|Rights||No Copyright - United States (NoC-US)|
|Publisher||Digitized by J. Willard Marriott Library, University of Utah|
|Article Title||Our. Boys. and. Girls|
Dear Nephews and Nieces: Christmas wi!l soon be here and we are all awaiting the coming of our Infant In-fant Savior, who will soon be born in our hearts, as he was in the poor little cave in Bethlehem many years ago. Dear Jittle children, on Christmas morning, go to Bethlehem with your childish ' hearts filled with love and gratitude for the dear little Baby who came on jarth so long ago to die for you. Make good resolutions on Christmas morning and ask the Holy Child to help you keep them. A Merry Christmas to all my boys and girls. "AUNT BUST." ON CHRISTMAS MORNING. : Welcome, welcome, bet of days! Holy feast and bright! Binning through the cl&idy year,' Like a pleasant light Christmas! in thy very name Jesus seems to say: "Little children, come and hear Mass on Christmas Day!" LET US GO TO BETHLEHEM. "What did the Little Infant do for us? , He was born in a crib! He. lived poor and unknown! 'He preached mercy! He suffered without a murmur! He died on the cross! And what does he ask In exchange? To listen to His ministers! To pray with faith and fervor! To help our neighbor! j To approach the sacraments!- j To love His Blessed Mother! CHRISTMAS BELLS. (Composed by Martha O'Connor, Aged 12 Years.) Christmas bells were sweetly ringing. O'er the hills, so far away; And the old church bells. 1 hear them On this meriy Christmas Day. Little children-, they are happy. Happiest ones of all are they. With their toys and nuts and candy. Thev enjov themselves at play i Far away through many cities. On the nisht of Christmas eve. When the stars were shining brightly, j cnor.v mie m me wst w ""'6- lovely. . a That the people were surprised. And the wise kings followed it Mr x ha-n a thousand miles. Till it shone down on a stable. Entering there they found a manger, With a child on the soft hay. It was Christ, that mw-born Savior, Whom they'd come to find that day! Dear Aunt Busy: We have a big, fat kitty. One day h'e stole the cream off the milk. I like my kitty. We had our pictures taken at school. I like to go to school. 1 am C years old and I take music lessons. I am going to write a letter to Santa Claus. I like Santa Claus. He is a good old fellow. Santa Claus climbs down the chimney. Your loving niece, FLORENCE E. DORAN. I Dear Aunt Busy: I am 8 years old. We have lots of fun in school. We have snowball fights. We play Rugby. I like to play Rugby, j c.miot -moc wa. foil and nilf on ton of I each other that is good fun when you are on top. I take music lessons. Santa Claus will soon be here. He is going to bring me a pair of skates. Your loving nephew, ARTHUR F. DORAN. Salt Lake City. U., Dec. 16, 1899. My Dear Aunt Busy: I though I would write you a few linos to let you know that I am well. I go to school every day and I belong to St. Mary's choir. I go to St. Mary's church and Sunday school. I am 8 years old. I love all my teachers teach-ers very much. I wish you a merry Christmas. Good bye for this time. Your loving niece, i MAMIE MARRON. Salt Lake City, Utah. Dec. 17, 1S99. Dear Aunt Busy: I thought I would write you a few lines. Christmas is drawing near and I expect some presents from Santa Claus. I go to choir practice every Saturday. Last Saturday we had a andy treat. I. go to Sunday school, and I like the Sister that teaches my c lass. Wishing you and Uncle Busy a meir'y Christmas and a happy New Year, I will close. From your niece. KATIE O'ROURKE. Address 243 South Fifth East. HOW CHILDREN SHOULD RECEIVE RE-CEIVE HOLY COMMUNION. . .'Many children cause much distraction to older people when kneeling, at the altar rails waiting to receive Holy Communion. Com-munion. As soon as they kneel down they look to see who is their neighbor, where the priest is, or sometimes they actually look down the aisle to see how many are t-oming. This is a great distraction for others, besides showing little respect for the Blessed Sacrament. as soon as vuu i cavii mi. uu not look one way or the other, but kneel down quietly and take the altar cloth in your hands, form the shape of a table by placing both thumbs and the' first lingers together and stretching them out a little. Keep your eyes cast down, but do n-ot dose them or you will not see the priest when he reaches you. When it is your turn to receive, have the altar cloth well below your chin, raise your head, throwing it back a little, put out your tongue, and rest it on your under lip. Open your mouth so that your teeth, will not touch the priest's fingers. As soon as the priest places the Blessed Sacrament on your tongue, withdraw it gently, and do not .allow the Host to touch the roof, of the mouth, but allow it to rest :n the tongue for a second, then swallow Rently. If the' Sacred Host happens to stay in the roof of the mouth, dislodge it with your tongue, and never-on any account put your finger in your mouth. Do not look around when going to 5'our . seat, but go quietly and modestly, with your hands joined and your eyes cast down. Then do not open your prayer book at once, but bow down your head and for a few minutes think, adore and pray. " FREDA'S CHRISTMAS. BY MARY T. WAGGAMAN. It was a bitter Christmas on Mount Manitou. "Never had there been so cruel a winter," tfie old people mumbled, mum-bled, as they bent shivering and chattering chat-tering over their ashen hearths. Even old "Manitou himself seemed to feel 'the . general strain and stress. Usually he silenced his noisy little streams, tucked in his riotous draperies of vine anil shrubbery, and muffling himself comfortably in a fleecy blanket blan-ket of snow, slept undisturbed from November No-vember until April. But this year the pitiless winds sweeping from the sea tore away his covering; black rocks and withered shrubs were left stark and bare; there were moanings and whispers in the gorges, and among the prisoned streams the mountain seemed stirring in nerce unrest, nui more portentous etill arose the tireless furnaces and smokeless shafts of the great Dunmore Iron Works, that had shut down for the winter, leaving 600 men out of work. There was little Christmas cheer or Christmas gladness in the three score cabins that huddled around the huge foundry, little of the sweet Christmas spirit In the hearts of the rough, lowbrowed low-browed men who lounged or gathered at store and street corner in muttering groups. ' But a mile away, on the sunny side of the ridge, sheltered by granite walls and evergreen' hedges, Dunmore Hall rcse like a beautiful Christmas picture, its quaint gables wreathed with snow-flecked snow-flecked ivy. its quaint . diamond-paned windows winking "back the sunlight, its broad, oak-ribbed halls aglow with light and warmth and cheer. For the young Dunmores had come home for the holidays, and the usually silent old house had wakened into youthful life and gladness. There was sweet, 15-year-old Elsie, with two pretty classmates class-mates from St. Ursule's. and her cou sinsDolly, and Grace and Sue. There was Jack with two of his football team from Georgetown, and Dick Thurston and Harry Lee from the Military Academy, Aca-demy, as sturdy a set of young squirea as ever held a mountain keep in the days of old.- Rumors of a brown bear in the west summit had sent them all off on a hunting- expedition this morning; morn-ing; so the girls were left to festoon pictures and walls with holly and ivy, and make the old house gay with Christmas green. Down in pantry and housekeeper's room there were fat turkeys tur-keys and plump geese in hetacombs, and rounds of spiced beef and. home-cured home-cured hams; puddings and pies and j cakes galore were being turned out j from the big kitchen, while Aunt Janet I still weighed and measured and gave I out from the great store rooms, for j there was to be a meeting of stockhold-I stockhold-I ens at Dunmore Hall tomorrow, and it was rumored that the works were to be reopened with 500 new hands on the first of the coming year. There was no mother's voice in the Dunmore house- I hold. Five years ago those sweet tones j had been silenced in death. Instead, there was Aunt Janet's word of com- mand Aunt Janet, who had grown up in the good "befo the war" days, when half a hundred servants answered to her call. Aunt Janet, who, hard-voiced, hard-featured, keen-eyed had the stern, uncompromising, thrifty, soul of her Covenanting ancestors, and with her iron gray curls pinned back, her housekeeper's apron on, and her scales and keys in hand, was an epitome of domestic virtue that made every slipshod slip-shod sinner, black or. white, tremble. They were trembling today. Pretty little Elsie, tripping down the stairs, heard Aunt Janet's voice rising above a domestic babel, and knew that there was some stern court of inquiry in progress. "Sugar! flour! raisins! my best Muscatel Mus-catel raisins a good pound of them. Such bold-faced thieving I never saw in my life, under my very nose my very nose," added Aunt Janet, as if the dignity of that important feature had been unpardonably outraged. "I not know, I not know,", sobbed the culprit, a pale-faced girl of 15, who stood in the midst of "an open-eyed circle cir-cle of servants, .while Aunt Janet, "sternly diving into the capacious pockets pock-ets of her overskirt, brought out the pilfered stores. Elsie stopped at the doorway,, looking in with astonished pity. Tlie luckless sinner was Vreda, poor little Alsatian Freda, who could scarcely speak a word of English, but who had come up to the great house to find work during the holidays. "I not know, I not know," repeated Freda, piteously, and she burst out in a torrent of excited patois, which only little Elsie, who was a good French and German scholar, could at all comprehend. com-prehend. "You don't know," repeated Aunt Janet, sternly; "don't tell me any such lie as that you don't know when you are stealing" "O, Aunt Janet, she didn't," interposed inter-posed Elsie eagerly. "She didn't understand un-derstand at all, she thought you were giving a Christmas feast like they do in her country, and it was no barm tn I take her share home to her little brother broth-er Otto." "I don't believe a word of it. not a word' said Aunt Janet, shutting her lips with a click. "And whether site understands or not, she leaves thiss house tonight. I am sure we have thieves and cut-throats enough around us without taking them to our hearts and homes. So you are to go, you understand?" un-derstand?" and she took Freda roughly by the shoulder and whirled her round 'to the door. "Go, go, and never come near this house again, you miserable little thief! If I catch you on this place again, I'll have you locked up."-The up."-The girl's dark eyes flashed. The rude touch, the harsh tone, were not to be misapprehended. ' "I go," she said. "Madame, fear not, Freda come back nevare nevare" And. with flushed cheeks and blazing eyes she was hurrying out of the big lower hall, when Elsie's gentle hand was laid on' her arm. "Wait, Freda, poor Fredo, I understand. under-stand. I believe you, Freda, if. Aunt Janet doesn't." . "I die before I come . back," burst forth Freda, passionately. "I know, I know," said Elsie, sooth- -.- ... ingly; "I don't ask you to come back, Freda, I only want to give you this," and the gentle speaker slipped a $3 gold piece in the excited girl's hand. "For Otto, Freda, to buy food and fire, and . some little gift from the Christ-Child. Take it from me, Freda." "Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle;" the fierce eyes softened into sudden tears. Freda caught Elsie's hand and covered cov-ered it with kisses. "You are a good angel," she cried in her own tongue; "we freeze, we starve, in the .little cabin, father he drink drink until his head is- gone. Ah, 'tis a frightful land .where God does not see, and the Christ-Child Christ-Child does not come!" "O, Freda, yes, He does, He does," said Elsie; "you must not say such wild, wicked things. God sees and pities and helps. See, He has helped you even now Go to the store and buy what you need and tomorrow I will ask papa to help you more." . "Ah. you are God's angel, Mademoiselle, Mademoi-selle, Mademoiselle," and with a fresh Shower of kisses on Elsie's hands, Freda Fre-da tore herself away. And Elsie snapped the clasp of the little pocketbook she had emptied of all its Christmas money, and discreetly discreet-ly avoiding Aunt Janet, hurried back to the great parlor to wreathe the portrait por-trait of her mother with Christmas garlands, and feel those beloved eyes were beaming approval of the folly which Aunt Janet would have so stern, ly condemned. Night came on bitter cold, but great fires leaped up the Dunmore chimneys, and the big rooms, mellow with lamplight, lamp-light, and spicy with the breath of evergreens, were very pictures of Christmas cheer: The girls gathered round the piano and sang the sweet old anthems that have come down the ages, but there were no deeper voices to sustain their silvery treble, for the boys had not come. "They won't be back tonight," said Aunt Janet, as the great clock in the hall struck 10; "Jack isn't fool enough to try the mountain paths-af ter nightfall, night-fall, with the snows sliding as they are this year. They will stop at Donovan's until morning." "Or camp out and cook their bear if they have caught him," laughed Dolly Dol-ly Vane. "That's what they were dying tr dn TVTalro n blf fi r A in rani hunter fashion, and tell stories and sing all night. Come, girls, let's go to bed, and save our roses . for the Christmas dance." And gayly chatting still, they passed up the wide polished stairs, where the old clock stood ticking the hours, and the pale-faced Swede butler, who had been employed to help old crippled Sambo, stood waiting with the tray of silver that was locked up every night. "That man makes me feel creepy," whispered Sue Vane; "he seems always watching us under those white eyelashes. eye-lashes. It was a shame for those horrid hor-rid boys to stay away and leave us on this mountain top alone." "Alone!" laughed Elsie; "why, the house is full of people; Aunt Janet hired a dozen, just to give them work. And papa and his friends will be here at daybreak. So you can sleep in peace, girls. But first come into mama's oratory ora-tory and say night prayers," "Ugh, no," said Dolly, with, a shiver. "If you want to see Christmas ghosts, Elsie, we don't. Prayers by the fire are good enough for me." And the gay where a great log fire blazed and I crackled on the hearth, wax candles ! were burning cheerfully in. silver j I sconces by the old fashioned mirrors; a i white capped maid was waiting, and all was warmth and light and cosy comfort, that banished every thought of fear. But Elsie slipptd away from the rest into the oratory to say her prayers. Mrs. Dunmore had been an invalid, and the good priest from the mission in the valley had come twice a year to say Mass at the . little altar of her mountain moun-tain home. Though a Protestant himself, him-self, her husband, with a loyal devotion to his sweet wife's memory, had kept the little oratory sacred from all profaning pro-faning touch Or change. . Usually it was closed and locked, but this morning Elsie had found the key, and calling Freda to her aid, they had brushed away the gathered dust and decorated the forsaken altar with new tapers and Christmas greens. Long years ago, when she was a very little child, there had been midnight Mass in this tiny chapel, and with a sweet thought of the Presence that had once made the place holy, Elsie knelt down, on her mother's prie-dieu, when a whisper whis-per through the stillness made her start to her feet. "Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, do not be frightened; it is I," and a figure that had been crouching in the shadow sprang trembling to her side. "Freda!" gasped Elsie, in amazement. amaze-ment. "Yes, Mademoiselle, yes,' 'answered the girl, in her own tongue, "O,. Mademoiselle, Made-moiselle, hush; do hot cry out, for all around us there are eats, ears and eyes and voices, to betray. My father wouia Kin me it ne Knew i came to tell." "Tell what, Freda?" asked Elsie, an icy fear striking her heart at the girTs words. , , j "O, Mademoiselle, you were so goody to me; I must , speak, I must speak; they are so cold, so hungry, so wretched, wretch-ed, in the cabins. They have no work, no fire, no bread, and the men are mad with hate and drink. Who can blame them, Mademoiselle?" and Freda wrung her hands as if tortured by conflicting sympathies. "I know, I know," answered Elsie, softly. "O, Freda, I have been thinking think-ing of it all, and tomorrow I will ask my father when, he comes, ask in my dear mother's name, for her sake to make terms, to open the works." "Ah, Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle," and Freda wrung: her hands again despairingly. de-spairingly. "To morrow will be too late! Tonight tonight, the men have sworn revenge. They know the masters mas-ters are coming, and they have torn down the rails at Fordyce Pass, and the train will go down, down down! Ah, Heaven, down!" and the girl finished with a passionate sweep of her hand. "And papa is on it!" burst from Elsie's El-sie's white lips. "O, God, have mercy! my papa! Oh, I must call Aunt Janet. I must send warning. Fordyce Pass you sey?" and the poor child's brain nearly reeled as she recalled the .spot a trestle spanning the mountain gorge 500 feet below. "We must send! we must send!" she cried, springing to the door. ' ; But Freda's shaking hand was laid on her arm. "Who Maremoiselle, who will you send? Listen, there are none to go all around you are full of hate and fear Jacques and Annette and Oscar, Os-car, and all are here to watch, to watch; it is for this I hide, for this I come to you alone. I I cannot speak the language, but if you give me written writ-ten words, I will take it to the I know not what you call him the wire talker at Newton" "The telegraph, you mean, Freda " "Yes, yes, at Newton's write down the word that he will understand, and tell it on the wires to stop the train Quick, Mademoiselle, write write'" "Write where, how" she dared not turn back for pen, ink, paper. "Write here, Mademoiselle " and Freda caught up the old prayer book that lay in the prie-dieu, and thrust a bit of broken' pencil into Elsie's hand "Quick, Mademoiselle, for the way is long, and there is no time to lose Quick!" ' And with numb fingers she could not steady, Elsie scrawled on the fly-leaf of her mother's prayer-book: ; I "Rails dowiv at Fordyce Pass. For God's sake, stop train. , "ELSIE DUNMORE." "There, there, take it, Freda! I I will go with you you shall not face the darkness alone." "Mademoiselle, no, no, no!" said the girls, excitedly. "You cannot take the road. I must go, and, besides there are men watching, watching everywhere: every-where: Anton Beyer's Freda can pass, but you, Mademoiselle, no no! Stay here and pray, pray that' God may guide me, help me to save, to save!" And with a choked sob the girl sprang out of the window that opened on the noi-ch without and Was ennp Truly Freda had said that Elsie could I not follow the path she must take to-i to-i night, for though it was but five miles j to Newton, a snowslide had choked the usual road, and she knew her way must lead around eld Manitou's dizziest ledge. strong-limbed and strong-nerved strong-nerved as she was, Freda dared not think cf the task before her, but sped along over the drifted snows, the littln prayer-book clasped like a talisman to her breast. A cold new moon had risen ! amid banks of ragged clouds; now the heights were silvered in ghostly radiance, radi-ance, now lost' in blackest gloom. Three tiorr.es dark figures started out from the shadows of bare rocks and i withered shrubbery and barred her way. But Anton Beyers Freda had only to give her name and pass un questioned. Higher and higher wound' the path, now deep in snowdrifts, now crusted with treacherous ice now black and bare, a mere thread around1 old Manitou's frowning brow, now now ah; Heaven, it was gone, gone utterly, ut-terly, for the moon had veiled berself in the storm clouds, and all was inky darkness darkness in which it would ue mauiie&s iu wme mat narrow, aiz-zy aiz-zy way. Poor Freda! She could only cling to the rough wall of Icy rock beside be-side her, and pray, pray with the simple sim-ple faith and fervor learned in her far-off far-off home. "O, sweet Christ-Child, have mercy on me, guide me, help me, give me light to keep on ray way, for dear Mademoiselle's Ma-demoiselle's sake. Good angels, help me, show me the, way." And then, then, even as she prayed, a sudden rosy light flamed out of the darkness, and through the silence came a rich, full chorus: ' ''Adeste, fidelis, ' Laeti triumphantes; Venite, .Venite in Bethlehem." The Christmas hymn dear to the Christian of every clime, the grand old hymn that Freda herself had so often sung in her own old home. Clearer and louder it swelled through the night, while the rosy light flamed higher and higher, showing the narow path she must tread along the mountain brow. And with a glow of strange rapture warming her heart, Freda darted fearlessly along the dizzy ledge, that taxed the boldest cragsman in the noondav lieht. and in ten minnte stood breathless and triumphant in the Newton telegraph station, hoMing her prayer-book with its message to the startled operator. "Great heavens!" said the man, with blanching face, as he looked from book to girl; "twenty minutes more and you would have been too late. How did you get here?" But Freda only shook her head, pointed point-ed to heaven, and fell at his feet in a dead faint. And the train was saved, of course-; and after the ringleaders, including Anton Beyer, fled the country, Elsie's tender pleading obtained a general amnesty, am-nesty, and all those who were willing to return to work were received on juster and more generous terms; while Freda, with little Otto, left orphaned; by their father's flight, became Mr. Dunmore's care forever after. And though the young hunters, who had camped out all night on the opposite ridge, insisted that it was their camp fire and college hymns that had guided Freda on her perilous way, she never understood or accepted any such prosaic pro-saic explanation: ' It was the Christ-Child Christ-Child who had heard her prayer, it was the Christmas angels who, with heavenly hea-venly light and music, had guided her over old Manitou's dizzy edge, and brought "peace .aha good will' to Dunmore. Dun-more. And as Christmas angels work In many ways,' doubtless simple little Freda was right. . r. .... . : r- ,.