Christmas Memories.

Otago Witness, 5 December 1900, Page 41

Christmas Memories.

(By E. G. H.)

[Specially Written for the Otago Daily Times and Witness Christmas Annual.]

Christmas bells — Christmas bells ! To-night they are ringing in my ears with unceasing reiteration. Outside, from the church in the valley, the chimes ring out. The wind catches up the strain and wafts it along the silver-crested sea and across the white cragged mountain. Hush ! hear how it echoes away in the starlit night : list to its wild refrain far up where the storm-clouds wrap the giant peaks in sombre shadows ; hark to the wailing in the quivering oaks ; and hear it again as it floats along the ruffled breast of the broad river. Out 'neath the great blue canopy its sad pulsations stir many an old memory.

O happy bells, cease thy chiming — stay thy mocking ! Or is it in my own heart that the echoes re-echo? Is it I who interpret the chimes to my own heart's tuning? I sit before my fire and memories come rushing along unbidden — yet unchecked. What mystic key has xxnlocked the gate of my heart? — what weird fancy has broken all barriers and let oldtime thoughts run riot within? The bells ring on unheeded now. The flickering firelight bewitches me and wraps me in a strange enchantment. Over the past years my thoughts take wing. The old, old Christmastides come back with the giftladen Christmas tree, whose branches bent for a childish hand to unburden : old Santa Claus, who filled our stockings only after our sleepy eyelids had refused longer to watch for his coming; the dear father and mother gone so long ago — to think the memory would stab so keenly after all these years !

From the glowing embers another fair picture rises. The same old home, now gay with the laughter of fair maidens and gallant youths. Our old church, with its altar rails decked in flowers ; a band of sweet sisters ; and tall and strong the man whose life I henceforth share. The quaint, grey church and its bridal music fade from my thoughts, and I see a fair sweet picture — fair enough to thrill any mother's heart. Nestling in its white wrappings, like a white rosebud in its mossy setting, I see a tiny infant — my own firstborn — my first sweet babe. Then the pictures rise fast and plain. I see, one by one, fair children around me, all bound by golden links of love. The years speed on. I hear, amid a rush of memories, murmurs of congratulation. They tell me in glad tones that my bonnie lad — ray firstborn — has been chosen from many aspirants, and that his home evermore may be on the world

of waters. I stand on the deck of his beautiful ship to say my farewell, and the sunlight flashes on his sunny hair and bright uniform. His blue eyes are dancing like the lapping wavelets and even now his lips are framing a gleeful homecoming. And then — and then. Where coral reefs hide their stealthy dangers under a fatal calm, a mist-shrouded vessel crashed on its hidden bars. I can say no more.

I see another laddie go forth in the world with his manhood's duty in front of him, and a mother's breaking heart behind him. I see in the firelight again the waving banners and eager throng. I hear the stirring strains of the martial music, and I see my handsome soldier laddie march past, with head erect and flashing eye. He came to me to say goodbye, with brilliant hopes and highest aims. He was going to win his spurs — his laurels. "Sans peur et sans reproche" would be ever his motto ! A Bayard in all things would he strive to be. Ah, me ! Ah, me ! How can I say on? Ere the autumn had tinged the fallen leaves to the hue of his young life's blood they told me the end of that youthful planning. His plans, stayed by One who knoweth best^ — his laurels reaped by King Azrae] with his grim scythe. What comf orteth it that they whispered he fell as a hero falls ! What caret h I that his sword was dyed and shattered — that the flag he had vowed to save had been wrested from his foeman's hands.

To-night I forget that it has all passed so long ago. 1 see my lads before me again, one in his dark blue — the other in his vivid red. The uniforms vanish and they stand before me in guernsey and stocking, football in hand, elated over some school victory. The football glides from my sight, and the firegleam shows me two wee boys in cricketing flannels ready for a great contest. And backward my thoughts fly until I hoM them in my arms again, and nestle them to my heart. And then the sad mind-pictures fade away. The spell of the firelight is past. I hear the bells still ringing without, but now they thrill me with a strange peacefulness. I leave my laddies to God — one wrapped in his cloak and buried deep where the soft Indian winds moan a requiem over him ; and one far down in the ocean's caves, where the wild waves sing ever a dirge to my sailor son. And the pain goes — my tear-dimmed eyes brighten. I hear my girl's sweet laughter, the rollicksome tones of my youngest born, the firm step of another tall son, coming to rouse me from my reverie. I think of the golden links that remain in the chain of life, and I moan no more. I leave the firelight, with its strange glamour and mystic shadows. Igoto my loved ones, and with them listen to the bells. The dark hour has passed, and now I hear the note of joy in its soft clanging. It speaks "of peace and mercy mild ; God and sinner reconciled !" and peace steals over my storm-tossed heart.

O breezes, waft the notes of joy far and wide. Carry the peace message on thy silent wings over rock-crowned hills and sombre valleys. Ye restless sea, bid thy silver waves catch up the echoes as they break on the white sands below and bear them away — away — for, like oil on thy troubled waters, the glad tones speak to me of rest — rest and peace : glad tidings of good things. The past is past, with its pleasures and pains, and this, the keynote of a brighter future, deadens the pain and banishes the dark shadows. Ring on, ring on, 0 bells, and as thy sweet cadences float over the snow-wrapped earth out on the night-wind be it a happy token of the Christmastide To one and all, A HAPPY CHRISTMAS AND A BRIGHT NEW YEAR.

The ex-Queen of Italy is a firm believer in a " Merry Christmas," and among her many innovations in the Court observation of Yule-tide is the Christmas tree. The selection of the hundreds of presents on the tree is a delight to her ; and as no one in the Imperial household is overlooked, the Christmas tree excites as much enthusiasm in an Italian palace as in an English farmhouse.

Three Centuries Ago. — Mince pies are first mentioned in 1596 as in common use at Christmas-time. Culinary authorities declared that they might be eaten as early as December 14. They were made of mutton, mixed with raisins, cloves, allspice, nuts, and other ingredients.

PRIZE PHOTOGRAPHIC COMPETITION, SECTION 111.