SANTA-CLAUS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2650, 28 December 1904, Page 80

SANTA-CLAUS.

Have- any of, you read, .the following?^ Who *he writer is-I do> riot know; 'as- it is".ina"rked St Anonymous:-"' in, the volume I hav^ ,taken it from— " A'Book of ' Verses for Children:' By-the : bye, -a.bookseller once^astfedj me who " Anon " " wa&j , he •had-' iiotieed t'nat^lie, was a anost prolifict "writer, but .that was-'all he knew about-" him. ! ' --■■-, 'He conies in the' night! He comes in' the night! x - He softly, silently conies : „ .* SVhile the little brown heads on the pillows so white \, -■ ;• v - Are dreaming of bugles and- drums. - He cuts through the snow like" a ship -through the foam, — ' _ While the white flakes around him whirl;. Who tells Mm I know hot, but lie findeth the home Of each good little boy and girl. Hjb sleigh it is long, and deep,' and wide ; It will carry a host of things, .While dozens of drums hang over the side, With the sticks sticking under- the strings. "And yet not the sound of a drum is heard, Not a bugle blast is blown, As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird, And -drops -to the hearth like a atone. The little red stockings he silently fills, Till: the stockings will, hold no more ; The bright little sleds for the great snow hills Are quickly set down on the floor. Then Santa. Claus mounts to the roof like a Tjiid, And glides to his seat in the sleigh ; Kot the^sound of a bugle or drum is heard As he noiselessly gallops away. He 'rides to the east, and he rides to the west, Of his goodies he touches not one ; Heeatetb. the crumbs of the Christmas feast When the dear little folks are done. Old Santa Claus doetli all that he can; This beautiful mission is his; JJlien, children; be good to tihe little old man, JWTien yoa find wno the little man is. Here is another piece: — WHY SANTA LAUGHED* By Alice Lotheringtoa. Upon a snowy Christmas evo. The stockmg3 hung in line, P.US 9 log asleep upon the rivs,

The clock tick, tocked in rhyme, The .pendulum swung to and fro, The hands went round the face, And marked the minutes and the hours < As they flew on apace. The clock had just struck out the hour, And told the folks, " all's -well," When out upon the midnight clear \ % Game merry sound of bell. Look! down the chimney black and grim', Saint Nick and pack appear, He one by one the stockings fills, Then cries, "What have we here?" For there upon the mantel shelf, The last one in the row, Was hung a stocking, oh so big, With note pinned to the toe. " What's this." cried Santa with a laugh, •' Shall I this note unpin?" * To s«nta. Claus, from the North Pole,' " Yes, yes, I'll peep within." And as he read his eyes grew bright, ~ He smiled and bobbed his head, For, in that note pinned to the toe, • This brief request he read : — " Dear Santa, will you kindly fill This stocking for the poor?- ' And give us less this Xmasiide, Signed, Willie and Fred Moore." ; " Ho. ho," said Santa with a smile, " Kind little folks/ live here, ■ This stocking will I fill to top With merry -Christmas cheer. A happy Christmas will I leave To these dear boys, be sure, > Who mid their joy did nob forget^ A stocking for' the poor." 1 - The" following is for more mature minds r — V ' /■ CHRISTMAS' BELLS. -■ . ' I, heard the hells 6nV Christinas Day Their old^ familiar carols' play, " „ ' ,' And, wild> and svreei;, The words repeat Of- peace "on earth, good-will to men ; And -tho-ughit how, as the day had come, The, belfries cf all " Had -rolled along The. unbroken 'song ' Of peace on earth/goodwill to men, Till, ringing, singing on its way, • The world revolved from night to day, ,A voice, a chime, A chant sublime Of peace* on earth, goodwill to men. Then from each black, accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South, _And, with the sound, The carols "drowned Of peace on eaxth, good-will to men. It was as if an earthquake rent The hearth-stones of a continent, And made forlorn The households born Of peace on earth, goodwill to men. And in despair, I bowed my head; " There is no peace on earth," I said ; " For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth goodwill to men." Then pealed the bells more loud and deep : " God is not dead ; nor doth He .sleep ; The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, With peace on earth, goodwill to men." Arid' now I conclude with an historical Christmas, tale from the same source, though it -is an adaptation from a story in St. Nicholas ; and with the hope that you will VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS. SANTA CLAUS'S PONY. It was a little -town in Belgium. There were storks' nests on the high red roofs, to which the children pointed as they pattered by in their 1 little wooden shoes ; and there were small carts drawn by strongdraught doge of Flemish breed, looking at their owners with patient, faithful eyes. There were old churches and houses, telling a story in wood or stone to every passer-by. ' In one of these old houses, built with queer gables and little balconies, and with a date and the name of the builder carved over the" door, once lived two boys — Jan and Peter Stein. They were sons of a thrifty, honest Flemish burgher, who gave with an open hand to "God's poor," of whom there were many 'during the sad wars of those days. There were so many, indeed, that the good burgher's own household lived very plainly, except at the joyous Christmas time, when all Christians keep feast. The children in Belgium have a charming Christmas legend about Santa Claus's pony. They always place their wooden shoes on the window-ledge, stuffed full of hay, or oats and chaff, for the " dear Christmas pony." In the early morning they run on tiptoe to look, and behold ! the fodder is all gone, and the shoes are brimming over with toys and sweetmeats ! Then the children clap their hands with glee, and wish they could only have waked in time to see the pony munching his oats. That would have been such fun ! Christmas week in Burgher Stein's household was one of great plenty; and not only every friend, but every beggar that knocked •at the Bide door had a share. There were black puddings, geese stuffed with chestnuts, and more than one noble turkey with' truffles ; and, for at least a week beforehand, was the little mother busy in th& kitchen, mixing the rich wafers that made little Pater's mouth water when he happened to be thinking of them, even on a midsummer day. * Jan wa6 four years, ajid a-half older than.

Peter, and he did not care so much either about the plain living all the year or the stuffed geese and wafers aib Christmas; he wanted to go to SGhool at the " Griffin House," as he called the old stone building, carved with griffins and dragons for waterspouts, and gargoyles, and gable-ends, where they taught drawing and carving- and architecture, as well as other (things less delightful. Now, he and Peter went to school to Captain Jacobi, who asked very little money, but also taught very little" knowledge. How could he when ho had been fighting all the time until he had lost his leg? If Jan had wanted, indeed, to hear about battles and sieges — but Jan's heart was set upon building up in stone and marble some of the fairy dreams he had in his brain. He loved even the queer old stone griffins on the sehoolhouse, with the quirks in their impossible tails. But the tender-hearted burgher could never keep money enough in his purse to send Jan there — certainly not to send both of his boys, — and h© and Peterkin had never been separated in all of Peter's short life. No; Jan"s heart sank; it was altogether impossible. " Go, boys," called their mother from the spicy, steamy kitchen, "go quickly, and bring home the red cow. She has strayed away to the marsh; but be careful, boys, don't stay owl; after sunset. It is Christmas Eve, remember." As if they had forgotten it for one moment during .the day ! As if their Sunday shoes were not already "arranged 1 on the tall window-ledge, and filled with oats and hay. arid grass, for the Christmas pony ! _To Peterkin-'s affedtionate heart, the Christmas pony was wonderful and glorified creature. On* summer holidays, when Santa Claus was busy in his workshop fashioning -toys for winter delights, he used to imagine the graceful white creature, with its fiery, shining eyes and long waving mane and tail, enjoying many an untrammelled run and caper in a 'pasture clothed with waving green grass. Having once seen a picture of »fche Greeks Pegasus, he confessed to his brother that he never thereafter thought of the Christmas pony without wings, though hidden, doubtless, to ordinary vision by his long silvery mane. He believed firmly that one night he had actually heard him neigh soMy and paw at the wooden ledge. Both the boys_ were restless — " Christmas was in their bones," — and so they ran with delight along the frozen path to the marshes to find Bertha, the red cow that had gone astray. The ground was co level that they could see all round them for a great distance; and there, sure enough, was Bertha, looking disappointedly at the withered grasses on the farther edge of the marsh. She seemed redder than ever in the glow of the sky, whioh was a deep red, with a few dark clouds above like smoke. " It looks like a goblin smithy," said Jan. " Where they shoe with silver the Christmas pony," added Peter, laughing. He put his hands on each side of his mouth to call Bertha home, when a sudden, sharp, ringing sound, as of hoofs striking on the frozen ground, made him pause, and, around a small clump of trees on one side of them, came a little girl of 13 or 14- years riding a white pony, at t v e sight of which -little Peter's breath cams qiu'ok,' and his cheeks flushed; for had it not Bright eyes, and a long silky mane aud tail, and was not the bridle shining with rich me-tal-work? Its rider, the young girl, drew rein and checked her pony's speed as soon as she saw the boy 3. Her eyes were black and lustrous, and her Hair dark. She did not look like Ifche girls Flanders, nor was her dress' like theirs, and when she spoke it was with a decidedly foreign accent. "You are Flemish boys, I see," she said, addressing Jan, and her voice was very sweet. " Can you tell me in what direction the castle lies? I thought it could be se-en anywhere in this flat country." "It is the old windmill H.hat cuts off the view here," answered Jan ; " but, after you cross ihe marsh yonder, it is visible again. It is not far away." " Then I will wait for the others," said the little lady, for so she seemed to be from her manner and look. "I was going to spend Christmas Eve with my godmc|bher — ' at the castle, — and my father did not return. So, as I wished very much to go, the steward and the governess prepared to go with me, and they were so slow — oh, co slow! — that my pony ran away, and I find myseUfclost." But there was a ring of mischievous laughter in the last sentence, and Jan suspected the pony was not altogether to blame. "Is this the Christmas pony?" suddenly asked Peterkin, after an absorbing gaze at the pretty white creature. "Is it ? Oh, yes, it is Santa Claus's pony!"' she answered, with a merry glance at Jan, and eyes, lips, and dimples overbrimming with silent laughter. She evidently remembered the Flemish legend. " Come," she said suddenly to Jan, with childlike impulse, "since I have to wait, tell me about yourselves ; tell me what you would rather have— oh. of all things in the whole wide world! — for your Christmas gift!" Children's hearts fly quickly open, and Jan was soon telling her, while she listened , with wide, eager eyas, of his dream of going to the " Griffin House," and learning to build churches and palaces ; and how he CQuld noj> do it because he could never

have the heart to rob "God's poor" of his father's aid in charity. Nor would he go without Peter. They were talking so eagerly that another rider was with them before ihey noticed his approach; a tall, dignified, darklooking gen'fcleman, wrapped in a long Spanish cloak and wearing a plumed hat. At the sight of him and the sound of the young girl's rapturous cry, "Father!" Jan's lips closed, and a sullen and lowering look came over his frank face., He replied but mrtly to their thanks, and turned to his brother. " Call Bertha, Peter, and le'fc us go home." " Bertha has gone, brother " ; and so she had, like a sensible cow, mindful of supper and shelter; and the sunset fires of the winter sky were burned almost to embers. They had separated, the young rider with a hurt, amazed look on her face, when Jan turned -back and said to *the gentleman: "Do not cross the marsh there. The holen are black and deep, and dangerous for horses. Take the longer road around; you will be at your goal the sooner — and the safer." "You do not like to warn us," said the Spaniard, looking curiously at the halfav&rted, reluctant face. " Why?" "Because you are Spanish,". answered the lad, his honest grey eyes suddenly aflame. "Who is your father?"' questioned the Spaniard. . Jan's heart filled with dismay and fear. - He remembered that he^ had" told the \ daughter already, 'however! " There is no need to tell," He answered sturdily. "I have 'hot' been, treacherous to you, at least " ; and his' eyes sought the girl's eyes in warning. '' > - She spoke quickly in spite of a frown on her father's brow: "No; you have been a . generous foe. We owe you only thanks." There was a suspicion of tearis about her long, lashes, and Jan found it hard to listen to little Peter as they hastened homeward. " It is efcrange she should have the Christmas pony," he was saying' in a perplexed tone. i " Strange things always happen--at Christmas," his brother answered dreamily. Next morning a silken purse of gold pieces hung outside the window, with a scrool . attached:— "For Jan and Peter Stein, that they may go to the School of the Griffins. — From Santa Claus's Pony." ' Jan Stein's desire was fulfilled. He and Peter went to the Griffin School, and learned all abouib carving and-- building in wood and stone. They used to plan together what they would build/ as soon as they were grown; big churches, perhaps, and stately houses, but certainly a town hall for their own dear town, for the old one had 'been quite ruined by Spanish shells. Jan would have it adorned with pictures from its own history, and with carvings of familiar leaves and blossoms, and ot common animals, 'with their homely, j everyday ways. ; " The storks on their rough nests, and \ the big dogs harnessed to the cart — these ' would I have," said Jan. "And the Christmas pony!" exclaimed Peter, his eyes kindling with the old enthusiasm. "On the central tablet would I oarve him. and he should have wings to show he is of no common stock, but of heavenly breed and nature, and little panniers on his back, out of which crowd all kinds of toys, and, in front, a child's shoes full of grass and' barley. That should be my part, and under it would be only Peterkin, for the name of the carver." "Why?" asked Jan, wonderingly, for this was his only home-name. "Because I shall be always 'little Peter' beside you, brother!" Peter took the greatest delight in thinking how gr&at and famous Ja.n would b& some day ; and then, he 'thought, Jan would meet the little Spanish lady, and they would be true friends. Peter did not live to see Jan's success, for he died while they were students." But "I think Jan did no work J without writing under his own name that j of Peter Stein, since, surely, it was his brother's thought as well_ as his, though only Jan's hand carved it in stone !