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cl“;istmas-morti ;.iateltlusty cheer,
Such kindly grehing,, friendly talk,
Might make the ro!..es of the year
Flush winter's fEkett
And till the heart with tlyriwhs of spring,
And stir the - soul with' goldeo dreams;
For seraphs in the holly sing, '
Joy in the yule-fire gleams.
SoJet the world have joy with Out,
i The Po: , t shall have joy within.
Then wreathe old Christmas' face about,
Down to his glowing chin :
No plea_Stire spare, no pa,stinie shhn,
Each rrof with social clouds be curled
'Tis wed; for once beneath the sun
There rolls a happy world! -
oup of women and children were
st'aniting, and lying about on the steps of
the clionchin Church, outside the walls
of Stiville. Their poverty, rags, and dirt.
being Spanish, and seventeenth century
Spanish at "that, were full of a certain
coarse picturesqueness, particularly just
now whenthe whole crowd were in a live
ly discussion that bid fair for a quarrel.
I wouldn't say a prayer to St: Antho
ny—no, not if Father Perez put me on
bread, and water for life,•' said ;Nana a
strong, brazen-faced young woman,. beg
gar by profession. as she arranged with
motherly pride it draped rag—the whole
costume of the handsome child she car
"Oh ! poor .Tuana !" exclaimed, taunt
ingly, another of the women ; " that's be-,.
cause Semir icouldn't make a mo:
del out of your homely braf there. See
my baby : there's a Christ-child for you."
And she fondled a little dark sleeping
head that lay on her breast.
" Wretch !" screamed Juan, threating
ly. The softer ,vMce of ',Sind, a gypsy
mother, struck in, as she 1101 her stin f dy,
brown naked boy pi otnily hi view. :"
Hadar stands the best chance. When Se
nor Murillo comes out,..ree if he don't ask
for my beauty. Look, what peat eyes,
and what great. legs !"
The others turned on her with a tor
rent of abuse, and the 'gent-I-al disturb
aoi•e was fast can inn to blows, when
Father Perez stepped out of the church.
quarrelling, women, here ta the
very &or of Illy Church. Away, every
one of you."
" A'c're waiting for Senor Murillo. lle
wants a ino lel for St. Anthony's Christ
eh explained a shrill chorus.
Just then the leathern curtain at the
d0,,0r was raised, .and .
passing out, for the day, frotn his work
nn ;be deemations, tor the afternoon sha :
wer6.falling.• Ilis friend I)un elau-
Wo follovied him close. - The women
c r,;wd, , d np, cacti coaxing for her own ha
-I,y. and spending much abuse on all the
other babies. Murillo stoiKl quite still
until the first storm of attack was over:
then, after scanning the k.cs,psy child, said
No. un : don't torment u s e. Your chil
dren won't it,. I fere's money. Catch."
'And thniwnez a Landfill ol l small coin to
chili:_:- the subject of dispute, he walked
Off :4?;.adith town with DIM
I, the ' St. Alithritiy . ' still untinish
iin.l likely to remain so, dimwit
I lo.i‘e promised the picture to the ea
.l can't 1- find a child's face that
go%cs 11. c least hint or what I need, add
tcy ,•wn fancy utterly•fails...
••• Th a gypsy bo}• would make a
•• They are only for the base
eV p,!it of a 1.:(11.1re. The technicalities
one, L.:ro•l) that, we draw tmerringfy
and pc! e, , 10r as fit. is, we have a re
senColanee hfe. and are painters.
we a , k ra..re—a •stit,ther sense in the
work; an such as no model can
for - 114 111513111. such, perhaps, as we
Dever but only feel as the outcome of
a scig 'llO-141—all that myst spring from
the painter's b ra ct, Ins; inner self, that
sir are at tiqs."
" I thick i cumigh to paint things as
they I.mglicd. Claudio.
)11111.h , ..ti his bat, and his dark
fa xlrh forehead,_ too high for
- , ymnegly. the short cleft chin
moh,lo month. hardly shaded by t scanty
ncl-•.oehe, was lifted full •against the ,
Ile half shut tloise
.0 , -crvant eyes, Ilia dazzled by the
lc:b•, leg is if to see clearer, and pluck'
tclt si cret from the heart of its
simmrt Ile said in a-drcomv 'voice :
"In an.w c r to St. Anthony's agony of i
1. , :,` •I. Chtist appeared as a beautiful in- i
1,1 , 1' P i ty for one poor mean creature so
I' , "\ I•ti the divine heart that, leaving
Cl !es:l,l glory', Ile stooped again to tic , •
1 - 4•1 in NN hid' had once carried the burden
• of di unman sorrow safely to the Urea
t,,C, fc,:. What compassion, what dig
nu V. V. iI;It love, and vet what sweet and
I , :plc: mfancy, slitmlil be ‘ in thiit glorious
' 1:::.• fare ! (lb, Claudio, I can not grttsp
ti. , . •-p:: it of such a giacions act. What ,
Is n•• 1 in Inv Mart I can never. put on the
1•• Ill ,IN , , The Cilpnehims must give up
I:.cii: SI . Anthony." .
•• What a 'fanciful fellow you are, to be
1 c, tormentin , yourself NN ith overstrain
' cd s'i rnpies !- Then ( 'hiuillo added , with
a s , -iiciiig yet covert glance : "Ai"- )cina
1'•..• :IA says, you are mote than (k r soul
~: ~,; : )•in are its very conscience!
" ; , s1 she say that ?" asked l'il. uTillo,
1 -, :-: ,:.; eagerly. l'
I! -Ii Trundle' - ission wits not a
one, as he observed the boyish
with which Murillo's fetdings
to the surface. This }:mailman
and t noble'lineage, and litad a
uCc property. which was much euentn
. by sundry debts. and withal he was
_....unled the hand KOMVSt fell4;,W in Seville :
sr. both fitness and necessity irahle him, an
gent suitor for Ilona Reatm—the 14e
. I.eq and richest lady in a country proud
of it , tine women: Sonic little words and
• looks, surprised by watchful„ioalousy, had
lattly begun to torn Claudio Ixont being
Murdio's Mend into something very like ,
hi, dearest foe.
So you're not too pious and whimsi
cal a piture-maker to care for the opin
ion of one of these fair fools—our pretty
Sevillians`. ° ' said !Claudio, with a little
sneer, yet With evident interest in the an
" I care for the opinion of any one who
is eentle and earnest," respinnied
" Ila! ha! And su you conceive the
Dona lleatriz to be geictle and earnest ?"
"'rite tenderest ite4rt in Spain, th©
ervi4.al mind, the fairest face•"
'Peril:Ts, — continued Claudio, mock
ingly, but with half a threat in the tone,
" you know all Seville says your last Ma
donna is • a portrait of that 'fairest
3lurillo hinked surprised, as if the idea
ivere new ; then said, thoughtfully, "lt
"9 1 11 your own theory?' questioned .
Claudio. " What is in your heart you"
SF.Non.—I ask your company at the
put on the eanvt,sli''
villa for an hour this evening. At nine
Murillo kept silence.
I O'clock I shall be free of guests." 1-
"Look you, Senor ..Nturillo," Claudio . .
went on, With determination, " tell me, I Couched not unlike a command, the'
as a man to man, do you intend pressing, lines meant no less than life-long sur
a suit with the fair Ileatrizr , render! Murillo finding them, no
"As man to man, Don Claudio, I am. i diffidence coultidetain his suit. Claudio
hound to confide nothing to you. As:.! made 7 i motion to destroy the paper: then,
friend to friend, I tell you, frankly, I.: changing his purpose, quietly laid it back
dare not lift: my eye so high as that upon the easel and joined the , roup down
hal . !, .'',_, . . ; stairs. r....,..
1 . ,
—That's Fell, - my good Murillo, for I ileatriz was mounted on a black horse,'
there are grandees of Spain who would ! the dark velvet riding dress wonderfully
dispute your claim on that fine estate at i setting off her' stiperb beauty—a beauty
l'ilas and its mistress with an argument so sensitive that it took a character for
that's sharp, if not short," answeredl
every change of cireum 4itauee. , mo-
COODRICH & I HITCHCOCK. Publishers.
Claudio ' with a speaking gesture of his
`"As for a grandee's argument, I have
another as sharp," retorted Murillo, with
.a disdainful shrug. "Dona .Beatriz's
estate may-go the dogs, or to any. ehosen
dog, yet-she would be what she is—too
noble fora king."
"Faith," said Claudio, "I fancy the
lady feels her good qualities and holds
lovers aloof, save for suave condescension
sometimes with inferiors."
Ile meant that. Speech should tell upon
the pair ter ; for more than once Beatriz
had graciously visited thu studio, Mu
rillo's face felt visibly: at the. words thrust
home ; for thoNgh he could draw a sword,
like any Spanish :gentleman,_ with the
readiness that belonged to the peiiod, yet
his nature was childlike and simple. lie
prayed before li)q painted, and held his
life so pure that' -if artihad not been the
fashion, the ga3r i; courtiers would. have de
spised such a very good fellow, if, indeed ;
they ever noticed his existence at all. As
it was, the last Work of his hand was the
_gorlsip in high circles, and sprigs of nobil
ity haunted rooms, picking hits of
technical knowledge to show off else
The two men had reached the city.
streets when they were met and joined by
Don Amador, the most dainty of fops,
much perfumel and bejewelled. Don
Armador's Spanish lisp ' was so very
strong, to show himself'a really elegant
felliw, that there iseerned danger. his
aristocratic tongue would grow to his
noble teeth, and he bore himself general
ly wf.ith a dying languor. But on this no
casieln he was actually somewhat out of
breath, like any common. mortal. lie had
been tip-toeing from the direction ! of
Marino's lodging, and daintly picking
out the edge of his laces with fastidious
lingers, he hastened to say, as well as
possible through the- impediments -his
taste had set:
" Sart iago ! lturillo. I saw Dona Bed
triz de•Cahera enter year house.'-'
ThiT painter's quick gladness showed
instantly in his hastened step.
" llas she given you an Si - der fir a pic-
"Santiligo ! but wouldn't it-be odd,"
lisped the top, as he tripped in trying to
keep his mincing gait in time with Muril
lo's strides—" wouldn't it be odd if the
lady should care for a poor devil of A
painter, after all?"
"A good- painter is never a poor devil,
my lord. Wit makes gull, though gold
doesn't make wit," retorted Murillo,
good-naturedly, for not even the hot
blooded it ibles took ;offense at Amador:
Those precious affectations saved- him
many a time, for no gentleman could
quarrel tarnestly with a creature of lace
" Women's fancies are unaccountable.
swear that. Dona Bestriz blushed at the
mention of Murillo's name the othcr day."
" Fool ! keep still," whispered Claudio
between his tveth.
"Santiago . but it's queer. The estate
at Pilas will go of course, to a man of
family, 'a man of taste, a man of ele
gaoce," said Amador, perusing his tine
finger-nails ; "but just think if the lady
should have,a little strimental fan-cv for
our friend Murillo. An alliance would be
out of the question, but she might take
the trouble to break, his heart, eh ?"
Murillo. impatient to reach home, had
pushed a little ahead and out of hearing.
" Ainador," asked Claudio, "" do you
really' suppose Beatriz thinks of this
shabby, pale-faced gentleman
"Taith. I do; as a pastime merely.
But all Seville suspects whom she • will
•' Yon mean—" questioned Claudio,
" Yes ; ilf
ed Amador., with a self-satiSfied cough.
Whom do you mean'."' asked Claudio,
outright . .
" Your humble se ant, senor," said
Antador, - with an ahsu (1 how, and laying'
his hand on hiS befurh owed breast.
Claudio inched nervously, and yet
frowner(: Ile had expected to hear from
the gossip of the town some eolith - mat Mu
of his own lmeF, in reghrd to the mis
tress of the Pilas estate. Not that he
feared the rivalry of this vain fop, but he
knew Dona Beatriz was hot given to
lightly c hanging color at a name, and be
lieved her hand nrivdd follow her - heart.
and he would sooner wring that heart
than lose the chance of her band.
Very nimbly Murillo cleared the stairs
that led to his tr. Aims. Almost as fast
came tialldio banal, bent on being pres
ent at the meeting. Amador had, iii a
more gmyd-natured way, the same anxi
ety ; but haste disturbed both toilette
and eirCulathm, so he Ming back, Making
an effort to preserve a graceful indolence.
Sure enough,' Duna Beatriz was there,
and as the painter entered -she beamed
upon him, and gave her white , hand to
kiss with a gracious familiarity that stung
Claudio, to whom she had never "relaxed
a severe dignity. _ He veiled his Myer in
the elaborate politeness of the la , but
she took no pains to -hide the I ifferenee
. tWo greetings. As for Ainador,
she gave . him a touch of milk y and a
sMil;, and the poor fellow found in that,
:IS in every thing, food' for his vanity, and
drawled and shrugged : and languished un
til he actually believed in having cora
-1 pletcd a c on q uest,
Dona Beatriz had come, with only an
attendant, to see, as she said. the artist's
latest work.. To see the artist himself
rather, might be read iu the min:alai con
descensiim, She talked of having, a por
trait done, she delayed and went over the
piettnes a dozen tines, then dallied with
a palette full of color, while Murillo fol
lowed her with rapt eyes, his whole soul
answering her lightest: gestitre, his words
carrying out. her half-unspoken thought.
"Alt ! here is air unfinished' picture,"
she said, pausing by-the l o w ease l b e f or e
which the artist's chair stood, while a
brush, hastily thrown down, lay beside it.
" The Vision of -St: Anthony,' " an
swered Murillo. -" It has stood ‘ a long
t uric." •
•` The saint -is h forlorn spei•imen,'•
said Aniador, with a criticising eye ; 'and
then, with his usual expletive, "Santia
go ! how' ugly he is!"
1 " What 1" exclaimed Beatriz. " Ugly?
with every; mean and sinful instinct put
away front. hint ? Ugly? with heaven in
i his heart and ecstasy in his face? 3ly
lord, that worn saint upon his knees, to
i anv eye that sees truly, shines beautiful."
"Ahem !•' giggled Amador. "Of
I course—certainly. ill Dona Beatriz says
I so, Satan himself should be beautiful to
i her slave Amador." This with a flourish,
as if a writing master made a signature.
" I wish the child's face -were painted
in, .'..erior Murillo," 'she added. "\\'h( n
will you do it ?"
." When I feel that I can," he answerd.
1 She bent over a folio of sketches, and
on a bit of torn paper inside wrotOliastil,
I with art end .of crayon. Then with the
I paper hidden in her lima arid.lleaning
close against the easel on which tie "St.
1 Anthony " stood, she said good-by.
The three men hastened to escort her
I down' stairs ; but at
,the, door Claudio
turned back intqlhe toom'again. "Ha ;
ha' my lady'," pe• hissed. with an ugly
smile, " I espiedthe little manumv-rethat
escaped our innocent painting fool." lie
snatched np the bit of paper that lay on ,
the ledge of the easel below the picture.
It read,: . .
ment ago she was all devotion before the
pictured saint; now she was like some
warlike queen reining in her restless,eu
veting Steed. Amador bowed so low and
paid so many elaborate compliments that
at last she laughed in his face outright
'and heartily. • )-
"I Pray your ladyship is merry," he
remarked, with the air of baying invent
ed a subtle gallantry.
"You always make me merry, Don
Arnador,",she answered, riding away.
"Santiago I" thought Amador, "hut
if I make her merry, I make her happy ;
if I make her happy, she would like to
marry me. Amador, though art lucky as
well as handsome. Go to her 'house this
night and ask her hand." Answering the
self-addressed admonition, he said, strok
ing his curled and fragrant locks, "I Will
go this evening."
Murille, on returning alone to the stud
io, soon noticed the folded slip of paper.
This woman s favor was the wildest,
dearest dreatrt of the artist's life. To
live near her,
where he could now and
then see . her face, meet her smile, and
could feel she had an interestin his work,
had held him back from the patronage of
Madrid, from the advantage of foreign
travel. Beatriz do Cabrera had made
Seville the house of Spanish art.. This
invitation to visit her at an appointed
hour disregarded common social • re
straints, and was plainly a marked en
conragement. Murillo paced his floor in
a fever of impatience until eight o'clock,
when he Was to mount arm start for Film..
Sharp upon the minute he came running
down stairs, and opened the heavy outer
door, which the old woman who kept the
house closed early, for the painter was
given to spending evenings. in his studio.
Passing through. in eager haste, just out-,
side he stumbled and neatly fell over
large bundle. Looking closely, tho Ugh
annoyed at the delay, ho found it held a
child—a feeble, wailing, wasted little
creature hardly two years old, a
sick baby left there by some heattless
wretch to die, or by some penniless
mother on the chance of being found by
a charitable stranger. He hastily picked
up the miserable little thing and bade the
old housekt eper see to its eon.for ,. .
" Not I," said the old woman. " Let
the.creature's own people do that. lt's
dying, and I'm not going to bother with
it, and :then get into trouble when it's
dead on my hands. Not I. It's an ugly
The child Was ugly ; it was wasted and
pale, all the piety curves of baby
hood gone, and it suffered, too,With little
faint, distressing moans that told hew
nearly life was spent.
hurried to a. door near by,
where a mother had a family of _chubby
children. The woman, lOoking at his
charge, said :
"Senor Murillo. I'd ' take the child to
oblige you ; but see, .it has some mortal
sickiniss that my own children might
catch. It's best to let it die, .or carry it,
to the hospital. though perhaps you're too
late to get in."
The hospital was far - off,l and the
wretched little thing grew more and more
ghastly. Its skeleton hands clutched, as
if for rescue, about :Slurillo's fingers, its
eyes were growing glassy and fixed. Ile
rushed up stairs to the studio, laid the
helpless bundle on a' conch, kindled. the
tire, fountl some milk from his own un
taSted metal. undressed the child, gave it
a few simple remedies, and watched its
every breath. Ile started off to the dour
continually, with the impulse to keep his
precious appointment, and was as of
ten oiled bark by the wailing voice. The
little 'creature hung between life and
death, and the'first geinus of Spain work
ed over it with hot lotions and medicines
and soothing words tenderly as a mother,
and • yet so awkwardly that the whole
scene might have been ridiculous, if any
thing thoroughly earnest and honest were
not always dignified as; well. At last
came ten o'clocle—too kite to think of
that happy hour at Pill' Murillo ,look
ed the. icture of tragic despair, but his
hand vas gentle, hi' voice a murmur,
and the child grew more quiet lying iu
those strong patient arms. 'The moans
came lighter and lighter, and at last ceas
ed, while the. famous nurse sat . dreaming
of Beatriz, living in cane). over every mo
ment.that had been blessed with her pres
ume : her greeting that day, the kiss up
on her fair hand, her kind, lingering look.
As the lire-light touched the "St. Antho
ny," he remembered she had said, "I
wish the child's face were painted in."
It was almost morning ; he looked down
at the wasted form now lying quiet in his
lap. The little thin , " smiled on him anti
put up a pair of feeble arms. Ile stooped.
and kissed the wan face. Tears of joy
stood in his eyes as the poor baby—per- -
haps some beggar's offspring or some out
cast's shame—fell into a.peaceful sleep.
Hardly daring to stir. -he drew softly
up to the easel, and holding the pitiful
burden 4m his left arm, with his free
right hand he painted in the. face of the
Christ-child. Through the crystal of
those bars that wretched baby showed
such a model as a painter never had. The
little pale smile had sent its innocent love
into the artist's heart,. that heart sent
back the glory of a divine pity upon the
wan face, and so the morning ,son :shone
ou thd . Christ-child in its never-dying ten
derness and beauty.
Murillothen fell backs, weary, in his
chair. Though never relaxing the crad
ling arnis, sweetly and calmly as the batty
itself lie slept.
It a happy dream Beatriz seemed near
by, and the joy awoke him with "a start.
There, near by, in truth she was ; there,
in his studio, all trembling, all tearful,
yet transfigured with a strange, wild hap
piness: Patting the child aside, he Step
ped eagerly toward her. With a torrent
of incoherent words she rushed to :his
am Ms. The familiar room, with.long bars
of suns tine lying aslant its • wide space,
seemed the gate of paradise; newly closed
against the rude world, and shutting hint
safe upon its happy side. Through the
confused waking, the surprise, the more
than j‘iy, it was hard to understand what
chance had brought all' this. about. At
last lleatriz exclaimed :
! I thought you had been killed." .
" How ? Why ?"
" A gentleman was stabbed last night
on the toad to Plias.. I could not learn
his name.. You mimed the appointment,
and - I feared—''
A man had been rushing through the
house speaking excitedly at every door. He
had reached the studi- i , and burst is w t
" Senor Murillo: have you heard ? Hon
" What "f him
• " Was,stabbed last night on the road to
Plias. ' Doh Claudio was the assassin, and
leech sized Don Aniador, who cried out
and brought some pehsants to the spot.
Then Don Claudio told hoc• it was all
Wunder, and he had meant to kill an
e:crhny who watt to paQs that road last
night. Claudio has fled - faint Spain.
Amailor is dead...
" The blow was meant for yea." whis,
pent! Beatriz.. " I was frightened when
he turned back into the room yesterday.
I believe he read that paper."
" We owe a great deal to this bundle
oflnisery," saiu Murillo, pointing to the
foundling, and relatin in a halt-eomic
way the experience of the-night.
"lhe baby shall be - brought up atthe
villa as my own little page," the ladyde
clared, taking the poor waif in her arms.
In, truth, he was ,carrivi to Pilas, and
turned dut a lusty boy and a very spoiled
"See, my love"—and 3lurillo spoke
cheerfully todivert Beatriz from thoughts
that kept heg still trembling-- , " I have
finished the Qhrist-child for you."
She turned ,to look," and looking, long
and steadily grew calm, and.tender tears
came stealingidown lier face. Sp, to-day,
after two lnadred years,, strangers from
far-off countries, people of all tongues
and creeds, feel the same gently emotion
before that divine picture, and turn away
from it with something
. of the ChriSt
child in their hearts, ,
TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., THURSD ' AY
‘ MORNING, DECEMBER 25, 1879.
[Written for •the Reporter.]
TWO CHRISTMAS EVES.
By the Rev. J. S. Stev:vart, D. D.
It was , Christmas Eve many years ago
as children count years ; say a quarter of
a century ago. , A cold,_ starry evening,
with deep snow completely covering the
ground. The streets Of the towns in the
region I am writing'of were wonderfully
i gay ; 'the stores lighted to the mtmost ca
))acityjof the gas-burners, and filled with
'toys 4nd books and candies and all sorts
'of lottelyand costly things ; and men and
women and children parading the strdets,
and talking and laughing f in the joy of the
near cbristinas. It seemed as if Heaven
had slipped down, in part at least, to
earth ; as f her joy were visibly overflow
ing it this splendid night. Who can fail
to realize that the Christ-child has been
born, when all Christendom is turned into
an annual Rethlehem ? Ring out, glad
bells ! Leap an d sing, ye happ children !
Let everything ' that bath bi ath praise
the Lord,. for Christmas has c o !
But out in the silent country how dif
ferent ! The'snowy roads aro almost un
broken, and only now and then are. the
bells of a sleigh heard. The Wind has full
sweep and. the cold is cutting. In the
large and prosperous farm-houses there
are signs of a quiet and economical joy ;
dough-nutsi a 4 baking, nuts are cracking,
some home-wrought presents are growing
uneasy in• the- quiet drawers, and extra
lights aro shining afar over the snow from
.the unclosed :windows. But there are
other houses in the very heart of this
well-to-dolountry where no fore-gleam of
Christmas has' come this night—silent,
cold; desolate Land poVerty-stricken. 9ne
of these stands near by the tnrnpike,
almost hidden by a clump of mixed trees;
and yet you can see enough of it to be
assured that it is the hoMe of lowliness
and poverty. It is a plain board house,
to which . the original paint has long since
bidden farewell, and surrounded by the.
merest ghost of a fence ; and yet you
would instinctively declare that it is the
home of decent and cleanly people, how
ever poor they may be in this world's
goods. And you would be right in so
declaring. An honest, clean-handed and
clean-hearted poverty dwells there. The
father drags the burden of a sickly body,
and hence, though Oe'does his best, can
earn but little for' his wife and
They. never complain or apologize to 'the
world. They live as they can ; they try
to smile and be 'brave, 'but the burden is
heavy and the way is very dark. One
thing they arc sure of always—a quiet,'
homely love that is as the very water of
Paradise to their souls. But love can
only soften and brighten the hard form .
of poVerty; she has no philosopher's stone
to turn it into gold. And what can un
aided love do in 'the presence of poverty
to make a joyous festival of Christmas
Eve? Alas ! alas ! there is no brightness
in such a place but the smile of faith re
fleeted from the clouds of the future.
. opens, and 4 child steps out
into the cold starlight. A sweet 'girl,
'about ten years of age, .with abundant
brown hair and large, dreamy eyes. YOu
think of Wordsworth's lines :
"A violet by a mossy stone,
Half-bidden from the eye;
Fair as a ' , tar, why,' only one
• Is shining In the sky."
She shivers for a moment •in the cold
air, and then runs down to a small wood
pile under the clump of trees. Ent cold
as it is, she stands silent for awhile over
the sticks of wood. Her-mind is evidently
not on her business ; - she is looking away
into the- sky, and occupied with far-oil
thoughts. What is it that absorbs her
and makes her insensible to the cruel
cold? Ali ! it is a dream Of Christmas.
She does -not know by experience what
Christmas Eve is, but.she haS read eagerly
about it in books. 'lt must be something
wonderful, and she is 'trying to conjure
up whip, it must be like. " What kind of
a thriStmaS Eve would she choose ?"
That is the problem she is trying to solve.
And it is . hard work—harder than the
examples she puzzles her brain over in
the smnmer-schOol. But there are some
things she wants in her Christmas Eve:—
a larger, nicer house, with pretty farni
tore and pictures on the walls ; higher
-conditions for love to exercise her minis
tries in ; better clothing to set off her
graceful figure ; but- above all, books
books full of dreams and poets' song,p,'
where all day and night, year in - and Out,
tie birds of Heaven shall sing and the
harps of the angels accompany them.
And if Christmas Eva would only bring
her these. mayhaps she herself would be
come a poet and charm the world,- so that
girls_ would sing ]ter songs, and man rel.
cite them, and the world give her what
she had read of but could scarcely under-
• Strange, was it not ? As she reached
'this point in her ardent musing, a bright
vision swept . across the starry sky. It was
a sleigh drawn by eight tiny reindeer, and
a fat old fellow sat in the sleigh loaded
down -with toys and pictures and books
and all sorts of lovely things. She knew
him in a moment ; she had read of him
often. It was St. Nicholas, the patron
saint of 'the children on Christmas Eve.
Ile smiled on her; he seemed to pity her
poverty and understand something of her
desire. 'FOr as his team leaped out of
sight, something dropped from his hand,
round, shapely, white as snow, and brill
iant with gems like the stars of the sky.
It. descended -slowly and fell at her feet ;
then faded. away. It was the crown she
This was her only present that Christ
Twenty years have flown, and Christ
mas Eve has come round again to cheer
the world. But what a different wochl
Where are the ooys and girls who leaped
with joy on that. cold winter night ? They
are now .men and women, fathers. and
mothers, and are busy making good cheer
to-night for their dovclings. But not all.
Death has removed some ; disappoint
ment and suffering have crushed the hearts
of others. Some arc in lonely houses,
with no heavenly music of children's
voices 'to herald Christmas.
And what of the girl whom we saw by
the wood-pile absorbed in her mystic
vision ? Come and see .
REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER
ri 1 '
, i. II I.
It is a pleasantuse, swiall bat the
perfection of good t rste, in a quiet'streot
of a Western city. Within the; hail a
dim light burns, but above, through the
closed.blinds of one of the rooms, a bright
light gleams. Forms are moving to and
fro with_ slow and delicate- footfalls.
Within the room, a miracle of harmony
in all its forms and colors, sweetened 'by
flowers, dignified by books, and peopled
with pictures, is a low couch, r and upon it
a slight and radiant form lying.. The face
is pale blit beautiful, as the alabaster of
a holy soul ; the eyes large and dreamy,
yet lit with the radiance that only4lpirit
nal visions can give ; while the long silken
hair falls around her head, like the
drboping foliage of a tree. She lies with;
closed lids like one asleep. Friends are
there wbo tell of her grace and culture
and goodness. Some 'recite snatches of
her own sweet songs in tearful whispers,
while others recount her love and self
sacrifice to the poor and needy. But she
heeds not the outer world ; all seems for
gotten as she lies there this merry Christ
mas Eve. Do you not recognize her?
It is the tittle dreamer of twenty-five
years ago; sick, ad,ying. Then her
thoughts were absorbed in the visible
heavens ; now she sees the - glory lof the
invisible heavens. She has her ‘dream
now as well as then. Listen I Her eyes
open, her lips part ; and her friends grow
}hushee in an instant. She is speaking to
some one far away :
" Year; ago, when a ,p6Or . child in the
country, I hail a strange vision on Christ
mas Eve.; I saw St. Nicholas in his sleigh
with his reindeer, and he dropped me a
cloudy 'crown. It fell at my feet and di-:
solved there. I recognized it as a token
of the realization of my dream of a poet's
fame. I toiled and rose step by step.
The world was cold at first, but by de
grees became - friendly -and helpful. I
gained praise and substantial , rewardii,
but still I failed . I never realized my
ideal. ',At last I said, Surely, this is 'not
my crown ! Where then shall I seek it ?'
God tenderly showed me the 'way.' I re
membered what poverty is, 'and I resolved
to help the poor. I sat in hospitals ; I
climbed stairways to the haunts of vice
and want ; I led the hungry and brought
Christmas to the hearts of many of the
children of squalor , and penury . I tried
in weakness and misgiving to do what I
could ; and now I feel that my poor task
is done. I have finished -my course.'
But what is 'that ? The vision has come
again, but how gloriously different ! It
is a chariot now with horses of fire. See
thC light, the glory ;;how it fills the heav
ens ! •It is Jesus himself, my beloved,
my,only Saviour ; and he beckons me up
ward. A crown is iu his right hand—a
starry crown, not of dissolving cloud, but
of imperishable gold. And it is for
a sinner saved by grace ! Yes—yeii ;even
so I come, Lord Jesus. There remaineth
for me a crown of righteousness."
The low voice sinks into;sileuce, and an
awful hush falls upon the t room. She is
gone ; only the beautiful' clay is left . be
hind. And as her friends gather around
her bed and whisper, , "So he giveth his
beloved_ sleep," the "bells - clash from the
steeples and Christmas has come.
irrerared for Cbrlstnis Issoe of 'taxonran.)
CHRISTMAS DAY-A. D. 1879
This day is accepted among Christians
as the Anniversary of the Nativity—the
Birthday of the Great Redeemer, who
came to. bring the tidings of Peace on
Earth and Good Will to men. No festival
of the Christian Church surpasses Clu ist
mas in the exemplification of the power
and influence of religion.. Wherever the
Christian may be, when this day arrives,
his heart is instinctively moved with that
common impulse of joy, .peace and good_
will which the season invokes. Wherev
er be may be, whether surrounded Eby the
comforts of honie -and the affections Of
family and friends, or wandering in dis
taut lands, the recurrence .of the day
brings softened feelings, chastened de
sires, and the fondest recollections. Ae
can all feel and say in the words of the
old carol : -
"God rest you, merry genticwyo
i.et nothing you dismay
Remember 71111 et. the Savior;
Woe born on Christmas day,"
The precise date of the institution:of
the Christmas festival is involved in ob
scurity. And it is somewhat curious to
note that at the present-day many of the
customs which are observed.at Christmas
are of Pagan origin. The Christmas tree,
the yule leg, and other-observances which
now make Christmas time the holiest,
brightest, most joyous time of the year,
can be traced back in. their similitude to
Pagan rites and ceremonies. But howev
er that may be, they are. now used to
symbolize the Christian hope and faith.
From the rude Pagan rites and 'cer
emonies, from the - crude and -somewhat
objectionable customs of early eenturies
have been evolved the Christmas Observ
ances which now serve to deepen and
widen our religious feelings, bind in lov
ing ties the household, and give a charm
to friendly intercourse.
In the early days of the Church the,Na
tivity was not observed as a regular festii
val. The great yearly festivals celebrat
ed at that , time' were the Passover, •on
Easter and Pentecost at Whitsuntide.
The primitive Christians, who were so
prompt to commemorate the meekly re
• =relic(' of the day on which; 'the Lord
arose by a festival, which analegously ob
fserved entirely supplanted the l * Sabbath,
were . probably not indifferent to the
liirthday of the Lord. A regular observ
ance of the day, however, did not obtain
amongst Christians until the Fourth cen
tury. As soon as Christmas was fully
recognized in the Church as one of its
leading festivals the celebration. of it ra
pidly spread. The influence of the,
Chniel and its own natural claims secu
ed for it the affections of all of every de
gree. It became the "gentle and joyous
day." In the North of Europe reminis
cences of old ceremonies are still found,
and even make part of the customs of the
,present day ; while the Tule tide
legends have lost none of their attrac
tions. Doubtless the Christmas trees of
Germany have been handed down through
The Anglo-Saxons began the year with
Christmas or "Yule " as they called it,
and ushered in the day by burning on
Christmas eve or "'Mother sight," the
Yule log and candles. The whole core-
mony. was supposed to typify the " maid
feststion of light." Herrick thus refers
to the custom in his "Hesperides": •
"Come bring with s noise,
My mania. merrie boys,
The Christmas log to the Bring :
:While my good dame, she
Bids ye all be tree.
And drink to your heart's desiring." '
*the advent of Christmas was joyfully
hailed by the. Maki—bands of persons
who paraded the streets atridnight, play
ing open instruments of mac andebanting
hymns and carols. There was of course a
great variety of these carols and some of
them were curious enough. One of these
hymns was adopted in the churches for
eaiiy . morning service-• -
”Chrlstmee awake, salute the happy Toro,
Whereon On Say . lo'r or the world Wit bora:"
A variety, of modes of celebrating
Christmas may be traced in different
parts of England. Some customs, .how
ever, seem to have been nearly universal,
especially tho one of ornamenting the
houses and churches with evergreens and
bright berries. The ghme in which the
mistletoe formed a - partici i: ar feature was
among the most amusing nd exciting of
the Christmas fesiivities, and is still in
vogue in the rural parts of England: The
lines of a poet, which say :
Stout etnbleins of returning peace,
The heart's Nil gush and layers release;
Spirits in human fondness flow,
And greet thu pearly ilistittoe.
Many a rrialden's cheek Is red
By lips and laughter thither led
And fluttering bosoms come and go
Under theDruld Mistletoe.
Oh 1 hapri) tricksome time of mirth.
Given to the stay of sky and earth
May all the best of feeling know, .
The cucam of the Mistletoe.
recall to many a reader, this
Christmas day, the innocent diversions of
youth, and bring .up the long?lemembered
and treastred recollections of the joyous
times when under the mistletoe, or its ap..
propriate substitute, were enacted the
merry pranks of childhood.
The Christmas tree is of German ori
gin, but it has .beerf thoroughly accepted
and adopted in this country. Theft) it
still retains more prominence, perhaps
than has been.yet awarded it here, though
it is a custom so beautiful in its nature
and so acceptable to the children that it
early grow into favor. For German chil
dren Christroas eve is the most joyous
night in the year. The Christmas tree is
the slarject of mucli - thought, and of the
most extensive preparation, and of un
bounded curiosity and interest. Upon it
hang the presents intended for parents
and children, and he would be a cynic in
deed, who could, derive no pleasure from'
contemplating the group of. young and
happy faces who cluster} around. its
branches, when the time comes for its in-
spection. . •
The American Christmas is a Modifica
tion, or rather combination,, of gpglish.
and German ctistoins. Puritanisa long
resisted its obserk.ance, but a better influ
ence has at , last triumphed. Its obser
vance is - now universal. In some locali
ties it is more of a social than a relig=
ions holiday, thbugh there are few who
call themselVes Christians who now allow
the day to pass without giving a thought
to tbe.sacred events it commemorates as
they wish their friends a Merry Christ-
The customs we have inherited froin
our, ancestors have been harmoniously
blended. The evergreens of the Druids,
the Christmas trees of the Germans, with
its presents to all the household, the
coming of Kriss Kringle or Santa Claus,
arid St. Nicholas, of the English, to re
ward the good children, in the dist,r4b.u
tion of gifts, the services at church, and
the merry.farnily gatherings, are now un- -
Nersal throughout the country. There
is every year more and more uniformity
in the observances, until •Christmas day,-
from one end to the other of the Union,
presents tho same joyful similarity.
A marll feature •of Christmas dV,
next to itsrreligious character, is its do- -
mastic nature. And particularly it is a
day dear to the children. belongs es
pecially to the little folks. For He,
whose birth *it celebrates, taking upon
himself the nature of a child, blessed little
children, and declared that of such was
the Kingdom of Heaven. In some of the
German churches a sermon is particularly
preached fo.r the little folks, to hear which
they march in order, each carrying a little
_burning taper in the wee hand.: It is
they who anticipate so eagerly and relish
so thoroughly all the innocent deceits, the
merry observances, ~even the solemnities
of the day, which memory retains with
pleasurable vividness, .when aft years
hate brought their weary load of cares
and sorrows. Let the.children be happy
on.this day, at least, for- the bitter les
sons of life come all too soon.
Au old English ballad gives expression
;to the religiims character of the occasion,
and at the bathe time joyously celebrates
the breakink of Christmas morning, as
I SAW three ships come sailing In . •
On Christmas day, on Christmas day';
I saw three ships come sailing In
On Christmas day in the morning.
And what was,in those ships all three,
On Christmas day. on Christmas day?
And what was in those ships all three
Ori Christy day in the morning r
Our Saviour Christ and his Lady.
On Christina!, day. on Christmas day ;
Our Saviour Cliriat and his Lady.
On Christmas day In the.usurning.
And all the souls on earth shall sing,
On Christmas day, on C.hrlstruas day;
And all the - eouls on earth shall sing,
on Christmas day In the-morning,
Then let to all rejoice amain.
On Christmas day. on Christmas day
Then let us all rejoice amain,
On Christmas day In the morning.
Christmas morning comes to all, but
comes to all not alike. ~ T o son 4 it comes
bringing unalleyed happiness in the preS.
eat and prospect of continued-enjoyment.
To others, the day dawns Upon aching
souls, upon hearts bowed, doWn with
grief, and to whoin there is only com
fort in the promises of a brighter future,
in another and a better world. It is a
day then, to develop() our sympathy.
Gratefully acknowledging the favorS of
the perfect giver, our hearts should go out
in loving kindness and affection to all of
God's creatures. The poor, the-sick, the
oppressed; should have our sympathy,
encouragement, and assistanee. The
kind word, the tender look, may give to
some biuiged and suffering heart the sup
port and consolation which will make this
day one of rejoicing and happiness. The
poorest and most humble of Christ's ser
vants should, more especially when they
are celebrating the anniversary of Ills
birth, emulate in some degree the celestial
mission of doing good, of ivldeb he was
pbe great example.
[Written for the Reporter.]
It is crisp and cold outside, and the
streets have a Sabbath air that is not all
enticing to one who has been out on the
hpliday chase for a week or more ; walk
ing and talking—choosing • and rejecting
pretty things, until the brain is toci con
fused for any definite action, and the feet
too weary for any inclination toward a
jog along that way, that bath a look of
the narrow one. The children are merry
with their Christmas mirth, and the
grown folks ate happy by the fireside,
and ever and anon, the odor of the Christ
mas dinner comes in through doors that
open and shut, as if part and parcel:of
the joyful Christmas bustle.
Grandpa sits smiling in the chimney
corner, and his aged finger rests on the
time wortr . page of the Great Book that is
his guide and prop down the declining
years. A little hand, soft ;Ind white as
an opening rose leaf closes over his writ k
led. one, and the searching childish eases,
that have never encountered a frown, fol
low along the withered finger tips, " Who
is my neighbor."
The strangely sweet utterance of the
halfilirped words wake you up from the
encreiwhing reverie, and you start with
the'first thought outside your own happy
!ionic. One hour is scarcely to be missed
from the round of merry ones, and: yOU
go Couti brusquely into the winter air.
Almost within call of your door lives a
fatuilyini wbor you have had little of no
interest., A poorly, clad woman often
comes to the door, as she goes about • her
daily work, and a brood of untrained
children are seen going in arid out•of the
house in all sorts of weather, and' in all
sorts of clothing. You were not surpris.
ed a few days ago, when you saw the doc
tor going there, and heard it was diph
There is a bit of black, fluttering at the .
door; thiS Christmas day that is so bright
for you and yours, and you begin to re
member with a twinge of self] reproabh;
the way you reasoned with yourself, when
you heard what was the matter. An un
comfortable conviction took hold of you
that especial sympathy and assistance
were due to your fellow creatures in
distress. Then you fell to querying if
your small experience would amount,
to anything in so desperate a ,case,
and - if they were not a kind of peo
ple who might consider your presence'
and - proffers intrusive. You dropped' the
blinds that:side, perhaps, , and consulted
the family physician on the danger of in-,
fection; of which lie was as positive , as
pessimism, when you straightway betook
yourself to the great first principle of
self preservation for refuge. That bit-of
black changes the aspect, and you go in,
now, when your few - tears/are all,you can
Further on is a household, well to 40,
and independent.' If they have needs, they
shut them in so effectually from the eye
of common humanity, that common hu:
.manity has to calculate largely on its 'own
score. Such calculation has ventured that
they have their seasons of sorrow and great
suffering, in common with theii
You are softened cnough to sigh as ion
recall your shrug of satisfactiOn at . the
comfortable way they had of defining
your ditty for you, in giving you full war
rant to mind your own business.
You look in at the olished window
now, with a, quickened' impulse to hold
yourself in readiness to perform neighbor-
In 'the bay window, beyond, sits an
aged woman who has outlived
ationi.atut the ambitions of active life..
Her hands are folded, and she is looking,
sweetly, and calmly past the winter kun
shine, into the future of her longing. She
needs no help, save the steadying touch of
a youngliand, and the cheering side light
of a youthful smile, both of which are
hers. IiOW glad you' have been to call
her your neighbor
You near the dingy house, and glance
in at the uncurtained window, that is
your l wash-woman's. There is no sound
of Christmas song, or laughing children;
and you call to mind a fact that was - e's
When money was more plenty, you
paid her seventy-fie cents for the three
quarter's days work, that she did in' a
half day. The times grew harder. The
children could not do without their little
extras of ribbons and bonbons, and the
older oness'ruust have their nice cuts and
rolls from the butcher and - baker, and
when the pinch came it was t ou the wash
woman. Rather than lose her place she
gave off the quarter, dollar al week. The
small reasoning that her sons and tiuoi
ters 'Were 'accustomed to hard fare, - was
lame then, but now the little voice that fol
lowed the • withere4 linger, keeps soun+ng
in your ear, "Who is my neighbor''".
Down by the garden corner lives a man
who was once a thriving n+Clia Ole: .The
dull times followed close on misfortune,
and weary of begging for a place; he sat
dOwn by the low burning embers of his
hearth, and waited for . better days.
Ile knew what ho was worth, and he
thought men wonld . give him his due.
He waited vainl3 l . His neighbor with a
thrifty outlook hinted u cheaper labor,
and his fellow Christian ( id not remem
ber the binding obligation to ." deal just
ly." Summer and aulunin went hy, and
the hunger and chill' winter took hold
of him, and the clia'rity that might- have
been forestalled by a few words and 'acts
of simple justice, were not for men of his
brand. You start hack from the face at
the•window ; wills its' look of sullen de
tipair going up against the heavens. Your
heart is touched. Your sight is quicken
ed,.,and there starts into life an uprising
resolve, that another Christmas shall find
you less neglectful of your duty to 'any
whose life track crosses yours.
As you,open the door of your oismbome
the white sunshine streams up the wall; to
the face of the little oue God has taken.
The eyes you closed in the last long awe
and agony of farewell have the old light
in'thein and about the SWeet lips plays
the old familiar smile, that dew to meet
yetis iu lining response. - It was not the
sunlight did it, and it was no trick of the
fancy. It was the quick flash of ipiritual
'recognition that seals4lle bond of your
new endeavor to rightly comprehend,'
f`Wlia iR my neighbot?"
$l.OO per Annum In Advance.
GOSSIP ABOUT FASHIONS. \s.
NZAv Yomt,pecmbor 22d, lan
The approaching holidays, _with the in
evitable bustle.and activity whicbeis the
precursor Of the festive season, has throng
ed the thoroughfares and filled the shops
with gayly dressed buyers intent upon
having the first selection frotu the -ele
gant articles intended for presents which
now tempt one at every step. The brill
iant and tasteful costturies which. are dis-
Tlayed, remind me that r have neglected
to have the promised gossip (so dear to
the feminine heart) with - the lady readers
of the REPORTER, about Fashion, al-:
thoughl not a devotee, and shall not at=
tempt elaborate descriptions nor to give
such particular details as would. en
-able them to become their own dress
makers or successfullylo imitate the deft
and skilful work of the milliner. - .
Watching the showy equipages which
every=day draw up in front of .Stewart!s;
Arnold & Constable's, and .I,ther marble
palaces devoted to trade, to deposit their.
occupants, and viewing with awe and
admiration the magnificent and costly
toilettes of the occppants, I ant forcibly
reminded of the cinical remark. of the
gruff old gruMbler Carlyle, when ho talks
about "Clothes-Wearing women, the
Women whose" ti ade,.,otlice and existence
-consist-in the wearing of clothes." I,n=
questionably there are such women, but I
have the charity to believe tinit they are
but a small proportion even of the
dressed women; There is a purer, higher,
noblcr motive which irresistibly compels
Women to adorn their persons. If there
are over-dressed-women, or women who
sacrifice everything to the ignoble pur
pose of out-dressing-their neighbors, itis
.their misfortune, and does not necessarily
attach odium to those whose desire to 21)-
pear attractive leads them to study in an
aesthetic sense the. great question of
"Wherewithal shall we be clothed
" AlWays dress yourself beautifully"
says, Ru'skin, "not finely, unless on occa
sions; but then very finely and beautifully
too." And how can a lady.dress
'unless she. studies the art iof dresing ?
She may array herself in the wonderful
fabrics of India, or the richest productions
ofthe looM of Lyons, and yet if she is not
draped in appropriate colori:, nor clothed
with harmonidbs arrangement, she may
be anything but beautifully dressed. A
negligently or illy . -tlresse4- woman . is nn
attractive,lf not actually repulsive to the
lords of creation. Perhaps an apprecia
'tion of this, added i to Hui ithate love of
harmOny and the bdautiftti, is what leads
women to constant study for the - adorn
mein' of the- person. The desire, to
pleas and".'be attractive, certainly, when
designed for -the gratification and plea-s
-ure-of husbands, brothers, and loyeis, is
nor'siicht an extraordinary failing, nor
Such a graVe offense, as to merit +Many.
unkind 'remarks'and.sarcastic dings which
are so freely- indulgetin by coxcombs and
In no age of the world hits the wearing
of clothes reached such perfection as to
day. • -The invention •of the sewing ma
chine has. brought within the reach of t
every one t,:lose possibilities, which years:
ago were attainable only:by many weary
hours of midnight labor, whe' the deft
fingers and the weary brain - wrought out
slowly andpainfulli the adornments and
'complications which were designed to
deck and *race the:dolls of fashion. As
the ease ith ..
l i -'--
Ilich stitches can be taken
has increa ed a thousand fold, so comes
the use an .necessity- fur them. Flounces
and frills tai;' piled on each other, and
garments are fearfully elaborated in their
decorations ; at the same time the chalk*
Illielt Fashion has wrought, arc all in the
direction oft comfort, ease and heautY.
When we look at the fashion-plates of 'a
century ago; we - ale struck:with the li-hie
ousncSs of the costumes, and as we pene
trate the mysteries of the toilette, from
the iteeounts which' reach us, we are_
ant.aed at the want of adaptability to - the
requirenients of health and personal ease.
We ; have improve improvet upon our grand
mother's methods, in this respect... - -We
are better clad, warmer, more sensibly',
and, more in acctirdance with the Stilict de
mands of form, - color and effect.
Occasionally, on a tine afternoon,, .I join
the gay throng that crowds the pave
ments of Broadway and Fifth Avenue to
observe the pedestiians and note the great
apleyerchanging variety of face and cos
tume which pass. The stream seems tb
flow unceasingly, and • the panorama is
brilliant and varied. I oft - en wonder, as-
D am daizled Rich the blaze of diamonds,
and the sheen of silks and satins, and al
most confused with the brilliant colors
that rainbow thli sidewalk, whether under
these India shawls and costly fiMs and
.rare'laces, there may not be anguish of
hart, unsatisfied desires, and forbidden
longings. And then how much of the
crime 'which- has immured men in dim
goons, has been caused by thinove for
display? And yet,_ i I dif not believe, of
all this gayly. deckid throng,. there is
hardly a woman 'but wOuld rather be a
sharer in licr :husband's toil, and help
him bear the burdens of 'businesisitban
to add to the vexations which daily en
compass him.. • No - true woman, ileitainly,
would flaunt iu silks and satins, the price
of dishonesty, or bought at the expense
of the health and comfort of - the one
whose lot-she should Aare.
But, if as alleged, a goodly portion of
the bankruptcy of_the past - few years has
been brought on by the extraiVagance of
women, then I admit- the fokee of the
doleful prophecy lately made by the-Mor
mon delegate in i!citigress, *Cannon, (Who
should be a big guns who Fay that
ion will solve the: question which has
bothered onr law-i. t ivers by destroying
'polygamy. He thinks the siints will sown.
be obliged to-give np the '" twin relic of
barbarism,',,' because the 3lormon women
are deVeloping a taste for finery, to grati
fymhich large expenditures will be neces
sary: SO long as the plural wives were
content to- wear calico dresses and sun
bonnefs., a 3lOrrnon,could indulge in a
dozen wives, - - andi view the increasing
household witlio;tt -alarm.. But it
comes to dressiu in
.silks and velvets,
'And paying millinry bills, the aspect
changes and . it is either monogamy oi
.Luin. his gloomy prognostications are
correct, the gtiveinment should encourage
the oOening.of branches of tewart's and
144 Taylor's, and ..blacy7s, at .salt
4 10 3 ; C145 , and .let .IFashiorr hare - full -
Cottrse to sup and be jEaffid4... 4.offlrfieSl
she has done her. perfect - '-Work give her
-the credit of • having effaced- this moral'
and political; stigma. •
So far my gossip hakbesn philosophical
and I have not toddled theliempf a gar
ment. But J. did not intend to usurp the
sphere of the Fashion- Journals, further
than to give your readers some general
idea of what is worn. Firstly, then as to
materials. and styles of dresses. The
present materials are divided into two
classes, brocade and plain..., Brocades are
made of rich damask silk, lamps's and
silk brocades. They are also made of a -
mixture of silk apd worsted. 'They are
'fiery' wide and expensive. Then' there
are fancy materials of pure worsted, or
cif cotton and worsted, With_brocaded de
signs imitated from richer materials..
These are low in price, and suitable to
most purses, I Will - try -to describe the
patterns of these ipateriaLs.-. The back
grminds are plain and of a dark shade,
and over this run. a host of little-patterns
in all shades, - from the lightest to_ the
darkest tints, one of :them, however,
always dominating. The patterns them
selves resemble the cotton patterns of the
last century, .v9thout 'precisely being the
satie. Another style is'the Turkish cash
mere. Here the groundwork is not en- 1
tirely of one tiOl, i but is shaded, and , this"
is covered with a pattern eepalms, mixed
with flowi!'s and foliage, the'whole repre
limning patterns seen on Tu'rkish carpets.
NUMBER 30 .
Astor the shape or form of dresses,
there is no decided tashiOn.: Complete
libeiTy, on the contrary; is allowed. Each
dressmaker Will folloW. her
Lion, or thh.inelinatiort any lady who
may have-lan inclination: The' tight ror - •
.collatette style, 'however,. will form the ' -
basis of leery costume ; whether short Or , •
-long—thislean assure you. ft is a mis
take to think that trains" areno Binger
worn. In society they areas much worn
as ever, and are son)etiines of .immense *-
length. Even fot walking long dresses:
are worn as well as short dresses: Every
ene selects the dress. ifccording to the
time and place when'it is.tolke worn,
Paniers are quite out- of favoi again.
_Nevertheless, if a tall arid very thin lady 4 '-
wishes to wear that iciud ‘ df drapery over.. *4
her hips, she may do so. '*hort dresses,
especially when made of plain materials,
ate made with a deep g inScotch plaitin
front, and heart's round the figure, which -
arc dialled in puffs at the-back over the
plain part of the skirt. In a word; plain
or thin material may. be draped, whilst
brocades, velvets, flushes, etc., mgt . be '
made perfectly plain, with slat trimmings
laieim quite fiat. This Is - the principal •
*rule for the making of our present z ,
dresses., - Ribbed velvet, Moire.; and satin
• arc much lesS worn by ladies. They ml y:
be worn by children, hoirever. •,•
Belts are jus,L .how the surprise of-every
;inc, all Wondering if ,hey are to increase
in depth until the whole* waist is covered.
The s blick canvas belts, with three buckles
and straps, are worn for Common. Velvet
belts,satin;uid of material to match them ,
are all - elab)rately embroidered, or paint
ed in richly colored designs: For evening,
bolts 'in color ai-ecovered -with
'revile lace. and_ the closing covered
with' a rosette - of the lace, holding a
b•iuqui.4 of flowers. • -
Homan striped lioe are just now the
fashionable -fancy ": these are, to - say the
ltast, e'onspieuoiis. The s t yles of hosiery
have rapidly .charigerl, it is,iint seldom one
sees white hose, bit, the. most-sedate
d i ressers'lly to fancy colors in this depart
inent of dress. Merino,
s:lk, fleece-lined. and lisle-thread ,atie alt
l:old.at this season of the year as miner' rs
any other, some holies never making any
difference, summer or winter, in .the
thickness of hose worn.' Children's
hosiery comes in most beautiful designs
alul colors, although some mothers ding
to the: fashion-of !Stockings to match tlnr
suit, even in black and the darkest blues
and browns. . 1 1.. s all are equally fashion
able, it is a - pardonable-fancy to carryout
iadiv l iduat.tastes. :
The day has. passed when sable, seal,
and mink were the only furs ;•noVeiery
kind of pelt is made 'foshio . bable use of.
Tur-lined 'circulars are still as foshior
able as ever ; the skins used being squir
rel-lock the most expensivel; "next, - tLe.
whole skin ; third, the gray lining made
of the back- of •the squirrel. Seal skin
cloaks are the most expensive wraps in
the market this season; most are shaped
in dolman form. Seal-skin sacques, uext
in cost, are just as much ,in (lemon(' as'
ever. The Alaska seal is mostly. used,
:thotigh the best of these arb* often Old
for Shetland, of which there is scarce atiy
in the market. i j Sets of fur aro seen in
the victorine, Which is again- fashionably
worn. and pclerine collars, pointed both
back and front.
' are very small hardly large
enough to cover both hands - At the same
time ; they are made plain, isitholit - tas
sels or bows, the linings of many being
bright crimson or oldold satin s Camel's
hair shawls are this season the-envy of all
women.. The price, greatly reduced from
Hutt of Other years, while it places these
coveted gems of the dress within the teach
of many; will ever lie beyond the purse of
all. The sliavls imKirted thi; year are
richer in gorgeous tints than ever, and '
the designs most beautiful. Wltemit is
remembered that such a purchase occurs
but once in a lifetime, and - is haMled
down as an heirloom-lit is .hardly to'be ,
wondered that a shawl from the
is -the I;c:;:eted desiie of 'a woman's heart.
is a district school, a little 'boy, six
years old, was seen to whisper, but denied
doing so when reproved by the teacher.
,Ile was told to remain after schooli. when
the teacher, trying tl iiini)reks upon his
youthful mind the.sinfulness of not speak,
ing the truth, asked I.4itn if, they did not
tell him in the Sunday s - chool where bad
toys went to who toldTakehoods. Chok
ing with sobs, 1)6 said i "Yes, marm ; it's
a place where there is a fire, but t I , don't
just iemernber the,Mame 'if the towel,!
MAnett,kyr,.,Jii : his "Betrothals; and
Bridals," suggeists the following cOdo of
signa . 14 for girls " A ring-on the first fin
ger to denotei; c qerty, and Iwilling,ness-tai
get married :Mt the second finger, money,
and a dispositionto listen, though noth
ing is promised ;:on, tho third linger, al
ready engaged, and so you needn't tron,
ble yourself : on the little finger,. deliber
" 'Wm'', the angels come down for me
in a chariot and horses when I die?" ask
ed a little boy of his Stinday-school teach
er. " I gurss so, if you , tire a real good
boy," said the teacher. ,The little fellow's
eyes Sparkled with anticipathms as ho ea
gerly exclaimed, "And oh ! do you think
they'll let me sit on the front seat and
IT requires a-great deal of resolution to
breakaway from the apathy of a deep
sorrow or a heavy trouble, and resolutely
put one's hand to the' new or disused,
plow ; btit, the effort once made,
s anythihv, in the individual, he Or, , she
will never- turn back. And. after work,
.real Work—work with the, hands, head
and heart—after this will conic trust, and
trust will bring . peace.' • _ • .
fi GERMAN has diicovere&-what won't
aGerman discover 2-that twenty-nine
per cent. , of men, and seventy-one per
'cent: of women miss railroad trains. But
'that German should .remember 'that a
woman's back hair always wants fixing
just at the critical moment,: while the,
men generally have Very. little, if any,
hair to trouble them. . '."