Rensselaer Republican, Volume 25, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 December 1892 — ONE CHRISTMAS EVE. [ARTICLE]

ONE CHRISTMAS EVE.

Frotfißergravta. ——— 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 flooded 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 find distinct, against the dull crim-on curtain. I rom the shadow of the bed dark eyes watched the fairness of the flower—watched it with eyes that now and again grew misty with tears. Almost as still and white as yonder flower was the watcher, but* the flower was unconscious of the heartache of the woman. Ohly that morning had rested in her arms fpr the first time a little baby, and now the arms were empty; small wonder that the Tilly wavered through a mist cf tears. “It is well with tire 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 blood”—the thought ran through her mind, their vivid coloring intensified by the lily's fairness. Silence, calm and unbroken in the pale, unbroken light, until the tear dimmed eyes watching sadly the tall white flower became aware that it was growing whiter, whiter; a gleam Of moonlight whs stealing in, giving it added brilliance, added luster; now it stirred all its white petals, as if touched by some gentle breeze; now its faint fragrance was borne across the room, and the tearful eyes noted that what appeared to be moonlight were 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 df the moon? But there was little time to wonder as the strong hand el upinc 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 youngmother,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. - • HeUoosened for a moment his firm clasp on Angela’s hand, and, stooping, touched the child lightly. “Do not, do not,’’ cried the mother. “I will not," and her voice gathered strength with pagElun.~“fwiti~T not give him up!” ‘‘The choice lies with you,” replied the angel, and his voice was graverii nd s ad. “O n Chr i s tin as 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 hbout 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 was, 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 had 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 better in my care,” the angel sighed. “Life,” murmured the mother — she did not open her eyes—“life at any cost. I nave not fear of any evil for my child. Care, a mother’s tender care, will be his from his cradle. What, is there 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 new 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 of recent motherhood about her. But even in her dreams her arms 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 bis voice, and on the bare walls of the little room there appeared a sudden picture. A dreary night, the wind blowing the show in ~j>Ulless 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 be abroad on such a night! Stay, just one. A woman, too, with a thin shawl wrapped about her protection there from the cold whirling storm. A womon, 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 sky. One moment's stillness, then a voice. Ah, what a cry of pain! “I wish that I had died when I was born, that I bad 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 forme 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 rcbod angel. “Love —a mother’s love," the fi-lhed, “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 rood in a splendid house, the walls hunt with pictures; the dimly burning -right light showed faintly forth the many treasures with which the race 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. bring a message of death,” she said softly; and her eyes, so full of <P-in, so full of courage, I did not \fultcr. “Take him. Bee I give biota to you- my little, longed- | for sop. 1 Crippled, unhappy bibv. take hUn into your safe keep ng.” ’ While J»is band yet touched the child, “Look first," he said J and within the shadow of the great bed there appeared a picture. A room, mHgnlucent even as this one-might it not uuve 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 lovedhim. ’ 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 path—to us all alike he has shown the way. Oh God! what loss if we bad never known him, never learnt to follow his brave example! Courage, virtue, patience, teridcnicss.-foyerwhen has he ever failed? It is only py 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 i f we would, but yet that is not a., that his life requires of us. Havi~ ~ shown us the way, it rests with us to follow after.” The picture slowly faded, the mother’s restlc«3 eyes opened and sought the wfjte winged augel. “I renounce the eternal peace," she sighed. “Give him strength for her allotted task.” In the 3emi-darkness of the silent room her slender fingers unclasped the strong hand that had already hushed the child to rest. “Leave him to his work and ea'.-n 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 onto a bed whereon lay a slender, dark eyed woman. I. 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 fairness of the lily, its whiteness intensified by the scarlet berries of the holly, red as drops of blood.