Crawfordsville Review, Crawfordsville, Montgomery County, 24 December 1898 — Page 5

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There is an olden n'.ory 'Tin a

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OH VRI,I llirifl.xs.

The carol of the poor he sun-,'— The sick, liuprisi.ncii. suiTering. vtlT-s Found mighty champion in his tomrue.

Nor sinned beyond bis lendtrsm.le.

"O. faithful voice of Little Xell, O. holy thnr,slits of Tiny '1 nn-! Ring ever ill the Christinas I ell.

Insj.ire the universal hymn."

Oh. purity, and truth, and worth. One noble spirit sought you long:. In bloom of d- ds array the earth.

And keep his memory green in son?.

To Ho In tfi« Fashion.

Thicngo Record.

'"Now that we are in a position to enter society. Edmund/' said Mme. Newrithc, I want you to do me a favor.'' '"What is it. Maria?" queried Mr. Ncwrichc. '"Isn't your new carriage good enough?" "That's all right, dear. replied Mme. Ncwriche. 1 iut I do wish you'd get me one of those receivers that so manv men are having now."

llow l)i«l H«* Know? ,.

Texas Siftmirs.

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How th«' (lowers (,'iivo banquet In the ivied days of nifi How the posies save a party on-»

Tlmt wound up with ban How they held it. in a van Down in "Kiow.ry Kingdom hail *1 ho flowers of avfry clime were there,

Of high and low dearer. All with tb'i." pet*:Is polished In swe ar:,njat!o clee 'l'hey met down in this woodland in th .' ?roft and ambient air, Each in its lollinp lovelinp-.,

Kxhaled a perfnm rare An orchestra of Hluebells Sat upon a mossy knoll And pealed forth pcntle music

That quite captured every soul. The Holly hooked a pistil Just to buy a suit of clothes. And danced with all the flowerets

Hut the modest, blushing Rose. The Morning Glory shining Seemed reflectini Hll the plow Of dawn, and took a partucr—

It was youtiK Miss Mistletoe. Mis.s Maggie Xolia from the south Danced with Fowt-Mo-Not: Sweet William took Mis Pink iti tow

And danced a liloi- ravotte. Thus everything went swimmingly kon::st perfumed belles and beaux, nd every floweret reveled .save

The modest, blushing Kose. Mivs Puschia sat around and told, For floral emulation. That she had actually refused

To dance with a Carnation. The Coxcomb, quit'1 a dandy there,

CHARLES DICKENS. ...He Saw Tlii'iii.

"'Please, sir. give a lew cents to a poor blind man." '"Are vou entirelv blind?'' "Yes, sir." '"Haven't got anything for you to­!Fair day." "I suppose you think because you wear tight pants and have got your hair parted in the middle thar you are somebody. You look Like that man who was electrocuted last week, you long-legged red-headed galoot!'

RAjLJ

Hegiin to pi tin and mope Until ho had Wen introduced To young Miss Heliotrope Sii ("'actus took Miss Lily

And he swung her so about Sfiv asked Sweet I'ea to Caulitinwer :v....

And put. the 'actus out. Miss Panzy took hor Poppy And she waltzed him down the line Till they ra against Old Sunliower

With Miss Jioneysuckie Vine. The others at the party that Went whirling through the ma/y Were the Misses Khodo Pendron,

Daffodil and Little Daisy. Miss Petunia. Mis.-' Verbena Violet.

And sweet Miss Dahlia Came fashionably late arrayed In very rich regalia. Miss Begonia, sweet Miss Buttercup,

Miss Lilac anil Miss Clover, Young Dandelion came in late When all the feust was over. The only (lower that sent regrets

And really couldn't come," Who lived in the four hundred was The vain Chrysanthemum. One floweret at the table drew i|i:ite ill. we must regret. And every posle wondered, too,

Just what Miss Mignonette. Young Tulip chose -Miss Orchid Fiom the tirst. ar.d did not part With her until Miss Mary Gold

Fell with a bleeding heart. But ah: Miss Rose sat pensively Till every young l-ud passed her. When, just to till the last quadrille.

The little China Aster.

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HKN Kinu.

Having no stockings to hang up, they stripe their legs.

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And leave the lamp burning so Santa. Clous can see them.

Taking A Vacation.

Texas Siftint-'s.

"Hello, Charlie what are you doinomoving?" asked one young man of another whom he met with a big valise in his hand"I've just..commenced,., my. vacation." 'V: •"Your vacation'.'" "Yes, I an vacating at the re,quest of my landlady."

Looking to tin* Kutur\

Minneapolis Tribune.

Xew York has been to the World's and has gone home fully convinced that Brooklvn must be annexed or Chicago will soon be the biggesl city on the American continent. And after Brooklyn has been assimilated Chicago will proceed to I walk swiftly away from the combination

ME&RT CHRISTMAS.—Thomas Nast

l'ETIT'S CHRISTMAS,

HEN Petit Pierre was six years old his father, who had lost nearly everything he had in the world during the terrible Franco-

Prussian war, decided ft leave the sunny land of France and seek his fortune anew in that mysterous new world far, far across the sea.

It almost broke the little fellow's heart. Papa Charles had been so good. so kind to him. How often, at bedtime, hi.d the dear father lifted him on his shoulders and carried him up four llights of stairs, to the cozy little room under the roof where Petit Pierre was accustomed, to sleep,

and after the child's fervent prayer of the "Notre Pore"' and "Je vous saluer, Marie" had been said, and he had been snugly tucked away in his little bed—the linen of which was as pure and unspotted as Petit Pierre's innocent soul—the dear good father would always stop long enough to tell a story of old-time heroes, gallant and chivalrous, ever ready to succor the helpless and assist the weak, who invariably did some noble act of courage ar.d never boasted oS it. '.There was one story which Petit Pitrre never tired of hearing. It told of an old chieftain whose only child had been stolen from him. Neither his gray hairs nor his years had been spared. The barbarians had dragged* her away, fainting—a bruised, broken lily. But the old chief, heeding not his years nor his gray hairs, had immediately rushed to the rescue of the beloved child. And as the- dear father recited:

Voyez passer ce cavalier farouchc Sur son cheval aussi prompt que le vent C'est le vieux chef mnlheur a quat le touche 1! va vengcr 1'honneur de son enfant*

Petit Pierre would stand bolt upright in his little bed. eyes aflame and lips quivering. "Oh. papa!'' Petit Pierre would exclaim, "lie will save, her, will he not?''

And now the good father had gone. To America! How far was that? Had you asked Pierre he would have shrugged his shoulders and said: "Ah. very, very far, monsieur almost where the sun sets and goes to bed every night.'' No more stories, no more climbing upon the broad shoulders of Papa Charles.

During the first few days after papa's departure Petit Pierre sobbed continuously. He could not be comforted.

One morning, however. Pettit Pierre came downstairs much carlithan was his wont. When he enterred mamma's room he found her kneeling at the foot of the cross near the bed in which she slept. He walked toward her very quietly and stopped. Then he listened. Poor, dear mamma, she was sobbing. And between her sobs Petit Pierre made out the burden of her prayer. "Send him back, dear Lord, send him back soon. Make him prosper, so he may come quickly to his wife and little son."

At first Petit Pierre wanted to

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cry, too But he didn't. He waited until mamma's prayer was ended, and as she lingered a little longer, placed his chubby little arms around her neck, and said: "Mustn't cry, petit mere. Papa loves you and loves his little boy. He will come back again soon, but he must work first and make some money."

Mamma grabbed Petit Pierre, hugged him tightly to her breast, and kissed him passionately

Petit Pierre never cried after that. At least not when there might be a possibility that mamma, would sfre him.

Weeks passed into months. Papa Charles had long since reached the

new world. His frequent letters always told of success in that far-away foreign land. He made many new frieuds, to whom he often spoke about the dear wife and little boy he had left on the other side of the big ocean. Soon he would come for tliem onS bring them to their new ho'nr* Kut the distance was great and it took much, much mone1}' to make the journey.

It, was novr nearly two years since the dear father had gone. One afternoon, late in the fall, when Petit Pierre returned from school he found mamma reading a letter. "'It is from papa, Pierre, and next year, he says, lie's coming back for his little boy."' "Petit Pierre almost cried with joy. "Next year! Why next year?"

Would God hear his petition? Yes. Petit Pierre felt sure lie would. And send papa back for Christmas? Petit Pierre had faith, and faith works miracles.

Therefore, that night Petit Pierre pretended to be asleep. A little after he had been put to bed, and mamma had softly kissed him goodnight and left him, Petit Pierre got up. Falling to his knees he began to pray: "T am only a little child, dear Saviour, but I know you see me. And oh! you know how much I want my little papa to come home. I love him so, and, O God, do send him to me and to mamma. And please let him come for Christinas and Christ's sake. Amen."

Then Petit Pierre went back

I bed and never awoke till mamma called him for breakfast. Thenceforth every night Petit

Pierre would pretend to go to sleep almost as soon as he touched the pillow. And mamma, not suspecting anything, would wonder, as she leaned to kiss him softly, why the child fell to sleep so quickly. "He plays so hard," she thought, "that at night he is all tired out. the darling." But after she had left Petit Pierre crawled out of bed and prayed earnestly the good God to send back to him at Christmas time the dear father who was thousands of miles awav from his loved ones at home.

Christmas day was fast drawing nigh. The place d'Armes was already crowded with booths where venders of holiday toys, spice capes, macarons. and tropical fruits were vying with each other in crying out their goods. The night before Christmas eve Petit Pierre went to bed earlier than usuai. Mamma had left him and he had crawled back into his snow white little bed. when suddenly he thought he heard footsteps ascending the stairway. He raised himself up on his elbow and listened. Yes, somebody was coming up the stairs, sine enough. And all at once a great flood of light seemed to poor into his soul. "'Yes, yes," he cried to himself, "he has come it is papa it is he." His heart was all a-flutter like that of a frightened bird.

The steps had now reached the upper landing. Through a crack in the door a ray of light filtered. A moment later the door opened, and there in the doorway, bitr as life, and smiling, stood Papa Charles. "Papa, oh, my papa!"

Petit Pierre bounded out of bed. The father lifted him up and kissed him again and again. "Oh papa, 1 knew you would come. I asked God to send you— to-night—I knew he would send you prayed for you—Mamma, don't crv—see! how big papa is! 1 knew he would send you. Oh, papa."

The childish voice trembled. He leaned his head on the broad shoulders of the dear father and sobbed, as if the poor, dear, faithful heart would break. Oh, he had wanted that good crv so long! For two years he had kept it down Now, it "was mamma's turn to do something consoling. But somehow she didn't succeed very well, and for some reason Papa Charles also had to wipe his face oftener than he could remember

ever having done before Then all at once Papa Charles said: "Mamma, better dress our son—why, see howbig he. has grown! he's a man already, and see—yes, I do verily believe he's growing a mustache.

Then mamma and Pierre laughed and they all went, downstairs to look at what the Santa Claus of America had brought for Petit Pierre.

-X-

The next day at la messede minuit the good Cure Vioiette averred that Petit Pierre's singing of the Noel

1

That night when mamma took him up to his little room under the roof a thought flashed through the boy's brain. Since the father had gone to America Pierre had become a choir boy in the big stOL:e church near his home. Time and again he had served mass to the. old cure at the little altar consecrated to the Holy Virgin and l'enfant Jesus. Many prayers lie knew had been said by petitioners for favors, and they had been answered. L'enfant Jesus was so good, and he was the son of God. Pierre had faith. Why not. he thought to himself, ask the good God. for the sake of l'enfant Jesus, to send back his papa, and at Christmas, the time for all good cheer.

carol was the sweetest song he had ever heard. The Cure probably did not think of it, but Pierre knesv there was good reason for such great cheer in his heart.

V- AUGUSTS

C.

BABIZE.

Mr. O'Brion, the younger—Don't stir fer de loife ave ye, Patsy! Santa Claus is fillin' de stockin's. I see de woolly coat over him wid me own eyes.--Syd. B. Griffin.

CHRISTMAS (Jlll'S FROM "ITCK.''

A flat purse means a stout Christmas tree. Better a paid pork chop than a fat turkey on tick. I A sealskin sacque makes a devout

Christmas church-goer. A good dinner is the thing that takes the edge otf criticism.

Don't give yourself to more than I one girl as a Christmas present. It's the foolish girl who gives her beau the mitten before Christmas.

The small boy cannot be judged by his conduct on Christmas eve. Tt requires no outlay of money to wish poople a merry Christinas.

Price marks on Christmas gifts are not to regarded as emblems of veracity.

Blessed are the babies on Christmas day: they can be put ofT with cheap candy.

Look not on the wine whim it is red but a little pale brandy helps the pudding amazingly.

The man who quarrels with his wife on Christmas day is worse than a horse-thief. Let him be anathema.

There are no Christmas presents the tradesman gives with better grace than the receipted bills. Give him a chance.

A head of the family expends many dollars on presents, and re scives two handkerchiefs and pair of mitts. Then is the time to be merry.

Don't spend in gifts the money you owe your washerwoman. Presents are not numerous in times where the parents carefully teach their four-year-olds that Santa Claus is a mythical personage.

TWENTY YEARS FOR 00 CENTS.

Heavy Seutenec of Thomas Ca rbino for Beiim a "Habitual Criminal.''

ChKaj

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Record, Nov,

'_M.

Thomas Carbine, alias John Sullivan, George Murray, alias "Spike" Murray, and Martin Reed, alias "Scout" Reynolds have been on trial two days in Judge Stein's court on a charge of burglary. Last evening the jury returned a verdict of guilty. The jury also sentenced Carbine to I the penetentiarv for twenty years under the habitual-criminal act.

When Carbine heard the verdict I he caught his eyeglasses from his I nose and stared at the jury in ast.onishment. Murray and Reed were also found guilt}', but as they are I under age, each being about nineteen years old. the jury left their punishment to the court. Judge I St ein will probably send them to the I Illinois state reformatory at Pontiae.

About four years ago Carbine was sent to the penitentiary for a term of three years for horse-stealing. This fact was made known to the jury and resulted in his getting the benefit of the habitual criminal law. I Two months ago the prisoners broke bto the residence of Peter

Jacobi on Maud avenue. They were chased out of the house by the inmates and ran iuto the arms of two policemen. The total value of the articles they had secured was 69 cents.

"wrio SAID ANYTHING ABOUT CHRISTWAS DINNED^"—'Thomas Nast.

TRAGEDY COMES ALSO.

It is Christmas eve. Over the great city darkness has spread its grimy wings. Not a star glimmers through the gloom. Each street seems a long lane of dimly flickering lights, which make the myriad figures hurrying to and fro bizarre specters, coming one knows not whence, going one knows not whither. Yet among all these moving ligures the all-seeing eye fastens on one being flitting from door to door, clasping a precious charge to her palpitating breast. She is not ragged nor worn with toil. Those vestments are not the coarse garments of the poor those glittering gems are not the gilded gewgaws of poverty. There, in fact, is wealth and refinement hurrying with stealthy steps and furtive glances down the lamp-lit street, jostling and jostled in the great, unthinking stream of toiling humanity.

Onward she hastens as if anxious to escape the gaze of the curious. One solitary unfit of that vast multitude, she does not realize that if she fell dead there not more than half a dozen people would know that she had died.

She hurries on until the Multitude grows less, until the lamps grow farther and farther apart, until the brilliantly lighted Christmas stores change into grim,overhanging blocks where never a light arrests the attention of the hastening passers-by. To her this darkness is most vvel-. come. She would scream with delight could its heavy breath bedull forever her own sad soul. She hurries on. At last before her arises a great ribbed structure, seeminingto bar the path as by a grill of iron bars. A little cry breaks forth from the dry lips. Her pace is quickened her hrcath comes in thick gasps, mounting in white spirals on the still, frosty night air.

Clang! claug! a great bell tolls out its brazen notice to the world. The hoarse blast of a steamer's whistle responds. Then the great grill trembles and sways and begins to move.

It is the bridge. '-'J. Fearful that it may escape her,' this woman with her precious burden summons her remaining ensratid with one greftt effortreaches the poiiderous s'.i'uetuiV. Around it whirls to the jarring and rattling of iron wheels. It balances and swa3's over a black, sluggish canal which men in satire call a river. Foul-smelling and murky as the Stvx, this stream reveals "no secret of its tragic gloom. Upturned faces have been seen at times floating on its sluggish surface, only to disappear again forever, leaving iridescent bubbles to show for a moment where they once had been.

Now along its surface are reflected the red and green lights of a great steamship. Nearer and nearer draws the long black hull with its tower^" ing spars, until it enters the chasm between the bulkhead and the bridge. On the extreme end of the bridgf^ stands the woman. No one notices her. Once, indeed, as she raised her eyes to heaven, the glare of the danger lamp fell full upon the face coloring her tears a ruby red as they fell flashing through the night. Then the stern officer on the steamer's deck caught a sudden glimpse of

that despairing, upturned countenance as his vessel passed slowly by. He thinks of his wife at home and piously crosses his breast and mutters a hasty prayer which ends iu a hoarse order to his men.

The ship is nearly through—the bridge begins to move again. The woman is still there. The next moment she is gone. "Was that a crv?" asks the bridge policeman of his compauion. For a moment they both listen. Nothing can be beard save the jarring and rattling of the machinery, the thumping of the water by the great steamer's propeller, the hoarse notes of the tow-boats, the splashing of the waves against the masonry. The bridge stops, chains are thrown aside and vehicles and people in a confused. struggling mass press on swiftly, eagerly towards home.

Yet while they waited a mother and her child had sauk into the dark, foul stream

••With bubhling groan.

Without a crave, unkse led, unto.'incd, and unknown."

HENRY' VABIAN

Surprising News.

Xew York Weekly.

Mr. Citimann—Any news up your way? Mr. Wayback—News! Great Jehos! Don't you city folks read the papers? W'y, they're just full o' long articles about ray nearest neighbor, the Widder Grasslands. Got her picture in, too—nat'ral as life. "My goodness! What has happened to her?" "She's just beeu c'.'ted of a longstandin' disease that not a smil of ua ''uew sac luv*