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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.) INSTINCT PRINT