Delaware gazette and state journal. (Wilmington, Del.) 1883-1902, 1900-12-13

Of the women at the tables. Laughter |
and music filed the rooms and Oscar,
the imperturable Oscar, who, however. |
sees everything, walks through the
room to ascertain il things are going
right. Sweet strains of music were
heard; seductive odors of violet, rose
and gardenias, and now and then
Whit of the illuring sandalwood from
some grandame's sables filled the room.
Beth and | hurried out into the dusk
with that oontented feeling that
"peace' that they say ''passes all
understanding" comes only from the
setting we'll Of delicious dish of
escaiole salad, soft canembert and o
demi tasse. The air was full Of good
cheer and here and there the sidewalk
was blocked with good-natured punches
Of humanity.
Watching with interest Santa Claus
with imitation fur gloves and coat
sprinkled with cotton snow and mica
frost, and all that GOES to make up year
after year that symbol Of the dear old
Christmas saint. 1t was motley
crowd one met. Here would DO fash
ionable woman, clad in sables, just
stepping from her brougham and elbow
ing dirty little street gamin with q
red worsted muller; than an oil 1 lady
with the atmosphere of New England
about her; then a prim spinster from
the hall bedroom of clearinghouse.
Humanity is on a level when Santa
Claus comes about Some people tell
me that the sentimect of Christmas Ia
dying out; God forbid 1t may BIO with
those whose palates are slated with
Sybarite pleasures, but, thank God
there are yet people in the world who
can feel lump in their throats and
who can feel their heart strings tighten
when the strain OF the grand old Christ
mas anthems ring out in the frosty air.
There are people yet who hug the de.
hang their stockings up, and who. In
their dreams, hear the reindeer and
silver bells. Thank God for wholesome,
genuine, childish children. and for the
fragrance and rest they bring to the
wor ld-beaten souls. The modern cynios
would rob Mount Olympus OF its gods
would steal from Sir Glahad OF The
forest his white charger, and woulc
make us believe that he rides in AT
automobile. They would make Vi
believe that the rustline of the leare'
Is produced by conclusions In tn,
atmosphere, when we know--we who's
hearts are young and beat with ssnti
ment-that it is the little love message
in the forest, the whispers of happiness
amongst the tall green things.
Bah have no doubt these scientist
would take our hearts out and put IL
their stead well-regulated eleotri
machines. But Christmas ia the tim
to defy them and lot the real blood il
the heart vibrate the wires that connec
direct with that mysterious part Of GU
being that tells US that We are part @
the Divinity. If you feel that all th
sentiment is gone, go one of thes
days off Fifth avenue, across Madiso
avenue on and ON through the long row
of tall, grim looking brown stone houses
until you come to the East Side, an
there look In the little dingy windo
! of some little parlor, and mayhap 20
will see a tree trimmed with brigh
i, uolored balls and tinsel and yarie
colored cornucopias, and paper fairi,
with tartalan skirts, and, above al
!, always, the Mother Angel in wa!
! They are cheap things, gsudy and
!. your artistic eye, perhaps, offensive
but their dull eyes stare at them au
= sad hearts catch from their glow
: glimpse of the world of Dreamland an
q Wonderland.
i When the Cynic prates to me Of des
. sentiment, l always feel would like
!, tell him the story Of the woman NJ
: last Christmas in small village awi
off from the railroad. She stood In Il
grim, cherries graveyard Of the lit
y Methodist church, before two grave
y her tall figure, clad in it's we'll G.
= tailor made gown, the cloak Of pricele
h fur, aud the altogether metropolis
- air attracted my attention. On Il
n grave were wreathes of green's al
A. punches of long stem white roses, al
= down the woman's face, pale and ht
= low and hard and sad, tears trickle
!. She was one of those souls that 4
world calls lost; one of the outcasi
or one of those creatures women do \
= know, men do not pity, and childre
y, thank God, know not of their existenc
n and on this one day she left her iewe
II her illy-gained diamonds and rubi,
q" and the whirlpool OF her life, and Inv
n for the day with the past that had
- her boon clean and wholesome a
Az pure 1t was the only anchor holdi
a her TO womanhood, and, who know
q mayhap it was enough to keep her hei
he in its dsfiled body from utter destrl
ar tion-it was the zone pure spot in
n arid desert of Phyrne's life" So
,ss our heart grow warm these yulet
Iy days; let them glow with few sim
q Joys, and that they may come to u
IL and to you, and to you, is the wish
mr. Portia