rriedly rising, coming to him and laying a hand on his shoulder,
"don't feel so. I can understand better than you how desperately one may
feel who is poor as well as old. Sister-in-law Sally, I forgive you; for
if you have raised a ghost--that has put some gray hairs in my head in
the last twenty-four hours, I think--you have also laid it, and forever.
Yes, Sally, I forgive you with all my heart; and if you want to be
independent and go back to England, I'll give you enough to enable you
to do so."

She was sobbing, too much overcome to reply in words, and could only bow
over and kiss the kind hand that he extended to her. Then she turned
toward the door, and her son led her out. Rutherford called to him as he
went, "You must return, Honey," and he nodded assent. Mrs. Honey, pale
and silent, followed them to the vestibule. After a short absence she
returned with her husband. Tinkling sharp and clear in the crisp wintry
air, they heard the bells on the horses that carried the old woman away.
Fainter and fainter became the sound until it died away in the distance,
and then the cloud lifted, as if by magic, from over the house-party,
and at last "Merry Christmas" came for them.

CELIA LOGAN.

_A CHRYSTMESSE WYSHE._

There be
A wyshe I have for Thee
Thys Chrystmesse-tyde:
Maye Joye, and alle Gladde thynges
The seasonne brynges,
Gette to Thee
And Abyde.

WM. HALLISTER WALL.

"_DEAD-SHOT DAN._"[A]

"Come, Dan, old man, it's your turn now."

This remark was made by one of a group of miners seated in front of a
camp-fire in San Mateo canyon on the Colorado.

The person addressed as Dan was a splendid specimen of a "frontiersman,"
having all the characteristics of a frank, free American, with the
physical advantages of a stalwart "Englisher." Among the miners he was
variously known as "English Dan" and "Dead-Shot Dan." How he got the
latter nickname always seemed a puzzle to his comrades, for he was one
of the best, gentlest, and kindest fellows on "the lode." His manners
and appearance indicated anything but a wicked nature, and he was always
ready to do a comrade a good turn, or act as peacemaker in the
ever-recurring rows of the miners.

It was Christmas Eve, and the boys were gathered around the fire,
smoking their pipes, and telling stories of their past lives. Some told
of homes and loved ones in the far-distant States; some of the late
Civil War and its scenes o