Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXVII, No. 1 — page 30: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ot passing there, and the proud man knew it, and shuddered. “Gideon Giindem,” said the voice again, “are you glad that Christmas has come ?” This time the tone was so reproachful that the tears started to Gideon Grindem’s eyes, and he bowed his head and replied: “Alas! Of all the world, I alone have noth- ing to rejoice for to-night.” “ Listen to me,” said the little figure, softly. “T am Conscience, and I have come to speak with you. We have been strangers for a long time, but I have come back to you again. You must hear me to-night, for you cannot drive me away until morning; and O, if you are wise, Gideon Grindem, do not drive me away then!” The merchant sat silent and trembling. He knew he was powerless, and he could not take his eyes from the little figure on the hearth. But it was little no longer, for it grew in size every moment, until it assumed a gigantic form, and a mien so stern and ter- rible that the merchant almost shrieked with terror as he gazed at it. Yet he could not turn his eyes away. One thing only remained unchanged; the voice of the figure was as sweet and solemn as ever. The merchant felt that he would give all his wealth to escape from its presence, but he could not move a limb. “What do you want with me?” he gasped. “TJ will show you,” said the figure, solemnly. “Come with me!” The merchant felt a strong hand grasp him by the shoulder, and the’ next moment he was borne through space with a speed so rapid that it deprived him of the ability to cry out. Suddenly there was a pause, and he opened his eyes. He started in astonishment at the scene before him. It was a little, plainly-furnished room. Everything betokened contentment, though at the same time an absence of riches. A bright fire burned in the open grate, and the soft light of a pleasant lamp lit up the room. A woman, neither old nor young, sat by the fire, and at her feet knelt a child, with his little hands folded in prayer. There was a look of quiet happiness in the pale face of the ‘ woman, and her soft eyes were bent tenderly upon the child at her feet, as he whispered his prayer so low that only she and the angels heard it. The merchant gazed at the scene in utter bewilderment. Then his eyes grew taisty, and a great sob swelled up from his heart. He had recognized the two—the boy Gideon Grindem’s Christmas. was himself, and the woman was his mother. “Do you ever pray now, Gideon Grindem ?” asked the voice of the figure; and the mer- chant knew that Conscience was still with him. “ Pray!” he shrieked. “ Pray! O my God!” The woman turned to him slowly, and he stretched out his hands imploringly. “ O mother, mother!” he sobbed. be your innocent boy again!” But the sweet face clouded with a look of mingled sternness and horror, and the hand that had rested so tenderly upon the boy’s head was raised with a repellant gesture. The merchant shrank back with a groan, and the vision faded. “It is a terrible thing, Gideon Grindem,” said the voice of Conscience, “for a parent to turn away from a child.” The merchant shuddered. He was think- ing of his own child, and how he had turned from her prayer for mercy. The figure laid its hand upon him and drew him away. He knew they were now in New York again, and that they were hurrying through the city in the midst of the storm; for he could feel the snow driving furiously in his face, and the keen wind chilled him through and through. They passed into one of the lowest quarters of the city, and entered a miserable dwelling. The figure led him up long flights of stairs, until finally they entered a chamber, so wretched and mean, that the merchant shrank back with disgust. A fiickering tallow dip shed a feeble light through the room, adding to its misery an hundred fold. On alow bed aman lay, wan and emaciated. A woman sat by the candle, sewing busily, her pale, wan face seeming even more ghastly by the uncertain light; and on a low pallet two children lay asleep— for the while unconscious of the suffering around them. The fire in the stove was dy- ang away, and the room was growing colder every moment. Gideon Grindem gazed with horror at the scene, and turned to fly from it, but the figure laid its hand heavily upon him, and drew him up close beside the sorrowful woman, as she sat sewing her life away; and as he gazed, the merchant saw that, in spite of the marks of care and suffering which it bore, the woman’s face was wonderfully like that of his dead wife. No wonder, for the woman was his daughter. A cold sweat stood on his brow, and his heart seemed ,to stop still. It was fearful to stand thus and “Let me gaze on such a dreadfuleoippiiclooo ks com