Greenfield Evening Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 13 April 1895 — Page 3

EASTER L^fclES.

purple and crimson_|fiory The Easter sunlight poured A flood through the chanfcel window*

In the temple of our Lord. Its waves passed over the altar To bathe the cross with their glow And stain the lilies with crimson.

Like sunset over the snow.

Till every fragrant chalice Sop mod filled to the brim with wine, Distilling there into vapor

And rising in clouds divine. Farther and farther the incense Its dclicate perfume spread, Like loving thoughts sent earthward

By souls of our happy dead.

With prayers from our hearts uprising, Which mingled and seemed to reach Through the space 'twixt earth and heaven,

So blending them each with each, That my soul could l'eel the presence, The smile and the tender eyes Of one who gathers the lilies I In gardens of paradise, —H. F. Blodgott.

AN EASTER FLOWER.

BY BENJAMIN NOKTIIRUP.

{Copyright, 1895, by American Pres3 Association.

Just out of the city there is along winding road which takes you over tlio low hills to tho sands on tlio beach.

A brackish stream of tido water crosses the road, which is spanned by a stone bridge. No one now living was born when this bridge was built. It is cracked with age, stained and moss covered, and in tho crevices grass, flowers and tiny shrubs grow. On some of tho stones a wandoring missionary has painted signs praising God and calling upon tho wicked to repent before it is too late. Over the widest crovice this is painted: "Blessed aro the pure in heart, for they shall seo God.

Under this in a little grotto some blue violets had grown, snugly sheltered from the sun and storm.

It was lato in May or early in June when she came over tho cracked stone bridge on her way to the beach. She had never been in tho country before. Sho had been in the park once, but that was when sho was a very small child, and sho had forgotten almost how it looked.

Under tho shades of the old bridge the children of tho Fresh Air fund stopped for luncheon, and she and tho other little girls took off their shoes and stockings and paddled in tho creek. After the sandwiches and apples, doughnuts and cakes, sho found tlio violets and dug them out. Sho had never seen anything so beautiful before. They were prettier than all the Easter flowers in the oast sido shop windows, and they smelled sweeter. Besides that, she herself had found them, and they wero her own.

All afternoon, while the other children played in tho sands, she played with her violets, picking tho soft black earth from their roots to see how small and pink they were, and opening and closing the half blown buds to see the fresh blue hid under the green shells. If some older girl who knew all about the country and wild flowers, this being her second summer in the Fund, if this experienced girl had not told her that violets cannot stand such prying treatment, they never would have lived to reach tho town.

It is not far from down Ryo way at the stone bridge to down Battery way at the sea wall. Two hours. That is all if you tako a fast train, and violets will livo a long time when you bury their roots in moistened earth and let the blossoms alone. Therefore, when she reached her homo in Battle Court, the flowers wero as almost fresh and sweet as they were in their grotto in the bridge.

A cracked stone pitcher became their new home, and on pleasant days they 6tood outside on tho kitchen window sill and looked down on tho stone flagged

SHE FOUND THE VIOI.KTS.

courtyard. Long boforo midsummer camo they had seen moro of life than they and all the other violets along the Rye load could ever have dredmed of, giving violets imaginations equal even to their fragrance.

They saw Blind Flaherty, tho beggar man, boat his lame boy over by tho sink until tlio police camo in, and after them an ambulance. One awful afternoon they saw the wife of Micky Donovan, the prizefighter, jump from the fifth

5 M, S

stoi^ window of her tqbm^ and fall on the pavement in a sprawling heap— White, black and red—-aiid she did not e^ettmoan when she was pidked up.

Thgy also saw Paddy McKeever, him that drives the baker's cart, meet Sally just outside the gate in the shadow the night before they ran away and were married. They liked this, and they also liked the hand organ man who sometimes played in the street outside the court while the children danced to its strains. These things reminded them of the country road, and they were better for seeing and hearing them. It is a great mistake to think that wild flowers forget their country homes when they are planted in town pots. If you do not believe this, just take your spring flowers back to the brook meadows and see how quickly they will revive at one whiff of the fresh, soft air.

In stormy weather she took them inside the room, and when the weather grew cold they stood on a shelf facing the window beside the stove, where it was always warm.

That is the way the violets lived from early in May or late in June until the winter had gone and Easter had almost come.

Up town there is a great church. It is rich and beautiful. Tho sunlight that streams through tho stained windows is purple, bluo and golden, and sometimes tho figure of a saint wondrously colored is cast across tho chancel floor.

The little girl who picked tho violets used to go to this great church, and she was welcomed hero because it is, a great church.

Good Friday, with its seven services, had passed, and tho Lenten trappings of gloom were being taken away to make place for the Easter flowers. There were lilies, roses, orchids, violets, palms and flowering shrubs. There were great wreaths of greens hung from the pulpit, and tho baptismal fount was all white and pink. Rare and common, hothouse and wild flowers were massed together. They were all lovo offerings, and this is the reason that a simple bunch of blue wild violets found a place in one corner of tho altar almost hidden by a splendid display of roses. Only one person saw them, except the young women of the Altar guild, who, laboring for love, arrange the flowers for Easter and other feast days.

Sho sat in one of the front pews, and sho was dressed in plain black, very plain and common black, such as other washerwomen wear when their children die. She saw the violets, and her one wish was that the littlo girl who had brought them to town from tho old stone bridge and had cared for them all year for this very Easter altar wero only alive to see them too.

It was a great congregation befitting a great church and a still greater feast day. From tho doors to tho chancel rail

HE TRESSED TUMI 'iO lUS LIPS.

every pew was filled, and there were chairs in tho aisles. These wero filled, too, and back of them £,1.1 men and women stood. Tho front pews in this church are given up on Easter day to the poor of the parish. The children from tho orphanage and tho caped and bonneted women from the Aged One's homo filled several rows on the right, and on the left wero the men and women and children who on ordinary Sundays sit far back under tho gallery over the vestibule. They teach that God's Son rose from the dead on Easter day for rich and poor alike in this great church.

Tho chimes in the belfry had finished their song, the big A bell had given tho last of its threo taps, and the suborganist in the choirroom had taken his note from it. "Onward, Christian Soldiers," was the hymn, and tho great congregation outside heard it sung behind closed doors. Then came the "Amen," louder than tho melody, richer and fuller.

Tho choirroom doors opened, and the choristers, robed in white and black, marched out. Tho groat organ in the chancel caught up the air and led the gingers. Filrst came the trebles, sweet and high. Then the altos, they camo next, and made a second in the harmony. After them came the tenors, and last of all the bassos. Then the harmony was complete: Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war. With the cross of Jesus going on before.

That is the refrain. That is what the whole choir sang as they faced each other from the opposite sides of tho chancel, and its mighty strains rang through tho church like the strain of a band marching at the head of an army into battle.

After the service camo the sermon. Tho preacher was an old man, with white, silken hair. You have seen a skein of silk on a oold day. The threads stand out, one apart from the other. That is the way his fine white hair stood out from his head. It was like a nimbus frosted. His voice Was low and soft and sweet. He had sung as a treble in that shoir 50 years before. Then he was a tenor, and. now for more than 30 years he had boon tho rector. "I am going to say somothirig to you today that I have said to you every Easter day for 80 long years."

That is tho way tho sermon began. "Christ," my children, rose from the dead on Easter day, but before he rose be died. Some day we may rise and

join him in everlasting glory in paradise, but before wo shall rise from tho dead we must die. Wo all must die, but when? Shall wo be prepared when our summons comes? Aro wo prepared to dio now? Yes, now. Why not? Wo know not when our time shall come. Every Easter day for one long generation I have repeated this warning as I do today. And among those who heard mo there wero many who were not alivo to hear moon the following year. Some of you must die before next Easter day. When death comes to you, will you be unprepared? Shall tho blood of him who died that we might live alway be shed in vain in even one sinlge instance? This —is—for—you—alone—to—say."

Even tho choir listened to this. The boys stopped fidgeting, and the men sat very still. Tho woman in black looked at the bunch of violets on the altar, and tears fell upon her gloves/^

That was what he said, althongh ho us6d moro words then I have dono and took a longer time to say it, and aft-er he left tho pulpit and joined the assistant ministers back of tho chancel rail there were moro wet eyes than the washerwoman's in that'great church, and thero were many promises mado for tho coming year that tho makers will not live to keep. a

Early Easter Monday tho ladies of tho Altar guild wero again at work. The flowers which had been lent for tho festival were returned to their owners. The chancel stairs were thronged with serving men and maids waiting to carry them home. Tho other flowers—tho cut stalks from the florists, the bouquets from tho hothousos and the little bunch of wild violets—wero taken away in a wagon to a hospital. Tho sick have their Easter on Monday.

It was in a long white floored ward. Near tho end of it stood an iron cot by a window. This was Jim's cot. Jim was a newsboy before a street car had cut off one of his legs. Before that he had been in the Fresh Air fund, and ho loved tho country with a lovo that the real country boy nevor dreams of until ho has grown to be a city man.

They carried down this long ward these fine flowers from tho Easter altar —roses, orchids, lilies and still moro roses. Their fragrance made the air heavy, and tho lamo boy turned his face toward tho window.

After all had .been distributed a nurso brought to him a spray of wild violets. They were*all that was left. He took them in his hands and pressed them to his lips. Then ho said something about the country so low that the nurse couldn't catch it and fell asleep.

A Famous Egg Dance.

There is a pretty account of the marriage of Marguerite of Austria with Philibert, the handsome duke of Savoy. It is called "Marriageaux oeufs. She had coino to tho castle of Brae, in

:the

charming district of Bresse, lying on the western slopes of the Alps. Here the rich princekH kept open house, and Philibert, who was hunting in the neighborhood, came to pay his court to her.

It was Easter Monday, and high and low danced together on the green. ,, A hundred eggs were scattered in a level spaoe, covered with sand, and a lad and lass, holding each other by the hand, came forward to execute a dance of the country. According to the- ianoient custom, if they succeeded in finishing the braule without breaking a single egg they became affianced.

Then Philibert, radiant with youth and happiness, appettted upon the scene. He bent his knees before tho noble chatelaino and besought her hospitality. Ho proposed to her to try tho egg fortune. Sho accepted. Their grace and beauty charmed the onlookers, and they succeeded, without a single crash, in threading the perilous maze.

"Savoy and Austria 1" shouted the crowd. And sho said, "Let us adopt the custom of Bresse,''

They wero married and enjoyed a few years of exquisite happiness. Then the beloved husband died. Marguerite survived him Jong. ^u» novar forgot him.

CURIOUS RUSSIAN OBSERVANCES. I

Easter Is the Muscovite Cleajiing Day. Making tlio Holy Chrism Oil.

Easter is tho greatest national religious festival of Russia. Holy week ushers in a constant season of prayer and somberness. The clubs are closed and street musicians forbidden to ply their trade. Easter is tho time for giving presents, just as Christmas is with us, and every one puts on a hew suit of clothes on Easter morning. Tho shopkeepers' fever only rages during the lattor half of tho week, for on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of Holy week all

A celebration which takes place about once in threo years is tho making of tho holy chrism, a ceremony performed invariably either at Moscow or Kiev. The chrism oil is used for baptismal purposes, for the consecration of tho metropolitan and the coronation of the czar. Tho making of tho myro, as tho oil is called, begins on the Monday morning of Passion week. Tho metropolitan attends at tho sacristy of the patriarchs in Moscow, lights a fire, pours in a gallon and reads tho gospel, and after this the oil is kept boiling for three days and nights, while monks stand over and stir it with silver ladles.

The final ceremony takes place when the oil is put into two silver caldrons upon a porcelain stove and stirred with silver ladles by six deacons investments of bladk and silver. In the center of the room is a large silver vase, the gift of Empress Catherine II, and into this the chrism is poured to receive the benediction. At tho side are placed a number of smaller silver vases in which the oil is eventually sent away. People attend in crowds to dip bits of cottonwool in the holy mixture. On Holy Thursday there is a procession from the sacristy to the Cathedral of the Assumption with the oil vases, and mass is said by the metropolitan. In the intervening years, when there is no making of the myro, that ceremony is replaced by the washing of the feet of the poor.

Bad Egg'a Revenge.

Ztbw to Etch Eggi.

'•fcherd are jnahy ways of coloring and ornamenting Easter eggs. A simple way is to sew them up in highly colored prints before boiling.. There is one way to engravo eggshells. Tako an egg that has been blowi^ and stop up the ends with wax. Then writo or draw any design desired with varnish or tallow. Then drop the egg into a weak acid like vinegar. In a little while tho acid will .decompose the lime in the shell, except where tho lines aro marked by tho varnish or tallow, and th« lattor will stand out in bol^ «-eli'-i

WITHIN

commGrce

is suspended. Another great feature of Russian Eastertido is tho housecleaning. The floors of the principal apartments are turned into what a stranger might suppose was a skating rink, but is actually tho effect produced by two or throo men skimming over the boards with brushes fastened to the soles of their feet and sometimes accompanying the motion with song. At Easter timo in Russia cleanliness, instead of being the next thing to, actually is, godliness, and in observance of this maxim thero ensues one great universal Muscovite wash. The public baths are crowded, and he who neglects to bathe "early and often" is regarded as a pariah.

CLOISTERS.

Solemn Services of Holy Week Behind Convent Walls.

The world is very wide awake and noisy in tho spring of Easter week. On the street the boys sell huge bouquets, crying their blooming wares with hoarse voices. In the shops the tired saleswomen work early and late. In the churches there ar«3 crowds of chattering people who mafco wreaths and talk in garrulous fashion. There are rooms where tho gaslight burns far into the spring morning. That is where the weary dressmaker is hurrying her work.

The orchestras are rehearsing new music, the actresses are planning new dresses, the florists are haggling about the price of a rose, the choir leaders aro nervous and anxious, the new clergymen are wondering if their Easter service will be a success, and there are still jealousy and heartache among the women over their Easter bonnets.

In the convent garden it is very quiet and different, says the San Francisco Examiner. The lilac tree near the wall is in bloom, and the little altar of tho Blessed Virgin in the arbor is draped with tho yellow sprays of tho blossoming currant. There is no one in the garden except a bent little sister, with a sweet, worn face. Sho is watering a little bed of pansies, but inside the big brick convent there is a sound of many feet. The sewing class is just over, and the girls are filing out into the study hall to put away their workboxes—the big, cool, clean study hall, with its shining floor and very straight clean chairs.

As tho girls enter they drop a deep courtesy to a tall figure robed in black, which sits upon the platform. Then each girl, after she puts away her box, walks quietly to one of tho chairs. The tall nun at the desk shuts a littlo signal box she holds in her hand, thero is a sudden rap, and all the girls are seated. "Children," says the religieuse, "we are entering upon a season of great joy. Let us prepare ourselves. Tonight tho retreat will begin."

Sho makes a pretty, gentle little address and urges every child to put away all worldly thoughts and make herself worthy to celebrate tho glorious Easter. She calls them children, yet thero aro girls of

It is

or 20 among tho crowTd. In a

convent every one is a child. The refectory is big and bare and set round with long tables. Thero is a reading desk in the middle, but no one reads tonight. The retreat has begun. Silent sisters eftter noiselessly and pass the food to the silent girls. When the meal is done, thero is a big dish of warm water passed. Er.ch girl thrusts in her spoon, her knife and her fork and wipes them.

It is warm in tho garden yet, and tho girls go out there. They walk in littlo groups of tbreo and five. A few of them walk alono. All of thom aro telling their beads, with a murmur as of humming bees. Tho big bell rings. It's time for evening prayers. Thero is a snap of tho signal box every ono rises. Another snap they form in line. Another snap thov turn and walk from tho room, their footsteps eclioing on the hard floors. At tho door they turn and courtesy

7:30

o'clock—bedtime at tho con

vent. Thero is a glimmer of light in tho west yet, but the blinds aro closely drawn. Up stairs in the dormitory thero aro rows and rows of white beds, hung with snowy curtains. In tho middle of tho room is a table with a slate on it. If any one wants a collar or a handkerchief, sho writes upon tho slate and signs her number. In the morning tho article sho asked for will be there, folded upon her neat pilo of clothing.

In a few minutes the rustling behind tho white curtains ceases. A velvet footed religieuse walks from bed to bed to see that all aro quiet. Then her low voice sounds distinctly through the room: |8§f|ll| "Sacred heart of Jesus, immaculate heart of Mary.''

From behind the curtain comes tho answer, "I give you my heart. Up in tho chapel the nuns aro praying—praying that the coming retreat may bo full of blessings to the children of the Sacred Heart.

Before 6 o'clock the next morning there is a long lino of veiled figures filing into tho chapel. They are all plainly clad and dressed in black. Each one carries a prayer book and her beads. The candles on the altar twinkle bright, yet far away. The inconse swingers swing their burden monotonously. The breath of the lilac comes in at tho window, and the day is begun. There are services in the chapel many times that day.

On Good Friday morning tho very small children aro just a little frightenwhen they seo the chapel. The golden draperies aro gone from the altar, the flowers have vanished, and all the twinkling lights are gone. It is gloomy and grewsome in the chapel when the altar lights are gone.

In front of the altar a row of nuns kneel with their arms out lik? a cross. Some of the larger girls are-allowed to kneel there, too, and many of them are sobbing. Ono of them stays so long that she is borne out fainting. TO the younger children the gentle sisters tell the old, old story of the dreadful day when Christ was crucified. It is so quiet &ud so dark in the chapel arid tho face of the pictured'Christ is so sad that the little ones are frightened. ...

When the evening prayers are Baid, the* girlish voicespour in the. gloomy grandeur of the "Stabat Mater."

Long after the lights in the dormitory are out the nuns kneel before tho altar with outstretched arms, iand the littlo children dream that night of tears.

The next day there aro prayers and vespors again. The children hope. Their sins begin to sfeem less hopeless. In the evening there is coiifession.

Then comes tho glad Easter morning. The girls put on snowy veils. Tho chapel is a blossom with flowers. Thero is a burst of ecstatic music.

Kyrie

Eleison—Christi Eleison."

The nuns' faces aro alight with a glorious radiance. The lilac treo swings her puiple and white branches like a censer.

Christ is risen. to »i«en indeed.

AT EASTER.

When Easter comes, the church bells loudly ring out notes of joy and thanks. When Easter comes, tho busy Cupid starts his round of cunning pranks

EASTER ETCHINGS.

Few Loose Leaves From

Notebook of

Life.

What a bonnet it was! The Tory bandbox that it camo in seemed to appreciate tho value and magnificence it contained! —such a substantial, well varnished, responsible bandbox. Up the steps the messenger carriod it and rang the bell. Her husband felt a chill come such as that we experience when, according to the old gossip, somebody walks over our future grave.

It was Easter, and if one can't have a new bonnet after the Lenten deprivation and abstinence, when is one entitled to one anyway?

Mrs. Frontpew tried it on in the parlor and said her husband was a duck. Never was there a husband so good and kind and with such taste.

Tho doorbell rang again. Another messenger boy came up. "This is Mrs. Frontpaw's bonnet," said the messenger. "Tho other one was left by mistake. It should have gone to Mrs. Slyly, next door.

With a blanched face sho gave back the bonnet and looked at her own. Bird for bird, feather for feather, flower for flower—it was tho samo as the other.

That is why Mrs. Frontpew was not in church on Easter and why Frontpew has been taking supper down town and looks liko a man upon whom great woe is fallen.

How could he tell? The milliner "merely showed him a pretty headdress, and he ordered one made up like it.

But that's like a man. t'-

•The Destruction of the Poor Is Their Poverty."

A little pot of mignonette stood in tho window of a crowded tenement. A poor woman bent over it and tenderly plucked a withered leaf from its fresh green crown. Tho sun shone gayly on the blue bay, and tho woiftan stood watching the little glint of dancing water she could just see between tho houses.

She put a tiny sprig of the faded mignonetto in her faded dress and took down her shabby bonnet. Then she walked as far as she could to get a good breath of fresh air. Sho passed a church door standing open and heard a burst of music. So sho wandered timidly in find sat humbly down in a quiet corner.

The altar was fair with flowers. The woman drew a deep breath of delight when she saw tho lilies.

A man took hold of her arm. "You're in some one's pew," ho said roughly. The woman rose nervously. "I'm sorry,'' sho stammered. ''Where are the free seats?"

/, ,v

"Thero ain't no froe seats in this church, sneered the man. The woman hurried out. She put her thin hands upon tho' bunch of mignonette. The clergyman was announcing his text. Sho just heard it as she passed through the swinging doors: "He was

despised, rojccted,

a man of

Borrow and acquainted with grief.

U'' I

Toil Not Nor Spin.

A very untidy and reprehensible person hurried up the steps of a big houso early Sunday morning. Her hair was untidy, and her shoes were run down at the heel. She talked to herself, too—a disgraceful habit. "Hot coffee and two eggs. Yos, the two eggs for Easter," sho whispered aa she rang the bell. Her eyes shone. A plump little rosebud of a girl opened the door. The woman smiled eagerly. "I've finished it," she gasped. "Well, it's about time," scolded Mies Rosebud. "You had no business to keep mo in such suspense. I've worried my self almost sick."

She took the bundle and hurried up stairs. "Please, faltered the reprehensible person, "please, the money. I worked all night"— "Come some'other time," said Miss Rosebud over her shoulder- "Don't bother me now."

The untidy woman went down the steps. Hor lips trembled, but Miss Rosebud had the loveliest dress of all the lovely new dresses in the big church on the avenue that morning. At least that's what one young man in the congregation said, and ho ought to have known.

Kaater Card.