conforming in this computation to the Roman year, though it is to be particularly noticed that on the day of the Feast of Tabernacles they ornamented their churches with green boughs as a memorial that Christ was actually born at that time," thus practically agreeing with the modern and present date.

Although the exact day was to some extent a matter in dispute in the primitive Church, the difference involved but a very brief time, the Feast of the Nativity being kept by the Oriental Church on January 6th, and by the Western Church on December 25th. Bingham tells us that the latter date was observed as the Saviour's birthday by the churches of Egypt, Jerusalem, Antioch, Cyprus and others.

Chrysostom-"the golden mouthed "-in one of his homilies to the Church at Antioch, says: "Ten years were not passed since they came to the true knowledge of the day of Christ's birth, which they kept before on Epiphany (January 6th), until the Western Church gave them better information."

From that time it appears that the Nativity and Epiphany were kept as separate festivals. It was in the fourth century that the Eastern and Western Churches united in the observance of December 25th as Christmas Day. The old custom, still prevalent in England, of keeping twelve days as Christmas holidays, grew out of this variation in the usages of the Greek and Latin Churches as to the date of the Nativity. Collins, in "Eccles. Hist. Great Britain," cites a law of King Alfred making these twelve days "holy days."

But the observance of December 25th dates still further back in the Church's history. Hayden says it was first solemnized A. D. 98. Clement, contemporary of St. Paul, and mentioned in the Epistle to the Philippians, says: "Keep diligently feast days, and truly in the first place the day of Christ's birth."

, December 25th was ordered to be celebrated as a solemn feast and with the performance of divine service, by Telesphorus, Bishop of Rome, A. D. 137. His injunctions are: "That on the holy night of the nativity of our Lord and Saviour they do celebrate public Church service, and in them solemnly sing the Angels' Hymn, because also the same night he was declared unto the shepherds by an angel, as the birthday doth witness." The "Angels' Hymn," or "Gloria in Excelsis,' is still sung by the Church at Christmas and at every celebration of the Communion.

In the same age (about 137 A. D. ) Theophilus, Bishop of Cæsarea, recommended the celebration of the nativity of our Lord "on what day soever the 25th of December shall happen.' Gregory and St. Basil both have sermons for the day. Thus, there is no lack of evidence that there is at least nothing exclusively modern in our Christmas Day.

THE CHRISTMAS TREE.

There are at least two ancient customs that still retain their charm for children of all Christmas-keeping nations-the carols and the Christmas tree. The use of carols at Easter and Christmas is almost universal in the Episcopal Church in America. The genius of the illustrious preacher, Phillips Brooks, seldom sought expression in verse; but the beautiful hymn, "O Little Town of Bethlehem," is sung at Christmas all over the English-speaking world.

The German custom of decorating the Christmas tree, though very old, is a comparatively new feature of holiday observance here and in England. It is in Germany that the mystic tree blossoms in all its native splendor, and the Christ-child-as says the German legend-"comes flying through the air on golden wings, and causes the boughs to produce in the night all manner of fruit, gift-sweetmeats, apples, nuts, etc., for good children."

There is reason to fear that in practical and common-sensible America the Christmas tree will never flourish as in its native soil. With all the tough logic and love for abstruse speculation in the German character, there is also an odd element of childlike faith in marvels as wild and strange as the tales of ghosts, ogres and dragons, dear to Anglo-Saxon infancy.

I think no other feature of Christmas merrymaking is so dear to our children as the tree, but with us it is a vegetable of very different growth from the Teutonic variety; the beautiful traditions that cluster about its sacred stem are here but dry and dusty legends. The realism of which we boast has banished the simple faith, and with it almost all the poetry of the Christmas tree.

Of late years with us the sacred season has become, in large measure, the children's holiday. There is surely much that is fitting and beautiful in keeping thus the natal day of Him from whose lips fell that tenderest of all divine utterances : "Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of of Heaven.”

and just as John Erskine is going meanly to babble it all over the world he meets a horrible fate; and when he has been vile enough to tell of us to the colonel, Providence punishes it by making the shock too great-for I know that this stroke was brought on by the revelation of that Erskine. Dear, dear! who would believe there was so much wickedness in this world? But Providence is with us. I'll hide the packet, I'll hide the packet, my Gabriel."

Her son turned the packet over. He eyed it warily. A temptation evidently strengthened in his mind to retain possession of the packet. He slowly held it toward her. She instantly snatched it from him.

"Remember, it will be the loss of a fortune to you if anything mischances me and this is gone, he adjured her. "It will be your loss. Be careful. Where will you put it?"

"Do you see the enormous headposts of that bedstead? It must be more than a hundred years old."

Gabriel's mother pointed to the high, broad, antique bedstead. Gabriel glanced at it in some perplexity and nodded.

"Very well. They are hollow. I discovered it before I had been here four days. I shall put the packet there-see?"

Mrs. Gwynne pushed down a trifoliate piece of carving. The cumbersome headpost was, as she said, hollow.

"That is what I call safe," Gabriel observed, in great satisfaction, as she deposited the packet therein and closed it. "Promise me not to touch it until something happens me, because it will not benefit you until then," he urged.

"I wouldn't touch it for anything in the world. Besides, I'll forget it by to-morrow." "Good night, then." Gabriel departed, whistling to himself.

to throw a spell over people and ruin them. I won't touch it. I'm afraid of it."

Mrs. Gwynne shuddered and caught her breath. She looked around timorously, lest some unsuspected presence had seen and heard her.

"If the colonel lives, Gabriel is ruined; if the colonel dies, Gabriel will be a grand gentleman." She told off the situation on her fingers. The summing of it was widely different in its two results.

odds.

But the woman had scuffled with greater She did up her curls in their greasy papers and dozed in her chair. Finally she went to bed. No thought of the hapless colonel broke into her dreams. The light footfall of the colonel's granddaughter passing at midnight along the upper hall never disturbed her.

In the stillness of midnight Jet crept down to the library. She could hear voices both in the study and library, None of them resembled her grandfather's. She tapped at the door gently. Trescott opened it. Something very like shocked surprise appeared in his countenance.

"I am not coming in, Mr. Trescott," she said, humbly. "But I cannot rest. Will you tell me if there is any change?"

"There is very little change, my dear child," he said, kindly. "So little as not to be perceptible. But the physicians have hope. Go to your rest now. I will call you if there is a change. Good night."

Jet did as he desired her, and the watcher returned to his vigil.

Breakfast seemed a mere form to Trescott. He gave the physician an absent-minded attention, which seemed especially conducive to the other's entertainment, since it left a clear field for copious medical opinions. The lawyer sipped his coffee meditatively. Then both returned to the library, just as Solomon ushered in a visitor.

"I'll speak with those gentlemen. Which is

brushing past the butler without the faintest cer

The trifoliate piece of wood was again pushed down. Mrs. Gwynne's deft fingers broke the seals. The wrappings fell away and disclosed an ebony casket. She opened it and beheld the diamond.

"Great heavens !'' she ejaculated, in affright. A thousand glittering tongues of fire seemed to dart from the great gem. Hastily shutting the casket, she returned it to the concealment chosen for it.

"First and last, this diamond will be the ruin of us. I say that now. I believe it is charmed

-nephew of John Erskine," he briefly announced, at the same time closing the library door behind him. "I wish to see Mr. Trescott. Which is Mr. Trescott?"

indicated a chronic ailment of some nature. Fretful and nervous in manner, belligerent and irate in temper, he seemed merely a second edition of John Erskine himself. The waspish, diminutive invalid reappeared, as it were quite as untiringly waspish, but a degree less an invalid. He unfolded the purpose of his visit without circumlocution.

"I arrived in the night. I have examined the locality of the murder, as well as the remains of my uncle. It is needless to say that I am determined to discover the assassin. And need I tell you that I have brought a detective, besides being somewhat gifted in that way myself? My uncle has bequeathed me his estate. I shall my affection and gratitude by doing all in my power to hang his murderer."

show

The little man rubbed his hands and looked belligerently at the lawyer, as if he rather sus pected him either of being the criminal himself, or at least disapproving of his intentions toward the criminal.

"I learn at the lodge that my uncle made a communication to Colonel Castleton; also that the weapon-evidently a foreign one was recognized by Colonel Castleton. Under these circumstances it is necessary that I should see him. You are a lawyer; judge for yourself whether these

may not be important points of evidence." The stranger's sharp, positive voice ceased abruptly.

"I admit that they are very important. It is unfortunate that the colonel did not relate the history of the blade to me. He not only recognized, but remembered perfectly the whereabouts of that weapon. He deferred these matters until your arrival. In doing so I fear he has defeated the ends of justice. No one could foresee that the great finale of his career was so close. He past speech or cognizance of human events

now.'

The lawyer sighed hopelessly and gazed into the fire, as if the matter had ended.

"Mr. Trescott," began the stranger, pointing his thin finger at the other impressively, then resting its tip on the side of his prominent nose while he spoke, "the man who possessed that weapon is the man who killed John Erskine, and I shall arrest him for the murder, be he whom he may."

Trescott shook his head sadly.

"You will never know, for Cadmus Castleton cannot tell you. The weapon has reappeared after thirty-two years of absence."

"Colonel Castleton must be roused to coneciousness, if possible, energetically broke in the

"I am not his physician," was the brief rejoinder.

"Will you call his physician and let me propose this to him? I say, Mr. Trescott"-the visitor moved nearer and dropped his voice-"I know the substance of that dying communication to Colonel Castleton, and I believe I can lay my finger upon the murderer. There is one link missing-it is the weapon."

Trescott made a gesture of dissent as he said: "You are mistaken, sir. The communication itself must be established by irrefragable proof. To do that will require at least some days. As a legal man I give you a piece of professional advice: Do not show your hand until it has closed upon your proofs. Nothing is so beguiling as a false security. Give your criminal the opportunity of recovering from his first apprehension. He is under your eye."

The stranger's finger tapped his nose at each word of his reply.

"Very true; he is under my eye. Your advice is ''

"If you ask me for a consigne, it would be 'silence,' 'silence,'" supplemented the lawyer.

"I accept it. Will you call the physician? There is no time to be lost.'

The brisk stranger spoke rapidly. He started to the door himself. Evidently he had set himself to work upon this ugly investigation with a determination to bring some one to the bar of justice. No scruples of delicacy or feeling hampered him. Trescott summoned the physician. The same apathy was apparent in his manner. The sanguine alertness of Erskine contrasted oddly with the indifference of the lawyer.

Doctor, is there any possibility of rousing your patient to consciousness for a few moments ?"

The physician consulted his watch and reflected a moment.

"A telegram was sent last night for a consulting physician from the city. He cannot reach here before to-morrow. It will be too late. Colonel Castleton was beyond hope from the first moment of his seizure. Colonel Castleton is slowly regaining consciousness now. It may last two or three minutes. Certainly not longer. When it is over, all will be over," was the slow, regretful response.

The nervous stranger ran to the hall-door and signaled some one outside.

"There is a chance, Porter," he announced to a quiet individual, dressed in clerical black.