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A ClirMmas Carol.
The moon came out. and crowned the hills
Wnh holy calm
The atari flaht 1 down on silver nils
And proves of palm
While tranquil at the day's surcease,
Eleet, Bethlehem slept, a thiiig of peace.
Even dumb Nature's 'pulses thriHed
With fender 'ewe,
As if she felt, thu& hushed and stilled,
More than she saw
And 'neath the -.tarli^ht hent her knee,
In rev'/ent, giad expectancy.
Down on the plain, in peaceful wise,
I'ne vvh.te 11 jcks slept,
While shepherds, 'n* ath the ervstal ekiee.
Then- vigil-', kept
And aiid'iiirni'h a.v.. and silence fell
Upon their soul*, in that lone dell.
And thena glory from the place
Where in gels kneel
The light, it seemed, ol God's own face,
i swift did steal
The luter from the shining stars,
And chained the moonlight's shimmering
Then God's britrht mes=enger came down,
W.ch pi.ncely niein
And happ, f.ice outshone bib crown
And raiment's sheen
Whi'e by 'he gracious words he said,
He raised each shepherd's drooping head.
"Fear not'for lo, I tidings bring
Oi* 1.10 itest joy
Who-e music through the world shall ring,
I bear youi news of prici less orth,
Of Christ, the King, come down to earth!"'
Then bu'hlenlv the sky grew bright
With angel eyes
Their carol sWied The rvilse of night
In tender wise
And echoed o'er the umbering land,
All loving, v'reut, jubilant, grand!
Glory to Jo to sinful men,
Pi .tee and good-vs ill"'
The light duel out the earth again
Givw dim and still.
The angels ft the Many dome,
And Christ lay born in earthly home.
O Lord une down to us to-night,
Give us that grace,
O grant one ^limp-e of th' shepherds'sigh t
To t-ce 'I by face
To wort-hip at thoe blessed feet!
The ChPbt in hearts ai homes to meet!
ONE MAN'S CHRISTMAS.
I Ol IVE II VKJ'EK.
"l'api, let me keep himplease do he
looks so loin-some, just as if hit mother
had died, too and he looks so hungry, and
shivwrsso in the cold Please do, papa. See
his eyes thev pii-t seem begging you to, and
an if be wanted 3011 to see his poor leg. and to
make you undt 1 stand how cold and hungry
he is. V\hy,paoa, I don't believe he ever
had enough to tat in his life and the quiv
eting little vniic died out altogether msobs,as
he took the poor little starved dog into his
arms nd held him .igaist his bieast.
The father, a stern looking man, whose hat
was are with a band of crape, looked
down with a smile ot raie tenderness as he
"Why, Hairy, don't cry about it you shall
keep the htte dug.it will though he
certainly looks anything hut a pietty play
thing. Come, now: wc will go home. You
can call vo.ir new tnen-l along."
"Oh, thank you. paiu!" said the little boy:
and hU violent cy. inred with delight, aud
his tianspannUhuks Hushed bugbt crim
son witn p'ciMin, while the little dog limbed
along afteijliim, em o.uagcd by his childisi
voice,so in iimeb i.ustd with delight at the
new a quisition, again to fall v\t muu.te
pity for liie b'.irvcd liule dog
When they a bed home they were met by
the housekeeper, with a torn nt of exeus
and ot jicMont, to coping the dog, till little
Harry taid with Jl.i-lnng eyes: "Mrs. Per
kins, were \ou ev hungiy aud cold and sick,
without my home .o go to 01 .ui one to kvc
All of a E-uddv-n the housekeeper's pale face
flubhed.nn.! tear, i aine into her eyes as she
turned hn-tih away and busied hei self with
other afl ins 1 a moment Then bhe turned
and came tuck, saying: "Well, dear, shall we
take him down to the kitchen and see what
we can do hit bin.
"Yes," said l!ar\. "for I guess he needs
something, aud that prettv soon. Come
They went out, le^v'ng the father alone,
and he Urn !um-el! into an eaby chair be
fore the tire a. ebisped his hands before his
eyossiiying. He is like her, so like and to
frail! Who but be would want to take that
miserable hit nogV It was always her dis
position to do so the more wfetchod the
case the mm- 1. sf she took in it. My God!
how his look went to my heart when he plead
ed so. It was like hi 1- AVij.jn =he lay dying
and begged of me with almost her last breath
to forgive my pi or s'ster, who inn ofl' with
that wretch who died a cliimk.ird. always
said 1 never would forgive ae n01 speak to
her, out if I eo ild find now she would al
ways IIVJ with me -11, Hany." This to
Harry, i, bo stood h-s iathei'b chair, with
his fice flushed mcl e.i jr.
"O, pap-., if \ou coo Id only see the little
doggie vv. .Mi., IVikhib
ha& washed him
all eiver, i nd jut h.ilve on hib poot leg, and
bhe sitys it v\ tirokt and she fuel him. He
wouldn't it u. til In- got up on bis back legb
and wallwd .I'M a little, and then made a
bow-,ou h.i no idea Mint a gent'emnn he
is, only he 1-11't \-i Jiai dsome, you know.''
The fathet to Ins lullu motherless bov in
to his lap. and whfn tliere ho gave a long
sigh, and la wari ly down on his father's
breast, ay ing, "I am vciy tired, papa, what
makes me g-t t.ted so easy now I didn't u&e
to, but now eveiv time I go up stairs it makes
something ,mp so in lure (placinghis hand
over his he ait) tut I can't hatdly breathe,
in 1 don't eai0 about playing ball any more
ardl nturnd m\ n.ekmghorae now"
nn I!" .id the father with his white
lips, ae he al' at once saw the frail boy was
pale and fim to emaciation. Why, he
asked himself, hid h" not seen it before. It was
allpbiiu now and the sih of the colorless
cheeks anil listless air made him remember
other things, lits of almost frantic excitement
followed b\ initiating weariness, nights
when th.- childish form was never still, toss
ing fine! s| irfi,nn days ^her. the delicate ap
petite failed anci the wearv eyes &cmed to
turn with lomhing fiom the tempting food
houis vvluk the child lay about on them at
his feet or on a sofa, and when a--Iced wby be
did not go out and play on the lawn, answered
simply. "I'm tued."
He saw it all now too plainly. He saw thot
all through bat fhst fiui-mer of bereavement,
while he bad gn- up to gricr for his lovely
young will-, hisduld bad been fading with
the eumtucK decaying with the autumn, and,
he now fell, dying with the winter.
Harry lay on hi, fat hei'a bieast till at la-t
he fell fast asleep. Then laving him tenderb'
down on the sofa, tne staitled man went out
called Mrs. Perkins, and pointed 1o the sleep
ing child, whose face was as pale as a calla
lily, and with lip, like the lilac blossoms,
said: "U he dung, Mrs. Perkins, like his
"Oh, don't, Mi. Kdwaid," said she, with a
gush of ulent b. a-s.
"You have cen it, then'r" said he.
"I was in suiv, and couldn't be tr to dib
tresa you but I fear it is so
"Slay with him, I will fetch Dr. Bennett,"
and the striken lather hurried out while the
good old hoa&( keeper sat down and looked
aUhe child thiough her faht falling tears.
She thought: The lamb! I knew it was no use,
fer no one can cuio heart disease but if he
has had any eyes he must have seen that I
kept the lamo fiom excitement, and have
taken all the care I could of him, and done
for him as I did for his mother but he never
thought it ros-uble. Ah, well! we all have to
wake to tiouble some time,"
Soon the doctor, accompanied by the fsther.
cam" in, and the old man, who had been not
only physician but fi iend and adviser to the
dead young mother all her life, sat down by
tlw still sleeping boy, aud watched h's pale
face, his blue lips, his purple iiuger-tipS, and
his labored bieathing very gravely then, at
last, he turned a i-et, soirowtul face to the fa
ther, looked long .and pitifully into his eyes,
and the father knew. He had been buoyed up
by more hope than ho had known, and now
this solemn tint etiuekhim as it he had not
expected it. Then they went out into the li
brary, and the Doctor gave him some direc
tions for general treatment and taking his
hand, said: "Edward, this is going to be hind,
but try and be biave. Think it is no haider
for you to be without him here than his moth
er to miss him there. God bless you, my boy
let ino know if any change takes place.
may live months yet, or it may come any day.
Good-hy" Harry awoke and started up from
the sofa, saying, "Where is my doggie?" and
started to go down but his father said:
"Keep quiet, Harry, love, and the little dog
shall be broughtub here and Mrs Perkins
went down and brought him into the room.
He was a different looking dog in even the
short tune allowed forimorovement, but still
nothing could make beautiful the long yel
iowi&h brown body, with its coarse, rough
hair and the short lll-formea legs, or the ugly
head, with its cropped ears,theugh the intelh
gent eyes, which now expressed love and
gratitude tow^id Harry, icdeemed him, at
1 least, iu theomnion of Mrs. Perkins and Mr
Emmons, ar they both concluded he was
1 not so bad a looking dog. after alb
"No, I know he in"t handsome, papa, but I
think he g,,od and I love him, don't I,
Then, again, papa, was you going
to buy me anything tor Christmas?"
"Yjs. Harry what do you wan)
"I don't want an\ thmg now, papa. I will
take doggie for my Christmas, only he does
look so tunny, doesen't be? Just as'if he had
never en used to he v. here theie was
a good fire, and more to eat than he wanted.
I suppose be has teen diove fiom one house
to another, Jut like Hannah drove the poor
old cat away that was trying to get some
-raps in the yard, and just cried. Itlooked
back so sorry off the kitchen .fence, and I
wanted to pinch Ha mab for 'it. And you,
poor doggie you have been driven off from
houses, I know, and had stones thrown at
you, andwhere elo you suppose dogs sleep,
"Oh, almost any where, I guess. I will get
a nice little house made for him if you wish."
"That will be nice, and to-night, doggie
Kleep right here," making a solt bed
out of Mrs. Perkins' shawl for the dog to
She would have given her best black silk
dress, which she set gteat btore by, had Harry
wished it. When they were about to leave
the 100m for the night the 'ittle dog got up
and limped along after them, and looked at
Harry so pitcou&ly when told to go back, that
be In g( to have him at the foot of his cib
and trom that h-r.e no one disputed his right
and he s'.e theie unm dested
Harry seemed to rally and feel better for
the next few day-, and his father would look
at him and sa
fcIt is impossible that the
child is in any danger looks so well there
is a mist ike I will se" another doctor," and
he would almost believe that there was no
cause for alarm.
It was a beautiful bight to see the fragile
boy sit, or recline, ou the floor, and to see the
inti nse devotion txore^sed for him in the eyes
ot the little dog, which was now well. He
would crouch for hours beside tte dog, mo
tionless, except to once in a while raise one
paw and lav it tenderly on the sleeve of his
jtcket, or to put bis cold little nose softly
against the thin, bloodless hand and nothing,
not even hunger, would draw him away The
boy grew more and more fond of him, and
rarely laid down unless be drew ihe little dog
close and let the little sh-iggy yellow head rest
on his breast, while the bright, intelligent
eyes were always fast tied on fKrry's lace,
with a look more thon human attachment
and love Verypreeious to little Harry was
the love, silent aud so deep, of his dog, and
the fathei used 'o look upon them until his
eyes grew misty and dim with tears that he
would turn away his henl to hide.
Evtiy indulgence that could be given to
ILiny he had, and every whim was gratified,
and they were many but he never, for one
moment, swerved from the pre Acting love ot
his ugly lit le dog, and at la^f it had come to
be that even the lather lov him for the sake
of the atiectionate devetion to his child that
hhowed every look and motion. A month
had passed i-ince the poor creature hid been
taken by Hairy a month that id ide tad
havoc with the little vitality of the child, who
now scarcely moved oil* ihe sofa all day for
when he made the .slightest exeit on the cruel
spasms at the heaits-eemcd to almost divorce
soul and body.
\nd th father and loving old nurse were
poweikssto relieve him, and Hie day was
last approaching that would release the
tense t.n that racked the htrle heart to agony.
At such times the eyes of the poor little dog
would be raised piteou ly to each in turn, as if
in inticaty that some thing should be done
for Il.uiy, who he knew feulieivd so At
length the lasthou camethe hnebilver coid
was almost looseni d, and the little heart bo
long toit'ired with sufloeatiug pain was about
to be relieved in the calm of death
For houis he had lain siient, the rich, gold
en hair tossed 1 em the pillow, and one
clasped in that of his father, the other around
poor "doggie," whose ptL-lul eyes seemi al
most hum-in, as he would look into the wh.te
li'tle f.ice, so fast chilling to death, and now
and tt.cn giving a sigh as deep and lull of
agony as the human ones that loved the boy
could have felt.
Sdent and sorrowful faded (he light or the
day before Christmas in that house The rain
fell steadily and f.i,t, aud there was a little
chill iu the air outside, that made it hard to
those, who unprotected, walked along the al
most eh sei tedbtrcets.
Presently Harn unclosed nis eyes, and said:
"Papa, where is Aunty ry! I thought I
saw her, just now, come in at the hall door,
and yon told hei to go out. You wouldn't do
"No, Harry. I hope she will come, one of
these day s, aud live with us. Do you feel bet
'Yes, papa but I feel very tireddifferent
fi om any other tired I ever s" 1 w. Oh, dogg ie,
you hei e? Ot couise, you aie. Papa, ain't you
gUd I took him? I'm glad youle& me, and
he loves me. I always sleep so good when
heisvvithme. I am sleepy now, and I guess
I'll go to sleep. Papa, vou love me? You
love doggie, too' You won'I let anvbody
bin him, and to men row we will have a nice
Christmasa, nice Christmas," and hero the
nluo veined lids fell, an-1 a cbeam,' smile be
gan 10 settle on the little pi 'cbeel lip?, and the
bice to grow more placid and peaceful, the
father watching it till, when the clock strucK
1, ho puts Lis hand on tbe lair, high brow,
and found it icy cold iu the chill of deith
No wonder, then, that the stioiK man cried
aloud in his agony, nor that tbe winds wailed
outside, or that tbe clouds dropped tears up
on that desolate house, or that a poor iittie
ugly dog shivered and mo mod ou the bed
fiom whence the waxen foim had been borne
lor the fulfillment of those last sad ites lor
tbe deadthe dead that lay so still and peace
ful amid the agonized groans of tbe father
and the louder cries of fon 1 nurs.-, and the
servants ot the hou*eunnnndful for once of
the little dog that licked the cold hand, often
raising his head to look upon the calm face,
aud then, meeting no response, turning it
with a mute agony of appeal to the faces ot
Mr. Emmons had been taken from the room
by the Doctor. He gave way utteily, and
threw himself on the lloor, wtiile great sobs
shook hi-, frame. He had con sol ition in but
one thing, and tint was: "AS/w has as much
need of h\m4here as you here." He lay theie
till daylight came through the windows, and
the sun shone over the landscape as brightly
as though betw. en his setting and rising no
soul had left its tenementno home desolated
and -aiu-diops glittered on every tree and
shrub, flishing back the waun sunshine.
At noon they bore the body of the bov to
grave beside his mother, and covered him
up Mt the sodelen eaitb. The heavy thuds
with which they struck the coffin were shaip
blows of agony to tbe desolate father, who
tried bard to control bis grn f, but he broke
down utterly and sobbud like a babe, when he
felt a feeble seratchmg ou bis h-g, and looked
down to see poor "doggie," with his piteous
lookot entieaty and gnel almobt human, and
his eyes actually full of tears, as he whined
iu vaii-, turning tow ird the fast tilling
grave. The\y took doggie home and
tried by every means to induce him to
eat and drink, but it was ot no avail, his little
heait, although only a dog's, was broken, and
he would sigh and whine, while tears were in
his oleadmg eyes as be looked from one to
the other, as it seeking an explanation as to
where Harry had gone. Mi. Emmons sat
long in his btudy that night in sad loneliness,
when even the eompany of *he little dog
would have comforted hm and finally he
rose, thinking he would take him into his lap
for his mute sympathy.
He called, but received no answer, and
finally concluded he would perhays find him
in the empty crib where Hai ry had slept. He
went into the bedroom with his heart filled
with acute pain at entering again* the place
where little Harry died. There was uo "dog
gie" )n there and he called again, and was
answered bv a taint whine in a comer of the
room, and there be found "doggie," who had
dragged a little velvet cap, a pair of red-top
ped boots, aud a tiny boat that Harry had
loved to play with, and was lying on the heap
A moaning crythe despaning cry of tbe
bitterness of desolationbroke from the set
lips, teais gushed forth at this pitiful proof
of devotion, raining down on the poor dog's
head as the trembling hand tenderiy stroked
it. The little doggi. ac turned upwaid for
a moment with a look of affection, aud then
fell bacit. "Doggie" was doad!
Flowers bloomed alter wards, and the sun
s-lione on, day after day, just as ever but
that father is lonely still with the dread lone
liness of childlessness, and his steps are
oftenist traced to the little grave where Harry
lies, and whose white tombstone, below his
name, bears a strange devicea dog dying
beside a cap and a toy.
A Quaker's Christmas Eve.
V,\ FAXNIE ROr.IXSOX,
How blow and soft the sr ow-dress falls
Upon the vine deserted walls,
As if some gracious soul, intent
Upon the one sweet deed it meant
Since in its grace and beauty lay,
Should wrap pach bare thing on the way.
Till all things white and whiter grow,
Except the shadows earth may throw,
The tender gray, the peacefulVhite,
A Quaker setting make to-night
And so this moonshine, which is shade
Only a little lighter laid,
Into mv heart still mood has crept,
With which a glow of sunrise kept
When youth and Benjamin were mine,
Ah! swift the slowest years -incline.
And sunrise has no story now
To moye me like the night and snow.
If those unquiet bells would cease
Clashing their peals across this peace,
It seems the hour's rare silentness,
Even worldlv hearts might dude and bless,
And hit the lowest heavenward
To greet the birthday of the Lord.
I can not think the loudest bells
Can utter what a pure voice tells
The spirit nee-ds no braz tone
To whisper triumph to His own
The blessed healing falls to them
Who touch unseen the garment's hem
And hidden de'eds are wa'ted higher
Than chan tings of ~n angel choir,
Hosanna still the mad bo's en,
While still the mad tnds ciucify
But angels watch and women weep,
And tlu irs the Rising after sleep.
H^w caretb He, for Christmas song
To whosn all days and song belong!
Only an ebbing love has need
Its high-tide reaching thus to heed.
Alw iys the willing angles sing
To worn out workers listening:
Always our Christie in tl eaith,
Always his love, his human birth
In joy 'hat crowns ourla'er morn
As in Judean Christmas born.
And yet I mindbirthda how every year, ripe draw anear,
Dear Ruth, from out her gtyer life,
With worldly hone and wisdom rife,
Comes: to the quiet nest once more,
Bringing the &mile tier fatuer woie,
And little gracious gifts, to tell
She keeps by some high miracle
The simple heart 'neath costly laco.
That needs a double grant of grace.
Though all the year Ruth's tenderest eyes
To mine are opening to the ski s,
Though love unsaid be love complete,
I find the soecial service sweet
And so, perhaps, those louder chimes,
Smoothing the prose-told hours to rhymes,
Like some rare voi God sets to remnd
The jarring ones of shriller sound
Te-ese spiies with grand and silly art,
CUmbing to reach the (Jential Heart
These broken bllies, and the rush
Ot leet where letningangels hu^h
May be to cleat er eyes than mine
Fresh bpellings of a tale divine.
And He whose birthday knew no bliss
Except a woman's troubled ki s,
May still forgive the foo'ish art,
And hide tbe meaning in III-, heart.
OVER TH E SNOW.
A Christmas Story.
HY MltS. VV AGNUS FLEMING,
l-roja Demorest's Monthly
"Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King!"
Rang out from the choir, and the organist,
a slender pale-faftd girl, with grave, beauti
ful brown eyeb, uned 111 the anthem, all her
soul 111 the triumphal words.
It was the last piece ot the rehersul. The
ehoristeis threw down their books, only too
glad to get away. The organist alone re
mained, to play over once more a new volun
"Good night, Miss Englehart!" "Goodnight
MissKatherme!" "Goud night, Katie, and a
merry Christmas Eve!" were tb^ cries, as one
by one, men aud maids, left the choir, and
went ao wn the stairs, aud out into the bright,
white Chi istnias mgnt.
Mi-s Eaglehait's gravely smiling lips and
gentle brown eyes answered them all. A
moment, and she was alone, only the white,
piercing moonlight streaming through the
oainted oriel over the altar and the oue dim
A fiaie of gas lit the organ loft, but this she
lovered, and with rapt fac- and dreamy eyes
she played over and over again the jubilant
newvoluuttry. She might haye gone on for
hom-jshe was quite c-vpable ot itbut a
piteous yawn lrom the boy at the bellows le
talled her 'rom heavt to earth.
"Oh!" bbe said, stopping suddenly, with a
halt laugh, 1 hid forgotten you Jimmy. Well,
I .von'r, play any more and here, take this tor
your Christmas box."
Jimmy jumped up and seized the proffered
coin with glittering eyes.
Th inky, Miss Katie. Merry Christmas,
please ma'am," cried the boy seizing his cap.
"Aa! she's a b.iek, bhe is," said Jimmy to
himself, as sh^. flatten down the steep stau
ease Nobody among nil the bingers ever
thinks ol the .H. ih.*t blowb the bellows,
'cept her. Don't I jest hope she won't marry
that long-leg^ roostei that seorts her here
sometimes, and leave the cb ir lor good?"
Still a few moments longer lingered Misb
Englehai on her knees. 1 lwn, she, too, hur
ried dwwu the ntaircase and out into the shill
ing colduesb of the stairy December night.
High aud white and cold lay the Ch-istmas
snow. No "green yute" this yair to make tat
the kirk-y.ud. Cloudlesb ana blue spread the
ky, tilled withspaikhngchar-stmas stars.
"Katie!" With a great sta.'t the world "ame back
from the land of dreams. A 1 all man had
started up iu her pth and spoke her name.
''Youpap!' the girl said 111 doubt and sur
prise, thi color that had aasen to her face fad
1, Kate." He diew her hand under his
arm with a laugh "Did you think it was
Haray Hatton? Well, it is almost as good,
foi I have come to talk to you of htm
Mi^s iglehai looked up, a sudden trouble
in the brown, tender eyeb.
''1 thought you had done talking of him,
papa," she said, a tremble in her voice. "1
thought yesterday had finished the subiect
Let me see. What did I say yesterday?"
says -Mr Euglel.ait tilaudly.
''Ah! I remember that my stiff-necked, dot
ing oid client, lohn Ha to.i, had made up his
beutle mind 10 torgive his runaway daughter,
aud disiutierit Harry. Under these circum
stances I very natutally told you ttiat you
weie to met 1 Hany no more. You are a
good girl, Katie -a Very good girl" Mr.
En^leh irt, pats paternally the little hand on
his arm"and aiauy raciticr toyoursell you
would have obeyed lue, i am sure. Mv deal,
it aftordb me gieat plcasiue to iuform you
the saciiri.ee will not be requned."
"Papa!" the giri ones, her whole face light
ing up. "You will let me marry Hairy, poor
as he is? O p^pa! aiu not ah aid 01 poverty
not airaidol woik neither i & Han v, and
"Oh, pooh! my dearpooh! nothing of the
kind. My ODIUIOU OU that point has uevei
changed, and uevei will No, uo it, is some
thing luflnitely better than that. Oid Hatton
died suddenly las' night befere mahjug the
proposed new will, aud all is Harry's."
Katharine Euglehait uttered a laint, start
"And the old will leaving all to Harry
stands, aud only daughter is disinherited
and lelt out."
"Lett without a stiver, my dear, and serves
her right says T. tihe ran away with a worth
less bcamp, against her father's will, and
like all tools, nas paid the penalty of her
folly. She supports hei self aud her five
children by Eewiug, so I have been told, aud
you kuow what Kind of support ttiat means.
Serves her light, I say a#am. John Hatton
has done what, it was nis duty to dowhat I
would have done iu his placeeast her off,
and left her to starve wu the po-uper she
In the moonlight the face of Miss Engle
hart grows white as the snow itself, but the
walks ou and does not say a w. rd.
'However," cries ber father, ehcjrfjlly
"that is not what I want to say. Rose Hat
tou's case need never be yours. Ml Harry's
aud, except his poverty, I nev rhad any ob
jection to Harry as a bon-in-law. So when he
comes to wish you merry Christmas, my dear
Katie, I give you leave to name the day."
A strange light came into the brown eye, a
strangely resolute expression sets the pretty,
"Is he coming to-night, papa?"
"You will find him, I have not the slightest
doubt, at the house before you. It would be
hypocrisy forbim to profess any grief for that
old skinflint uncle, and Harry is no hypocrite
"You have seen him since his uncle's
"Certainly, Katie, and was the first to con
gratulate him. 'I trust you withdraw your
objections to my suit now. f-ir? he says to me,
in hi* haughty way. I am John Hatton's heir,
after all.' A trifle hot heaaed is Harry, but a
trood fellow in the mamoh! a very good fel
low! I have no doubt, Katie, he will make an
"He means to keep this fortune, then?'" his
daughter says, and says it in so odd a voice
that her father looks at her puzzled.
"Keep it! What do you mean? What
should he do but keep it? "Bv George! I should
thmk he did mean to keep it! A cool hundred
thousand if a shilling' May I ask what you
mean by the question
"Not now, papa, please. I will see Harry
fiist," she answered, in the same strange
voicea very quiet voice, though it startles
"Look here, my girl," he says steamly,
know you of oldkuow your highflown,
Quixotic notions about things in general, and
ooints of honor and conscience in paitieular
I warn yoa don't let us have any of them here,
if you want to be Harry Hatton's wife. The
lad has come fairly by his fortune let him
keep in peace."
They are at the house with the *ast words
words harshly and menacingly spoken. They
go together into the drawing-ioom, and there
as Mr. Englehart ha3 predicted, th find
youDg Hatton alone. A tall and proper fel
low, this Harry Hatton, with a handsome
face and eager, happy eyes.
"At last,*' be cries, coming forward, both
hai ds outstretched, "jut as p-Uit nee w, ceas
ing to hi a virtue Thank you for bringing
her Mr. Englehart. Come the fireside,
Katie, and warm those cold little paws. Ha-'
our stately papa been telling you the good
He draws her forward, eyes smile, all alight
with love and joy Last night he was in de
soair last night this cozy room had b-cn for
biden ground. Sorrow and weeping had en
dured for the liigbt, but joy had come with
the morning. This time yesterday he had
been a beggar and Katie had been refused him
to night he was a iich man and, Katie might
be hii^for the asking.
And papa Englehart, after a genial, father
in-law sort ol nod, had slipped awayleaving
"Why don't you speak little girl'" ores ju
bilant Harry. "Oi ba- the power of speech
hi-ea frozen within you? Wish me a meriy
Chistmas, Katie, and congratulate me ou my
She looks up at him with eyes full of wist
"I wish you a merry Chri^mis with all my
heait, Hany but congratulate you on what?"
*/hy, hasn't the dear old dad been telling
you? Then wonders never will cease, till,
p-haw! Ofcouroche has told you that my
uncle is dead?"
"Poorold Mr. Hatton! yes, I know he is
"And all is mine, Katie, all. And next
April the old house shall have anew mistress
and Harry Hatton shall have a wife. Whv
don't you speak? Why don't you smile"?
What is the matter with yon to night?"
''Harry, you mean to keep th's inher
"Keep it?" Harry looks at her in wonder
"By Jove! what a question. What should I
do with it but keep it?"
"Resign it to Rose HattonMrs. Andrews
nowto whom it rightfully belongs."
''A most likely idea, and quite worthy of
Katie Englehart. I have had ooveity and haid
wo for beven and twenty yeais, and now,
when tbe goldeu showei falls in my arms, 1
am to resign it to Rose Andrews and her
drunken biute of a husband! No, no, Katie
in the mneteentn century, men keep ah they
get, and ask for more."
"So I perceive," she says quie.ly, though
she is trembliqg as she stands. S diaws a
ring off her finger aud lays it n the table be
fore him. "Our engagement ends to-night,
then, Mr. llatfon. Here is your ring."
He stands gazing at her,utterly bewildered.
"Katie," he exclaims, "e don't mean this.'
"I mean it, Harry. If papa had lett me, I
would have been your wife in your poveitv
oh! so gladlyand worked for you, and w'lth
you, with all my heart: but nownow that
you take the poi tion of that woman worse
than widowed, of those children worse than
fatherless, I would die first."
Ihe gentle eyes flashed, into the pale cheeks
an indignant glow leaped, and the soft, tender
voice rang out ab be had never heard it betoie.
"Hut this is all nonbeube, Katie," he crh
impatiently, "sheer nemsense! Ask your fath
er"asmile ciossed Katie'b lips"ask any
body it the money is not fairly mine. Rose
Hatton, a headstrong, obstinate school-gnl,
elooes with a bcoundrel, who only seeks hei
fathei's money, and she is disinherit! d, as bhe
deserved. I am his sister's son, aud to me
what B.JC resigned has fallen."
"Her father forgave her before he died, and
would have made another will if another any
had been given lnin
"Look here, Katie,"*says Hatton still imp i
tieutly, "I will seek out my cousin Rosie, aud
if bhe leaves her wretch of a husband, I'll
provide tor ber and the little ones. Will that
"I kuow Rose Hatton," Katie answers
"She was proud aud obstinate, and would die
of starvation soouer than accept as charity
what is her's by right."
He comes close aud stands before her, his
eyes flashing angrily.
1 must eitliei enoo^e between resigning
you or my uncle's fortune?
"If I rebign it, I am a pauper as before, and
your lather will order me from his doors.
You will not di&ob youi father, so in either
case I am to lose you
"I love you Hany she says with a gasp
"1 would wait
"l'haik you," he says, with a short laugh
"that is poor consolation. You area womau,
and waiting may be easy to you. I am a man
aud aon't choose to wait. Since I must lose
you in any case, I'ilnotlosc my money as well.
jod night, Misn Englehart. I wish you a
very merry Christmas."
"Hany!" she cries.
But he has gone, gone in a tine fury, bang
ing the street door alter him and it is her
lather, white with passion, who stands before
Twice tbe Christinas tide has come and
gone twice the joyful anthem of "Peace on
earib, to men good will," has sounded down
the stately ailses ot Et. Philip's, and the third
time is here. Once more it is Christmas Eve
onee more altar and pulpit are wreathed with
eveigreens once more the voices of the
choristers rise to the vaulted roof once more
the blender, brown-eyed 01 gauists sits at her
post, her hugero evokiug wonderous music
lrom tnose pearl-white keys. But the face
has a graver beauty, the dark eyes a 6adder
light than of old, aud lor the silkb and sables
ot other days her dress is deepest mourning,
pla ot make and poor of textuie.
The last piece is sungsomething grand
and old and triumphant, and 'Good night,
Miss Euglehait," oi.e and all cry, as they flut
ter away aua down the stairs. She smiles her
larewelt, but lingers alter they have goue, as
is her custo aud as her hands float over the
keys aud her eyeb rest em the music, she is
thinking of another Christmas Eve, three
years ago, ana ol her father and lover who
stood by her side that night.
She huS lost them boththe lover then,
niverto-hearot or see since, the father one
year ago. A trreat nnaneial crisis had come,
had involved bhrewd lawyer Englehart, and
swamped him. He had broken down under
the blow, and in less than three months after
was dead and burhd. He had never forgiven
Kitie her refusal of Harry Hatton he did not
even forgive her on his deathbed.
"If you had not been a fool with yourscruples
and whims," he had said to her btterly, 'you
need not have been a beggar to-day. Harry
Hatton is married loug ago, no doubt, to some
wiser woman, and when I am gone you may
earn your living as best vou may."
Thev buried him, and Katherine had earned
her living braveiy aud well. For years she
had played the organ of St. Phi ip's as a labor
of love. Now it became a labor of necess
ity. Hersalarv as orgauist, and a half dozea
piano pupils gave her all she needed, and life
wenton somehow, and Christmas had come
Sh dread-d Christmasthe old pain and
struggle beemed to come all bacs afresh. She
did not regret what she had done. Better
loneliness aud poverty then ill-gotten gain
tter lose her lover forever than become the
vvtte of a man capable of wronging the living
and the dead, cue had lo-t him, but she had
noteeisedtolovehira. While she deplored
bis sins, her pure prayers followed him in his
rei kless wauderings over the world.
She lett the organ at last, and slowly quit-
ted the church. Unlike that other Christmas,
no moon or stars shone. White, soft, cease
less the scow fell. She put up her umbrella
and hurried homethe home of a neighbor
ing-housetook her belated and solitary
supper, and ran up to her own little sitting
room. A fire buaned in the grate, and her
pianosolo relic of former splendorstood
open with some new music upon it. Before
sitting down to her long practice, she wtntto
the window and looked out. All tbe world
was white aud still and ghostlv, and faster
and faster the snow was falling. "As she stood,
the tall, dark figure of a man opened the
gate, and came plowing through the snow to
"One of the boarders," she thought, "belated
as I was. How cross Mrs. White will be."
She left the window and went to the piano.
Before she commenced her practice, and half
unconsciously, she began softly to sing her
favonte old anthem.
Then she stopped, conscious that the door
and opened, and the intruder did not advance.
"Come in," she said, "and shut the door,
p'ease there is adrau
She fctopped with a low 7 but he took her
at her word, shut the door, and came forward
I have come back, Katie," he said. "Will
you forgive me and shake bands?"
He took both hers without waiting for leave,
and held them fas$.
"I only reached England yesterday," he
went on. "All these years I hare been
abroad, tiying to forget you and be happy,
and I have neither forgotten you, nor been
happy. You were right, and I was wrong. I
have come back to tell you so, and to ask
you if you have forgotten me?"
"Forgotten you!" she repeats almost with
a sob. 0 my Harry! My Harry
"I am no longer rich," he says. "Rosie
and the little ones are at the old homestead,
and the drunken nusband has drunk him
self to death. I tried to palter with my duty,
Katie, before I went away I sought out
Rose and ottered her a portion of her father's
fortune She was proud, as you told me she
would be, and ret used it with scorn- 'I am
poor,'she said, 'almost starving but I will
not tak* as a favor fiom vou, Harry Hatton,
that which is my right." Keep all or give
all!' I kept all. Kitie, and if I could h.ve
forgotten you, might have kept all in tbe
end. But I love you so well, mv Katie, that
I ask nothing but you for tbe rest of my life.
We will be poor, but we will be together
Sav you forgive me, Katie you have not said
She said it then, holding him close, her
happy tears damping his already damp coat
"Y/ou and I are to spend Christmas Day
with Rose," he says presently, that first trans
port over. "She's a jolly little soul as ever
lived in spite of all her troubles, and right
glad to have done with maliimoney forever
Wnokn vv but that after eight years of it
you may not echo her sentinu nt!"
"I think 1 will risk it, though," says Miss
Englehart, looking at him, handsome, big and
brown, with adoring eyes. "O Hairy! to
think I did not know vou striding through
the snow up to the gate! I was jastthinking,
with ever so little of a pang, that no gift
would be mine this year, while all the time
the best and dearest of Christmas boxes was
coming to me over the snow."
"Christmas has brought you your lover
and New Year bhall bring you your husband
And New Year did.
Wishing- and Having.
If to wish and to have were one, my dear,
You would be sitting now
With not a care in your tender heart,
Not a wrinkle upon your brow,
The clock of time would go back with you
All the years you have oeen my wife,
Till its golden hands had pointed out
The happiest hours of youi life:
I would stop them at that immortal hour
The v.lo -k should no longer run
You could not be sad and sick and old
it to wish and to have were one.
You are not here in the winter, my lrjve,
The snow is not whiiliug down
You are in the heart of the bummer woods,
In your dear old sea-side town:
A patter of little feet in tbe leaves,
A beaut ful boy at your side
He is gathering flowers in the shady nooks
It was but a dream that he died!
Keep hold of his hand and sing to him:
No mother under the sun
Has such aserpphic child as yours
If to wish and to have were one.
Methinks I am with uthete, dear wife
In that old house by the sea
I have ilown to you as the bluebirds Hies
To bis mate in the poplar tree
A sailor's hammock hangs at the door,
You swing in It, book in hand
A boat is standing in foi the beach,
[ts keel grates on the sand:
Your brothers are comingtwo manly men,
Whose lives haye only begun:
Tr-eir Says will belong in the land, deal heait,
It to wish and to have were one.
II to wish and to have were one, ah, me!
I would not be old and poor,
But a young and prosperous gentleman,
With never a dun at the door:
There would be no past to he wail, my love
There would be no future to dread:
Your broth rs should be live men again,
And your brothers would not be dead.
Perhaps it will all come right at last
It may be, when all is done,
We shall be together in some good woild,
Where to wish and to have are one.
Mr. And Mrs. S. C. Hall.
In a late number of Tlie Time* a short
but kind ly pa? lgraph relating to the well
known literaly copartners, Mr. and Mrs.
S. C. Hall, made me think that a descrip
tion of their every-day lives from one
who has the plea*n*e of calling them
friends, and who but a few months ago
made one of their circle, might not come
amiss to some of their admirers this side
of the water.
Mr. and Mrs. Hall hve in a low, un
pretending-looking little house, with an
iron c/ate in the high white wall that sur
rounds, it, in the artistic region ot Ken
sington, near tbe Hollaed House, and are
'a* home" to then friends every Friday
in an informal pleasant way. A very
neat and low-voiced maid opens the door
for you and shows you through a narrow
hall, the walls of whica aie covered with
engravings, into a lone-, low-ceilinged
room, where the dear old people received
all who come. It was a warm day in Ju
lv when I last visited them, and the pret
ty little conservatory was full of greens
that flourished to the notes of a gently
dripping lountain. Only a few were
gati.ered in the room, as the afternoon
was yet young. Mr Hall rose at once to
greet us, and stopped me on my way to
his wife at tbe ot ber end of the
room. We all know, of course,
how old he i & in matter of mere years,
but a younger hearted man I have never
met, nor one on whom greatness, hardly
worked for, and nobly won, rests so sim
ply. His interest in all that is new i3 a9
tiesh as ever he wakes the tire and life,
where literature, science, or art is con
cerned as eagerly as 60 years ago,when ha
first took up the editorship ot the then New
Monthly, now better known as the Art
Magazine. He is a fine looking old man,
with a head not unlike Longfellow's, an
abundance of absolutely snow-white hair,
which stands about f-is face like a mane,
dark eyes, eager and piercing, perfectly
black eyebrows, bushy and straight,
and an overhanging brow, be
speaking intellect. His wife is as gentle
as he is impulsive as full of womanli
ness as he is of manliness as quite and
earnest in her weieome as he is spontane
ous and cordial. She, too, has white hair,
put smoothly down, and banded by a
broad black velvet ribbon. She has a
kind, true face, purified by suffering, and
marked by tlought and study. She re
ceived us sitting on a low oaken settee,
over which an eastern shawl, carelessly
thrown, seemed a fitting adjunct for her
satin and rare old laces. Her sweet voice
asked our pardon for seeming' rudeness
in so doing, "Dut," said she, smiling, "I
am an oid woman, and growing older,
my dear, so I claim my privileges, you
see." In the course of conversation with
Mr. Hall concerning his past, he said,
'Ah, my dear young lady, I have passed
a busy a.nd an eventful life. I have seen
many geniuses come and go, rise and fill.
I have known Percy, Wordsworth, Byroa,
Motherwell, Tom Mocre, Mrs. Browning
and her husband, and poor E. L., while
1 count now among mv friends our Lau
reate, and your mighty Longfellow, whom
I tnink the giatest and only poet of this
time and generation. I consider Tenny
son as belonging to a past age, Arthurian
if you like. I look about me, having
known giants in my time, and what do I
see? A tew singing minstrel boys,
stringing rhyming lines together and
sending them forth as poetry. I tell you,"
shaking his white head till each indi
vidual hair took a life of its own, '-we
have but one living poet, and he is not
ours, but yours, Longfellow."' Their room
is full of souvenirs sent by those -who
started in the race with him, but who
have gone to their rest before them, a3
well as ot many tokens of a lave still
tender and grateful in living hearts. "DJ
you see that little harp on the piano un
der a glass ca^e?'' he askeel me "that
belonged to poor Tom Moore. Many's
the time he has taken it up, and played
and sang his own melodies to the wife
and me. After his death his widow sent
it to me. It has been mute since men.
That table, small and common looking,
is one Wordsworth wrote many of his
sonnets upon. Look this is poor E. 's
little worn pocket nk she sent it to my
wife as a farewell gift, with a sad, wild
iittie note, when she went away with that
brute of a man. She never came back to
us, and the poor little purse is a pathetic
thing, is it not? Shall I ttll you how I
first came to know Mrs. Rrowning? (Miss
Barrett she was ttien.) There came to
me one day, in the youth of my editor
ship, a manuscript, beautifully written
and as clear as print. It was a poem ot
such rare excellence and beauty that the
thought arose that I was being made the
subject of a practical joke, and that it
was one of Wordsworth unknown to me
With fear and trembling, I published it
under the modest signature, E. B. It
was her first published effort, aud the one
she refers to so kindlv in her letters to
Home So I came to know her, and to low
her for herself, as I had ac'mired her for
her genius Once there came to my hands
a small manuscript, in cramped hand writ
ing, not signed. I read it, for mark you,
no good editor leaves the disposition of a
manuscript to his readers. With the
first quarter of it I was utterly disgusted
and said, in my superior vanity, what do
I care for the petty troubles of a petty
village, or the petty squabbles of two
pettv rival newspapers? Luckily forme
I read a little further, and bigan to take
in the cleverness, the delicate wit, the
subtle humor of it. It was very late at
night when I finished it, and said, 'Thank
God' for seeing its light. Ah, I see you
know what it is. You would be ashamed
to be ignorant of it, for truly it was Little.
Pedlinqtonl 1 actually quaked in my
shoes to think how nearly I had passed it
by. Must you go? All, so ycu leave us
to attend on Mr. Welsh. Why so'
"This is the Fourth ot July, Mr. Hall
The day of our glorious Independence. 1
must go to wish my country "fresh pros
The dear old man rose from his chair,
and tossing back that mass of white hair,
swung his hand above his head, aua
shouted, "Hooray! Hooray! My little
friend," he added, "1 stood on Bunke
Hill one Fourth of July, and believe me
no one cheered more heartily or lustily
than I, at a victory gloriously won by a
glorious and great people. So tell them
when you go home that the kindest
hooray you heard in England for the
other country was from an old man near
ly 80!" It so happened it was the only
one my patriotic ears did listen to. We
crossed the room together, he to present
me to Mrs. Henry Wood, the novelist, a
small, quiet woman, with a delicate (ace
sensible and kind, almost quakerish in
her dress, and not at all what one would
expect of the author of East Lynne. At
leaving Mrs. Hall kissed me, Mr. Hall
holding my hand the while, and giving
me, as a souvenir, their photographs and
come of his verses. It was a real good-
bye, for the next day they went to Hyde,
and a few weeks later saw me on my way
to America. I could not refrain from
showing how kind and genial, how in
teresting and interested are these dear
people in ail who come near them. Tney
have aided many by kikd words and acts
and among the number I am proud to
enroll myself as one, though of the least,
among them. Di. Gnvssfi.
A Christmas Hymn.
'Twas in the calm and silent night.
The Senator of haughtv Rome
Impatient urged h.s chariot's llight,
From lordly revel rolling home.
Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell
His breast with thoughts of boundless sway:
I jhat recked the Rowian what befell
A paltry piovince far away
In the solemn midnight
Within that province far away
Went plodding home a weary boor
A streak of light before him lay,
Fallen through a halt-shut stable door
Across his path. He passedfor naught
Told what was going on within
How keen the stars, his onlv thought,
The air how calm and cold and thin
In the solemn midnight
It is the calm and solemn night.
A thousand bells ring out and throw
Their joyous peels abroad, and smite
The darkness, charmed and holy now.
The nip lit that erst no name had worn.
To it a happy name is given,
For in that stable lay new born
The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven.
In the 6olemu midnight
King Alton^o is represented as having
written to the Pope asking advice on the
subject ot contracting a second marriage.
Personally, he says, tbe thought of other
nuptials is distasteful to him, but con
tinued celibacy may be detrimental to
the Spanish monarchy. The papers, too.
arc beginning to discuss the same subject.
The King and bis married sister, the
Countess de Girgenti, are childless, their
two younger sisters are unmarried, and
the throne is at the mercy of an accident
or a crime. Among the Bourbon prin
cesses considered eligible, are the late
Queen's elder 3ister, (who is possibly too
old for Alfonso), the Princess Blanche of
O leans, the dughter of the Count of
Trapani, and the daughter of the Duke
of Seville. Of other princesses, a Prot
estant being out of the question, the
second daughter of King Leopold, of
Belgium, is regarded with most favor,
though she is rather young. The ques
tion, especially since Moncasi's attempt
on the King's life, is regarded as a seri
ous one, inasmuch as a contested succes
sion or a weak regency in Spain or Italy
might lead to the proclamation of a re
public, which would probably bring
about 111 Earop" another
Pretty and new jtoilet boxes are m*a de
of delicate shades of satinand painted bv
hand in quaint designs.
A HUMAN LIF E PRESERVER.
It is safe to say that no character is
more generally known in Trenton than
Archie Parks, who is now and has been,
for a number of years pound keeper.
His exploits as an officer ol tbe law have*
won for him the title of the' Great Ameri
can Detective," and his undaunted pluck,
frequently amounting to a sort of reck
lessness, is fully inherited by his children.
His eldest boy, William Elwood, is a
'chip of the old block"a sort of bare
footed vagrant around town, wild and
heedless in his way, a noted truant lrom
school, loathing bard wonc, but the hero
of exploits which are sufficient to cover a
multiude of transgressions.
Elwood was born on Washiagton's
birthday in 1S60. At the age of eleven
he saved a girl mamed Annie Huttoa,
about Ins own age, who was gathering
coal on the railroad and was caught by
the down express on the Balvldere divi
sion. The youngster drew her from be
neath the ponderous drivers ju in the
nick of time, his own escape being so
narrow that a portion of hi3 coat was cut
off by the wheels of the engine.
The following summer, Johnny Hut
ton, brother of the forgoing, fell off a
raft and was carried under. He was
unable to swim, and young Park:*, see
ing his mishap, leaped into the water
after him. Both came up beneath the
raft, when E'wood, by groaping about
wit'i one hand, discovered" from the
direction of the logs the shortest line to
clear water and brought the little teliow
safely to laud. This same Hutton boy,
a couple of years ago, tell twenty feet
from a pile of lumber and was knocked
senseless. Young Parks scoop, up
water in his hat and threw it ia his face.
He was so badly hurt that he failed to
revive, when Parks slung him over his
shoulder and oarried hitr to his home,
three blocks away, and then for the
doctor. The doctor declared, after learn
ing all the circumstances, that Uutton's
life was saved the second time by Parks
as clearly as in the first case.
Some three or more years since, tvid
Geisneiceer, a Germau lad, was skatinw
on a basin of the canal wh-n the ice broke
and let him through. All his companions
fled in teiror. Young Parks, a might
have been expepted, was lounging in the
neighborhood, and started on a run tor
the drowning Jad. He broke through
the ice several tinus before reaching him
and again after catching his arm, but he
brought him safely to laud.
When warm weather came again a
German blacksmith, with a heavy load
of lager aboard, sat down on the margin
of the canal to bathe his feet., By the
time he was fairly going he toppled' over
and was in a fair way to drown, when
El wood, then fifteen years old, sprang
in to his help. It came near being his
last exploit, for the German night him
in such a manner that the boy couid not
use his limbs. He therefore dove, carry
ing the blacksmith with him, ami kept
him beneath until the man was neaily
gone. Then the youngster caught him
by the hair and towed him ashore. The
lad was censured by some for thi3 act, as
he was small and all the probabilities
poinded to losing his own life in the at
tempt to rescue a large and powerful
It was not long after that a fearful run
away took place on the main street of
Trenton. A team of horses became
frigbtened at the cars and dashed off at
headlong speed. A lady and gentleman
were thrown out and badly hurt. A
second ge ntieman remained in the vehicle,
which was bounding and swaying along
the street, tbe horses unmanageable, when
young Parks threw his coa* over the head
of one, and seizing the other by the bit,
brought both to a standstill and reieaaed
he frightened driver unbuit.
Young Parks caught the bit of another
runaway team, whose driver had fallen
astride the tongue, and would have
been crushed a few moments latei. On
tins occasion the boy was di agored fully
fifty feet, but he hung on like grim d^ath
until two men came to his a-ristance Last
winteranethe hor&e ran away, thiew out
a lady and gentleman, and vvas plunging
straight for the canal, when he was seized
and checked by our her who was assist
ed by young Geisneicher, the lad whom
he had saved from drowning.
Three years ago the father, Archie,
was driving a team with a load of oysters.
He stopped at a house and was turning
to his wagon when he caught his feet in
an obstruction and fell dp ctly'in front,
At the same moment his horses started
and when stopped by El wood, who
seized them by the bit, tb lorward
wheels were within a few inches of his
Ezekiel Garden, wife and daughter, und
John Eldridge and wife seme few vers
ago were coming Jown Stockton street in
a carriage when tl two horses bee tine un
manageable and ran awaj. Eldridge was
flung out and badly bruised, but the oth
ers were saved by young Paika, who
seized the bit ana brought the i-teed to a
stand-still. A year later Eiwood was in
a smali boat some miles from this city,
when a drunken canal driver tumbled in
and was fished out by the youngste r.
One day last summer a Mrs. Biley,
who had been ill for some time with a
derangement of the brain, jumped out of
the second story window of her house,
and ran down to the canal with tbe inten
tion of*drowning herself. An alarm was
giveD and she was pursued and captured
by William E. Parks, aud held until as
sistance was rendered by neighbors. Her
intention was to drown herself This is
the second attempt she has made at self
destruction. Aout an hour later Parks
rescued from drowning a young gin who
was out boat ng in company with a
young man. The boat capsized,
and the man, though intoxicated," man
aged 1o get to shore, but the jrirl was
drowning and would t&on have been
drawn under a canalboat, wmch was
lying there, had not young Parks come
to her relief, and at the imminent risk
of his own lifenot waiting to throw off
any of his clothing.
Two other exploits of our young hero
took place itbin a month. A half mile
south of Trenton, opposite the State
prison, the driver of tbe canalboat Rils
ton became entangled in tue tow lino
and was flung into deep water. As
might have been expected, young Parks
was on hand, and nidde a running jump
after him. The two struggled awhile,
and it looked as if the lad had a larger
job on hand than he could manage, when
his father plunged in and helped" the two
ashore. There are other peiiormances
ot this youth which might be given of
lesser importance than the forgoing, but
they are so similar that the mere recital
would be monotonous.Philadelphia
For dinner aDd reception toilets the
neck dress of crepe lihse ruchmg is still
the most popular. The windows of our
fashionable stores and shops am filled
with rich, beautiful and unique novelties
and goods, and in many cases, handsome
ly ani artistically displayed.
kummht 1 nrrm itrHJIMiMr-^