Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 21, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 December 1899 — Page 3

Santa Claus (to himself)—Great Scot! How am I ever coin* to get down these chimneys? Oh, that the Czar’s disarmament congress had borne fruit!

WHEN DADDY LIGHTS THE TREE. , • WK hare onr share of ups and downs, Of cares like other folk; The pocketbook Is sometimes full. We’re sometimes nigh dead broke; But once a year, at Christmas time, Our hearth is bright to see; The baby’s hand just touches heaven When Daddy lights the tree. For weeks and weeks the little ones Have lotted on this hour; ▲nd mother, she has planned for It Since the summer’s sun and shower. With here a nickel, there a dime, Put by where none could see, ▲ loving hoard against the night When Daddy lights the tree. The tiny tapers glow like stars; They mind us of the flame That rifted once the steel-blue sky The morn the Christ-child came; The blessed angels sang to earth Above that far countree— We think they sing above our hearth When Daddy lights the tree. The weest kid in mother’s arms Laughs out and claps her hands, The rest of us on tiptoe wait; The grown-up brother stands Where he can reach the topmost branch. Our Santa Claus to be, In that sweet hour-of breathless joy When Daddy lights the tree. Our grandpa says ’twas just as fine In days when he was young; For every Christmas ages through The happy bells have rung. ▲nd Daddy’s head is growing gray. But yet a boy is he, As merry as the rest of us When Daddy lights the tree. *T!s love that makes the world go round, ’Tie love that lightens toll, Tie love that lays up treasure which Nor moth nor rust can spoil; ▲nd Love is in our humble home, In largesse full and free. We all are very close to heaven When Daddy lights the tree. —Woman’s Home Companion.

The Christmas Guest

mo is wending his way—at short intervals he stqps suddenly, gazing over the hedge side, where the moon is shining through the leafless snow-covered trees — advancing a few paces he stops once more before a ruined tower, fast crumbling to decay. “God bless the dear old landmarks,” he murmured, “many and many a time have I stood beeide you in my dreams when the great ocean rolled between us— at last, like the load-stone that attracts the needle, you have brought the wanderer back. Oh, sweet Inisfail, the smallest blade of grass that grows in your green dells is a million times more precious to me than all the wealth and grandeur I have seen on foreign shores.” Having reached the cottage, he was met at the door by a tall,well-built, venerable looking man. “Can you giv. . shelter for a short time?” asked the stranger. “I can, or for a long time, if you need it — though not very long, now I come to remember, for in a few weeks I won’t be able to call this house my own. Isn’t that the truth, Mary?” he added, looking at his wife, busily plying her needle near a bright turf fire. “It is indeed—the bitter truth— may God in his mercy protect us,” said his wife. “And how long have you lived in this cosy cottage?” asked the stranger. “Fifty years, sir. My father built it. I married the good wife you see beside me fn it. I reared a big family in it, but they’re scattered far away from us now. Some of them, I’m as eerd, I’ll never see again. Our oldest b>y I’ve not heard from in ten years. He was sent into penal servitude for the part he took in the ‘rising’ of ’67.” “What was his name?” “Redmond O’Hara. But in troth if I go on in this way I’ll be disgracing the proud owld name of our family. Here, Sake ( a whiff o’ this owld dhudeen; ’twill help to banish sad thoughts.” “Before I light my pipe,” said the stranger, “I wish you would tell me why It to that yon. will be compelled to leave thia cottage in a few weeks?” “The answer is simple,” replied his host “I am only a small farmer, and eannot afford to pay Lord Leech the heavy taxes that are yearly imposed on my own time and money without a hap«rth of help from hto lordship. That’s the “Not if I can • traD ~ , ger. . -»«■■■■> *-• “Saltpeter couldn’t pave us."

ON THE ROOFS OF EUROPE.

T la Christmas eve —the night is cold and dear. The moonbeams dance fantastically upon the frozen snow — near the foot of the hill adjacent to the town of Macroom, in the- county Cork, stands an old-fash-ioned cottage toward which an aged white-haired

“There Is something more potent than saltpeter.” “Maybe ye mane dynamite,” said his host. “What I have reference to is more powerful than even dynamite,” replied the traveler, “although It is not so noisy. What I allude to is the power of gold!” During the foregoing the farmer’s wife had prepared a supper which the traveler seemed to relish with a zest that betokened a keen appetite. Having finished his meal he relit his pipe, drew his chair near the fire and became more communicative. “You seem to be a conversable man,” said the host, “and I’m proud of your company; if you like to sleep under this roof to-night you are heartily welkfrn, and we’ll spend a pleasant Christmas day together.” “You are too kind, sir,” said the stranger. “But I accept the invitation.” “Of course,” said the farmer, “you’ll have to take pot luck with us; he have no dainties to offer you, but there Was a time when a prince couldn’t find fault with our table on Christmas day, when we could spread before you turkey, ceese, ham, lamb and almost every delicacy under the blessed sun, but them times have passed away like the snow.” “God bless you and your good wife, sir, for the cordial welcome you have given to the poor stranger. It reminds me of the gay old times when I was a happy boy under the roof-tree of my parents, when we loved to pass the Christmas eye by the cheerful fireside, singing the old songs of our persecuted land, and listening to the ghost stories and the fairy tales until the hour arrived to attend the midnight mass. In an evil hour I was caught with my pike while attending a moonlight drill in the mountain gap*. A mock trial took place, and a packed jury found me guilty of high treason. I was loaded with drains and hurried off in a convict ship to Western Australia. I escaped, and after many perils I was received with open arms in the land of the Stars and. Stripes by my expatriated countrymen. I soon amassed great wealth. You would scarcely imagine me, as I appear at present in these tattered garments, to be a rich man, but, to prove the truth of my assertion, here is a bag containing a thousand sovereigns. Take it. Keep it It is youbs. I present it to you as a Christmas box.” “A bag o’ sovereigns,” cried the farmer. “Oh, sir, you must be one o’ the good fairies in disguise.” “If this happened in America,” Skid the stranger, “you would undoubtedly call me Santa Claus.” “Whoever you are,” cried the farmer’s wife, “you must be something not natural to be tantalizing poor people with the sight of a heap o’ gold like that” “I give you my word I am neither ghost nor hobgoblin, but real flesh and blood,” said the stranger, throwing off his white wig and beard and standing erect at his full height. “Now examine my features well and tell me if they bear any resemblance to Redmond O’Hara, your convict son!” “Oh! Redmond! our own gra bawn!” exclaimed his father and mother simultaneously. “Yes, it is,” said the mother, caressing him, “he has the same auburn hair.” “And the same proud light in his manly blue eyes,” cried his father, grasping his son’s hands. “Oh, Redmond,

Redmond, this sudden joy is almost more than we can bear.” “Now, spare me this hugging and kissing and hand-shaking,” cried their son, “if you don’t wish to kill me with too much kindness. You can both snap your fingers at Lord Leech to-morrow. We’ll have our own home, our own land and our own cattle as well as his lordship. And to-morrow we’ll fill the table with turkey, geese, lamb, ham and every luxury in season and out of season that money can purchase. In short, my dear father and mother, it won’t be your own Redmond’s fault if you don’t say it is the merriest Christmas day you ever enjoyed.”

Christmas Plum Pudding

Ingredients—Three pounds raisins, three pounds currants, one pound mixed peel, one and one-half pounds bread crumbs, one and one-half pounds suet, sixteen eggs, two wineglassfuls brandy, one nutmeg, one teaspoonful salt, onefourth pound almonds, chopped fine. Stone and cut the raisins in halves, but do not chop them; wash, pick and dry the currents, and mince the suet finely; cut the candied peel into thin fine crumbs. When all these dry ingredients are prepared, mix them well together; then moisten the mixture with the eggs, which should be well beaten, and the brandy; grate in the nutmeg. Stir well, that everything may be well blended, and thoroughly press the pudding into a buttered mold, tie it down tightly with a well-floured cloth and boil for five or six hours. It may be boiled in a cloth without a ipould and will require the same time allowed for cooking. Christmas puddings should be made at least six days before they are required for the table. When a pudding is taken out of the pot hang it up immediately and put a plate or saucer underneath to catch the water that may drain from it The day it is to be eaten plunge it into boiling water and keep it boiling for at least two hours, then turn it out of the mould and serve with brandy sauce. On Christmas day place a sprig of holly in the middle of the pudding and pour about two wineglassfuls of brandy around it. Light this at the moment of serving. This amount will serve fourteen or sixteen people. Halve recipe for smaller number. Five or six of these puddings should be made at one time, as they will keep for many weeks, and are suitable for festive occasions until March.

Not Distributing Gifts.

Nopurse—l proposed to Miss Manymillions Christmas eve. Gotbills —Shall I congratulate you? Nopurse—l don’t know. She told me she wasn’t Santa Qlaus, and that’s all she said.—Truth.

HERE’S TO THE MISTLETOE. When I grew in oak groves In the ages past. The Druids, tn robes of white With a knife of gold, in the fair moonlight. Cut nye down from the bough where I clung so fast. To aid in their mystic rite. They have passed away, those days of old. But their ghosts still linger where ▲t Christmas-tide the maidens fair Invite while I- hang o’er their locks of gold The kiss which a lover may dare. Oh, merry and brave Is the mistletoe bough When winter storm winds blow, ▲nd the clouds hang heavy with snow. Like glittering pearls are my berries now, Their dark green leaves below.

A FEW GIFT SUGGESTIONS.

Clever Fingers Can Devise Some Very Attractive Presents. Hat boxes, padded and perfumed and covered with flowered cretonne, or painted silk, are made by the beauty-loving maiden for her airy theater bonnets, her plumed hat and other perishable headgear. An odd penwiper has a cover of ooze leather, with a picture of a preternaturally wise looking owl writing a letter as the pokerwork design. The leather is cut to silhouette the head and tail feathers of the bird, giving an amusing and grotesque effect. Toys for men are not uncommon this season. Cigars and cigarettes packed in such perfect Imitation of real cigar and cigarette boxes as to deceive even an inveterate smoker are made of chocolate or peppermint. Big, business-looking pens, pencils and paperweights are made of sugar-paste and paper, and the most artful of spectacles, opera glasses and cases are made of isinglass, tinsel and candy-filled wood. A medicine case of coarse brown linen is bordered with a puffing of pink silk ribbon. The vials are held in place by a band of garter elastic covered with puffed silk and divided into spaces large or small enough to accommodate the bottles. One end of the linen case turns in and la tucked to form two pockets that are to contain court plaster, a tiny scissors, antiseptic cotton and a roll of soft linen. The little bottles are labeled with familiar names ammonia, arnica, quinine, ginger, camphor and other household standbys.

First Celebration of Christmas.

Christmas was first celebrated in ths year 98, but it was forty years later before it was officially adopted as a Christian festival; nor was it until about the Fifth century that the day of its celebration because permanently fixed on the 25th of December. Up to that time It had been irregularly observed at various times of the year—in December, in April and in May, but most frequently in January.—Ladies’ Home Journal.

The Christmas Girl.

The snow has drifted to her brow, The holly bud has dyed her cheek, Her eyes, ilka stars on Christmas eve, Shine out with glances coyly meek. There’s Christmas radiance everywhere In wreaths of green and berries red; But, best of ail, I gladly note There’s mistletoe above her head. -Life.

A Midnight Encounter.

Santa Claus (vigorously)—Well, that’s the last house I’ll go into till I find out whether they keep a dog.—Harlem Life.

One Is Enough.

“Eph, I want to give you a nice fat turkey for Christmas,” said Col. Hawker. “Dat’s berry kin’, cunnel, but I’d ’fer a $2 bill efs all de same to you. Kris Kringle alius ’pears to leab a tuhkey at my house de night afoh Chris’mas.”

Sensible Jimmie.

“Jimmie,” asked his mother, “why are you so persistent about going to your Uncle John’s for Christmas?’ “ ’Cause he hain’t got none of them smoke consumers on his chimbleys. Santa Claus kin git inter his house.”

Easily Pleased.

“Well, little Jim, what do you want for Christmas?” “I’ll take anything I kin get, pa, but you better not gimme anything I don’t like.”

IN THE GALLERIES.

CONGRESS CENTER OF ATTRACTION FOR MANY PEOPLE. Statesmen as Seen from Above—Proceedings Are Usually Not Lively Enough for the Spectator* What They Would Like to Bee.

OR a matter of thir|3* ty years,” said an old Washingtonian, mosurnfully, “I have dropped into one of the galleries of the House of Representatives from ten to SB fifteen times during fßr each session, always djg with the hope and expectation of being MBS on hand during the progress of a pyrotechnical scene. I’ve never had the luck 3” to strike one. Often I’ve waited until all j U ' the conditions seemed favorable for a

violent outbreak on the floor, and then I’ve gone up to the Capitol and sat through hours of roll-calling and monotonous droning by the reading clerk. Never was able to catch ’em shooting off their fireworks. Probably the very next day, when I couldn’t be on hand, there'd be a terrific scene in which thirty or forty of ’em ’ud be sawing the atmosphere at once —and I’d have to have my fun in reading. about it in the papes. There ought to be some scheme whereby they could give regular rough-house performances at stated times, so that we could all have a chance to see how they do when they’re right mad.” Probably nine-tenths of the folks who visit the galleries, not counting the “regulars”—of whom more later on—go up to the Capitol to see something lively, exciting, and out of the ordinary on one or the other of the floors of Congress, and the great bulk of them are disappointed when nothing out of the common happens for their delectation. Exciting scenes on the two floors of Congress become more rare from year to year. The routine is not often broken.

IDEAL STATESMAN.

with the grievance written on their faces that they haven’t got their money’s worth. The day has passed when every representative in Congress was his own Patrick Henry. When a gentleman on the floor who is known to be an ornate phraseologist and a man of “uncertain” —that is to say, certainly fiery—temper rises in his seat and catches the Speaker’s eye, the folks in the gallery lean forward, their countenances take on interested expressions, and they seem to be saying to themselves, “Ah, now we’re going to have something worth while!” When the gentleman wiht the fiery reputation launches into a mild, expostulating, almost pleading statement as to how his district has been overlooked in the formulation of the river and harbor bill the people in the gallery settle back in their seats, with sighs of disappointment, that seem to say in so many words, “Are we forever to be buncoed in this way?” A pair of gentlemen, who are known to be* person al as* well as political antagonists, take the floor at the same instant, both demanding recognition. “Ha! here’s a clash, right now*!” the gallery visitors whisper to each other, with nudges; and when one of the gentlemen, with a Chesterfieldian gesture, yields to the other, the spectators in the gallery look real hurt about it. Mostly Visitors to Town. A very small percentage of the visitors in the galleries of Congress are Washingtonians. Congress is an old story to the people of the capital. It is a tale often repeated. There is nothing awe-inspiring about a day’s doings at the Capitol to a man who has lived within sight of the dome of the Capital all, or nearly all, of his life. Men and women who come to Washington to live pay one or two visits to the galleries of Congress when first they arrive here, and let it go at that. It is the strangers, the casual visitors in the city, who flock to the galleries of Congress, and to many of these such visits are very igreat events, indeed, to be told about again and again when they get back to their homes. Not a few of the strangers in the galleries look as if they feel themselves to be participating in proceedings of a very solemn and uplifting character; and that they regard the gentlemen below them on the floor as the very cream of the land is perfectly evident from the awed manner with which they study the great men. It is with an eye to seeing how their

“own” representative in the lower house, or their “own” pair of Senators, look and act as set amid scenes of greatness that most of the strangers in the city repair to the galleries. It makes no difference how obscure and bashful the representative may be, he is the one great figure in

the whole scene in the eyes of his gallery visiting constituents. “If he would only get up and say some?, thing, like he used to at the barbecues on Fourth of July'” the representative's gallery visiting constituents say to each other impatiently, and they gaze at him with deep sorrow and reproach when, in the whole course of an afternoon’s session, the only manifestation that he makes that he is alive is to apologetically clap his hands in summoning a page. No matter how others of the great and wise colossi of the Senate may tower over the pair of gentlemen whose constituents are in force in the galleries, the constituents never see any other togas than those that mantle “their own” two Sen---f - - * ■ ■

Men of ebullient temper are not so common in Congress as they used to be, and if they were the rules nowadays are such that they could be squelched or otherwi s e effectually taken care of in short order. Consequently the majority of the gallery visitors come away from the Capitol

THE REAL THING.

ators. It is quite within the possibility that there may be more M places than the Senate chamber of United States as that chamber is ordinary circumstances, but this never seems to pall on tbe gallery ors who take an interest in their BcIImMH tors. They watch every movement < that great duo with rapt and if they can summon the nerve to in their cards to the toga wearers, and be shown points of interest around^: c|jMg Capitol by one or other of the CTa *|MlMI men, a joy that is almost pathetic ates them. It is a peculiarity of the ladies in tnHBM galleries that they are quite unable tMH give any gentleman on the floor credilMyMMl greatness who does not “look great”— distinction who does not took cd. Now. it is a singular fact, but oteMM none the less capable of proof and ■ dental onstration, that a majority of the eminent men who have graced the floors of Congress during the past MH cade or so have at the same time the most insignificant looking. The Ifrßn dies in the galleries do not appear to prehend that such a thing can be. .wM MB The men's galleries are chiefly interest-MM ing for the number of men, black CflpKM white, they contain, who appear to -tyrRMH nothing but time. The •‘regulars" inhabit the men’s gullerieoNHM force, particularly in the lower hoUfIMK

YOU ALWAYS MISS IT.

They are about equally blacks and whites, and prosperity doiflM not seem to be hovering over any , eflE them. The fact is, the regulars pretty seedy lot. But this is a free afl|H tion, and they have the right to warm in the galleries of Congress if theiEE so elect. They nod and doze, and proceedings on the floor seem to be to last degree uninteresting to them. | HE 'Die press galleries are generally so dHEw sorted as to induce visitors to wondeESE how -on earth the newspaper men cotoMß trive to get the news, not hearing wiMBE is going on. The gallery visitors caflaHHS know, in this wondering, that what traj|flßE pires on the floors isn’t the heavy end dwBE Congress—not by the hugest of possifi|dM| jugfuls. In general, the galleries of Cabl|E gross are about as interesting as tIaHE floors thereof. 'jMjjg

Yukon has one woman Duse, the actress, was born on a way train. Miss Floretta Vining of HuU, MaMW»| owns nine newspapers. JHE The Princess of Wales is an ous reader of serious literature. HE Mrs. Mary P. Slosson is chaplarireilM the Wyoming State penitentiary. H| Miss Grace Howe McKinley, nieceiH|§| the President, is writing a novel. | -.HE Mrs. Richard Croker declares that 'EMg||| will never permit her sons to enter pdHH| tics. Miss Helen Gould says she gained mHE first anti-Mormon sentiments from Ks|EH Field. »H| Miss Braddon, the novelist, has refudH|||| for twenty-five years to have her pictuMß||| taken. President Kruger's wife descends fwEHj the same family as that to which CmEImE nal Richelieu belonged. Miss Clara Butt, who is 6 feet inches in height, is the tallest woman the English operatic stage. Mrs. Leland Stanford says the blessing millions can bring is the to make other people happy. 'HE Mrs. Maria Allen of Elyria, Ohio, is 98 years of age, is the oldest membinH of the Woman’s Relief Corps. Miss Braddon draws inspiration vkHE writing novels from a gold-mounted petiE||ffi which she has used many years. 3 .HE The widow of former Gov. Atkinson Georgia has become State agent for eral fire and life insurance The Princess of Naples is skillful qMjH|| the rifle, and in a recent hunting JMaEE she killed fourteen chamois in one dajrjl I Miss Eva Johnston is the first woiaHwE in twenty years to be elected to a iMSsE iessorship in the University of Missouri Miss Florence Fensham of ConmHfl||| nople is the first woman to be adadEBSH as a student to an American theo!<^ifl : <H| seminary. JfIHE Miss Ora A. Root of Cincinnati sm|HJ||!| her spare time collecting books and mEH ing matter to send to the soldiers in Philippines. Miss Rachel Denn Griscom, who iajMM brated her 91st birthday at ReadiMMaEM cently. is the oldest active school uEKMH in Pennsylvania. -jggaSS Mrs. Susana B. Emory of Salt LMEmEI City is said to be the largest WommuMH mine owner and the richest woman >C||||| the Rocky Mountain region. Miss Helen Long. who preskH ' over the home of the Secretary $$ Navy for two years, has the dWMjEE| M. D. from Johns Hopkins. Miss Edith Root, daughter of the 9 ’ rotary of War. makes the tenth vottyOll unmarried woman in the cabinet I>m|k||||||| Washington, an unprecedented numix; - Miss Susan de Forest Day, a Southern woman, has converted a'tnKraH| steamer into a yacht, and has joined New York Yacht Club. She is the fi woman granted a commission as miE of a ship. Miss Alice Serber has been admifl by to the bar of the Federal Court in E - ' i York. She is the first woman thht privilege and was the first Rna«