Centre Democrat. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1848-1989, December 14, 1882, Image 2
Merry Chrl.slmas. t. Here's merry Christmas, and it seams To cell back rhililhiHKl to the breast. With kindly word* nnd laughing gleam; Witb leaping steps that shake the lionms; With noisy games nnd happy dreams, And nil of life that's bright and boat. it. Itonmeawith mnsio in the hall, That atirn the old man in his rhnir; And whan the midnight measures fall, He'll lend the blithest dance of nil, Spurning nlike the chimney wall, And seventy years of wear and tear. HI. Here's merry Christmas come again ; Cling heart to heart and hand to hand. " Love one another," was the strain Of him who never taught in vain ; And let it sonud o'er lull and plnin, And role the feast in every land. —Eliza Cook. ——i ONE CHRISTMAS. I did not expect any company for Christmas, yet could not allow the day to pass without some slight observance, such as decking ; so my servant and myself had decked the rooms with ever greens, and were busily engaged mak ing mince pics, crullers, and other in digestible delicacies, when little IttWi Shafer rushed into the kitchen ex claiming : " Miss Bronson. I bin down to post office foi pap, and Miss Lippincott give me this letter for you 'cause she thort it might he from some of yer folks who're cominin* to Christmas with ye!" He threw the letter across the table and ran out again in the same breathless way. It was from my sister, Mrs. Elwood, who wrote to inform me that her self, her daughter Lucy, and Mr. May hew, the gentleman to whom Lucy was engaged, would spend Christmas with me. I had not seen my niece since she had grown to womanhood, and Mr. Mayhew was an entire stranger, consequently after reading the letter I was thrown into a tlurry of excitement at this threatened invasion of my quiet home. " Mary," I said, addressing my serv ant, "three visitors are coming to spend Christmas with us." "Yes'ra," was the laconic answer. "I really believe if I should announce the expected arrival of Queen Victoria you would answer yes'in in the same indifferent tone," I observed in a slightly irritated voice, for her cool re ception of the, to me, exciting news annoyisl me. Her face flushed for a j moment, hut she made no further coin- j merits. Mary was a comely-looking young 1 woman, with large, soft brown eyes and an abundance of brown hair slightly tinged with red. She was re markably neat in appearance, reserved and ladylike in manner. She had been with me nearly three years, and during that period I had never seen even the shallow of a smile on her face ; yet she was by no means sullen—only very sal. When she first eame to live with me her melancholy demeanor had a most depressing effect upon my spirits. Her predecessor had been a rollicking Irish girl, who made the whole house ring with Iter merry laughter; there fore I found it difficult to accustom myself to Mary's sad ways. Once I spoke to her about her de jected air, telling her she should al ways try to look at the bright side of life. She answered in a voice quiver ing with suppressed sobs. "Life has no bright side for me, j Mias Bronson. All the brightness •died out of it years ago." " You are too young to he so utterly hopeless. Life should hold many at tractions for you still." She shook her head sadly. "I ain twenty six, but so much numbing, heart-breaking sorrow has been crowded into tiie past few years that it seems as if I had lived a whole century. Before that I was, oh, so happy—so happy." She uttered the words in a wailing sort of way. and raised her eyes heavenward as if ap pealing for aid to endure her burd <i of sorrow, then, clasping her hands convulsively over her forehead, she stood for a moment like a marble image of despair. "Oh, God, help me to lear it patiently!" she sobbed, and hurrying out into the garden she walked for an hour or more up and ' down the graveled path. When she returned to the house her violent agitation had suicided and her fare assumed its expression of intense sadness. Her strange actions terri fied me, and ever after I carefully avoided referring to the grief which hail overshadowed her life. Certain days In the year she would appear inure dejected than usual. These days, I soon learned, were anniversa ries of some dead joy or overwhelm ing affliction, I finally grew aceus tomeil to her peculiar ways, and find ing her so thoroughly good and faith ful, treaty her like a companion or friend rather than a servant. When my guests arrived everything was ready. Mary and I hod done our utmost to make the house to appear in viting, anil the table covered with a snowy cloth fairly groaned under its weight of tempting viands. She was In a remarkably cheerful mood, and looked really pretty in the dark blue dress, white apron and white muslin cap donned for the occasion. The cap was exceedingly becoming, hut greatly altered her appearance, lit was a fancy of hers to wear tho cap when strangers were present. When we were alone we took our meals to gether. As soon as our Christmas greetings were over I lis! the way into tho din ing-room. Just then Mary came in with a platter of broiled chicken. I observed Mr. Mayhew glared at her with a startled expression. She went out again without raising her eyes. "Then you were horn in Trenton," said my sister Helen in answer to a fotmcr remark made by Mr. Mayhew " Yes, I was horn in Trenton, and lived there until I was twenty-three." At that moment Mary returned with the dinner-plates. She stojqssl sud denly and stared at the speaker in a dazed sort of way, apparently for getful of her errand, until I whis pered : " Put the plates on the table." "Yes'in," she answered. Turning to leave the room she staggered and caught the door frame. I thought nothing of the movement, supposing site had tripped against the rug. When my guests left the dining room I went into the kitchen to tell Mary that the dinner was a decided success. I found tier sitting on an old settee with her head thrown back against the window ledge. Her face was deathly pale and her eyes closixl "Areyou ill, Mary?" I asked, tak ing her hand, which was cold and limp. Receiving no answer, I called Helen, and together we succeeded in restor ing her to consciousness. She lookeil around her in a liewildered way, then pointing toward the dining-room, said in a gasping voice; "Tell him I forgive—Tell him—l have gone to—baby—l hope he—" between the struggles for breath I caught the words, " will—happy." " She h.as fainted again," reiriarkeil Helen, applying the restoratives once more, but this time without success, for we saw no signs of returning life. I was thoroughly alarmed, and sent Mr. Mayhew for the doctor, who, for tunately, was at home, and obeyed the summons instantly. He took Mary's hand, placed his ear over her heart, opened her eyelids and examined the pupils, and then said slowly : " She is dead. The question is. what has killed her? Heart disease, prob. ably, aceeleratisl by a severe shock." I was completely unnerved, and wept sincere, heartfelt tears over the inanimate form of my |H*>r Mary, who died as she had lived, mukiiigno moan over her burden of pain and sorrow. In the room Mary occupied was a small IMX. which 1 carried down to the parlor, after the first excitement had subsided, thinking that by examining its contents I might gain some clew as to the whereat >outa of her friends. The box contained mementoes such as women treasure. There wasa package of yellow letters tied together with a bit of failed ribbon, a little blue shoe, still Ix-aring the imprint of a baby foot, a lock of dark hair and a golden curl held together by a hand of crape, and several photographs. "All the letters were evidently writ ten by the same person," said Helen, who hail been examining the dates, " and this seems to have been the last one received. It is dated ' Christmas Eve, 15,2.' It is addressed to 'My darling wife,' ami signed ' Your affec tionate husband.'" " Here is a photograph with some thing written on the margin. Per haps you may be able to decipher it, Mr. Mayhew. The words are almost effaced." I held the picture toward him. He was seated on the sofa, some distance from the table, hut caine forward and took it from my hand. I saw him start and turn pale, while great heads of perspiration broke out on Ida fore head. "George Mayhew, died March, 1873," he read, in a low, trembling voice, while his strong frame shook like an aspen. He covered his face with his hands and soldtcd in a dry, tearless sort of way that made my heart ache with pity. Lucy and her mother looked at him in blank astonishment. " Let me see her. Miss Bronson. She was my wife." he said, in tones of the deepest anguish. I took the lamp, and silently led the way to the room where he hud laid her. lie threw himself on his knees beside t lie lounge and placed his cheek against the cold, still face. I put the lamp j down and turn el away, leaving liirn alone with his dead. "Aunt liutli, what does It all | mean ?" demanded Lucy, with an In ! Jured air. " It means that Mary was Mr. May hew's wi*v Doubtless when his grief is spent he. will explain. Such grief is surely horn of love," I responded. Lucy's face grew pallid. She | clenched Iter hands and walked to the other side of the room. I wondered ; if she was jealous of his dead love. Despite my remonstrances he passed the night in the room where Mary's | body lay. Before 1 retired ho told me ; the brief story of ills wedded life; how he had married Mary Corson, the | Mm 1 knew her by, when she was a mere child and he had not reached man's estate; how happily they hail j lived together for three years, and atiout the baby that had come to strengthen the bond of affection between them, i Then sorrow marked them for its own. lie lost his situation, went to Philadel phia hoping to better his fortune, and, as a last resort, shipped on a sailing j vessel carrying cargoes from one |M>rt to another; was wrecked ami all on hoard were reported lost. But he and two companions were rescued by a ship liound for Liverpool. Through j the kindness of the captain who had I saved his life lie obtained a position in a Liverpool shipping-house. He wrote to his wife apprising her of his safety and told her he would send for her and ' baby as soon as possible. She never received the letter; for, after waiting ' week after week for a reply, his own letter was returned to him. Then he asked for leave of absence, and came home only to learn that j his child had died about the time he was wrecked, ami his wife had gone away, no one knew whither. He em ployed a detective to continue the search and went hack to Liverpool, j Later, the detective sent an account of the death of a woman, the name and personal description answering ti that of his wife, ami for years lie hod mourned her as dead. He remained in Liverpool, became a partner in the linn, and now had charge of the New York branch. Poor Mary had believed him dead* and when she recognized him in Lucy's lietrothed, her sorrow-stricken heart could bear no more. Had she lived a half hour longer she might have learned that he had Icen faithful for many years after their separation; hut she died believing Dim false—doubt less thinking he had deserted her. Mr. Mahcw and Lucy were married last July, and are going to spend Christ mas with me. The l'ari Bourse. A correspondent, after visiting the Paris Isuirsc, declares himself satisfied that human nature is human nature the world over. He writes: There were the turbulent stock-broker* play ing the old Wall street game witli no material French variations. Paris haa built temples worthy of the Parthenian type to all sorts of gods. The Ixiiirse is a temple of mainnyn, and one of the most beautiful of all. It seems text la<l to put a building of such se rene and |xx tic exterior to such a noisy and prosaic puqxwc. The business conducted within is more like an o|>en market than that of the New York stock brokers. There is no call of stx ks ami no formality of any kind olmerved. The public lias free access to the brokers on the door of the Ixuirse. Tim agents tie ehange move alxiut among the throng like other people, holding their little red Ixxiks alxive their heads and taking or executing order* as they hurry along. The more st aid and less push ing brokers remain inside the little iron circle which is their special den on the flrxir. and communicate with their customers across the low railing. This comparatively small space U all that appears to be reserved to the brokers, and is not accessible to the public. Practically, there is perfect | freedom of movement and action be tween buyers and sellers at the Bourse. With the substitution of French for English jargon, the racket was exactly what you can hear in Wall street any busy day. There were the same little brokers who st-xsl on their toes and screamed like cockatoos. There were the same tall and powerful fellows who roared like bulls of Dashan and Imre down all opposition as they eL I towed their way around. Canards were doing the same work there as in New York. In fact, bluster and Ixiunce ore not separable from stock broking, wherever carried on. And the French are no better or worse than the Americans in that respect. Making the outside tour of the bourse Hiilisequently, I was much amused to oliserve the eialxirate provisions every where made for " firing up" the brokers. The square is lined with liquor sWO|w with absinthe, brandy, American drinks and all kinds of po tation* placarded in the windows. The brokers evidently had on a full head of steam at 2 r. M., when I visited the bourse. PEARLS OF THOUGHT. Grumblers never work, and workers never grumble. It Is not calling your neighbor names that settles a question. . Occasions do not make a man frail, but they do show what be is. Genius at first Is nothing more than a great capacity for receiving disci pline. Education begins the gentleman, hut reading, good company and reduction finish him. All persons are not discreet enough to know bow to take things by the right handle. We attract hearts by the qualities we display ; we retain tliem by the qualities we possess. There is nothing that Is meritorious but virtue and friendship, and, indeed, friendship itself is hut a part of virtue. It may serve as a comfort to us in all our calamities and afflictions that lie that loses anything and gets wisdom by it is a gainer by the loss. Everyone cannot he beautiful, hut they can la* sweet-tempered—and a sweet temper gives a loveliness to the face more attractive in the long run than even Ix-auty. Have a smile and a kind word for all, and you will be more admired—nay, loved—than any mere beauty. A sweet temper is to the household what sunshine is to the trees and (lowers. Unseen Helpers. " Tske, O bostnmn, lliriee thy fee— Tut#, I gire it willingly; For. invisible to thee, Kpmta twain hart' croneed with me." "Can you give me a day's work/" uski-d a jioor woman of a well-to-do matron. " Yot: look very delicate," said the lady. " I need some one to wash, hut you do not seem strong enough for the work." "Oh, yes'm ; only try me, and you will see. I have U-en si<k and got U-hindhand, and my children need bread. Besides, Charlie w ill help carry the water and lift the tut*," concluded the woman, eagerly. "Who is Charlie?" asked the lady of the house. " My husband, ma'am," was the low answer. The woman was engaged and did her work well, hut there was some thing that troubled the mistress of the house greatly. As soon as she left the kiteh< n the woman would call Charlie, and she would hear her voice talking and laughing, and holding converse with some one; hut when sho went into the room there would be no one there. The water was carried and the tubs all lift"! into their places ; but the slight woman who washed was the onlv person who was visible. When I the lady of the house paid her, she said: " Call your husband; I would like to see him." " He wouldn't come, ma'atn," said the woman, simply. "Xo one ever sees him but roe." , "What do you mean?" asked the lady in astonishment. " Why, ma'am. Charlie Is dead him self, hut his spirit comes and helps me —how could I work this way if it didn't? I could no more lift one of those tubs of water than you could, ma'am. He's come ever since I was sick, and helped me that way." The compassionate lady placed another coin with those she had already given. " For Charlie and the children," she said, with tears in her eyes, and she saw afterward that the sick and wearied mother was helped by living hands. Hut there must lie many people hearing burdens greater than they are able to, who are helped and made stronger hv invisible guides—the memory of some dead Charlie, who Ufts unseen the heavy load, with whom they commune as they work. How would the dull routine of daily life lie glorified could wo for one moment see the angel helpor at our side! When the pious monk left his duties to go out on a deed of tnerey, he returned to And all his homely work done, and. for one moment, he saw in the doorway of his cell his blessed Master smiling upon him. It may tie only a vague theory—the delusion of a siek brain—and there is an Infinite sadness In it; but surely " It is n beautiful belief Hint ever round our head Arc hovering on angel wings The spirits of the dead. To feel that unseen hands we clasp. While feet nnheard are gath'ring round: To know that we in faith mar grasp Celestial guards from Heavenly ground." Princeton College is to hereafter teach civil service reform. Tho boys needn't lie a bit astonished to see the. janitor walk tip to the head of the faculty. That's the way the thing works. I A Ceylon Jungle, Professor IHeckel ha* Ixicn giving , In the German Huntltchau an account |of his travels In Ceylon, and recently he described his Unit attempt to pene , trute a Ceylon jungle. He found It to correspond to the idea of a primeval forest, with it* dense and iuijwnetra hie mass of trees of all kinds, sur rounded and overgrown by a wilder* neaa of creeping and climbing plants' of ferns, orchids and other parasites' | so thickly intertwined as to convince 1 the traveler of the impossibility of ids 1 undertaking, except With the aid of axe and fire. After a prolonged strug gle he was fain to make good his re treat, stung by inosquitos, bitten by ants, with torn clothes, and arms and legs bleeding from the thorns and prickles with which the climbing hibiscus, the suphorhia, and a multi tude of other jungle plants, repulsed , every attack made on their impenetra ble labyrinth. "Hut the attempt," ob serves the professor, "had not lecn made altogether in vain, for it enabled ine to gain a very fair idea of the jungle as a whole, more especially of the magnificence of its trees and creep ers, beside* introducing me to many separate varieties of animals and vege table life, which were of the highest interest. Here 1 saw the magnificent yloriosa sujjT>/n, the poisonous climb ing lily of Ceylon, with its red and ainler flowers; the prickly hibitms rtuliaUu), with large, cup shape, brim stone colored flowers, deepening to violet in the hollow; while around them fluttered gigantic black butterflies, with blood-red s]*ts on their tail-shaped wings, and chafers and dragon flies flew past with a metallic gleam. But my delight reached its h ight when on this my first attempt " i penetrate a jungle in Ceylon, I came across the two most characteristic of its inhabitants from among the higher classes of ani mals—parrots and ape*. A flock of green parrots flew screeching from a lofty tree as they became aware of the gun in my hand, and at the name moment a herd of great black apes sprang with a growling cry into the thicket. I did not succeed in getting a shot at either one or the other; they ap jearel to l>e too fan jiiar with the pxik of a gun. I was consoled, however, by securing with my first shot a colossal lizard, or iguana, six feet long, of a kind held in much awe by the suj>er stitious native*- hydrosaurus salvator. The huge, croeodiie-like beast was sun ning himself on the edge of a water tank, and the shot hit hun so precisely on the head as to kill hun at onee. Had it stnick a less vital part he would probably have dived into the water and disappeared. When seized, the iguana ha* the |>ower of hitting so sharp a I with its scaly tail a* to cause a severe wound, and even sometimes a broken limb." Fashion Note*. litre-fashionable ladles cover th'ir jict lap-dogs with tiny blankets made Of a Fit of the <lr -* goods of which their own costumes are made. Train dresses for evening wear are coming back to favor, judging from the unusual number in this style exhibited by leading importers. Jersey jackets of royal cardinal, olive-green marine blue, velvet or cashmere are very fashionably worn over skirts and tunica of tweed or Ho man plaid. One hundred and fifty yards of rib l,on—thirty yards each of terra-cotta. pale blue, olive, cream color, and brown —went to make up the trimmings of a successful toilet from over the sea. Bewitching little gowns for two year-old girls are made of soft white wool, crocheted very closely in loops in the stitch known as the brioche, and afterwards cut, leaving a soft and smooth surface. The collar and deep cuffs are made of white plush. In brocaded satins, velvets, and silks the figures this season are monstrously large tn site—dab lias, sunflowers, full blown roses, passion flowers and vines and the like, all being reproduced in their natural hues and dimensions. These fabrics are designed exclusively for the use of portly dames and dow agers, and never for little women, who would look like lost balies envel oped in a labyrinth of huge buds, blos soms and spreading foliage, two of these floral m<mstrosities tieing almost enough to cover their dainty and del icate tiacks. A very beautiful wedding dress of white ottoman silk in deroraUsl with long sprays of white snowdrops and | orange blossoms, which liegin at the shoulders, curve over the chest, and meet at the waist, curving over the hips from thence in panier style, and falling In long trailing garlands over ' the long court train. The petticoat in j front is covered with a similar silk ; embroidery, nnd the dainty little silk sandals accompanying lbs dress are also embroidered to match. Now. Rise ! for the <i/t >■ in poMing, Anil jr/m lie. dreaming on; Tim other* have I,ucktod their rirrnOT, Anil fortli to the (iht have gonof A place in tin; rank* await* yon, Karh man >m* Mime part to play? Tin- J'/uit and tin- Future are nothing^ In the face of the -tern To-day Rise from your dreams of the Future— < If gaining •own fiard-fought field} Of xkirnjirig "own airy fortrew, Or Bidding eotne giant yield; Your future ha* deeds of glory, < tf honor Hi od irrant it may !) Hut your nrm will m-vei la- -tronger Or the ncid M> grvat an today. 0 Rle ! if the pat di -tains you. Her Mimdum and *torm forget; Ko#miii o unworthy to hold >on An tlioee of a vain regret; Had or bright, niie in IIIOICMM ever; Cant Iwr phantom arms away, Nor look hack, •are to learn Uie lesson Of a nohier strife to-day. Rise for the day is panning-. The Hound tlwt you acarrely hear In the enemy marching to hattle; A r ie! for the foe is here ! Htny not to rlmrja n your weajnms, Or the liour will strike at last. When from dreams of a owning hattle, You may wake to find it pant. Adelili/ie I'roctor. IT.M.KNT I'AIUCKAI'HS. ■err roo ram. He dropi>ed rny fair into tlie has With gentle mien and wmdoome air. Block were his aockn with purple clocks, I noted he won passing fare. The modern pie-rate—ten cents a - piece. The Bent thing to take before Ring ing—breath. ' There's very little or no opjxjsition to a rul-hot jsiker. The right kind of a dog in a yard is i a terrier to evil doers. If a dog loses his paw, and a rooster loses his maw, does it make orphans of j them? Since 1850 eighty-two people hav thrown themselves from the Vendome column in l'aris. A New York female pickpocket is MI pretty that one of her victims ro- I fused to make complaint. , When a man gets into stocks nowa j days he is very lik the culprit of old times, and suffers in a corresponding | degree. "Yes," said the farmer, "barbed wire fence is expensive, but the hi nil man doesn't stop to rest every time he climlis it." An exchange contains an article on "Women who Die Early." Those who , light the fire with kerosene in the j morning are apt to die early. "Marie, what's that strange noise at the gate?" "Cats, sir." "Cats! Well w hen I was young, eats didn't wear long hats and smoke cigars." "Times are changed, sir." Clara (looking at the bonnets, etc.) ; •'Don't you think they are very hand ' some?" Amy (whose thoughts are |on the other side of the st reet); "Very, [ 'specially the one with the black moua i tache." The man who will invent some ' practical sulistitutc for the ordinary ; wooden knob for drawers, desk doors, | and the like, or some way of keeping the ordinary knob on. will make a for tune and die respected. I'erhaps the casual reader has never at down on a buzz saw and felt him self gradually biding away. If so. he j doesn't know w hat it is to fnn the acquaintance of a somnambulisticbull | dog in the prime of life, i In dangerous proximity to mean ness ; "Yes," said Burkenstein, "I eaine pretty near doing a mean thing to-day. I hail a counterfeit half and I was almut to give it to a poor blind lieggar who asked for alms, but I re sisted the temptation and g<tt an old apple woman to change it by buying five cents' worth of fruit. When a California panther sees a poodle and a young woman he eats the poodle and leaves the young woman. He probably reasons in this way ; If I eat the girl and the poodle, that will lie only one meal; if I always eat the poodle the girl will always get another, sind 1 can always lie sure of another meal. A London pajwr describes an Amer ican girl in that city who "wears a gown with a flight of embroidered sw al lows, lieginning on her left shoulder and ending at her right foot; and swal lows also fly about her parasol." The American youth in London is also ad dicted to "swallows," but they don't I>cgin on his left shoulder—They liegin under his nose and run down his throat. A scholar in a public school who had been over the map of Asia, was re viewed by the teacher, with the follow ing result: "What is geography f "A big book." "What is the earth composed of?" "M>id." "No; land and water." "Well, that makes mud, don't it?" "What is the shape of the earth f* "Flat." "You know better. If I should dig a hole through the earth where would I come .out at?** "Out of the hole,"