'fgp
ROM her to him:
If 112 ibA I'm so perplexed,
\ 80 altogether tired
W out and vexed;
a I've tramped
through miles
vyffl//777// ' and mite" and
■V'//////J' mtle9 of store,
I've handled gloves and ties and trash
galore.
The girls are all disposed of—any stuff
That looks expenslve's always good
enough—
But you men, who grow humorous at a tie
And mock us for the poor cigars we buy.
(This wisdom Isn't cribbed from out the
pater's—
For my enlightenment, see comic papers)
You know a smoking cap would make you
mad;
Please, Is there anything you haven't had?
Just mention any trifle you prefer—
What is it that you want for Christmas, sir.
And I will bless you with my latest breath,
Most cordially, your friend,
Elizabeth."
"Dear Girl," he wrote,
"I'm sorry that you're harassed,
Although you've made me frightfully em
barrassed.
Each Christmas of my life I've been so
haunted
By all the awful things I haven't wanted.
I hardly can believe the tale Is true
That I'm at last to have a thing. I do.
In fact, your letter really seems to say,
You are to dictate, I am to obey.
So poor, rash child, no longer 1 demur;
These are the little trifles 1 prefer;
Imprlmus then: Two certain eyes of blue
That tell unbid the hidden thoughts of you;
Second: Your strong, young hands, alert
to lend
Their tender strength to help and hold a
friend;
And third: That laugh of yours that rings
as gay
As happy bells upon a hallday;
And fourth; Your sweetness, tender
ness and truth.
The felory and the gladness of your
youth.
Dear little Madam Santa Claus, a line
To tell me If this present maybe mine.
Oh, child, be generous this Christmas'
day.
And your petitioner will ever pray
The right to sign himself, with sweet
Intent,
Always your grateful, glad
Recipient."
—Theodosia Pickering Garrison, in N. Y.
Life.
NG S?TOOK
1 Auberts were
J S I taking a step up
J. in life. From be-
Hr y passage in a ten
f ement house, free
to fiit by the midnight train to Can
ada whenever fancy dictated, they
were evolving into landowners and
had bought a house. It was a very
little house on the hillside, which
overlooked the village where Jean
Aubert and Delia and Henri worked
in the mills, but two acres of land
went with it, and already the little
Auberts were growing rosy and fat
legged. Hitherto the gates of Para
dise had been effectually closed to
them, and with woods and fields no
more than half a mile away and the
whole street on the other side linsd
with green lawns to tempt their very
eyes, they had never till now kicked
up their heels on grass.
Peeping out of the two street win
dows of the yardless double tenement
house which had been their home, or
playing softly round the doorstep
on hot summer evenings, they had
looked like a family of mice, noiseless,
briglit-eyed and shy. Mamma Aubert
was the mother mouse, a thin, dark
eyed, decent Freneh-Canadian wom
an, seldom seen outdoors, but often
of an afternoon by the window with
a bald-headed baby in her arms and
a rather hectic flush upon her cheeks.
In school the little Auberts wore
perennial high-necked, long-sleeved,
pink calico aprons, and still main
taining their mouse-like manners did
excellent work. The boys were
black-eyed rogues, but like true
Frenchmen took kindly to instruction
in cap-doffing and excuse-me. They
all had a gift for penmanship and
drawing, and Robert Aubert was the
artist of the school.
The year before the horse was
bought the two eldest children had
graduated into the woolen mill, and
Delia's deft fingers earned enough
money to pay her board, clothe her
self tastefully and have a little mar
gin left, which she laid by for furni
ture for the. room which they were
going to call parlor.
There was one shadow on the fam
ily happin ess, und that was the mort
gage; and junt before Christmas this
shadow began to assume alarming
proportions. It had looked easy in
the spring, when they first moved
into the new home, to meet the pay
ment which was due in Detember.
Jean Aubert was carpenter and ma
chinist in one of the factories, and a
steady and capable man, but the proc
ess of evolution is never without a
struggle, and. do the best ha could,
the interest was all lie could pay.
Even for that, what with the cold
coming suddenly on and his uestful
■of young ones being uncommonly
hungry and hard on their clothes
«fter their summer out doors, the
family resources were strained to the
utmost. Delia and Henri contributed
their savings, the parlor that was to
be was shut up, and they t»'l came
down to a pretty strict diit of pud
ding and milk. It was a poor out
look for Christmas, for ahead of them
loomed up more interest and other
payments, besides the continuous
outgo for their living.
"I don't know but I've undertaken
too much," Jean Aubert said, soberly.
"It costs more over here than it did
on the street. If we don't save more
this winter than we have since we
came, we shall have to move back,"
and in the melancholy silence that
followed Mamma Aubert gave up her
chickens and cow, Delia saw her
dream of muslin curtains and an or
gan vanish in air, and the children
suffered that depression of spirits
which is always induced by a verdict
adverse to Christmas.
Fortune has a way of experiment
ing with full cups to see how much
more they can hold after they are
apparently brimming The Auberts
thought they had all the mouths they
could feed and all the cares they
could compass consistent with the
which they were not yet
prepared to relinquish, of owning their
house, when the very next day after
the family council a knock came at
their humble door and Madame Au
bert opened it on an old man, who
asked if Jean Aubert lived there.
"I come to see him from Canada,"
said he.
It was three o'cloek in the after
noon, but Madame Aubert made the
visitor comfortable by the fire. He
was old and poorly dressed, and had
with him a shabby carpetbag.
"You know me?" he asked, as he
took off bis coat and prepared to
make himself at home. "No? Ah,
Jean remember. His father my old
neighbor—frien'—up in Chateau
grand."
Mladame Aubert went about her
work, the little Auberts resumed
their play, the older children came
stamping in from school. The ques
tions they all entertained in respect
ful silence about the stranger who
sat dozing by their fire—Who was he?
Had he come to stay? What should
they do with him?—waited till Jeau
should come.
That evening they all sat up and
listened to the fine old story of the
Itoy Who Went to Seek His Fortune
—or was it the Prodigal Son? It was
told in French, with many gestures
and much dramatic effect and Pierre
Demarest. its hero and narrator, was
assisted by the smiles and tears and
enthusiastic applause of all the Au
berts, from Jean Aubert down.
In the seignory in Canada where
the Auberts lived the Demarests had
been their neighbors. Old Demarest
had been a father to Jean's father,
and Pierre Demarest had been his
dearest friend. But Pierre had chosen
to wander, and while young Aubert
settled and married and became a
"AND NOW I GO AWAY."
farmer on the land adjoining old De
marest's. l'ierre went west and dis
appeared. No word came from him,
and except in Aubert's stories to his
children of the friendship he and
Pierre had had together in the days
when Aubert was a stranger and
Father Demarest had taken him in,
the very memory of Pierre Demarest
seemed to have died. Gone 30 years!
His audience gathered that he had
first drifted beyond the pale of civil
ization in company with a party of
railroad engineers; that he had been
a guide and hunter in the Rocky
mountains; that he had had some ex
perience in mining, and that he had
been to Alaska. He talked of In
dians and bears with a familiarity
that made the Aubert boys' hearts
burn within them. But he dwelt
with most particularity upon his
home-coming,
"I think I see my home before I
die," he said. "I come to Chateau
grand. I tuke my hag and walk down
the road—two miles—to my old home.
No one know me. My father dead,
my mother dead, my brother Selim
say no room for me. lie not care.
He say he think me dead. Why not
me write so many years? My broth
er Leonard live in Chateau-grand. I
;*o to him. I walk back all the way
to his house. lie have big, good
house. lie woman scowl at me—so!
—and say: 'You ole man, you poor,
you come to live on us, you go 'way.'
They give me no supper. I take my
bag and think of my frien' Aubert.
I go again into the country. I come
to my frien' Aubert's house. He dead,
too, but his son just like him. Glad
to see me 'fore he knew me. Give me
supper. When he find out who I am,
lie seize my hand, he laugh, he cry,
he say: 'My father's frien'!' I cry,
too. 1 stay two weeks with him and
his brother on next farm. They very
kind to me. I say: 'Where your
brother Jean? He little boy when I
leave home.' They say: 'He in the
states, hi Harwichtown, New Hamp
shire. He work in mills. l)o well.
Have wife and children.' 1 say: 'I
goto fcCt him. Christmas with
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1900.
him. If he glad to see me.' Not see
my brothers any more. They 'fraid
I cost them money. I not trouble
them."
Jean Aubert grasped the old man's
hand.
"We are truly glad to see you," said
he. "We are not so well off as we
were, because we struggle hard to
buy this house. The little children
want the air. My woman like a cow
and chickens. My girl here, Delia,
want a little room—a parlor —for her
beau». We work hard all together
for the pay. But we see our friends.
If you'll take what we can give you,
you are kindly welcome. Many times
I've heard my father tell how kind
your father was to him. And the
children here will like to hear some
more about your life."
In the days that followed the fam
ily made good Jean's welcome, and
both by word and act caused their
old visitor to feel at home. Their na
tive French politeness, united with
real kindliness of heart, concealed the
inconvenience which his presence
caused them, and in truth, except for
the fact that the family divisor had
already seemed as big as it could
well be, and that it is always a prob
lem how to put 12 persons to sleep in
five beds, Pierre was very little
trouble. He sat for the most part
by the fire, quiet and content. In the
evening when they were all at home
he told stories and talked with Jean
about old times. The children ceased
to be shy before him. Robert fur
tively drew his picture—on a shingle,
as many a brother artist has been
driven by stress of circumstances to
do. He was a man of medium size
and much weather-beaten —a study in
brown, with a keen old face, little
gold rings in his ears, bright eyes,
and small, strong hands. He was old.
but not feeble, he was silent, but not
stupid, and after 'his own fashion
seemed cheerful and at ease. Robert
finished him, and after a moment's
contemplation added a beard, a fur
cap, and trimmed his old coat with
fur; rounded his waist line up a bit
and put on a belt, and then, the fancy
growing, represented him as sur
rounded with various articles suited
to the holiday ambitions of the young
Auberts —for instance, a paint box
and heaps of drawing paper labeled
"Robert," a watch and chain such as
Delia hankered after, and a bicycle
for Henri.
In spite of the quietus Papa Aubert
had put upon Christmas, the children
could not help planning tor some sort
of a celebration. They could at least
have a tree to look at; spruces were
to be had for the cutting on the hill
that overshadowed the village. The
little boys would get one. Uobert
should make a paper angel for the
top. They would color egg shells for
ornaments, and Mamma Aubert prom
ised them a cake and snow ice-cream.
"And we will say," they declared,
and it was a piece of philosophy
worthy of older heads, "we will say,
when the time comes to take off the
presents, that this house is our pres
ent."
What was that? Did old Demarest
chuckle, or merely cough in his sleep?
They thought he was dozing, as, with
six heads in a bunch, they whispered
their plans in the corner on the other
side of the fire. If they only could have
seen what was written inside that
rusty old envelope of a man! Has any
body imagined how it must feel to be
Santa Claus? If it is true that it is
more blessed to give than to receive,
and that, whatever the joys of posses
sion, generosity feels better than
gratitude, St. Nick must be the hap
piest being i.n the universe. And Pierre
Demarest was planning to be the Au
berts' St. Nicholas.
The day before Christmas he but
toned on his coat and trudged over to
the village.
"1 buy same little things for you'
young ones," he said to Mine. Aubert.
That night he took Robert and Delia
into his confidence. Robert was togo
next dia.y and get what, lie had bought
and Delia was to smuggle the parcels
into the house and put them on the
tree.
'Von not tell," he said, impressively;
and then with a twinkle: "1 like to see
what the chil'ren say."
Delia will never forget that Christ
mas. not merely for what happened in
the evening, but for the responsibilities
which beset her during the day. If
they had not a.l gone off to church in
the morning except Robert and herself
and the baby, she never could have
managed it. Robert came home fairly
staggering nude ■ the weight of the
things the old man had bought.
I here are candies, Delia," he pant
ed, aud a lot of those shiny things
from flea forth'* t<» h«nf on the tree,
and I haven't got them all, either. The
team's coming from Brown & TayJor'a
to bring the rest."
"Why," said Delia, "why—l thought
he was poor! He said: 'A few little
tilings to please the children.' Where
sha.l we put tihern all? I know, here
in the parlor, and oh, Robert, bring
the tree in there, and we'll hang up
evergreens, and nobody'll mind if
there isn't any furniture; they'll be
looking at the tree."
At seven o'clock that Christmas
evening the parlor door wasopened and
the Auberts, with mingled feelings of
self-denial and expectancy, were mar
shaled in.
"There are presents!" they gasped.
Where were Robert's angel and the egg
shells? "There are candles! And can
dy! And stars! And shining balls!"
And from-awe-struck surpoise they
mounted by rapid strides into ecstasy,
and from gasping took to shouting.
There were dolls and dishes and a
rocking-horse. There was a paste
board village and a Noah's ark and a
box of blocks. In .bewildered surprise
Robert saw a paint-box and a parcel of
draw ing paper labeled "Robert." Del it*
fairly turned pale at finding that *
small package for her contained a lit.
tie silver watch and chatelaine. Henri
was speechless over an order for a bi
cycle.
"What does this mean?" demanded
Jean Aubert, sternly.
"It means." said Pierre Demarest.
standing before him, "that I not a
poor man. My brothers make one big
mistake. They think me eorne to live
on them- I buy them out if 1 like! They
turn old. poor man—brother—many
years gone—out into the street. Tl.ey
not get any of my money! But frien'
—ol' frien's boys—ol' frien' Aubert's
boys, who know me not. they think of
their father, pity poor old man—kind
to me. take me in, make me at home. I
pay them back! An' you. that was
frien' Aubert's little boy, you glad to
see me, too. I come to try you! You
many chil'ren—good chil'ren, little
house, work hard to pay for it. You
give me what you got, you make me
feel at home. 1 hear the little chil'ren
whisper 'bout their Christmas. They
not look cross at me and wish me go
away. I see what Robert draw —ol'
Santa Claus that look like me an'
what lie bring him. I hear the chil'ren
say this house their Christmas pres
ent. I give it to them! You say the
mortgage thousand dollars. I give
you $2,000. I give you' brothers same.
Because you kind to me. I stranger
and you took me in!" and into Jean's
astonished) hand Pierre thrust a
check for that amazing sum.
"And now I go away," said the old
fellow; "to-night, right now. I stay
two weeks. 1 fin' my frien's. They
know me when I come again—remem-
ber ol' Pierre! You pay your mort
gage. Be happy."
And in spite of their remonstrances,
as if he would not burden them with
having to express their gratitude or
did not care to see them try, he then
and there, before that wonderful
evening was half over, girded on the
old coat, seized' his faded bag and
trudged off manfully in the moon
light, vanishing as suddenly as he
came.
I shall not try to describe the emo
tions that possessed the Aubert fam
ily on that never-to-be-forgotten
Christmas night and during the suc
ceeding week. The older ones walked
in a dream, doubting whether that
precious piece of paper which was to
set them securely on t'he plane of in
dependence might not be worthless,
until word came from New York that
it was genuine and Jean might get
$2,000 for it any day. Which he did—
-2.000 one-dollar bills, and sat up all
night with his wife counting it over
and trying to realize the magnitude
of his good fortune.
"The fact is, sir." he said next daj
when he went to discharge the mort
gage, "my wife and I never saw s6
much money before in all our lives
We wanted to sort of take it in. So
we kept it all by us over night. Put
the rest of it in the bank? Well, no
sir. You see we feel richer to have
the real money right by us. And
maybe we shall use some of it to fix
up the house. My girl, she set on
having some parlor furniture, and- my
wife, she want piazza on the front."
—Kate M. Cone, in Springfield (Mass.)
Republican.
A MEAN MAN,
Gilson—l understand that Gilchrist's
wife has left him.
Willets—ls that so? What, was the
trouble?
(iilson—She asked him what he was
going to give her for a Christmas pres
ent.
Willets— Yes?
(iilson—He said he had decided to let
her get her teeth fixed.—N. Y. Press.
Diiy of TliniikMiflvins..
The deepest note of Christmas is
thanksgiving. The angels saugit* first
Te Deum for all men to learn. And out
Christmas prayer shall be: "(Jive u;
day by day this day's doxology; teac'i
our common lives to sing 'Glory t.i
God.' " —T. 11. Darlow.
Building of an Isthmian
Canal at PA
The French Project in Which the Government Is
Offered a Controlling Interest
SO CLOSELY has the American pulj
lie connected the Panama canal en
terprise with the name of I»e Les
•eps, and so familiar are we with the
circumstances surrounding' the failure
of that great engineer and the scandal
that followed him to his g.rave. that we
are prone to look upon any project con
nected with the Panama venture as a
swindle. When De Lesseps began the
construction of the Panama canal we
dreamed of a grand reality; when he
failed we awoke to find our reality but
»• dream.
But in 1894 a new company took hold
of the work where the De Lessepscom
pany dropped it. Of that new company
we have heard, or seemingly cared, but
little, until now they offer to our gov
ernment a controlling interest in their
project if we will finish it. The first
impression is that they have nothing
but a concession and a vast amount of
worn and antiquated machinery to dis
pose of, but that is wrong; they have
n partially completed canal, a canal
that is nearer completion than we prob
ably realize, and. while it may not be
good policy on the part'of our gov
ernment to buy, it would seem to be
poor policy on the part of the French
company to stop their work at the pres
ent time and lose the hundreds of mil
lions that have been invested so far.
The result may be two canals where
T\l* have so long wished for one.
THE GREAT CULEBRA OUT, 34 MILEB FROM THE ATLANTIC.
At the present time about 4,000 men
are engaged in the work of separating
North and South America at Panama.
Work is being pushed almost entirely
from the Atlantic side, and of the 46'/ 3
miles that it is necessary to cut
through before ships can pass from the
Atlantic to the Pacific oceans 15 miles
are already completed. This channel
completes the tidewater section of the
eanal on the Atlantic side—nearly one
third of the entire cut. It has been
dredged to a depth of nine meters, or
more than 30 feet, and 30 meters wide
at the bottom.
A glance at the accompanying map
ehovvs the route of the canal, and also
•hows the Charges river. The greatest
engineering difficulties encountered
are occasioned by the crossing of this
river in several places. While during
ATLANTIC <
OCtAN M&'s • /
I J
ACIFIC
VS OCEAN
MAP SHOWINQ ROUTE OF THE PANAMA
CANAL.
the greater porlion of the year the
Charges river is but little more than a
brook, there are times when it becomes
a raging torrent. To control this tor
rent of water and store it as a supply
for feeding the canal is the problem
that has taxed the ingenuity of the en
gineers, and yet, now that they have
solved the problem, it seems decidedly
simple.
The Charges river rises in a series of
deep ravines some miles to the north
east of the route of the canal. It is
from these ravines that much of the
water conies which produces the floods.
To stop these floods the engineers have
dammed the mouth of the ravines and
by this meass have formed a lake ca
pable of holding back the greater part
of the water that would carry destruc
tion with it if permitted togo unob
structed and at the same time sup
ply a feeder for the canal.
The Hohio lak* shown in the map is
•inother deep cut through which the
112 iver flows and which will become a
part of the canal as well as a storage
reservoir for tlie water needed to feed
it. This is accomplished by damrying
tlie mouth of tie cut and placing a lock
at the lower en.l.
The difficulties of caring for the
floods in ihe Charges river and provid
ing a watet for the caual over-1
come, the remainder o-f the work re
solves itself into the digging 1 of the big
ditch and the building of the system of
looks that will raise a vessel over the
divide between the two oceans.
/ To accomplish this there will i>e a
system of eight lockages, the first
one in from the Atlantic side being
at the outlet of the Ik>hio lake. The
line of the canal, however, has been
so selected that it will be possible
to make it a tide water channel
whenever conditions warrant the ex
pense. Of the present canal the di
viding reach will be about 21 meter®
above the mean level of the sea.
Towards the work of digging the
great ditch itself great progress has
been made. Not only has the canal
been practically completed from
Colon, on the Atlantic side, to the
Bohio locks, but beyond that a great
amount of work has been done. At
San Pablo, 23 miles from the Atlantic,
the canal is now large and deep
enough to float an ordinary sized ves
sel, and at La Corosita, 2X miles from
the Atlantic, the cut is rapidly Hear
ing completion.
Of the work of excavating the
Culebra cut presented the greatest
difficulties. This cut carries the canal
through the divide between the two
oceans, and is some Ave miles ir»
length. Some idea of the amount of
work that has been done on it may
be had from the accompanying en
graving, which shows the cut as it is
34 miles from the Atlantic. The work
of excavating has been carried to a
point within eight miles of the Pa
cific, while some work has been done
at Panama, the Pacific terminus of
the canal.
From this brief description of the
work that has already been accom
plished it may be seen that the
French company has something more
than a plan to sell to us, even though
it may not be a feasible proposition
for this government to buy. At the
same time, with so much accom
plished it would seem to be almost a
settled fact that the company behind
| the enterprise would push it to final
completion, whether we build anoth
er waterway to connect the two
oceans or not.
[ Of the machinery of which so much
has been said, there are millions of
dollars' worth of antiquated dredges,
excavators and other expensive ma
chines piled in heaps along the route
of the canal just as they were left,
by the De Lesseps company. These
are scarcely worth the expense of
marketing as old metal, but many
of the machines now in use by the
new company are modern, and at
least one-half of them are of Amer
ican build. In a word, the new com
pany has been administered with
economy, and a desire to complete
the work of construction with as lit
tle expense as possible.
WRIGHT A. PATTERSON.
(Intrr Ice llnkliiK.
Water in a shallow pan. in a shel
tered place, will freeze even when the
thermometer is above the freezing
point. This is due to the rapid loss of
heat of the earth after nightfall. In
some hot. countries ice is obtained ire
commercial quantities by setting shal
low earthenware pans of water on
the ground protected from the wind.
—Science.
Incomplete In Hi ruction.
"Here's a sermon on 'How to Bring
Men to Church.' "
"Does it say anything about how to
keep men awake in church after you gel.
them there?"— Chicago Record.
Ilcnnl at the Clult.
Cleverton—How was the dinner last
night ?
Dashaway—Fine, old man. It was
the best dinner 1 ever drank.—Town
Topics.
(Jot Klrli Ouirk.
Sam llernharclt\s long- engagement
in "I,'Aiglon" at her Paris theater,
just closed, is said to have averaged
in receipts $2,100 a performance.
Won't Work lloth
(!ive to a pig when it grunts and a
child when il cries, and you will have
a line pij> anil u bad child.
11