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Dot re Dame Scholastic 


Vol. XLI. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, Christmas, 1907. No. 14. 

The Angels Message. 

PETER E. HEBERT, ’ 10 . 

'T'HE sun has set behind yon mountain’s crest ; 

The din of traffic’s hushed,— fair daj r takes flight; 
Unwonted stillness reigns; mankind’s at rest, — 

’Tis silent n'ght. 

Ere long through starry skies, o’er snowy plains, 
Through hill and dale is heard an Angel's voice 
Proclaiming peace on earth in glad refrains, — 

All men rejoice. 

Soon gentle dawn in saffron .cloak appears; 

With rev’rence mankind hails the sacred morn: 
Soft echoes answer,— joyful are tie cheers; 

The Christ is born.. 

A Bundle of Christmas Legends. 


^.NY are the legendary tales 
that cluster around the event 
of the Saviour’s birth. That 
they are only legends, and as 
such can not be accepted as 
truths we must concede; but 
there is in them something of 
the old spirit of Christmas, 
and hence a brief review and somewhat 
detailed account of some of them will per- 
haps revive happy remembrances of past 

These legends or superstitions, as they are 
sometimes called, date back to the dawn 
of the first Christmas when angelic voices 
chanted above the fields of Bethlehem the 
Gloria in excelsis and announced to the 
shepherds the birth of the Infant Saviour. 

The appearance of the wonderful and 
miraculous star forms the theme of several 
Christmas legends. From an old commen- 
* tary on the Gospel of St. Matthew the 
following account relating to the story of 
the Magi and the appearance of the star 
is gathered : 

In an eastern land near the ocean, there 
dwelt a people who possessed a writing 
inscribed with the name of Seth, which 
contained the account of the star that w as 
to appear. “Twelve of the more learned 
men of that country' — had disposed them-^ 
selves to watch for that star; and when 

any of them died, his son or his kindred 

was appointed in his place. These, there- 
fore, year by year, after the threshing out 
of the corn, ascended into a certain high 
mountain, called Mons Victoralis,’. having 
in it a certain cave in the ; rocky most 
grateful and pleasant, with fountains and 
choice trees into which ascending and 
bathing themselves they prayed and praised 
God in silence three days. And this they 
did, generation after generation, \vatching 
ever, lest peradventure that star of beati- 
tude should arise, upon themselves until it 
appeared descending on the mountain, 
having within itself the form of a man- 
child, and above it the similitude of a 
cross; and it spake to them, and taught 
them, and commanded them that they should 
go into Judea.” For two years they followed 
the miraculous star moving before them, 
and during that time they r wanted neither 
food nor drink- According to another 
account the star at last sank into a spring 
at Bethlehem w’here it still may be seen, 
but only by r pure maidens. 

When the three Wise Men arrived in Judea 



we are told that they first sought out Herod 
who was then ruler of that country, and 
inquired of him where the Messiah was to 
be born. Thev related to him the wonderful 

m> - 

appearance of the star which had guided 
them thus far and which, according to the 
legend, was still visible to them but not 
to Herod. Herod was incredulous of their 
story, and demanded as a proof that the 
cock which lay before them at table should 
rise up and crow thrice. As a testimony 
to the truthfulness, of their story the cock 
immediately arose and crowded as he had 

There is a beautiful legend associated with 
the flight of Joseph and Mary and the divine 
Child into Egypt. As they journey onward 
to the land of their exile the wild beasts 
come out of the forests to paj- homage to 
their Creator. 

First came the lovely lion 
Which Jesus’ grace did spring, 

And of the wild beasts in the field 
The lion shall be the Icing. 

Resuming their journey they^ approach a 
field where a husbandman is planting his 
seed for the harvest. At Jesus’ word the 
seed which has just been sown springs up 
and bears ripened grain. Herod who is still 
in pursuit passes . by the same field and 
inquires of the husbandman if certain 
travelers have passed that way. He points 
to the ripened grain. Herod believes that 
three-quarters of a year have elapsed since 
their flight and he returns, to Judea. 

Many of these legends have been preserved 
for us in lyric form. A Christmas carol 
called the “Cherry Tree Carol,” contains 
another legend of the Holy Family. The 
carol relates that the Virgin and her spouse 
wander of an evening through an orchard 
where stands a cherry tree heavily laden 
with fruit. The Virgin requests her husband 
to pick some cherries for her. He refuses 
“with words most unkind.” The unborn 
Saviour within Mary’s womb directs her 
to approach the tree. 

Qo to the tree, Mary, 

And it shall bow to thee, 

And the highest branch of- all 
Shall bow to Mary’s knee. 

She approaches the tree which bows to her 
at her request. St. Joseph now perceives his 
unkindness and invokes the Virgin’s pardon. 

A quaint old English legend contains a 
wonderful story concerning a thorn-tree that 
every year at Christmastide would bud 
and blossom as if it were spring. Joseph of 
Arimathea, when he went as apostle to the 
inhabitants of Great Britain took with him 
a small band of missionaries. After a peril- 
ous journey they disembarked at the foot of 
a hill which is still known as Weary-All Hill. 
The native Britons opposed the landing of 
the missionaries, and St. Joseph in order to 
gain their favor performed a miracle. Taking 
his staff, which was a dry thorn - stick, he 
stuck it in the hillside and made , over it the 
Sign of the Cross-, saying: “By the grace of 
Him who for us men hung on the tree of 
Calvary, wearing the thorny crown, I bid 
thee be as they were wont to be in the 
bloom of spring.” The staff grew suddenly 
into a fragrant tree filling the air with an 
odor sweeter than sunny May or June. This 
legendary tree has even received an historical 
setting, for a flat, white stone now marks 
the spot in Glastonbury^ where the tree is 
supposed to have stood. 

Not men only but animals also figure in 
the events that compose these Christmas 
legends. According to one old legend on 
this night the bees are said to sing, the 
cattle to kneel, and the sheep .on Judean 
hillsides to form in procession in commem- 
oration of the Angel’s annunciation of the 
birth of the Saviour. Our own American 
Indians knew something concerning this 
legend. There is an authentic account of an 
Indian who was observed to be stealthily 
creeping through the forest one wintry, 
Christmas night in order- to see the deer 
kneel as he had been told they would do. 

We are loth to say good-by to the joyous 
time of Christmas which comes but once a 
year, and whose departure leaves us once 
more to resume the everyday cares and 
duties which for one brief day we have 

The Magi and the Star. 


r pHE dark clouds burst; a brilliant star 
Illumes , the eastern sky, 

While o’er the hills from lands afar . 
The, three Wise Men. draw. nigh. 



A Winter Night. 


barn; or perhaps some farmer would show 
himself out of doors for a few moments, 
though the cold nipping air generally decided 
him to let his boys do the chores for the 

~ The sun which had appeared only at 

UT among the coun- intervals during the day, showed his hectic 

try cross-roads the visage above the tree-tops, grew purple with 

dull, cheerless light the cold, and faded into the grey blur of 

of a winter’s day the sky. Over the white fields, desolate as 

faded gradually into any desert of sand, a solitary crow, with 

the duller and moe monotonous “caw, caw,” flapped his way 

cheerless light of a to his nest in the woods. Night settled 

winter’s evening. On all sides, as far as one down like a pall, leaving a dreary prospect 

could see stretched a vast waste of snow for the belated traveler — a cold, searching 
that tired the eye with its blinding white- wind, a wailing in the tree-tops, and a few 
ness, and wearied the mind with its dim stars. 


monotony. A huhsed silence like the quiet- Bright lights telling of the interior comfort 
ness of death hung over field and wood, and good cheer shone out into the night 

Up in the tree-tops the wind crooned a from the windows of every farm house, 

low, sad requiem for the summer flowers, They gave intelligence that winter, though 
the birds, the fluttering leaves, and the tyrant of the outdoor world, was powerless 
soft breezes. The luxuriance of spring, the to chill the spirits of the family circle 
ripeness of summer, and the glad fulfilment gathered about the supper-table or the 
of autumn were gone from the scene; only warm fireside. The farmer with his wife 
winter was there— Old Winter, the miser, and their sturdy sons and buxom daughters 
giving us a chilly carpet of snow in place . rejoiced that they were able to resist the 
of our flowers, and the harsh-voiced winds siege of winter behind their ! rude but sub- 
in lieu of bird-songs. stantial walls, with the bountiful stores 

The roads were almost as much deserted laid up in seasonable time. With songs 
as the woods for, seemingly, the people had and stories, apples and cider, they passed 
learned from the squirrels and other little the evening pleasantly enough. Now and 
animals the wisdom of staying under cover, then, when a~ lull came in the talk, they 
Now and then a cutter, flew by, or a bob could hear the storm howling outside, and 
passed driven hurriedly; but there was no the savage wind tearing around the house, 
laughter, no flashing mirth from its assailing every loose window and shutter 
oqcupants ; they were not out for the in his effort to effect an entrance ; he roared 
pleasure of it, apparently, and sought only down the chimney, but the fire, like a huge, 
to reach home as quickly as possible. faithful watch-dog, roared back at him and 

How different were these same scenes a drove him off. When bedtime came they 
few months before; then the evening hour, all retired to rest unmoved by the wrath 
was the most delightful of the whole day ; of the elements except for a feeling of thank- 
when the setting sun looked back with a fulness for a warm bed and a comfortable 
mild, benignant gaze over the earth that it home. And all night long outside, beneath 
had gladdened all the day with its light and the dim, fitful light of the moon, the snow- 
warmth; when from all directions came sprites danced madly in the air keeping 
faint echoes, borne upon the breeze — the time with the mournful chant of the wind, 
lowing of cattle, the barking of dogs and The shifting snow-drifts piled higher and 
the laughter of happy children, that blended higher until they peeped in over the window- 
together sweeter than any song. But now sill at the slumbering mortals who slept 
little life was visible except in this barn lot in utter oblivion of. the incantations of the 
or that, where might be seen a boy strug- wind, of the charmed dance of the snow- 
gling manfully with the wood pile, or a girl sprites, and of the multitudinous mysteries 
with clattering pails going toward the cow of the winter’s night. . 



At Midnight Mass. 


A HUSH is heard ; a thousand lips now cease 

The low, soft, murmur that was breathed in prayer. 
A silence reigns ; ; throughout the land is peace, 

The breath of incense stirs the midnight air. 

A thousand . tapers flicker all around 
The Christmas manger where the Infant lies; 
The world is : filled with light and welcome sound 
Of music that subdues the sinner’s sighs. 

Things Will Happen. 



‘HE young lady sitting next the 
window had been watching the. 
telegraph poles and fences fly 
by. the train for the past tv\ o 
: ; hours. Now and then a horse 
: and sometimes a bunch of cattle 
to find something to eat in a 
barren pasture, would race past the window 
after the poles and fences. Once a man with 
a gun on his shoulder, hunting for rabbits, 
perhaps, darted by r . She had been looking 
at the earth and its objects appearing to 
race past the -train window for so long 
that she was fully convinced that it was 
a fact, when a young man, saying by r way 
of apology, “I am frightfully tired standing 
up, and I trust ymi will not mind if I use 
half 3 r our seat,” seated himself beside her. 

It was easy,, for them both to begin a 
conversation, and quite naturally they fell 
to talking .about everything from books to 
football. The j'oung lady was on her. way 
home irom.fschool to spend her Christmas 
vacation and the 3*oung man might have 
been doing.. the.- same thing, but in appear- 
ance he was one of those young . fellows 
who might-have been doing most an3’thing. 
He looked tyoung and old together, and 
had a look about him that permitted one 
to classify him any way he pleased: 

From football they drifted onto the subject 
of life, and discussed it very knowinglyy — 
for it is only the young who believe them- 
selves capable of that— and finally landed 
on the often -discussed and much -abused 
problem of love. Just as the train was 

pulling out of a little eountry^ town where 
it had stopped for water, they both noticed 
a 3 r oung man outside offering to assist a 
pretty girl across a mudd\ r path. They 
were evidently strangers, judging from the 
manner in which the man offered his assist- 
ance. Turning to the girl the man said: 

“There, you see — all accidental.” Con- 
tinuing he explained : “As some one has said, 
things happen or they 'don’t; A man happens 
to turn a corner just in time to see a prett3 r 
woman thrown out of a runaway carriage— 
perhaps straight into his arms,— he picks her 
up and carries her home, or to some conve- 
nient place. Later he calls to inquire about 
her welfare; in short, that is the beginning; 
Result: a love affair, and there 3'ou are— and 
all by accident.” Fully convinced that he 
was right and satisfied that he had proven 
it, the young man settled himself more com- 
fortably^ in his seat and waited to hear 
what the girl had to sa3 r . 

“So 3 r ou think,” she asked, “that it is 
all accidental, this fallingin love: And that 
the stor3' taught us b\ r our mothers, that 
some place in the world there is one man 
w'ho was born for each of us and that at 
the proper time, and under proper conditions 
the affair will work out .by- its own accord, 
is all wrong?” 

“Yes,” he said, “there is nothing in that 
storv". It isn’t arranged, or it doesn’t work 
out; it just happens.” 

“But,’.’ exclaimed the girl, “what becomes 
of those who are not so fortunate as to be 
concerned in an accident? You know we 
can’t all be in a runaway and thrown at 
the head of some nice man. Nor can - we 
all be saved. from death by drowning by a 
brave young man. - What then becomes of 
a girl w'ho has never had any of these things 
happen to her,- who lives perhaps in some 
particular place, because she was born 
there?” arid then she added with a pretty 
smile, “some place where things never 
happen to an\' one— is there no love in the 
world for her?” :r 

“Certainty there is,” answered the man, 
“plenty of it. In that same place, there 
always happens to live a young man using 
up his share of life there. One day he 
happens to look up as she is passing, or 
something like that,' and it occurs to 
him that she is . pretty, or if not pretty, 

1 •?-*»*»! Wfel'J 


there is something about her that he never 
noticed before — of course, you know, there 
may be nothing about her to notice, but 
he will happen to think so, and there you 
are again.” 

• “Then,” said the girl, “suppose this: 
Suppose there was a young girl carefully 
guarded by her mother, father, brothers, 

. in fact, all her relations. She never went 
any place alone ; she lived - in a city. If 
she went to a dance, a party, any place, 
the list was carefully looked over before 
she was permitted to go. Admit then, for 
the sake of argument, that there couldn’t 
anj'thing happen to her. Then to make your 
theor\ r appear more real, but in fact harder, 
send her away to school ; send her to a 
convent as I was. For instance, I have 
not been to a dance — in fact I have not 
been any. place since I left home, save 
perhaps an occasional gathering of girls. 
When I reach home, as I will to-night, my 
father and brother will meet me at the 
station. During my stay I will be tenderly 
guarded as before. What chance then, I ask, 
does a girl like me stand of having any- 
thing happen to her”’ 

While she had been talking, the man had 
v. atched the pretty mouth grow firm with 
earnestness and then relax into a smile as 
she had spoken of the occasional gathering 
of girls while in school; he also had noted 
the loose brown hair as it fell over her little 
ear; and her long shapely hands as they 
.lay folded in her lap. Growing impatient 
for his answer — as she was sure the case 
she had supposed could not be, answered 
according to his theory — she turned toward 
him and started to say something. 

“You can — ” and then she stopped. 
Realizing for the first time that she did 
not even know his name, or in fact any- 
thing about him, and that she had been - 
talking to him and sharing her troubles 
with him, occasioned her a most violent 
start. The pretty composed face colored 
deeply and turning she looked out of the 
window. Taking her hand, which had 
dropped by her side, ' the man said: 

“ Your name and address L know, for I 
read it on y r our suit case before 1 sat down'. 
On Christmas Day I will be in Wayne and 
find some one to properly introduce us.” 
And this was an accident. 

At Christ’s Birth. 


'pil H hoarse north-wind that with the. billows wild 
Shouted in hoist’ rous play through: ages long. 
Once hushed his voice to accents low and mild, 

To croon the Child-God’s first-known eradle-song. 

Christmas in the Thirteenth Century. 


IX or seven centuries ago, before 
wealth and prosperity, tecame 
almost the sole ends for which 
this blinded age would have, us 
strive; long before the sordid love of gain 
had crowded from the hearts all those finer 
and nobler sentiments of beauty and sim- 
plicity, and dulled the mind to all the higher 
aspirations of the soul, — in those glorious 
day’s of Christianity, during the thirteenth 
century, when religion was in the brightest 
splendor of its power, the Church had far 
more holydaA'S of obligation than now, 
which renewed in Christian hearts the spirit 
of faith, by commemorating, weekly or 
monthly, some of the great events in the 
Saviour's life.. 

. But heresies and the coldness of indifference, 
which has chilled the spirit of faith in the 
breasts of men, have swept away one by 
one those days which w ere held sacred for 
repose and praj’er, until now we have but 
few great feast-days in the calendar of the 
Church, and among these, Christmas holds 
a foremost place. ~ 

Let us turn for a few moments to the 
records of the thirteenth century and see 
with what inspiring ceremonies the Birth- 
day of Our Saviour was made sacred. 
During that period the Church stood forth 
as the beacon light of civilization and the 
store-house of learning. Gothic architecture, 
which was then at its highest;, painting 
and, sculpture, at that time devoted almost 
exclusively to religious subjects; poetry and 
music, so beautifully adapted and sung in 
all the great cathedrals and churches of 
the time, — these, I say, united to render 
the outward celebration of the mysteries 



of this great festival more sublime and 
faith-inspiring than anything that has ever 
been witnessed in the history of succeeding 

In order the . better to appreciate the 
splendor of . the religious observances, we 
will spend the night in one of the great 
cities of France— let it be Paris. As we take 
our wa}'- through the narrow streets on our 
road to the cathedral, the streets are at 
first deserted ; but every window is a-gleam 
with happiness, and around every fireplace 
the little ones are seated listening to the 
stories that grandpa is telling. But listen! 
’Tis a familiar sound that fills the air. The 
sweet tones of the cathedral chimes begin 
to announce the approaching birth-hour of 
Mary’s Son. Responsive to the summons 
we betake ourselves to the cathedral. 

As we enter the doorway the splendor 
and magnificence of art and music begins 
to dawn upon us. The" white-robed choir 
are chanting, iri beautiful Gregorian strains, 
the Matin hours. But these grand melodies 
are not more sublime than the wonderful 
art, the “frozen music,” which gives a true 
religious tone to the entire structure. As 
the last notes of the Te Deum die away, 
an altar boy, representing an angel, comes 
out among the singers and with a sweet 
voice chants the angelic message, — “Fear 
not: for behold, I bring you good tidings 
of great joy, that shall be to all the people : 
for this day is born to you a Saviour, who 
is Christ the Lord, in the city of David. And 
this shall be a sign unto you: you shall 
find an infant wrapped in swaddling-clothes, 
and laid in a manger.” Then from a high 
gallery, as from heaven, ring out iri children’s 
voices, the angel’s greeting, “ Glory to God 
in the highest, and on earth peace to men 
of good will.” 

The congregation listens with increasing 
fervor and devotion, as they see, slowly 
advancing up the nave of the church, a num- 
ber of shepherds, singing as they ' advance 
in search of the new-born King. It is a 
beautiful hymn, and how w r ell suited to the 
occasion are the thoughts it expresses: 

Peace on earth, is announced, and on earth glory, 

- ; - earth is reconciled through divine grace. 

The Mediator God-nian descends amongst His own, 

- that guilty man may ascend to lost joys. 

Let us go' over, let us see this Word that is come to pass. 

Let us go over that we maj- learn what has been 

In Judaea an Infant cries ; 

An Infant, the Salvation of His people, 

Efy whom the ancient enemy of the world foresees 
He must be warred upon. 

Let us approach, let us approach the cradle of our 

And let us sing: “Praise to the fruitful virgin.” 

The shepherds advance toward the crib 
near which a few women are watching. 
Priests meet them and ask them whom 
they seek, to which they reply that they 
seek “Christ the Lord, an Infant wrapped 
in swaddling-clothes ; ” at which words the 
women draw aside the curtain, which has 
hung across the front of the crib, showing 
to the shepherds the Infant Christ, lying in 
a manger. On seeing the Infant and Its 
Mother, the shepherds break forth in song: 

Hail, 0 Virgin incomparable! remaining a virgin, 
Tliou hast brought forth the Son of God, begotten 
of His Father before all ages. 

Now we adore Him formed in the flesh of His Mother. 

0 Mary ! purify us from all stain of sin ; our destined 
course on earth so dispose that thy Son may grant 
us to enjoy His blessed vision. 

Then turning to the choir they sing, — 
“Now we truly know that Christ is born on 
, earth, let all sing of Him with the prophet.” 
Whereupon the Mass begins, and the choir 
intones the Introit: “The Lord has said to 
me, Thou art my Son; this day I have 
begotten Thee.” 

With all the solemnity of adoration the 
Mass is concluded and Lauds are chanted. 
The ceremonies are fittingly closed by the 
choir singing this solemn antiphon : “ Behold, 
all things are accomplished that were 
announced by the angel concerning the 
Virgin Mary.” 

Such, in brief, is the way that Christmas 
was celebrated in the grand cathedrals and 
churches of France by. the Christians of 
the thirteenth century; such, at least as 
far as can be gleaned from the office books 
of that period, were the pious festivities 
that adorned the celebration of Christmas 
Eve. And however sublime these services, 
as recorded, must have been, we may be 
sure that many beautiful little details, 
which must have been attendant on the 
performance of the religious drama, were 
left unwritten and have perished in the 
uncertain hands of tradition. 


Looking Back. 

HARRY A. LEDWIDGE, ’ 09 . • 

CERENE and calm across the heaped up snow 
We watch the argent splendor of His natal star 
Light up the path down which His feet must go, 
And glorify his Golgotha afar. 

A Light in the Darkness. 


0! ma — a — a, come up here quick, 

The mother went up-stairs to 
little Tedclie’s bedroom, and as 
she stepped into the chamber 
with a lamp in her hand, her 
little son stuck his head out from under 
the bedclothes. 

“What’s the matter, Ted?” asked the 
mother as she sat on the bed beside her boy. 

“ I saw a light over there in the comer,” 
he gasped in a breathless voice. 

“What kind of a light?” 

“Oh! I don’t know; it looked jest like 
somebody was spittin’ sparks out a his 

“Out of whose mouth?” inquired the 

“Hisn, I do’ know who he is. I’m afwaid 
to stay here alone. Won’t you stay with 
me, mama?” 

“Yes, dear, if you humy and go to sleep.” 
The mother laid her head on the pillow 
beside her little son. 

“What was that light, mama?” 

“I don’t know, Ted. It must have been 
one of the street lamps shining through the 

“No, it wasn’t. Them lamps don’t shine 
like they was spittin’ fire.” 

“It must have been the light from the 
street shining on the brass bedpost, Ted.” 
“No, it wasn’t. I kinda think it was one 
of them ghostes what Uncle Tom tells about, 
or maybe it’s one of them bulls what Jason 
drove. They blew fire wight out of their 
noses. Uncle Tom told me.” 

“Well, Ted, you can see for yourself that 
there isn’t a thing over in the comer, neither 
a ghost nor one of Jason’s bulls.” 


“Yes, mama, but them ghostes don’t stay,' 
when you bring a light in on ’em.” 

“But, dear, it couldn’t have got out of 
the room without passing me in the door.” 
“Nope, Unele Tom says they ken go wight 
thoo the walls.” 

“Well, you must go to sleep now, Ted. 
I have to go down-stairs.” 

The little fellow turned over on his side 
and closed his eyes.' But half a minute 
had not passed before he looked up at 
his mother and said: “Mama, won’t you 
stay with me awhile after I’m to sleep?” 
“Yes, dear, if you hurry and get to sleep.” 
He turned over on his side again and 
once more closed his eyes, but only for a 
few seconds. Then he asked his mother if 
she would not leave the lamp in his room 
when she left. After all his requests were 
granted, the little fellow finally fell into the 
sound sleep of childhood. 

“I don’t know what that boy could have 
seen that scared him,” said Mrs. Hutton to 
her husband, as she entered the sitting room. 

“Well, you know what vivid imaginations 
children have, don’t you?” replied Mr. 

Heretofore Ted had always manifested 
considerable bravery for a boy of six. He 
was always willing to go to sleep without 
a lamp in his room, so long as his door 
was open, so the rays from the hall light 
could strengthen his courage. But for over 
a month from this night, Ted insisted upon 
having a lamp in his room. At last, after 
his courage had been restored to its original 
strength, he consented to have the light put 
out after he got in bed. 

About five weeks after resuming his old 
practice of going to sleep without a light 
in his room, again it happened, as before, . 
that Ted called to his mother to come 
up-stairs quick, and again she did as before. 
After quieting her son and finally getting 
him to sleep, Mrs. Hutton went down into 
the sitting-room. t 

“What do you suppose it is, Frank, that 
Ted sees? This is the second time he has 
seen it. He say^ it looks just like it did 

“You mean it’s the second time he thought 
he saw it.” 

“Well, that may be true, for I don’t see 
for the life of me what he could have seen, 

21 6 


if he did see anything. There is absolutely 
nothing - in the corner that would .make a 
light,” expressed Mrs. Hutton. 

“I bet I saw somfin last night what you 
never seen, Willie,” said Ted to his play- 
mate next day. “Do you remember them 
bulls what- breaved fire out of' their noses, 
what Uncle Toni told 3'ou and me about 


“Well, one of ’em was up in my bedroom 
last night. 

“Huh, do you think I believe that? Your 
uncle said that story happened a long, long 
time ago. : Oh, a million years, and them 
bulls is all dead by now.” 

“Yes,” replied Ted, “but them wasn’t 
regular natural bulls, and they might not 
died yet.” 

“Well, I don’t believe 3 r ou seen ’em aiy- 
how, even if they ain’t dead.” 

“.I ken pwoove it. Mama was there. 
Come and we’ll ask her.” 

“ Well, did 3 r ou see the bull with your 
own eyes?” asked Willie. 

“Nope, but I seen ’em.breave.” 

“Huh, I don’t believe it, Teddie'.” 

“Well, come on then, and we’ll go in and 
ask mama:.” 

Ted. took Willie into the kitchen with him 
to get Mrs. Hutton to certify his statement. 

“ Mama, didn’t I see somfin breaving fire 
in my room last night?” 

“W r ell, you' said you did, darling. I don’t 
know whether 3'ou did or not.” - 
“A — a — a, Teddie, you see,” sneered Willie. 
“Well, mama, can’t Willie stay all night 
with me to see if he can see it?” . 

But before the mother had a chance to 
answer, Willie' replied, “Nope; I don’t want 
to see any bulls breathen fire, even if they, 
is in your room.” , y 

Again for nearly a month Ted had to have 
a light in his room until he had gone to 
sleep. And - again his courage grew . until, 
at length, he o^ce more consented Ter have 
the light Taken from his room as soon as 
lie was in bed. . y fy- y 

All went well until Christmas Eve. Ted 
went to bed early, so Santa Claus could: 
hurry up and come. But nervous and excited 
by the occasion, the boy was unable to go 
to sleep. He rolled around on his bed, think- 
ing of naught but Santa Glaus. At last, just 

as his e3 r es were about to close, he saw 
again the strange light in the dark. 

“Ma! ma — a — a!” - 

“Well,” replied the mother’s gentle voice 
from the foot of the stairs. . 

“Come here, ma.” 

Mrs. ' Hutton went up and again found 
Ted with his head under the covers. 

“ Well, what’s the matter this time?” 
she said. “ What have you seen, Ted ? Has 
Santy been around?” 

“Nope, but that light is over in that 
corner again.” ' 

“Perhaps it was the headlight on Santy ’s 
sleigh that you saw,” suggested' the mother. 

“It was that same light what I seen 
befo, mama.” : - 

“lam going to put out the lamp and see 
if I can see that peculiar light.” 

“Oh, don’t, mama; don’t put out the 

“ Well, I’ll stay right here beside you, dear, 
so you needn’t be afraid. I’ll just turn 
the light down so it’s perfectly dark. Then 
when that strange thing appears, we’ll turn 
the light up quick and catch it.” 

“The mother sat there in the dark on 
the side of the bed, talking to her little son 
and caressing his locks. 

“Say, mama,. if you see that thing breaven 
fire, will you tell Willie about it, so he won’t 
think I’ve been tellin’ him things what ain’t 
so? He jest laughs evwy time I tell him 
about seeing the light in the corner.” - 
“Yes, dear. If I see the bull breathing 
fire, or the ghost, or even the fire alone, 
I’ll tell Willie, so he won’t think you have 
been telling him fibs.” 

“He jest makes me mad, mama. He 
laughs at me evwy time I tell him about 
it. But he’s kinda fwaid to sleep with me 
jest the same when I asked him to come 
and see for his self. There it is, ma! there 
it is! See it! See it!” 

Sure enough, over in the corner where 
the child pointed, faint sparks were flying, 
not , only flying but cracking, too. Mrs. 
Hutton turned up the light. 

In the big chair upholstered with hair- 
cloth was the cat, purring loud and walking 
back and forth, rubbing first one side and 
then the other against the back of the chair. 

“Will you tell Willie, ma, ’cause he won’t: 
believe me if you don’t.” y 



Hope's Awakening. 


'jpRANSMUTED was the darkness of the night 
To fairest morn, 

And hope put forth new leaves and blossomed brig] 
When Christ was born. 

Caesar Does His Christmas Shopping. 


# MASSIVE chariot, liberally orna- 
mented with gold trimmings had 
glided up to the curb on its heavy 
runners. It was ,a modish car, 
built low in the rear and tilted 
at a rakish angle toward the 
front; with broad, spacious, oaken floor, 
long, slender chariot -tree, and a heavy 
reinforced axle. Florentine smiths had ham- 
mered graceful patterns into the frame- 
work of the skids, which , now were 
clogged with snow. The high surrounding 
. wall had been carved by Greek wood- 
workers into grotesque satyrs, nymphs with 
long, trailing bodies, curling vines and fan- 
tastic scroll effects. Two bronze tablets, one 

4 - 

on either side, emblazoned the regal arms, 
and in front, above the juncture of the 
tongue with the car, a bas-relief displayed the 
heroic proportions of a naked diver, standing 
on the bank of a stream, his hands joined 
high over his head and the motto “Missa 
est -tessera” arched above them. A brass 
lion’s head at the tip of .the polished wagon- 
pole held in its mouth a silver ring, to which 
were fastened four silver chains leading to 
the neck-yokes of four glossy, black Arabian 
steeds, who champed and pawed restlessly, 

. eager to stretch their numbing limbs. 

The charioteer wrapped in a tunic of 
beaver skins, his hands clad in heavy, 
gauntleted gloves, his brow bound round 
. with a brown band of fur in place of gala 
. ribbons, kept stamping his winter sandals 
against the floor to warm his freezing toes. 
; Now and again a swirl of snow, lashing 
against his bare , legs, would tingle the 
.flesh- from knee to ankle ; but, save for the 
stamping, Rome’s imperial coachman .gave 

no sign of discomfort. Marble impassive- 
ness- seemed to. pervade the whole man. 
Even when the nervous horses turned their 
heads or craned their necks impatiently, his 
big right arm, stretching out over the dash- 
board, controlled them without any move- 
ment; a magnetic influence seemed to pass 
along the taut reins to the clanking bits. 

Caesar had just dismounted and was now- 
standing alone and unaccompanied inside 
one of the great department bazaars, which 
.surround the Forum. His great ermine 
toga, the golden band that circled his head, 
the bejeweled serpent coiling tightly round 
his upper left arm, the stateH signet on 
his hand, and the chain of amethysts set 
in linked squares of burnished gold, which 
hung about his royal neck, all cast a sense 
of reverence over the busy populace. But 
the sight of Caesar, even without his panoply 
• of greatness, would have awed the traders 
to stillness. Had he stood in the market- 
place as he stood on the brink of the 
Rubicon with hands high overhead, they 
would have fallen to silence just as quickly, 
because Caesar’s personality was convincing. 
Little children whispered li s name with 
fearsome respect, and their warrior fathers 
cherished it like a god’s. 

The emperor rarely walked abroad. No 
wonder then, that these bustling holidav 
shoppers of cosmopolitan Rome checked 
their mad bargain-counter rush this morn- 
ing and charged the air wi:h an awkward,, 
silent suspense when he entered. The pause 
was short, however, *for a brave, young stu- 
dent, proudly wearing the monogram of the 
University of Athens on his toga, shouldered 
his way to the front and faced the people. 

“Nine rahs for Caesar,” he shouted, “and 
a good are bat the end.” Their v r ell rolled 
out with such volume as only the reaction 
from strong nervous tension can produce; 
it rattled up among the thong-bound rafters, 
echoed on and on toward the . sky ; and 
long after the sound had died away, came 
back a faint refrain from the mountain- 
side, “Rah for Caesar !” Marking the cadence 
with a scroll of Thucydides, the cheer-master 
gave a signal , at the end, and the mob — 
for it had expanded vastly .during the 
interim— knelt as a unit to the cry, “Ave, 
Caesar ! ”. which rumbled along the ground 
ana: up the Capitoline like the deep murmur 



of an earthquake or the roar of a distant 
volcano. Caesar was moved. He put up a 
deprecating hand that he might speak. 

“Friends, Romans, Countrymen,” said lie, “be still. 
We’re not here for laudation, but for shopping. 

It is our ’customed wont, as years go by, 

That all our house shall taste of Cmsar’s love 
At Yuletide, and rejoice in gifts of his 
Selection. Let our royal presence change 
In naught the care-free joy of Christmas barter; 
Let each regard me as his fellow-jester 
To quip and crowd me with him at his will. 
These maids and matrons, who attend the counters, 
Shall grant no more civility' to me 
Than they discourse to ye. Mark well ! let this 
Be heeded, for it is our earnest .will; 

Our high command, it needs must be obeyed. 


Surprise will often paralyze a crowd, and 
would have done so now only that the 
emperor straightway. rushed off toward the 
confections’ department. He showed most 
convincingly by bowling over two lotharios 
that there should be no doubt he meant 
what he had said. The pomp and dignity 
which hedge round a man . of state never 
disappear more quickly than they' do when 
that man- so forgets himself as to. disregard 
his own position. He himself starts the 
wedge with which most willing hands will 
ultimately separate him from the respect to 
which that .pomp and dignity are entitled. 
It was so to-day\ 

No sooner did Caesar dispel his chilly air 
of exclusiveness than the crowd, enlivened 
by some magic touch, burst through its quiet 
into , noisy action once again, ,and tried, 
according to the royal command, to forget 
the imperial ermine as it passed among the 
throng. I say “tried to. forget,” because 
delicacy and habits of long-standing had 
made the people timid to pull and push the 
royml habiliments about as freely as they 
would rough one another. 

Waiting in front of the confectionery 
booth, great Caesar took from his scrip a 
tiny scroll on which were jotted several 
memoranda. Then addressing the maiden, 
he said: - , . 5 .■ . ^ , , 

“Just put. me up a , five-pound box of svyeet c , 
Rare chocolates and candied pineapples; ' M 
Greeffcitron bars and glazed apricots, '.' \ 

. With lucent syrups -and \vhat garnishments 
May' ornament tlie dainty stuffs.”" - / - 

From the ample folds of heir flowing blue 
robe, the girl produced a ; parchment, and 

from her elegant, coiffure a dainty stylus 
with which she summed up the items of 
the bill. 

“’Twill be sixteen denarii and seven ases 
more,” she said finishing the last figure in 
a graceful flourish. The bill was paid, a 
transfer check given and the dictator plowed 
toward the fur department. By r dint 
of long effort he escaped the jam at the 
candy booth and essayed a passage toward 
the other end of the emporium. Large beads 
of royal perspiration were trickling down 
Caesar’s angular face; his broad chest 
heaved under the strain of effort; the ermine 
toga had fallen from his shoulders and. he 
held it gathered round his waist with one 
hand ; the costly purple tunic of Indian silk 
clung in places to his steaming body; the 
band around his head hung all awry ; and 
the lacings of his sandals slowly slipped 
toward his feet. One would think he was 
fighting his wav alone from Britain back 
to Rome, so disordered was his apparel. 
Finally r he reached the fur department. 

“Let’s see some good chinchilla furs, my 
sweetie,” the ’ royml customer said, as he 
chucked the dirhpled maiden’s dainty chin. 

“Real or imitation!” came the pert re- 

“Why! real of course. Calphurnia wears 
no other.” The dimpled one jerked several 
large boxes from under a stack on the shelf 
behind and banged them upon the counter, 
dexterously passing the lid under each box 
before it struck the boards. There were 
only two sets, and one of them lacked a 
muff. • - 

“This set brings us two talents, sir,” she said; 

“Without the muff it comes at the price. 

This next is worth’ ten rubels less without 

The muff. Good Brutus bought the muff a moment ' . 

' • since,”' \ - • rL - 

responded y the patient clerk, meanwhile 
diligently chewing her wad of Cyprus pitch. 

“ Are these the only chinchilla’s thou 

■ hast ? ” and. He smiled encouragingly. 

“That’s all. If we had more I’d show 
-them.” Her reply was curt, businesslike, 

; and, taken with the elevation of her eye- 
brows that accompanied it, was thoroughly 
convincing. So Caesar took the. complete 

■ set, handing a three-talent bill in payment. 

“ Cash girl ! ” and after a pause, “ Gash 
girl!”, again. With a trailing inflection on 



the last syllable, came the strident call 
from the pitch-chewing clerk. “Get this bill 
changed for yonder man,” she shouted at 
a diminutive miss in a highl3 r starched 
tunic, who was sliding, up to the booth at 
that moment. And to Cassar: 

“We’ll send your goods up on the night delivery; 

They ean’t eomc any sooner.” 

The information was gratuitous and the 
classic-modeled employee turned to her next 
customer. Ctesar took his change with 
a nod of thanks and elbowed his way 
toward the entrance. 

The car was there as he had left it. 
The silky horses still champed their bits, 
tossed their heads and pawed at their rest- 
less inactivity; the driver still looked steadily 
out into the far distance, and his arm still 
reached over the dashboard with the reins 
drawn through his gloved fingers. Little 
rills of snow had been banking up in the 
thick, rolling folds of his tunic, while he 
stood, awaiting his royal master, the sight 
of whom now electrified him into animation 
as it electrified the crush of peqple, who had 
gathered in front of the bazaar to see great 
Cassar depart. The charioteer shook his 
hair free of the fallen snow, vigorous!}' 
brushed it from his tunic, slipped his brawny 
wrist into the loop, from which a long, 
black lash hung suspended, and with a 
dexterous flourish of his raised forearm 
tossed the free end behind his shoulder in 
expectant readiness for the royal command. 
The crowd thundered out a cheer and nearly 
broke through the file of gendarmes, who 
charged them back with lowered spears that 
they might keep a passage for the royal car. 

Caesar mounted the chariot, bowed his 
smiling acknowledgments to the roaring 
populace as he went, and with a whistling 
crack of the whip over, their heads, the 
Arabians dashed quickly away. On and 
on they glided through the streets to the 
tinkle of a little bell, which had not been 
removed from beneath the car since the 
last, triumph ; on and. on toward the Pala- 
tine Hill. When the business . thorough- 
fares lay behind them,. Caesar put out a sup- 
porting hand against the rim of the chariot, 
wilted in body and tired in mind, yet 
content in the knowledge that his Christ- 
mas shopping was over for another year. 

To Friends. 


HAPPY Christmas, yours, — be gla'd. 

Let not one moment find you sad. . 

The whole world greets you ; let me add, 

“A Happy Christmas.” . 

* - « 

A Happy Christmas, yours, — may peace 

And love, your Yule-tide joys increase; 

Oh! may for you that song ne’er cease, 

“A- Happy Christmas.” ’■ 

A Happy Christmas, yours, — destroy • 

All strife, let, troubles not annoy • 

Your pleasure; may you e’er enjoy 
“A Happy Christmas.”- - » • 

Just a Delays 


S Stuart Temple sat in - the 
dingy little station the afternoon 
before Christmas, he could see 
nothing of happiness, nothing to 
break the dead monotony of the 
morrow save the click, click of 
the instruments and the incessant hum of 
the wires as messages of good-will were 
sent over them. For a long time he had 
determined to give up the lonely life and 
go back to the city, but always the thought 
would A'anish as soon as the resolve was 
made. He arose from the desk, walked up 
and down the room to await the station- 
master w r ho had gone up the track to 
inspect a reported defect in the road, when 
the instruments clicked off a message. It 
was for Temple. 

He jotted it down carefully and placed 
it in the drawer of the desk. It would be 
about an hour before the through express, 
the only one that day, w r ould pass. As 
there was no probability of receiving any 
more messages, he left the station in charge 
of the master and walked down the track 
in order to relieve his mind. Everything 
seemed to be in good condition in the direc- 
tion of the water-tank a few' yards further 
on. He returned to the station, re-read the 
message, but could see no , solution for the 
quandary he was in. _ 



The express soon rolled by the depot 
and stopped at the water-tank bej^ond. 
The impatient holiday passengers became 
more impatient when they learned that the 
water-tank was empty, that the nearest 
place where water could be secured was a 
considerable distance down the line. In 
some way the pipe leading to the tank 
which supplied it with water had been 
broken. Being situated around a curve, it 
could not be seen by anyone about the 

“What sort of oversight do you keep 
about you here?” demanded the conductor 
angrily, as he entered the station and 
accosted the station-master. “It will take 
us two hours to mend that break, and 
there isn't any pipe about to do it with. 
We will have to send back to the junction 
and that will take considerable time. What, 
are' we to do? We can’t go on -without 

The station-master, angered at this 
reproof, replied : “lam not obliged to spend 
my time inspecting water-tanks. Besides 
the local took water there about two 
hours ago.” 

“The local — hem slow— new men,” replied 
the conductor, “inexperienced, everyone of 
them, put on temporarily. You haven’t 
seen any tramps or suspicious characters 
about here?” 

“No, not anybody,” declared the station- 
master decidedly. “I’ve been outside ever 
since the local passed and would have 
seen them. It was only about an hour ago 
that Mr. Temple -walked down that wav.” 

“Yes,” said Temple as he joined them, “the 
station-master is right about no tramps 
being around. Some one of us would have 
seen them.” ' • . - - - _ 

“Well, it’s the local crew of course. Temple, 
you telegraph for pipe at once. Order them 
to . send the fastest engine, , and say that 
we are stalled here. Rush your message 

.“There is no special need of ordering 
direct from, head quarters”’ observed Temple. 

“ Come to think, there are- some extra 
pieces of pipe at Cedar. I was there about 
a week ago and saw them.’ ’ 

-“.But how can you get them here?” 
inquired the conductor relieved; : -Y\ y 

“ There is an engine : working on * the_new 

switch and I can have it here within 
an hour.” 

“Then have it,” declared the conductor 
eagerly. “Don’t lose any time. Tell them 
to wire back.” 

Temple returned to his office and sat down 
at his desk. Pulling- out the drawer he 
took' up the message he had received, and 
went over it carefullv. It read : 

“Mr. Temple: — Why didn’t you inform 
me of this discovery sooner? Dec. 24 is 
the date set for the final hearing. .You 
say you know a Miss Margaret Wells at 
Cedar, and that } r ou discovered her name 
to be Chandler. I Understand the whole 
case. Unless she is here Dec. 24, the entire 
road will go to, the present holders.” 

“Dacey, Atty.”- 

Temple’s brow knitted while reading the 
message. It had been -written December 20, 
four days ago. 

To Temple the reason for this was evident. 
It had been held . in the main office. It 
could not be left out entirely as that would 
be discovered, but an excuse could be given 
for not sending it until it was of no use. 
Just as soon as the through express had 
passed Cedar the message was forwarded 
to Temple. 

“Well,” thought Temple, “two can play 
at that game.” _ 

He bent over the desk and sent the follow- 
ing telegram : 

“ Miss Margaret Wells, Cedar Come to. 
Windsor at once. Don’t fail. - An engine will 
leave there -within an hour and the engineer 
is a particular friend of mine.” 


Then he folded his • arms and -waited. 
The -wires kept up their constant hum and 
the instruments * clicked incessantly. The 
whole affair passed before Temple’s mind. 
For some time a legal dispute had been 
going on over the heirs-in-law of William 
Chandler, a wealthy, bachelor, who had 
died intestate, leaving; considerable property 
including the railroad on which Temple was 
employed. . . ' Y ; - ' . 

: Fifteen ; minutes . later the . conductor 
appeared at the door. .. 

“Heard from them ;yet ? ”i. ; . • . • 

* “No ; they are father slow, down there, 
.but I will wire them -again. ” 


22 1 

Ten minutes more. Temple leaned over the 
desk and forwarded another telegram. 

“That ought to give her plenty of time, 
but I’ll make sure.” 

Then he sent a demand for the pipe and 
for the engine, asking the engineer to make 
no possible delay, — adding, “Miss Wells 
will come with you. Her presence here is 

Within the hour the engine arrived, but 
the passengers failed to notice the pretty- 
young lady who dropped from the cab 
and entered the station, her face pale and 

“Oh, Stuart, what is it?” Then demurely, 
“I thought you might have been hurt.” 

The whole situation was explained to-her, 
but it was some time 'before the bewildered 
girl overcame her embarrassment after read- 
ing the telegram. 

“I have telegraphed the lawyer that you 
will appear in court this afternoon, and we 
can go down on this train. And perhaps 
this delayed message may be of some service. 
0 yes, that’s all right — er, that little incident 
of last week is off.” 

“ Why,” she demanded. 

“Can’t you understand? I am merely an 
employee, while you' are — ” 

“No, not another word about it, Stuart.” 

That afternoon both listened to the 
lawyer as he proved Miss Chandler to be 
the niece of Wm. Chandler .and the rightful 
heir of his property -which included the rail- 
road complete. As soon as he had received 
a letter from Temple telling of a discovery 
he had accidentally made while visiting with 
Miss Wells, Dacej- employed a detective to 
work on the case, and in this way dis- 
covered that she had formerly lived with 
her uncle, but was obliged to leave on 
account of his cruelties towards her. She 
had dropped her real name and taken on 
an assumed one in order that she might 
earn a modest living as a governess. She 
seemed rather perplexed as the lawyer 
shook her hand warmly after it was all 

: “What I don’t rinderstand is about that 
delayed . telegram and train. How do - you 
account for that, Stuart.” 

-With a side glance toward Temple, the 
lawyer smiled and broke in: “Just a little 
oversight, • I think.” 

The Favored Poor. 


'THOUGH clothetl in rags, though loaded with the 

Of all the world’s rebuffs, 0 be not sad: 

The message of the birth of Christ first came 
Unto the shepherds, poor and humbly clad. 

Tom's Sister. 


HE senior* ball was on. For 
several days dress-suits, laun- 
dry wagons, and tailor bills 
had been arriving hourly, 
and ’07 men had been kept 
^ V busy answering telegrams, 
meeting trains, or making final arrange- 
ments with lady friends in the city. Now: 
all was ready. Nothing had been omitted, 
from the Punch Bowl that stood in one 
corner of the hall beneath a huge “’07” 
emblazoned with incandescent lights, to the 
providing of special amusements for the 
patrons and patronesses who had. come to 
honor by their presence the efforts of the 
youthful party. The weather, too, seemed 
to be in full harmony with the occasion — an 
exquisite spring evening in every sense of 
the word fit was, with a soft breeze blowing 
from the lake that kept the magic lanterns 
swaying and set in motion the flags and 
streamers - that lined the shady entrance 
to the hall. 

The first warning notes of the orchestra 
found the avenue filled with stately seniors, 
each proudly escorting his. chosen partner 
to : the hall that sparkled with lights of 
many' colors and shone- out through the 
waving branches like the surface of a 
moonlit lake. . 

There was just one senior to whom that 
music brought no thrill, Spike Blake, who 
alone stood by the entrance unaccosted. 
A look of disgust appeared in his eyes; 
dejection engraved itself on every feature, 
as he nervously beat time on the door-sill 
with a -telegram which he held in his hand. 

- * “ Gurse ; -my luck, Sweeny, : just got, word 
she is not coming.'- A deuce of a time to send 


a fellow word when the dance is almost 
beginning. But that’s a girl every time. 
You never can depend upon them I sup- 
pose she didn’t have her pink gown finished, 
or her spring bonnet trimmed or some other 
foolishness, and then just as if it were my 
fault she sends me this,” expostulated 
Blake, shaking the telegram in Sweeny’s 
face and avowing in disgust the utter 
unreliability of all the daughters of Eve. 

“Fierce proposition,” responded his sym- 
pathetic room-mate. “What are j’.ou going 
to do about it?” 

“Do about it? Sit around like a ‘has 
been,’ or go to my room — what can I do 
about it?” was the gruesome reply. 

Tom pulled his tie, thrust his hands deep 
into his pockets, and then in a voice that 
betrayed considerable uncertainty, began : 

“Don’t give up altogether, old man, I am 
in as bad a fix, but not quite -the same 
wray. That Western Athletic Association 
meets to-night in spite of all my efforts 
to dela\ r it. If I am not there Queenstown 
wall not have a look in. They^ will legislate 
against us and we wall not hold an office 
in the association. To make matters worse, 
my sister’s here. She came this afternoon 
unexpectedly. What do you think about 
taking her, Spike? Stay here -while I go 
up to the ball-room and fix it up with 
Sis;.” he darted inside leaving Blake to 
his mu sings. 

“That’s strange,” murmured the latter, 
looking wistfully after his departing com- 
rade. “ Tom never kept anything from me 
be'ore. .We have roomed together four years, 
read each other’s letters, knew each other's 
secrets, and yet he didn’t tell me his sister 
was coming.” 

Tom’s return put an end to all Spike’s 
deliberations. “Come,” he said, grasping 
Blake by the arm and ushering him into 
the hall. Several involuntary interruptions 
delayed the progress of the undertaking, 
but at length Tom succeeded in bringing his 
sister and his room-mate together. 

Blake was stupified. “Tom’s sister” was 
a veritable queen. He had singled her out 
the moment he entered; he had been remark- 
ing her ever since, and noted her slightest 
action.. . This was “Tom’s sister!” She 
( Tom’s .sister) was standing before him in 
a dazzling gown flounced and frizzled in 

all directions. For Blake there was no other 
gown or no other girl in the hall half so 
stunning. He resolved that before the 
evening was over she would be more than 
“Tom’s sister” to him. So amazed had he 
become that he couldn’t speak. He just 
bowed and scraped and nodded, but couldn’t 
get the words started. He didn’t need to, 
however, she came to his rescue. 

“So 'you are Tom’s room-mate,” she began 
wfith a smile that made Blake dizzy. The 
atmosphere of composure that seemed to 
envelop her placed her far abo\ r e all the 
girls he had ever met. No other lass present 
could engage his attention for a moment. 
She was a marvel sure. And the clever way 
she has of conversing made Blake feel he 
had known her all his life. And the fact 
that he w r as Tom’s room-mate gave him 
no little courage and furnished him besides 
with an inexhaustible topic for discussion. 
Dance with her? He. made bold enough to 
reach for the program • that dangled from 
her arm, and wanted to see his name 
scrawled on every number; but he dared 
not. “First, last, and seventh.” 

“All right,” she said, with a roguish smile 
that made him blush confusedly^ 

He feared he had been too bold, and she 
was chiding him for it. But no, she mani- 
fested every symptom of pleasure and kept 
right on sajfing clever things that kept him 
guessing all the time, without ever talking 
about ‘it being crowded ’ or ‘being warm,’ 
or that sort of thing that most girls keep 
ejaculating, all night long. That blessed 
telegram ! How he treasured it. How he 
wished the sender in his home town knew 
what fortune her message brought him. 
’Twas wfith difficulty that he allowed his 
mind to dwell upon her even for a short 
time. Marjorie was a good girl; she had 
been a faithful friend for years, but then he 
knew he could never care for her any more. 
She was common and uninteresting, and 
not the one for a college graduate. 

The first : dance with “Tom’s sister!” 
How eagerly he hoped that his style of 
dancing might coincide with hers. He was 
so nervous when the music sounded that 
cold perspiration stood out upon his brow, 
for- he knew his superlative effort to excel 
w r ould inevitably make him stumble, “tread 
toes” and bump into every other couple 


on the floor. Again she came to the rescue 
with the words: “We can’t lose any of 
this music,” and’ before the sentence was 
finished they were floating down the hall. 

Marvelous ! Her step matched his per- 
fectly. He was surprised at himself. Never, 
had he found anyone so suited to his way of 
. dancing. Round and round they glided. The 
draperies that hung from every indentation 
in the walls and ceilings, waved ceaselessly 
in apparent harmony with the music that 
rose and fell and echoed throughout the 
hall. Blake was panting for breath and feel- 
ing somewhat sea-sick but ashamed to stop, 
while his partner whirled round chatting 
and interrogating him wpth aggravating, 

Several times during the course of the 
night he tried to allure “Tom’s sister” into 
serious conversation; but no, she would 
not be Serious, she would not be caught. 
Tom, she ,said, had . told her too many 
stories about the way college fellows jolty. 
She was not going to be taken in ; and 
before he could make his protest -under- 
stood she was back again in the • midst 
of trifles, teasing him. and keeping him ever 
on the defence. He tried to give her his 
college pin,, and hinted in more wavs than 
one, but she didn’t take the hint. She said 
she knew he was not serious. But he had- 
her fan. He was proud of it. It furnished 
an admirable excuse for the many times 
he interrupted her conversation with other 
shirt fronts; and somehow that fan didn’t 
get away from him ; it was in his pocket 
when he reached his room to retire, but 
not to sleep. 

He had been in bed but a few moments 
when the jingle of a key ring and. the click- 

* ing of a lock assured him that his room- 
mate had returned. 

“ Is that you, Tom ? ’’.called Out the former 
as he lifted himself on his elbow, eager, to 
relate the happy results of the night. Then- 
.without waiting for any questions to be 
asked, began: “Say, old man, I have had 

• the time of my life. That sister of yours 
is a revelation. She is just like you, Tom, in 
every particular, and knowing you so well, 
Tom, I know her like a book: I tell you. 
Tom, she is going to be mine, no matter 
what paper-collared dude may claim her in 
your home burg. I mean every word, of it.” 

“Did she 0. K. your proposition?” inter-' 
rogated Tom. 

“No, 0 no! but I mean that I’m in the 
race for all that is in it; that’s all.” 

Tom had his head in his muffler and 
chuckled with infinite delight. 

“It was mean of me to do it, Spike, but 
she is not my sister.' That’s Agnes; she 
is going to be my bride in less than a month, 
and you are to be best. man.” 

“ No, sir,” shrieked the enraged room-mate, 
springing from the mattress ; nothing of the 
sort. “You have played me false once too 
often. There are some questions too serious 
to trifle with.” 

But his room,- mate only, laughed the 
louder and said.:- “I thought you could 
take a j oke ? : B\ r the way, where did you 
leave our friend?” 

“She took the .train for Chicago as soon 
as the dance was over,” was the curt reply. 

“Chicago? Gone home, you mean? She 
was to stay till Sunday, Blake. Didn’t she 
leave me anv word ? ” 


“None; she never mentioned you.” 
“Blake, there is something the matter. 
She didn’t take offence at my not being 
there? She knew my position and told me 
to go. I can’t- understand this at all.” 

“If things have gone wrong, Tom, it’s 
. your own fault. • I thought I was talking to 
your sister, and all sisters want to know 
about their brother’s girls,, and I told her 
all I could in that line.” 

“Thunder, Spike, what did you tell her?” 
“Tell her? I told her that Agnes Ritter 
had been engaging all v.our. thoughts, that 
• you had been taking her everywhere.” 

“0 Blake, you didn’t tell -her that, you 
don’t mean it,” interrupted Sweeny in a 
' paroxism of excitement. 

“I told her- that Agnes, would be her 
sister-in-law before \ r our, diploma ever 
saw a frame,” .was the emphatic reply. 

' “Blake, I am ruined.- It’s all off. ; That 
explains: why she- went back. Hadn’t you 
sense enough>not to- blab all you. knew, 
you rummy. ?” .raved Tom,: pacing up and 
down the room, tearing off. cuffs and collar 
while The tops ofi shirt buttons flew in all 
directions., “Mv flat furnished and all!” 

‘ ‘ Nohsen se,? ’ retorted Blake, pulling , the 
blankets 'Over his. head : “ Can’t you take 
a joke?”;' . ; . 

Notre dame scholastic 

The Welcoming of The King. 

C.EOROEj. I'lXXIC.AX, ’10. 

JV^O eager trumpet rang throughout the earth 
When came the Infant in His lowh' way. 

No courtiers bowed to Him that Christmas DaA', 
No empires hailed with joj' His hoh r birth ; 

And 3*et He was adored in heaven above, 

And choirs of angels came on earth to sing 
Their wondrous song of praise to Christ the King, 
And greet' Him with a plenitude of love. 

Christmas Eve. 


LOWLY the snow sifted through 
the still air of a December even- 
~V y/w ing with all its trimmings indic- 
ative of cold .and Christmas. 
TvJ The icicles hanging from the 
eaves stretched their, long, 
gleaming white fingers far towards the 
ground, and the snow lay piled in drifts 
along the streets and fences. Here and there 
the snowbirds fluttered about, for a moment 
balancing themselves on the weeds protrud- 
ing through the snow, dry and dead relics 
of summer’s beauty. Graduall\ r the red fore- 
boding sun sank lower and lower in the 
western skj-, burned dull for a short hour 
between snowfall and nightfall, and then 
darkness fell over the great city. 

Long after the sun had departed, leaving 
the heavens to the mj'riad starry eyes of 
night, the locomotives rumbled, and fumed, 
and fretted, dragging their long, snake-like 
trains of cars through Blue Valley into the 
busy .city'.- Little Hans, sitting by the 
window of his home, ^gazing out over the 
snow-ridden scene, saw none of* this,— his 
mind was far away, on other matters more 
germane to childhood. His, picture book lay 
on the floor, neglected ; his playthings scat- 
tered over the room, forgotten by the six- 
year old, ’wlio view^ed. the wintry scene with 
the dreamy, idealistic 'eyes of the poet. 

-Little^HanSj like all little Hanses, was 
more or less of a visionist. Before the sun 

had set he could have seen the distant 
smoke clouds rising from the city; but 
with night’s advent he onl\ r saw the far- 
off glimmering lights moving swiftly to 
and fro, and the occasional glow caused 
by the firing of the heaving locomotives 
pulling their loads and shrieking their warn- 
ings. As the frost-artist deftly spread his 
poetic, fanciful designs over Hans’ window 
the lights of the outside world grew 
dimmer, fainter, fewer. He was tired, and 
his curly golden head sank to the window- 
sill. He slept. 

In the dim, shadow*y distance he saw r 
many fantastic forms. At first they were 
very hazy, but soon became more distinct. 
Far away over hills and valle3'S, mountains 
and chasms, fast . and endlessly, sped the 
fantasms, ever going, going, yet never leav- 
ing his range of vision, neither coming nearer 
nor going aw r a} r , but still steadily growing 
more distinct. To his mind the occasional 
shrieks of the passing locomotives were 
nothing, and the lights flitting along in 
the dark, carried by unseen hands, were but 
as stars guiding the objects of his vision. 

They came nearer and nearer. At first 
thejr looked like a train of cars flying at 
will over hill-tops and valleys, over rivers 
and cities. Then he saw they were not a 
train of cars, but w^ere much smaller. There 
seemed to be horses and a carriage; yes, — 
he could see their feet striking out into the 
snow, sending it in wrhirhvinds about the 
carriage. But they had horns. Still they 
kept up their airy, fairy flight. Over houses 
they flew, occasionally stopping for a second 
or tw r o, ’then on again with the lightning 
speed of the wflnd. They were coming nearer. 
Now he could see the hot breath steaming 
from the nostrils of the animals, and he 
heard the crack of the long w*hip as it flew 
out over their backs. They w r ere now in 
plain sight. “Yes,” thought he, “them is 
reindeers. Santy Claus is coming.” Hans 
recognized him. of the long beard, flownng 
mantle and kindlj 7 face. He w'as not sur- 
prised, in fact he expected Santy Claus, for 
it was Chistmas Eve. Again Santy stopped. 
This time he disappeared down a chimney 
carrying a Christmas tree sparkling with 
lighted candles, besides a sled, and skates, 
and a load of other things. Instantly he 
reappeared empty handed, and off he flew. 


again swift as before over the edge of the 
roof, but this time he seemed to fall. Hans 
.jumped in fright, and yelled. 

“What’s the matter, darling?” queried 
Hans’ mother, as he sprang up. “What’s 
wrong with mamma’s darling?” 

Hans looked around dazed, rubbing 
his eyes: 

“Where’s Santr r ?” he finally managed to 
say, looking up into the smiling face of 
his mother. “Where’d Santy go to? I saw 
him just now. Where is he?” 

“He’s gone,” replied his mother, not 
knowing what he meant or what he had 
seen. Walking to a door she opened it, and 
lo! Hans sprang up rolling in glee, for 
there were the things he had seen Santy 
take down the chimney: the lighted tree, 
the sled, skates, candy, toj’S galore. “I saw 
him, mamma. I saw Santy come down the 
chimney. Did you see him too? I saw Santy, 
I saw him.” 

Hans was in childhood’s heaven, but the 
artist, Jack Frost, kept weaving his fantastic 
designs thicker and thicker on the window 
through which the lights of the outside 
world faintly shone, flitting by as the trains 
sped on through the dark, cold, snowy 

Christmas night. 

- & 


The Last Stop. 

EDWARD r. CLEARY, ' 09 . 

* T was almost half-past nine o’clock 
- on the eve of Christmas. Tommy 
O’Neill, delivery -boy for Buck and 
Stephens, turned his faithful old Ned 
into Ninth Avenue and looked forward in 
the darkness toward the weather-beaten , 
delapidated row of houses which faced this 
dismal, unpaved highway in the outhdng 
portion of New Burnside. The sharp sleet 
fell like needles on the numb, gloveless hand 
of the boy, and the reins which supported 
the slipping horse threatened to drop from 
the w eakening grasp of the driver. Yet 
Tommy \yas . happy. All afternoon, since 
two o’clock, he had been out. His wagon, 
loaded liigh with good : things to eat, had 
stopped again and again to be relieved of 
its burden. Tommy remained just dong 

enough at the rear door to receive a “Merry 
Christmas from the busy cook and then 
jumped back into the wagon with a cheerful 
“ Come, Ned ! to the reliable old animal 
which had experienced close on to a score 
of similar Christmas Eves. 

There was but one more stop to be made 
before the day’s work should end. It was 
the widow Sullivan’s at the end of the 
next square, and Tommy peered back into 
the rear of the wagon to see if the little 
packages were there. Small as were the 
widow’s purchases, Tommy always felt it 
a pleasure to rap at the door of the humble, 
little cottage, and hand the sad-faced old 
lady her half pound of green tea, while 
she remarked: “Bless your heart,- Tommy, 

I hadn’t a grain left for my breakfast; it’s 
lucky you came, even if it is a little late.” 

To-night there were other little packages 

besides tea. Mrs. Sullivan had been at the 

store early that morning and had given 

in her order. Christmas didn’t have the 

charm now for Mrs. Sullivan that it did 

when Dennv was alive. How manv a time 
•/ •< 

she had told Tommy the pathetic tale of 
her gallant son, who had served his country 
through three long years in the. Philippines, 
and then came home to rest his weary head, 
for the last time in the arms of his dear 
old mother. 

A throb of sympathy touched the war m 
heart of the lad as he thought of the old 
lady, all alone in her little home when 
ever}- one else seemed so happy. He gave 
Ned an extra touch of the lines, and they 
soon drew up before the cottage. All was 
dark outside. The sleet fell heardly upon 
the low panes of the cottage. Instead of 
the usual cheeiful light in the sitting-room 1 
window, there was only the blackness of 
night. Tommy alighted quickly and knocked 
at the floor. There came no response. He 
knocked again, but still no response. Not 
wishing to leave the groceries on the step, 
he turned the knob of the door. It yielded 
and he stepped in. There before the cheerful 
fire in the middle of the sitting-room sat 
the widow Sullivan. Clasped in her hands 
she held the picture of Denny, but the 
former sad face of the old lady had given 
place to a heavenly smile of eternal peace. . 
There was joy above for Denny and his 
mother. . 



The Last Recital. 

FRANK X CULL. ’ 09 . 

T was near midnight. The air 
was thick with fine, powder-like 
snow, falling", falling, falling, 
clothing the rude deformities of 
the earth in a garb of faultless 
white. The street, strangely - 
deserted after the bustle and hurry 7 of the 
holiday 7 traffic, seemed to stretch out 
unendingly beneath the arc-lights into the 
blackness beyond. On either side great cliff- 
like rows of buildings loomed up in an 
unbroken line, giving the avenue the appear- 
ance of a deep and dark alwss. The uncer- 
tain, flickering glare of the swinging street 
lamps scarcely penetrated the cloyed atmos- 
phere, and cast grotesque dancing shadows 
over the illuminated area of snow. 

A lonely figure paused for a moment 
before one of the shops, and retreated into 
the shelter of a dark hall- way where he 
crowded shivering against the icy 7 door-post. 
A moment only he rested in that frigid 
haven, gazing mournfully up and down the, 
cheerless avenue, then continued his solitary 
march over the thickening blanket . of 
untrodden snow. 

With an uncertain- gait he trudged on, 
shuddering and drawing his tattered coat 
more closely about his , spare figure as 
each successive blast penetrated his scanty 
apparel and set his flesh a-quiver with 
cold. Under his arm he bore a much-battered 
violin, case which he shifted from one side 
to the other in a vain attempt to protect 
his hands from the biting atmosphere. The 
wind howled dismally around the comers, 
and mockingly hurled great suffocating 
blasts of snow, into his face, blinding him 
with, its ever-increasing fury. .. . .. -r 

it seemed in this wild uproar of unleashed 
elements. And yet he could not be mistaken, 
it was undoubtedly music. As he listened 
the sound . of many voices, blended in a 
common melody, struck upon his dulled 
ear. Scarcely knowing what he was doing, 
he turned his steps in the direction whence 
the music came. 

Down a side street his course led him, 
lined on either side by great martial shade 
trees, looming up dark and immense against 
the white background, and lifting their 
naked, shadowy arms, aloft into the upper 
blackness. Soon the music grew louder and 
more distinct. The solemn strains of a 
pipe organ mingled with a chorus of many 
voices in a hymn of praise were wafted to 
his ear. \ 

Out of the darkness loomed the shadowy 
form of a great cathedral, its gorgeously 7 : 
stained windows gleaming resplendent in 
the night, and shedding a bejewelled glory 
over the protected area of snow at its side. 
Louder and clearer rang out through the 
midnight air the solemn, sweet notes of the 
Gloria, heralding to the sleeping world 
the divine message of peace and good will. 
A strange calm seemed to e'manate from the 
house of worship. Even the wind lost for 
a moment part of its fury as iff swept hesi- 
tatingly around the angles of the edifice 
before dashing wildly on. Et in terra pax 
hominihus rang the joyful word of cheer 
as sung by the heavenly choir on that first 
Christmas' morn ; and deep in the chilled 
heart of the, wandering musician it touched 
a responsive chord of devotion. 

For a moment he paused before the 
entrance as. though unwilling to intrude on 
a service so impressive. A momentary gust 
of frigid air rushed in as the door opened 
under , his hand. Within, all was warmth 
and radiance." The church was . ablaze with 
myriads of incandescent bulbs, lighting up 
every . gilded notch And ornament with a 

Suddenly he stopped and stood . -for a golden sheen. . ‘ 

moment as though listening intently. . Was : . With faltering steps the aged violinist took 

he dreaming? No, surely not. Above the his place silently, unobserved , in the rear, 
noise of the wind and the clattering jargon The worshippers knelt in prayerful attitude, 
of swinging signboards lie caught the faint . awaiting, the solemn moment when . the 
but unmistakable sound, of . music.y Where divine Infant should take visible form on the,, 
could it come from ? Wondering in a dull, altar of sacrifice. Through the Gospel and 
half .frozen ....way, . ^m:'<stupid • the - Credo . the musician knelt, his head 

astonishment. How strangely 7 . out ; bowed low in devotion. Only when the 



subdued peal of the altar gong announced 
the Offertory, did he raise for a moment 
his devout- gaze. 

A deep quiet seemed to pervade the church 
as the unconsecrated host was held aloft, 
and the congregation struck their breasts 
in humble supplication. Suddenly out on the 
stillness . poured the soft, sweet notes of a 
violin. Low at first, with subdued modula- 
tions, then rising in str*ength and vehemence, 
with inexpressible sweetness and power, 
flowed the strains of the Adeste Fidelis. 
Scarcely" noticeable at first, so low and 
unobtrusive were the opening notes that 
they seemed to float out of the very still- 
ness of the air itself. With wonderful ten- 
derness, with divine power of expression, 
it seemed to appeal not to the ears of the 
hearers, but to their very hearts, holding 
them enthralled as if by some magic agency. 
Not a voice was raised in accompaniment. 
It was as though this were the voice of the 
Creator Himself, speaking to their innermost 
souls. Now rising, now falling, now pouring 
forth in a flood of wondrous melody, now 
sinking to low murmurs of inexpressible 
sweetness, those magical notes fell upon the 
hushed air as crystal snowflakes falling and 
melting on their souls. 

At last the seraphic music died away with 
the same sweet tenderness with which it 
had begun. For a moment its spell lingered 
in the atmosphere; then the congregation, 
awakening from its influence, turned to 
discover its source. 

Under the spreading gallery, with his 
violin still held in position and his hoary 
head drooping forward on his chest, stood 
the old violinist, as though not yet awak- 
ened from the spell of his own inspiration. 
His feeble fingers twitched in visible agita- 
tion, and his frail body swayed weakly, 
as though in the last stage of exhaustion. 
His snowy locks reflected the radiance of 
the bright lights and lent a sort of hallowed 
glory'- to the picture. 

For the space of a few moments he stood 
thus transfigured before them. Then a 
violent tremor . seized him, and he seemed 
about to collapse.- Lifting his pallid brow 
heavenward, he sank helplessly into a pew. 
A glow of supreme content overspread his 
features, and he settled - back into a deep, 
sweet sleep of peace. 

On Earth Peace. 


L° ! from the skies there comes a glad refrain. 
Angelic voices, herald from on high, , 

Announce to men that now surcease is nigh 
Of sorrow and of strife; no more shall reign 
War’s gory form or tyrant’s hand maintain 
The sceptered sway ; breasts heave a joyful sigh, 

And hearts, long crushed, in'- exultation cry. 

Earth shall , its pristine harmony regain. 

Peace, then, my soul, cease now thy anxious fears: 

Let not the turmoil of the world’s great crime 
Disturb thee, for to-day men weep in tears 
Of joy; *a message sacred and sublime 
Assures us that our prayer is heard ; again 
We welcome Christ’s sweet “Peace on earth to men.” 

At a Masquerade. 


t EO BYRNE was undecided 
as to where he would spend 
\r Christmas. Atlantic City'. 
& 1 LI seemec * mos t probable, as that : 

was the most desolate place at 
vr^ Christmas time that he knew, 
and Leo wished to be away" from the world. 
His thoughts were suddenly" interrupted by- 
his office boy. ' - . 

“Mr. Byrne, a gentleman wishes to see 
you.” - 

“Any card?” 

- “No, sir, but he says his name is Bixler.” 
“Billv Bixler? Show him in and don’t 
let us be interrupted.” 

“Hello, Bill, old. man, how are you? Very 
glad to see you.” * 

“Fine, old boy. How are you? Where, 
have you been? I’ve Deen trying to locate 
you for the last couple of day r s.” 

“I’ve been in Cleveland for the past .two 
weeks, just got home to-day. Anything in 
particular y r ou wished to see me about?” 
“Yes, I want you to come to the Cotillon . 
Club’s Masquerade to-night. It seems like 
a fiddler’s invitation, but I couldn’t see you 
before. No invitations were issued, just a 
hurry up affair, but you know those are the 



most enjoyable. Come, say y'es. Dorothy 
said I wasn’t to return home until you said 
you would come.” 

“But, Bill, I haven’t a costume.” 

“Don’t let that trouble you; I have two. 
Dot bought one for me, and I have my r 
own. Say' yes, and I’ll have one up here 
for you in an hour.” 

“All right, Bill, I’ll go. Thank you for 
your kindness. Will meet you at the dance.” 

“Yes, Dorothy, he’s coming, but no more 
errands for me. I explained to him that it 
seemed like a fiddler’s invitation, to save 
him telling it to me ; y r ou know he is a very 
sensitive fellow. Then he said he didn’t 
have a costume, so I told him that you had 
bought one for me and. he could wear it. 
It’s a lucky thing you bought a costume or 
all your plans might have been for naught.” 
“But, Billy dear, I know- you are large 
enough to take care of y^ourself. I also 
knew you had your costume, for I was here 
when the express man delivered it. And with 
the inborn curiosity of my sex I opened it. 
Did you really think I bought that outfit 
for you ? No, certainly not ; it’s all in the 
scheme.” • 

“In the scheme, Dot ; what scheme? The 
only scheme I know of is that y r ou sent me 
to Leo and told me not to return home 
unless he consented to go to the dance. 
What are the inside workings?” 

“Well, Billy, seeing that 3 r ou have been 
such a good and innocent boy, I’ll tell you: 
You know Leo and Grace Artman have not 
been friends for the past six months. I asked 
Grace about it and what was the cause. 
She went to a dance with another fellow. 
She waited until the day before the dance 
for Leo to ask her, and when he did not 
she thought he wasn’t going.- Frank Hall 
asked her to. go and she consented. -On the 
morning of the dance, Leo~ called , her over 
the ’phone and asked her to go with him. 
She stated the case to him and he wished 
her to break the engagement^ with Frank, 
but she would not do so. A few days after. 
Leo came to Pittsburg to go into a law 
firm. Grace has not heard from him since 

When Leo, dressed as an Irish Gentleman, 
entered the ball-room that evening, he was 
in no agreeable frame of. mind. The last 
masque he had attended was vividly por- 
trayed to his imagination. He cynically 
noted the. contrast — to-night he was there 
to please a friend, on the previous occasion 
he was there for his own pleasure. His 
train of thought was suddenly- interrupted 
by Billy. 

“Say, Leo, see that Irish lassie over there 
by Portia? The j oiliest girl and 'the best 
dancer on the floor. Come over and meet 

Something in her voice sounded familiar 
to Leo, but he quickly dispelled the thought, 
considering it to be his imagination. They 
had the next waltz and several others. 
Between dances, the dimly’- lighted, cozy 
corners served as retreats. Their conver- 
sation was desultory’-, until he asked her 
with whom she had come. 

“Dot Bixler,” she answered. 

“Dot Bixler? Why, she’s the cause of 
my coming.” 

“Isn’t that peculiar. If it were not for 
her, I would not be here to-night. She 
wouldn’t take no for an answer. Besides 
I couldn’t refuse Dot, she and I were great 
friends at school.” 

“Where? St. Mary’s?” 


“I used to have a friend there, Grace 
Artman. Did you know her?” 

The Irish lassie gave a start. He was 
talking about her. She quickly recovered 
her composure, however, and answered : 

“Yes, we were acquainted. She was too 
aristocratic; we were never good friends; 
in fact, I didn’t like her, some people called 
her pretty, the reason — that’s beyond my 
comprehension. Her complexion— a little 
rouge and talcum cover a multitude of 
defects.” \ 

“That is sufficient knocking, Miss; I see 
you are an adept. But I do not agree 
with yon. Of all the girls at St: Mary’s 
I considered -Tier the. prettiest and most 
attractive'.”- - 

“ Of all the girls,; at St. : Mary’s— what 
the morning he ’phoned. I’ve arranged it do you know? of the rest ? ” ' .-: 

so -that Grace will be at the dance ; she’s Y “ Know of them. L skived over nearly 
coming ;on No. S. I’m playing the peace- every; day, when I was at Notre Dame.” 
M "- - . . : . %; > TY . ’ “Were you at Notre Dame? When?”. 



" •* ' - 2 „ ; * 

“The same time Miss Artman and yon 
were at St. Mary’s.” 

“What Hall were you in?” 


“Then you must have known Le — I mean 
Mr. Byrne?” 

It was the man’s turn to shudder. 

“Leo Byrne — know him? I certainty did. 
Roomed next door to him for two j r ears. 
He was the biggest cad in the University. 
A regular society man in South Bend. 
Attended all the swell-dances and receptions, 
or at least he said so. Had dinner at the 
Oliver two or three times a week, but he 
never had a pack of tobacco as long as 
I can remember. He smoked more of my 
tobacco then I did. Why — ” 

“My dear sir, that, to reiterate your own 
statement, is sufficient. I know Mr. Byrne 
very well, and I have no hesitation to say 
he is the exact opposite of what you have 
portrayed him.” 

“What! Is that the signal to unmask? 
How quickly the time has passed talking 
of old times.” 

Both turned their heads to unmask, and 
when they had unmasked, as if ruled by r 
fate, both turned around at the same instant. 



The cozv corner then served its original 

Leo did not spend his Christmas at 
Atlantic City but at the Artman home. 
Grace’s Christmas gift from Leo was a 

The Ocean Wave. 


■y^HITHER onward, wave of the deep? 

AYhitlier onward with surge and with leap? 
Onward so lightly, 

* Springing so sprightly, 

Rolling and swelling, 

Sinking and welling, — 

What of thy mission? Is -it but pla3 r , . 

Wave of the deep, sweeping on and awa}' ? 

Teach me thy gladness, tin* care-free joy; 

Teach me thy frolics, 0 wave so coy; 

Take hence my soul, let it ride with thee,' 
■Gay on thy mightiest wave, 0 -sea! 

The Last Christrfias Tree. 


OHN W ADDINGTON, the rich 
banker of Argyle, was agreed up- 
on b\ r the natives as “ one of the 
finest-looking men in the town.” 
The care and worry of amassing 
a great fortune had left his face 
as free from wrinkles as it was 
twenty -five years ago, when he first entered 
the Farmer’s Exchange Bank to be errand 
boy. Plis cheeks were still of a rosy plump- 
ness. The whole - face, with its clear-cut 
features and aquiline nose, formed an ideal 
setting for a pair of grey eyes that sparkled 
under a pair of dark, shaggy brows. He 
was both tall and corpulent enough to 
present a very imposing appearance. 

Christmas Eve was always celebrated in 
Arg}de by an informal program and a tree 
for the young folks. The proceedings were 
usually opened by speeches from Mr. Wad- 
dington and other celebrities. The burden 
of the discourses suffered little change as 
the years rolled by. They were confined 
mainty to a few commonplace observations 
on the prosperity and growth of the burg 
during each year, and the bright prospects 
for the younger generation. 

The most loolced-forward-to event of the 
evening was the appearance of Santa Claus 
himself. It was his duty to dole out the 
different presents as they were handed down 
from the Christmas Tree. The duty of play- 
ing the part of Santa usually devolved upon 
some one of the afore-mentioned celebrities. 
Mr. Waddington always demurred, however, 
when requested to accept the task. There 
was something about appearing before an 
assemblage in a flowing wfiite beard and 
long locks of white hair that did not appeal 
to . him. It struck him as entirety out of 
keeping with his dignity. . Each year he had 
been asked, but had refused firmly. 

On one occasion, however, he did consent 
after much pressing. It . was an event in 
his own life and in the history of Argyle. 
The night was chilly and crisp, a night when 
everyone of the population, . both- young 
and old, thought himself in duty bound 
to stir out and make some - attempts To 


celebrate the joyful feast. The town ball 
was unusually full that night, and the 
banker had waxed unusually eloquent. 
When he appeared in full costume he was 
greeted with thunderous applause; pande- 
monium reigned for several minutes. The 
presents were distributed one by one until 
the tree was nearly'- stripped, a few pop-corn 
balls and tattered fragments of mistletoe 
alone remaining. 

The usual order had been carried through 
without a hitch. Suddenly 7 there was a shrill 
scream from one of the children and an 
exclamation of dismay 7 from the janitor who 
had been Santa’s right-hand assistant. The 
long beard had come in contact with one 
of the lighted candles adorning the tree, and 
was instantly 7 all aflame. Mr. Wad dingt on’s 
presence of mind never deserted him for an 
instant. Wig and beard had been torn off 
and dashed to the floor in a flash. The 
real catastrophe was yet to come. As soon 
as. the faithful janitor had espied fire, he 
rushed madly 7 for a bucket of ice-water 
which stood in a far corner of the long 
room. Believing the safety 7 of all present 
depended entirely on his efforts, he fairly 
flew, bowling over all who came in his path. 
To return with his precious burden was 
but the work of an instant, and before 
anyone could prevent he had dashed the 
water full into Mr. Waddington’s face. 
The cooling liquid instantly 7 flowed off the 
banker’s bald pate, but it lingered and 
trickled soothingly through his iron gray 7 
locks, soiling his polished shirt-front laun- 
dried especially 7 for the occasion. For a 
moment he stood blinking and shivering, 
with the janitor staring at him in open- 
mouthed wonder. Absolute silence reigned 
for the space of perhaps five seconds when 
suppressed titters broke out here and there 
through the room. This presently gave place 
to unrestrained- shrieks of laughter, which 
all the dignity of the banker was unable 
to stem. The more he stamped. and gesticu- 
lated, the louder grew the; noise. Finding 
no other outlet for his wrath, he rushed at 
the janitor, the innocent , cause of all the 
trouble. But this worthy - apprehensive of 
danger, immediately 7 bolted for the door, 
with Mr. Waddington in hot pursuit. This 
ended the last Christmas tree festivities 
ever held in 'Argyle. 4 v r 

A Christmas Carol. 

PETER E. HEBERT, ’ 10 . 

T WOULD tell in merry rhymes, 

* Clara Belle ; 

In accord with Christmas chimes, 

Clara Belle, 

. There’s an air of mystery 
For such universal glee 
At this one festivity, 

Clara Belle. 

There is peace without alloy, 

Clara Belle; 

There are tidings of great joy, 

Clara belle, 

Telling us in sweet refrains 
That an Infant King now reigns, — 

Our Redemption He explains, 

Clara Belle. 


Harlan’s Christmas Sacrifice. 


§ HE raw; cold, bleak northwester 
was driving a fine, cutting snow 
over the dry 7 , sandy plains, 
through the little village of 
Waynes ville and out again oyer 
the unbroken, level waste of 
sagebrush and sand, stopping its furious 
rush only 7 long enough to drive dirty 7 , dust- 
filled snow into the cracks and key 7 -holes, 
to rattle the windows, to shake the little 
frame houses, and to howl and shriek and 
whistle about the chimney tops. The little 
village was like a spectre. The houses w 7 ere 
dark, desolate, seemingly deserted. Amid 
the gloomy 7 twilight there w r as not a sound, 
except the continuous moaning and creaking 
of the trees, and a momentary roar as the 
West Coast Limited, came rushing, like a 
one-eyed monster, out of the distance, passed 
with a meteor-like flash, and hid itself again 
in the gathering night, leaving behind 
nothing but a cloud of dust and flying 
papers and a lonely mail pouch which 
bounced and rolled about the brick platform 
of the dingy, w 7 ooden station. The w 7 hole 
thing was a depressing picture of gloom. 

And this was Christmas Eve in . Wavnes- 
ville! It was not the Christmas Eve with 
the tinkle of sleigh-bells, the tinseled 
Christmas tree, the tiny stockings hanging 



by the glowing fireplace, the all-pervading 
spirit of happiness and good cheer which 
we know; it was not the Christmas Eve 
which Harlan had formerly been used to, 
but Harlan was different now. 

It is not pleasant to tell the story of the 
change that had come in Harlan’s life, for 
it was a change from luxury to poverty, 
from respect to disgrace, and with it came 
a loss of friends and of home. It was the 
change that had brought Harlan to Waynes- 
ville, and he had come with but two pur- 
poses: to make a living for his wife and 
child, and to forget the past — the dark, 
inevitable, unregretted past. There was no 
remorse in the heart of Harlan for he 
had given up all for Love. The woman 
he loved was not a good woman, but 
Harlan loved her. 

Harlan’s father and mother knew nothing 
of the marriage until in the morning paper 
they saw a picture of their son and a strange 
woman mounted side by side on a flaming 
red, arrow -pierced heart, until they read 
the sensational heading and the. accompany- 
ing article, telling how the good name of 
the Harlans had been besmirched by a 
foolish boy’s love. They tore the paper to 
fragments and threw it into the fire. They 
raged and fumed at their son’s indiscretion 
and rashness, and swore to disown their 
own flesh and blood. 

Then Harlan, in blissful ignorance of the 
brewing storm, brought his newfr- wedded 
wife home to his father’s house. He had 
expected opposition; he found more. The 
door of his own home was shut upon him ; 
his mother would not even speak to_ him ; 
his father spoke not as a father, but as an 
enemy who hurled upon his head frightful 

, Harlan had lost all, for with the love 
of parents went the love of friends. He 
had. made a real sacrifice; one of those 
almost unendurable sacrifices which make 
a man more God-like. He had given away 
his birthright, his future, his good- name, 
his friends, and his parents — everything 
which - man holds dear. It was hard to 
become an outcast upon Christmas Eve, that 
one time of all times when the- Christian . 
world forgets its sorrows. But Harlan, 
alone— except for the wife he loved — turned 
to meet the hard world with a: smile, on 

his face, for he had lifted the woman he 
loved up from the depths and had made 
her good, true and noble. 

It was this love offering that had brought 
Harlan and his little family to Waynesville — 
to Waynesville, because he was far from ■ 
the past, because to Waynesville no daily 
papers ever came, because in Waynesville 
good people even though poor would be 
respected. But the three years spent in the 
little village had been years- of want. It 
had been impossible for Harlan to support 
his wife as he wished; at times it would 
have been hard to get food to eat had not 
the people of Waynesville been kind; once 
or twice discouragement had almost become 
despair, but in spite of it all they managed 
to live. 

And now just three years had passed and 
it was Christmas Eve, and the cold, the 
bleakness, and the gloom outside reminded 
Harlan of that awful feeling in his heart 
on that other Christmas Eve three year 
before w-hen he took one last look at the 
home he never again could call his own 
and then turned faint-hearted to begin the 
new life. It was at such times as. this 
that he pondered gloomily on the past. 

Like a great, restless lion, Harlan paced 
up and dorvn the little room. Suddenly, as 
he passed the small centre table he spied 
a letter, one his wife had evidently forgotten 
to give him. It was a long, long letter in 
the shaky writing, of his old mother and., 
on the pages were the stains of tears. 

“My dear Boy: — “C ome back to us._ W r e 
can not live without you. We understand 
now and ask forgiveness—”' ' 

Harlan read no more. Great, strong man 
as he was, he burst into tears. His .wife, 
hearing his sobs, came running in from the 
other room. 

“Why, boy, what is the, matter?” and 
she slipped a loving arm about his neck 
and snuggled up close to him just as she 
had on that other Christmas Eve, three 
years before. And as he pointed to thedetstfer 
he . stooped and kissed her. , nil 

And -blue-eyed, dimple.-facefl! babj? Haarldn 
patting, and cooing kolhisklirty, worn?, torn 
rag doll, looked i up*. ! frKbinrr hisiikirigdomnon 
- the qfieer 1 - fi^naredfiredli rfig > ajfidfi-^ondered 
why ihfr' bijaganan: lands woiriafi^ii^hbniii Me 
loved frerfe sL’iisfil xnsai slil lb 




COE A. SICKEXXA, ’ 10 . 

fART had returned from work a 
'■ little earlier than usual ; it was 

Christmas Eve and there realh’- 
wasn’t very much to do, as every- 
one was busily engaged buying 
Christmas presents. His bache- 
lor quarters were the most elegant in a 
ver\r select flat on Seventh Street. The sit- 
ting-room was simply but tastily furnished. 
Three large windows opened on a well-kept 
street, which at this time was bedded with 
afoot of snow. The splendor of the district 
in which he could be seen through the fleecy 
blanket. A large holly wreath, hanging in 
the centre window, lent a spirit of Christmas 
to the apartments. In the dull light of 
the fireplace and hanging-lamp, several 
well-selected pictures, entirely in liarmony 
with the surroundings, were outlined on 
the wall. Rich green portieres separated 
the room from a study equally as well 
furnished. On the mantelpiece over the 
fireplace but one object would attract the 
attention of a visitor — the picture of a 
beautiful young lady. 

This Christmas evening, Martin- Rand olf 
was comfortably seated in a large Morris 
chair in front of the fireplace. It was cold 
without and the warmth of the fire felt good. 
He had sat this wav often before looking 
at the picture above him while his mind, 
fauc\' free, wandered over those old scenes 
that had been so dear to him. .This evening 
he had been more lonesome than ever; the 
sight of so many happy present buyers on 
the street during the afternoon had onfy 
intensified his own loneliness. 

Martin Randolf was alone in the great 
Northwest. He had left friends and relatives 
far behind and had journeyed to the land 
of opportunity to gain his fortune and to 
forget. No one had known where he .was 
going, for he had slipped awaj r like a bird 
loosed from his cage without leaving track 
or trace of his destination. Seldom lie 
communicated with his parents at home, 
and when he did it was only to let them 
know; that he was alive and well. None 
of his many friends knew: what had become 

of him, and he was fearful lest they should 
find out and make it harder to forget. It 
was the second Christmas since he had run 
away from home; it was almost two years 
since he had seen the girl he loved, and he 
had not yet forgotten. No one that he had 
yet seen could take the place of the girl 
he left at home; no one did he ever expect 
to see that he would like better. So the 
one small memento which he had dared 
carry away with him, was still the queen 
of his mantel. 

Those first days were long dreary days 
of homesickness and self-denial. He had 
plunged into his work with an energy that 
he had never before known, and his suc- 
cesses were not only attested Iw the splendor 
of his living apartments but by a fat bank 
account which ranked him even among the 
wealthy men of the town. He had worked 
wonders in two short years. He was not 
satisfied ; there still remained the old wound 
in his heart — the same longing for the girl 
he loved. And as hq looked into those ey^s 
on the mantel, those big brown eyes that 
had burned an everlasting memory in his 
breast, he saw how impossible it was to 
forget. Women had no attraction for him; 
he admired them for their beauty, but was 
happier far in his quiet rooms, free from the 
sham of the world. It can not be said that 
he did not have many acquaintances, for 
he was popular in society, and many invita- 
tions came to him from admiring friends; 
but as vet his heart was still true to the 
girl he had loved far away. 

The fii'e on the hearth burned low, and 
the j-oung man aroused bimself and threw 
a bucket of coals on the embers. He lit 
his pipe, and as the smoke, rolled up in 
miniature clouds he lay back in the chair 
and watched the face on the, mantel. He 
seemed, to see her again as he had seen 
her at their last meeting, radiant and beau- 
tiful like a rose on a June morning. He 
recalled their last good-bye,— The good-by^ 
that was to end all, -forever. Such a little 
thing they had quarrelled -about, a lover’s 
quarrel if you will, .after which all mis- 
understand ings should have been forgotten. 
.But he never had. made himself believe that 
she loved him. Always cool and reserved, 
she had sent him away as unconcernedly 
as she had received his most flattering 



attentions. She had discovered too soon 
that he loved her, and like the Irishman 
who didn’t want his money when he saw 
he could get it, she had grown cold to 
his wooing and had gloried in seeing him 
struggle to please her. He left her after 
their quarrel, but she was confident he 
would return. 

He had gone his way. His very love 
had prompted him to leave her to her own 
happiness. He had made a fortune in the 
land of his adoption, but there still remained 
the longing for his native city, a thought 
that possibly she .might yet be true. Another 
man, he had often remarked to himself, 
might have solved the problem differently.^ 
To him, but one course was open: she did 
not love him and he' loved her; it was 
for him to forget ; it was for him to change, - 
and that change was attempted. He sighed 
unconsciously and relit his half- smoked 
pipe. The snow was falling outside, and 
.an occasional sleigh bell broke the solitude. 

The happy sleeper was awakened by 
a" gentle knock on the door. A young 
messenger responded to his “ Come in,” and 
stood doubtfully on the threshold. 

“Mr. Martin A. Randolf,” he read from a 
package which he held in his hand. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Sign here,” and he presented an order 
book, pointing to a blank place at the end 
of the page. 

His signature given, he took the express 
package and tore open the box. A beautiful 
pair of jade cuff buttons were exposed and 
with them a card bearing a signature that 
made him almost shout with joy. “From 
Norine Stranton, if you have not forgotten 
her, wishing you a Merry Christmas and 
a Happy New Year?” Had he forgotten ? 
An old favorite song of hers came to his 
mind, and with a rich base voice he ran 
over the words : _ 

Forgotten, well if forgetting be thinking all the day, 

How the long hours roll since you left me, 

Then I hare forgotten you say, forgotten you’re away. 

He turned the card over and saw this 



M O daisies dot the meadows with their golden petals' 
- bright, 

No birds a-singing in the wood to fill my soul with 
light, -~ 

No tulip hides its fairy, face . beside the gurgling 
brook, • 

No astors shine in shady glen, nor in the mossy 

No golden sunset, skies which I so fondly now 

Are here to brighten bleak December. 

But on the heath and in the dell beneath the barren 

Where fly the summer’s leaves before "the autumn’s 
northern breeze, 

Is seen the squirrel’s haunt, and drifting from the 
leaden sky 

Comes down the snow that meekly kissed the fleecy 
clouds good-bye, 

And merry Christmas, full of Yuletide joy, like glowing 

Are here to brighten bleak December. 


The Right Man. - 


T was the afternoon of Christ- 
mas Eve about five o’clock, 
when a large group of singers 
descended from the choir- 
gallery in the Cathedral at 
Florence, and passing through 
the large vestibule came out 
into the avenue. They were nearly fifty in 
number, and among them were the finest 
singers of Signor Chetti’s Conservatory, 
which means that they were the pick of 
all Florence. Master Chetti was with them. 

As they emerged from the church, all 
stopped on the great stone steps and 
grouped around a slender youth of about 
twenty years of age, who stood beside 
the master. I say all stopped, rather all 
but one. There was one young man who 
hurried down the walk to a carriage that 
awaited him, gave ah angry order to the 

short message inscribed : 

“I. was married to Will Thurston last 

Thursday. We are on our wedding trip coachman, and was soon speeding down 

now. I was sorry- I could not see you. the avenue. It was Laurie, a young musi- 

Could not stop as we are due in; Atala, cian, talented and even prominent, bnt 

to-morrow. ‘ Norine. most jealous. 



Meanwhile the group of singers on the 
church steps, men and ladies alike, poured 
forth hearty congratulations to the young 
man who stood beside Signor Chetti. 

“We are glad you were chosen, Giovanni,” 
they declared enthusiastically^ ; “you will 
undoubtedly’- realize from it a good position, 
and you deserve it. 

“Yes!” said the master, “the prince and 
princess both’ are to be at midnight service, 
and if Giovanni should do well,” with 
a wink at Perillo, “it will mean their 
favor, the outcome of which is generally 
a splendid position. Giovanni, you have a 
bright future before y r ou.” 

“Yes, he has,” chimed in Perillo. “ I rather 
expected to hear some better singing from 
Laurie. Society has spoiled him. One might 
judge by the way he left, that he didn’t 
like this afternoon’s decisions very Well.” 
The party soon broke up, all going to 
their carriages, except the y-oung singer, 
who, after receiving many good wishes 
from all, walked briskly away r toward one 
of the less beautiful parts of Florence. He 
was happy as he walked toward home this 
evening, and well might he be so. He had 
been chosen from among all the musicians to 
sing the Adeste Fideles at the cathedral. 

But one dark thought passed before his 
mind, eclipsing .for an instant the rays of 
his happiness. It was the thought of Laurie. 
Young Laurie had ever despised Giovanni 
on account of his poverty. Both boys 
had looked forward to this opening, and 
Giovanni had been chosen. Something must 
come of it. He felt that Laurie would not 
pass it over lightly. Giovanni drove away 
the thought, and hurried on to find his 
mother and sister awaiting him at the 
door. They were overjoyed at the news, 
for they loved Giovanni dearly. 

Meanwhile Laurie, speeding along in his 
carriage, was boiling over with anger. To 
think that Mario should have beaten him. 
It was unbearable. What -would his friends 
think? Could he stand* for such a defeat? 
No! Mario must not sing. What should he 
do ? His evil mind set to work and had 
soon concocted a devilish plan to keep 
Giovanni froith being present at the mid- 
night service. : 

Stopping the carriage he gave the driver 
another order, and in about five minutes 

was landed before a large wooden house in 
an unfrequented part of Florence. The door 
was opened by r a servant, who nodded her 
head in answer to the question, “Is David 
here ? ” Running up the stairs, Laurie burst 
into a room at the top. The air was filled 
with cigarette smoke, like incense, surround- 
ing a little table where three young men 
sat gambling. As Laurie entered, all looked 
up and asked him to join the game. 

“Not now,” he answered, “I am in a 
hurry and I came down because I want you 
fellows to do something for me.” 

“It’s done. What is it?” answered the 

largest of the young men. 

Laurie then told the story of the singing 
contest and how Giovanni, whom he 
despised, had beaten him. “You fellows have 
always been good friends of mine, and we?ve 
stuck together,” he added. “I don’t pro- 
pose to be run over by Mario; I intend to 
sing to-night. Stay by me and you’ll not 
be sorry.” 

“Out with your plan,” they shouted. 

“Well,” answered Laurie, “no matter 
what it costs, Mario must be kept away 
from the cathedral. There is no need of 
treating him too easy. I want to be sure. 
This is my plan. You know where the old 
canal goes across Cavour Avenue?” 


“Well, don’t stare so; I want you three 
to throw him into it.” 

“Into the canal!” they cried, for bad as 
they were, this particular kind of treatment 
on a winter’s night did not appeal to them. 
“Do you know that it’s going to be a cold 

“Yes,” answered Laurie, desperately, 
“that’s what I want. The water isn’t over 
three feet deep, since the canal went out 
of use, so he couldn’t drown. - Mario 
will walk past there about half- past 
eleven; he will not have time to return 
home, change clothes and be at the cathedral 
by midnight. I will be standing quietly by 
the organ, and when Mario doesn’t show 
up, Chetti will ask me to sing in his place. 
To-morrow the prince will send for me, 
then all kinds of engagements and money. 
This is where you fellows will come in.” 
After much persuasion from Laurie and 
objection from Joe, the youngest of the 
three, they decided to do it. 



“All right,” concluded Laurie,” I’ll depend 
on you. The bridge is very wide. Wait for 
him at the farthest end, part of the railing 
has been torn down there, and you can 
shove him off with no trouble. Remember, 
about half-past eleven,” and he went down 
the stairs and home, exulting in his evil plan. 

The night proved to be a dark one and 
Laurie pulled his coat tightly about him, 
for it was cold, as he went toward the part 
of the cit\ r where the Marios lived, to see 
if Giovanni took the usual course to the 
cathedral. If he went in a different way 
some other scheme must be followed, for 
Laurie had sworn that Giovanni should not 
sing that night. It was about eleven o’clock. 

A little later, three men might have been 
seen going north to the Cavour Avenue 
bridge. ' When they arrived at the canal, 
the}’- examined their surroundings. The 
water was only about three feet deep, but 
the drop from the bridge was fully twent\\ 
Going to the farthest end of the crossing 
they looked for the broken railing. 

“Pie has made a. mistake,” said David, the 
biggest fellow, “there is no opening here.” 
“Perhaps it’s at the other end.” 

They went to the front end of the bridge 
and there found the break in the railing. 

“Just the thing,” said the second man, 
“we uill stand right here. It’s pitch dark.” 
“S-h-h — !” whispered the fellow next to 
him, “there comes Mario.” 

All looked down the avenue, and under 
the first gas-light, dim as it was, they saw 
him coming. 

“Lie low, fellows,” said David, “I’ll be 
kicked if he isn’t scared of the dark; he’s 
running. He's close now; just a second; 
all together; now!” There was a- spring, a 
shove, a heart-rending yell, and the form 
of the young singer was hurled into the 
cold water below. 

The three men hurried across the bridge, 
cut through several alleys onto the main 
street where they walked leisurely for several 
minutes before directing their steps toward 
the cathedral, and arrived at the cathedral 
just as the organ was playing the intro- 
duction to the Adeste Fideles. The great 
concourse of people was stilled ; all strained 
their eyes and ears toward the young singer 
who stepped to the front of the balcony. 
The prelude finished, the youth began to 

sing. How beautiful was his voice. Everyone 
marveled. Year after year they had heard 
the Christmas hymn sung, but never so 
beautifully as now. The prince -turned 
around, the princess sat enraptured, the 
nobles nudged each other and exchanged 
significant glances. The three accomplices 
of Laurie listened. They had never heard 
Laurie sing before. What a voice he had ! 
After the first verse, one of them glanced 
up to where he stood. Could he believe his 
eyes? Turning to the two beside him he 
gasped: “It isn’t Laurie; it’s Mario.” 

“Mario? Impossible!” They turned and 
looked toward the balcony. There stood 
Giovanni, his handsome face radiant, his 
whole demeanor expressive of the beautiful 
hymn which he was singing. 

Three scared and excited men slipped out 
of the church and sped toward the canal. 

“We must have made a mistake,” said 
David, “Laurie will be our enemy forever 
for our not getting the right man. Curse 
our luck!” 

Arrived at the Cavour bridge, they crossed 
to the place from which they had thrown 
the person in, and stopped. A faint moan 
satisfied them that some one was on the 
shore below. Groping down the bank they 
stumbled on a prostrate form. It lay partly 
in and partly out of the water. 

“Get to work, fellows,” said Joe, “we can 
not let the fellow die, rub his legs and arms 
fast, strike a light, Dave; all right, hold it 
up here. My God, it’s Laurie!” 

The match was dropped, the three men 
took off their coats which they wrapped 
around him. After a time Laurie opened 
his eyes. 

“Take me home, fellows,” he said. 

“How did you happen to be here, ’1 asked 

“I was down by Mario’s house, when 
Master Chetti’s carriage came for Giovanni. 
I rushed up here to tell you fellows to go 
to the church and get him away in some 
manner after he left the carriage. I thought 
you were at the other end of the bridge, 
so didn’t call soon enough. I’m cured. 
You got the right man after all.” 

Meanwhile Giovanni, his song long fin- 
ished, knelt to offer thanksgiving for his 
success. His last words before leaving the 
cathedral were a prayer for Laurie. 


Notre Daihe Scholastic 

Published every Saturday during Term Time at the 
University of Notre Dame. 

ntered as second-class matter at the Post Oftce, Notre Dame, lnd. 

Terms: $1.50 per Annum. Postpaid. 


Notre Dame, Indiana. 

Notre Dame, Indiana, Christmas) 1907. 

Board of Editors. 


' 4r 



— The observance of Christmas to-day 
reminds one in many respects of a practice 
among the Romans who, after 
- The True Spirit harvest-time, set aside eight 
- of days which were given up 

Christmas. to revelry, indulgence, . and 
amusements. Feasting, merri- 
ment and the pleasure of wine mark this 
period known as the feast of the Saturnalia, 
The season has, to a great extent, lost 
the real spirit with which it should be 
celebrated. -. There should, unquestionably, 
be some enjoyment, but let this be coupled 
with true geniality and love, — that feeling of 
“ Peace on earth and good will to man- 
kind,”— and then we shall have struck 
the note that should dominate the festivitv 
of Christmas. 

— It is with very special pleasure that we 
draw the attention of our readers to our 
new cover design. As was to be interred 
from an earlier announcement, 
Our it is the Tyork of an artist 
New Coyer.- whose skill is recognized by the 
best illustrated magazines in 
the country. Of this particular work of art 
nothing need be said; -it speaks for itself 
eloquently, and is a credit to the artist 
whose name it bears— T. Dart Walken 

President’s Day. 

tenth of the month was celebrated 
|[1 | as President’s Day. In the morning 
W/j |\ Solemn High Mass was sung by 
Father Cavanaugh, assisted by r Father 
Crumley as deacon and Father Schumacher 
as subdeacon. At ten o’clock the University 
Band discoursed music in the University- 
rotunda. At noon a sumptuous banquet 
was served to the students, Faculty and a 
large number of invited guests. The dining- 
room was tastefully decorated and a suitable 
menu prepared. The University Orchestra 
was present and added greatly to the enjoy- 
ment of everyone. At two o’clock the 
University Dramatic Society presented a 
play called “The Half-Back.” Here again the 
orchestra contributed largely to the success 
of the- program, as did the University Glee 
Club also., The latter organization made a 
remarkable showing and was most enthu- 
siastically praised for its excellent work. 

The first number on the program was 
assigned to Mr. John Bertcling, President 
of the. Senior Class, who delivered a brief 
address to Father Cavanaugh in which he 
made an appeal for the organization of the 
Alumni. Association, a movement in which 
the President of the University is known to 
be specially interested. 

The play was unusually well rendered. To 
mention those who did surprisingly well 
would be to mention all who took part in 
it. Great praise is due to them, all, to W. 
Ryan, F. Zink, R. McNally, H. McAleenan, 
J. Kanaley, L. McPartlinj L. Livingston, W. 
Dolan, C. Sorg, G. Sprenger, T. Dunbar, and 
H. Hilton. It might be said that Messrs. 
Hilton, Sprenger, and McAleenan displayed 
more than ordinary talent in the interpreta- 
tion of their parts, and a similar compliment 
might be paid to Messrs. Zink, Kanaley,- 
McNalty, and Ryan.^ It is, to say the least, 
remarkable that the standard of excellence 
was so uniformly; high. 

The success of the program suggests : a 
tribute of praise hot only to the actors and 
members of the orchestra and glee club, but 
also to Professors Farrell, Petersen and 
Griffith, and also to Mr, T. Dart Walker, 
the artist who designed the cover of the 
souvenir program. Prominent am ong. the 



guests who were present may be mentioned 
Fathers De Groote, Zubowicz, Gorka, Gruza, 
Moensch, Schramm, Jansens, Houlihan and 
McCabe; judge Howard, Dr. Berteling, Dr. 
Olney, Messrs. Studebaker, O'Brien, Clarke, 
Wyman, O’Neill, Oliver, Stoll, Mclnerny, 
Harley, and Hubbard. 

The closing address which was made by’ 
Father Cavanaugh in his usual happy style 
was as follows: 

Gentlemen* ok the University: — I am sure I am 
only interpreting 3*0111* own thought when I say that 
the ‘ exercises this afternoon perpetuate the best 
traditions of Washington Hall. The orchestra has 
delighted but not surprised us, for like the college 
band, which we heard to such advantage this morning, 
it has taught us to expect only* the best. The glee 
club has both surprised and delighted us, for it is 
the infant" among our college organizations. This is 
its first appearance, and it makes me dizzy to think 
of the heights it will attain to bef >re Commencement. 
The acting of the play* was uniformly fine and artistic 
and revealed great talent as well as patience and 
labor on the fart of professor and students. The 
impersonations were remarkably clever, and some of 
the parts proved conclusively that the students of 
Notre Dame arc not onlv " perfect gentlemen,” but that 
when occasion requires thc3* can be perfect ladies and 
gentlemen. A welcome touch of realism was derived 
from the fact that the Varsity* quarterback won the 
mimic game as he 'has helped to win games in more 
serious emergencies. The professor may have helped 
him with the speeches and the gestures; but I am 
convinced that he could not teach him anything about 
the game that was played just around the corner a 
moment ago. 

But after all there is something better than play- 
ing the game, and that is playing the man. The 
members of oui* football team this 3*ear especially 
have shown not only that they could play, the game 
but also that they* could play the man. I am glad 
to quote the words of Mr. Barry*, who told me 
only a few days ago, that he had enjoyed the 
acquaintance of men of many colleges, and that 
nowhere else had he ever met 3’oung men so clean 
and gentlemanly and, high-minded as the men who 
composed the Notre Dame football team this. year. 

And what has been said of our athletes lw one who 
knew them intimately, I may say* of the whole .student 
body*. Indeed human life is. much like the. game' of 
football. It is often. said that this form of' sport is 
brutal, but. life itself is, in many* ways, brutal. . The 
weaklings are flung heavily to the earth and trampled 
underfoot.. There is an element of luck in life as there 
is in football, but every* player knows that to‘ trust to 
a fluke lor the victory* is to court disaster and- defeat. 
The' game in both .cases requires good material, but 
when the. material is present the game is won by* head 
work. In both instances severe training is. necessary, 
abstinence from dissipation and the influences which 
softeu and disintegrate. In life as in football clean 
playing is necessary* if .white- winged honor is to perch 

on the standard of victory. Finally the secret of 
success in both life and play is to Jireak through the 
interference — to fight one’s way to the goal of honor- 
able ambition in spite of all obstacles and impediments. 
The man who falls out of the game when he receives 
a little hurt in the first scrimmage, is never acclaimed 
as a hero. 

There is a lesson of cheer and comfort in this for 
those of us who find discouragement in our college 
work. If you meet /with occasional disappointments it is 
wholesome to remember that thepath of disappointment 
has been trod by every man Who has mounted into 
the company* of the immortals. For years Columbus 
went round Europe starving from gate to gate before 
his indomitable will and unquenchable faith in himself 
won the day* and gave to the world a new continent 
and to humanity* a new hero. If you feel that for any 
cause you are handicapped in the race of life- remember 
that the race has not always been to the swift, and 
that “adversity is the north wind that lashes men 
into vikings.’ 5 

Last year I stood on the steps of a great college 
when a gentleman pas c ed within, and my companion, 
a bright, young Congressman, lifted his hat and said: 
“Good morning, Governor.” I locked in astonish- 
ment, for the man so addressed had the apipearance 
of. a. college boy* of twenty. It .was Governor Higgins 
of Rhode Island, a poor boy who might well have 
felt handicapped and discouraged in his youth, for 
the first book he ever read he dug out of an 
ash barrel. - Let no one feel discouraged, : then, if 
disappointments come, for in life, as in football, "it 
is the man whobreaVs through the interference that 
reach- s the goal and makes a touchdown. 

I thank all out friends -for the evidences of devo- 
tion to the University, winch this day has brought 
forth. Especially I acknowledge with gratitude and 
pride the fine spirit of loyalty* and- enthusiasm that 
I find everywhere . .among the * students. Manly in 
character, serious in study*, cheerful in obedience, they 
are an inspiration to tis of the Faculty* to put 
forth our noblest effort for the development of this 
venerable University*. The continuance of this spirit 
is the surest promise of the blessing of Almighty God 
and the success of our. Alma Mater.-. . ,• 

Reception of the Habit- 

On the 8th of December the following young 
men receive’d the religious habit in St. Joseph’s 
Novitiate: Paul Bates (Brother Isidore, C.S. C.) , - 
Duquoin, 111. ; Aloysius Machalin (Brother 
Theophilus, C. S. C.), line, Pa.: M. Jablonowski 
(Brother Edwin, C. S. C.), Chicago, 111 ; Charles - 
. McN amara ( Brother . Augustine, C. S. C. ), Lim- 
erick; A. Skora (Brother Casimir, G. S.. C.), ... 
Chicago, 111.; Harry Sheehan (Brother Edward, 
C. „S. . C. -), New York; Marion Nushaunier, 
(Brother . Meinard, C. S. -C.), Massillon, Ohio. 
Rev. W. Connor officiated. . . 

23 & 


Varsity Oratorical Contest. 

The Annual Oratorical Contest for the Breen 
Gold Medal was_ held in Washington Hall on 
the evening of December 7. The program was 
enlivened by the University Orchestra which 
played three numbers in a manner which elicited 
generous applause. The contest was won by 
Joseph Boyle who spoke on “Christianity and 
the World’s Peace.” William Lennartz was 
second with “America and the World’s Peace.” 
Varnum Parish was awarded third place, his 
subject being “The Spirit of the Celt.” 

‘ 1 Cardinal de Richelieu : Exponent of Abso- . 
lutism” was the title of the oration delivered 
by the winner of fourth place, Reed Parker. 
The winner of first place will represent the 
University . at Indianapolis, February 7. 

Mr.' Boyle is to be commended for the fine 
oratorical passages which characterized his 
speech ; he has a splendid climax and uses it to 
good" advantage in his deliver}’’. Mr. Eennartz 
was better iii delivery than the winner, but 
lacked the emotional warmth which is looked 
for in an oration; otherwise his paper was 
excellent. Mr. Parish did remarkably well for 
his first public appearance, and was supported 
by- - ver} 1 - persistent applause. Mr. Parker will 
be a winner some day, and a strong winner 
at that. The decision of the judges on the 
contest is as follows: 

- - 






H onan 














Bojle | 1 | 




! 2 




Lennartz _ | 2 j 




1 1 


2 I 


Parish | 3 | 




| 3j 2 



Parker | 4 | 



4 | 

1 4 


4 | 


Football Note. 

v Those who read the accounts in our football 
issue may have noticed that through an over- 
sight mention was not- made of the fact' that 
Ryan, our quarter-back, was chosen by nearly 
.every critic for a position on the All-State team. 
By Coach Turner of Purdue, Ryan was chosen 
quarter -back and captain of the All -Indiana 
team ; others, also, gave him a place. - 


* v i 

Philopatrians’ Parlor Entertainment. 

The college parlor presented a pretty picture 
on the evening of the 12th of the month, when 
the Philopatrians gave their annual reception 
to the President of the University and the 
Faculty. The program consisted of twelve 
numbers of instrumental music and recitations 
rendered in" a manner that was a source of 
pleasure to all -who were present. These young 
gentlemen of Carroll Hall have much to boast 
of and have good reason to congratulate them- 
selves that the}* have so energetic a director ; 
and Brother Cyprian himself has reason to 
be proud of the members -of his society. 
Those who took part in the program were 
the following: R. Rousseau, J. Monaghan, C. 
Tyler, R. Newton, J. Thornton, R. Bowles, 
W. Downing, L. Livingston, J. Gallart, 
J. Nugent, J. Kry.l and H. Carroll. The 
program, was closed with a few appreciative 
remarks made by Father Cavanaugh. The 
members of the society then repaired to the 
dining-room where refreshments were served. 
On the following Saturday the program was 
reproduced in the presence of all the members 
of Carroll Hall; the exercises were held- in 
the reading-room, and several members of the 
Faculty participated in the pleasures of the 
evening. Additional numbers of the program 
were rendered by C. Sinclair, W. Cotter and J. 
Fordyce. The President of the University 
was present and delivered a short address, sug- 
gesting to the young men who heard him the 
necessity of nobility in all their actions. 

The Corby Reception. 

The members of the Corby Literary Society 
deserve much- credit for their elaborate recep- 
tion and smoke talk given Saturday evening 
December fourteenth in honor of the Faculty 
and members of the Varsity football team. 
Doubtless this event was the most elaborate of 
its kind ever given in the history of Notre 
Dame, and it will go down to the credit of 
Corby hall that it has established a standard 
of excellence which will be difficult to surpass. 
Carefully worked out in every detail, the enter- 
tainment and banquet was carried on without 
a single flaw. . . . .. 

With the usual spirit that has always char- 



acterized the students of Corby Hall neither 
pains nor money were spared to make this event 
memorable in the social life of the University. 
Two hundred invitations were sent out and as 
many cleverly arranged programs were presented 
at the door. The programs themselves were 
beautifully made in the form of a football. The 
Corby Hall reading-room was decorated as it 
had never been before. Yards and yards of 
artistically entwined crepe paper covered the 
ceiling. Banners, pennants and college colors 
hung from the walls. 

The banquet — for no other word could do • 
justice to the refreshments — was most elaborate 
in every detail. Cold chicken, olives, ' buns 
and coffee, constituted the first course, and ice- 
cream, cake and lemonade-punch, the second 
course. After the refreshments cigars were 
passed around, and the remainder of the evening 
was spent in smoking and in dancing to music 
by the Corby Orchestra. It was a late hour 
before the jollity ceased. 

The program we have intentionally left till 
the last. The entire space could be devoted 
to its description. Of the stars fhere were none, 
for the whole program was of the highest quality. 
After a selection by the Corby' Orchestra the 
address of welcome was delivered by Mr. W. 
Hutchins in a masterly manner. The parodies 
by Mr. Roan and the rymes by Mr. Heyl were * 
ver}^ clever. Dr. Delaunay spoke eloquently on 
“Discretion • in Art.” Other numbers were 
rendered by L. Langdou, J. Topez, J. Deery, ' 
S. Skahen, and T. Dunbar. 

Father Cavanaugh voiced the sentiments of 
all yvhen he complimented the members of 
Corby Hall in the: fullest measure for the 
success of the entertainment. 

Brownson Reception 

On the evening of December 9th the students 
of Brownson Hall gave a formal reception to 
the President of the University and invited 
guests. The study-hall was decorated in a 
manner that both pleased and surprised; one 
would hardly have thought that so marvelous 
a change could be made in so short a time. 
The external preparations were, indeed, an 
earnest of the excellence of the program. The 
Brownson Glee Club presented three numbers 
and won a place in the hearts of all present. 
To give due praise to each individual who 


took part in the exercises would be to wrestle . 
with superlatives beyond the limits of the - 
dictionary. Suffice it to mention their names 
and extend to them all most sincere con- 
gratulations on the success of their efforts. 
The individual numbers on the program were 
taken by J. Sullivan, J. Ety, R. Wilson, E. 
Carville, W. Moore, J. O’ Flynn, JYCoggeshall, 

E. McDermott, F. Madden, H.- Burdick, G: 
McCarthy, J. Dixon, J. Moloney, ’and Bro.- 
Alphonsus. At' the conclusion of the exercises 
there was a short address by 'the President of 
the University. ’ .... 


Notre Dame G. A. R. Ppst No. 569- 

The . regular election of officers for the 
ensuing year was held Dec. 9th with the 
following result: Commander James McLain 
(Bro. Leander), Senior Vice-Commander Mark 
A. Wills (Bro. John), Junior Vice-Commander 
Rev. Edward Martin, Adjutant Nicholas Bath 
(Bro.- Cosmas), Quartermaster Joseph Staley. 
(Bro. Isadore), Surgeon Rev. Father Schmitt, 
Chaplain Rev. R. J. Boyle, Officer of the day 
Ignatz Meyer (Bro. Ignatius), Officer of tiie 
Guard James Malloy (Bro. Raphael), Sergeant 
Major John Mclnerney (Bro. -Eustachius), 
Quartermaster Sergeant James Mantele (Bro. 
Benedict). Resolutions were passed to have a 
life-sized statue of Rev. William Corby, C.S.C., 
on the rock on which he stood while giving 
absolution to the Irish Brigade on the battle- ' 
field of Gettysburg. 


We regret to announce the death of the ' 
Rev. P. E. Reardon, of the' archdiocese of New 
York, who passed away on the 5th instant. 
Father Reardon was a member of the class 
of ’97 (A. B.). His career as a priest was 
as brillianb as it was .brief. R. J. P. •' 


* * 

The sympathy of the members of the Faculty 
and the students of the University, is extended 
to Professor J. L. Tanner who was called to his 
home in Utica, N. Y., on account of the 
serious illness of his father. Word, has been - 
received that Mr. Tanner was called to his - 
final .reward only a few days ago. . May his . 
soul , rest in peace.. .y .-..v 



Sophomore Smoker. 

On Thursday evening, December the twelfth, 
the Sophomore class held their first social meet- 
ing of the year in the form of a rough-house 
smoke - talk. The usual formality that cliar- 
•acterizes such meetings was noticeably absent. 
After refreshments, cigars and cigarettes were 
passed around, the speech-making and story- 
telling began. President Dolan acted as toast- 
master. The principal speakers of the class 
were Mr. McNally, who talked on college 
spirit, and Mr. Hebert on class enthusiasm. 
Mr. Graham, a member of the class last year, 
was warmly welcomed and responded most 

Mr. Fournier and Mr. Hollearn, each ren- 
dered selections on the piano, and Mr. Moriarty 
played on the violin. The class of 1911 is 
filled with enthusiasm, and is already planning 
for other entertainments next term. The 
members of the Faculty who were present 
were: Rev. Father Cavanaugh, Father Schu- 
macher, Father Murphy, Father Quinlan, 
Father O’Malley and Father Marr. 


Lecture by Mr. S. E. Doane. 

Mr. S. E. Doane, member of the American 
Institute of Electrical Engineers and an author- 
ity on incandescent lights, delivered, a lecture 
before the Electrical and Mechanical Engineers 
on the manufacture and recent development of 
incandescent lights. 

Mr. Doane laid particular - stress upon the 
new Tungsten lamp which is of recent develop- 
ment. He predicts that 'in residence lighting, 
“ all-day- lighting” of rooms will be the near 
future fad. The reason for this is that well- 
lighted rooms are very desirable, and where 
the cost to operate the Tungsten lamp is 
but one-third the cost to operate the ordinary 
incandescent lamp this new fad is likely to 
materialize. First cost is the only objectionable 
feature of the lamp at present, though within 
five years the lamp will be the only type of 
incandescent used. Mr. F. A. Bryan, Manager 
of the South Bend Electric Company, and some 
of his employees were present, and also Mr. 
H. H. Albert, Sales-Manager of the standard 
Electric Company, Niles, Ohio. 1 . ■ 

Band Concert. 

Victor and his Royal Venetian Band scored 
a triumph in Washington Hall on the afternoon 
of the 6th. Better music has not been heard 
at the University for some time, and no number 
of the lecture and concert course has been 
better received. The solo work was satisfactory, 
very much so if one has in mind the character 
of the entertainment. In respect to the vocal 
solos it might be more particularly stated that 
nothing better could be desired. Miss Laurie 
has a remarkable voice. The selections pre- 
sented by the band were unusually felicitous and 
were greeted with rounds of heartiest applause. 

Captain Miller. 

Harry Miller of Defiance, Ohio, was elected 
captain of the 1908 Varsity football team. The 
election was held the night of the annual 
banquet at the Oliver Hotel in South Bend. 
Miller was without question the man for the 
place: Not only is he a brilliant player, but 

he has everything a successful captain should 
have. ‘ .He is above all else a clean player.