Newspaper Page Text
STMAS, 18ffff94
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 or all the year?
Never, never! —for when it was done,
What would you do. my dear?
Ah, ah: how swiftly your thoughts would
go
Out 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 as you pleased to do.
Woolly wee dogs and china kittens.
All the rackets and balls and bats,
Baa, baa lambs and purring cats.
Scarlet mufflers and worsted mittens:
All the dollies in all the world.
Blue-eyed, brown-eyed, frizzled 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.
Yes, 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 the very last.
So now, have I answered right, my dear.
Guessing what you would do?
—Sydney Dayre, in Our Little Ones.
YW Happened w*
jTHRISTrnS.V
CbrlMoias
me think so is because it was such a
good one to Aunt Mildred and Uncle
George —though he was not my uncle
yet, then —and they say if it hadn't
been 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 ma was sick nearly
all the time. While my pa lived we
had plenty, but everything he had was
invested in a bank, and the bank failed
f-oon after he 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 ought to have been hers.
For the last three or four years I
have been earning a nickel whenever I
could 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;
so when a big snow fell a week or two
before Christmas I started out to shovel
snow for people. There was Mrs. Bron
son, living upon Fourth street, that had
always been mighty good about giving
me little jobs to do, and I went to her
first. She let me shovel the snow off
of all the walks for her, and paid me a
good price for it; and then she went
and brought out an overcoat of Mr.
Bronson’s that she said he would not
wear any more, though it was real
good, all but on the sleeves and on the
edge of it, and wanted to know if my
ma could not cut it down for me. I
knew ma could do it, for she had made
lots of things for me out of pa's old
clothes, and I needed an overcoat, too;
but 1 hated to take such a thing from
a stranger, and my face burned like
fire. But she offered it in such a nice
way, like she was afraid of hurting my
feelings, and her face looked like it
was burning, too, so I thought maybe
I'd better take it, and told her I would
take it if she would let me do some
thing to pay for it —I didn't feel like I
could take it for nothing, it seemed so
UNDER THE MISTLETOE.
||f..
Me —"Did I but dare, what bliss were mine
To press those lovely lips divine!
Did I but dare!”
She—" The stupid chump, to stand and stare
As though his feet were planted there.
The stupid chump!"—Judge.
: much like a beggar—and she told me
all right. I might go down cellar and
rick up the stove wood that had been
hauled and thrown in there, soil would
not he so much in the way. 1 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 m:i and told her
about it she cried a little, but she said
I did right to take it. and she went
right to work ripping it up to
make over for me. She was ripping
i away on it. when all at onee she said.
“Why. Harry, here is a letter addressed
to Mr. George Bronson, that has worked
its way down out of the pocket be
tween the lining and the outside. You
must go right hack to Mrs. Bronson
and take the letter
to her. and tell her
how we found it.
W e talked a little
more about it and then
I hurried back with it,
though it did not look
as though it could be
of much importance,
for it seemed to have
j been written years
ago, and didn't look
like a business letter,
either. It was in a
woman's handwriting,
and ma 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 hand writing
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, for it must have
been in there for four
or five years, George
Bronson left their
house and went off to
some western city to
practice law before
they 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
mas I was helping
around in Mr. Patou s
store and didn't get
home till about eight
o'clock. 1 went up to
the kitchen window
and peeped in and saw
that ma and Elsie—
that's my little sister
—were in there, so 1
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 1 went in. there
was a great big. tall
mail with liis arms
around Aunt Mildred, holding her fast.
She gave a little sort of a scream and
tried to get away from him when I 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 is 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 31 r. 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 3111 dred had quit
writing to him and he went off out
west. lie had never told his folks any
thing about having a sweetheart, and
they didn't know what was the matter
with him. Ilis brother had taken the
letter out of the office and put it in his
pocket with other letters, and when it
slipped down out of sight he never
thought of it again.
Aunt 31ildred 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 had was put into the
bank with pa's, and lost the same way.
Well, you see when 31rs. 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 thought I
must be some kin to Aunt 3lildred; so
he came back here as quick as he could
j and found out where we lived, and
| came and found Aunt Mildred here.
And that's how I happened to be the
cause of him and Aunt 3lildred having
such a merry Christmas last j r ear.
Uncle George is a pretty sharp law
yer, I tell you, and he has brought
' some sort of suit against the man that
cheated us out of our money, and he
thinks he is pretty sure of getting it
back for us.—3lartha S. 3Yhite, in Good
Housekeeping.
The Dear Girls.
31iss 3lunn—How closely 31iss Elder
sticks to that mistletoe.
3liss Flypp—Yes, it's her only chance,
poor thing.—Detroit Free Press.
Iler Gift.
“Pray, give me something new for Christmas
day.
I have more scarfs than I can ever wear:
For slippers, let me say. i do not care.
Though a good book is never in the way
1 have no time for reading. Give me, pray,
No mord cigars, lhave cigars to spare.
(Jive me no fountain-pens the.\ make me
swear:
No knives before my tortured eyes display. ’
An: pretty Stella overheard my plaint.
And knowing well 1 loved her, blushing, said:
•• How very deep, it seems, is your despair.
Your troubles, sure, would aggravate a saint.
Ar.d so I think”—and here she bowed her
head—
I'll give you justmyself: so take me. There'”
Nathan M. Levy, in Judge.
Hie Reason.
It was drawing near to a very inter
esting season of the year. Willy was
HIS ARM WAS AROUND AUNT MILDRED.
getting -ready for bed. His mother
looked happy.
"My dear, ” she said, “I am glad to
see that you do not hurry through your
prayers as you used to.”
“No, ma'am," said Willy. “Christmas
is week after next,' and I have a good
many things to ask for.” —Inter Ocean.
CHRISTMAS MORNING.
Bobby—Come to breakfast, sister!
Little Sister (with her new Christmas doll) —No, thank you, Bob; I had my
breakfast yesterday morning!—Harper’s Bazar
The Christmas Girl.
The snow has drifted to her brow,
The holly bud has dyed her cheek,
Her eyes, like stars on Christmas eve.
Shine out with glances, coyly, meek.
There’s Christmas radiance everywhere
In wreaths of green and berrie’s red;
But, best of all, I gladly note
There's mistletoe above her head.
—Lurana W. Sheldon, in Life.
Wally Reasons.
“I don't see why you don't let me eat
all my candy,” whined Wally on Christ
mas morning. “It didn't hurt my
stockin' to be full of it, and I'm big
ger than it.”—Harper's Young People.
gut i WUUM 1 WPPtMMEMT*'
ft Filled the Requirements.
"George,” said Mrs. C’awker to her
husband, "why 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-hut
toner?”
"Why. my dear,’’ replied Cawlur,
"the essential thing about a Christmas
gift is that it shall be a complete
surprise.”—Harper's Bazar.
Euny to Ho Happy.
Mrs. Nexdoor Aren't you always
worried half to death when it comes to
buying a Christinas present for your
husband?
Mrs. Sunshine My. no! I buy my
husband something I want for myself.
and he buys me something he wants
for himself, and then we trade. —N. Y.
Weekly.
Tlr.it Would Not Suit.
“Let's be married on Christmas, dar
ling," said the impetuous young lover
after Miss Fosdiek had said yes.
“No. indeed!” replied the far-sighted
young girl. “I'd lose one set of pres
ents." —Judge.
Another Garment Hung.
“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 girl.” —Puck.
An Unfeeling Man.
"What are you going to give me for
my Chrstmas present?” asked 3lrs.
Cumso of her husband.
“About fifty dollars to pay for mine,”
replied the wretch. —Judge.
FOR THE BEST OF REASONS.
A Philosophical Dissertation on “Why We
tviss 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 moved 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
nee ess ar y toe on
nect the mistletoe
with these occur
rences.
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. 11 is a
wonder that some emi
n e n t savant doesn't
endeavor to make
Dionysius of Halicar
nassus 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 sav ag e
graveyards to find out
“why we kiss under
the mistletoe!”
We kiss under the
mistletoe for the .same
reason that we loss
on the back-parlor
sofa, in the swiftly
gliding cutter, o- un
der the hall lamp, just
as we are saying
“Good night—” if we
arc sure that her
mother isn’t looking
over the balusters.
On this side of the
water we hold prime
val precedents of lit
de value. We prefer
to hold living reali
ties. We kiss without
Reference to Druid,
Goth or Celt; to magna
eliarta or the court of
chancery.
And when the merry
Christmas bells ring
crisply on the air we
kiss the girls under
the mistletoe, not, as
may be meanly sug
gested, because they
expect it and we are
too courteous to dis-
appoint them, bu t
simply and solely because we can't
help it.
And we wouldn't if we could!—Harry
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 ago our fore
fathers locked 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. Christinas-giving, once regu
lated by tiie heart, is in great danger
of being 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
mas-giving. Formerly it was consid
ered a pleasure to give; now we sit
down and 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 eases out of ten, is
whether 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 31iss
Squires, if you like her so much?”
“I'm waiting for Christmas. Then,
you see, I can make the engagement
ring serve for a Christmas present.”—
Chicago Record.
May This Kc So!
In this New Year
Let every heart God's higher comfort share!
Climbing to all the holier heights above—
Hiding dark hate beneath the wings of Love!
And in despite of storm and stress and strife,
Living the larger and the lovelier life!
—Atlanta Constitution.
Guile.
Dix—lf my wife asks you my brand
of cigars between now and Christmas,
tell her these, and say —
Dealer—Yes.
Dix—Don't charge her over a dollar a
box; I'll pay the balance.—Truth.
A Timely Question.
“I can understand how Santa Claus
comes down the chimney,” remarked
Edgar, “but I wonder how he goes vp.”
—Harper's Young People.
NEW YEAJ3.IB9&
Who twelve months since, with lieen delight,
I welcomed to my homely nest.
He stands there now, wan, wasted, old,
His 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;
Ah! wl;o 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 hear 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 Christmastide.
Christmas bells, chime out triumphant
Over land and over sea!
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, he 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 rapfrous psalm of love.
Oh! ring out all strife and malice,
With the story of His birth.
King in Faith, and Hope, and Love,
And peace on earth!
—Claudia Tharin, in Good Housekeeping.
CHRISTMAS IN DARK TOWN.
Parson Jackson —Ephrim, it says in
de good book: “Thou shalt not steal.”
Ephraim Johnson —I know that, sah,
hut I've been so lucky I thought I'd gib
you one.
Parson Jackson—“ The Lawd lubs a
cheerful giver.”—Judge.
Christmas Time.
I must own that all this fussing's
Rather trying on the nerves:
For a week back I’ve been running
To the cellar for preserves,
To the loft to bring the hams down,
To the barn for eggs; you see
All our young folks are a-comiug
Home to mother and to me.
Dick 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 young folks are all coming
Home to mother and to me.
—P. McArthur, in N. Y. Sun.
Is or Are.
Ah! Santa Claus, come in, come in,
Your welcome is beyond all measure.
We're glad to have you come and stay.
Your Christmas -J f “ Pleasure.
—Detroit Free Press.
Enjoyed It.
Dinwiddie—“Did your children enjoy
Christinas?” Larimer —“I should think
they did. Had to call in two doctors.”
—Pittsburg-h Chronicle Telegraph.
Footprints in the Sands of Time*
—Exchange.
The Festivity Not Vet Complete.
Tommy—Come on out an’ play.
Eddy—l can’t.
Tommy—Why not?
Eddy—l got some Christinas things
wot I ain't broke yet.—Chicago Record.