SANTA CLAUS MISTAKE.
There lived in this good city once a man of
eighty-seven, a :
Brimful of gouty aches and pains, just ripe for
death and Heaven;
And as it was good Christmas Eve he thought
he’d try his luck : :
By hanging up his stocking, for he still loved
fun and pluck. ,
Next door to him a maiden lived, a lovely,
charming miss ;
She had but sixteen summers seen, was full of
life and bliss ;
Her eyes, her cheeks, her hands, her face—
well, they were just perfection,
And she hung up her stocking, too, with bright
and gay reflection.
On Christmas morn that aged man his stocking
full he found,
With plenty more of other things pinned up
and nailed around.
He wiped his specs five hundred times, his
laughter turned to screaming,
On opening such queer packages; he thought
he must be dreaming.
A bustle, hair-pins, bracelets four, gold garters
eighteen veils,
A gross of gloves, nine bonnets gay,
shine the nails, :
Six dresses, stylish, flying trains, two muffs
and sealskin sacl, . J
Two parasols a dozen fars and slippers white
and black,
a case to
Four pairs of corscts—oh, what shape l—long
hose of upon stitching, :
Three diamond rings, two ruby rings and eurls
of hair bewitching,
Two sets of bangles, ear-rings eight, perfumes
a gross or more,
Ten pounds of candy, poodle dog and other
things a score.
The old man wiped his specs again. Said he;
“Tis mighty queer
That I should get such funny things, and I so
near my bier.
1 am afraid—I am afraid—I'm very sure, this
year, ;
That Santa Claus ’s been getting drunk on
whisky or on beer.”
On Christmas morn the lassie gay her stocking
full she found, .
With plenty more of curious things pinned up
and nailed around.
She wiped her eyes five hundred times; she
thought she must be dreaming,
Each package was so very queer; at last she
fell to screaming.
One pair of spectacles of gold, two goggles.
gray and blue, :
A golden box, three pounds of snuff, six pipes
a!l bright and new,
Five pairs of socks of woolen blue, three night-
caps, foot-bath, too,
Suspenders four, two satan stocks, hair dye of
blackest hue.
Pajamas two, three morning gowns, six razors
sharp and bright,
With brush and eup and shaving eream, one
crutch both strong and light,
dix canes, a suit of nice, warm clothes just
suited for a dandy,
A prayer book with the largest type, one bottle
of old brandy.
The lassie wiped her eyes again. Said she;
“Tis mighty queer
That I should get such funny things, and in
my sixteenth year,
I am afraid that Santa Claus has got a wee
bit crazy,
To leave for me such useless things, and I a
little daisy.”
When Santa Claus had left that night and
found out his mistake,
He laughed, he laughed, he laughed so hard
youd thought his heart would break.
He laughed, he shook, he shook, he langhed—
more stockings were to fill—
He laughed so loud, he shook so hard, it al-
most made him ill.
On Christmas Day, at dinner iime, old Santa
sought the city,
And changed the things from house to house,
laughed, danced and sang a ditty.
And when the Christmas dinner oer, the old
man sought hisroom,
The phantom change perplexed his mind with
joy and awe and gloom.
And when the Christmas dinner o'er, the las-
sie sought her room,
No pack of firecrackers e’er created such a
boom.
She laughed, she cried and flew about, jumped
high upon a stool,
And said : “It is not Christmas Day ; it must
be April Fool.”
Now, when the old man thinks of it, his
thoughts are very hazy,
He hardly knows just what to think, while sure
he was not crazy,
And when the lassie thinks of it, her thoughts
are very mazy ; -
She hardly knows just what to say—the pretty
little daisy.
—Harper's Mogazine.
THE STORY OF TWO CHRISTMAS
EVES.
BY ROBERT ULMAR.
I.
Glendale, most charming of all West-
ern hamlets, lay serene and snow-lock-
ed in the silver beauty of a dazzling
December night. ;
Without, Christmas cheer was in the
air. The merriest of sleigh-bells echo-
ed along the highways, the gayest of
costumes flitted here and there on the
hill where juvenile Glendale was tobog-
ganing; the town stores had festooned
fronts of evergreen, and extra illumina-
tion showed windows piled high with
rare and beantiful souvenirs for the
gift-giving season of the year.
It wae nine o'clock Christmas Eve,
and all was, indeed, well. ihe spell
of merriment and happiness unalleyed
seemed to have settled down over the
lordly mansion, aglow with brilliant
lights, just beyond the crest of the hill,
and upon the humble wood-cutter’s hut
nearer town, alike. A stranger, pass-
ing from house to house, and peering
in, would have decided that here was
the ideal oasis of contentment, joy and
virtue amid the dark desert of life.
Under the snew-thatched roofs,
however, that royal evening of excite-
ment and gladness, pictures were weav-
ing, soon to join in a coherent series of
gcenes upon a broad stage of action. In
a cosy room inthe single hotel the
place afforded, seated ata table con-
taining wines, cigars, and other con-
comitants to a social chat, were seated
two young men; one dark-featured and
with a keen, restless eye that bespoke
thirty years of reckless experience in
the dark ways of life, the other his
junior by half a decade, and having a
somewhat tired and dissipated expres-
sion on his face.
The elder of the two was known as
Bruce Herbert, and was a comparative
stranger in Glenaale. His companion
was Ellis Markham, the son of the oc-
cupant of the lordly mansion on the
hill, who was reputed to be the closest
and wealthiest resident of the village.
#1t's no use, Herbert,” the latter was
saying. “I tell you I'm in a box. and
even the quite liberal cash present my
fond and stingy old governor has given
me for the holidays won't enable me to
bridge over my difficulties. I'm in a
terrible strait!”
“Sorry. Can't it be helped ?”” mur
mured Markham’s companion, bis
clear, cold eye in startling constrast to
the fiery, irritated face of the other.
“No. I have half a mind to cut out
and let the explosion come. I can’t
stay to face it; disgrace, maybe—
prosecution.”
“As bad as that?”
. Yes”
“You'd better make a confidant of
me. Markham,” insinuated Herbert,
with a crafty smile of mystery. “I've
been your friend.”
“J know you have.”
“And you've stood by me.”
“1 have, indeed I have!” replied the
younger man with effusion. “No
sour grapes for me! and when I found
out that it was impossible for me ever
to win the love or fortune of my fath-
er’s charming ward, Eunice Davenal,
why, I not only abandoned the field to
you, but, honestly, I've been working
like a Trojan to win governor and girl
to see your value as a match.”
“(ood for you!” murmured Herbert,
with brightening eves.
“J told the governor who you were—
nephew of the great New York bank-
er, James Herbert, of your immense
bank account, and all that, and, as he
is anxious to have Eunice marry, and
as she won't have me, I tell you that
you are the most eligible person in
view; stand an elegant chance to win
the prize.”
“Oh! he's anxious to marry her off,
is he 2” muttered Herbert, contempla-
tively stroking his silky mustache.
“Yes. You see, according to her
father's will, the day she marries the
estate is settled, and my father receives
a large sum a3 a bequest, only the use
of which he now enjoys,and Eunice as-
sumes control of her own fortune. It’s
a princely one. Way up in the tens of
thousands, There is another provision
however.”
“What's that ?”
“If Eunice marries withont my fath-
er's consent she forfeits the fortune.
But she won't do that. She knows yon
are in love with her. T chink she likes
you.”
“She dcesn’t show it much!” re-
marked Herbert, with a dubious shrug
of the shoulders.
“Oh! all women are coy. You win
the governor's good graces at the party
to-night. If he favors you, it'sa set-
tled tact.”
“Thins so!”
“ know it I" assured Markham, con-
fidently. “He's anxious to get rid of a
capricious, self-willed girl and handled
his legacy, and she is rired of the old
house and restraint. He can marry
her at his will, and she is a beggar if
she thwarts him. Goinand win.’
“I'll try it; and meantime, old fel-
low, just schedule your debts, shady
notes, and the like, and I'll drag you
out of the mire once mone. You help
my love chase; I'll be your friend to
the last.”
The simple scamp grew enthusiastic
in his protestations of gratitude to his
liberal friend, as he told Herbert of this
and that gambling dect, and shame-
facedly of a forged note he had execu-
ted to tide over financial distress.
“I'll take that up this very hour,”
remarked Herbert. “That might make
disgcace and trouble. Two hours till
the party begins. Of course, you’il be
there, and, Markham, old boy, help
my cause where you can.”
“Trust me! You're the best triend I
ever knew!” cried Markham, warmly.
“I tell you, Eunice is yours for the
asking ?”
“Yes unless
“Unless what ?”’
“She prefers another.”
“Nonsenese | there is no other!”
“There was. At the sleighing party
last week, she clung to Earnest Blake's
company the whole evening.”
“Bah! a common mechanicl”
“But a mechanic with brains, you
must confess that.”
“Poor as a church mouse!”
“Love laughs at poverty.”
“My father hates him—he would
never consent to Eunice marrying him.
Why, it ain’t worth thinking of.”
“J sincerely hope uot,” muttered
Herbert as Markham left the room.
And then, to himselt, he murmured :
“Iferbert, old boy! the affair looks
favorable. Old Markham thinks you
are a wealthy, respectable young man;
the girl may have a fancy for you.
must settle the affair to-night, for my
money is givinz out. I'll take up that
spendtrift’s forged note, and use itas a
menace to influence old Markham to
favor my suit, if necessary. If I win
the girl, I'm fixed for life. Bah! that
handsome mechanic, Blake, haunts
me. But the girl can’t think of liking
him. Why he has scarcely a decent
suit of clothes to his back. I wonder if
he will be at the party to-night 2?
II.
Bruce Herbert had stated the truth
very nearly, when he drew the compari-
gon between honest Ernest Blake's
homely attire and his own elegant and
fashionable outfit, only he did not
tell himself that the one wore the hab 1
iments of honor and industry, the
other the livery of evil.
In all Glendale no young man stood
higher in general estimation than Ern-
est Blake. Left an orphan when a boy,
he had come to the village, and for
five years passed a dreary, monotonous
lite at the home of his crotchetty, miser-
ly bachelor uncle, who then had a
small store in the place, but who was
reputed to have a large amount of mon-
ey hidden away or in some bank.
One day John Blake died. He left
a will. ‘By its terms his faithful rela-
tive, Ernest, was made sole heir to all
he possessed. (Glendale was agog. A
month later it marveled, so did Ernest
Blake, for not a dollor in money, bonds
or yroperty could be found.
Either the uncle had no money to
leave, or he had secreted it somewhere,
and died without revealing its hiding-
place. :
Inquiries were made, to no avail, at
banks,in neighboring towns the records
searched, and a quest made through
the house, but the missing fortune was
not found.
Ernest Blake was human, and there-
fore disappointed, but he did not sit
idly mourning over his badifortune. He
was too manly for that. At last, re-
alizing that his uncle's bequest was an
empty gift, he set aside all the past,and
went to work as a mechanic, securing
employment in a machine shop.
For two years that ended upon the
fair Christmas Eve that begins our
story, Eruest Blake toiled days and
read nights, and tried to become an ex-
pert as a mechanical scholar.
He had the respect of everybody.
Upon that evening, as he stood in his
room arranging his homely toilet, he
tried to believe that he was beloved,and
every thought went out to the pretty
ward of James Markham—Eunice
Davenal.
They had met frequently of late, and
[ her eyes had shone 80 kindly into his
own that his heart beat fondly at the
remembrance of it.
“I'll know my fate. I'll speak out
like a man if opportunity presents to-
night,” murmured Ernest. “Then, if
it's no, I can leave Glendale easier.
Books are your ruin,” he chided him-
self, with a smile, after a glance at
some well filled shelves and then
at his clothing. “If IT hadn’t given
the money for those last volumes, I
might have treated myself to a new
suit of clothes. I declare, this coat
does look a trifle old, and that one——""
Ernest gazed reflectively at a gar-
ment lying across a chair. He had
taken it from his trunk, where it had
lain for years. It was about all he
possessed that reminded him of his
dead uncle, for it had belonged to him.
It bad been John Blake's best coat,
and it was of fine broadcloth and little
worn, but dreadfully out of date.
“TI wear it!” decided Ernest firai-
ly. “It's better than the one I have,
and who'li know that it isn't mine? 1
declare it fits me like a glove; and,
not foppish enough to discern that its
antiquity made him loos strange. Er-
nest, a few minutes later, set out for the
party given in honor of pretty Eunice
at the Markham mansion.
Gray lights flashed, the elegant struc-
ture was aglow with musie, radiance
and mirth. Fair girls smiled, hand-
some men flirted and danced, and all
was a scene of Christmas jolity;and yet
one hour after he had arrived, Ernest
Blake was about as miserable a being
as Glendale had held for many a day.
In the first place he had seen his
rival, Bruce Herbert, patronized fa-
voringly by Mr. Markham. Later,
Herbert and Eunice conversed togeth-
er in a quiet corner for some time, he
earnest, she blushing, and, later still,
| the jealous heart of poor Ernest nearly
brok -n as Ellis Markham sent out as
current rumor that an engagement be-
tween Herbert and Miss Davenal was
on the tapis.
The truth was that old Markham
had favored Herbert's suit, but his pre-
cious son’s insinuation was a little pre-
mature, for Herbert had asked Eunice
Davenal to become his wife, and she
had answered him flatly, “No!”
This, however, the miserable Ernest
did not know, and when he saw Mr.
Markham talking earnestly to Eunice,
he decided that they were discussing
love were broken.
Worst of all, some young fops were
set upon Ernest by the malicious Ellis
Markham, to make fun of his coat.
They got near him, hinted, laughed,
joked, and Ernest, overcome with hu-
miliation and rage, beat a retreat to the
conservatory, wishing the old-fashion-
ed garment at the bottom of the sea.
He was boiling with chagrin and
jealousy. He decided to leave the house
at once, never t) return, never again to
look upon the tace of the fair and fickle
girl he loved.
“Ennice!”
“Krnest—DMr. Blake!”
The meeting at a retired seat in the
conservatory was quite unexpected by
either of the twain.
Eunice, pale and anxious-looking,
rather evaded the sad, searching glance
of the yonng mechanic.
“J—I—you must excuse me for not
seeking vou out and introducing vou,’
said Eunice, “but I have been to en
gaged by my duties as hostess. Come,
I will find you a partner for the next
waltz.”
“I beg not!” replied Ernest. almost
sternly. “I have come to say good-
night and good-by, Miss Davenal.”
Eunice started, and an eager glow
came into her face.
“Good-by ?” she repeated, in a little
gasp of surprise. “You are not going
away ?"
“Yes, Miss Davenal.”
“To leave Glendale 2
“To-morrow. I have better opportu-
nities for work at Ironton, and—aund
hardly think I could bear to remain to
congratulate vou as Mrs. Bruce Her
bert I” he blurted out desperately.
“Mr. Blake, do you mean to tell me
that the false story that I am engaged
"
“False ?"
“Yes!
“You have not promised to wed
him ?”
“I refused the honor an hour since.
You have misjudged me. Oh, I am a
wretched, miserable girl I”
She broke down utterly, in tears,
upon his shoulder. As if a load of iron
had been removed from his heart, Er-
nest Blake tock her hands in his own.
She was persecuted, unhappy ! They
were trying to worry her into a distast-
ful marriage ; and then the whole sto-
ry came out, supplemented by a fer
vent avowal of love from the young me-
chanic that wasas eloquent as a refrain
of poesy.
The old coat was a royal garment
now—the jeers of jibers fell flat as from
a coat of mail, as, at midnight, Ernest
Blake and blushing Eunice stood be-
fore Mr. Markham ia the library.
“My consent ?”’ gasped the astonish-
led guardian—‘you two wed! Never!
| I refuse!”
|
“I love him—I shall become his
wife,” said Kunice, gently but firmly.
i “Then you forfeit every dollar of
the engagement, and that his hopes of
your farther's fortune!” cried Mark-
ham, furiously.
“So be it!” came the calm response.
“The love of an honest heart ontweichs
all the gold in the world.”
Til.
Another Christmas Eve three years
later and Glendale is set in its frame of
pearls and diamonds, lovely as ever.
hill is dark and gloomy, and broken
sash and swinging doors tell that it is
given over to the owl and bat.
Changs have come.
story brief and tragic at the village inn.
Bruce Herbert, adventurer and forg- |
er, known in his true character, is the
inmate of a prison for a term of years.
Ellis Markham is a fugitive from jus-
tice in far-away Australia, squandering
half his father's fortune stolen the day |
the covetous Markham took it as his |
right from his selt-willed ward.
"And he, James Markham? They
will tell you at the village that he
speculated, lost, and roined utterly, his
own and the Davenal wealth gone, has
become a paupr and a homeless wan- |
derer.
In a quaint, humble cottage at Iron-
ton, this fourth Christmas Eve of our
story, sit Ernest Blake and the faith-
ful wife who sacrificed fortune to share
his love.
and, although comfortably
the twain’s appearance betoken limited
means.
Gloom seems to haunt the homely
Learth, for there is a shadow on Ern-
est’s brow.
is bitter. “Oh, Eunice, it is hard after
so much of struggle and deprivation !”
“Never mind, we are young and
brave!” replies Eunice,
“Yon staked all on you patent, and
had the idea stolen from you to enrich
a stranger. Well, you can go back to
the shop and 1 can sew, and what is a
little poverty when love—love—love is
ours!”
“You loyal friend and wife!” cried
Ernest impulsively. “Oh, how I have
reproached myselt for taking you from
a howe of luxury and wealth to share
my troubles and distress, dnd yet you
glory in it!”
“Yes! it is rarest happiness to have
vou. Come, dear Ernest, this is Christ-
mas Eve, the happiest of my life, for
you are here. Would you exchange this
with all is uncertainty, for the hour
three yearsago when jealousy nearly
brokeboth our hearts ?" .
“No, no! Oh, I am wicked to com-
plain. You shame my manhood. You
are braver than I. Ah! the larder is
not quite empty, and I can securc|work
to replenish it soon.”
So the cloud passed, and the evening
meal, dainty as ever, if not as varied,
goes by with loving, cheerful talk.
“Who is that 2”
There came a knock at the door.
Then a moan and the sound ofa lieavy
object falling against it.
Ernest hastens to open the door.
miserable, ragged form falls in,
“Eunice! look!”
“Merey! it is 3?
“Your old guardian, James Mark-
ham!”
Yes, it is he, indeed, but no recogni-
tion showed in his drooping eyes as
they lifted his halffrozen form to a
chair near the fire.
He acted like one in a daze as they
removed his snow-clogged shoes and
coat.
“Put that on. He is shivering with
the cold,” said Eunice, as she handed
her husband a coat.
The coat! the same garment that had
known such a history years agone.
Ernest Blake wonders if there is not
some fate in all this as he thinks of it,
and throws the coat of his dead uncle
over James Markham’s shivering
shoulders. ;
“Eh? Where am I? They told
me the Blakes—you have sheltered me.
Forgive! forgive! forgive!”
Husband and wife stand watching
Markham pityingly, as, realizing his
situation, he begins to mutter and driv-
el and tell the story of his wicked life.
He has found them ; he bitterly ac-
cuses himself of having wronged them;
he wishes shelter until morning, and
then—over the hills to the poor house
—to die!
It is not in their hearts to reproach
him, so miserable is he, so wretched
the awards of the fortune he had ap-
propriated.
In trying to rise he fell forward.
In trying to lift him up, Ernest Blake
tears the sleeve nearly out of the old
coat.
Then they make him a comfortable
hed on the floor near the fire, and Eu-
nice sat down to mend the torn gar-
ment.
“Ah, what is wealth to that broken
lif> now ?”’
“Funice, Funice, T will never com-
plain again!” murmurs Ernest, as he
realizes the true blessings of a home
and peace and iove.
“Ernest!”
With a little scream Bunice draws
the sleeve of the coat nearer the light.
“What is it, Eunice ?"
“Something sewed in here.”
“A paper?’
“Yes .
“In my uncle's coat?"
They brin: it to view a minute later.
And then at last the secret of John
Blake's missing wealth is revealed.
There, in the coat, he had sewed the
paper years before, and as Ernest Blake
reads it he knows that in his darkest
hour of need aid has come,
Forthe paper is a document certify-
ing that some forty thousand dollars is
deposited in a city bank, and it is all
his, £8 heir to his dead uncle!
They conld scarcely believe that such
cood fortune had come to them.
A
meet.
“Ernest, has the elond lifted at last?”
murmurs Eunice, through her happy
rears.
“At last and forever. For
—for that, and the good it may do
others.’ ”
! Markham than he had been
Ouly the royal old mansion on the’
They tell the
: i sympathy with the
“Paupers!'” he mutters, and his tone |
brightly. |
cluster around these sacred evergreens,
Christmas-tree
| They |
saze at it, they study it, then their eyes |
your |
dear sake only do I crave this wealth
Poverty has tried them, and they
know now tue true value of riches,
They seek no more pretentions place
than the humble cottage to celebrate
their gladsome Christmas; for love is
there, and they can wait for time to
dictate the future enjoyment of their
strange fortune.
They were more charitable to James
to them
and provided for his declining days,
and when Christmas reenrs those two
devoted hearts look back to the one
when poverty tested their mutual love
and found that both had hearts of
gold.
LL ERR
Pleasant Memories.
Christmas as it Was Celebrated in Ve
Olden Time.
Taking us back to the days of hawk
{and hound ; of the ingle-nook, where
{the Yule logs blazed and the boar’s
| head crowned the
feast. what a won-
derful charm hangs about these “old
times.” Is it that they were really
happier, or only the mellow light that
softens and beautifies every thing in a |
backward glance? Very pretty are
| the pictures of high-t orn dames caught
under the mistletoe bough. We can
hear the laugh and the merry jest, and |
d, 1
list to the olden tale. Those were the
De : y a davs when.
The rooms ave very plainly furnished, | ~*~
dressed, |
«A Christmas gambol oft would cheer
A poor man’s heart through haifa year.”
Tradition is so rich in material that
one must look hard or the lubyrinthine
mazes of the antiquarian will swallow
him up, and shut him away from any
gene ral reader.
Whence arose the custom of decking
with greens the wise ones do not seem
to be quite clear, but the practice was
undoubtedly of very ancient date, and
almost universal. Poetry and romance
where woodland spirits were supposed
to dweil, and volumes could be written
upon this most engaging theme. The
mistletoe, “scorning the sordid soil,”
was held to be especially sacred when
found upon the oak, its mysterious ori-
gin adding to its importance and sanc-
tity. HKven the name, mistletoe, has a
lingering and musical charm that cuils
up a host of old-time memories, and in
spite of ourselves we wonder away to
the enchanted halls and the castles of
the past.
According to some botanists the name
was of Celtic origin, and comes from the
word Muwsogl, meaning moss; others
say it is from the Icelandic Mistilicin,
signifying a slender twig. The family
of the mistletoe is large, numbering
several hundred, the researches of mod-
ern botanists having added a good
‘many ; but the one dear to our hearts is
the mistletoe of old England, the viscum
album, with its tender greenish blossoms
and its white waxy berries.
The birds are said to be very fond of
these berries, which have such a viscous
quality that they are apt to adhere to
the bills of the little creatures, until to
be rid of the encumbrance they persist-
ently strike them upon the barks of
trees, and thereby plant the seed in-
definitely. :
The holly and the bay, the ivy and
the laurel, all offered protection to the
sylvan deities, and kept alive the fanci-
ful myth that these elusive spirits re-
paired to houses so decked, and remained
till frost and snow gave place to sun-
shine and blossoming fields.
Around the Yule-log, anciently called
a “Yule-clog” or “Christmas-block,”
many were the merry-makings in honor
of the festive day, and many were the
quaint observances and customs, now
forgotten, or only known in the pages
of the old chroniclers.
In the north of England we read that
the servants in the farm-houses were
allowed ale at their meals while the
Yule-log continued to burn, and it is
hardly necessary to add that the log
was of respectable size. In fact, they
ave spoken of again as ‘great trees,”
and much emphasis was placed upon
the huge blazing fires. which were al-
ways lighted upon Christmas Eve, with
much parade and ceremony. Then
ensued days of feasting and frolie, often
stretching into weeks, where the wassail
bow! went round and master and servant
sat side by side.
“The neir with foses in his shoes
That night might village partner choose.”
Some old writer informs us that “the
boar’s head soused was anciently the
first dish on Christmas Day, and was
carried up to the principal table in the
hall with great state and solemnity.”
A carol was sung during the progress,
and mention is made of “brawn,”
“mustard,” and “malmsey !” Following
this appetizer comes such an array of
good things as would make anybody
envious only for the memory of our own
plum puddings and mince pies and our
own ninteenth-century triumphs in the
way of cookery. Among the games
that enlivened the feast was one where
a mimic dragon passed a bow! of roasted
apples, covered by flaming spirits,among
the guests. Whoever failed to take an
apple with his fingers came under some
kind of a penalty, and herein lay the
sport of “Shapdragon.” Times have
changed, and although the spirit of
Christmas Day remains, its expression
takes different form, and the tree,
loaded with its exchange of loving gifts,
stands foremost as the crowning feature
of modern observance. To even speak
of the Christmas-tree calls up such a
host of German superstitions, and all
the beautiful stories of Christ-child,
that it is hard to pass tham by and only
touch upon this most interesting and
fruitful theme. Year after year, in
paiace and cot, in the broad ways of
fashion and in famines squalid lanes,
comes thesweet influence. The German
children see the Christ-child everywhere
at Christmas time, and St. Nicholas is
the bearer of his good gifts. A German
is a very resplendent
and glittering affair. The gifts are not
hung upon its branches, but instead,
innumerable tiny candles and colored
lanterns, the whole made still more
brilliant by intertwining gold and silver
threads, which the little ones eagerly
grasp and sacredly hold, as hair of the
blessed Christ-child.
Somewhere it is said that Old Eng-
land, associated as it is in all our minds
with the essence of Christmas merry
making, knew nothing of a Christmas- |
tree until Queen Victoria interduced it
for the pleasure of her own children.—
Elizabeth A. Davis,in N. Y. Observer.
| nations.
Si Be NE AIT STC TE TT
Christmas,
THE observation of Christmas as a
festival is well nigh universal among the
so called Christian nations. ln the
United States within the memory of a
generation, 1t has come into ich
prominence, so that even the descep-
dants of the Puritan:, who like the
Scotch Presbyterians regarded the ve-
cognition of the day as partaking of
the nature of idol worsiaip, have come
to celebrate it both in is religions and
social aspects,
The general mananer of its obs n
‘all
“in America is the result of the blending
of thie customs of various European
The mstitution of the Chriss-
mas tree, the oi » of precents, and the
| legends of Si. Nicholas. Kriss Krinkle,or
Kiaus., tocether with the hanging
of the stockings on Christmas eve, and
| other atten ceremonies associated
with these lecends, we derive from the
Germans and Dutch, anny whose des-
cendants in the w World these cns-
toms long existed before they were in-
'corporated in their presents modified
| form in the general manners of the
community. » custom of the Christ
mas dinner is an inheritance from Olid
| England, as are many of the games,
sports and pastimes in the line of public
rand private entertainments that aie
common at this season. The European
| customs in connection with Christinas
are readily traced back to old Roman,
Saxon, Druidieal, or other religious and
social eeremonials of the ancient ancesg-
try. Thus the Engiish enstoms in re-
gard to the mistletoe ard the yule log
are survivals of old British rites practiced
by the Druids, and the boisterous fun
and license allowed in many of the eon-
tinental European countries in connec-
tion with the Christinas holidays, have
been claimed by scholars to be directly
descended from the Roman Saturnalia,
or those of ancient German and Norse
mythologies,
No matter what may be the opinions
of individual critics as to the symbolic
and commemorative character of Christ-
mas as a religious holiday, the fact that
it has come to represent heneficence,
good will, helpfulness, sympathy, and a
host of social virtues, which are incul-
cated in a very vital manner by the
customs of the day, has tended to dis-
arm ecaptious objections. Men of all
creeds and of no creed unite in the
co-operative social sympathy and help-
fulness that seems at this season to pre-
vade the air, and the indulgence of
small, mean, and selfish traits of charac-
ter in the social sense, is rebuked by the
very condition of the vitalized and elec-
trified social atmosphere.
EAI CAR TS TT
He Paid the Bills,
i
sant
One of the Drawbacks to a Merry Chirist-
mas—Mr. Rocks’ Experience.
Old Mr. Lot O. Rocks on a certain
Christmas morning was the happiest
man in three counties. A richly-up-
holstered, hand-embroidered, silver-tas-
seled dressing-gown hung over his easy
chair, with an affectionate note from
mamma. A da zling diamond stud
twisted the sun’s rays out of shape on
the dresser and threw a light blue,
gleam on a card: “To dearest papa
from his lovingest daughter.” A gold
repeater on the mantel ticked so hard it
almost knocked a hole in the wall, and
a pretty card told him it was from an-
other Miss Rocks. Slippers and neck-
ties, suspenders and handkerchiefs,
smoking-caps and cigar holders were al-
so stacked up in one corner of the room.
Old Rocks smothered himself in his
new gown and an excess of sentiment
for two days. He smoked himself
blind and employed a night watchman
to protect his jewelry. He was a very
proud man—proud of himself, proud of
an affectionate family that was proud of
him. He lavished presents on his loving
wife and tender-hearted daughters.
Such an unbounded display of affection
must be rewarded a hundred-fold,
thought old Rocks. He did not leave a
wish or a want of his dutiful family go
unheeded. Old Rocks was made thrice
happy.
Early the following day a district
messenger boy called with a small bill
for a pair of slippers. Old Mr. Rocks
smiled in a feverish sort of a way. An
hour later the haberdasher sent in a bill
for ties, suspenders and other bric-a-brac.
At noon the tailor’s messenger carried
up an account for a dressing gown and
cap. But old Rocks paid and paid un-
til the jeweler’s diamond and watch
statement reached his office. Then the
old man flew into a passion—§91 3.26
was more than he would stand. He
could have bought everything for half
his affectionate family had paid for it,
he declared, and threatened to pitch the
messenger into the street. But the
jeweler notified Mr. Rocks that the bad-
debt wagon would call at his residence
next morning if he did not pay his
honest debts, and the old man settled.—
Chicago News.
Christinas Chuckles.
The dade as usual hung up his watch.
Christmas is the only real holiday in
the whole year.
The nupitial
necktie.
It’s far pleasanter to stand under the
mistletoe than over a gouty toe.
The Christmastree is very polite~it is
full of boughs and is usually spruce.
A Christmas bill of fare in the South
possum gnd tater, peach and honey.
Under the mistletoe at Christmas is
like Gloucester harbor—a great place
for smacks.
Charity covers a muititude of sins but
it cannot cover all that are committed
in the name of Christmas.
Why is it written Xmas ?’’ asked
one little boy of another. I guess be-
cause it takes an X tolbuy ma’sipresents.
After a man has been out all ngiht
and has a head twice the natural, size it
seems a mockery to wish him a merry
Christmas. :
knot—A husband’s
——Rhumatismis undoubably caused
by lactid acid in the blood. This acid
attacks the fibrous tissues, and causes
pains, and aches in the back, shoulders,
knees, ankles, hips, ard wrists. Thou-
sands of people have found in Hood's
Sarsaparilla a positive cure for rhuma-
tism. This medicine, by its purefying
action, neutralizes the acidity of the
' blood, and also builds up and strength-
ens the whole body.