, And of these, Jotham Spart came first. Across the roomKeziah sprung. Around his neck her long arms flung And kissed him, while she murmured low: ‘•Where'er thou goest. I will go.” After a moment s hesitation. In which he grasped the situation. Ho said: “There’s no use in delay; •Tf you are willing, now's the day.’ 1 Among the guests was Parson Wise. And he pronounced the man a prize , Who'd meet a maiden, woo and win ’er, And marry her In time for dinner. The matrimonial knot was tied; They ate plum pudding side by side, Looking as proud, and silly, too, As brides and bridegrooms always do. Bobby and Bessy, happy elves, With joy were quite beside themselves. To see this match of their creation Succeed beyond all expectation. Between themselves they thought it bettor To keep the secret of that letter; And never knew if peace or wrangling Followed their little plot’s untangling. ONE CHRISTMAS EYE. From Belgravia. This woman walketh in the smile of God, The soft light in which the room was as tenderly green as the still water in some deep sea cave. It hooded all around, lending a faint mystic tone to everything over which the silence of night was brooding. It softened the shadows until they lost all hardness of outline and added a silver shine to. the whiteness of the lily that stood out, tall and disbit it, against the dull crimson curtain. From the shadow of the bed dark eyes watched the fairness of the flower —watched it with eyes thdt now and again grew misty with tears. Almost as still and white as yonder howor was the watcher, but : the flower was unconscious of the heartache of the woman. Only that morning had rested in her arms for the first time a little baby, and now the arms were empty; small wonder that the lilly wavered through a mist of tears. “It is well w v ith the child,” she murmured gently, and her eyes then turned to the scarlet holly berries wreathed about the mirror, faint reflection, in this saddened chamber, of the glad season around. “Scarlet as drops of blobd”—the thought ran through hfer mind, their vivid coloring intensified by the lily’s fairness. Silence, calm and unbroken in the pale, unbroken light, until the tear dimmed fiyes watching sadly the tall white flower became aware that it was growing whiter, whiter; a gleam of moonlight was stealing in, giving it added brilliance, added luster; now it stirred all its white petals, as if touched by some gentle breeze; now ts faint fragrance was borne across ;ho room, and the tearful eyes noted that what appeared to be moonlight .vere the white draperies of the angel form that held the flower. “Angela,” he said softly. “Yes.” She was not surprised or frightened; she had expected the summons. “It is Christmas Eve/’- he said. “I

bear a message to every mother whose baby is laid in her arms today. Will you come with me?” She rose—her weakness gone, her tears all dried —and clasp the hand he held toward her. The night without was still, the crescent moon shone down through a frosty sky, the myriad of stars twinkled brightly, and yet through all the clear atmosphere there was still a faint greenish tinge like the calm water in an ocean cave—or was it the mystic light of the moon? O But there was little time to wonder as the strong hand clasping hers drew her along till it seemed as if her weakness vanished under the influence of his strength. The starry night was forsaken now; they were standing —the strong angel and the weak woman—by the side of a bed on which lay a mother, A young mother, with a smile glad and proud about her lips; in her arms nestled a tiny form close against her breast. But as the white clothed form paused by her side, and she became aware of his presence, she moved a little restlessly, and drew the child tightly. He loosened for a moment his firm clasp on Angola’s hand, and, stooping, touched the child lightly. “Ho not, do not,” cried the mother. “I will not,” and her voice gathered strength with passion. “I will not give him up!” “The choice lies with you,” replied the angel, and his voice was grave and sad. “On Christmas Eve the choice lies with the mother.” Of a sudden, through the darkened room, there was a flash of light and in it shone out clearly a picture. Angela, breathless, clasped the angel's hand again, whilst she strove to realize it. A lighted room, the firelight flickering on the walls, comfort, luxury, on all the rich interior. In the doorway a tall, stern, gray-haired man; his eyes turned now on the little forlorn group of children gathered about the fire, now towards where a woman, gray haired also, sorrowed apart. “I renounce him,” the man said, and there was more passion and grief in his voice, unraised as it wa», than if he had cried aloud. “Disgrace—shame! He has brought down our gray hairs, his mother’s and mine, with sorrow to the grave. He is my eldest son, and I can only say that I wish he bad never been born." The children sobbed, the mother's tears fell fast; the father, in his strong frozen grief, faded from sight and the young mother —sleeping now —still clasping her bady, alone remained. “He would be bettor in my care,” the angel sighed. “Life,” murmured the mother—she did not open her eyes—“life at any cost. I have not fear of any evil for my child. Care, a mother’s tender care, will be his from his cradle. What, is ther< no fear?” Again the hush of the quiet night, the starry skies, and then a pause by another bedside. A very different one this time. A patched quilt drawn over this mother and her tiny now born babe, but little the baby heeded either the roughness of its surroundings or the noise outside, as it slept in its mother's arms. The woman slept, too, a woman young and pretty, and with the tender pathos'bf recent motherhood about her. But even in her dreams her arras tightened about the child as ■the white clad figure paused beside her. “No dead,” she sighed. “Wait, wait!” The angel spoke, and there was a shade of pleading in his voice, and on the bare walls of the little room there appeared a sudden picture. A dreary night, the wind blowing the snow in pitiless gusts across a long dark bridge. No stars above, no reflections of light in the gloomy water below, into which the snowflakes fell and vanished. No passengers—who would bo abroad on such a night! Stay, just one. A woman, ■too,with a thin shawl wrapped about her—little protection there.'from the cold whirling storm. A women, young and pretty, as the dim light from a gas lamp for a moment threw into relief a white delicate face against the cold inclement skj r . One moment's stillness, then a voice. Ah, what a cry of pain! “I wish that I had died when I was born, that ! had never known all the sin and pain there is in this unhappy world! No mother to help or guide me. Lost, miserable, there is no place for me in all the world!” There was a cry audible above the wind and rain, or was it : the echo of that first heart broken one? Then silence, save for the howling storm, and the dim light showed no form outlined against the blackness. The snowflakes fell faster than ever into the dark, hurrying river, which was black and cold as the night beneath which it flowed. “What a terrible'dream!” The mother shivered a little, and drew her baby closer—closer to herself, further from the white robed angel. “Love-*a mother's love,” "she

sighed, “would guard from sin and trouble alike.” “Human love,' the angel whispered “can avail so little.” But the woman replied not, and the watchers passed away into the night beyond. And now once more they were in a room, a different one again from the last. A splendid room in a splendid house, the walls hung with pictures; the dimly burning night light showed faintly forth the many treasures with which the place was full. Every thing told of the wealth and luxury which reigned , throughout a great house. In the silence of the shaded light a woman's anxious pained eyes were turned to the white winged angel. “You bring a message of death, she said softly; and her eyes, so full of pain, so full of courage, did not falter. “Take him. See I give him to you—my little, longedfor son. Crippled, unhappy baby, take him into your safe keeping.” While his band yet touched the child, “Look first,” he said,I and within the shadow of the great bed there appeared a picture. A room, magnificent even as this one —might it not have been the same? —and on the bed a white, dimly outlined form, and a face beautiful in death, with the beauty of courage and nobility. And all the room was full of figures whose cries and mourning filled the still air. “We loved him,” they cried, “and alas, he is dead!” One stood by his side and watched the silent figure, and clasped her hands and sobbed; “He was a cripple, too, but until I saw his life I never knew how suffering should be borne!” “Motherless and alone, he went on his weary way, bearing his pain—to us all alike he lias shown the way. Oh God! what loss if we had never known him, never learnt to follow his brave example! Courage, virtue, patience, tenderness, love, when has he over failed? It is only oy following in his footsteps, striving to do as he has taught, that we can show how his memory lives yet in our hearts. We could not forget, even if wo would, but yet that is not all that his life requires of us. Having shown us the way, it rests with us to follow after.” The picture slowly faded, the mother's restless eyes opened and sought the white winged angel. “I renounce the eternal peace,” she sighed. “Give him strength for her allotted task.” In the serai-darkness of the silent room her slender fingers unclasped the strong hand that had already hushed the child to rest. “Lci'/e him to his work and earn his rest.” Some words the angel said, perhaps of sorely needed encouragement, but they died away in the stillness, only the last remaining audible in the silent night. “Behold, his reward is with him and his work before him,” and the mother's anxious eyes grew calmer. One swift flight now and they paused again. A room this time which seemed dimly familiar, or was it only the soft light which brought vague dreams of ocean caves and still waters deep down out of human sight?’ A stream of moonlight shone through a half closed window on to a bed whereon lay a slender, dark eyed woman. Such a world of sorrow in the dark eyes such tender grief when the angel paused ere speaking the familiar words that as his voice with its murmured “Choose,” echoed through the silent night, in swift terror Angela clasped his arms, all the past surging in upon her. “Oh, do not ask her,” she cried. “In her ignorance she may not choose aright.” But before her words were spoken this other sad-eyed mother had spoken also; not with the swift passion of the on-looker, but with soft, human heart break: “I can not choose because I can not see —I trust.” And then a sigh which seemed to frame itself into “it if well with the child.” Who spoke those words? The room was still dark, save for the green, shaded light—the stream of moonlight was gone. Against the dark curtains shone the fairness of the lily, its whiteness intensified by the scarlet berries of the holly, red as drops of blood. Last Entry in the Professor's Diary,

“To-day, I am pleased to state, I have settled to my entire satisfaction the desputo between Professor Brown and myself. It is as 1 have always said; The bear will attack man without provocation—Life. Over fifty miles of pneumatic tubes are used in London.

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