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oti»:\s. BT MARIA LOU EVE. She rocks us to Bleep—old nature, our mother. And croon* her one song; for Rhe knows no other; 8uch an old, old song—all, would she but sing Of the years to come, and what they shall hi ,ng. Or would she but nod, and talk In their sleep; We are sure sue knows, for she looks so deep. We study the st irs—but alas, they are strung On letters of light, in an uii known tongue. Ho we msk the birds if they do not know They tell us in song, but our ears a. e slow. Then we pray the moon, as a hope fo-'orn. What gifls she has brought in her silver horn. But she only smiles—the best she can do; And holds out her lamp, (or lovers to woo. We seek for a sign, but none shall be given, We’ll know it, at last, when the bolts a.e riven. WINTER PICTURES. Gloomy clouds are Rkiriinglow, Their silent chambers tilled with snow. Or, through the heaven's seudding fast, Hurrying by w’-th chilling bla n. Snow-birds, ne tlingelo.se together, Brush and smooth each downy feather. Twittering at the barnyard door. Seat eh for seeus strewn on the tloor. Berries are > ed on holly trees, Head leives 1 usl le in the breeze. Brown ghosts of flowers strew the mea l. Blasts are scattei log the ripe seed. Brooks eteen slow through quiet dalet, Wiierv a<e "rouped the sp ckled quails. Hilent wools, their songsters gone, Only hear the nine's sail moan. Winter comes In robes of snow. W.lh while garments trailing low. Marble domes of mountains high, Whose hoary foreheads kiss the sky. Winter come; with (besides warm. Hearts that glow despite of storm. Faire t are 1 tie~e flowers that blow Underneath the chilly snow. There are hearts litre winter flowers, Blooming in the daikest hours. And these are life's de .rest dowers. Kentucky. Christ . 1 c. How Tressy Got H er Christmas “Things.” Christmas was comiDg to two dear little prai- rie-land children who had cnly heard of the beautiful presents that make glad the hearts of boys and girls fn the cities and towns. ‘Tressa,’ Mr. Whitter said, one bright day in December, ‘can you keep bouse along with Jim my, while your mother and me go over to the settlement?’ Jimmy was the sturdy little son of the Hopes, who were the Whittieis next door neighbors, which meant that they lived a mile away across the prairie. ‘Oh let me go, do father,’ cried Tress, spring ing up from her patchwork—‘I’ll be just as good!’ ‘You can’t,’said her father, ‘we’ve got to bring back meal and potatoes, and there won’t be room. Be a good girl and stay at home. Jim my and you can pop corn, and the time won’t seem long.’ •Can we?’ cried Tress. ‘We’ll stay. Make Jimmy come right off, father, do.’ •O yes,’ laughed Mr. Whittier, ‘he’ll be here in ten minutes, never fear. ’ • So father and mother and little Baby Robin were tucked in the sleigh and started off. Tres- sy sang gaily to herself as she ran into the wood shed for the corn and the old popper. ‘I wonder why Jimmy don’t come,’she said as she finished shelling, and flung the last cob away, ‘it must be most fiv9. ’ And she peeped out of the woodshed door that commanded a good view of the trail for quite a distance. But no one being in sight, she turned away, and be gan to pick up kindlings to replenish the fire for poppiog. Just then a little rustling noise struck upon her ear. ‘Hoh-hoh, Mister Jimmy,’ she thought, ‘I won’t look around!’ But curiosity getting the better of her deter mination, she turned her head, and there, stand ing just outside the door, with his fore paws on the Bill, and his two cruel eyes fastened on her face, was a big, black bear! Tressy dropped the kindlings and gave one bounce np the two steps that led up into the house, forgetting, in her fright, to close the door after her. Up followed the bear. Now Mrs. Whittier had hung—the last thing before she went away—ready to fry after their long, cold ride, two slices of bacon on a long nail that also held several strings of apples left to dry. The bear, smelling these, left Tressy for a minute, and ambling over to the corner, he presently twitched them down, and began to despatch them. Without stop ping to think, Tressy flew to the door leading to the stairs, and rushing up them to the loft, she opened the little scuttle door and sprang up on the flat roof, knowing from the stories she had heard her father tell, enough of a bear's chasing faculties to realize this was her only hope. Trembling in every limb, and teeth chat tering, she didn’t dare stop to think a minute, even after th6 scuttle door was securely shut between her and the bear. ‘Oh, Jimmy'll be killed!’ she cried, wringing her hands, as a merry whistle rang along the trail. •Don't', she screamed. ‘Jimmy, don’t whistle—there’s a be-arY But the wind took her voice the other way, and still the whistle rang out, merry and clear. Tresp, in perfect desperation, tore off her white apron, aud flapped it in the breeze, screaming, ‘Jimmy!’ ‘Hulloa!’ And the whistle came to a dead stop. ‘Oh, don't come!’ cried Tress, motioning him back and leaning over the edge of the roof. ‘Tnere's a bear in the house! ‘A bear 1 .’ said Jimmy incredulously, ‘hoh! I don’t believe it! you've been dreaming and got Beared!’ ‘Oh, there is,’ cried Tress in the greatest ter ror. ‘Don’t go in, Jimmy, you'll be killed—he jumped into the woodshed and chased me all into the house!' ‘Well,’said Jimmy, inwardly sniffing, ‘I guess ’twasa sqniriel: I’m goin’ to peep into the win dow,’ So in spite of Tressy’s pleadings and be- moanings, Jimmy crept np softly and took one look in the little low window. And only one, for be immediately bounced out into the read at such a fearful rate, that Tressy, up high on the roof, thought*surely the btar was after him. ‘O '/is Tress!’ he gasped, ‘he’s awful big! and he's a-lyin’ down on the rug.’ ‘Do you suppose you could shut the door? whispered Tress from her parapet, ‘so's to keep him in till father gets home?’ •I don’t know,’ said Jimmy, who showed no great desire to approach the house; but knowing Tressv’s eves were upon him, he started with knees’ tha’t knocked together in such a lively manner that he could scarcely walk, and accom plished the feat successfully. 'It’s done,’ he cried, flying back into the trail. ‘I ain’t afraid •' •Now Jimmy,' said Tressy, ‘he might get ont, yon know, or tear the house dowB, so you must get somebody here, quick!’ •I'll run right home and get father, only I don’t want to leave you,’ cried Jimmy, craning [his neck to see his little playfellow. •|f you don't get somebody quick, said Tres- ay, ‘I shall freeze to death—my toes are just like ioe, Jimmy Hope!’ Oh dear,’ said Jimmy, ‘it must be awful cold up there! Tress, do keep a-walkin’—I wish I could pitch my jacket up,' and he began briskly to pull it off. ‘Dont, Jimmy,’ cried Tressy, ‘you couldnt pitch it sos I could reach it—and besides do hurry—I think I hear him a-movin !’ This had the effect to start Jimmy at a pretty lively pace down the trail—but he didnt whis tle. To Tressy the minutes seemed like hours be fore Mr. Hope and one or two men whom he chanced to pick np, came to her resone. She scarcely heard the preparations for the captnre, and when his bearship was securely shot through the little window, the shouts and huzzas of triumph fell upon ears so benumbed that they made but little impression. The events of the past honr seemed like a dream, and she was floating away—until strong arms carried her down the little orooked stairs, and into the old kitchen. Here she came to with a gasp. ‘G, she aint dead!’ cried Jimmy in intense re lief, ‘she aint\ Look at him, Tress—aint he a bouncer!' But Tressy turned away her head. ‘Ire seen him enough,'she said. ‘Itstbe biggest one,’said one of the men,‘that’s been around in these parts for one spell.’ 'And that skin will fotch a lot of money,' put in Mr. Hope. At the word ‘money’ Jimmy and Tressy pricked up their ears to catch every word, and then looked at each other and ‘Christ mas’ was in their eyes. Just then sleigh-bells were heard. 'Here they come!' oried Jimmy, ‘1m a-goin' to tell ’em first.’ ‘Come back, Jimmy,’ called Mr. Hope, ‘youll scare Mrs. Whittier—let her git in fust.' Tressy could hear l|er mother give a pleasant little laugh, and say, ‘Its good to get home, John,’ and theu the door opened and she saw their faces! The rest was all eonfusion, and when the hubbub cleared away, Tressy found herself in her mother's lap, tightly clasped to her heart. ‘Mv brave little girl,’ Mr. Whittier would say, coming up every two or three minutes, and pat ting Tressy's yellow head and then going off to look at the bear again. ‘Ill give yon,' said one of the men, ‘ten dollars for that bear.’ ‘He's a beauty,’ said Mr. Whittier, pushing his bearstrip’s paw with his foot. ‘You may nave him—bes come in the right time for my little girl's Christmas. ‘O!’ Tress gave a small howl at that, as she sat in her mother’s lap. ‘Our Christmas has come, Jimmy Hope! the bear’s brought it! the bear’s brought it!. So in the following days the two children were taken over to the ‘Settlement,’and allowed sweet liberty in buying of presents, till the •bear-money’ was all gone. And the result was that a tree, beyond any of the brightest dreams of the children, blossomed out into beauty, and stood oj Christmas night in the very spot that their strange and unwel come visitor had occupied. And the Hopes were all there, even Aunt Jane, who had always openly sniffed at Christmas, and she kept wip ing her eyes on the blue stocking she tried to knit while the fan was going on. And Jimmy and Tressy, like two wild little things; hopped and danced and made the kitchen ring with their happy nonsense, while Baby Robin, his cheeks like two pinks, satin the middle of the floor,and crowed at everything straight through. ‘O, what a time, Jimmy!' said Tress in a pause in the festivities, when they two fonud them selves alone in a corner, munching candy-balls contentedly. ‘Didnt I tell you folks had every thing—on Christmas? Well, we had a bear—so there, I didnt, tell a story, Jimmy Hope!’ ‘No, you didnt’, gallantly observed Jimmy. ‘Well, this is your Christmas— now next year its my turn. You see what I*11 have!’ ‘Bettern a bear,’asked Tress, taking another bite of her candy-ball. ‘Yes, sir!’ said Jimmy, unwilling to be beaten. ‘Yes, indeed, Tress Whittier! I'm goin to bave a Gorilla!' Rills From the River of Life. ‘The church is a recruiting station from which men should go out to fight the battles of the Lord; not a hospital in which to live idly on his pension.’ A Congregational minister in Brooklyn has concluded that too much sermon’zing and too few pastoral visits are not productive of the same amount of good, in oonsequence of which he has informed his people that one new dis course on Sunday morning would be all they could expect with an old one at night. How many would have known the difference? Mr. Moody is preaching in Baltimore to large andiences, who are only admitted by having tickets. This arrangement is to give all an op portunity of hearing him and being accommo dated with seats when they come, and prevent those from different parts of the c : ty from fol lowing him to his appointments. Rev. Frank Moore, son of the late Dr. T. Y. Moore, former prstor of the First Presbyterian Church in Nashville, Tenn., has’accepted a call to take charge of the First Presbyterian Church in Covington, Kv. More than sixty persons have been hopefully converted near Carthage, N. C,, during a revi val in thjB Union Presbyterian Church of taat vic'nity. It is f a’d seven hundred Chinese in California have joined the Young Men’s Christian Associa tion with a 4 view to instructing the Christian doctrines. A statue erected to the memory of Dr. Chal mers, was lately unveiled in Edinburgh. Lord Moncreiff, who presided, paid the following beautiful tribute to his memory: ‘It was the moral fibre of the man which raised him to the distinction he attained; his power of making deep religious impressions, his ardent, fervent philanthropy, scorn of the base, admiration of the beautiful, and noble impatience with small er and meaner natures, a~d with these he com bined a gentle, almost boyish sweetness, adding the charms of a simple mind and glowing heart to his mighty conceptions and high aspirations. Unitarianism appears declining in England. At one time they numbered 370 churches. One hundred of them are in much peril, while the rest are falling off in membership and influence. The island of Cyprus is attracting considera ble attention since its attachment to the British crown while the English are planning for its spiritual welfare. The opinions of Rev. Dr. L. Pierce, off the South Georgia Conference, on sanctification, are now being published in the Southern Methodist Christian advocate, Nashville, Tenn. They have a ring of the true metal. He says: ‘There is no need of any special faith in order to a right ap prehension and appreciation of promised sanc tification, it being looked for as a man would look for the ripening of his wheat or the mel lowing of an apple.' The following beautiful idea taken from the Sunday Magazine, should be cherished in our casket of precious thoughts and Sabbath medi tations. ‘Remember that you may accumulate immense fortunes, do many wonderful things which Heaven may not disapprove and which may fill the world with yonr praise, but you must be saved if you wonld fill the heart of God with joy, and shake all the heavens with shouts of inextinguishable raptare.’ LOST GIPPY; —OR- Harry Walton’s Christmas Gift. ‘I have letters to answer. An revoir!' Belle Thesler turned her proud, smiling eyes npoD the inmates of the parlor, and then van ished. ‘What do yon think of her, Harry?’ asked pretty little Mrs. Le Rue of her handsome brother. ‘Does she not look like a princess in that rose-lined velvet robe, with those diamonds in her black hair ’ What a form! What exquis ite features ! What style ! What do you think of her, Harry?’ ‘I think she is a very beantifnl woman, sis,’ answered Harry Walten nonchalantly. ‘How indifferent yon are,’ returned his sister, with a pout of impatience. ‘Belle is very rich and greatly admired, and in every way just the lady whom I would like to see your wife; and Harry, are yon blind ?—she loves you !’ 'Indeed!' was the provokingly unmoved ob servation. ‘You are thirty-five, Harry,’ went on the eager little matron, flashed and offended at his mock ing tones; ‘it is quite time yon are married.’ •I agree with yon, Evie,’ replied her brother frankly; ‘and I assure you that I shall be a bene dict within the next year.’ ‘And Belle ?’ ‘I admire her, oertainly, sis, and only for one thing, I might fancy her enough to ask her to be my wife,’ he said. ‘And what is that, pray ?’ ‘The face of another,’ he returned, his blonde cheeks heating. ‘I met this other incidentally and rendered her a trifling service, and that was the beginning of an acquaintance that ended with the day.’ ‘Who was she? •I do not know.’ ‘Was she pretty ?’ ‘A woman’s question ! No -she was divinely lovely. Her hair was tinted like darkest amber, and lay like folds of satin over the finest fore head I ever saw, and her dark gray eyes and ten der pink month expressed something of woman ly goodness that I miss in your idolized Belle. And she wore widow’s weeds,’ ‘0 Harry, what nonsense ! What was the ser vice you did for her ?' ‘It was slight. She was stepping on the plat form of a car, when the train started and she slipped and fell. I caught her just as the wheels were upon her, and drew her back nnhnrt.’ ‘And so saved her from death or horrible mu tilation. O Harry !’ ‘I did what anyone would have done, but the incident was a sort of bond between us for the time. I suppose I shall never see her again.’ ‘And I foresee that yon will woo and wed Belle Thesler,' said Mrs. La Rue. ‘Possibly, as I have resolved to marry,’ said the young man. There was the tap of dainty heels, the rustle of a garnet-velvet robe, and the mnsical vibra tion of a clear, high-bred voice interrupted the dialogue. ‘O, Mr. Walton, yon promised me the opera to- ntght, and I had quite forgotten. Pardon me please. It is not too late, is it ?’ ‘By no means. We will go if you will honor me.’ And so they went together to the opera that evening. It was a new, popular and much applauded af fair, but to fastidious Harry Walton it seemed very tame and commonplace. The glaring lights, the nnnatnral poses, the mocking splen dor of the costumes and the shrill, labored trills of the extravaganza, irritated his susceptible nerves, and he sank back in his box quite con tent to watch the beautiful Belle Thesler, whose classic face was amusingly expressive of his own disapproval. ‘She has more mind and soul than I thought,’ he said to himself, as he drew her glistening, snowy mantle about her bare, gem-adorned shoulders, and saw the dissatisfied curl of her rose-red lips. ‘She has never once lifted her lorgnette to criticise the splendid^toilets worn by her rivals of fashion. She has only seen the stage and heard the discord. Like me she ex pected to hear something that would make life more endurable and sweet, and she is disap pointed as I am.’ And as they drove home together, he felt that his respect for the fascinating woman.was vastly increased. ‘You were not pleased to-night,’ he observed, as they neared home. ‘No,’ she answered with seeming earnestness, ‘I do not care for sonlless songs. I like best those sweet, simple, stirring strains that arouse my feelings, and make me long for a life of quiet and affection—a cottage of love and roses ever sweet and fresh beside unruffled waters.’ ‘But could yon give up your life of excitement and splendor for love and a cottage?’asked Har ry Walton. •I could, and gladly,’ she replied; and her pleased companion never guessed that this charming mood was assumed because she had listened to his conversation with his sister, and hearing, had vowed to impress him triat she was not lacki ig in womanly goodness and sentiment. Harry Walton felt his heart bounding with dangerous swiftness in his bosom as Belie Thes- ler’s dusky fingers twined about his hands as she descended from the carriage, and only the recollection of a pure face, brightened by eyes of gray and framed in ambei-'.inttd hair, pre vented a response of serious import. ‘I have won him,’ thought Belle Thesler in her chamber that night; ‘I shall have a rich hus band and plenty of money a id pleasure. He thinks me all ‘womanly goodness,’ which virtue is at a discount nowadays. Thanks to his pride ne will never publicly discard me when he learns that I am only heiress of my fine wardrobe and paste jewels and a quantity of debts, that be will pay, of course.’ Belle Thesler enjoyed her Elysium for several weeks, and still her admirer did not make the momentuous proposal. The grave and thought ful man proved a capriciously tantalizing lover. It was Christmas day. The city was alive with people, Harry was standing amid a croud that thronged the entrance of a fashionable hotel, flanked by the finest emporiums of fashion. At a little distance a fair-haired child, pitiful in tatters and misery, sat sobbing on the curb stone. A carriage rolled up. The cabman sprang from his box and flung open the door, from which a lady in velvet and fuis and fluttering plumes descended. The lady was the beautiful Belle Thesler. The miserable child was directly in her path. With a touch of her polished Frenoh boot she thrust the tiny vagrant aside, while an unlovely frown disfigured her face. ‘I hate beggars,’ she muttered. The words were spoken in low tones, but Har ry Walton heard them even as he had seen the rude act. ‘Belle Thesler is not the ‘one woman’ for me,’ he thought. He came out of the crowd and helped the for lorn child to her feet. The child clung to him sobbing: ‘Take me to my mamma; oh, take me to my own mamma,’ she cried. ‘Where is she? Did she leave you here alone in the street ?’ ‘No she didn't I was naughty and runned away from home last night to see the Christmas fire works at the corner—me and Mattie, my maid, and Mattie, she stopped to talk to a man and the crowd pushed me along, and a big.ugly woman said go with her and she’d find Mattie, and I went and she took me to an ngly, black old hole—down cellar—and took off my brace lets and my locket and all my nioe clothes and put these old rags on me and I cried myself to sleep, and this morning, she told me she wonld take me home, and she left me in the street just now,and I don’t know where home is. Oh, I'se so hungry and I want to see my mamma so bad. ‘Where is your mamma?’ inquired Harry Wal ton, sadly perplexed. ‘Does yon know where the big fountain is with the red glasses all shining on one side of the trees? My mamma lives there in a great, nioe house.’ ‘What is her name?’ ‘Me don't know. Me is Gippy.' ‘Gippy what?" ‘Gippy Moore. Can’t you 'derstand?' demand ed the small vagrant, stamping a little, impati ent foot, clad in blue kid that twinkled, muddy and soiled, from under her ragged garments. ‘I will find your mamma.’ said Harry Walton! and regardless of the sneer of his supercilious acquaintances who had watched the little scene from the hotel steps, and the wonder in the proud, black eyes of Belle Thesler, who had re turned to her carriage, he put the poor lit*! waif into a cab beside himself and drove hon. ward to his sister. ‘Why Harry!’ exclaimed Mrs. Le Rue; ‘this child is the daughter of Mrs. Sydney Moore— yon have heard of the millionaire, Jonas Moore? Yes? Weil, Mrs. Sydney is his widow. I do not know her personally. She belongs to the exclusive bon ton, yon know. This morning I saw in the papers that her little child was miss ing and that she was nearly crazed about it. The police force were all set at work to hunt the lit tle thing and a large reward is offered for her recovery. You are in luok, Harry. You may get a reward.’ •Why Evie! as if I would take the money.’ ‘Oh, I didn’t mean the money, but yon may get a reward in auother way. Mrs. Moore is young and pretty, they say—and oh! so rich. You can make the most of this service, Hal. I'll dress this sweet babe—I've seen her in the park with her nurse and wished for her a hundred times—and you must take her to her mother. I am not sure but this fair Sydney might make you a more worthy wife than even our dear Belle,’ said this anxious match-maker, sotto voce. ‘I should not marry Belle Thesler if she were the empress of the whole world,’ returned the young man decisively. ‘She is a hollow, gilded image. She has no more heart than yonr mar ble Psyche.’ ‘Oh Harry!’ this form of ejaculation was a fa vorite manner of remonstrance with Evie Le Rue when she differed in opinion with her brother. ‘I can’t help it, sis,’ returned her brother; ‘it is not for beauty and money and style and sta tion I shall give up my Sweet freedom. The woman I marry must be—’ ‘A paragon of perfection,’ interrupted his sis ter, impatiently, and careless of the tautology of terms. ‘Then you will never have a wife.’ Harry Walton was not inclined to disagree with Evie Le Rue’s opinion. He had had his fancies, and they had not been few; but he had never met his ideal until he saw the gray eyes and amber hair of the lovely, unknown woman whose life he had saved. But it was not the beauty of form and feature that enchanted his memory—it was something of soul and intel lect that he remembered as seeming kindred to himself. But be put aside all sentiment, and was again the calm, kindly, courteous gentleman, as he placed the happy, prattling Gippy by his side in his carriage and drove to the elegant mansion on; he square. The child was wild with delight when she saw the familiar facade of brick and granate and the tall vases brimming with the glowing flowers that the frosts had not blighted. Confusion and distress evidently reigned within. A crowd had gathered around the gate, servants were harrying across the veranda, and the moment Hal descended from the carriage with his prize, a shout went up, and several of the servants ran indoors crying: ‘She’s found, mistis 1 , she‘s here.’ Then Harry heard aery of joy, and the next instant out flew a slender figure dressed in black, who rushed up to the child and clasped her in her arms, showering kisses and crying with joy. The sweet face, the auburn tinted hair, the willowy grace, it was Harry’s ideal—his dream- love; it was the lovely unknown of the railway episode, to whom he had brought back her child. Naturally there was a pathetic scene and a very proper sort of acquainiaae followed between Harry Walton and the courted, aristocratic Mrs. Sydney Moore; but it was not until the most delicate of lilac and purple had displaced the crape and the sable and gloomy ‘weeds* that this lover told the woman he adored how Cupid had been aboard the railway train that olden day, and how sorely the nectar-tipped arrows had wounded his heart. ‘Sydney, the moment I saw you, I knew I had met the only woman I could ever love enough to make my wife.’ And the lovely woman, who had been wedded when a thoughtless girl by sordid parents, to a senile money-king whom she esteemed but nev er loved, nestled her bright head within the em bracing arm and whispered: ‘My .Harry.‘ A Romantic Marriage. A Peculiar Wedillng Night- Rev. M. M. Landrum, M. D., whilst far away from home, was taken suddenly and seriously ill. In the midst of strangers, he felt very des olate and longed for the loving sympathy of some dear friend. Naturally his thoughts turn ed towards Miss Irene M. Yerby, the orphan girl, who, years before, had been received into his family, whose worth he had learned to appre ciate and who was still an innate of his home in Bairdstown, Georgia. With weak and tremb ling hand, he wrote her a short letter, stating his condition, asking her to come to him and in the capacity of a wife fili the position of nurse and comforter. The lady, on receiving this no tice, did not for a moment hesitate, but with true womanly instinct hastened to her distressed friend; and, standing beside the bed wherein the sufferer lay, with his feeble band clasping hers, became united for life to her beloved ben efactor. Hand in hand, with hearts united. They were bridgroom then and bride— Each to each affection plighted— Thus, the marriage knot was tied. The above ceremony was performed at the Kimball House, Atlanta, Georgia, on Saturday night, December the 7th, 1878, in presence of the following distinguished persons: Rev. H. H. Tucker, D. D., officiating minis ter, and lady; also, Mrs. Dr. Jones. Rev. Dr. j James W. Lawton and lady. Dr. W. M. Wil lingham (House Representative) and lady. Co 1 . Samnel Lumpkin (Senator) and lady. Mr. Wily, Kimball House propiietor. The bride, although a total stranger in the oity, received several handsome presents. So much for this romantic, Saturday night marriage, but the undersigned is curious to knew, how came the officiating minister to be married on Saturday night, years ago, it being such a peculiar night for a wedding. ZOKOXOBBE. Attanta, Ga. Mr. Sankey is singing ^Switzerland. The Family Quadrille. A PRKTTT PARLOR SCENE. Mother sits at the piano; the blinds are down, for it is twelve o’clock and we are in the sumi er. The first notes, softly struck, vibrate with a sort of tenderness throughout the vast parlor. Two children, who were playiDg in a corner, stopped to listen to the music, and their two little heads euri- ously looked to mother. Charles put a finger across his lips, and rose noiselessly; Mimi keeps rocking her doll and speaks motherly to it in a low tone, pulling off its stockings all the while. Charles walks slowly, a fan in his hand. He listens to the melody, that is now more accentuated. With the greatest care the child brings a foot stool near the piano and seats himself there. His mother has heard him, and turning her head she exchanged a smile with the little man. He has understood; he knows he can stay now. His pretty, limpid look—the true sign of a pure soul— goes up and down from the maternal face to the hands that strike the key-board. His fau persists in beating time ; his mouth opens, all the exhuber- ance of life which is in that young and healthy little body seems at rest, as intoxicated by the *> arm of that sweet melody. One plays well for oh an interested audience. \t the other end of the parlor, Mimi has shaken l f tir nead surrounded by graceful locks as by a leu aureole. She rose, and with impatient fe" he began to turn, slowly at first and noise lessly on the carpet, holding by the hands her own daughter, as she calls her doll. Now she turns around the chairs, raising her arms and repeating t* herself: “I dance, I dance.” Then, looking to her brother, she whispered : “Come and dance with me, my Charlie.’’ Charles made an energetic negative sign, but the little girl was not now looking at him. She was . busy whipping her doll, which, running against a chair, had considerably damaged it« - little wax nose. The mother heard the noise of the w.i the sonorous slapping by the little hand made tio turn round, and she inquired, laughing, what was the matter. This broke the charm, and the sweet Rossini flew out through the window. Charles left his foot stool, and climbing u on his mother’s knees: “Is it hard to play ?” he asked. To try his talents he strikes here and there with his short, round little fingers, making fantastical arpeggios aud sounding formidable chords never u dreamed of even by the most whimsical German ” composer. This seems to be the music for Mimi : she jumps, bounces, sings, turns all around the room and, red as a cherry, and almost exhausted, she runs, or rather rolls like a ball, into the arms already open to receive her. All of a sudden, Charles has an inspiration. Leaving the piano and standing before his mother : “Dance with us, mamma,” he said, “please, say yes, dear mamma darling." Both little ones cover her with kisses, they coax her to dance, their impatient little hands pall un mercifully her skirts and hold to them with a strength almost equal to their desire. “But it is too warm, children.” “I'll fan you when we get through, mamma,” and Charles triumphantly agitates his fau before his mother. She yields at last, or rather surrenders. How could she refuse? She took Mimi’s hand, and Charles stood'oppos ite to them. Then they started the quadrille— only three of them—but what matters it ? Mimi holds her dress with one hand, and jumps, jumps so high that she falls. Then such an ex plosion of silvery laugher! > Charles makes a cavalier seul, half bold, half timid, always seeking the eyes which are like a looking-glass to his own, and when near his two co-dancers, joyously and deliberately takes their hands for tlie round. At last the mother, exhausted, sits on the carpet. Charles is by her, and uses his fan zealously, She closes her eyes as for sleeping, but the two little elves wake her up by choking her with caresses. The door opens and father enters. “What are you all doing here ?” he inquired, smiling. Then Charles, out of breath, cries : “Little papa, it's mamma giving a ball!” What ball was ever so truly gay, and who could object to such dancing ? y. MEN AND WOMEN, Mrs. Welton has got a divorce from Mr. Wel- ton in Lichfield. It appears that Mr. Welton tied her up with a olothes-line, and poured ker osene oil all over her, and threatened to illnm- inate the surrounding country with her, as he could well afford to do so, as oil is but 20 cents a gallon. Mrs. Maekay, wife of the Bonanza King, has over 250,000 worth of jewelry, and when she gets the toothache she suffers just as much as the woman whose bracelets and diamonds came from the ninety-nine cent store. —Prince Lucien Bonaparte is now living in London and is devoting himself to the work of collecting the creeds of all religiocs and sects, j with a view to their classification, his object be- j ing simply scientific or anthropological. In the collection and classification of dialects Mr. Con way says the prince is unequalled. Leonard Platt, of Sheldon, la., eloped with two girls, was pursued and overtaken by their parents and married one of them, the other, who had lost the toss, being taken home by her father. William J. Wilson, the negro who founded the Freedman’s Bank, has just died at Washing ton. He wa3 a man of energy and activity, and well educated, and started a freedman’s bank in the cellar of a building in the cent.al part of Washington, to which speedily the negroes in trusted their savings. Soon he moved into more pretentions quarters and might have got along nicely had he not listened to frihnds who urged him to apply to Congress for a charter for the the bmk and power to start branch institutions. From the first the bank grew until there were at least 100 branches in the different Southern cities. The District Ring got hold of it, and lent the money on worthless securities, and down it went, all of Wilson's property going with it. His daughter, who had led colored fashionable Bocietv in Washington, got a situa tion as teacher and Wilson obtained a clerkship in the Post-Office. He was fifty-nine at the time of his death, an LL. D. of an Ohio college, and the blackest hegro in Washington. San Anotonia. Tex., December 14 —Yesterday a man named Greismar fled, drawing $15,000 from the bank and leaving his wife penniless in this city. Parties here and in Galveston say he swindled D. <fc A. Oppenheimer, and local mer chants claim a loss of $1,000. Farther informa tion is awaited with anxiety. A lady in Somerset county is just finishing a bed quilt which she began 52 years ago. It con tains 6,000 pieces. ‘No man is so insignificant as to be certain his example can do no harm.'