Daily capital journal. (Salem, Oregon) 1903-1919, 1911-01-02

= Written for The Capital Jour =
: nails New Years Edition by =
4 Jean Seymour.
- = : %++ = : ? = =
For weeks Salem has celebrated the
holiday season. The windows, from
tbose of the madly gay toy shops
down 10 the undertaking establish
mpnt have been hung with holl!
wreaths and mistletOe clumps.
Even Uncle Sam lent himself to the
festive spirit and the interior OF the
postofFice was adorned with huge
lunches Of mistletoe. Mail carrying
service was doubled Special proH-
sious were made for handling and
weighing parcels. Long lines OF peo-
ple waited patiently and smilingly.
The postoftice clerks. if they wearled
of foot. never wearied Of pleasant
service. Salem gave herself in gifts
and that with great JOY in the giving
Streets were crowded and stores
iammed with eager shoppers. Every
pretty woman dressed herself as for
making calls when she went down the
street for Christmas buying Bunches
of violets nestled in her muff on the
holly's red berries and shining green
leaves glowed from her furs. Salem S
women added themselves beautifully
and appropriately to the season
gayety. Christmas trees were hauled
in from the country by every street;
Christmas decorations were every
where; Christmas spirit a big gener-
GUS and good spirit, was rife all over
the city.
On a prominent corner the Saliva
ton Army kept a constant bell ring
ing to attract attention to their
Keep the Pot Boiling sign. One
day | glanced into that pot, half
dreading to see the usual church col
lection of nickels, dimes and pennies,
with an occasional quarter But no
such a collection was there. The
bottom of that pot was hidden with
dollars and half dollars-and was
that the golden CLEAN of five dol
lar piece or only new Lincoln PEN
ny?
But before | could walk the street
on Christmas eve and gaze through
the windows at the sparkling gift
trees, twinkling with myriad lights,
I left town for a quiet celebration at
home on the farm.
Today, when | returned | watched
for the signs of change in Sweet Sa-
lem. The holly wreaths still glOwed
in the windows-just a little dry and
withered. The mistletoe boughs still
hung on the porches, but even under
the mistletoe, the boldest youth would
not rob the sweetest maid on New
Years eve The surface brilliance
remains but the real holiday spirit
has gone.
A little of the reaction has set in.
Tomorrow is a thoughtful day, a day
of new beginnings, of fresh starts
There is a solemnity in the air to-
night. | know the mist is falling
past the lights in just last weeks en-
hancing manner; that the wide, wet
streets reflect in shining, wavering
lines the electric lamps and sign
boards; that the capitol building
rears aloft it's cluster of stars; that
the court house with its pure color,
pure lines and bright windows, all
against the blackness of the sky,
looks just as much as ever like a
materialized Max Parish. But tonight
| do not want to wander. | want
just to sit in my newly acquired
house, and absorb the personality of
the Lady of Peace who used to live
here. want to watch the old year
out and the New Year in by my own
Quiet fire. l want to dream and re-
member and hope.
So | do and my fire is splendid
All underneath is glowing, ruddy,
pulsating bed of Goals. There is a
half burned chunk with round
knot hole from which waves tall
flag Of flame, That is the burning
pitch, yielding its pungent, woody
odor. Up from behind the back log
tall forked tongues of flames are
shooting. From the oak log on ton
comes a smothered cracking and
popping; there is little half whist
ling breath of the fire in the chin
ney draft and a subdued and sleepy
purr from the whole mass. | sit still
and listen to the life, the very heart
peat and pulse throb of my fire. l
nave but to close my eyes and feel
myself (by the soul and atmosphere
OF my city hearth) transported to the
Ut woods; to fancy the fire running
up the side of splendid tree, crack
ing and swapping into it's needles
throwing a glare of light on the near
oy trees, and all around-behind, he
lore and on the sides-the night the
mountains and the Oregon woods.
the odor Of the frs, the soft sigh Of
their wind-stirred branches the
splendor the mystery, the marvellous
glamour of the forest at night, with
stars overhead and cracking fire
at the feet y
Blessings on my fireplace which
sets me from town and puts me In
the woods, if but for half an hour of
dreaming. ~ 0i
But bark, the bells! NV mantle
clock is striking IL. | throw wide
the door and breathe dooo H., -,