The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, January 02, 1889, Image 6
"W
J
A VISION OF DECEMBER
long of that time when the forests are
drear,
On the moor, within the sound of the belfries,
appear
Twelve mystical spirits, the months of the
year.
Set the chimes a-ringinc!
"With laughter and song they dance in their
zest;
And deep in the circle their footsteps have
pressed
Bits hoary December, his beard on his
breast.
Set the chimes a-ringing!
He thinks not of them, and his mind is
away;
For he is too old. too old to be gay
like hearty October or lily-crowned May.
Set the chimes a-ringing!
And a reaming, still dreaming, he murmurs
and seeks
Fair memories forgotten, the tears on his
Bat -when the bells burst, he remembers and
speaks:
Set the chimcs a-ringing!
'In the watch of this night, in the Orient
land,
Thro' the pass of the hills which a glory o'erspanned,
3 led in the Light of the World by the
hand!"
Set the chimes a-ringing!
lbey hear him, they heed him, that reverend
. one,
And the words be hath spoken shine out like
the sun;
Now the wild chant is hushed and the frolic
is done.
Set the chimes a-ringing!
Then sudden for praise and for joy that they
owe,
They, kissing his feet, kneel them down in
the snow;
And all for the sake of the Child that we
know.
Set the chimes a-ringing!
Tot the star of our hope in the gateways of
morn,
for the lover of love and the scorner of
scorn,
For the King that is come, for the Christ that
is born.
Set the chimes a-ringing!
?Louise Imogen Guiney.
CHRISTMAS BELLS.
I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,'
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolle 1 along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
11U ringing, sinking on it? way.
The world revolved from night to day,
A vo:ce, a chime,
A chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
But in despair I bowed my head?
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep,
"God is not dead, nor doth He s!o?p!
The wrong shall fail,
The right prevad,
"With peace on earth, good-will to men!"
?Hanry W. Lonyfellow.
HAPPY NEW YEAR.
Happy New Year! Happy New Year!
List to the words floating so clearCottage
and palace, in mansion so grand,
Every sweet home throughout our fair land;
No hearthstone so humble but hath its own
share?
Happy good wishes, a glad New Year
prayer.
Happy New Year! Hippy New Year!
Hark, 'tis an omen of fu ure cheer!
Bad sorrow, fair joy,of last year have flown,
New Y ear is coming w!t!i hopes of its own: I
It may bring us liappii.u s.lasting and sure?
It may bring us anguish, hard to endure.
Happy New Year! Happy New Year!
Gladly, brightly, welcome you here;
Greet you with pleasure, right royally too,
Bringing our dear hopes and wishes to you.
"We may not look forward to view our or??i
way.
God's Hand will direct us from day unto j
day.
?Mary Currier Parsons. I
j
ON CHRISTMAS EVE.
fNOW had been falling
early in the day, 1
but so lightly that
only a white fleck here
and there marked the
distant housetops and
a thin irosty layer ;
made the srringpiece j
show in the dark'
like a glittering line. 1
Down by the water's
edge the night was
silent and gloomy.
i:nly the hoarse gurgling
of the stream
filtering through the slimy piles un- '
derneath the pier, only the distant;
wash of a paddle broke upon the |
monotonous creaking of chains and
cables, the same big, stiff ones that Old ;
Tom Saunders had seeo make fast the j
newly arrived bark at nightfall. He had
been striding up and down the bare
nanol *- ~
UCUJV Ul tllC UU31\J V/UUttl UUdl IU XVUCjl
himself warm ever since the stranger
had loomed up on the other side of the
pier. He had heard screaming in the
Blip beyond the whistle of tho tug boat
that had brough her in, and seen the
bustling little craft steam away with
the sparks and smoke from her tunnel
leav ng a luminous trail in thf dark.
From that the gloom had been thicker
about the pier and the damp mist rolling
up from the bay had wrapped the ;
hipping in a shroud of moisture. There
had been a clatter of voices for a while
on the big bark, and he had been half
conscious of lining lights and hoarse sea
orders: but all these had ceased long ago
and now the olack hull of the new arrival j
rcse up in the gloom, solemn and silent,
with her masts slightly tilted oil and a
lantern forward gleaming like a dim
yellow star. 1
Old Tom Saunders paced the deck of
the dingy hulk he was on, with his pipe
gripped fast between his teeth and his
hands stowed away down in the pockets
of his threadbare pea-jacket. The bait
tered and decaying boat was no shabbier
and more woe-tegone than the man. i
fYlrf Tnm w.na ]\v virttio nf tVir* vftAPfl
that had turned his few struggling
locks gray and drawn all sorts of deep |
furrows across his face. Familiarly Old i
Tom amcng the wharf men, who knew j
him as such ever sincj he had come alon;; j
on the old canal boat, a broken-down !
- man with a favor of better times about j
him. Facetiously Old Tom, in conse-j
quencc of the fondness for the tipple
of that name which, it was hinted, had
dragged him down to h s present low
estate. Old Tom Saunders had once !
been burly, and he was still a big man. i
but he had lost all his flesh. His face I
looked like worn parchment, and h id j
that colorless, bleached-out appcarance
which a life of constant excesses begets.
There was also that nervous twit(hing
about the lips and that aimless wandering
of the fingers which betoken a couatitution
unstrung and shattered.
In low spirits indeed he seemed this
night of Christmas Kve as he stopped at
the stern of the canal boat to look off
toward the big black warehouses that
shut in the river side like a wall. Up in
the air a reddish haze hung over the city
where the lights of countless lamps oo
the thorougfares beneath had set the
damp atmosphere aglow, and from some
' r _ . > ;
lofty buildings the radiance of electricity
showed in the fog, blue and pallid, as
death lights at some infernal orgie.
"So this 19 Christmas Eve. eh?" muttered
Old Tom with a snort that was
half a groan. "Christmas Eve, and nary
a bite in the locker nor a nickel in the
pocket! It's blasted hard?blasted hard
lor a man that's seen better days."
He crunched the pipestem between his
teeth and made another ronnd of the
deck, but stopped when he had reached
the old place again.
"There's some as 'ud say 'twas misfortin
did it. And pome as 'ud croak
'bout ill-luck. 'Twusn't neither. 'Twas
- 1? T T'if
rum. hum ana me own muns-nncss. r.i
I dadn't driv that boy away, he'd be now
makin' a ijood livin' for her, no matter
what I wu9 about, and she wouldn't be
in there dyin'?dyin' for a bite to eat."
As he spoke he glanced at the little
pokey hole in the cabin, where a faint
light glimmered, and turned again to the
dark line of the water front.
"She was never the same after he went
away?never the same bouncing gal that
used to 'liven up the old house like a
sunbeam. 'Twas that tuk all the go out
o' her. And I had to get to work and
blame her for sulkin' when her heart wus
breakin'."
He took the pipe from his mouth and
absently shoved it in his pocket.
"It might 'a been all right," he went
on. "It might 'a been all right ef l|
hadn't carried on as I did till house and j
shop and everything went to smash. I
But I had to keep a-goin' while the I
money lasted, and now?now," he \
repeated with a solemn inclination of the
head, "it's gone."
He swung about to resume his lonesome
walk, but the glimmer in the cabin
brought him to a standstill.
"Sue's there," he said, and there was
Borrow and remorse in his voice. "She's
there nus3in' his baby and thinkin' of its j
father; maybe cryin' her eyes out about j
him. And she a-dyin' by inches."
The rumble of a wagon came from the |
land side, and the sound of a horn away i
off in the streets sent down to the silent:
wharves a reminder of the holiday jollity j
going on ashore. The man started as he j
heard it.
"She won't be without her suppar," j
he said." .Not while this here toy's lyin'
around."
He groped a moment in his pocket
and drew out a ring?a plain gold circlet,
evidently the symbol of a consummated
union.
il* enflflL- if r?tt'ott nr*V?*?L-nrvtx7ncf
j. nay*, tu |
to licr," he muttered, turning the shin- |
ing trinket around in his lingers. "I'm
afraid she'd take on a deal if she knowed
it, for she hangs on to any keepsake of
hi> for baro life. But what's the use."
And the ringaud hand that held it -went
down into the pocket again. "What's j (
the use o' bein' senteeir.eutal find snick-;
erin' over sich things when a square
meal can be got for it, and p'raps? I
p'raps a drop t' drive away the chill." j
He glanced, half frightened, half j
apologetically, at the lit!c windon as he !
spoke, slipped carefully by on tiptoe as j
though fearful of being confronted by ! (
the occupant of the cabin, reached the
side, looked back again and then stepped i
out upon the pier and siunk away. ! j
It was only a moment's space after
when there sounded among the low. j'
harsh whirrs of the river something :
that seemed deep in the darkness, but!
not of it?something suggestive of heat
and light and home, and not of this !
black hood and these great marine phan-!.
toms standing so solemn in the gloom, j
It was the cry of a child. Low and I
weak, suppressed as soon as uttered,
it still had a strange shrillness in the si-1
lent p ace, and of all the sad voices of |
tide and timbers, it seemed by far the j ]
saddest. It came from the cabin of aD i.
old canal boat, came only for an instanl j (
and died away in what fancy involunta-! ,
rily pictured a mother's kisse3 and ca- j
resses. | j
Old Tom heard it half way up to the ; j
wharf. He heard it and arrested his j
cautious footsteps and brought his face j
about in a twinkling to the tiny-lighted ,
space in the cabin that barely reached 3
his eye where he stood. The cry was j j
not repented, iiut he stood there tor
over a minute with his whole soul, it ]
seemed, intent upon that d m glimmer-! ]
ing pane. Hi< hand mechanically grop-1 \
ii)g in his pocket, touched the ring aud ,
it seemed to startle him. He took out ,
the little trinket and looked at it care- j j
fully, as though making sure that it was ]
really there, and brushed it with a ,
rough, greasy sleeve. Then, without a!
glance at the street on which he had
been walking, he passed back along the
pier, crossed to the boat again and
walked stra:ght up to the cabin and entered.
A ship's lantern hanging from the roof
showed a rough table, a couple of boxes,
a tarpaulin, some ends of rope, and on a
loosened aud slanting berth an infa.it i
with a woman kneelinir beside it. It J
was a pleasing face she turned up to the j
old man as he came in?pleasing, and it
had been very pretty?but there was a 1
sad gauntness about it now and the j
dark, tender eyes looked out from bluc'.sh i
nouows.
"Where have you been, father?"' she '
asked. "Baby has been restless again, j
I'm afraid th;it the child is growing i
worse." This with a look of intinite ]
solicitude at the tiny creature beside \
her. "And it's so hard to see the poor ,
dear suffering and be able to do noth-'
iug. Why, father, what is the matter;" (
.-he miijht well ask. Tlie poor man j
was standing, with his head siiulc upon |
his breast, and great tears were rolling w
down his faded checks, llis eyes were t
fixed upon the little cabin window, but
it was clear th?t bis mind was far away, j<
He started as she spoke, and when he ,
answered it was in a voice broken with j
sobs.
"i ibbie," he said, "my poor gal, I've ! (
been a bad father to you, a reg'lar bad ; 'un,
ain't I? I've ruined the little home'
you oughter be in, and brought you and .
your child to this. I know that ain't ,
the wust, neither. 1 <lriv him away that j
would be a support and comfort "t'you, ! ,
and left that leetel creetur ithout a! i
fotVor I'vft done all that, and I was a- '
goin to do more, God forgive me, this |
very niglit. only for hearin' your baby j
cryin'. I meant it for the best, I did, but j
I knowed that it would 'a hurt your feel- j
in's wuss than anj'thing else. There, j
I.ibbie; take it. It was very nigh a-goin' j
as everything else has.1'
He held out the little gold ring to her !
and turned his head away. In an instant
the woman was on her feet. Her long,
thm hand clutched the bauble and ahot
flush showed itself on her pallid, sunken
cheek. ?
"Father," she cried, "would you dare?" .
In her indignation she wae speechless
, for a moment, but then she bra!;a. down
| and the tears came.
"V./-. u _ , . _ - . "
"It Is all I have left," she moaned, I
"all I have left to remind me of him ?
all of his father's the child may over see.
How could you think of it, father? It
was cruel?cruel."
" 'Twas all wrong, yes 'twas, Libbie,"
tho man assented. "'But it bruck mo
heart to think o' you and that lectle 'un
sittin' here supperless. I heerd the bella
tollin' up in the city and the horns
a-blowin', and I knowed that everybody
was havin* a good time on Chrismiss Kve
night, while you was starvin'. I couldn't
stand it. I sneaked away with the ring
to pawn it or sell it, I didn't care what,
till I heard the little creetur's cry, and it
brought me to myself agin. 'Hischild!'
I says to meself. His child! And I
ri^ht about and comes back here with the
ring to you, Libbie?to you, me poor
gal."
He sat down on a box and ran his hand
through his tangled hair and saw the
womau dry her eyes and look at him
kindly and pityingly. Once or twice he
bit his lips and shook his head, as though
a struggle were going on within-him and
then, in a broken voice, he said: "Libbie,
I've somethin' t' tell you, but I've been
ashamed t' open me mouth about it.
There's times now when I look back t'
the days when you was a bright gal, and
poor Ned?yes, poor Ned?I never called
him that befoic, but now I must?when
poor Ned was makin' love t' you and I
was makin' a brute o' meself t' him. He
wus a good lad, but I wus so cussed
stuck up with me shop and the loafers
about it that used t' brag about mo that
I wouldn't stand his marryin'you. When
you tuck him, and I hunted him away
with me abuse and me drink, I didn't
think the day would come when I'd be
sorry for it. But it has, J.ibbie, it has.
He's gone. JIajbe gone for good."
The woman was crying again, but she
wiped away her tears at this and raised
her paleface again.
"Oh, don't say that, father, don't say !
that," she cried. 4,.Neci will come some
time. He will find us yet. It seems so
strange this long waiting. But he said
he would come to claim me as his wife
when he was able to support me, and
he'll do it. I remember when he went
away. He said to me: 'Libbie, your
father forces me to this. Come with me
or stay with him, which ever you wish.
but depend upon it that I shall be 1 ack
soon to claim you, my little wife, an.i
when I do I'll come like a man, willing
and able to take <are of you and
take odds from no one.' Then he said:
'Whenever you see that ring think of
me and remember that I will be working
hard to keep my word.' Lie went away
then and I have tried never to doubt
him. But it is so hard to wait and wait
and hear nothing. He may be dead. He
cannot be untrue. Disappointed and
perplexed as I am I will not believe it.
But no word, no word. It is that is
killing me."
Old Torn arose and walked the length
of his cabin, then turned about and came
back to the seat on the box. Then he
leaned over to her and said:
' I'm agoin' to tell you somethin' Limbic.
It's somethin' I oughter told you
leng ago but I didn't have the courage,
me gal, to own up to what a scoundrel I
wus."
The woman dried her tears and there
wa9 a look of interest in the pa!e face
that encouraged him to go on. But he
^- 11 1 14.~4.~J 4- ?
StlH UU311UIUU UUI'. sum lu uci miu a
trembling voice, 4,Vou won't cuss mo,
Libbie, will you; bad as I may be you'll
forgive me now that I've como around
and mean to do better."
She remained impassive and only said
"Go on, father."
"I will. I will, if it kills me. Libbie,
don't you worry yourself on nccouut o'
Ned's stickin by you. He wus true to
you all along. He wrote to you. He
sent money to you. He never forgot
you, poor boy, and I?I tuck letters,
money and all.
The man groveled down upon his
knees beside the box aud his head sunk
upon his hands. He was that moment
the veriest picture of humiliation and remorse.
Hut she before whom he humbled
himself did not seem to see him.
Her eyes were fixed on vacancy and her
Iip3 opened and closed as though she
were speaking to some one unseen.
Then she rose with a cry of "Edward,
my husband, whom I would have
wronged by doubting, come to me; come,
or I will die," and fell on the tioor in a
Bwoon.
The old man, all in a tremble, crept to
tier, raised her in his arms, dashed water
into her face, laid her down again, aud
rushing to a shelf, felt for a bottle and
lield it to the li*;ht. Empty! A curse
upon the fiery brew that had brought
ruin and was gone when it miijht do
jood! lie knelt jigain, beat her hands,
wrung hi3 own. and then starting up
like a madman, dashed out into the air,
leaving the woman lying in the cabin as
though she were dead. Over to the pier
uid across it be mimed. lie ran to tne
side of the big bark. There was no
jang-plank there, but he sprang for the
ower rigging, grabbed it and clambered
>n the deck.
He saw a figure pacing up and down
;n the dark, ajid the yellow light forward
showed a couple of seamen who !
iad risen from a coil of rope, lie turned j
toward them, and with hands stretched i
mtreatingly, he called out:
"For God's 6ake, mates, let me have a j
Irop of grog, or somethiu'. Me gal, j
ue daughter's ayin' over on the boat i
:here, and I've nothin' to bring her too. ;
:V drop o' somethin' and a bite to
strengthen her, ef you're men."
The figure in the dark stopped, and a
roice asked: "-What's all this hubbub
ibnuti"
"Please, sir," said one of the sailors,
"n. man's romc aboard to say a woman's
sick in a boat lyin' oif there, and he
wants somethin1 to help her out."
"Sonc^i'im to the steward," r.aid the
eoice, and the form melted in the darkness
aft.
Up and down, up and down it went
over the smooth deck?a manly figure,
but with stooping head aud a solemn,
thoughtful face. Once or twice the hitter
turned to the big city, and the eyes
roamed over the black profile of the
buildings and the tall brick phantoms
far oH in the a:r as though they would
pierce to the heart of that throbbing hive
and pluck from it some secret hidden
there. A glimpse of the moon showed
overhead for a moment, and the spars
and ropes stood out clearer, but soon it
was veiled, and the figure went on in the
dark up and down, up and down as before.
'God bless you. mates, for this night's
work. God bless you!"
The words stole out into the air from
the open companionwav, and Old Tom
Saunders, who had uttered them, came
J ix: ..., ;'
up with & bottle and pan. Once ha
stumbled in his haste, but quickly recovering
himself, he came on to the
deck. The silent figure had paused and
turned toward the voice. It moves toward
it, and then with a wild cry
springs forward. The light from the
ship's lantern falls on Old Tom's face,
haggard and blanched and excited; on
the face of the other, too?young and
hearty, but sad and white with pas3ion.
And in the yellow glow the two men
know each otlnr.
With a grand sweep of the hand the
stranger has dashed from the old man's
V?if lines em oalinrl
litlUVi U11U UWOlXJf UUU lb uiJiuoiivu
upon the timbers, wjiile the young,
manly facc is thrust into the other's and
a voicc cries in his ears: "Curse it! Let
it lie there. It was that robbed me o'
my wife. It was that drove me away
into the world a wanderer in search of
her. Curse the stuff! It was the cause
of all;" and tue heavily shodden foot
comes down on the splintered glass till
it cracklcs beneath it. Old Tom has
started back aghast at the young man's
vehemence, but in that moment rises to
his lips a cry that sweeps enmity and
passion away:
"My God, Ned, it wa3 for herl She
is dying."
The strong hand of the young seaman
is on the others arm, and the face is
even whiter as he demands:
"What do you mean? She is dying.
Where? Speak, man! Tell me at once!"
"There, in that boat. Yes, that old
hulk of acanawler," he adds, in response
to ths other's inquiring glance. "That's
what we've ccme to now."
The young man turns and is at the
vesse.'s 6ide before Old Tom can call
out: "Where are you going? You will
kill her. Didn't I tell you ahe is dying
?dying of want."
From the other'3 breast comes a groan,
a deep, prolonged one, and he says in an
altered tone:
'Load me to her. God will not rob
M ? t?
juu ui uur uu>v. wuitoivu^
The two pass over the wharf and go
down into the cabin of the old boat, i
from which the dim light is shining,and
there, awakened from her swoon, but
still dazed and frightened, is the girl of
the young man's love, the wife of his
thoughts, lying like a blighted flower.
The father was the first to descend,
and he turned at the entrance to restrain
his companion.
4<A TnAmnnf- VVnif. n mnmpnf.
The surprise is too sudden."
The young man drew back into the j
shadow while the other lifted up the
woman and seated her by the berth. "I j
am better, father," she said, and laid her
head wearily beside the sleeping child.
But old Tom's actions soon attracted her.
He was smiling, actually smiling, and
rubbing his hands with infinite complacency.
She said nothing but looked at
him inquiringly.
' It's a good night is Christmas Eve," j
he blurted out. "I've always heerd so.
Ain't you, Libbie? Sandy Claws brings
things t' chil'ren, and friends come together
and news comes o' people that
ain't been 'round for ever so long. Don't
they, chf"
She looked at him more intently than
ever, and there was an eager, appealing
look in her eyes.
"No one knows when luck may change.
Do they?" the man continued.
"Father, you have heard something.
Tell me, is it about him?"
"'Bout Ned? Well, ye1,1 have. Now,
don't take on, Libbie. You'll be quiet
and easy, like a uoo.l cal."
"It is about him! You have seen him.
You have met him. Ho ha* come for me
at last
Slicturnec toward the cabin door,and
was stretching her hand toward it when
she was clasped to the breast of her husband
and his voice repeated: "At last."
There were tears and caresses and explanations.
Ned had come back from
his wanderings as mate of the big bark
with a promise of soon having the com- j
mand of a vessel for himself. In the joy J
of the moment all the ha:dsh"psand pri- !
vaations of the past were forgotten, and
as the bluff seaman cuddled his own |
child, whose acquaintance ho then made i
for the first time, he said to tlie happy !
mother:
"Didn't I tell you. Libbie. whenever
you looked at your wed^ig ring to re- I
member me,and be sure I would keep my !
word
She glanccd at the tiny circlet and
her eyes cauaht. sight of Tom sitting
with bended head, and the tears streaming
down his cheeks. And as she j
pressed her lips to the tr nket she said:
"(jod bless that ring! It has brought
usjoy and happiness on Christmas Eve."
A Joyous Christmas.
"I don't suppose they make as much
of Christmas out West as we do here in j
the l-'ast, do they." asked an l-.asteru j
tourist of a Dead wood girl.
"()li! mercy, yes!" was the enthusi- j
astic reply. "Why, I've known my pa |
and my brother Dock to win as many as ;
twenty-nine pigeons and ten turkeys at j
one shooting match, to say nothing of !
going to two lvuchinjjs in the evening, j
Wc always lay ourselves out for a jolly |
good time uiiristmiis.
One of the most prominent Fouth Jcr- I
scy "industries" is the preparation of
evergreen deeorations for Christmas and i
New Year's. The festoons are the handi- j
work of women and girls, the raw mate- I
rial being furnished by the male portion '
of the family,and the product is shipped ]
in barrels to New York and Philadelphia.
Off for a Foreign Share.
\EU j
^^^0- !
i
Mr. and Mrs. Gobb'er, in -anticipation
of Christmas, depart hastily for Europe.
........ v. v:
/
HOLIDAY GREENS,
ORIGIN OF THE CUSTOM OF
DECORATING HOUSES.
The Practice a Relic of the Roman
Saturnalia?The Habit of Adorning
Churches With Flowers
Becoming Prevalent.
HERE has long
; R W beeD . a m,00!!d
JkPi question, waeace
. arose the custom
I'll if"" "Till0* decorating
| ," I .1 churches and
houses at Christie
I ^Imastide? AntiI
Aquarians, as we
*7 \ have intimated,
1L are divided in
their opinions as
^ j i |) to or'giu ?f
rjil' J L..JI the custom. Our
English ancestors
*ery likely derived the practice either
from the Celtic nations or from the
Saturnalia of the Romans, possibly from
| both. "Wherever Druidism existed the
houses were adorned with evergreens, so
that the sylvan spirits mitfht find there a
safe shelter from the wind and the frost.
The oak mistletoe, an essential clement
in the bloody ceremonies of old magician
priests, has become tenderly significant
of the happiness and love that should
abound at the joyous Christmas season.
When St. Augustine arrived in Britain
he was wise enough to utilize
the Pagan customs by giving them a
Cnristian significance, preserving such
parts as were innoceut in themselves,
and thus it is probable that the practice
of decorating the homes and temples was
continued. Such a method has been followed
successfully by modern mioionaries,
notably in the Sandwich Islands, i
and travelers tell us the delight with j
tVooo flr?\vor.lr>rin<rnhilflrAii brinf? !
TVUIbil tUbUV UVMV* ?V ? Q ,
their tropical berries and flowers to help ;
ia the beautifying of their humble;
churches. We think it is unquestionable j
that the wise spirit of accommodation :
shown by Augustine,in adopting va.ious
Pagan ceremonies to the use of Christian
worship, was not only the cause of his i
success as a missionary, but also the
reasons why, especially, we twine at this
season the holly and the bay, and turn ,
winter into summer.
It is an historical fact that the Eoman |
Saturnalia were celebrated at the same
time of the year as the feast of Christ- j
mas, but whether the former had any- !
thing to do with the latter, by way of
cause or common origin, it is not easy to '
i decide, nor, indeed, essential. Tfie I
Saturnalia began late in December, and
when we compare the Christmas orgies
and mummeries indulged in up to com- j
paratively recent times, the resemblance
between the two feasts is striking, even
in particular details.
The time came, however, when in the
strife for the ascendancy, Chiistianity !
determined to tight paganism with the
latter's own weapons, ancl the customs '
and revelries were carried to such an ex- !
treme that several early church councils
forbade, among other things, the decoration
of private houses aftei the manner
of the Koman Saturnalia. But the practice
of adorning churches with flowers
was not condemned, as extracts from the
writings of the early Christians will j
show. In his work "Do Civitate Dei," |
the African Augustine speaks of floral
decorations, and of a miracle wrought
by flowers brought from the shrine of
St. Stephen. Gregory of Tours praises
the holy Confessor Scverns for having
been in the habit of decorating his
church with lilies. Venantius Fortuna- ;
tus, a p^et of the fifth century, sending !
to khadegund and Agnes now and then
a bunch of violets, a cluster of rosebuds,
or a spray of lilies, is severe iu his con- j
tra>t between men who crowd their
houses with exotics, or women who deck
their breasts, and the more devoted and
pious who bring their choicest floral offerings
to God's house. And this contrast
is very evident in these days of ours,
when vast sums are lavished on flowers
only doomed to wither in the hot air of
the ball-room, or to mingle their fra
grance with the odors of the dinner-!
table.
K./fW;
1
MISTLETOE.
In these latter days, the Christian
world seems to ue getting uacK xo xne
more tender solicitude of early times in
its care for the beautifying of our
churches. There is now what might al- ;
most be culled a science of decoration.
Volumes are published upon the subject, ;
profusely illustrated with every sort oi j
device to please the eye and inspire the
devotional feeliug?the cross fleurie, the
cross patowc, the quartre-foil, tho j
cinque foil, the vesica, the four, five and !
six pointed star, the illegible Greek j
characters, bands, shield5, drapers and i
medallions, things requiring great neat-i
ncss of design and carefulness of cxecu- I
tion. There is all the ditTcrence in the
world between many of our churches at j
Christmas and what they were a gen- j
eration ago. The time has gone by
when a crowd of young and old used to i
go out in the damp, cold woods, cut j
down the snow-laden trees, or pull up j
miles of ground-pine and then sit for a
week of nights iu a freezing church, to j
niako the "trimmings'* for Christmas.
The work is done now in many instances j
by professional decorato.s, and so it is j
no more a labor of love on the part of !
the congregation, as it certainly should
be.
]t will not do to leave our subject '
without mentioning the Christmas tree,
popularly so called, though only of late
years ha* it been naturalized in England
or our own country. It is a gift from
Germany, yet one who is curious in such j
matters might perhaps trace it back to j
the toy pine tree, hung with oscilla,
which boys and girls in ancient Iiome j <
looked for on tne si.\tn ana seventn aaya ^
of the t'nturnalia, and one of which
Tiberius gave to his nephew Claudius.
The Egyptians had their palm tree, and
the Buddhists their tree of votive gifts,
and poesibly the custom drifted westward,
until Germany Christianized it in : <
honor of St. Slaternus, who first pro- 1
claimed the good tidings of Christmas j
in that land. It has become popular J
among us. and long may its verdant i
'
"
branches wave with lovely fruit tar
young and old.
Te?ldy?s Merry Clrrlstmas.
r?ever in his life did Teddy have
such a hard time going to sleep as on
that last night before Christmas. The
more mamma sang to him and told him
stories, the more his eyes -would not
shut;
"Why, Tam^afraid Santa Clause won't
have a chance to come here to-night,"
his mother said, as the clock struck nine.
"Oh, dear! I will go to sleep this
minute ," and Teddy put his hands over
his eyes to hold them shut.
"Mamma, what did you tell Santa you
wanted h'rmto bring to you?" The hands
came down, and the eyes flew wide opon
again.
"Oh, never mind; I'm too sleepy to
think;" and mamma put her head down
on the pillow beside her wide-awake
boy, and kept as still as if she were
asleep.
Teddy patted her cheek, pinched her
nose, and felt of her closed eyelids for a
minute or two; then he put his face down
close to hers, and?and
V.
The next he knew it was morning.
The sun -was just sending his first beam
of light into tne room. Pussy had
jumped into the bed, and Teddy took
ber into his arms. Then Teddy rubbed
his eyes, and looked very sharp in the
place where that little beam was shining
on the floor. For there, sitting
straight up, with legs and arms sticking
straight out, was the funniest little man
you ever saw.
It took Teddy a full minute to make
up his mind whether it was a real little
man or only a make-believe one. Then
lie rolled out of bed and caught the
funny fellow by the coat.
By this time he had looked him all
over, another beam of light was peeping
in at the window, lighting up all the
dark corners of the room. And then
such a lot of things as Teddy saw I can
not begin to tell you.
You may be sure he was glad that he
went to sleep in time lor fc'anta Claus to
come. For you know he never comes
until little boys are fast asleep. liemember
this on Christmas Eve.?Treatlire
Trove.
'lite aiisuctoc.
When winter nights grow Ion?,
And winds without blow cold,
"VVe sit in a ring round the warm wood fire,
And listen to stories old!
And we try to look grave (as maids should
be)
When the men bring in bows ot the laureltree,
Oh! the laurel, the evergreen tree!
The poets have laurels, and why not wel
?Barry Cornwall.
Christmas Huuior.
Ths mu9s that children are anxious to
get into?Christmus.
As the Christmas tree is bent, so is the
youthful heart made glad.
Christmas is the anniversary of dyspepsia's
fowlest conspiracy against comfort
Hose more despised by little children
than the man who takes no stockin' j
Santa C'laus?
The man who takes unto himself a
wife on Christmas eve will te sure to
have well filled stockings.
It is said that a child born on Christmas
will always hate turkey and goose,
and lean toward codfish and bacon.
i ce smau Doy now puis iu ciguiuuuia
a day flattening his nose against the windows
of confectioncry and toy stores.
"Is Kriss Ivingle alive, papa!"
The small boy said.
"All! j'es, and 'kicking.'"
Said the faipily head.
Christmas is rapidly coming this way,
and the young mau with a JS'o. 8 foot
will, as usual, be presented with a pair
of No. 0 slippers.
Listen to the sleigh bells jinzle!
See ;h-> merry snowflakes miugle!
How it nm ;es the life blood tingle!
A royal welcome to old Kriss Kringle!
If you really desire to perpetrate a
practical joke upon your printer this
year, ."-end him the amount cf your subscription
on Chiistmas.
A young man who gave his girl a $75
gold watch last i hristmas, married her
during the suirmcr and now he thinks
the present was "lime" well spent.
What time the holidays roll round,
The bad boy, still in frocks.
Led by the ear, to his ma draws near,
And gettetli Ins Christmas box.
".Mamma, said the little one, "do
you kuow what you are going to give I
me for Christmas.'" "Why, yes," said
the mother, "of course I know." "Well,
for mercy's sake don't tell me," responded
the puss with great vehemence.
AT THE EDITORS TA15I.E.
Ye C'hristnr.s tide now ebheth low?
Yulo-log and carols, chimes,
Ye holly and ye mistletoe
AUU .ill ) ? Jiiri i xv
Have gone, perchance to come no more;
Yet at our t.hristnias feasts.
With turkey, gooso and other beasts,
We still bring in ye bore.
Tlio IJcnedict Before Christmas.
With a bundle
See biui trundle
Down thestre -t with body bent!
Eyes fro"i sockets
Start lii?v rockets!
In his pockets
Ho can't find a single cent.
The Diule'd Christmas Shadow.
m Q
iff M
The first mention of December 25th as
Christmas Day is in a catalogue of Church
Festivals for A. D. 354.
I will honor Christmas in my heart
ind try to keap it all tto jnr.?DicJmti
CURIOUS FACTS. ill
Portsmouth, Ohio, is to have a COOT I
England built her first steamboat ill 'I
Every mineral abounds in Kansas eX|^
cept borax. VI
The Emperor of Austria pays tw<S|
cents apiece for his cigars. 9|
The first male Chinese baby born
Boston, has just made its advent.
The word "asthoree," occurring
Irish sougs, is simply a term of endear^H
The penny or denarius of the Ifewflj
Testament was worth l'u.75 cents of oiu^B
In the population of the world Chin^B
stands tirst, the British Empire seconc^H
and Russia third. |H
Charles Mitchell, of Indiana, has gon^H
cra/y over trying to find a peach-treaM
? I, I nt/tnl/-] K/VanfrttU i r* f Vl O WITltPl*
YVU1UU YVVSU1WL ucai XI Ulb ILL VUW ?, ?-?w.
Fireworks are said to have been known
to the Chinese in remote ages. They
were invented in Lurope, at Florence,^
about 13U0.
"Whenever twins are born in Hartfor<L^H
Conn., a certain lady of that city visiti^J
the mother and gives each baby a hand-^H
some present.
Charles Jackson,a Virginian,has spen^H
thirty-two years looking for a burie^H
treasure, and is not discouraged yet fi^H
says all things come to him who waits.
Among the students at Princeton ColB|
lege, New Jersey, is one seventy-tw^B
years old. lie is studying for the minis^H
try, and expects to graduate this tcrm^H
in St. ranrs, l^onaon, mere a
whispering-gallery. A voice utterec^H
most feebly at one side of the gallery
heard .distinctly at the opposite side,
great distance off.
The largest continuous sleeping-car W
service in the world is that on the Santa H
Fe system, which runs through sleepers I
from San Diego, Cal., to Chicago a dis- H
tance of 2311 miles. .v.1
Egyptian topaz, brought up from tfcefl
ruins of Herculaneuin and Pompeii,
shows the same inextinguishable color!
to-day, after it has been buried hundreds H
and hundreds of years. m
When the doctors can't save a nativeM
of China, the Ling Hoop, or prayer man,^|
is called in. For one-fourth of a cent haS
will pray half an hour, and if the victim*
doesn't rally with that he is left to go onfl
with his dying.
A citizen of New Ulm, Minn., owns afl
horse which he considers an unerring H
weather prophet. He can always teliH
when a storm is coming by watching thefl
animal's eyes, which change from a very?
light color to dark blue twenty-fourH
hours before a change in the weather. H
The white potato comes from Peru andH
Chili, where it grows wild even now. ItH
wa; introduced into England by SirH
Walter Raleigh in MSG and into IrelandB
about *200 years later. It is called IrishB
because it is a staple article of foodB
there now; perhaps because if it isn'tB
Irish, it ought to be. B
A Lecture on Nisbt-Wrappers. B
When the air is cold and the weather B
inclement it is the general custom tofl
wear garments of extra thickness andfl
warmth, and to sit round roaring fires. B
But, on going to bed, what takes placelB
In ninety-nine cases out of one hundred^
people win pass irora me warm uvjug*
rooms into chilly bed-rooms. As if the
sudden change from extreme heat?for
there can be little doubt that what with
fires, gas and insufficient ventilation,
people are in the habit of breathing an
atmosphere the temperature of which it
considerably higher than it should hygicnically
be-to excessive cold is not
sufficiently absurd, they proceed to divest
themselves of their several warm
garments, to garb themselves in thin
lioen nightshirts, and to consign their
heated bodies to the cooling influence of
unsympathetic sheets. Conventionality
has habituated one to the custom; bat
a really serious contemplation of it cannot
fail to make an utter absurdity of
the custom clearly apparent.
The Chinese, from whom many useful
lessons have been learnt by morecivili/ed
nations, can give us a wrinkle on this
subject. John Chinaman sleep3 in the
! same kind of clothes as he wears iu the
i daytime, the ea9y and flowing garments
to which he is addicted allowing of.this
wiihout causing inconvenience. WestI
<?rn nations are not favored in the latter
respect; but still it would be quite pos-H
sible to replace the airy nightshirt fttH
present in vogue l/y some garment which, H
as regards warmth, was equivalent toH
the several distinct articles of clothingH
constituting the working diea worn byH
day. Dwellers iu foreign countries in-H
variably sleep iu flannel garments, nnd^J
the backwoodsman wraps himself in a^B
stout woolen blanket and defies the ele-^l
ments. They are sensible. TheSiumanH
frame should, undoubtedly, be clothedH
in woolen garments, for wool is a bad|H
conductor of heat. Enveloped in ifannelH
the body maintains a normal tempera-H|
ture. which is of the greatest importance,
No sooner does the temperature fall thaa^|
the action ot the various functions be-^B
comes impaired; the nerr.s get out ol^|
gear, and the whole system suffers dis-^|
organization.? Washington Star. MB
Why 1900 is Not a Leap Year. KM
The following explains why the year^B
will not l.e counted among leap^l
years: The year is days, ") hoursaadHj
4!) minutes long; !1 minutes are taken^H
otrnrv v^nr to llliiJcfi the VCar davs^H
long, iind every fourth year we hive an^H
extra day. This was Julias Cuiar'a ar-^|
rangemeut. HE
Where do these 11 minutes come from?^B
They come from the future and arepaid^B
by omitting leap year every 100 vears.^B
But if leap year is omitted regularly^H
every 10 th year, in the course "of
jears it is found ihat the 11 miuutes^B
taken each year will not only have beea^H
paid back, but ihat a whole day will^J
have been given up. So Pope Gregory^B
.XIII.. who improved on C'asar's calen-^B
dar iu 1 decreed that every cen?Hfl
turial year divisible by four should be a^B
leap year after all. So we borrow ll^B
minutes each year, more thau paying oui^H
borrowings back, by omitting three leap^B
years, in three centurial years and square^B
matters by having u leap year iu the^H
fourth centurial year. ^B
Pope Gregory's arrangement is so ex-^H
act and the borrowing and paying back^B
balances so close that we borrow more^H
than we pay back to the extent of oaly^H
oiie day in JS'iU years. BH
A Leather Turtle. 9fl
la a little pool in the pigeon house ia^H
Central Park, New York, tnere lies
specimen of the leather turtle, recently^H
received from Texas. He is a lazy chap.
but his vampire beak shoots out now^|
and then with such startling rapidity^B
that the birds coming down to the edge^H
of the pool to driuk do so with a great^B
deal of trepidation. He is about ei^h^H
teen inches long, and when he waddle^H
across the floor his back moves ix^H
rhythmic waves. There is no shell noi^M
bones, the coveringjto the flesh is elasti^H
and ductile and of the color of a darlSD
tanned ox hide.