jr*— 
CHRISTMAS 
I 
F there is one festival among all the year’s 
holidays that is a home celebration, it is 
Christmas. St. Nicholas is the last image upon 
the shelf that once bore our household gods. Whatever any man’s 
religious views may be. he thrills at Christmas. 
To prove our point, we must speak of one who possessed the 
true Christmas spirit. He was a little Chinese laundrvman who 
had the linen of certain families in our neighborhood to launder. 
When the Yuletide season came he pattered around to his cus¬ 
tomers with a present of a box of those peculiar Chinese nuts and 
a case of Chinese tea. Why be skeptic and say. “Shrewd beggar” ? 
He alone of all the tradesmen murmured a greeting, and his 
“Mellie Clistmas" had a genuine ring of good fellowship, and 
the smile he wore during the holiday season was not a forced one. 
He left his lesson. 
There is an underlying feeling of good will between men, and 
as December draws toward its close it is evident. However cir¬ 
cumstances may prevent our acting out this spirit, there is - little 
to keep the family from cultivating it. With sufficient Christmas 
spirit inculcated about the hearth there should be impetus enough 
to carry the proper attitude throughout the year. 
And the Country, that is the real place to celebrate Christmas. 
Snow lies over the fields, smoothing over the bareness of the late 
fall. The trees wrapped in white cloaks hunch comfortably to¬ 
gether. The landscape is transformed into a mystic canvas. 
Where before bold brilliance flaunted, now the nature artist does 
an exquisite work. Every dilapidated, wind-tossed twig and 
fluttering reed has become a delicate crystal lance or sceptre for 
the fairy folk. There are delicate writings on the white page of 
the snow, strange ice caverns beneath the huddled bushes and- 
deep into the smooth hills that once were heaped up brush. It 
is plain that other life is abroad. Who denies that the thing that 
looks like a dried leaf scudding on the snow-crust is the hurrying 
car of one of “the little people”? No mere breeze shows such 
evident definiteness of purpose. Will you deny that there are 
reindeer and aerial sleighs? Everything is finished so daintily 
there must be a faerie folk to carve the marble traceries where 
the barberries once were, for instance, and to gem them with 
string coral is the work of a magician. The impressionists of 
fall have given place to the exquisites of winter. Nature has led 
man into another gallery of a different school. 
Within doors the garlanded house hints broadly the echo of 
the fields. The fire laughs merrily in anticipation of Christmas 
joys and seems to smack its lips in anticipation of feasts to come. 
And the individuals are all bewitched—else what means this se¬ 
cretiveness? Work, bustle and hum and an undercurrent of 
mystery are present. 
Nor can the flushed cheek and sparkle of eye be altogether 
attributed to the crisp air or the exhilaration of a snow-shoe lope 
across country for fir boughs. 
Such is the setting of a country Christmas; thrice lucky he who 
is blessed with it, happy he who appreciates it. The man who 
lives away from the city has a big advantage over his urban 
brother, especially at Christmas, let him make the best of it. 
Drag in the yule log', let Saint Nicholas reign — the old-fashioned 
Christmas of love and the giving of gifts; the hospitable Christ¬ 
mas of gathered friends and relatives, of song and merriment. 
May the story that begins this Christmas number give 
pleasure; within it is our Christmas greeting. 
you 
A RT used to be a healthy creature. It 
was loved ; it occasioned delight and 
ART FOR 
ART’S SAKE , , _ , , 
caused pleasure. Its success depended on 
appreciation—an honest appreciation of intrinsic value. Whether 
one owned a picture or not made little difference; one could like 
it just the same and in that very appreciation become the real 
possessor of it. 
Nowadays we notice a different basis of regard. Intrinsic 
beauty is a negligible quantity; what counts is rarity, old age and 
historic connection ; upon these factors we place our value. And 
with such appreciation we turn our homes into museums or 
curiosity shops, for when worth is dependent on these factors we 
must actually own our works of art or the interest flags. 
There is the genuine sketch by Brush at which we point with 
pride. It makes no difference to us that he was afflicted with 
violent attacks of indigestion when he did it, or that it was rescued 
from the ash heap where he threw it in disgust; if the pedigree 
is vouched for we cherish it. Few would stop to admire the 
thing itself; if it came from the hands of the great master, that 
is enough. 
Likewise with things that are old or that belonged to some 
famous person. The furniture that, let us say, General Grant 
started housekeeping with becomes an artistic relic much sought 
after. It might have been acquired in exchange for soap wrap¬ 
pers and been cast out as soon as the General could afford some¬ 
thing better. The fact that it belonged to him makes its pur¬ 
chaser oblivious of its battered condition and ugliness, and it is 
given a place of honor in the house. 
So we collect, enticed by the fascinating intimation that our 
“objects of art” are over a hundred years old, or excavated from 
the pyramids, or belonged to the second cousin of the Queen. 
What happens? The comfortable living-room of a family 
bearing a very fair reputation for sanity — except perhaps among 
social rivals — has a miscellaneous conglomeration of utterly use¬ 
less articles. There is a lecturn acquired from a bankrupt Greek 
church, some old New England farmhouse chairs, an Egyptian 
mummy case, four or five brass candlesticks, an Empire cabinet 
— why prolong the list, there is an infinite combination possible,, 
perhaps more heterogeneous than this. 
We do not decry the fun of collecting, but we do advocate 
consistency, and utility — when the things that are collected are 
for use and decoration. There are reasons why some old things 
are desirable—handwork and painstaking craftsmanship, the mel¬ 
low coloring of age, for instance. But when antiquity is the sole- 
recommendation. the article has no place in the home. 
Another consideration is fitness. When one is furnishing the 
home this must be first insisted upon. The most beautiful Shera¬ 
ton sideboard is out of place in the dining-room of stained cypress 
and rough plaster. Either redecorate or sacrifice the sideboard.. 
Like considerations hold for pictures, and hangings and rugs. 
No one would care to prop up the Sistine Madonna in his country 
house, even if he could get the original. It is a wonderful paint¬ 
ing, and the work of a great master, but — of course this is ad 
absurdum — such blatant incongruities are universally common. 
We should begin to drive out those false axioms that point to 
the past for everything that is artistic. Perhaps Greece acquired 
a perfection that has never been attained since, but in the inter¬ 
vening years there have been many dark ages when beauty was 
not discovered either in the works of the painter or the artisan. 
If we get over this worship of the generation that has gone, we- 
will soon discover that our homes are brighter, fresher, and more 
comfortable than ever before. For to gather antiques requires 
the sharpest acumen in these days, and even then the purchaser 
is apt to discover himself the dupe of a clever counterfeiter. 
There are some simple canons to guide us in our art ventures, 
and perhaps the first is honesty and true consultation of personal 
taste. Consistency to existing surroundings and adaptability for 
every-day needs and comforts are final requisites for permanent 
satisfaction. 
(386) 
