Christmas for Sure.

jgy JOHN HABBERTON.

Author of "Helen's Babies,» "Brueton's Bayou," &c., & c .

- -^dffi HE spirifc of iniiuiry> like :^^^^P reform 'the cholera and the fW§o^ historic wind that bloweth, &§&&s< has a- way o f suddenly ma- PB§s?«* king itseH known in the mcst :;;Acfi«*4gS*V'. unexpected places. This is 1 the only reason that can be given for its ap pearance on Cab Creek, Missouri, several , years ago, in the cabin of Nimrod Cumpliu, : an d for Nimrod's daughter, Piney, to i gtartle her mother with the question : "l "Mother, what's this here Christmas all (about, anyhow?"

Mrs Cumplin. who was frying venison , Btakes over a iire of hickory coals, was *, so amazed by the question that she turned , quickly to look at her daughter, and in so ; doing allowed a particularly fine steak, ' 'which she was in the act of turning, to ;gl|do off of the old iron fork, miss the frying-pan and fall into the fire. i 1 " Fur pity's sakej gal, what's the good '* of skeerin' the life most out of the only

; jpother you've got to your name? You've ; gone an' give me a reg'lar fit o' the jerks, i comin' on me so sudden with an out i landish question like that. An' you've > made me spile the best chunk of venison 'lin that the.re pan. 'Twas one of them 'pieces that your father specially likes, too ,; —just where the side leaves off an' the i ham begins. You mind, this fryin', now, 'i'till I go see ef thers another one." ; Mrs Cumplin went out and looked in the . I family refrigerator—a barrel, out of doors, fin the northern side of the house, arid ! covered with short logs to keep out " var i mints." Her daughter knelt in front of the ; fire-place and attended to the sizzling, j spluttering contents of the frying-pan, but ! she gave most of her spare seconds to con ""}templation of the fire. In this she displayed i correct taste, for the fire was the prettiest 'thing in the room. The log cabin of'a ':'"settler" may be made as pretty as a boudoir full of brid-a-brac, if its owner has a desire for elaborate interiors, but evidently the rage for decoration had never come within infecting distance of the Cum pi jn -domicile, for the Only relief to the dark gray ; of the log walls was an occasional bit of yellowish gray, showing where bits of bark had been torn off to quicken a slow fire on mornings when the family wood-pile had been suddenly covered with snow. There v&s a home-made bed in one corner of the '.i-oomj bui'the framework was invisible, arid ;the coverlid was about as darkly gray fts the wall behind it. There was a ladder that'led to the loft above, which was Piney's bedchamber, but that, too, was gray and ? ditigy from long use. The table—a slab ' split from a thick log and supplied with sfour legs driven into augur-holes—was with out a cloth, and the cups and saucers were ■of a dreadful mottled gray that is highly s' popular in some sections of the country because, according to its owners, "it don't '■-, show dirt.'' ' The girl found the fire so interesting that she continued to stare at it until her mother, returning with a duplicate of the lost steak, p1 exclaimed: . : "Fur pity sakes, gal! what are you lettin ' the dinner burn to crisp for ?" Piney allowed herself to be astonished and poshed aside, but as soon as the work at the fire' seemed again to be progressing proj * pwlyy she repeated the question: ." Mother, what's this Christmas all about, anyhow?" •.;.. ".You know, just as well as I do,' said W mother. "You've seed fourteen or "fifteen Christraases a ready—l don't know !;fe it's sixteen, an' you orb to know what they're about." . i " But what's Christmas for ?' persisted •Piney, " that's what I want to know." ~" What's it fur ? Why it's fur men to fire I off Gnris'mas guns on, an'—an' drink more'n ', Qrd'nary, an'—an' .fur women to cook mor'en 'üßual, ef ther's anytinn' more'n usual in the .house. That's all." / ; •. " Every bit of it I* "Tis, ez fur ez I knows on, 'xcepfc^ in ..some parts ,pf, the country the children nd I 1 niggers ■ say ' Christinas gift' to folks,. an ,pfolks give ''em somethin' ef they've a mind !, * "y t'v^i ~.'-■ " -.. "■■', z\ •■ ■ I' 1 But how did it begin ? What makes men fire guns, and drink more than other times, and women cook more?" "'Cause they want to be more than usual.glad,: I-s'pose.' Men's way of dom it is-to make a noise an' git drunk ; women g yray' is to do their best cookin'—that s all." ■■. " But what do they want to get gladder \ far?" asked the giri r " Why isn't one day JHgt as good as another for that ?" . "Well, 'pears to me it's' because^tnats the day the good Lord was born m the world: I don't say it fur certain, though, cause Elder Twitohway ain't preached any^ : thin1 about it, long ez he's ben holdm monthly meebin's up at the Forks. JS.uti want to know what's been puttin all tni hfclk in your head/Piney, gal ?" ; "I doift know?" said the girl, ex£ept ::: I heard dad talking to Jed Kipner about wanMn'to be sure to hey plenty of pow "der an' caps for Christmas, an' Jed said Oie'd been up fco the "Forks store an seen Capt. Martin's Wife givin' the storekeeper an awful big order to.git Christmas pits, foeher young ones. : What is a.Chnftmas gift anyhow ?—what kind of a thing . Mrs Cumplin seemed to struggle .with her memory for two or three minutes, xnen .she replied: ~ . " Well?- most generally it's money or somethin' pooty. Young fellerS give ther gals candy, or ribbons: if they're fust rate fellers they give 'em breas' pins, or some thin' like that." •■ .' ■• . , "■. ; , "What did dad give you when you was a young gal, mother ?" The girl sprang -■from the block stool on' which she had been 'sitting, placed herself dangeroiasly near • thefire ir.her i desire to get in front of her 1 mother, bent very ungracefully in order to 'g«t het face close to the kneeling tfgure -before her; J and prolonged her question an appealing "Say?" . . , Mrs Cumplin suddenly found that the i ifenison in the pan-required the, closest at tention; her daughter, however, was not | thinking of venison or anything else except ; the /subject of conversation, so she con- C itinupd;: -• '■■•• -' ■• ? ■>■:■;' v Mother-mammy—tell me.' Tell your 1-very only gal daughter, won't you ? Ism Some hot coals npt far from Mrs Oum- Plib's face began tp hiss spasmodically,: for t vfilg |eire dropping upon thmi

fcwSS&P?!'" exclaJmed-the girl, 'putting both hands upon the head which, though nob yet old, was a dingy gray, as everythino e^° ln t«e rootrt. Mrs Cumplin snatched at the skirt of her dress, wiped her eves with it, and said:

He gave me the breas'-pin I wear when ever I go to meetin', an' anybody theb sez there s ever any in the meetin'-house thab can beat it, don't know . nothin' about breas -pins. That's what he give me. When lm dead an' buried I want that breas'-pin buried with me, an' on me; it's the-the 0, v Poofcy thing I ever hed—'xcept you." ".Didn't dact ever give you anything Chns'mas after you was married?" asked the girl. "Sho ! Of course not. What would a man want to give anythin' to his wife for after he'd got her ?" " Then all Christmas out here is goin' to be this year is men firing guns and £*ettin' drunk. Is that it?"

"Of course it is. For pity sakes, gal, yer don't think things is goin' to change after they've been that way alluz, do yer ? Ef yer don't b'leeve me, just see what yer dad '11 bring home from the Fork's store to day—two pounds of gunpowder instid of a quarter's wuth, ana hull jug of whiskey instid of only a flask." Piney went to the window, not so much to look for her father as to change the ob ject of her gaze while looking at nothing in particular. She felt certain, as children often do in matters which they but dimly understand, that something more . was going, on in the world than she saw, that she deserved it, was not getting it, and felt aggrieved. , ' " •

As she looked out she saw]her father coming. The gunpowder was not visible, but the jug of which her mother had spoken was so large, as to be simply ob trusive. Piney ran out to meet him, threw her arms around his neck, and exclaimed : "•Did you bring me a Christmas gift?"

Nim Cumplin was so amazed that he dropped his jug—unfortunately it did not bi-eak. For his daughter to almost strangle him with her strong young arms was not of unusual occurrence, but to be asked for a Christmas gift was to be suddenly brought face to face with the unexpected.

" Chris mas gift ' ho echoed. "Why, uv course not—leastways, I mean I didn't think ur it. I didn't know you wanted one. Gals don't git Chris'mas gifts from their dads except when they're babies." ■V What did you give me when I was a baby, dad?" Nim Cumplin had stooped to pick up the jug, but he straightened himself, wrinkled his forehead, scratched his head, looked into distance and tried all other popular methods of refreshing his memory, but was finally obliged to reply : ' '• I eayn'fc remember." "Neithercan I." : i ; . ■

Nim abruptly picked up his jug and strode home.

" Got the things ?" asked his wife, as Nim entered the door.

" Yas; hyar's the whiskey," Nim re plied, dropping the jug and throwing him self in a leaning position against the chim ney. "'Pears to me," said his wife, looking up from the cooking, " somethin' ain't gone right with ye. What is it ?" The man did not answer. His wife looked at him as earnestly as hopeless eyes could look, and. continued :

" Who's been a-rilin' ye?"

'.'Piney," was the reply. " She wants a Christmas gift." " That's the way it 'peared to me, from the way she was,talkin' awhile ago." " What's put ibinto her head? Nobody hez Chris'mas gifts 'xcept niggers an' rich folks." > ' ' ■ '.'■■

"An'young fellers'gals." ' " Yas, they've got to be counted in. But Piney—a big gal like her, an' yet not big enough to hey a feller payin' 'tention to ] )er —why I'd as soon think of yore a wantin' a Christmas gift.". , • , « i Mrs Cumplin slowly straightened herself and looked at her husband. She said nothing; she had never in her life given her husband an impatient word, so Nim had nothing to fear; yet with a backwoods man's or animal's instinct.in reading the eye, he saw something tljab made him ex claim : « r V "•". .: ~. ■ "Durned ef I don't b'leeve you want a Chris'mas gift, top-!" . . She woman turned her face away, burst into tears and replied : ; " It's dretful mean of you. I didn't mean ter." . V : 7/ '•• '■■■■;■■ -r .' ,';>• : '-, ! Nitti Cumplin was an affectionate Jius barid, so he straightway put both arms around his wife, who continued :

. "Chris'mas ain't for women an' gals, nohow. You cayn't be expected to do ev'rytin'; you've got to give your friends a good time, an' fire guns;1 an' I know jt tuck all the coon skin you'd got this fall to buy the powder an' whiskey.. But ef, ther only could be one Christmas for sure 1 I -ain't been able to helD thinkin' 'bout ifc sence Piney got started this. mornin' —ef there only could be one Cnristmas for sure, I think I wouldn't never want nothin'else in thewoirJd. I wouldn't keer for.me, ef only Piney could bey.it., You cayn't git her nothin' now—all the .coon skins are spent, and deer don't pay to pack to town—but I wish somebody else would do it. It's all been a'coming back to me, a little at a time, while I've ben a-cookin' here — the story 'bout how Chris'mas gifts began. Baby Jesus folks couldn't give Him anythin', 'cause.they was so poor that they bed to put Him in a feed-trough in a Barn, so other folks brought Him things. Well, Piney s cradle wasn't nothin' but a piece of holler leg. I don't see az we're ony better off.

" We ain't got down to takin' things from other folks, anyway !" exclaimed Nimrod, who, like backwoodsmen in general, was as proud as he was,poor. "Why, even that lazy nigger, Brutus, is abova that. 1 seen him-peddlin' wild turkeys at the Forks to-day, W I told him a good hunter like him ort"to be ashamed of gettw money that wav-'twould make me fell meaner than stealing sheep. But he jawed back az sassy az you please, an'said he wanted some money to give his little nig's a Chnst m^Good for Nigger Brutus!" exclaimed Mrs Crumplin, with an energy that made her husband jerk as if attackejTbyJ*e ague. Then she quickly resumed her thin, listless voice, and said : "Dinner's all cooked."

The meal was eaten in silence—a not unusual circumstance in good--naturecl families that have'little to. talk about But the silence was broken into invisible, fragments when Nim Cumplin, having satisfied a good appetite sharpened byjx long walk iif frosty air, rose suddenly from

the" block'that had served as a chair, seized his rifle and powder-horn and opened the door. , . • : < '

"For pity sates, where air you goin', Nim ?" said Mrs Cumplin. "You never went huntin' before when you'd walked from the Forks that same day ?" "Daddy, where are you goin'?" asked Piney. . : . ..

"I'm going," replied Nimrod, with averted eyes, as if he had something to be afraid of, "I'm goin' to get. Christmas for sure. I don't know what 'tis, but I'm goin' to get it—dead sure." Then he walked briskly toward the woods -which, being near enough to shade the cabin, soon hid him from view. " ■ .

"I never saw yer father took that way before," said Mrs Cumplin, shading and straining her feeble eyes. "It makes him look good lookin', though," said Piney. "And,'* she con tinued, "I hope he'll find out what ibis, andgebit."

"It's just ez the old woman sez," mut tered the hunter to ■ himself as he strode along., "Chris'man is only for men and niggers—along here on Catcrick, anyway. I wonder how I'm goin' to find out what to do? S'pose I m.ight ask Nigger Brutus. Well, I don't know's I'd be Tetbin' myself down.doin' that,; he's black, to be sure, but he's as good a shot ez I be. •' Hello !"

The last exclamation was due to a sudden glimpse of a wild'turkey. Nim selected a good rest for his rifle, aimed and fired. Then he walked up,to his game and viewed him with a look of utter disdain and dis gust.. There was nothing the matter with the turkey, it was large and plump ; Nim was not above shooting turkeys, for he shot whenever his wife needed a wing for a fan, and sometimes when she complained of venison as a steady diet. But this par ticular turkey-set him thinking aloud :

'■ I?ve a durned good mind to back oat," said he. " The idea of me, that ain't afeared to shoot agin anybody, an' that never sold nobhin' but venison an' bear an' skins of varmints, startin' out to kill an' peddle wild turkeys, just like Nigger Brutus !"

He gave the dead bird a kick, turned on his heel, and startedj. back homeward, Soon he stopped, however, went back, picked up the turkey, and strode onward, murmuring:

" 1 said I'd do it; now I've gob to do it." i There was a notable increase of morality among turkeys that afternoon, and Nim learned, to his amazement, how few turkeys it takes to weigh as much as a deer. But when he had all he could comfortably carry ajid started for the little village known its ''The Forks," he found himself carrying much weight which did not consist of tur keys. His heart was as heavy as lead- What would either of the storekeeper^ think of him if they saw him peddling wild turkeys ? Worse still, what would any other hunter think should he see Nim loaded with feathered game. As he wondered he saw a man with a gun on his shoulder coming from the direction of the village. Straightway Nim, , like a con science-stricken murderer, dashed into the woods and through a bog, making a tedious detour in order to avoid approaching the Forks by the road.

"Reckon," said he, when at last he telt secure and dropped his load so that he might rest for a moment, "I'll go first to the big house whar the wheat buyer lives. Nobody that knows me by sight is likely to be up that way—'taint on the Toad to anywhere. If they buy one or two, I can chuck the rest away in case I see anybody an'g&tskeered." ■ In a few moments he reached tne grounds of the big house. He cautiously skirted them, peered down- the owner's private road to assure himself that nobody was coming and then approached the front gate. Then, according to the custom on Cat creek, and in : many other parts of the new country, he leaned against the fence,; instead of entering the gate and uttered a yell to attract the attention of the residents. This done, he turned hiß back to the house, and informed himself that no tires-class hunter ever made such small potatoes of himself before.

His salutation was not promptly returned so he yelled once more, and made up his mind to run unless there was a prompt re sponse. In a moment he heard a door open ; then he felt more inclined to run than ever, footsteps approached ; he felt his face being o'erspread with every mark ot shame and degradation. Theh he heard a % pleasant voice saying: ■ ' . " Do. you caro to sell any of those tur kep3T; .■.<■-■■. ■'■"■-..' - •"•"', ■-' . ' ..:'■•• : *:' "I tnought," said Nim,partly turning, but taking care to look only at the Game a,nd:»pfeatfche.-buy6tf.",>.;,A fj^...:^,.. .-•■"; " What do ydu want for them:?" «« Oh—anything," 'said Nim, trying to brace up his self-rospect; -"whatever they're fetehin' )n town. I don't know 'bout the prices of tukkeys—l never sold one in my life ; I wouldn't sell these, ef they wuzn't too heavy to ..tote all of em home. I'll give you one, if you like."

" You're very kind," said the lady ; " but I'm afraid one wouldn't be enough forme. Wild turkeys are bringing a dollar each in^ town." I, . "It's enough for 'em, too, said Kirn, regaining the grand air of an habitual hun ter of large game. " Sech varmints ain't wuth a quarter—ain't worth a bit, even.| " I'm quite willing to pay a dollar each," said the lady, with a laugh, " and if you've shot them to-day, I'll take them all. I want to sent a lot to different friends in the East as Christmas giftS'? 'so they must be fresh:"' ,1 .;.„ , '■, , T n i. ;. , / ■'

"Chris'mas gifts?" exclaimed Nim, "you mean to say, ma'am, that a wild turkey is good 'nough for a Chris'mas gift ?" "I thought so when I lived in the East," was the reply. "If you'll kindly bring them up to the house for me, I will get you the money." , r > Tim followed the purchaser, and after considerable cutting of bark strings laid the game on the piazza* There were ten of them—slo. "More money," thought Kirn to himself, " than I ever 'arned in a single day with my gun. Well, it ort to be more, to'pay for seen low-down work ex peddlin' tukkeys. But who sez I peddled any tuk keys ? I'-didn't do nothin' of the sort. I wuz jifst leapin' agin this fence, an' she axedme.ef.f keered to^sellany of 'em. Yes, sir ; that's how it was." .■ - . y . . ; :

The purchaser emerged in a moment fol lowed by two or three children, one of them bein"- a girl of 15, plainly but tastefully, dressed. ' The lady counted the turkeys and handed the seller the money. Nim looked at the girl, then at the lady, and said : :

" Your darter, ma'am !" ; ; ' The mother nodded assent. ■;, ■■ . • '." Yovi're ,goin' to give her Chris'mas gifts, I s'pose?" ' Again the lady inclined her head. "Would you mm' tellin' me some of 'em?" askedNim. "1 ye got a gal jest her size, an'l'm dead tired thinkin' of what to git her." . \ ' , . i ■?. '-'■>■■. " Amy," said .the lady, with. : a smile, and a wink at her. daughter, " go into the house,; ancl1 don't you dare listen." Then she said to Nim,: . ;<: ;

"Her father is going to give her a piano, ''" I'll get one for Piney," said Nim. " Which store Keeps ,'em?" , ■], ' ■

',' I'm afraid you won't find one at any of our. stores;" the mother replied-, "but I am going to give her some books ■ and per fumery and gloves and candy—all sorts of things that:young girls like, you know. It'? so hard to think of things that one hasn't given before on birthdays: tot at Chris'mas. Don't you find if so ?"' . " Well, fur ez Piney goes—" Nim was about to admit that he had not yet begun to give presents, when the lady interrupted him. ;; . • _ :;. „; : .

" Piney?" said she. "What a pretty, rustic name, But where did* you get ib ? I didn't know there were any pine trees in this region." _■ / ; j tf Her mother named her-arter the pineys that once growed in her dad's back yard— great, big, round, red flowers, just like Pjney's face when she was little. They was the pootiest t,hing the old woman could think up when she wanted to name the baby." ..■:■: ~ ,' . , ■ The lady looked puzzled ; then she remem bered. that the "piney" was the common country name for the peony. But she had something else to think of. Christmas, was only one day off and here was a puzzled parent who wanted counsel—an article in which she abounded. She looked at Nim, estimated his home and family by his own appearance, and said: 'f ifX.were you I would get her a story book, stuff for a new dress—cheap,. but pretty, a nice little bracelet or ring, and some Christmas cards to nail on the walls of her room ; they brighten a girl's room up .so." ' ':' Nim looked blank. "If I didn't feel I could afford so much,' said the lady hastily, " I'd get only part of them."

'^'Moneys no object," said Nim, bravely; '* but I don't know sech things apart very well. I wish one of the stores was right hei'e, I'd ask you to show 'era to me."

" I'll cheerfully help you, if you'll let me. I must go down to my husband's office, so ib won't put me out at all." Ten minutes later an idle clerk lounging in front of a store, looked up the road and said to another idle clerk :

" What's coming ?" ; ; ' " Looks £is if the pickets had captured a female spy," shouted idle clerk No. 2, who had been in the war.

Two of three minutes later both clerks were busy showing articles for which the first lady of the'village asked and at which Nim looked. Nim threatened to boa some what erratic customer. He • insisted^ en buying a lamp reflector, supposing it': a mirror ; and he mistook a fancy box of toilet soap for candy. Then he narrowly es caped buying a tiny dog collar for abracelet, and he absolutely insisted upon having a large patent' medicine chromo, framed, because it made one side of the store look gorgeous. But finally he made purchases which th<s lady assured him would satisfy any reasonable girl at Christmas. He paid his bill, and found more than half his money remained. ■ i ~' " I'm over an' over obliged to ye ma'am," said he ; " but I want to ask ye one thing more. Pick out somethin' for my-wife— somethin' seoh as you'd pick out for yer self.

The lady selected several things, among them two or throe cheap lace collars, & coloured silk handkerchief, which she said could be worked over into a bonnet, a tiny bottle of cologne, and a pretty purse, in which she suggested Nim might put what change remained. Thon she bade him good-bye and started homeward, whileNira took his packages and began the long tramp to Cat creek.

, Amazement sat enthroned upon the brow of each man who visited Nim Cumplin Christmas morning to fire guns and drink whiskey, for Piney was dancing about in a gipsy hat loaded with flowers, and a broad pink ribbon about her waist. Mr Cump lin wore a collarr^the first one ever seen on Cat creek—and it was fastened with the historic breastpin, which had been caref ullj polishtid. with ashes from the fireplace hearth. There was an odour in the room that was not entirely that of whiskey, and great was the surprise of each man when he saw how small was the bottle that dif fused so much perfume. There was a red cover on the table, a patents medicine chromo oh each wall, and Christmas cards in a row on the sholf over the fireplace. The general effect was bo astonishing to one visitor that he/abruptly departed with out drinking, and came back in an hour, bringing his wife and two daughters^ '■ "I didn't knowwhatto make of it J$V said he, "so I thought I'd bring the olcl woman and gals to find out for me." " It means just this," said Nim -Cumplin ; "it means we've found out how to have Chris'mas for sure an' we ain't agoin' to forgit it again." " Chris'mas for gure," said Mrs Cnmp- Hn, " means Chris'mas for women ez w.ell ez men."1. ■: ' ■.. .

: Cat creekers are human ; so they all re solved, each for himself, to be in the fashion. The result was revolutionary; from being a lot of sturdy hunters, , living an bar© log cabins, the most of the natives began to be industrious farmers and build better houses and takes their wives to the Forks with them to help spend their money. _ They even built a schoblhouse:. About this time some of the, more conservative natives moved away^and the others, in the despair of their longings? for tlVe good old time, drank themselves to death. ■ ■',- ■■■• :

But Nim Cumplin did not forget how-to shoot. Each year, a day or two before Christmas, ten wild' turkeys find their way in some mysterious .manner to the front door of the lady who had been Nim's .only customer.1 . ':< 'to

PAPA'S ANGEL.

In his large arm-chair papa lay ;;",,' Half-waking, haif asleep, , . " ' ,: A little after close of day, When starlit shadows creep., Tlie room wW still, save for the'sonrid The rosy fire made; ' On papa's face its glow stole round > And danced1 and shone and played. Then, of a' sudden, pa^a saw ' Before him dimly rise A sweet, Ayhite form, so free from flaw 'He thought it fi-om"the skies. : r Her eyes were of a tender blue, Her face was like the itiorn . , ' ,j • , When pink and pearl of fairest hue ;', ■; The early skies adorn. Her hair was like a cloud of gold, ' Her figure very small: '.. ; As white as snow her garment's fo|d :' ' Like down her footsteps, fall. • '■ iul With little outstretched arms she stood— Thought papa ' "Tis a dream ;" So wondrous .fweet and fair and goqcJ Did this bright being seem. .]■ //'. He rose to clasp her, silent, mu*6> ' ' '*" Lest she should take her .fligi't, ' J When,. "Papa," came like softest flute, "I want to saygbod-n,igit. J>

A little boy whose sprained wrist had been relieved,by bathing it; in whisky, sur prised his mother by saying, ''Did papa ever sprain his throat when Re was a little

Margaret: A Reminiscence.

'By Miss Susie Patterson, Auckland.

ADAME wishes to speak to , you ,in the chambre ,de mfiage, Mademoiselle," interrupted* Marthe, the picturesque housemaid at tired in Vaudoise costume. I shut the piano- irri-

tably, and wentdownstairs. That was the third time I bad bee,n called away from my practising during; the hour. " .Enirez " said a shrill voice, in response to my tap. There sat Madame in ; a low chair before the open French window, a letter in her lajp. " Madame " we called her ac , her com mand, but she was, in fact, une.vieillejilfo, in the extreme sense of the word. ... . I

Unfeeling, malicious, sly, and with an unsalable curiosity (to gratify which she hesitated at nothing), she was as unattrac tive in character as in appearance. : < We were all well aware that she: matte nightly raids, listening at dormitory doors, reading letters and • ransacking trunks. It was in deed a general belief that she held a dupli cate key for each of our boxes. She had sufficient shrewdness to secure the best masters procurable, and our school enjoyed more than a local reputation. There were spine forty pensionnaries of different nationalities, Germans pre dominating1. Most of them were in their teens, while three or four were over twenty. My duties were to teach music to -the less advanced pupils, and speak my lan guage with those who learnt English. I 'was..working hard, in xay spare time to pass an examination ;in music i,n the autumn, and if successful, I had been pro mised a situation with friends in Berne. Ever since Madame knew this she had en deavoured to increase my duties, and now she coolly informed me that she was ex pecting a new,pupil to whom I was to give private lessons in English—three hours daily. ;,• • /-., i "Three hours,, daily !", I repeated, and my heart sank within me. \ . " This will be but an amusement for' you Mademoiselle," continued Madame, with a, sheer, j? I, know well what.an enthusiastic romantic girl ma bonne , petite is. This new, elevq is most interesting—une Anglaise de la Turqui'e— whose education has been neglected—very neglected, for she is coming to learn to read and write her own language." ; , I remonstrated that teaching music and speaking English were all 1 had been engaged for, and although at another time I would with pleasure have obliged her, I could not now with my examination before me.

"Then leave my house immediately Mademoiselle—it will be easily enough to replace you." ,■ •.•• 'ivi . ■ .]..... ' I was alpne and entirely dependent on my own exertions, so I had no other alternative than to accept my new work ,as graciously as I could and abandon thoidea of passing my examination that autumn. This meant another year under Madame's ruleU The next day the young lady, Miss Gor don, arrived, and it' was with bitter thoughts that I entered the chambre de mmagp. to be introduced to my new pupil. A. woman of twenty-five* not able to road her own language ! Th>t does not promise much for her intelligence, I soliloquised. Why on earth has she come to Switzerland ? The woman is a fool, np doubt, and a fool that will cost me dear ! , , ,; ■

She was sitting opposite niadame,, and rose as I entered, ana nay angiy feelings vanished as if by magic at the sight of the most beautiful woman I had'ever seen. Fully five feet seven', yet -so well propor* tioncd, that when: standing alone she did" not appear tall, while every movement sug gested a goddess to my mind.: * A iair, blonde beauty hers was,; Creamy skinned and sunny-haired, while\the eye lashes and eyebrows were dark, and the latter unusually heavy for a woman.. There was almost perfect regularity of feature, and the eyes—tender, blue, well-opened eyes, clear and innocent as' a child's-—made me a captive at the first glance. After some questions about her journey, I led her upstairs and showed her her bed in the dor mitory. "You will be near me," 1 said; "I expect you would have preferred, a room to. yourself, but that is an impossi bility Here,", "Oh, it doesn't, matter,," was her reply; "I have never .had my h own room, and at boarding school;.one does npt expect luxuries." Then, hesitatingly, "You look 80^ young to he my teacher. I hope 1,. shall not be very stupid." Something in 'the tone touched me, and—l was an impulsive, girl—. I put my, arms round her neqk andkissed her. I had to stand on itip|oe to clpit. She returned ;my payees, and looked ,at me wbn deringly with those sweet eyes ,of : hers. "JTprgive, me," I said, " but you are so beautiful!" ■ "What , nonsonse," ; she laughed, as she fpndjed my hand, in her ex quisitely '~ shaped, , . thougli ; spipQwl^at roughened ones., : , ~ ~.,. < From henceforward we were firm friends. Friends, did I say ? On my side,. a,t least, there was more than friendship. Reade-r, I was a lonely, sensitive girl of nineteen, with out parents, without relations. My early struggles had; embittered me, and in j that penswnnat of some fifty women I cared foil, ■ and was cared,,for. by nope. Now, fop this first time in my life I really^loved a human creature,,and all the devotion and adoration in my nature were concentrated one great passion for ih,er. I forgot my. exami nation, I forgot my music—my. one solace hitherto.' , Margaret was all to me, and (hi loving her, J first learnt .was,; happiness meant. -How ...pleasant, those ..lessons of ours were, ..under the cool,. plsme' trees in the prim^ garden ; or ;on our corner,on the.balcony,,which commaflded such a glorious view of the blue Jake, the Alps and the castle; of Qhillon. ./How I feasted on her maryellous beauty, aSiShje^ quite unconscio,us,persey^ringly plodded oh with her child's tasks. 'Sometimes .she would catch my eyes, of admiration, fastened on her. " Don't lpp t k' at, me so " she.would say,: " you make me nervous." " I can't help it," twpuid reply, "ypu a^esb beautiful." If I were a man, Dr. Invin would have a formidable rival." .|N,ow.let me in brief give iyou my, Margaret's Her father was a doctor in i Bulgaria. , mother, died at ,her, birth, and/her, step mother— a - confirmed ; jnvalid^-left %He management qfthe.householdtoniy heroine. It was she,^too, >Wio ; helped her father mix his drugs, and nurse ,thp patients they took into the house. ThuF,' her. eo-called "education" was quite'neglected, though she picked up a vast amount of real, prac tical knowledge, and/t^ef' smattering of some half-a-dozen languages." . tvhen the war broke out, Bi* Gordon removed to Gon stantinoplp,;, and was there assisted in his practice by 'a .qousin, of Margaret's, a Dr. Irwin. Wasit surprising.'that h<p soon ,fell in love wWh his : noble, beautiful. kins woman 2/Xt ,was along time b,efore Mar garet jrould consent to ap .engagement,- so deeplf did she feel her '' ignorance " ; as she teroied it. ■.., "..':..' '.Us-',', ! -,«.fi. T J,T:* oi

■ At last she agreed, on, condition th^ she Ayent away and. lea,rned-to read and, write at own language. " I knew.it was ' qviite impossible in our busy home to. think of learning, and then, father proposed that I, ehould go away for a time and deypte" all my, tinie to my studies. I felti;, somehpw ■ashamed, tq go to an English/schpol, and i father tliough,t this climate wou,ld suit my health betteiv We had so many patients i lately, and 1 was. overworked. Isesides, I had always a longing to see^,beautiful* Switzerland, for my mother was here as a girl for years?'""™'1 : " 1 The'summer days went by, and- Margaret made rapid progress. It was fctHiehhig1 to see this Juno-liEe woman' 'pouring over a Child's First Reader, slowly; or carefully

forming letters in a copy-book. At firstTiti W dull work, but when the rudiments Were passed the next came almost rapidly. Love Vas . her teacher, and what greater impetus could Margaret have than h& ? One day—she had been learning a month perhaps—she asked with a slightembarrass ment: "Mary, when do you think I shall be able to write to James ? He will be so pleased to get a letter."■ ',". 1 " I think you might begin at once,"^ I replied. " You form, all your letters dis tinctly, and I can help you with the spelling." " '': ;'' :;. She hurried to get her writing materials, and the-letter was begun. First it was ''written roughly in pencil,, then ■ carefully copied in ink5. 'Of course I'diiJ not knowl its contents.' I sat working and answering her occasional questions.- "Mary, how-do you spell always—with one T or'two ? 'How do you- make a capital Z?-^-I forget," apolo getically. .; ''';'.'■'■ '■"'• •'- ■' '■ '■ ;;;': At last the letter tyds finished, and bow childishly pleased ■Margaret' wdsf , It filled two sheets of foreign paper, ahd certainly looked very uniform and neat. The letter was posted, and a, week later a reply camte. I took it myself to Margaret, who seizedit with a little cry of joy, and ran 'with i# to' her most private sanctum h petit coin, on ths balcony.' An hour later she came into the sallti' a manger, where [ I Nvas practising. ''Walk with me, Mary dear, if you can," she said ; *' M. Duraur is not coming, and we are going to make a little excursion to Hauteville." ' •' , t

There was a radiant'smiie on her sweet face, though her eyfes' showed traces of tears] How well I remember our promenade that day. It was early September, biit as hot as midsummer. We wended our-way boarding-school style, two and two—Mar garet and I being the last pair. We tad soon left the little town behind us, and found ourselves on a pleasant'road leading' to St. Legier, making a detour by crossing a field,'!'where women and boys we're gathering'apples and pears.' We' reached St. Legier in half-an-b.our. It |s a charmingly picturesque little village with old brown houses, gabled and carved. Some are four storeys high, with little irregular balconies l:on£ above1 another;'and; deep peaked roofs, under. whose sha'dbw Indian corni is suspended1, tir, beans' are drying for winter use. The children had, the same quaint lpok'as their homes, with their little linen or muslin caps fitting close to their heads.' It almost seemed ;as if Twe hdd stepped back 200 years. But look ! there Is a procession slowly nearing ; us. Mon pieu ! it is a funeral. ' Our leader, Ijihe Maitresse d'Allema'nd, stopped and asked an old paysanne—Who was dead ? "A gir,lof seventee'n T -fever—three 'deaths this week," was telegfaphed from mouth to mouths '

■There w^s.no Fautfjyille that day, but back we,. went With, saddened feelings, quicker than we had «ome, despite the heat.

" Mary T how wtufe you look."exclaimed. Margaret, wh en we reached home., < "I feel so strangely tired. " Isaid, "i'and ray head aches so." "Oo and lie down and I will get you a cup of tea, if I can, and keep the girlpr quiet." I was glad to yield to her request, for never had. I felt so utterly weary. Bye-; and-bye, Margaret returned with the tea, and-th'en left me*to try and sleep. I lay on! ■by bed in thai? darkened dormitory, my limbs cold, my head oni ftre. Strange pic tures passed before my eyee. I was a chilli agaiii, riding in front of n^y father in our. New Zealand.Ji^me. No, it had changed-f ■that was nofc my Home, that was an Easterftf town with flbmes and minarets. And the. dogs, the ; lieah: fierce .dogs, prowline about.the streets!'' This must be Constanj tinop'lbi .that Margaret talked* about. Bub here wis tMJidame, looking.-: IrjL' Turkish cos-' tume ipbi-fe^horrible!:riiati. j feyer ! How shp. has changed—she is' a witch !' And here, a bla-nkcame over me.> ,; .

Whfen I recovered, I Was no longer in the1 dormitory, but in a cool, darkroom. There was a: blue china stbve in* the corner, [t seemed to know it. the green shutter^ were: closed but thfi rwirid'ows were open", and a gentle sound of distent bells came tp ray ears; Else^ all was stijl. Where was I=? I tried to turn on my "side. How weak JL felt! The wash-hand sjand, with its blupi glass jug and basin, caught my eye. Yes,,l now I knew where I was. I was in the: spare bedroom of the pe,nsfonnqt. The door opened softly,'arid somebbdy walked, .to wards me." It wp Margaret !' J" Where am I,'arid what is the matter ?"T asked. "You have bedn ill, dear ; but you ate, getting better now. y Drink this and;Be still, petite." '." What has been the niattbr with me, Margaret?"' "Fevdr','dear, but astt no iribre' questions'. You are.tob w&ak.1!' Little by little, ?ts I'r grew' s^roiig-er^,'^ heard it all from Margaret.; hoW I had.pYbv baMy* caught; the infection;at St^'Legieri And ho\v tot th'rei weeks I-'h'ad laiiji dangerously ill. The School had broken, up a fortnight before "the' term elided,-'; aftq. Madame,teachers, 4nd' pupils,, were a|l afe Bei. "Arid you'stayed'.bfehind to n.ur'^e nic Margaret ? How can I ever than k. mj? But dear,' iiyqu; were to talce th^.i^ei from me!" '[' '''"■)'_ *,"!\'; " ''■■"■_ ;r!;.' ..;,'__ Jl-;| ' J ." My child, I, haVe nursed a doze^i case's! as. b"kd as yours, and n'evp^takeii it. Father used to say mine-was a, QQnstitutiop proof against'infection', so doii't'trouble on my apcount,.,Mary; I anij'only too thankful to have rendered you a 'little service.but ff am still deeply in your viebti' ' Yeis; MaVy, 0. know all about thO Wamiiiation, and it, has grieved me sojbQljbhink of the hindrance jl have been to yo'a. What an ians6lfish little thing you were never to birephe a;-word'4f ifc to me.' ' YoU!-talked of ■ it .(Cons^a^ly^ip your delirium. Now, 1 have, a little plan. A,s soon as you can'fcraVel''tve will leavp AjEadfime, aiid go tq Berne, and you and Jl will live in the pension my mother lived in, and there you] care .study^ to your heartfs content. ':Now,f don't refuse me, ■- MaryJ jl have set my mind on this." Andrvvhat coulid I do, but gladly consent ?. .., ?, ' 1 The; mdrning of oul^ departure arrived. I• rethembered it as sobn'as I woke, and jumping oUt of bed, I' threw open ' i\ie window and 'looked out. •; The \Detit' dv Midi was glittering in the;goldeh'! morning sun, the latfe was looking-its bluest, "the air :was fresh, the sky unclouded;, and in the vineyards the vigrierons were already busy. Oh, it'W«is good to be'alive, arid to be goin^g away with Margaret! A servant entering with' bread and coffee interrupted my reflections; " Mdlle. Gordon was iliiii; the^night, ai^d we had to send for thfedoctbrj" she observ'edj; as she placed tlie-tray near niej "Hi .V Has she the• fever■?" X cried. "No"Mademoi selle," she ; but I J knew it was a lie. '\ '■ I thfew' -on thy dressing-gown arid rushed madly ou^t of the room, along th^ cold stone corridor,, and stopped at Mar garet's door. '>' '' ■'■->' '- ' " Moti Dieu, Mademoiselle,"lmplored the girl, "calm yourself ; her life depends on her being kept quiet. Go back to your robio and eat your breakfast.; I will jseridthe' doctor toyou when lie cbriies.n -1 /;.*.. ■: f,; I flung' myself upon' my bed 'in an agdny of griefi One idea-'ppssessed my mind—Mar garet Wovlld die and I"had killed.her- [I was roused by a hand on my shouldfer.- It was the vold dbctoh "Mademoiselle]" he said, "be assured your friend hd,s rib feverij'sljid is only a: little iridisposedJ In & few daysfehe •will be well again." I knew it was false. "Ge nest pas vrai," I 1 screairied, ""Vbus et£s meriteur ! Elle va inourir e4 «'est ma faufce!'? ■■:• ■•■ •>■(.■» '"v- 00-'-T.T-ft

In spite of my ent£eaties_tb be allowed to stay and nui'se: Margaret, they took me away to an old lady friend'of'Madame's, living near the; Quai. It is impossible to" describe ' my ;teri-ibl6 grief' and. suspense 'during the riextHy'eek'. • I asked no" they gave rtie no news. r ' At. last, a message came" that Margaret wished to see;m;e. \ I knew; it was for tW 'lastv'time."'"I" ' :' it]':: ■ "•■■ -; yi ■"'■;■!■:■■■,«; ~i j How. altered she was, and yet-how beauti ful. Her hair was short; her skin ws^ white' asralabaster; whilethe sAveet eyey looked larger, and wore lovely•than ever^ ;; /:

"She welcomed me with a gmile, and held, out her hand. I pressed it convulsively M my lips and straggled t^ becalm.; MMaryn she said, "do not grieve so, darling. i; It' hm to be and He knows best • Maty, you wil^ write to my father and James; give them my best love. "Then, with, an angfelic smile, >' lam so glad I wrote that letter !" I bent over her and kissed heir forehead, arid theyj led me away V;:;'';'-:' !1 '} J: :r Jii, ;''*"*''■* '■"'■[' | .■■:■■■'.■• *,:■' '~:.' * :"'/■ II ■ * ('" '': :' *-' '■'.''■']■. \ ,;: Her grave is in the beautiful cemetery of S. Martin, close to two of the judges th/ 4 sentenced our Charles I. to death.' (I Here, the sweetest roses bloorii all the year long. Blue Leman lies at her feet, 300ieet below, while the snowy Alpine peaks watch- over her like guardian angels ; ;:■* v j' < I did.nonreturn to the pensibnnat. <W distant relative found meout in my desolaj tion,; and lent.me funds, toi continue mjf musical studies. ;, " ! ' ; ; r> ..^ y f : And work—hard uriceasingl ■•■ work-4 brought me solace in my trouble.; I-paSsed my (examination* and obtained I>he/desired position.'"'^ <s|j' :" ii-'i' } 'cii3'!-.»| But that is many years ago.*- I have long ceased to be' lonelly, forf a little /golden^ headed maiden, who caills m& mdther, make^ the chiefßunshirie; of my' life. 'And'l have dared to name heir Margarek \<- • ' j:/!'■"-_ \

CHRISTMAS CONUNDRUMS.

[The ■'Answers Abe Given Below.]' j ■'\' r .;. .QUESTIONS,"1; "\ '\ '"!. j .--1. Why,,iS;a church bell more o]ojiging than a church organ ? . , ' ■ t'yM 2. Why are you lake neither tlfe head .nor tail of a, donkey ? ': ■/■ ■ .:- -Il , 3. Why ; ia,fti^ssslikesoinepermons-?j l i;. j ■ 4, [What is the hpjnceopatliic remedyfor palpitation of the.heart ? :i - : M 5. Why was Noah liWa-disappointedrabj catcher?; ~- ■,-,:'■■ ■-.- ■•;■■■: -.'.■- il '"' ': 6. What fish is a married lady fondest .Of;?:-: . , ?.-,>> ■■' u'-AS'n -d r.i'«pbßa*l 7.. Which is heavier, a half moon j or a full moon? ,;■■, 1! ',; ,I- ,„:■;. \yyiru no -: : .: 8. Why is matrimony like a besieged 'city?'. ■;'• 'if- Ul vJ. -'■ nr im; ::Uy\ ! 9. Why did JJarbin tuthejv resemble a dyspeptic blackbird ? > . ■,-'." ! IP. ; What is the worth of woman^? • : :. , 11. Whyarehorsemen, dairymen,'bakers, sempstresses, dressmakers,and topers found I in'the Me.of Wight? ,-v- • ' : : -n ■ ■ JL2, Whyr are yotirslegs like anaorganl grindier?■ h;: ~'■■:>:.';■;■< r-rh yM'i c?A') ;i;l3. Why maythe Emperiir oi!' Russia b^ considered a flirff? i - -;• > ; L 14>r Wheaf could- houses be builfa of 'pocket-handkerchiefs? : ,1 ;' E?r-;:.4T' |,;,i : .1,16.. Wljat is that; which never.; asks any questipns and; yet requires many answers ? I 10i' What part of their infant tuition have old bachelors and old maids . ihost; profited by?...^ R Si h -■■ ■'■■':'■: :\:: AiM -3iU RO 17.' What animals make the best wiiae ? | ! I 1 18. Why were .-the. Russian.; accourits:.ttf the Crimean battles like the English and French I ,!.■■;■/, t-Ui'-1 ti-'v-vlisUy/ilib j'titi) kM | ■ j 19. When is a ball riot a.ball? ■(:',■;!■: : 20. What isffchat which: is lower, with a . head than withoutone' ?;.! ..- ■ vnt; ;1> f, ; 21. Why is a prizering the placet© study botany?; v .:; .>:-.:^ ■.„■■ 'tnhi vj f'fsl •' ;■■ -, 22. What 1 sweetens the cupidf life-, yetj, divested of ita end, embitters the most grateful draught? •.;« . mi >'.;.!:; ' ; 23*, Whyislove likeadijick:stfoot?; sm . Why is awatehdOg Jpigger by might ,than.by ; .day? ; ':i; oi %tttsi<k>!ss t *lnoibia 26. Why is an eagle's fight so unpleasant \toiwifcness?:- n -:•:>;. ■''' .^.,.•.'(■■,.-jt. : ;v,)A p 26s!i What Austrian; town most resembles an Eastern drug !-•'{ r NiroooH v/j"5./;•?■.!; | ( 27. Why 'is :a>l<Soking-glass' like an linl grateful acquaintance ?'/■•.; • n u-iJih.d .j! 28. i Why are toara like etty design in •wood-? • „., ~:'l" '■ "•".;.-.. >«- S ' 29; Why ia a lady's bustlediikei a histori cal novel? .?:•;!.•'. doitrif .-.mnl,\o':^i-o-i ,j\[\' 30.1 > Who vi'waa lately: the & liiosb- popula|r military; officer ? •, . <j />", lm. \ ! !i 31. Whyisithe^dtofi^eit^^^Mtos a ;dejected'm^aa^;i"::o^> <a&.'!•■.■< v-^Klfei. 1 [ 32. Wfao-'aref'mosfc-rli^ely ttt be'lsicW^qf •childremr:V-;. dr.-iiK.:- /h;hJ.i-h''<r ; -i _ hly:>j 33.: Whatsi^tthe-^olofiMtofJ'tt %ttftnlul man? . i . j',, • *i 34.'iT^3e4gEnatlJ*elik'e [ a.'i3afey?^i -:3".> . i< 35; Whylisaii old! pdcket-£ahdk©tehlef like an eld-ship? '■ ' .".j;Riiiv!:l ->•:,,■••> 36.^ Why is t)ight-r6p6!daheing like light ing.? ■;"-:;.■ i:-; i? --. F«ra /■,-. : *.:.-r _~ 37.: Whdi't is tke tofest difficult tecfinib ? • , 38. j Winy is a ta!lkal;iv% y6tfag:(Smatt like a

ANSWERS.

1. Because one "will go when ib: is "tolled, !aufe the other will be " blowed first. "■ 2. Because you are no end of an ass. 3. Because there are two heads and an application. 4. The application of another palpitating heart to the;partaffected. ._ .; .. 5. Because he kftdmany,terriers (tarriers) in th^arky bu:t did■ .not flee' ■e'.er, a• rat (Ararat) for forty days and foe by nights. 6. sfler-ring. 7. 1&. half moon, because the full one is .twice as light.' ' '~.-•.. - ,'/ ' '.' ' , ' 8. often those who are in it wish to bis put,, and/those whoare put wish to be in. i;ij ■:., ;; t , .r*'":---- 'I, ,;'" ':' :-W"A'£'l '':::' :'" :S 9.j3Because the Diet of Worms disatrwd with him. 10. Double you, 0 Man ! (W-O-MAN). lLißecause !,thg first may iiave ]& Hyde there-; 'the eecbnd'Oowes;. ;tHevthird:.a; Bight of ■'Alumen, {bite of; alum' an) •,; th^ fourth NeMlesj.iihe fifth Brad^ng;; 'and the lant New-port. 12. Because they carry a monkey about the street: •"-■ —; > ' % " ',; 13. Becaose; ilot content with , J^ol-davia, he went after'Sess^ra^ia, .and th'ati-'CJgp icia.- ; '""■'; ;..-•;--, '^^^ff' "----■ 14. When they be Cambrlo3^i(bocttmes bricks). 15. The doorbell. ' l 16. Learning to go alone. ' •;.' i f 5 Q 17.- Grey, apei?. (!)..,,. ,, , -~\;; . : : t *& j * ;, 18. Because fihey^ were all lies ,(alUe^t j! 19." When itV no ball (snowball).:': •j - : 20. Apiliow.;'; /,;,,;,.:•"";■■ ■ '[•.-,'.'■,\ § r 21. Because. you'll jfind ; tKejje ■.excellent' specimens of the British.floorer (flora). It ' • "^.-•8t0pe."';:.;.,,-: ■^i;, v" ■~,,■ ~r;;;,:;';: u» "23.'Because it often lies hidden ia tne? breast. .".':• .'.:.•' \,(, ■-,;•!;■."■ ■■!,.'■ i--;i''; I, ;24. Because ha is.let out at -nigljt and j takenl in inthemornin^f. . f... : .' , -.'. , ... i, \ n 1 25. Because'i^ a high;soar^ye§prg) + ;, i h ... <;.-.'=3n-s '?;yii il > 27. Because though you .may, load its* back with silverj,,^it -will always, reflect on; y°u- ■ •'. ■.:•• 'r:; <;i •-,■■:-, -iolnW#l :i: j 28. Because liey jare fret:w,ork. ■ j • 29. it is; Action, iQunded^Wsfact. * : , 30^ General.rElection. |q LVigi; itis;dow,n inithe.niouth*-- I *■ , . 32. Those^ who bring them upi , ; '" 33. lii-le.ci, : -,;r.ioi'-'i* .'■.' - ■■'.{ '-#si% i!^ ---54. Berjauße ; there isl generally; flsqwalli when lt'i^face, .is washed.: ; ;v »;h ■, .! v 35., Because jit has experienced many a ■Kard^alow.., [-, O r-j : .;; U ;-;;',-,.,...; ;,"r,- « : -, ~|" ■ ' ,36% Because itM a-leg'triekyCeieOtsric). r .;._. 3/.. Getting up asiibscriptipn. .38, Because, )|i)ie'liv«s:,,he ia likely to bon come a,, great bota~{ r • : .m k •

FATHER CHRISTMAS AND THE GOOSE.

** Come tell me if you can; $ir, :,;;'' 1■ i 1 If 1 Bay 'SJo,5 would you refuse : ; - '^ To give to me ;* | :;\ LiToFathetGhrisfcnmsßaiditheGo^e^ ' U " You're quite a funny old man,'-stfj I '* l;know you'd jfikeito eoofc my g6oSe,: ' i 4, .{But !y.our Latin joke is' here-hd usei'' : I * ; Forltondtthatkind;ofa?wer^j .. :.• •• : ]W,'i\ ■-'■•-;,'■- ■■„■■ X- ■ --.:■: i ■'

SONG AND SENTIMENT.

Christmas and New Year Mottoes.

; * ■' [by jjEW ZEAIiANI) POETS.], ; « The first four.verse^reia^ardedpme^ a.recenf competition for pmea-^"^ the proprietor of the -BW for tho tert mottoes, for- Christmas and-New Yea^ ?Sb£rds-: ' f|F | sT pR|Z E # "

THE DYING YEAR.

Thf) dvinff year exclaims, '. -oewarp i., .^SS^cha^inVpasttd's^eU; " . My failures andTexploits compare, . &or, reckless tollniypassing'bell. . ....A.S experience, cleag wrought,

SECOND PRIZE.

ITiTO# • THE " CSMJSS.* , m 4 ontfce watera so brightly g^anwng, < Now cm.thti hills byltbespUt sea* ;. .... Fondly oft home and of lpved^one. dreaming, , Under t& beautiful Christ toae.tree • v-Watehing theUark in th© blueabo^e ns, , : High oler;headla n d, andcfepk. and bay ; ; Breathing a^rayer lorfchefaeuds who love ' ihu^aieke^n^.^ll^^.: ~ ~;Auckland." :-'''i- j -;! °' ", * ' ;'r> ~".'','

THIRD PRIZE.

p■:.-.'■:.> CHRISTMAS CHIMES. ,' i*. 1*; Christmas chimes are softly sweU^| I ■'•■■' OVerlaindantl sea: _ . !'.; v Bearing love to every dwelling ;— } ! -■ " Bear'thev mitie to thee. i . -■ !. ■-.-■:■■:>•.; i- -■■T^W.'DAVIE3.it: > ,- Ngaruawhia. -• '"'-'■' *' -—i —; ———. ■ ■.-,. .■■:!

FOURTH PRIZE.

CHRISTMAS HERE AND THERE. Hem£ he cometh in sunshine and! glory, Filing our hearts with brightness and 4;mirth; , ' '■';.;,,: '■ • ;U;(-: \ ' There, 'mid the frosts, the jest arid the story Are told; in the light of the blazing hearth. /| Here and there, in cloud-or glow, / ~ Joy^lls the heart|tad lights thoeye;: They tf Ik el friends Wey,used to know, We sweetly triink of years gone by.. \ ■n*f:%V;fi ' "/B^MrjGiijßp.; '•'•

A CHRISTMAS GREETING.

Christmas greetings now-^ei'speeaiiig l i'y-r sOverlaiici'aiiS feea'"; ' J:! ;;. ' ,v.~ ■/'And Ipray that every blessing ~/ . id ft>'Stillinay follpvr'thee: ' : : •

A CHRISTMAS WISH.

' Xpray, thb'. winjjer winds are ehUl,, ' , Apd thou and'l 'apg. far,ai>art A ; . .mm: ~!Tha't^irJß^as'lqve\^y-) l breasfc; j ^asr:nl|[».f >v *~, AW grace^ay beautify thy Beart. ; . j ".':.'.'; % ''■■""■ , Jift ■'.. Leokatos. : ' ;;■;'-;'-•^■••;'--'-r ," /j^jjf-1.-. ; ~ ■/;..,.'

TO A LOVED ONE.

A Merry' Christmas, love, I wish to thee, : •' Ivo^ partfeci; by so many miles of sea. ■!T fcdninot bear' thy. vpice. across the niain, BUt know, thy heatfi;' Wilt wish it back agauu !"■.; '' ". ", l! •: Tvelith Night. ' • ;•',;■;■ _ •

TO A DISTANT FRIEND.

i'iiiu •jt'Thwgh'*e capnot.imeefcj > X < •> niyVrr.i Shoxigh, no wordJs spoken,;,. : These linesiwilj J>ear te tsheea , =-• >-;tr, r « T^e^jienfcjtoken, t rr . .jrjii ,: j ,' ,Of igvej ■ gopd^jll, and peace, • r : = l;;fii f i .135ti8, happy-Chr&tnias time j ; , / • ■;: -.i\-\ r'Tpyj:li^aAfeh'j : .and( happine6s ?: :-r;: ; ;r;<^g."■ ) ~.,;. -Be;eve/ thine. . • -W-# y^!^,,. Let noi) .Q»? ;:hiiarfcs fqr^ej;. % the»day, ;. ' JSTor distance-memory sever; j kf JMy wish to thee is still the same— A happy Christmas ever. ■ ■"•'.■ I»tjM;SpiBO.SBi:KO. }

CHRISTMAS IN NEW ZEALAND.

■ All crowned with crimson blossoms Of FohutukAwa flowers, , ,: l "'■;■■■■ ;J^Mii^d^B^^aß(Cometh f f Ifco this fairlancl of ours'j- '. , ".'■ . Aiid ere He go^TU whisper ,^ .'• :Tp him'tio beatetp thee . ; r "Tender and heartfelt gre.etinggf And loving words from ia&i/ t~* C4ILIOPE. OLD,LAND 4JSTD NEW.' <Jod "bless the old land and the new— The land of holly and" of bay ; t And'our new honie ?neath'skies of blue. ;To all-^A Jhappy Onristaaaas day. ••-, ,^~^. .;. ■: I A PEAYER. '"' 'Gdd^b'less thee, dear one,*is the prayer .' I'send to Heay'n ipr 1 thee, ; " \'. God'bles,&thee,a,nd nor grief nor' oarei '^: j '■'■ Send diilthy life's calm sea-! - \ .An'd^as.the flow'rs with! glory spring ' ' ' Anew, 'when' winter's fled, I ?p may the New Year new hopes bring i'^And new joys1 roundjthee shed./ ;7-; ' j--- 7; .-;;-,.,;. .. . --..,-.,,• ..- ■ , '.. Thalxa! .

PEACE AND GOODWILL.

Hark! how th 6 glorious meloi3y keet>sring ' ingin o.ur;eai»,. " "; i ■ 'Uttbroken by the lapse of. time for two thousand-years! " . ; > -?i- The songiwith thwllirigj; sweetness lulls H sleep all doubts and fears— ■ i "Peace on earth—goodwill fcol|ti.': ! Can touch of earthborn .minstreisv -call i-.iiniisic'focth'-likiethis"?. ' ',i-v •.. .Can it produce such harmony all disdords tc dismiss? Methinkß theysingels' antbem promised io\ ■ iandiuntqldblia^^ :. ■ f ~ J ' ' "I^ eace on earth—goodwill^tp^nen.' 1 ; SAIKT MUNQQ.

UNDER THE KISS-LETOE.

~A'g parsons say, *,'-tfo^ let uspray "' ! [. Tor something Bright Mnd jolly, ■ i berries, o'er lips like cherriei Wiljh liian^-ajjuncli pi holly • i Buttlns won't do, our homy is n,.« ---|\ And too far South the line, ' |J3nt the lassies we'll kiss,, &„„ "^ I berne? Y'Q niiss, " * ;j | Forthe S akeof««Auldl ang Sy fl e.»-":

THE . AUCKLAND .EVENING gTAB,, SATUiipAY^ BECE]|iBER 2^^887,

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