H A CHRISTMAS GIFT.

"For, O; for, O the hobby horse is forgot."

--HAMLET.

It was a clear winter evening. Mr. Sylvester sat in his library, musing
before a bright coal fire, whose superabundant heat and blaze seemed to
make the loneliness of the great empty room more apparent. He had just
said to himself that it was Christmas eve, and that he, of all men in
the world, had the least reason to realize it, when the door-bell rang.
He was expecting Bertram, whose advancement to the position of cashier
in place of Mr. Wheelock, now thoroughly broken down in health, had that
day been fully determined upon in a late meeting of the Board of
Directors. He therefore did not disturb himself. It was consequently a
startling surprise, when a deep, pleasant voice uttered from the
threshold of the door, "I have brought you a Christmas present;" and
looking up, he saw Miss Belinda standing before him, with Paula at her
side.

"My child!" was his involuntary exclamation, and before the young girl
knew it, she was folded against his breast with a passionate fervor that
more than words, convinced her of the depth of the sacrifice which had
held them separate for so long. "My darling! my little Paula!"

She felt her heart stand still. Gently disengaging herself, she looked
in his face. She found it thin and wan, but lit by such a pleasure she
could not keep back her smile. "You are glad, then, of your little
Christmas present?" said she.

He smiled and shook his head; he had no words with which to express a
joy like this.

Miss Belinda meanwhile stood with a set expression on her face, that, to
one who did not know her, would immediately have proclaimed her to be an
ogress of the very worst type. Not a glance did she give to the unusual
splendor about her, not a wavering of her eye betokened that she was in
any way conscious that she had just stepped from the threshold of a very
humble cottage, into a home little short of a palace in size and the
splendor of its appointments. All her attention was concentrated on the
two faces before her.

"The ride on the cars has made Paula feverish," cried she, in sharp
clear tones that rang with unexpected brusqueness through the curtained
alcoves of that lordly apartment.

They both started at this sudden introduction of the prosaic into the
hush of their happy meeting, but remembering themselves, drew Miss
Belinda forward to the fire and made her welcome in this house of many