Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 22, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 December 1900 — One New Year's Eve. [ARTICLE]

One New Year's Eve.

BY FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE.

O, you’re not afraid of being left alone in the church,” said Deacon Bradstock. “Afraid! no!” answered Luke Bridge4y, boldly; “what jiiould I be afraid of?” “Many a man & afraid of his own evil •conscience,” said the deacon. Luke .Bridgely made no answer. This conversation passed in the vestry •«f a small city church. The room had ‘been lately plastered, and as it was cold ‘Winter weather that 31st of December, a ‘large fire had been kindled to dry the, '■walls against the editing Sunday. Luke ’.Bridgely had been dice a thriving mcvchanic. Like many k man whose conTiviality has been his ruin, there were many good traits in his character; he was kind-hearted, generous, charitable, but by impulse rath# than principle. ’The deacon had known him in better 'days, and when that afternoon Luke, (haggard, we'ary and wan, Wad asked him wtot a job, he had ventured, for the sake • ifcfvithe applicant’s wife |jsid children, to •■engage him to watch the' fires. Luke had wot entered a church for years, and it •was with a certain awe that he had cross•*d the threshold. Ik “And you will notjtake the .pledge, ’Luke?” said the deacon, as he lingered tnear the door. “Not a bit of it,” answered Luke, with •an uneasy laugh. should only break It, as I have done so many promises to poor Martha.”, “Well,” rejoined the deacon, with a aigh. “at least you will pledge me your word'not to drink a drop to-night?” “That 1 wjll, deacon; my word of honor «nd I give you full permission to turn •the key on me.” “Luke ba(& him good night and threw ihlmself in an armchair before the redliot stove. The light glowed ruddily on the walls, lit up the pine trees and festoons that wfre bound about the pillars, touched the &pibliug drops of the chandelier, gleamffl on the dial of the clock in the gallerj? and burnished with gold the pipes of the great organ. Against the windows the wind dashed and the arrowflights of slret fell harmlessly, though with a drea?y sound. Luke was composing himself to sleep _*fKeii the sound of voices singing without roused#him. He recognized as the •music drew nearer, the singers, the air and the wdrds. The latter were as follows: & •"Here’s a health to the poor old year! “"Here’s a health to his bright young heir! At the grave, at the cradle, ’tis oura to share— Tor sorrouumd joy alike good cheer. Hip, hip,l|iurrah! Hip, hip. Jiurrah! A health to the old and the brand new year!” The music ceased directly under the windows*)f the vestry. “Ah, jolly Jack Finchley!” said Luke to himself; “1 ahould kx mw that bass among a thousand! AM Billy Martin, too! no tenor voice like *B. Confound the deacon for mewing nanp here, when my jolly cronies are swing the old year out and the new year Hi.” A sound! at the window attracted his attention,Wand a rubicund visage peered in on him, like the full moon from the face of an old-fashioned clock. fell,” said the full moon. "Ton ougttf to be hamstrung for deserting us on a night like We want you to sing. i}r:nj>tock! Just you get up we’ll snake you out of shop. In the twinkling of an eye.” "I can’t do it. my word to remain here,” said firmly. & “You won’t join 2* “No—l tell you I can’t® Jr*“Then stay and be you,” said 4he full moon, as it set iu » angry cloud. Sr .Luke was left to himsam. After a '’while he fell asleep.. Undreamed that ■ be was in a strange countßf -strange but j beautiful. The sky was ®ep blue, un'«*,f<kej*d by a cloud. Allrnt once there towards the wamer, from •4 cluster of magnolias, an <S man, with two fairy children. As thejglrcw nearer be recognized with awe defeatures of Us father and of the two yVng children, his own, whose ashes jm in the oid Churchyard. They ffw Jp— they turned their glorious faces totprda him. Then in an agony of ijCec# the poor roan W*a rushing rorfrgrdllßt la M> them in his arms; but he had tM power over his limbs'; his feet wceiifiw rooted. And at the same moment •’ ' ""‘dJ in hi-, •ar “Luko thou worthy to loin thoao "Worthy ojrjJT r tlic ,ffort -” afltd the unbgjtpy man. “To »triv4 U to succeed!” answered «. «* I-* Bridgely —

Deacon Bradstoek, standing by the armchair. “Where am T?” asked Luke, gazing •wildly round him. “0, J rmemjber.? - “You can go home now,” said jthe deacpn. “I’ll take my turn. And look here, Luke, as I prevented you from doing your marketing, I thought Jit to be but fair to be. your caterer- forjto-morrow’s dinner. You’ll find everything needful for a good set down in thiA basket.” “Deacon Bradstock,” slid Luke, taking his hand, “you are a good and generous friend to me. How shall I ever repay you?” “There is one thing that would repay me amply,” said the deacon; “but that you’ll never do, I’m afraid.” “And what is that?” asked Luke, with downcast eyes. “Sign the pledge,” replied the deacon. “I would sign the pledge if I thought I could keep it.” “To strive is to succeed,” answered the deacon. “You have used those words before tonight!” cried Luke. “You are mistaken —they haven’t passed my lips,” answered the deacon, smiling. “You are but half awake yet, Luke.” “No —wide awake, thank Heaven!” answered Bridgely. “Give me the pledge—quick! I’ll sign It and I’ll keep it; never "fear me! —There,-the deed.4s dona, and T am a happier man already. Good night,

and a happy new year to you, and a thousand to boot! Good night!” With a heart full to bursting, he caught up the basket and hurried home. His wife was sitting up. Her habitual glance of anxiety changed into relief as she beheld his clear and hopeful countenance. “Dear Martha,” said Luke, “I’m a poor man now, and this is all the new year’s present I can bring you.” He handed her the pledge. She pressed it and the hand that held it to her heart of hearts. It was the preface to a life of chastened happiness. It now hangs, framed in gold, in the elegant drawing room of a gentleman who is proud to call Luke Bridgely father, and who has often heard from his own lips the story of One New Year’s Eve.

The Mistletoe.

some pretty traditions uectedthe use of the this season of the je..r that date hfUdHK' Britons worslnped the goJtgod of the sun. Of course the Wither solstice, or the turning point of ttye sun in its course, the change from decreasing to increasing length of duys, was ari oe-i casion for rejoicing among that people. Their customs, practiced by the Druid priests, were therefore appropriate. They went out at this season of the year to gather the revered mistletoe nnd it is significant that they cured for none but that which grew upon the trunk of an oak tree which was sacred to the sun god. Two white bullocks .were led out and tied to the oak tree upon which the plant was found. When the mistletoe had been detached by the priests the bullocks were sacrificed. The mistletoe was hung up above the doors of the houses to insure good luck for the year that was about to begin. In Xortnandy the plants are still gathered in greait quantities and shipped to England and America for what purposes we weH know. The hanging up of the mistletoe seems to reflect somewhat the custom of the Druids and the Briton* of centuries ago. The mistletoe grows ia BagUnd -a IVI j, ... X‘.. ..t ■ .ki . - j .

parts of France, especially on apple trees. Sq. closely does it cling to the trees that it slips their life and often kills them.