Sivut kuvina
PDF
ePub

sighed. "I never knew but one," he wife fully dressed, standing in the added.

His wife handed him a letter. It was from the Trust. They offered to save him his equity in the brewery plant on the river, and to employ him at $10,000 per year to run it for them. He passed it back to her; she read it.

"Well?" she inquired.

"It's a temptation," he answered, "but I have made up my mind about that. The business is wrong, and I'll keep out of it." There was a new light in his eyes as he turned to her. "And, besides, dear," he told her, "I shall keep my pact with you."

He gave the Trust his answer. "Fool," laughed the members of the Trust. And they put a new man in charge of the old plant, which they had purchased at a foreclosure sale. And the new man moved into town, and entered society, and became a pillar of the church.

"Gee," said the new man to his friends, "I'd like to live in that fine. house of Bernhard's."

Bernhard and his wife clung to the house, however, even though they placed a mortgage on it. And the money that they borrowed gave them added hope, and Bernhard obtained employment once again-at twenty-five a week.

"I've got to begin at the bottom and work up, Aline," he told her, "I must learn a business before I can expect to get good money from it. I'm doing just the best I can, you see."

"If I only had a man for my husband," Aline told herself, "instead of a fool-a fool."

[merged small][ocr errors]

middle of the floor beside the boy. Bernhard glanced at the clock. It was not yet seven.

"W-where are you going?" he stammered, hazily.

Young Mrs. Bernhard shut her teeth with a snap. "I'm goinghome," she answered, "over to my father's. I wanted to get off before anybody sees me." She stopped. "I'm going home-for good."

Bernhard leaped to his feet and threw a dressing gown about him.

"W-what do you mean?" he asked. "I mean," she answered, "what I say. You cannot support me and little Carl. You know that. They would turn us out of this house this week-you know that. What can I do? Nothing, save to go away. I'm going to go away-at once."

"But," answered Bernhard' "I can support you. We can live, we three, on what I earn-and I'm doing better all the time. You must stay here."

She turned. "We are going, now, at once," she answered, "I and little Carl."

Bernhard pressed his forehead with one hand. "No-no," he cried, darting forward, "not-not the boy." He caught the chubby little chap by the arm. In his intensity he scared the boy.

"No-no," yelled the boy, lustily, "I'm going out-with mamma."

Young Mrs. Bernhard turned to him once more. "We need some money," she said coldly, "I suppose you can let me have a little."

Bernhard gulped caught at his trousers and emptied a pocket into his hand. He dropped it all into the side bag which she wore. He caught the boy up in his arms and kissed him.

And then they went. Bernhard

dressed that morning, somehow, and went to church. When the box was passed for contributions he felt confidently in his trousers pocket. Then he paled, and fumbled with his waistcoat. He had forgotten for the moment that he was penniless. He nodded apologetically to young Walsh, who held the box, and young Walsh passed on. After the service he sought out young Walsh, dragged him into a corner and explained.

"I had plenty in my pocket," he said, nervously, "but I gave it all to Mrs. Bernhard-and the boy."

"And they," added Walsh, "didn't come to-day."

"That's it," returned Bernhard, "they-they didn't come. I'll make it up next week."

Walsh laughed noisily. "It didn't make a particle of difference, Mr. Bernhard," he answered, "to me or to anybody else."

"I'll make it up next week," reiterated Bernhard. But he was not there next week. Nor the week after. Nor the week after that.

"Somehow," he told himself, "I can never go back there without Aline and-the boy."

Over at the home of Aline's father, they sat, night after night, and discussed the matter.

"I don't care what you say," remarked Aline's father, "Bernhard was a fool for giving up that busiWhat did he do it for, anyhow? He must have been a fool."

ness.

"He was a fool," responded Aline, genially, "he is a fool, and he'll always be a fool."

"Mamma," the boy would sleepily remark, with his his nose flattened against the window pane, "when is papa coming, and when are we going home-to him?"

Hail and Farewell

By KONAN MACHUGH

Old London's stones, and Paris gay,
The gleaming peaks of fair Tyrol,
Where mountain shepherd's tuneful call
Wakes dawn to greet you on your way;
And Rome, the mighty one that dreams
The ages down; the silver glow.
Of Adriatic's ebb and flow
Where each Venetian palace gleams;

These call you, Lady of the West.

Our distant hail repeats "Farewell," Yet though in camp or court you dwell We know the heart within your breast Beats true to home where'er you sail, Nor Prince nor Potentate may know Its inmost and serenest glow; God speed the time we bid you "Hail."

1

COL

By ALICE O'BRIEN

OLONIAL New England was made up largely of conscientious enthusiasts who looked upon the Christmas festivities of old England as loose and sinful practices. For this they should not be unjustly censured, for many of the English customs that they held in memory were wild and boisterous. The rioting that accompanied the election of the "Lord of Misrule" on Christmas eve during the middle ages continued in varying forms as late as the time when the Puritans began to come into public prominence in England and her colonies; and in many old books and sermons one may read of the demoralized state of rural England, the lawlessness, revelry, and ribald singing that filled the streets and inns of English towns and villages during the Christmas holidays. It was such behavior, and the fact that it went in the com

pany of an ancient church feast day that made the early New Englanders so rigid in their non-observance of Christmas.

Cotton described the mode of keeping Christmas in his day as wanton and Bacchanalian. The Pilgrims would have destroyed any thing that pertained to the ritual of the English church, and the general attitude of the early colonists was genuinely conscientious and taken up

after due consideration of the more serious side of the matter. Diaries of this time describe the performance of the ordinary daily work of any week day on December

ty-fifth. From a Puritan diary

kept by a prominent Bostonian comes the following:

to

"December 25th, 1685. Carts come town and shops open as usual. Some somehow observe the day, but are vexed. I believe that the Body of people profane it, and blessed be God no authority yet to compel them to keep it."

That solemn authoress, Anne Bradstreet, wrote in her long poem, the "Seasons," describing a New England winter:

"December is my first, and now the sun To th' Southward Tropick, his swift race doth run;

This month he 'gins to length the shortened morn,

Through Christendom with great Festivity, Now's held (but ghest) for blest Nativity."

As time went on the history of New England was something like that of a nineteenth century large city. It grew apace, filled with people, and became cosmopolitan in population. Families from the mother countries of Europe settled. in large numbers, and each brought his accustomed manner of life. The Germans have given us the custom of erecting the Christmas tree, Holland the legend of Saint Nicholas, France the filling of the children's Scotland, carol singing, the use of stockings, and England, Ireland and Christmas greetings and dishes. the holly and mistletoe, and many From a blending of all these national manners grew a New England that has given birth to men and women who have remembered Christmas in delightful poetry and fiction.

Bryant's "Christmas in 1875" describes active charity and universal

brotherly peace as the proper expression of the Christmas spirit. These lines are supposed to be uttered by a Spaniard as he contemplates the war and misery all about him, but they could be regarded as a New Englander's typical conception of Christian concord:

"Christ is not come, while there The men of blood whose crimes affront the skies

Kneel down in act of prayer, Amid the joyous strains, and when they rise Go forth, with sword and flame, To waste the land in His most holy name.

"Oh, when the day shall break O'er realm unlearned in warfare's cruel arts, And all their millions wake

To peaceful tasks performed with loving hearts

On such a blessed morn,

Well may the nation say that Christ is born."

Much like this, written in a time of war and party strife are Longfellow's lines, "The Christmas Bells."

"And in despair I bowed my head;
'There is no peace on earth,' I said,
For hate is strong

And mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep,
God is not dead, nor doth he sleep,
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail

With peace on earth, good-will to men."

His charming "Christmas Carol" depicts a scene in Burgundy, being taken from the "Noei Bourgignon de la Mennoye" (Rui Barôzai), and his "King Olaf's Christmas" is too well known to be described here. Another poem of peace, a rejoicing over the reconciliation of the North and the South with the final ending

of the Civil War are Whittier's lines, "A Christmas Carmen."

"Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands,

The chorus of voices, the clasping of hands, Sing hymns that were sung by the stars of

the morn,

Sing songs of the angels when Jesus was born,

[blocks in formation]

In the following lines, Whittier, our truest landscape painter, outlines the New England hills with their wooded slopes and bare tops so beloved by those who have grown up in their sight, or who visit them yearly:

"Low in the east, against a white, cold dawn,

The black-lined silhouette of the woods was drawn,

And on a wintry waste

Of frosted streams and hillsides bare and brown,

Through thin cloud-films a pallid ghost looked down

The waning moon half-faced!"

In this poem, by name "The Christmas of 1888," there is expressed a patriotic devotion and love of country. The cold, bleak, wintry New England is compared to Bethlehem's hillside and

"The Magi's star seemed here, as there and then,

Our homestead pine-tree was the Syrian palm,

Our heart's desire the angels' midnight psalm,

Peace, and good-will to men!"

Among the more recent writers there are many indeed who have a theme. employed Christmas as There are "A Christmas Hymn for Children" by Miss Daskam, and "The Parable of St. Christopher" and "The Legend of Saint Nicholas" in Mrs. Jackson's "Bits of Talk for Young Folks." Mrs. Riggs and Miss Smith have together compiled two books of collected poetry for young people that have been lovingly and most carefully done. In each there is a division dedicated to Christmas containing poems by the

most famous and popular poets, and these should be mentioned here even though they are not done entirely by New England authors since they show the favorite lines of the poetry of the world as seen by the compilers who are good judges of such things. In one of these, the "Golden Numbers," the Christmas collection has the title the "Glad Evangel," and in the other, the "Posy Ring," the Christmas poems are gathered under the name "Christmas Bells."

Although Mrs. Riggs is not a native New Englander, from her earliest years she has identified herself with this part of the country. She was born just outside of Philadelphia where her family was staying temporarily, but her mother always wished her to be called a New England girl, and brought her up with the ideals and traditions of this part of the country. She has shown a keen insight into the character of Maine country people in her recent novel, "The Rose of the River," which describes many characters that have actually come into her life in Hollis, Maine, where she spends the summer months.

Miss Alcott's stories, that depict the healthy, vigorous life of Yankee children in the '60's, are too well known to be more than mentioned. They include "Christmas Dreams," "Christmas Turkey," "Country Christmas," "Merry Christmas," "Plays at Plumfield" and "Surprises," all delightfully suggestive as to title, and sweet and clean in the telling. In these stories there is a warmth and heartiness that never tires. Add to these "Tessa's Surprise," "Tilly's Christmas," and "Under the Mistletoe."

While speaking of the stories that have been written for children one must include Mr. Crothers's "Miss

Muffet's Christmas Party." Mr. Crothers was born in Illinois but has adopted New England as the field of his active life. He has been a large contributor to magazines here and has lived here many years. His dear little story is much loved, and in the children's room in the library of the city where its author resides it is a prime favorite, resting unread on the book shelves for only very brief periods, which is a true test of a book's popularity. Miss Dillingham has discovered the difficult path to the hearts of the young in "The Christmas Tree Scholar." The writer of this book spent her college days in Boston and soon after entered into literary life there. Sarah Orne Jewett, whose pictures of New England life in its decline will probably live long after the life she depicts, has given us that delightful story, "Betty Leicester's Christmas." Then there are addition to these Mrs. Moulton's "Job Gidding's Christmas," Miss Ray's "Jean's Christmas Eve," Miss Spofford's "A Christmas that was a Christmas" and Miss Swett's "How Christmas Came to Turkey's Cove," "How Santa Claus Found the Bilbury Poor House" and "The Christmas Toll." Mr. Trowbridge's "Carl Robson's Robson's Christmas" and "Paul Garwin's Christmas Eve" have contributed their share in constructing this author's phenomenal popularity among growing boys all over this country.

in

Last and certainly remarkable among all these entertaining stories is Mrs. Riggs's "Bird's Christmas Carol." This little classic is read and re-read yearly by old and young. It is enjoyed in thousands of school rooms to the equal delight of teachers and pupils. In pathos and humor, breadth of sympathy and

« EdellinenJatka »