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"W J A VISION OF DECEMBER long of that time when the forests are drear, On the moor, within the sound of the belfries, appear Twelve mystical spirits, the months of the year. Set the chimes a-ringinc! "With laughter and song they dance in their zest; And deep in the circle their footsteps have pressed Bits hoary December, his beard on his breast. Set the chimes a-ringing! He thinks not of them, and his mind is away; For he is too old. too old to be gay like hearty October or lily-crowned May. Set the chimes a-ringing! And a reaming, still dreaming, he murmurs and seeks Fair memories forgotten, the tears on his Bat -when the bells burst, he remembers and speaks: Set the chimcs a-ringing! 'In the watch of this night, in the Orient land, Thro' the pass of the hills which a glory o'erspanned, 3 led in the Light of the World by the hand!" Set the chimes a-ringing! lbey hear him, they heed him, that reverend . one, And the words be hath spoken shine out like the sun; Now the wild chant is hushed and the frolic is done. Set the chimes a-ringing! Then sudden for praise and for joy that they owe, They, kissing his feet, kneel them down in the snow; And all for the sake of the Child that we know. Set the chimes a-ringing! Tot the star of our hope in the gateways of morn, for the lover of love and the scorner of scorn, For the King that is come, for the Christ that is born. Set the chimes a-ringing! ?Louise Imogen Guiney. CHRISTMAS BELLS. I heard the bells on Christmas day Their old familiar carols play,' And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men! And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolle 1 along The unbroken song Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 11U ringing, sinking on it? way. The world revolved from night to day, A vo:ce, a chime, A chant sublime, Of peace on earth, good-will to men! But in despair I bowed my head? "There is no peace on earth," I said; "For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!" Then pealed the bells more loud and deep, "God is not dead, nor doth He s!o?p! The wrong shall fail, The right prevad, "With peace on earth, good-will to men!" ?Hanry W. Lonyfellow. HAPPY NEW YEAR. Happy New Year! Happy New Year! List to the words floating so clearCottage and palace, in mansion so grand, Every sweet home throughout our fair land; No hearthstone so humble but hath its own share? Happy good wishes, a glad New Year prayer. Happy New Year! Hippy New Year! Hark, 'tis an omen of fu ure cheer! Bad sorrow, fair joy,of last year have flown, New Y ear is coming w!t!i hopes of its own: I It may bring us liappii.u s.lasting and sure? It may bring us anguish, hard to endure. Happy New Year! Happy New Year! Gladly, brightly, welcome you here; Greet you with pleasure, right royally too, Bringing our dear hopes and wishes to you. "We may not look forward to view our or??i way. God's Hand will direct us from day unto j day. ?Mary Currier Parsons. I j ON CHRISTMAS EVE. fNOW had been falling early in the day, 1 but so lightly that only a white fleck here and there marked the distant housetops and a thin irosty layer ; made the srringpiece j show in the dark' like a glittering line. 1 Down by the water's edge the night was silent and gloomy. i:nly the hoarse gurgling of the stream filtering through the slimy piles un- ' derneath the pier, only the distant; wash of a paddle broke upon the | monotonous creaking of chains and cables, the same big, stiff ones that Old ; Tom Saunders had seeo make fast the j newly arrived bark at nightfall. He had been striding up and down the bare nanol *- ~ UCUJV Ul tllC UU31\J V/UUttl UUdl IU XVUCjl himself warm ever since the stranger had loomed up on the other side of the pier. He had heard screaming in the Blip beyond the whistle of tho tug boat that had brough her in, and seen the bustling little craft steam away with the sparks and smoke from her tunnel leav ng a luminous trail in thf dark. From that the gloom had been thicker about the pier and the damp mist rolling up from the bay had wrapped the ; hipping in a shroud of moisture. There had been a clatter of voices for a while on the big bark, and he had been half conscious of lining lights and hoarse sea orders: but all these had ceased long ago and now the olack hull of the new arrival j rcse up in the gloom, solemn and silent, with her masts slightly tilted oil and a lantern forward gleaming like a dim yellow star. 1 Old Tom Saunders paced the deck of the dingy hulk he was on, with his pipe gripped fast between his teeth and his hands stowed away down in the pockets of his threadbare pea-jacket. The bait tered and decaying boat was no shabbier and more woe-tegone than the man. i fYlrf Tnm w.na ]\v virttio nf tVir* vftAPfl that had turned his few struggling locks gray and drawn all sorts of deep | furrows across his face. Familiarly Old i Tom amcng the wharf men, who knew j him as such ever sincj he had come alon;; j on the old canal boat, a broken-down ! - man with a favor of better times about j him. Facetiously Old Tom, in conse-j quencc of the fondness for the tipple of that name which, it was hinted, had dragged him down to h s present low estate. Old Tom Saunders had once ! been burly, and he was still a big man. i but he had lost all his flesh. His face I looked like worn parchment, and h id j that colorless, bleached-out appcarance which a life of constant excesses begets. There was also that nervous twit(hing about the lips and that aimless wandering of the fingers which betoken a couatitution unstrung and shattered. In low spirits indeed he seemed this night of Christmas Kve as he stopped at the stern of the canal boat to look off toward the big black warehouses that shut in the river side like a wall. Up in the air a reddish haze hung over the city where the lights of countless lamps oo the thorougfares beneath had set the damp atmosphere aglow, and from some ' r _ . > ; lofty buildings the radiance of electricity showed in the fog, blue and pallid, as death lights at some infernal orgie. "So this 19 Christmas Eve. eh?" muttered Old Tom with a snort that was half a groan. "Christmas Eve, and nary a bite in the locker nor a nickel in the pocket! It's blasted hard?blasted hard lor a man that's seen better days." He crunched the pipestem between his teeth and made another ronnd of the deck, but stopped when he had reached the old place again. "There's some as 'ud say 'twas misfortin did it. And pome as 'ud croak 'bout ill-luck. 'Twusn't neither. 'Twas - 1? T T'if rum. hum ana me own muns-nncss. r.i I dadn't driv that boy away, he'd be now makin' a ijood livin' for her, no matter what I wu9 about, and she wouldn't be in there dyin'?dyin' for a bite to eat." As he spoke he glanced at the little pokey hole in the cabin, where a faint light glimmered, and turned again to the dark line of the water front. "She was never the same after he went away?never the same bouncing gal that used to 'liven up the old house like a sunbeam. 'Twas that tuk all the go out o' her. And I had to get to work and blame her for sulkin' when her heart wus breakin'." He took the pipe from his mouth and absently shoved it in his pocket. "It might 'a been all right," he went on. "It might 'a been all right ef l| hadn't carried on as I did till house and j shop and everything went to smash. I But I had to keep a-goin' while the I money lasted, and now?now," he \ repeated with a solemn inclination of the head, "it's gone." He swung about to resume his lonesome walk, but the glimmer in the cabin brought him to a standstill. "Sue's there," he said, and there was Borrow and remorse in his voice. "She's there nus3in' his baby and thinkin' of its j father; maybe cryin' her eyes out about j him. And she a-dyin' by inches." The rumble of a wagon came from the | land side, and the sound of a horn away i off in the streets sent down to the silent: wharves a reminder of the holiday jollity j going on ashore. The man started as he j heard it. "She won't be without her suppar," j he said." .Not while this here toy's lyin' around." He groped a moment in his pocket and drew out a ring?a plain gold circlet, evidently the symbol of a consummated union. il* enflflL- if r?tt'ott nr*V?*?L-nrvtx7ncf j. nay*, tu | to licr," he muttered, turning the shin- | ing trinket around in his lingers. "I'm afraid she'd take on a deal if she knowed it, for she hangs on to any keepsake of hi> for baro life. But what's the use." And the ringaud hand that held it -went down into the pocket again. "What's j ( the use o' bein' senteeir.eutal find snick-; erin' over sich things when a square meal can be got for it, and p'raps? I p'raps a drop t' drive away the chill." j He glanced, half frightened, half j apologetically, at the lit!c windon as he ! spoke, slipped carefully by on tiptoe as j though fearful of being confronted by ! ( the occupant of the cabin, reached the side, looked back again and then stepped i out upon the pier and siunk away. ! j It was only a moment's space after when there sounded among the low. j' harsh whirrs of the river something : that seemed deep in the darkness, but! not of it?something suggestive of heat and light and home, and not of this ! black hood and these great marine phan-!. toms standing so solemn in the gloom, j It was the cry of a child. Low and I weak, suppressed as soon as uttered, it still had a strange shrillness in the si-1 lent p ace, and of all the sad voices of | tide and timbers, it seemed by far the j ] saddest. It came from the cabin of aD i. old canal boat, came only for an instanl j ( and died away in what fancy involunta-! , rily pictured a mother's kisse3 and ca- j resses. | j Old Tom heard it half way up to the ; j wharf. He heard it and arrested his j cautious footsteps and brought his face j about in a twinkling to the tiny-lighted , space in the cabin that barely reached 3 his eye where he stood. The cry was j j not repented, iiut he stood there tor over a minute with his whole soul, it ] seemed, intent upon that d m glimmer-! ] ing pane. Hi< hand mechanically grop-1 \ ii)g in his pocket, touched the ring aud , it seemed to startle him. He took out , the little trinket and looked at it care- j j fully, as though making sure that it was ] really there, and brushed it with a , rough, greasy sleeve. Then, without a! glance at the street on which he had been walking, he passed back along the pier, crossed to the boat again and walked stra:ght up to the cabin and entered. A ship's lantern hanging from the roof showed a rough table, a couple of boxes, a tarpaulin, some ends of rope, and on a loosened aud slanting berth an infa.it i with a woman kneelinir beside it. It J was a pleasing face she turned up to the j old man as he came in?pleasing, and it had been very pretty?but there was a 1 sad gauntness about it now and the j dark, tender eyes looked out from bluc'.sh i nouows. "Where have you been, father?"' she ' asked. "Baby has been restless again, j I'm afraid th;it the child is growing i worse." This with a look of intinite ] solicitude at the tiny creature beside \ her. "And it's so hard to see the poor , dear suffering and be able to do noth-' iug. Why, father, what is the matter;" ( .-he miijht well ask. Tlie poor man j was standing, with his head siiulc upon | his breast, and great tears were rolling w down his faded checks, llis eyes were t fixed upon the little cabin window, but it was clear th?t bis mind was far away, j< He started as she spoke, and when he , answered it was in a voice broken with j sobs. "i ibbie," he said, "my poor gal, I've ! ( been a bad father to you, a reg'lar bad ; 'un, ain't I? I've ruined the little home' you oughter be in, and brought you and . your child to this. I know that ain't , the wust, neither. 1 <lriv him away that j would be a support and comfort "t'you, ! , and left that leetel creetur ithout a! i fotVor I'vft done all that, and I was a- ' goin to do more, God forgive me, this | very niglit. only for hearin' your baby j cryin'. I meant it for the best, I did, but j I knowed that it would 'a hurt your feel- j in's wuss than anj'thing else. There, j I.ibbie; take it. It was very nigh a-goin' j as everything else has.1' He held out the little gold ring to her ! and turned his head away. In an instant the woman was on her feet. Her long, thm hand clutched the bauble and ahot flush showed itself on her pallid, sunken cheek. ? "Father," she cried, "would you dare?" . In her indignation she wae speechless , for a moment, but then she bra!;a. down | and the tears came. "V./-. u _ , . _ - . " "It Is all I have left," she moaned, I "all I have left to remind me of him ? all of his father's the child may over see. How could you think of it, father? It was cruel?cruel." " 'Twas all wrong, yes 'twas, Libbie," tho man assented. "'But it bruck mo heart to think o' you and that lectle 'un sittin' here supperless. I heerd the bella tollin' up in the city and the horns a-blowin', and I knowed that everybody was havin* a good time on Chrismiss Kve night, while you was starvin'. I couldn't stand it. I sneaked away with the ring to pawn it or sell it, I didn't care what, till I heard the little creetur's cry, and it brought me to myself agin. 'Hischild!' I says to meself. His child! And I ri^ht about and comes back here with the ring to you, Libbie?to you, me poor gal." He sat down on a box and ran his hand through his tangled hair and saw the womau dry her eyes and look at him kindly and pityingly. Once or twice he bit his lips and shook his head, as though a struggle were going on within-him and then, in a broken voice, he said: "Libbie, I've somethin' t' tell you, but I've been ashamed t' open me mouth about it. There's times now when I look back t' the days when you was a bright gal, and poor Ned?yes, poor Ned?I never called him that befoic, but now I must?when poor Ned was makin' love t' you and I was makin' a brute o' meself t' him. He wus a good lad, but I wus so cussed stuck up with me shop and the loafers about it that used t' brag about mo that I wouldn't stand his marryin'you. When you tuck him, and I hunted him away with me abuse and me drink, I didn't think the day would come when I'd be sorry for it. But it has, J.ibbie, it has. He's gone. JIajbe gone for good." The woman was crying again, but she wiped away her tears at this and raised her paleface again. "Oh, don't say that, father, don't say ! that," she cried. 4,.Neci will come some time. He will find us yet. It seems so strange this long waiting. But he said he would come to claim me as his wife when he was able to support me, and he'll do it. I remember when he went away. He said to me: 'Libbie, your father forces me to this. Come with me or stay with him, which ever you wish. but depend upon it that I shall be 1 ack soon to claim you, my little wife, an.i when I do I'll come like a man, willing and able to take <are of you and take odds from no one.' Then he said: 'Whenever you see that ring think of me and remember that I will be working hard to keep my word.' Lie went away then and I have tried never to doubt him. But it is so hard to wait and wait and hear nothing. He may be dead. He cannot be untrue. Disappointed and perplexed as I am I will not believe it. But no word, no word. It is that is killing me." Old Torn arose and walked the length of his cabin, then turned about and came back to the seat on the box. Then he leaned over to her and said: ' I'm agoin' to tell you somethin' Limbic. It's somethin' I oughter told you leng ago but I didn't have the courage, me gal, to own up to what a scoundrel I wus." The woman dried her tears and there wa9 a look of interest in the pa!e face that encouraged him to go on. But he ^- 11 1 14.~4.~J 4- ? StlH UU311UIUU UUI'. sum lu uci miu a trembling voice, 4,Vou won't cuss mo, Libbie, will you; bad as I may be you'll forgive me now that I've como around and mean to do better." She remained impassive and only said "Go on, father." "I will. I will, if it kills me. Libbie, don't you worry yourself on nccouut o' Ned's stickin by you. He wus true to you all along. He wrote to you. He sent money to you. He never forgot you, poor boy, and I?I tuck letters, money and all. The man groveled down upon his knees beside the box aud his head sunk upon his hands. He was that moment the veriest picture of humiliation and remorse. Hut she before whom he humbled himself did not seem to see him. Her eyes were fixed on vacancy and her Iip3 opened and closed as though she were speaking to some one unseen. Then she rose with a cry of "Edward, my husband, whom I would have wronged by doubting, come to me; come, or I will die," and fell on the tioor in a Bwoon. The old man, all in a tremble, crept to tier, raised her in his arms, dashed water into her face, laid her down again, aud rushing to a shelf, felt for a bottle and lield it to the li*;ht. Empty! A curse upon the fiery brew that had brought ruin and was gone when it miijht do jood! lie knelt jigain, beat her hands, wrung hi3 own. and then starting up like a madman, dashed out into the air, leaving the woman lying in the cabin as though she were dead. Over to the pier uid across it be mimed. lie ran to tne side of the big bark. There was no jang-plank there, but he sprang for the ower rigging, grabbed it and clambered >n the deck. He saw a figure pacing up and down ;n the dark, ajid the yellow light forward showed a couple of seamen who ! iad risen from a coil of rope, lie turned j toward them, and with hands stretched i mtreatingly, he called out: "For God's 6ake, mates, let me have a j Irop of grog, or somethiu'. Me gal, j ue daughter's ayin' over on the boat i :here, and I've nothin' to bring her too. ; :V drop o' somethin' and a bite to strengthen her, ef you're men." The figure in the dark stopped, and a roice asked: "-What's all this hubbub ibnuti" "Please, sir," said one of the sailors, "n. man's romc aboard to say a woman's sick in a boat lyin' oif there, and he wants somethin1 to help her out." "Sonc^i'im to the steward," r.aid the eoice, and the form melted in the darkness aft. Up and down, up and down it went over the smooth deck?a manly figure, but with stooping head aud a solemn, thoughtful face. Once or twice the hitter turned to the big city, and the eyes roamed over the black profile of the buildings and the tall brick phantoms far oH in the a:r as though they would pierce to the heart of that throbbing hive and pluck from it some secret hidden there. A glimpse of the moon showed overhead for a moment, and the spars and ropes stood out clearer, but soon it was veiled, and the figure went on in the dark up and down, up and down as before. 'God bless you. mates, for this night's work. God bless you!" The words stole out into the air from the open companionwav, and Old Tom Saunders, who had uttered them, came J ix: ..., ;' up with & bottle and pan. Once ha stumbled in his haste, but quickly recovering himself, he came on to the deck. The silent figure had paused and turned toward the voice. It moves toward it, and then with a wild cry springs forward. The light from the ship's lantern falls on Old Tom's face, haggard and blanched and excited; on the face of the other, too?young and hearty, but sad and white with pas3ion. And in the yellow glow the two men know each otlnr. With a grand sweep of the hand the stranger has dashed from the old man's V?if lines em oalinrl litlUVi U11U UWOlXJf UUU lb uiJiuoiivu upon the timbers, wjiile the young, manly facc is thrust into the other's and a voicc cries in his ears: "Curse it! Let it lie there. It was that robbed me o' my wife. It was that drove me away into the world a wanderer in search of her. Curse the stuff! It was the cause of all;" and tue heavily shodden foot comes down on the splintered glass till it cracklcs beneath it. Old Tom has started back aghast at the young man's vehemence, but in that moment rises to his lips a cry that sweeps enmity and passion away: "My God, Ned, it wa3 for herl She is dying." The strong hand of the young seaman is on the others arm, and the face is even whiter as he demands: "What do you mean? She is dying. Where? Speak, man! Tell me at once!" "There, in that boat. Yes, that old hulk of acanawler," he adds, in response to ths other's inquiring glance. "That's what we've ccme to now." The young man turns and is at the vesse.'s 6ide before Old Tom can call out: "Where are you going? You will kill her. Didn't I tell you ahe is dying ?dying of want." From the other'3 breast comes a groan, a deep, prolonged one, and he says in an altered tone: 'Load me to her. God will not rob M ? t? juu ui uur uu>v. wuitoivu^ The two pass over the wharf and go down into the cabin of the old boat, i from which the dim light is shining,and there, awakened from her swoon, but still dazed and frightened, is the girl of the young man's love, the wife of his thoughts, lying like a blighted flower. The father was the first to descend, and he turned at the entrance to restrain his companion. 4<A TnAmnnf- VVnif. n mnmpnf. The surprise is too sudden." The young man drew back into the j shadow while the other lifted up the woman and seated her by the berth. "I j am better, father," she said, and laid her head wearily beside the sleeping child. But old Tom's actions soon attracted her. He was smiling, actually smiling, and rubbing his hands with infinite complacency. She said nothing but looked at him inquiringly. ' It's a good night is Christmas Eve," j he blurted out. "I've always heerd so. Ain't you, Libbie? Sandy Claws brings things t' chil'ren, and friends come together and news comes o' people that ain't been 'round for ever so long. Don't they, chf" She looked at him more intently than ever, and there was an eager, appealing look in her eyes. "No one knows when luck may change. Do they?" the man continued. "Father, you have heard something. Tell me, is it about him?" "'Bout Ned? Well, ye1,1 have. Now, don't take on, Libbie. You'll be quiet and easy, like a uoo.l cal." "It is about him! You have seen him. You have met him. Ho ha* come for me at last Slicturnec toward the cabin door,and was stretching her hand toward it when she was clasped to the breast of her husband and his voice repeated: "At last." There were tears and caresses and explanations. Ned had come back from his wanderings as mate of the big bark with a promise of soon having the com- j mand of a vessel for himself. In the joy J of the moment all the ha:dsh"psand pri- ! vaations of the past were forgotten, and as the bluff seaman cuddled his own | child, whose acquaintance ho then made i for the first time, he said to tlie happy ! mother: "Didn't I tell you. Libbie. whenever you looked at your wed^ig ring to re- I member me,and be sure I would keep my ! word She glanccd at the tiny circlet and her eyes cauaht. sight of Tom sitting with bended head, and the tears streaming down his cheeks. And as she j pressed her lips to the tr nket she said: "(jod bless that ring! It has brought usjoy and happiness on Christmas Eve." A Joyous Christmas. "I don't suppose they make as much of Christmas out West as we do here in j the l-'ast, do they." asked an l-.asteru j tourist of a Dead wood girl. "()li! mercy, yes!" was the enthusi- j astic reply. "Why, I've known my pa | and my brother Dock to win as many as ; twenty-nine pigeons and ten turkeys at j one shooting match, to say nothing of ! going to two lvuchinjjs in the evening, j Wc always lay ourselves out for a jolly | good time uiiristmiis. One of the most prominent Fouth Jcr- I scy "industries" is the preparation of evergreen deeorations for Christmas and i New Year's. The festoons are the handi- j work of women and girls, the raw mate- I rial being furnished by the male portion ' of the family,and the product is shipped ] in barrels to New York and Philadelphia. Off for a Foreign Share. \EU j ^^^0- ! i Mr. and Mrs. Gobb'er, in -anticipation of Christmas, depart hastily for Europe. ........ v. v: / HOLIDAY GREENS, ORIGIN OF THE CUSTOM OF DECORATING HOUSES. The Practice a Relic of the Roman Saturnalia?The Habit of Adorning Churches With Flowers Becoming Prevalent. HERE has long ; R W beeD . a m,00!!d JkPi question, waeace . arose the custom I'll if"" "Till0* decorating | ," I .1 churches and houses at Christie I ^Imastide? AntiI Aquarians, as we *7 \ have intimated, 1L are divided in their opinions as ^ j i |) to or'giu ?f rjil' J L..JI the custom. Our English ancestors *ery likely derived the practice either from the Celtic nations or from the Saturnalia of the Romans, possibly from | both. "Wherever Druidism existed the houses were adorned with evergreens, so that the sylvan spirits mitfht find there a safe shelter from the wind and the frost. The oak mistletoe, an essential clement in the bloody ceremonies of old magician priests, has become tenderly significant of the happiness and love that should abound at the joyous Christmas season. When St. Augustine arrived in Britain he was wise enough to utilize the Pagan customs by giving them a Cnristian significance, preserving such parts as were innoceut in themselves, and thus it is probable that the practice of decorating the homes and temples was continued. Such a method has been followed successfully by modern mioionaries, notably in the Sandwich Islands, i and travelers tell us the delight with j tVooo flr?\vor.lr>rin<rnhilflrAii brinf? ! TVUIbil tUbUV UVMV* ?V ? Q , their tropical berries and flowers to help ; ia the beautifying of their humble; churches. We think it is unquestionable j that the wise spirit of accommodation : shown by Augustine,in adopting va.ious Pagan ceremonies to the use of Christian worship, was not only the cause of his i success as a missionary, but also the reasons why, especially, we twine at this season the holly and the bay, and turn , winter into summer. It is an historical fact that the Eoman | Saturnalia were celebrated at the same time of the year as the feast of Christ- j mas, but whether the former had any- ! thing to do with the latter, by way of cause or common origin, it is not easy to ' i decide, nor, indeed, essential. Tfie I Saturnalia began late in December, and when we compare the Christmas orgies and mummeries indulged in up to com- j paratively recent times, the resemblance between the two feasts is striking, even in particular details. The time came, however, when in the strife for the ascendancy, Chiistianity ! determined to tight paganism with the latter's own weapons, ancl the customs ' and revelries were carried to such an ex- ! treme that several early church councils forbade, among other things, the decoration of private houses aftei the manner of the Koman Saturnalia. But the practice of adorning churches with flowers was not condemned, as extracts from the writings of the early Christians will j show. In his work "Do Civitate Dei," | the African Augustine speaks of floral decorations, and of a miracle wrought by flowers brought from the shrine of St. Stephen. Gregory of Tours praises the holy Confessor Scverns for having been in the habit of decorating his church with lilies. Venantius Fortuna- ; tus, a p^et of the fifth century, sending ! to khadegund and Agnes now and then a bunch of violets, a cluster of rosebuds, or a spray of lilies, is severe iu his con- j tra>t between men who crowd their houses with exotics, or women who deck their breasts, and the more devoted and pious who bring their choicest floral offerings to God's house. And this contrast is very evident in these days of ours, when vast sums are lavished on flowers only doomed to wither in the hot air of the ball-room, or to mingle their fra grance with the odors of the dinner-! table. K./fW; 1 MISTLETOE. In these latter days, the Christian world seems to ue getting uacK xo xne more tender solicitude of early times in its care for the beautifying of our churches. There is now what might al- ; most be culled a science of decoration. Volumes are published upon the subject, ; profusely illustrated with every sort oi j device to please the eye and inspire the devotional feeliug?the cross fleurie, the cross patowc, the quartre-foil, tho j cinque foil, the vesica, the four, five and ! six pointed star, the illegible Greek j characters, bands, shield5, drapers and i medallions, things requiring great neat-i ncss of design and carefulness of cxecu- I tion. There is all the ditTcrence in the world between many of our churches at j Christmas and what they were a gen- j eration ago. The time has gone by when a crowd of young and old used to i go out in the damp, cold woods, cut j down the snow-laden trees, or pull up j miles of ground-pine and then sit for a week of nights iu a freezing church, to j niako the "trimmings'* for Christmas. The work is done now in many instances j by professional decorato.s, and so it is j no more a labor of love on the part of ! the congregation, as it certainly should be. ]t will not do to leave our subject ' without mentioning the Christmas tree, popularly so called, though only of late years ha* it been naturalized in England or our own country. It is a gift from Germany, yet one who is curious in such j matters might perhaps trace it back to j the toy pine tree, hung with oscilla, which boys and girls in ancient Iiome j < looked for on tne si.\tn ana seventn aaya ^ of the t'nturnalia, and one of which Tiberius gave to his nephew Claudius. The Egyptians had their palm tree, and the Buddhists their tree of votive gifts, and poesibly the custom drifted westward, until Germany Christianized it in : < honor of St. Slaternus, who first pro- 1 claimed the good tidings of Christmas j in that land. It has become popular J among us. and long may its verdant i ' " branches wave with lovely fruit tar young and old. Te?ldy?s Merry Clrrlstmas. r?ever in his life did Teddy have such a hard time going to sleep as on that last night before Christmas. The more mamma sang to him and told him stories, the more his eyes -would not shut; "Why, Tam^afraid Santa Clause won't have a chance to come here to-night," his mother said, as the clock struck nine. "Oh, dear! I will go to sleep this minute ," and Teddy put his hands over his eyes to hold them shut. "Mamma, what did you tell Santa you wanted h'rmto bring to you?" The hands came down, and the eyes flew wide opon again. "Oh, never mind; I'm too sleepy to think;" and mamma put her head down on the pillow beside her wide-awake boy, and kept as still as if she were asleep. Teddy patted her cheek, pinched her nose, and felt of her closed eyelids for a minute or two; then he put his face down close to hers, and?and V. The next he knew it was morning. The sun -was just sending his first beam of light into tne room. Pussy had jumped into the bed, and Teddy took ber into his arms. Then Teddy rubbed his eyes, and looked very sharp in the place where that little beam was shining on the floor. For there, sitting straight up, with legs and arms sticking straight out, was the funniest little man you ever saw. It took Teddy a full minute to make up his mind whether it was a real little man or only a make-believe one. Then lie rolled out of bed and caught the funny fellow by the coat. By this time he had looked him all over, another beam of light was peeping in at the window, lighting up all the dark corners of the room. And then such a lot of things as Teddy saw I can not begin to tell you. You may be sure he was glad that he went to sleep in time lor fc'anta Claus to come. For you know he never comes until little boys are fast asleep. liemember this on Christmas Eve.?Treatlire Trove. 'lite aiisuctoc. When winter nights grow Ion?, And winds without blow cold, "VVe sit in a ring round the warm wood fire, And listen to stories old! And we try to look grave (as maids should be) When the men bring in bows ot the laureltree, Oh! the laurel, the evergreen tree! The poets have laurels, and why not wel ?Barry Cornwall. Christmas Huuior. Ths mu9s that children are anxious to get into?Christmus. As the Christmas tree is bent, so is the youthful heart made glad. Christmas is the anniversary of dyspepsia's fowlest conspiracy against comfort Hose more despised by little children than the man who takes no stockin' j Santa C'laus? The man who takes unto himself a wife on Christmas eve will te sure to have well filled stockings. It is said that a child born on Christmas will always hate turkey and goose, and lean toward codfish and bacon. i ce smau Doy now puis iu ciguiuuuia a day flattening his nose against the windows of confectioncry and toy stores. "Is Kriss Ivingle alive, papa!" The small boy said. "All! j'es, and 'kicking.'" Said the faipily head. Christmas is rapidly coming this way, and the young mau with a JS'o. 8 foot will, as usual, be presented with a pair of No. 0 slippers. Listen to the sleigh bells jinzle! See ;h-> merry snowflakes miugle! How it nm ;es the life blood tingle! A royal welcome to old Kriss Kringle! If you really desire to perpetrate a practical joke upon your printer this year, ."-end him the amount cf your subscription on Chiistmas. A young man who gave his girl a $75 gold watch last i hristmas, married her during the suirmcr and now he thinks the present was "lime" well spent. What time the holidays roll round, The bad boy, still in frocks. Led by the ear, to his ma draws near, And gettetli Ins Christmas box. ".Mamma, said the little one, "do you kuow what you are going to give I me for Christmas.'" "Why, yes," said the mother, "of course I know." "Well, for mercy's sake don't tell me," responded the puss with great vehemence. AT THE EDITORS TA15I.E. Ye C'hristnr.s tide now ebheth low? Yulo-log and carols, chimes, Ye holly and ye mistletoe AUU .ill ) ? Jiiri i xv Have gone, perchance to come no more; Yet at our t.hristnias feasts. With turkey, gooso and other beasts, We still bring in ye bore. Tlio IJcnedict Before Christmas. With a bundle See biui trundle Down thestre -t with body bent! Eyes fro"i sockets Start lii?v rockets! In his pockets Ho can't find a single cent. The Diule'd Christmas Shadow. m Q iff M The first mention of December 25th as Christmas Day is in a catalogue of Church Festivals for A. D. 354. I will honor Christmas in my heart ind try to keap it all tto jnr.?DicJmti CURIOUS FACTS. ill Portsmouth, Ohio, is to have a COOT I England built her first steamboat ill 'I Every mineral abounds in Kansas eX|^ cept borax. VI The Emperor of Austria pays tw<S| cents apiece for his cigars. 9| The first male Chinese baby born Boston, has just made its advent. The word "asthoree," occurring Irish sougs, is simply a term of endear^H The penny or denarius of the Ifewflj Testament was worth l'u.75 cents of oiu^B In the population of the world Chin^B stands tirst, the British Empire seconc^H and Russia third. |H Charles Mitchell, of Indiana, has gon^H cra/y over trying to find a peach-treaM ? I, I nt/tnl/-] K/VanfrttU i r* f Vl O WITltPl* YVU1UU YVVSU1WL ucai XI Ulb ILL VUW ?, ?-?w. Fireworks are said to have been known to the Chinese in remote ages. They were invented in Lurope, at Florence,^ about 13U0. "Whenever twins are born in Hartfor<L^H Conn., a certain lady of that city visiti^J the mother and gives each baby a hand-^H some present. Charles Jackson,a Virginian,has spen^H thirty-two years looking for a burie^H treasure, and is not discouraged yet fi^H says all things come to him who waits. Among the students at Princeton ColB| lege, New Jersey, is one seventy-tw^B years old. lie is studying for the minis^H try, and expects to graduate this tcrm^H in St. ranrs, l^onaon, mere a whispering-gallery. A voice utterec^H most feebly at one side of the gallery heard .distinctly at the opposite side, great distance off. The largest continuous sleeping-car W service in the world is that on the Santa H Fe system, which runs through sleepers I from San Diego, Cal., to Chicago a dis- H tance of 2311 miles. .v.1 Egyptian topaz, brought up from tfcefl ruins of Herculaneuin and Pompeii, shows the same inextinguishable color! to-day, after it has been buried hundreds H and hundreds of years. m When the doctors can't save a nativeM of China, the Ling Hoop, or prayer man,^| is called in. For one-fourth of a cent haS will pray half an hour, and if the victim* doesn't rally with that he is left to go onfl with his dying. A citizen of New Ulm, Minn., owns afl horse which he considers an unerring H weather prophet. He can always teliH when a storm is coming by watching thefl animal's eyes, which change from a very? light color to dark blue twenty-fourH hours before a change in the weather. H The white potato comes from Peru andH Chili, where it grows wild even now. ItH wa; introduced into England by SirH Walter Raleigh in MSG and into IrelandB about *200 years later. It is called IrishB because it is a staple article of foodB there now; perhaps because if it isn'tB Irish, it ought to be. B A Lecture on Nisbt-Wrappers. B When the air is cold and the weather B inclement it is the general custom tofl wear garments of extra thickness andfl warmth, and to sit round roaring fires. B But, on going to bed, what takes placelB In ninety-nine cases out of one hundred^ people win pass irora me warm uvjug* rooms into chilly bed-rooms. As if the sudden change from extreme heat?for there can be little doubt that what with fires, gas and insufficient ventilation, people are in the habit of breathing an atmosphere the temperature of which it considerably higher than it should hygicnically be-to excessive cold is not sufficiently absurd, they proceed to divest themselves of their several warm garments, to garb themselves in thin lioen nightshirts, and to consign their heated bodies to the cooling influence of unsympathetic sheets. Conventionality has habituated one to the custom; bat a really serious contemplation of it cannot fail to make an utter absurdity of the custom clearly apparent. The Chinese, from whom many useful lessons have been learnt by morecivili/ed nations, can give us a wrinkle on this subject. John Chinaman sleep3 in the ! same kind of clothes as he wears iu the i daytime, the ea9y and flowing garments to which he is addicted allowing of.this wiihout causing inconvenience. WestI <?rn nations are not favored in the latter respect; but still it would be quite pos-H sible to replace the airy nightshirt fttH present in vogue l/y some garment which, H as regards warmth, was equivalent toH the several distinct articles of clothingH constituting the working diea worn byH day. Dwellers iu foreign countries in-H variably sleep iu flannel garments, nnd^J the backwoodsman wraps himself in a^B stout woolen blanket and defies the ele-^l ments. They are sensible. TheSiumanH frame should, undoubtedly, be clothedH in woolen garments, for wool is a bad|H conductor of heat. Enveloped in ifannelH the body maintains a normal tempera-H| ture. which is of the greatest importance, No sooner does the temperature fall thaa^| the action ot the various functions be-^B comes impaired; the nerr.s get out ol^| gear, and the whole system suffers dis-^| organization.? Washington Star. MB Why 1900 is Not a Leap Year. KM The following explains why the year^B will not l.e counted among leap^l years: The year is days, ") hoursaadHj 4!) minutes long; !1 minutes are taken^H otrnrv v^nr to llliiJcfi the VCar davs^H long, iind every fourth year we hive an^H extra day. This was Julias Cuiar'a ar-^| rangemeut. HE Where do these 11 minutes come from?^B They come from the future and arepaid^B by omitting leap year every 100 vears.^B But if leap year is omitted regularly^H every 10 th year, in the course "of jears it is found ihat the 11 miuutes^B taken each year will not only have beea^H paid back, but ihat a whole day will^J have been given up. So Pope Gregory^B .XIII.. who improved on C'asar's calen-^B dar iu 1 decreed that every cen?Hfl turial year divisible by four should be a^B leap year after all. So we borrow ll^B minutes each year, more thau paying oui^H borrowings back, by omitting three leap^B years, in three centurial years and square^B matters by having u leap year iu the^H fourth centurial year. ^B Pope Gregory's arrangement is so ex-^H act and the borrowing and paying back^B balances so close that we borrow more^H than we pay back to the extent of oaly^H oiie day in JS'iU years. BH A Leather Turtle. 9fl la a little pool in the pigeon house ia^H Central Park, New York, tnere lies specimen of the leather turtle, recently^H received from Texas. He is a lazy chap. but his vampire beak shoots out now^| and then with such startling rapidity^B that the birds coming down to the edge^H of the pool to driuk do so with a great^B deal of trepidation. He is about ei^h^H teen inches long, and when he waddle^H across the floor his back moves ix^H rhythmic waves. There is no shell noi^M bones, the coveringjto the flesh is elasti^H and ductile and of the color of a darlSD tanned ox hide.