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Show Vwas it a Bmml 4" . . ; A Story of Three Christmases. t f X ' X r- X BY T. N. I Christmas Day! What a blissful word! How brimful of wild, thoughtless, thought-less, childlike pU asures! How indicative indica-tive of universal freedom and unbounded un-bounded relaxation! How pleasant to the hard-toiling of every genre the clerk at hia desk, the laborer in the field to think of this blessed, happy time a time when children are doubly cheerful, and when old folks light up their countenances with a melancholy yet pleasing smile. Sad, too, to think of their own youthful days, when they were as wild and as thoughtless as their frisking grandchildren, who climb on the knees of their grave sires, ami after trying in vain to summon a look of gravity to their innocent countenances, counte-nances, ask for the Christmas story. Oh, yes: Christmas is indeed a happy time. Even the gloomy world without strives to assume a gay appearance, and though the crisp gro-ind wears its somber mantle, yet the countless? devices de-vices of the graceful evergreens lend, not in vain, their enchanting influences to soften the wintry gloom. And perhaps per-haps 'tis not too much to say that the hoary old King brings happiness to all. True, it is no fault of his if there are any who have no share in the general gen-eral happiness, for he scatters his gifts impartially around. Yet we occasionally occasion-ally see an upturned melancholy face, that appears doubly unhappy when contrasted with the surrounding joyful countenances. Occasionally, too, we may catch a glimpse of a dark figure striding hurriedly along; as if to escape es-cape from that happy world which has nought of joy for him." But even with those passing clouds old Christmas is a right merry fellow, and heartily do we welcome him. It was Christmas Eve of the year 1S5 . The winter had set in miserably cvere, and the earth was enveloped in gloomy veil of snow. The piercing :nd whistled through the leafless .-ees, and died away with a sigh in ae far distance. Altogether there was .n air of gloomy melancholy in every j jxternal object, which nothing but the .nfluence of the happy season could soften. In a comfortably furnished drawing , room of a house situated in one of the fashionable streets of the metropolis were seated two persons who seemed totally oblivious of the chilly scene without, and intent only on the more agreaable prospect within. One was a j young woman, apparently over 20 years of age.' Her countenance, without be- j ing decidedly beautiful, produced that , pleasing effect which usually accompanies accom-panies amiability. Her face was somewhat some-what elongated and bore that slight look cf sternness which bespeaks the mother. Her companion, was a singularly majestic ma-jestic looking young man, who appeared ap-peared not to have reached a more advanced ad-vanced age than his female companion. Hisj features were" handsome, and a look of determination which they wore was softened by their candid and straightforward expression. He was leaning on a sofa, and gazing with a fond tenderness on the face of the female, fe-male, who, as our readers may guess, was his wife. They had been married some years., and the romance of their youthful love had settled into a more durable and perhaps not less warm affection. af-fection. Their union nal been blessed by the birth of typ children, and their lot was, hitherto, perhaps as happy as this uncertain world affords. "You seem unusually pensive. Edward, Ed-ward, this evening," was the remark of the lady, who approached the sofa anil caressingly ran her fingers through tha ringlets of her husband's hair. "A little pensive, perhaps, dearest,'" replied the husband. "Anything that I can alleviate, Eddy?" Ed-dy?" "Well, yes. Milly. I think it caronot withstand your influence. I was just ' thinking' that perhaps next Christmas l may bring some changes even to our household." "You allude to the unsettled state j of the country. Eddy?" "I do; the feelings of the people can scarcely bo repressed much longer. However, Christmas eve is not a time for such reflections. Come, we'll have a kiss from the. little dears." They arose and proceeded towards a bedroom in which two of as beautiful little infants as the eye of a mothor could love to contemplate were buried in the sweet sleep of innocence. Both husband and wife remained still, gazing with a rapturous fondness on the lovely love-ly children. After a little time their eyes met. and those happy parents embraced each ether in silence. "We ought to be happy, Edward," murmured Camilla, when she had dried the tears that sheer happiness had caused to flow. "We ought, dearest, and we are," re-plied re-plied Edward, as he raised the elder of the infants from the bed and fondled the little cherub with the tenderness j of a woman. - At the same moment the Chris rr.as joy bells sent forth a merry peii, which swelled upward in voluptuous harmony, and bathed the city in a flood of rapturous rap-turous music. 'Tis Christmas day! Without, the same pallid shroud enveloping en-veloping the earth; within, the intoxication intoxica-tion of innocent happiness. "I had a siran.gt dream last night, Eddy," remarked Camilla at breakfast. break-fast. . "Grave or gay?" inquired her husband. hus-band. "Well. I must say it was not a very pleasant one. The fact is but, there, you're laughing in your eye at me well, I dreamt that "he rebellion had broken out, and thatvou were imprisoned. impris-oned. Edward." "Well, dearest, of course you don' mean to attach pny importance to a silly dream?" said Edward, on remarking remark-ing the sadness which the' recollection of the dream had brought to the face of Camilla. "No, Eddy," falteringly replied his wife, "but I must say it made an uncomfortable, un-comfortable, impression on me. However, How-ever, God is too kind to allow such a calamity to befall us." "And if He did. how, think you, would you bear it, Milly?" "Oh, Edward," replied his wife, "how-can "how-can you ask me such a question? Why, I'd lie down and die." "My darling Milly," and the husband tenderly embraced his lovin,g wife, and kissed away the tears that coursed her soft cheeks. Old Father Time has gone his usual round, and another turn of his wheel has brought back the happy season of Christinas. Happy, indeed, but Is there no exception? Does no step but the light, elastic tread of happiness press the crisp snow? Does the fierce wind of Christmas encounter none but happy faces? Ah, good old Christmas, though your triumphal car scatters on every side the prettiest little gifts, yet you must confess that you occasionally substitute substi-tute a branch of cypress for the ivy, and bring in your train but sad consolation conso-lation to many a sorrow-stricken hornet I Since you made your last appearance amongst us the fierce storm of rebellion rebel-lion has swept over our land, and its ruthless ravages are apparent in many a jdeserted chaic It has torn many a child from the arms of a fond parent, and separated forever those dearest to each other on earth. Nor has it spared our acquaintances, whom, but a year ago, we left in the possession of every earthly comfort. The drawing-room is still there, but how sadly changed. She whom we left a beautiful mother, on whom fortune loved to lavish her fairest gifts, is now a careworn. heart-broken wom:iI1 Nothing but the thought of leaving h,.;-children, h,.;-children, his children, without a protector, pro-tector, could induce her to prol..i,f life of agony. She fears that d.-spii.. ; all her efforts she must succumb. .n,i . this dread rends still more, if 'iu. impossible, im-possible, her agonized heart. "When will papa come home, m r.' ' 1 aked the eldest of her children, v. 1 s .7 la longing expression into the pal!.:, ! careworn countenance of his mmli.--. ' "Hush, dear," answered the mili 1 with a pang. "He will come so.,,,. i hope. And, my own dear little i-M iy. don't ask that question any inon-, ,. ; vou'll tear my very heart out of rt:v 1 i breast, and then what would little ivMy I and little Sissy do for poor ma?" i "Oh. ma. dear, don't say that." pi, 1,; , ed the little innocent. "I only a-k. ! r ; j because pepa used to kiss rne so o;'t, n "Well, little cherub. I'll perform i s ! part today. There, now, go to si-e,,. ! and the loving mother, having kiss- ! ; t her first-born, strained him to h. : i breast and fondled the weeping cii::,j j until he slept, and then gazing aromH ' at her desolflte home, bent down hn-wearied hn-wearied head on her infant's invasr. and wept the bitter tears of misery. And whereis he for whose abs. -.i-- J those warm 'tears so copiously flow ; Dying a death, the more horrible th.it it is prolonged in a prison cell. He h oi loved his native land too well; I;-- ( struck a blow for her freedom, and h-- ' lost his own in the struggle. The 1 "mercy of the Crown" was "extended to ; I him, and instead of suffering a few-moment's few-moment's agony, "her Majesty was , graciously pleased" to consign him for the. remainder of his life to a lonely cell. ! And there he is on that particular Christmas, thinking of the beloved crx-; ; j that are far away. Seated on a toUer- ! ing chair, and his head rested on his outstretched hands, his thoughts are ; busy, and he heaves a sigh as he re- members how happily he spent the last Christmas. And then the recollection of his wife's dream comes into his head, and, start- ; ' ing up, he soliloquized: "Ah. yes. my Camilla, you were not . deceived. Was it a dream after all? ; I And shall I never see you again, my I' darling wife? Shall I never more press . your chaste lips or fondle my innocent t ; children? Shall I live here for the re- j rr.ainder of my days, lonely lonely as ja corpse in its shroud? At times, too, how strange I feel! What wild phantoms phan-toms cross my diseased mind! How I j seem to feel simething departing from I me, which I would fain keep posses- j sion of! Oh, God, not yet! Take net !i j away my senses until I see her, see them once more." is I Shall his prayer the prayer of a : I wretchad. mayhap despairing man be I j j heard? Let the sequel show. I Once more, merry old Christmas. ; thou has made thine appearance ; j I amongst U, bringing in thy train an ! I increase of happiness to the happy. ; ; I and, it may be, an increase of sorrow t ; ! to the sorrowful. ' f 1 And how does it fare with our ac- i I quaintar.'jes of the past? Is the chair ( still deserted, or do the babbling child- ? ren still lisp the name of an absent fa- t I ther? Is. that sorrow-stricken mutiw j I as unhappy as before, and does the .f j ; "felon" still wear away the strength r I of his manhood in a lonely cell? j- 1 Ah, reader, we wcukr wish that ours f was not the pen to chronicle the details de-tails of such misery. . The om-e happy, the chivalrous, the' noble Edward O'Connor has succumb 1 , to the load of wretchedness that weighed upon him. 'At first h became morose, then flighty, and eventually lost hi mind completely. No longer is tl the fire of youthfu1 energy in his Ian- , guid, meaningless eye, and that once f'J proud and manly gait has given place to a drooping, listless shuffle. ij When the requirements of justice had ; brought him to this condition, the I : "mercy of the crow n" was graciously ' extended to the "felon." and he left the gloomy prison an insane and ruined man. He is seotcd in the same drawing draw-ing room in which we introduced hint to our readers, but how changed! Hi wife, far more worn and miserable than when we last s3'.v her, 13 seated near her "innocent" husband, with her beautiful beau-tiful children leaning on her lop. She-is She-is gazing with a craving, devouring look into the face of her unconscious Edward. a? If hoping to discover there a glimpse of returning reason. But no, ; all is listless unmeaning. "What ails papa that he doeen't give i me a kiss?" ? The question comes from the youngor . of the children, and she timidly ap- j proaches the , unconscious father, and s , without opposition presses her little in- 5 nocent lips to hit cheek. The touch ; seemed to rouse him, and, looking -n ' the little upturned face that earnestly pleaded for a kiss in return, he gently c pushed the child away, and in. a com- I plaining, melancholy tone, said: ! "Why don't you bring me home? Oh. will I never see Millie, my darling wife, aain?" - t "Oh, you do see her, dearest," ex- j claimed the wife, kissing his marble 1 lips, "she's here before you. my own Eddv. Don't you know your own I Millie?" I "Oh. go away: you're not my Millie." f and he tried to push her away, and, bursting1 into tears, he wept like a little lit-tle child. But why dwell longer on so painful a scene? Better, far better to draw the veil of obscurity over it -t'nd leave that lonely mother to weep over her ruined happ'ines.s. Reader, if you are happy at' this , blissful season and that you are i-- f the earnest wish of the writer of these ; line? do not forget that the wives ani -.children of some of those ncble patri- j ots who loved their country "not w.ve- j Iy, but too well" are in need of your , kindly assistance. Oh. do not forget j them, and believe me, you will not be j . without your reward. - ' |