Kansas University Weekly.
299
The Christmas Solitude Varied with the Christmas Streets.
Sheathed is the river as it glideth by,
Frost-pearled are all the boughs in forest old.
The sheep are huddling close upon the wold.
And over them the stars tremble on high.
Pure joys these winter-nights around me lie;
'Tis fine to loiter through the lighted streets
At Christmas time, and guess from brow and pace
The doom and history of each one we meet,
What kind of heart beats in each,dusky case;
Whiles startled by the beauty of a face
In a shop-light a moment. Or, instead,
To dream of silent fields, where calm and deep
The sunshine lieth like a golden sleep,—
Recalling sweetest looks of summers dead.
Alexander Smith.
A Momentous Story.
The shaded lamp on the table cast a subdued red light over the warm cozy library. Leaning back in a great leather chair before the open fire, was a young girl, her hands lying idly in her lap, while she chatted with the man who sat in a low chair by her side. Very sweet and dainty she looked to him, though there was a slight nervousness in her manner that was unusual to her.
"You are very restless tonight Helen," he said. "It must be because you are anxious to know what Santa Claus will bring you tomorrow. I wish I knew what the day has in store for me. Do you know I can hardly realize that Christmas is here; that tomorrow is the day that I shall always remember as the saddest or the happiest of my life."
"Don't let's talk about Christmas" she replied quickly, "I am sure we have quite exhausted the subject. I have told you all my plans for tomorrow, and what I am going to give everyone, and—and everything."
"But the subject is not exhausted with that," he returned gravely, "for tomorrow is the day when you are to give me your final answer. I know I promised not to speak of this again till Christmas, but surely, dear, you know by this time. You have had time to think, and one night means so much to me. Can't you tell me tonight Helen? If you only—" "You promised,
Fred," she broke in pleadingly, "I'll keep my word and tell you tomorrow, only I can't tell you tonight, I can't, I can't."
"Never mind dear. Don't feel badly. It's all right, indeed it is." He rose and went to the window. The street was almost deserted But as he stood there the people began to come out of a church on the corner.
"Fred," she called, "come and sit down. I want to tell you a story." She had pushed her chair back so that her face was in the shadow. He resumed his seat, saying "I suppose it is true?" "Oh yes. Too true. It is a sad story, not at all Christmas, but it happened to a—a friend of mine, and I want your judgment on the question involved. You know we used to live in the west until we moved here when I was sixteen, and I knew this girl then, and have have corresponded with her ever since. It isn't a pleasant story, but I'll let you judge for yourself. Once upon a time—you see it begins in the most approved fashion—once upon a time there lived a girl with an ambition. She was very very young and I think every one is ambitious when they are young. Her people were educated but poor, and this girl had an overwhelming desire for education and culture. She lived in the west on a cattle ranch, where of course, such things are impossible. She was very unhappy in her life there, she hated the rude uncouth people with whom she was thrown.