Newspaper Page Text
AS. 1SH
’
Ti ,
F ALL the pres
ent* in the
fw: world—
The wealth of
the Christmas
cheer.
All the stores of beautiful toys
For dear little girls and Jolliest boys.
All that ever were sung or told,
Could Into a one big gift be rolled—
All the holly and evergreen too¬
l'd bring the bundle to you, my dear.
The whole of It straight to you.
Selfish—to wish it all for one,
The gathered beauty of all the year?
Never, never:—for when It was done,
What would you do. my dear?
Ah, ahl how swiftly your thoughts would
*0
Oat to the little ones far and near.
Who never have seen and never can know
The taste of holiday cheer.
Think of the million wistful eyes
That soon would brighten with glad sur¬
prise
When I should bring It to you, my dear.
To do a* you pleoned to da
Woolly wee dogs and china kittens.
AU the rackets and balls and bats,
Baa. baa lambs and purring cats,
Searlot mufflers and worsted mittens;
All the dollies in all tho world.
Bine-eyed, brown-eyed, frlr.r.lcd and curled:
All the books with pictures, rhymes.
Telling of merriest Christmas times —
All the story of peace on earth,
Coming to us with a Saviour's birth.
Yea, I will bring it all to you.
The crown of the closing year.
And when the little beseeching hands
Were held to you from lands and lands,
Your bundle would melt so fast, so fast.
That soon we should reach tbo very last
80 now, have I answered right, my dear.
Oueaslng what you would do?
—Sydney Day re. In Our Little Ones.
<rcHRiSTms.y
'l
A
AST Christmas
was the jolli
est one I ever
saw. I guess
what makes
think so is because it was such a
food one to Aunt Mildred and Uncle
©Borg's—though ho was not my uncle
• then— and they say if it hadn’t
oeea for me they wouldn’t have had
such a good Christmas. And I reckon
If I hadn’t been so anxious to work and
earn something, things never would
have happened just as they did. My
pa died when I was just a little fellow,
and my Aunt Mildred earned nearly
everything we had after that, teach
Ing music, for my While ma was sick lived nearly
all the time. my pa we
had plenty, but everything he had was
invested in a bank, and the bank failed
noon after be died. People said that if
he had lived the bank wouldn’t have
failed; and they think the man that
was In with him cheated my ma out of
what oeght to have been hers.
Pot the last three or four years I
have been earning a nickel whenever I
ooold by carrying parcels or running
errands, or something of that sort; but
last winter I just made up my mind
that a great big boy eleven years old
could do something harder than that;
ao when a big snow fell a week or two
before Christmas I started out to shovel
far people. There was Mrs. Bran
MB, living upon Fourth street, that had
alwmya been mighty good about giving
little jobs to do, and 1 went to her
She let me shovel the snow off
of all the walks few her, and paid me a
good brought pt-iee for it; and overcoat then she of went Mr.
out an
mob's that she said he would not
wear any more, though it was real
' food, all but the sleeves and the
on on
ige of it, and wanted to know If my
i Mooeld notent It down for me. I
could do It, for she had made
of things forme out of pa’s old
>, and 1 I needed an overcoat, too;
Hph 1 hated toteke sock a thing from
, and my face burned like
Bet she offered it in such a nice
, like she wes afraid of hurting my
inn. aad her face looked like it
W banting, too, eo I thought maybe
Pi better take it, aad told her I would
H if she would let me do some
thing to pay for it—I didn’t feel like I
eoaid take It for nothing, it see
*
W MISTLETOE.
x.
W
#
!
m : %
■
/ V
-y 1
nraeh like a beggar—and she told me
all right, 1 might go down cellar and
rick up the stove wood that bad been
hauled and thrown in there, so i€ would
not be so much in the way. I went and
piled up the wood, and she wrapped up
the coat in a big paper, so no one could
see what it was—I thought that was
nice of her—and I took it home with
me. When I took it to ms and told her
about it she cried a little, but she said
I did right to take it, and she went
nght to work rirvnintr ripping it it un p to
make over for me. She was ripping
away on it, when all at once she sai.i:
“Why, Harry, here is a letter addressed
to Mr. George Bronson, that has worked
its way down out of the pocket lx
tween the lining and the outside. You
must go right back to -Mrs. Bronson
and take the letter
to her, and tell her
how we found it.”
We talked a little
wore about itand then
I hurried back with it,
though it did not look
as though it could be
of much importance,
for it seemed to have
been written years
ago, and didn’t look
like a business letter,
cither. It was in a
woman’s handwriting,
and nia and I both
thought it looked a
little like Aunt Mil¬
dred 's handwriting,
only smaller. But I
think all women's and
girl’s handwriting
looks a good deal
alike.
When 1 gave the let¬
ter to Mrs. Bronson
she said George was
her brother- In-law
that used to board
with them when they
lived in Palmville, and
she reckoned her hus¬
band must have put
the letter in his pock¬
et and forgot to give
it to his brother. She
said, lor it must have
been in there fta( four
or five years, George
Bronson left their
house aud went off to
some western city to
practice law before
tliey left Palmville,
and that was over
three years ago. She
said she would send
the letter to him and
explain about it. The
evening before Christ
mus I was helping
around in Mr. Puton’s
store and didn't get
home till about eight
o’clock. I went up to
the kitchen window
and peeped in and saw
that ma and Elsie—
that’s my little sister
—were In there, sol
thought I'd go around
to the little front
room we called the
parlor and get Aunt
Mildred to help me
hide the presents I
had got for them, till
the next morning.
When I went in, there
was a great big, tall
man with his arms
around Aunt Mildred, holding her fast,
She gave a little sort of a scream and
tried to get away from him when 1 came
in, and I yelled out: “Burglars! Help!”
and picked up the poker and ran at him:
but Aunt Mildred said: “Stop, stop,
Harry." Then he let her go, and she
sort o’ laughed and blushed and said:
“Harry, this la not a burglar, but a
man that is going to be your uncle be
fore long.”
You see, it was this way: They got
to be sweethearts five years ago when
Aunt Mildred was at boarding school,
and Mr. Bronson—Uncle George it is
now—was ’tending law school in the
same place. They wanted to marry,
but grandpa said Aunt Mildred was too
young to marry, but he let her corre
spond with Uncle George after they
both left school. But when Uncle
George's brother forgot to give him
that letter he waited and waited, and
then he thought Aunt Mildred had quit
writing to him and be went off out
west. He had never told his folks say
thing about having a sweetheart, and
they didn't know what was the matter
with him. His brother had taken the
letter out of the oAoe and put it In his
pocket with other letters, and when it
slipped down out of sight he never
thought of it again,
Aunt Mildred was just like Uncle
George; she thought he had quit writing
to her, and she never said anything
about him. Grandpa died about that
time, and she came to live with us. and
all the money she hsd was put into the
bank with pa’s, and lost the same way.
Well, yon see when Mrs. Bronson got
hold of that letter she sent it to her
brother-in-law—that’s Uncle George,
you know—and told him how a boy
named Harry Floyd had found it in her
husband’s old coat; and when he got
the letter he saw just how it all was,
and as my name is Floyd, he thonght I
most be some kin to Aunt Mildred; so
be eame back here ss quick as he could
and found out where we lived, and
aad found Aunt Mildred hero.
And that’s bow I happened to be the
of Idas aad Aunt Mildred having
a man y Christmas last year.
Gaels George is a pretty sharp law¬
yer, I tell you, and be has brought
sort of nit that
oet of money, end he
e m getting tt
8. White, la Good
%■
ils*L
09R miW&Y &fPP‘t£MC m
"^f e “ «**'*“* J* e ,l r.ew L f for nr rhrutm-m Chris-mo.
' 1 wear;
j liave ni0te scarfs than can erer
ror slipper*, let roe say. i do not care,
Thousb a eood hook is never in the wny^
1 more Tbave cigars to .-pare,
y ivc me no fountain-pens -they make me
swear:
No knives before my tortured eyes display.
Ah; preUy stclla overheard my plaint,
And knowing well 1 loved her. blushing, said:
• How very deep, it seems, is yoar despair.
Your troubles, sure, would aggravate a saint,
A nd M 1 think”—and here she bowed her
' lustmyself: takeme. There:”
- j ug veyou so
- Nathan M- Levy . In Judge.
Hto Bewon.
It was drawing near to a very inter
esting season of the year. Willy was
T- \
L>' -£v - f; 3l, KBhHv'* _ if#
xm
Fa vm 35 --. 9w f*
r :
-
jfe ;f'W■
em
s =
n:St [pv V i I
•sail !
mm
i,i<
t
F
[
I
I
I
I
I
J
j I
I
[ I
S'
I
I
I
I |
n.jV-I
'j I
j
'
|
E^SnHggggi
5S1BH
'.i • • J
,w iH jj ; 8BElj3 SsSSlfjPfHjl ■SSBgpl'Bgja 8lB rifc? i l
v
-4-^ V, «•," B Ugg
>, 'i ** ».y 'trr~' ‘HIE03
1 - Ut: i" ■ ■ -. .\- > . f"*" IT ~ : b
HIS ARM WAS AROUND AUNT MILDRED.
getting ready for bed. His mother
looked happy.
"My dear, ” she said, “1 am glad to
see that you do not hurry through your
prayers as you used to.”
“No, ma’um, "said Willy. “Christmas
is week after next, - and I have a good
many things to ask for.”—Inter Ocean.
J s
V<
PAvw' 1 "
“vVVnn -» -
’!
;
•r.
\ ”
i m *
t
H 1 u J \
V ss.
LA \
m"
[F
IT*
W~M - (T
CHRISTMAS MOBXlNe.
Bobby—Come to breakfast, sister!
Little Sister (with her new Christmas doll)— No, thank you, Bob; I hsd my
breakfast yesterday morning!—Harper’s Bazar.
Girt.
The seow has drifted te
The hoUy bod hsa dyed her eheek.
Her eyes, Uk* stare on Christmas eve.
Shins out with classes, coyly.
There’s
Is wreathe ef green nod heroes red;
heetef elL I gladly
There's mistletoe chore
i» urn.
“I don’t yon don’t let eat
all my candy,” 1
* - r
It rilled the Requirements.
•George,” said Mrs. Cawker to her
husband, "ttby did you ask Carrie
what she wanted for a Christmas pres¬
ent, and when she replied that she
wanted a sealskin sack, why did you
go off and get her a cheap glove-but
toner?”
“Why, my dear,” replied Cawker,
“the essential thing about a Christmas
gift is that it shall be a complete
surprise.”—Harper's Bazar. %
Easy to Be Happy,
Mrs. ,, Ne.vdoor ,, . - Aren . ,, t you always .
worried haH to death when it comes to
a Chnntm* P resent for * our
husband/
Mrs. Sunshine—My. no. I buy my
husband something I want for myself,
aud he buys me something he wants
for himself, and then we trade.—N. Y.
Weekly.
That Would Not Suit.
“Let's be married on Christmas, dar¬
ling,” said the impetuous young lover
after Miss Fosdick had said ves.
“No, indeed!” replied the far-sighted
young girl. “I’d lose one set of pres¬
ents.’—Judge.
“Did you hang up your sock last
night?”
'No. I hung up my overcoat yester¬
day to get the money for a present for
my best girt.*'—Peck. «
Aal
“What art you going to give for
ay Mrs.
Wl V
FOR THE BEST OF REASONS.
A Philosophical Dissertation on “Why We
KiM Under the Mistletoe.” ?
There are some men who can develop
a very light and/agreeable subject into
a very heavy and disagreeable magazine
article with an ease that implies little
effort—except on the part of the
reader.
I was mov ed to this reflection by see¬
ing in an old number of an English
periodical a ponderous explanation by
some benighted Britisher of the rea¬
son: “Why We Kiss Under the Mistle
toe.”
Of course the explanation had noth¬
ing to do with the case.
It had reference to the death of the
chief, or king, of a primitive tribe and
the saturnalian license of the interreg¬
num, and ingenious¬
ly supplied the two
or three missing links
necessary to con
nect the mistletoe
with these occur
rentes.
Ye gods and little
fishes! Why should a
man disturb the ashes
of a primitive king to
find a better reason
than the one right be¬
fore his eyes. It is a
wonder that some emi
n e n t savant doesn't
endeavor to make
Dionysius of Halicar
nassiis responsible for
the ancient and hon¬
orable custom of call¬
ing on one's best girl
seven nights in the
week.
When we discover a
pair of bright eyes
sparkling with saucy
invitation, a soft
cheek, crimson with a
demurely unconscious
blush, and ripe, red
lips forming them
selves into an acquies
cent pout, we are not
obliged to go poking
around in savag e
graveyards to find out
“why we kiss under
the mistletoe!”
. W’e kiss under the
mistletoe for the same
reason that we kiss
on the back-parlor
sofa, in the swiftly
gliding cutter, or un
der the hall lamp, just
as we are saying
“Good night—’’ if we
are sure that her
isn't looking
over the balusters.
On this side of the
water We hold prime¬
val precedents of lit¬
tle value. We prefer
to hold living reali
ties. We kiss without
reference to Druid,
Goth or Celt; to magna
charta or the court of
chancery.
And when the merry
Christmas bells ring
crisply on the air we
kiss the girls under
'he mistletoe, not, as
may be meanly sug
gested, because they
expect it and we are
too courteous to dis¬
appoint them, but
simply and solely because we can't
help it. could!—Harry
And we wouldn't if wc
Romaine, in Puck.
Christmas Giving.
You know, and I know, that to thou¬
sands of us Christmas has become a
season of the year the coming of which
we actually dread. Years a;: • our fore¬
fathers looked to it with delight. They
thought of it months before. We do,
too. only in a different spirit. Our main
idea of the coming of Christmas nowa¬
days seems to be what it is going to
cost us. Ohristmas-giving, once regu¬
lated by the heart, is in great danger
of ix'ing very soon almost entirely regu¬
lated by the means—if it has not already
reached that deplorable state. We
have made an actual business of Christ
mfl-s-gmng. Formerly it was consid¬
ered a pleasure to give; now we sit
down ofTd think out our presents as a
matter of duty. We have to give; we
consider it an obligation to give so
and-so a certain present at Christmas.
Not that we want to do so; we simply
feel that we must. “She will give me
something, and. of course. I must give
her something.” is the way we coldly
calculate the matter. And then when
we receive the present the first
thought, in nine cases out of ten, is
we have received as much as
we gave. If we have not we feel pro¬
voked at our own generosity, and coolly
make a mental conclusion that next
year we will give less.—Ladies’ Home
Journal-
Economy.
“Why don’t you propose to Miss
Squires, if you like her so much?”
“fm waiting for Christmas. Then,
you see, I can make the engagement
ring serve for a Christmas present.”—
Chicago Record.
May This Be 80!
In this New Year
Let every heart GodA higher comfort share!
Climbing to ell the holier heights Shore
Hiding dark hate beneath the wings of Lore!
Aad in despite of storm sad stress sad strife,
Li ring the larger sad the lorelier life!
—Atlanta Constitution.
Dix—If my wife asks you my brand
of cigars between now and Christmas,
tell her these, and say—
Dealer—Yee.
Dix—Don't charge her over a dollar a
box; TO pay the balance. —Truth.
A
“lean
»
NEW VEAS.I88S.
Wf-v.
R «.• Hi. +H- *S-M" *»" ' SC
Y DOOR stands
open wide to¬
night.
r In token of %
Who twelve months parting guest,
since, with keen delight,
I welcomed to my homely nest
He stands there now, wan. wasted, old,
HU race quite run. his mission o’er.
And when the midnight hour is tolled
We part, to meet no more.
He came to me In merry guise.
With hopes and promises not few; -r
Ah! who could look within those eyes
And deem that they were all untrue?
But expectations all have fled,
The promises are broken, too.
The hopes lie withered, crushed and dead-.
Not one of all but proved untrue.
And there he stands, decrepit, wan,
Who came to me a merry elf;
A few sands more he will he gone,
And with him gone part of myself.
So come and go the passing years
That bear us to the silent sea.
But bright with smiles or dim with tears.
They come In love, dear Lord, from Thee.
—Christian at Work,
Sweet Bells of Chrlstmastlde.
Christmas bells, chime out triumphant
Over land and over seal
Send your happy tidings floating
On sweet waves of melody;
Softly tell your tender story.
O'er and o'er and o'er again,
"Glory in the highest, glory.
Peace on earth, good will to men."
To some doubting, weary spirit.
Bring a gentle, holy calm;
May your notes, on hearts sore-wounded.
Fall like consecrated balm.
To some life's storm troubled waters
May they whisper Peace, be still!
And our sleeping souls awaken
With a glad, exultant thrill.
On your wings of music, sweet bells,
Bear our thoughts to Him above.
Teach our hearts to time their pulses
To the rapl'rous psalm of love.
Oh! ring out all strife and malice.
With the story of His birth.
Ring In Faith, and Hope, and Love,
And peace on earth'.
—Claudia Tharin, In Good Housekeeping.
CHRISTMAS IN DABKTOWN.
<2
m
Parson Jackson—Ephrim, it says in
de good book: “Thou shalt not steal.”
Ephraim Johnson—I know that, sah,
but I've been so lucky I thought I’d gib
you one. lubs
Parson Jackson—“The Lawd a
cheerful giver.”—Judge.
Christmas Time.
I must own that all this f ussing's
Rather trying on the nerves;
For a week back I’ve been running
To the cellar tor preserves.
To the loft to bring the hams down,
To the barn for eggs; you see
AUour young folks are a-comlng
Home to mother and to me.
Pick is coming home from college.
He has holidays Just now.
He is going to be a preacher
(He could never learn to plow);
Lucy’s coming from the high school,
Ben and Harry from the town.
And we’ve made Eliza promise
To bring all her children down.
Mother's in a pesky fidget.
And she's fretting all day long
Lest with all her roasts and puddings
Something may perhaps go wrong;
But I Just keep on a humming
An old-fashioned Christmas glee.
For the yonng folks are all coming
Home to mother and to me.
—P. McArthur, in N. Y. Son.
la or Are.
Ah! Santa Claus, come in. come in,
Yonr welcome Is beyond all measure.
We re glad to have you come and stay.
Your Christmas] } * pleasure.
—Detroit Free Press.
Enjoyed It.
Dinwiddie—'.‘Did your children enjoy
Christmas?” Larimer—“I should think
they did. Had to call in two doctors. ”
—Pittsburgh Chronicle Telegraph.
Footprints in the Sends of Time.
V
C
s':
The Finny H YsS Y
Tommy—Com on - - oat an’ play.
- -