LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1225, 6 February 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A CHRISTMAS STORY. I (Detroit Free Press.) ‘ To-morrow’s Christmas, ain’t it ? ’ I said. ‘ M'hy, 0 f course it is,’ she answered, and by the way she said it, I inferred that I ought to have known to-morrow was Christmas and on reflection so I ought, but seriously, I did know it would be Christmas. I merely wanted to introduce Christmas as the subject of conversation, and now that it was the subject, 1 hardly knew what to say next. So I compromised by saying : ‘l’ll take another cup of tea, please,’ ‘ Why, your cup isn’t empty yet, John,’ said my wife; 1 What’s the matter with you to-day ? ’ * That’s a fact I didn’t notice it was full—all right. That’s a good-sized turkey I got for to-morrow, don’t you think so ?’ * Ves, I think it is ’ ‘ Don’t you think its rather large for us two?’ * Oh, you know cold turkey is ’ ‘ Yes, we had cold turkey for a week after Thanksgiving. I thought it was going to last till Christmas. I was tired of it.’ ‘ Well, why didn’t you get a smaller one this time ? ’ ‘ That’s so ; I might have done it, mighn’t I? I never thought of that.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘this one is pretty large for two, but for for three or four it would be ’ _‘ Oh yes ; you wautlto ask some one to dinner, 1 know you do.’ ‘ heally, now, I don’t.’ ‘ Yes you do ; who is it; which of your old cronies ; which one ?’ ‘I assure you I never thought ’ ‘ Who is it ? ’ ‘Well, you know, Fred Singlemann—’ ‘Now, see here, John. Old Singlemann boards at one of the best hotels in Detroit, and will get a bettor dinner than we have to give him.’ ‘ Of course, but you see, my dear, it isn’t the dinner alone. On Christmas a manlikes a good dinner, of course, but tnat is not all. 1 can’t help thinking that a man must feel rather lonely eating a Christmas dinner at a hotel. Christmas is a time when our feelings entwine ’

‘ Oh, nonsense. Old Singlemann has no feelings to entwine, or if he has, why didn’t he get married years ago, and then he wouldn t have to be lonely and board out ? At his age—’

*-N off, there’s where you mistake. Singlemann is not old ; but never mind, wo won’t ask him,’

‘ Why not, pray ? ’ ‘I shall not ask him, at least.’ ‘ Well, if you don’t, I will ’ * Look nice, you going to a hotel to ask a man to dinner. ’ ‘ If my husband won’t do it for me, I suppose I must.’ ‘Oh, if yon insist, I’ll ask him, of course,’ ‘ Then 1 insist,’ This was why I wanted the subject of Christmas introduced. I knew Singlemann must be ralherglad to escape his splendidly furnished rooms for one day. Of course every one in this city knows the mercantile house of Demark and Co. Singlemann and I were the Co,, and Demark—well, of course, he was Demark. Demark and Singlemann had roomed together when they were boys and young men. Then Demark got married, and Singlemann took the rooms he has now. ‘Singlemann, old fellow,’l said when we sat alone in the counting room after the store was closed Christmas Eve—‘ I have a turkey which I want help on to-morrow. Come down to dinner.’ ‘ Too late, my boy; I just promised Demark to go up with him to-morrow. His wife particularly requested it, and so I didn't like to rffuse, you know.’ 1 Oh, of course not. Very nice little woman, Demark’s wife is.’ ‘ What!’ said Singlemann, so fiercely and sharply that I was quite startled. ‘ 1 said Mrs Dernark was rather a fine lady !’ ‘Certainly ! certainly!’ said Singlemann, locking somewhat abashed. Then, after a pause, be said : ‘ I didn’t exactly catch what you said at first.’ The fire was slowly smouldering in the grate, and the shutters were closed. I poked up the coals and remarked that it looked like a little snow outside. ‘ I always feel a little queer and nervous on Christmas eve,’ said Singlemann, evidently thinking about his abrupt ejaculation a few minutes before, and not heeding what I said ; ‘ you mustn’t mind me.’ ‘ What's the matter, Singlemann ?’said I. ‘ Didn’t 1 ever tell you about it ?’ he said. ‘No.’ ‘lf I hadn’t acted like a fool,’ he replied harshly, speaking more to himself than to me, ‘it might have been different, now. ’ I presumed that it would and so didn’t «on‘radict him.

‘ I thought you knew how near I came to getting married once,’ he said, with an attempt at a laugh. The laugh wouldn’t come, and so he took the poker from me and vengefully poked the fire. ‘ When I used to clerk here, you know Demark and I roomed away Woodward avenue. It was thought to be nearly out in the interior of Michigan then, but it’s different now. Every morning as I came down the avenue I met a young girl. There were no street cars then, and besides if there had been —well, we practised economy, you know that’s why we boarded away out there in the country—but that girl—l didn’t notice her very much at first, and Demark, he never noticed her at all. We both came down together. Demark was always thinking on business ; he was H ave a cigar ? Listening is dry work ; smoke and make it dryer,’ ‘Why, Singlemann, you know, I never smoke ; go on.’ ‘ I told you I was queer to night. Did you ever notice how wrapped up Demark is in business ? Business will be the conversation over the turkey to-morrow. I tell you young men nowadays ’ ‘ How about that girl ? ’ ‘ Oh, yes—she always dressed plainly, but you ought to have seen her 1 tell you, John, young ladies nowadays think of nothing but dress, and yet with all their silks and fea’hers ’

‘ I know ; Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like your Woodward avenue belle - in plain clothes.? He poked the fire for nearly two minutes, and I began to fear that I had figuratively put my foot into it and lost my rtory. * I think any one must have fallen in love with her, but I never could get Demark to see it. I never cared for any one before or since. I was completely—but what’s the use of talking of that. I met her every morning. She always looked straight ahead and never seemed to know that she pissed the same two fellows every day. Where did she live ? What did she do ? One night in December as I came up late from the store I was astonished to see my young lady —I called her mine—standing at a desk in a counting room. Her hat and cloak were flung on the desk beside her, and she was evidently just ready to leave. The loveliest little frown was on her brow, and the figures evidently wouldn’t add up right. The lamp light shone on her fair face, and it never looked so handsome before. I stood before the window and gazed there in rapt admiration and, I may say, adoration. I tell you, John, I don't believe that people nowadays know what it is ’

‘ Well, did she come out ? ’ ‘Of course she did,’ said Singlemann a little crossly, ‘ and equally of course I fol lowed her at a distance and saw where she lived. .*■ he walked straight on and did not seem a bit afraid. She seemed to set her lips closely together, draw her cloak around her, and walked swiftly to her destination. Several times I determined to speak to her, but had neither courage nor excuse. ‘ Demark,’ said I, when I reached my room, 1 wake up, wake up,’ and I shook * Singlemann,’ said I, ‘lam not Demark, There is no use in shaking mo,’

‘I beg your pardon,’ continued Sinnlamann, releasing his grip on my shoulder. ‘ I don’t think you care much about what I am saying, though. What interest can yon have ’ ‘ Now don’t fly off at a tangent in that manner. Of course I want to know how it turned out. What did you say to Demark ? ’ ‘ Nothing that night. You can’t waken Demark when he once gets to sleep W T hy, one time when we were boarding down on Jefferson avenue a fire broke out about two o’clock in the morning, and I ——’ ‘ We’l, but about this girl ? ’ * Oh, yes; next morning I unfolded my plan to Demark. It was the day before Christmas. I told him all about my discovery of where she was employed. Now,’ said I, ‘ she’s anxious to get the accounts straightened out before the end of the year. ‘ Fvidently,’ says Demark. ‘ Well, very likely she’ll be there late tonight ; now we’ll follow her—you on the opposite side of the street, and I on r the same side she is, and you cross over and speak to her and try to make her take your arm, then she'll scream, and I’ll rush up and rescue her, and, of course, see her home and get acquainted.’ ‘ Rather an ancient device,’ I remarked. ‘ Perhaps it is now,’ said Singlemann, in an irritated manner. ‘Young men of the present day are up to almost anything, but I never heard of it before ; of course, it was silly -I guess I know that without being told of it, but now-a-days people think *No they don’t ; Singlemann, go on with what you were saying. Demark consented, of course V

(To ho rnnfintied.)

The Catacombs of Kiev (Russia). —At the monastery of Kiev (says a traveller) are the famous catacombs, which so many thousands of infatuated people in the Russian Empire go on foot to visit every year. The preparation for the descending into this repository of the dead was more solemn than the scene itself; for the monk accompanying us i elated such incredible and ridiculous stories of the saints whose relics lay there, that we must have had a more than common share of credulity to have believed them. Every person going down into these vaults purchases a wax taper, and having lighted it, in solemn silence follows the monk, who, as he conducts the visitors through these vaulted sepulchres of the dead, opera the coffin lid, unfolds the shroud, and tells the name of the saint enshrined in that repot itory: no part of the body is to be seen, of course the flesh is waited, and the bones only remain perfect, from having been commonly covered with gold or silver tissue, or brocade, or some kind of silk: a cap is placed on the head of the same material. The coffins are generally of cypress wood, but some of massive silver, very richly engraved. Thera are two or three handsome little chaptls in these subterraneous pa sag-s, built by some of these saints, and consecrated for their hours of devotion. Several cells are shown, where they say monks, in a vow of penance, have had themselves walled up, and only a little window left, at which they received daily their bread and water, and there remained until their deaths: in one of the cells are the twelve masons who built the church, and then entered as monks into the nr mastery. In another place you are shown the body, or rather the head and shoulders, of a roan stuck in the ground: in a vow of penance he dug a hole, in which he placed himself, standing with his hands by his sides, and then had the ho’e filled up, so that only his head and a lii tie below the shoulders could be seen ; here he lived fifteen years, having food and drink brought him, and a lamp constantly burning by his side; they still allow him a lamp, which burns day and night continually, though he has been dead six or seven hundred years ; this, however, they could well afford to do, as he brings a considerable share of the riches to the convent. The cap he wears is supposed to work miracles, and restore the sick ; accordingly, hundreds come to visit St. Antonio, and wear his cap, which is frequently the undoubted means of restoring health, though not in the way that enthusiasm and credulity imagine, but by the simple process of being the cause of their taking unusual exercise in the open air, and exercising also a temperance not habitual to them. I should not omit to mention that St. Antonio is said to sink a little lower into the ground every year, and that the world is to be at an end by the time he entirely disappears. Among the wonders which they relate, this cannot be classed as the greatest; and if time in its mighty changes does not annihilate the monastery of Pestcherskey, St. Antonio will probably not disappear, while he continues so instrumental to the well-doing of his brethren.