She had managed to exist through the 
Thanksgiving season , and Bridget had 
done her best to make the occasion worthy 
to be remembered—by the children at least; 
and if iL hadn’t been for that kitchen god¬ 
dess, I don’t see how the house could have 
held together. 
She had always some comical story to 
tell the children, something to excite their 
wonder or admiration, and every few days 
would surprise them with some fresh mo¬ 
lasses candy or cunning little cakes baked 
in miraculous patty pans. 
Minnie and Maud rather enjoyed their 
poverty, as it allowed them more freedom 
nnd exemption from little rules that society 
enjoined. It was such fun to roll in the 
snow, and drag each other on. the sled, with¬ 
out any caution in regard to ruffles and frills 
that used to lm such a torment to them, and 
such n restraint on their buoyant natures. 
Christmas was drawing near, anM its ap¬ 
proach filled Mrs. Molford with uncon¬ 
trollable despondency. It had been a gay 
season in her young days, and her own chil¬ 
dren knew it ns a season of especial rejoic¬ 
ings and unlimited toys and candies. Now 
it was all so changed! Even a moderate 
expenditure was not to bethought of, when 
it was so difficult to procure even the neces¬ 
saries of life, and she really wished the day 
was over, for she dreaded its arrival. The 
furniture never looked so dingy and faded, 
nor the curtains so coarse, nor her surround¬ 
ings so pitiful, as when she looked around 
nnd thought that Christmas was coming. 
Neither did the past ever seem so beauti¬ 
ful and glowing as when she cast a retro¬ 
spective glance in that direction at this 
memorable season. But. in the kitchen all 
was animation and excitement; as different 
an atmosphere as if there were ever so many 
degrees of latitude between them; Mrs. 
AIijlford occupying the frigid and Bridget 
the torrid zone. Every afternoon and early 
in the morning, Minnie and Maud were 
down in a corner of the kitchen very busy 
over some mystery, in which Bridget was 
ns much Interested as they were themselves. 
Arthur hustled about from one room to 
another, always the active, cheery, hopeful 
bov, who kept everybody informed of what 
was going on in the outside world ; and he, 
too, evidently had some weighty secret, 
pressing against the but tons of ids jacket. 
Christmas eve came, and the children be¬ 
gan to think it never would be dark enough 
for them to get ready for Santa Claus. 
“Wluvt arc you going to do, Minnie?” 
inquired Mrs. AIulford, as Minnie brought 
in the stockings to hang by the fire. 
“ Get ready for Santa Claus, mamma.” 
was the reply. “ You know tomorrow’s 
Christmas 1” 
“ But Santa Claus don’t come to poor 
people, my child,” and the tears filled her 
eyes at I lie recollection of the generous gills 
of former years. 
“ O, yes he does, mamma,” said Minnie, 
who was eleven years old, and two years 
the senior of her sister ; “yes he docs ! He 
knows where we live.” And she continued 
pinning the stockings upon the line she had 
stretched across the mantel. 
“ I wish I could have afforded a tree!” 
sighed the mother, watching her daughter’s 
movements with considerable curiosity. 
“We don’t want a tree, do we Maud? 
A stocking is over so much nicer, It looks 
so funny all stuffed out, and then you don’t 
know wluit is in it, and you have to shake it 
out, and hunt way in the toe! Then you 
can put such funny things in, to make every¬ 
body laugh.” 
Then she pinned on the names which Ar¬ 
thur had printed very nicely on slips of 
paper, and stood off a little distance to ad¬ 
mire her handiwork. 
Bridget was called in from the kitchen 
to sec if it was all right, and Arthur was 
induced to leave Ids work just for a minute 
to note the effect of the display. 
“Here now 1” he exclaimed, “I told you 
to hang up tho elothcs-bag for me. You 
don’t suppose that miserable tiling will bold 
all my treasures,do you? Is tbe chimney 
clear?” and he pretended t> search anx¬ 
iously for anything that might prevent the 
descent of the good old Santa Claus, 
whose coming had never before been antici¬ 
pated witli such unqualified delight. 
Mrs. Mulford was in the midst of a troub¬ 
led dream, when shouts of “Merry Christ¬ 
mas! Merry Christmas!” rang through the 
house, and awakened her to the reality of the 
day she SO long had dreaded. 
She knew how dreadfully disappointed 
the children would he, it is so hard for them 
to understand the exigencies of life, nnd 
wished she might, keep her room all day and 
have Bridget bring up her meals. 
“If ye plaze, mum,” said that worthy 
maid-ol all-work, not stopping to knock at 
the door, “If yo plaze, mum, ye’d better 
come down .stairs; the Childers are nigh 
about crazy waiting for ye;” and the sun¬ 
shine of her face illuminated the room long 
after she had retreated down the stairway. 
“ They can’t feel very had,” said Mrs. Mul¬ 
ford, as she slowly turned from her room. 
“ It seems to me I never heard them laugh 
so heartily. O, to be a child again !” and 
the sigh that welled from her heart was 
heavy enough to have rolled her down stairs. 
As she entered the sitting-room, what a 
sight met her eyes! There were wreaths of 
green over her portrait and papa’s; a narrow 
border running round tbe mantel; and fes¬ 
toons falling in every direction. 
But tbe stockings! No wonder Mrs. Mul¬ 
ford brushed her hand over her eyes once 
or twice, to be sure that she saw aright. 
“Como, mother” said Arthur, passing 
his arm around her waist, " you first; 
Bridget can hardly wait, and our breakfast 
won’t be worth eating.” 
“ 0, no,” said the mother, “ Maud should 
have the first chance;’’ and the impatient 
child eagerly availed herself of the privilege. 
It was astonishing what an amount of 
goodies rolled out of that stocking, and after 
they were laid aside there were one or two 
parcels to be opened. There was a nice 
warm pair of gloves, just what she wanted 
to use in dragging the sled, or making snow 
halls ; a new doll, and a book full of pictures. 
Minnie’s slocking was quite as bountifully 
slocked, and every new surprise served to 
enkindle their mirth and enthusiasm. 
Arthur had filled his own Blocking with 
all sorts of odds and ends, on purpose to in¬ 
crease the full and hilarity, and pretended to 
be surprised that Santa Claus patronized 
second-hand shops. Bridget sat down on 
the floor with the children to unload her 
collection of treasures, and even Mrs. Mul¬ 
ford was forced to laugh heartily at her com¬ 
ical remarks, especially when she drew out a 
potato, which was labeled, “ The last of 
the Murphys!" 
“May they always be first in Ihc field !” 
said Bridget. 
When Mrs. M. was finally induced to ex¬ 
amine the contents of her own stocking, the 
children, with Bridget, who was only an 
older child, gathered around, and watched 
anxiously the proceedings. 
There were a pair of nice brackets hang¬ 
ing outside, which Arthur had cut out 
with a penknife; and as she took up each 
article that had been wrought by loving lit¬ 
tle lingers, the worsted pulsc-warmcrs, the 
pretty mats and tidies, sho felt that it was 
indeed possible for love to build upon the 
old ruins a beautiful palace for the heart to 
dwell in. 
“Forgive me, clear children!” she ex¬ 
claimed, embracing them each in turn. 
“ Bridget, my good girl, we will begin the 
world anew. I have been a weak woman.” 
“ Surra a bit of it!” said Bridget, wiping 
awav her tears with ihc corner of her apron. 
“It’s n heavy cross ye had, but we’re all go 
ing to help ye carry it.” 
“ And, mother,” broke in Arthur, “ I’ve 
got a situation in a grocery store.” 
“ Arthur !” 
“ Yes. It isn’t much, but I’ll learn the 
business; and then, you know, I can take 
care of you.” 
What a glorious Christmas breakfast they 
had ! It wasn’t so much what was on the 
table, although Bridget had made delicious 
waffles, and the coffee was super-excellent, 
but it was the guest that sat at the hoard 
with them that made it a feast to be remem¬ 
bered. While they were at the table, talk¬ 
ing over plans in which the mother mani¬ 
fest ed undoubted interest, there was a sudden, 
sharp knock at ihe door that startled all the 
inmates of the house. 
“A new calamity!” sighed Mrs. Mul¬ 
ford, falling hack into Ike old attitude. 
“It, must, lie Santa Clavjs himself!" ex¬ 
claimed Bridget, pulling her head through 
the kitchen door. Arthur admitted the 
gentleman, so swathed in an immense scarf 
about theneekund chin as to leave one in 
doubt as to whether he were friend or foe. 
“Bless my soul!” said the stranger, di¬ 
vesting himself of his wraps, and stamping 
the snow from his boots in the. little hall; 
“Bless my soul! such a tramp! Where’s 
Carrie?” 
“Carrie?” inquired Arthur, fearing 
he had admitted a lunatic. 
“ Yes, Carrie. My niece, Carrie Whar¬ 
ton; and a splendid gal she was. Are you 
her boy ?” 
“ I don’t know, sir.” 
“No more do 1. She was Carrie Whar¬ 
ton, married Ned Mulford, and a long 
tramp I’ve bad to find her." 
“ Have you any bad news?” inquired Ar¬ 
thur, laying a detaining hand on the stran¬ 
ger’s arm ; “ because if you have, I’d rather 
yon wouldn’t mention it to-day. My name 
is Arthur Mulford, and we’ve had such 
a happy Christmas.” 
“ No fear, my l) 03 r , bless your tender 
heart l Why, I’ve come from Santa Claus 
myself, and am chock full o.f the sunshine 
that turns into gold.” Saying which, lie 
entered the room where Mrs. Mulford and 
her children were silling, and Bridget hur¬ 
rying to clear off ihe breakfast things. 
“ Carrie !” said the stranger, in eager 
tones, advancing toward Mrs. Mulford, 
who seemed to have heard a voice from the 
far-away past. She was in her own home 
again, a careless child ; father and mother 
were living, death had never crossed her 
threshold, and all was joy and happiness. 
A bewildered moment, and then a flash of 
recognition. 
“ Uncle Nathan !’’ 
“ Yes, dear child ! Would I could have 
got to you soonerand he held the weary 
head close to his generous heart, and smooth¬ 
ed the worn brow with a touch as gentle as 
a woman’s. 
“ I felt I was growing old, and had a hank¬ 
ering after a home to die in, and always the 
face of my little niece, Carrie, seemed to 
give me the heartiest welcome.” 
“ Then you didn’t die," said Arthur, 
looking on the scene as if it was part of a 
fairy story. 
“ Of course I didn’t. Came near it, a 
dozen times, but always escaped. Couldn’t 
see why I was spared and belter folks taken, 
but it’s all clear now. Strange how soon 
the place is filled up that a man slips out 
of! Why, 1 had as hard work finding out 
anything about Ned Mulford, or Ned 
MulfoKD’s widow, as if I’d been trying to 
find ibe whereabouts of Captain Kidd.” 
“ It’s because of our poverty,” sighed the 
widow. 
“ Yes, 1 suppose so. It’s the way of the 
world ! But who cares? We’ll begin the 
world anew.” 
Mrs. Mulford stared at hearing her own 
words repeated, and Bridget, who kept an 
ear on the proceedings, stood for a moment 
in open mouthed amazement, much as if 
she feared there was to be another great 
convulsion of nature. 
“ Yes,” continued Uncle Nathan, with 
Minnie and Maud perched on each knee, 
and Mrs. M. and Arthur sitiing beside him 
on the sofa, “ yes, that’s what, brought me 
back. Money don’t make a home, 1 know 
that well enough, for I’ve seen it tried. 
Arthur, what are your plans?” 
“ I was going into Air. Chase’s grocery 
the first of January.” 
“Do you want to? Any taste for hams, 
herrings, tape and shoe-strings?” 
“No, sir,” replied Arthur, laughing at 
the combination, “ but I’d like to help 
mother. I promised father to see after 
her.” 
“You’ve done your duty, I’ll he bound. 
But my opinion is you’d rather go to col¬ 
lege.” 
“ O, sir!” and the flush on the boy’s face 
was not to be misunderstood. 
“ College it is, then. Carrie, you are to 
be my housekeeper; these are my little 
girls;” clasping llie children in a heartier 
embrace, “and see if we don’t turn out a 
happier family than any Barnum ever ex- 
luiilted!” _ 
The Christmas dinner was a marvel of 
cookery, nnd Uncle Nathan enlivened the 
meal with so many jokes, and comical ac¬ 
counts of his adventures, that it was almost 
lime to light the lamps before any one 
thought of drawing away from the table. 
“ And this was the Christmas I had 
dreaded!” said Mrs. Mulford, ns she stood 
before the mirror in her bed-room, and no¬ 
ticed the bright color in licr cheek, and the 
unusual light in lior eye. 
The children had reluctantly gone to bed 
fearing that, this good “ Santa Claus,” as 
they persisted in calling Uncle Nathan, 
would disappear in the night, and leave 
them as suddenly as he came. 
Arthur dreamed of “Aladdin and his 
lamp,” and woke up half a dozen times in 
the night to assure himself that the great 
nmn sleeping so soundly beside him was 
not simply the magician of the “Arabian 
Nights." 
Airs. Muf. ford’s pride was truly humbled 
by this manifestation of God’s goodness, and 
long and earnestly she prayed that hence¬ 
forth, whatever trials might come upon her, 
she might bear thn burden with cheerful 
patience, trusting in GoDto lead her through 
the shadows into the sunshine, of a more per¬ 
fect day. And in alter life no memory was 
more precious to her than that of a Christ¬ 
mas morning when the children taught her 
a lesson of Unselfishness and duty. 
C’omc into our homes, oh ye Christmas 
angels ! Brush away the cobwebs that re¬ 
gret and selfishness have strewn around, and 
pul in thHr slead the wrealhs and vines that 
are fragrant with Ihe immortality of love! 
No homo so poor that will not be Ibe bright¬ 
er for your coining! No heart tiiat is not 
enriched by your presence, oh ever-blessod 
Christmas gucsis! 
-- 
CLING TO THE FARMS. 
In the ancient larm-houses of this country 
were cultivated and cherished the divine 
graces of character. First of all, piety; 
humble trust in God. By patient, industri¬ 
ous labor they cleared the fields of their 
forests, they gathered the rocks and stones 
into walls, they constructed Ihe rude bridges 
and the highways, they planted (lie fruit 
trees; their houses were nurseries of pious 
sons and daughters. In them there was 
plenty and there was peace. One genera¬ 
tion after another inhabited them, or came 
hack to them on holidays to renew their 
early associations at the old homestead. 
And why not continue the custom ? Why 
should you allow these old farm-houses to 
go out of the family name, to he demolished, 
to fall to pieces from decay ? Why is it 
that these ancient temples of godly piety 
and of all rustic virtues are falling to ruin ? 
There are crises in the life or almost every 
man who lives to middle age which aresud ; 
as when a man parts with his homestead. 
If he lias laid out the grounds, builded tbe 
house, planted the trees, trained the vines; 
it bis wife lias watched the growth of the 
flower beds, and with each returning spring 
tias given to the sunshine and the summer 
showers ihc plants which she bus guarded 
within doors from the cold of winter; there 
is something inexpressibly sad iu this. But 
it is sadder far when a man parts with an 
old farm which lias been the homestead of 
his family through many successive genera¬ 
tions, and it passes out of the family name 
or falls into ruin 1 You have seen this ; you 
have stood by the. front door of one of these 
old farm-houses when the last owner was 
borne out by his neighbors to return no 
more. You have looked eastward, south¬ 
ward, westward, northward, over acres of 
tillage, orchard, woodland, which he had 
added to the acres which had come to him 
from his paternal ancestors, and you have 
then recalled with what, anxious care he 
had guarded these acres, with what watchful 
thrift lie had added to them and had extend¬ 
ed his bounds, building walls and fences, 
dilcliing and draining, and enriching the old 
pastures, increasing his crops and his flocks 
anil herds—conservative in his frugal Indus- 
try—lidding the world together while all 
about him there might be changes—and you 
have been ready to exclaim as you looked 
upon the old house: 
“Siiy. ancient, edifleo. tnyself with yciirs 
Grown gray ; how long upon the hill has stood 
Thy weiither-bruvlnp roof, and silent marked 
The human leaf In constant bud and lull; 
The generations of deciduous man 
How often hast thou aeon them pass away! ” 
This preservation of the old form need not 
hinder the increase t>r the number of towns. 
There are thousands of acres of land yet in 
this Stale, enough of these acres in this 
country, which are now comparatively un¬ 
productive. These can he populated ; and 
I lie farmers will’lose nothing thereby. 'I hey 
will rather gain.— S. B. Noyes, at Norfolk 
County Agricultural Dinner. 
-- 
THE VALUE OF DIAMONDS. 
The question is often asked :—“ Why arc 
diamonds so costly ? Why are they so 
highly prized?” This may he answered 
somewhat in the same way as when we de¬ 
termine the reasons for Ibe high value placed 
on gold and silver, yet gold is esteemed 
rather from fashion than from any real 
beauty. Artistic effects can be produced in 
copper, conveying even warmer and richer 
tints to the eye, and quicksilver, from its 
mobility, produces a brilliancy of color sur¬ 
passing that of silver. Its value depends, 
however, on its comparative scarcity, but 
above all on its durability. The diamond, 
tbe most costly of all substances, has in¬ 
trinsic. beauties of its own. It lias a lim¬ 
pidity, a brilliancy, a fire appertaining to 
itseir, but, above all, an absolute indestruct¬ 
ibility far surpassing that of any known 
product, which gives Ibe additional reason 
for its enhanced value. Tbe first diamond 
taken from the bed of the Indian torrent, 
cut centuries ago, has not lost an atom ot 
its weight, nor has a spark of its brilliant 
lire been dimmed Though it has passed 
through millions of hands, it shows no trace 
of wear; it has been subjected 10 all t tem¬ 
peratures and climates, and its shining 
luster has never paled. This indestructibility 
lias, then, made it. inestimable an a standard 
of value. A thousand years ago il bad its 
price, anil a thousand years to come it must 
remain unchanged in form and luster, and 
still be an object of w or lb.— Exchange. 
--^ 4 “- 
MAKING ALLOWANCE FOR FAULTS. 
In estimating our fellow-men, one of the 
greatest, errors we make might be avoided by 
a simple arithmetical calculation. We fail 
to compare justly tbe life of the man who 
floes much, with the life of tbe man who 
does little—greatly to the disparagement of 
ihe former one. The man who does much, 
in whose life there is much living, must com¬ 
mit considerable errors, and wliat is more 
important to the present purpose, must run 
a much greater chance of some errors being 
discovered and made known. We can easily 
see this in intellectual matters. For example, 
there is a man who bus but few letters to 
write, and can give ample time to those 
which he does write. Then there is 
the busy nmn, the Minister of State, 
for instance, who lias to give answers 
of some kind or other to scores of com¬ 
munications in the course of the day; 
and some of these answers are not unlikely 
to be made public. 11 is not to be wondered 
nL if ibese responses arc not clothed in per¬ 
fect English, if relatives tail to relate, and 
antecedents to autocode. 
Nobody will dispute tbe foregoing; but 
what people often fail to consider, when 
judging of character and conduct, is the 
'quani iiy of work done, ihe number or trans¬ 
action*'transacted, by a man whose life is 
very full of living. According to this quan¬ 
tity will he the frequency of error, ami espe¬ 
cially Hie frequency of error made manifest. 
—Arthur J Idps. 
ismlibatb Bfitbina 
4P <o 
THE CHRISTMAS TREE OUT OF DOORS. 
The Saint ol Christmas leaves his charmed treas¬ 
ures 
Only iu homes where there is gold to buy. 
What though small voices ask for Christmas pleas¬ 
ures, 
Among the poor ?—he makes no reply. 
“Ah I well, h is great, close furs shut out their crying ; 
He cannot drive in narrow streets, we know ; 
Or Und his way to hearths in darkness lying “— 
A woman thought, and look'd into the snow. 
When, greener than all spring can make their green¬ 
ness, 
A great tree grew In the freezing air. 
And from the far sky's bcaulUul sereneness, 
Strange shapes of wondrous caiuiuess gathered 
there. 
Some, through their peace, show'd dimly the scarr'd 
faces 
That fell, in moidering battle-pits, away; 
These brought fair friends from evershiningplaccs. 
That children of dead soldiers might be gay. 
Next, shadows of worn, living mothers, slowly— 
From tlie thick night below— came, sad to see ; 
And, with a tenderness most sweet and holy. 
Hung pretty toys on the enchanted Tree. 
Then, as a dove, a rndlunre descended, 
And showed these children of ihe poor the dead, 
Kneeling beneath two bleeding bauds, extended. 
With Christ's dear blessing lor each Jltlleliead. 
[Mrs. Piatt. 
-- 
TWO PAROCHIAL ANECDOTES. 
One of the editors of ihc Rural New- 
Yorker attends a church whose minister, 
though a very pious, estimable an if tabu led 
man, has lost bis voice, and consequently, 
cannot, make himself heard by the conaro- 
gallon ; yet the latter prefer to have tilings 
as they arc valhor than act their old pastor 
adrift, or wound his feelings by providing 
him with an assistant. The editor alluded 
to was sitting at the dinner table of a fellow 
attendant, after the morning service a week 
ago Sunday, when the latter’s little girl 
spoke up suddenly:—“ Papa, why can’t Air. 
-put programmes in the pews, the same 
ob they do at the theaters, so wc can read 
ills sermons when he preaches?” 
Several years ago, llio minister of a New 
England congregation became incapacitated, 
through age, from fulfilling his pastoral du¬ 
ties. Though the members frankly told him 
they could catch only a sentence, here and 
there, of his discourse, lie still declined to 
oblige them by either dying or resigning. 
Finally, a considerable number resolved to 
bolt in a body. 
They did so, and took a pretty large pro¬ 
portion of the congregation, not all decided¬ 
ly opposed to the parson, hut several of 
them of that class who arc ready to follow 
olliers to good or evil. One of these was 
named Pompev, shortened into Pomp, 
which, in fact, suited well with his char¬ 
acter, U>r Pomp was a well dressed negro 
on Sunday, and felt himself “as large as 
any white man.” Pomp had heard the 
conversations ol li is while brethren, and had 
determined to bolt with them if they should 
leave thn congregation. And lie did. 
As Pomp joined the rebels on ihc outside, 
they were greatly taken aback. They did 
not, evidently, consider him of as much 
honor to their movement as lie judged him¬ 
self. So one of them opened tire upon him : 
“ Pomp ! what arc you doing out here ?” 
“ Ale, sail! I’so got tired of do parson.” 
“Tiredl wliuL have y<m to say against 
him?” 
“ O liuflin special agin dc man, but 1 doz- 
zent like bis leacbiii’s. 1 can’t bear his ser¬ 
mons ; 1 goes to sleep, ye see. 1 likes som- 
fen more 'citing like; and, de fact is, my 
conshuns won’t let me sit any longer under 
his preachin’.” 
“ Conscience, Pomp ! That’s too good 1” 
“ Yes, sah ! Can’t the geumian of color 
liab conshuns, I’sc like to It now ?” 
“ Well, 1 ’sposu he can, Pomp ; but wliat 
do you know about conscience ? What is 
conscience ?” 
“Conshuns, sah? I tink I knows what 
conshuns is. Conshuns, sah ; conshuns ! 
ahem 1” (Pomp here drew himself up, put his 
hand upon his breast, with his linger pressed 
in firmly, and with his eyes rolled up 
in a sanctimonious fashion, said, w ith great 
energy), “Conshuns is dot fee tin in heue, 
what says 1 won’t Dot's conshuns, sail !” 
-- 
MAKE THE DAY ATTRACTIVE. 
Too many children very early conceive a 
disrelish for Sunday, because it is associated 
in tlieir minds w ith long sermons, rigorous 
injunctions at home, and entire absence from 
restraint, parents often make a sad mistake 
iu this respect, pursuing the very course 
which is calculated to make their children 
chafe and fly to the other extreme. 
It is possible, il is not. difficult, ns another 
Iris expressed it, “to make tbe Sabbath a 
day of rest and gladness for the lit lie folks ; 
though it requires sonic thought and some 
long service. It is dangerous to suffer them 
to grow up to dread its sunrise and to rejoice 
in its sundown. He who attends religions 
service so rigorously that he has no time to 
study the religions wants of hist own children 
mistakes the day, and breaks the Sabbath by 
proxy. Iu no way cun we more effect dally 
forbid our children access to Christ than by 
making the day that celebrates his liinmph 
over death a day which represses tlieir life, a 
day tedious and odious to them. In no way 
can we invite them more effectually to the 
Lord than by making the Lord’s day a joyous 
and spiritually attractive one to them.” 
