er te Ardl Sun, Demorealic: fate Bellefonte, Pa., Dec. 24, 1897. "like this: ‘Beg pardon,’ I said. - of again... His family had afterward drift- “svittingly come back to within a stone's ' * haunted=—not by the ghost of the slain, but Fairies Keep Christmas. A fairy woke one winter night And looked about with glances bright. ¢J think I will arise,’’ she said, “And leave my comrades in their bed, And I will go abroad and see How mortals fare.” So, full of glee At such wild daring, forth she went On bold investigation bent. The air was chill; the moon shone bright As ever on a summer night. The ground was covered deep with snow, And trees stood leafless, row on row. The fairy shivered in the wind And said, “The friends I left behind In their deep slumber happier are Than I who rashly roam so far.” Yet on she went and sought the town And in amaze went up and down— Such lights, such music and good cheer, As grace no other time of year, Such happy faces everywhere, Such glad release from fret and care, And homes so garlanded with green, As ne'er before the elf had seen! #1 thought the world was dull and drear In winter time,’’ said she. ‘Oh, dear! I wish my comrades only knew How bright it is, how fresh and new, In its white dress; how every street Is all alive with bounding feet; How people laugh and sing and play— It surely is some festal day!” Through street and house and church and store i She flitted, wondering more and more At all she saw and all she heard, Hoping for some enlightening word, When on a banner carried by She saw these words uplifted high: “Rejoice, O earth, be glad and gay! i 1t is the blessed Christmas day!” | Away she sped o’er town and hill And field and wood and frozen rill, {Unto a cavern warm and deep, And woke her comrades from their sleep. «s Arise!’’ she cried. ‘‘Oh, come away! The world is keeping Christmas day!” And ever since when birth bells chime The fairies help keep Christmas time. —Lillian Grey in Boston Transcript. LIGHT IN THX THE COTTAGE. | “There was a light last night in the— | the haunted cottage.’ My wife’s little mother spoke it with shiver and whisper at the breakfast Christ- mas morning. Toinctte and I looked at cach other as if to ask, ‘‘Is her old trouble coming back?’ She, catching our glances, | shook her head. “No, my dears, there's nothing the mat- | ter with me,’ answering as if she had read our thoughts. ‘‘There was a light there,” she reiterated. ‘‘I heard some one cough. There were strokes of a hammer and, a little later, a carriage was driven away. I saw it go.” She was so decided in voice and manner, so different for the moment from her usual gentle self, that I felt sure nothing ailed her head. We were very watchful of the dear old lady because she sometimes—not very often—had mild but temporary de- lusions. She had never entirely recovered | from the shock caused by the tragic loss | of her husband. “It was Christmas night a year ago, John, that you saw a light there,” re- | marked Toinette meditatively. i “I have not forgotten it,” said I, ‘nor! “how, when I went to look into the matter, | I plumped into a man coming down the ! front steps. What followed was something ‘Being an officer and seeing a light in this empty house I thought tramps might have bro- ken in.’ “‘I’m no tramp,’ replied the man, | speaking in a heavy bass voice, as if he had a cold. ‘It was £0 odd a thing’— © +0dd or not,” he broke in, ‘it's my | he «, todo with as I like. What’s the time, officer? But never mind! Here's my carriage. . Good night!” And he was driven away without so much as a glimpse of his face.” “Now, I'm not a bit superstitious’ — mother declared it with a vigor and posi- tiveness that permitted no controversy, even had we, her children, thought or said anything to the contrary—*‘‘but it made my flesh creepy to think of any one being alone in that empty, horrible old shell.” ‘“And thea you went to bed and cried over it half the night,” asserted Toinette reproachfully. ‘Your eyes show it, moth- er.” “Kill out my memory, daughter, and the tears will stop.”” Her lips quivered as she spoke. ‘* You know I can’t help it.” “Yes, I know,” and Toinette began to talk of other matters. I might as well state right here, so that the story may be the better kept together, that misfortunes had in my case trans- formed me from a bookkeeper into a po-! liceman, and 1 had found no way of turn- | ing myself back again. The station to which I was assigned was within five minutes’ walk of the flat we called home. The cottage about which we had been talking was a small, one story structure, with steps coming directly down to the sidewalk in front and with a scrimpy, weed covered backyard, as if it were a refuse patch from somerich man’s garden. | Less than half a dozen years before it had ! been about in the center of a three acre tract devoted to ‘‘truck gardening,’ but | the city had grown out far beyond it and! was smothering it with great buildings of brick and stone. The exterior was kept | in good condition by paint, but its interior | condition was unknown, the owner plain- ly preferring that the property should re- main tenantless. This cottage was directly | in the rear of our building, facing a par- allel street. An alley separated the two yards. From our rear windows we could look down on the premises, so that it was not difficult to notice any unusual happen- | ing. Among old women and children the | place had the reputation of being haunted, ! a distinction that seems naturally to be- | come attached to wornout and unoccupied places, and this one had not been lived in for many years. For my wife and her mother—the latter especially—the cottage was the reminder of the saddest period in | their lives. One Christmas night, just 11 years - before, the husband and (father, David Vance, crazed by the ruin brought upon him by the perfidy of a friend and reduced to a condition of starvation, went ‘out of that cottage into the blinding fury of a snowstorm and was not seen or heard ed around, being sometimes in one city, sometimes in another, until they had un- throw of the birthplace of their bitterest recollec elit : : After the family had left the cottage the story ran that 4 subsequent tenant had: murdered his wife ‘there and that it was | wife, running up to her. ' heavens! . ice of the door. by that of the slayer, who had been duly and properly executed, and that for this reason no tenant would take the house at any rent. Still another legend, picked up by me in conversation with ‘‘old settlers’ and considered from a professional point of view, was to the effect that the present owner was a man beyond middle age who had been disappointed in love, the object of his affection being the daughter of the woman Who had been murdered and the man who had murdered her, and that he came to the house every little while, like one to the tomb of his departed, to mourn over his loss, the girl having considerately married the man she loved. It will be ob- served that the little house seemed the nucleus of several tragedies, real or and therefore became an uncanny spot to the superstitiously inclined. A community of houses, like a community of persons, seems necessarily to cover disreputable con- stituents, and the cottage, from its mean- | ness of appearance and its unpleasant an- tecedents, looked more disreputable than any of its neighbors, and seemed, therefore, always an object of suspicion. The light of the Christmas day had blend- ed with the darkness of the Christmas night. I had traveled my beat as in duty bound. Our dinner had been eaten and all evidence that it had existed removed with housewifely skill and care. Frank, Toinette’s big brother, had gone out for a mile walk, ‘‘to shake down his food,’’ as he said. Toinette was reading to me, half dozing in a chair, and the clock had just struck the half hour after 8 when mother, with an unnatural excitement in look and action, came into the room. “It’s there!”’ she cried, breathing hard, her hand over her heart. ‘I’ve been watching for it. Somehow I felt sure that whoever was there last night would come again tonight, just as last year.” ‘““What is the matter, mother?” said my “You frighten me.” “There, there, daughter. I didn’t mean to scare you, but it excites me so to see a quiet thing like yellow light looking out between the blind slats of that empty house that I suppose I show my feelings.” Toinette’s forehead had two up and down wrinkles between her eyebrows as she looked at me with a hard stare. Then she spoke: ‘John Austen—dear John—jyou're big and ain’t afraid of ghosts, and are a po- liceman besides. Now do go down to that shanty and find out what's inside. It will relieve mother’s mind so.”’ I wasn’t on duty, but an officer of the . law ought always to be on duty is the way I look at it. So I got my work clothes on, put my star where I could show it easily and went away with the laughing threat of arresting the ghost. Somebody or something was in the old | 162 y y | God is not merciful to an old man like house, sure enough. Threads of yellow light around the windows proved it. 1 pushed softly at the door of the little lean to in the rear. It noiselessly swung open, letting me into as mean and squalid a kitchen as I ever saw or heard of. It wasn't much bigger than a largé closet. The stove was cold and rusty. Its front door was broken and hung by one hinge. The griddles had pieces knocked out of them. Only one pot or kettle was visible. Two panes of glass were gone from the one window, and rags were stuffed into the holes, the tight wooden shutters hiding them from outside view. A tallow candle, stuck in its own grease to the bottom of a ruined saucer, gave a swirling, smoky flame, by which I saw a few bits of dilapi- dated crockery on a shelf. The table was | an inverted dry goods box, from which Great Into what a nesting place of What did picces had been broken for fuel. poverty had I stolen my way? this opening scene promise? My entrance had noiselessly forced open, just a hair’s breath, the door to the adjoin- ing room. Blowing out the candle, I en- larged the opening until my eye could take in the contents of the apartment. The first look showed a gray haired man scated at a table, his arms upon it and his head upon his arms. 1 was directly behind him, and "my glances took in the length of the little room. Such a room and such a table! The plastering had dropped off the ceiling and sides, leaving ulcerous looking spots. What remained was of a dirty, gray color and a network of cracks. The lath showed like the ribs of a skeleton. The table was covered with a cloth, clean, but porous with holes and fringed with tatters. In the center was a little kerosene lamp of glass, whose wick was so small as to afford little more than a firefly sort of glow, but it was aun show a plate holding six potatoes With . their jackets on and a half loaf of bread. Three plates turned down, three tumblers of water and knives and forks at each place, added to those articles which the © man had pushed aside, were all the table held. Three vacant chairs, one "at each plate, were notices of expected guests. There was no stove, and the air came cold and musty into my face through the crev- Warmly dressed though 1 was, 1 shivered with a dread that I was looking at the phantom of the dead mur- derer or at the real and crazed lover or at a tramp making a moekery of his Christ- mas dinner. The bowed down figure sud- denly shook 9s with an ague. A groan came from it. A minute more the man | was sitting stiffly erect, staring at the ta- # d ble and muttering and sighing. Very real. but very crazy, he scemed. None the less so when, rising to his feet, he became a figure of magnificent man- hood—gray topped, but tall, muscular and dignified—a soldier in looks, even to the trimming of the heavy white mustache. His clothing was black, and not a glint of ornament was visible What had this grand looking old man to do with this place of chilling misery: He was its foe by dress and bearing. Its unspeakable poverty made it his enemy. He walked the room with long strides and heavy footfalls, the floor creaking and groaning under his weight. There was no cessation of his talking to himself until, placing his hands on the back of his chair, he halted and looked across the table at the vacant chairs. Then his mutterings changed to a loud tirade of self denuncia- tions. “This is the fifth time I have set this table and sat at it alone,’ he said. ‘‘ Where are you, my loved ones? If you are dead, I pray God that your spirits may come and see my grief and shame and learn of my penitence If you are dead, then I mur- dered you. I am a criminal, whether you are alive or dead. 1 am so guilty that I would not dare to tell the world of my cowardly act. For years I've here done penance on Christmas nights. = This mis- erable hut is mine—my chapel of confes- sion, my place of self punishment. What good is all my wealth if you are not with me to share it? Guilty coward that 1 was to flec from you! Money has not been lacking to find and restore you to me. Perhaps you starved to death and lie in the potter's field. If you are “living, it must be that you remember me only with curses. . 1 deserve them—indeed 1 do.” Lhen' sinking on his knees he said: “Good, Lord, hear my prayer! Give me back my Javed ones! I have come to this caer spot from the ends of the earth year after year that my past may never be forgotten by me. I ought to be dead, but I dare not die. I shall taste tonight of such food as we ate that night. All that we had. I would give up all my riches if I might eat it with my loved ones, but it is not to be —not to be.” His chin came down upon his breast. He was a statue of despair. Clearly to me he was also crazy. He would have been considered so by any man in my place. Plainly enough he had worked himself into a frenzy and at that moment was suf- fering from a reaction. While he was in that mood and I was wondering what to ‘do with him or for him there was a flash of light, a touch on my arm and a whis- pered: ‘John, what is the matter?’ It was Toinette, with my bullseye lantern. ‘“You were so long gone that mother be- gan to fret and worry and I said that we’d go after you. She’s outside. Don’t go! I'll get her.” And she was out and back again before I could do anything. ‘* A crazy man,’ I whispered, and gave them a chance to peep. All three were watching the man’s back, when, with a heavy sigh, he raised his head, moved to- ward the front door and thence out upon the little porch. There were choking and gasping noises at my side and somebody clutched at my arm and hung on it heavily. It was for a moment only, for the pressure was instantly lightened and mother’s voice said: 1 *.JJohn! John! That man is David! I'm sure of it. Let me get to him!’ And the frail little woman actually struggled to put me aside, and doubtless would have screamed had I not clapped my hand over her mouth. *‘Hush! Be calm!” I said. to be certain before we act.” ‘John, there’s the table set just as it was set the night he ¢'sapy ared and in the same room. And this is the anniver- sary night. Please let me in, John.” ** Yes, mother, if you and Toinette will do just as I wish,” for I had a plan in my mind to test the matter. This being agreed upon and the heavy tramp of the man still sounding upon the porch, I almost carried the two women from where we stood to the vacant chairs, into which they dropped in a half faint. As I turned away I lower- ed the wick of the small lamp so that dis- covery would not be immediate. The wait- ing was a long one—intolerable to the two weak creatures in their agonies of doubt and hope. Once mother gave a weak, hys- terical cry, but smothered it immediately. Toinette was all of a tremble from cold and nervousness. At last the man came groping into the room, confused by its darkness. “Repentance is useless,” I heard him say. ‘‘Ishall come no more. It is well me. I have not the purpose or the will to keep on hoping. Eh! What's this?’ His hand was so shaky as he leaned for- ward over the table to turn up the wick of the lamp that he fumbled blindly for the screw and finally had to pull the light to- ward him. With a full blaze on, he placed it heavily upon the table close to the two waiting women, and still leaning forward stared in their faces as if fascinated. They also were spellbound, and mother as white as death. 'Toinette was, as she afterward confessed, frightened. The man, she said, ‘seemed to be stabbing her with looks from his eyes.” Would he never be done with that greedy stare? Twice he raised a hand from the table and put it to his forehead as if dazed. A noise in his throat showed that he was trying to cry aloud as if he were in the agony of an insupportable dream. The test was a cruel one, but it did not last long, perhaps a minute, though it seemed a score of them. **Mother! Toinette!’’ shrieked the names to embrace him. © Alive and in this place tonight of all nights!’ he cried. ‘God be praised!” He was standing erect as he spoke, his clasped hands raised high toward heaven, his face upturned. ‘‘My penance is end- ed,’”’ he said to himself, and began to sway and clutch at the air and to fall as a great tree falls. Into my arms descended David Vance, like one tired out with hard labor. In the lap of the little mother I laid the great gray head that had, like hers, lived on hope so many years. The daughter’s hands came, like bracelets of love, upon her fa- ther’s wrists. Thus he rested until con- sciousness came back and his opened eyes saw the loves of his old life, glorified through many tribulations. At last, after 11 long years of such spir- itual torture as befalls few people, the broken threads of his family life were once more in the hands of David Vance. He said so, with an indescribable pathos of look and voice, at the reunion supper that same night at the Westmoreland after the bewildered Frank had been added to the party. *“Not until tonight did I lose hope,’ re- marked the old gentleman. ‘‘I can’t give any reason for not surrendering to what seemed a certainty. Wherever I was, in the mines or in great cities, there was al- ways within me a spiritlike confidence that some if not all of us would meet again. Tonight for the first time I de- spaired, and yet’—halting for a second and looking around the table with the elo- quence of undying affection in every line of his noble face—'and yet, see! we're here, all of us, alive and full of cheerful- ness, as if there'd been no storm.” ** Thanks for this to John’s curiosity,’ murmured Mrs Vance from under his arm. ‘Thanks to little mother’s restlessness, that was always expecting something,” said 1. “Thanks to the good Lord, above all else,”’ said Mr. Vance slowly and solemn- ly, as if it were a prayer.—Chicago Post. The man fairly Their arms went out Christinas Trees In England. Christmas trees were unknown in Eng- land until the reign of Queen Victoria. After the present Prince of Wales had be- come 3 or 4 years old Prince Albert orna- mented a Christmas tree for the amusement of the infant prince. The idea pleased the people, and as Christmas trees were every year made a feature of the court celebra- tion the fashion soon spread among the English. —Exchange. Chime on, Sweet Bells! Oh, sweet across the glistening fields The Christmas carols play, And joyously each loving heart. Doth greet this holiday. ‘Now *‘Peace on earth, good will to'men!” + Is pealing through the air ‘ While hearts with kindness overflow And rest replaces care. “Behold the Christ child, newly born!” *-' Régounds the glad refrain, °° ‘And every soul that hears the song, Christlike, is born again. 3 Oa Le onime om; sweet pels, till round the world The message shall be borne #0“ And men of évery clime shall know * The peace of Christmas morn!” ! BR tT No ~—Keyes Becker. am ——— ——————— ti CHRISTMAS FEASTS. Old Time Dinners of Amazing Proportion. What They Used to Eat In the Days of King Ar- thur—Boar’s Head Served With Cere- mony—An Ancient Dinner to the Poor. It is almost impossible to say when the custom began of celebrating Christ- mag with a sumptuous feast. It is cer- tain, however, that the observance has never lapsed since English history be- gan. Whistlecraft, a writer who delved deeply among the traditions and records of the reign of King Arthur of the Round Table, describes the Christmas dinner of that day in verse: They served up salmon, venison and wild boars By hundreds and by dozens and by scores, Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard, Muttons and fatted beeves and bacon swine, Herons and bitterns, peacock, swans and bus- tard, Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons and, in fine, Plum puddings, pancakes, apple pies and cus- tard. And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine, With mead and ale and cider of our own, For porter, punch and negus were not known. This bill of fare is doubtless more | poetic than accurate, yet it is not far out of the way. One notable omission is that of the wassail bowl, for wassail, years a favorite British drink and came to be a distinctive feature of Christmas feasts. It was first made of ale, or what was then considered ale, sweetened with something that did duty for the more modern sugar. Just what that was is today unknown, but it wassweet. Then there was toast, and there were roasted crabs, put hissing hot into the bowl—a queer drink, but such as it was it was liked. As time went by the recipe was va- later, the wassail bowl was filled with wine, well warmed and spiced, with toasted bread and roasted apples. If wine were not obtainable, ale was used, but the apples were deemed indispensa- ble and really seem to have been an improvement on crabs. Doubtless if was the white pulp of the apples that gave wassail its nickname of ‘‘lamb’s the mantle cast a spell over the table, for it is told that on that occasion only one knight found his sword hand steady enough to lift the lamb’s wool without spilling it. It will be noticed that King Arthur had neither turkeys nor geese, though both of them are now distinctive fea- tures of the Christmas feast. The tur- key was not taken to England from the east till the sixteenth century, and, though the goose was known before, his gastronomic value seems not to have been discovered. But if Arthur’s feast seems gargan- tuan it was a frugal repast compared with those that came later. Gervase Markham describes a ‘‘moderate din- ner’’ of about A. D. 1600 that would answer for Christmas in the following amazing way: ““The first course should consist of 16 full dishes—that is, dishes of meat that are of substance and not empty or for show—as thus, for example: First, a shield of braun with mustard; second- ly, a boyl’d capon; thirdly, a boyl’d piece of beef; fourthly, a chine of beef rosted; fifthly, a neat’s tongue rosted; sixthly, a pig rosted; seventhly, chew- ets baked; eighthly, a goose rosted; ninthly, a swan rosted; tenthly, a tur- key rosted; the eleventh, a haunch of venison rosted; the twelfth, a pasty of venison; the thirteenth, a kid with a pudding in the belly; the fourteenth, an olive-pye; the fifteenth, a couple of capons; the sixteenth, a custard or dow- gets. Now, to these full dishes may be added sallets fricases, quelque choses and devised paste, as many dishes more, which make the full service no less than two and thirty dishes, which is as much as can conveniently stand on one table and in one mess. And after this manner you may proportion both your second and third courses, holding ful- ness on one half of the dishes and show in the other, which will be both frugal in the splendour, contentment to the guest and much pleasure and delight to the beholder.’ Surely a ‘‘moderate dinner’’ like that would make a lord mayor’s banquet seem stingy, yet there is ample evidence that such feasts were not uncommon “in that elder day.’’ Not every one, however, set such a table, even when he could afford it, for Pepys records a din- ner given to the poor by Sir George Downing one Christmas at which noth- ing was served but beef, porridge, pud- ding and pork. It may have been better than the recipients usually had for everyday fare, but they voted it a mean entertainment for CLristmas. The boar’s head, as is well known, was for hundreds of years the piece de resistance of every well regulated Brit- ish Christmas feast, and it has been held by some writers that it became the favorite because of a general desire to protest against the Jewish prohibition of pork. A more probable reason is that the boar was the fiercest of all the wild beasts of the country, and killing him was the highest achievement of the huntsman. Then, again, his head is very good to eat. Whatever the reason, the great dish was served with great pomp. It was - served in style. A forgotten poet wrote: "If you would end up the brawneis head, Sweet rosemary and bays around 1t spread. ‘ His foaming tuskslet some large pippin grace, Sauce, like himself, offensive to his foes, roguish mustard dangerous to the nose. Back and the well spiced hippocras, the wine Wassail, thé bowl with ancient ribands fine, “Porridgé With plunis and turkeys with the. i chine. . . ira Phe mete dressing of the dish did not though it was a drink of the ancient Druids of the third century and prob- | ably earlier, was for many hundred ried till, perhaps 1,000 years or so wool,’ and it was therefore an anach- | ronism that crept into the account of | King Arthur’s feast when the boy with | sharp ! enough to carve the boar’s head or his | Or midst those thundering spears an orange . |suffice, however.” The" ‘ceremony of | ‘bringirig it into the banquet hall ofa 4 7 qd V2 : 7 | | ! WEARY WAGGLES RECEIVES A NOVEL PRESENT. | great house was most imposing, for it was not brought without a procession. Then a huntsman in green with a naked and bloody sword. Then two pages in and last the bearer himself, chosen for his size and strength, proudly holding | the huge silver platter on which the boar’s head lay. entered, always with music, for a Christmas carol was always sung. What the magnificence of the wealthiest houses was may be imagined from the fact that King Henry II, having caused his son to be crowned during his own lifetime, himself served as bearer of the boar’s head at his son’s table and was preceded by the royal trumpeters as he entered. The splendor of these ancient feasts | would doubtless seem barbaric now, but the profusion of the viands seems won- First came a runner in a horseman’s ' coat with a boar spear in his hand. | | | sarcenet, each with a mess of mustard, Such was the plainest procession that Christmas In Denmark. The tree is always lighted on Christ- mas eve in Denmark, and the family all meet together then. The older people get their presents on a plate at their places at the table, and the children’s gifts are on the tree. Roast goose is al- ways the chief feature of our Christmas eve dinner and a dish of rice is eaten on Christmas eve before dinner is serv- ed. Apple fritters are eaten instead of plum pudding. Christmas day itself is observed strictly as a religious festival, but the day before and the day after Christmas are holidays. The theaters are open, and the young people give dances. Our little Danish children do not know about Santa Claus. They have instead what they call a Nissen, meaning a Christmas brownie in the shape of a little old man with a large gray beard who is supposed to live un- der the ground. Another Danish super- stition is that at midnight Christmas derful. In comparison our modern eve the cows in the stable rise and low spreads seem small, and one wonders if in salutation, and on Christmas eve in the elder day all men were like the young maidens tell their fortunes by one who died only lately and who breaking the white of an egg into a made a reputation by a single remark, . glass of water and watching the shapes “The turkey is an excellent bird with it assumes. one serious fault—he is too big for one ‘‘Glagelig Jul!’’ is the Danish greet- person to eat and not big enough for ing for ‘‘Happy Christmas!’’—Selected. two. ”’ Davip A. CURTIS. Fauble’s WE ARE SHOWING TIlE CORRECT STYLES, JUST WHAT YOU ARE HUNTING, AT THE RIGHT PRICE. YOU WILL PROFIT BY A VISIT. ——TRY IT.— : FAUBLES’, Bellefonte, Pa. | 42:36
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers