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Northern Ohio journal. [volume] (Painesville, Ohio) 1872-1896, December 21, 1872, Image 1

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W. C, CUUBEKS SOX, Proprietor.
J. . CSAK3ZE3, liiwr. W. C. CSAK3IE3, MLUhir. '
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VOL. II. XO. 24.
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 . .
. .S4'rihiier Monthly
. i, OiMfitltltOH
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
Market, J owe and Foreign. .
7 m? Star in ths Eant
J'eltgion Netca
A grirtttural ...
J'rariieal Hint
Mrs. I. M. Blinn
.. ... t'4HjilUion
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
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
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
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
"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
"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 has changed greatly since you
gave it to your dead wife, Gideon Grin
dem, ' said the figure, sadly.
"Have mercy on me?" the merchant
"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
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
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
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
"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
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
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
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
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
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.
"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
"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.
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
"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
"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,
"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
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
"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
'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
"'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
"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 !
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
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
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
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
"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.
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.
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-
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?" .

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