A S«ory
It glimn
hat do Tifiag .
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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»
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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