Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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i '■ -- '. hi? ■yr -*» _ »l-' ■ pfr****** nr** 1 - •— ■■* jy/cAo// ^ifc ^O.UK siiiR a liale helgh-o For tho Christmas long ago. When the old log-cabin homed us From tho night of blinding snow. And the rarest joy held reign, \nd the chimney roared amain. With the firelight likes beacon Through tho frosty window-pane. Ah! the revel and the din From without and from within. The blend of distant sleigh-bells With the plinking violin; The muffled shrieks and cries— Then the; glowing cheeks and eyes— The driving storm of greetings, Ous ts of kisses and rurprise. Sing in again the mirth Of the circle 'round the hearth. Y\ ith the rustic Sinhad telling us The strangest talcs on earl'll! And tlie Mistrel Bard we knew. With his “Love-l-er so true.” Likewise his “Young House-k'yarpen- ter,” And "Lov-ed Henry,” too! And forgetting ne'er a thing. Lift a gladder voice and sing Of the dancers in the kitchen— Clean from start to “pigeon-wing!” Sing the glory and the glee And the joy and jubilee— The twirling form—the quickened breath - The sigh of ecstasy. The eyes that smile alone Back into our happy own— The leaping pulse—the laughing blood— The trembling undertone! Ho! pair us off once more. With our feet upon tlie floor. But our heads and hearts in Heaven, As they were in days of yore! —James Whitcomb Riley, in Interior. “ ‘Turkey, apple sauce, cake ami rais ins,’ replied one of the men at iny elbow. “‘That sounds like old times. Ididn’t know there were any turkeys nowa days. Say, Yanks, hcv yer anything over?’ “With one common impulse half a dozen men sprang to the top of the em bankment w ith their hands full of good things. “‘Come over!’ shouted a corporal, who stood tit the elbow of the entrench ment. ‘Guess we’ve got enough left to give some of you a Christmas dinner.’ “Three men in butternut clambered over their earthworks and met our men as they advanced over the debat able ground between the lines. Toour surprise, the federals came back with a we-uns wish you-uns a merry Christ- PAPA HAD TO SPOIL IT ALL. *• ‘Same to you!’ we all shouted back, and there was no more shot or shell along that part of the line for the re mainder of the day.” HER CHRISTMAS GIFT. How It lielocd Him Out of an llnpleas- i Hill IVl-llil'HIUCUU It was all on account of his having a ; conscience. Most of the fellows in his j class, had they been in the same lix. would not have worried about the mat ter at all. but that was not his way. Al though be had been knocking around college for three yearsand over.sowing w ild oals as rapidly as any. yet he had never for an instant lost his boyish lly Talking Annul a New Year'* Hill JuHt at tin' Wrong Time. It whs New Year’s day and the fair Miss Snobberly was entertaining a caller. The caller was a shining light in the inner circle of society and a potential aspirant for her hand. “O, Mr. Oldfum,” she cried, taking him to the end of the room, “see this darling old colonial chair which ar rived yesterday from papa’s ancestral home in Vermont. Did you ever see anything sweeter in your life?” ‘ 'Vhy, really. Miss Snobberly, it is a delightful bit of furniture, and no doubt full of the most delightful associ ations.** “Yes, indeed; it belonged to ah—the Christmas morning l found some un known miscreant had made me a pres ent of a bottle of hair dye.—Texas Sift- »‘»gs. A Curious Cu-toui. The Hindus celebrate the anniversary of the new year by a festival called llooly, in honor of Krishna, one of their many false gods. It is a season of gen eral rejoicing, w hen everybody is on an equality, and the distinctions of “caste” are forgotten for the time. It might be called a “red day,” for all the jieople who can afford it dress in red clothes, and they go about throwing a red-col ored powder at one another , or squirt ing it, with water from a syringe, on the passers-by. During the three or four days this red-letter feast lasts T A WAR-TIME CHRISTMAS. A Kemiuiiieeuce of Kigkteen .Htxtjr-Kour Recounted. Mr. George F. Williams gives, in the New York World, a reminiscence of the siege of Petersburg, illustrating the pleasant way in which both unionists and confederates observed the last Christmas day of the war. “Christmas day, 1SG1,” he said, “found the armies under Meade and Lee occupying the op posing lines of siege works at Peters burg, \ a. I had ridden over from Gen. Warren’s hei ' ers to eat my holi day dinner w ith my old comrade, Will ! Giider, who afterward became famous , ns an arctic traveler. I found him and Gen. Egan in a bomb-proof near Port Hell, on the Jerusalem plank road, and enjoyed u hearty meal amid the shriek of shell and loud detonations of a rtillery. “After dinner and a (icaeeful pi|»e,” continues M r.Wi Hiatus, “Maj. Gilder and 1 paid a visit to the outer line of pickets, being obliged to crawl on our hands and knees for two hundred yards to avoid the bullets which were constantly whistling over our heads. “Finally we reached the picket line, having given to a brother officer a por tion of the good things we had been dis cussing. As the captain had finished Ids dinner there was a perceptible slackening in the artillery and mus ketry lire, until a deep silence fell upon the long lines of trenches. “ The Johnnies have hoisted a flag, sir.’ said a sergeant, as he emerged from a pit nearby. “ ‘What for?’demanded the captain. “‘Well, they say it's Christmas day and they think they have wasted enough ammunition.’ “Looking over the edge of our breast works, 1 saw that the enemy’s line was scarcely a hundred yards away, and along its ragged edge were ranged thir ty or forty heads of the confederate soldiers, our own line being alive, ow- ing to the implied truce. ” ‘Say. Yanks.’ said a tall, sunburned southerner, ‘what did yer hev for yei Christmas dinner?' Mil v . • ij n M. in ■iniiiiliii (riniRmn i i Id.,miii I ,1* Hi'' ' ttHtfix Win •IHnq.il IjlM I , m 11 HI \ ’ J* 1 - J .urn 11 t..' 1 ■wfei Ilii'S mill rii‘ i, ' <1 *• .* m Mllllll! il i! 11 J i| ! '[; id good supply of tobacco, which was quickly distributed. “ ‘Say, Yanks,' called the confederate who had opened the conversation. What music floats upon the mi tnigh. air. As sweet .nJ solemn is .in mice. •. prayeri' What message to the vo.lJ. of |<>y ,ulJ peaces Wh.tt promise thatthe reign of wrong shall, ease? What word of hope to those that watch and weep? • What blessed balm to bid the work-worn sleep, To soothe 'he sufferer on his couch of pain. To cleanse tne sin-sick .spirit from ns stain? The mother kneeling by her dying child Remembers how the Holy Mother mild Wept o’er her Sacred Son in Palestine. ?» rr.’ .X SA 3 A z P : ' r* in\ vv fX r-s. Sa 1 tm.- The poor remember how the One divine Had not place where to l.n His gentle head The wretched Magdalene recalls who said To one like tier, "i : or love s sake be forgiven." In evil tia mts tin chains of vice are riven. The oath Is hushed, and the repentant tear Pirns eves that have t een dry tor many a year It Is the music of the Oinstmas chimes. That, like m anthem of the olden time*. I 1 , When men still lived who saw theChrlston earth And heard the seraph choral at Mis birth, Repeats the gracious promise vet agatn - "There shall be peace on earth, good will to men ” —Charles Uitin-Hiidreih. in Bcmorest s Mag.ume. bleak of honor and all that sort of thing. So. when he fell desperately in love with one girl, while engaged to another, it really troubled hint. Moreover, the next day was Christinas, and who likes to he bothered they? Altogether, he was in a had way. Hut seriously, he must break his en gagement after Jill. Yes. after all! After those first days at Lake i’lneid. when he saved her front clrowniiuf only by his skill in handling his frail Adiron dack canoe. After last winter, sacred in his memory, because of that night in the conservatory, when, in reply to his question, eaiue a low “yes.” After last summer at the pier—after those drives, those walks after those seri ous. half playful love-talks after--. Yes, it was sad. hut its man of honor there was no other way. Hut how to do il ? What excuse could he offer for his conduct? Could he not tell her of hits desertion in some better way than by a letter? Ah, he had it. lie would send some gift that would lie symbolical of a wish to break the tie that bound biintoher. Hut, w hat should if lie? A floral broken column? No. that would lie too suggestive of a fun eral. A broken chain? No. that would lie theatrical. A -— ? A knock at the door. Ah. his mail. Hill, circulars, newspaper, small box. Looks like jewelry. I’rohahly the first of his Christinas gifts. What’s this. 1 Her card—dear girl to remember him, when he had not written in so long. Sleeve buttons, without doubt—just what he wanted. How nice of her! Hello! that’s queer—it looks like a ring - feels like a ring it is. why, how’s this? It seems familiar—and well it might, for he had bought it himself not twelve short months ago. Brooklyn Life. There is no true Christinas present which doesn’t bear the stamp of the Christ Child upon it,—Young Men’s Era. founder of papa’s family in this coun try. ami has cradled—no. I don’t mean that—it has been used by all the suc ceeding generations.” “How very interesting.” “Yes: isn’t it? To think of my great-great-grandfather being sung to sleep to the music of some old 1‘uritan psalm in that very chair!” “It is. indeed, a valuable heirloom.” “Yes; and look:” her voice took on a flesh note of triumph as she pointed to I he ‘nek. “look where deeph enrven and Mack with age are the letters K. I. S my great-grandfather’s initials. Think. Mr. Oldfuin. when those letters wit, earven Americans still prayed piildielv lor the king and the royal family, the battle of Hunker Hill was yet undreamed of and Here in the next room arose a voice, morose and loud, a voice which had its training on the hoard of trade. “Maria.” said the voice, “I’ve just been looking over these New Year’s bills, and here’s one I don’t understand. ‘To one exact reproduction of colonial chairs, I’orty-nine dollars.* That’s all right, of course. I suppose it’s that old jut.k shop a flair in the front parlor— though why you wanted to buy a tiling that looks old when 1 can afford bra ml new ones I don’t understand. Hut it’s this item that pozzies me: ‘To carving t hrec let ters on I lie back and producing the appearance yf age, nine dollars.’ Now, I—” Hut Mr. Oldfuin heard no more; In* had caught his breath sufficiently to 1 tell Miss Siiohhcrly that he had a lol ' more calls to make and must hid her good afternoon. Chicago Tribune. Inniill to Injur). Huld-llcuded Man I can’t find words to express my indignation at an insult I received this Christinas. I’ctc Amsterdam What was the in- suit? Huld-IIeaded Man When I gol up : everybody appears to have been dipped I in a tub of ak beer, red powder, the |iet ; monkeys even not escaping. All this is taken in as good part as snowballing i is with us.—Hnited ITesbvtcrian. | —Santa Claus is about the only per- j son who knows what the small boy ; wants.—Judge. V 1 T WAS Christmas eve, arc! tbo wind blew keen Across the prairies that lie between Fort Dodge, on the Arkansaw, under the hill, And tho straggling hamlet of Purdyville, Where dwelt Niles Nelson, who rode that day From his home to the northward, far away, Over tho hunch grass, hare and brown, Into the bustling frontier town. The night was dark—not a star on high— And the blizzard brewing up there in tbs sky. Niles Nelson stepped out into the street; The wind was driving a blinding sheet Of powdery snow right into his face. But Niles was happy; he left the place With a glow in his heart, for little Moll, His baby daughter, would get her doll. The Christmas gift he had promised long. Niles Nelson, trolling a Christmas song. And facing the north wind, sturdily rode. While past him the Storm Fiend’s coursers strode. The snow grows deeper, the night more wild, When he hears the wail of a little child. Lost in the prairie and doomed to die If Heaven i>rove deaf to Its feeble cry. He leaps from his pony, he searches long; He feels it; he has it within his strong, Rough hands; he presses it to his breast— A place of shelter, a place of rest. "Don’t cry, little honey, you'll catch more cold," And he wrapped the child in many a fold Of his blanket coarse, and he hugged it tight To his big, broad breast, but the blizzard’s blight Still strove to wither its tender life. He mounted his pony, and then the strife With the wolfish wind, and the blinding snow. And the biting cold (that the plainsraea know When the Storm Fiend flies) began ohue more. And under his breath Niles Nelson swore. Then a silence fell In the tumult wild, And he heard the voice of the little child; “Now l lay me down to sleep: 1 pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep; If I should die before I wake, I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take.” Niles Nelson paused, at the sound dis mayed, And then—and then Niles Nelson prayed: "Lord save,” was all he could think of then. "Lord save,” he muttered, "Lord save, amen.” Then staring to northward, and Into the night, "I see it!" he shouted: "Thank God, a light." 'Twas a beam from a lamp on the window sill Of his own sod cabin. With right good will His pony quickened its lagging pace. And soon in that dear, familiar place. His cozy cabin, Niles Nelson stands; He kisses his wife and he holds her hands. "Where's Mollie?” he cries, “where's lit tle Boll? I’ve brought her a wonderful Christmas doll!" Then he points to the bed where th«l blanket lies In a queer little bundle: “That's my sur- 1 prise. Why don’t you answer? You’re deadly pale; You tremble and shiver: you sob and wall. Answer! Where’s Mollie?” "Oh. Niles," she said: “My God, how can 1? Oh, Niles, she’s dead." "Dead?” "Yes, Niles, she’s lost in the snow; To-day was pleasant, and Mollie would go On the prairie to play, and she didn’t com* hack. When the night shut down, all stormy and black, I set the lamp on the window sill, Rushed into the storm and sought until The blizzard drifted me hack to tin-door. That shall open for Mollie, our Mollie, no more." Niles Nelson stood like a statue of stone: Then he raised his hand and said, with a groan: "Is there a God that will kill a child And bring its father across the wild Of wintry fdains to save from death The child of another?” He drew his breath With a savage hiss, as he snatched away The blanket In which the baby lay. The blue eyes open; the rose lips call: "Oh, papa, you’re home! Now 1 want my doll.” —Stanley Wood, in Chicago Times. —A Christmas Story.—‘‘I did not ex pect u siiij'le present.”—Lift*. HOW SANTA CLAUS WAS CAUGHT. rv,. , a *5" « " jfi m ■' 1 y,' ill i .i •' r Ij’jjl’UtJi'Jfl J '.'...Ml qj} ■ ■ >.. \ b* Chorus of Voices from Other Room—” Hurrah ! We’ve got the Old Fellow at »ast I”