Life — December 27, 1888 — page 26: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A CHRISTMAS LEGEND OF THE HAPPY VALLEY. IDWAY between the crisp air and keen intelligence of the North and the lazy breezes of the impulsive South, there is a Happy Valley, It lies in the sheltering arms of two beautiful mountain ranges: the North Mountain peaks are blue and rugged, standing out against the sky with bare, wrinkled, masculine brows; but the South Mountain is a long, wavy line of soft, feminine curves, clad from head to foot in rich velvet—dark and green, “The dwellers in the Happy Valley have long believed that they are watched over by two good Spirits: the genius of the North Mountain is a stern but benignant old man, while the South Mountaii is the home of a gracious woman, full of charity and tenderness. Whether the people in the Valley are happy because these kind Spirits really exist, or merely be- cause they de/reve in their existence, has never been determined by the sages who live there. They are content to know that the force of the North wind is broken before it reaches them, and that the scorch- ing sirocco is cooled as it glides over the brow of the Southern hills, One Christmas Eve, very long ago, the good Spirits looked down ‘on the Valley, which was filled with laughter, good-will and song, that rose up like a flood to the very tops of the mountains, and over- flowed into the country beyond. But there was one gloomy young man there, who sat in a room filled with shadows, and looked out upon a hill-top where the light of the stars showed a windrow of snow on the grave of his best friend. “How shall we bring cheer to him on Christmas Day ?” asked the good Spirits of each other; and far into the night they debated the question, sending messages back and forth so frequeditly that be- lated men thought the air was filled with snow, The old man onthe North Mountain insisted that Wisdom would be his best comforter, but the Hamadryad of the South was equally convinced of the power of Love. The end of the long discussion ‘was a compromise, by which both Wisdom and Love were to be offered to the sorrowful young man on Christmas Day. So it happened that on the morrow the young man's Boston uncle sent him the Best Hundred Books, and his cousin from Vir- ginia arrived, accompanied with a beautiful daughter, whose eyes were like the depths of a pine forest when the sunlight sifts through the boughs. . . . ‘OR five years the young man was absent from the Happy Valley. He loved much, he read many books, he traveled and studied in many lands; and when he came home again on Christmas Eve, with wife and children, men called him wise. He was back in the old home, in the shadow-haunted room, looking out in the starlight upon bY grizzled old Genie. the grave on the hill, Again the good mountain Spirits looked down upon the Valley and saw his face. There was no gloom in it, neither was there great joy. They could not read the riddle of his coun- tenance, and they filled the air above the Valley with their vain questions. “Come,” said the’ rugged old Genie of the North, “let us go down into the Valley and talk with this young man who has lived and suffered. We have dwelt on the mountain tops so long that we are out of touch with Humanity.” “1 will go with you,” said the gentle Hamadryad, “ though sym- pathy and love have always kept me nearer than you to the hearts of the people. My mountain tops are not in the clouds.” _So together they drifted into the presence of the young man— strange forms of “ mingled mist and light.” “Five years ago I started you on the way of Wisdom,” said the “Then you were in the shadow of great sorrow ; now I think I see you filled with peace. Tell us—is Wisdom, then, the royal road to happiness ?” When the young man raised his eyes they were full of doubts and ambitions, struggling at the windows of his mind for glimpses of the light. “My friend,” he said, ‘tyou started me upon an arduous journey. I have toiled on through fog and marsh, without once feel- ing sure that I was upon the right way. I only know that I havea stouter heart than when I started, and I have courage left to cheer those who reach out their hands to me from the darkness.” “ But my gift of Love,” said the Hamadryad; “surely, it brought you more of happiness and joy than this >” “Love,” said the young man, ‘was a precious gift, but it has doubled fate's opportunities to do me harm. Now, more than ever, am I the football of chance, and my capacity for suffering is increased. Love has brought me many things, but not happiness.” “What, then," said the good Spirits together, “have Love and Wisdom brought you that are worth the having ?” “Hope!” he said, while the light of a new day was creeping in at the window and brightening his tired face, ** not for myself, but for—" “Merry Christmas!” the children shouted in glee, as the door swung suddenly open. Their faces were radiant with hope, and in them was the promise of the future. The Genie and the Hamadryad showered blessings on them as they vanished toward the mountain tops. Droch, A CAPITAL HEROINE. FFIE: I should think Amélie Rives’s heroines would suffer dreadfully from cold. Este: Why? EFFI She clothed one of them with nothing but “silken whisper- Exsi£: What was the heroine —a Washington belle? OTHER: Come, Freddie, put that baseball record away for the night, and go to bed. Here's your candle; light it and go! FREDDIE: One strike, two strikes, three strikes—out/ Ma, give me another match. comicbooks.com