Merry Chrl.slmas.
t.
Here's merry Christmas, and it seams
To cell back rhililhiHKl to the breast.
With kindly word* nnd laughing gleam;
Witb leaping steps that shake the lionms;
With noisy games nnd happy dreams,
And nil of life that's bright and boat.
it.
Itonmeawith mnsio in the hall,
That atirn the old man in his rhnir;
And whan the midnight measures fall,
He'll lend the blithest dance of nil,
Spurning nlike the chimney wall,
And seventy years of wear and tear.
HI.
Here's merry Christmas come again ;
Cling heart to heart and hand to hand.
" Love one another," was the strain
Of him who never taught in vain ;
And let it sonud o'er lull and plnin,
And role the feast in every land.
—Eliza Cook.
——i
ONE CHRISTMAS.
I did not expect any company for
Christmas, yet could not allow the day
to pass without some slight observance,
such as decking ; so my servant and
myself had decked the rooms with ever
greens, and were busily engaged mak
ing mince pics, crullers, and other in
digestible delicacies, when little IttWi
Shafer rushed into the kitchen ex
claiming :
" Miss Bronson. I bin down to post
office foi pap, and Miss Lippincott give
me this letter for you 'cause she thort
it might he from some of yer folks
who're cominin* to Christmas with
ye!" He threw the letter across the
table and ran out again in the same
breathless way.
It was from my sister, Mrs. Elwood,
who wrote to inform me that her
self, her daughter Lucy, and Mr. May
hew, the gentleman to whom Lucy
was engaged, would spend Christmas
with me. I had not seen my niece
since she had grown to womanhood,
and Mr. Mayhew was an entire
stranger, consequently after reading
the letter I was thrown into a tlurry of
excitement at this threatened invasion
of my quiet home.
" Mary," I said, addressing my serv
ant, "three visitors are coming to
spend Christmas with us."
"Yes'ra," was the laconic answer.
"I really believe if I should announce
the expected arrival of Queen Victoria
you would answer yes'in in the same
indifferent tone," I observed in a
slightly irritated voice, for her cool re
ception of the, to me, exciting news
annoyisl me. Her face flushed for a j
moment, hut she made no further coin- j
merits.
Mary was a comely-looking young 1
woman, with large, soft brown eyes
and an abundance of brown hair
slightly tinged with red. She was re
markably neat in appearance, reserved
and ladylike in manner. She had been
with me nearly three years, and during
that period I had never seen even the
shallow of a smile on her face ; yet
she was by no means sullen—only very
sal. When she first eame to live with
me her melancholy demeanor had a
most depressing effect upon my spirits.
Her predecessor had been a rollicking
Irish girl, who made the whole house
ring with Iter merry laughter; there
fore I found it difficult to accustom
myself to Mary's sad ways.
Once I spoke to her about her de
jected air, telling her she should al
ways try to look at the bright side of
life. She answered in a voice quiver
ing with suppressed sobs.
"Life has no bright side for me, j
Mias Bronson. All the brightness
•died out of it years ago."
" You are too young to he so utterly
hopeless. Life should hold many at
tractions for you still."
She shook her head sadly.
"I ain twenty six, but so much
numbing, heart-breaking sorrow has
been crowded into tiie past few years
that it seems as if I had lived a whole
century. Before that I was, oh, so
happy—so happy." She uttered the
words in a wailing sort of way. and
raised her eyes heavenward as if ap
pealing for aid to endure her burd <i
of sorrow, then, clasping her hands
convulsively over her forehead, she
stood for a moment like a marble
image of despair. "Oh, God, help
me to lear it patiently!" she sobbed,
and hurrying out into the garden she
walked for an hour or more up and '
down the graveled path.
When she returned to the house her
violent agitation had suicided and her
fare assumed its expression of intense
sadness. Her strange actions terri
fied me, and ever after I carefully
avoided referring to the grief which
hail overshadowed her life. Certain
days In the year she would appear
inure dejected than usual. These
days, I soon learned, were anniversa
ries of some dead joy or overwhelm
ing affliction, I finally grew aceus
tomeil to her peculiar ways, and find
ing her so thoroughly good and faith
ful, treaty her like a companion or
friend rather than a servant.
When my guests arrived everything
was ready. Mary and I hod done our
utmost to make the house to appear in
viting, anil the table covered with a
snowy cloth fairly groaned under its
weight of tempting viands. She was
In a remarkably cheerful mood, and
looked really pretty in the dark blue
dress, white apron and white muslin
cap donned for the occasion. The cap
was exceedingly becoming, hut greatly
altered her appearance, lit was a
fancy of hers to wear tho cap when
strangers were present. When we
were alone we took our meals to
gether.
As soon as our Christmas greetings
were over I lis! the way into tho din
ing-room. Just then Mary came in
with a platter of broiled chicken. I
observed Mr. Mayhew glared at her
with a startled expression. She went
out again without raising her eyes.
"Then you were horn in Trenton,"
said my sister Helen in answer to a
fotmcr remark made by Mr. Mayhew
" Yes, I was horn in Trenton, and
lived there until I was twenty-three."
At that moment Mary returned with
the dinner-plates. She stojqssl sud
denly and stared at the speaker in
a dazed sort of way, apparently for
getful of her errand, until I whis
pered :
" Put the plates on the table."
"Yes'in," she answered. Turning
to leave the room she staggered and
caught the door frame. I thought
nothing of the movement, supposing
site had tripped against the rug.
When my guests left the dining
room I went into the kitchen to tell
Mary that the dinner was a decided
success. I found tier sitting on an old
settee with her head thrown back
against the window ledge. Her face
was deathly pale and her eyes closixl
"Areyou ill, Mary?" I asked, tak
ing her hand, which was cold and limp.
Receiving no answer, I called Helen,
and together we succeeded in restor
ing her to consciousness. She lookeil
around her in a liewildered way, then
pointing toward the dining-room, said
in a gasping voice;
"Tell him I forgive—Tell him—l
have gone to—baby—l hope he—"
between the struggles for breath I
caught the words, " will—happy."
" She h.as fainted again," reiriarkeil
Helen, applying the restoratives once
more, but this time without success,
for we saw no signs of returning life.
I was thoroughly alarmed, and sent
Mr. Mayhew for the doctor, who, for
tunately, was at home, and obeyed the
summons instantly. He took Mary's
hand, placed his ear over her heart,
opened her eyelids and examined the
pupils, and then said slowly :
" She is dead. The question is. what
has killed her? Heart disease, prob.
ably, aceeleratisl by a severe shock."
I was completely unnerved, and
wept sincere, heartfelt tears over the
inanimate form of my |H*>r Mary, who
died as she had lived, mukiiigno moan
over her burden of pain and sorrow.
In the room Mary occupied was a
small IMX. which 1 carried down to the
parlor, after the first excitement had
subsided, thinking that by examining
its contents I might gain some clew as
to the whereat >outa of her friends.
The box contained mementoes such
as women treasure. There wasa package
of yellow letters tied together with a bit
of failed ribbon, a little blue shoe, still
Ix-aring the imprint of a baby foot, a
lock of dark hair and a golden curl
held together by a hand of crape, and
several photographs.
"All the letters were evidently writ
ten by the same person," said Helen,
who hail been examining the dates,
" and this seems to have been the last
one received. It is dated ' Christmas
Eve, 15,2.' It is addressed to 'My
darling wife,' ami signed ' Your affec
tionate husband.'"
" Here is a photograph with some
thing written on the margin. Per
haps you may be able to decipher it,
Mr. Mayhew. The words are almost
effaced."
I held the picture toward him. He
was seated on the sofa, some distance
from the table, hut caine forward and
took it from my hand. I saw him
start and turn pale, while great heads
of perspiration broke out on Ida fore
head.
"George Mayhew, died March, 1873,"
he read, in a low, trembling voice,
while his strong frame shook like an
aspen.
He covered his face with his hands
and soldtcd in a dry, tearless sort of
way that made my heart ache with
pity.
Lucy and her mother looked at him
in blank astonishment.
" Let me see her. Miss Bronson.
She was my wife." he said, in tones of
the deepest anguish.
I took the lamp, and silently led the
way to the room where he hud laid her.
lie threw himself on his knees beside
t lie lounge and placed his cheek against
the cold, still face. I put the lamp
j down and turn el away, leaving liirn
alone with his dead.
"Aunt liutli, what does It all
| mean ?" demanded Lucy, with an In
! Jured air.
" It means that Mary was Mr. May
hew's wi*v Doubtless when his grief
is spent he. will explain. Such grief
is surely horn of love," I responded.
Lucy's face grew pallid. She
| clenched Iter hands and walked to the
other side of the room. I wondered
; if she was jealous of his dead love.
Despite my remonstrances he passed
the night in the room where Mary's
| body lay. Before 1 retired ho told me
; the brief story of ills wedded life;
how he had married Mary Corson, the
| Mm 1 knew her by, when she was a
mere child and he had not reached
man's estate; how happily they hail
j lived together for three years, and atiout
the baby that had come to strengthen
the bond of affection between them,
i Then sorrow marked them for its own.
lie lost his situation, went to Philadel
phia hoping to better his fortune, and,
as a last resort, shipped on a sailing
j vessel carrying cargoes from one |M>rt
to another; was wrecked ami all on
hoard were reported lost. But he and
two companions were rescued by a
ship liound for Liverpool. Through
j the kindness of the captain who had
I saved his life lie obtained a position in
a Liverpool shipping-house. He wrote
to his wife apprising her of his safety
and told her he would send for her and
' baby as soon as possible. She never
received the letter; for, after waiting
' week after week for a reply, his own
letter was returned to him. Then he
asked for leave of absence, and
came home only to learn that
j his child had died about the time
he was wrecked, ami his wife had gone
away, no one knew whither. He em
ployed a detective to continue the
search and went hack to Liverpool,
j Later, the detective sent an account of
the death of a woman, the name and
personal description answering ti that
of his wife, ami for years lie hod
mourned her as dead. He remained
in Liverpool, became a partner in the
linn, and now had charge of the New
York branch.
Poor Mary had believed him dead*
and when she recognized him in Lucy's
lietrothed, her sorrow-stricken heart
could bear no more. Had she lived
a half hour longer she might have
learned that he had Icen faithful for
many years after their separation; hut
she died believing Dim false—doubt
less thinking he had deserted her.
Mr. Mahcw and Lucy were married
last July, and are going to spend Christ
mas with me.
The l'ari Bourse.
A correspondent, after visiting the
Paris Isuirsc, declares himself satisfied
that human nature is human nature
the world over. He writes: There
were the turbulent stock-broker* play
ing the old Wall street game witli no
material French variations. Paris haa
built temples worthy of the Parthenian
type to all sorts of gods. The Ixiiirse
is a temple of mainnyn, and one of
the most beautiful of all. It seems
text la<l to put a building of such se
rene and |xx tic exterior to such a noisy
and prosaic puqxwc. The business
conducted within is more like an o|>en
market than that of the New York
stock brokers. There is no call of
stx ks ami no formality of any kind
olmerved. The public lias free access
to the brokers on the door of the
Ixuirse. Tim agents tie ehange move
alxiut among the throng like other
people, holding their little red Ixxiks
alxive their heads and taking
or executing order* as they hurry
along. The more st aid and less push
ing brokers remain inside the little
iron circle which is their special den
on the flrxir. and communicate with
their customers across the low railing.
This comparatively small space U all
that appears to be reserved to the
brokers, and is not accessible to the
public. Practically, there is perfect
| freedom of movement and action be
tween buyers and sellers at the Bourse.
With the substitution of French for
English jargon, the racket was exactly
what you can hear in Wall street any
busy day. There were the same little
brokers who st-xsl on their toes and
screamed like cockatoos. There were
the same tall and powerful fellows
who roared like bulls of Dashan and
Imre down all opposition as they eL
I towed their way around. Canards
were doing the same work there as in
New York. In fact, bluster and
Ixiunce ore not separable from stock
broking, wherever carried on. And
the French are no better or worse
than the Americans in that respect.
Making the outside tour of the bourse
Hiilisequently, I was much amused to
oliserve the eialxirate provisions every
where made for " firing up" the
brokers. The square is lined with
liquor sWO|w with absinthe, brandy,
American drinks and all kinds of po
tation* placarded in the windows.
The brokers evidently had on a full
head of steam at 2 r. M., when I
visited the bourse.
PEARLS OF THOUGHT.
Grumblers never work, and workers
never grumble.
It Is not calling your neighbor names
that settles a question.
. Occasions do not make a man frail,
but they do show what be is.
Genius at first Is nothing more than
a great capacity for receiving disci
pline.
Education begins the gentleman, hut
reading, good company and reduction
finish him.
All persons are not discreet enough
to know bow to take things by the
right handle.
We attract hearts by the qualities
we display ; we retain tliem by the
qualities we possess.
There is nothing that Is meritorious
but virtue and friendship, and, indeed,
friendship itself is hut a part of
virtue.
It may serve as a comfort to us in
all our calamities and afflictions that
lie that loses anything and gets
wisdom by it is a gainer by the loss.
Everyone cannot he beautiful, hut
they can la* sweet-tempered—and a
sweet temper gives a loveliness to the
face more attractive in the long run
than even Ix-auty. Have a smile and
a kind word for all, and you will be
more admired—nay, loved—than any
mere beauty. A sweet temper is to
the household what sunshine is to the
trees and (lowers.
Unseen Helpers.
" Tske, O bostnmn, lliriee thy fee—
Tut#, I gire it willingly;
For. invisible to thee,
Kpmta twain hart' croneed with me."
"Can you give me a day's work/"
uski-d a jioor woman of a well-to-do
matron.
" Yot: look very delicate," said the
lady. " I need some one to wash, hut
you do not seem strong enough for the
work."
"Oh, yes'm ; only try me, and you
will see. I have U-en si<k and got
U-hindhand, and my children need
bread. Besides, Charlie w ill help carry
the water and lift the tut*," concluded
the woman, eagerly.
"Who is Charlie?" asked the lady of
the house.
" My husband, ma'am," was the low
answer.
The woman was engaged and did
her work well, hut there was some
thing that troubled the mistress of the
house greatly. As soon as she left the
kiteh< n the woman would call Charlie,
and she would hear her voice talking
and laughing, and holding converse
with some one; hut when sho went
into the room there would be no one
there. The water was carried and the
tubs all lift"! into their places ; but
the slight woman who washed was the
onlv person who was visible. When
I
the lady of the house paid her, she
said:
" Call your husband; I would like to
see him."
" He wouldn't come, ma'atn," said
the woman, simply. "Xo one ever sees
him but roe." ,
"What do you mean?" asked the
lady in astonishment.
" Why, ma'am. Charlie Is dead him
self, hut his spirit comes and helps me
—how could I work this way if it
didn't? I could no more lift one of
those tubs of water than you could,
ma'am. He's come ever since I was
sick, and helped me that way."
The compassionate lady placed
another coin with those she had
already given. " For Charlie and the
children," she said, with tears in her
eyes, and she saw afterward that the
sick and wearied mother was helped by
living hands.
Hut there must lie many people
hearing burdens greater than they are
able to, who are helped and made
stronger hv invisible guides—the
memory of some dead Charlie, who
Ufts unseen the heavy load, with
whom they commune as they work.
How would the dull routine of daily
life lie glorified could wo for one
moment see the angel helpor at our
side! When the pious monk left his
duties to go out on a deed of tnerey, he
returned to And all his homely work
done, and. for one moment, he saw in
the doorway of his cell his blessed
Master smiling upon him. It may tie
only a vague theory—the delusion of a
siek brain—and there is an Infinite
sadness In it; but surely
" It is n beautiful belief
Hint ever round our head
Arc hovering on angel wings
The spirits of the dead.
To feel that unseen hands we clasp.
While feet nnheard are gath'ring round:
To know that we in faith mar grasp
Celestial guards from Heavenly ground."
Princeton College is to hereafter
teach civil service reform. Tho boys
needn't lie a bit astonished to see the.
janitor walk tip to the head of the
faculty. That's the way the thing
works.
I A Ceylon Jungle,
Professor IHeckel ha* Ixicn giving
, In the German Huntltchau an account
|of his travels In Ceylon, and recently
he described his Unit attempt to pene
, trute a Ceylon jungle. He found It to
correspond to the idea of a primeval
forest, with it* dense and iuijwnetra
hie mass of trees of all kinds, sur
rounded and overgrown by a wilder*
neaa of creeping and climbing plants'
of ferns, orchids and other parasites'
| so thickly intertwined as to convince
1 the traveler of the impossibility of ids
1 undertaking, except With the aid of
axe and fire. After a prolonged strug
gle he was fain to make good his re
treat, stung by inosquitos, bitten by
ants, with torn clothes, and arms and
legs bleeding from the thorns and
prickles with which the climbing
hibiscus, the suphorhia, and a multi
tude of other jungle plants, repulsed
, every attack made on their impenetra
ble labyrinth. "Hut the attempt," ob
serves the professor, "had not lecn
made altogether in vain, for it enabled
ine to gain a very fair idea of the
jungle as a whole, more especially of
the magnificence of its trees and creep
ers, beside* introducing me to many
separate varieties of animals and vege
table life, which were of the highest
interest. Here 1 saw the magnificent
yloriosa sujjT>/n, the poisonous climb
ing lily of Ceylon, with its red and
ainler flowers; the prickly hibitms
rtuliaUu), with large, cup shape, brim
stone colored flowers, deepening to
violet in the hollow; while around them
fluttered gigantic black butterflies, with
blood-red s]*ts on their tail-shaped
wings, and chafers and dragon flies
flew past with a metallic gleam. But
my delight reached its h ight when on
this my first attempt " i penetrate a
jungle in Ceylon, I came across the two
most characteristic of its inhabitants
from among the higher classes of ani
mals—parrots and ape*. A flock of
green parrots flew screeching from a
lofty tree as they became aware of the
gun in my hand, and at the name
moment a herd of great black apes
sprang with a growling cry into the
thicket. I did not succeed in getting a
shot at either one or the other; they ap
jearel to l>e too fan jiiar with the pxik
of a gun. I was consoled, however, by
securing with my first shot a colossal
lizard, or iguana, six feet long, of a
kind held in much awe by the suj>er
stitious native*- hydrosaurus salvator.
The huge, croeodiie-like beast was sun
ning himself on the edge of a water
tank, and the shot hit hun so precisely
on the head as to kill hun at onee. Had
it stnick a less vital part he would
probably have dived into the water and
disappeared. When seized, the iguana
ha* the |>ower of hitting so sharp a I
with its scaly tail a* to cause a severe
wound, and even sometimes a broken
limb."
Fashion Note*.
litre-fashionable ladles cover th'ir
jict lap-dogs with tiny blankets made
Of a Fit of the <lr -* goods of which
their own costumes are made.
Train dresses for evening wear are
coming back to favor, judging from the
unusual number in this style exhibited
by leading importers.
Jersey jackets of royal cardinal,
olive-green marine blue, velvet or
cashmere are very fashionably worn
over skirts and tunica of tweed or Ho
man plaid.
One hundred and fifty yards of rib
l,on—thirty yards each of terra-cotta.
pale blue, olive, cream color, and brown
—went to make up the trimmings of a
successful toilet from over the sea.
Bewitching little gowns for two
year-old girls are made of soft white
wool, crocheted very closely in loops
in the stitch known as the brioche, and
afterwards cut, leaving a soft and
smooth surface. The collar and deep
cuffs are made of white plush.
In brocaded satins, velvets, and silks
the figures this season are monstrously
large tn site—dab lias, sunflowers, full
blown roses, passion flowers and vines
and the like, all being reproduced in
their natural hues and dimensions.
These fabrics are designed exclusively
for the use of portly dames and dow
agers, and never for little women, who
would look like lost balies envel
oped in a labyrinth of huge buds, blos
soms and spreading foliage, two of
these floral m<mstrosities tieing almost
enough to cover their dainty and del
icate tiacks.
A very beautiful wedding dress of
white ottoman silk in deroraUsl with
long sprays of white snowdrops and |
orange blossoms, which liegin at the
shoulders, curve over the chest, and
meet at the waist, curving over the
hips from thence in panier style, and
falling In long trailing garlands over
' the long court train. The petticoat in
j front is covered with a similar silk
; embroidery, nnd the dainty little silk
sandals accompanying lbs dress are
also embroidered to match.
Now.
Rise ! for the <i/t >■ in poMing,
Anil jr/m lie. dreaming on;
Tim other* have I,ucktod their rirrnOT,
Anil fortli to the (iht have gonof
A place in tin; rank* await* yon,
Karh man >m* Mime part to play?
Tin- J'/uit and tin- Future are nothing^
In the face of the -tern To-day
Rise from your dreams of the Future—
< If gaining •own fiard-fought field}
Of xkirnjirig "own airy fortrew,
Or Bidding eotne giant yield;
Your future ha* deeds of glory,
< tf honor Hi od irrant it may !)
Hut your nrm will m-vei la- -tronger
Or the ncid M> grvat an today. 0
Rle ! if the pat di -tains you.
Her Mimdum and *torm forget;
Ko#miii o unworthy to hold >on
An tlioee of a vain regret;
Had or bright, niie in IIIOICMM ever;
Cant Iwr phantom arms away,
Nor look hack, •are to learn Uie lesson
Of a nohier strife to-day.
Rise for the day is panning-.
The Hound tlwt you acarrely hear
In the enemy marching to hattle;
A r ie! for the foe is here !
Htny not to rlmrja n your weajnms,
Or the liour will strike at last.
When from dreams of a owning hattle,
You may wake to find it pant.
Adelili/ie I'roctor.
IT.M.KNT I'AIUCKAI'HS.
■err roo ram.
He dropi>ed rny fair into tlie has
With gentle mien and wmdoome air.
Block were his aockn with purple clocks,
I noted he won passing fare.
The modern pie-rate—ten cents a
- piece.
The Bent thing to take before Ring
ing—breath.
' There's very little or no opjxjsition to
a rul-hot jsiker.
The right kind of a dog in a yard is
i a terrier to evil doers.
If a dog loses his paw, and a rooster
loses his maw, does it make orphans of
j them?
Since 1850 eighty-two people hav
thrown themselves from the Vendome
column in l'aris.
A New York female pickpocket is
MI pretty that one of her victims ro-
I fused to make complaint. ,
When a man gets into stocks nowa
j days he is very lik the culprit of old
times, and suffers in a corresponding
| degree.
"Yes," said the farmer, "barbed wire
fence is expensive, but the hi nil man
doesn't stop to rest every time he
climlis it."
An exchange contains an article on
"Women who Die Early." Those who
, light the fire with kerosene in the
j morning are apt to die early.
"Marie, what's that strange noise at
the gate?" "Cats, sir." "Cats! Well
w hen I was young, eats didn't wear
long hats and smoke cigars." "Times
are changed, sir."
Clara (looking at the bonnets, etc.) ;
•'Don't you think they are very hand
' some?" Amy (whose thoughts are
|on the other side of the st reet); "Very,
[ 'specially the one with the black moua
i tache."
The man who will invent some
' practical sulistitutc for the ordinary
; wooden knob for drawers, desk doors,
| and the like, or some way of keeping
the ordinary knob on. will make a for
tune and die respected.
I'erhaps the casual reader has never
at down on a buzz saw and felt him
self gradually biding away. If so. he
j doesn't know w hat it is to fnn the
acquaintance of a somnambulisticbull
| dog in the prime of life,
i In dangerous proximity to mean
ness ; "Yes," said Burkenstein, "I
eaine pretty near doing a mean thing
to-day. I hail a counterfeit half and I
was almut to give it to a poor blind
lieggar who asked for alms, but I re
sisted the temptation and g<tt an old
apple woman to change it by buying
five cents' worth of fruit.
When a California panther sees a
poodle and a young woman he eats the
poodle and leaves the young woman.
He probably reasons in this way ; If
I eat the girl and the poodle, that will
lie only one meal; if I always eat the
poodle the girl will always get another,
sind 1 can always lie sure of another
meal.
A London pajwr describes an Amer
ican girl in that city who "wears a
gown with a flight of embroidered sw al
lows, lieginning on her left shoulder
and ending at her right foot; and swal
lows also fly about her parasol." The
American youth in London is also ad
dicted to "swallows," but they don't
I>cgin on his left shoulder—They liegin
under his nose and run down his
throat.
A scholar in a public school who had
been over the map of Asia, was re
viewed by the teacher, with the follow
ing result: "What is geography f
"A big book." "What is the earth
composed of?" "M>id." "No; land
and water." "Well, that makes mud,
don't it?" "What is the shape of the
earth f* "Flat." "You know better.
If I should dig a hole through the earth
where would I come .out at?** "Out
of the hole,"