Speaker 1: 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 parents 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 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 heart 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 all beside 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 dream uncrowned,
Her bright hopes dashed to the ground. Many a Christmas
come and go, bringing little joy and much woe. First
a baby girl, then 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 pennyless 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 Maimie 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 veil
and glen where life to him had pleasant been, For
Mamie was his source of joy. She had gone, and
alas poor boy, what had been blissed 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.
Our scene now not a village need, 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. We'll
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 loving 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 oft, 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 Mas 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 amaze that little girl with bashful air selling flowers.
She seems so fair many by, and they little know
what brings 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 is 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 Maimie, 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, ma,
Ma 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 Mamie 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 Mamie 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 ring out tis Christmas Day,
and kind Santa Claus with his sleigh has caught 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 aura 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 to day.
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. Maimie John 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 mamy,
indeed is what he sought. Such a Christmas, so blessed
with joy. Their hearts were full without alloy. Another Christmas
and another bride. And now tis John stands by her side. Maimie,
older yet full of grace. Happiness now lights up her face.
Joy is 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 Tryvis