The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 25, 1898, Page 24

200000000000CC00000000C000000000000000000000000-000000000000000 ., treraolo Sonny’s elbow, useless noi: amble at w 24 THE SAN. FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1895. [} (] ] [+ [x] [} o [] (] L] [] Q o o o o o o (] (] (] (] (] (] o Q o ] [ 5] (] o o [ [} 0 0 o o [} o Q (] (] 0 0 2 o (] o (] o (] o [x] o o Q Q. [ e (] (] o o (] © [x] o © (] o (] [} Q (] o (] (] (] [} (] © Q o [>] [ (] o o o o (] HE crowd in the a lull in trade—: 4 o’clock of Christmas eve. full of fitful sunshine and soft, flawy winds. sat northwest; lower, ragged clouds scudding before it let fall little spiteful snow spits, or dashes of hail. There was a sort of leaden, U/zree Christmas Jermons. Qy Walyl!fefi Jany;!ar, Rov. Robt, 00/(5/0", Jlapfien S, Wise. HERE are two points about Christmas which I would like to impress upon my friends in Cali- fornia, whom I know to be many. One of these is that we ought not to forget, in the midst of so many gifts, to give thanks to the giver of all that is worth having in this world. The other point is that parents ought to think twice before taking out, in a sense of supposed parental duty, the Santa Claus idea from the life and heart of their child. How many of us are filled with a deep realization of obligations at this time to the founder of the L‘hris!n'{as feast, to its perpetual giver, and while rendering unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, render also unto God the things that are God's Sometimes one fancies that the Calabrian peasants who, in the simplicity of superstition and tenderness of heart, come down from the mountains just before Christ- mas to the shrines of the Virgin to comfort her with their pipes and songs in the hours when she is waiting for child—sometimes, I say, one fancies that th imple hearted men and wo- men have more the right of it, in their touching if primitive custom, that we who take all and seldom pause to think what it that we can do in our turn. Most of us bring a churchly recog- nition to the day in morning services, and in the ringing of the church bells on the evening before, and the trim- ming of the church with green; we look on the bountiful Christmas din- ner, too, almost in the light of a re- ligious observance. And, this much done, we are quite apt to dismiss the heavenly part and devote ourselves with unalloyed bliss to the earthly. We are not asked to bring incense, and stones of price, nor 'costly sacrifice. Hence it seems all the more that we might really offer of ourselves the things that are pleasant in the heaven- ly eves and make a point of examin- ing our store of such articles, of ac- quiring them, of having them to give. We would then have ready as our Christmas offering to heaven, not the coin given in the offertory, but self- surrender and the love of God, which includes the love of all humanity, faith whose vision penetrates the skies, charity that suffers long and is kind, honor, truth, purity, conquered appe- tites, untiring endeavor, loftine: [ thought and the constant of goodness and bounty, and merc love and power above. I once knew parents who did not be- lieve in Santa Claus. They were afraid to let their children believe in the blessed old myth, fearing that the fancy would make them overcredulous and might teach them deceit. Facts which could be verified these excellent people insisted upon, and when town and country were rejoicing, Christmas bells ringing, Christmas tapers twink- ling and Christmas carols thrilling their home was robbed of half its right- ful cheer. Such a beautiful train is it which fol- lows this dear old fellow, so laden with gifts for old and voung, so overflowing with gayety, so bright of face and light of step, it would hardly seem as though contact with the myriad elves and fays which come into being when Santa Claus waves his wand could ‘do any- body on earth the least harm. For about the time when the first snow flies and the shops blossom out in rare eplendor, and up the streets and down g0 happy people seeking how to make those they love still happier, Santa Claus is in full sway, his reign begun and the wheels of fashion, of business and of trade are rolling faster and faster till the hour shall come, when lo! there will be the star in the ¢ and the song of the angel in every soul. Did the parents who would have none of Santa Claus gain anything by their resolution to be rigidly true to a tangi- ble and material order, or, clinging to the husk, did they lose the fruit which was growing within for the healing of the nations? Many things not suscep- tible of proof by the evidence of the physical senses are really true in that ’ higher realm where imagination rules. One of these never dying, never failing things is Santa Claus, and year by year the weeks over which his scepter is ex- tended are weeks of rare beauty, and a time when good will everywhere shines in men’s countenances and is the mainspring of their lives. Children see and feel this wonderful festival of love on the earth, but they cannot enter into it fully, and so those who were wiser than we in good old days fragrant in memory, christened the Christmas season, when the yule log burns and the holly gleams and the world is glad, as the special gala time of Santa Claus. Believe in him all you can and as long as you can and he will give you blessings heaped up and run- ning over to pay you for your faith. MARGARET E.‘SANGSTER. P By Rev. Robert Gollyer HE things we do at Christmas are touched with a certzin grain of extravagance, as beautiful in some of its aspects as the ex- travagance of nature in June. It is the children’s carnival, the midsum- mer of charity .to the poor, the spring- tide of good will to men; when the Christmas tree groans all radiant and fruitful as no other tree does which blooms through the year, for it bears at least twelve manner of fruit and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. I would not therefore insult Christ- mas by underdoing it. The man who does most for his fellow -men, accord- ing to his means, does best. We can give the tramp who comes to our back door a royal cup of coffee on Christmas morning with a good grace, even though we have to see that he does not run off with the spoon. They are wide pages the angel opens in the Book of Life on Christmas, and when we do our best we cannot do it quicker than he can write it down. Still T think it not hard to see how we may spare, even at the Christmas- tide, and yet do more and better than if we spend. If a man spends the money ve to pay his debts, when v well he can only pay his debts by saving., he may give what he buys right and left with an open hand, and it will be to his own shame. There are millions of dollars spent every Christmas of other men's money. Not a penny ought to be laid out in gifts one can well let alone. Men who do that get drunk on their own generosity, though they never taste of wine; and, if they are men of conscience, the headache and- heartache of getting sober will be none the less, for their motive for getting drunk. We should never spend when we ought to spare, especially if we have families. . RE\'..ROI‘ZERT COLLYER. . By Stephen H. Wise. AY I presume to say, in the midst of these Christmas les- sons, that the followers of the Christ-Child of to-day, without regard to those of past ages, would do well to heed the core-truth of their joyous Christmas? Were they to do so they might realize in far greater and grander measure their ‘ideal of “Peace on earth and good will to men."” The world is rightly shocked by the spectacle of an Eastern potentate grinding under the iron heel of injus- tice and brutality his unhappy subjects who will not conform to the belief of Islam. Shall we remain stolid and un- moved when, in European lands, the unfortunate children of Israel cry out against the bludgeon blows of Russian cruelty and wantonness, or the stiletto thrusts of high-sounding German and Austrian anti-Semitism? About four years ago the notorious Jew-hater, Pastor Stoecker, delivered a sermon at the Sunday morning service on board of an ocean steamer on the text: “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” 1In the course of his sermon JE Copyrighted, 1898, by Martha McCulloch-Williams. The morning ha the wind The Murray outfit came wabbling up. scowled and drew their clattering load. “By gonnys! Walker candy stam Sa.- ng his feet hard as he clambered down. fun—Lassaphine does—been a-beggin’ me all the way not to have the turkey walk—though she knows I saved them bur-reds jest fer nothing said, holding out both hands. though Lassaphine was very far lightest heart in the world. s to mak sport for an idle holiday crowd. They else in the world.” Walker said. Do! got my ha T them fine gobblers! “Come now, Miss Lassaphine! “‘Christmas comes but once a year, yoy I've got the very dress for ydbu—told my wife so last night, when the newest goods come in." Lassaphine shook her head decidedly. she said. nd.” t wont be long,” al That won't do! Walker said, you don’'t wanter trade though, lemme take you u turning to pick vani . could not in th “I don't leave this wagin till it starts for home,” up the rope reins her father had dropped. shed inside the log store-house. to make room for a_smart new buggy, ith the back of his hand, his e % did come, Jack! a: el y night-black hair, and the and fortunes lost their heads over her. Jack Childers, for instance, a Congressman’s son, i though _reputed wild; young farmers round abo cateh for any girl, to say bashful young brother. Len Haskell, three south looking rooms. was and were in the c of his weakness for many glasses wh Still the Grandpap. due to Murray blood. head. That was the secret of Lassaphine's presencs have him royster away the price of her feathered flock. Fy there were her churc wifeless young fellow, well clothed, well living, had much less need of the five dollars listened, smiling obstinately. feeling that it was due herself to pay, Sund Rollaags Tn the Fiddle souih. AS & lot aroun olidays in the mi e south. 8 a lottery it comes under the ban of strict church people. Certainly there is a strong element of chanc Fach walker pays a stipulated sum for the pr(vfi 8 in it parlance “‘buys &iven number of steps, and set the peg firmly We're a-goin’ to walk in the dues. Sonny & is a sort of rural is peg.” been April weather, even to the loud crackings of Sonny's whip. shivered impatiently at the nofse. The crack of doom could not have quickened the patient ch Brandy, the red ox, and Jinny, the pale little donkey, Must be you've fetched a feather bed aliv Lassaphine overlooked Instead of getting out, she writhed down amid the turkeys. fine big fellows, white, and copperas yellow, and glossy greenish She had fed and tended and talked to them since they came out of the €gg. A lump had come in her throat as she hoppled them in pairs and laid them upon the scant straw at the bottom of the wagon. was there still, person. with the from She could have sold her flock to the turkey drover last week It was quite another matter to seize and bind them treacherously as they fed from her hand, and deliver them thu: ¥ 2 Jim Walker! Ain't you got a new frock and stick er red-strip-ed mought tole this yer gal e mine inside!” Sonny said, “She wants ter spile our Not never in the world!"” k ¥ 1 “I don’t want no dress yous “Nothin' you've got—until the money to pay for it is in rubbing his hands. I’call it jest a great notion of your pa's—havin’ 'em walked for—stand you in twice whut the drovers 's been payin'! Ef to the house—" assaphine interrupted, As the team crawled a little from the he came out wiping his s glassy with satisfaction. Man of his word!" aphine did not turn her head, She had long dusky eyes with a spark at oise and stature of a Greek ithstanding, most women in the countryside reckoned her 0 unlike their standard of pink and white prettiness, they least comprehend why so many men of so many minds ich and falr looking, most driving and thriving of the ; Doc Grant. the bachelor tobacco dealer, a nothing of Teeny Walker, It was certainly aggravating to good women with girls of their own to settle to have 20 many dangle after Lassaphine, who coquetted with all, and favored none. poverty, the bare and unmerchantable frafmenl of a wide plantation. Its starveilrg acres were either galled and guil briers, and the big' weather-stained house The Murray place was poorer than ied or overgrown with vagrant ‘was ruinous except in two or Murrays mapaged to live by it—Lassaphine and Sonny and Grandpap never forgot, nor allowed the others to forget, what Lassaphine, for example, slgn her name, must wear shoes upon higii days and holidays, and go to church at least once a month, Lassaphine’s mother had not been a person of quality, who had. however, been obliging enoug] in arms. “Drive round! shaking hands right and left as he spoke. He was the more strenuous because to die while Lassaphine was yef A o ssaphine’s wi s wd on the porch—besides everybody Hkped sonnyml.:hmzel{; €N one was t00 much for his poor e—she could ‘not afford to ed that the circuit rider, a e themsel an themselv She could put in ullone.‘E& Srotae poe regardless of anything else. lottery, ege of walking—in I After it is bought he must walk b"rfd\'olde?icaal in the ground. He who ore overflowed upon the porch, but there was surprising lull conslderelng it was well toward Now the sky was Lassaphine, at Such 1" storekeeper them. They were bronze. been driven. steps. The lump a sentimental Fonny will—if you say so.” shamefacedly. half a dollar?” know. Come in! significant touch. “Look at all He had ' he shouted to vet a slow blush dime! Sonny’s hat. hand. away! the storekeeper’s peg, and bumped gleeful howls. “B'Jacks! must learn to read 3ood for Len! but a hill girl, from walking."” called, or_one _thing brought u at no expense for each had not words, her _ “Teeny’ll much affected turkey supper, developing “But say! pretense of mistrust: the storekeeper called after him from the Childers contented himself with a shake of the fist, Doc Grant made a motion toward his hip pocket, but dropped his hand and looked at Lassaphine with ; shied a stone at Walker. fellow, swung him back an “How much is he worth, boys? ‘Git yer blinder, Doc,” he said to Grant, Grant whipped out a gorgeous red-and-yellow bandanna, Sonny muffled his eyes securely, then, peg in hand, he was turned around two or three times and told to walk toward the central stake. up. as he shaped a course at right angles to it. ig In. 2 p 2 Tiptoe fine!” the rest called nfger {1‘?‘ He stepped gingerly and so high Lassaphine herself joined in the laughing. When he stooped to stick his airly against the lot fence, there was a chorus of Walk Spanish! stepped his_allotted forty paces. he was interrupted by the young son of an English earl, who, to my utter astonishment, arose and exclaimed: “Handeln sie dannach”—which may be rendered: “Live up to your own teach- ings.” The story of the incident car- ries its own moral, Oh, that the millions of Christians, ob- serving this day in honor of Him whom they adore as ‘“Lord and Savior” were pleased to remember that the brave and gentle “Teacher of Nazareth” was a child of the synagogue, who had sat at the feet of the Rabinin masters. that He aimed to build up, not to destroy, the faith of Israel. Then might they be moved to compassion and love: and the contemptuous “‘There goes a Jew” would oft die upon their lips, as they call to mind that perhaps some Roman in Jerusalem mocked and wounded with self-same words Him who taught the law of Moses and echoed anew the ex- hortation unto righteousness of the old Hebrew prophets. Then, too. might there be, in a far larger sense than now. alas, obtains, ‘‘Peace on earth. good will to all men,” Jéw as well as Christian. STEPHEN S. WISE. Is the South Pole Accessible ? TILL another earnest effort to ap- proach the south pole is about to be made by Dr. Erich von Drygal- ski, a young German savant, who is about to start with a thorough- ly equipped expedition for the southern extremity of the earth. According to the Moderne Kunst, Dr, Drygalski is convinced that the south pole itself cannot be reached by human beings, the obstacles in the icy waters of the south being much greater than those of the north. He is positive, how- ever, that he will learn a great deal about the secrets of the Antarctic Ocean, and will penetrate it far enough to find the continent which some geographers believe to be there. For any positive knowledge about this mysterious polar region science ig indebted to the English in the firsy place and later to researches made by Frenchmen, Russians and Norwegians. The most successful southern expedi- tion thus far was conducted by John Ross, an Englishman, who, during the years 1840-1843, made three trips through those dangerous waters and forced his way as far as 78 degrees south, and discovered the two famous volcanoes, Erebus and Terror, which, like wondars of Fairyland, loom up in the rigid icy desert. This was the farthest point south ever reached by human beings. The more favorable conditions in the north have permitted the reaching of a higher point there. Dr. Drygalski's chief aim is to gain additional knowledge of the earth's magnetism, then to learn about ice for- mations and drifts in the south, mete- orological apparitions and the geology of the polar world. Dr. Drygalski made himself famous as leader of the Greenland expedition conducted by the Berlin Society in 1892 and 1893 when he contributed much to the science of Arctic geology. He is only thirty-two years old and has the world before him, but seems intent upon reaching the farthest corner of the earth. —_—————————— The British Weekly ought to have given the name of that American ed- itor who, it'says, was invited by a New York heiress of a literary turn to hear extracts from her manuscript novel. Unfortunately he had been up till 4 a. m., and the delightful musical con- tralto of his hostess soothed his rasped nerves sc that he had difficulty in keeping his head from dropping for- ward., Presently he came to himself with a start, and found himself quite alone. An electric light was burning in the hall, and he hurried out to look at his watch. It was 12:30; he had been sleeping thrée and a half hours. He went scftly and humbly down the stairs, aud the bufler let him out with- out a word or a smile. Since that day, though he wrote a letter of apology, he has received no communication from the heiress. ye : By Martha McGulloch Williams comes' nearest to the stake wins the turkey, or whatever the prize may be. Commonly ten or a dozen live birds are walked off. The.winners are rarely thrifty enough to take home their live prizes. them over to a negro cook, who serves them up at a turkey supper toward 1 o’clock on“Christmas morning. By the time the supper is eaten it is time to go out and shoot anvil Christmas guns, or touch off hollow logs, plugged, with a pound of powder inside. The back lot was an acre of rough turf, stretching between the span- new Walker house, brave in gaudy paint, and the squat weathered store, nestling in the angle of the cross roads. door. Jack Lassaphine did not smile—she was busy with the turkeys, which had set up a pitiful fluttering and peeping. Sonny lifted out a big bronze i 5, gead downward, and said almost ‘Would you say now— d forth, “A whole dollar—not a feather goes for less,” Doc Grant said loudly, Jingling a handful of loose silver. “I say two—" JRCkLChllmers began. TLen Haskell stopped him with a ““Let it hurts her—Lassaphine, you bein’ here, but she cain’t well hel, “No plottin’ agin the whites, younger rivals arms length apart. “Some er you-all do me a favor, please! are comin’ so peart, likely I shan't git the chance to walk at all—but I wanter be in, five pegs deep at least—I thought maybe one er youwd buy ‘em and walk for me.” “I'm your man!” Jack said, clutching Teeny's coin and spinning it above his head. Len grinned good humoredly. walk and a half.” he sald. Grant laughed explosively. he said, stepping to the wa(fon side, where instantly he shouted, *‘Step up to the captain’s office an Come on, come on! “Come runnin’!” Haskell said, clutching a pe; In a twinkling ten pegs were taken’ 0 at one,” he said under his now'l—'f_r: take even that much. Teeny settle, gentlemen! No such turkeys anywhere!” “You go first.” “Walk If I'm to win this fellow Sam Walker won't have a o' fence left!” he said, pulling off his blinder and rubbing his chin. you nice young men, put on this same rag, and let's see if you do any better, with no eyes in your head!” “One thing sure—we can't do any worse!” Jack retorted, as Sonny hooded Haskell and turned him about. direction, along with a hunter’s trained percegtlon He wheeled slowly until he felt the wind cut his left cheek, and t! ent straight toward the stake, and set his peg within a yard of it “ ‘Well walked! Sure shot!” the others cailed. hat's Len’s turkey, dead to rights!” Jack Childers said, “we couldn’t beat that if we tried a year. Put up another turkey, Sonny—and bar Lem It jest “Good as wheat!” from the crowd. Len smiled quite happily. t"" said aside to Chliders. gives me a better chance ter see Lassaphine,” “T'Il walk though for the next—then you look out. “Here goes for Teeny Walker!” Jack said, stepping manfully out. A babel of shouts assailed him, but he ke peg respectably near the stake. The otl one came within five yards of the winning post. at the store steps—the rest scattei een morally certain with his eyes and go straight to the goal without turning a. eel like a sport after this—he's alwa; little cuss,” Doc Grant said. Haskell nodded. large as life,” rocess—falling in love with Lassaphine,” ook yonder! There comes the preacher, 1 wonder what he's after!” “‘Lassaphine—like the rest of us." shrilly, then nodded assent. air. he said. 0000OOOOOOOOOO0OOOO0000OOOOOOOOQOO‘OOOOOOOOOOO0OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO00000000000OOOOOOOQOOOOOOOOOO Instead, they hand Half way in it a stout stake had A pile of Toughly whittled pegs lay beside the store’s back As Sonny came down them with three parts of the crowd at his , he stooped nd gathered the pile under his arm, saying with a *Ye've all got so much Christmas in yer bones, consarn yer pictyers, ye're as full of tricks as so many unbroke mules. but I lay the best gobbler in the bunch g‘e don’t play none of ’em on me.” “Sonny, you shorely don’t think they'd try it, with Lassaphine a-lookin’ Len Haskell “I'll do it—honest Injun, I breath. “It She hates ere!” Grant sald jocularly, setting his ‘Walker darted up to them. he said breathlessly. “Folks “‘Better lemma have er “0, these boys!” Pegs_ right here, only a and flipping silver into Sonny held up his A laughing shout went Walk as he anel ere, Haskell had an Indian's sense of en with a confident smile t straight ahead and set Teeny's er nine walkers went wfld—noty a One luckless fellow impartially about, though en, that he could shut them yo ys been sech er 3 ded: "Be et et al fug o PAL, (OUENE sgainat t-sihen ho mirrende You must remember it's a Jack Childers added, as I'm a livin’ sinner! Len growled, Doc_Grant whistled “Preachers-are jest men,” he said. ‘Boys, go to her, and somehow APTAIN JACK CRAWFORD, the GEORGE Poet Scout, came to Virginia City, OSBOURNE. Nev., during the middle boom of 76, in Buffalo Bill's company, playing Yellow Hand, an Indian chief notoriously prominent in the border difficulties and a conspicuous character in the drama presented by Colonel Cody and his company. I\MW“{“ Guard Hall was the only available theater at the time and Captain John Robertson, the local manager, had heralded the coming of I:}uffalo Bill and Captain Jack in the usual glaring manner of the time. The play began and proceeded with ever increasing incident and situation, working up to the entrance of the “star,” when something startled Yellow Hand's horse (a broncho ridden by Captain Jack) and he plunged furiously onto the stage before this skillful rider could check him. The beast had on only a hackamore and surcingle, Injun fashion, but Jack was such an intrepid horseman that he kept his seat and brought the frantic animal to his haunches, his head and forelegs in air, just at the footlights; making a startlingly realis- tic picture and bringing the “house down.” Bill was always a little jealous of Jack's dramatic abilities and stormed round behind at what he termed “stealing my entrance,” etc. But the damage was done and Bill had to go on. He appeared from the other side of the stage on his charger, caparisoned “a la frontiersman scout,” and after a moment’s dialogue they fought a duel on horseback. Jack was always a modest sort of fellow and had felt the misfortune of cutting out Bill's entrance and got rattled hearing Bill’'s emphatic objections, s0 much so that when he attempted to draw his revolver from his belt he discharged it, the felt wad piercing his groin. His horse plunged, Bill was startled, forgot what he had to do, the audience rose with a cry of horror as poor Jack reeled and the next instant tumbled headlong from his broncho, bleeding and faint, “hors de com- bat.” He was immediately attended by willing hands with tender solicitude and the curtain rung down, but as this scene necessarily ended with Yellow Hand's death at Buffalo Bill'’s hands the play pro- ceeded to the end. Poor Jack was made comfortable, a physician attended him, and friends gathered about the wounded “Injun.” He opened his eyes a moment. . Close by him stood a beautiful little child. Tears hazed her pretty blue eyes, and it was this Httle tearful face he saw. Reaching out a hand he said faintly, “Come here, angel baby,” and laid his brawny digits upon the golden tresses of the little maiden. “I saw your face in front when my horse bucked. I've got such a little baby back home. XKiss me.” He forgot he was an “Injun,” for the “baby’’ held back a little. “Oh!” he said, “I'm only painted, deary. I'm no Injun. Only Captain Jack; white as you, deary.” And the baby kissed Yellow Hand. Then poor Jack fainted. When he re- gained consciousness he had been bathed, the color removed and his long hair smoothed, his pillow softened by tender hands and Yellow Hand for him had passed. Bill and the company went on ahead, cutting out the play from the repertoire, leaving Jack in town. Well, no one lacked friends in Virginia City those days, so the boys got up a benefit for Jack. The little miss who kissed good-by to the “Injun” was in the cast, and after all expenses were paid she took the ‘“‘sack’ of benefit money to Jack's bedside on Christmas morning, wishing him 800 happy re- turns of the day and handlng‘ hln: tha.t many dollars. LL musicians and true music lovers know, I think, this story, which seems to me the best since it is a true nar- rative of a Christmas deed that made possible the career of one of the greatest singers that fame has ever smiled upon. One Christmas eve, many years ago, near midnight, a little girl crouched near the entrance of St. Francis Xavier Cathedral, one of the most imposing of God’s houses in all New York, attracted there by the warmth and light which shot out into the darkness from the entrance. Suddenly she lifted her head and her eyes grew big with wonder as she heard a burst of glorious music, the music of Christmas- tide, midnight mass. She stood spellbound by the majestic tones of the organ, mingled with the inspired voices of the choir, singing. As she listened, slowly her childish soul was drawn out and tears suf- fused her eyes. At this moment a rich equipage drove up and a lady alighted. Her heart was heavily laden with sorrow, and she, too, was seeking the warmth and light within. ‘The light and warmth of religious comfort to a mother’s desolate heart. Quickly her arms encircled the slight little body, and the pinched face, blue with cold, was pressed close against her rich furs. And there, after a few questions, the child's pitiful story was told, a story of want, abuse, hunger and cold, with no love to feed her famished soul or gladden her little life. TLastly this day she had been jostled by the pleasure-seeking throng hurrying home to their Christmas cheer and loved ones, too busy to notice her little songs, or to stop and drop one penny into her little cold hand. : As the bells rang out the hour of midnight.that bereaved mother took the homeless child into her heart as a Christmas gift, and later, after years of loving care, gave her to the world, a singer so wonder- fully endowed that to hear her almost matchless voice was well nigh a benediction. H. TOURGEE. P Y N December 24, 1880, I was up in Bodie with Dan Collarner, a prospector, We were anxious to reach the mining property of the Homer Company, and though it was twenty-eight miles from town and a blinding snowstorm had set.it, we started early, hoping to get there before nightfall. We had gone only a short distance when we began to regret starting on such a trip on such a day, but we determined not to turn back, although the snow was falling so thickly that we had to trust almost entirely to the horses to keep the rough road. About ten miles from town, however, we were very nearly thrown out of the sleigh by a sud.!en jump of our animals to one side, which landed the outfit on a heavy drift. We found the cause to be a man lying apparently dead in the snow. After resusci- CAPTAIN G. W. GREEN, Fave Shore Christmas Storees. tating him he told us that he had started for Lundy, but had become exhausted and given up in despair. He was poorly clad and vu;iy dejected, saying that he had no friends and would be better off dead, but we took him into the sleigh, intending to give him a lift to his destination, which we were to pass through on our way. : The added weight made things worse for our horses, and by 9 o’clock at night we had only reached the house of George Barnes, at the junction of the main and Mill Creek road, where we obtained per- mission to remain until morning. George and the little girl had retired, but Mrs, Barnes was up dressing a little Christmas tree, and she gave us a good hot supper and a bed and lent the old man blankets enough to make im comfortable in the barn on the hay. 2 The next morning we all rose early, as the little girl roused the house with ber joy over her presents, and I went out to see to the horses. I fernd the old man much refreshed by his sleep and brought him in with me to breakfast. The child took a fancy to him at once and showed him her toys. A book had her name, “Jessie Barnes, written on a leaf, and the old man eagerly asked her father's name. George came in just then and the stranger stood up and held out his hand. . p “Don’t you know me?” he said. “If you are son of Jessie and Rich- ard Barnes you ought not to have quite forgotten my face.” And George just put his arms around the old man's neck and said, “Father!” It was a long story about their separation—Richard had come to California while his son was a mere boy, hoping to mend his fortunes, but things had gone wrong with him and Le had lost track of his family. Reaching manhood, George had come out here also, but he had prospered and had a comfortable home in which to care for his father in his old age, now that a strange combination of circumstances had brought the two, who had not seen each other for over twenty years, together again. “Santa Claus brought me lots of presents and a grandfather, too,”™ said little Jessie. “I think he is.better to me than he is to most little girls.” And I think he was. 7 . IFTY years ago there lived in North- umberland, England, a man greatly noted for his selfishness. He owned a fine estate in that picturesque, his- toric country and though he had an abund« ance of all good things he cared naught for those around him who were suffering and in want. " One bitter cold Christmas eve, after having provided most bounti« fully for his own dinner on the coming day, he betook himself to bed, but as he lay there, like Nebuchadnezzar of old, “his spirit was troubled and his sleep brake from him.” He seemed to hear a voice saying, “Rise and send food to a cere tain family near by, whom you know to be in great need.” In vain did he say, “This is all imagination; there is no voice and I will not be disturbed!"” The voice would not be silenced. It con- tinually sounded in his ears and at last he arose, called his house- keeper and directed her to fill a large basket with a good supply of various foods and have it taken immediately to the poor man’s cot- tage. Having done his duty he went back to his couch and was troubled no more, but slept with a good conscience. g While this man was trying to turn a deaf ear to the voice that would not be silenced the poor man was wandering around in the darkness, praying God for help. On this Christmas eve he had no food for his famishing children and it was more than he could bear to listen to their cries for bread, hence he had gone out into the storm, there in sorrow and agony to plead for assistance from the great father of all. Late in the evening he returned home and saw the large basket which had been sent to his door and he rejoiced with great thankfulness that his prayers had been ‘thus answered. This act was the turning point in the rich man’s life, and ever after he knew by experience that “it is more blessed to give than to receive.” This story was related to me by a young English woman, whoza home was in Northumberland, near to Bamborough Castle. Her father had personal knowledge of the facts as above stated and his daughter, as a child, was gre.ntly_imp.ressed with the tale. ’ MARIE FREEMAN GRAY, R 5 HE kindect Christmas deed T ever witnessed was done in Maryland be- fore the war. A young man named Abraham Preston had, by the recent death of his father, come into his share of the paternal inheritance, which was, in the words of the testator, “David Gordon, an able-bodied negro, now 24 years old, who will bring, if sold, three thousand dollars.” It had been the home custom on Christmas morning after the usual salutation of the slaves, viz: “Christmas gift, Massa! Christmas gift, Mistis!” to present them each with substantial tokens of regard, such as a new calico dress or a pair of “store shoes.” The slaves, four in number, had, with one exception, grown old in the service of the family, and their money value, as chattels, amounted to but little. The exception was ‘‘Dave,” as straight as a young pine and one of the “likeliest niggers” in the village. It was their first holiday in which “Ole Massa” was absent, and the older negroes’ gratitude for the usual favors received was subdued in expression. . Abraham Preston, now “Young Massa,” was th?d donor. - As Dave approached there was no buadle for him in evidence, “Did you forgit me, Mass’ Abe?” His eyes had the tender surprisa of a loving dog. “Dave!” said Mass’ Abe. “We were boys together, you know. In our wild frolics we forgot that your skin was black and mine white, You have ever been my faithful friend, and I recognize in you the soul of a true man. Here's your freedom papers, Dave, for your Christmas gift. All that I want to own of you is your love.” The astonished but delighted negro was, for 2 moment, dumb with surprise. Freedom for him! God alone knew what at meant. All that he could say as the grateful tears rolled down his cheeks was: “Sech a Christmus gift! Mass' Abe. I'se yours for life.” NELLIE BLESSING EYSTER. N00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000C000000000 0000 Wwe might as well hang our harps on the willows.” Commonly the preacher had an open countenance, a ready and engaging -£mile. Now his face was something set, his smooth cheek the least bit flushed as he rode toward Sonny, answering only with a grave collective nod civil greetings from every side. ‘Brother Murray,” he said, not touching Sonny’s outstretched hand, “it grieves me to speak what you may not care to hear.” i “‘Dear bless my soul! Is anybody dead, or a church burnt, or air you turned against your feed, boardin’ round?”’ Sonny asked cheerfully. “Don’'t be (‘!iti( down, Brother Micklejohn—no matter whut happens, the Lord'll provide.” “I have no doubt of that,” Micklejohn said, trying to speak severely, and to keep his eyes from Lassaphine, who had risen and stood erect in the rickety wagon bed as a queen might stand beside her throne. “My trouble is not material, but spiritual. It does trouble me beyond expression to find you, a professor of Christ, openly engaged in a gambling scheme.” “Gamblin’!” Sonny’s jaw dropped, his hands fell to his sides, nerveless and flaceld. “Gamblin’?”” he repeated. I never gambled in my life! I don’t know whut you mean.” “I do know—it's walkin’ for our turkeys,” Lfis?&)hlne said, springing down, and standing at her father's side.” Her head was high, her eyes darted lightning, a royal color burned in her cheeks. She looked Micklejohn full in the eye—his glance fell before hers. “Where are your wings?"” she asked with a little sneerln§ laugh. *“You ought to be an n.ngel—you are too good for a mere man. Understand though, this is my turkey walk. I raised the turkeys. Sonny’'s just managin’ things to save me trouble. I'm a probationer, not a full member of your church—I won't ever be anything more. Take my name off your books—at once! Do you hear?” Micklejohn bowed sllently. His breath came a little short. assaphine waved him toward the gate. As he turned his horse's head, she laughed defiantly and patted Sonny’s arm. “O, T wish I was a man and he not a.)zroanher." she said, then raising her voice a little, “Come on, everybody! After this I'll hold pegs—and Sonny may have fun with the rest of you.” The walking went on with a rush. Though there were but seventeen turkeys, Lassaphine somehow found herself at the end possessed of $25. It was almost dark, but she went into the store jingling the coins, laughing and making jokes with all her court. Teeny darted out of sight— he would never, never, undertake to wait on her in the face of all those others. Jack Childers at once flung over the counter into his vacant place, and certainly sold Lassaphine some astonishing bargains from the best in stock. She made no demur—since her encounter with Micklejohn she had a royal recklessness in everything. Before she had flouted the most trifling gifts. Now she took with a free hand whatever her wooers chose to offer, thereby greatly scandalizing the few other women making belated Christmas purchases. “‘Let me take vou home!” Jack said, looking up into_her brilliant face when the buying was done, Jack was fair and blue-eyed, and half a head the lower. She smiled down at him, and stepped toward the door. Outside there was black darkness—she could not make out even Jinny's paleness against the red of Brandy. Sonny, whom Grant and Haskell had managed to keeg miraculously sober for Christmas eve, was already in his seat, propped all about with parcels. “No—I'll go as I came—in my own private carriage,” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t want to spoil s;&ort‘ Be sure, you-all, to come tell me how the turkey supper went off.” . “Tell you what, she's got grit—that girl has!” Walker sald, sticking his hands in his pocket by way of emphasizing his first leisure since sunrise. “She ain’t afraid of nothin’ in this world ner the next.” “We found that out several hours back,” Jack said—and Walker could not understand why the others laughed so heartily. Christmas dawned properly clear and cold with a powdering of fine light snow over everything. By 12 o'clock it had melted except where it lay in shadow. The road was moist, not wet from it, yet Lassaphine held her skirts high above it. She sang in a gay loud voice as she walked, and now and then made a dancing step. Until now she had never in her life ‘made a Christmas gift—and she was going to bestow upon the Rouse tribe—five strapping girls, ‘renters and poor whites, all the gauds and gewgaws she had accepted from her lovers. When they came, later in the day, she would tell them of what she had done—she smiled whimsically in thinking of Doc Grant’s dismay—there was feud, tobacco-born, betwixt him and the Rouse tribe‘s_grogenltor. Len would sigh thriftily over the waste of his money; Jack—Jack would laugh with her and think it a fine Christmas prank. > The Rouses should never know. She had marked their name on the bundle—stealing in, she would knock, drop it and run away. Their house sat almost flush with the road which a little later ‘Jlunged downhill into a dark and threatening gorge. Either side the hills, precipices almost, crowded in so close, a resolute man might dispute another's passage. Lassaphine hated the gorge. She passed through it whenever she went to her favorite church, Sharon. Brother Micklejohn preached there to-day. The Rouse tribe were likely to go and hear him. Lass;rh!ne herself had" meant to be there—also to fetch the minister home with her, to share her Christmas dinner. ‘“Let the Rouses have him—with the rest,” she thought, touching the bundle of which her arm was growing weary. She heard hoofs upon the road behind and lllgped within a roadside cedar clump to rest. She was hardly well hidden before three riders halted just in front of her, spoke briefly together, then rode furiously away down hill. Brother Micklejohn had prayed with fervor and preached with unction, yet his heart was heavy as he rode away from Sharon. Against hope, against reason, he had hoped to see Lassaphine. He loved his Master and his Master's work, yet he was barely 23, with veins riotously full of ung red blood. From the first he felt Lassa mm‘s' ell.bA brief while everything but con: to its subtle sweetness. It was consclence which had made Mms(ggz:: her; he was jealously afraid of his own heart. Another man, in Sonny’'s case, would have been privately told of his unseemly behavior. Love and )1;1““ tmne haddconstralned him to deal harshly, upon pain of seeming to imself a coward. 2 She must be furiously angry—still he would not give her up—he would make his peace. He rode with eyes downcast, reins hanging. His horse, all at once, shied violently, then stood stock still. A glance told him the reason—three other horsemen so aligned as to block the way. Jack Childers was in the middle, Grant and Haskell to right and left. All three faces were set in a sort of stesly whiteness. Instinctively Micklejohn understood, and in understanding eomprehended how much he had mistaken his vocation. The elemental savage woke in him—love, religion, honor, ambition, were as nothing by contrast with this lust for a weapon, this mad desire to fight to the death. He was ‘wholly unarmed, in the face of endous odds. He was better horsed than any of the three, and to the full as good a rider. His one chance was to ride them down, and run for it. It was characteristic that the th&ught of ‘turning back never once entered his mind. e gathered up the reins, bent his head, whistled softly and spurre straight at the lfne. Jack swerved his horse the least blz.ylst mapothel} fet his head well past, then leaning lightly tore the reins from Mickle- john’s %ra.up and threw his horse upon its haunches. The force of impact swung his own horse around—in an instant both animals had fallen. The rlders,fl nbt hl?rd dgrflp:t,hvzgthedhlre% o!ti}lm -;r\xggl.l‘:zg beasts, staggered, swayed back and fo: rough a breathless heart-breaking min et pronc in the rocky road, e icklejohn stood six feet—he had bmwnyh broad shoulders and - jointed, ‘long reaching arms. But try as he might, he could not‘o?:eea himself. Jack's arms were locked about the big chest like a steel band, momentarily tightening. Not a word had been spoken. None was needed. Micklejohn knew he was egaylng for what they had taken as an insult to Lassaphine. The knowledge was mere feellng—he neither thought nor planned consciously. Life meant fighting—nothing more nor less—i hting g:star;ltltgonlsc he ought to crush with one arm, who yet seemed likely to He shut his eves, but opened them instantly. He could s othing bu rings of red and yellow and green, melting into blud:nea:‘° lEfl.ll nc‘l’i'; £rip held, vise-like, agonizing. His breath went no lower than the throai— he must break the grip or perish. With a mighty, plunging surge he got to his knees, loosened one hand, clinched it and struck Childers a blow full in the face. Blood followed it, red blood warm and sticky. It came in a trickling jet, but did not dim the fire in Jack’s eyes. Still he held hard, swaying back and forth, foiling Micklejohn's efforts to get upon his feet. He saw the purple face, the staring eyes—he knew the end was only a m_lrnute away. riumph was in his grasp. Micklejohn had struck him again, a f glancing blow. All at once a whirlwind seemed {6 rage benind Rioeopie glr;:;?n:e;e m;:dbho;re'f:& v::g fi\:lngd vlolse‘:my aside—Lassaphine, her eyes . stam: o o h I After this never call yourseives meni» o e: Sramel! Shame an youi: You—don't—think—you can’t—we set on him—three to one?” Ja lg(aspetl She nodded coldly. “I can't think anything else,” she said. gI‘: nowhwe}l Why—because he took it on himself to sass Sonny—and me. A greac er’'s same as.a wo t ain’t fitten fer him to fight, no matter ow much strength and will he may have. T could mighty ,nigh manage you, Jack, fair fist-and-skull—but you wouldn’t lay the weight of your hand on me, no matter what I might do.” A‘“N'O!" Jack sald, “nor let anybody else.” ‘.X‘l:m tpl-annefl :hls foolishness first?”” she asked, still severe. of us,” said Haskell laconically. “Then we drawed lots—and had luck. That fellow had to be thrashed—ef he thrashed Jack, m‘:;df come Int;ithe argyment, and Doc after me.”” Lassaphine’s face relaxed a little. *You all go on up to the hou wait,” she said. “I—I—that ¥ —I'v asnd b+ IBrot.her Mlcklejohn."ma Is—there’s something—1I've got a word to say “I'm .fraid it's ‘Yes,' " Doc said gloomily as they mounted away. “Remember how she blushed up at the last. Lassaphine :j‘#trflg: no other woman ever I saw—but even she's likely to be a fool over a gac;()i lookin’ preacher.’ wioes look like it Haskell admitted, with a half Twould be funny riow if we'd won the brother's case for him. inciod of runnin’ him out o' the country as we intended. Whut do you thice about it, Jack?" h coming out of a dream. “In this “I—O! nothing!"” Jack said as thou matter Lassaphine must do the thinking. Sonny and grandpap gave the trio an uproarious w Somewhat chastened when ten minutes later Lassape}lnf::l eéa:x:lclg ;‘1’-19!: gggg;dflckl‘gjohn in her wake. ‘“Shake hands—all of you,” she Gomande d.mn::gp wash your hands and faces and come out to _It Wwas a royal dinner. Black Luce, whose forebears had belonged to the Murrays in the days before their decadence, had d; Sonny had helped her. Sonny had a gourmet's pa.lc::: ::fi ?l;-emt—x;;;g fix Seasoning. At Christmas neither was ever stinted, however. bare the ving other days of the year. They ate in lelsurely fashion- it wis quic dusk_when they arose from the table. Lassa hine led the wa; ql‘:no grandpap's room, which was bright with leaping ifi'ellght. Nntwnhnanln she lit candles in two tall brass sticks, turned about and faced Mickl = john, who throughout what ought to have been an ordeal had seer :4; curiosly elate. Her face was grave, though a laugh lurked in heieeemu P R SR SR SR T TR thllilkmldmennt Soes) y 0dy?' and I, said, ‘Yes.' id” you a3 ." Micklejohn said, smiling softly, an 'il‘uugmneu head went up. *You though 'm:sh'e“lth:m?l (}!‘!1; huflgi oY, though—because I couldn’t bear to have Jack dis e hlm!slf—q") hi pap, who stood next him. i ‘iluruh Gm:kanh -g:duuted. rrah! rant echoed, ng to s han minister's %ownt-.ll overbalanced peruma‘i {;!clk !hekd'slo?ugil lg-l:t :’r’:’o&’fi l::h' his hands hgnsin{. his eyes fast on Lassaphine. The cut on his £ el g ‘was throbbing viclously—hé was spent amf weak—the flood of jo erw flung his arms abous Lauaghlne and laid his heaX i on her sh c‘fmmm-'"!:q " th oulder a , Smothered sob. Before th all, d kissed him, then la out to the fleein, mcuejoeh':;. It ;'33'3:" : eand marry us—Old &HMI‘ day."” an mind, you may come @ .