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NUMBEBR 29,
_ OLMSTEAD & CO., PUBLISHERS.
THE DOOR IN THE HEART.
: She was a stern and hard woman, but far away, up. a
4 great many pairs of winding s.airs, in her heart was a
4 door easily passed by and on that door was written
RLES
. And so it is with the drundard. | Far up a rest many
‘pairs of winding stairs in his heart, is a door, and on
that door i is written Max,
twice, seven time— emaet seventy times seven—that it
may open unto us—Joun B. Gov
“. He was an old man—not so old, either, for the
years of his life could not have wrinkled his fore-
head and whitened his hair, and’ the hands locked
together on the low pine table did not tremble so
with the weakness of age; yet very old and very
miserable looked the solitary occupant of that nar-
.row room or entry, with its faded red curtains, and
its atmosphere rendered almost intolerable by the
“bar-room. into which it opened. A hat, bearing
“ ‘unmistakable evidence of long intimacy with “brick-
bats and gutters,” maintained a safe. position on
one side of the owner’s head; and a pair of elbows
thrust themselves through his coat-sleeyes in re-
joicing consciousness that they could “afford to be
out.” Add to this, reader, a pair of pants. whose
original color would have been a matter of time and
study to determine, and you haye the tout. ensem-
ble of the wretched being who occupied the back of
the only grog-shop which he -was allowed to fre-
quent in all the villagé of Greenfield.
And yet that miserable, solitary, friendless crea-
ture, sitting there half stupefied with :the effects of
last night’s revel, and utterly unconscious that out-
side the May morning had been born of God, with
its glorious birthright of sunshine, and dews, and
_ bird-songs, has a heart, and “far away, up a great
many pairs of stairs in his heart, is a door,” covered
with cobwebs and dust ; and on that door is a word
», Written, which time and sin have never been able
to efface ; and that word,is MAN.
But nobody ever dreamed of this, and people
shook their heads, and said Billy Strong’s case was
a hopeless one. Had not many kind-hearted per-
sons reasoned with him earnestly on the evil of his
ways? Had not the “temperance men” gone to
him with the pledge, and promised him employ-
ment if he would sign it? And all this had been
in vain.
"Ah, none of them had groped their way up the
winding stairs, and read the name on the hidden
door there!
But while the unhappy man sat by the pine table
that morning, the bar-keeper suddenly. entered,
followed by a lady with soft, hazel eyes, and a face
that a child would have gone to in any trouble,
The old man looked up with a vacant gaze of
wonder, as the bar-keeper offered the lady a chair,
and pointed to the occupant of the other, saying :
“That's Bill Strong, madam,” and with a lin-
gering stare of surprise and curiosity, left the gentle
woman alone with the astonished and now thor-
oughly sobered man.
The soft eyes of the lady wandered with a sad,
pitying expression over Bill's features, and then in
a low, sweet voice she asked:
"Am I rightly informed? Do I address Mr.
‘William Strong ?”
Ah! with these words the lady had gotten fur-
ther up the winding stairs, nearer the hidden door
than all that had gone before her. . | - .
“Yes, that is my name, ma’am,” said old Bill,
and he glanced down at his shabby attire, and ac-
tually tried to hide the elbow which was peeping
out the farthest, for it was a long time since he had
been addressed by that name, and, somehow, it
seemed very pleasant to him.
“J am very glad to meet you, Mr. Strong,” said
the lady. “I have heard my father speak of you so
often, and of the days when you and he were boys
together, that I almost feel as if we were old ac-
quaintances. You surely cannot have forgotten
Charles Morrison ?” .
“No, no; Charles and I used to be old. cronies,”
said Old Bill, with a sudden animation, and a light
in his eyes such as had not been there for many a
day, except when rum lent it a fitful brilliancy.
Ab! the lady did not know, as perhaps the an-
4 gels did, that she had mounted the stairs, and was
softly feeling for that unseen door. So she went
cle nem
“
ag acaeeererrcann Sree Ne FSI NI ee =e
Serene
ok
ee
on: : so
“J alntost feel as though I could see the old set
» upon which your homestead stood,’Mr. Strong, I
} \ ave heard father deseritte it so often. The hill,
Ww ie -
JENNY ARMSTRONG’S BOUQUET,
with its crown of old oaks, at the back of your
house, and the field of golden harvest grain that
waved in front. Then there was a green grass plot
before the front door, and the huge old apple tree
that threw its shadows across it, and the great old-
fashioned portico, and the grape-vine that crept
around the pillars, and the rose-bush that looked
in at the bed-room window, and the spring that
went flashing and singing through the bed of mint
at the side of the house.” .
Old’ Bill moved uneasily in his chair, and the
muscles around his mouth twitched occasionally ;
but, unmindful of this, in the same low, sweet
tones, the lady kept on:
“ ‘Many and many were the hours,’ so father
would say, ‘Willie and I used to pass under the
shadow of that old apple tree, playing at hide and
seek, or rolling and tumbling about on the grass,
telling each other the things we would certainly do
when we became men; and when the sun set its
cap of gold on the top of the oaks, I can see Wil-
lie’s mother standing in the front door, with her
white cap-and checked apron, and the pleasant
smile that always hovered around her’ lips, and
hear her cheerful voice calling, ‘Come, boys, come
to supper.’ *”
One after another the big, warm, blessed tears
came rolling down Old Bill's pale cheeks.: Ab!
the lady had found the door then. ’
“«T was always at home at Willie's,’ father would
say, ‘and used to have my fresh milk and bread,
too; and when this had disappeared, Willie would
draw his stool to his mother’s feet, lay his head on
her lap, and she would tell us some very pleasant
story ; it might be of David, or some good child who
afterward became a great man; and then she
would part Willie’s brown curls from his forehead,
and,*in’a voice I can never forget, say, ‘Promise
me, Willie, when you go into the world and its
temptations, and your mother is laid down to sleep
in the church-yard yonder, promise me, child, that
her prayers and her memory shall keep you from
all evil ways.’ And Willie would lift his laughing
blue eyes to her face, and say, ‘I'll be a first-rate
man; don’t be afraid, mother’ And then, after we
had said our prayers, we would go to bed as happy
as the birds that went to their nests in the old ap-
ple-tree branches by the window, and just as we
were ‘sinking to sleep, we would hear a soft foot-
fall on the. stairs, and a loving face would bend
over, to see if we were nicely tucked up, ‘It isa
long time,’ father would say, after a pause, ‘since I
heard from Willie, but sure Iam that he has never
ye we ysew te .
| fallen into evil ways. .The memory of his mother
would keep him from that.’.”
Rap, rap, rap! went the words of the lady at the
door of that man’s heart. . Crack, crack, crack!
went the door on its rusty hinges ; while far above
them both the angels of God held their, breath and
listened. But the lady could only see the subdued
man bury his face in his hands, and ‘while bis
whole frame shook like an aspen leaf, she heard
him murmur, amid child-like sobs:
“My mother! O, my mother!”
And she knew the tears were washing out also
many a dark page in the record of Old Bill's past
life; so, with a silent prayer of thankfulness, she
resumed :
“But there was one scene father loved to talk of
better than all the rest. It was on the morning
you were married, Mr. Strong. ‘It was enough to
do one’s eyes good,’ he used to say, ‘to look at
them as they walked up the old, church-aisle; he
with his proud, manly tread, and she a. delicate,
fragile creature, fair as the orange blossoms that
trembled in her hair. I remember: how clear and
firm his voice sounded through the old church, as
he promised to love, protect and cherish the fair
girl at his side; and I knew, as he looked upon her,
the very winds of heaven should not, . Visit her face
too roughly.’
“And then my father ‘would tell us of a home
made very bright by watchful affection, and. of a
dark-eyed boy and a fair-haired girl who came after
awhile to gladden it; and then you know he re-
moved to the West and Jost sight , of 2 YOU, Mr,
Strong.
Once again the lady paused, for the agony of the
man before her was fearful to behold; and when
she spoke again, it was in a lower and more mourn-
ful tone:
“I ‘promised my father, previous to’ his death,
that if I ever visited his native State, I would seek
out his old friend. But when I inquired for you,
they unfolded a terrible story to me, Mr. Strong;
they told me of a broken, desolate household; of
the gentle, uncomplaining wife, who went down,
with a prayer on her lips for the erring husband,
broken-hearted to the grave; and of the fair-
haired girl they placed in a little while by her side.
O, it is a sad, sad story I have heard of my father’s
old friend.”
“It was I! It was I that did it all! I killed
them!” said Old Bill, in'a yoice hoarse with emo-
tion, as be lifted his head from his clasped hands
and looked upon the lady, every feature wearing
aes
22 SCHOOL STREET, BOSTON.
such a look of agony and remorse that she shud-
dered to behold it.. Wide, wide open stood the
door then, and the lady hastened to pass in, A
small hand was laid gently upon Old Bill’s arm,
and a sweet voice murmured:
“Even for all this there is redemption. In the
name of the mother that loved you, in the name of
your dying wife and of the child that sleeps beside
her, I ask you, will you sign the pledge ?”
hand with such force on the pine table that its
rheumatic limbs hardly regained their equilibrium,
placed before him, and when he returned them to
her the name of William Strong lay in broad, legi-
ble characters upon the paper. ‘ tee
There was an expression, ludicrous from ‘its ex-
treme curiosity, on the bar-keeper’s face, as. the
lady passed quietly through the “shop,” after. the
long interview with Old. Bill;, and the expres-
sion was in no degree lessened, when, in a few mo-
ments after, Old Bill followed her without stopping,
as usual, to take his first glass... And he never
passed over that threshold again!
And now, reader, you whose heart throbs with
tenderness and reverence for humanity, fallen, de-
spised, miserable though it may be, remember that
somewhere in the heart of your fellow-man is a
door, which, though closed for many years, will
surely open to the hand that knocks in kindness
and the voice that calls in love.
For the Companion, — ; wt
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, :
There were a great many happy faces in Miss
Weston’s school one afternoon, when she said, just
before closing, ““You need ‘not bring your dinners
to-morrow. “I intend to give you a half-holiday.”
What a few words it takes to make school chil-
dren happy! Such shouting, and: talking,’ and
planning as there was when school was dismissed
that day!: What should they do with their half-
holiday? This was the great question; and it was
finally decided to go to the “Bush Lots” and ‘Pick
berries. .
“We will take our inch: with us, eid have a
splendid time, if it only doesn’t rain,” said Susan,
looking hopefully at the western sky.
“O it won't rain; for see how clear the sun is
setting !” said Arthur, wisely. “
And so, amid talking and arranging ibe plans,
they reached their homes. i
“What makes you so late, Alice ” asked Mrs.
Brown:
“Why, we've been settling about ‘to-morrow.
Miss Weston is going to give us holiday in the
afternoon, and we are all going berrying over to
the Bush Lots. : Won't it be nice?» And I'll bring
you ever so many berries, Lily,” she said, going up
to: her sister, who sat-in the large arm-chair,
propped up by pillows, Lily: was younger than
Alice, but she looked older, for her face was thin
and pale, and she had.been always afflicted with
sickness, and not able to run about and play like
other children. . Alice was very kind to her, and
now she sat down to tell her all about their plans
for the next afternoon, promising her plenty of
beautiful fresh berries for her tea; Lily, all the
while, looking very much pleased.
\sAlice’s father was late that’ evening, aad che
went to bed early, without waiting to see him, 80
as to be all bright for the next day. .
* “Do you think. it will rain, mother ?” she whe,
the last thing as she bade her good night. :
. “No; I think it will. be clear,” was the answer;
and with this comforting thought Alice closed her
eyes. She was up with the sun the next morning,
and clapped her hands for joy when she saw the
clear, bright sky, the promise of a pleasant day.
She went to breakfast, expecting everybody to be
glad with her, in the prospect of a delightful holi-
day: but even in the midst of her joy, she noticed
atroubled look upon her mother’s face, which made
her ask if “anything had happened.” ©”. -
_.“Let us have breakfast first, Alice, and then 3 we
will talk,” said her mother.
“OQ please mother, tell me now, beeause—well—
I don’t want much breakfast this morning.”
“Well, Alice, your father received a letter last
evening, which calls us both away to-day; and we
shall not be able to return before the night train.
“I will,” said Old Bill; and he brought down his.
and he eagerly seized the pen and pledge the lady
J
Al
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