16
® little babe, O gentle br.be,
IMvflip That in a manger lies,
{ A-listcning to the choral sweet
Which floats a-down the skies;
VO^N-C* - * ; *a| We, through the year, who only hear
vv"''»r\'»
y* Listen that we, dear babe, with thee,
»a May hear the angels sing.
• V ■//-7 \ O little babe, O gentle babe,
tW j\y /&■. I Who lookest toward the star,
A jJfr/ A And seest when they bear their gifts,
- {/ I] Those wise men from afar;
jfjjjjfe' II From wandering wide, back to thy side,
.wSi /ft Weary and worn we flee;
SJ// But hearts that bleed and hands that need,
'\ j /ft\f / rc a " we ave * or t ' ,ee -
S ff ./("if O little babe, O gentle babe,
f%J,/ fli/'J Our hearts were hard and cold;
) I H\ (film The star we loved, the star of fame,
J'\ h if'III I The song, the song of gold,
|! n 'm\ J At the manger's side this Christmastide,
To see that star shine from afar
\ a And hear the angels' song.
SOUt^
NO STAR TO GUIDE
THE POSSIBILITY THAT ESCAPED
THE WOMEN OF BETHLEHEM.
Some Name Might Have Rang
Through All Ages Had She But
Known the Spirit of Christ
mas Hospitality.
HE child born in the
stable of Bethlehem,
I "because there was no
<1 room for them in the
■ inn," was heralded by
I angels to the shepherds
J and by a star to the
* wise men; but no voice
told the mothers of
Bethieiiem of the wonder which was
happening in their town that night.
Suppose some gentle woman had
met Joseph and Mary on that Won
derful Day, as they entered the town,
and had said to them: "Our streets
are full of honielfess strangers. Come
you and bide with me!" liy that sim
ple act of hospitality, her name
would have been written high, high
among the names of earth's happiest
folk. "Blessed is she," we should
have cried, "to whose home the
Christmas joy first came!" But the
women of the Judean town did not
know to throw wide their doors and
bring in the world's gratitude and
love, says the Youth's Companion. So
the Child was laid in a manger, and
oblivion holds the names of all the
women in Bethlehem who slept that
night beneath the wings of wondering
angels. Had they but known!
Year by year, for 19 centuries the
story of the night at Bethlehem has
been told and retold. To-day no house
hold in Christendom, in town or vil
lage or on distant prairie can plead
the ignorance in which Bethlehem
then lay. If the door is shut on
the Christ-child to-day, it is not from
lack of knowledge, but from churlish
ness or indifference.
The Christmas spirit speaks in
many voices. The sprig of holly or
the plum pudding, the tree laden with
gifts or the cheer for the lonely—
these are all the world's way of say
ing to the Mother and the Holy Child,
"Abide with us!"
Barred out alike from cottage and
palace and inn in Palestine, the Hope
of the World renews his appeal each
Christmas-tide to our modern Chris
tian world. By the very pathos of the
first Christmas, the heart is softened
and prepared to give him welcome.
To-day there is no heralding angel or
guiding star.
No .•ear may hear His coming,
But In this worM of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still.
The dear Christ enters in.
Santa Claus Abroad.
It is strange to contemplate the
great variety of forms the Santa Claus
custom assumes in different countries.
In Belgium the little ones iill their
shoes with carrots and oats and hay
for the white horse St. Nicholas is
supposed to drive. Very early in the
morning they run to the room in
Wh|ch their shoes have been left and
find that the provender has gone and
in its place candies and presents are
found.
Among the Carpathian mountains it
is St. Peter, who, dressed as a bishop,
and accompanied by the dreadful Ru
precht, is expected by the children on
Christmas eve. The visitor first, de
livers a short sermon, lays 011 th«»
table a rod whitened with chalk, and
takes his departure with his tinkling
bells, while Rupvecht follows close be
hind. The children now hasten to puii
off .their shoes, polish them and tie
th<4n together; and, aa soon as the
last notes of Niklo's bells have become
lost in the distance they run into the
garden ana secrete their shoes be
neath a bush. They spend the time
until 10 o'clock in relating stories,
then goto their shoes, to find them
filled with apples, nuts and goodies.
Christmas Carol
Bv Phillip* Drooki
Che earth has grown old with its
burden of care,
But at Christmas it always is young,
Che heart of tbe jewel burns lustrous
and fair,
flnd its soul full of music bursts forth
on the air,
Klhen the song of the angels is sung.
Tt is coming, Old fcartb, it is coming
tonight!
On the snow-flakes which cover thy
sod
Che feet of the Christ-child fall gentle
and white,
jf?nd the voice of tbe Christ-child tells
out with delight
Chat mankind are the children of Bod.
On the sad and the lonely, the wretched
and poor,
Che voice of the Christ-cbilu shall fall;
And to every blind wanderer open the
door
Of hope that he dared not to dream of
before,
UJith a sunshine of welcome for all.
Che feet of the humblest may walk in
the field
Ulhere tbe feet of the holiest trod,
Chis, then, is the marvel to mortals
rcvaled
When the silvery trumpets of Christmas
have pealed,
Chat mankind are the children of God.
THE ROAD TO CHRISTMAS
In Retrospect Grandfather Pictures
Yuletide Journeys of Many
Years Ago.
Ali the year long we have been
traveling toward Christmas—l and my
old wife, our children and our grand
children —not all by the same road,
not all with the same expectations,
but all looking out alike for the first
glimpse, of its smoke -ising above the
wintry landscape of the year. Now
we can almost fancy that we hear
the chiming of the famous bells—all
Christmas towns are famous for their
bells—and we know that we shall soon
be at our inn.
If life be a journey, and each
year a stage upon the road, I do not
know where else a sensible man would
stop for the recruiting of his health
than the fine old Christmas towns.
There, if anywhere, men are to be
found living together merrily; the inns
are warm, the cheer is good, the
amusements are of the heartiest, and
the society is of the best. I have been
through > inany a Christmas town—for
I have traveled far—and have rested
thoroughly in each. 'I never found two
of them alike. Of late they have been
much grayer and quieter than they
used formerly to be; "but I do not
think that I have been less happy of
the quiet towns at which 1 have of
late years resided. Let me confess so
much. As for these about 1110 who
declare them to be not quiet by any
means, but perfectly uproarious with
jollity, I do not interfere with their
opinion. Children so easily deceive
themselves; it. is enough lor me that
I am old enough to see things as they
are.
The First Christmas Tree.
"It's the Germans who brought the
Christmas tree to America,"the Ger
man said. "Didn't you know .that?
The duke of Hesse 'sold a regiment,
called 'The Hessians,' after him, to
fight the Americans. They got so
drunk over their first Christmas tree
here away from home that Washing
ton captured them, and that started
tbe fashion of Christmas trees in
America. It's historv."
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER z6, 1909.
Tom's B
Christmas
By Archie P. AlcKishme
!□□□□□□ □□□□□□□□]
Copyright by tbo Author
Tom Lawrence shook his fist under
the grocery keeper's nose.
"You try and stop me and I'll fix
you," he threatened, "even if I have
to do time for it. You trying to hold
a fellow away from his people this
way, and it Christmas Eve, too. Why.
the old man and the old woman will
be right glad to see their little boy
again."
He laughed wheezingly and leaned
weakly against the counter.
"You can't keep me from feeding on
the fatted calf, Josh. I'm going to
walk in on the old folks to-night, just
like the wild, wayward sons you read
about do. You never hear of them
getting the cold hand, do you?"
A fit of coughing choked the laugh
ter from his voice, and when ho lift
ed his face it was gray-white beneath
the lamplight.
The big grocer laid aside the pack
age he was tying, and walked around
the counter.
"Come here, Tommie," he said, op
ening the door of the inner room.
The young man slouched forward
obediently.
"Say, Josh," he whined, "cut it out,
I'm tired of being preached to. Won't
you get me a little whisky, just one
drink?" he pleaded. "See, I'm all
broke up, and I'm going home to-night.
Six years of the life I've led wears
one, Josh, wear one right down to the
heart and soul, and this cough—"
He sank down on a seat before the
fire, his slim fingers gripping his
chest.
"Sit there and get good and warm.
I'll be back in a minute." The gro
cer slipped out, locked the door after
him, and went behind the counter.
Customers had come in and were
waiting to be attended to.
The grocer drew a tall young man
to one side.
"Jim," he said, "I want you to help
me out. Go behind and serve them
customers. I don't care if you haven't
never sold groceries; do your best.
Don't be particular about weights.
Give everybody Christmas measure.
I've got to stay away for a spell,
'cause —"
He whispered something in the
young man's ear. His hearer started.
"Why, they think—" he commenced;
but the grocer laid a big hand on his
arm.
"I know what, they think; and,
whateyer you do, keep what I've told
you to yourself. I don't know what
to do, but I'll find out a way. Whet
they come, call me. I'll be in here."
Lawrence lifted his white face from
his hands as the grocer entered.
"Have you got it?" he questioned
eagerly. The big man sat down, fa
cing him.
"I want to have a little chat with
you, Tommie," he said, gently. "You
remember when you were a youngster
at home here, how we used to chat
together and have a mighty good tiuie
of It, don't you?"
His hearer made a grimace. "I
want a drink," he said, shortly.
"You remember how you used to
come down for the mail, Tommie, and
I'd have you come in and help sort
the letters?"
An expression that was almost a
smile dawned slowly across the boy's
haggard face. "I remember we used
to imitate one another's handwriting.
Josh," ho said, slowly.
"Yes, and I got at. last so's I could
write just like you, Tommie. Remem
ber you used to tell me you could al
most believe it was your own writ in'?"
"I remember, Josh. Goon. There's
something behind all this. I'm waiting
to hear it." "When you got into trou
ble over at Maxton's and —"
"And skipped. Yes. Well, goon,
can't, you 7"
' Well, somehow, the matter was
hushed up and kept from your old
folks. Maxton never said anythin',
and we gave vour pa and ma to un-
derstand you'd got a big position out
west. I'm afraid I wrote 'em a letter
from you, Tommie, tellin' 'eni all
about it and askin' forgiveness for not
hiddin' 'em good-l>y." The other
nodded his head on his breast.
"You were always a big-hearted
fool, Josh," lie said, hoarsely. "I can't
understand why you won't get me a
little whisky."
"I remember their faces when they
read that letter," said the grocer,
heaving a big chunk on the lire. "I
remember how glad they both was.
Your ma said you'd be writin' again
soon and let them know how you liked
it. Well, you did." "I wrote again,
did I?" "Yep, you wrote every week
you've been away, and that's how
long—let's see?" "Six years ago, day
after to-morrow, Josh."
"You sent some money home, too,"
continued the big man, after an in
terval of silence. "Quite a little bit
of money. Fifty dollars once, and a
ten-spot every now and again." The
speaker laughed queerly, his face
working. "Only last night they got a
letter from you, Tommie, with SSO in
it. Christmas box, I think you called
it." Something like a sob came from
the bowed figure.
"Your pa most always read your let
ters to the neighbors. They're right
glad you're doing so well. Every
Christinas Eve your ma and him come
over here and buy a Christmas turkey
with the money you send them —I al
ways have a laugh at your pa. "I'll
eat Tommie's share," he says. " 'Causo
it's next best thing to havin' him
home. We're right proud of our Tom
mie,' he always ends. They've been
writing you, too, every week regular.
I read all their letters, 'cause I have
to in order to kiiow how to answer
them. They got a letter from you last
night with their Christmas money iD
It, and they've answered it already.
Here's their letter with your address
on it. Maybe you'd like to read it?"
The young man reached out a sha
king hand for the letter. The other
watched his face as he read. When a
tear fell with a splash on the cramped
writing, the grocer spoke again.
"You can send me to jail for doln'
what I've done, Tommie. In one way
it was wrong, very wrong. I've been
guilty of openin' letters."
The other held up a thin hand as
though to ward off a blow. Then he
rose weakly and came over to the big
man.
"Josh, old Josh," he spoke trem
blingly. "You've been—you—are—
Oh, I'll make it all up to you some
day,"he broke out, lifting his head.
"I'm going to be a man. I know I'm
not fit togo to them now. I've been
drunk for days! But promise me you
will take me to them soon, Josh."
"Day after to-morrow night is the
anniversary of your goin' away. We'll
go then," promised the grocer with a
big smile. He took the boy's hand.
"I'm goin' now. You just lie down on
the sofa here. You'll stay at my place
until after Christmas. He moved to
ward the door. Then he turned.
"Shall I fetch you any thin'?" he asked
gently.
"Nothing," answered the young
man, smiling. "I'm perfectly satis
fied, Josh."
An hour later the grocer carried an
armful of groceries and threw them
into the back of the sleigh. "Merry
Christmas to you both, Mrs. Law
rence," he cried, tucking the robes
about the old couple. The old man
chuckled, and the old lady glancing
about her fearfully, bent fon> ml, hes
itated, bent forward again, ana kissed
the big man on his broad forehead.
"God bless you," she said, gladly.
"God bless you for sendin' for our
Tommie. I'm right glad you think
him so smart." The grocer laughed
awkwardly.
"Yep, Tommie's goin' to work for
me," he called. And with his heart
in harmony with the jingling bells,
he passed into his store.
A Christmas Cynic.
A woman's idea of doing charity
work is to get somebody else to give
the money for it.
It's very annoying to a girl to meet
a man she likes when the color of
the feathers 011 her hat doesn't har
monize with his cravat.—New York
I'ress.
SS GItEENE
If
to the eastward there 1 TT T T
sharte a new star - • • • .
One thousand nine hundred and
nine years ago, in the days of the
mighty Herod, there lay upon a hill
side not far from Bethlehem, one Ben
Joseph, the shepherd, son of Joseph
of Jeffa. Ben Joseph was almost 18
now, and had been a shepherd nearly
as long as he could remember. Prac
tically all his life he had strolled over
the hillsides with his charges through
out the days, and when night had
come had laid himself down to sleep
among them with a sheepskin for his
couch and a sheepskin for his mantle.
And in those long years of loneliness
he had grown strong of body and wild
of spirit, knowing little of faith, hope
or charity and caring less; believing
only in the law of recompense and
that an eye was fair exchange for an
eye and a tooth for a tooth.
Now while Ben Joseph was silent
and rather surly of face, he was onlj
inclined to be wicked when aroused.
At those times, however, he was apt
to be as savage and merciless as a
wolf, for it was then that the blood
lust burned hot in his throat. And It
happened that upon the day of which
we are speaking he was nursing a
great rage, for while he had been
sleeping a few nights before some
enemy had crept into his flock and
cut the throats of three of his finest
ewes. And this deed meant that very
bad times were in store for Ben Jo
seph indeed, for when his master
came to count the sheep and found
the three missing, Ben Joseph knew
that he would be beaten with a staff
until he could scarcely hobble, and
even worse than that, he would be
charged with their value; a sum
which it would take him months of
watching to repay. And, furthermore,
he knew who had committed the das
tardly crime. It was none other than
Ben Hadad, who herded his flock in
the hills to the westward and with
whom Ben Joseph had quarreled and
fought a year before, and who now
had come prowling across hill and
valley in the dark of the moon for his
revenge, and that Ben Joseph might
be soundly beaten in payment for the
whipping which he himself had re
ceived. In his haste the marauder Itad
dropped the red stone which he al
ways wore as a charm, and Ben Jo
seph picking it up among the dead
sheep had instantly known to whom it
belonged. Muttering he had sworn to
himself that he should have his re
venge.
And on this night he was formulat
ing his plans. If Ben Hadad could
creep upon him in the middle of the
night and kill his sheep, then certain
ly he could creep upon Ben Hadad
and kill him. Clearly he felt that
it was the only thing to do, and aris
ing in the early darkness he felt of
the edge of his knife and finding it
plenty keen enough he seized his
crook and went loping off among the
hills towards where he knew his en
emy could be found. It was a long
journey, but he traveled fast, and
when midnight had come he had
marked the fold, while near by it in
his rough shelter of skins he could
hear the steady breathing of the un
suspicious man whom he sought. And
at that token of the other's helpless
ness his eyes took on the glitter of a
wild beast's, and with his knife
firmly he crept onward to where the
sleeping one lay behind his screen.
Beneath the starlight he saw the
recumbent form lying still and de
fenseless, and with a last wriggle and
leap hp landed fairly upon it, the fin
gers of one hand fastened in the
throat and his blade held high.
"I have come to kill you, Ben Ha
dad," he said coldly. The rpan be
neath him shook like a wind-thrum
med reed.
"Why should you wish to kill me?
I have never done you wrong and you
once whipped me," he pleaded. His
captor laughed sharply.
"You lie, and for lying I shall let
you feel the tooth of my knife before
you feel its full bite," he returned as
he pricked his captive until the latter
squirmed again. "And now," he went
on, "you shall die as my sheep died
and be of less value afterwards than
they were. For at least their skins
are worth something and their flesit
was wholesome, while you dead will
be even more worthless than living."
Hen Hadad made a final appeal.
"At least you will let rce pray to the
stars before I die," he pleaded, and
lien Joseph smiled grimly and said
that he might spend one minute in
that useless way. And as Pen Hadad,
beginning to mutter his last words,
turned his despairing gaze towards
the eastern heavens, the one who sat
upon his breast and watched him
closely in his hate, suddenly saw the
eyes below him grow great with won
der while the distorted face smoothed
and became soft as a child's. Greatly
amazed at the wonderful transforma
tion he turned his eyes upward as the
other had done, and as he did so he
gave a great gasp, his fingers loos
ened and he sat staring up into the
night. For far to the eastward there
shone a new star in the firmament,
such a star as the world had never be
fore seen; lustrous, pure white, shin
ing with a soft brilliancy beyond com
pare; the star of Bethlehem in all Its
glory as it hung over the manger of
the new born Christ, the redeemer of
the soul of man.
And as he gazed transfixed by this
miracle a wonderful and subtile
change came over the hard heart of
Ben Joseph. From out of it his wrath
fled like a scourged evil thing; the
coals of hate that had burned therein
turned to ashes and into their place
stole a softness such as he had never
felt before. He shuddered, threw his
knife into the night and getting upon
his feet held out his hand. "Arise,
Ben Hadad. I leave you in peace," he
said gently.
Full of wonderment the released one
arose and together the two stood star
ing at the glowing marvel,-all fear and
hate vanished. Then Ben Hadad
spoke:
"I murdered your sheep because I
hated you, and in return you spared
my life. Why did you do so?" Ben
Joseph shook his head as much puz
zled as was the other.
"That I do not know. I only know
that I hate you no longer. I even seem
to care for you." Ben Hadad laid his
hand upon the other's shoulder.
"Also my heart has grown soft. You
shall take three of my best sheep in
the place of the slain ones and we
will be friends from this night on."
His companion nodded.
"We will be as brothers throughout
•our lives. I will come for the sheep
another day, bringing you a present.
Until then peace be with you." Into
the darkness he passed, Ms eyes still
fastened upon the eastern miracle, a
song of happiness arising from his
h< art. For though Ben Joseph knew
h not, the son of God had come to
earth and already the influence of his
gentle spirit was wafting like the
night breeze throughout the land,
soothing the breast of man as the
night breeze soothed his cheeks. For
such was the coming and spread of
the holy spirit of the Master; the
spirit Vif peace on earth and «ood will
toman.