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V OLUME I ]
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Selected Poetry.
The Story of Lilith.
BY LOUISE SOHPLEEP.N.
Come to my arms, my Alice,
Lay your bead on my shoulder—so,
■While i tell you a sorrowful story
Of the children long ago.
Once in the dark old ages
Ere the Saviour's name was known,
A cloud hung over tne people,
And fear was in every tone :
pver the house of the ruler,
And the peasant’s hut as well, [try]
Through the length and breadth of tl|o eoun-
A sickening terror fell.
And many a sad-eyed mother
With shuddering fear oppressed,
Clasped with a passionate fervor
Her baby unto her breast
Twas said that the beautiful Lilith,
Adam’s wicked demon wife,
Over the earth was wandering
In search of each infloeent life.
And oft she was seen at nightfall,
With a scowl on her face so fair,
While over her arms and shoulders
Boiled her tawny golden hair.
When was heard, so runs the legend,
lu the twilight chill and late,
Far off with a sullen cadence
The clang of an iron gate,
Men knew that the wicked Liiith
in the dusk of evening gray,
II .and darkened the eyes of a mother
And taken a child away.
Away to her drear dominion, —
And the gate with sullen roar,
Barred out each hope of rescue
From the darling, seen no more.
For those hands, so wlpte ai.ri shapely.
Ne’er relaxed their cruel hold
Till the innocent life was strangled
In meshes of tawny gold.
What, you are trembling, my Alice,
Hush, darling, mother is here ;
the dear Christ loves little eluidren.
And so you have nothing to fear.
And if you should waken sorqe morning,
Listen, dear, tq what I say,
It you should waken some morning
And find the baby away,
lou would know that at night while sleeping;
His forehead the angers kissed,
And he was nqt enfolded by Lilith,
But by Mary, Mother of Christ.
And perchance on hinges of music
Turn the beautiful Gates of Pearl,
As their white wings at the threshold
The guardian angels furl.
So to-night, my own little Alice,
When “Now I lay me,” you say,
Remember the old time children
Who never were taught to pray,
And thank tho Merciful Father
That Mary, the Mother mild,
Has banished the wicked Lilith,
And watches o’er every child.
GOLD BEADS.
Jane Ford had a string of peal gold
beads, and they so completely dazzled
Lizzie Caxton that slje lay awake
half the night wondering now she
could possibly come honestly by such
an adornment. Now Lizzie was a
sewing-girl at a qLollar a day, and
gold beads do not grow on every tree.
She paid half her week's wages for
board, and the other three dollars
bought her clothes, paid for washing
and the fuel she burned evenings : for
she always left Madanje 2sias’§ at sev
en o’clock. In truth, there diijp't secro
much surplus with which to purchase
gold beads, for somehow or other niQ
pey always dribbled away in Lizzie’s
bands like water through a sieve ; for
one must have under-clothes and stout
•>hoes, and a best gown for Sunday,
though it should be only a black ai
and a hat in the fashion, and a
shawl for every day to save the best
cloak, and watey proof and umbrella
and rubbers ; and there were car fares
in bad weather, and medicines, and
something 1 for her seat in church, and
the mission box and oh deaf 1 six dol
lars seemed like such a fortune when
she held it in her hand on Saturday
night, but, like fairy gold, it went
such a very little way 1 Any one
who has had to pay in hard earned
cash for every needleful of thread and
every button, will readily understand
why Lizzie was in despair before the
question of gold beads. And some
how, gold beads she must have; it
seemed absolutely imperative She
had seen others resplendent in ear and
finger-rings without a sigh ; it was re
served for Jane Ford’s gold beads to
give Lizzie a pang of desire. How
becoming they were ! How they
would set off her rich color, and lend a
sparkle to her hazel eyes, and make
the white column of her throat more
apparent, and—and —perhaps if she
looked her best, if any thing should
give her an air of prosperity and fash
ion, Lon Lovell might prefer her to
Jane after all, as he had once seemed
to do. Ah, what a heartache his defec:
tion had given her! And she fondly
fancied that a string of gold beads
would set all right again, would
serve as a talisman, would give to
her glance the fascination of Jane’s.
least, if Lon were to be lost, it
should be through qo fqult of hers; she
wished to do her best tq eplipse Jane.
And her mirror told her that she only
needed Jane’s luck in wages, that fine
feathers make fine birds—never once
guessing, in her narrow experience,
that Lon wasn’t worth the trouble she
was taking for him; that a heart so
fickle could never yield the repose
and reliance that she craved. The
very first morning she had seen Lon
walking to church with Jane Ford
gave her such a shock that for half an
hour she had stood like one in a trance,
with a curl wound about her finger ;
and she could never recall the thought
that possessed her during that time :
she only knew that it was like a bleak
frost falling in the spring, when buds
begin to start, and blighting all the
premise of the year, making a famine
in the land. Ever since thqt tirpe she
naa lived under a cloud, as it were
trembling at every unwonted sound,
at every knock or footstep, daily ex
pecting some explanation, some over
tures toward reconciliation on Lon’s
part, utterly unable to accept the fact
of his abandonment, till it became like
an ache which from being long borne,
seems to be a part of one’s existence,
and in no wise aliep.
But and sunsets had multi
plied and Lon had failed to appear
with any peace offering of tender apol
ogies ; he had simply behaved as if
it were the most ordinary and trifling
thing in the world to bo on with the
new loye fiefore J;.e was off with the
old ; as if hearts, like foot-balls, were
elastic, and did not mind hard knocks.
When Lizzie put her needle aside and
folded Madame Bias’s work away, it
was with an infinite sense of loneliness
thinking that another day had vanish
ed, to mark it as sweeter than the rest.
Lon had always been used to meet
her on the way home, usually under
the old stone archway at the foot of
the street, and now she never passed
beneath it without a trembling cer
tainly that he would join her there,
without starting at every shadowy
outline, and yet pursuing her way on
the other side mere lonely, more deso
late than before, from the fading
away of a precious hone.
Once, indeed, when the twilight
deepened and a few faint stars leaned
out of heayen, she yealy fiid meet him
under the old stone archvyay. There
he was waiting for her ! How her
[heart bounded and rejoiced! Oh!
why had she evjsr upbraided him ?
Why had she not beep patient ? She
might have known that God would
not leave her Cumfortless, that He
was more kind than she could com
prehend, that He had only deprived
her of Lon for a little while that she
might more perfectly appreciate the
sacred sweetness of love, its ineffable
satisfaction its depth and breadth !
Words of welcome were shaping them
selves on her lips: all her pulses
p.YSTMAN, I COUNTY, QA., AVEDMCSDA V, APRIL Q, 1873.
throbbed to the tune, in fact, she had
for the moment quite forgotten that he
had ever beep to blame, that he had
neglected her at all! All at once the
half uttered words gasped and died in
her throat—he passed her without a
look, and it was Jane Ford whose arm
he drew within his own, and to whom
lie murmured some half te.pder. noth
ing. The revulsion cf feeling was so
intense that for the instant Lizzie fan
cied she was dying ; she reeled and
leaned against the masonry for sup
port, till one of Madame’s girls over
took her.
“How you frightened me !” said this
Samaritan. “Are you sick?”
‘I had a faint turn, that was all;
give mo your arm, if you please.’
{Madame’s work-room is so sti
fling, and she is so cross/ said the
other, ‘that I thought my own head
would split. 1 had to take Mrs. Serge’s
flounces off twice. Madame says you’re
falling off in your work, Liz; you’d bet
ter look out, or it will be a pretty how
d’ye do. Did you see Jape Ford’s
gold beads? I wish I had a string;
don’t you? They’re so dressy, and
make folks think you had a grand
mother. I heard that she and Lon
Lovell were at the Museum last night.
She looks mighty fine when she has
on her bettermost clothes, but the
girls do say that she paints ! Here
we are! Shan’t I come in and fix you
some paiqphor? it’s awful good for
dizzy spells and all-overish sort of
aches.
‘No thank you ; I shall get on very
well now, Good-by.’ There was no drug
tiiat could medicine poor Lizzie’s
pain; only time was capable of soften,
mg it; and who in the first frenzy of
sorrow, regards such alleviations with
anything like pleasure ? Time works
miracles; but how? Through our
own infirmity, by virtue of our forget
fulness , not by remedying the
cause. One survives the blow sure
ly, but who can estim ite its ejects on
the constitution and temperament ?
So Lizzie was left to work cut her
problem alone, and at first no solution
seemed possible ; her love was so
much a part of herself, so interwoven
with every heart-beat, that at first it
appeared utterly beyond her power to
dissolve partnership. How was she
to do without that which had been her
daily inspiration, which had sustained
her through up-hill work ? How
many times she resolved to be strong,
to give him up once and forever—
when he was no longer hers to resign
—to be brave, and make no more ado!
She knew that every tear she shed, e v
ery sleepless night sfie spent, made
the distance greater between them,
inasmuch as they clouded and defaced
her beauty; but all the same, tears
fell; the heavy nights wore on to wea
ry mornings ; she resigned bin) to-day
only to long for him inexpressibly to
morrow. But what could she do at
single combat with fate?
Now Lizzie was not so silly as re
ally to believe in £lm power of gold
beads to work miracles ; but did they
net constitute part of the witchery
which had infatuated Lqn ? At least
they were pretty; and why should she
not depk herself in finery, and perhaps
attract her love to fiis tnje orbit?
Why got match charm with charm?
Therefore Lizzie went to work with a
will, and as everybody knows, where
there’s a lyill there’s a way. Madame
Bias had no longer reason to complain
of her—only once, when Lizzie made
a mistake in cutting, madame remark
ed, briefly, “This must come out of
your wages, Miss Caxton,’ which made
things so much harder. But difficul
ties only appeared to sharpen her fac
ulties and quicken her energy. She
had thought so much qf the beads
that they already assumed a factitious
value ; she had a sort of superstition
that it would bring i’ll luck to give
them up moreover, it would seem to
argue an infirmity of will; and in the
meantime the pursuit diverted her
mind, gave her something to think
of besides her trouble. She worked
like a Trojan ; she took in extra sew
ing after her clay at Madame Bias’s
was over, and sat up late and rose
eaily. She had really do idea how
much the gold beads would cost, but
she calculated that after saving fifty
dollars she might give herself the
pleasure of dropping into tfie jeweller’s
an pricing them. And why should
she not spend her hard earnings in
beads, if she pleased, rather than in
dry-goods and millinery? When our
comforts drop away or desert us,
don’t we seek out others ? And if
Lizzie expected to find her happiness
in gold beads, was she less wise than
we.
You may depend upon it that it was
a long time before her hoard reached
the required amount, that she pinched
in her fuel, and boarded herself on
oat-Mical jporridge w ith a pint of blue
milk for dessert on Sundays ; for the
idea of saving had become a kind of
mania with her. She met with se
rious discouragements, to be sure, in
the shape of pickpockets and fire, but
at length the day arrived when her
week’s wages made up the sum All
Saturday, while she fluted and piped
and gimped the silks and velvets and
cashmeres, she was thinking about
asking for vacation on Monday, and
spending the morning in selecting her
beads, and she was somevyhat surpris
ed, withal, that the prospect gave her
nq greater satisfaction, that her pulse
did not quicken in view of the pleas
ure. And after the beads—what ?
Was she one jot nearer Lon’s heart
than in the beginning! Had she not
met lijm day after day, week in and
week out, and passed with a nod that
had never once ripened into ‘A pleas
ant morning’ qr T hope I find you
well/ or a hand-shake? Would gold
beads make amends for golden hopes
postponed—nay, strangled?
‘But would they not be better than
nothing V asked Roxy, who was trim
ming a sijk with thread lace at her
elbow.
Lizzie started and rubbed her eyes :
had she spoken her thoughts : ‘What,
the gold beads V she asked, not quite
awake yet.
‘Grout beads, indeed ! You hear with
your elbows, Liz?, No, diamonds in
the rough : we were speaking of coals ’
‘Oh, they ar*3 twelve dollars a ton ;
they come higher still by the basket
ful. Isn’t, it odd, if you can afford to
buy a lot of anything, you get it cheap,
but if you’re so poor you must buy ia
driblets, you pay more for the privi
‘Vo '
'T es, we were just wondering if we
couldn’t raise some money to buy coals
lor poor Miss YY ade. You know she
was a real born lady, as good as any
body once ; she taught painting, and
went among folks that were folks.—
Hut her eyes gave out one day, and
she had to begin to spend her sayings,
and now she hasn’t got a dollar to
bless herself with. She’s out of every
thing, and as proud as Lucifer, and
won’t 'near of the Home.’
Lizzie let Mrs. Shoddy’s blue velvet
train slip from her hands upon the
floor. - ‘So poor as that 1’ said she, be
neath her breath. ‘Where does she
live, Rosy ?’
‘She stays at No. 8 Starvation Lane,
up tinee flights. Such a looking hole!
Goodness sakes, Liz Caxton, what are
you doing ?’
‘Tell madame that I was obliged to
leave while it was daylight, if you
please.'
‘ißut don't you know that Mrs. Shod
dy wants her dress to-night!’
‘Mrs. Shoddy must wait •/ and Lizzie
closed the door after her, and picked
her way through Starvation
mounted the stairs that rocked under
her, and found old Miss Wade lying
in bed to keep warm.
Tve come to take you home with
me,’ can you walk ?’
'll you re one of the ladies from the
‘Home/ I can’t.,
‘No, I am one of the girls who sew
for Madame Bias. ‘l’ve got a nice
room of my own, where I am often
very, very lonesome ; and I heard of
you, and thought perhaps you would
like to come and keep me company/
Biess you, so I would. I never
thought of it before/ and without more
ado they went off to Meaner Court
together.
Lizzie felt as ii she were really at
housekeeping when she spread "her
light-stand for a tea-table, toasted her
bread, and made coflee, adding a plate
of jumbles in honor of her gucot, hose
appetite frequent fasts had sharpened.
She had never known the luxury of
playing hostess before. Wasn’t it
equal-to wearing gold beads ? .
‘And what shall I do for my board?’
asked Miss Wade, the spirit of inde
pendence still flickering.
‘You shall keepHhe fire b,lazing, if
you please, and water my mignonette,
and put the tea to steep. Qh, \ye will
be happy as larks 1’
‘lf I only had my eyes/ she made
moan, ‘what pictures I -would paint !
I would paiqt you. They say \ coqld
have the cataracts removed fox* fifty
dollars ; but. law sakos i they might
as well ask fiye thousand.’
‘Can it be dope V said Lizzie. ‘I
never knew’— ’
But the next week she asked Dr.
Hyacinth on her way home from work,
and the upshot of it was, a day was
set for lhe operation.
‘Now, ir.y dear/ said Miss Wade,
T’ye got q trifle for you—a souvenir,
as tl;e French say ; and when my eyes
are all well, if J doifit see it about your
neck I’ll just leave yoq apd go to the
Home out of spite, or out clear-starch
ing. I used to wear it when I was
young like you ; it belongs to youth.
It was my great-great-grandmother’s.
I hid it away in the straw bed w’hen I
was down in Starvation Lane, for fear
folks would make me sell it, and some
how that didi/t seem genteel to do.—
You see I’ve got some scraps of senti
ment left, for all my beggary; it would
have been equal to selling one’s birth
right, But I’ll giye it to you—that’s
a different thing; yqu’v? been a friend
indeed. I should never have- seen the
light of day but for you ; and if you
refuse to take it, I shall sell it to pay
my board.’ And she p f ul}ed f+iqip her
pocket a necklace of gold beads, like
little suns, each one a solid globe,
wrought to the last degree of perfec
tion, as you may have seen Chinese
balls ot ivory, till they appeared to be
nothing but gold bubbles of exquisite
designs, through which the sunlight
passed in anfi out.
■Qh !oh!oh !’ cried Lizzie. ‘lt is a
sin to take them !’
A fiddlesticks ! Let me put them
round your neck this instant. There,
you shall be married in them ! llow
becoming* they must be ! I know that
you haye a beautiful soul, and that al
ways casts a reflection qii tfie face.—
Now hush. If you make a fuss, I
shall take them to the jeweler’s, and
break my heart ! I should leave them
to you in my will, any way—you
couldn’t help that—but I’d rather see
them on your neck, child. They make
me young again. Every bead has its
history. When I was all alone in the
cold and dark, I used to lie awake
nights and count them like a good
Catholic ; and this bead would brinsr
back the day when I was twenty-one,
and wore violets ip my hair, and
danced half the night with—well, no
matter ; and this other reminded me
of the songs I sang in summer twi
lights, rocking on the tide and dipping
my fipgers ip the waters of the bay ;
and this other—it brings me face to
face with one who called the necklace
his blessed rosary. Heigho ! I should
beggar your patience if I told you all!’
And so Lizzie wore gold beads ; but
did they afford her the thrill of joy she
had predicted for herself ? doesn’t our
imagination lend more than half the
charm to those things which we would
fain possess ?
However, the cataracts were re
moved from Miss Wade’s eyes, and
Lizzie took care of her through all the
gloomy days of uncertainty and band
ages, taking her vacation from Madame
Bias’s, apd discovering that she had
as great a vocation for nurse as for
seamstress ; while Dr. Hyacinth came
and yvent, somewhat oftener than was
needful, thought his patient. T hope
it isn’t in order to swell the bill,’ she
grumbled- But when JAzzie one day
found courage to ask for the bill, the
doctor frowned splendid \y in answer
ing, ‘I am already paid. YO4 will
oblige me hy not referring to it again.
It has been a great, a positive pleas
ure; you surely do not wish to rob me
of it ? I do not have so many.’
‘You ? I thought you had everything
you wanted.’
‘Oh, did you ? Why, I want some-
[XUMBER 1%
thing now, this minute, that I never
expect to have. What do you think
of that V
‘I think that you are not the first
one.’
‘Perhaps you can sympathize with
me, then?’
‘Yes—no, no; I don’t recall any
thing I want very much just now,'
positively.
Lizzie was thinking how at dusk
yesterday, when she had gone out to
the grocer’s just beneath the old stone
archway the string of her gold beads,
rotten with age. gave way, and sent
the dazzling globes tumbling into the
mire ; how as she stooped to gather
them another face leaned out ot the
shadow, another hand met hers.
‘Let me help you find them/ said
Lon Lovell's voice, ‘flow many were
there V
‘Thank you;’ there were twelve/
Lizzie had answered, without more
emotion than it she had been speaking
to Madame Bias. ‘There, three, nine,
twelve ; yes, they are all here. How
kind of you !’
‘Lizzie, Lizzie !’ he had called, fol
lowing as she moved away, ‘don’t be
in 6uch a burry ; stop and speak to a
fellow a moment. I know I don’t de
serve it, but— ’
‘Why not ? I’m glad to see you, Lon.
W hat else do you want me to say V
‘I don’t want to dictate. If yoq
don’t say anything of yourself, it
wouldn’t be any good for me to put
words into yogr niouth. Only if you
could forgive me, Lizzie— ’
‘Oh, yes, Lon, I forgive you heartily
‘And that’s all, I suppose ?
‘All ? \\ by, no, Lon : I wish you
well.
‘Well away, perhaps? It \youldn’|;
give you any pleasure now, would it,
to have me tell you that I can’t get
over loving you, Lizzie ? W r ould it V
He had| # drawn nearer, and put his
hand on her arm while he spoke ; and
she had been silent for a moment, ask
ing herself the same question.
‘Oh, Lon, don’t ask me/ she had
cried then ; ‘don't say it. Hush !
hush ! Say good-night, please ;’ for in
that moment she had found him no
nearer to her heart than tiie little boot
black that brushed her by ; his touch
aroused no responsive thrill, his late
assurance found no echo. She had
suffered without him till he was no
longer necessary as a part of her life.
r lhus having dismissed Lon Lovell,
Lizzie returned to Dr. Hyacinth, whom
she had left unceremoniously standing,
hat in hand, leaning against the wood
en mantel, as it he were waiting fur
something—waiting for his adieux,
perhaps.
‘Perhaps/ she said, taking up the
thread where she had dropped it—
‘perhaps you will get what you want
one of these days ; or it may be you
will survive the desire/
Won are consoling ! But I mean to
ask for wfiat I want first, Miss Lizzie!’
Acs ! That’s a good way. What
isn’t worth asking for isn’t worth hav :
ing, they say/
‘To be sure:
‘He either fears his fate too much,
Or his desert is small,
ho dares not put it to the touch,
To lose or gain it all. ’
Miss Lizzie, I want you ! Will you be
my wife ?’
‘Dr. Hyacinth, I never thought of it.’
‘But it isn’t too late, I hope V
‘But lam afraid of you—a little.’
‘Pm glad of it, for then you won’t
dare to say me ‘Nay.’”
And so Lizzie lost her heart, but not
the gold beads, since fate I*6 not so
hard as we fear ; and if it docs not al
ways accord us our wish, it makes
amends in unexpected ways, denying
us only those things whose value we
over-estimate and survive.— Harpers
Bazar.
How to Kill a Town.—Wc find the
following recipe in an exchange :
‘To kill a town, underratp /every
present and prospective enterprise,
speak ill of the churches apd schools,
tell everybody the hotels are bad, with
hold the patronage from your mer
chants and tradesmen, and buy your
goods and groceries at some other
place; and by all means go to the city
for your millinery and such like; and
if you are in business, refuse to adver
tise.*