and I thought I could read in his furrowed face traces of a life of penury and suffering. He was going with a lightened heart, transplanted in his decaying age. But by far the greater part dwelt upon the memory of their forsaken homes and kindred; their thoughts were gazing afar upon “the shadow on the ever-green hills.” Ere long they had nearly all disappeared, gone to their crowded chamber to be rocked asleep. Only a few women remained beneath the suspended lantern, seated by the mast. The one I had noticed weeping, had not raised her head during all this time. When she did raise it, she looked up to heaven and her face shone with religious fervor. The tears still flowed as she breathed her heart-felt prayer. I could see every movement of her lips, and I alone perhaps, of all who saw, could tell the source of every tear that flowed. I felt awed, unconscious of myself. My whole being seemed merged in the intensity of hers. A supplication sprang unbidden to my lips for the paralytic mother, for the gray-haired father, in their utter, utter loneliness; for it was Mary with her baby on her bosom. She spoke calmly, slowly, solemnly. “THE WOMAN’S PRAYER. Let us bow, lowly now, ere we seek forgetfulness In the blest balm of rest, of trial-worn spirit’s fretfulness, Let us call, first of all, pity on our parents’ age, For they’re chastened, for they’re hastened on their ending pilgrimage. O be mild to them, child to them, gentle son of Bethlehem! Never suffer that their rougher path bring sooner death to them! O remember that December passes cheerlessly away— Let their sorrow, on the morrow, mind thee of its Christmas day! And leave us not, grieve us not, Father of the wandering! Care for us, spare for us, now while time is squandering! We are going, far, unknowing, strangers into stranger land— But with thee only we’re not lonely, resting in thy hollow hand!” This was the woman’s prayer—and I devoutly responded “Amen,” as I wiped my eyes and went below. I thought of the poor old man, the helpless mother, Tommy, the bower, all, and I became unconsciously an actor in the scene before me, as I prayed— “O remember that December passes cheerlessly away! Let their sorrow, on the morrow, mind thee of its Christmas day!”