Year: 1875

Again had the beautiful season of the
birth of Christ dawned upon earth.
Again the choral hymns went up, the
goy-bells clashed upon the crystal air.
1t was the festal time for all Gods tired
children, wandering, stumbling, straw
ing onward in the Journey to their rich
inheritance. The time when hands
should clasp upon old feuds; when the
balm of forgiveness should be poured
upon old scars when pride, vain glory,
and all uucharitableness should flee
away, like sorrow and signing in world
to come.


To-night-for it is Christmas eve-it
is bitter cold, and the stars look down
with their sleepless eyes upon the great
city, all alive with mirth. Uptown
every door that opens sends forth a
burst of light, of life, and song, that
trembles out and dies upon the wintry
wind. Through window panes where
no selfish blinds are drawn, there are
sweet home pictures to be seen in pass
ing.


But while in swift succession these
Christmas phantoms pass before my
view it is not here, among the mansions
OF the rich and great, that must inger
now. Quite out of the pale of May Fair





writ In shining letters: "John Bright
grocer"


"a merry Christmas." It was in
scribed in an arch of evergreen within
the door it echoed II ON every passing
tongue aud if ever a fat, honest face ex-
pressed Q kindly greeting, John Bright's
repeated this.


Throughout the lingering twilight, a
busy stream of holiday folks poured in
at the grocer's portal, and blocked up
the street in front. Mr.. Bright and his
two assistants had work enough to tie
up brown paper parcels, and fill jugs,
and load baskets.


Tue best of it was that somebody ac-
tually bought the fat turkey, who lay in
state on bier decked with parsley
sprigs, and his arms crossed, like hero
as he was. taking hiS rest, under the gas
jet in the window.


Mr.. Bright might we'll have said
Ichabod after that, for the brother and
sister turkeys which remained looked 80
insignificant. nobody cared even to ask
their respective price. Perhaps that was
the reason why, when it came to be time
for Mr.. Bright's two assistants to unite
their aprons and go home, the fat grocer
ordered them each to take one Of the re-
naming fowls, and never let him hear of
it again


He did not look very indignant, how
ever, as he brought out two well filed
baskets, and told each assistant to take
that home, and never say that he had
not seen the color of plum pudding,
but it smelt very much like tea, and
oranges, too, and the thin face of one of
the poor boys frightened up so, that
don't think his feelings were hurt. (He
had just come there, and was said to
have grandmother dependant on him
at home.)


All this time, and whilst every face
wore a smile, and every eye a gleam,
there was one little outsider whose lip
had never learned to laugh, and whose
hollow orbs reflected nothing of the sea-
sons merriment.


Crouching in the shelter of large
packing box, its cheek pressed close to
the shining pane, a tiny creature sat.
hour after hour gazing in at the won
ders from which it was so utterly cut off.
On tragedy of forsaken childhood, how
terrible thou art A great gulf lay be-
tween this little one and the children
trooping by, their lips warm with mother g
kisses-hands claspedin large and loving
ones-hearts beating high with fond an
ticipations. It was only one atom OF the
mass of orphaned humanity swept out
with the dust upon our streets-auite
alone, this child that chung with suffer
ing hands to the window frame, and
shrunk from every passer-by. Young as
she was, she knew the policeman's g cry
OF Move on" and dreaded the rude