THE  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
January  8,  1916. 
Aftermath. — Some  of  you  may  think 
it  rather  late  to  talk  about  Christmas. 
To  be  sure  the  day  has  passed  by  on  the 
calendar,  but  the  spirit  of  it  should  go 
on  through  the  year.  It  is  well  enough 
to  keep  the  Christinas  tree  standing  until 
Spring  cleaning  at  least.  There  may  be 
those  who  open  the  closet  door  once  a 
year  and  let  the  Christmas  spirit  out — 
somewhat  lik»*  the  family  skeleton  to  feed 
and  water — and  then  lock  it  up  again. 
That  does  not  suit  me.  for  I  would  like 
to  keep  the  door  open  so  that  Christmas 
may  be  with  us  every  day  in  the  year. 
The  celebration  just  closed  is  about  the 
best  our  family  aud  community  ever  bad, 
and  it  will  do  us  permanent  good. 
T>  ",  Cnvncit  Tree. — On  Wednesday 
evening  the  children  had  their  celebra¬ 
tion  at  the  church.  It  was  a  cold  clear 
night,  with  good  sleighing,  so  we  hitched 
the  two  hig  grays  to  the  hob  sled  and 
filled  the  box  with  straw,  and  the  chil¬ 
dren  cuddled  down  into  this  rn-st  and 
pulled  blankets  over  them.  The  Hope 
Farm  man  drove  with  Mother  ou  the 
scat  beside  him  to  direct  the  job  and  tell 
him  when  and  where  to  turn  out.  Tom 
and  Broker  seemed  to  feel  that  they  were, 
in  their  way.  playing  the  part  of  rein¬ 
deer.  for  they  trotted'off  in  great  shape — 
a  little  clumsy  on  their  feet,  perhaps,  but 
with  strength  enough  to  pull  down  a 
house.  Broker  is  inclined  to  he  lazy,  and 
Tom  did  most  of  the  pulling  unless  we 
stirred  liis  partner  up  with  the  stick. 
Through  the  clear  starlight  we  went 
crunching  and  jingling  on  over  the  hills 
and  through  the  narrow,  level  valleys,  for 
our  country  has  a  badly  wrinkled  face. 
Happy  Thought.' — Part  of  the  way 
IDs  through  the  woods,  and  then  a  stretch 
along  the  banks  of  a  little  river.  There 
was  just  enough  wind  to  make  a  little 
humming  in  the  trees.  Now  and  then  a 
rabbit  jumped  out  of  the  shadow  and 
went  hopping  off  across  the  snow.  There 
was  no  danger — it  was  Christmas,  and 
we  do  not  carry  firearms.  I  think  I  can 
tell  you  much  about  a  person’s  character 
and  circumstances  if  you  will  tell  me 
what  comes  into  mind  on  a  lonely  road, 
when  the  wind  is  playing  its  wild  tunes 
among  the  trees.  As  the  poet  says : 
“Over  the  chimney  the  night  wind  sang 
Chanting  a  melody  no  one  knew.” 
To  some  this  melody  brings  sad  mem¬ 
ories  or  fear  of  trouble,  but  the  happy 
group  in  our  big  sled  heard  nothing  of 
these  in  the  sound.  As  Tom  and  Broker 
pulled  their  load  on  beneath  the  trees  I 
think  each  one  of  us  heard  in  the  wind's 
singing  something  of  the  song  which  the 
angels  sang  when  the  shepherds  listened 
long  years  ago.  This  may  be  but  a  fancy 
of  mine,  yet  I  think  our  little  group 
came  nearer  to  understanding  what 
Christmas  means — on  that  lonely  road — 
than  we  had  before. 
The  Entertainment.  —  You  know 
how  pleasant  it  is  to  come  trotting  along 
a  country  road  on  a  cold  starry  night 
and  see  the  lights  of  the  chureli  burst 
into  view  far  ahead.  Out  church  is  an 
old  stone  structure,  full  of  years  and 
honorable  history.  It  was  here,  at  least 
part  of  it.  during  the  Revolution,  and  at 
one  time  Hessian  prisoners  were  confined 
in  it.  There  were  no  prisoners  except 
those  of  hope  inside  tin1  church  that 
night.  The  boys  aud  I  made  Tom  and 
Broker  comfortable  and  then  we  went 
inside  to  find  a  big  Christmas  tree  ami 
a  crowd  of  happy  children.  Surely 
Christmas  is  children’s  day,  and  they 
owned  the  church  that  night.  Mother 
marshalled  her  big  primary  class  for  one 
chorus,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  entire  end 
of  the  church  was  made  of  children.  A 
couple  of  our  Cherry-tops  lent  a  little 
color  to  it.  The  Hope  Farm  man  was 
escorted  up  to  a  front  seat,  where  he  was 
expected  to  look  the  part  of  prominent 
citizen.  They  ran  him  into  the  pro¬ 
gramme  too  for  a  Christmas  story,  so  he 
got  up  and  told  the  company  about  “Pete 
Shivershee’s  Miracle” — a  little  Christmas 
memory  of  life  in  a  lumber  camp  many 
years  ago.  Finally  the  simple  presents 
were  distributed,  the  sleepy  little  on<  s 
aroused,  good  wishes  spoken  and  we  all 
piled  in  once  more  for  the  home  trip. 
Broker  takes  life  as  it  comes,  but  Tom 
was  chilly  and  disposed  to  be  a  trifle  gay 
over  the  prospect  <»f  barn  and  cornstalks 
once  more.  He  proceeded  to  pull  the  en¬ 
tile  load.  Broker  trotting  on  with  dang¬ 
ling  traces!  It  was  a  sleepy  and  happy 
crowd  that  finally  turned  off  the  road  into 
Hope  Farm.  “iFe  had  a  bio  time!” 
Community  Christmas. — In  two  of 
the  villages  near  ns  the  people  organ¬ 
ized  community  Christmas  trees.  These 
trees  were  placed  in  the  public  square  or 
some  prominent  spot,  the  electric  wires 
connected,  and  colored  bulbs  lning  all 
over  to  take  the  place  of  candles.  They 
were  lighted  on  Christmas  Eve  and  kept 
going  all  through  the  holiday  week.  It 
was  a  great  success,  for  it  brought  peo¬ 
ple  together,  made  a  better  community 
spirit,  and  helped  us  all.  In  addition  to 
this  community  tree  arrangements  were 
made  to  have  singers  go  about  the  towns 
singing  the  old  Christmas  carols.  This 
revival  of  the  old  English  custom  was  a 
beautiful  tiling  and  a  great  success. 
Carols. — Shortly  after  three  on  Christ¬ 
mas  morning  our  folks  were  awakened  by 
music.  I  think  the  Cherry-tops  thought 
it  was  Santa  Claus,  and  it  probably  was. 
Out  in  front  of  our  bouse  a  motor  car 
carrying  six  young  men  bad  turned  in 
from  the  road.  There  in  the  frosty 
morning  they  were  singing 
“O  eome,  all  ye  faithful, 
.Toyful  aud  triumphant, 
O  come  ye!  O  come  ye 
To  Bethlehem. 
Come  and  behold  Him 
Born  the  King  of  angels, 
O  come  let  us  adore  Him, 
O  come  let  us  adore  Him, 
O  come  let  us  adore  Him, 
Christ  the  Lord.” 
They  were  beautiful  singers  and  our 
folks  will  uever  forget  that  Christmas 
morning. 
“Silent  night!  Holy  night, 
All  is  calm.  All  is  light. 
’Bound  young  Virgin  mother  and  child 
Holy  infant  so  tender  and  mild, 
Sleep  in  heavenly  peace.” 
Finally  the  car  started  off.  moving 
slowly  down  the  road  with  the  music 
creeping  back  to  through  the  clear  air; 
“Hark  the  Herald  angels  sing.” 
Our  folks  heard  them  at  the  next  neigh¬ 
bor’s  far  down  the  road.  It  was  a  beau¬ 
tiful  thing  to  do,  and  never  before  did 
Christmas  morning  come  to  us  so  happy 
as  this  year. 
Community  Spirit.— I  thought  of 
these  things  all  day,  and  the  conviction 
has  grown  upon  me  that  what  we  people 
who  live  in  the  country  need  more  than 
anything  else  is  something  of  this  spirit 
which  binds  people  together  and  hoi  Is 
them.  We  need  it  in  our  work,  our  play 
and  in  our  battles.  It  is  another  name 
for  patriotism,  wbioli  means  the  unselfish 
love  of  country.  The  Duke  of  Welling¬ 
ton  said  the  battle  of  Waterloo  was  won 
on  the  playgrounds  of  England,  where 
hoys  were  trained  in  manly  sports.  He 
told  only  half  of  it,  for  the  spirit  which 
turned  that  play  into  war  came  from  the 
singers  who  in  English  villages  sang 
Christinas  carols  or  English  folk  songs. 
In  like  manner  the  wonderful  national 
spirit  which  the  German  nation  has 
shown  has  been  developed  largely  through 
the  singing  societies  which  have  expressed 
German  feeling  in  song.  In  1702  a  band 
of  Frenchmen  marched  from  the  south  of 
France  to  Paris  dragging  cannon  through 
a  doml  of  dust  and  singing  the  Marseil¬ 
laise  hymn,  and  even  to  this  day  the  loyal 
spirit  of  France  traces  down  from  those 
dusty  singers.  Do  I  mean  to  say  that 
farmers  can  come  together  and  sing  their 
troubles  away?  No,  for  some  of  them 
have  grown  so  strong  and  penetrated  so 
deep  that  they  must  he  pulled  out  by  the 
roots.  What  I  do  say  is  that  before  we 
can  hope  to  remove  these  troubles  and 
make  our  conditions  what  they  should  be 
we  must  feel  toward  our  friends  and 
neighbors  the  sentiments  which  are  ex¬ 
pressed  in  these  beautiful  old  songs.  The 
time  has  gone  by  when  we  can  hope  to 
obtain  what  we  should  have  from  society 
as  individuals  playing  a  cold,  selfish  game 
of  personal  interest.  We  have  tried  that 
for  many  years  and  steadily  lost  out  on 
it.  The  only  hope  for  us  now  is  in  a  true 
community  spirit,  of  loyalty  and  sacrifice, 
instead  of  trying  to  get  all  we  can  for  . 
ourselves.  That  is  why  I  say  that  there 
should  he  something  of  Christinas  in 
every  day  of  the  year,  and  why  I  give 
these  holiday  memories.  n.  w.  C. 
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