St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1892-12-12

The spirit of Christmas is abroad in
the land. We see it in all the shop
windows. The book stores are full of
lovely books in holiday bindings. No
body is forgotten. There are fairy-like
books all in white covers that hold del
lcate pictures, fac-similies of the paint
ingS Of the greatest Water-cOlor artists,
these for MY Lady's hand''. Sober
books in russell and gold hold more seri-
Gus things for soberer people. Little
,grotesQue books whose bindings are
cut in the form of the animals they tell
about are for the little people who have
not yet wandered far enough from the
border land to forget that kittie and the
pug or serious st. Bernard can talk as
we'll as the rest of folks.
The dry goods shops show more won
ders of fancy work, delicate creations
ofneedle and brush, than all the DOrcuS
societies OF our childhood ever dreamed
of. There are wonders of sofa pillows
that ought to bring only rest and pleas
ant dreams to whoever is fortunate
enough to be allowed to rest his head
upon them, whatever state his con-
science may be in.
Bits of dainty things to charm the
sthid hOusekeeper's eyes, loves of rib
bons fit to tie a true lovers heart up in,
dreams of material for girliSh gowns
thar should cover only sunny hearts,
dOWny bed coverings such as grandma
loves, warm gloves that fit the hand as
close as the clasp OF friend for father,
smoking Jackets for Tom that are as
comforting as the smile of sweet
heart, and oceans of things beside to
please everyday common people.
The florists know it and hang out
wreathS that are greener than any
leaves that grew in Vallambrosa. bits of
glStening holly thick-set with cleaning
bits Of coral. Queer, dry looking things
are here. that by and by under foster
ing care and the judicious application of
warm water, bloom out into ghost-ike
Christmas roses, like the faint color
called to a faded Woman'S cheek by a
little word of praise from the man she
owed and married years ago. He has
sprays of greenish gray, or grayiSh
green that recall the rites of the old
DruiGs, and whose presence yet gives
sanction to stolen kisses, from any
caught under the shadow of the mistle-
zoe.
We feel it in the multiplying fire.
luency Of charity baZars or fairs for this
Of that good cause. Even Cr9sus has
caught the spirit of the times, and can
not be comfortable amid his luxury
while Lazarus goes shivering past his
well closed doors. We feel it in the
street cars as we go home late these
cold evenings, and see the tired mothers
going home from work carrying
lueer-looking parcels that they touch
with tender clinging fingers as
+ they feared that the jostle of the car
Dr. the crush of the hurrying, hungry
men might break or mar their tender
little gifts. Grim-loOking men carry
)rdnary-looking baskets covered with
bit of paper. AS you see the glisten of
The eye, the slow, satisfied parting of
the bearded lips, as taking Surreptitious
peeps under hepaper cover. they groWl
out curt explanations to fellow coun-
tryman, with hand on his distended
pocket, in the language of KOsciuSkO, or
La Fayette, or Bismarck, or perchance
Of free America.
We feel it in all sorts of intangible
ways. The cold, crisp air suggests
Christmas cheer, but alas! for the fin
tie sipcle' child the glory of Christmas
has departed. What thinking child
could believe the dear old myth of
Santa Claus, and the "eight tiny rein
dterS." when there is not single Chin
ney big enough for full-grown brownie
to come down, in the whole big pile of
brick and plaster that he calls home?
The yule log burnt out long ago in
our own America, can these square
holes covered with IRON grating, or coils
of iron pipe take the place of the open
fire that was so prolific breeder of
delicate fancies-fruitful field, in which
all sorts of tender beliefs grew and
bloomed? We are too practical now to
believe much in anything, one would
think, looking at this rushing crowd of
busy shoppers, but down in our heart of
hearts let us keep alive that spirit of
love and good will, that essence of true
brotherhood, Of which the dear Christ
mas myths were but faint foresha-
lowing. AUNT POLLY.