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VOL IV J. fL & W B. SEALS,)KoMt5ero«s ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY,DECEMBER 28, 1878. TERMS IRAK'S'
Christmas Eve.
Two little children, Ruthie and Ren,
Sat in their playhouse looking as grave
As one sees grown up and world-wise men,
When they have met in solemn Conclave.
‘Buddie,’ Kuth, womanlike, first began,
‘I)o you know Christmas is very near.
And that Santa Claus, the dear old man,
B With all his ‘goodies' will soon he here?
Candies and cream-cakes, dollies and drums,
Six tiny reindeers that make no fuss.
Children all glad when Santa Claus come.
What do you think he will bring to us ?
Perhaps he’ll loiget; he must be old.
The tea set and drum he brought last year;
I guess it were best he should be told.
We'll ask him like God and be will hear.’
Then dropping beside her little chair
And folding her hands in solemn way,
Her face half veiled with golden hair.
Murmured devoutly: ‘Let us pray—’
‘Please Santa Claus send—' a bird chirped then
Over her head in the old oak tree,
‘A ball and a bat for brother Ren.
A bird in a swinging cage for me.’
Silent and solemn stood little Ren,
Motionless as if carved from stone,
Till the last words of the prayer were done,
And then responded a loud ‘amen.’
CHRISTMAS MORNING.
Two red stockings had all through the night
Hung by the fireplace low on the wall,
And with the first rays of morning light
Children’s feet pattered along the hall.
Buthie, on tip-ioe, peeped first in hers.
Then iiung her head,there was nothing there
But a faint bird note, the silence stirs
‘Sweet’ and she cries with a joyous stare:
‘Birdy. you darling, who brought you here ?
Whose bird are you, and what is your name?
’Sweet,’ answers birdie, singing so clear,
‘Sweet,’ to all questions, ever the same.
While like a blessing, Ben’s ball and bat
(As if too big as blessings will be)
Hung by his stocking, ami the gray cat
Purred on the hearth-rug her jubilee.
,God bless Santa Claus again and again,’
Bennie’s red lips with fervor repeat,
While Buth responded a fervent ‘amen.’;
‘Sweet,’ echoed birdie,every thing sweet.
A LUCKY QUARREL;
OR,
Christmas Eve at the Sycamores,
NO. 184
Ruth stid wis’fally,
and as if in answer
to the wish, there
came a bird- ! ike tap
at the door,and who
should pop in but
Mattie, glowing with
cold and exercise.
Down dropped her
shawl, ss laughing
and crying together,
she hugged the joy
ful children.
‘Oh Mattie wny
didnt you come be
fore?'
‘Been too busy
making Chris tmas
mince pies my dar
lings, 'Rhe sa : d gaily,
her smile betraying
nothing of the bit
ter reason that had ‘
really kept her away.
“I've brought yon
a couple of nioe ones
in the basket here,
but you mnsn't eat
them till morning, or
you'll dream about *
beats and dragoons.
But here's a lot of
doughnuts and turn
overs that yon may
eat a few of to-night,
and then pnt the
basket in the closet
for to-morrow. I
know yon’d like
some of mother Solo
mon’s doughnuts.’
’And here's a long
string of pop .corn
at the bottom of the
basket. And oh!
Mattie, you have
brought the popperl
Shant we have a
good time to-night
popping corn over
them splendid coals?
Sit down, Mattie.’
BY MARY K BRYAN.
It was Christmas Eve in Ruth’s and Ray’s old-
new home. Oil, because it was here they had
been born and here they had seen their sweet
young mother lying robed in her coffin. They
did not return to the death-shadowed home af
ter that gloomy day in antnmn when they fol
lowed their mother to her grave. They went
home to live with their nnrse Mattie, in her
tiny, honeysuckle-covered cottage in the town
suburbs. The big house had been shut up, their
father had gone away for a time and when he re
turned he had taken rooms at a hotel.
.Now, however, the solitude that had reigned
at the Sycamores was broken up, the grounds
were pm in beautiful order, the mansion en
larged aDd renovated, the exterior taking on a
handsome brown, while within, Bnowy walls,
lovely pictures, ruby curtains, soft red carpets
and velvet chairs dazzled the children's eyes
when their father brought them here the week
before Christmas, in order that they might have
time to feel at home before the grand new moth
er came upon New Year's night. They opened
their bine eyes in wonder at the metamorphosis
that had taken place in their old home; but their
admiration did not dry the tears they had been
shedding ever since they said good-bye to Mat-
tie—Mattie who had been another mother to
them ever since they were babies, when she her
self, a slip of a girl whose big gray eyes had
found their way to Mrs. Holmes' heart, had been
transplanted by her from the orphan asylum to
the pretty nursery at the Sycamores.’
‘She is so bright, I shall take a pleasure in
teaohing her,’ said the gentle lady, tend I know
she will be kind to the babies: look at her frank,
tender eyes; and at the asylum all the little ones
clung to her, and on i they called crippled Nell,
refused to be comforted when she went away.’
Kind to the babies, Mattie surely was. None
but she conld so well soothe their childish
troubles or nnrse tnem when they were sick.
And what a famous play-fellow and story-teller
she was!
‘If she were only here tc-night to tell us
tales,’ the children said, as they gathered about
the splendid sea-coal fire in the bright, warm
nursery.
‘Oh ! I wish we was back at Mattie’s home.
Its a heap jollier there !' sighed little Ruth. ‘I
want to see the kittens and the mocking bird
and big Ralph—and—Mattie worst of all.’
They had not seen Mattie since Miss Stanford
and her mama came in a carriage to the honey
suckle cottage and took them away. Miss Stan
ford was the stately looking lady who was soon
to marry their papa. She was handsome and
she wore grand dresses, but her face was cold
as a tombstone and her black eyes were hard
as jet. Mattie’s little home was a cosy place and
no mistake. Only three rooms, but so clean
and bright, with such hyacinths and geraniums
in the windows on sunny days, and with Raich
the brown-eyed big New-Foundland who went
to market and to the post office every day by
himself with a basket round bis neck, and Jacob
and Rebecca the two red birds that were forever
hopping and chirping in their cage swung up
among the honey-suckle vines. And Mattie
herself was always merry and sang the prettiest
songs and knew the funniest stories in the
world.
Yes, indeed it was jollier at Mattie's than at
this stately Sycamores; and the children grieved
alter their darling companion. Mrs. Stanford
had said to Mattie in her officious way.
•You had better not be coming to see the chil
dren, girl. ‘It will only make them cry after
you. They really take on dreadtully. No won
der their father was glad to get rid of this
scene. Yon have spoiled them awfully. Poor
Irene will have a time with them.’
I will soon make them mind me', returned the
Ruth and Ray were Dreaming of the Treasures that Santa Claus Would Bring.
bride-elect: and then lower, but quite audibly.
‘What was Wilburn Holmes thinking abont to
let his children stay with that girl? Any body
can see what she is—but it is just like men:
they never look into things. Think of his com
ing here to see the children,and that girl living
alone, as you may say, in the house, with only
that decrepid old woman as a pretext.’
The children, saying good-bye to Ralph and
Rebecca and then crying and clinging to Mat
tie’s neck, heard nothing of this but they noticed
that their little nurse's eyes flashed under her
tears, and her cheeks were quite red as the car
riage drove away.
Little Ray, who was as devoted to Mattie as
ever knight to lady, would have pitched into his
mamma elect had he known how cruelly she and
her harpy mother had wounded the heart of the
girl, who, re-entering the now lonely house,
flung herself an the bed and wept so bitterly
that old|Mother Solomons, who was frying dough
nuts in the next room, came in, pan in hand, to
console her. No (kin of Mattie’s was mother
Solomons, but the girl had brought her from the
Widow’s Home to live with her, when, alter Mrs.
Holmes death, she went to occupy the little cot
tage left her by her uncle, her only relative.
He had been a crusty, stingy old curmudgeon
and refused a shelter to the girl in his life, but
after his death, she found herself heiress of his
small possessions—his house and garden and
bee hives, his cow and his dog. Yes, and his
violin—a mellow old instrument that Mattie
learned to play on to her and the children’s
infinite amusement, who thought it splendid
fun to dance while Mattie played Zip Coon. But
it scandalized the lady neighbors, and so did
several other things that unconscions Mattie
did. They sat in judgment upon he*-, and de
cided that she walked too ‘independent,’ that is
with too springy a step, she laughed too much
and paid too much attention to dress for a girl
in her station. Poor Mattie ! she had only one
best dress, but then her figure was good and
she was a cunning seamstress; and you know
these are good folks—very good in their own es
timation—who think it a sin if the clothes of a
poor girl fit her well, and she has a pretty foot.
If Mattie had been homely, Miss Stanford
wouldn’t have thought of uttering insinuations
against her, or hurting her so cruelly at the hard
moment when she was parting with the chil
dren she had tended since they were babies.
A poor sewing girl has no business to have an
oval face, pink cheeks, and merry brown eyes
like Mattie's, and perhaps it was but natural that
Miss Stanford should disapprove of her and
should express her fears that the neighbors
might 'make remarks’ about Mr. Holmes visiting
his children so often at Mattie’s home; and then
several times he had good-naturedly.bat so ‘im
prudently’ taken Mattie to ride in the carriage
with the ohildren.
Christmas eve in the big, fine house at the
Sycamores. The children had beeu promised
heaps of presents, but still they sat by the fire,
with their hands dropped in their laps, and
sighed for Mattie.
‘I had a heap rather see her than Santa Claus,’
omons oame with
me and I left him
smoking his pipe in
the kitchen and told
them I'd run up and
wish you a nice
Christmas. Uncle
E.i is mother Solo
mons’ brother that
lives in the conntry,
and has come in to
see her.'
•Well, he’ll find it
nice and warm in
the kitchen. You
stay here a long
time with us, Mat-
tie. Tisn’t dark
good yet. Pa’s out,
and Mrs. Crane's
busy in the dining
room, and Meg, that
tends to us, is help
ing her. Meg’s aw
ful cross and ugly,
and we are ever so
lonesome. Stay
awhile with us,
pleaso, Mattie.’
And soft-hearted
Mattie could not re-
si at the pleading
eyes and lips and
the little hands that
clung to her skirts.
She sat down by the
fire while they clus
tered around her
and began shelling
the pop-corn into
her lap. Soon,
enough was shelled
to fill the popper,
and as Ralph held
it over the glowing
grate, the kernels
began a lively dauce
inside the* wire-
work, each one turn-
ing a somerset,and
falling back a puffy
snowflake. Mattie
had yielded to their
entreaties and be
gun an old but ever
delightful fairy sto
ry, and the chil
dren's stools were
drawn close to her
and the children’s
faces W' re lifted in
rapt attention. None of them heard the sound
of arrivals down stairs, the light tread on the
soft carpets, the rustle of silks and hum of
voices that betokened the master of the house
had come in, accompanied by some ladies and
gentlemen who would drink a Christmas eve
glass of wine in his handsome drawing room
and admire its beautiful decorations of ever
greens and hot-house flowers.
Among the ladies was Miss Stanford, and of
course, her mama. He had begged them to
help him choose Christmas presents for the
children. Miss Stanford was not interested in
children; she voted them nuisances, but she was
interested in endeavoring to appear amiable
in the eyes, of the rich master of the Syca
mores. She fancied he was not very mnch in
love with her, and that he had asked her to be
his wife ohiefly because the tender and lovely
sentiments she had artfnlly expressed made
him think she was the trne woman he needed
as a companion in his house and a mother_
(Concluded on Eighth Page.)
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