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Speaker 1: The Christmas Bride, the old story so often told of

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true love and a world so cold. When Christmas Day,

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my tale begins, loud and joyous, the church chime rings

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a bride so fair, yet pensive, sad, while on this

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day all seemed glad except this one, For she had

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fled against her parents wish to wed the one who

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now stands by her side. She gave up all to

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be his bride, home, parents, friends, and comforts too. In

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the small village where she grew to be the joy

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and pride of all who knew of her, both great

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and small. She was a teacher and the best. Her

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pupils loved her with the rest, and John dear, loving,

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honest boy. To him, she was his every joy. He

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had loved her long and well more dear to him

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than tongue could tell. Her every wish was to him law,

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nor could he in her see a flaw. Poor boy.

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She liked him, but then he did not impress as

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some men whom she had seen and heard about. Though

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he was manly, true and stout of heart, and always

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ready too to serve her just the best he knew.

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She admired him and all his ways, But then her

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eyes before his gaze could not meet his, For there

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she read what at that time she wished unsaid, much

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too tender to cause him pain or treat his love

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with cold disdain for another one held all her thought,

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But this to hide from John she sought, for he

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had come one summer day and stole poor Mamie's heart away.

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In him, she fancied she had found the hero which

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her dreams had crowned. He was tall, dashing in his ways,

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spoke soft and low, nor stinted praise, and o'er her

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mind he had full sway. John was forgotten from that day.

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All took him for the favored swain, until the city

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stranger came stole her from him, and all beside on

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Christmas Day to be his bride. The same old story

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often told she'd taken the dross for the gold. Time alone.

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Its tale would tell reveal what others knew quite well,

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that he was a most depraved knave to gambling, and

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i'll vice the slave. Her eyes opened, But when too

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late to save herself from such a fate, she was

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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

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just the same to win him from his wickedness, his gambling,

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and his drunkenness. A sad awakening indeed was hers days

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spent in wretchedness and tears, and far along into the night, waiting,

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watching for the dread sight the hero of her dream uncrowned,

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Her bright hopes dashed to the ground. Many a Christmas

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come and go, bringing little joy and much woe. First

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a baby girl, then a boy. These constituted all her joy.

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Long years have passed, years of pain, and Christmas time

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has come again. What changes in those years have come

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to Mamie? Daughter and son? A widow now and in distress.

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Her husband left her pennyless five years ago. He passed away,

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but she has managed till this day to meet the

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wants of those she loved. A heavy task and one

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that proved too great a load for her frail form,

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

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little lad to lend his help, was ever glad his

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sister with her loving care. Her mother's anguish tried to share.

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Sickness sorrow had done their worst, and Maimie thought her

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heart would burst as she no longer could provide for

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those dearer than all beside to her, they were her

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very life, none more dear since she'd been a wife.

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We'll leave them for a little space another life in

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this tale to trace, John too had left the veil

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and glen where life to him had pleasant been, For

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Mamie was his source of joy. She had gone, and

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alas poor boy, what had been blissed to him before

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now brought sorrow to his door. For every scene and

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every face reminded him of her. The place full of

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delight when she was there, now held for him but

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deep despair. Thus John also went his way, and it

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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.

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Our scene now not a village need, but city large,

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a busy street where traffic of the densest kind thrust

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thoughts of rural scenes behind, where buildings towering to the

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skies attract attention by their size, and men employed in

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deadly strife for what money, their god, their life. We'll

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enter here a monstrous pile, a building of the latest style,

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where almost dwells a merchant prince, yes, dwells for it

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is not long since this merchant from the lowest round,

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by centering all his will, has found the topmost limit

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of his fame, made for himself a mighty name. From

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east to west. He is well known in every village

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and small town. Is he happy? Well, may we ask,

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since he has achieved this great task, a mighty power

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

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Has he any loving wife whose smile welcomes to his home,

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and the while, with gentle hands pressed to his face,

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tries to read his every thought and trace with anxious

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

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new that she might ease them with her care, and

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thus with the dear one, to share what she would

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bear full well as he sharing with him the stormy

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

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friends are hers, as are his foes. Home with loving wife,

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children too, were loving supreme known to few. Is this

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the incentive to his fame, this the power behind his name? No,

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this desire to lose all thought of just such scenes

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is what he sought. Plunging into the whirl and strife

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

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just where to lay his head, business thoughts to all

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others dead happiness, Why it long had flown these many

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years he had not known. We'll look now at this

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merchant prince we may have known him not long since,

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engrossed in thoughts and sitting there amidst a whirl of

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business care, a man with brow of noble height, fitted

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by nature for the fight, a man of men who

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

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have changed his face. Still in the noble lines we

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trace our old friend John. What can it be, yes,

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dear reader, indeed tis he Years have brought him a

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

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

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it is John, still kind and true in all else,

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the same John we knew, older, more thoughtful, still the same,

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spite of the greatness of his name. See with what

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kindly smile he greets, that little boy who, from the

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streets with papers to his desk, has come trying to

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help with the small sum he may earn in this

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humble way those he loves. And from day to day

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he's here, and John has seen him oft, greeting him

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in tones mild and soft? What is your name, my

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little lad? We hear John say, his eyes looked sad

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to see this one, so young and fair, with sparkling

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eyes and curly hair, neatly dressed and winning ways. Mayhap

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he had seen better days, John sir, he in answering, said,

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and Mas sick and Pa is dead. Why that is

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my name too, my boy, said John, and to the

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other's joy, gave him a sum, with which he fled

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to his poor mother, now ill in bed. It's Christmas Eve,

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and with what joy the mother greets her darling boy.

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A great hotel is our next scene, which, decked in

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festive holly green and flashing lights and busy throng, a

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scene to be remembered long. We see crowds hurrying to

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and fro. Some are coming while others go, making a

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picture full of life, a whirl, a rush, an endless

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strife to one not used to city ways, filling with

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wonder and amaze that little girl with bashful air selling flowers.

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She seems so fair many by, and they little know

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what brings the blushes to her brow. Tis pleasure, yes,

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and also pain to think that with this little gain

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she may restore to that mother dear, health, happiness, and

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

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place was her presence there. Why here again is our

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friend John? Amidst this whirl and busy throng the child

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attracts him by her grace, something so winning in her face?

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Or does he see some likeness there of one who

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

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Quick The answer came Maimie, he said, to her surprise,

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

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they were hers. No thought of this to John occurs,

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but the attraction was the same as once again he

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heard her name. Why are you here? He kindly said, ma,

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Ma is sick and Pa is dead. She answered in

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the simplest way. John heard this once before. Today He asked,

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have you a brother? John? He spoke so kind The

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little one was drawn to him and answered yes. Did

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he not now the secret guess that she was Mamie's child?

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The name ever dear to him, loved the same for

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all his thoughts were of her still through all these years.

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Nor thought he ill that the one he loved had

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fled from him. Her own heart's choice to wed. He

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had loved her with unselfish love, his own heart crushed still,

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he strove her memory in his heart to shrine to him.

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She still was all divine. He knew not where she'd gone,

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nor thought the battle poor Mamie had fought, the shame,

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the poverty, the disgrace that she had found in that

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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,

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to Mamie so dear, should receive from him Christmas cheer.

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Their story so impressed his mind, the names too, and

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he thought he'd find just where they lived. He would

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call on Christmas Day and see them all. Bought her

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flowers her little store with more than she had seen before.

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He then dismissed her to her home, telling the time

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that he would come. The bells ring out tis Christmas Day,

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and kind Santa Claus with his sleigh has caught all

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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

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thought of in the night, Stockings filled and tables grown

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of many who dread want had known, will visit Mamie

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in her home. Here want and poverty had come. Old

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Santa Claus too had been here, bringing happiness and good cheer.

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A large tree in the parlor stood decked with things

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useful and good, and Mamie's face it shone with joy,

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as her daughter and darling boy repeat the story of

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the one who to them this great good had done.

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Who could he be John? That's his name, she conned it?

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Or in aura again? Could it be the kind John

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she knew so many long years ago, and who loved her? Yes,

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now she knew quite well alas had she. But let

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

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and whose very name long since loathsome to her, and

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who had outraged every good she knew, well well, she

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thought enough of this twas not to be. We do

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not miss the joy and bliss that might be ours

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until they're gone, and all the powers cannot recall the past,

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nor say what may be in store for us to day.

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Hark is that a knock at the door. The clock

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has struck the hour of four, the hour he named

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the stranger John. Listen, children, he's come, He's come. They

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hastened to the door. Tis he They both are glad

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his face. To see each takes a hand of the

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kind friend whose thoughtfulness deigned to send those rich gifts

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to that mother dear. Their hearts were full. They brought

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him nearer to their loved one and his own, the

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one who was his joy and crown. Maimie John was

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

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She saw in his eyes the same deep love now

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long dearer to her, far above all things else which

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this world could hold, and wondered why she'd been so cold.

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He saw all this and read her thought his mamy,

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indeed is what he sought. Such a Christmas, so blessed

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with joy. Their hearts were full without alloy. Another Christmas

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and another bride. And now tis John stands by her side. Maimie,

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older yet full of grace. Happiness now lights up her face.

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Joy is hers, for she now has found in him

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all that her fancy crowned. Ring joyous bells with merry chime,

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

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By Charles Nicholas Tryvis