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CWdreii’s Christmas Paper i
CHRISTMAS CAROLS.
What odd ways people have of keeping
holidays! Every nation has different ones,
and America has claimed and naturalized
most of them.
In ancient days. !he English and other
northern nations kept the Yule feast. The
midwinter festival, when the great fire-place
was heaped high with huge logs, and the lire
lighted with the burned and charred rem
nant of last year’s Yule log, carefully pre
served tor that purpose from one year to an
other. There was mighty feasting in those
days, huge roasts of beef, and great venison
pics, big enough to hold a small boy inside
their crusts.
“Wasn’t this a dainty dish to set before
a king?” There was deep carousing over
immense tankards of ale, and wassail bowls
full of wine, at which the guests drank until
most of them lay under the table, and the
bravest fellow was he who could out drink
the rest.
Then came good men —preachers of the
faith of Christ—and they persuaded the peo
ple to leave off the barbarous Yule feast, and
preached to them of Christmas day, when
the Blessed Saviour was born into this
world a little child like any of us. And, in
stead of threatening and slaughter, and wars
and mighty huntings, and wild revels, these
brave men were induced to pray and give
thanks and humble themselves like little
children. Then they began to try to do
good to the poor, and to give gifts to their
friends, and to little children, and to poorer
neighbors. Thus, although they kept up
the midwinter feast, they left off its rudest
features, and became, by slow degrees, more
and more gentle and Christ-like. And al
though much, very much remains to be done
before the world is what it should be, seeing
that Christ has done so much for us all, yet
everything that makes us kinder to our neigh
bor and truer to God is a step in the right
direction.
Among the customs which are most uni
versal at the holiday season, is that of gifts.
And there arc so many ways of giving them.
Some of the German people have the beau
tiful Christmas trees, full of all sorts of
nice and pretty things for gifts. The trees
are covered with lighted candles, and orna
mented with bright colors and gilt, and
everything to make them pretty. Then
Santa Claus, in furs and mask, distributes
the presents for all. But we have natural
ized this custom, so that it is no novelty to
most of us.
There is a simple, pretty fashion in one
part of Germany among the very poor, those
who cannot afford a tree. They make what
they call a “Bright Corner,” for Santa Claus.
They pin a clean white sheet in a corner,
and fasten upon it bits of red and colored
flannel or cotton, or whatever will make a
gay appearance, cut into rosettes or liearts,
or diamonds, and fasten their little gifts
among them on Hie sheet. This is pinned
into a corner, and in the section thus tapes
tried are placed the little scats of the child
ren, the chairs or cricket or whatever they sit
in, in the day time, directly under their spe
cial gifts. Poor little presents they are, but
cash value is but a poor estimate to put upon
such gifts. Love-gifts are all that are really
worth having.
Then they have “Christmas Raps,” which
is a good way of prolonging the pleasure I
through a whole evening.
A rap at the parlor door, “Come inSanta
Chuis appears in the traditional furs and red
nose from being out in the cold weather;!
‘ Christmas box for Alary.” Mary looks over
and examines, and gives little shrieks of de
light, when another rap, “ Merry Christmas
for Tom.” Then Tom has his spasm over
his skates, and another rap brings in some
thing for Johnny, and so all have time to be
surprised and delighted; one is not hurried,
and the fun lasts all the evening.
In Norway they give the birds a Merry'
Christmas, by fastening little sheaves of grain
against the chimney for the birds to peck.
This is all the more generous, for grain does
not grow very abundantly in that cold re
gion.
In Poland they make a very delicate wa
fer, or cake, as thin as paper, for Christinas,
of which all who enter the house are invited
to partake. And if any beloved ones are not
able to meet with them, they send by mail or
otherwise to them a portion of one of these
cakes,of which the whole family have parta
ken. Il represents in some sort the blessed
Supper, of which all partake in remembrance
of Him who first made Christmas for us.
They even send them over the seas to distant
friends.
But the dearest of all is the “Ciristmaa
Stocking.” for Santa Claus to till. How well
do I remember going to bed at a most unsea
sonable early hour of a Christmas eve, so
early as to be utterly unable to go to sleep
until long after the family bad retired, lying
awake with a rigid determination not to go to
sleep until 1 had Santa Claus. Starting
at the harmless “voices of the night,’’ as if
they were robbers or ghosts, the rubbing and
creakingot trees against the house, the crack
ing of shrinking timber, the rattle of snow
or hail against the window panes, and once
the snapping of the wood tire and the sudden
blaring up of a half uncovered end of the
log, gave me such a start! I verily thought
Santa Claus was breaking up gigantic sticks
of candy, to make them small enough for my
stocking to hold. 1 remember the wonder
and delight of my small self, when 1 drew
out of the stocking a greatly abridged “ ih>b
inson Crusoe,” with Santa Claus' aut« graph
on the fly leaf, and how my father tried to
persuade me that he had written on thechim
ney top, with a s.i k d\ ; e I in >oot and >n w.
1 wonder if anything will ever be -o prettx
CTWOI eaMfiEfr
to me, as a gray and white kitten, of the or
dinary German toy order, with her pretty
rough coat and a prevailing odor of water
colors and varnish ! Oh, me!
And when the dear little children in time
outgrow all these merry tales, and a little
self-denial, makes gifts to parents and friends,
how precious arc these gifts, telling of pa
tience, love, sacrifice and industry more pre
cious than any, even the costliest.
W hatever the custom or practice, by what
ever tribe or nation or people it may be, it is
the Christ-love that blesses the Christmas
That and thaConly; the blessed love that
embraces first Christ and then old people and
little children, and is broad enough not only
to care for heathen in far distant lands, but
the poor woman in the next street, or the
dirty little children in the neighboring alley.
‘‘God bless us, every one,”’ and a merry
Christmas to all.
CHRISTMAS.
’Tie night, on Judea’s plain
The silver Moon looks down, while
’Round her throne the myriad stars
Together sing ; but one among the
Throng outshining all the rest, tho’
Hitherto unknown to those well
Read in astral lore, e’en those
Eastern Magi, who followed from
Afar its brilliant light, until in
Bethlehem over a mean abode it
Shone, and then the wise men
Knew their journey o’er, for
Here among the beasts they found, Him
Whom they sought to worship.
On yonder plain some shepherds
Watch their bleating folds, when
Lo, among them stands a heavenly
Guest, causing upon their hearts deep
Fear to fall. “Fear not,” said he, “for
Tidings glad I bring, not unto you alone
But to the fallen race, for unto
You is born this day a Saviour King.’’
While thus he spake appeared
A shining throng, ascribing glory
To God on high, and peace on
Earth to men.
SANTA CLACS.
It is perfect'y natural for the dear little
children to ask, “Who is Santa Claus?” He
is so good and generous that they arc com
pelled to love him.
It is said that he is an invisible Saint who
devotes all his time to the preparation and
distribution of gifts to good children. He
has selected Christmas as the period when
his presents are delivered. They consist of
all kinds of nice toys, cakes, candies, nuts,
etc., etc.
Bad children very seldom receive anything
from Old Santa. When they do, it is be
cause they promise to do better. By some
means he seems to learn all about the con
duct of the little ones. Perhaps he watches
them when they least expect—or may be, he
judges of their behavior by the countenances
of their parents. Good children make their
fathers and mothers happy, and bad ones
make them very unhappy. Smiles will be
found on the faces of those who have good
children, and gloom upon the features of
those whose children behave badly. Oh!
how important that all should be good.
Santa Claus is said to make his visits
through the chimneys. How can he do
otherwise when, at the hour of his coming,
the doors of the dwellings are all locked ?
If he should knock, every little one in the
house would jump out of bed and trouble
him with a thousand questions about what
he was bringing them. He has so much to
d<» that there is no time to stop and talk to i
any.
“Santa” must be a great friend ot Sab
bath-schools, as he is supposed to furnish
most of the presents for their Christmas trees.
Little boys and girls, who will not attend
these schools, should think how many nice
gifts they miss, and determine al once that
they will become regular scholars. If they
do this there are many pleasures in store, for
them besides the Christmas presents. There
they will find kind teachers who will tell
them about the love of God, and good books
full of interesting little stories, which they
may read at home.
Look at the pretty picture in this paper.
It represents a Christmas tree prepared for a
Sabbath-school. Do you see the old man
leaning over the table ? He pretends—just
for fun—that he is “Santa Claus” ; but you
know that “Santa” can never be seen by any
person. The truth is, this old gentleman is
some good old grandfather who is trying to
make the children happy. See how pleased
the little ones are with their presents. There
is a boy, with his pretty book, who is de
lighted. He will make a smart man if he
lives, because he loves his book. That little
girl, with the baby in her arms, seems to love
a book too —but she clings to her doll.
Every one of the children have presents and
hundreds are yet on the tree.
Now, children, we hope you have all been
so good that Santa Claus will give you just
: such presents as will please you most. It
! any have behaved badly, resolve nt once that
! you will do right in the future. Those wli >
stay away from the Sunday-school must do
better.
And to “cadi and all and every one,” we
wish a merry, merry Christ mas, begging
that you will be kind to each other, obedient
to parents, and that you will do good to all—
tttpd'ialh/ the poor !
A school boy being requested to writea com
position upon the subject of “ pins,” produced
the following : Pins are very useful. They
have saved die lives of many men, women and
1 children—in fact, whole families- 1! w so?
asktd the puzzled teacher: an 1 the boy replied
W hy, by not swallowing them. This matches
the story ot the other boy who defined -alt as
the stuft that makes potatoes taste tsui when
you don’t put on any.
♦ —»
A Hartford gentleman, w;. .. ..tried
at a wine supper, found his wife aw.iiung hi
return in a high -’a\ of rerv. <dd
she, “ H< i< I've l-.an " ait’r- -Jr in a
chair till n % 1 rt -.-. it; - r ..a I like t1- ’
so wl •«] ' ’
■ in the aauv-phire "
DAISEY'S CHRISTMAS.
“ ’Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house,”
Every one was in bed,
As still as a mouse,—
Save Papa and Mamma,
Who waited to see,
What kind of a visitor
Kriss Kringle would be.
The clock had struck twelve,
When along through the snow,
They heard footsteps approaching,
Heavy and slow.
They opened the door,
But the winds drove them back ;
And there on the threshold,
Bending under a pack,
Stood the queerest old man,
The prince of the elfs ;
And they laughed when they saw him,
In spite of themselves.
With a hop and a skip,
He came into the room :
And soon let them know
He felt quite at home.
As he threw down his pack,
He threateningly said,
“ 11l not leave a thing,
Till you go to bed. ”
They coaxed, and they pleaded.
To let them remain ;
Bnt their pleading and coaxing,
All proved to be vain;
As the door closed behind them.
He danced in high glee
“ Some wonderful changes
You’ll presently see,”
Then he capered around,
Until over head
He presently thought,
He heard a light tread. ***
He stopped and he listened,
But all had grown still;
Then away to his work,
He went with a will.
First he drew out a tree,
From that wonderful pack,
Which from its size, you might think
Would have broken his back.
He soon set it up
In one end of the room,
And sparkling with candies,
It dispersed all the gloom;
Then he took up a work-box,
Shining and fair;
And a sweet blue-eyed baby,
With real curly hair.
0f course there was candy,
And lots of it too :
There was a white wooly rabbit
And of books not a few.
Then next came a tea-set,
To play “come and see,”
With so many nice presents,
’Twas a wonder to me—
How old Kriss ever carried them
But he gave me a wink
When I asked Him about it,
And what do you think,
The old gentleman told me ?
But there, I’ll not tell ;
If I did, the young folks
Would not like him so well.
One o’clock, two o’clock,
Rang out from the hall;
And turning somersaults.
Till he looked like a ball,
He whistled so merry,
As he sprang through the snow :
“To make little folks happy,
Still onward I go.”
Then all was so silent,
And so strange it did seem ;
I was afraid I would wake.
And find it a dream.
I pinched myself twice,
And in fact was quite rough ;
But I found myself saying,
It was true, sure enough.
When the first beams of morning
Flashed’over the skies, - >
There was no sleep after that
For one pair of eyes.
And when Daisy awoke,
She made such a clatter,
Os course we sprang up,
To see what was the matter.
‘Merry Christmas, “ she sang.
As she danced into the room :
‘Oh ! oh I’m so happy,
For Christmas has come.”
Then the blue eyes grew misty.
And the long lashes fell,
As she thought of a story
She had heard Auntie tell.
“How to some little children,
Though Christmas had come.
It brought no nice presents,
But sadly and lone
Its hours would wear onward.
And some sad little heart,
In the day’s bright rejoicing,
Could not bear a part.”
Then the soft eyes grew brighter.
And a pleased happy smile,
Played a game of bo-peep
With her dimples awhile.
Soon as breakfast was over,
She whispered “please see.
Dear Papa, what Kriss Kringle
Has left here for me.”
As they opened the door
The beautiful sight. •
Made Daisey quite wild,
With joy and delight.
Then going up to Mamma.
She whispered so low,
That none else could hear her,
'Twas a secret you know.
Mamma smiled, as she nodded.
And off Daisey flew.
What with such eager footsteps,
Is the child going to do ?
When we asked her about it,
With cheeks rosy red.
And eyes speaking pleasure,
“I’m going walking," she said.
Then she went to the pantry,
And a basket brought back.
Which was s<> tilled with good things, .
It looked like a patk.
Still she squeezed in a doll' baby.
With eyes soft and blue :
And a whole lot of playthings,
With nice candy too.
Then she donned rubbers and cloak.
And away through tl.e mow ,
On her queer, unknown errand,
We watched the child go.
Iler Mamma knew the secret,
But she would not tell ;
And all knew, whe-watched her.
It pleased her right well.
When Daisey cam-? back,
She said not a >rd.
Os where the Lad been.
Or what she had heard.
But com- 1 with me. little reader.
I'll show you the way
To the heart- she made happy.
On that Christmas day.
In a cold wretched garret.
With bare creaking floor;
Lived a poor lonely widow,
With little ones four.
Although it was Christm.t-.
N > hr.-- Krit.u!'- 1 e! come.
To cheer the sail «i-».
They were huddling together.
To try t > keep warm :
Vf'.eu a kn->, k at :i> ’ d< - r.
F. 1 them ail ” .th alarm.
11 .. * : -I V
•
“Quick ! open it Mamma,”
They joyfully cried.
And into its mysteries,
They eagerly pried.
How those sad hearts rejoiced,
In that little room ;
That one act of kindness.
How it scattered the gloom.
How they loved that sweet dolly,
And each beautiful toy,
Hunger and cold were forgotten,
In their innocent joy.
When the bright hours were ended,
(And 1 know it was true ;)■
Daisey said, “’Twas the best Christman
That ever she knew.”
And now little reader,
Just try Daisey’s plan ;
To make some heart happy,
You certainly can.
THE CHRISTMAS FLOWER.
lite - \ will
K jMfe 0
<874.
It was late in the afternoon before Christ
mas, a bright, frosty day, and Lucy Grafton,
taking her usual brisk walk, was attracted by
a little girl, who stood wistfully regarding some
hot-house flowers in a florist’s window- The
child was neatly, but poorly clad. Her hands
were clasped, her lips half parted in admira
tion, her eyes riveted on a superb cloth-of
gold rose.
“Wasanything ever so beautiful?” Lucy
heard her say, under her breath.
“ Would you like it, my dear ?” asked Lucy;
forthough rich, beautiful, and flattered, pros
perity had not spoiled our heroine : she still
had a heart.
“ Ob, so much! ” replied the child, looking
round to the speaker, and finding assurance in
the soft, kind eyes. “ But, it was not of my
self I was thinking,” she added, with a blush,
“It was of my brother. He is hump-backed,
you know, and sick in bed, and, oh ! he loves
flowers so.”
The earnestness of the girl brought the mois
ture to Lucy’s eyes. “ Wait, my dear,” she
cried; and going in, she bought the rose.
“ Give that to your brother as a Christmas
gift,” she said ; “ and now tell me where you
live; to-morrow I’ll come and see you; and
perhaps,” with a smile, “ I’ll bring more flow
ers.”
“Oh ! thank you so much.” And then she
told Lucy where to come ; and as our heroine,
with a nod and another of her sweet smiles,
passed on, the child looked after her as if she
had seen an angel.
Hugh Willoughby had been, unnoticed, a
spectator of this scene.
“Who can she be?” he said to himself,
watching the graceful figure going down the
street. “ I’ve been in Europe so long that I
know nobody. But I’ll follow the child, and
ask her where she and her brother lives. I
may be able to help them.”
He sincerely meant to help them, but in his
secret heart there lurked a hope that he might,
sometime, meet this sweet almoner at the bed
side of the deformed boy.
Meantime the girl hurried homeward, and
I bursting into the attic, where the poor invalid
■ lay, held up her rose in exultation.
“Oh, May!” cried her brother, feebly,
“ where did you get it? Such a beauty. Do
let me touch it.”
“It is yours, al) yours, Harry. And a
beautiful lady gave it to me, and said she
would come to see you, to-morrow. ’ And
then she told the whole story, breathless with
enthusiasm.
Harry took the rose in his thin, wasted
hands. “ 1 thought it was only in heaven
that such flowers could grow,” he said. “Oh I
maybe the beautiful lady was one of God’s an
gels. They used to come on earth, in the Bi
ble! times; and why not now? Perhaps He
sent her to kt me know how bright it was up
there, with trees, and grass, and living waters,
I and no night, no pain, no hunger. Often,
i when my back hurts me, I wonder if God
’ thinks it wicked, tint 1 want to go to Him?
I I’ll not be hump-backed in heaven- will I
I mother?”
Christmas morning broke bright and beauti
i ful. The church bells rang out their glad
i chimes. Happy people, in hundreds, went
trooping up the street. But Harry, in his nar
row attic, was rackeel with pain. A great
change had come over his lace ; it had a pinch
ed, gray look ; and his sister glanced anxiously,
first at it, and then at her mother. The poor
little fellow asked to have the rose, which had
been put in a broken tumbler, with some wa
ter, placed beside him, “It is beginning to
fade, but I don’t seem to suffer so much, when
1 can see it,” he said. And he murmur, d, as
if to himself, “ VVe all do fade as the leaf.”
His mother was vainly struggling to keep
1 back her tears, when there was a knock at the
! door, and Lncy appeared, bringing a whole
handful of the loveliest hot-house flowers.
“ Oh. how ixautiful ! how beautiful ! " cried
the little sufferer, stretching out hi- wan, wast
' fed hands. ‘ And you say they are all for
I me,' f>r Lucy, having first spoken to bis
mother, and then to his sister, had come up to
his bedside. “ I never saw anything, I never
I believed there could be anything, as pretty as
these white flowers; they are so pure they
make me think of the angels, the angels in
their shining robes.”
“ T .ey are «, dear.” "he could hardly
■- sk idilv. “ 1 th< ugbt y•: " dd !ik<
them.”
gel, and God has sent you to bring me home
to Him,” lie said, looking up at her, ear
nestly.
“Oh! my child, my child,” cried the dis
tracted mother, “ don’t talk so. You cant
mean it. You will outlive us all.” Trying
to keep down her fears.
He smiled faintly, and put out his other
hand. “ Kiss me, mother,” he said, faintly.
Don’t cry.”
Just then the chimes of a neighboring
church bpgan to ring. The silver sounds rose
and died, and died and rose again, till the
whole air quivered, as if with celestial music.
“ I hear them singing—the harps of gold,”
his face glowed, his eyes were fixed above.
“ Oh ! the walls, the walls all shining ”
His weak voice stopped. There was a sob.
The flowers fell from his hand. The frail
form sank back.
“ Oh ! my God, he is dying,” shrieked the
mother, clasping him, in wild despair, in her
arms. “ Will no one run for a doctor?”
Lucy was turning to go, though she saw it
was hopeless, and knew not where to seek for
a physician, when the door opened, and two
strangers entered. One was Hugh Willough
by, who came forward, eagerly, saying,
“ I heard you ask for a doctor. My friend
here is one. I told you,” nodding to the little
girl, “ I was coming to see you, and we are
just in time.”
But his esmpanion, who had already ad
vanced to the bed, shook his head, as he gazed
on the calm, still face. “He is where no
earthly physician can avail him ; but happier,
happier, far,” he said, addressing the mother,
tears in his voice, “ than he was here, or any
of us can be till we follow him. The Lord
hath given,” for this great practioner was a de
vout Christian, “ and the Lord hath taken
away, blessed be the name of the Lord.”
As he spoke, the neighboring chimes, as’ii
to confirm his words, rose in a triumphant
burst, and then were hushed.
The meeting, at that bed of death was not
the last one between Hugh Willoughby and
Lucy Grafton. They attended together the
simple funeral, assisted afterward to advance
the fortunes of the bereaved mother, and join
ed in sending the sister to school. They met,
too, at other similar scenes, and in time con
tracted a mutual affection, which ended in the
happiest of marriages. Theirs was that rare
thing, “a union of true souls.”
One day, years after, Lucy heard, for the
first time, the true explanation of her hus
band’s visit to the dying cripple, which, up tr
that moment, she had always thought a chancf
one.
“ I went there hoping to meet you. I loved
you from the first moment I saw you give tin
rose to little 'day,” he said, in concluding. “I
thought of the holy words, ‘lnasmuch as yi
did it unto the least cf one of these, ye did il
unto Me.’ ”
“ But it was such a trifle,” whispered Lucy
brokenly, with her head on his shoulder, ana
the tears rising to her eyes, “ such a trifle.”
“ The Kingdom of Heaven is made up of
trifles,” was the low, reverent answer. “It is
not always a cup of cold waiter, my d-.ar: a
simple flower will do as well.”
.—.—
The Footprints of Time.
Wrinkles are the first tell-tales of
a lost youth, and the wrinkles make
their way in a very stealthy manner.
At first there comes the faint marking
of one little line about the corner of
the eye, and one each side of his mouth.
Assuredly it is the sign of approaching
age, we say complacently, looking at
ourselves in the glass, conscious of our
attractions in the perfection of their
maturity. That little line, indicative
of the furrowed future, is no more age
than one scarlet leaf of maple in the
green wood is autumn. It is the shad
ow of the herald if you will; but it is
not the real thing. And so on with all
the rest. But it is not so with our
friends. The gap made between the
past and present by years of absence is
abrupt, unexpected. You left a bloom
ing, sleek haired, slim waisted girl; you
find a faded, hollow eyed, gray haired
woman,the mother of children, afflicted
with bad health and tired of her life.
Or von encounter a stout and florid ma
tron whose bulk is a burden to herself
and a matter not for admiration to her
friends ; whose early shyness has worn
off and given place to a free and easy
good nature that may be gernal but is
vulgar; whose girlish sentimentality
has gone with her blushes, and who
now openly proclaims her devotion to
champagne and lobster salad as among
the few* things in life worth taking
trouble for, and talks of the pleasures
of the palate as superior to every other
enjoyment. To be sure, paring away
in your mind’s eye those superfluous
layers of flesh, you can make out the
j nose of tae past, and the lips have the
I same curve as her’s had in the days
; when vou would Lave given a month’s
: salary for a kiss; the eyes are the same
i color, but what has become of their
sparkle ? Where is that roguish twin
i Lie thu.: made your heart leap when it
f!.i»Le 1 up -n you, giving point to agirl
is_ 1 : ii’'tL..t '.“as so i’.n.iiCeUt a. «
son ughty ? Wh i
. * ’ wy, .. jast 1 >ok th wis
swhei th re is .. aing to
bl;i " J it t’nat uf'lv Ker that tell-:
you would like to see in a man ? You
must accept this as “survivalit is all
you will have of the sweetness, the
bashfulness, that once seemed the most
exquisite grace on earth.
Why should people read, and what is
the real solid value of printed matter?
There are three good reasons for read
ing, and we can think of no others.
They are to be made wiser, to be made
nobler, and to be innocently recreated.
Books which neither confer informa
tion which is worth having, nor lift the
spiritual part of us to loftier regions,
nor, by judicious diversion, refreshen
the mind for further serious effort, are
bad books, and the reading of such is
invariably idleness, and not unoften the
most dangerous kind of idleness. Read
ing is not, as so many people now-a-days
seem to suppose, good in itself, as so
many things are which are by no means
as highly thought of. All energy that
is not injurious, wasteful, or subtracted
from some other effort incumbent upon
him who puts it forth, is good; as walk
ing, riding, boating, and the rest. But
the reading of which we speak cannot,
under the most favorable construction,
be regarded as energy. On the con
trary, it is the very laziest form of
laziness. People fly to it when they
think they have nothing else to do, and
they flatter themselves that by reading
they are really doing something; and
thus, nine times out of ten, they exon
erate themselves from the obligation of
performing some duty which is distaste
ful to them. — Temple Bar.
Risen.
In theory we believe in the resurrec
tion of the dead; but practically, do we
not belie every word of our creed ?
Are we not in this the veriest Saddu
cees ? We look upon death as the end
ing of all things. And it is only a birth
into a new life. A life in which the
hitherto imprisoned spirit has burst
every fetter, and entered upon a new
life of boundless possibilities. No
longer fettered by human infirmity, or
“hedged in by opposing circumstances;”
there is henceforth no limit to its de
velopment.
And this we call death ! And stand
looking down into the grave as if our
idols were still there. Have we learned
no better lesson at the side of our Lord’s
empty sepulchre ? Do we thus interpret
the angel’s glad tidings,“He is not here;
He is risen ?”
“ Risen.” And this glad “ risen ”
should splan like the brightest bow the
graves of our cherished dead. Risen
from the temptations, mistakes and fail
ures of the life that now is, to the pu
rity and perfectness of that which is to
come. Risen from the blindness and
ignorance of the mortal to tho glorious
sight and knowledge of the immortal.
“ For they see as they are seen, and
known as they are known.”
What a depth and beauty of meaning
in that word, risen. We shake of the
slumbers of the night and arise to give
a glad welcome to the day, and gird our
selves anew for the work. We rise from
the torpor of indolence, the listless in
action of depression, and putting on the
garments of joy and praise for those of
heaviness, we stand born as it were, into
a new life. We bend under the weight
. of some cross unseen by others it may
I be, but pressing, oh ’ so heavily upon
■ us, some precious thought of God’s
| sustaining grace, God-given for our
I special need, changes our grief to joy,
; and we rise, not having dropped or laid
I aside our cross, but with new strength
for its bearing. The world is shrouded
in darkness. The suu rises, and the
; shadows flee away, and the earth flood-
Icd with its light, stands forth radiant
i in the new day.
And thus have they risen, who sleep
i in Jesus; risen to live forever in the joy
: and glory of His presence. For them
the darkness has forever passed. The
doubt, and sorrow and fear in which it
I so often enshrouded them have all van
ished with the fleeing shadows. “Their
, sun shall no more go down.” Its last
setting may have been for them amid
i mortal weekness and suffering ; it has
ri-.en in unclouded, eternal day.
“ Patent Outsides” of some we< kly
I newspapers contrast severely with their
I insides, causing the latter to look won
( derfully non-artistic. For the preser
| ration of harmony, it might pay reader
i and proprietor alike to patent both
j side -.
“ ’.Vint should a man d asked a gentle
•i- in i • ;• Lidv, “ when he has an opportunity to
• . • c!. rm . a woman, but Iz in.:
•• t :’ . . • 1 ite,' answered tl.e
•—