“x OIL ON THE WATERS. A TALE OF TWO CHRISTMASES., “Well, this has been what I call a Christmas,’ said Ben Habberton, with a great sigh of content as he threw him- self into an easy chair in the great guest chamber that was his for the time and stretched his feet out toward the cheery log fire. : ‘‘Now, I imragine,” he went on, talk- ing to himself in a light hearted way, ‘““that a few days of this kind of life “OH, MY SON! OW COULD YOU DO IT?” would tempt even me to give up knock- ing about the world and settle down, as they all want me to. By George, I have a notion to do it. Mother says that yranddad wants somebody to look after the estate, and if he could only trust me he would be glad to have me do it. *‘Confound it all, that’s what sticks in my crop. Nobody ever trusted me so far as I know, and I never would ex- plain anything, no matter how suspi- cious the circumstances might be. So I always got blamed for everything. Hanged if I don’t think that even moth- er used to think I took all the cream that any cf the cats stole. ‘‘Foolish, of course, to run away and go to sea, but what could a fellow do when he is always getting into scrapes and is too proud to deny anything even when he isn’t guilty? Well, I’ve seen half a dozen years of life and had a good fling out of it, but I don’t rememter that I cver did anything to be ashamed cf. Hello! Who’s there? Come in, the door isn't locked. Why, mother, is it you? Crying? What on carth is the mat- ter?’’ Springing to his feet, he took the poor little lady in his arms and placed her carefully in the big chair. Then pulling Les roon, and, kissing her tenderly, bade © Ler good night. a stodl forward ho sat on it at her feet, and laying his head in her lap said: ‘‘There, mother. Do you remember, this is the way I used to sit when I was a littlo fellow? Now tell me all about it. What ‘has happened?’ But she only sobbed the harder for a | time, and at length when she could command her voice she cried out pas- sionately, ‘Oh, my son, my son, how could you do it?’ The curly head was lifted instantly, | and the handsome, boyish face grew sul- len and hard. Recklessness and pride were Habberton family traits, and Ben, | though a younger son, was a true Hab- | berton. So he said nothing, knowing that he | would hear more presently, and he did, for scon his mother talked on weakly and, if she had cnly known it, foolish- ly: “You know your grandfather al- ways euspected you of being wild, and | after you went to sea he always said you'd come to some Lad end, and I had hard work to get him to ask you here for Christmas, but after you came he liked you ever so much. He would not have asked you to sit with him this afternoon if he hadn’t, and even when he dropped asleep and you left the room he wasn’t angry. He said of course you | wanted to be with the young folks. But : how could you take that money? You ought to have asked me if you needed any. 1 know you said you had come Lack as poor as you went away, but I I can return it to your grandfather, of course, but he is so angry that he says he will have you arrested in the morn- | ing, and 1 do Lelieve, Ben, that he would have made you his heir. How could you do it, Ben?”’ Ben had grown very white, and his fists were clinched tightly when his mother paused, but he said quietly: **So you aud granddad have discovered that 1 am a thief, have you? How did you find it cut?” “Why, be had $500 in bills in his | writing desk. It seems he saw it there just before you went to his room, and | there was no cnevelse there up to the time he missed it.’’ = ° ‘So he says | stole it, does he?” ‘Don’t use such words, Ben. Of course you didn't mean it for stealing, | but I am afraid he will have you arrest- | Why cd—znd think of the disgrace! didn’t you ask me for money, Ben?’ It was something like an imprecatior that the ycung sailor muttered under . “1 | 5) | FE Pp 1} EA i La 1 ) ind) foes A RES unl iad ATH “HE IS GONE.” his breath as he rose to his feet and walked up and down the room for a few wcoments. But no word more of any kind could his mother get from him un- til she had exhausted herself with weep- ing and pleading. Then he led her to (Gicing bacle to his own room, he re- saincd his reverie. ‘‘ Well,’ he thought, “1 Lad a merry Christmas, for it’s aft- cr 12 o’cleck. And nowfor the old life. Cowardly, folks would call it, I sup- pose, to run away with a charge like that over my head, but I don’t think it is. If I stay, the old man will surely make a row in the morning and there J will be a great scandal. If I go, he will be too proud to make the scandal for nothing. He will call $500 a cheap price to get rid of good for nothing me, and tkat will Le the end of it. Poor mother thinks I'm guilty, too, but they won’t tell anybody else for shame’s sake, and if they can’t trust me let them think what they will. i ‘Five hundred dollars, ’’ he muttered, with a nasty sort of laugh, under his breath. ‘‘That’s rather a small sum to turn thief for, but I wish I had a Lundredth part of it just to get grub till I strike another job. I could get it from mother easily enough, but’ I'd rather go hungry than take it from her, thinking what she does. ‘‘But it’s best for me to go. I would ot care so much about if it it weren’t for Alice. Perhaps that’s best too. I don’t know whether she would care. | Probably I never will know now, so here goes i And opening his window carefully and noiselessly he swung himself out on a huge vine that clung to the side of the house, and, lowering himself hand over band, he was soon on the ground. It was : only five miles to town, and he was ' there long before daybreak. Now Alice was a certain wide eyed, clear witted, young second cousin of this headstrong youth. They had never mct till three days before, but great things are done in three days when Cu- | pid lurks arcund old fashioned country houses where the mistletoe is used amcng the deccrations, and Ben was very much iuistaken in thinking she wouldn't care Leing quick witted, Alice was also impulsive, and sometimes it was well that rhe was so Cn the morning after Ch nas she passed old Mr. Habber- ten's Ceer very early on her way down stairs and was greatly surprised to hear angry worcs imride. As the door was opea she entered “I tell yon Le stole the meney, and 1 shall send for the police,’ stormed the old man, and, Ben's mother, who had been pleading. for mercy, gave up the struggle. *‘1 would have sent last night if it hadn't been Christmas. *’ “Why, whe Las been stealing, Uncle Ralph?’ asked Alice. Even in his anger the old man paused. It seemed a cruel thing to accuse one of “ITLL BE A MERRY CHRISTMAS, ALL!” IIE EXCLAIMED. AFTER . his own kin, but the case was too clear. | the money in your desk just Lefore he | ‘That young rascal, Ben!" le exclaim- ed and teld the story of the money. Then Alice had cecasion, if never be- | fcre, to Le thankful for her quickness. “I don’t think Ben looks like a thief,’’ she said, *‘but, vucle, you say you saw } " Poa ,canme in.’ did not think you needed it right away. | “1 certainly did,’ said Mr. Habber- ton. ; *‘Eut are you sure you left it there?’ She would and she did. | asked the girl. The old man lcoked at her in surprise Then cne cmoticn chased another across Lis rugged features until presently he sank back in his chair with an expres- sion of great disgust at himself. cd. *‘I put it in the safeand forgot that -Ibad dene ro. Ben't let anybody tell | Len that i sespeeted him,” ‘But I teid him last night, >’ said kis | mother. “I'm surely getting old,’ he exclaim- | “Then go quickly and tell him to he seized an ax and a big pannikin in : ceme here till Iapclogize. You have all | of you been too ready to accuse that boy I all his life." : This seemed rather hard to Alice, an beld her tengue while Mrs. Habber- ! ton hurried out cf the room. In a few moments she returned, ex- claiming, ‘‘He is gone!” * * * * * * * Lighthouse 84 was situated about half a mile {rom the mainland on the point of a reef that lay irregularly parallel to the shore, }caving plenty of clear water between. The coast was rocky, and the light was maintained as a warning, for a vessel that should approach too near ; was liable to be dashed to pieces on hid- den rocks anywhere within a mile or two. £0 that usually there were two men on guard at 34, but lcave of absence for one of them was obtainable at times, and it happened a year after Ben Habberton ' had left his grandfather’s house that the | keeper had gone to spend a few days | with his family at Christmas time, and | Ben, who was the helper, was alone on the reef, Long after midnight Christr:as morn- ing that impetuous youth sat vp in the Snr Ae atom hadn’t asked me not to go to sea again. I was a fool to make her even that half promise not; to. Well, she knows where + I am by this time, and if she dcesn’t write and let me off from what I said’ must leave here and lcok for something on shore. This is neither land nor sca. “I wonder what granddad thinks and how he came to make such a mistake. Confound him! He ought to know that | a Habberton couldn't be a thief. It was just like him, though, to jump at tho couclusion that I had done something wrong. Every onein the family is hasty —except me. Hello! What's that?” He had scen a faint gleam cut at sea, and watching as only a sailor can watch he soon saw another. J ‘‘It is certainly a rocket,’’ he exclaim- ed, talking to himself as his habit was when he was excited. ‘‘Some vessel ‘is in distress. God help her and all aboard she is disabled in any way that’ll Le hard work against this gale. If she’s i one of these coasting steamers and her | machinery’s brcken down it’s all day | with her, for there’s no anchorage cut- : side the reef, and there's not a chanco in 5,000 of her driving in behind with- | 1 out striking. ly beyend the control of those cn Leard, for as be looked rocket after rocket went Up in vain appeal, as it scemed. There was pro life saving staticn within 15 miles, and Ben's eye was the only one that saw. Nearer and nearer she came, driven | by the awful power cf the worst storm Ben had ever seen. Fascinated ‘by the sight, he sat as if frozen, watching for the tragedy that seemed inevitalle, He thought of the little boat below, but it was a hopeless thought Twenty men could not have launched her from the rocks in the breakers that were dashing up, and no one man could have rowed her a rod if she had been afloat. All he could do was to sit and watch. Ho could see the ship now from time to time as she rose and fell on the waves, but every time she sank from sight he thought must surely be the last. He knew the cruel rocks that lay below the surface. No earthly pilot cold have guided her among thoso rocks to the lee of the reef | on which the lighthouse stood, but it was not written that she should be ! wrecked that Christmas day. Lying helpless in the trough of the sca, she | drifted past rock after rock till Ben | saw with amazement that she was float- | ing in behind the reef, and still he watched with straining eyes. i Suddenly he sprang to his feet with a shout like a crazy man, and, rushing down the stairway four steps at a time, ' the room below and ran out into the | storm. A thought had come to him of’ one chance in a million, and he was | : after that chance. | wko had certainly never accused Ben | of anything, but that wise young wom- | A single blow smashed in the head of a hogshead, and in another instant he was scooping out the oil it held with the pannikin and scattering it like mad The wind carried it all toward the ves- | | | "as far as he could in every direction. | | | scl, and the great wonder cf the sea was " wrought almost in a minute, for as the oil fell the waves abated, so that the chip was immediately in sm:coth water. Overboard went her anchors as quickly as the captain could give the order, and ghe was safe. : For the rest of the night Ben watch- ed, throwing a little more oil {rom time to time. «rd in the morning, the storm having abated, he rowed out in his The lighthouse keeper had a helper, | small boat to the ship's side. As he stepped cn her deck the captain greeted him with such thanks and praise as covld only be given by one who bad just Leen saved from destruc- ticn. Then as the passengers crowded up to kave their say Ben saw, to his amazement, his grandfather, Lis mother and Alice. **We came after you, my boy,’ said the old man. ‘as soon as your letter to lighthouss tower, gazing out at the fu- i rious storm that raged and meditating Ly to means pleasantly on the events of the year. “‘I'skall go melancholy mad if I stay her: long,” he thought. - “It is no life | oe for i young man, and I wish mother | your mother came. You must come home again, this time to stay Ben looked at his mother and then at Alice In both their faces he saw what he looked for, and then he answered: “It'1l be a merry Christmas after all, franddad,’’ he exclaimed with a happy laugh. And it was. < Davip A. Curmis. | | if they can’t keep her offshore, and if It was a coaster, and she was. certain- | Foz “7, trcaad) itn AN IMPOSING RITUAL. Christmas Celebration Among the Frevch Canadians Where the Day Is Mcre of a Holy Day Than a Holiday and Where @ifts to the Little Folks Are Not Credited to Santa Claus. { | | one doing its little best in loyal imita- Jean Lepiiste Leblanc of lower Cana- | da has this advantage ever his cousins in the rest of the Dominion, that his | Christmas celebraticns are not confined i to one day, but arc divided between that great holiday and Ncw Year's. | Then again he has the further advan- ' tageof an carly start, for while the Eng- lish folk are still slccping snugly in their warm beds he is out attending mass at church or cathedral. Indeed it may Le caid with truth that Christmas among the French Canadians is more of a holy day than a holiday, as it consti- tutes one cf the four great church festi- vals of the year. The celebration of the day begins at midnight cn Christmas eve, when, sum- moncd by the chimes of the bells, all | gocd Catholics who can manage it | crowd to the sacred edifices, which are apprepriately adorned for the occasion, and there take part in an elaborate serv- | ice lasting nearly two hours. The splen- dor of this service, of course, varies ac- cording to the equipment and facilities | of the establishment, being compara- tively simple in ‘the remote country “ churches, while in the large edifices it becomes a superb religious function. ' The midnight mass in Notre Dame church or St. James’ cathedral, Mont- ‘real, celebrated as it is before congre- gations of many thousand people, is perhaps the most imposing and awe in- spiring religious ritual to be witnessed upcn this continent. The musical fea- tures of these services always receive careful attention, with the result that | the whole proceeding is made so inter- costing as to attract large numbers of Protestants who are willing to forego the comforts of sleep in order that they | A | A rel fla, = = in ® 3 S|Ell=s) > anh le N NOTRE DAME CATHEDRAL, MONTREAL. may be spectators of the procecdings. To what extent this is the case may be judged from the fact that forthe mid- night mass in the Jesuits’ church of Mcntreal, where the music is always of an exceptionally high crder. Those uct having the right to a seat in the church may cbtain cne by payment of a for, and there seats may be reserved in tdvance, jvet os they may be for the (Lcater or the opera. . Ner is this the only important re- ligicus frnetien of the day. .In many 1 laces there 1s also an evening service, where again the proceedings are very tlaberate vnd create and the music very Leavtiful Sivee the advent of electrici- ty and its wenderful adaptaticn to pur- poser of erpament there has been added to tns vespar service in Notre Dame church a novel and striking tcature in the sudden illumination of the great rltar | | i | | | | | | | greens at funerals. Just when darkness bas cushround- | td the vast edifice Ly means of innumer- | elle clectric bulbs cunningly ccnccaled in the intricate and flerid carvings the whole eliar front is instantanccusly il- lamineted. preducing an effect which eannct be adequately described in words. In tho rural districts the midnight , tignificance seems to have been a pre- i tavern and play cards and checkers, or i Toward bedtime you hear of elder wine sarvice, if not so sumptuous in its ap- peintucnts, is indubitably more pictur- esque, for there, as the hour approaches, une sees the great stone church that cominates the parish lit like a vast lan- | tern, and stretching from i’ on either hand the bomes of the habitants, each tion. Hardly have the big bells in the tower begun to ring out their clear call upon the crisp, cold air than the little bells on the horses’ necks send back tinkling responses as one after another the carioles appear upon the road and speed swiftly toward the church. The houses are awake and ablaze all | right, for when the long service at last comes to an end the congregation does | rot go quietly home, but breaks up into little groups, usually consisting of fam- ily circles, that with chattering and laughter hasten indoor to enjoy the | Lountiful supper which is the reward of their piety and at which by immemorial castom doughnuts and potted head form the picces de resistance. These family | ratherings are perhaps the cheeriest of all the ycar. The strangeness of the hour, the sense of satisfaction at having done their duty as good Catholics, the inspiration, no doubt, gathered from the service they have just attended and the fact that the day already broken in- to is to Le given up to pleasuring to the full extent of their ability, all these in- fluences not only combine to put every- body into the best of humor, but to pro- duce an exultation of spirits that drives all care and worry into temporary obliv- ion, For those who are very piously dis- posed this midnight mass by no means completes the religious programme of the cay, for if they so choose they may again attend high mass at 10 o’clock, vesycrs at 2 o’clock and benediction at 7 o'clock, thus practically spending the day in the church. Not many, however, are so devout as all this, and the majority of the men go in fcr a geod time, according to their taste, whether it be to gather at the to regale (ne ancther with well worn stories garnished with tobacco and eau de vie, cr to cngage in horse racing, shooting matches and similar sports. As 1 lave ulready stated, Jean Bap- tiste divides his Christmas. By this I mean that two important features of the fcitivel as celebrated by English peeple on the 25th day of December are rescrved Ly the French for the 1st day of Jonvary—namely, the giving of pres- ents ail indulgence in especially good farc. : With regard to the giving of pres- ents, in which the French take just as much dclight as tie English, it is in- teresting to note that these ctrennes, as they are called, are by the little folk credited not to Santa Claus, but to le petit Jesu and are perhaps all the more eng oy cd on that acecurnt. As to the culinary characteristics of the day, my rcaders may perhaps be in- terested in a list cf dishes, some or all cf which may Le found upon every Frc:ch Canadian dinner table on this occericn. They are: Pain dore (toast with cgr), pate aux patates (potato >ie), poulet sauce Llanche (chicken with white ance), tourtieres (meat pie), grzisse de roti (fresh pork grease), co- cher an leit (sucking pig), paleron (recast of fresh pork—shoulder) and tarte aux suelles (pic made of haws). J. MACDONALD OXLEY. The Boar's Head. Aside frem its religious observance and vignificaticn Christmas has always Leen a time of feasting and jollification. This temperament has descended to us from the days of the old Germanic and Scandinavian nations, when the time was sct aside fer rejoicing and pleasure pricr to the Christian era, but even as } late as the seventeenth century in Eng- land and throughout continental Europe the delights of the table were para- mornt. With our forefathers a soused Lear s head was Lorne to the principal talle in the ball with great state and sclemnity as the first dish on Christmas In the book of *‘Christmasse Car- cles,” printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1521, are the words sung at this aus- picicus mement: The Lore’s head in hande bring 1 With garlandes gay and rosemary. I pray you all synge merrely— Qu: estis in convivio. day. The bores head 1 understande Is the chefe servyce in this lande, Loke wherever it be fande. © ¥ervite eum cantico. Chaucer alludes to this custom in the following passage of the ‘“‘Franklein’s Tale: Jen.es sitteth by the fire with double berd, And Le drinketh of his bugle horne the wine. Ecfore Lim standeth the braune of the tusked swine. > The Same Old Christmas. A descripticn two centuries ago of the festivities of Christmas shows little variation from present customs: ‘Families take it by turns to enter- tain their friends. They meet early, the beef and pudding are noble, the mince pics peculiar, the nuts half playthings and half catables, the oranges as cold and acid as they ought to be, furnish- ing us with a superfluity which we can afford to laugh at, the cakes indestruc- tible, the wassail bowls generous, old English, huge, demanding ladles, threat- ening overflow as they come in, solid with roasted apples when set down. and not seldom of punch. Girls, though they be ladies, are kissed under the mis- tletoc. ”’ Christmas Greens. In olden times holly was used only to deck the inside of houses at Christmas, while ivy was used not only as a vint- ner’s sign, but also among the ever-. For formerly ‘‘the’ rcoms were embowered with holly, ivy, cypress, bays, laurel and mistletoe.’ There are thousands of quaint old’ verses that could be quoted in praise of} the rosemary, laurel and mistletoe. A; love of nature, her fruits and flowers,: ker voses and vines with their mystic lominant trait among those who gath-' | ered at the Yuletide. | A CHRISTMAS SERMON. Lessons Taught by the Birth of Christ. The Duty of Charity and the Nobility of Self Sacrifice —How Art Has Paid Its Tribute to the Nativity. It was the distinctive glory of Christ’s evangel not that it introduced a new code of morals or of social ethics, but rather that it emphasized the force and broadened the scope of those existing and gave them higher sanctions and in- finitely greater importance from being exemplified in the perfect life of Christ himself. There were people who had been just, true and God fearing before Moses brought down the tables of the , law from Mount Sinai, and men acted | the role of the good Samaritan, ani- | mated by the purest benevolence, thou- sands of years before Christ taught by precept and example the duty of chari- ty and the nobility of self sacrifice. Even the sermon on the mount only prescuted in cencrete form rules of con- duct which regulated the lives of many in all ages, not with the force of law, of which there might be none, but as a result of self originated conviction and feeling. Love in Christ’s cede of ethics was both the soul and body, the animating principle, as well as the performing agent. It was no longer be true, kind and prre because it is a duty so to be, but be all that because you love to be so. No mere formal acquiescence cr compliance will meet the require- nent; of this new presentation of the 12oral law. It demands absolute obedi- cnce, but as the outcome of love, not as the result of authority cr the claims of duty. Has the Christian church (assigning to this term its widest and most com- prehensive meaning) ever come within mcasurable distance of realizing the ex- alted Christ ideal? Yes, possibly, in the apostolic age and for a short time sub- sequent, but it would be absurd to claim that the Christian churches of to- cay, great as is their influence for good, are animated by the spirit of the early Christians or inspired by that divine enthusiazm which made each one of them a center of light and largely trans- formed sccicty throughout the known world within a century after the birth cf Christ. We: are ncw like Moses on Mount Nebo—we see the promised land, but it is still in the dim distance, and we are apparently getting no nearer to its haven of rest—buthow soon would the prospect change were the gospel of love and humanity, preached and lived by Christ, to become a distinctive feature of our civilization instead of the material- istic and, selfish motives which largely sway mecdern life and determine con- duct! The Saviour was born under the hum- blest possible circumstances, as if to show how low in the cstimation of God are all the pomp and magnificence of that wealth and power which men prize so highly. His Virgin mother was poor, his foster fa@ther was a mechanic, and he himself dignified labor by earn- ing his bread by the sweat of his brow. Christ was emphatically the Saviour of the poor, and those who bear his name best show the sincerity of their professions by imitating him in his lov- ing kindness and benevolence. Charity is a duty incumbent upon Christians at all times, but even thc most humane will feel prompted to be kinder and more sympathetic while celebrating the advent of one who displayed during his - whole lifetime upon earth a divine com- passion and pity for the poor and the suffering. : Not the least of the lessons taught us by the birth of Christ is not to despise the humblest or:pe hopeless of the most depraved of that species so honored by Deity that he canie and took its form and assumed its nature with all its im- petfections. However low in the scale cf being persons may Le, there is a spark of the divine in them still, a trace of that promethean fire breathed into man by the source of all life and all con- sciousness which constituted him a liv- ing soul. The story of thé advent and of its climax—that amazing act of self sacri- fice—has been the solace of the weary and heavy laden in all the intervening centuries. The song of the angel chor- isters chanted over the lowly place of his birth, conveying heaven’s message of deliverance for man, has sounded throughout the centuries, like an under- tone of hope, above the discords of life and the mutterings of despair. Philip James Bailey in ‘‘Festus’ writes: We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We Shosid count time by heart throbs. He most ves Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. The stupendous mystery of the advent and the perfect life that followed it made it possible for mankind to attain the high state of perfection so beautiful- ly illustrated by the poet. Precepts were not wanting before, but henceforth there was a perfect life as a model for all ages. Doubtless all events, however impos- sible it may be to perceive their trend, contribute to That faroff divine event : Toward which the whole creation moves. The poets have sung of that day, phi- losophers have written of it from the earliest times and optimists think they see its near approach, but it must be confessed that the signs of its coming are not promising. Education and cul- ture, art and science, while they may prepare tho way for it, are at best only subsidiary. That day will never dawn until human society is permeated by that spirit of love and unselfishness which characterized the life of Christ. Nr. MAcpONALD. i ai i
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers