delicacies that accompany the season—
pudding, mince pies, and so forth. To the
last, my faith in her cookery never faltered
a moment. "There," as Lamb says, "earth
touched heaven." We allowed them a little
light-hearted gaiety—a few friends-- Mrs.
Cranley, Barney, an admirer of our Jane's.
It was to be a little rustic sort of feast,
tempered by the holy spirit of the time, on
which Mrs. Brennan spoke with great
feeling and unction. There was One in the
"Scripturs" who had shown an example for
that, and surely the poor man, as well as the
rich, should enjoy their little recreation that
came only once a year—an unnecessary
protest, as it was we who had proposed the
plan for the poor man's enjoyment.

On this occasion we held our little festival
at a friend's, and were in a pleasantly
attuned frame of mind; the brave old
Christmas—joy-bells, forgiveness, peace,
goodwill, roast beef, and the rest of it.

"Our attached domestics," I said, as we
came to the door, "have their little night's
pastime too. Well, well! They don't get
it too often."

We were startled by loud shrieks and a
crash, as of people falling together among
chairs. Then arose the din of voices, and
the hoarse yell of some one, who gave me
the idea of being held down. I rushed in,
on the door being opened, and in the hall
ran against the flushed Jane; as usual,
holding her side.

Oh, there was murder going on. Mr.
Brennan and Mr. Find later had quarrelled,
and were killing each other!

Louder rose the shrieks. At the foot of
the stairs I encountered Mrs. Cranley, with
hands clasped and hair "down," and
uttering:

"O Lord, Lord! Oh, bring in the
polis!"

From the kitchen-door, the scene that
revealed itself was Mr. Brennan in his
shirt, sleeves, squaring at his friend Mr.
Findlater. The wretched wife was hanging
on her "boy's" shoulder, and greatly
interfering with any chance of success he
might have in the conflict. Both grounded
their arms on my appearance.

Mr. Brennan approached me at once,
declaring that he had been "shlandered" by
his friend Mr. Findlater. Mr. Findlater
(until then entirely unknown to me) was
arrayed in a massive emerald-green tie,
and had that day been burying.an eminent
patriot who belonged to a Society wherein
Mr. Findlater was a wearer of the Green,
and who had been interred with all the
honours of a procession and band. To Mr.
Findlater-- who, with his friend Brennan,
had attained to the honours of a captaincy
in the brotherhood—I at once gave a summary
command to depart. The ferocious
leader yielded. He had the highest respect
for me—he knew my name and lineage—all
he wanted was —was—his hat. This was
found for him (in the boiler, I believe),
and he departed. Mr. Brennan was led
halting to bed, and came down several
times with a candle in his hand, to explain:
to "prevent mishconstruction," he said.

"You see," I said to him, "after this,
things cannot go on as they are."

He owned it, and the curtain fell. The
spell was shivered. No one had a word
for the outcast Brennans. At an interview
with Mrs. Brennan next morning, on sternly
giving her until evening to remove, I was
amazed to find her tone changed to this:

"Well, never mind. There is One over
all, looking down on rich and poor. Maybe,
those who are well off now, may be wanting
favour themselves before a twelvemonth is
out!"

Amazed at, yet almost admiring, this
Protean versatility, I said:

"Surely, this is all your own doing. Had
you behaved even decently, you and your
husband might have remained. A
disorderly character of that sort--"

"He! There wasn't a better or more
well-conducted creature in the city till he
set foot in this house. Oh, it was an ill day
for us when we broke up our little home to
come into such a place! But, sure, there's
One in Scripter, and didn't He lie in a
manger at this blessed time?"

This effrontery and profanity mixed
made me an oppressor.

"Not a word more, Mrs. Brennan. Out
you go without an hour's delay. Take
your menial beak," I might have added,
"from out my heart, and your unwieldy
bust from off my door."

She retired that same night, accompanied
by Captain Brennan, who graciously
owned that "he had no fault to find with
the way he had been treated."

A STOLEN VISIT.

When you are wrapt in happy sleep,
I walk about your house by night,
With many a wistful, stealthy peep
At what I've loved by morning light.

Your head is on the pillow laid,
My feet are where your footsteps were;
Your soul to other lands has strayed,
My heart can hear you breathe and stir.

I seat me in your wonted chair,
And ope your book a little space;
I touch the flowers that knew your care,
The mirror that reflects your face.