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r j ' * i Widow'* Only Son.” It was original ly printed, weliclicve, in one of the New York papers twelve years ago. Wo think it will bear re-reading, containing, as it does, raay beauti ful sentiments: “Mother, I will be everything to you that lean be; I promise you that.’* The boy lifted his head. A look of high resolve made the young brow manlike in its expression. Not yet had ten summers deepened the gold on those fair locks. The earnest blue eye looked fondly in the face that beamed over him. There was a world of love in his soul—a love that was not only lip-deej), but was proved by acts of sell-detual. They were poor—that mother and son—oh, how poor they were. You could almost see how poverty had drifted over everything about them —drifted whitely over the pine chairs and tables—drifted over the humble quilt that had grown so faded—drift ed over their clothes and through them till patch after patch was plac ed ou the sad havoc that pittiless drifting want had made. But in holy heart-love they were richer than the Rothschilds ; yes,out of their bank in heaven—that bank directors here might sneer at—they drew every day, every hour,uncount ed treasure. “Mother, I will be everything to you that I can be; I promise you that.” The words are beautiful enough to be repeated. Henry Locke smiled, because as he spoke there came tears to his mother’s eyes. He had been promised that, morning a place in a little country store, five mile- from the cot, Qr rather a cabin,where they j A . H E 5 GAZETTE. *‘W’'. *•** .4£jLyy*Hi t^^Sn^flirTii v E’**r.- j* ~ *.; ■ cj&g DAY, JA-Xr.VUY <i, 1878. fnvtnj-'froikjife mother; for a •■ pi that fceMp hand; for the J tlmt cm no f . itffs he was bravely rd work. to .tha>G !"dion>. i J.Jte ii ho came, he had t•; ni <;d£ tt&jftfcrh w&sTsv. • i • ■ it, ■ t it to her. curtained 1 1 "Ir on 9 4 '•■ - Bsciftg the hilly -'is :;y. aif ;.■.■.hay. wagon:, ' ;, nd •twilight dec-, i IfetteAfut * it l •wfcnlE -ii c \v 1 i 1 m£fo, bc'&mxfr rs£%‘Urt^‘;<'m c that wiittf blev? fiercely, and qjSjy old ajiple clap boar !-. w&h a spite, $-. Tittfd yindows, sheeting jtlem, ami making dreary rapsfc. So thq quite coi|fident4hat Hen ■e ortt in that rest. She knew not bow long she had slept, when a voice awakened her. The sweet voice, so dear to her, was crying “Mother I mother l” At first shethonght.it but a dream,bnt listen ing intently she heard, blending with the wail of the wind, that cry, and a sound against the latch greeted her. Instantly rising, she groped for a light, unfastened the door and beheld Henry standing there, a piteous sight indeed, covered with mire, literally, from head to foot. Ilia face was wet, but the honest, happy smile was no ways abated. “My boy, how could you come on such a night?” exclaimed the widow. “Why, mother,storm couldn’t keep me from you,” was his hearty re sponse. “I’ve had the greatest time, though, you ever did see—lost my way, got into a creek, and it must be midnight; but I meant to come, for S. gave me a trifle over to night, and I knew how much you needed it.” “My darling,” sprang from the mother’s full heart, with a .tear or two that trickled down her pale cheeks. “I wonder I have not thought be fore,” she said, musingly. “After this, I'll put a light in the window. To be sure, it won’t show far; but when you get to the top of the hill it will be pleasant to see it, and know that I am watching for you.” ' For three years the lamp was plac ed in the little window every night. People often remarked it, and “as bright as mother Lock’s little win dow.” became a favorite saying. At the end of that time young Henry was offered a good chance on hoard of a willing J he re j sol ved try accept it it cost him none to part from PPfcNlfei almost, worship ‘qp|ieknow that the Phonic W*v©fl he must go forth battle tor him , > ’ ;* '' s •E. •* .. ' : > mg' to.inc- Henry,” said the v •••’■ rcmbling lips she fisjfe'him;j; rt |B if I must ' still. JPWfe light in thJptlo window, I hall think l hoar the sound of vour foq*epm the click of the latch, and v<SjaWßaiaant voice. Oli. Henry, IlenryffT I could but light you over the Worm v waters!” “Mother, God Wjt do that, 1 ’ said Henry .pointing glowing heav en. “God will..ifipjt' me through storm and thronghfcalm; bill, moth er, f shall think ' fe’pfy night that the lamp is in the window; that you sit, near it; thafe®j*nebody lessee you for th© guidih.ti ray, and above ally tliat you are paying for me.” M The long voyago,|was almost end ed, but anoth(jr4jtVoya|e was to end before that., widow Locke was taken ill. Ya§| with unfailing regularity, with feeble steps and* tremulous hand, ui.ihtlf the dear wo man trimmed the |ifjtle lamp and placed it in thewirpow,. Still,when the bended form c#M no longer tot ter about the coltam when she lay helpless upon her yjsTaad the neigh bors came to care.-mjr b.er, she*would .say, “Put the littlg pHftg in tjie win dow ; my Senry w |l be thinking of it.” ■ ■ j • aiier imii" her eyes grew dim, she would watch the radiance of the flickering light, only saying sometimes, “Shall I live to hear his footsteps? Will that fee ble flame still bum when my life’s light has gone out? “Pray with me,” she muttered, “that I may see him before I die. Oh lor this most precious boon 1” In vain all prayer. Slowly more slowly, the wheels went round, and the pulses, like ebbing drops, fell fainter and fewer, until one calm night in summer, the waters were scarcely stirred. She lay quietly, a smile upon her lips, her eyes closed, her hands fold ed. * “I have longed to see him,” she said ; “I have prayed earnestly; but I have given it all up now. I shall not meet him in this world. “Have you put the light in the win dow?” she asked suddenly, earnestly, a few moments after. “It is growing dark.” Alas! it was not the light that was growing dark. Her hands grew cold. Over her countenance came that mysterious shadow that falls but once on any mortal face. “Oh, my boy, my boy !” she whis pered ; “tell him,” —they bent lower lo catch the falling words—“tell him I will put a light in the window of heaven to guide his footsteps there.” The thrilling sentence was hardly spoken, when the shadow dropped from the suffering face, and it smiled in the calm majesty of death. A funeral.followed; .humble hearts attended the body of one who was loved for her sincere goodness, all through tin 5 hamlet ; and on the hill side, in a little graveyard, she was S TT '■+**. : '-p. ' •• ■.., buried. Not, many days after a great ship came into the port of a busy city. Among all those Who stepped from her decks none were mure hopeful, more joyous, than.; young Henry Locke, lie had passed through Use ordea} of a sea life so, far unscathed. No blight of. had falleif ppon him. He had kept himself §g spotless as if at, eygry .nightfall his feet had been turned, towards tire, door qltmsiqpWwr’s-eottage. How his heart-bounded'as he thought of her; Strangely enough, he never dreamed‘she might be dead. It did not. occur to him that pci haps her silver locks were lying under the lid pi. the coffin. Oh, no I he only thought of the pleasant light, in the window that her hands had trhn*sed for him. • , Begutiful and bland was the dny ,oft which he traveled again the 'long unaccustomed road/ How peasant now tq go home with sufficient to provide for the comfortrof that dear mother. She would never want ggain. He would take her to a bet ■ter home, and give her the luxuries he had onpo longed to see in her possession. That old arm-chair— she ish mid have anew one, jeasy in motion, elegant, in material, ’the faded s,hawl, that had been folded and re-folded year after year; the old fashioned bonnet, with its one band of crape; these^ yes, everything, should be replaced with newer and better. The flowers on the road aU the very kine seemed to him turn ing their meek eyes at the sound of strange footsteps, to know that his heart was glad with love and antici pation. Hope on, dreamer! Yon der comes one who trudges on lag gingly—a farmer in heavy boots and frock, his whip in His hand. He cheers the lazy oxen, but suddenly stops, amazed, “ I see you know me,” said the young sailor, smiling. “ Well, farm er Brown, how is ” “Know ye! why, how tall you are! So”—his eye drops, his mouth trembles—“ so ye’ve got homo.” “ Yes, and glad enough to get back again—how’s my mother? ” “Your—mother”—he says it in that slow, hesitating way that tele graphs ill tidings before they are told in words. “Yes—is she well ? Is she expect ing me? Of course she is; we’re late by a month.” “ Your mother; Henry, well—the old lady—” lie plays with his whip, or rather, strikes it hard on the dusty road. How can he crush that happy' heart I “There, you need not speak!” cried the young man in a voice of sudden anguish, and he recoiled, al most staggering, from the farmer’s side and buried his face in his hands. “ Henry, my poor lad, your mother is ” “ Don’t! Don’t! ” cried the other, showing now a face from which all color had fled. “Oh, my mother! my mother!—she is gone, gone—and I am coming home so happy.” For some moments lie sobbed as in agony'. How dreary the world had grown! The flowers had lost their fragrance, the sun its warmth: Ids .heart seemed dead. “ Henry, she left a message for you,'’ said the old faiftaar, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his frOck. “ A message for ms?it seemed > s iftlie white lips could hardly speak-; “ Yes ; site says—so my dame told me, and so the minister said—•Tejl Henry I will put a light in the win dow of heaven' to grille his footsteps there.' 1 ? * “ Did shey oh, did she say that! God bless you for telling me! All thy long 'voyage Thave thought of the light in her little window. I to see it streaming along, akmgdown to the foot of the hill, till it grew brighter and brighter as I drew nearer. A light in the window of heaven. Yes, mother, I will think still that yon are waiting -tor ihe. I conld not see you in these Jong yorspbut I knew the light was burning. 1 cannot see you now, but 1 know the light is burning, I will come, mother.” Not .there he thought her. All robed in heavenly garments he saw the beautiful soul he had called mother, and streaming from the brightness of her glorious home a slender beahi seemed to come trem bling to his very feet. Then he knew .that the l ght had been placed in tho window of heaven. *' Once more lie knelt in the little room where he had last left her.— Nothing-was removed, but, oh, how much was wanting! There on the window sill, stood the little lamp— brought Uj#> toys, nftpsh. But lie noli kfglM#? l bio, and kneeling by the bedside, as if she could hear him,.he sought her Savior, and consecrated himself to a life ami work of righteousness. From that cottage he went out into the world, carrying his grief and sacred memorial, but seeing always wher ever his work led him, his waiting mother, and the little lamp in the window of heaven. —■—■ ■■ -i DISTRIBUTION POSTPONED UNTIL THE BTH JANUARY NEXT, THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS. —• ♦- WE deeply regret that the DISTRIBUTION of the CONFEDERATE MONUMENTAL ASSOCIATION OF GEORGIA must he postpon ed for a short time, especially as we have so posi tively announced that it would take place On th* 4th of Deceml>er ensuing. The State Agents in the different States h*vo not received the reports of many of their sub- Agents, and oonsupiently ak for this postpone ment. They also state that they have not had time to collect the sums duo by mav subscribers who arc perfectly reliable. Again, they inform uS that the spirit to support this grateful enterprise is evincing itself with a more generous activity than heretofore. Our perhaps too sanguine expectations have not been realized in the number of Tickets sold. But from the reports received from Agents and from letters from all sections of this and other States, and the rapid accumulations of funds, we believe a handsome anjouut will be realized for distribution. This amount we are satisfied will be increased during the Christmas holidays. Under, these compulsory circumstances, wc feci confident that we will be pardoned for this una voidable delay, beneficial both to the ticket holder and to. the monument. The State Agents will be notified that the Books wiil In finally closed on the Ith day of JANUARY' . r\t. el and the DISTRIBUTION will take place on the KiCil'lH. Tie-re shall be no further delay. & A. H. McL AWS, General Agents. NO. 40.