Evening Star Newspaper, December 21, 1895, Page 14

14 THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 21, 1895—TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. AT THE WHITE HOUSE Santa Claus Chats of Christmas With the Presidents. AN ANECEDOTE OF TAD LINCOLN The Holiday With the Grants and Some Notable Occasions. A CURIOUS “BROWNIE (Copyright, 1895, by Frank G. Carpenter.) ANTA CLAUS AT the White House! How his reindeer sledges gallop over the roof, and how his pack goes easily down the great chimneys. He has visited the place so often that he knows just the easiest way to the second floor, where the babies sleep, and down fur- ther to the big room beww, where the Christmas tree stands, and to the wood fireplaces, about which the stockings of big Ruth and little Esther hang. He stops a moment on the way and takes a peep at Father Cleve- land. The President is sleeping soundly, his rotund form making a mountain of the bed clothes. He lies upon his back, and the night lamp on the table casts a sickly glow cver his features. He looks weary, for the troubles of the office seekers and the cares of state have followed him to bed. As Santa Claus looks at him his laughing eyes grov’ se- rious. He whispers to himself that such a face will never do for Christmas morn- ing, and with feet which move the softer from the snow upon them, he steps to the side of the sleeping man and over his trou- bled features he breathes his Christmas greeting. As he does so the President's brow clears. His soul is filled with the thought of Christmas past, ard in his dreams he travels back to the days when as a poor preacher's son he hung his stocking at the chimney side. Old Kris Kringle throws a Santa Claus at the White House. kiss at little Ruth and Esther, who are sweetly sleeping in an adjoining room, and prepares to make his way through the fire- place down to the rooms below. There he unioads his pack. He fills isther’s little stockings and stuffs with candy those which the fat legs of little Ruth have touched, laughing as he does so at the big stockings which hang be- side them, and which the children have borrowed for the time, for fear their own may not be large enough. He decorates tke tree with dolls and toys. He strings upon !t glass balls of every hue, and with tinsel makes it shine like the silver and golden bushes of -fairyland. There are presents by the hundreds for him to hang upon its branches. The babies of the White House have many friends, and the most famous of our statesmen send them Christmas gifts. Santa Claus’ Seliloquy. At last, however, the work Is done and Santa Claus stops for rest. He is tired; the night is late, and the morning is almost come. He started upon his travels’ when the sand man first began to throw his dust in sleepy children’s eyes, and this White House visit completes his long night's work. He sinks back in the President's big armchair, looks at the tree and talks. How his words came to me I dare not tell. It may have been that the toy phonograph which was intended for Little Ruth, and which was placed upon the tree, recorded them. It has never worked since then, I know, and has been sent back as useless to the store from whence it came. I can only say that every word is true, and that the big-eyed Brownie who guards the White House children heard it all and will cor- roborate my statements. Said Santa Claus: “There, that’s a good job done! How the children will hop up and down and dance about that tree. How Ruth will scream with joy and Esther clap her han How Papa Grover will grow young again and Mamma Frances smile. I like the White House best when it Is filled with children, and I hope the day of child- less Presidents has passed away forever. How dreary these rocms were about eight years ago, and how they brightened when Mary and Benjamin McKee and the little Harrisons came in. We had four good Christmas days and four great trees, every branch of which was loaded down with gifts.” Buby McKee’s Great Christmas. At this the Brownie jumped from out the tree and sat down on the stool at Santa's feet. He asked the old man questions and Santa Claus went on: “The first great day for Grandpa Harri- son—I mean Christmas day, of course; there &re no great days but Christmas—the fun began with a big tin horn, blown by Mrs. Dimmick. At this the White House family came together and Great-Grandpa Dr. Scott and Grandpa Harrison formed them into line. Little Ben McKee and Mary walked side by side, and In double file the children and the grownups marched into this room. The toys were not put on the tree, but piled up under it, and Mary had a dozen colls, a toy piano and a full doll housekeeping out- fit. Ben was most delighted with a toy steam engine, which really went by steam and puffed its way about the room. ‘There Were presents for the President and Mrs. Harrison and all the White House servants, Black Jerry, I remember, grinned all over when he was handed out an order for a turkey and a pair of gloves. There were games in which the ninety-year- old Dr. Scott played with little Ben, and Ben and Mary recited German poems as Christ- mas greetings to their grandparents.” The Brownie, who evidently did not un- derstand German, broke in. “But wasn’t it rather stiff for Christmas? “Yes, perhaps so,” was the reply. “But it suited the President, who, just between us, is a little bit stiff himself. He seldom unbends to any one, but Baby McKee so wrapped himself about the old man's heart that the two made me think of ‘Old Abe’ Lincoln and lively little ‘Tad.’ ” Here the Brownie’s eyes grew from pen- Mies into saucers and his round mouth Opened wide until it became a big round hole in his fat, round face, as he gasped out: “And did you know Tad Lincoln?” A Story of Tad Lincoln. “Yes, indeed,” said Santa Claus. “I knew him and I loved him. He wanted all ether boys to have as good times as him- self, and I remember how one stormy Christmas day he brought a crowd of hun- gry, ragged newsboys to the White House Kitchens. The cook, a surly, bead-eyed, 1 bachelor, was ‘basting the turkey and hot mince ples were smoking on the range. A savory smell of steaming dainties fioated forth and made the boys’ mouths water. But the cook, er in his eye, raged at young Tad d told him to take his ragged squad away. How Tad’s eyes flashed. He told the boys to wait and ran off to his father. He a flew upstairs, but his father was not in. He found him in the yard, walking toward the War Department and talking with Sec- retary Seward upon affairs of state, and ran to him and cried: “ ‘Papa! papa! Isn't that our kitchen, and can’t I bring those poor, cold, hungry boys in here to eat?’ “President Lincoln stopped. Tad seized him by the hand and excitedly went on. “ ‘Papa, I want those boys to have a good, warm dinner. They are cold and almost starving, and two of them have soldier papas. And, papa, I want to tell you that I am going to discharge that cook, if he don’t give us some turkey and mince pies. Say, can’t I, papa? And isn’t that our kitchen?” “I remember,” Santa Claus went on, his great round stomach moving convulsively up and down as he laughed within; “I re- member how Mr. Seward smiled and how ‘Tad’s father’s face grew tender as he fold him to run along and feed the hungry boys. And Tad did feed them, too! He stufted their stomachs full and as they went away ke loaded them with candy and with nuts from the store which I had thrust into his cwn stockings. Christmas in Arthur’s Time. “How mary Christmas mornings I've spent here,” Santa Claus went on. ‘Here I came to fill the stockings of Nellie Arthur, when her father was the President. was a sweet child, too, and it was through her that thousands of poor children got their Christmas dinners. She was at the head of a Christmas club, to which the richest children of Washington belonged and joined ; with her in making presents and in giving cinners to the poor. I nder if there wiil rot be such a thing this year. Frances Cleveland, Mellie Vilas and Pauline Whit- ney, with other girls, dined two thousand little children in this way on Christmas eight years ag “But that was eight years ago! How time does fly!” Said Santa Claus, as he threw his fat leg across his knee. ‘Now Frances Cleveland is a mother and has children of her own. Little Pauline Whitney has grown up and married, and her own good mother who made so many others happy has passed on to that land where life is one long Christ- mas day White House H inys With Grant and Hayes. Here Santa Claus dropped off into a doze His head fell slowly back until it struck the pack which he had hung upon the chair. He jerked it forward with a start, and as his eyes flew open they caught those of Mrs. Hayes, which were kindly looking down from out a gold frame on the wall. Old Santa blew a kiss up at the picture and vent on talking to himself. ‘There is a woman who knew what Christ- mas was. She made this house merry every year that she was in it, and she gladdened the homes of ethers. Every Christmas she bought forty turkeys and gave them to the poor. She had her Christmas trees, and the day was made me-ry with fun and games for the children from daylight to dark. I liked the Hayes boys, too,” Santa Claus mused on. “They were healthy fellows and they did not put on airs. It was the same with those Grant children. Fred and Buck and little Nellie. What a crowd they were and how they did make this old White House ring. Gen. Sherman used to come here Christmas right and Grant and Sher- man joined with the children in their games, the grizzly Sherman always watching the mistletoe ard claiming a kiss from every pretty girl who chanced to come beneath it. I always liked Shaman. He loved Christ- mas. F heart was always young. He laughed and cried when he was the nation’s hero as easily as he did when I first filled the blue knit socks which he hung up for me so many years ago in his Ohio home.” y aid the Brownie, “what a lot you have seen, Santa. When did you first come here?’ “Oh,” answered Santa Claus, “I do not like to say. It makes me feel so old! It was when a red-haired, freckled-faced, blue- eyed man named Jefferson was President. now almost one hundred years ago. He had no little children, but his married daughters often came to see him and brought their bables with them. I remember one bright Christmas day when there were six young children here. Dolly Madison, whose hus- band _ was then in the cabinet, presided at the Christmas dinner, and the babies, who had less colic then than now, stuffed their stomachs with cranberry tarts, roast tur- key, mince pies and molasses candy. * “Dolly Madison was also a stanch friend of mine,” Santa Claus went on. “She gave so much on Christmas that she was almost a Santa Claus herself. For sixteen years she was the mistress here, for she managed the White House during the days of Jeffer- son, as well as when her husband was the President. She was, I think, the prettiest and the kindest mistress that this White House ever had. Her hair was black as jet; her eyes cerulean blue, and her cheeks were as rosy as those of that china shepherdess which hangs there on the tree for little Esther. She wore a gray silk turban,though she. was a Quaker girl, and her parents dressed in dra George Washington's Most Memorable Christmas. “How abou? Madam Washington?” said the Brownie, “and little George, who never told a lie. “Little George grew big long before this house ws built,” was Santa Claus’ reply. “And George and Martha never lived a night within it. Their Christmases, when George was President, were spent in Philadelphia, New York or at Mount Vernon, and the presents were all made to the Custis babies, for General Washington had, you know, no children of his own. It was on Christmas day in 1783 that Washington came home, after the English were defeated and peace declared. On that day he took off his mili- tary clothes and put on the garb of a private citizen. The uniform he kept. The coat and breeches you may see in the National Museum, and the very stockings are pre- served among the relics at Mt. Vernon. I've filled them several times for little George and Nellie Custis. They were of silk, and longer than the average actor's tights Andrew Jackson's Christmas, “There was another great general who was President. I mean that tall man there, Andrew Jackson,” said the Brownie, as he pointed to a picture on the wall. “Yes,” replied Santa Claus. “I knew him. I pitied him, for he had no children. Still, he loved children, and when his adopted son had a baby born to him he was the happiest man in Washington. He used to nurse the baby when it had the colic, and he sometimes wheeled it up and down the east room for hours at a time. He tad a lot of children with him here in the White House, and he was as much inter- ested in Christmas as the babies were. He would sit and smoke a clay pipe as he talk- He Chats With the Brownie. ed with them. He would tell them all about me, and how I came down the chim- ney. I have often watched him, and I lave seen his wrinkled face grow soft and gentle as he looked into the fire and saw there, through the-smoke, the hard, rough days of his own poor boyhood, when he lived so far away in the wilds of North Carolina that Christmas passed unheeded and presents seldom came.” anta Claus said this a ray of morn- ht jumped through the window at his back and caught the gold of the little Brownie’s hair. It played a moment tpon the mirror of the doll’s bureau which Santa had hung upon the tree for little Ruth, and then in saucy mood jumped back and put its flery little fist in old Santa’s eyes. As Santa Claus received the blow he blink- ed. He sprang straight to his feet, and without a word rushed up the chimney and out onto the roof. The Brownie heard his retndeers gallop off, and then ran out him- self just in time to hear the prattle of the waking children overhead. FRANK G. CARPENTER. —_——___ A Modern Comparison, From Lif Friend—‘‘That is a a very high-class com- edy you are running. Is it drawing good houses?” Manager—“Big houses? It is doing as well as the best variety show in town.” She | NORTH AND SOUTH = Celebration of Christmas in Germany and Italy. WELL ADAPTED 10 THE CLIMATE In One Case the Home and in the Other the Street. SPIRIT OF THE FESTIVAL NGLAND AND Germany vie with each other as the Christmas countries, but as an English Christmas is a tradi- tion with us, its main features are familiar. The very name that the Ger- mans give the time is suggestive of their view of it—‘Weth- nacht’s Fest’’—the festival of the sa- ered night. For weeks before the time, there as here, the air is full of a spirit of secrecy and mystery of bustle and trade, and the good “hausfrau’ is busy com- pounding jars full of wonderful cakes, that are warranted to keep for weeks after the festival. But at 6 o’clcck, December 24, every- thing is quiet. The shops of every kind and desert Ptly clos: and althouch in one’s Christmes cares one may have forgotten to purchase such trifles as butter and eggs, not even for gain from your necessity will the shutters be taken down. For this is the night when in all the homes of the land is celebrated the advent of the Savior, who eame as a babe into an humble human kome, making baby- heod blessed for all ag. Evén the poorest home has its Christmas tree. Looking in at the window of a room where a whole family lived one sees a tiny tree, perhaps only a foot high, but decorated with a few candles and a bit of tirsel, and around it the children were gathered to receive a few cakes only, hap- py in Christmas, though it brought’ them chiefly sentimental joys. It is a family gathering time, but they gather at the tree, not the table. In the iniddle of the well-lighted room, towering toward the ceiling, stands the ‘“Weih- or Christmas tree, an ob- ‘auty, glittering with tinsel, bright with many-colored glass ornaments and luminous with candles. It bears no bur- ders, but on a table at the side of the recm are heaped the temptirg packages. Presently the good mother throws epen the doors, and the children and others are admitted. Their first gaze of rapturous wonderment satisfied, the children form a circte around the tree and sing melodiously the Christmas hymn, “O du Heilige, 0 du Selige A translation of the first stanza runs this: “O, thou holy day; O, thou blessed day; Mercy-bringing, sweet Christmas time! The world lay forlorn When the Christ was born. Rejoice, O, ye Christmas of every clime!” Then having recognized the divine crigin of the day, its human side is noticed. No one is overlooked in the distribution of gifts. The servants are called in to re- ceive their share. The survival of a feudal custom prescribes that every maid servant shall receive a dress for Christmas. Its quality depends on the purse of the donor. Only at this hour of all the year does childhood reign in Germany. Feasting and Visiting The next day the family attend the church service at 9 a.m., and then the day is occupied with feasting and visiting. The 26th is also a holiday—the stores are still closed. On that evening the Christmas celebration at the church occurs. There is a regular program for this occasion, and it is only changed when the printed programs have been worn out with long usage and new ones myst be printed. The people seem to have none of our Athenian-like curiosity to hear some new thing, sides, it is a more economical plan. The gifts to the children are packages of Nuremberg Lebkuchen, a sort of honey spice cake for which Nuremberg has long been famous. The salutation for the Christmas season is “Frahliche Weihnaeht,” merry Christ- mas, and the beaming countenances and hearty handshakes that accompany it make even the saddest and sourest glad for a moment. All through the week the spirit of Christmas lingers; all the week the chil- dren play with their toys; and at the end of the holidays the children return to school and the toys go into the garret to rest un- Ul the next holiday season. This is the rea- son why one can see in the Nuremberg Na- tional Museum dolls and their houses 300 years old in a state of perfect preserva- tion; in all that time they have only had six whole years of careful usage! These are but skeleton outlines of a Ger- man Christmas, it is impossible to fix in cold type the universal spirit of peace and good-will, of friendliness and kindness, ard the manifest desire to make it for every one a season of joy to the world. Yet these are the crowning claims of the festival there, where hearts are aglow. If any one has become hard-hearted through loneli- ness, or calloused by the practical affairs of life, so that Christrmas to him means only an outlay of money, a day whose ad- vent is dreaded—let him spend the season anywhere in Germany, holding himself re- ceptive to influences, and the scales will drop from his eyes, his heart be humanied, and the spirit of a little child—the hest boon of life—be his again. The Day in Naples. Down about the ankle of the geographic- al boot which Italy dips into the Mediter- ranean sea in the beautiful -city whose proverbial praise is “see Naples and die” is the spot where we shall next see Christ- mas celebrated, “Il Natale,” the Nativity, as they call it here. There is a marked difference between the two celebrations; for whereas in Germany the festival re- volves around the home, among the people of the delicious south the observance is more public, and one must be on the streets to see it all. Why not? The street is their life. The children are dressed and nursed and chas- tised on the streets, the people sew and visit and eat their maccaront outside their doors; why not stay out of doors at Christ- mas and let their joy be persuasive and contagious? Besides, yonder in the Via Roma or Toledo there is being held the great fair, and so on Christmas Eve we find ourselves jostling with the good-na- tured crowd on the narrow pavement, It is a street so narrow that only two carriages can drive abreast, and the po- licemen must be vigilant Indeed to keep one line moving up and one down. Carriage hire is cheap in Napics, and on this occa- sion every family who can rake together a few soldi—or cents—is driving. It doesn’t seem io interfere with their pleasure be- cause they ride six or seven in a small victoria, and there is no “scclety for the prevention of cruelty of animals” to pre- vent overcrowding. The plucky little horses are adorned with three cock’s feathers on the left side of the head. The carriages of the nobility have to take their chances of getting in line with these hacks. The sides of the street are lined with booths, some Uke small theaters, with dancing marion- ettes; others like tents brilliantly decorated with tinsel and gilt, and their lanterns and torches make living pictures of the crowd. The people at the booths are shouting and beating drums and blowing horns to call | attention to their wares, and the people on the narrow pavement are iaughing and joking as they are pressed to the wall by the carriages Pandemonium is let loose, but good nature reigns. At the Street Booths. But such wares, all the fancy bazaar jumbles and world's fair combinatiuns pale before it, for only in Naples could one find such an assortment—sponges, won- drous-colored shells, sprays of coral, cam- eos and tortoise shell from the bay; lava trinkets from Pompeii;~rosaries of small shells, and crucifixes of olive wood; chro- mos of the royal famiiy and images of the saints; pots and pans, notions, cakes and confections of all degrees of attractiveness; clothing, and fortune-telling books; optical instruments and toys of every sort. Every language of Europe is heard on the street, and the business: is mainly conducted by the use of fingers fo indicate the quantity desired and the price asked. At the end of the mile-long street the fair terminates in the fish market, a; favorite spot with the sightseers, for .Neapolitan fishes are aquatic rainbows;. and here is a great crowd, for all the natives are buying eels, because on Christmas eve every family in Naples, rich or poor, must have eels for supper. The real origin of this custom seems to be unknown. It is probable that it arose in those symbolic days of early Christianity when the fish was the mystic symbol of Christ.. And so as you drive home along the terraced roads, and pass the queer little houses built into the rock of the roadbed, Where the poor live, you are greeted by the smell of frying eels, and are made conscious of the fact that in the palaces also they are eating eels. But sleep will not visit your couch that night, for horns and drums, the crack and fizz of fireworks, the clang of church bells, and the serenades and songs of jolly tars and happy townsmen are not lullaby mu- sic. And as you try to sleep and fail, you are at first inclined to call these people aesthetic barbarians to celebrate in such a Fiji Island way the coming of the Prince of Peace; but sober second thought cools your anger, and you conclude that they are not so far out of the way; for that event brought joy into the world, and they are only expressing their joy in the way most pleasing to them; and it is not their fault if their more demonstrative nature d»- mands a different form of expression from that to which you have been accustomed. It is not always part of the ceebration of the occasion that the sun should shine, but when it does the day seems to have come direct from heaven. The blue sky smiles at the bluer bay, which laughs little an- swering ripples back, and the picturesque lateen sails of the little fishing boats tind their fleecy counterparts in the “sails of the air” that float across the heavens: and the translucent gold of the atmosphcre seems quivering with the angels’ me: of “Peace on earth, good-will to men. all sides, is heard age On the day’s salutation, “Buona Festa.” The beggars greet you with “Buona Festa” and extend the palm; and on his day nobody refuses to give alms; it is a day of largesse from heaven and earth. The churches on Christmas day are well attended, and then dancing and feasting and general jollity finish the day. The joy is contagious and all-embracing. Even the lonely stranger catches its spirit. At this time, as never before, one experiences the Joy of living—one is glad to be a part of Such universal happiness. REWARDS OF PHILOSOPHY. How Herbert Spencer Labored and What He Got in Return. From the Review of Reviews. Herbert Spencer's first important work, “Social Statics,” was published in 1850, when he was just thirty. The great work of his life—the “System of Synthetic Phi- losophy”—was taken up in earnest ten years later. The sacrifices involved in the preparation and production of the gigantic work thus heralded to the world were little short of heroic. Those who know Mr. Spencer by his books alone may have thought of him merely as devoting himsef: to philosophy out of the abundance of tis material wealth and comfort. The truth ts far oth- erwise. No man ever lived a more ascetic life or denied himself more for the sake of the task he had undertaken for humanity. In his evidence given before the commis- sion on copyright he tells us in plain words, though in the most, severely impersonal and abstract manner, the story of his hard and noble fight during the. unrecognized days of his early manhood. Not a fight for bread, not a fight for fame, remember, but a fight for truth. For his first book, “Social Statics,” in 1850, he could not find a publisher willing tu take any risk; so he was obliged to print it at his own cost and sell it on commission. The edition consisted of cnly seven hun- dred and fifty copies; and it took no less than fourteen years to sell. Such are the rewards of serious thought in our genera- tion! Five years later he printed th inal form of the “Principles of P: ogy.” a Again no publisheR would undertake the risk, and he pwbllghed on commission. Once more seven hundted and fifty copies Were printed ang th¢ sale was very slow. “I gave away a nett. number,” says Mr. Spencer pathetje@lly, “and the remain- der sold in twelv@ aiid a half years.” Dur- ing all that timé,,we may conclude from the sequel, he-not only made nothing out of those two important and valuable books, but was actually kept out of pocket for his capital sunk in them. “Before the initial volume, ‘First Prin- ciples,” was finished,” he observes, “I found myself still Tosing. During the issue of the second volume, the ‘Principles of Biology,’ I was still losing. In the middle of the third volume I was losing so much that I found I was frittering away all I possessed. I went back upon my accounts, and dis- covered that in the course of fifteen years I had lost nearly £1,2W—adding interest, more than £1,200. As I was evidently going on ruining myself, I issued to the sub- scribers a notice of cessation: He had been living, meanwhile, in “the most economical way possible:”” in spite of which he found he had trenched to a large extent on his very small capital. Spartan fare had not sufficed to make his experi- ment successful. Nevertheless, he contin- ued to publish, as he simself bravely phrases it, “I may say, by accident.” Twice before in the course of those fifteen weary years he had been able to persevere, spite of losses, by bequests of money. this third occasion, just as he was on the very point of discontinuing the production of his great work, property which he had inherited came to him in the nick of time to prevent such a catostrophe. Any other man in the world would have invested his money and fought shy in fu- ture of the siren of philosophy. Not so Mr. Spencer. To him iife is thought. He went courageously on with his forlorn hope in publishing, and it is some consolation to kncw that he was repaid in the end, though late and ill, for his single-minded devotion In twenty-four years after he began to publish he had retrieved posi- tion, and was abreast of his losses. Think of that, you men of business. Twenty-four years of hard mental work for no pay at all, and at the end to find yourself just where you started! Since that time, it is true, Mr. Spencer’s works have brought him in, by degrees, a satisfactory revenue; but consider the pluck and determination of the man who could fight so long, in spite of poverty, against such terrible expe- riences. —_+ e+ ___ Their First Ice. From tke San Francisco Post. “One of ihe funniest sights I ever saw was a South Sea Islander with his first chunk of Ice,” remarked the captain of a trading schooner. “I was lying at anchor at one of the Navigator Islands once, when some natives came aboard. It was an aw- fully hot day, and I had just been getting some ice up from below. The natives look- ed at it curiously, ard so I handed one a chunk. The moment it touched his hand he dropped it like a hot shot and looked at his palms to see if they were burned. “After a deal of jabbering, they all sat around it and watched it melt. They could not understand it at all, and when there was nothing left but.& wet spot on the deck they sat around it and discussed the phe- nomenon. “I put a piece of ice in my mouth and then gave them some, They shifted it from hand to nand like a-hot coal, put the tips of their tongues on it gingerly and finally swallowed the chunk. It was a source of great wonder to them.” ——_+0+__ The Latter-Day Taste. From Punch. Author—“I've got here some short stories that I am anxious to publish.” Publisher—“‘Let me warn you. May I ask if they're written in any unintelligible Scotch dialect?” Author—“Certainly not.”” Publisher—“‘Then I'm afraid they're not of the slighest use to us.”’ THE CASE OF SANTA CLAUS VS, SILAS SINGLETON, “Jemimy Jane,” soliloquized Mr. Single- ton, as he banged away at his lonely old bachelor stove, “if Santa Claus ever gets down this way he’s going to have to leave that fat stomach of his out on the roof,” and he chuckled softly to himself as he stuffed a crvmpled up newspaper through the stove door and touched it with a match to burn out the flue. : Then he sat down, and listening to the roaring flames within, he let himself think awhile. It was only three days before Christmas, and Mr. Silas Singleton was un- happy. Truly an uncalled for condition of mind at so merry a season, but Mr. Sin- gleton was unhappy, and there was no other interpretation of it. He was a bache- lor of forty, but that was no particular reason why he should be unhappy, for a bachelor of forty has much to be thankful for. He might have been a bachelor of fifty, and surely. he had ten years the ad- vantage of that. His room was small and was on the top floor of the boarding house, but the rent was low, and there was some compensation in that. Neither was pov- erty grinding the happiness out of Silas Singleton’s soul, for Silas was thrifty, and despite his poor quarters he had half dol- lars in plenty, and could have bought two or three boarding houses if he had been so disposed. To come to the plain and undisputed facts in the e, Mr. Singieton’s unhappiness was due solely to emotional difficulties, ag- gravated by one Jane Smith, a charming typewriter, who occupied a hall room on the second floor and Mr. Singleton’s heart at the same time. Now, the reader may think that a girl ramed Jane Smith couldn't very well be pretty and sweet and all that, but the reader may err, for Jane was all of that, and a thousand times more to Silas Single- ton. And Silas Singleton wasn’t anything to her. Not a thing. | For hadn't she told him so only the even- ing before? And that, too, with an em- phasis which fairly made the cold chills chase each other all over his emotional what perils do environ the man les with Cupid. Especially an old bachelor who has been accustomed to having things pretty much his own way. Mr. Singleton and Jane Smith had come to an understanding, as they say when re- ferring to these things, and the under- standing was practically an engagement, but for some unaccountable reasom the course of true love failed to glide or had dropped a cog or something. “Anyway, it was off the frack, ard Silas Singleton had been caught in the wreck without an ac- cident insurance policy. : And the more he thought of it as he sat gloomily before his lonely old bachelor stove in the little bare room on the top floor, the more he thought and the less the softened roar of the flames in the flue seemed to soothe his perturbed spirit. What the end would have been Is of no moment here, for his thought was dis- turbed by a sharp rap on his door. ‘ome in,” called Silas, wita a start, as if the intruder might possibly be Santa Claus. “That's what I'm here for,” responded the bluff voice of a man with a white whisker that might have been plucked from the Christmas deity, as ke swung the door open and came in with a thufmp. He was a large man and powerful, not- withstanding his sixty or more years, and Silas did not openly resent his vigorous and unconventional entrance, but he looked up at him in mild surprise and remonstrance. “Are you Mr. Silas Singleton?” he said, as he dropped into a chair with an emphasis that made it squeak in protest. “I am,” cesponded Silas, stiffly. “Bachelor, I presume?” looking around the room as if there were no need of asking the question. “I am,” more stiffly than before. You ought to be married,” continued the bluff visitor. “I am, and I have a dozen children and more grandchildren than I can take a census of. It seems to run in our family.” “I have entertained aspirations to matri- mcry,” said Silas, softening somewhat un- der the pressure of his caller. “Don’t do it,” was the unexpected re- sponse. “Don't do it. What do you want with a wife and a lot of children? They'd fit in a place lik this amazing well, wouldn't they, now?" and the visitor looked about him disdainfully. “There are other place: ventured Silas. “Yes, and other men have filled them up with their wives and children. What do you want to break in for?” “Really, I don't know,” stammered Silas, thinking of the poor prospect just then that he ever would. “Of course you don’t. Give it up,” and the visitor rose and walked about the room curi- ously. “By the way,” he broke out sudden- ly, “aren't you in love?” Silas started as if he had been shot, and he looked around nervously to see if his visitor had found any of those little souv rirs of affection maidens send to bachelors for decorative purpose: “I don't know who you are, sir,” replied Silas with dignity, “and I don't see any reason why I should answer such a ques- ticn, granting, even, that you have a right to ask it.” ‘Oho,”” chuckled the visitor, “it’s worse than I thought it was. Bad case; bad case. Why don’t you go right down to that Smith girl on the second floor and tell her she Hele know a good thing when she sees tee If the visitor had hit Silas in the face with a wet rag, he\couldn’t have disturbed his equanimity movre. ir,” he exclaimed, in surprise and anger, “I have permitted your unusual visit this evening because it took my thoughts from sadder things, but you have presumed upon my forbearance and transgressed the laws of hospitality. I will answer your qvestion by telling vou it is none of your busincss and ask you to get out of my room at once. In response to this rather peremptory re- quest of Mr. Singleton the visitor sat down and actually laughed at his host. “T like that,” he chuckled. “It's emphatic. But just the same it is my business, and T want to know, sir, why you are trifling with the affections of my niece and ward, Miss Jane Smith. Perhaps that isn’t my bust- ness, either,’’ and the big old man rose up before Mr. Singleton until he looked as tall as a giraffe and as big around as an ele- phant. It was putting a very different phase on the situation, and Mr. Singleton began to prepare a retreat. “Evidently you are ignorant of the facts in the case, sir,” he said, hedging slightly. “Not a bit of it; not a bit of it, Mr. Single- ton,” retorted the visitor. “I know all about it. I've talked with the young lady and know exactly. You have been trifling with her, sir, and I shall remove her from this house, sir, at once, sir, and if you obtrude yourself upon her again, sir, you will hear from me, sir. Do you hear, sir?” and with a shake of his big fist at Silas he stamped out of the room and stamped down stairs. Silas sat down again and began pinching himself to see if he were really awake or was having nightmare, but there was no need to pinch himself; he was wide awake and Jane’s guardian had fallen upon him like a wolf on the fold and had knocked out what little hope there might have been left. Sleep came to him that night by fits and starts, and when the first streak of light showed itself Silas rose and took a long walk before breakfast. It helped him some, and when he reached the house he had taken courage and made up his mind to walk to the office with Miss Smith and stralghten matters out or perish in the at- tempt. Having formed his plans of action and gone over them a hundred times in as many seconds, he went into breakfast with a smile on his face and feeling better than Ne had since the emotional scrap had taken place. Miss Smith was not at the table, and he unconsciously glanced over towards the corner where she sat, and his heart went down to hfs toes. There was not so much as a plate there, and he could see that the table had been set for one less. “Did you know that Miss Smith had gone?” asked the landlady casually, as she handed him a cup of coffee. “Indecd?” he replied, quite indifferently, for Silas and Jane had kept their affairs to themselves. “Yes; left last night, very suddenly.” “Eloped inquired Silas with a gulp, knowing too well the circumstances. a no,” laughed the landlady. went away with her uncle. He's going to give her a home. You know, he is rich, and all his children are married and gone. ‘Where does he live?” asked Silas, helping himself to a bit of the liver and bacon, and feeling that he couldn’t eat a mouthful of it to save his life. “I don’t know, “She her away, and said t things in a few day Silas didn’t ask any more questions, and very shortly left the table to wander around helplessly all day and to sit lonely in his room at night and to wait for Christ- mas and the merry jingle of its bells. Christmas eve had come and Silas sat in his lonely room widowed and _ weeping. The pretty things he had bought for Jane's Christmas sat unopened on his table, and Santa Claus had not come to cheer him with a season’s souvenir. He was a lone- ly old bachelor, the loneliest he had ever thought it possible to be, and the only con- solation he could find lay in the thought that Santa Claus was not a married man cr he wouldn't be staying out so late of night. Just at this conceit struck him a thump- ing whack struck the door. “Come in,” said Silas. “That's what I’m here for,” and in strode Jane’s guardian and uncle. “I thought—” began Silas, stuttering so he could scarcely get his words out. “Don't think,” said Jane's guardian, “I sald I didn’t want you to obtrude yourself on my niece and ward, but I didn’t say anything about my obtruding myself upon you, did I?” “No, sir,” replied Silas so submissively that he was surprised at himself.” “Sit down,” commanded Jane’s guardian and uncle, taking a chair himself. “Sit down,” and Silas obeyed. “Now,” con- tinued the visitor, “I came around here after Jane's things.” “Well, sir,” said Silas coldly, “you will find them im her room, I suppose.”* “What's that over there on the table?” and he pointed at the unopened packages. “I think I saw her name on them the other evening when I was here.” “They were for her Christmas, sir,” said Silas sadly, “but that has all passed’ now.” Um—um,” murmured Jane’s guardian to himself as he gathered them in, “she told me to get all her things and I guess these go with the rest. Pretty dull old Merry Christmas for you, ain't it?” and he chuck- led heartlessly. x Silas could only sigh. “Santa Claus is a kind of a fraud, ain't he?” continued the visitor, warming his back over the stove. “He doesn’t seem to come my way to any great extent,” admitted Silas with a wan smile. .“Well, I must be going,” said Jane’s guar- dian. “Good night, and Merry Christmas,” and he went out of the door with a slam and then came straight back again. “I guess I have forgotten something,” he said. “Jane told me to bring everything that was hers here, and I guess you go with the rest, Mr. Singleton. I'm going to give Jane to you for a Christmas present. I asked her about it and you ought to have seen her blush. Jane's a fine girl, Mr. Single- ton. I'd like to give you to her, but I guess you've got ahead of me on that. Come on," and Jane’s guardian and uncle took Janés sweetheart by the arm, and it was well he did so, for Silas Singleton was in such a hurry he would surely have fallen down stairs in his flight and broken his old bachelor neck, just as he was on the brink of redemption. W. J. LAMPTON. —_——.__ GOLF FRANCE. ‘y would send for her Interest in This Game and the Fine Links Provided. From the Figaro. - The golf season has just ended with the games of the Dinard Club. The golf week at Dinard has nothing equivalent to it in the sporting world, except the races at Trouville. From Dinan, from St. Malo, from St. Servan, from Parame, from St. Lunaire, from Paris, aud even from Eng- land, the Englishmen arrive, to play or to be present at this brilliant autumn meeting. Not only do the English and American col- onies of the Cote d’Tmeraudf furnish their contingent of fervent golf players, but also a number of families from across the water remain on the Malouin shore to be present at this new game. French sportsmen be- longing to the region or ruralizing there make it a duty to follow the phases of the game, and even to take part in it. For instance, last year Count Joseph Rochaid won the Dinard challenge cup. The golf links of Dinard are incontestibly the best in France, according to the English professionals. Moreover, the thing which. renders them unique in their kind, from the point of view of nature, is the great aum- ber of incomparable views which surround them and their position on the seacoast in the midst of unequalled scenery. Along the undulating praries of about thirty hectares, cut by ditches, roads and little streams of water, they have estab- lished, at a distance of four hundred meters from each other, eighteen holes figured by a sort of little iron recipient stuck into the ground and indicated to the player by a flag of a bright color. Each hole is surrounded by a little grecn grass carpet cut close and very carefully Kept, called a green, whose diameter is about twenty or thirty meters. Not far from each one of these holes is a little terreplain or tee. The game is played with a hard rubber ball about three or four centimeters in diameter. +o. —___ He Didn’t Know. From the Boston Transcript. Sympathetic Wife—“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry yeu are sick. What could you have eaten at the dinner? Sufferer—“T’ve not the slightest idea; the bill of fare was printed in French, you know.” ——+ e+ __ Explained. From the Chicago Reesrd. “What's a ‘green Christmas? ” “It's one of these Christmases where a man gives a $30 gold locket to a girl who knits him fifteen-cent yarn wristlets. Sciatic Rheumatism and its Cure. From the Gazette, Burlington, Iowa. The story of Mr, Tabor's nearly fatal attack of Sciatic rheumatism is familiar to his large circle of acquaintances, but for the benefit of others and those similarly afflicted the Gazette has investi- gated the matter for publication. Mr. ‘Tabor is secretary and treasurer for tbe Commercial Print- ing Company, with offices in the Hedge Block, and resides at 417 Basset street, Burlington, Ia. A Gazette man sought aa interview with Mr. Tabor at his place of business today, and, although he vas busily engaged with imperative duties, he talked freely and feclingly on the subject of his recent severe sickness and subsequent woaderful cure x4 said Mr. Tabor, “I can safely say that Tam a well man, that is, my old trouble with rheumatism has entirely disappeared, but I am still taking Pink Pills, and will keep on. taking shor 4s long as T continue to grow stronger and health- fer, as Ihave been every day since I bezan to Use them. You will not wonder at my profound faith in the merits of Dr. Williams’ Pink ‘Pills for Pale People after you have heard what I have to tell you. About one year ago I was stricken suddenly with sciatic rheumatism and was confined to my d. It grew worse and rapidly assumed the form mmatory rheumatism. I suffered constant and acute pains and all the tortures which that horrible disease is capable of inflicting. At length under the constant care of a local physician I was nabled to return to my work, but =. at inter- vals. Severe attacks would appear regularly in my back und descend into my leg and foot, and threat- ened to make me a p-rmanent cripple. I tried va- is remedies for rheumatism, but without an} cial results. grim pale, weak and hageard, ray family and friends grew alarmed at my ition, and ndition. ‘About eight weeks ago my mother induced me to try Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills for Pale People. and you know the result. Before I had used one box I felt greatly relieved and much strong I continued their use and improved rapidiy. T have how taken eight boxes and feel like a new man and completely cured, all of which Is due to the efficacy of Pink Pills. ‘They are invigorating and ¥ Wholesome, and have helped me in reply to inquiries Mr. Henry, the druggist, stated that Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills were having a large sale, that it was particularly gratifying to him to know that the customers themselves were highly pleased with the benefits they had derived from thelr use; that many of them stated that the pills were the only medium that had done them any good; that they not only gave quick relief, but permanent benefit. That the pills do sell and that the pills do cure is a certainty. Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills contain, in a condensed form, all the elements necessary to give new life and richness to the blood and restore shattered nerves. They are also a specific for troubles pe- culiar ‘to females, such as suppressions, irregu tles and all forms of weakness. In men they effect ein all cases arising from mental overwork or excesses of whatever nature. in boxes only at 50 cents a box 50, and may be had of all drug- ¥ mail from Dr. Williams’ Medi- nectady, Pink Pills are sold or six boxes for gists, or direct Se cine Co. INHUMAN ROBBERS. The Victim Bound and Placed in « Wagon and the Horse Started. From the Cincinnati Enquirer. For several months past highwaymen have been carrying on a desperate traffic in Warren county, along the east boundary line, which is the Wabash river. A few nights ago the fence guard en the Wabash river bridge at Attica was turned across the bridge, so that a team would drive off and down on to the rocks fifty feet below. It was discovered by a footman just in time to save a team and two men that were coming on to the bridge. Saturday night Edward Lilley was re- turning to his home from Warren county, where he had been working and had ac- cumulated about $0. He crossed the river, and was met by two masked men, wh drawing revolvers, demanded, “Hands up Lilley quickly responded, and was robbed of all his money and a gold watch. They then stripped him of his clothing, tied his hands behind him and bound his feet, when they threw him into the buggy and started his horse, and left him at its mercy. The horse took him home, where he was found Sunday morning, almost frozen to death. ———~_+ e+-___ __ THEY WERE TOO LATE. A Story Which Shows the Adva of Letting Your Wife Be C: From the Chicago Post. The belated wayfarer was standing in the shadow of a building, with both hands poirting heavenward, while he gazed into the muzzle of a revolver. One footpad was holding the revolver where it would do the m.cst good in case of an emergency, and the other was going through the victim's pockets. The silence was so oppressive that the belated wayfarer finally felt obliged to speak. “Think you're smart, don’t you?” he said. “We know our business,” returned one of the footpads, gruffly. “Of course, you do,” said the belated wayfarer with something like a sneer. nage shie “You know that this is my pay day, suppose. “Sure,” replied the footpad. “That's why we laid for you.” “He ain't got but 65 cents, Bill, rupted the one who had the victim’s pockets. ‘Wot! cried the other. “That's right,” said the belated way- farer, cheerfully. “But you was paid today,” insisted the man with the revolver. “Right again,” admitted the belated way- farer in the same cheerful tone. “But scmebody got in ahead of you, and you thought you were so all-fired smart that I'll be hanged if I'm not glad of it.” “Somebody get ycur roli?” Yep.” inter- been searching Who?” “My wife came to the office after this afternoon. Oh, you've got to get up mighty early to beat her.” : ew AT CRIPPLE CREEK. Frem Life. Chorus—“‘Cert! Right there, See?" pard.