The Christmas Bride, the old story so often told of true love and a
world so cold. When Christmas Day, my tale begins, loud and joyous,
the church chime rings a bride so fair, yet pensive, sad,
while on this day all seemed glad except this one, for she had fled
against her parent's wish to wed the one who now stands by her side.
She gave up all to be his bride, home, parents, friends,
and comforts too. In the small village where she grew to be the joy
and pride of all who knew of her, both great and small. She
was a teacher and the best. Her pupils loved her with the rest,
and John dear, loving, honest boy to him, she was his every
joy. He had loved her long and well more dear to him than tongue
could tell. Her every wish was to him law, nor could he in
her or see a flaw. Poor boy. She liked him, but then
he did not impress as some men whom she had seen and heard about.
Though he was manly, true and stout of heart, and always ready too
to serve her just the best he knew. She admired him and all his
ways, But then her eyes before his gaze, could not meet his,
For there she read what at that time she wished unsaid, much too tender
to cause him pain or treat his love with cold disdain for another one held
all her thought, But this to hide from John she sought, for he
had come one summer day and stole poor Mamie's hard away. In him,
she fancied she had found the hero which her dreams had crowned. He was
tall, dashing in his ways, spoke soft and low, nor stinted praise,
and o'er her mind he had full sway. John was forgotten from that
day. All took him for the favored swain, until the city stranger came
stole her from him. And I'll be side on Christmas Day to be his
bride. The same old story often told she'd taken the dross for the gold
time alone. Its tale would tell reveal what others knew quite well, that
he was a most depraved knave to gambling, and I'll vice the slave.
Her eyes opened, But when too late to save herself from such a fate,
she was alas a gambler's wife, for better or worse all her life,
the worse and not the better came, although she tried just the same
to win him from his wickedness, his gambling, and his drunkenness. A
sad awakening, indeed was hers days spent in wretchedness and tears, and far
along into the night, waiting, watching for the dread sight the hero of
her dreams uncrowned, her bright hopes dashed to the ground. Many a Christmas
come and go, bringing little joy and much woe. First a baby girl
than a boy, These constituted all her joy. Long years have passed,
years of pain, and Christmas time has come again. What changes in those
years have come to Mamie? Daughter and son, A widow now and in
distress. Her husband left her penny less five years ago he passed away,
but she has managed till this day to meet the wants of those she loved.
A heavy task and one that proved too great a load for her frail
form, with sickness, grief, and anguish worn. The boy, a
sturdy little lad to lend his help, was ever glad his sister with her
loving care. Her mother's anguish tried to share. Sickness sorrow had done their
worst, and Mamie thought her heart would burst as she no longer could provide
for those dearer than all beside to her they were her very life, none
more dear since she'd been a wife. We'll leave them for a little space
another life in this tale to trace, John too had left the veiling glen
where life to him had pleasant been, For Mamie was his source of joy.
She had gone, And a last, poor boy, what had been
bliss to him before now brought sorrow to his door. For every scene and
every face reminded him of her. The place full of delight when she was
there, now held for him but deep despair. Thus John also went his
way, and it knew him not from that day with him too. Ten
years have passed flown, you may say, they've gone so fast. Arsene
now not a village neat, but city large, a busy street where traffic
of the densest kind thrust thoughts of rural scenes behind, where buildings towering to
the skies attract attention by their size, and men employed in deadly strife for
what money, their god, their life will enter here a monstrous pile,
a building of the latest style, where almost dwells a merchant prince, yes,
dwells for It is not long since this merchant from the lowest round,
by centering all his will, has found the topmost limit of his fame,
made for himself a mighty name. From east to west. He is well
known in every village and small town. Is he happy? Well, may
we ask, since he has achieved this great task, a mighty power he
has become. But then, well, what about his home? Has he
any loving wife whose smile welcomes to his home, and the while, with
gentle hands pressed to his face, tries to read his every thought and trace
with anxious eyes that search him through to see if there are troubles, new
that she might ease them with her care, and thus with the dear one,
to share what she would bear full well as he sharing with him the
stormy sea of life, with all its joys and woes. His friends are
hers, as are his foes. Home with loving wife, children too,
were lovering supreme known to few. Is this the incentive to his fame?
This the power behind his name? No, this desire to lose all thought
of just such scenes is what he sought, plunging into the whirl and strife
they served for him as child and wife. No home, just where to
lay his head, business thoughts to all others, dead happiness, Why it
long had flown these many years he had not known. We'll look now at
this merchant prince we may have known him not long since, engrossed in thoughts
and sitting there amidst a whirl of business care, a man with brow of
noble height, fitted by nature for the fight, a man of men who
commands respect, one of great power and intellect. Years indeed have changed his
face. Still in the noble lines we trace our old friend John. What
can it be, yes, dear reader, indeed tis he Years have brought
him a noble mien, with greatness and much worldly gain. But in his
face our lines of care for happiness is absent. There. Yes, it
is John, still kind and true in all else, the same John we
knew, older, more thoughtful, still the same, spite of the greatness
of his name. See with what kindly smile he greets, that little boy
who from the streets with papers to his desk, has come trying to help
with the small sum he may earn in this humble way those he loves.
And from day to day he's here, and John has seen him offt greeting
him in tones mild and soft. What is your name, my little lad?
We hear John say, His eyes looked sad to see this one,
so young and fair, with sparkling eyes and curly hair, neatly dressed and
winning ways. Mayhap he had seen better days, John, sir, he
in answering, said, and Ma's sick and pa is dead. Why that
is my name too, my boy, said John, and to the other's
joy, gave him a sum, with which he fled to his poor mother,
now ill in bed. It's Christmas Eve, and with what joy the
mother greets her darling boy. A great hotel is our next scene, which
decked in festive holly green and flashing lights and busy throng, a scene to
be remembered long. We see crowds hurrying to and fro. Some are coming
while others go, making a picture full of life, a whirl, a
rush, an endless strife to one not used to city ways, filling with
wonder and a maze. That little girl with bashful air selling flowers. She
seems so fair many by, and they little know what bring the blushes to
her brow. Tis pleasure, yes, and also pain to think that with
this little gain she may restore to that mother dear health, happiness, and
some good cheer, nurtured with most tender care. Out of place was her
presence there? Why here again? As our friend John, amidst this whirl
and busy throng, the child attracts him by her grace, something so winning
in her face? Or does he see some likeness there of one who wants
to him? Was dear? He approaches her, asks her name, Mamie,
sir quick The answer came Mamie, he said, to her surprise,
looking into her deep dark eyes, her mother's eyes. Yes, they were
hers. No thought of this to John occurs, But the attraction was the
same as once again he heard her name. Why are you here? He
kindly said, Mama is sick and Pa is dead. She answered in the
simplest way. John heard this once before. Today he asked, have you
a brother? John? He spoke so kind, the little one was drawn
to him and answered yes. Did he not now the secret guess that she
was Mamie's child? The name ever dear to him, loved the same,
for all his thoughts were of her still through all these years. Nor thought
he ill that the one he loved had fled from him her own heart's choice
to wed. He had loved her with unselfish love, his own heart crushed
still, he strove her memory in his heart to shrine to him. She
still was all divine. He knew not where she'd gone, nor thought the
battle poor Mami had fought, the shame, the poverty, the disgrace that
she had found in that same place where he had made a name so great.
It all seemed like the hand of fate that these two, to Mami
so dear, should receive from him Christmas cheer. Their story so impressed his
mind, the names too, and he thought he'd find just where they lived.
He would call on Christmas Day and see them all. Bought her flowers
her little store with more than she had seen before. He then dismissed her
to her home, telling the time that he would come. The bells rang
out tis Christmas Day, and kind Santa Claus with his sleigh has called at
all the homes he knew, dear reader, they were not a few.
Hearts were made glad and faces bright that they'd been thought of in the night.
Stockings filled and tables grown of many who dread want had known will visit
Mamie in her home. Here want and poverty had come. Old Santa Claus
too had been here, bringing happiness and good cheer. A large tree in
the parlor stood decked with things useful and good, and Mamie's face it shone
with joy, as her daughter and darling boy repeat the story of the one
who to them this great good had done. Who could he be John?
That's his name, she conned it? Or in or again? Could it
be the kind John she knew so many long years ago, and who loved
her? Yes, now she knew quite well, alas had she. But
let him tell his love for her before he came, that stranger, and
whose very name long since loathsome to her, and who had outraged every good
she knew well well, she thought enough of this twas not to be.
We do not miss the joy and bliss that might be ours until they're gone,
and all the powers cannot recall the past, nor say what may be
in store for us today. Hark is that a knock at the door.
The clock has struck the hour of four, the hour he named the stranger
John. Listen, children, he's come, He's come. They hastened to
the door tis he. They both are glad his face to see each takes
a hand of the kind friend whose thoughtfulness deigned to send those rich gifts to
that mother dear. Their hearts were full. They brought him nearer to their
loved one and his own, the one who was his joy and crown Mamie
John. On was all that was said, as each the other's thoughts now
read. She saw in his eyes the same deep love now long dearer to
her, far above all things else which this world could hold, and wondered
why she'd been so cold. He saw all this and read her thought his
Mami, indeed is what he sought. Such a Christmas, so blest with
joy. Their hearts were full without alloy, Another Christmas and another bride.
And now tis John stands by her side, Mami, older yet full of
grace. Happiness now lights up her face, joy as hers, for she
now has found in him all that her fancy crowned, Ring joyous bells with
merry chime, This merry, merry Christmas time and of the Christmas Bride.
By Charles Nicholas Trevis