EVENING STAR Xmas Supplement.

AUCKLAND, N.Z., WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1884.

CHRISTMAS, 1884.

THE WATCH FOR CHRIST.

(By J. L. Kelly.)

L—The First Coming.

Once more our minds go back O'er History's faded track To that bright sceno in Palestine, two thousand years ago. When simple shepherd swains On Judah's fertile plains Saw angel visitants descend, heard heavenly music flow.

We think with what delight They viewed the wondrous sight— With what strange awe they heard the song by angel chorists a _n_ :— "To you, this glorious morn, Tho promised Son is born. Who brings good news to all mankind, of every race and tongue!"

In fancy we can see Those eastern sages three. Who Bought the Saviour of the earth, foretold from earliest day; How, guided by His star. They came from lands afar. And found Him where, at Bethlehem, in lowly stall He lay.

We Bee that gentle Child, * Escaped from slaughter wild, Pass through a life of sacrifice to die a death of shame: We hear Him cry. **Tis done!" We view tho victory won. And see Him rise triumphantly to God, from whom He came!

Men say 'tis all a myth— A fairy tale, wherewith To soothe the pangs of Misery, to charm the ear of Youth;

But hearts with love aglow Make answer loudly. " No: It Is no vain delusion, but God's eternal truth.

** This earth, so old and gray, Grows better.day by day; The poor are fed, the sick are healed, thesuffer fng slave Ib freed; Fraternal love's increase Heralds a lasting peace: We know the promise is fulfilled, and Christ has come indeed!"

ll.—The Second Coming.

But, like an oft-told tale,

By repetition stale. So palls the truth upon those ears that itch for something new. O, ye in Doubt's dork night— O, seekers of the light. Behold in near futurity a Christmas dawn tor you I

The promise is for all Whom grief or gloom enthral. List to the joyful tidings :—"The J_ord eoxnee yet again I Not nowin lowly guise, But King of earth and skies. He comes to rout His enemies—He comes in power to reign!" Not only Judah's raco Seek a Redeemer's face; All earth ia deep expectancy awaits deliver ance now. Not Israel alone Shall kneel beforo His throne; All men shall own His majesty, and at His footstool bow!

Who keep tho Christmas true! Not they whose narrow view Is bounded by the lowly life of Jesus on this earth.

Who watch for Christ aright. With heart and soul and might . Not they whoso only t'hristmas joy is feast and empty mirth!

They keep the Christmas best, With humble patience blest, Who daily work, and pray, and hope that coming dawn to see; They aro the watchers wise. Who scan the murky skies. And seek the starry herald of " The Christ that is to be!" Tbey keep the sacred tryst Who strive to be like Christ— Who pave the path o'er which so soon His glorious feet shall tread; Who level down the hills Of social wrongs and ills— Who raise those valleys, deep depressed, where Vioe and Want aro bred! Come, Lord, our watching eyes Are lilted to the skies; Bring Peace. Goodwill, and Happiness down with Thee from above; Come, while the Heavens shall ring, And Earthly bards shall sing The Christmas dawn of blessedness, the Golden Ago of Love. Auckland, December 18,188..

CHRISTMAS CAROLS.

(By John B_ackman.)

L-ENGLAND. Wolcome, welcome, merry Christmas. With thy sweet and solemn chime. With thy cold yet healthful garments. And thy minstrelsy sublime. Break in Winter's _nlien season. Pause in Labour's bard career; Like an angel guest thou comest At the sunset of the year. * Comest up the frost-bound valleys, Like a sage with sandalled feet. Calling at the hall and cottage. With thy music soft and sweet. - Breathing hope in all thy carols, Singing peace in all thy songs. And from town and village steeples Kinging joy o'er earthly wrongs; Waking feelings high and holy, Chasing sorrow's brooding fears; Wafting gentle thoughts to heaven, To the " music of the spheres." Oh, 'tis thine to bring, blest Christmas, Berter feelings into play, Ann the virtues which are cherished, 'Neath the holly and the bay. 'Tis thine the smile to broaden.

Under berries red and white, With good wishes, happy greetings, In thy wonder-working fight. Oh, amid thy social pleasures, May tho glooms of winter pass j Chime in friendship, richer purer, Drawing nearer, class to class. Spread thy sunshine through the city. Cheer the paths of life obscure, Thatmen may feel the presence Of the Saviour of tho poor. And may bless tho light thou bringest* . In thy frost and tempest moans. In thy sympathetic hymnings, And thyfesftve clarion tanps. Welcome, welcome, happy Christmas; While thy story o'er we read, May we learn the law of kindness.

.And thy hallowed teachings heed. With thy mistletoe and holly, 'Ever welcome shalt thou be. Spreading Cheer without distinction. With a purpose grand and free. Thou t.urn'st our faces, Christmas, To the new year and the flowers. To young Beauty's golden birth-time, And the Spring's enlivening showers. To the violets in the woodlands, ■- To the thrusbes in the grove; .'"■ ■ To a thousand vernal splendours-"- Toa thousand forms of love. To the Season when the Snowdrop - And the primrose shall be seen In the green and tranquil.by-ways— Where tHy snowy feet have been.

11.-NEW ZEALAND.

Welcome, welcome, genial Christmas, In .his sunny southern clime. 'Een though unlike the picture Of old Chaucer's Christmas rhyme. Felt are thy fervid breathings. And thy mantling gemn are gay, Like those which gentle Shakespeare Wreathed around tho brow ot May. I love thy brimming rivers. And thy cooling evening breeze, And pleasant picnic parties Under pleasant Christmas trees. Thy merry, merry children. Sportive, free from clouded hours, Underneath the blue of Heaven, Out among the golden flowers. The snow lights not these valleys. Yet Hove them none the less; With thy wreaths of pinks and roses, And thy fragrant summer dress. Welcome, welcome, healthful Chrietmaß, On the mountain end the shore. With thy sweet, redeeming message. To the spirits of the poor. Still Hove thy cheerful carols- Carols of the long ago. Which were sung in dear old England, AJI among the fleecy snow, With ail their rugged sweetness, Which in memory lingers yet. And those time-honoured customs Which the heart can ne'er forget- The festive games of Christmas, And tho bonnie English lass: Toe eves when toasts w.re spoken. Over horn and social glass. Such were the set amusement Of those far-back, merry days When dames told old weird stories Of still older ghosts and fays. Still, welcome, bright-skied Christmaa. In this Britain yet to be. With hopes that young hearts cberi-th, And the music of the free. Where vessels sail the waters. And where churches dot the hills. And cattle in tho gloaming Seek the pasture by the rills. Where tbe lassies, buds of promise— lake ypnag kittens, full of play, Come forth m newest fashions. On each merry Christinas day; And where those gallant soldiers. Our young, active Volunteers, March forth in bright regimentals. While they cause no widow's tears; And where in shady shelters, The bright rays of Christmas gleam, Our blithe colonial lovers Eat their strawberries and cream.

THE OLD YEAR.

(By W. R. Wills.)

The dear old year is dying-O! let him die in

peace. Friend and foe come round him, let hate and

malioe cease; And never let him carry a record to the Throne Of the anger, and the envy, and the evils we h.ve strewn.

Shall he whisper to the angels of trials and of care We thought were sent in anger, and more than we could bear % Or say we have been cowards in the darkness of the night— Or conquerors in the battle—the victors in the fight?

Shall he bear a gentle message of kindly thought or deed We've shown some erring brother, or poor one in his need? Or toll of anjery feeling, and bitterness of heart- That keeps the angel from our side, and heaven so far apart ?

The dear old year is dying—O! let him die in

peace. Let bitterness of feeling and bate and malice

cease. For noble hearts are ever the hearts which love

tho best- Forgiving hearts the victors which conquer all the rest-

For as the shadows deepen, and the end is drawing near. There comes a bright evangel—the new and gladsome year; Let aim find ub little children—who own our

Father's call. That He may guide and lead us, as He loveth one and all. Otahuhu, Deoember 18,18S_.

CHRISTMAS SONG.

Christmas is como all over the earth, ■Welcome him everywhere, Welcome him, youth with the beaming eye, And maid with the flowing hair.

Welcome^ him, old, and welcome him, young, Many the beautiful tales he has told, Many the beautiful songs he has sung. Welcome him. young, and welcome him, old.

Welcome him in, ye young and light-hearted, Joy he is bringing to all. Friends now are meeting that long have been parted. Gladness is coming to all.

Fends are forgotten and grudges forgiven, For surely at Christmas-tide Love floods the world with a glory from Heaven Which every transgression can hide.

At Home In the olear and frosty air. Gay voices traverse the street. And echoes bear oft, aye, everywhere, The Christmas greeting sweet.

Peace and goodwill reign on the earth, Sent by that earth's great King, And angels hush their songs awhile To hear us mortals sing.

Spectator.

THE CHRISTMAS TREE.

A plash of light, a merry hum. And peals of rippling laughter sweet, The pattering of tiny feet, And, 10, the little children come.

A stately flr-tree rears its head With stars and tapers all ablaze; And quivering in the fairy rays. The glifcring, loaded branches spread. And childish eyes aro sparkling bright, And childish hearts with joy o'erfiow, And on that Birthday long ago They pondor with a grave delight.

Then to their gifts they turn once more, And in the present sunshine lost, They fear no future tempest-tossed,' But unto fairy regions soar.

No cares, no fears, a happy time -Of laughter; teors that cannot stay; An April day, a year of May, Pealed in and out with Christmas chime.

CHARITY.

Tho rich man gave his dole, not ill content To find his heart still moved by human woe ; Tlie poor man to his neighbour simply lent Tho --an„y _av__gs hu ouuia scarce forego.

The one -passed on, and asked to know ho more: The other's wife all night, with pity brave. That neighbour's dying child was bending o'er. And never deeming it was much she gave. Oh! God forgive us that wo dare to ask Solace of costly gifts and fruitless sighs! Soorn on the sigh that shuns tho unwelcome task. Tho dole that lacks the salt of sacrifice!

No gilded palm the crushing weight can lift; No soothing sigh tho maddening woe can cure; 'Tis love that gives its wealth to overy gift: 111 would the poor man fare without the poor" —From the "Spectator."

PHILIP REVERES CHRISTMAS.

By Mrs. E. Burke Collins.

Christmas Eve ! How quiet everything was ! The air seemed full of a holy silence, as though the noise and din of the great world had hushed itself to listen for a mes sage from the unseen and visible. All at once upon the silence came a glad, wild burst of music, as the chimes of Christmas Eve pealed forth upon the air, " Peace on earth, good will toward men !" " ' Good will tencard men !' Humph !"

Philip Revere, sitting in the dim, fire-lit library at his own princely home, his eyes closed wearily, his handsome head resting against the purple velvet cushions of his chair, moved impatiently, as the words fell sneeringly from his lips.

Christmas chimes 1" he repeated, coldly, " bah ! why should such follies annoy me ? Yet those chimes ring in the belfry of my brain like the bell of which Shelley sings— 'to call the maniacs to vespers.' It need not torment me, I who have lost everything on earth that was worth having ! I, who— mad and blind—had staked my all of hap piness upon one cast of the die ; and might have known that I would have lost, since my fate lay in a woman's white hands. De ceitful, scheming, false, crael! I despise the whole sex !"

And the graceful, dusky head fell back upon the cushions, and his hands—white and soft as a woman's—clenched each other so sharply that the delicate flesh grew purple. _ For the ghosts of the past were all about him in that dim, fire-lit room—that past which he had sought to kill arose boldly to-night, and confronted him. "I am a fanciful fool !" he panted, at length, springing to his feet and beginning to paco up and down the long room. "Why cannot I forget her ? That fair, false face, the innocent blue eyes, and that intangible something which made her like an angel in my sight. Oh, Muriel ! Muriel !"

He paused, and bis head dropped upon the low marble mantel before him, while his graceful figure shook with a storm of tearless sobs.

" She was my wife !" he cried aloud, sud denly lifting his head with a haughty ges ture, and tossing back the soft, dark hair from his white brow with a quick, impa tient movement. "My own little wife— and I loved her! Angels in heaven, how I loved her! The Reveres never love lightly. I least of all. She was my first love, and the last. I can see her now as she looked when I asked her to be my wife. The sweet, downcast face, and the tender blue eyes drooping under my gaze; the very imper sonation of a gentle sweetness and womanly purity; yet at heart—a thingto be shrank from as from a pestilence ! But I, credu lous fool, believed in her; I made her my wife, and for six short months I lived in heaven. Ah, that brief space held all the happiness that can ever come to me. I never forget—never for a moment," he went on, his brow darkening, the two hands clasping each other upon the marble grow ing cold and clammy, " never for a moment the horror that shadowed my life when the awful truth came home to my heart. When I knew that he—Captain Gordon—curse him ! —handsome and fascinating—had won her heart; my wife's heart—ah, the pride of the Reveres lies low _nough now—and then came the dreadful awakening, the horrible morning when I awoke to my terrible desolation and despair. When I found that she—Muriel Revere, my wife— had eloped with Captain Gordon !" He ground his white teeth with impotent rage as he began to pace up and down the long room ; up and down, like a mad crea ture within an iron-barred cage. " It was Christmas morning," he sneered, •' when the blow fell. Small wonder that I have learned to hate the season; and the day which brings happiness to other hearts is like a sword to mine.'

"What do ypu want?" he demanded, sharply, as a faint tap sounded upon the Eanels of the door. " Come in !" he added arshly, " since I cannot be left undis turbed."

_ There was a sound at the door without, like some one vainly striving to turn the knob ; slowly the great oaken door swung open, and the slender figure of a woman paused on the threshold. A woman in a plain black dress, with a heavy crape vail all about her. She trembled like one weak and worn, and the two ungloved hands were painfully thin and_ white. Philip Revere came to a bait in his nervous pacing up and down the library floor, and a sardonic smile touched his haughty lip under his sweeping, jetty mustache, as he confronted the in truder.

" I have ordered my servants to admit no one I" His voice was smooth and even, but it cut like a steel blade. " But since lam disobeyed I receive you, madam, requesting you to be as expeditious as possible. What is your business with me ?" • No reply. One could catch the sound cf convulsive sobs which seemed to tear her slim figure asunder; but it was checked suddenly. The folds of her shabby black drees rose and fell over her heart tumul tuously, as she stood there battling evi dently with some strong emotion; then, with a sudden gesture, she swept the clinging folds of the vail aside, and moving nearer a, lew steps, sank ut his feet. One glance into the pallid, childish face, and wild, beseeching bluo eyes, and ho fell back, with a groan of horror as though be had seen a ghost. "Heaven above !" he panted, hoarsely, putting up both hands, as though to keep her away. "■ You !" (oh* the unutterable scorn and contempt in his voice !) " How dare you enter'my presence— you who once were Muriel Revere? Yon, who betrayed me, ruined me, dishonoured my home " "Stop!"

_ She sprang: to her feet and stood before him like an outraged empress. There was wonderful dignity in the slight form, which

shook like a reed in the wind ; the pathetic face was full of scorn, the thin hands up lifted, stayed the torrent of mad words which trembled upon his lips. " Stop, Philip Revere ! " she repeated, sternly. "I know not of what vile thing youaccuseme.—l, whohavesuffered through your falseness; but I have come here to night, putting aside all my pride. Trampl ing my own self-respect under my feet, Ihave come to you for the sake of our child. My baby is dying ! Philip Revere, do you hear me ?My baby—your little son—lies in a wretched hovel just outside the city, dying for lack of proper nourishment, while you— hie unnatural father—roll in wealth !"

Philip Revere stood gazing silently into her pallid face and frantic eyes. He could not find any words; he could not under stand—not yet. "My child ! " he repeated brokenly at last. " Tour child! Explain yourself, madam. Yes, I will listen to you, Muriel Revere, you who deserted home and hus band one year ago, upon the holy Christmas morning, to fly to disdonour !" She could not yet grasp his meaning; she stood there like a statue, gazing, gazing straight before her, with wide-open, horror dilated eyes. At last she turned slightly, and the words fell from her lips in faint, broken gasps: " Dishonour ! " she repeated, blankly. "Fled from my home! Philip Revere, aro you a fiend incarnate to stand there and taunt me with my own misery, and the suf fering which your sin has entailed upon me? you who basely deserted me, and left me all alone to die of shame and despair!" Heaven must have let the light into his darkened heart. With a sudden impulse he sprang forward, and taking her cold hand, led her to a seat. Pouring out a tiny glass of wine, he made her drink it; then be faced her calmly. " Explain! " he faltered, touched in spite of himself.

She lifted her truthful eyes fearlessly to his face. There was no dishonour, no 6in, in their clear, pure depths. " You will remember," she began, slowly and impressively, "that you had gone to New York, on business, a short time before Christmas Day of last year. I was waiting and watching eagerly for your return home, and on Christmas morning I received a line from you, saying that you had returned, and were on board the steamship Cambria, lying in the harbour, but that you were quite ill, and wished me to meet you on board the steamship, and to come alone. Of course I obeyed, and once on board I found not you. but a letter in your hand writing. Philip, that letter broke my heart. It told me plainly, cruelly, that you had grown tired of me and had left mo—coolly deserted me; that you wished to put the ocean between us; that my passage to England was arranged, and that you wished me to go there. It was your desire that I should remain abroad for a time, and on my return home you wisheda legal separation. Philip, when I awoke from tbe swoon which followed, the Cambbria was far out at sea, with me on board.

" The second day out, to my amazement, I found that Captain Gordon was among the passengers. But he held aloof, scarcely recognising me, and I did not dream of hi real character, and what a villain he was, until I had arrived in port. But once on shore, away from the protection of the ves sel, alone and friendless in a strange land, tbe cowardly villain came to me and told me that he loved me. Philip, you must believe me—l sent him from me with words of scorn. Heaven did not forsake me. I found an elderly woman who consented to care for me for a time—a kind, motherly old soul. I sold my jewels, ahd realised quite a considerable sum ; I went to Mrs. Martin's cottage, and there I remained. Aud there baby was born—our child, Philip. I have named him for you. " Time passed, and the wolf starvation stood at my door. I was too proud to write to you for assistance, when you had east me off; but at last, for baby's sake, I deter mined to come back here to ask you to ac knowledge and provide for your child—not for myself, Philip Revere ! It took weekß and months of hard toil to collect a sum sufficient to defray my travelling expenses; but at last we arrived in America safe. Philip, the child is very ill—dying, I fear: will you, will you believe my story, and come to your little one before it is too late 1"

He had been standing during her rapid recital, white and still as marble, and one hand clutched the carved back of the chair beside him until it snapped in his grasp. His breath was coming and going like the panting gasps of some maddened creature. At length his pale lips parted, and he hissed between his set teeth— " May speedy punishment follow the wretch who has wrought this evil 1" Then a pause. " Muriel!"

Philip Revere turned and fell upon his knees before her.

■ "My poor, wronged, suffering love, can you ever, ever forgive me 1 For, oh, Muriel larling, it was the work of that fiend, Cap tain Gordon. He wrote me a letter telling _o that you had fled with him on the Cam bria. Doubtless he forged the letter which you believed to have come from me. I can see it all now. Wretch thatT was to ever dare to suspect you, my spotless angel ! Muriel, Muriel, speak to me; tell me that I am not quite beyond forgiveness." She could not speak at once, but her tired head drooped upon his breast, and slowly the pale, parched lips framed the two words, "Thank God!"

Morning dawned at the Revere mansion upon a united family—husband, wife, and child. And, as Philip Revere knelt atthe side of his wronged and suffering wife in tlie holy light of that Christmas dawn, the clear, sweet voices of the chimes rang out loud and full and triumphant, " Peace on earth; good will toward men." And Philip Revere cried fervently, "Amen ! " while Muriel, with her soft eyes lifted to his loving face, and her arms about him as, though she would never let him go, echoed softly, "Amen." :•.",

And the bells chimed on,- and the Christ mas Day came and went; but it had brought a peace to those troubled hearts which the world could not give, and which the world had no power to take away. Their child lived to be their pride and joy.

A CHRISTMAS EVE GHOST STORY.

The children were playing in the sitting room. They had drawn the lounge into the middle of the floor, piled it with every available article they could lay their mis chievous hands upon, harnessed two chairs together, and, mounted on the top of the load, were driving an express waggon at full speed to some destination known only to themselves. Mamma had just finished a suit of clothes for five-year-Old Willie, who had watched their progress from cutting out to sewing on of the last button, and the wee laddie marched off with a promise to keep off his knees—a promise kept for a long half hour.

A thawing, drizzly day, Christmas trees are carried by -.overed with crystallized rain-drops, scarcely less brilliant than the bedecking of evening shall make them. The children grow boisterous, mamma opens her mouth to check them, and after the fashion of Mr Jellyby closes it without an audible sound.

" Let them be happy while they may," she says, mentally, and looks out on the dreary prospect with a sigh. The yearly coaliill has just been pre sented, the schoovbill lies in the work table drawer, othjEbills will soon fall due ; the children neecr shoes and the dozen things that a family of children are always needing; furniture needs repairing, paint needs re-touching, the once handsome honse begins to have a shabby look, that all the little arts of feminine handicraft fail to hide.

Mamma calculates her resources for the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours, and for the hundredth time says, mentally again : " Where is the money coming from?" Spirits neither of the earth nor air vouch safe an answer. She breathes a sort of prayer, half to the Being who shapes our destinies, and half to the husband who has passed beyond the ken of mortal vision; the prayer, if prayer it can be called, is a very despairing one, with little faith that it will be answered. She has prayed before, earnestly, sometimes frantically, yet all unheeded, and a hardness, a doubt in the mercy and pity of the Infinite, creeps into her heart. She thinks of one and another friend or acquaintance, whose life glides easily and pleasantly, without a care or a sorrow ; why should they be shielded from the slightest breath of tho rude winds of adversity, while she is weighed down by trials and anxieties 1 She has been tenderly nurtured, and walked in the sheltered paths of life until now, why must the storm burst so suddenly, and so fiercely? It is growing dark.

"Mamma, may I tell Kate to get tea? I'm awful hungry !" shouts irrepressible Johnnie. Permission given, the good-natured but inefficient maid-of-all-work soon announces: "The table is set, mum." So mamma must cut bread and cake, make the tea, and fill the preserve dish. The table is neatly spread, tire and lamp burn brightly, and a little gleam of cheer - and comfort lights the sad face and down cast cj re. Let us glance at the surroundings of this little family who have suffered many recent misfortunes, the greatest being the loss of husband and father, which, happily for them, the children are yet too young to ! understand in its full force.

The house is an old-time mansion, but having been rejuvenated by its late owner, ahows little trace of the lapse of years since its substantial brick walls were laid. It is removed from, yet in the march of, improve ment, having become quite accessible to the city. Some trim villas and cottages have sprung up around it in the last dozen years ; yet the old house with its tradi tionary lore, still stands a well preserved and stately relic of the olded time.

Many are the weird legends that have formed the subject of a winter's night gos sip among the ignorant and superstitious in the neighbourhood; for this house, wherein men have lived and died, has for long years been styled " The Haunted House."

One tale is of a murdered heiress and buried gold which still awaits the fortunate finder that shall bring it to the light of day' Another is of the sudden and mysterious disappearance of a young heir whose bones are lying without Christian burial, where the dews and the sunshine of heaven never penetrate. Possibly its present occupants have laid the ghost. Twice have visitants of flesh and blood entered, not at " the open door," singularly preferring an entrance through the windows, and relieving their un conscious hosts of all their valuables, departed as they came. Twice has the heroic mistress of the mansion at the " witching time of night when the church yard yawns," firing at burglars that were but phantoms of an excited imagination, left the traces of her valour in the walls. But certain it is that neither black spirits nor white, red spirits nor grey, nor spirits of any hue, have made their appearance. But we left our family at the tea-table. It was Christmas Eve, so there were no lessons to be learned. Mamma rouses her self for a romping game with the children, and after the stockings were hung where Santa Claus cannot fail to see them on bis desceit from the chimney, they are soon dreaming of the wonders of that fairy realm which furnishes an inexhaustible supply of gifts to that best and dearest old saint in all the calendar. Mamma gathers up the cast-off. garments, sets things in order,' then draws her chair to- the fire, and falls to meditating again. Katie sings while she irons in the kitchen below, the wind sighs and moans outside, and rain and sleet are beating against the windows. Hark ! What sound is that ? A soft; footfall, a rustling of garments beside tbe lonely figure in the chair sends a.sudden chill to her heart. Do the spirits of the dead indeed walk the earth ?« Is this the ghost of a Christmas that is dead? or is it the " Ghost of Christmas yet to come," or does the strange phantom come from over thought ? A majestic form stands beside her, a deadly fear at the appearance of her unexpected and unannounced guest over comes her. "Follow me," is breathed into her ear,



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