Demorralic, Wate}
Bellefonte, £a., Dec. 25, 1891.
CHIRSTMAS DAY.
(Uncle Seth loquitur.)
A good old fashioned Chris’mas, with the legs
upon the hearth,
The table filled with feasters, an’ the room
a-roar "ith mirth, i NE
With the stockin’s erammed to bu’stin’, an
the medders piled ’ith snow—
A geod old fashioned Chris'mas like we had £0
long ago!
Now that's the thing Id like to see ag’in afore
ie :
But Chrismas in the eity here—it’s different,
!
oh my!
With the crowded hustle bustle of the slushy,
noisy street,
An’ the scowl upon the faces of the strangers
that you meet.
Oh, there’s buy’, plenty of it, of a lot 0’ gor-
geous toys;
An’ it takes a mint 0’ money to please modern
irls and boys. , ;
Why, i mind the time a jack-knife an’ a taffy
Jump for me na
Made my little heartan’ stockin’ jus’ chuck
full o' Chris'mas glee.
An’ there's feastin’. Think o'feedin’ with these
stuck up city folk! : ’
Why, ye have to speak in whispers, an’ ye
oe crack a joke.
Then remember how the tables looked all
crowded with your kin,
Wheu you couldn’t hear a whistle blow across
the merry din!
You see I'm s0 old fashioned like I don’t care
much for style,
An’ toeat your Chris’mas banquets here I
wouldn't go a mile;
1d rather have, like Solomon, a good yarb
dinner set :
With real old friends than turtle soup with all
the nobs you’d get.
There's my next door neighbor Gurley—fancy
how his brows *u’d lift
If I'd holler, “Merry Chrig’'mas! Caught, old
fellow, Chris’'mas gift !'l ,
Lordy-Lord, I'd like to tryit! Guess he'd
nearly have a fit. :
Hang this city stiffness, anyways, I can’t get
used to it. .
Then your heart it kept a swellin’ till it nearly
bust your side, : :
An’ by night your jaws were achin’ with your
smile four inches wide, '
An’your enemy, the wo’st one, you'd just grab
his hand an’ say :
“Mebbe both of us was wrong, John, Come
let's shake. It’s Chris’mas Day!”
Mighty little Chris’'mas spirit seems to dwell
‘tween city walls,
Where each snow flake brings a soot- flake for
a brother as it falls: .
Mighty little Chris’mas spirit! An’ I’m pinin’,
don’t you know
For a good old fashioned Chris'mas like we had
50 long ago.
Alice Williams Brotherton, in Century.
THE ANGEL OF ST. GUDULE'S,
BY MARION HARLAND,
PROLOGUE.
Mine is a tale of fashionable life, and
in this day nothing could be more com-
monplace than the lives of people of
fashion. The hero is, moreover, a com-
monplace man, and so unimaginative
that what really happened to him a year
ago was the more remarkable. Sosing-
ular did it appear to me that I have
with difficulty restrained myself from
telling in advance of the season what
may, after all, be considered a common-
place holiday story, manufactured to de-
mand, with the conventional two mis-
understandings, involving a couple of
heart-breaks on Christmas Eve, and the
one reconciliation next moruing to the
clanging accompaniment of Christmas
bells.
Men who get rich fast, and whose
wives are ambitions of social distinction,
ought pot to be surprised that those who
construct and raise the ladder are some-
times ignored in the excitement of the
ascent.
Yet M. Daniel Barber was disagree-
ably amazed when he shrank into the
background ot his money-bags. He
had two talents. The one -vhich he did
not tie in a napkin and hide in the
earth was an aptitude for amassing
wealth that deserved to rank with gen-
ius. The passage through the alpine
range dividing poverty from affluence is
oftener blasted than bored. Our. hero
was neither briiliant nor a master of
diplomatic arts, nor yet unscrupulous as
to men and ‘measures, still his dollars
multiplied amain. He was thirty-nine
years of age, and “worth,” in technical
parlance, two and a half millions on the
24th of December, 1889, when he set
out to keep an evening business engage-
ment at a down-town hotel. He had
not left his home a block behind when
fate, in the guise of his wife’s pet white
setter, bounded on ahead of him, having
stolen out of the house at his heels. ‘He
whistled her back and retraced his steps.
Mrs. Barber was where he had left
her, in'a ‘luxurious chair before the li-
brary fire; chatting with her sister Mrs.
Cralle, who bad dined with them. The
sister’s carriage was at the door, and she
was drawing on her gloves.
“Change your mind and go with me,”
she was saying, ‘There will bea va-
cant chair in the box. Or, maybe you
expect company ?”’
She laughed, and her sister answered
hastiliy, “I expect no one, but it 1s just
possible that—?’ :
Maida broke the sentence in two by
trotting in between the speakers with
an air of exaggerated innocence inter-
preted instantly by her mistress.
“Did she follow you again ?”’ seeing
her husband, and flushing with surprise
or vexation. “I am ever :s0 much
obliged to you for bringing her back.
She is getting dangerously fond of you.
Mrs. Cralle granted him no space tor
rejoinder. She was a little woman with
black eyes that snapped, and shut up
tightly when she laughed. Somebody
had told her in “her girlhood that her
cachinnation was musical, and she had
prof by the suggestion ever since.
er mirth was peculiar, running up the
gamut in half-tones to sol and balancing
there while sober people wondered at the
chromatic feat. She ¢did” it again
now.
“I wish you were so dangerously
fond of your own husband as to obey
him. I'd persuade him to order you to
go with meto t theatre, instead of
moping here on th® chance that an ad-
mirer may drop in. He doesn’t stay at
home. + Why should you. I have my
suspicions!” She laughed until there
was hardly a crease between upper and
lower lids, |
“Helen knows that I never interfere
with her engagements,’’ said Mr. Barber
sedately cool,
Mrs. Cralle spread her gloved palms
dramatically. “Have yourown way—
both of you. Each of you must know
+ the lesson pretty thoroughly by now. "I
Hl.
don’t know two moro independent peo-
ple ; and I suppose perfect liberty has
its advantages--even in married life.”
Her brother-in-law attended her to
louking after it with an irresolute ex-
pression not commen to face or move-
ment. ?
“What a fool that woman is!” he
said behind his teeth. ‘She'd put me
| front ot him for some yards.
in the lunatic asylum in a week.”
As if still weighing the question to go |
or to stay m his mind, he walked slowly |
up the steps and let himself into the
ball. His business appointment could |
wait. If Helen wanted him to remain
at howe he would send a telegram. As
he removed his hat his hair showed
whitely on the temples behind which |
the brain drudged continually at his
hfe task of million-making. Each year
cut more sharply certain carves, brack- |
eting nose and chin, that were not in!
his face at thirty. He had never been |
loquacious, but his taciturnity was be- |
coming proverbial. Sisyphus probably |
wasted little time in exclamation or |
harangue while “up the Lill he heaved
a huge round stone.” That the Harber |
stone gathered auriferous soil as it rolled
made the labor no easier,
In the intervals of strain and lift he ;
had many thoughts to-day that were ir- |
relevant and foreign to daily toil. In a
household where there are no children,
Christmas giving is short and usually
dull work. Mr. Barber had paid one
visit to a jeweller’s and another toa
modish carriage-maker’s shop on his
wife’s behalf. She had, without doubt,
bought something tasteful and possibly
useful for him to be presented next day.
Checks had done all the rest. The
Cralles’, big and little, the employes of
the house of Barber & Co., various char-
itable institutions, and a mission or two,
would reap the result of the check-writ-
ing, which was so much like a business
transaction as to have no holiday flavor
about it. The truant and persistent
thought that had haunted him would
naturally visit his wife, as well, but of
this she had given no sign. True, they
had not met since breakfast until din-
ner-time, and then there was that—
blue jay! Country education and Mrs.
Cralle’s costume of blue velvet and bro-
cade combined to supply the simile.
His wife still lay back in her loung-
ing chair, one hand stroking the snowy
silk of Maida’s coat. The dog sat on
her haunches, close to her mistress gaz-
ing, like her, into the wood fire. The
husband surveyed the tableau from the
doorway for an instant the hard curves
relaxing and the deep-set eyes wistful,
Mrs. Barber was thirty-three years
old. In the blending light of fire and
shaded lamp she wa. girlishly fair. Her
pale brown hair was dresssed simply,
waving naturally low upon the back of
her head. Her gown ofsome creamy
crepe-like stuff’ was trimmed with wine-
colored velvet, yellowing laces softening
the round of wrists and throat. Shedid
not look a day older than when she pro-
mised to marry him eleven years before.
By-the way, she had worn white on that
evenirg too, with wine-colored sash and
ribbons ; but that must be a mere coin-
cidence. The bound of his heart at the
reminiscence did not jar his tone as he
came forward.
“Don’t be startled | I came back to
ask —that is—is Maida’s collar marked
with your name and address ?’’
The subterfuge was awkward and
cowardly, and the knowledge of this
stiffened him through and through. He
had seen the quick color leap into her
cheeks at his voice ; her complexion
was as sensitive as a baby’s. In stoop-
Ing to examine the silver band upon the
dog’s neck, he did not note how sudden-
ly the rose flush receded, or the slight
curl of the languid lip. Her accents
were politely listless.
“Oh yes! Her only danger is trom
dog thieves.” She did not look toward
him, but again at the fire.
“That’s all right, then” —raising him-
self ¢Can I do anything for you down
the street ? The shops will be closed to-
morrow.”
“Nothing, thank you. I hope Maida
has not made you late for your appoir.t-
ment.”
She had not so much ‘as looked a de-
sire to have stay. She almost hinted
that he would better be gone. The
night was unseasonable mild, the stars
were dim, the atmosphere was oppres-
sively humid. Twenty blocks lay be-
tween him and the place of his business
tryst, buthe chose to walk, forging
ahead as if the mercury were below zero
He was chilled to the heart.
For Mr. Barber’s second talent, the
one which he did wrap in the napkin of
diffidence and hide under the ashes of
humility, was his love for his wife. It
bad always expressed itself in deeds
rather than words. She was apt with
graceful phrase: and ready turns of
speech, He thought slowly, and words
came tardily to the birth. Once, and
for long, she had comprehended this.
Ouly five years ago, when he presented
her with the title-deeds of the handsome
dweliing they mow occupied; he had
told her, between kisses, that every
stone in it was the token of ‘a loving
thought of her. There was no vulgar
exultation in his enjoyment of her so-
cial trinmphs. Like herseif, he was re-
fined 1ngrain. Unlike her, he ‘had few
showy qualities. = She had once jesting-
ly compared his conversational abilities
to the Rothschild who, refused a seat in
a Paris omnibus because he had no
change in his pocket, offered the conduc-
tos a note for a million francs, and 'ask-
ed for the change. But if he was apt to
be caught without small-talk, he com-
forted himself likea correct, dignified
gentleman at the dinners which her
beauty, her vivacity and gracious tact
made famous, He paid cheerfully ‘for
the musical and dramatic talent that
helped lift her ‘‘evenings’’ ahove the
level of the monotonous ‘‘reception.”
Her country-seat—also deeded to her—
was a veritable Les Delices for lovliness
of situation and variety of entertain-
ments devised for guests. And when
his wealth joined to her native gifts, had
made her “the . fashion,” he discovered
that the good things he had provided
out of the fulness of his devotion were
his rivals. In heaping up richcs for her
he had barred the postern-gate leading
into the dear old pleasant pastures, shut
out the murmur of the still waters,
Their lives touched at ‘fewer points as
the months flew by. Hers was the bril-
liant slavery of the world ; his the bond-
age of the man of affairs. As often be-
tides a wedded pair in such zircumstan-
ces, she was the happier of the two. She
her carriage, and as it rolled away stood
| til this instant her lawful partner had
' never felt a twinge of jealously of him,
mitted.
dered, he could
floated a glittering mote in the radiant
stream she helped to glorify.
“In which I have no place,” he re-
flected drearily. “The best use I had
for the money was to give her every-
thing she wanted, and it divides us like
a sea of molten gold.”
Two men issued from the door of a
fashionable club-house just as he passed
it, fell into step, and kept directly in
“I will go as faras the corner with
you,” saida voice Barber thought he
knew ; “but I am reaily due uptowu. I
have an engagement to call upon the
loveliest of her sex, the nicest woman in
town, with but one drawback—she is
married, and to a gold plated log,”
+That’s worse for her than for you, I
take 1t. Do we part here? Goud-
night !”
Without hesitation, Daniel Barber
wheeled about as the first speaker cross-
ed the avenue and started up the other
side. He knew the man as a star in the
social firmament of New York. He was
well born, travelled, aocomplished, and
handsome, and had on sundry occasions,
in her husband’s presence, distinguished
Mrs. Barber by marked attention. Un-
or of any other man. Nine words had
opened a erater at his feet.
The two men tramped on in line, the
width of the street between them, the
complacent admirer of the loveliet of her
sex never glancing toward the person
who dogged him, even when he halted
where the other had been certain he
would stay his rapid walk, and rang the
bell at Mrs. Rarber’s door. He was ad-
Her sister had insinuated that she ex-
pected an admirer.. Helen had checked
her faint disclaimer at ‘‘it is just possible
—’? with a conscious blush at seeing her,
husband. Her toilette of studied sim-
plicity, her uneasiness at the delay of his
second and third departure—each trivial
incident of theevening stood out in
lurid distinctness.
This, then was what had parted them
and kept them asunder! In the full
horror of the shock, he would have stak-
ed his soul upon Helen’s honor. She
would keep her marriage vow to the let-
ter. It was only herimaginination that
was led captive ; the feminine fondness
for admiration was her snare. Admit-
ting this, she was lost to him when her
wifehood was named lightly and as a
barrier in her chosen career.
While thinking, he was walking,
holding on the long stride that made
other pedestrians turn to glance after
him, so ill-suited was it to the close,
clinging warmth ,of the evening and the
general depression it induced. How far
and in what various directions he wan-
never recollect. He
was exhausted and out of breath when,
at eleven o'clock, he locked about him
for a quite corner in which he could rest |
and plan.
Right beside him was a church with
truncated towers and broad solemn
front. Two windows were faintly illum
inated, the rest dark, and he could hear
in the stilling night-time the regular
pulse of the organ. The door yielded to
his push. The choir rehearsal for to-
morrow’s service was over, but the or-
ganist had remained for an hour’s pri-
vate rehearsal. The gloomy spacious-
ness from wall to wall was untenanted.
Daniel Barber took a seat midway be-
tween door and chancel, and drew a
painful, shuddering breath ; the cold
sweat dropped from his forehead. “O
God !"’
It is the cry of the human when the
possibility of human help is swept away
and the naked, destitude soul hurls it-
self, a battered moth, in the face of Him
who, it feels, blindly and distractedly,
ought to have succored it from ruin:
Sometimes it is a prayer ; as often it is
an imprecation. :
Daniel Barber in his sane moments
believed in a large and simple way, in
the Father’s love and forgiveness.
first coherent thought now was of thank-
fulness that he had taken refuge in a
church. He had serious matters in
hand ; had formed a momentous resolu-
tion. Whatever the devout people who
worshipped here might think of his pur-
pose. He, in whose honor the temple
was built, knowing so much more of the
facts in the case than they, might be
brought around to his views on the sub-
ject. .
Aware at this point that thestyle of
his argument was unconventional, if
not irreverent he tried not to listen to
the organ, The roll got mixed up wiih
the pulsations of his brain. A sortof
alter ego of his mind proper was tracing
out the theme of the voluntary. He
could meditate more clearly "upon his
legs. He got up, and began to strolled
up one aisle and down the other,
bringing will to bear upon his scattering
thoughts.
His premises were few ‘and decided.
His character and principles were block-
ed out in a few and graphic lines. Thus
he set the situation before the Reader of
Hearts : +I love my. wife best of creat-
ed things. 1 live oniy to make her
happy. She has ceased to love me.
I am no longer necessary to her happi-
piness. Life has lost its value. A use-
less thing should be dispensed with.”
The chain had not a flaw. With the
cessation of demand should cease supply.
In every department of God's economy
waste 18 a sin. Still pacing the aisles
softly, he wrought out ti: details of
leaving a world where he was no longer
wanted. There was noneed to go home
again. His will bequeathing every-
thing to lis wife, was in his lawyers
hands. He made it six years ago, a
month after little Dan’s death on Christ-
mas Eve. For four years the parents
had kept the holiday quietly together,
less sudly but not less lovingly with
each recurrence of ‘the anniversary
Last year imperative business calied him
to Chicago u week before the holidays.
He hud pushed affairs fiercely hard, and
traveled day and night to surprise Helen
by returning in time to pass the evening
of Christmas Day with her. She had
gone in the place of her sister, who was
suddenly indisposed, to chaperon a thea-
tre party of young people, and did not
get home until midnight. Fashionable
mothers must make short work of their
mourning if they would discharge aright
the duties they owe to “our set.” How
far und fast they two had drifted apart
in one short year!
It could hardly have happened if the
children had been spared. The second,
a girl, was born dead. Dan would be
His |
nine years old on New Year's day if he
prs v wu a ——————
had lived. His eyes and winsome ways
were the mother’s, but she insisted vehe-
mentiy that he would grow up into his
father’s image. Her heart would not be
so empty to-nightif her boy were with
her. Tender branches upon the -‘log”
might give wifely affection something
to which to cling : might even haye hin-
dered the closing up of the golden
plates. He had deplored childlessness
as a misfortune. He saw it now as a
curse. . Helen could never have grown
superbly indifferent to her boy’s father,
and the prattle of the baby girl would
drown the call of tha river down which
the ““log’’ must float at midnight. How-
ever misery-stricken, he could not have
foregone the pure joy of hearing the two
shout in unison, “Merry Christmas to
dear papa and mamma !”’
As it was, he had worked back in a
circle to the starting point of the reverie.
It must seem to be an accident. Helen
would feel it to be a shock, not a sorrow.
She bad her ‘‘circle” and her fortune.
He sneered sourly in reflecting how
much more valuable was the plating
than the log inside oft.
All beyond the small area immediate-
ly about the organ-loft was in black
shadow to one coniing in from the ar-
ish streets. When Daniel Barber’s eyes
got used to the darkness, pews, chancel,
and altar took shape, e could trace
the outline of the Christmas decorations
the resinous perfume of which was op-
pressive 1n the dank warmth of the
night. The windows upon his right
were brighter than the rest. One near
the middle of the church received the
direct force of the electric light without.
The dull eyes strayed to it by and by in
the same feeble impulse of unconscious
cerebration that had lead him to follow
the musical refrain.
Right in the centre of the illuminated
space an angel held a gleaming crown
above the head of a kneeling figure.
The gaze of the latter was heavenward ;
her visage,chastened by sorrow, was full
of holy peace, a rest and thankfulness
ineffable and secure. About the bend-
ing figure and victorious saint was writ-
ten, us with a finger of light, the legend.
“Be thou faithful unto death, and I
will give thee the crown of life!’
While he still gazed, the wonderful
thing I have spoken of happened. A
strong voice, like a clarion for clearness
and melody, uttered the words in the
hearing of the half crazed man, and the
organ throbbed an accompaniment. It
was thrice repeated. In his bewilder-
ment he recalled that it was always thus
with true “signs.”
“Be thou faithful’-~the recitative ris-
ing majestically, distinct above full sus-
tained ap death’ ,—the sigh
and hush were as the passing of a soul ;
then out burst soaring into a glorious
crescendo of voice and organ peal, “and
I—and I will give thee the crown of
life 1”
The visitor to the stately temple,
standing, like ‘a pause in the day’s oc-
cupations,”’ in mid-channel of the sweep
of labor and life, may see for himself
the memorial window set by filial love
in the gray wall. To none besides the
solitary wanderer within the sacred
gates was it given to receive from an
angel lips the message sent by Heaven
that Christmas Eve to a soul ready to
perish.
“Faithful” unto the death so close
upon him — the end presumptuously
courted. Was the proffered crown for
him who in a frenzy of impatience
threw down the cross he was command-
ed to bear ? What was thesoldier who,
in mid-fight, turned his back upon his
enemies?
Wavering rays of light outlined the
monitor ; with outstretched arms she
seemed to lean toward him ; her look to
grow more sweetly compassionate. In
an agony of contrition he f>ll upon his
knees, and tears, bursting vetween the
fingers that veiled the shamed face,
wese the savior of the over wrought
brain. 2
As the organist, having extinguished
the lights, was leaving the gallery, his
eye was caught by the well defined ap-
parition of a kneeling form right in the
track of the mellowed glows flowing
through the memorial window. It did
not move at his approach, yet the in-
truder was so evidently not a drowsy va-
grant that he did not offer to touch him.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, respect-
fully, “but I am about to lock up the
church.” :
To his amazement he recognized the
face ot the worshipper.
“Thank you I’ Daniel Barber arose,
dignified and unabashed, and walked
slowly downthe aisle.
The organist had never heard that the
successful man, known to him as the
generous patron of musical talent, was
especially devout, but if millionaires
had a fancy to say their prayers at mid-
night in an empty sanctuary, organists
who live upon sal ries subscribed by
rich people had no right to find fault
with their harmless whims. He whis-
tled softly in pulling the big double
leaved door shut, and made up his mind
that the “interesting incident of Christ-
mas Eve’ should not find its way into
the newspapers through him.
Somebody watching behind the par-
lor curtains saw a cab deposit a passen-
ger upon the sidewalk in front of the
Barber mansion. Before the master of
the house could get out his latch-key =
figure in white and wine red stood in the
open door.
“Qh-h-h 1’ the long-drawn aspirate
telling of suspense and unutterable relief.
“How late you are, niy darling !”
For answer he lifted her bodily in his
arms and carried her back to the library.
“You have nat sat upon my knee in
twelve months,” he said, hungrily, dis-
regarding her cry of terror and amuse-
ment. ‘Nor called me ‘darling’ before
in s1x.”
“Whose fault was that ?”’ she began,
saucily, then cried out again at sight of
his baggard face : “Dan what has hap
ened ? How strange and white you lovk.
Where have you been ?”
“In the valley of the shadow of death ”’
And while she trembled and paled and
wept he told her everything. When he
named the man he had dogged to her
door she grew as criinson as a rose, and
her imprisoned hands burned in his
grasp. Her lips parted impulsively,
“Not yet,” said her husband, gently
decisive, ‘ Wait.”
Surely no stranger or fuller confession
was ever poured by aching heart’ into
wondering ears. Helen Barber ‘was a
proud womun, and her husband knew
what risks he took. But to his honest
way of thinking, fidelity implied fearless
frankness. Let her disclose or keep back
what she would, there was an end of re-
serves on his part. The changes in the
eloquent face of the auditor were more
than be could bear at last. He con-
cluded the story with averted eyes.
“I blame you in nothing. I am not
the mate of a woman like you. I can
only love you with ally heart and soul,
and work for you with all'my strength.
While I have-delved in common soil,
you have been climbing. As: I have
grown dull, you have grown brighter.
I am afraid it is too late to make me
over’’—his features wrung by a faint,
sorrowful smile. “If you had begun ten
years earlier, I doub. if you could have
tushioned me into such a man, for in-
stance, as your visitor of this evening.”
She wrested her hands impetuously
from his, laid them on his shoulders, and
looked at him with eyes that blazed.
“You must stop there, Dan ! husband !
my love ! my darling !”’ flinging epithet
after epithet breathlessly, as if she could
not content herself with any lavishment
of endearment. ,
“I am to blame. Oh, I must be terribly
in faulvit you could ever 1u your inmost
| thoughts link his name with mine! He
i lied when he said that I expected him.
| He had never found ie alone betore ; he
will never find me at home again. Not
, that he dared breathe of or look lke
' love—faugh !—to me. But he contrived
to drop a word of sympathy for me in
my loneliness, and to intimate that my
tastes and pursuits were not yours. It
was very adroitly done, so cleverly man-
aged that I suspect he had said it to a
dozen other ‘loveliest of their sex.” I
told him what I thought of you ina few
hot and hasty words, und in fewer, hotter
and more hasty, I gave him my opinion
of men like himself. He got himself out
of the house in tolerable order”’—laugh-
ing nervously—‘but he will make no
more mistakes of that sort ; will make
sure next time what manner of neglected
wife he tries to console. That was at
balf past nine. You had said at dinner
that your engagement would not detain
you long. I alluded to that when I be-
gan the remark to Celia that Maida in-
terrupted. ‘It is just possible that Dan
may be in early, and he seldom has an
evening at home now,” was what you
would have heard if the runaway had
not appeared at that second. I had
planned 1t all in what I was half afraid
you would consider an absurdly honey-
moonish style. Tordered a nice supper
to be served at half past ten. All of iy
that isn’t spoiled, and the coffee that
isn't made, you may see over there in the
dining-roum, but it was to be eaten in
here. You never notice what I wear
nowadays, but I hoped you might ob-
serve the new gown I had made for this
occasion, and possibly recollect that I
wore white und wine-color the evening
we were engaged, and that it was in
Christmas week, and then we would
talk it all over and out together. Don’t
you suppose I have scen that the rush of
business is sweeping you one way and
the race of pleasure sweeping me an-
other, and had begun to take alarm at
it? So I have taken myself to task lately.
The truth is, I am awfully tired of meet-
ing the same people and eating the same
suppers everywhere, and talking the
same frothy, flashy nothings, and the
gray is coming out too rapidly in your
hair and mustache to please a wife who
wants you to live forever. These were
but a few of the things we were to talk
over to-night. Some of the rest we
neverspeak of to other people. Celia,
although she has children of her own,
would nothave understood why the fact
that her sudden illness last Christmas
Eve obliged me to take her place, or dis-
appoint her girls and their guests, was
not a precedent for my joining her party
to-night. I was unjust to you in think-
ing that you hud forgotten our sadly
sweet tryst, kept in the dear old times
when you werenotso cruelly busy and
I so criminally gay.”” ~~ Her hands had
slid back into his grasp; tender light
overflowed her eyes ; richer color was
stealing into her cheeks; her lips
trembled as she went on, her voice sink-
ing to a whisper : “Last of all, I meant
to teli you what IL have kept to myself
until now. Because it was on Christmas
Eve that our boy went away with the
angels, because on Christmas Eve an-
other little Child was bornin Bethlehem,
I waited until to-night to let you know
—""She said the rest with her lips upon
his.
The organist of St. Gudule's sang in
public so seldom that not one of his choir
suspected how fine was his barytone,
and how correct his taste in vocal music.
Not a false tone or inexpressive render-
ing of the Christmas choral service es-
caped him ; yet he was passably well
satisfied when he turned his head from
his high seat for a view of the slowly re-
tiring congregation, his fingers straying
among the harmonies of a familiar sym
phony. A discord, unskilfully intro-
duced, made two or three people glance
up at the gallery in surprise. He saw
only a man and a woman, whose bowed
heads we e not lifted until the church
was nearly empty. They knelt side by
side 1n the pew occupied last night by
the solitary devotee.
Had he been nearer he would have ob-
served, being keen of sight and wits,
that their hands were clasped. He did
detect the shine of tears upon the lashes
of the beautiful eyes of the wife, pausing
in the aisle, raised to the memorial win-
dow, where—the. victor’s erown glowing
as with living jewels in the Christmas
sunlight, and Heaven’s love and promise
in her face——stood ‘‘the angel of St.
Gudule’s.” ?
A Saucy Kid.
Fr. m the Kansas City Times.
furiously angry and a car load of people
very merry this morning, He was sit-
ting down quietly when this portly wo-
man came in. As nobody got up to give
her a seat she stood in the aisle at the
mercy of the bumps and twists and turns
of the road. The car had gone about
two blocks when the small boy got up,
and in a whisper that could be heard all
through the car said :
“I'll be one of three men to give the
lady a seat I”
——4“Well, Jimmie,” said Uncle
George, as he watched the boy at work
on his sled, ‘ara you polishing up the
runners ?"
“No,” suid Jimmie. “I'm shinin’ up
the sliders. Sleds don’t run.
A small boy made a big fat woman
———
MERRY CHRISTM \S.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with
care,
St. Nick with his reindeers right early was.
there, i
But mamma and papa, of course, couldn’t:
., Sleep.
Without stealing down and first taking a peep.
The great joy of Christmas—the swestest that’s.
known—
Upon their glad faces is faithfully shown,
And, while they are playing “3t. Nick” in the
dark,
A word to “us old folks” we wish to remark.
0, dow’: you remember with thrills of da-
ight, :
The Walling and watching for Santa Claus’
night, *
How, eyes all a-sparkle and cheeks all a flume,
You eagerly counted the days till it came.
And then, how
with care’
The biggist long stockings that mamma could
you “hung by the ecnimney
spare,
And Arshad with your brothers and sisters
0 be
Where visions of sugar plums danced through
your head.
0, never a night was so long as that seemed ;
You couldu’t get sleepy, you tassed till you
dreamed ;
At last came the morn when you quickly arose
Almost too excited too button your clothe-x,
Then downstairs
: closed door,
Then paused, hardly daring to further explore
Lest naught might be there. Then—Hurrah *
: what a shout
You gave when you found Santa Claus Was
about,
you rushed to the parlor’g
That moment supreme you can never forget,
Ios ever good influence clings to you yet;
Tis sweet to look back on and five through
_ again,
The joy of your lifetime *will always remain,
So give to your children that memory bright,
Of childhood’s most wonderful Christmas de.
ight,
And Sista aot one stocking—but two for each
chic
For nothin’s to good or too much for St. Nick.
—H. C. Dodge, in Goodall’s Sun,
ee —
Your Wife's Christmas Gift.
About this time your wife is wear.
ing out her nerves in an endeavor to
secure something that will gratify you
at Christmas as her present to you,says
an exchange.
Her task is a loving one but weari-
some—only wives know how wearisome
There are so few things that are ap-
propriate, and you already have so
many of the few. Moreover, she must
purchase judicious'y. She is limited
in ways that you are not iu this Christ.
mas business. She must secure the
becoming gifts at a cost within the im-
perfectly known limit of your financial
ability, while you in buying something
for her may be as extravagant as you
please, because you can pinch the ex-
travagance out of her allowance for
household expenses afterwards.
Besides all this, the gift you get for
her costs you nothing but money ; the
gifts she makes to you costs "her
thought, worry and that most toilsome
of all things, shopping. She must
spend hours in stuffy, overcrowded
shops; she must price things here,
the:e and every-where; she must con-
sult and consider, in distressing uncer-
tainty as to the fitness of things to sat-
isfy the whimsical masculine taste.
And all this she does with a loving
tenderness for you which is in itself a
gift of priceless worth. Do you think
it well, on the whole, to reward her
toil, her patience and her love by get-
ting off the cheap joke afterwards
about your having to pay for your pre-
sent yourself ?
There is not any wit in that joke; it
is as stale as a loaf of bread from a
Pompeian oven, and its utterance is ill.
mannered, inconsiderate, brutal.
Moreover, it isn’t true. If you have
a good wife she earns every dollar she
spends, whether upon herself or for
you. The mere fact she receives the
money from you and not from an out-
sider, and that it goes to her at irregu-
lar times and in uncertain sums, makes
no manner of difference. The money
is hers, and the money is the very
smallest part of what she invests in
your Christmas present. She puts her
precious affectiyns into its procure-
ment, and if you have any true appre-
ciation in your soul you will value her
gift for what it signifies, not merely
for what it is.
Especially you will avoid the mis-
take of supposing that you paid for it.
If you are commonplace enough to en-
tertain snch a thought you are bank-
rupt in the kind of treasure that has
gone to purchase your wife's gift to yon,
and could not have paid for it to save
your very small soul.
A ES.
Excursion to Washington.
A series of personaity conducted tours.
10 Washington has been arranged, via.
the Royal Blue Line, for December
29th, January 7th. The tickets include
ull necessary expenses: of a three day’s.
| trip, and provide for hatel accommoda-
tions at ‘Washington, meals en route,
baggage transfers, etc. Rates from New
York $11.50, $12.50 and $15.00. Pro-
| portionate rates from Boston and other:
i New England points. For programme
j describing these tours write to Thos.
Cook and Son, Agents for B. & O. R..
| R., at 261 and 1225 Broadway, New
! York, or 332 Washington street Bos-
‘on. 1t
|
| —— When the robing nest again,”
i she said, “I suppose my cold will get.
well.” So he felt very sad, but sudden-
ly bethought him of Dr. Bull’s Cough
Syrup. The cough was cured and those
i two were happy.
——Allow me to add. my tribute to
the efficacy of Ely’s Cream Baim. I
was suffering from a savere attack of in-
fluenza and catarrh and. was induced to
try your remedy. The result was mar-
velous. © I could hardly articulate, and
in less than twenty-four hours the ca-
tarrhal symptoms and my hoarseness
disappeared and I. was able to sing a
heavy role in Grand. Opera with voice.
unimpaired. I strongly recommend it
to all singers. — Wm. H;, Hamilton,
Leading Basso of the C. D.. Hess Grand
Opera Co.
—- People call it backache.and do
nothing for it until the doctor is. called
and he pronouncesitrheumatism. If they
Lad used Salvation Qil in time the doc-
tors bill could haye.been saved