"Ah, the Virgin--she smiles at me because I did right, did I not sweet mother? She smiles--and--I grow--faint--"

The loud whistles and horns of the little ones rose on the balmy air next morning. No one would doubt it was Christmas Day, even if doors and windows are open wide to let in cool air.

Why, there was Christmas even in the very look of the mules on the poky cars; there was Christmas noise in the streets, and Christmas toys and Christmas odors, savory ones that made the nose wrinkle approvingly, issuing from the kitchen. Michel and Mme. Laurent smiled greetings across the street at each other, and the salutation from a pa.s.ser-by recalled the many progenied landlady to herself.

"Miss Sophie, well, poor soul, not very much Christmas for her. _Mais_, I'll just call her in to spend the day with me. It'll cheer her a bit."

So clean and orderly within the poor little room. Not a speck of dust or a litter of any kind on the quaint little old-time high bureau, unless you might except a sheet of paper lying loose with something written on it. t.i.tiche had evidently inherited his prying propensities for the landlady turned it over and read:

"Louis. Here is the ring. I return it to you. I heard you needed it, I hope it comes not too late. Sophie."

"The ring, where?" muttered the landlady. There it was, clasped between her fingers on her bosom. A bosom, white and cold, under a cold, happy face. Christmas had indeed dawned for Miss Sophie--the eternal Christmas.

IF I HAD KNOWN.

If I had known Two years ago how drear this life should be, And crowd upon itself allstrangely sad, Mayhap another song would burst from out my lips, Overflowing with the happiness of future hopes; Mayhap another throb than that of joy.

Have stirred my soul into its inmost depths, If I had known.

If I had known, Two years ago the impotence of love, The vainness of a kiss, how barren a caress, Mayhap my soul to higher things have soarn, Nor clung to earthly loves and tender dreams, But ever up aloft into the blue empyrean, And there to master all the world of mind, If I had known.

CHALMETLE.

Wreaths of lilies and immortelles, Scattered upon each silent mound, Voices in loving remembrance swell, Chanting to heaven the solemn sound.

Glad skies above, and glad earth beneath; And grateful hearts who silently Gather earth's flowers, and tenderly wreath Woman's sweet token of fragility.

Ah, the n.o.ble forms who fought so well Lie, some unnamed, 'neath the gra.s.sy mound; Heroes, brave heroes, the stories tell, Silently too, the unmarked mounds, Tenderly wreath them about with flowers, Joyously pour out your praises loud; For every joy beat in these hearts of ours Is only a drawing us nearer to G.o.d.

Little enough is the song we sing, Little enough is the tale we tell, When we think of the voices who erst did ring Ere their owners in smoke of battle fell.

Little enough are the flowers we cull To scatter afar on the gra.s.s-grown graves, When we think of bright eyes, now dimmed and dull For the cause they loyally strove to save.

And they fought right well, did these brave men, For their banner still floats unto the breeze, And the paeans of ages forever shall tell Their glorious tale beyond the seas.

Ring out your voices in praises loud, Sing sweet your notes of music gay, Tell me in all you loyal crowd Throbs there a heart unmoved to-day?

Meeting together again this year, As met we in fealty and love before; Men, maids, and matrons to reverently hear Praises of brave men who fought of yore.

Tell to the little ones with wondering eyes, The tale of the flag that floats so free; Till their tiny voices shall merrily rise In hymns of rejoicing and praises to Thee.

Many a pure and n.o.ble heart Lies under the sod, all covered with green; Many a soul that had felt the smart Of life's sad torture, or mayhap had seen The faint hope of love pa.s.s afar from the sight, Like swift flight of bird to a rarer clime Many a youth whose death caused the blight Of tender hearts in that long, sad time.

Nay, but this is no hour for sorrow; They died at their duty, shall we repine?

Let us gaze hopefully on to the morrow Praying that our lives thus shall shine.

Ring out your bugles, sound out your cheers!

Man has been G.o.d-like so may we be.

Give cheering thanks, there dry up those tears, Widowed and orphaned, the country is free!

Wreathes of lillies and immortelles, Scattered upon each silent mound, Voices in loving remembrance swell, Chanting to heaven the solemn sound, Glad skies above, and glad earth beneath, And grateful hearts who silently Gather earth's flowers, and tenderly wreath Woman's sweet token of fragility.

AT EVENTIDE.

All day had she watched and waited for his coming, and still her strained ears caught no sounds of the footsteps she loved and longed to hear. All day while the great sun panted on his way around the brazen skies; all day while the busy world throbbed its mighty engines of labor, nor witted of the breaking hearts in its midst. And now when the eve had come, and the sun sank slowly to rest, casting his red rays over the earth he loved, and bidding tired nature a gentle radiant good-night, she still watched and waited. Waited while the young moon shone silvery in the crimson flush of the eastern sky, while the one bright star trembled as he strove to near his love; waited while the hum of soul-wearing traffic died in the distant streets, and the merry voices of happy children floated to her ears.

And still he came not. What kept him from her side? Had he learned the cold lesson of self-control, or found one other thing more potent than love? Had some cruel chain of circ.u.mstances forced him to disobey her bidding--or--did he love another? But no, she smiles triumphantly, he could not having known and loved her.

Sitting in the deep imbrasure of the window through which the distant wave sounds of city life floated to her, the pages of her life seemed to turn back, and she read the almost forgotten tale of long ago, the story of their love. In those days his wish had been her law; his smile her sun; his frown her wretchedness. Within his arms, earth seemed a far-away dream of empty nothingness, and when his lips touched and clung to hers, sweet with the perfume of the South they floated away into a Paradise of enfolding s.p.a.ce, where Time and Death and the woes of this great earth are naught, only these two--and love, the almighty.

And so their happiness drifted slowly across the sea of Time until it struck a cruel rock, whose sharp teeth showed not above the dimpled waves; and where once had been a craft of strength and beauty, now was only a hideous wreck. For the Tempter had come into this Eden, and soon his foul whisper found place in her heart.

And the Tempter's name was Ambition.

Often had the praises and plaudits of men rang in her ears when her sweet voice sang to her chosen friends, often had the tears evoked by her songs of love and hope and trust, thrilled her breast faintly, as the young bird stirs in its nest under the loving mother's wing, but he had clasped his arms around her, and that was enough. But one day the Tempter whispered, "Why waste such talent; bring that beauty of voice before the world and see men bow in homage, and women envy and praise.

Come forth and follow me."

But she put him fiercely aside, and cried, "I want no homage but his, I want no envy from any one."

Still the whisper stayed in her heart, nor would the honeyed words of praise be gone, even when he kissed her, and thanked the G.o.ds for this pearl of great price.

Then as time fled on, the tiny whisper grew into a great roar, and all the praise of men, and the sweet words of women, filled her brain, and what had once been her aversion became a great desire, and caused her brow to grow thoughtful, and her eyes moody.

But when she spoke to him of this new love, he smiled and said, "My wife must be mine, and mine alone. I want not a woman whom the world claims, and shouts her name abroad. My wife and my home must be inviolate." And again as of yore, his wish controlled her--but only for a while.

Then the tiny whisper grown into the great roar urging her on, became a mighty wind which drove her before it, nor could she turn aside from the path of ambition, but swept on, and conquered.

Ah, sweet, sweet the exultation of the victor! Dear the plaudits of the admiring world; wild the joy, when queen of song, admired of men, she stood upon the pinnacle of fame! And he? True to his old convictions, turned sadly from the woman who placed the admiration of the world before his love and the happiness of his home--and went out from her life broken-hearted, disappointed, miserable.

All these things, and more, she thought upon in the first flush of eventide, as the bold, young star climbed toward his lady-love, the moon, all these things, and what had come to pa.s.s after the victory.

For there came a day when the world wearied of its toy, and turned with shouts of joy, and wreaths of fresh laurels for the new star. Then came disappointments and miseries crowding fast upon her; the sorrows which a loving heart knows when it finds its idols faithless. Then the love for him which she had once repressed arose in all its strength which had gained during the long struggle with the world, arose and overwhelmed her with its might, and filled her soul with an unutterable longing for peace and rest and him.

She wrote to him and told him all her heart, and begged of him to come back to her, for Fame was but an empty bubble while love was supreme and the only happiness, after all. And now she waited while the crimson and gold of the west grew dark, and gray and lowering.

Hark! She hears his loved step. He comes, ah, joy of heaven he comes!

Soon will he clasp her in his arms, and there on his bosom shall she know peace and rest and love.

As he enters the door she hastens to meet him, the love-light shining in her tired eyes, her soft rounded arms outstretched to meet him. But he folds her not in his embrace, nor yet does he look with love into her upturned eyes; the voice she loves, ah so well, breaks upon the dusky silence, pitiless, stern.

"Most faithless of faithless women, think you that like the toy of a fickle child I can be thrown aside, then picked up again? Think you that I can take a soiled lily to my bosom? Think you that I can cherish the gaudy sun-flower that ever turns to the broad, brazen glare of the uncaring sun, rather than the modest shrinking violet? Nay, be not deceived, I loved you once, but that love you killed in its youth and beauty leaving me to stand and weep alone over its grave. I came to-night, not to kiss you, and to forgive you as you entreat, but to tell that you I have wed another."