men of Carthwaite without further explanation.

One other inmate of the mayor's house will be found worthy of notice -old Armstrong, or Uncle Jim, as he was mostly called. Verging upon sixty, he was still tall, slight, and erect in stature; his manners had some degree of refinement, and he was wont at times to hint mysteriously at his former connection with the gentlefolk of the land. Everybody liked him and laughed at him. He was the most good-humored and the most unlucky of mortals. He spoke loftily of the fortune he lost in his youth through cards and wine; and every one knew that when Mr. Mason, twenty years before, had kindly set him up in a small business of his own, he had not waited six months before he owned himself a bankrupt. Not a stain was on his character, but everything he touched seemed doomed. Money oozed through his fingers like water, while there was no visible cause for it; and the poorer he became, the merrier he was. At last, he had taken refuge with Mr. Mason, and become a part of his establishment. No one knew or inquired about his origin; people were glad enough to let the character of his patron vouch for the respectability of the harmless, amusing, kind-hearted old oddity.

As these four sat in the study (for so Philippa would have her favorite room called), they discussed their plans for the ensuing festival week.

"Uncle Jim has been invaluable," said the girl; "he has been my headcarpenter for the stage in the school, and has made such a grotto for the crib, and, above all, he has carved two wonderful alms-dishes for the collection to-morrow morning."

"Thank God! the church is to be opened to-morrow, wife," said the mayor, seeking his wife's hand. “I

may not live to see anotner C mas nor hear another midnight In our young days, we little the we should see such thingspriests would ride forty mil a dying bed, booted and sp with pistols to fight the highway Why, even in town, it was as as we could do to get to our d Easter every year."

"Grandpapa," said Philippa next summer the spire will be ed, and we can have the ban the cross floating there, as o the city standard used to fly the cathedrals."

Child," answered Mr. M "by next summer your bridal may set the bells of the church a ing; and if I live to see that, I no more of Heaven."

66

Nobody knows where to lo the bridegroom yet," said Ph saucily.

"Hush!" put in the grandm "On the day when God ga own Son to the world, and ga your grandfather and me such a blessing-years ago-no one speak lightly of the gifts he m please to send or no." A pause, Uncle Jim said hesitatin

"The good Lord certainly the sparrows, as the Bible say I suppose that's why Miss A she must feed the robins, just low the path we're told to; seems to me, if I'd waited for to feed me one day that I w member, I'd have gone hungrie you ever did, master, in the da your trouble."

Philippa looked up with an e ant smile; she always antic fun when the old man adopt mock-serious tone.

"Yes," continued the na pleased to have at least the enco ment of an indulgent silence e ed to him; "and I was pran

the best blue broadcloth and the most shining buttons you ever saw, and had on beautiful new boots that I never paid for . . ."

"You rascal!" softly said the

mayor.

“And a hat with such a curly brim," continued Jim imperturbably. "Well, it was in the summer, the only time I really was hungry-I don't mean the summer, but that that occasion was the only one when I was nigh starving-and I and two friends, who had helped me to empty my purse, were at Bath. None of us had any money left; in fact, they never had of their own, but were of those whose tongue is their fortune; but hungry we all were, and must have something to eat. I have it!' I cried, for I was not a bad hand at imagination, Follow me to the White Hart;' and on the way I explained my plan. You will hear later what it was. Now, you will say, Mr. Mayor, that I had better have laid myself down by a haystack, and slept there on an empty stomach; and indeed, after a good supper, such as we had to-night, it would be easy enough for me to say so; but just then it wasn't likely to be my opinion. So we walked into the hotel, as bold as kings, and ordered a private room and dinner for threeFrench soups and oyster patties, fish and game, and foreign sauces and ale, just as I knew it should be, and Madeira and champagne, of course. When we had done (and, in the intervals when the waiter had gone for the next course, we pocketed as much as our pockets would stand of anything that was solid), we called for the bill, and the waiter brought it, as pompous as you will, on a silver saiver. I put my hand in my pocket, whereupon one of my friends, he says: 'Come, come, I'll stand this; it was I who proposed it and chose

the wines.' And he puts his hand in his pocket. Bless me!' cries the other. Gentlemen, I protest; it was I who ordered the dinner, and I request, as a favor, you let me pay; the cost is but a trifle." And he put his hand in his pocket. The waiter stood grinning and smirking, and thinking this great fun. An idea strikes me,' I then said. Waiter, we'll blindfold you and shut the door, and whoever you catch first will settle the bill.' At this my friends clapped their hands, and the waiter, as proud as a peacock at the condescension of such fine young gentlemen, gives us a napkin to tie over his eyes, and lets us spin him round two or three times, that he may begin fair. Now!' I cried, and he began feeling about, afraid to upset the table; but he knew the room well, and went first to a closet beside the further door. While he made a noise opening it and feeling inside, I slid to another door, and gently pushed it ajar. In a twinkling we were all three walking leisurely out of the White Hart, looking like independent gentlemen, who did the host the great honor of approving of his cook! That afternoon, we drew lots which should sell his fine suit to pay travelling expenses, and it fell on me; so good-by to my gay plumage, says I, and never dropt a tear, but got the money and played valet to the other two till we got to London, where I made them pay me what they owed through a lucky stroke at cards. And then we parted company, nothing loath on my side. So that is how I read the saying, 'The Lord helps them as helps themselves.""

Every one smiled at the privileged old man, though Philippa held up a warning forefinger and whispered: "Grandpapa told me once that you were not half so bad as you make

yourself out to be. Why did you not put on ladies' clothes, and go and beg for a dinner? They could not have said no to a pretty face, and it would have been better than stealing."

"Hark at that!" said Uncle Jim aloud. "You women are born to fool us. If I had my life to begin again, I should take advantage of that suggestion. The truth was, high society ruined me; and here I am, a destitute waif without a home. It is the first chapter of the Prodigal Son; but I shall never get into the second." He looked with comical gravity at Mr. Mason, whose glance of affectionate amusement perfectly satisfied him in return; and then the old man, drawing Philippa towards him, said gently to her:

"On your next birthday, as you know, child, you will become entitled to all my fortune, and with this present will enter, too, into great responsibilities. Now, to give you an idea of what wealth is, what it can do, and how grave a trust it is, I will tell you a story too, but more humbly than good Uncle Jim, because my fault was more reckless, and because God has been more merciful to me in making it bring forth real good. Your father and your uncles were all little things then, and do not remember it, except very dimly; and since that Christmas, forty years ago, I have never repeated the tale."

And in simple, forcible language the Mayor of Carthwaite told his grandchild the story of the distress in Weston in the year 18-, the famine and the wretchedness, the temptations of starving men, and finally the incident in which Mr. Stamyn and the poor shoemaker had figured side by side forty years ago. "And your grandmother and I have prayed for that good man every night without ever missing," added the old man, "and taught your father to do

so; you yourself, child, have p for the kind friend, whose c sion to the true faith was our est wish. But his name and his kindness was I never told till now." Philippa was silent. Uncle J his face, and sobbed. The ol ple clasped hands by the fi and looked into each other's as they remembered the bar where they had shivered and st and been nearly driven to b criminals by the sheer force o ger. Nearly two generation passed, and they were still to thanking God that he had put the heart of man to relieve low-man that night, when a crime and disgrace had so nea gun to drag them down to th of a "jail-bird." Philippa cr to them softly, and kissed then

"I understand your life an charities so much better nov said; " and when I have the sa sponsibility thrust upon me, me, I will do as you have don

The bells began to chime, a party bestirred themselves to to the chapel, where the m Mass was to be said for the la To-morrow the church was opened and dedicated to "C dy and S. Crispin," and the was to become a school. was Philippa's special escort, old couple would never separ

Un

"Did you know that story whispered to him as they cros silent streets.

"Ay, but he told me 11 speak of it till he gave m He did not tell you who the that spied upon him that n was poor Uncle Jim.”

earnings; but, as I told you in jest, a heap of rasca's helped me to empty my purse, and it was soon drained of all. I remembered your grandfather, had taken a fancy to him in Weston, went back, and found him. He took me in, and was very good to me, useless as I was. I was always a shiftless fellow, and never could keep what money I got. So he thought it better just to keep me at home, and I tried to be useful, and could be, too, when there was no question of money; and so it has been for nigh a score of years. Here we are at the chapel. That's one thing I never saw-your religion; but then, Mr. Mason is the best man I ever saw, and he's a Catholic. Anyways, there's no other religion I like better."

And Uncle Jim went in and decorously assisted at the service, just as if it was quite familiar to him and he liked it. I suspect he did, as far as he understood it. What the Masons believed could not be very far wrong.

The next morning there was a grand ceremony at the new church, and an unlimited amount of beef and pudding distributed by tickets among the poorer inhabitants of Carthwaite. After service, a carriage drove up to Mr. Mason's door.

A very old gentleman, followed by a much younger one, stepped out, and inquired for the mayor. They were shown into the study, where all the Masons-cousins, uncles, etc.— had now assembled. The servant announced "Mr. Stamyn."

Uncle Jim, recovering the instincts of his youth, suddenly stood up respectfully before his former master, who, however, did not seem to have the slightest recollection of him.

Mr. Stamyn went up to Mrs. Mason. "My dear friends," he said, "you both told me not to forget

your name; it was five years ago that I returned to Weston, and I did not fail to make inquiries, but hardly hoping that I should find you. They told me you had left, and I was lucky enough to find a clue to your subsequent career. I need not say how happy I am to redeem my promise to visit you again; I should certainly have been so, had I found you still in smoky old Weston, but here doubly."

Every one, especially Philippa, was struck by the old-time courtesy, precise, formal, yet most cordial, with which Mr. Stamyn spoke; his young companion glanced admiringly at the girl, instinctively distinguishing her from the more buxom damsels assembled round the family hearth— her cousins of Manchester and Carthwaite. Mr. Mason asked his friend and patron to stay with them, and sit at his board as the chief Christmas guest; he gladly complied, and said laughingly that he had ex-. pected to be asked. It was not until after the family meal that Uncle Jim revealed himself to his former master. His awkward self-consciousness and hurried glances had amused Mr. Stamyn in secret all the time, though his own perfectly controlled manner had given no sign of surprise or amusement; but when Jim, mysteriously bending over Mr. Stamyn's chair, feelingly asked what had become of the boy James, the old gentleman's eyes began to twinkle with premonitory signal-fire.

"He left me a few years after our Weston adventure, and, I very much fear, went to the devil!" was the an

swer.

"No, sir; Mr. Stamyn," said Jim, shaking with excitement, "he went to Mason."

"James," said his master seriously," you could not possibly have done better; I congratulate you."

Uncle Jim looked triumphantly at Philippa, who was talking to the young man, Mr. Stamyn's companion. By her next birthday she was married to him- he was Mr. Sta

myn's great-nephew and heirthe two old men did not live to another Christmas. Mrs. Mason Uncle Jim remain yet, and tel story to the rising generation.

THE night flies away, and the white dawn appears. Charles, the majestic emperor, mounts his charger, and casts his eye over the army. "My lords barons," he says, "behold these dark defiles, these narrow gorges. To whom do you counsel me to give the command of the rearguard ?"

"To whom?" replies Ganelon. "To whom but to my son-in-law Roland? Is he not a baron of great valor ?"

At these words the emperor looks at him, saying, "You are a very devil! What deadly rage has entered into you?"

Roland approaches; he has heard the words of Ganelon. "Sire fatherin-law," he says, "what thanks do I not owe you for having asked for me the command of the rear-guard! Our emperor, be assured, shall lose nothing; neither steed nor palfrey, cart-horse nor sumpter-mule, shall be taken, or our swords shall make more than the price."

turning to the emperor, he him to give into his hand the which he grasps with his own.

B

The emperor's countenance ens; he hesitates to place h phew in the rear-guard. Duke de Naymes says to him, the bow to Count Roland; the guard belongs to him of right none other could conduct it as he."

And the emperor gives I the bow, saying, "My fair n know you what I desire? I leave with you the half of my Take it, I pray you; it shall your safety."

"Nay," cries Roland, "I w no such thing. God forbid should belie my race! Lea twenty thousand valiant Fren and set out with all the rest at ease through the defile while I am alive, fear no mat world."

Anséis, Gérard of Roussill the Duke Gaifier. "I, too, there," says the Archbishop "for I ought in duty to fol chief."

"And I also, "says Count C