286
WEST SHORE.
Aril r-
aw s. y
1 11 T T I 1 I IT ifTn "VJf,
V jr.
CHRISTMAS EVE.
Uy footalepe oriap along the froun mow,
And borate tow out noatrilfule of fold ;
Tha mr itlllnMi teemt to nek with oold,
While ihirering traveler! hurrr to and fro.
Pale itarl f luo from the violet iky-and slow
Comee the vibrating moon, flaming and bold i
Chriit'l hoi; night einke downward, fold on fold.
I fast the great world'i puUea thrill-and oh !
Liiten I 1 hear iti tad heart beat, beat, beat
Hen in thtl chapel merry children ling :
Hearth Urea leap nd in homaa s and (lad and eweet,
The Chriatmna belli of earth and heawn ring :
" Peace and good cheer " to all-aaie ma alone,
Who know no peaoe becaow of one loat tone.
The opl Is love, and the pure, flaming, unquenchable light that trem
bles in it heart is passion. Tell me-wbo la so paeslonleai, so loat to an
appreciation of the highest beauty, that he could desire the opal without
that pure flame burning in Hi heart.
I have had a good deal to lay in these pages to the young and the friv
olous and the vain ; and now I shall have my little say-whether they like
it or not to the old and the sad and the melancholy ones of the earth. If
you have a grave In your heart, for heaven's sake don't weep over it at
Christmas time; or, if you must, then lock yourself in your room where no
one may see you. Do not be the death's-head at the feast. This should
be time of peace and good cheer, and because yon chance to be old and
sorrowful, do not try to lay the black cloak of your grief upon the shoulders
of happy people. Onoe I was at a dinner party where the old and the
young were gathered together, and we were merry and light-hearted, in
deed, until, suddenly, one old, white-haired man assumed the most God'
forsaken expression I ever saw, and said, in a solemn, grave-yard kind of
tone: "Dear! dear I I have Just had a presentiment that we will never
gather together in this way again I I feel that something awful is going to
occur." And, indeed, the "awful something" had already occurred-the
croaker had opened his horrible mouth and croaked ; the death's-head had
grinned and the skeleton's bones had rattled at our fewt, and all the cheer
and Jollity had fled, affrighted. What chills of horror danced up and down
our backs, and what scared glances flashed from one face to another!
Homebody must surely die before another year had rolled round. Which
one would it be-tlie golden-curled child at my side, the strong, brave
father opposite, the gentle mother, or would it be IT I do not mind con
fessing that I entertained a wicked, and rather vicious, hope that it would
be the croaker himself. Each heart has its own bitterness, and old sorrows,
I know, rise up with sadder eyes at Christmas than at any other time; but
if, when the bells ring soft and glad on that sacred morn, you can think of
nothing but the graves beneath the snow, do not mar the Joys of others by
letting the shadows of that old grief fall upon them, too. There is beauty
even in grief when It is unselfish.
Christmas eve. Outside the night Is clear and cold, with a great moon
swinging adown the sky and all God's silver eyes watching, watching. The
whole day long heaven's white snow blossoms have fallen sadly and
reemleiely, like the tears of women and piled themselves Into soft banks
the nasture lands and the fallow places,
overtneneiasanuuHjauv","" r-- , . .
Td . gainst the hedge.; they have bent down the bough, of the strongest
flCd pines, and nestled around the tree trunks, warming with their very
coldness; they have kissed and fallen away from tie last rosea and chrys
althemumsoutin the gardens, and they have clung to the drooping branch
es of the weeping willow over the well; yea, they have covered over-all
toose sweet snow flowers-every lonely grave that a while ago was green on
the hill that slopes to the river. The night Is hie a great diamond lying on
some restless woman's breast, glistening anew with each breath that flut
ters from her lips; but the night's breath is colder and crueler than was
ever the breath of woman, and it heart beats with varied passions, too
strong and lion-like to be controlled. Past my window the footsteps go,
this way and that way-the footsteps of the countless people who live in
my world, and who know the same hopes, ambitions, loves, failures, sins
footsteps of the old and the young, the gay and the lonely, the happy and
the sorrowful, the eager and the hopeless. Ah, me I you can read every soul
if you only listen to the steps that go past your window. And how they
crisp to-night as they press the sparkling snow I And oh I how some of
them falter and stumble for the need of a strong hand to guide them-and
how often do you and I reach out that hand? I wonder if they haunt you
to-night as they go past. They haunt me, for with them are mingled the
footsteps of many who are dead, and to whom I might have reached a help
ing band. I hear them more plainly than any others. Dead, sorrowful
eyes look at me, too, from out the past. Is there not one dead to whom you,
also, might have been more kind and tender? Heighol my room has
grown dim and shadowy and the fire is low. The rest of the house is bright
and ringing with Christmas cheer; but you and I, love, we will stay here
in this quiet place together. Have not all our Christmas eves been so
spent, Just we two, alone and happy In our great love, heeding not and car
ing not for the passionate, foolish world about us? Do you remember, dear,
how one dull Christmas we were separated, and you wrote me that you
leaned out your window in the midnight with the snow falling upon your
brow and listened to the glad, soft bells while you thought of me? Come
closer, dear heart I Somehow, to-night I seem to want you so-I seem to
need you so my very heart aches to have you closer. It is almost as if I
knew you could not come; but you can, love. Come closer closer yet
1,
1
I i
t". f
kneel down beside me as you used to do, and lay your cool fingers upon
mine and lean your cheek on my breast it is only so that I understand
heaven. Do you remember that your gift to me was Always a bunch of
white flowers, and how onoe you could find only one pale rosebud? Ibw I
loved youl How I do love you kind heaven 1 1 have been dreaming, alone
In the dark. I have been living again the past, and I had forgot that the
snow blossoms are white on your grave, too, this night.