Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 21, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 December 1899 — The Christmas Guest [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Christmas Guest

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

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."

“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.”