ONE NEW YEAR'S RESOLVE. BECAUSE SHE KEPT IT, ONE WOMAN'S LIFE WAs MADE MISLRABLE. 'LL never make another New —J Year's resolve as long as I live," /nlTsriK si K ilP;l Hie hostess. 11l Jill l/l "H'tn! Suppose you failed to VI keep yours;" replied the guest. "l'shaw; if you had, you'd have been wearing wings instead of furs and a halo rather than a picture hat." "I kept mine, but it gave me a -lot of trouble. You see, it was the first New Year's since my marriage, and 1 felt it necessary to turn over a very white new leaf, so I resolved—" "Never to tell another fib? Then I hope Anne did not ask you if her new gown was becoming." "I did not—neither did she. If she had, I would have at least told her that it was more becoming than the last one. I re solved to give up society and devote my time to charity. It is really so difficult to induce Arthur togo anywhere that 1—" "Might as well have the credit of giv ing it up voluntarily. Still, if you cried each time that he refused, he would bring you candy and flowers, and—" "And spend so much money on them that I'd have to give up a hat or two, besides having my complexion spoiled by the candy." "Not to mention the doctor's bill, if it made you ill. See?" "Nor the fact that I'd have to take the medicine! No, 1 resolved to devote myself •• 1 SENT A BOY FOR A CAB." to good deeds —I always did like giving ad vice." "Was Arthur delighted?" "I suppose so. lie was reading his paper when 1 told him. It is queer, but that ab sorbs him as much as curling my hair ab sorbs me." "lien are so queer. Did you really keep your resolve?" "M'iim; I gave a silk waist that came from Paris to a woman with three starv ing children and even showed her how to make it tit her. Then I went to see a blind woman who lived in an alley, and took her a bunch of roses and a lovely em broidered doiley. And there was Klaine, who never did a thing for anybody; I told her she ought to be ashamed, when I was devoting myself to the poor." "And was she?" "No. She remarked that I was wearing • new fur boa, and that I was evidently not depriving myself of imported hats. I told her that I had to set the poor a good example in neatness." "True. Hut —" "Yes. It was raining when I came away from the blind woman's, and I sent her grandson for a cab. He never returned, and I found that my watch was gone, too. When I told Arthur, he—" "Yes, goon!" "He said that charity not only covered a multitude of sins, but a good many dol lars as well. Well, I caught a cold that day and was sick for a week. The cook promptly left, and in boiling two eggs and making some undrinkable coffee Arthur burned his hand, scorched his coat sleeve and broke two cups. He blamed that all on charity." "Of course." "M'hm. Then, we had to buy a good many tickets for charitable entertainments, and all my poor people got out of work and said they'd rather have money than advice, so Arthur—" "Complained? How like—" "Yes. Finally Mrs. Swellstyle decided to give a colonial bazar, and asked me to help. The costumes were to be rather expensive, but the proceeds were to do great good in buying photographic copies of good pic tures on which the starving poor could feed their hunger for beauty. I consented to help, but—" "Arthur?" "He said that if I continued my charitable deeds we would soon be objects of charity ourselves. He hasn't refused togo any where with me since, but if you will believe it, Klaine, is telling everybody that my good resolve was only a scheme to bring about that result!" ELISA ARMSTRONG BENGOUGH. THE TURNING OF A LEAF. MR. SIMPLETON TURNED IT, BUT DIDN'T KEEP IT TURNED. # NOTICE that to-day is the first of January," remarked Mr. Wim pleton, as he unfolded the break last napkin. "The day has set me to thinking that I had better revive my boyhood's habit and make the resolve to turn over a new leaf. In the past, I—" "Now, you are not going to resolve to help the poor by giving away all your sec ond-best clothes, are you?" said his wife, apprehensively. "You did that once, I re member, and had to shovel the snow off the front pavement in your best suit." "I have done nothing of the kind," has tily replied her liege. "The fact is that I have not been as kind a husband in the past as 1 might have been, and —" "Oh, I guess you've been as good as the average," responded his wife, calmly. "No, I have not, my dear, that is merely your gentle, wifely way of putting it. I know that 1 have often displayed great temper when the provocation was slight, but in future you shall have no cause for complaint." "\\ ell, of course, you were very unpleas ant about those bills, Nathaniel I thought at the time that you never behaved in that way before we were married, and—" "Displayed some temper, did I? No won der. An angel on a tombstone would have displayed temper over sue i extravagance as that. Did you expect me to remain as quiet as a—as a gingerbread baby while I was robbed by a lot of—However, in future 1 shall do it, since you are so anxious." \ou are sure that you are not ill, are you, dear? '1 he doctor said —" Never better in my life. I have merely seen the error of my ways and resolved to mend them in time. When 1 think of the terrible liis of anger to which I have some times given way, I—" Well, 1 was afraid that the last cook would make trouble because of the things you said to her about the biscuits, still—" Ihe things I said, eh? Let me tell you, Sarah W impleton, that many a man would have deserted his wife for less than that. If I did make a few slight remarks I was fully justified, I can tell you. However, it shall never happen again." "1 am glad to hear it, dear. Now that I think of it, I feel very badly over your quar rel with the people next door, and your feud with the iceman, and the things you said about the cigars I bought you at Christ mas were—but what is the matter?" "The matter is this, madam; I shall not remain here to be insulted. I am the most patient and long-suffering of men, but even I will not stand this. I shall be at home late this evening, if you send me a note of apology in the interval for this unpro voked attack upon me!" The banging of the front door put an impressive period to the sentence. "And all," said Mrs. Wimpleton, shaking her head at the clock, "all because he had decided to turn over a new leaf on New Year's day!" OreftlnK to the Kew Yenr. Hail, glad New Year! We do not ask Our woes you should disperse. We merely urge this simple task— I'ray do not make them worse. —Chicago Record. The Simple Pact. Stuyvesant—Going to turn over a new leaf, New Year's day, old man? Schermerhorn-—No, going to turn over the same old leaf.—Brooklyn Eagle. CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 26, 1901. SOME NEW YEAR THOUGHTS. THE PAST IS MERELY THE EXPRESSION OP THE LIVING PRESENT. OMMEMORATION of the be ginning of the year is senti nienla'> purely, since the first V 1 i)l / ) J»nuary makes no special \U//Wy epoch in history, nor is it the anniversary of the birth or death of any hero. It is not set apart for the performance of any specific duties, nor the teaching of any particular lesson; yet New 'Year is observed, quietly it is true, and without any ceremonial, in ail parts of the United States. In looking for the beginning of this prac tice, one must go into the prehistoric past, for New Year is the most ancient of all thi days which men have set apart for special distinction. In the former days, though, it began with the advent of spring, when the buds and leaves began to open and the voices of the song birds were heard again. The Latins, from whom came the months now used, celebrated their New Year as the nations older than they had done, in March. This explains why December, meaning "tenth" month, should be twelfth in our calendar. The day, then, neither a festival nor a fast; not one to keep alive the fires of pa triotism, as the Fourth of July, or to bear in remembrance, as Christmas, the sublime life of a Christ, is, nevertheless, universally observed, because at one time it did stand for a most beautiful sentiment —the revivi fying of nature. It barbingered the banish ment of cold and of the sterile winter; it gave assurance of a harvest for man, who could see in the bursting of the seeds au tumn days of fullness. Thus was it with the Chaldean, oldest of the civilized peoples, whence came Abra ham, the founder of the Jewish nation. They were as puzzled as moderns are over the mystery •of death, and that greater mystery, life. Of the generative principle they made a god and worshiped it. The presence of their god was felt, seen, as they taught, in the new garb put on by the trees, in the tiny spears of green grass which peeped through the sere blades of the pre vious year, and in the many-colored little flowers that nestled confidingly beside the grass-blades. They knew their god lived and was pleased with his people. They broke forth into re joicing which lasted many days. There was worship in the temples and the groves, and infinite gladness everywhere. Through cen tury after century this religious and fes tival observance was had, and the remains of it are seen to-day in the chief holy day of the great Catholic church during the vernal season, although now held in com memoration of a grander and more glorious event. The New Year observance, then, is the survival of a day beyond the period of its effective use. Once a sublime object les son, it remains solely as a record of the beginning of a new year, arbitrarily fixed by man. Its position is a peculiar one. It is neither the beginning of any one of the four seasons, nor the end of any one of them. It is not the commencement, necessarily, of a week, even. It does but assert for man that by his choice of compu tation a New Year has begun. Yet, as to the ancient, so t6 the modern, New Year teaches, after all, the same les son. It tells that the old year is dead,and the New Year is born. It declares the mortal ity of all things, and it proves that the mortal shall put on immortality. It teaches the higher lesson that out of death comes life; that the dying year does but make way for the living year, and that the chasm is invisible between the dying and the dead. A single tick, just one tick of the clock, and in the minute interval the Old Year was and the New Year is, and from this lesson one may learn that the sum of all the lives that have been is but the expression of the lives that are, just as the result of all the years that have been is found in the New Year just begun. WILLIAM ROSSER COBRB. CAVT I»0 ANYTHING ELSE. "Mamie," asked Mrs. Benham, "why do so many men reform and give up their bad habits at New Year's?" "Because," interrupted Mr. Benham, "they can't help themselves. They're 'broke' after Christmas. 111 M Roar, MeGorry (carpingly)—Thim makers av al manacs hov got us be dhe t'roats, bedad! Mrs. MeGorry—How d'yez make thot out? MeGorry--Make ut out? Here, now: We hov cowld weather New Year's, phvvin we don't nade ut; an' do dhey give us aven a brith av frost on dhe Fourt' av July, phwin our tongues are hangin' out wid dhe heat? Not so's yez cud notice ut, bedad! Judge. Not a Procrimllnator. "I shall not wait till New Year's to turn over a new leaf," said young ifoopler. "My grandmother sent me a Bible for a Christ mas present, and I shrewdly suspect that the dear old lac}y has hidden a few bank notes in it."—Judge. Go Slo^r, Make new resolves mildly, or else, I protest. When the time comes to keep then) you'll run short of zest. —Chicago Record. Itnther DlMCotirnß'lnK. Maude—Did Daisy Freshlight give young Slowboy any encouragement at the New Year's ball? Clara—No, I think not. She asked him to marrjr her, that's all.—Chicago Daily News. Shonld lie Perfectly Happy. "I don't see why Long Jim Jones shouldn't be happy this New Year's day," said the Georgia native. "He's got six fiddles, ten children, an' a moonshine 'still' that ain't never been spotted by the government."— Atlanta (Ga.) Constitution. THE DYING YEAR. Now the year ts sinking slowly, Sinking to Its last long .sleep, And the passing hours seem holy, While we turn aside and weep. Like a frier.d about to leave us. Very precious still it seems; All too honest to deceive us. Though made up of transient dreams. Yet those dreams are Interwoven With the fabric of our souls. And In passing they have proven Life is real as it unrolls. O the year of tears and laughter, Shade and sunshine, calm and storm. Passing on, while we come after Vainly searching for'lts form. Still that form, so feeble, lingers Like a pilgrim by the sea. And It points with trembling fingers Toward the unsolved mystery. O how lovely in Its dying Is the year so gray and old, While the wintry winds are sighing O'er a new grave lr. the mold. By that grave with open portal, Thoughtfully we stand and wait Till the old year, like a mortal, Sinks beneath the walls of fate. From that grave we come rejoicing At the breaking of the morn; In these words our gladness voicing: "Lo! another year is born!" —G. W. Crofts, In Chicago Inter Ocean. THE UNEXPECTED By MARY A. SAWYER. Dear me!" Mrs. Hamilton rose swiftly from her seat at the sewing-machine and hurried into the hall to answer the telephone bell. A few moments later she came back and resumed her work. "Dear me!" she said, again. "It is so vexatious, when I told him this morn ing that we had plenty of cold meat. Partridges are dear now, too, for they are out of season. And I did want to get this dress of Gracie's done before dark." She stitched for a few moments long er. Then gathering up her work she folded it away in her large work bas ket. "If I am to cook partridges for sup per, I must have a coal fire. So,"glanc ing at the clock, "I must get it tinder way at once. William is always punc tual when he is bringing home any thing he especially likes for his' sup per." She reproached herself for this re mark almost instantly. "Of course he likes a variety; why shouldn't he have it when he works hard to supply all our need? He grudges me nothing— why should I be vexed over this little extra cooking?" Her annoyance was but temporary, therefore, and when she heard her husband's step in the hall she ran to the foot of the stairs and called to him cheerfully: "Bring your partridges down here, William. I'm all ready for them, and the fire is burning splendidly." Receiving no reply she went back into the kitchen. He had not heard her, but he would be tfown directly, she said to herself. She went into the dining-room and turned the gas higher. He might corr.e through it, and it would not do for him -to stumble against the table. A few moments later her husband joined her. His voice was cold. "Why are you down here?" he said, In a displeased tone. "I wanted to be all read 3* for your partridges. Where are they?" "My partridges? What do you mean? When did I say anything about par tridges?" "Not two hours ago. You ca'.led me up, and said you would bring home partridges for supper. And so I came down to have everything in readiness. They can't be cooked in a moment." "You will not be troubled by them to night. 1 said nothing about par tridges." "You certainly did." "You are mistaken." "I heard you distinctly. You said—" "I said 1 intended to bring home Fartridge, George Partridge. And I must say I expected to find you up stairs instead of pottering around down here." "You must explain my mistake to him. He is a sensible man. He will un derstand why I was not there to re ceive him." Mr. Hamilton's face relaxed a little. "Partridges! Partridges! I can't think how you could confound the two!" he said. "I thought I understood you, but never mind now. You must go back up stairs at once. Send the children down in a few moments, please. I'm afraid they are not quite tidy." "Tidy!" in a voice which brought a swift color into his wife's cheeks—• "tidy! Well," moving toward the door, "I'll send them down and you must get off that calico dress." "I'll change it before I see him. Go up and stay with him, do! I must al ter the table and get up a different meal altogether.'' "It seems as if a man never could bring home his friends and find things as they ought to be," muttered Mr. Hamilton, leaving the room in evident ill-temper. At the close oft he evening, after the departure of the guest.it became plain to Mrs. Hamilton that his displeasure had not been materially lessened by the appetizing supper she had pre pared, nor oy tne pains she had taken with her own personal appearance. He stopped suddenly before her, after pacing up and down the room. "When I bring home a man like Partridge, a man of brains and educa tion, it is strange .you can't appear as if you knew what he was talking about: If you don't know anything about his tory, for pity's sake, need you say so? I'd read until I did know something if I were in your place!'" The tone, the words seemed brutal to Mrs. Hamilton. Sb« controlled her self by a great effort. "I would like to read. I would like to be a thoroughly well-read woman. But with the house and the children and the sewing and the cooking, I really cannot get the time." "Fudge! Nonsense! Where there is a will, there is a way." "Not always." Mr. Hamilton resumed his restless pacing of the room. "I'd find time to know something about my own coun try, I guess!" he declared. Mrs. Hamilton left the room quietly. There was still an hour's work to be done downstairs, she said. "Fudge! Nonsense!" retorted her husband. A few evenings later Mr. Hamilton came home to his supper at the usual hour. He opened the door with his latchkey and found himself in an un lighted hall. "Clara!" he called. "Yes. What is it?" "The gas isn't lighted, and the hallis as dark as a pocket!" No response came from the sewing room at the end of the hall, from which a faint stream of light issued. Stum bling toward it Mr. Hamilton uttered an exclamation of surprise as he pushed tliedooropen. In the one large easy chair sat his wife. Upon the ta ble beside her was a shaded lamp. In her hand was a large book, and upon its pages her eyes were fixed. She did not look up when he entered the room and walked up to the table. After a moment's stealthy scrutiny of her face he turned away. He went back into the hall and struck a match noisily, and lighted the gas. Then, fceli-g his way, he went downstairs. Instead of the bright, cheerful dining room, with the table attractively spread for the evening meal, he found darkness. littering a purposely loud exclama tion of disgust, he went into the kitch en. Here, too, was darkness. Strik ing several matches, he at last succeed ed in reaching the gas. He rubbed his eyes when the strong light filled the room. In the sink were the breakfast dishes, unwashed; on the tables were plates of broken food; on the stove were the unwashed kettles and pans. Mr. Hamilton strode through the cold room and called to his wife. "Clara! What has happened down here? Has the range given out? Where is supper?" No reply came. He hurried upstairs, breathing heavily. "Clara, what's the matter?" Mrs. Hamilton turned a page and read with absorbed attention. "Clara!" shouted her husband from the doorway. She looked at him for a moment. "Not so loud, please!" she said, re turning to her book. "What's the matter? Clara, I say, what has happened to the range?" Mrs. Hamilton turned another page. A sudden fear seized upon her hus band. Insanity! She had lost her senses! He stole softly across the carpet and grasped the book she held. "Don't!" she said. "Pray go away. You are interrupting me." "Clara! Are you sick, or are you crazy?" "Sick? No. Go away. do. lam so interested." Her tone was natural. Mr. Hamilton discarded his momentary theory of in sanity. His voice became more impera tive. "It is supper time! Where are the children? Where is the supper? Clara," loudly, "where is the supper?" Mrs. Hamilton partially closed her book and looked at him. "The supper? You said the supper?" "I did!" "Well," yawning, "I suppose it is getting late, but I must finish this book. 1 don't care about food, but Ido want to know who succeeded to the throne after —" "The throne be hanged!" interrupt ed Mr. Hamilton. "Where are the chil dren?" "The children? Let me see. Oh, I remember! You'll find them at your sister's. I—" "At Helen's? Why in time did you send them there?" Mrs. Hamilton resumed her reading. "Four days for housekeeping, two for my reading," she said, quietly. Mr. Hamilton stared at her for a moment. Then he burst into a hearty laugh. "I see! I understand!" hesaid. He left the room still laughing. He whisked as he went down to the kitchen. In a few moments his wife joined him. "I'll see to things down here, while you go for the children," she said; "but, William, before you go, tell me this: Is it possible for a woman to keep up her education while she is do ing housework, mending, sewing, re ceiving callers and making calls, etc.?" "I was a brute that night, Clara. You know more than most women do." "No," sadly, "I have not kept up as I should. But I mean to, William. The children must wear plainer clothing, and so must their mother, for their mother must not be an ignoramus." "And their father must not require such a vast amount of cooking as he has in the past. He must be content with simpler meals." "The cooking is more important than the frills, the latest sleeves, etc. The time for reading must be taken from the unimportant matters." Mr. Hamilton thought with a keen Regret of the work he had so often Thoughtlessly made for the patient woman who stood beside him. He stooped and kissed her with a tender ness that brought quick tears to her eyes. "Two heads are better than one. We'll talk it over by and by. In the meantime, help me to begin the New Year well by giving me bread anfl milk to-night. The children will like it, and so will their father." Mr. Hamilton went after the chil dren presently. As he passed a church he saw a multitude of people entering it. "The Old Year out —the New Year in!" he thought. He walked on with new purpose# forming in his mind. The New Y r ear should be different from the Old— there should be more time found for the enjoyment of life. Things should be made easier for his wife; they would make life higher and holier. It should be a New Year —a year of love to God and love toman. He spoke of these thoughts, that were stirring him so strangely, that evening. He was alone with his wife. She listened with sympathetic inter est. She said little, but her few words satisfied and cheered him. He arose and stood by the window when the clocks rang out the year. Soon the worshipers in the churches filled the streets. Something of the solemnity of the hour passed from them to him. He looked up into the deep mysterious realm of starry space, and a strange new sense of companion ship came to him. He found himself repeating words long half-forgotten: "If I ascend up into Heaven, Thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall Thy hand lead me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from Thee. The Lord is thy keeper." Presently the sound of footsteps in the street died away. All was still again. "The Old Year out! The New Year in!" he said. "Thank God for the de sire to make it a better year!" His heart was full as he turned away from the window. The vision of the past grieved him sorely, but again he was comforted. "The Lord is thy keeper. lie that keep eth thee wiii not slumber."—Zion's Herald. HANDSEL MONDAY. "Gift" Day Im t'nlverNally Crlehrntcil by Peasantry at Great Britain. The first Monday of the New Year is universally celebrated by the peas-/ antry and trade people of Scotland, of parts of Ireland and of the north of England, as Handsel, or "gift," - Monday, says the New York Trib une. On this day tips or small gifts were expected by servants, as well as by the postman, the deliverers of the newspaper, the scavenger and all persons who waited upon the house. The word "handsel" is an old Saxon word which means "to deliver into the hand." It refers to the first sale of the New Year or of the day, as well as to the first gift of the New Year. In some parts of Ireland and Scotland there is considerable merry contention in putting off all pay ments, however trivial, that come on this day until the next, it being con sidered unlucky to pay out money on this day. On the other hand, there is special demand for such money, as money received on Handsel Mon day is supposed to insure a full purse all the rest of the year. After a somewhat riotous period of spending money Handsel Monday called for a sudden stop in all ex penditures, and probably was a pru dent check upon what had often be come by this time reckless extrava gance. A vast number of people in this land of plenty buy a great many things which are of no practical use to them, and spend money otherwise in foolish ways. The people who do this are not those with plethoric pocketbooks, but those who can least afford to be wasteful. New Year's day is usually a day for good reso lutions, and there is no resolution more common than one which calls for a general retrenchment of ex penditures. As a people, we are generous to a fault, and a vast amount of unhappi ness in the household as well as actual crime can be traced to im prudence in money matters. It is a wise thing to have a day which calls attention to the number of things which we can easily do without, if for any special reason we are de sirous to avoid spending all money. There is little danger that it will make niggards. Comfort and happi ness depend as much upon prudence in giving and spending when we can not afford to spend as they do upon being properly open-hearted and generous. Cllstoill I,nr»ely Die to Dnteli. The custom of celebrating New Year's day in our country is largely due to the Dutch. Old Peter Stuyves ant made much of the day, and cheery assemblages were held at the govern or's home, at New Amsterdam. The Dutch method of kissing the women for "A Happy New Year," was ob served,-and toll taken of all who were young and handsome. In fact, during the reign of Peter Stuyvesant New Am sterdam was the most thoroughly be kissed country in all Christendom,and formed a marked contrast to the staid Puritans, who thought the observance of this day savored strongly of rev erence for the god Janus, and who made no note of their first New Year's day in the new world, save to record: "We went to work betimes." Tlic JeuiNh Xew Year. New Year's day was not regarded as a Christian festival until the year 487, and there is little mention of it until 1550, when it was included in the liturgy. Most countries celebrate New Year's day 011 January 1, but the IIe» brews celebrate theirs in September, for they arrange their calendar ac cording to the new moon, and as their months arc either 29 or 30 days long, New Year's with tbem is u movable holiday. 9
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers