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NORTHERN OHIO JOURNAL.
W. C, CUUBEKS SOX, Proprietor. J. . CSAK3ZE3, liiwr. W. C. CSAK3IE3, MLUhir. ' PallisHed Every Saturday, AT J'AINEHVXZZEp LAKE COUNTY, O. Counting J:xtn and. JubticatUn Ofiic Stork trr II House Block, 114 Mai St. TEliMH. V -arty, by mail or currier ..02 00 r ix Months, by mail or carrier.... ..... 1 00 Three MonthH.by niailorcarrier 30 In nil eases Advance payment ii require!. JOiJ WEPA11TMENT. 1?k and JHank Work, Circulars, Letter H'rtK Iitll KcaiU, anU Job Work of every ticscription executed with dispatch ami in the neatest stvle of tin art. Having an entire new outfit of Typen, Presses, and Macfiinrv, together with a fore of com j Ki te nt :iml skiilt'ul workmen, we feel that our fa cilities an? second to tliose of no other establish ment in the laee. ADVERTISING RATES. OKK INCH IX BP ACS MASKS A SQUARE. - NORTH JOURWA 1 w. 8 w. 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Regular advertisements to be paid at the expiration of each quarter. VOL. II. XO. 24. PAIXESVELIiE LAKE COUNTY, OHIO, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 21, 1872. WHOLE NO. 76. TA H h E O' COSTEXTS. FIRST PAGE. What Santa L'laas Sung Seleeted JWnntj ....-.......-. Selevted OilieOit 7W ttdetn't C'ht'tHtlfiHH, J. &.Mi7abe, Jr. t 'h rist man trt Maiiletrood . Etmiui trurriwm Jones The Oephau' C'aWjm Ece. . EmimiA venison i'hritma Greenery . . Melange . .S4'rihiier Monthly . i, OiMfitltltOH SECOKD PAUE. Editorial Paragraph lioitk ami Paper Netci o'the Week Third Paoe. Jt ranger ilntde Jttt.fi nttH Ifiwtory J. t trt-1 Ksec4. Waif front our Reader AittoiiQ Oar Neighbor Marine Market, J owe and Foreign. . FouiiTH PAGK. 7 m? Star in ths Eant J'eltgion Netca A grirtttural ... J'rariieal Hint Mrs. I. M. Blinn Compilation Compilation .. ... t'4HjilUion WHAT SANTA CLA18 St NCI, Or a change (hat he ruoff, On his voluble tongue, A he ftat and swung, Kaat night about one. On a ot-hook that hung In my Jire-place 1 T ONCK was a child 1 I ween merry and mild. As the Springtime of life has e'er aeen ; I chaetl pleasure all day, ----- And my heart wa a fray. As the flowers that followed the stream.' "Then youth lore me on. With it liurrviuir tbronir. Full of hopes that we're bold and high ; Ail tne world seeineti nrignt As it lav in the I i if lit Of the miu of my Summers sky." " f soon was a m an Full of cai-ft and of plan, For the riches which last but a day ; I Rarnered my sheaves, lint alas ! how like leaves In the Autumn time, friends drop away !" ' When the chill wind blew. , And utv white Bed head knew, That the W Inter of life had come J Said I, 'Tell me I pray,' To my heart one day, 'What good in this world have we done V" "My heart was dumb And then like a drum, Beat time to the strain of an elf ; Who seemed marching me on, To my grave, to the song, 'Your thoughts hare all been to yourself." ' f answered, No ! no ! This ran not be no. Mv thoughts have not all been ofgelf ; Hut by day and by night, J ' My heart with its might, Kept time to the song of the elf." In my ear still ringing Wasthiselfln'ssingin - , ; - , ' 3Iy life growing weary and sad, ' When one day he sung, Trne pleasure will come, As we try to make other hearts glad."' " How thankful Pve been. , For the lesson taught then, For it led mid the poor and distressed, Where my wakening heart First learned to impart Hope and joy to the sorrowing breast. V . - ; , t , i "O ! then such delight Filled my hreast, that one night Iu my prayers, I asked over to stay ; Where the sorry and sad, J could love and make glad. Till their grief should be driven away." "'Xo! come now with us, The el tin spoke thus 'Hut twice in the year you may go, , , Te niakefkoe brighter, - t i : And heavy heart lishter, Of the good people dwelling below. - "So twice in a sun, Down Mio chimnev I come. With mv treasures, ami heart full of cheer ; x on mngn as i can, - Merry 'AWff,, to all, And you shout at my 'Happt Niw Yiab.' I had told htm i'hristmas morning. As he sat upon my knee. Holding fast his little stockings. Stuffed as full as full could he, And attentive listening.to me. With a face demur and mild, That old Santa Clam, who tilled them, Did not love a naughty child. Rut we'll be good, won't me, Moder?" And from off my lap he slid Digging deep among the goodies In his crimson stockings hid. . . While I turned me to my table "J Where a tempting goblet stood With a dainty drink, brimmed over, Sent me by a neighbor good. But the kitten, there before tne ' 1 - With hU white paw, nothing loth, Sat by way of entertainment. Slapping off the shining froth ; And in not the gentlest humor . At a loss ot'sueu a treat r v - ' 1 cou less, I rather rudely Thrust him out into tlie street. Then how Benny's blue eyes kindled ! Outhering tip the precions store, lie had busily been iiouring In hi tiny pinafore. - With a generous look that shamed me, ' Sprang up from the carpet bright, Showing by his mien indignant . - All a baliy's sense of right. , ; 'Tome back, TIarvey." called he loudly, As he held bis-apron white, "Yon sail have my candy wabbit !" , But the tloor was tastenod tight So he stood abashed and silent, Iu tht"i;entreof the floor, . a With defeated look alternate Kent on me and on the door. 1 1 5 Then, as by some sudden impulse. Quickly ran he to the fire. And while eagerly his bright eyes Wate.hcd the (lames go higher and higher. In a brave, clear kev, he shouted, T.ike some lordly little elf, ' "Santa Kaus, come down the chimnev, ' Make my modcr 'have herself !" "I will be a good girl, Benny," iSaitl I, feeling the re u root"; A nd straightwav recalled poor Harvev Laughter chased away "the frown. And they gatnlolled' 'neath the li ye -oaks Till the dusky night came down. In my dim, tire-lighted chamber Harvey purred beneath my chair, And my play-worn boy beside me Knelt to say his evening prayer 4 V "iod bess fader, bess mocter, tiod bess sister" then a pa us. And the sweet oung lips devoutly Murmured: 'God bens Santa Kaus." - - S . He is sleeping: brown and silken Lie the lushes, long and meek, lake caressing, clinging shadows On his plump and peachy cheek ; , And I bend above him, weeping f Thankful tears, O Undented T K For a woman's crown of glory, ' For the blessing of a child. Oideoii Grindem's Christ mas. i 1Y JAMES l. M'CABK, JR. t-.'-,v 2M vhite-facpd clock on the rLV& -''tylful fall stared grimly out into t-W-fl t'11 "'ft'11, au-t its truthful p hands inlormed the people in the neighborhood that, it was eleven o'clock on Christmas eve. It was a reuu- ine olil-liishioiied Christmas eve, at that, and the streets of New York were white with snow, and the wind was whirling the (Intts about fantastically, to the evi dent discomfort of tho old apple and hot corn woman by the Park railing, who lingered at their posts iu spite of the lateness of the hour, hoping to turn an other honest penny from some passer-by heroic midnight. 1 he old ballad-vender liart packed up his stock in trade and be- taken himself homeward long ago, and most, of the Xe'V Yorkers had followed his example, so that the. streets were al- jimst deserted "ne man, at least ,'was abroad in the Niorm, niid ns he turned into a gate of the Park to make a short cut over to Broadway, where the stages were still running, the old apple woman, thinking he might find in him another customer, negan a pit-iiui petition to him to buy ol Jier wares, when he turned to her sharn- Jy, and the lamplight fell full upon his face. A; glance satisfied the woman, ami it neeuea not mis cojd rebult to .cause her to shrink back from him -th a frightened look. 1 ho man passed over to Broad wavi and pausing a mo ment for a stage to come up, entered the cluttering vehicle, and settled him self iu li is scat as if totally unconscious or the presence ot the. other passengers. His entrance seemed to cast a chilling 'influence over them, lor soon they grew silent, and wrapping their coats and shawls closer around them, wondered if i w as nor grow ing couie, At last the stagft paused, ami the man descemle.l from it. Turning Into a tross street, aiul walking slowly as if careless of the Ftorm, he reached a large brown stone mansion, where he rang the bell. The door was opened by a fine-looking servantin livery ; but as be saw the man, the domestic shrank hack timidly, and made room for him to enter. Throwing oil' his overcoat and hat, and divesting himself ol his tet boots, the man gave them to the servant. "A cup of tea, Iavid, In the library," he said, coldly, M he passed into a lux uriously furnished apartment opening from the hall. It waj a -beautiful room; . and great taste had been displayed in its adorn ment. The book-cases and furniture were of the choicest kinds, an open tire burned in tne haudsome grate, and even to the minutest article, every thing was in its place. Perfect order reigned throughout, but there was in everything that coldness and sternness that marked the owner of so much comfort. . The man drew a large arm-chair be fore the grate, and sinking into i,raised Ids feet to the tire. He never looked about him, but keptliis gaze fixed stead ily before him. -Only once he raised his eyes to glance at a portrait which bung oyer the miiutel. It was a woman's face a face so pure and tender in its loveliness, that one conld but wonder if it was really that of a human being. Only once the inan gazed at it, and as he did so 14a-eyes filled with tears.antl his cold, hard aee wore an expression of tu teuett pathiS Then he sank back in. his ciiai aiul his yes fell upoit the fire. The domestic entered and placed the re freshments his master ordered on a small stand at his side, and seeing the man so wrapped In thought, withered noiseless ly,' without disturbing him, and dill with that frightened, timid look lie had first worn." ' lie was a very lonely man, this Gideon GrindeaviilifcoaliJiis wealth. lie was a proud, cold man, and his unhap piness was chiefly of his own "making. Year3 ago he had married . m woman much younger than himself, but such a woman M one meets but once lit a life time, and having seen, can never forgot. Had she lived, he might have been hap pier and Letter, but eiie had. been dead twelve pears, and no. ottuur. living being hiul filled her, place, in , the merchant's heart.. She had left liim, one child,, and despite his coldness, he had lavished upon this little one a love onlyless strong than than that he hart, borne tier mother. At eighteen this girl had married a poor clerk that he had taken into his employ. He had eaitt-uer off Jorever. and now her name was never mentioned in Ills house, , For four years be had not seen her face save once, when she came one cold winter nleht to beg for aid and for giveness, lie crushed the yearning of his heart tor her, auu turned tier into the street, he would have done to a dog that bad ttraye-t- into- liis house. It was a cruel act, ana since tnen ne nau been harder and sterner than ever. He had no friends. His acquaintances shunned hiin, and sought his presence only when business made it necessary. Ao visitor ever crossed nis tnresnoiti ; no happy sounds or lights were ever heard or seen within the walls of his dwelling. Even his servants feared and avoided him. He was alone in the wide world, and he knew It. He knew lie must live alone, and that when he came to die, he must go to the grave witli not one loving or pitying heart to cheer his last moments, or miss him when he was gone. It was ac ad, sati tnougnt to nun , and somehow it came to him to-night with redoubled force. This was why his eyes clouded and his face twitched with pain when he looked at the picture of his dead wife. The refreshments bv his side re mained untouched, and the merchant sat with his hands folded wearily, and his eyes fixed absently on the fire so still, so tranquil, that one might have thought him asleep. And as he sat there, through the storm, and through the closed and curtained windows of the room, came the sweet tones of - the midnight chimes of Trinity. The music of them filled all the air, rising and falling with the wind. it was a glad solemn song tney sung, tor it was a glad and solemn tale they told ; for they SJng that-the Christ-child W HS UU1 I. t "Gideon Grindem !" The voice so soft, and yet so distinct and sweet, that it thrilled the merchant to his utmost soul. "Gideon Grindem," the voice said, "are you glad thatClinst- mas has come again t" , s The voice came from the fire," and the merchant glanced down at the hearth. There, standing just -below him, was a strange, but beautitul ngure. it seemed like an angel, for its face was radlentwith'urity and Beauty, and its garments were of spotless white. It was scarceiv a root nign, ana its eyes weie so small that they seemed like diamond points. Yet they looked straight into the merchant's soul, and read all that was passing there, and the proud man knew it, and shuddered. "Gideon Grindem," said tne voice again, "are you glad that Christmas lias come r This time the tone was so reproachful that the tears started to Gideon Grin dem's eyes, and he bowed las head aud replied -' ' - - i ; ."' ' "Alas! Of all the world, I alone have nothing to rejoice for to-night 'listen te ine," said the little ; agure, sottlv. "1 am Conscience, and I have come to speak with you. We have been strangers lor a long time, but l have come back to you again. You must hear me to-night, lor you cannot drive me away until morning; andO, if vou are wise, Gideon Grindem, do not drive me awav then!" The merchant sat silent and tremb linz. He knew he was powerless, and he could not take his eyes from the little figure on the hearth. But is was no longer little, tor it grew in size every moment, until it assumed a gigantic form, and a mien so stern and terrible that the merchant almost shrieked with terror as he gazed at it. Yet he could not turn his eyes away. One thing only remained unchanged, the voice ot the figure was as sweet and solemn as ever. The merchant telt that he would give all his Wealth to escape from its presence, but he could not move a limb. "What do yon want with me? he gasped. "I will show you," said the figure, solmnly. "Come with me! The merchant felt a strong hand grasp I him bv the shoulder, aud the next mo I ment he was borne through space with a speed so rapid that it deprived him of the ability to cry out. ouuueniy mere was a pause, and no opened ins eyes lie started in astonishment as the scene before him. It was a little, plainly furnished room Everything betokened contentment, though at the same time an ubsence of riches. A bright fire burned in th open grate, and the soft light of a pleas ant lamp lit up ine room, a woman neither old norvoung. sat by the lire. aud at her feet knelt a child, with his little bands folded in prayer. Thero was a look of quiet happiness in the pale face f tha woman, and her soft "eyes were bent tenderly upon the child at he foot, as he whispered his prayer so low that only sue and the angels heard The merchant gazed at the scene in ut ter bewilderment. Then his eyes grew mistv. and a great sob swelled up from his heart. He had recognized the two the boy was himself, and the woman was nis mother. "1 o you ever pray now, Gideon Grin dem?" asked the voice of the figure aud the merchant knew that Conscience was still with him. "Pray !" he shrieked. ''Pray ! O my God!" The woman tured to him slowly, and he stretched out his hands Imploringly I "O mother, mother!" he sobbed. "Let me be your Innocent boy again !" But the sweet face clouded with iook or mingled sternness and horror and the hand was raised with a re- pellant gesture. The merchant shrank back with a groan, and the vision faded. "It is a terrible thing, Gideon Grin dem," said the voice of Conscience, "for parent to turn away from a child." : The merchant shuddered. He Was thinking of hi3 own child, and how he had turned from her pra3-er of mercy. he ngure laid its hand upon him and drew him away. He knew they were in New York. again, and that they were nrrying through the citv in the midst of the storm; for he conld feel the snow riving furiously in his face, and the keen wind chilled him through and through. They passed into one of the lowest quarters of the city, and entered miserable, a welling. The figure led im up long flights of stairs, until final ly they entered a chamber, so. wretched and mean, that the .merchant shrank nek with disgust. A flickering tallow dip shed a feeble light through the room, adding to its misery an hundred fold. On a low bed iman lay, wan and emaciated. - A wo man sat by the cradle, sewing busily, er pale, wan lace seeming even more ghastly by the uncertain light; and on low pallet two children lay asleep for the while unconscious of the suffering around them. The fire in the stove was dying away, and the room was growing colder every moment. Gideon Grindem gazed with horror at the scene, and turned to fly from it, but the ngure laid its hand heavily upon him, and drew im up close beside the sorrowful wo man, as she sat sewing her life away; aud as he gazed, the merchant saw that In spite of the marks of care and suSer- ng which it bore, the woman's face was woiHlerltillv like that of his dead wife. No wonder, for the woman was is daughter. A cold sweat stood on his brow, and his heart seemed to stop still. It was fearful to stand thus and gaze on such a dreadful scene. A slight movement ot the man in the bed caused the woman to look np. Are you awake, Georges'" she asked. "I have not been asleep, darling," re plied the man, adly. "I cannot est for thinking, and the knowledge that I am so helpless makes ine wretched. Our fuel is out, and we can get no more until the day after to-morrow, and we shall freeze in this weather, and on Christ mas day, too. I could bear it for myself, Aellie; but when I think ol you and our children " -. , ' His voice failed him, and 'he sobbed ith Litter anguish. The woman dropped her work and bent over him, trying to soothe hnn. "we must trust in Uod, George," she hispered. "He will not desert us." "If your father was human," if he were not flentT " exclaimed her' hus band, fiercely; but she interrupted hini. "He is my father, George." said his wife, softly. . "I forgive him all the rong he has done us, and U pray God to bless him and to soften his heart," Gideon Grindem groaned, and turning to the figure, cried imploringly : Xet us go away! 1 cannot bear this!" . The figure silently led . him from tbe room, aud down the long stairs, out In to the street again. It . was no longer ight there, for the sun was shining brightly aud the -thoroughfares were thronged with busy crowds hurrying to their accustomed avocations. . The air keen and frosty, and the extra wrappings and comforters which the people wore, assured. the merchant that f it was very cold. The figure led him into a large store on oue of the. business-streets, , and only stopped when they reached the couut- ing-room, where several merchants were collected around the stove. Gideon Grindem aud his companion paused be side them,- but the gentlemen did not seem conscious of their presence.' " ' "What was that you said about Gideon Grindem?'" asked one. "I said he is a heartless brute!" re plied another. ' " ' - '.'." "What new thing has he doner" "He has killed his daughter, and her husband and children. They froze to death yesterday, in a miserable hovel near .ast Kiver. Think of it on Christ mas day, too and old Gideon rolling in wealth in his sumptuous home!" "He has a tough conscience " said the first speakerf "but I would not like to be in his place when he comes to die." Gideon Grindem s heart stood still. "It is true," said the figure, solemnly. In the sight of God- you have mur dered your children !" The merchant's brain seemed on hre, and he shrieked aloud with anguish, for the terrible words burnt into his soul like red-hot irons. The figure at his side was so stern, so terrible, that he could not bear to look at it. - "Have mercy on nie!" . he groaned. "Mv heart is breaking!" . "Your heart, miserable man!" ex claimed the figure, sternly. "Would you see your heart?" And without waiting for a reply, the figure placed its hand heavilv on the merchant s head and bowed it so that it seemed to turn his eyes inward. He could but look, and to his horror, he saw in the place where his heart should have been, a hid eous mass ot corruption, so toul, so horrible, that he shuddei-ed to look at it. "It has changed greatly since you gave it to your dead wife, Gideon Grin dem, ' said the figure, sadly. "Have mercy on me?" the merchant pleaded. "Were you merciiul to your child r" asked conscience, sternly. "Have you kept the vow you made to your dead wife, to love and protect her child al- wav r" The merchant was silent. He knew he had been pitiless and cruel. "Come with me," continued the figure, "and I will show you what shall be the end of all this?" ; ; ; Again the merchant felthimself borne swiftly along, aud when he opened his eyes again, he lound lmnselt m lus own home. ' He stood in his chamber, and in voluntarily he marked the-contrast be tween its luxurious comforts and the miserable garret in which his daughter had frozen to death. T no saw, to his sur prise, his desk, where he kept his private papers and a considerable sum ot money open, aud oneot his servants searching eagerly among the contents, tie tried to spring forward to stop the man, but could not move, and when he endeav ored to speak, his voice failed him. The figure- pointed silently te the bed, --ami Gideon Grindem looked helplessly in that direction. . A man lay on the bed, silent and mo tionless. His hands were clasned mute ly on his breast, and his eyes were wide open and staring blankly at the ceiling. Gideon Grindem bent over and gazed at the countenance, but he shrank back in horror and dismay. Never had he seen such a look of despair as that dead man's face wore. o still, so' terrible' was it that it seemed to be something superna tural. The merchant shrank back wit a groan; for the face upon which he looked was his own. "Is this to bo the end?" he moaned. "This will be the end," said the figure solemnly, "To din alone, neglected and unloved, and without hope hereafter tiod help you, unhappy man:" The figure slowly faded away, and Gideon Grindem looked up with a start. He was sitting in his library, with the untasted refreshments on the stand by his side, and the embers cold and lifeless in the grate before him. ; The gas was burning in the chandlier with a sickly glare, and through the curtained win dows sti earned the broad, full light of the-. Christinas sun.. The merchant rubbed his pyes and stared around Va cantly, Then his gaze vested on the por- trait of his dead wife, over the niantelr fiiccc. 1 ho golden sunshine fell loving y upon her face, and the . eyes of the woman who had been so dear to him, seemed full of sweetness aud tenderness as. they shone upon Win, carrying : light straight iuto his heart that had been so dark. Involuntarily he placed his hand on his heart, and remembered how he had seen it, then a great sob burst from him, and he cried: ; , ; "O, God be thanked! it was but a drwim." " - Another look into the dear eyes of the woman who had loved him, and he sank down on his kness and bowed his head lowly and reverently. Gideon Grindem was praying. -t It was still early morning wheu the handsome carriage of the merchant drbve by the Park on its way to East Kiver. iue old apple woman, rejoic ing in the sunlight that had followed the storm, was spreading her wares on her table, when she was startled .to see the haudsome equipage pause before her stand, and to hear the same voice that had repursed her so rudely the night be fore, call to her to approach. She did so tremblingly, and when the merchant bade her cheerily, hold out her hand, she obeyed because she feared to refuse. But her surprise was redoubled wheu she saw him laying In herwithered palm a bright golden eagle, which sparkled joyously iu the Christmas sunlight. "What is this lor, sir ?" she faltered. "To keep Christmas with, old lady," said the merchant, cheerily. He signed to the driver to move on, but as the car riage set off again, he caught a faint "God bless you, sir?" iu the tearful tones of the old woman. Down through the vile streets,reeking with filth, and crime, and misery, that mark the worst quarter of the great city, the splendid equipage passed, amid the wondering glances and remarks of the denizens who marvelled to see it In such a place. It paused before a miserable dwelling, and the merchant sprang out with a flushed, excited face, and hurried up the rickety stairs, fearing that oue part of his dream might be true, after all. He pushed open a door aud' en tered a miserable room. A glance satis fled him that the blessed dayhad brought no joy to the inmates of this sad abode. A woman, pale and careworn, sat by an eniwty grate, with a look of helpless uess o n her sweet, young face, while a man, wan and sickly, lay on the bed with closed eyes, and two : children rested on a rude pallet, still happy in their innocent slumbers. , ; Startled by the noise, the woman looked - up. . Gideon Grindem's eves clouded, aud he held out his arms and faltered : "My daughter, forgive ine!" ; With a glad cry she sprang into his arms, aud apenitant father felt that he was forgiven. . In half an hour, the carriage returned to the mansion in Twenty Fifth street, but this time it was full of happy hearts, who left the scene of their misery never to return to it again. The' princely mansion had never seemed so gay before as on this blessed Christmas when it rang with the merry shouts of the children, and echoed the soft laughter of the elder ones ; and as Gideon Grindem listened he lifted up his heart and blessed God for the dream he had sent him to bring back so much happiness. CHKISTJHAS AT KlAPtEWOOD BY EMMA GARRISON JOKES. It wa3 mid-winter down at Maple- wood Farm: the hills white with snow, and the branches of the giant elms, that stood guard round the old farm-house, Drown anu riare. i ne atteriioon upon which our little story opens was In De cember a clear, crisp afternoon, with a cloudless sky, and a low, dazzling sun, dropping down all too soon behind the dark pine-ridge that belted the western horizon. Squire Marvin and his boys were down -ia the hollow gathering up piue- taggots; tne old roan mare standing meditatively iu the sunshine, while they heaped the vagon with the; rich resin ous wood. At home, in the kitchen, Mrs. Marvin and Lizzie were elbow deep n cases ana pumpkin-pies. : "Bring me that spice in the left-hand corner of the blue chest, Lizzie" Mrs. Marvin was saying; . "and a few more of the golden pippins; we must get about tne mince-pies now father wouldn't think it was Christmas if he had no mince-pies." But luft as Lizzie was going out to do her errand, she was stopped in the door way by a visitor. Cousin Simon, from Sleepy Hollow, a young giant standing six teet iu his boots. Me had come to town with a sleigh full of skins and furs, and just dropped In to say that his father and mother wanted them all down at Sleepy Hollow on Christmas day. The old man had taken a fancy to gather all his living relatives together on that day, and treat them to the big gest kind ot a dinner. : You'll not fail to come now," the young man urged, at parting; "father's set his heart on having you all'together twill be the last tune he says; and the old lady's making wonderful prep arations, 1 tell you. We shall have a gay tune; and John s coming home,too l forgot to mention that John's coming home, lizzie. Lizzie overturned the spices she was pounding, and grew rosy red to the very roots of her prettv brown hair; then bridling aud shaking down that same pretty hair with a conquettish toss of the uead. "Well, what if he is?" she responded Cousin Simon winked knowingly as he pinched her cheek. .Nothing at all, little coz," he replied. teasingly, "only l thought you might care to know. If you don't, however, f think Susie Hastings will. I must drive b' and drop her the news. Good bye." Lizzie compressed her lips, and went on pounding her spices. What did she care? Jolm and she had been play-fel lows, and school-nuite3, and fast friends in years gone by. John always made a pet of her ; he brought her the reddest apples, and the largest nuts; and drew her on his slcu iu winter; and swam the lake to get hor water-lilies In sum mer when he was a boy; and in riper years they attended the same singing school, aud sat iu the same pew at church. Engaged, lookers-on pro nounced them; but, for all their inti macy, no love-word had yet passed be tween them. When John left lionje, to read law iu a distant town, his last visit was to Ma ple wood, and he left a plain gold ring with Lizzie as a keepsake; and through the dreary months of his absence, she had never once removed it from her fin ger. He was coining home now! The news had made her cheeks bloom with delight; but down in her hidden heart was a Httjo thorn that spoiled all her fileiisure, .John 1i;id not vt'ltteu one iue to her during his absence-vshe did not mind that' so much ; but he had written to Susie Hastings, that wa: what stung her, and to tho vory quick, too. Miss Pamelia Perkins, the village gossip, was the bearer of this delectable information. "Well, Lizzie," she said one day, flouncing iu. ami taking nut a roll of knitting-work, "when did you hoar from John jf" "They had a letter at Sleepy Hollow last weeK, iizzie answered quietly, "and he was doing well," "Ilo don't write to you ther. ? I thought you corresponded, in course, being as you kept company so long." Lizzie vouchsafed no answer. She wont on : "Susie Hastings had a letter on Thurs day 1 was there when it came. He writes to her regular, I b'leive." Lizzie asked no questions relative to the matter, but the remembrance of it rankled in her heart like a thorn. But she made up her mind to go to Sleenv Hollow with the rest, and in tho exoite- r.e ! . t iiii-iii. in cu,iii aipi-ijjriait apparel she half forgot her vexation. Her dress was exquisite an all wool merino of the richest and warmest crimson, trimmed with sparking bugles and dainty lace, and a comb set with pearls to keep back her silken tresses. When the last stitch was set, she put them away in the great, oaken chest; and the silly child would creep up a dozen times a day, and raise the heavy lid to- feast her eyes en their beauty. Christmas-eye came at last. The great, double-horse sleigh was drawn up be fore the door, ready to make a sharp start for Sleepy Hollow on the morrow. Just before the clear, wintry sunset, Miss Pamelia dropped in. "I've been running round all the af ternoon," she began, seating herself iu the best arm-chair, and putting out her heavy shoes before the fire, "wishing my neighbors a merry Christmas; aud I couldn't think o' slighting you, Miss Marvin, though I shouldn't wonder if the tramp don't gie' me my death o' cold. The snow's as slick as butter, and the wind cuts like a knife. I'm jest from Miss Herkemp's; but they're all heels over head a cooking and cleaning, and I might as well o' spared mvself the trouble o'- going, for all the comfort I had." Mrs. Marvin smiled, and said. "In deed !" and Miss Parmelia went on. "They never was much, them Her kemps; they're a tight-fisted, stingy set: and many be the mouthful they've eat in our house when my poor father was alive. Ah, me! Christmas was Christ mas then. Why, Miss Marvin, if you'll b'leive me, my father had more for one night's handings round than some folks have for their whole Christmas ; but I s'pose you'll have a grand time down at Sleepy Hollow? You're all going?" Yes. we intend to go uncle wishes all his relatives to be there." "What for? Is he going to make his will? By-the-bv, Lizzie, John's come home I 6aw him at Miss Hastings' this morning." Lizzie was fishing up doughnuts from a seething cauldron before the fire; but as Miss Parmelia delivered this piece of intelligence, she let the ladle fall, scat tering the brown nuts over the carpet. uid scalding her hands with the hot 1 lard. Lizzie," said her mother gcntly.coni- ing "to her relief, "let nie finish these,1 and do you go aud bind up your hand ; and then bring a glass of wine and a bit of cake for Miss Permelia." She obeyed in silence, aud Miss Par melia proceeded to finish her gossip les," she continued, meditativelv. "John was over at Squire Hastings' this ! morning, and it's beginning to be buzzed about that he's sparking Susie. if it s true, 1 think it s rale mean in him, after keepin' company with Lizzie so long I know it makes her feel bad." Don't worry yourself. Miss Parme lia," said Mrs. Marviu smilingly. "John will be sure to do right he and Lizzie are cousins, aud will always be good mends. 1 don't think Lizzie s much troubled about his attentions to Susie." She spoke tins last sentence in rather a loud tone, that it might reach Lizzie's ear. She was just returning with the cake and wine; but she did not need her mother's warning. Her brown eyes were bright and tearless, and her lip wore a scornful curl, which said plainer than words, that she was utterly indif ferent to cousin John. But that night, iu her own room, with her face buried in the pillow, she gave way to her grief, and wept and sobbed like a child. "Mother!" "Well, dear?" The sleigh was at the door, tho horses champing at their bits, and sending out little thrills of tinkling melody, in the parly Christmas light. The boys were already seated, and Squire Marvin was impatiently awaiting his wife. "Mother!" called Lizzie's voice,plam tive and tremulous, '.'I cannot go please let me stay." Mrs. Marvin turned, and looked for a moment at the sad, young face ; then she drew the drooping form to her bosom, and kissing it in silence turned and left her. "Where's Lizzie?" questioned the Squire: "why don't she hurry?" "She's not going there, father, let her stay, and ask no questions now," replied his wife. .. . He loosed xuzzld a moment, then nodding his head from side to side, he jumped iuto the sleigh, and the horses pranced oft, tilling all the Juaplewood valleys with a chime of bells. Lizzie closed her ears to the sound with heroic determination ; and forcing back the hot tea.-s thatwell-nigh blinded her, sat herself to work employ ment, just then, being the only thing that could save her from breaking down into absolute despair. She tidied up the kitchen, swept and dusted every room in the house, and then fell to sewing, singing all the while as blithe as a bird. Never did the Maple wood-hills listen to sweeter melody. Of course, it was a little dull to spend her Christmas all alone, ahd be cheated out of her visit; but she did not care a straw about John not she. But when the day began to wane, and the bright, Christinas sun hung low above the gloomy pine-ridge ; when the shadows gathered in the old sitting room, and the crickets began to chirp be neath the hearth, poor little Lizzie grew terribly lonely. Her work was all done; she had put up the chickens and fed her pigeons ; and now she could do nothing but sit before the great log-fire and think. Fer a few moments she struggled against these thoughts, but they would come. She could see the great hall at Sleepy Hollow, the roaring tires, and the long Christmas-table, with Its brown turkeys and huge pliun-pud-diugs; and all her young cousins so gay and happy. Would they miss her? Would any one call her name? Of course not. John had Susie Hastings to care for, Ife had forgotten the days when he nsod to call her his "darling." The retrospect was too trying, the brave little heart gave way, and sliding down to the floor, she buried her face in the cushions of the old arm-chair, and let the tears, that had been making her poor little head ache and throb all day, flow like April rain. The yellow, Christmas sun dropped lower and lower ; the little, brown birds went twittering home to the hedges; it would soon be night and then, what a tolly tune at Sleepy i follow How gayly Susie would dauoc, in her handsome blue silk, costlier and prettier by far than her poor little merino lying up in the great oak chest. There came a men y burst of sleigh bells on the frosty air but. Lizzie did not hearken. Soon after a step upon the porch Dick's, of course; he was bring ing in the morning wood ; but presently a strong arm raised the drooping little ''n'l'l ldui .Muling mui mill i.(i;u, j.i.aiu looked up into a smiling, bearded face, and felt herself clasped irresistably to somebody's bosom. "Oh! cousin John !" "My darling! My pretty pet-bird crying and sobbing this way till by your self! Did you think I had forgotten you? Did you think I could ever love any one but yourself, Lizzie y" Lizzie etralght-eupd lierself, cheeks and eyes blazing er heart as proud as It whs tender, . ''Jut you didn't " she began. "No lints iu the question,'' he con tinued; "not a word until you hear inc. 1 did not write to yon because I wished to leave you entirely free, to see If you would stand tho teat ol alisnnoe, and not forget me. I wrote to Husio Hastings because, her father being old and iullriu, she attends to his business matters. I was there yesterday morning, to close a bargain wilh him for the snuggest, loveliest little nest of cottage in the whole State. I should have been at Jla plewooil to-day, but I had pressing mat ters to look after. And now, you prec ious, mistrusting, jealous, little darling, if I had time, I'd kiss every brown curl on your head. There, not a word, you are mine; l wouldn't hear, 'No, if you were to say it. So hurry, now, they are waiting for us at Sleepy Hollow. Knn, and dress as fast as you can, but nicely, too, dear for you are you are to De a bnue to-uight. . Lizzie turned back -in wide-eyed wonder. "Yes, a bride, darling; your father and mother are willing, and mine are anxious, and the parson is in readi ness you will not object? ' Her cheeks bloomed like blush-roses ; but she ran up to her room, aud diving into the great chest, brought out the red merino, witn its sparkling bugles, and dainty laces, and the little pearl comb that was to hold back the tresses from her fair, sweet face. She was not a fashionable woman, and John did not have to wait long. In a lew moments she was at his side, tucked away in the bulfalo-robes, and the horses were going like the wind. "You little silly, you," whispered Susie Hastings, as she conducted her up stairs. "You wanted to make a bride of me did you you and Miss Pa melia together? Bridemaid, that's my place, little one."" And that night, in the light of the blazing wood-fire, in the sight of hoary grandsires and blooming cousins, cousin John received his bride and the Christ mas stars never looked down upon a fairer one. 'I I IF. ORPHAN'S HIUISTJIAS EVE. BY MARY A. DKNISOX. It had f -een snowing heavily all day, but toward night had cleared off, arid now a keen, bitter wind was blowing, that cut to the very bone. It was so cold, Indeed, that but few persons were on the streets, although it was Christmas-eve. Usually, at this hour, on the night before the great holiday, the pavements were crowded with people; happy children going, hand-in-hand, witli their parents, to buy toys; gay lookers-on; maskers in grotesque gar ments; and boys blowing horns; every thing and everybody jubilant with joy and merriment. But now the streets were almost deserted, for the snow lay a foot deep. Iu vain the shop windows blazed with gas and exhibited their very choicest stores. Here and there a news boy, stooping to face the blast, cried the evening papers; and now and then a solitary cab drove almost noiselessly through the white streets. The gale roared through the trees of the public square, aud the icicles rattled down from the eaves. It was as desolate a winter's night as you ever saw. Suddenly, n bare-footed little girl, thinly clad, aud shivering with cold, turned a corner, and came face to face with one of the most briliantly lighted toy-shops In that quarter of the town. She had evidently been abroad to gather fuel for a seanty lire, for she car ried an old, torn basket on her arm, in which were chips and other bits of re fuse wood, which had been picked up everywhere and anywhere. At sight of the dazzling window and of the glories it revealed, the poor little thing stopped. Her eyes sparkled with joy. . Her breath eaine short. For a moment she torgot the want and misery at home the liielcss room, the empty cupboard, the sick mother and could think of nothing but the lovely things the window contained. Oh ! that doll, that glorious, gorgeous creature; the spangled dresses that seemed covered with diamonds; the funny, funny masks. She had never had a Christmas-tree her self ; but she had heard of such things, aud she gasped, breathlessly, gazing at a doll. . '"Where will it go I wonder! To some one who lives in a beautiful house, I expect and has everything she wants, even to pies and turkeys for Christmas," she added, in a longing little voice. "Oh, dear!" That sigh reached the ear of a tall, dark man who was passing, leaning upou the arm. of another gentleman. He looked down, at first with wonder and then with pity, upon the sweet face and eyes; upon the little red hands that were grasping the basket; the poor, little hands tliat should have been white and dimpled; upon the bare feet; and then again into the deep, wistful eyes. "What a pretty child!" he thought. "Poor little thing!" And he asked, stopping, his voice softened to tender ness, "What is your name, little one?" The child, roused from her absorp tion, looked up, startled, but, seeing a kindly face, she answered, dropping a courtesy, "Lucy, sir!" Lucy! It was the name of his only sister, whom he had not seen for many a long year; not since he had gone away, after the death of their parents and the sale of tho old homestead up in New England, determined to make his way in the world. What a train of memories it called up ! He thought of the happy old days, and of sweet Hetty Moss, and then of the utter despair that followed, when his father died a bankrupt, and his mother followed of a broken heart, and some far-away relatives came and took his sister out of charity, and old Deacon Moss shut his doors agaiust him. The shame and anguish of it all returned on him as sharply is when he had first felt it, a lad of twenty ; but back also came the memory of his sister, ami he almost persuaded himself, for a moment, that the child before him looked like his "little Lucy" had looked at her age. There was a tremor of expectation in his voice as he said j "Lucy what, dear?" "Lucy Fettigrew." Ah ! it was a' name he had never heard. But, remembering that hi.s sister's child would not bear her mother's maiden name, he asked again : "And have yoii always lived here?" "Always. As long as I can remem ber. Father was a soldier, you know, and was killed in the war. Now there is nobody but mother and me." He looked again at the child. The fancied resemblance to his sister had faded. The "little Lucy" of long ago had blue eyes and flaxen hair; both hair and eyes here were brown. There was an end of the dream, then ! lie gave a sigh at tlie thought. But he put his hand iu his pocket, took out n gieciiuacji aiu o,cruu t to llio child, saying i "Don't you want some tovs.my dear?" ihe child looked down. Her face was very red. Suddenly slio seemed to tako another resolution she looked and said : "Oh, sir! it's live dollars! It would buy mamma everything. She is sick, you know, and I ought to be homo this niiuulej It was so wrong for me. to stop ncre. ii you pu-ase sir, i d much rather spend it for her," she said, rapidly and Incoherently. "So you shall, dear! Hurry home now, at any rate; but first toll me where vou liver "We live on Carpenter street, Xo. 10. And I may keep t In; live dollars, may 1, sir?" "Certainly, You too. I wiil bring row " slndl Ipive a dull, it myself, to-inor- "Oh! will you, sir?" she interrupted, her ores dancing, With these words, su gathered her thin shawl about her ami hurried away. Tho gentleman, who had carried on this conversation with Lucy, took the arm of his companion again, aud said : "How all this brings hack the past to ine! You have often heard mo speak of llecly Moss. 1 supposed she was dead long ago," he added, with a sigh, "or married, which, tor me, is worse. But at sixteen she was the loveliest creature 1 ever have seen. . 1 shall never forget t he day, nffer my fat her and mother 'had been buried, that 1 went to see her, iu- tending, even then, to go away and try my iortunes, out expecting that she would bid me Gqfl speed, and that her her father, who haxLalways been kind to me, would do the same. Ah, Charley ! we must all, sooner or later, learn hard lessons; and I learned my first cruel one that day. l he old man mot me himself. Well, I won't dwell on it. He declined to let me see Hetty ; called me a' beggar's brat, worse, the child of a bankrupt,' and bade me begone. Ever since then I have had less faith in human nature." "No, you haven't" answered his friend, bluntly, "You think you have, But, old fellow, you are too good to talk such nonsense, and please, God I you'll De nappy yet, though not with Hetty." "My first task, now that I am rich, aud home at last," answered the other. "will be to get on the traces if I can, of poor iiucy. Alter l left America, 1 con tinued to write for years, but never get ting any answer, I finally gave it up. Christinas once over, I shall start for the old homestead ; but I fear all clue to her Is lost.". Meantime, Lucy was hurrying home. feeling herself anew being. In spite of tne 6uow, tier bare leet, her cold, numb fingers, we question if there was a hap pier child in the city. "See, mother,! on, see!" she cried, when she got home, with a great sob. of happiness, "we shall have some Christ mas, after all ; a gentleman gave it to me, and said H was five dollars. Oh, mother! mother! I'm so happy! live whole dollars to spend for Christmas! Why, I never heard of such a thing," aud her face fairly glowed. "Isn't it a a miracle, mamma?" 1 "My dear child, it seems like one!" said her mother, holding out her wasted hand, and regarding the money. The sad, sweet, wasted face lighted np with a glow of thankfulness as she lis tened to the little narrative. "Oh, my darling!" she cried, "it was sent for shoes and stockings for your poor feet. I cried to sec you go out into the snow to-day ; and I prayed in agony to the dear Lord to help us; and this is the answer." "But 1 don't want the shoes, mamma. I want Christmas," said Lucy, with a disappointed face. "He told me to go iu and buy toys. We never did have a Christmas, and I wanted to see how it seems." Very soon there was a loud knock at door ; and when it was opened, in came two stout men with an enormous basket between them, and put it! down; and there it sat looking up into the widow's face,-with great, round eyes of potatoes and squashes, and bulging packages that told of plenty. "Who is this for? asked Lucy's mother, quite pale. "it's tor a widow bv the name of Pcttigrew." "But who sent it?" "I don't know who sent it it's paid for, that's all I care about." Ihe door shut, the men had vanished. "Oh, mother! we're dreaming iust as sure as you live we're dreaming!" cried the delighted child, dancing about the basket. "Why, there's everything there; why, the Lord keeps working miracles, don't he?" "Call Hetty Moss, child," said her mother, sinking back in her chair, quite overcome ; and presently Hetty came in, a staia, sweet-looking woman, not over thirty, with soft, dewy blue eyes, and lips that always lookedVmiling. "Why, Lucy, you've been your mother's good augel to-day," said Hetty, stooping over the basket. and lifting the packages. "Sure enough, here's Christ mas for you :" and she took an enormous turkey from the basket. There was another knock at the door. and a tall man entered, and stood there on the threshold. The sick woman looked up, and a great cry, the cry of uncontrolled joy rang through the room. 'fRobert! Kobert!" The man was on his knees beside his sister, his arms about her, kisssing her eyes, her lips, her forehead. Explanations came brokenly. In spite ot his first disappointment, some thing kept telling the stran- gerthat "little Lucy" might after all, be his sister's child. He could not rest, therefore, until he had come to see. And Lucy told how she had married, but her husband and she had always been poor, and how her husband had been killed at Autictam. "There is my guardian angel," said the tearful woman, at last, pointing to Miss Hetty ; "you may thank her that I am yet alive." For the first time, now, the stranger saw there was another woman iu the room. There was silence for the space of a moment. Miss Hetty Moss looked him straight in the eye, her color flit ting and returning, the breath coming quick through her parted lips. "It is you, Hetty but you do not re member me," he said, hesitatingly, yet appealingly. "'Yes, I do, Robert," came with a quick gasp. "Oh, Robert!" and as he rushed forward, her hands were in his, her head upon his shoulder. Then came Hetty Moss' story. She had alwa3'S been faithful to her love. Her father, after some years, had died insolvent. Hetty, after his death, bad left the village where she had been born, and had come to the great oity in search of employment. Here, by one of those inscrutable decrees of Providence that the ignorant call chance, she had come acioss Robert's sister, now a wid ow, and "almost penniless, "l'hey had thrown in their lot together. Hetty had skill with her needle, besides some taste in dress, and had set up, in a hum ble way, as a dress-maker. Sometimes she went out by day's work, and some times labored at home. In these latter cases, Mrs. Fettigrew helped her with her needle. But, latterly, the times had been hard, work was scarce; and both had been near to starving. On the Christmas-eve, wfyen little Lucy went out to see if she could gather a few sticks or chips, they had not a dollar between them. "1 have more money than I know what to do with," said tho newly-found brother. "You shall never, Lucy, dear, know want again." Need we tell the sequel? How there was a grand dinner iu oue of the most elegant private parlors of the Continen tal Hotel tho next day; and how Hetty became n bride a, weoli an two after; or liov lUtle Luey never know again the pang of poverty, or tho longing for a Christmas doll ! I'llUISTiUAS VKKENERl'. In a quaint chronicle of old customs we are told that, "Wherever driiidism existed, the houses were decked wUlt evergreens Iu Jiecemhor. that te s,yl yau spirits might repair to them, and remain unnipped with frost and cold winds until a milder season had re newed the foliage of their darling abodc3," There Is something charming in the faint, flue flavor of this ancient fancy, with its pathetic yearning after tho van ished summer and its prophecies of hope. Something subtle, too, aiul ten der iu U recognition tif the possible presence pi ine vsyivan spirits in tne fiahita'tions of men. Ah ! those spirits still come to our homes, working ther charm through leaf and bitd and blos som, hinting u( fi'oshnoss, of freedom, of all beautiful things, renewing the cour age which else would fall, and wiling us insensibly from tho heat and burden of every day Into the refreshment and tho wider life of naturo. livery mignonette-pot, every Ivory spray which' wo cherish during long winters becomes the dwelling ot one of these invisible elves. Its spell is upon us, its unheard voice breathes hope Into our hearts. Aud wl(en with lnvlug fin gers wo hang the wreaths which com memorate the great Birthday of the year, these voices take on higher mean ings, sing not only of " the transient splendors of woods and gardens, but of mac fadeless bummer which at Christ mas time,eighteeu centuries ago bloomed for the whole world. So let us not question whether the sweet custom had origin In far-away and forgotten heathenism. Whatever its source, it bears the stamp of ages of Christian usage, and ts poetic legacy to us from the early dawn of faith. Let us celebrate Yule-tide with green bonghs as our forefathers did, teaching little nngers to aid in the work, and childish eyea to hail it as earnest of all holiday pleasure; so shall our own realization of the season be brightened, and "Merry Christmas" come to each and all of us with a deeper and truer meaning. Dressing a house with evergreens is by no means the laborious work many people imagine it. The heavy, cumber some wreaths used in trimming churches are out of place in small rooms, where lightness and elegance should be the effects aimed at. In fact there: id no need of tying wreaths at all especially if ground-pine is largely employed in the decoration of a parlor.; - - " . The choice varieties of this pretty plant are rare in our woods, but the commoner sort can be found anywhere in the New England and Middle States. If gathered before the snow falls and stored away In a perfectly cool cellar, it will keep fresh for a fortnight or more iu fact until It is wanted. Care should be taken to press it closely Into a barrel. and it should be sprinkled lightly with a watering-pot once or twice to prevent dryness. There is no Christmas green which is more satisfactory than this. The long pliant shoots, tufted with feathery palm- shaped leaves, adapt, themselves to ev ery curve and angle. Nothing can be easier to manage. it is but a touch, a twirl, and you have a graceful ornament tor. cornice, frame, window or door. Swung from a cord, twined over a chan delier, trained in a light drapery about a picture the result is delightful and immediate. A couple of pins, a tack, or the elastic toughness of the stem itself, holds all in place, and five minutes suffices to produce effects wbch half an hour's laborious "bunching and tying" after the old method would not accom plish. Then there Is no end to the variety which can be secured by mixing this with other evergreens. Laurel boughs, twigs of 80ft-uiue, hemlock, arbor vitac. i sprays of holly or Mahonia, are all sus ceptible of pretty combination. - The ev ergreen ferns which we can gather in tne woods at an times during the winter , may be gracefully massed in a bowl or deep vase beneath a picture, as a sort of clasp to a branching frame of light vine-like wreaths of the ground-pine. Autumn-leaves roughly pressed in large boughs, and grouped high up on walls behind engravings or above doors, are extremely bright and decorative. Clus ters of smaller leaves, with gold aud brown ferns, many colored sumachs. and delicate creepers Linnea Chiogonen, partridge-berry-vine, blackberry sprays, or wild strawberry tendrils jiuke a beautiful finish below a bracket or some choice bit of art which the; housohold desires to honor. The shining brown cones of the fir Jmingle well with ever greens ot ail sorts iichened twig witli its scales of pearly gray and filaments of pale moss will not come amiss, and perhaps a b rd's-nest couched on its bough, to which a few yellow leaves still clirfv. With these materials, skill ful fingers to group them together, and here and there, round some specially prized medallion or passe-partout, a del icate arabesque ol that exquisite climb ing fern which has of late come into the market as an object for sale, the decora tive pharapheriialia of the season may be said to be complete. . And then as 'HJhristmas loves jolly crew Who cloudv care aefv." do not forget to add that of the room, a blazing hre, which as a venerable au thority gays ts "The visible heart and soul of Christmas." And while twin ing the wreaths warm yourself as well with tnese words irom the same out chronicle: "Every holly bough and lump of ber ries with which you adorn houses is an act of natural piety as well as beauty, and will enable you In sum mer days to relish that green world ol which you show ' yourselves not un worthy." CINNAMON. There is liut little doubt but that Cey lon still produces the finest cinnamon, and that it is superior iu flavor to both the Malabar and Java spice. The laud under cinnamon cultivation in Ceylon is about 15,000 acres. The best cinnamon is thin, shining aud of a lightish yellow; it Is slightly sweet, aud has an aromatic flavor. It is cultivated by seeds, shoots or layers, and old stumps are transplanted ; a quicker re turn is obtained by the last procedure.- as shoots fit for peeling can be cut after thev have been planted for eighteen months. The culture by seeds involves turning up about a foot square of ground at intervals of about six feet; the seeds (thre or tour) are then deposited, some ashes having been previously placed iu holes. The seeds are also planted some times In nurseries, and the growing roots transplanted. The peeling com mences about the cud of April, and con tinues uutill the end of October. When the shoot Is grown sufficiently large, the skilled laborer, or Chalia as he is called, inserts a sharp instrument similar to a bill-hook, obliquely into it; the cutis then closely examined, to ascertain if the bark separates readily lioni the wood ; If such be not the case, the shoot is left to be operated on at some future time. The shoots that are cut arc generally about three quarters of an inch iu diam eter, aud four feet iu length; they are then stripped ot an their leaves, and two incisions, running leugeli wise, are made iu the bark, when, iu a generality of cases, a considerable portion of the latter comes oft' in one piece. The bark is kept tor about thirty hours, and termentauou, to some extent, is thus provoked; the external covering of the bark is removed with a crooked kjite. in about ten hours after this has been done, tho sections are put one iuto. the other, and this Is called piping; the pipes thus prepared are exposed to the influences of both air and sun for two or three days, aud arc then made up into bundles ot about twenty-eight ouuds each, warehoused aud shipped. The plants are iu flower In the mouth of January and the seeds are ripe iu July aud August. The ex udation from the berries, when boiled and allowed to become cold, fiU'nUlic a kind of wax, which the Kandyau gra,udo.es used to form into caudles. 1-OOSE MAIU I'YINU A1IOI KU, Where do you put the loose hair girls, after you have combed aud brushed and made your luxuriant tresses to look so pretty? I'm just afraid you give them a twirl about your pngcr a'nd toss them out of the window. ou needn't answer mo, (ox fear you will liavo to tell me this or tell an untruth. I'gh! I feel aa if I'd just swollowd a dose of julap when I am passing your doors and see these little tcll-tulos lying about on tho pavement. It Is a dirty trick, nud I can't see how aur young man can make love to you or keep hit plighted troth. Don't do it any more aears you iuu lit think now it looked, or what a naughty tare It told lust burn them, stick them away back In tho stove so tney wm no aura to burn to asiiea, Remember ! ; T- -rr A Sl'-ooer lu tho Ilowery announces " Vnyauyembo coffee, direct from the cmn-iwtu ftf Huh Vtl.i " . f Vimtutr frmn thereabouts oue might speak of it rather as cuucu i nan couee. MKIiANOE, A house full of daughters- Is a cellar full of sour beer. Dutch proverbt A thief running away is a scamp; but a policeman's chase after him ia a scam per. . The New Year's question for . New . Yorkers Will the gray Mayor prove the better horse? - , Miss Amy R , of Iowa, weighs 356 ; pounds.- No man will marry her tor fear of big Amy. - In the councils of the Republican , party is accord wain; but among the Crispins is a cordwainer. . ". As the cold weather comes on, many ' a susceptible fiancee is impelled to give ' tne mitten to tne cnap sue nas on tier hands. .-- . . A young lady of Gratiot, Mich., still a minor, has two husbands living, to each of whom she has been married twice ' within a few months. -i The difference "between a hotel-keeper and the tmttscreetTMJblisher tf the Ad vertiser is that one lets out rooms and the other lets out rumors. An Illinois schooboy has been fined . by a police magistrate for kissing the schoolmistress; under what precise - cnmnal statute is not stated. - - - -- Massilon; O., ts small, but lias 121 widows and 200 marriageable girls. If any young man is desirous of leaving a widow, Massilon is the place. The ornithological smile sometimes applied to lawyers an account of the : length ot their bills is further borne out by their constant to-wittering. Mr. Thurlow Weed Is reported to have given up smoking, being convinced by . tiau a century's experience thereof that it is a remarkably slow poison. The reason ' why certain ritualistic ladies so reserve their pastor, is that . they are, metaphorically speaking, the ewes of the flock, while he is the Ewer. Simple as may seem the little succu lent bivalve it takes all the forces of na ture to make a clam ; but in England it only takes Mr; Disraeli - to make a ' clamor. -, .,, - . What distinction can be drawn between a sausage made of a sporting dog. and . other things generally ? Why the form- er is ate setter and the the latter is et - ceterer. --- . An . unaccountable oversight When - Mr. Darwin was looking for arguments. 4 to prove man's simian descent, he quite , overlooked the instance of the Pamunky Indians. . .. .. A California!! Indian belle lately at- 1 tempted to introduce the before-the-full -s fashion of nothing and a hoop-ekirt as a. ; promenade costume in the streets of San, . Francisco. ' Looking at specimens of handwriting ' displayed iu show-cases by certain pro- i fessors of ehlrograpliy, their ornature ; led a wit of one of the clubs to remark:; that the business was evidently a flour-; i shiny one. ."'"." Man and wife are generally called; r one. some people, though, reckon them as two. But ten is the proper caronia-: -tlon of some persons the wife one, 'knd'- the husband a cipher. ri A new fancy drink, called the "air-f.; wave cobbler," has just been introduced.;.. Seven of them instigated an ungram- : matical zany to say that "them air waves had blown some good at last.". - The epizootic cat-arrh has extended in Massachusetts to . the feline genus, , and a catachrestical reporter catalogues .... it as "catalepsis cataractes." Being a " zymotic disease, it probably spreads by " catalysis. - - -- -'- - - In the coming trial of the Tichborne claimant Mr. Digby Seymour, Q. C, will be the leading counsel. He receives 1,000 guineas retainer, and 50 guineas a day " refresher " during the conttnu- ance of the trial. The highest praise we can award to . the best of our own sex is to say that he is " all man.;" but the average woman of the period is all manner. Which is an argument not heretofore advanced in favor of female suffrage. As an instance of how the present ad ministration transcends the traditions of our government it may be observed that while our national emblem is only a fowl the political doings at Washing ton are continually becoming fouler. A colored resident of Port Jervis has no ribs. All the respectable citizens - and most of the clergy of the place are willing to give certificates to tbe fact, but none of them have explained what keeps him from collapsing when he but tons his waistcoat. Thatching valuable ivy and shrubs with straw is a work of charity now be ing carried on extensively in the city. The straws used are of the kind that show how the wind blows to the public generally, but conceal that Information from the' plants. A Savannah gentlemen, having set a steel-trap to discover what became of his chickens, found his motlier-tiwaw grievously lacerated next morning. Since then the demand for steel-traps is said to bs something unprecedented In the hardware trade In Georgia. Kansas is doing up divorces with a promptness and despatch which threat en to Interfere with the custom of Indi ana. A lady who was somewnat pressed sed for time the other day, was unmar ried, liccused, remarried, and oft" on her second wedding trip, nil within a quar ter of au hour. A woman of gallantry, becoming old uiiu uuiij;tiuiiiij . . , .v, t . . v. . . ...... fesior, who came and said to her: "It Is now time for you to forget your past life, nml tn think on lovlnf God alone." 1 . .1 .InniMMtnoltf 111 euuf- Y. liu rt Alas, father," she replied, " at my time of life how can 1 think of any new amours?" The beauty of having a female pro- . tector was finely illustrated on Wed nesday last In Anderson, Tcnu. Two men respectively Shaffer aud Kslett quarrelled, and Shaffer was evidently on the point of being well thrashed. when his wile stepped up with a small bowie-knife and killed Kslott. A Philadelphia wedding arranged for December, will put on exhibition a bride's dress, it Is said, made oy tne Parisian Worth, nud cost $!,000. "Worth makes the man, and waul of it the fel low," savs I'oive, but iu this case, how ever the bridegroom is gotten up, ortti, as well as want or worm, we presume, is to make the bed-fellow also. A soholerly undertaker of this city will Blini-ltir Bitml trk iii-wc . vnlninfl lift precating the manufacture aud use of iiitro-giycerine. Mioiuu tne employ ment ot that explosive agent become more general, he says then his occu pation's gone," since no remains ar ever found after a ultro-glyoerlne blow- "P. Mr. Greeley's funeral Wednesday was one of tho largest and most impos ing pageants of the kind that New York bus witnessed since the death of Lincoln. Business was generally suspended ,fiags were at half-masl, and public and pri vate buildings were drapped In mourn ing. Tho crowd that gathered to pay their last sad respects to the deceased philanthropist was estimated at two hundred thousand. Here is au Indication of the charming way iu which wom.au U to adorn our politics: "At Plttsfiold'S' Mapleweod Institute Tuesday morning, the young ladies of Republican procillvlttes all came Into chapel for prayers in bright colored dresttes and with red, white and blue ribbons about their pretty necks aud twined in their hair, while the Democratic sisters appeared in black dresses and sashes and with crape ties. Who says tiie coming woman won't vote?" .