voice,--

"But to-morrow, children, to-morrow! I am discharged by Griffin; we
shall starve to-morrow!"

"Not while I'm about," laughed Tom. "Come, come, be calm, and I'll tell
you all about it."

And he did tell of the long years of hope and distress, of despair when
unconsciously within reach of fortune; of its final realization and of
its golden yield. "So here I am, father, and your old hand shall write
no more for Emanuel Griffin."

Then said Dolly, "You don't speak, father; you are surely not sorry?"

Sorry! He was stifled with gratitude; he was transforming into his old
self. The familiar tenderness of her voice opened the floodgates of his
heart, and he burst into a louder "Hurrah" than over Griffin's turkey,
and kissed them all around, Mr. Tripple included, and, indeed, the day
had been so successfully employed on the part of that gentleman that his
early entrance into the family was far from problematical--so of course
David did perfectly right.

Polly here broke in, "And, father, it was Tom who brought the note, and
Tom who planned the surprise for you. What did it say, Tom? you can tell
us now."

He laughed quietly, and then said, as if he were reading impressively
from the open sheet to Mr. Griffin himself, and making him writhe under
his coolness,--

"Emanuel Griffin,

"Sir: The connection of my father, David Dubbs, Esq., with your
counting-house, will cease from this day forth.

"Sir, your obedient servant,
"Thomas Dubbs."

_Told by an English Tourist._

"He seemed to be a kind of connecting link between the old times
and the new, and to be, withal, a little antiquated in the taste of
his accomplishments."

_Irving._

A STILL CHRISTMAS.

It was Christmas eve in the year of our Lord 1653. The snow, which had
fallen fitfully throughout the day, shrouded in white the sloping roofs
and narrow London streets, and lay in little, sparkling heaps on every
jutting cornice or narrow window-ledge where it could find a
resting-place. But in the west the setting sun shone clearly, firing the
steeples into sudden glory and gilding every tiny pane of glass that
faced its dying splendor. The thoroughfares were strangely silent and
deserted. The roving groups that had been wont at this season to fill
them with boisterous merriment, the noise, the bustle, the good cheer of
Christmas--all were lacking. No maskers roamed from street to street,
jingling their