Demorralis fac
Bellefonte, Pa., December 24, 1920.
wanes,
mm——————
CHRISTMAS CAROL,
The earth has grown old with its burden
of care,
But at Christmas it always is young.
The heart of the jewel burns lustrous and
fair,
And its soul full of music breaks forth on
the air,
When the song of the angels is sung.
It is coming, old earth, it is coming to-
night!
On the snowflakes that covered thy sod
The feet of the Christ-Child fall gently
and white,
And the voice of the Christ-Child tells out
That mankind are the children of God.
On the sad, and the lonely, the wretched
and poor,
The voice of the Christ-Child shall fall;
And to every blind wanderer open the door
Of a hope that he dared not dream of be-
fore,
With a sunshine of welcome for all.
The feet of the humblest may walk in the
field
Where the feet of the Holiest have trod,
This, this is the marvel to mortals reveal-
ed
When the silvery trumpets of Christmas
have pealed
That mankind are the children of God.
ee ee lp peer.
THE COMING OF THE CHILD
GUEST.
The room was very cold. Little Jo
drew the scant bedclothes close around
him, and tried not to shiver. His
mother would be coming to him soon,
and he knew it distressed her to see
his body quivering under the light cov-
ering. She spoke of it often. “Jo,”
she would say, “you are cold. In two
or three days I will have some money
and can buy you a nice warm quilt.”
And Jo would answer, “You must buy
something to eat with the money,
mother, and Stella, you say needs
some new shoes. The weather, it will
be warmer soon. The big doctor says
it will.”
Tt was snowing thickly and Jo soon
forgot the cold, watching the big
flakes drifting past the window. They
made him think of tiny, white, bird-
feathers, so pure and light they seem-
ed. He never tired of watching them.
Christmas was two weeks off, and
Jo was hoping that the snow would
not pass from the streets before that
day of days, for in the land from
which he came there was a tradition
that the Christ-Child visited the
homes of the poor on Christmas eve,
and Jo’s mind could not conceive a
Christmas day without snow.
It was not every home to which the
Christ-Child came, Jo knew. One
home only in each city and town was
blessed by His presence. And that
home must be prepared to receive
Him. The family must watch for
Him, the supper must be spread on
the table, and there must be a gift,
however small, for the Child. i
Jo had heard the legend many
times, but never till this year had he
dared to hope that the Christ-Child
would visit him. But now something |
within him seemed to say that on|
Christmas eve he would see the bles- |
sed babe whom the princes of the,
East had come so far to worship on
that starry Judean night. Something
within him seemed to whisper, “Jo,
you must be ready; you must watch.
The Chirst-Child comes only to those
that expect Him.” And Jo resolved
not to sleep, not to close his eyes even,
all Christmas eve, lest the Child
should come to the door and, finding
him asleep, go to some other home.
Jo had been sick a long time. His
poor body ached from lying on the
hard bed so many days and nights.
But he did not complain. He would
soon be well, he said over and over to
his mother. But this assurance of re-
turning health was only the happy
optimism which comes to those on
whom the White Death has already
laid his remorseless hand. Jo would
never be well again in this world.
Elsewhere? Had you put that ques-
tion to the burly doctor who made dai-
ly visits to Jo’s bedside, he would
have laughed cynically. The doctor
was a materialist, and cared not who
knew it. Jo’s sufferings would soon
be over, he knew, not because Jo’s
soul would pass to some elysian place
where suffering could not be, but be-
cause Jo’s body would be at rest in
the grave. That was the doctor's
creed. ;
Jo was still watching the flying
snowflakes when there was a loud rap
at the outer door, and the big doctor
entered.
“Well, my little man, how do you
feel this fine day?” he called cheer- |
ily.
Jo smiled. He liked the doctor. He |
had always feared doctors till he knew
this one. But there was nothing to
fear from Doctor Cummings. His
voice was gruff, it was true, but his
hands were gentle. Even the medi-
cines he left for Jo were pleasant to
the taste.
Today the doctor had a great sur-
prise for Jo. He said, “Jo, you are
going to have a visitor tomorrow. My
sister wants to see you. I have told
her all about you, you know.”
Jo did not know. He did not think
that such busy men as doctors had
time to discuss charity patients with | Him
their sisters. He was vaguely pleas-
ed, and not a little frightened, at the
thought of having a strange lady vis-
it him.
The doctor divined something of
this, and said, “She is a very nice la-
dy, Jo. You will like her. And you
must tell her all about yourself, and
what you think about while you lie
here. Will you do that?”
“Yes sir. I'll—try, try to.”
For the rest of the day Jo thought
of little save the impending visit of
the doctor’s lady. He had promised to
tell her what he thought about, and
he wondered if it would be proper to
tell her about the Christ-Child and
how he hoped to see Him on Christ-
mas Eve. He decided that he would
wait and see what the lady was like.
Maybe she would not want to hear
about such things.
| his Ideal.
i his gauntlets, “we will hope that He
| was it true that He healed their
The next morning there was a gen-
tle knock on the hall door, so gentle
that Jo and his mother waited to hear |
it repeated. It was not the doctor, |
they knew. He rapped noisily, and |
then pushed open the door without |
waiting. This knock was repeated |
and Jo's mother hastened to open the |
door. A lady stepped into the room,
smiling, and put out her hand to Jo's |
mother. Jo knew she was the doctor’s |
sister. But she had such a soft voice! |
Jo loved her at once. She carried a |
large bundle which did not seem to be
at all heavy. Jo wondered what it |
could be that was so big and yet so
light. |
“So this is little Jo,” the lady said, |
coming close to the bed. “I am Doc- |
tor Cummings’ sister, Jo. I have
brought you something to keep you
warm.”
Av eager as Joe was to see what |
was in the bundle, his eyes scarcely |
moved from the lady’s face. Her face |
may have been beautiful, and may not |
have been, to others, but to Jo it was |
the criterion of everything beautiful |
and good.
The lady opened the bundle and Jo |
saw a great padded bedquilt, as soft, |
he thought, as the little white bird- |
feathers that floated down through |
the cold air. It was the color of pink |
roses, with a pale green border, the
grandest quilt he had ever seen. The !
lady spread it over him and asked, !
“Do you like it? Do you think it will |
keep you warm?” :
“I know it will. Are
going to leave it here?”
«It is yours. You may call it a
Christmas present, if you want to. Of |
course, Christmas is not here yet, but
that will not matter, so it keeps you
nice and warm. Now tell me about
yourself. Tell me what you think
about. I always like to know what
sick people say to themselves.”
Jo had no further doubts about the
lady’s interest in the Christ-Child’s
coming, so he told her everything.
When he had finished she asked, “And
what are you going to give Him, Jo?”
“1 don’t know yet. Mother says he’
takes care of little lambs.”
“Yes?” :
“In my country the herders have
long sticks with a hook in the end.
Maybe he would like one.”
“I am sure He would Jo. I know
He would like anything you gave Him.
And have you got the stick for Him
yet?”
“No, ma’am. I—I don’t know if
they have any in this country, and
maybe they cost too much.”
“I am sure we have them here. Will
you let me get one for you?”
Jo hesitated. He had already ac-
cepted the beautiful quilt. He must
not expect too much from the lady.
“T've got some pennies,” he said
finally. |
“Then I'll get the herder’s crook,
and if you like, you may pay for it.
Now teil me about the supper for the
Christ-Child. What are you going to
put on the table for Him?”
“Mother thought she could bake
some cakes, and we can get some ba-
nanas. My uncle keeps a fruit-stand,
you know. Do you think He would |
like bananas?”
“Of course, Jo. He wants anything |
we give Him. It doesn’t matter what
we give, you know, as long as we
give it from the heart. He is just as
glad when you give Him a penny as
He is when a rich man gives Him a
hundred dollars. The little Christ-
Child was very poor himself, and
spent most of his time visiting the
poor people.”
The lady rose. “I will talk with
your mother about the supper, Jo.
And I'll get that herder’s stick at
once, so you can look at ita long .
while before Christmas Eve.”
When the doctor came that after-
noon he said, “So my sister was here,
was she, Jo? And what did you talk
about”
“I told her about the Christ-Child.
1 think He will come here on Christ-
mas Eve.”
“And what makes you think that?”
«I don’t know, but I think I shall
see Him. I—I am almost sure of it.”
The doctor was silent, looking off
through the high window across the
chimneys to the great bridge that
hung in midair in the distance. It al-
ways annoyed him to hear people talk
about the Christ as though He was
some sort of a superior being. What
was the Chirst anyway? A good man,
a mystic, a dreamer, who suffered an
ignominious death because he tried to
upset the philosophical dogmas of his
day. The doctor had met him in his
own time just as mystical and dreamy,
but the world was more tolerant now.
Had the Christ lived today He would
not have become a martyr. Instead
of killing Him, the philosopher would
have ridiculed Him gently and dis-
proved His theories.
“Did He ever come
The doctor started. “No, Jo. The
Christ—" He paused. Skeptic,
though he professed to be, he was
ashamed to shake the boy’s faith in
you really
to your house?”
“It must be because you are rich,”
Jo continued. “They say the Christ-
Child comes only to see poor people.”
The doctor turned curious eyes on
the sick lad, eyes that had lost their
impatience and seemed to hold a great
question.
«I am not rich, Jo, not rich like
some men. Once I was very poor and
could not get enough to eat some-
times. ‘Well,” rising and drawing on
comes to see you. Would it make you
very happy if He came?”
qa would get well if I could see
When the doctor reached his motor
car at the curb he stood for-a moment
kicking at the piled show with a
frown on his broad face. “‘I would
get well if I could see Him,” ” he re-
peated slowly. What if little Jo was
right after all? They called Him the
great Physician, and brought their
sick to Him. One touch of His gar-
ment made them whole. If He healed
their bodies without conscious effort,
souls ?
There had been a time when the
doctor believed in the Christ-Child.
That was long, long ago, when he was
struggling for a bare existence for
himself and his sister Gertrude. Was
it his wealth and prosperity that had
wrought such a change in him? Was
Jo right again? Did the Christ come
only to the poor and to the humble in
spirit? With all his success the doc-
Modern Kriss Kringle.
By Harold Barnes, in the Philadelphia Public Ledger.
Kriss Kringle laughs with a merry glee;
«1711 fool the children this year,” says he;
“They think I am coming with deer and sleigh,
And jingle of bells, in the same old way.
But why should I flounder through cold and snow
And catch influenza, when I can go
With a lightning speed through the nipping air
And while I am here, be almost there.
"Tis time that my reindeer were given a rest,
And my sleigh is old and not at its best;
And the boys and girls—there are millions more
Than there used to be in the days of yore.
I must have more room to carry the toys ;
And must fly like the wind to the girls and boys;
From house to house I must speed with might
To finish my work in a single night.
“But I'll do it,” he says, with a knowing wink,
As he opens his hangar—and what do you think ?
There stands in its shed like a waiting train
The finest brand of an aeroplane.
_ Shining and gleaming and new and spick—
Just made to order by Old St. Nick.
It is roomy and strong and it holds with ease
The thousand and one pretty things that please
The good little children throughout the land,
From the Arctic zone to the coral strand:
Dollies and dishes and buggies and blocks
And pretty tin soldiers and Jacks-in-the-box;
And trumpets and drums and tables and chairs
And fairy-tale stories and big Teddy bears.
There are red sleds and skates, for the snow and the ice,
And mufflers and mittens and everything nice!
With oranges, golden and juicy and sweet,
And the perfume of rcses our noses does greet.
Every inch of this storehouse is filled with the toys
And dainties and gifts for the girls and the boys.
St. Nick rubs his hands and chuckles with glee
As he thinks of the pleasure and joy there will be.
Then he looks at his watch and he looks at the moon,
And he says to himself, “I must start pretty soon.”
So he puts on his headgear, his goggles and coat;
Tucks in his white beard from his breast to his throat,
Then springs to his place in the big aeroplane
As nimbly as though he were twenty again,
He straps himself in very tight and secure,
“In order,” he says, “that I'll be very sure
Not to slip irom my seat and go whirling through space—
For a fall from such heights might disfigure my face.”
He turns on the motor; anon comes the whirr
Of spinning propeller, and then the glad stir
Of the wheels as they move o’er the hard frozen snow.
Now lightly they creep, then more swiftly they go,
Till, spurning the earth in its effort to fly,
The aeroplane rapidly mounts to the sky.
As swift as the eagle, it circles and climbs
The far dizzy heights of the air; and betimes
St. Nicholas guides to the south as he speeds
On his mission of love; for he knows of the needs
And the wishes of all. “There’s no chance to be late,”
He chuckles, then cries out, “Oh, b-o-y, this is great!”
O’er ice-covered fields where the Eskimos ramble,
Where blizzards are born and where polar bears scramble;
O’er bare, frozen tundras, o’er bramble and brake,
O’er mountain and river, o’er forest and lake—
He speeds like the wind, till, his quick journey ending,
“Tis time,” mutters Santa, “that I were descending.”
Then pointing the aeroplane downward, he flies
In large sweeping circles, till, dimly, he spies
The outline of houses appearing in sight.
“And now,” murmurs Santa, ‘“’tis time to alight.”
He knows how to do it-—his skill is the proof,
As he settles with ease on the top of the roof.
He turns off the motor—unbuckles the straps
That keep him secure, then briskly he snaps
The lock from the sterehouse, selects all the things
He marked for the children—then upward he springs
To the top of the chimney with light, airy grace,
And downward he glides to the big fireplace.
The stockings he fills with a genuine joy,
And pours out a blessing on each girl and boy.
Then listening a moment, he turns on his toes
And quick as a flash up the chimney he goes.
He springs to his seat, sets the motor to purring,
Calls out “M-e-r-r-y Christmas!” to any one stirring;
Then off to the next house he speeds on his way—
And so through the night to the break of the day
He scatters behind him full many a treasure
And fills all the hearts of the children with pleasure.
At last with the dawn all his journey is done.
“Ah, ha,” shouts St. Nicholas, “now for some fun!”
“My storehouse is empty, my burden is light—
Just a few fancy stunts with my plane yet tonight!”
So saying, he noses his plane to the sky,
And swiftly and gracefully clambers on high;
Remains in the air for a moment quite brief,
Then suddenly drops like a falling leaf,
But righting himself with a dextrous turn
That any professional one might yearn
To imitate—“Ah,” he remarks with a grin,
“That's glorious; now for a good tail spin!”
He spins him around like a sinking sloop—
He volplanes down and he “loops-the-loop”;
Right side up and then upside down,
High in the air and then skimming the ground.
Then near to the earth you could hear him call,
“Kriss Kringle is here! M-e-r-r-y Christmas to all!”
Then he clambers again to the sky-blue dome
And hurries his aeroplane straight toward home.
tor was not happy. He asked himself
if his mental unrest was due to his
shattered faith, and answered the
question in the negative. How could
faith in a great mistake bring happi-
ness?
The snow ceased falling. Jo was
disappointed when he saw the blue
sky the following morning. He loved
to look up in the unspotted blue, but | we'll have one.
touching the crook timidly. “Maybe
I'll get up in a few days. If I could
sit in a chair when He comes—"
“We'll ask the doctor about that.
Is there anything you want?”
“No, ma'am, only do you think it
will snow some more?”
“Probably. So you want a white
Christmas, do you? I think maybe
It is very cold out-
if it had only snowed a day or two | side.”
longer, there might have been enough
little white bird-feathers on the
ground to last till Christmas.
city. If it was not carted away, it
melted rapidly. However, Christmas |
was still some days off. There might
be more snow.
While Jo was pondering on this
weighty matter he heard a gentle
knock. He turned expectantly as his
mother opened the door,-and then the
soft-voiced lady stood beside the bed
again. She held a long slender pack-
age in her gloved hand.
“Jo, I have brought the herder’s
stick,” she said. “Shall I show it to
you now?”
Jo reached out his hand eagerly and
then withdrew it. If this was his
present for the Christ-Child ought he
to touch it?
“Please,” he said, “will you let me
see it?”
The doctor's sister unwrapped the
many foldings of paper, and Jo saw
the evolution of the most wonderful
shepherd’s crook in the world. It was
as tall as the tall lady herself, with
the most beautiful curve in the end.
It was the color of gold, and tied
around the middle was a great bow of
ribbon, as white and soft as the little
white bird-feathers that entranced Jo
as they floated through the air.
“Take it, Jo, dear. It is yours. You
must look after it till Christmas Eve.
Then we will stand it by the door
where He will see it. And how are
you feeling today?”
“Better, ma'am,” Jo answered,
He
knew how snow disappeared in the big |
For many days Jo forgot his ach-
ing body. He almost forgot to watch
the sky for signs of snow, so wonder-
fully interested was he in the beauti-
ful herder’s stick. It lay beside him
night and day on the soft pink quilt,
while he gazed on it with awesome
eyes. His mother, too, often came to
look at it, and touch it now and then
with reverent fingers. Whatever she
may have thought of the Christ-Child
legend, the crook seemed to be visual
evidence that the Blessed Baby did
visit the homes of the poor. For who
else would be entitled to such a beau-
tiful shepherd’s staff?
Day by day Jo grew weaker, but he
never lost confidence. “I’ll be better
in a few days,” he said continually to
his mother. “No, I am not strong to-
day, but tomorrow, or the next day,
maybe, I can sit up.”
Doctor Cummings on his daily vis-
its talked as cheerfully and boister-
ously as ever with little Jo, but when
he left the room his brows drew to-
gether in a frown, and he shook his
head. One morning he said to his sis-
ter at the breakfast table, “Our little
Jo—"" and then he paused.
“Jo?” Gertrude asked quickly, look-
ing into his face. “Oh, not that—not
that! Morton, with all your skill,
can’t you—can’t you just tide him
along for a few days more?”
“I can’t understand you, Gertrude,”
the doctor said a little testily. “If
your philosophy is right, isn't it bet-
ter for him to die now? If death is
oblivion, than, perhaps it is worth our
while to struggle on as long as we
TS A RA A SRR A
a glorious transformation, why delay
it?’
“But, Morton dear!” Suddenly she
realized the futility of argument, and
turned to her plate with troubled face.
The doctor detected unshed tears
glistening under the lowered lids.
.~ “T’ll do my level best, sis,” he said
with forced gruffness. “Let me see—
four days to Christmas Eve. I'll have
to resort to artificial methods. If you
think it best—"
“Please, Morton, unless—you think
it would be cruel. But I cannot think
it would be that.”
“My level best, sis,” the doctor re-
peated. “I suppose you'll be there 22
“Certainly. Will you come with
ime?”
“As certainly not,” said the prac-
titioner shortly.
The day before Christmas dark
clouds gathered over the city, and
' when Jo woke the following morning
‘the air was white with little fluffy
| bird-feathers. Jo was transported. It
would snow all day surely, and the
' ground would be hidden under its
"white covering. The doctor came in
. just before noon and stayed longer
‘than usual. For the first time he gave
Jo bitter medicine, but Jo was too ex-
travagantly happy to heed it long.
“Take things easy, little man,” the
doctor cautioned.
and feverish. You must rest quietly
all day if you want to see the Christ-
Child tonight. You didn’t sleep much,
did you?”
“No doctor. I couldn’t sleep. I was
listening to it snowing.”
“And could you hear the snowflakes
patter down?” the doctor laughed.
.~ “Qh, yes,” Jo answered gravely. “It
sounded like rain, only it was not
nearly so loud. It was like this,” and
"he drew his hand lightly over the pink
‘silk quilt, making a soft seething
i sound almost inaudible to the doctor’s
trained ear.
“Humph!” said the doctor, “You
have most remarkable ears, young-
‘ ster. And what are you going to have
"on the supper table tonight 7”
i “I don’t know. Miss Cummings
“said I musn’t ask.”
“Humph!” said the doctor again.
At nine o'clock that evening Miss
Cummings tapped at Jo’s hall door
‘and was admitted quickly. This time
she removed her hat and coat and laid
aside her muff as if she intended to
i remain some hours.
| “Jo dear,” she said we are going to
. bring the table in here. Then you can
| look at it all the time.” She opened
| a suit-case and took from it many
i bundles wrapped in colored tissue pa-
| per. One by one she undid the pack-
i ages and arranged their contents on
| the table, while Jo and his mother and
| Stella looked on in silent wonderment.
| She had just completed her task when
{ there was a hearty wrap on the outer
| door and in an instant later Dr. Cum-
mings strode into the room. Gertrude
| turned in surprise.
“You, Morton!” she exclaimed. “1
i am glad.” ;
“Humph! 1 promised to spin out
the thread, didn’t 1?” her brother ask-
ted truculently. Gertrude said noth-
| ing. She understood her brother
| quite well. :
“And what is this?” Cummings de-
t manded reaching for her hand.
| “Sh!” Gertrude whispered.
: watch for Jo.”
It’s a
“And what do you suppose he isi
i
' going to do with that?”
|” “Don’t Mortin. I simply had to
| give him something.”
i The doctor turned his attention to
the table. It was not exactly what he
had expected to see. Gertrude always
did things on a grand scale, but the
table looked meager to him. Had he
known the attention and thought his
sister had given to the furnishing of
that table, he would have realized that
the seeming meagerness was not due
to negligence. Gertrude’s judgment
was unerring. At first she had plan-
ned to load the table with all the del-
icacies and delights of the holiday sea-
son. Then she had reconsidered. The
Christ-Child was coming to a humble
home. Was a richly laden board in
keeping with such an occasion? A
crust and a cup of cold water—that
was all the Master had asked for in
his own day.
So she had curtailed her plans.
There was a small white frosted cake
in the center of the table, surrounded
by little red candles. Outside the cir-
cle of lights was strewn a few holly
leaves, with sprays of red and white
berries; a few olives and figs, which,
Miss Cummings explained to Jo, were
what the Christ-Child had eaten in his
own country so many years ago; and
lastly a little loaf of bread, a jar of
honey and a jug of water.
When the doctor grasped the sym-
bolic meaning of it all, he nodded his
head approvingly. He turned to watch
Jo, and suddenly rose and picked up
the boy’s hand. Jo roused and looked
up at him wonderingly. “Is it still
snowing ?” he asked.
“Still snowing, little man.”
“And it is almost time for the
Christ-Child to come?” .
“Almost time. See Jo, the table is
ready, and here is the herder’s crook.
Sis, put that pillow under him. He
can’t see the top of the table.”
Propped up higher, Jo feasted his
eyes for a minute on the table and let
his hand fall lovingly on the gilded
crook. His eyes sparkled with excite-
ment, but soon dulled. He looked up
at Miss Cummings.
“Do you think I will see him soon?”
Miss Cummings looked across at her
brother. The latter nodded.
“Yes, Jo dear. You will see him
very, very soon. Are you happy, lit-
tle Jo?”
“Yes, ma'am. I'll begin to get well
soon.”
He turned his head once more to
look toward the table. Slowly the
tired lids descended, a smile spread
over the wan face, and the head nes-
tled back on the pillow. For a mo-
ment there was absolute silence.
Miss Cummings reached out and
took the woman’s hand. The woman
turned her eyes suddenly to the bed
and began to cry softly.
“Jo didn’t see Him,” she sobbed.
The doctor scraped back his chair
and placed a hand on the woman’s
shoulder.
“There, there, mother,”
“Little Jo is all well again.
he would be well soon.”
«But He didn’t come,” the woman
moaned.
he said.
He said
may. But if death, as you believe, is
“You are excited |
“Qh, yes, He did. He came and
took Jo away with him. Jo has seen
| the little Christ-Child.”—Advocate
‘and Family Guardian.
|
|THE CHRISTMAS AND NEW
| YEAR'S GOOSE.
y er
+ The goose has the right of way for
| the New Year’s feast, where it is us-
ually garnished with onions, roast rai-
sins and parsley. Hot orange juice is
poured over it just before taking to
the table.
The secret of success with this fowl
lies both in its selection and prepara-
tion. The goose is at its best at this
season, later becoming insipid. Choose
one having a yellow bill, the red being
a sign of age. See that the breast-
bone will easily bend beneath the pres-
sure of the finger, that the fat is
white and soft and the wings tender.
Keep for some days before cooking.
If possible freeze after it has been
singed and cleaned, then thaw when
ready to stuff. Rub well with alcohol
and singe over a blaze. Wash with
hot soda water and scrub with a brush
in order to remove both dirt and oil.
Rinse inside, with the brush in cold
water, and dry with a cloth. Flatten
the breast-bone, rub inside and out
with a mixture cf salt, pepper, sage,
sweet marjorim and thyme.
Steam until all the superfluous oil
has been extracted. (A steamer may
be improvised from a wash-boiler).
Then remove from the steamer, wipe
dry, dredge with flour, stuff, and with
a coarse needle and thread, sew up the
slit made for cleaning and introducing
the stuffing; roast, like a turkey,
dredging and basting. A full-grown
goose requires to be cooked about one
and three-quarter hours, but you will
make no mistake if you allow twenty
minutes for each pound.
Any of the following dressings will
prove toothsome and each housewife
ey select the one which appeals to
er:
Boil three white potatoes, skin and
mash them; chop three onions very
fine, throw them into cold water; stir
into the potatoes a spoonful of butter,
some salt and pepper, a tablespoonful
of finely rubbed sage leaves; drain off
the onion and mix with the potato,
sage and other ingredients. Mix this
well and stuff the fowl with it.
A choice dressing is made as fol-
lows: Take equal quantities of bread
crumbs and mashed potatoes, season
with butter, onion and herbs, salt and
pepper, add two chopped hard-boiled
eggs, two tablespoonfuls of minced
walnuts and bind with the yolk of an
egg.
The German housewives fill
goose with
bake.
The following French chestnut stuf-
fing is proverbial: Three pints of
Italian chestnuts, boiled till tender,
then peeled and mixed smooth with
two tablespoonfuls of butter, some
parsley, shallots, pepper and herbs.
| Cover with stock and cook till thick;
mix with a cupful of raisins and use.
Chestnuts and prunes, seasoned
with cinnamon and mixed with rice,
| furnish another pleasing combination.
| The best gravy to serve with roast
: goose is one in which the giblets are
i used. Boil until tender, chop fine. and
! return to their liquor, season with salt
‘and pepper, thicken with flour and
| serve hot.
An old-fashioned white sauce for
goose is made by putting some scrags
of mutton or veal in a saucepan with
two blades of mace, several black
peppercorns, an anchovy, a head of
celery, a bunch of sweet herbs and a
thick slice of lemon. Cover with a
quart of water and let boil until re-
duced to half a pint; strain and thick-
en with four teaspoonfuls of flour,
boil five minutes, add two spoonfuls
of pickled mushrooms; mix the yolks
of three eggs with half a pint of thick
cream and a little nutmeg, put in the
sauce, and shake over the fire, but do
not let it boil. This is very nice.
—
the
sliced tart apples and
nif A n—
Concerning Mistletoe.
The mistletoe was a sign of hospi-
tality and good fellowship.
In later times it was gathered in
with some ceremony by the servants
of the lord of the manor for prominent
place in the decorations of the great
hall for the Christmas feast, and, with
holly and other greenery, was left
hanging until Twelfth Night. These
decorations, to avert ill-luck, were
never thrown away when taken down,
but removed with great care and
burned.
Numerous curious and ridiculous
superstitions as to methods of pre-
venting disease were believed in years
ago, and are not altogether extinct
even today, it is said. Much ancient
faith clustered about the mandrake
root, which was carved in the form of
a doll, dressed in fine clothes, and
kept in a box or coffin concealed in
some corner of the house. Each
month it was washed in wine and
water and freshly garbed.
Another universal cure was to carry
a piece of mistletoe which had been
cut from a tree by a golden sickle and
caught in a white vessel as it ran.
Shakespeare referred to the plant
as the mischievous mistletoe. But let
us rather quote Sir Walter Scott, who
wrote:
“Forth to the woods did merry men go
To gather in the mistletoe.”
Pecks of Diamonds.
During the year 1919 South Africa
exported 1124 pounds of diamonds.
This quantity represented just about
125 quarts.
This vast quantity of precious stones
reduced to terms of bushels would
equal a trifle less than four, or what
would be two ordinary grain bags full
of them. Naturally the stones includ-
ed a great number of very large ones
as well as many medium sized and
small ones.
Ol pein
He Almost Believed—
«Sometimes I almost think that girl
intends to be really rude and discour-
aging.”
“What now ?” .
“Why, I met her out walking, and
asked if I might see her home, and she
said, ‘Certainly, any one passing
along our street may—or you can go
up to the roof of this office building
and see it without having to go any
nearer.’ ”