Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 December 1887 — Page 6

A CHRISTMAS CAROL. Outworn and weary, old and gnj, The helpletS world in darkness lay; And sins and sorrows, woe and crimo, Swart shadows of an iron time, Bhrouded life with a cheerless palL Wild death the hopeless end of all, The prophet and the sage were dumb, Seeing no hope cor comfort come. But there shone a light in the East, And the night was done; And all were bid to the feast Of hope begun, When was born the victim and the priest, In Mary’s Son, Then the seed of the ancient Writ To harvest came; The hand of a Child unknit -* The web of shame, An the fires of faith were lit ' With his love-orbod name. Through the quivering gulfs of tears Still darkling flow; Though winds of the storm-vexed years Waft men to woe; To the dim-seen mark the helmsman steers By the beacon’s glow. Bear Child, whose heaven-lit eyes $ Scan all man’s ill! ' -.1 With the hope that never dies Prop our poor will, S And let thy sacrafice ! Our spirits fill! Though outcast at the rich man’s gate, The beggar Laztrus weep and wait; Though want and woe and cruel things, And many bitter sufferings Deface this day of sacred mirth, No hope that springs not from thy birth May put the evil shapes to flight, Cut down the wrqng and build the right. Though chill unfaith, though mists of doubt , May gird our brothers round about, Let no foot fail, let no soul stray Forever from the holy way, Father, that wast e’er time began, And brother of thy brother, man !

GRANDMOTHER’S STORY.

A CHRISTMAS PARTY. “Tell us a funny story this time.” Grandmother leaned back in her rockingchair, looked into the faces of tlireo or four grandchildren, who were sitting near her, and laughed outright. Then she put one soft, wrinkled white hand up over her eyes, rested her elbow on the arm or her chair, and laughed again. “Oh! you have thought of one, I’m sure!” “Yes.” Her grandchildren, with their fathers and mothers, always spent Christmas at her home, and a story from her lips was usually a part of the programme for Christmas eve. And this was the story that was told in answer to their request, a year ago this Christmas. “What I think I will tell you about took place about fifty-five years ago, when I was fourteen years old. I cannot say that I then s*w anything funny in it. And if I didn’t think it funny, I am suro the boy did not who took his part in the events of the evening. “As I have said, I was fifteen years old, and Ebenezer Dill, who was a neighbor and acquaintance, was seventeen. We both went to the samo school—a district school —and things in and and around it were, primitive enough. We lived about two miles' from the schoolhouse, and the Dill’s farm joinod my father's. I was the oldest child in our family. Ebenezer was the oldest of the Dill’s children, and he and I wore the only ones in either family who wont to school that first winter. “We often walked to and from school together. He was an awkard, bashful boy with a red head, who always seemed to be growing out of his clothes before they were half worn out, so that his pantaloons and the sleeves of his coat were generally several inches too short for him. “I am sure, too, that I was awkward and bashful, and even at my best I never was a beauty, so possibly it would be about six-of-one and half-a-dozen of the other, if I should attempt to give a portrait of either of us. “We had a lively, pleasant teacher that winter. Some of the folkß said he was too full of fun for a school teacher, and that ho should have more dignity. But in thoso days, as well as to-day, a teacher would be found fault with if he were made to order. This teacher’s name was Hooper, and he prepared a tree, and had it placed in the school-nouse the day before Christmas. Some of the farmers grumbled about that, and said it took our minds off our book, and Mr. Hooper’s mind from his duties as teacher, and it wasn't right. Nevertheless, we had the tree. “Two or three days before Christmas, v ben I opened my spelling-book, I found, between the. leaves, a little note scribbled in red ink on a piece of paper torn from a copy-book. It read like this: “ ‘Miss Priscilla— Esteemed miss: I take my pen in hand to wish you a merry Christmas and to send you my best wishes, and to ask the fleasure of your society to the tree to be held ere on Friday night. Hoping you will send me a writing that you will go with mo, and that I may get it soon. lam your true friend and admirer, “ ‘Ebenezer B. Dill. “ ‘P. S. My pen is bad, my ink is palo, My love for you shall novor fail. “ ‘E. B. Dill. “ ‘Bound is the ring that has no end, So is my love for you, my friend. “ ‘Ebenezer.’ “At the top of the page Ebenezer had drawn with blue and red ink a dove that looked like a gander, sitting on a tree that was not half as big as the bird. This is all as clear in my memory as though it bad taken place yesterday. “Although I walked home with Ebenezer that night. I did not say anything about the note, but the next day I slipped this into liis arithmetic: “ ‘Mister Ebenezer B. Dill— Kind sir: herein find my acceptance of your company on Friday night, as my folks are not coming, and I have no one else to come with, and I am much obliged for your wanting me to, and I will be ready at seven o’clock. “ ‘Miss Priscilla H. Fink. “ ‘P. 8. I don’t know any poetry, or I would put some in. P. H. F. “ ‘P. S. Our dog bit a man bad yesterday, *o be careful, for he isn’t chained nights. “ ‘Priscilla.’ “By seven o’clock on the next Friday evening I was ready to start for the school-house. My father was always full of fun, and was an awful tease. Of course, he made the most of this opportunity, and when Ebenezer knocked at the aoor he opened it and said, — “ ‘Come in, Ebenezer! Come right in! Going to act as a beau to-night? Hey? Purty dark night for you to be out alone, ain’t it? They say a man see a bear in the Woods to■day. Bettef look out. Jake Simpson says he Raw trades of some monst’ous big varmint in the frost this morning. Don’t you let it eat up, my Prissy.’ “Ebenezer answered quite promptly for him. ‘lt’ll have to eat me first, sir.’ “My mother, who enjoyed any innocent pleasantry, laughed, and asked,— “ ‘Has your mother put anything on the tree for you?’ “ ‘I don’t know,’ replied Eb. “ ‘Well, I sent over a doll for Prissy and one for you, too, and a frosted cooky for each of you. Mind that you don’t drop them if that wild creature out in the woods gets after you.’

“Ebenezer blushed and moved nervously in his chair; but finally mustered op courage to say,— “ ‘Well, I guess we’d better go, Miss Fink.' “That ‘Miss Fink’amnsed father and mother very much, and we coaid hear them laughing after we got out into the road. “Ebenezer was wonderfully fixed up. The hair oil was so thick on hie head that it could be seen in white spots where it had hardened. Then he had on a whita collar over his flannel shirt, and a green ribbon neck-tie run throagb a coral ring. His blue gingham handkerchief was odorous with cinnamon drops, and to crown the whole he had on his father’s overcoat. “I think we had gone half way to the schoolhouse before either es us could think of a word to say. Then Ebenezer pulled his hand out of his pocket, and held it out toward me, saying only,— “ ‘Here.’ “He had given me a handful of candy hearts. “ ‘There’s readin’ on ’em,’ he continued, after we had gone another half mile. “* Ts they?’ I answered hesitatingly. “ ‘Yes, and its real purty, some of it.’ “After that Ebenezer became less constrained and more confidential. “I know something,’ he whispered. “Of course I was very much amazed at that, and responded, ‘Do you?’ “Yeß, sir,’ exclaimed Ebenezer emphatically. “ ‘Wliat is it?’ “ ‘Oh, nothing! Onlv there’s going to be something on the tree for somebody.’ “Of course I inferred that be meant me, but I didn't think it would be quite proper for me to say so. “After a pause the young man exclaimed impulsively: “ ‘You ’spect to get anything off the tree? “ ‘No.’ “ ‘Well, yon will, and I could tell who put it on that tree for you, if I had a mind to!’ “ ‘Could you?’ “ ‘Yaas. And it cost seventy-five cents.’ “Then there was silence. Time was given me to digest the important fact, and then he continued: “ ‘I had seventy-five cents jest ’fore Christmas, but I ain’t got it now, and I don’t care if I ain’t.’ “Then I knew, of course, that he wished me to know that he had put seventy-five centi worth of something on the tree for me, and il seemed to me that the proper thing for me to do would be to place something on the tree for him. I was in a dilemma; but I remem bered that I had in my pocket a pair of red and green suspenders with brass buckles, that I had made to put on the tree for my brother Cyrus, and now I concluded that the least I could do, in return for Ks generosity to me, was to put them on for Ebenezer. And acting on this conclusion, I p acod them on the tree. ‘ ‘The tree was beautiful, to our unaccustomed eyes, and the old school-house was full of people. Mr. Hooper, as each present was taken from the tree, read the name of the boy or girl to whom it was given. When my name was called, I marched up, and what do you think that awkward boy had put. there for me ? Why, a big china doll’s head and a candy heart as big as a pie, with ‘Bo True to the Giver’ on it in large gilt letters. “My brother Cyrus knew that I had made the suspenders for him, and kept pointing at them as .hey dangled from the tree, saying to \ho boys around him, — “ ‘Them’s my senders! Them red and green gallusses is going to be for me.’ “You can imagine, therefore, what followed, when thev were called off for ‘Mister Ebenezer B. Dill.’ ’ Cyrus fairly screeched m nis indignation, and exclaimed, — “ ‘Them gallusses aint for Eb Dill, They’re mine. My sister Prissy made ’em, an’ she didn't make ’em for no Eb Dill, neither.’ “Of course there was a roar of laughter all over the school-room, and Cyrus began to cry. But Ebenezer kept the suspenders, and I actually had to give Cyrus a bite from my candy heart to keep him quiet. “Well, when the presents had '•.11 been given. Eb and I left for home. He talked fast enough then, but about nothing butt l at doll’s head and the heart, and _ow splendid they were. “We had not gone very far when old Uncle Simon Sharpe overtook us. He was a singular old man, full of humor. I hardly think that Longfellow himself could make rhyme easier than Uncle Simon. His head was full of it, and they did say that he could say his prayers in poetry. He was in the best of spirits, and when he saw us, held his lantern up in our faces, and exclaimed, — “ ‘ls this you, Priscilla Fink? Well, well,— “ ‘lt may in truth be said by some, That Ebenezer beaued you hum; I blame you not to take a spark To light you home when it is dark.’ “Then he gave Ebenezer a poko with his cane, and off he went ahead of us. “We were nearly home, and were crossing our pasture, when I said, ‘I wonder if there really are any bears in the woods.’ For there were occasionally bears in those days, in the . tion of country in which we lived, and 0.. e in a great while a panther was killed. “ ‘Wei you're all right if there are bea r s,’ replied Eb, quite bravely. But just then som-thing big and black jumped up from under an old appe tree that stood a little distance at ouy right. It stood still for a moment, but when we moved it jumped hack. “‘There is a bear!’ exclaimed Ebenezer, and I could feel bis arm tremble. “The animal made another jump, and Ebenezer made a spring also, and actually got round the other side of me, so I was between him and the animal. “I started and ran past the tree as fast as my feet would carry me toward home, leaving Ebenezer screeching behind. I was sure that the bear was eating him up. “Beaching home, I burst into the house screaming, ‘0 father, father! Ebenezer ! A bear! Under the old apple-tree in the pasture lot!’ and down I fell in a dead faint, with the candy heart and the doll’s head broken to pieces under me. “Eat er and my older brothers took lanterns and guns, and started for the elm-tree as fast as they could run, while mother put me to bed.” * “Don’t tell us that poor Ebenezer was killed, even if he was a coward,” cried one of grandma’s breathless listeners. “Goodness, no!” laughed the old lady, “When father and the boys got within twenty yards or so of the tree all was still, but the form of the animal could be dimly seen. “ ‘You hold the lantern,’ said father, to brother Henry, ‘and I’ll shoot the beast. But I’m ’fraid it’s all up with poor Eb.” “But just as father was taking aim, he heard a voice ‘Don’t shoot, Mr. Fink. It ain’t no boar. Please get me loose.’ “Father and the boys at once ran to the tree, and the next moment they were laughing so boisterously that mother heard them at the house. “You s r, e, we had a big, black calf about nine months old that had been kept in the stable lot, and that day father bad moved a part of the fence so as to enlarge the lot. To keep the animal from running away, the hired man had taken a long rope and then tied up toe animal to the tree out in the pasture. “When Eh and I came along the calf jumped up. as badly scared as we, and then I ran, and Eb in his fright thought that the safest place for hiig was to climb the tree. As he was rushing for it, the calf started, tore round it in a circle, and before the frightened boy could get out of the way, that calf had wound a coil of rope around him, and it kept on running round and round until it had bound poor Ebenezer to the tree in three or four coils of rope •‘While he was trying to get out of the coils that were about him, father and the boys were on the ground, and before they were through

laughing, Eb had contrived to extricate himself. “He said that when he felt the rope winding around him he thought it was a boa constrictor, and he was so pale that when the lantern was held to bis face, the freckles showed like t e spots on a turkey egg. “And the boy was so angry because they laughed at him that he lay down on the Cund and fairly bellowed, and I don’t know he was there when Santa Claus went his ronnds that night. At any rate, after that I was never a favorite of his. The adventure and the langhtcr of the boys at his cowardice effectually cured his love-making.”

On the Old Plantation.

“Bang, snap, fizz, bang!” When first I opened my eyes in the gray December dawn, I almost believed it to be Fourth of July, for surely it could be naught but firecrackers that were thus noisily saluting my ears. But as the cobwebs of sleep passed from my brain, I quickly recalled that this was my first Christmas in the “Sunny South,” and I had been told that in some places it was a custom of the light-hearted Africans to welcome the day with the gay and festive Chinese crackers. With considerable curiosity, then, I sprang from my couch and hurried to the window, to gaze down upon the courtyard below, where dozens of black and shining little “pickaninnies" were squabbling and turning over each other in a perfect frenzy of delight and occasionally being brought to order by a wellaimed cuff from some fat, good-natured “Mammie,” who, however, seemed to enjoy the small fireworks as much as the youngest cbocolatebued shaver there. Suddenly the master appeared, bowing and smiling, upon the broad veranda, when in an instant arose such a chorus of “Cris’mus gif’, massa, Cris’mus gif’!” as speedily brought a shower of small coins scattering among the crowd. Then what a frantic scrambling ensued, while for two hours later, the mistress of the household had her hands full, giving out extra rations of butter, sugar, tea and tobacco, to say nothing of gay bandannas, aprons, ribbons, and large gilt pins and earrings for the young and pretty girls. The whole day, then, was one of feasting and jollification, the men, boys and dogs indulging in that rarest of sports to the true African, an exciting “’possum huntwhile in the evening the negro quarter was a scene of boisterous revelry, as old ami young “tripped the light fantastic toe” to the Squeaky strains of Uncle Jake’s antique fiddle. Not till the night was far spent did the fun subside, and closed with a “cake walk,” when, in stiff and silent pairs, the dusky belles and beaux paraded two by two, and in the end Maum Chloe proudly carried off the cake; for, in negro vernacular, “she never bat an eyelid, and wore a death-like look on her face,” two peculiarities which the company evidently considered the height of grace and beauty. Certainly she was a “sight for gods or men,” as with shoulders back, and arms akimbo, she marched with the air of a queen, and vainly conscious of her holiday finery, a low-necked gown, gorgeous bandanna, and glittering beads and ear-rings, which semi-barbaric splendor well accorded with her dark skin, like polished ebony. And as the midnight bells proclaimed that another Christmas was past and gone, the air resounded with hearty cheers, from many lusty throats, for “Ole massa, ole missus, and the ole plantation!”

SHE WOULDN’T KISS KBISS. Last night I dreamed Old Christmas Came knocking at the door ; I knew him by his long, white beard, And by the "furs he wore, And by his coat with pockr Is Stuffed full as they could hold ; He pinched my cheeks, he kissed me hai His lips were very cold! He said, “I’m Grandpa Christmas To all the girls and boys ;" But, oh ! he fairly shook the house — His voice made such a noise ! Perhaps I hurt his feelings— I wouldn’t kiss him back ; He slipped away, I can’t tell how, He never left a track. To-night he’s really coming With budget and with pack ; I don’t see how I could do so— I wish I’d kissed him back! —Edith M. Thomas.

Those Christmas Bells.

Christmas bells ring out the peals of nations. We want our standards less of the lion and eagle and more of the lamb and dove. Let all the cannon be dismounted, and the warhorses change their gorgeous caparisons for plough harness. Let ns have fewer bullets and more bread. Life is too precious to dash it out against tho brick casements. The first “Peace Society” was born in the clouds, and its resolution was passed unanimously by angelic voices, “Peace on earth, good will to men ”

Christmas bells ring in family reunions! The rail-trains crowded with children coming home. The poultry, fed as never since they were born, stand wondering at the farmer’s generosity. The markets are full of massacred barnyards. The great table will be spread and crowded with two er three or four generations. Plant the fork astride the breastbone, and with skillful twitch, that we could never learn, give to all the hungry lookers-on a specimen of holiday anatomy. Florence is disposed to soar, give her the wing. The boy is fond of music, give him the drumstick. The minister is dining with y i, give him the parson’s nose. May the joy reach from grandfather, who is so dreadfully old that he can hardly find the way to his plate, down to the baby in the high chair, who, with one smart pull of the tablecloth, upsets the gravy into the cranberry. Send from your table a liberal portion to the table of the poor, some of the white meat as well as tho dark, not confining your generosity to gizzards and scraps. Do not, as in some families, keep a plate and chair for those who are dead and gone. Your holiday feast would be but poor fare for them; they are at a better banquet in the skies. Let the whole land be full of chime and carol. Let bells, silver and brazen, take their sweetest voice, and all the towers of Christendom rain music. Tnimace.

THE BELLS. I heard tbe hells on Christmas Day Thi old familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good will to men!

Christmas in Poland.

In Poland, when the first star of Christmas eve appears the bell is rung to gather everyone in the dining room. The family and the servants mingle together. All are in holiday attire—the picturesque garb of the provinces—the masters in their kontoos and jupans the servants in livery and peasant attire. The heads of the household go around to all tjie assemblages and break a wafer with them. The wafers have been blessed for the occasion. Wishes of “Merry Christmas” and the evening is spent in stories of Christmas and in illustrating the scenes connected with the crucifixion. Midnight strikes. All leave the house, wrapped in furs; they get into sleighs and start for clmreh. Th‘ pasto al mass is celebrated with the finest music that the community can afford. Good nights are exchanged, then the return home and to bed.

UNDER THE MISTLETOE.

Under the mistletoe, pearly and green, Meet the kind lips of the young and old; Under tbe mistle oe hearts msv be f.een Glowing as though they ha 1 never been cold: Under the mistletoe peace an... good will . Mingle tbe spirits that long have been twain; Leaves of the olive branch twined with it still, While breathings of hope fill the loud carol strain. Yet why should this holy and festival mirth In the reign of old Christmastide only be fonnd ? Hang up love's mist’etoe over the earth And let us kiss under it all the year round.

LITTLE DAN’L.

A STOBY OF LIFE AMONG THE POOH. “Dan’l! Dan’l!” Dan i did not stop, but Phil Beynolds, the old shoemaker, did. What was the use of ca 1ing after a boy who all you could see of him was his flying heels and his yellow hair blown out by the wind. Old Phil scratched his head. He had grown fond of the boy in the three months they bad lived in the same bouse. People in tenement houses hjjve time to grow fona of each other, just as they have to hate. Phil went buck to his cobbling for fortunately he had work, though more than one in that big teeming household had not. What was this? There was a sadden invasion of the court by a crowd of men and boys, some women and girls, too, and in the midst stood poor little Dan’l, grasped fast in tbe clutches of a policeman. In an instant every window but one was thrown open and filled with a motley crowd; not that the sight of a policeman was rare in Cherry Alley, but any exestement was a godsend to these unfortunate victims of an untoward destiny. Phil put down his work and was soon talking to the policeman and trying to comfort little Dan’l, for the child was sobbing and trembling. “I tell you there’s no mistake,” said the policeman, gruffly; ‘ the boy was trying to cut down a turkey ’’ “The size of him!” interpolated the chorus around them, while some gamins executed a sort of war dance on the outskirt of the crowd with an accompaniment of “Ya! Ya !” as if in admiring encouragement of one who, though small ,was thus aspiring. “Jackson’s a good man,” continued the policeman, quelling the unseemly inteuruption with a look; “else he’d haul this young one up. He saw he was a new hand, ’most a baby.” “If be let him off, wliat are you doing with him ?” said Phil, attempting to draw flhe little fellow to him. The policeman put one finger to his nose and winked at his questioner; then raising i is voice so all might hear:—“Mr. Jackson let him off this time, ’cos it was his first offence, but let him catch him agin or any of you (the policeman raised his club and nhookit at the departing crowd) and he’ll have you all up.” Then he turned to Phil. “Whoge brat is this, anyhow? He oughtn’t to be in the streets along with them vermin—they’ll corrupt good manners, sure. You take him—you seem to know him—keep watch over him. Mr. Jackson says his mother’s sick and told me to take him home. I’ve done my part; you do yours” —and with a nod the burly officer of the law strutted off. He knew old Phil, and had done his duty in frightening the boy. He felt a throb of self-satisfaction as he reflected he might have been more severe. Cherry alley was quiet again. Some of them shrugged their shoulders as they saw old Phil lead the boy to his room. “He is just fool enough to take on about that child,” one said, “and old mother Dowd—she is attending to the sick woman now—she is another of the same sort.” And it was fortunate she was there, as the noise of the excitement roused poor little Daniel’s mother. “What is the matter?” she asked in a whisper. “Just those boys making too much noise, as usual, they’re going now.” Mother Dowd spoke with the assurance of one who felt she might say anything; poor Mrs. Lausdon could not help herself. “Where is —Daniel?” was the next question. “Is he there?” “He’s gone with old Phil,” said her voluntary nurse reassuringly, and she glanced again out or the window, longing to know wliat the double had been. Bnt she had to curb her curiosity, for Mrs. Lansdon had relapsed into an almoet unconscious condition and was munnudng confused words about husband and children, now, alas! all gone but Daniel, and him she was leaving. Her husband had been a seafaring man, a captain, and Mothei Dowd’s a sailor, so there was sympathy between the two women, and the latter had done all she could; but how little that was! * * * * * * “Yes; Mr. Darrow is at home,” answered the butler. “Show the gentleman in here,” was Mr. Dairow’s orders, and, with many a grimace behind his back, the butler showed the ‘gentleman’ into the dining .room, where Mr. Beginald Darrow sat alone over his wine.” “Ah! Good evening, Reynolds. Have a glass of wine ? No ? Well,’ then, sit down and tell me what success you had this afternoon.” Reynolds sat down on the edge of one of the leather-covered chairs:— • “No success at all, and I’m worn out with their promises to pay, which mean not to pay ” “Well, you have the alternative, Reynolds," sharply broke in Mr. Darrow. “I know that, sir; but to hear them talk about s ckness and ” “Never mind how they talk, Reynolds—l don’t care about that. It is how they act that concerns us. Why, instead of waiting for their 'onvenience I was thinking of raising the ent.” “You can’t this year, sir,” said Reynolds, stolidly. “No, but I’ll tell yon what I can do. I’ll Sut every one of them out of the place if they on’t pay up before the new year. If those rents are not collected within a week, Reynolds, as much as I think of you, I’ll have to get some one else to do the work;” and Mr. Darrow rose as a sign that the interview was over. ‘‘Get some one else to do his dirty work,” muttered Reynolds as he departed, pu ling his overcoat up about his ears, “and so he may fOr all I care, but I know a thing or two about tbe business, as he calls it, which he wouldn’t like people to know, especially ids uucte, Mr. Isaac Darrow.” So grumbled Phil. Reynolds, for it was the old cobbler who collected the rents for Mr. Darrow, as he wended his way to his homo. Mr. Darrow in no very good humor joined his family in the parlor. Isabella, his pet, perched herself on his knee, but her childisu prattle and little assumption of womanly ways failed to amuse him. “Papa, you know Christmas is coming. What are you going to give me? Oh, papa! 1 want some money to buy something for Uncle Isaac.” “Uncle Isaac,” ejaculated Mr. Darrow under his breath, and putting her down he rose and went up stairs. Even his favorite child irritated him; everything gulled him; even the luxuries of bis home we;e so many reminders of his precarious footing in Wall street. Note were falling due and there was no money with which to meet them. His family he had brought up to think they had but to ask to get anything they wanted. He had charge of the

row of tenant houses in Cherry alley belonging to his ancle, collecting the rents and paying out tbe necessary money for repairs. He, too, required some one under him and employed Phil Reynolds. “Yes—sh, yes. I feel a little better to-dav and before lam worse again—I want to talk to you about—my boy;” and the poor mother, with an effort, put a trembling, attenuated hand on Dan’i’a. yellow locks as he sat on the bed by her. * • Mother Dowd had called in Old Phil at Mrs. Lansdon’s request. “You’ve always been so kind to ns—to him —since we came, and I may not be here much longer—l wanted to ask if you would take my boy. He has no one in tne world no one. Yon will do that—promise me;” and the dying woman held out her hands to the old shoemaker. Phil Reynolds at sixty years of age, with scarcely money to bnrv him, was asked to take the care of a child eight years old, and all because he had admired the little fellow for his blue eyes and yellow locks, that reminded him of the Kathleen ho had left behind him in Ireland forty years before. “You will take him—you will not refuse my last request?” Mrs. Lansdon’s voice died away in a fit of coughing. Poor old Phil was vanquished. Holding out his hand, he drew little Dan’l toward him. •Til promise I’ll take care of him.” “There is a trunk full of his clothes, and anything else of value that I have—keep for him—for you.” None too soon had she spoken to old Phil. Coming in early the next morning Mother Dowd found the sufferer lying peacefully at rest. There was a 6milo on her face. The doctor said she had passed away in her sleep. Certainly little Dan’l knew nothing of it, for Phil carried him still asleep to his room, and it was not until later in the day he missed hia mother. Then, as the truth was explained, the little fellow refused to be comforted. “And how is the poor thing to be buried ?” asked Mother Dowd of Phil as they stood togother in that little room, to which the majesty of death gave a certain dignity not denied to the humblest abode. Phil started. He had not thought of that; but he determined at once that little Dan’l’s mother should have a decent burial if it took all his hard-earned savings. Better t-hat he should go to the Potter’s Field than that poor creature who had seen better days. ****** The more shiftless tenants rejoiced at anything that could give them a respite. Mother Dowd had given all the time she could spare to little Dan’l, who, with the elasticity of youth, was becoming reconciled to his new quarters, though there were days when his sorrow overcame him. Between times old Phil had been able to give some money to Mr. Darrow, though to the latter it seemed like a drop in the bucket. One afternoon, three days before Christmas. Phil was busier than usual finishing a pair of shoes to be delivered that night. He had to work pretty hard now, for there were two to support. “What is it, Phil?” he asked, as the little fellow rose from where he was playing. “You won’t let the policeman get me, will you ?’’ Dan’l had been afraid of policemen ever since he had been so ignominiously brought home that day. He had told Phil how it all happened. His mamma, he said, was talking about Santa Claus not coming to them that Christmas, saying that they would have no turkey, and "the little fellow, thinking no harm, had tried to get a turkey for his mamma at Mr. Jackson’s store. At Dan’l’s exclamation about the policeman, Phil turned round and saw Mr. Isaac Darrow. “Well, Reynolds, I find you still at work,” he said, as he entered the room and sat down for a few moments’ chat. “Eb, bless my soul, who is this?” he added, looking down at Phil’s protege, as the little boy, rather frightened at the gruff tones of the old gentleman, clung to him. “This—why this” —making a desperate effort —“this is to be my little boy.” “Your boy! Where in the world did he cyme from?” “I’ll tell you,” said Phil; but before he could again proceed with his story he was interrupted. “Reynolds! Phil! Phil, I say! "Where did you get this?” Isaac Darrow gasped as he held out a letter he had picked tip from among "the things with which Daniel was playing. “Don’t you see this letter, man. addressed to me—my name in full? It is yellow with age;” and the old man’s hand trembled as he opened it. He scarcely glanced through it until he reached the signature. It was not a very long letter and was signed with the name of Daniel Lansdown. “It was written five years ago,” said Phil, looking at the date, and filled with an excitement equal tothe others. “If you could only have had it before ” “Had it before? How could I have had it before—there’s no address on it—only my name?” “That poor woman!” ejaculated Phil. • “What poor woman? What do you know about the matter? If you had this letter why did you not give it to me?” “I never saw the letter until you showed it to me ” Isaac Darrow looked at him incredulously. “I—l picked this letter up here, right at your feet.” Phil resorted to his usual resource in case of a dilemma and scratched his head. Then, as if a sudden light had dawned upon him, he said slowly:— •‘I do remember now, some letters inDan’l’s trunk; I meant to look ’em over.” “Then you know the Lansdons! Where are they?” For answer old Phil pointed above. “Dead!” ejaculated Isaac Darrow. “What, all of them ? He speaks of his wife and little son, the last of three children, and reminds me of my promise years ago to help him in case of need. Why, man,” he added, “he saved my life when he was a mere lad. I was wrecked off South America. He brought me to land—to life. I swore if ever he needed a friend ” “He does not, but the child does. This is his boy—all that iB left—ttie mother died last week.” Mother Dowd was called in to corroborate old Phil’s statement. Other letters proved there was no mistake. Isaac Darrow said he would take care of the boy, and the next day his carriage came for little Dan’l and his humble belongings.

Origin of Christmas Gifts.

After the marriage of Albert and Victoria, Christmas gifts came into vogue in England, and the pretty German custom has grown well-nigh universal now. Saint Nicholas does New York in lieu of a patron saint, and Euecht Rupert—but let us hope there are no bad boys now, and that the servants’ rod is never needed on Christmas day at least. •‘Yule’s come arid Yule’s gone, And we hae feasted weel, Sae Jock maun to his flail again And Jenny to her wheel.” Now one of the best things about this little ditty is that it isn’t true. Christmas is a fine thing in itself —we like it because it is Christmas, because it stands out in the winter a bright glow in the cold, because the shops are shut and mammon for one day is suspended; but, after all, it is an exceedingly good point about Christmas that New Year comes after it. Christmas ushers in a set of holidays, and one needn’t settle down into the commonplace immediately after it.