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THE TRUE SPIRIT
OF CHRISTMAS
By M. K. Rutledge.
[Copyright, 1901, by American Press Association.]
I had taken advantage of the absence
of the children on an errand to drag the
Christmas tree out of the cellar and set it
up in the parlor. It was Christmas eve.
My wife had left me alone with the tree |
for a few minutes while she went to get
a spool of green silk which she thought
would be an improvement for tying pur-
poses on the white cord which I had be-
gun to use. .
Presently the room darkened as if filled
by a cloud, and the cloud gathered into a
compact mass near me, startling me.
Much more was I frightened as it gradu-
ally assumed the shape of a tall, long
bearded old man, but when the figure
grew still more distinct and I saw the
benignant smile and the hands full of or-
naments fit for my tree my fear subsided.
“Here,” said the spirit, handing me a
little box, “is something which you should
not dress your tree without. It is the ob-
servance of all good old Christmas cus-
toms. Too many have been neglected in
the past. Within are instructions for
making wassail, for composing carols, for
mumming, for the game of snapdragon
and indeed for all the ceremonies where-
with good folks were wont to honor
Christmas before we fell upon these de-
generate days.”
Reverently I took the box and hung it
p.
“This,” said he, handing me a small
lamp, “you should fill and trim at each
Christmastide, but keep lighted all the
year around for your children’s sake. It
is the lamp of good example.”
With a mental vow I took the lamp and
get it lighted among the sweet smelling
fir branches.
Out of a bag he shook a heap of span-
gly, shining ornaments on the floor.
“The wit, the song, the story and the
loud laughter which ought to garnish
your Christmas,” said he. “Do not
hang them up yet. The box of ancient
custom will show .you how to arrange
them on the tree. But here is something
indispensable.”
Another bag was emptied. Sweetmeats
in all forms and of all sorts, I thought.
He read my mind. “All of one kind,”
he said—*all the sweets of cheerfulness—
though they have a varied look. Yet they
never pall on the taste. Hang them up at
once. They are magical sweets, never
disappearing no matter how freely they
are partaken of if you only desire them
to remain. Keep them in the house all
the year. Let each member of your fzin-
LS
Ye
REVERENTLY I TOOK THE BOX.
ily cerry some always, but never forget
to put the whole hoard on the Christmas
tree.”
I had been hanging them while he
spoke. He now stopped me with:
“There is not much more time for me
to stay here, so I will trouble you to at-
tend to the rest of what I say, doing no
work meanwhile. Here are the apples of
plenty. You gather them by persistent
endeavor during the year. Never fail to
garnish your tree with them, one for each
member of your family and one for the
wayiarer.
“I give you lastly this golden taper.
You are to set it lighted on top of the
tree, and when the time for present giv-
ing comes you are to present it to your
good lady. You are both to keep it light-
ed all the year around. It is the taper of
love and loyalty.”
“And who are you?’ I asked, seeing
that he begun to fade away.
“The true spirit of Christmas,
he faintly and was gone.
”
replied
One Chance Left.
“I know why you always sit up so late
on Christmas eve, Miss Oldgal.”
“And why do I. Freddy?’
“You think mebbe you'll see Santa
Claus and he’ll ask you to marry him.”
CHRISTMAS DAY.
I
The times are changed, the world grows old;
We have no more the age of gold.
Perchance it is decline; perchance
*Tis but the tokens of advance;
‘But nowadays we hold no more
That once good fellowship of yore,
It may be that the strain and stress
Of our mad times bring joylessmess;
It may be that our feverish days
Forget the old, good, genial ways.
IL
But, thanks to one persistent spark,
Unrest and haste and care and cark
Not yet shall strip our aging heart
Of all its old congenial art.
Aye, thanks to that still jovial day,
We shall forget and make our way
With dance and frolic, friends and rhyme,
Back through grim ages to the time
When ‘‘laughter, holding both his sides,”
Turned all men's days to Christmastides.
ARTHUR J. STRINGER.
TICITTCEEIN
POLLY MARTIN'S
CHRISTMAS EVE
A Story of Country Life at Yuletide by
Eliza Archard Conner.
[Copyright, 1901, by Eliza Archard Conner.]
She was only sixteen, pretty Polly
Martin, with round, soft cheeks the color
of apple blossom buds and eyes as blue as
the skies of her own native Canada. . She
had six brothers and sisters, all like her-
self born in the beautiful country.
Her father was a tenant farmer in a
new settlement in western Canada. Pret-
ty Polly milked the cows, fed the pigs
and chickens and helped her mother with
the children. When she could get em-
ployment away from home, she went out
to service. Being brought up with so
many children had made her very useful
about a house; patient, too, and she was
naturally sweet tempered, so people were
glad to have her with them. And then
they liked to see her in their houses be-
cause she was so pretty.
The Martins’ nearest neighbor was
three miles away. This was not because
neighbors were so few, but because Mr.
Martin's employer, Thomas Valentine,
owned all the land between his own
house and the log cottage where the Mar-
tins lived. But Polly was not lonely. She
never thought of being so. On the contra-
ry, she was very happy. Polly loved na-
ture. If she raised her eyes a moment
from her work and looked toward the
west, she saw the grand green forest
flashing and ringing with the bright
winged, sweet voiced birds that civiliza-
tion had not yet killed out.
If she glanced toward the northern ho-
rizon, there was the undimmed sky, ra-
diant blue. with a marvelous gleam of
silvery brightness in it that stretched
away—away to the north pole itself.
Eastward there was the crystal pure
brook dancing to the music of its own
everlasting little tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
which not even the ice of winter was able
quite to subdue. Polly thought it was
the sweetest music that is or ever was,
and I am not sure she was wrong. To
the south there were the sleek heifers
wading and feeding in the clover, the
white coats, of the sheep shining out
against the emerald pasture, and beyond,
mile on mile, stretching far as eye could
see, the great grainfields already chang-
ing from green to gold. Polly’s heart
leaped with gladness when she looked.
At Christmas time, the year Polly was
sixteen, Mr. Valentine's family sent for
her to come and help them for a week.
Mr. Valentine lived in a handsome house
surrounded by vineyards and orchards of
apples, peaches, plums and pears. Near
the mansion was the shining white dairy
house, with the big power churn that
they made the Jersey bull work by walk-
icg on a treadmill, to his intense disgust,
which he showed by pawing the ground
and bellowing, with his tail in the air, so
soon as he was released from the humili-
ating treadmill.
Farmer Valentine reared grand draft
horses large as small elephants and shin-
ing Christmas beeves every year for the
market. T'wo days before Christmas that
year he made his annual sale of beeves
and got unusually good prices for them.
It was too late to put the money he re-
ceived into the bank that day. so Mr.
Valentine brought it home with him, $500
ir gold and silver, and locked it in a bu-
reau drawer. Polly did not know it was
there.
On the evening of the 24th of Decem-
ber the farmers of the county gave their
annual Christmas ball. It was a great
event, bringing together socially friends
widely separated who did not see one an-
other often during the rest of the year.
Polly was wanted to keep the Valentine
house while the family should be away at
tke ball. They went early, for there was
2 ten mile sleigh ride between them and
the town where the ball was. The great
eleigh, with its big, handsome horses
pawing the snow and shaking their mas-
sive necks to make the bells jingle, was
drawn up before the carriage door of the
farmhouse, and one after another the
family took their places in it. Those fine,
intelligent horses looked as if they en-
joyed the prospect of the sleigh ride as
much as any one.
After they had gone Polly went around
the house to see that all was in order for
the night. She peeped into the fruit-
house first just to glad her eye with the
sight of the long shelves loaded with red
cbeeked apples and with shining green
and yellow pears wrapped in tissue paper
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looked down into the box where lay a
few bunches of late autumn grapes, the
down still upon their fat, purple cheeks.
They pleased Polly’s artistic eye.
Next Polly fed the pigs and locked the
poultry houses. Then she went indoors.
The house was a modern built one, with
large double plate glass windows to keep
the cold out and with a great furnace in
the cellar from which hot air pipes car-
ried warmth into all the rooms. Many a
king's palace was less comfortable than
this house. Polly looked to see that doors
and windows were fastened; then she sat
down in the warm dining room to read
and knit and think by turns.
Polly was not lonely or afraid. The
country neighborhood was considered
quite safe, and, besides, pioneer girls are
not the kind to scream at a mouse. She
remained up till 11 because she did not
like to leave the warm fire. Then she felt
sleepy and prepared to go to bed. The
family would not be back till 3 o’clock in
the morning. The guests at the ball
danced till midnight; then they had sup-
per, then a farewell cotillon. Then for
the Valentines came the ten miles’ sleigh
ride.
In their home at 11 o'clock Polly, the
cool headed, strong armed border girl,
went down to the cellar to give the fur-
nace a last feeding and shake up for the
night and to see that it was not hot
enough to set the house on fire on the one
hand and that it should give out heat
enough on the other hand to make the
rooms warm and cozy for the family
when they arrived. Then she went back
to the dining room. To Polly, who lived
in a cabin, but who nevertheless liked
pretty things as well as any one, that
room looked beautiful, with its crimson
rainted walls and the handsome silver-
ware sparkling upon the sideboard. She
had heard that silverware was worth
$400, and she eyed it with something like
awe. What a lot of money!
Admiring the silverware, Polly did not
notice how time passed till she looked up
with a start and saw it was half past 11.
She jumped to her feet, and at that mo-
ment exactly she heard the sound of a
sleigh and the horses’ hoof beats upon the
snow. What had happened to bring the
Valentines home three hours and a half
sooner than they expected to come?
But, no! Listen! Where were the sleigh-
bells? They did not ring. They were
muffled—the bells on this sleigh. What
did it mean? It might mean harm, dan-
ger, terror, if the sleigh with the muffed
bells stopped in front of the farmhouse.
It did stop.
Poor Polly's breath almost stopped, too,
a moment later when she heard two men
approach the door and talk together in a
low voice. The next moment they ham-
mered on the door tremendously, making
all the noise they could to scare the girl
i the more, and one of them ordered her in
a thundering voice to open the door:
“Open this door, Polly Martin! We
know you are in there all alone, and
there's $500 in the house that Valentine
brought home yesterday, and we're going
to have it.” \
But Polly said never a word, only sat
still, so still she might have been carved
out of stone.
“Open this door!” roared the men again.
But the beating of Polly’s heart was the
only sound in answer, and they could not
hear that. Then they pounded harder
than ever and kicked the door and shook
it in a rage. But it was of brave oak,
egtrong and well seasoned, and would not
yield. The robbers were in a fury. Once
again they called to her, cursing her hor-
ribly. They said:
“If you open the door, we will let
you off alive. If you don’t, we'll get in
anyhow, and then we'll shoot you dead
for sure.”
Still little Polly would not open.
The noise at the door ceased. What
would the next terror be? Polly soon un-
derstood. The robbers went to a window.
It was easy enough to force the shutter.
Then there was a faint grinding sound.
The burglars were cutting the large, new
fashioned window pane with a diamond.
And yet Polly would not open the door.
Indeed it would have been no good to do
#0 now, for the robbers would soon be in
the room anyhow. Polly only sat still
and waited for her doom. Her tongue
felt dry in her mouth. She felt so cold
her teeth chattered, and she could not
even hear her heart beat now, for it
seemed to almost stop.
Crash went the outer pane. The grind-
Ing, cutting sound began on the inner one.
It was quickly loose on two sides; only a
matter of five minutes more for Polly,
and then—
. the present she sent you last year.
And then, in the very nick of time, in |
the last moment, there came a sound of
to make them keep till Christmas. She Sleighbells, merry chiming, sweet and
clear, tinkle, tinkle, like the fairy bells
she had heard tell in her childhood sound-
ed in the air above people’s heads some-
times. Yes, thank God, it was bells, but
real sleighbells, and very, very near! The
robbers took to their heels and to their
sleigh with the muffled bells and drove off
as fast as they could lash their horses to
go.
But it was not the family returning.
Nobody came into the house. No sleigh
stopped in front, neither did any move
rast with its merry ting-a-ling of music,
though Polly certainly heard the bells a
moment or two longer. Then all quieted
down. But Polly was too shaken up now
to go to bed at all. She sat there alone,
frightened and trembling, three hours
longer till the family came home. She
was only a girl, you know, scarcely more
than a child.
But where were the sleighbells that had
saved Polly’s life and the Valentines’
property? Yc1 would never guess, and it
was some timo before they found out for
certain. The story is really a wonderful
ore, and, best of all, it is a true story.
In the harness house a large white cat
was kept to destroy the rats and mice.
She seldom left the harness house and
had a warm bed made for her in a barrel
of hay. That afternoon a careless stable-
man had thrown a set of sleighbells
across the barrel where pussy’s bed was.
The noise the robbers made disturbed
her, and she had jumped out to see what
it meant. In doing so, being a large,
heavy cat, she shook the bells and jan-
gled them, and that was what scared the ’
burglars off.
* # * * * * *
Polly took a fine, big, honest husband a
few years later and is living in a pretty
country hoine of her own, with the ra-
diant skies above her, the woods and or-
chards and green fields around her, the
very scenes to her so well beloved. There
she will probably live to tell her grand-
children how the cat shook the sleigh-
bells and saved her life and Farmer Val-
entine’s $500. After all, which is the real
heroine of the story, Polly or pussy?
One question more:
Was it a mere accident that the cat
shook the bells and made them ring at
the particular moment she did or was it
something else?
Too Much For Her.
Mrs. Pinchacent—I had
a terrible dream last night,
Hiram. I dreamed you
did something that made
me drop dead.
Mr. Pinchacent — What
was it I did, Maria?
Mrs. Pinchacent — You
gave me a present for
Christmas.
Some Christmas “Nevers.”
Never “mark down” a pricemark on a
Christmas present. If the mark doesn’t
indicate that you are properly extrava-
gant, rub it out or, still better, mark it
up.
Never give your dear wife a cord of
wood or a ton of coal for Christmas just
to show her that you have money to burn.
Never tell your little boy that there
isn’t any Santa Claus. -The older boys
will do it for you all too soon.
Never buy more Christmas presents
than you can afford. This is very good
advice, and, of course, you won’t follow
it.
Never give a minister a pair of slippers
if there is a small boy in his family, for
small boys vught to be happy on Christ-
mas.
Never ask a girl for a kiss when she's
under the mistletoe bough. Take it.
Never try to give your wife a $500
sealskin sack if you are somebody’s cash- |
i
ier on an income of $7 a week.
Never give your husband a box of ci-
gars. Give him a big box of Schuyler’s
bonbons, and some of it. may come your
way.
Never get mixed and give Mrs, Jones
She
may recognize it.
Never warn a woman that she is stand-
ing under the mistletoe. If she’s homely,
she will be your enemy for life; if she's
pretty, she'll think, not without reason,
perhaps, that you're a fool.
Hard Luck,
Johnny Bug—Why, what
are you crying about,
Willy 2
Willy Centiped — Boo-
loo! I hung up my stock-
ings, and Santa Claus only
put presents in thirty-nine
of ’em: Boo-hoo!
A Beet al ae Lk
XMAS FEASTING
IN OLD ENGLAND
By J. P. Donn.
[Copyright, 1901, by Hamilton Musk.]
When, in 1647, Puritan sentiment
caused the parliament of England to
abolish Christmas formally, on the
ground of pagan origin and what it deem-
ed pagan observance, most of the people
grieved sorely and yearned with such
good effect for the return of the old cus-
tom that today the season is kept as their
chief festival by English speaking people.
About that period there was published
at Oxford a document entitled “An Hue
and Cry IFor Christmas’ which reveals
quaintly the popular yearning.
“Any man or woman * * * that
can give any knowledge or tell any tid-
ings of an old, old, very old, gray bearded
gentleman called Christmas, who was
wont to be a verie familiar ghest and
visite all sorts of people, both pore and
rich, and used to appear in glittering
gold, silk and silver in the court, and in
all shapes in the theater in Whitehall and
had ringing, feasts and jollity in all
places, both in the citie and countrie for
his comming * * * whosoever can tel
what is become of him, or where he may
be found, let them bring him back again
into England.”
So back again he came, but not to the
same honors as of old. Never again was
there to be such feasting as in the old
days, all the public ceremonial which
used to greet him was gone forever. To-
day the Christmas celebration is an event
of the home and the children among re-
united families instead of the gay street
pomp of old.
The English lore of high Christmas
feasting goes back beyond history into
the banquet hall of King Arthur, and
having read it the reader wonders no
more at the mighty deeds performed by
the lance of Launcelot or the broad Ex-
calibur.
end in rhyme:
They served up salmon, venison and wild boars
By hundreds, by dozens and by scores,
Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard,
Muttons and fatted beeves and bacon swine,
Herons and bitterns, peacocks, swan and bustard,
Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons and, in fine,
Plum puddings, pancakes, apple pies and custard,
And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine,
With mead and ale and cider of our own,
For porter, punch and negus were not known.
In the middle ages, beginning with the
king, every one feasted during the two
weeks of Christmastide to the very best
of his physical and financial ability, and
none was too poor to have his fill of the
Christmas cheer. Open house was the
absolute rule. The wayfarer was wel-
come anywhere, the wassail bowl passed
from the hand of the king to his nobles at
court, from the hand of the baron to his
retainers hilarously celebrating with him
around the blazing Yule log in the center
of his hall, the abbot’s capons and good
ale warmed the heart of the penniless
wanderer if he did not choose farming
house or hall to spend the Yuletide in.
Anywhere he would be royally enter-
tained, for every one had his own Yule
log and wassail bowl, and the average bill
of fare may be judged from this gem
from Evans’ collection of old ballads:
All you that to feasting or mirth are inclined
Come, here is good news for to pleasure your
mind.
Old Christmas is come for to keep open house;
He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse.
Then come, boys, and welcome, for diet the chiaf,
Plum pudding, goose, capon, minced pies and
roast beef.
The public pageants were masquerades,
each under the direction of a lord of
misrule, or abbot of misrule, as he was
' sometimes called, who directed the sports
{
and mummeries of the maskers and all
the festivities of the others. The lord
of misrule who misruled in the court
had a liberal appropriation from parlia-
ment for himself and his attendants.
The lords and barons had each their own
appointed mummers and there were other
bands of them, self appointed, who
roamed about the country on a grand
spree during the holidays. The excesses
© of these in time caused the custom to be
|
abolished by law.
In houses and halls, under the holly and
ivy and mistletoe, the merrymaking pro-
- ceeded for the men in the old days, with
a kiss for Joan every time she was found
under the omnipresent mistletoe, but
there was no special part of the festivity
for the little ones, with the exception of
singing the carols in expectation of gifts,
until the prince consort of Queen Victoria
introduced from Germany the Christmas
tree and Santa Claus.
SNL A on Ahn ——-_———0
Whistlecraft thus sets the leg- |
“
ODD CHRISTMAS
SUPERSTITIONS
By Warrington Wayne.
[Copyright, 1901, by W. L. Vail.]
Perhaps the most interesting of Christ-
mas superstitions to the young people is
that which puts the maid under the curse
of another year’s celibacy unless she be
kissed under the mistletoe at Christmas.
For years and years female ingenuity
struggled with the problem of finding a
fitting place in the room for the mistletoe.
A fitting place is one under which the
maiden must pass. It is not seemly for
her to seek kisses. The problem was
solved years ago. The mistletoe was put
over the door.
In this country two mistletoe leaves are
placed together before the fire by many
an anxious lover. He or she names the
leaves secretly. If they fly together as
they grow crisp, those they represent will
wed; if they fly apart, fate wills other-
wise.
But the greater Christmas superstitions
concern themselves with the recognition
of the holy hour of midnight on Christ-
mas eve by the lower animals.
The rooster is supposed to be the most
sapient of these in this regard. His crow-
ing, at other seasons heralding the dawn,
is well known by all true believers in
ghosts to be a notice to prowling spirits
to hie them home. In the holy season he
crows at intervals all through the night,
the superstition says, to keep the earth
clear of these nocturnal ramblers. Shake-
speare alludes to this belief in “Hamlet:”
Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated.
This bird of dawning singeth all night long,
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad.
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallowed and so gracious is the time.
In many parts of Europe there is a su-
perstition to the effect that at the mid-
night hour, when Christmas day begins,
the cattle kneel in the stalls. Many can
be found who testify that they have seen
this phenomenon. They have gone into the
dark stables with lanterns, awaking the
beasts, which usually rise after such dis-
turbance. In the course of half an hour
or so the animals grow used to the light
and lie down again. In lying down they
kneel.
The miners of Derbyshire, England,
hear masses sung by invisible choristers
in deep and distant recesses of their
mines as the hour of midnight arrives.
In other parts of England bees, then in
their torpor, “sing” in the hives. Sheep
RNG ~~
UNDER THE MISTLETOE.
on the continent have been observed to
start on pilgrimages toward the east in
imitation of the shepherds of old.
Many of those superstitions have reach-
ed North America. They thrive better in
Canada than in the United States. How-
ison tells of an Indian in upper Canada
whom Le found creeping late on Christ-
mas eve on hands and knees to get a look
nt the deer kneeling at the midnight hour.
Sir Walter Scott tells us that, accord-
ing to a popular belief, those who were
born on Christmas had the gift of seeing
ghosts. The Spaniards attributed the
haggard look of Philip II. to this unde-
sirable faculty.
A Letter to Sandy Claws.
The Sunday school teacher was telling
Tommy Tuffun about Santa Claus and
his big department store up at the north
pole and about the great free distribu-
tien of presents to good little boys and
girls.
“An’ does de Sandy Claws guy give ‘em
away free gratis fer nuttin’?”’ asked
Tommy.
“Certainly,” said the teacher.
“Gee! He mus’ be easy!” cried Tom-
my. “What a puddin’!’ But, say, teach-
er, has yer gotter be good boys to be let
in on de ground floor uv de graft?”
“Yes, you must be good,” was the re-
ply. . :
“Gee! Den dat lets me out! I'm good
—nit. Sandy Claws'll trun me down
hard, sure, an’ me wantin’ a jackknife
de woist kind!” ;
“But you're a good boy, Tommy,” re-
nitonstrated the teacher. “All the boys
in the class are going to write a letter to
Santa Claus telling him what they want
for Christmas, and you must write too.”
Tommy agreed to do so, and after half
an hour of hard work with a pencil he
handed the teacher the following letter:
Deer Sandy Claws—I want a jackknife fer
Crissmuss, sce? I ain't a good boy, see? But if
youse don’t gimme de jackknife fer Crissmuss de
nex’ time me an’ de kids ketches yer in Cherry
Rill we won't do a t’ing to yer! See?
A Bountiful Giver.
“Is Pooreman’s rich wife liberal with
$m on Christmas?” Pa
“She was last year.” Ss
“What Jid she present him with?”
“Triplets.” i
a]