It was the happy Christmas Eve, yet it was very cold and dark. Over the quaint old town of Bruges hung the heavy snow-clouds, and the air was filled with snow-flakes, which fell so thick and fast that very soon the ground was covered with a white mantle, quickly hiding the foot-prints of the few who were still out buying the last gifts for beautiful Christmas trees. Through the narrow streets rushed the wind, shrieking round the comers in its shrill whistle, and seeming to say:— “As I go, I bring the snow, On this holy Christmas Eve. Who can show Hearts like snow, On this holy Christmas Eve? Blow, blow, blow! Pure and fleecy snow, On this holy Christmas Eve.” It was really strange what curious things the wind whistled that night, yet through all ran the refrain of the holy Christmas Eve. Near the great belfry of Bruges was a stately mansion, where the fires burned brightly in the polished grates with a warm, rosy glow, making upon the wall grotesque shadows of a little boy and girl who were joyous with expectant happiness. It was early, and the lamps were not yet lighted. The children danced up and down the warm, pleasant room, where they The dear, loving mother had been so busy in the great parlor, doing something full of mystery, yet the children were quite sure it was a delightful mystery, that would bring them a great store of happiness, and they were luxuriating in their own pleasant imaginings. The door was still locked, but the time was fast approaching for the grand opening. “I can’t wait! I can’t wait much longer,” said the boy, impatiently. “What a lazy old thing Santa Claus is!” “For shame, brother, to speak so of the good Santa Claus, who brings us such beautiful gifts. I will watch for him, the kind old Santa Claus, to come from the gift land for us in all the wind and snow,” and the little girl ran to the window and drew aside the rich, heavy curtain. “’Tis the old woman up in the clouds, picking her goose for Christmas dinner,” said the little girl, laughing and singing,— “Old woman, up in the clouds so high, Making the feathers about us fly, Picking your geese for Christmas pie, Give me a piece of it by and by!” Just then the mother was heard calling, and the children ran into the great parlor, all ablaze with light and beauty. In the center of all rose the beautiful Christmas tree, luminous with shining toys and many-hued candles. Oh, it was delightful! To the little ones nothing could compare with the long-dreamed-of In quite another part of the town, very poor and squalid, lived the lace weavers. In quaint old buildings, falling to ruins, they were huddled together, many wretched homes under one roof, yet even there they were trying to celebrate the birth of the blessed Christ child. In the dingy rooms burned cheap tallow candles, and the little ones, with their poor wee gifts, were as happy as the brother and sister with the beautiful Christmas tree in the stately mansion. One room only, a very small one, up in an attic in the lace-weavers’ quarters, was in darkness. By the window stood a little, It was very cold, and her clothes were thin and ragged. She shivered, for she was quite chilled through. She was an orphan. The father had died, oh! long ago, one whole year, an age in the life of a child. Only the week before, the mother was driven away to her last home in the paupers’ grave-yard, to rest in the plain deal coffin, till beautiful white wings should waft her up to Heaven the Golden. It was very sad to see the little pale-faced child looking after the paupers’ cart, driven so roughly over the frozen ground, and the kind-hearted neighbors had pitied her, and, though they were poor lace-makers like the mother, they had given her food with their sympathy, and promised to help her on with the trade. They were true-hearted, honest folk, but It was so dark in the room that she could not bear to leave the window, though the wind whistled in at the loose casement, making quite a clatter, and causing her little teeth to chatter with cold. She was very hungry. She had eaten the last crust the night before, and everybody had been so busy. It was not strange, she thought, that they had forgotten her. She could remember the last Christmas they were all together. How busy the mother was making the Christmas pie, and how the father brought home a wooden doll, saying, “’Tis for my good little daughter,” and kissed her. Then, taking her on his shoulder, he danced all about She was so happy then, and now so desolate and wretched. Everybody else was happy; she heard the children shouting, and she was so faint and hungry. Just then a man, in an oil-cloth coat and cap, came along, and lighted the street lamp opposite the window. That made it more cheerful; still, the child was so cold and hungry, she could bear it no longer. “I will go out,” she thought, “into the light. Perhaps I shall dare to go in somewhere. The neighbors have been so kind to me, but I’m not used to them as I was to the dear mother. I will wish them a ‘Merry Christmas,’ and they will give me something to eat. Then, perhaps, I can sleep, and go away in my dreams to the beautiful land where it is warm with God’s pleasant sunshine.” As she opened the door of her chamber, a great draught of wind rushed in from the street. Some one was coming in at the common staircase. She heard merry voices and footsteps on the stairs. She drew back into the darkness of her own room with shrinking timidity. Very strange it was to her the cheery laughing, yet she had been as light-hearted once, but it seemed a great while ago. When the sound of voices died away, she stole softly down the stairs to the door of the great front room, which had always been the grand place to her. Of all the neighbors, the woman in this best room The little cold fingers gave a timid knock, but, within, the father and mother were talking, and the little ones laughing so loud, that no one said the welcome “Come in,” or came to open the door. The cold winds whistled through the uncovered halls of the tenement house, and the child stood waiting with chattering teeth, and feet and hands so benumbed that she thought it would be better out in the street. There she could run and warm herself. It was snowing fast, and the feathery flakes fell all over the worn shawl, covering its faded colors with soft white down; over the great bonnet that would fall back upon her neck; and over the rich, golden-brown curls, that were left bare to the storm. There was a great jolly man walking on before her, humming a song. Presently he stopped to look in at a shop window, and she read in his broad, pleasant face that his heart was kind and loving. So, without stopping to dread it, she ran up to him, saying, “Please, sir, I wish you a merry Christmas.” “Ah, ha! little one,” he said kindly, “you’ve caught a Christmas gift, but it is too stormy a night for little things like you to be out.” Drawing from his pocket one of many small packages, he said, “My Then he hurried on, and the child, with trembling fingers, untied the parcel. How she hoped it was a piece of bread; but no! It was a pretty toy lamb, with a fleece as white as the snow that was covering her. She was so much disappointed that the tears ran down her face very fast, and in the storm and cold this was uncomfortable. Just then the beautiful chimes sounded from the great belfry of Bruges. This Christmas Eve they were played by a famous musician, who sat in the chamber below the belfry, and struck upon an immense key-board like that of a piano. These keys connect with hammers that strike the bells, so that in all the world There the grand musician sat and played, throwing the whole harmony of his soul into the music, and all the town of Bruges stopped to listen, and, clasping each other’s hands, whispered softly, “How beautiful!” for the divine music thrilled them. Above all, it went to the heart of the little hungry child, out alone in the pitiless night and storm. The voices of the matchless chimes led her, and she hurried on to the great belfry, clasping the pretty white lamb closely in her little chilled hand. Somehow she did not feel so hungry now, and that was a blessing. There was the stately mansion all ablaze with light. She could look in through the rich crimson curtains of the grand parlor window, and see the beautiful Christmas tree, and the happy children dancing around it. Still the snow fell heavily, covering her over with its cold white mantle, but she did not move. The voice of the chimes was whispering in her ear such beautiful things. It was delightful, and all the dread shadows that filled the night and storm faded away, for they were only born of earth. Yes! it told her of a great Christmas tree up in Heaven the Golden. There was a pure white robe and shining wings, the priceless gift of the Father’s love. These were all marked with her name, and she was very happy. She was no longer hungry nor cold, for the snow mantle was thick now over her little shrunken form. Only the tiny pale How smoothly it sailed along, that crescent boat of the sky; and the deep blue eyes watching it saw such marvelous sights so pleasant, that a sweet peace gathered around the child. The poor little heart, that in the early hours of the blessed Christmas Eve beat with the quick flutter of fearful timidity and loneliness, was at rest in the holy calm. Yes! there was the dear mother in the Golden Boat, so peaceful and free from care. How tenderly her dear eyes shone, and how beautiful she was in the radiant Up to the Crescent Boat on to Heaven the Golden, and to the throne of the loving God, had passed the spirit of the little child. Just then a bright star fell down from the fleecy clouds and rested upon the pure, ice-cold forehead, leaning so heavily against the great pillar of the stately doorway. The cadence of the last chime was dying away upon the still night air. It was twelve o’clock, and the musician went home. The great belfry was left silent, and in the coming of the holy Christmas dawning all the peaceful town of Bruges slept. In the morning the servant found a little child dead upon the door steps of the At last, when men came to take the poor little thing away to the paupers’ burying-ground, the good mother of the house said, “No, do not take her away, I entreat you.” Then she folded the child in her arms, kissing her pale cheeks and golden hair, saying, “I will see to it. The good Lord led her to my door, and, though it is late, I will do all there is left me. She shall rest in the pleasant garden under the linden-trees.” |