em ——
Bellefonte, Pa., December 17, 1909.
THE DREAM OF THE CHRISTMAS
TREE.
Now, this was the wonderful dream [| had-a
dresm of the Cnristmas Tree :
1 dreamed that a melody sweet and glad rang out
from somewhere to me,
And out of the silvered east they came and out of
the rosy west—
More children than ever a man might neme or
ever a man has guessed ;
And going and coming, snd coming asd go-
ing,
With drummers ca-dromming and boglers a,
blowing,
Were all of the children thet ever were known
since ever there was an earth,
In hundreds, in couples, and all alone, each
chanting a song of mirth,
And then in this wonderful dream of mine the
children ran to and fro
And marched in a long and winding line as swift.
ly as they might go,
And each as he passed by the Christmas Tree
looked up with a radiant face,
And each as he came there bent the knee with
carious, childish grace—
And coming and going, and going and com-
ing,
With buglesr a-blowing and drummersa drum-
ming,
Were all of the children that ever have been since
there wax a world at all,
And none was a-huogered or pale or thin, or erip-
pled or like to fall.
And all of them sang in this dresmn of mine, a
song that | wish [ knew,
For it had a melody fair and fine, and every tone
was true ;
And all of the children they looked at me in pity
—or %0 it seemed —
While stars in the bonghs of the Christmas Tree
in marvelous glory gleamed.
And going and coming, and coming and go’
ing,
With drummers a-drumming and buglers a-
blowing,
Were all of the children that ever have played
since ever the world began,
And each little fellow and exch little maid de-
lightedly laughed and ran.
And then in this wonderful dream I dreamed, |
thought that the Christmas Tree
Grew fairer and fairer until itseemed no fairer a
thing could be ;
Aad all of the chiidren they called by name and
all of the children smiled,
And suddenly then to my heart there came the
faith of a little child.
And going and coming and coming and go-
ing,
With drummers a drumming and buglers a,
blowing,
1 marched with the children of all the lands ofall
the years and times,
And laughed as we ran with our close-linked
hands and chanted out world-old rhymes.
— Wilbur D. Nesbit.
THE CHRISTMAS SUBSTITUTE.
A Boy trom the Slums In the Choir at 8t. Mar-
tin's.
Five minutes of eleven ! The choir-mas-
ter of 8s. Martin's locked impatiently from
the olock to the door. The choir-room was
nearly full of men and boys, arrayed in
black oassocks and white coats. The pro-
oessional oross, with its bunch of holly sied
upon it, leaned against the wall. From
the ochuroh could be heard the strains of
“The Messiab,”” and through the open door
of the vestry room the choir-master could
seo the olergy all ready to move.
“Why, where's Charley Reed?’ asked
one of the bass singers,
“I waa stupid enough to send him off tor
a substitute to fill Johnny Healey's place.
Johnny sent word at the lass minute thas
he was sick and could nos come. It would
have made the procession uneven, and
Charley said be knew a boy—went to the
same school—who had a good voice and was
the right size; so as it was only over on
Second Avenue, and he had half an hour.
Ilet him go. I wish I badn’s. Itaonoys
the doctor to have the boys come in late.
Christmas morning, too! Bat sappose
something has happened to the boys; what
should we do for vur soprano solow ?"’
“Is his first in the ‘Te Deum ?'’
“Yes—aud—oh, here he is!"
A long
breath of
relief told of anxiety sap-
Charley Reed stood in she doorway, ush-
ering in the substitute. The oboir-boys
exobanged glances; the men sarved away
to repress a smile. Even the master, whose
one thought was $0 keep bis procession in-
sact, looked aghast.
The substitute was a boy perhaps ten or
twelve years of age, distinctly dirty, though
an sflenp) at face-washing had lefts broad
streaks of light and shade, He wore an old
jacket aud a pair of trousers perhaps so
much too large that they were rolled in a
thick wad over each ankle. His shoes
were breaking apars. He held in his band
an old cap wh bad once heen fur, but
was now only skin.
1t was not his poverty alone that marked
him, however. There were many poor, re-
speotable boys in St. Martin's choir. Is
was his face—ocool, cunnivg, impadent, a
face thas before stwenty must acquire the
oriminal look for life. A cadet in she ranks
of the dangerous class, he stood there, self-
, confident, slyly alert.
The choir-master hurried forward with
an evident attempt to make the best of the
sitomtion. Charley Reed looked apologet-
fo. The substitute bad an amused twinkle
in hia keen, hazel eyes.
*‘Come, Charley, take bim into the lava.
tory and see that his hands and face are
olean and his hair combed.”
‘“‘Here, Tom,” to another boy, who stood
grinning hy, “look in one of the lockers
beside the organ, and see if youn oan find a
pair of shoes. Then get out Johnny Heal:
ey's vestments.”’
In a few moments the rohing was over.
Teddy Fitzgerald, the east side boy, stood
in the line in front of Charley Reed, an
open hymual in his hand.
The hoy with the cross took his place at
the head of the procession. The olergy
came down the steps into the choir-room.
There was a skort prayer, a quick ‘‘Amen’s
chanted by the boys, then the first verse of
“‘Adeste Fideles.”” As the musio soared,
“Joyful and trinmphant,”” the procession
$0 move.
'eddy’s hook was open, but he was not
singiog. There was too much to see. The
doors of the choir-room were thrown back,
the great organ and the cornet took up the
theme and Tellay Fiiagerad was in the
house of God for first time.
Churches bad been quite outside Teddy's
life. In the summer-time he bad stolen
his way upon several Sunday-sohool pies
nios ap the river on a barge. Onoe he
gone with an older gang of roughs from
Avenue A to belp break up a Salvation
ETERS
Army meeting ; but these had been his sole I “‘All right,” said Charley, good patured-
experiences touching religion.
So here he was—a heathen in a long
black cassock and snow-white cotta, his
face radiant with joy, keeping perfect time
ae the long line swept thiough the trans.
ept and into the chancel. With bis clean
face, bis short, brown, carly bair in order
and this expression, he looked almost
handsome.
The hoys filed decoronsly into the stalls,
Teddy hoping with all his heart that an
outside seat might fall to him, Yes, here
he was ! On the end, with Charley Reed
beride him !
Now the service began. Charley would
pudge him to kneel, rise of stand, as the
occasion demanded, and Teddy, who was
full of curiosity and interest, obeyed im-
plicitly. When the chanting of the Psalms
began, Teddy took bie first active part.
They were Gregorian chants, fall of a sol-
emn joy, and the boy quickly canght the
movement, for be loved music passionate-
ly.
Y Sin bad closed every channel to his soul
—ain for which he was little responsible,
for he was what his life had made bim. Is
bad closed every channel except this one!
He bad never heard any really great music
before. The best had been at the Ceotral
Park concerts on Saturday alternoons,
when the child wonld sit, forgetia! of the
black past and the blacker futore, wrap-
ped in that bliss which only a musical oul
can know.
One masterpiece followed another today
—the “Te Deum’’ and the Creed. Charley
Reed had solos in both. Teddy listened
greedily, enviously.
““I bet yer I oonld do it if [ only knew
how ! 1 bet yer [ conld put more ‘go’ in-
to her !” thought Teddy, who, with oritie-
al instinet, had found the lack in Charley's
beautiful voice—the inability to touch the
heart.
The musio was the choir-master’s own,
and he had put into it some of the love of
man and love of God which filled the great
heart of him who wrote the words.
Teddy listened through the first verre ;
then, with the second, he hegan. The
ohoir-master heard the clear, full tones,
and listened with fear. Would he sing
false and ruin it? No, Teddy wae as in-
capable of singing false as a bird is. He
bad a true ear and a moss retentive memo-
ry. Above the choir, above even Charley
Reed’s sweet soprano rang that contralto
with its rare, pathetic quality, —that some-
thing which can pever be acquired’—and
Sue congregation listened with hoshed
carts,
The choir-master’s heart beat high. The
snhstitntes voice was an exquisite one.
With a soloist like this, his choir in six
months would be unequalled.
All through the sermon Teddy looked
round. The wonderful, pictured windows,
throngh which the Christmas sun was
streaming, the fine lines of arch and roof,
the mosaio pavement, the carved stalls, the
shining marble altar with its gleaming
cross, and ahove it a piotare which caughs
avd held his eye—the picture of a Child, a
Boy, with outstreched arms coming toward
him through a field of lilies.
“I wish he wouldn’s look at me like
that | Seems as il He wanted me to do
somethin’ for Him. Kinder sorry, too.
Looks like He'd lived on the east side, so
poor aud mournful. I bet yer He knows
what it is to be cold and hungry, and sleep
in a barrell | I wish,now, I hadn’t knocked
down that hissle kid goin’ lor beer this
mornin’ or cheated Jim as ‘oraps.’ ’’ And
so, while the gond dootor in the
pulpit, the Boy above the altar preached to
the hoy below.
Suddenly Charley Reed said, “I say,
Teddy, you'll have to go to the gate and
receive the contribution. I sing a eolo in
the offertory. Follow the boy at the end
of the opposite etall ; keep step with him,
march 80 the rail then, and the dootor will
give you hoth plates. Then turn,—be sare
you wheel toward the other boy,—match
to the top of the steps and waits. Stand
perfectly still, and the vestrymen will
bring up the offering. Then wheel inside,
carry the plates and empty them into the
alme-basin the dootor will hold. Do just
as Tom does, keep step, and oh I’ Charley
«aid imploringly, “don’t bungle, for then
they'll blame me !"’
Charley}did not know his boy. Teddy ban-
gle! He reached the ail in perfect time,
shoulder to shoulder, and stood lasiig the
vast congregation,that wore a generalair of
riches and luxury. ‘‘All blokes from de
avenue !" thongbt Teddy, and this drove
the tender thoughts of shas unhappy Child,
whose woe and love bad touched him so
strangely, out of his heart. Teddy was
himesell again—bitter, bard, defiavs ; the
scourage of the block, the terror of the ap:
ple-woman, the east side ‘‘out on the
make 1"
Two by two the vestrymen came up,
each amps ib his full plate into the lag:
er oues held by the boys. Would they
never stop? What heaps of money ! Teddy
bad never seen as much, and now he was
holdiog is !
Such a chance !| Right beside his thumb
lay a bill folded very small. Some lady
mast bave tucked is in her glove. Just as
he wheeled he put his tbhomb on is—his
coat sleeve lay full and loose over his
hand —and with a dexterons movement he
concealed it in bis palm. Teddy bad not
plaved :‘eraps’ for nothing.
He went baok to his stall, flushed with a
sense of triumph, and tucked the bill into
his jaokes pocket. He must not look at it
yes. It might bea ‘‘fiver I" Then he was
sure of the fifty cents. What a morning's
work !| Wouldn't he *‘blow ber in I"
All this while the service was goiog on,
bus is was only the opening notes of
Siounod's ‘‘Sanctos’’ that brought him
back.
As the first ‘Holy, Holy,” stole out, he
forgot his money, and all the glories it
could buy. Again and again rang ons
that marvelloos ory, each repetition higher
and stronger and nearer the throne, aud
the hears of the boy wens with is.
He looked at the picture with a radiant
smile. This must surely make Him glad !
The ennshine fell ou the calm face; is light-
ed up those eyes filled with inscrutable
sorrow, and a pang strock into Teddy's
heart like a knife. The money ! He had
taken is from Him !
The boy had known nothing but misery
from bis birth,bat as he laid his head down
on the stall, beside which be kunelt, an
agony which no hunger, or cold, or pain
bad ever forced from him racked him.
Teddy Fitzgerald’s soul was being born !
The eervice ended and the procession
moved out of the charch and into she choir
room once more.
‘‘Here’s your fifty cents. Come around
here tomorrow morning at nine, and let me
try your voice. I think you have a fortune
in your throat,’ said the ohoir-master, as
he banded Teddy the money; but the words
seemed to fall on deaf ears.
“‘What ails you, Teddy ? Are you sick ?"’
said Chatley Reed, kindly, as they reached
the street.
“Lemme alone,or I'll break your head I"
said the boy, savagely as he jerked away,
still holding the service-sheet.
ly. “I wish yous “Merry Christmas.’ ”’
The same evening, as the rector of St,
Martin's rose from bis Christinas dinner, a
servant entered the room to say that a
n was in the ball, waiting to see
m. ‘‘Dear me, I hope nothing bas bap-
pened,” be said, as he wens to meet the
“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but there's a
boy been asking for you at the Bellevue
Hospital, and as the doctors say he won’s
live till morning, why, I’ve come for you.
He's just been run over by a cable car on
Third Avenue. Don’t know whas he can
want with you, sir. He's a regnlar gutter:
"nige. not your kind as all, sir !*’
doctor sighed as the unconscious re-
bake. “I'm afraid not. I only wish he
were I” and buniied into his overcoat.
Before long he was leaning over the poor
crashed frame, in the first pure white bed
Teddy had ever known.
“Gimme de money,” said she hoy, in
quick, fierce tones to the nurse beside him,
“and then go way !"”” The nurse obeyed.
The doctor knelt beside the bed to bear
these panied words :
Here is is ! Have yer got it? Give it
back to Him ! [ swiped it this morniu® out
of your collection plate. You're softies
over there to trust any one. No, I'm not
crazy. I was a sabstitute in the choir,and
all the afternoon I tried to spend is and I
couldn’. I could see him a-lookin’ as me
Him behind the altar a comin’ throogh the
lily field after me ! So I was comin’ baok
to yer with it when I slipped on the track.
‘‘Please believe me,”” he gasped on,
““Tain’t because I know it's all np wid me
that I'm sorry, but —hat because [ couldn’s
be such a sneak to Him ! You see He was
like me. He bad lots against Him !”
The doctor's white head sank as he look-
ed at this child, who was also ‘‘des
and rejected ;”’ and then he payed, old-
ing the grimy-bony hand which bad fought
the world from the start.
The little life was drifting fast now, avd
he was babbling of many shinge, bus never
of home or mother !' The streets, —their
length, their heat, their chili, but always
the streets ! It was all bis past. Sadden-
ly the faltering voice hegan to sing :
Ce ——————
When Jesus was Borm.
Onee opon a time, long ago, the most
beantifol and woodeiful thing happened
that ever happened in the world. Well,
I'll tell you. Who first knew abouts it? A
very good woman named Mary. She lived
in a country away off, in a little town eall-
ed Nazareth, and one day an angel came to
her from heaven and told her that God was
going tosend his only Son down to the
earth, and He was to come as a listle baby,
juss like other babies, and Mary, because
she was such a good woman, was to be His
mother and take care of Him while He was
young. Just think how astonished Mary
was !| And the angel told Mary and her
busband that when the baby came they
were to call Him Jesus, and when Jesus
became sa man He wonld be called the Son
of God and have a great kingdom and rule
forever and ever.
They hoth watched for the wouderlal
child, but God did not send Him to them
while they were in Nazareth. Mary and
Joseph bad to take a very long, hard jour-
ney to a town many miles away called
Bethlehem. They were poor and had to
walk, and when they got there they were
very tired. They looked for a place to
sleep in ,but all the houses were fall be-
cause a great many people had come to
Bethlehem that day. At fist they dido’s
know what to do, but some one told them
of a nice clean stable where they could ress
on the hay, and they were glad to go there.
I+ was night and Mary and Joseph and all
the tired travelers who had come to Bethle-
hem that day had fallen asleep. and all the
lights in the listle town were put oat; only
the beautiful stars looked down from heav-
en.
Bat down in the valley, outside Bethle-
hem, she shepherds conldn’s go to sleep be-
case they had to take oare of their flocks.
Saddenly while they were talking together
they were very much frightened ; they saw
an angel standing by them and a wonder-
fal bright light shining all around. The
angel told them in a very kind voice not to
be afraid, becanse he brooght them bappy
pews. He told them that Jesus had come
that vers night in Bethlehem, and they
would find Him lyiog in a manger, in a
stable.
“0 little town of Bethlehem,
How still we ree thee lie !
Above the deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlusting Light :
+» The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.”
A raptarons look came into the dying
eyes and then all was still. —By Anua
Sprague Packard, in Youth's Companion.
Christmas in Porto Rive.
Mauy of the children of Porto Rico last
season *aw a Christmas tree for the first
time in their lives, a writer for an edn.
cational journal. ristmas Day and the
visits of Santa Clags are not observed in
Porto Rico as in northern countries. The
real Christmas comes twelve days late in
Porto Rico, so far as the exchaogiog of
gilts and remembrances is concerned. Jan-
Gth ia Three Kiovgs' Day. Instead of
haviog a Christwias tree or of hanging their
stockings in the fireplace, the youngsters
there on the eve of January 6th pus up a
box filled with grass and their shoes out on
the balconies or on windowsills. The
Three Wise Men who are traveling throogh
the country proclaiming the birth of the
Infans Christ, stop at each box, and if the
little boy or girl to he remembered is good
the mules whioh the Wise Men are riding eat
the urass and leave a toy or a bit of *‘dalee.”
If the youngster has been bad during the
year, the box is left untouched, and the
Wise Men depart, leaving nothing. To fill
these little boxes children of all ages are at
work for a week, and nearly every blade
of grass in the listle parks is pulled.
In the schools, on the last school deys
before Christmas, the teachers told the
stories of Santa Clans, and in some of the
schools Santa appeared in person, much to
the delight and astonishment of the chil.
dren, who had never before imagined such
a thing. Christmas trees imported from
the United States especially for the occa.
sion, with tinsel and lighted candles and
laden with candy and cakes, were a revela-
tion to the children. — Ex.
Christmas Adam
. Mamma—‘'You have addressed your let.
ter ‘Mr. Santas Clans Adam.” Why did
vou put the Adam there dear? That isn’t
Santa Clans’ name.”
Babbie—'‘Well who is the Christmas
Adam, then?” *
“What Christmas Adam? I never heard
of one.”
“There's a Christmas Eve avd there
ht to be a Christmas Adam, I should
think.’’—Kaness City Journal.
‘Then beautifnl angels came from heaveo
aod sang songs praising God. The shep-
herds watched them til! they went back to
beaven. aud shen they hurried to Beth-
lehem as lass as they could. O, how hap:
y they were to find Jesus juss as she angel
told them ! They told Mary and Joseph
all aboui the angels, and everyone won-
dered at it. Then the went back
to their sheep, praising God forall the
wonderful things that bad Bappaned,
Do you know why God sent His dear Son
down toearth ? So that He could teach ns
all how to he good and happy. I think
God was very kind.
When Shepherds Watched by Night.
Sowe historians contend that the shep-
berds conld not have watched by night on
she Bethlebem plains in December, it he.
ing a period of great inclemency. In an-
swer to this a well known student says :
“Bethlehem is not a cold region. The
mercury usually stands all the month of
December at 46 degrees. Corn is sown dur-
ing this time, and grass avd herbs spring
np after the rains, so that the Arabs drive
their flocks down from the mountains into
the plains. The most delicate never make
fires till about the end of November, and
some pass the whole winter withons them.
From these facts I think it is established
without doubt that our Saviour was born
on the 25th day of December, the day which
the church throughout the world has united
to celebrate in honor of Christ’s coming in
the flesh.” —- Washington Star.
Christmas Chimes:
England bas appropriately been called
“‘the land of bells and bell-ringers.” For
nearly two centuries it has been the gener-
al castom in England to welcome Christ-
mas with melodious bell.-mneic. St. Paul's
Cathedral chimes are rhythmical and musi-
cal.
Iu the great Russian city of Moscow, on
the grand churoh festival five hundred bells
ring in a magoificent, harmonious chorus.
Belgiom, Germany avd Franoe are aleo re-
nowned for their beautiful chimes.
America has she famous chimes in Trini-
ty Church, New York city. The historia
Old North Charoh in Roston possesses bells
whish iusg in 1744 aod pealed forth glori-
ous musio on the birthday of the king.
In whatever land they may dwell, a
peaceful, sacred message do the bells carry.
——That famous landmark of the city of
Hartford, Conn., the Charter oak, was
blown down Aug. 20, 1856, during a fierce | Riis
Shore which prevailed in that oity and seo-
tion,
AT BETHLEHEM'S INN.
The Princess came to Bethlehem's inn,
The Keeper he bowed low;
He sent his servants here and yon,
His maids ran to and fro.
They spread soft carpets for her feet,
Her bed with linen fine;
They heaped her hoard with savory meat,
They brought rich frui's and wine,
The Merchant came to Bethlehem's inn,
Across the desert far,
From Ispahan and Samarcand,
And hoary Kandaniar,
Rich Orient freight his camels bore,
The gates flew open wide,
As in he swept with stately mien,
His long, » ow train beside,
The Pilgrim eame tc Bethlehem's inn,
Wayward and old was he,
With beard unshorn and garments torn,
A piteous sight to see!
He found a corner dim and lone;
He ate his scanty fare ;
Then laid his script and sandals by,
And sald his evening prayer.
The Beggar came to Bethlehem's inn:
They turned him not away;
Though men and maidens scoffed at him,
They bade the variet stay,
“The dogs have room; then why not he
One to another sald;
“Even the dogs have earth to lie upon,
And plenteons broken bread
But Mary fared to Bethlehem's inn,
Dark was t= e night and cold,
And eerily the icy blast
Swept down across the wold,
She drew her dark brown mantle close,
Her wimple round her head,
“Ob, hasten on, my Lord,” she cried,
“For | am sore bestead !"'
Maid Mary came to Bethlehem's inn,
There was no room for her;
They brought her neither meat nor wine.
Nor fragrant oil, nor myrrh,
But where the horned oxen fed
Amid the sheaves of corn
One splendid star flamed out afar
When our Lord Christ was born,
“Julia C. R, Dorr, in The Atlantic Monthly.
Keeping Christmas,
It is a good thing to observe Christmas
day. The mere marking of times and sea-
sons, when men agree to stop work and
make merry together, is a wise and whole-
some onstom. Is reminds a man to ses his
own little watch, now and then, by the
gress olock of humanity which runs on sun
time.
Bat there isa better thing than the ob-
servance of Christmas day, and shat is,
keeping Christmas.
Are you willing to forget what you have
done tor other people, and to remember
what other people bave done for you ; to
ignore what the world owes yon, and to
think what you owe the world ; to put
your rights in the background, and your
duties in the middie distance, and your
cbances to do a listle more than your duty
in the foreground ; to see that your fellow.
men are just as you ate, and try to look
behind their faces to their hearts, huongry
for joy ; to own that probably the only
good reason for your existence is not what
you are going to get ous of life, bus what
you are going to give to life ; to close your
book of complaints against the manage:
ment ol the noniverse, and look aronnd youn
for a place where you oan sow a few seeds
of bappiness—are Jon willing to do these
things even lor a day ¥ Then you can keep
Christmas.
Are you willing to stoop down and eon-
sider the needs and the desires of little
children; to remember the weakuess and
loneliness of people who are growing old;
to stop asking how much your friends love
you, and ask yoursell whether you love
them enough; to bear in mind she things
that other people have to bear in their
hearte; to try to understand whats those
who live in the same house with you really
want, without waisiog for them to tell you;
to trim your lamp =o that is will give more
light and less smoke, and to carry is in
front so thas your shadow will fall bebind
you ; to make a grave for your ugly
thooghts and a garden for your kindly feel.
ings, with the gate open—are you willing
to do these things even for a ? Then
you can keep Christmas.
Are you willing to believe that love is
the strongest thing in the world-—stronger
than hate,stronger than evil, stronger than
death—and that the blessed life which be-
gan in Bethlehem nineteen hundred BE 1
is the image and brightness of the
Love. Then you cau keep Christ-
mas,
Aod if you keep it for a day, why not al-
ways ?
But you can never keep it alone. —Henry
VanDyke.
(In “The Spirit of Christmas;" copyright, 1905 by
Charles Scribner's Sons.)
Is There a Santa Clana?
No Sauta Claus? Yes, my little man,
there is a Santa Claus, thank God! The
world would indeed be poor without one.
It is true that he does not always wear a
white beard and drive a reindeer team—not
always, you know~—hut what does it mat.
ter? He is Santa Claus with the big, lov-
ing, Christmas heart, for ali shat; Santa
Claus with the kind thoughts for every one
that make children and grown-up people
beam with happiness all day long.
And shall I tell you a secres which I did
not learn at the post office, but is is true all
the same—of how you can always be sare
your letters go to him straight by the ocbim-
ney route? It is this: send along with
them a friendly thought for the boy you
don’t like; for Jack who punched you, or
Jim who was mean to you. The meaner
he was the barder do youn resolve to make
it up; not to bear him a grudge. This is
the stamp for the letter to Santa. Nobody
can stop it, oot even a croes-draught in the
chimeey, when it bas that ou.
Because—don’t yon know, Santa Clans
ie the spirit of Christmas; and ever and ever
80 many years ago when the dear little
Baby was born after whom we call Christ.
mas, and was cradled in the manger out in
the stable because there was not room in
the inn, that spirit came into the world to
soften the hearts of men and make them
love one another. Therelore, that is the
mark of the spirit to this day. Don’t let
avybody or anything rab it out. Then the
rest doesn’t matter. Let them tear Santa
Claus’s white beard off as the Sunday sohool
festival and grow! in his bearskin coat.
These are only his disguises. The steps of
the real Santa Claus you can trace all
through the world as yon have done here
with me, and when you staud in the last
of his tracks you will find the Blessed Babe
of Bethlehem smiling a welcome to you.
For then you will be home.—Jacoh A.
——Sabsoribe for the WATCHMAN.
em
rhe LEGEND OF THE FIRST
CHRISTMAS TREE
| December, close to midoight in a Ger
mao forest, fifteen hundred years ago.
At that time, even as now, the steep
| sides of the Haiz mountains were carpeted
| with immense stretches of woods. Here
| wild aoimals made their home aod men
bardly less fierce had their habitations.
{Though the sky which spread above the
spot could scarce be seen through the thick
branches of the oaks, its broad bosom shone
| bright with stars much as on another night
| in Judea centuries before.
| Signs of life in plenty where the forest
| was densest. Under interlacing boughs
| that arched like unto a temple vault over a
rounded space covered with velvety turf
were a group of white clad, loug bearded
men. Near at band a gians oak tree, and
by is a lerge, fquare stone ses low in the
ground. On this tude altar blazed a fire,
The garb aod bearing of the wen beside it
made plain they were ministers of some
mystic cals.
Ciroled about the riog of which the altar’
| was the centre was gathered an assemblage
of men, women and children so large thas
its numbers were loss in the shadowy back-
ground of the woods. The former were
mostly tall avd wild featured. Some were
clad in rudely woven cloth and others in
hides of heasts. Many bore spears, others
axes of odd shape, and still more massive
clubs whose size, when swang with vigor,
boded little good to an enemy. All stood
with eyes intens on those by the altar at
the foot of the giant ocak.
This foress clearing was an -air tem-
le dedicated to the pagan god Thor. the
ammerer, whose Hammer, Mjoioer, nev-
er fails of ite blow. And the oak by whose
vass bole the stone-altar is laid is Geismar,
revered by Thor's votaries above all its for-
ii kindred as the holiest sanctuary of his
rites.
Tonight's is the year’s moss solemn eao-
rifice— that of buman blood. It is the great
festival. For now the winter's sun turns
toward the North, symbolical of heat and
re as the vivilying principle of earthly
e.
Namen given in baptism are frequently
prophecies of a child's lature.
In God’s own good time a lad bad been
born in England on whom was bestowed
the name of Winfred. In the simple Sax-
oon toogue then spoken this meant ‘Peace
winner” or ‘‘Peace- or.
He grew up, entered the church and be-
came earnest in the work of saving souls.
He longed to help in the conversion of the
benighted peoples of the continent. His
with was granted. He spent his days
preaching the trnths of the Cross, and won
martyrdom as Boniface, the patron saint of
Germany.
In many ways he worked to open the
ears, the eyes and the hearts of the incredu-
lous. Victory attended him. Each pass-
ing hour saw belief in the old superstitions
lessening. He bad driven is from place to
ace, and even here to Geismar—The
under Oak—whose sacred trunk Thor
chose ae his abiding place.
It was near midnight, and all was ready
for the crowning ceremony of the festival.
A child was to be offered as a propitiation
to the heathen divinity. Struck into sense-
lessness by the hammer—Thor's symbol—
in the bigh priest's bands, the aitar’s flame
would do the ress.
Into the space before the altar was
brought the intended victim. His robe of
sacrifice showed less white than bia boyish
face. Fear bad paralyzed the tangue and
no sound came from his pallid lips. Nor
was there murmur or pity in the sarronnd-
ing throng, naught but eager interess.
They bind the youth’s eyes with a fillet
aod place him, with bound arms and bent
bead, heipleesly before the stone.
A moment more and all had been over.
The priest of Ther and bis associates pre-
pare fot the final act Sunspense has the as-
se hlnge spelibound. Suddenly from the
encitcling crowd starts St. Boniface.
Whence he came or who he was none knew.
The sight of the venerable stranger at such
a time caat more than awe over the malti-
toade. Would mortal man dare such pro-
fanity ?
With stately stride be moves toward the
altar. There, with never a word, he
snatches the fateful hammer from the poised
hand of the astounded priest. Terror seizes
each mind as he lifts up the expectant vio-
tim and olasps him close with his encircling
arm. .
A silence as of the grave. Then, with
giant strength, one-handed be whirls the
hammer above his head and smites the
blazing flames. Far and wide fly the star-
like sparks and begin to lap with their fiery
tongues the sacred oak—the tree of Thor
the Hammerer.
Rapidly the flames spread from branch
to branch. Now, aroused from their stupor
by what they deem the worst of sacrilege,
ests abd people try to press closer to
vg stranger. In vain.
from the burning tree holds them back,
while the Saint and child stand upon the
Sloat Drenthe as those in the fiery furnace
Noris is ere with fearsome orash the
Thuoder Oak falls a sm smouldering
mass of embers to the gt .
They ory it is the work of some great
God, and drop upou their faces. Hereup-
on speaks the apostle. He tells them the
story of Christ: bow He wills no sacrifice
af blood, but only of selfishness and sin.
“On this,” the words of the legend run,
“his eyes caught sight of a fair young fi
7
tree standing near and lifting up its green
crown to Heaven. ‘In of the oak of
Thor,’ he said, * a living tree with
the children’s
night of the Lord. Youn shall come no
more to forest shades to keep this festival
with unholy rites. Instead, it in your
homes and with kindness and ri-
ty, with joy and song and langhter.” ”’
Thus the pagan oak—hardness of heart—
whose roots were fed with sorrow and
blood, gave place to the First Christmas
Tree, full of never-ending lessons of meroy,
gentleness and love.—H. H. Doyle.
Christmas Fan.
J
aggles—Have you decided on your
makeup for the holiday masquerade ?
Waggles—Yes, I intended to wear the
things my wife bought me for Christmas.
Deacon Goodleigh—Ah,Christmas teaches
everyone a great lesson.”
Mr. Brokeleigh—Yon bet it does! It
teaches ns to begin saving right away for
next Christmas, unless we want to be bank-
rapt again.
“Colonel,” said the fair young grass
widow, “supposing a lady sent you a
of mistletoe on Christmas, and you
meet her just after you had the
box, would you hold the over her
head and olaim the sweet re ”
“" grizzled warrior,
Perhaps, ’
ng over toward the orowd, ‘‘but I'? tre
mighty bard to see her first.”