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The Christmas Bride, the old story
so often told of true love and a

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world so cold. When Christmas Day, my tale begins, loud and joyous,

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the church chime rings a bride so
fair, yet pensive, sad,

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while on this day all seemed glad
except this one, for she had fled

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against her parent's wish to wed the
one who now stands by her side.

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She gave up all to be his
bride, home, parents, friends,

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and comforts too. In the small
village where she grew to be the joy

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and pride of all who knew of
her, both great and small. She

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was a teacher and the best.
Her pupils loved her with the rest,

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and John dear, loving, honest
boy to him, she was his every

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joy. He had loved her long
and well more dear to him than tongue

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could tell. Her every wish was
to him law, nor could he in

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her or see a flaw. Poor
boy. She liked him, but then

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he did not impress as some men
whom she had seen and heard about.

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Though he was manly, true and
stout of heart, and always ready too

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to serve her just the best he
knew. She admired him and all his

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ways, But then her eyes before
his gaze, could not meet his,

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For there she read what at that
time she wished unsaid, much too tender

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to cause him pain or treat his
love with cold disdain for another one held

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all her thought, But this to
hide from John she sought, for he

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had come one summer day and stole
poor Mamie's hard away. In him,

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she fancied she had found the hero
which her dreams had crowned. He was

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tall, dashing in his ways,
spoke soft and low, nor stinted praise,

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and o'er her mind he had full
sway. John was forgotten from that

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day. All took him for the
favored swain, until the city stranger came

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stole her from him. And I'll
be side on Christmas Day to be his

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bride. The same old story often
told she'd taken the dross for the gold

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time alone. Its tale would tell
reveal what others knew quite well, that

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he was a most depraved knave to
gambling, and I'll vice the slave.

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Her eyes opened, But when too
late to save herself from such a fate,

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she was alas a gambler's wife,
for better or worse all her life,

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the worse and not the better came, although she tried just the same

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to win him from his wickedness,
his gambling, and his drunkenness. A

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sad awakening, indeed was hers days
spent in wretchedness and tears, and far

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along into the night, waiting,
watching for the dread sight the hero of

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her dreams uncrowned, her bright hopes
dashed to the ground. Many a Christmas

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come and go, bringing little joy
and much woe. First a baby girl

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than a boy, These constituted all
her joy. Long years have passed,

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years of pain, and Christmas time
has come again. What changes in those

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years have come to Mamie? Daughter
and son, A widow now and in

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distress. Her husband left her penny
less five years ago he passed away,

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but she has managed till this day
to meet the wants of those she loved.

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A heavy task and one that proved
too great a load for her frail

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form, with sickness, grief,
and anguish worn. The boy, a

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sturdy little lad to lend his help, was ever glad his sister with her

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loving care. Her mother's anguish tried
to share. Sickness sorrow had done their

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worst, and Mamie thought her heart
would burst as she no longer could provide

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for those dearer than all beside to
her they were her very life, none

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more dear since she'd been a wife. We'll leave them for a little space

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another life in this tale to trace, John too had left the veiling glen

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where life to him had pleasant been, For Mamie was his source of joy.

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She had gone, And a last, poor boy, what had been

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bliss to him before now brought sorrow
to his door. For every scene and

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every face reminded him of her.
The place full of delight when she was

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there, now held for him but
deep despair. Thus John also went his

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way, and it knew him not
from that day with him too. Ten

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years have passed flown, you may
say, they've gone so fast. Arsene

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now not a village neat, but
city large, a busy street where traffic

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of the densest kind thrust thoughts of
rural scenes behind, where buildings towering to

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the skies attract attention by their size, and men employed in deadly strife for

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what money, their god, their
life will enter here a monstrous pile,

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a building of the latest style,
where almost dwells a merchant prince, yes,

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dwells for It is not long since
this merchant from the lowest round,

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by centering all his will, has
found the topmost limit of his fame,

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made for himself a mighty name.
From east to west. He is well

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known in every village and small town. Is he happy? Well, may

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we ask, since he has achieved
this great task, a mighty power he

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has become. But then, well, what about his home? Has he

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any loving wife whose smile welcomes to
his home, and the while, with

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gentle hands pressed to his face,
tries to read his every thought and trace

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with anxious eyes that search him through
to see if there are troubles, new

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that she might ease them with her
care, and thus with the dear one,

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to share what she would bear full
well as he sharing with him the

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stormy sea of life, with all
its joys and woes. His friends are

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hers, as are his foes.
Home with loving wife, children too,

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were lovering supreme known to few.
Is this the incentive to his fame?

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This the power behind his name?
No, this desire to lose all thought

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of just such scenes is what he
sought, plunging into the whirl and strife

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they served for him as child and
wife. No home, just where to

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lay his head, business thoughts to
all others, dead happiness, Why it

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long had flown these many years he
had not known. We'll look now at

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this merchant prince we may have known
him not long since, engrossed in thoughts

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and sitting there amidst a whirl of
business care, a man with brow of

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noble height, fitted by nature for
the fight, a man of men who

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commands respect, one of great power
and intellect. Years indeed have changed his

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face. Still in the noble lines
we trace our old friend John. What

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can it be, yes, dear
reader, indeed tis he Years have brought

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him a noble mien, with greatness
and much worldly gain. But in his

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face our lines of care for happiness
is absent. There. Yes, it

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is John, still kind and true
in all else, the same John we

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knew, older, more thoughtful,
still the same, spite of the greatness

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of his name. See with what
kindly smile he greets, that little boy

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who from the streets with papers to
his desk, has come trying to help

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with the small sum he may earn
in this humble way those he loves.

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And from day to day he's here, and John has seen him offt greeting

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him in tones mild and soft.
What is your name, my little lad?

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We hear John say, His eyes
looked sad to see this one,

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so young and fair, with sparkling
eyes and curly hair, neatly dressed and

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winning ways. Mayhap he had seen
better days, John, sir, he

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in answering, said, and Ma's
sick and pa is dead. Why that

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is my name too, my boy, said John, and to the other's

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joy, gave him a sum,
with which he fled to his poor mother,

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now ill in bed. It's Christmas
Eve, and with what joy the

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mother greets her darling boy. A
great hotel is our next scene, which

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decked in festive holly green and flashing
lights and busy throng, a scene to

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be remembered long. We see crowds
hurrying to and fro. Some are coming

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while others go, making a picture
full of life, a whirl, a

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rush, an endless strife to one
not used to city ways, filling with

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wonder and a maze. That little
girl with bashful air selling flowers. She

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seems so fair many by, and
they little know what bring the blushes to

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her brow. Tis pleasure, yes, and also pain to think that with

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this little gain she may restore to
that mother dear health, happiness, and

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some good cheer, nurtured with most
tender care. Out of place was her

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presence there? Why here again?
As our friend John, amidst this whirl

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and busy throng, the child attracts
him by her grace, something so winning

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in her face? Or does he
see some likeness there of one who wants

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to him? Was dear? He
approaches her, asks her name, Mamie,

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sir quick The answer came Mamie,
he said, to her surprise,

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looking into her deep dark eyes,
her mother's eyes. Yes, they were

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hers. No thought of this to
John occurs, But the attraction was the

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same as once again he heard her
name. Why are you here? He

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kindly said, Mama is sick and
Pa is dead. She answered in the

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simplest way. John heard this once
before. Today he asked, have you

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a brother? John? He spoke
so kind, the little one was drawn

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to him and answered yes. Did
he not now the secret guess that she

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was Mamie's child? The name ever
dear to him, loved the same,

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for all his thoughts were of her
still through all these years. Nor thought

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he ill that the one he loved
had fled from him her own heart's choice

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to wed. He had loved her
with unselfish love, his own heart crushed

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still, he strove her memory in
his heart to shrine to him. She

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still was all divine. He knew
not where she'd gone, nor thought the

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battle poor Mami had fought, the
shame, the poverty, the disgrace that

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she had found in that same place
where he had made a name so great.

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It all seemed like the hand of
fate that these two, to Mami

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so dear, should receive from him
Christmas cheer. Their story so impressed his

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mind, the names too, and
he thought he'd find just where they lived.

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He would call on Christmas Day and
see them all. Bought her flowers

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her little store with more than she
had seen before. He then dismissed her

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to her home, telling the time
that he would come. The bells rang

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out tis Christmas Day, and kind
Santa Claus with his sleigh has called at

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all the homes he knew, dear
reader, they were not a few.

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Hearts were made glad and faces bright
that they'd been thought of in the night.

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Stockings filled and tables grown of many
who dread want had known will visit

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Mamie in her home. Here want
and poverty had come. Old Santa Claus

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too had been here, bringing happiness
and good cheer. A large tree in

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the parlor stood decked with things useful
and good, and Mamie's face it shone

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with joy, as her daughter and
darling boy repeat the story of the one

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who to them this great good had
done. Who could he be John?

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That's his name, she conned it? Or in or again? Could it

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be the kind John she knew so
many long years ago, and who loved

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her? Yes, now she knew
quite well, alas had she. But

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let him tell his love for her
before he came, that stranger, and

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whose very name long since loathsome to
her, and who had outraged every good

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she knew well well, she thought
enough of this twas not to be.

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We do not miss the joy and
bliss that might be ours until they're gone,

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and all the powers cannot recall the
past, nor say what may be

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in store for us today. Hark
is that a knock at the door.

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The clock has struck the hour of
four, the hour he named the stranger

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John. Listen, children, he's
come, He's come. They hastened to

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the door tis he. They both
are glad his face to see each takes

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a hand of the kind friend whose
thoughtfulness deigned to send those rich gifts to

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that mother dear. Their hearts were
full. They brought him nearer to their

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loved one and his own, the
one who was his joy and crown Mamie

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John. On was all that was
said, as each the other's thoughts now

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read. She saw in his eyes
the same deep love now long dearer to

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her, far above all things else
which this world could hold, and wondered

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why she'd been so cold. He
saw all this and read her thought his

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Mami, indeed is what he sought. Such a Christmas, so blest with

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joy. Their hearts were full without
alloy, Another Christmas and another bride.

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And now tis John stands by her
side, Mami, older yet full of

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grace. Happiness now lights up her
face, joy as hers, for she

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now has found in him all that
her fancy crowned, Ring joyous bells with

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merry chime, This merry, merry
Christmas time and of the Christmas Bride.

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By Charles Nicholas Trevis