A S«ory It glimn hat do Tifiag . £uWho naust wUh^vairT' > «\ i-*--"* / I—/—I,1 —/—I, 7 Tired of beliefs, w>e ;ifead to withoy ,> Yet whO/ x Krpw3 \o, l.r^Dafaij'\ Tis not in endless tw^fcrrifigs/n/ught_.but Idittti^es^^^' X \ Bryant *" The snviibe to-day to-morrow diesr^-^x.-^"t sheuey A )T wha^BW^J^y'therein human state? Dn/<fn hU»tusto mj as bows to fate ; / crabb# /Y<ja;/ pursues decay. ' or / Swift//p' it,W life's fvKv/M \ _\| Haijj! Sacked! dawii of \\ H«man» /.'• is borrl ; X g^ By «n V AndV'mau3^ye l deem«rcJ^V , aradisQi restored. /X -X< ' f\ f€ N 7l\ V _/j/ 1 \ \\ \ |Oh; holy, trusUJ^h,: 1 Endless \ he&jis j / J Pa\idpe Cur balm' in sorroy/ and ouV^stayThv^strlfe., Euerton vVv4--f ft Hope springs Good "actions" crown ther nselves with clays I y n«ath God Time wei-employed is Satan'sNffeadlies/t fo«Lj ( And happiness oft comes froipxseenyngi wo fV *n * ck""* Life's mysteries deep hid, eidde \,3 WordaworiA One truth is clear, whatever is As P°P» "Something remains' for /us to do/ or \[( 1 Hon<rauow .Emboldened faith will Life is not shadow but jr promibe \ L- H*v«gai Christmas at Sea Hy Admiral Hob ExJans 0N Christmas morning," said Admiral Evans (Fighting nob), "I thank God that he made three times as much water as land. "Every old seadog will join me in this. The sea is his home; he loves it as the farmer loves his broad acres. Apart from it he is restless and dissat isfied, but with a voyage ahead of him he is as happy as a clam at high tide. No true sailor would exchange Christ mas at sea for one on shore. It would be like Thanksgiving dinner without the turkey. "Of all the Christmases spent at sea the one that rises before me most vividly is that of 1865, when the fed eral army and the gunboat fleet were trying to capture Port Fisher. The only presents we received, and they came fast and furious, were solid shot and shell from the guns of the enemy. But this didn't destroy our sense of humor. The boys would write on each solid shot or shell before placing it in the gun, 'presented by,' and add the name of the vessel from which it happened to be fired. Mighty few hurled at the fort that day lacked this Christmas greeting. All the gunners caught the spirit of the grim jest, for the fighting line is no place for seri ous faces. "Despite the excitement of the fierce combat we managed to have the mastheads of all the ships trimmed •with Christmas green, even though the sailors had to risk their lives in going ashore to get them, and you may be assured the sentiment of the day was not wasted. "Last year Santa Claus followed our fleet of 16 vessels. He anticipated our 12,000-mile voyage and furnished us in advance with the pick of his best. On board the supply vessels when we sailed from Hampton roads were thou sands of packages containing every Imaginable Christmas gift, from a whisky flask to a smoking jacket, each package labeled, 'Don't open until Christmas.' "Along with those gifts he sent thousands of yards of bunting to dec orate the mastheads of the battleships. It would be difficult to imagine a more beautiful sight than these ships lined up Christmas morning with the sail ors breaking out the Christmas trim mings with as much zest as the small boy displays when he lights the candles on his Christmas tree. "Then comes the opening of the Christmas packages. This is always a gala occasion. Not a man on board would dare ignore the instruction any more than ho would think of disobey ing his superior officer. It has become custom through years of faithful ob servance. Always a bottle of wine is broken in christening these tokens from the loved ones at home. "If I hadn't been a lieutenant myself I wouldn't dare give away official secrets. "Last year we practically had two Christmases. We received our first mail at Trinidad, West Indies, some time Christmas week and delayed Christmas mail reached us at Callao, when the vessels were approaching their own country on the western side. "No nation provides more plentiful ly for the Christmas cheer of its sail ors than does Uncle Sam. Each of the battleship crews has a dinner of roast turkey, plum' pudding, pumpkin pie and all the trimmings which go with it. The men are served in messes of 20 at 12 a'clock and each man is allowed one snifter of grog as an appetizer, in celebration of the oc casion. "The officers dine at six o'clock, and, as is the custom when spending the holiday at sea, are guests of the commanding officer." Christmas Musings. There are warmer hand-shakings on this night, wrote Alexander Smith, than during the bypast 12 months. Friend lives in the mind of friend. There is more charity at this time than at any other. Poverty and scanty clothing, and tireless grates come home to the bosoms of the rich and they give of their abundance. The very redbreast of the woods enjoys his Christmas feast. Good feeling in carnates itself in plum pudding. The Master's word, "The poor ye have al ways with you," wear at this time a deep significance. For at least one night on each year over all Christen dom there is brotherhood. And good men, sitting amongst their families, or by a solitary fire like me, when they remember the light that shone over the poor clowns huddling on the Beth lehem plains 1,800 years ago, the ap | parition of shining angels overhead, the song, "Peace on earth and good will towards men," which for the first time hallowed the midnight air—pray for that strain's fulfilment, that battle and strife may vex the nations no more, that not only on Christmas eve, but the year round men shall be breth ren, owning one Father in heaven. CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1909. WWmM >\/~ j r '^r^rwr^r BEFORE the fading embers of a grate fire, Parrish Morton sat alone. Outside, the snow was falling in nebul ou 6, transcendent beauty, clinging to the coats of merry makers on their way to Christmas eve festivities and swathing all in a filmy scarf of white. Chimes of distant bells proclaiming "Peace on earth, good will to men," distilled their euphony across the glinting night—but Parrish, in the brooding shadows of his bachelor home, paid no heed. What did Christmas eve mean to him —to him whom the God of Plenty had given money and fame, the plaudits of his fellows, and all else loved by a man with but the frost-marks of time at his temple—and having given these, had passed to him the sparkling shell of the champagne of love only to dash it with a leer of derision at his feet? Of what use were the riches and the approval of the world? How could vain pomp and popular praise make up for the loss of that which every good man craves—love, a pure woman and the thousand incentives that have their awakening beside the towhead's crib and in that holy hour when tousled curls lay lightly on a father's breast? And all the Christmas eves to come! How cheerless and how lonely they would be with Verona gone—Verona who had come to him from the death bed of a strangely beautiful woman in New Mexico. He was searching for color in the hills when he stumbled upon the scene-—the stranded wagon in the foot hills, the mother upon whose face was the pallor of death, the stunned, half realizing child with the glorious gold en hair and the lips like twin cher ries. With her last breath the grief stricken mother told brokenly of a husband who had died en route, of their efforts to make Los Vegas, how the son had gone on ahead for the doctor, and how in despair she had waited and waited his return. That night just aB the great, pitiless black- Their Lips Met In a Plighting Kiss. ness threw its mourning robe across the canyon, the woman died! How vividly it all came back to Par rlsh Morton now as be buried his face In his hands before the crackling em bers of the lingering fire! How Verona clung to him in her terror and sobbed for her mother, sobbed for her father and her brother! Was ever a child so bereft, so desolate? And he had taken her home with him and placed her in the hands of his capable housekeeper and as time passed and no record of her kin could be found, he had advanced her Into his heart —into the most sacred corner of his great heart —and watched her grow into a beautiful maturity, a full blown rose of womanhood with eyes like the depths of quiet brooks and the face of an angel, with red lips ruddier still and tantalizingly sweet! And then the blow fell! The reali zation that he loved her and that he, her protector, must preserve her against that love, for she was but 17 and he was 33, then —and he had promised her mother out in the New Mexican foothills that he would care for her and keep her from the pitfalls as best he could! Ah, how lonely the place was when he had sent her away to school, to a distant school where he might not have to endure the pain of seeing her often —and how she had looked into his eyes at parting with the half pleading, half understanding eyes of a young rabbit suddenly met face to face in some leafstrewn hollow In the autumn woods! He had kissed her in his old, pa ternal way and her heart aggrieved had sent subtle glances of bewilder ment to flash and play within those orbs whose depths he dared not sound! And to avoid meeting her, he had gone on a distant mission, kept him self aloof for two years, while absence made the heart grow fonder and the memory of her thrilled him as the soft caressing fingers of some sweet inamorata thrills the tremulous strings of her guitar! And now upon 4 his return, she had written him that she had made plans for Christmas that might detain her at Sussex, but she wished him a very merry Christmas, wished that he might find his heart tilled with joy at again being beneath the old roof-tree, wished that this Christmas might be the happiest of all the Christmases he had ever ex perienced, and lastly assured him that she was sending him a memento of the season, which she hoped he would cherish and love for her sake. Parrish Morton repeated the words sadly: "For her sake! Ah, for her sake!" If she but knew what he would do for her sake, were it possible! But, no, she was not for him. The violet and the cosmos are incongruous. Youth and late summer are not born to trip hand in hand across the fields Elysian into Agapemone. The bell rang sharply. He heard Phipps' soft tread upon the stairs, and listened. Yes, it was she. There was no mistaking the rippling cadence of that sweet-throated bird of passage. Turning, he pressed a button and the room was sparkling with light. At the top of the stair he stood hesitating, striving to gain control of himself. At the foot, she paused, made him a mock "courtesy" and held out her arms: "Oh, Par., dear old Par., I have brought you your Christmas present instead!" The attitude, the look in her eyes, the irresistible enchantment of her beauty flooded him with Impelling power. What did she mean? Was it herself she was offering? For a brief moment he stood swaying to the mighty impulse within him. Standing stupified there, he remembered, as she bounded toward him! He must not — he could not — And then, as he was about to sweep aside all the positiveness of his duty, all the negatives and forbearances and give free impulse to his heart, there came a step behind her. She heard and turning as she was about to enter the yearning haven of his eager arms, cried: "Oh, pardon me, Mr. Morton, let me introduce Marshall Marriott. He —" Suddenly the stairs went black be fore him. He realized now! She was bringing him a Christmas surprise, the man she loved, the — Somehow he managed to greet the stalwart young fellow with the frank eyes. In a maze of conflicting pain and surprise he did the duties of a host, and when Verona and her es cort had been shown to their rooms to dress, he slipped into the den and cast himself into the great arm chair before the pulseless coals of the fire place. "Lost! Lost!" kept ringing in his ears, and with a groan of anguish he once more buried his face in his hands and gave way to a man's grief. In vain he tried to reason with himself that it were better so. He should not have expected or even dared to think it might have been otherwise. He was too old for her. She was sunshine, he was the somber cloud—but, oh, how he loved her! And for the moment he had thought she meant to give herself. The misery of it all! The heartache of it! Suddenly, behind him he heard a rustle, the frou-frou of a woman's gown, and over the side of his great chair a warm arm stole softly against his neck. "Oh, Par., what is it, dear? What have I done? What —" Instinctively in the darkness he felt the frightened rabbit look, the appeal ing gaze. Summoning all his reserve strength, he said, with scarcely a tremor in his voice: "Nothing dear, nothing to offend. I am glad—glad—for you, if he Is worthy. If —" "If—if—he—is worthy—oh, you goose, I see it all now!" In a flash she threw her arms about his neck. Her face was close to his. How soft and warm and soothing her flesh was! "He —he is my brother, lost that day In the foothills of New Mexico. I —l have just found him. I —thought you would be glad—l wanted to surprise you—lI—don't you want your Christmas present?" in desperation. With a mighty heart throb he reached about and drew her to him. Tenderly, tremblingly he clasped his arms about her and as their lips met in a plighting kiss, a tiny flame spring ing as from the heart of an ash-cov ered sapphire, flamed up from the grate and sent the shadows scurrying. Phipps coming to announce dinner, stood transfixed. Then, a broad grin upon his face, he slipped softly away chortling to his inmost self: "Lawd! Lawd! Dere sure am gwine t' be a weddin' in this yeah house afore another Christmas eve! Yas'ir!" A Quickly-Made Present. Most women know what it is to be short of a present on the last day or so before Christmas. If one has plen ty of money togo out and buy a gift this need cause little worry, otherwise quickly-made gifts are in order. One that can be turned out in a few minutes is one of the new hairpin cases. This is made of the fiber that is used in women's artificial pompa dours, only of a silvery white color. The Rose of Jericho. We are told that the rose of Jericho, which is also called Mary's rose, sprang up along the path of the Holy Family after they left Bethlehem, apd blossomed brightly wherever they-rest ed. This flower which bloomed at the birth of Christ showed its sympathy by closing at his crucifixion, only to open again at his resurrection. A Christmas Thought. So may each year be happier than the last, and not one meanest brother or sister debarred of his share of the great Creator's good gifts!— Charles Dickens. f-^5-1 5 ** ■=- Jp jmL Got Christmas gift a seen! /! Mm tickled since the Ur 7 /S>JI lonß pants su,t an ' l Y"° iind th^tjf&n^^ it boys that looked <U\si'th a 7 in,i«j s it wWjt' on Atree, 112 K BtiMLwas that Santa me! Give you twenty* gOesses£ anJ \ou couldn't guess it right- Bet you could rft-guess it : (jf from now to night I Come on Christmas l Couldn't shet my eyes In Christmas Eve at all. ILordl I had the fidgets liMM/tU^'ago When I'd watch for Santa m\tmp don't you knowl /*-. V r f —N No, It wa'sqjtyNsllppers, nor an auto, -flor a \ 'Tisn't thing thaf^^^an j It's| me finest] present dn. Christmas "N. ' 1 „ , /'T*\ ^ t ) hat'\a^p'^c n t! Can yb\i beat It In your life? j In th|ir\ joyful chorus tellin' of men. Pudgy-wudgy baby/rjust\.i roly-poly tike With a way of straight at you, Say! He his little velvet hand With a* grip how can you understa^^ If you ain't can't know |ust what"! mean—' Got the greatesr-'ChrlstKias feller ever seen! tTJie Charm «112 Christmas® •?\ <S> *'By W<xsh i ngtonjlrvuig & J f - U& ——&J 0F all the old festivals that of Christmas awakens the strong est and most heartfelt associ ations. There is a tone of solemn and sacred feeling that blends with our conviviality, and lifts the spirit to a state of hallowed and elevated enjoy ment. The services of the church about this season are extremely ten der and inspiring; they dwell on the beautiful story of the origin of our faith, and the pastoral scenes that ac companied its announcement; they gradually increase in fervor and pathos during the season of Advent, until they break forth in full jubilee 011 the morning that brought peace and good will to men. Ido not know a grander effect of music on the moral feelings than to hear the full choir and the pealing organ performing a Christmas anthem in a cathedral, and filling every part of the vast pile with triumphant harmony. It is a beautiful arrangement, also, derived from the days of yore, that this festival, which commemorates the announcement of the religion of peace and love, has been made the season for gathering together closer again those bands of kindred hearts, which the cares and pleasures and sorrows of the world are continually operating to cast loose; of calling back the children of a family, who have launched forth in life and wandered widely asunder, once more to assemble about the paternal hearth —that rally ing place of the affections, there to grow young and loving again among mementos of childhood. There is something in the very sea son of the year that gives a charm to the festivity of Christmas. At other times we derive a great portion of our pleasures from the mere beauties of nature. Our feelings sally forth and dissipate themselves over the sunny landscape, and we "live abroad and everywhere." The song of the bird, the murmur of the stream, the breath ing fragrance of spring, the soft voluptuousness of summer, the gold en pomp of autumn; earth, with its mantle of refreshing green, and heaven, with its deep, delicious blue and its cloudy magnificence, all fill us with mute but exquisite delight, and we revel in the luxury of mere sensa tion. But in the depth of winter, when nature lies despoiled of every charm and wrapped in her shroud of sheeted snow, we turn for our grati fications to moral sources. The dreari ness and desolation of our landscape; the short, gloomy days and darksome nights, while they circumscribe our wanderings, shut in our feelings also from rambling abroad, and make us more keenly disposed for the pleas ures of the social circle. Our thoughts are more concentrated; our friendly sympathies more aroused. We feel more sensibly the charm of each oth er's society, and are brought more closely together by dependence on each other for enjoyment. A season when heart calling unto heart. The pitchy gloom without makes the heart dilate on entering the room filled with the glow and warmth of the evening fire. The ruddy blaze diffuses an artificial summer and sunshine through the room, and light up each countenance with a kindlier welcome. Where does the honest face of hospi tality expand into a broader and more cordial smile —where is the shy glance of love more sweetly eloquent—than by the winter fireside? And, as the hollow blast of wintry wind rushes through the hall, clasps the distant door, whistles about the casement, and rumbles down the chimney, what can be more grateful than that feeling of sober and sheltered security with which we look around upon the com fortable chamber and the scene of do mestic hilarity? Amidst the general call to happi ness, the bustle of ttie spirits, and stir of the affections, which prevail at this period, what bosom can remain in sensible? It is, indeed, the season of regenerated feeling—the season for kindling not merely the fire of hospi tality in the hall, but the genial flame of charity in the heart. Surely happiness is reflective, like the light of heaven; and every counte nance, bright with smiles and glow ing with innocent enjoyment, is a mir ror transmitting to others the rays of a supreme and ever-shining benevo lence. He who can turn churlishly away from contemplating the felicity of his fellow-beings, and can sit down darkling and repining in his loneliness when all around is joyful, may havo his moments of strong excitement and selfish gratification, but he wants tho genial and social sympathies which constitute the charm of a merry Christmas. 13
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers