brecho cheapchic

  John Maynard was in an old-time country schoolhouse. Most of the year he had drifted carelessly along, but in midwinter some kind words from his teacher roused him to take a new start, and he became distinctly a different boy, and made up for the earlier faults. At the closing of  examination he passed well, to the great joy of his father and mother, who were present. But the copy-books used through the year were all laid on the table for the visitors to look at; and John remembered that his copy-book, fair enough in its latter pages, had been a dreary mass of blots and bad work before. He watched his mother looking over those books, and his heart was sick. But she seemed, to his surprise, quite pleased with what she saw, and called his father to look with her; and afterward John found that his kind teacher had thoughtfully torn out all those bad, blotted leaves, and made his copy-book begin where he started to do better. (Text)- Franklin Noble, "Sermons in Illustration."

   Just so every man carries a cargo. By this I mean a cargo of opinions, passions, appetites, and these are sure to wreck any young man who carries them -- A. F. Schauffler, The Christian Herald.

   This great (lace) industry here began in this way: There is, or was, originally, a long, high bank of very soft sandstone on the north bank of the river Trent, pointing to the sun. In this soft sandstone the early Britons dug caves. They dug them deep and wide and wonderful in construction. It is said that even now the city of caves under the ground is almost as large as the broad and populous city on top of the ground. In case of invasion or conquest these cave - dwellers would retreat underground and defy pursuit. It is the boast of the people of Nottingham that their ancestors were never really conquered by any one. The weaving of laces came about here in this way: The half or wholly savage women sitting at the mouths of these caves and holding their threads against the sun with the darkness behind them could see the fine threads better, and so could do finer and better work than any other women in western Europe. And their immunity from conquest and consequent interruption in their peculiar industry fastened it here and kept it well forward.--Joaquin Miller, The Independent.

    What fools we all are to prefer the circumference to the centre. What a dreadful thing it would be if we should be suddenly ushered from this wintry world into the Maytime orchards of heaven, and if our pauperism of sin and sorrow should be suddenly broken up by a presentation of an emperor's castle surrounded by parks with springing fountains, and paths up and down which angels of God walk two and two.

    We are all like persons standing on the cold steps of the national picture gallery in London, under umbrella in the rain, afraid to go in amid the Turners and the Titians, and the Raphaels. I come to them and say: "Why don't you go inside the gallery?" "Oh," they say, "we don't know whether we can get in." I say: "Don't you see the door is open?" "Yes," they say, "but we have been so long on these cold steps, we are so attached to them we don't like to leave." "But," I say, "it is so much brighter and more beautiful in the gallery, you had better go in." "No," they say, "we know exactly how it is out here, but we don't know exactly how it is inside."

   So we stick to this world as though we preferred cold drizzle to warm habitation, discord to cantata, sack-cloth to royal purple - as though we preferred a piano with four or five of the keys out of tune to an instrument fully attuned - as though earth and heaven had exchanged apparel, and earth had taken on bridal array and heaven had gone into deep mourning, all its waters stagnant, all its harps broken, all chalices cracked at the dry wells, all the lawns sloping to the river ploughed with graves of dead angels under the furrow. Oh, I want to break up my own infatuation and I want to break up your infatuation with this world. I tell you, if we are ready, and if our work is done, the sooner we go the better, and if there are blessings in longevity I want you to know right well there are also blessings in an abbreviated earthly existence.

A Frosty Christmas-eve ' when the stars were shining

Fared I forth alone ' where westward falls the hill

And from many a village ' in the water'd valley

Distant music reached me ' peals of bells a-ringing;

The constellated sounds ' ran sprinkling on earth's floor

As the dark vault above ' with stars was spangled o'er.

Then sped my thoughts to keep ' that first Christmas of all

When the shepherds watching ' by their folds ere the dawn

Heard music in the fields ' and marvelling could not tell

Whether it were angels ' or the bright stars singing.

Now blessed be the towers ' that crown England so fair

That stand up strong in prayer ' unto God for our souls:

Blessed be their founders ' (said I) and our country-folk

Who are ringing for Christ ' in the rattling ropes that race

Into the dark above ' and the mad romping din.

But to me heard afar ' it was heav'nly music

Angels' song comforting ' as the comfort of Christ

When he spake tenderly ' to his sorrowful flock:

The old words came to me ' by the riches of time

Mellow'd and transfigured ' as I stood on the hill

Hark'ning in the aspect ' of th' eternal silence.

   The things children most quickly note and in which they take most interest may indicate their bent of mind and help parents and instructors to shape their education along the lines of least resistance. R. H. Haweis says:



  "Long before I had ever touched a violin, I was fascinated with its appearance. In driving to town as a child-- when, standing up in the carriage, I could just look out of the window--certain fiddle-shops hung with mighty rows of violins and cellos attracted my attention. I had dreams of these large editions--these patriarchs of the violin, as they seemed to me. I compared them in my mind with the smaller tenors and violins. I dreamed about their brown, big, dusty bodies and affable good-natured-looking heads and grinning faces. These violin shops were the great points watched for on each journey up to London from Norwood, where I spent my early days."









Living Nativity Links:

• The Mount Laurel Living Nativity


• St. Paul's Lutheran Church, Living Natvity.


• Faith Baptist Church presents The Lafayett's Living Nativity.


• Riverdale Assembly of God, The Living Nativity.


• Living Nativity Scene at Gig Harbor's Discovery Baptist Church.


• "From Boise to Bethlehem." by the Eastwind Community Church.


• "A Christmas that's not about Santa." by Andrew Pridgen


• Horizon's Nativity Event.


• "Family stages a living nativity on their lawn." by Clint Williams


• Bilingual Living Nativity Pageant.


• "As the church grew, so did the Nativity program." by Emily Vizzo


• "Overlook Farm transformed for a Living Nativity" by Erik Radvon Eradvon


• "A living nativity in the works for local church." by Deanna Dawson


• Nativity performance from St. John the Evangelist


• Live Nativity in Lincoln Park


• Living Nativity Scene by Centenary Church members


• Franciscan friars dressed as Roman soldiers to act in their Living Nativity


• Provo's Live Nativity enters ninth year


• Christmas Pageants, present and past


• Baby has his first starring role in local church's Live Nativity Play


• Baptist church in East Texas performs a Live Nativity

Main Street is gay. Each lamppost glimmers,

Crowned with a blue, electric star.

The gift tree by our fountain shimmers, 


Superbly tall, if angular 

(Donated by the Men's Bazaar).

With garlands proper to the times

Our doors are wreathed, our lintels strewn.

From our two steeples sound the chimes,

Incessant, through the afternoon,

Only a little out of tune.

Breathless, with boxes hard to handle,

The grocery drivers come and go. 

Madam the Chairman lights a candle 

To introduce our club's tableau. 

The hopeful children pray for snow.

They cluster, mittened, in the park

To talk of morning, half affrighted,

And early comes the winter dark

And early are our windows lighted 

To beckon homeward the benighted.

The eggnog's lifted for libation,

Silent at last the postman's ring,

But on the plaza near the station 

The carolers are caroling.